diff options
Diffstat (limited to '46112-0.txt')
| -rw-r--r-- | 46112-0.txt | 2380 |
1 files changed, 2380 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/46112-0.txt b/46112-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..43b5876 --- /dev/null +++ b/46112-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2380 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Dark Ages, by L + + +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: The Dark Ages + and Other Poems + + +Author: L + + + +Release Date: June 27, 2014 [eBook #46112] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DARK AGES*** + + +Transcribed from the 1908 Longmans, Green and Co. edition by David Price, +email ccx074@pglaf.org + + + + + + THE DARK AGES + AND OTHER POEMS + + + * * * * * + + BY “L.” + + * * * * * + + LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. + + 39, PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON + + NEW YORK, BOMBAY, AND CALCUTTA + + 1908 + + _All rights reserved_ + + + + +CONTENTS + + PAGE + I. THE DARK AGES 1 + II. THE BELLS OF VENICE 4 + III. AN ANCIENT CHURCH 5 + IV. TO THE ENGLISH GIPSIES 6 + V. AUTUMN DYING 9 + VI. THE DEPARTURE FOR CYTHERA 10 + VII. THE VILLAGE CHURCH 13 + VIII. LADY DAY NEAR BIGNOR 14 + IX. A COTTAGE INSCRIPTION 16 + X. A MEMORY OF IRELAND 18 + XI. “TÍR NAN ÓG” 19 + XII. A HIGHLAND DAY 21 + XIII. TO THE FIRS 23 + XIV. GOOD-BYE 24 + XV. THE FAIRY GLEN REVISITED 26 + XVI. WAITING 28 + XVII. NEAR HAARLEM 30 + XVIII. THE TOMB OF SAINT AUGUSTINE AT PAVIA 31 + XIX. MODERN FLORENCE 32 + XX. TO DANTE 33 + XXI. TO PETRARCH 34 + XXII. TO A LADY OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY 35 + XXIII. THE “LIBERAL” DIVINE 37 + XXIV. THE QUARREL 38 + XXV. THE OLD FOUNTAIN 40 + XXVI. LOVE AND DEATH 41 + XXVII. VIOLETS 43 + XXVIII. THE GARDENS OF THE SOUL 44 + XXIX. A MAN TO CHILDISH THINGS 46 + XXX. THE KNIGHT 47 + XXXI. HOPES 48 + XXXII. THE PATH 50 + XXXIII. THE CALL TO BETHLEHEM 52 + XXXIV. A CHRISTMAS LULLABY 53 + XXXV. TO THE HOLY CHILD 55 + XXXVI. MATER AMABILIS 56 + XXXVII. SAINT STEPHEN 57 + XXXVIII. SAINT JOHN AT EPHESUS 59 + XXXIX. THE LITTLE CHILDREN 61 + XL. THE CIRCUMCISION 63 + XLI. THE RETURN OF THE MAGI 64 + XLII. ATONEMENT 66 + XLIII. CALVARY 67 + XLIV. “THE DESERT SHALL BLOSSOM” 68 + XLV. RESURRECTION 69 + XLVI. THE ASCENSION 71 + XLVII. A HYMN TO THE HOLY SPIRIT 73 + XLVIII. “ADORA ET TACE” 76 + XLIX. THE REFUGE OF THE WANDERING 77 + L. THE LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER 79 + LI. THE LIGHT INVISIBLE 81 + LII. ONWARD 83 + LIII. THE FAITHFUL DEPARTED 84 + LIV. LETHE 86 + LV. AVE ATQUE VALE 88 + + + + +I +THE DARK AGES + + + MEN call you “dark.” What factory then blurred the light + Of golden suns, when nothing blacker than the shades + Of coming rain climbed up the heather-mantled height? + While the air + Breathed all the scents of all untrodden flowers, + And brooks poured silver through the glimmering glades, + Then sweetly wound through virgin ground. + Must all that beauty pass? + And must our pleasure trains + Like foul eruptions belch upon the mountain head? + Must we perforce build vulgar villa lanes, + And on sweet fields of grass + The canting scutcheons of a cheating commerce spread? + + Men call you “dark.” Did that faith see with cobwebbed eyes, + That built the airy octagon on Ely’s hill, + And Gloucester’s Eastern wall that woos the topaz skies, + Where the hymn + Angelic “Glory be to God on high, + And peace on earth to men who feel good will,” + Might softly sound God’s throne around? + Is that a perfect faith + Which pew-filled chapels rears, + Where Gothic fronts of stone mask backs of ill-baked bricks, + And where the frothy fighting preacher fears, + As peasants fear a wraith, + His deacon’s frown or some just change in politics? + + Men call you “dark.” Was Chaucer’s speech a muddy stream, + The language born of Norman sun and Saxon snow? + Was Langland’s verse or Wyclif’s prose mere glow-worm’s gleam? + And the tales + Of Arthur’s sword and of the holy Grail, + And Avalon, the isle where no storms blow: + From such romance did no light glance? + Have we not heard a tongue, + Whose words the Saxon thralls + Would scorn to speak above their muck-rake and their fork, + The speech of barrack-rooms and music-halls, + Where every fool has flung + The rotten refuse of Calcutta and New York? + + Men call you “dark.” But _chivalry_ and _honour_ stand + As words that you, not we, did fashion, when the need + Of food beyond the price of gold awoke our land. + For you taught + Inconstancy is like a standard lost; + And we who prove untrue in love or deed + Will doubly shame an ancient name. + Your robes were not all white, + Your soul was not a sea + Where all the crystal rivulets of God found room: + But we must often to your lessons flee, + Our truth with yours unite, + Before we meet the holy dayspring of the doom. + + + + +II +THE BELLS OF VENICE + + + RING out again that faltering strain, + Cease not so soon, + Sweet peal that brought to me the thought + Of some deep shadowed English lane + Across the blue lagoon. + + The water street where oarsmen meet + And shout ahead, + The glowing quay, all noise and glee, + Seemed hallowed as when angels’ feet + Touched Jacob’s stony bed. + + On pearly dome and princely home + Day’s glory dies: + Once more the bells’ low murmur tells + That faith is not a line of foam + Nor life a bridge of sighs. + + + + +III +AN ANCIENT CHURCH + + + SO little dost thou seem of common earth, + So much of spirit doth thy fabric show, + That we, who watch thee through the azure glow, + Might deem that with the stars thou cam’st to birth. + + So sweet and true the voices from thy spire, + Which bless the day’s betrothal unto night, + That when they falter with the fading light, + We well might think an angel touched his lyre. + + If chiselled stone and molten bronze instil + Hopes deeper than the fountains of my tears, + And love that hungers for eternity, + + God, I believe Thou hast some use for me; + Leave me no life of dumb and sluggard years, + But cut or melt me till I speak Thy will. + + + + +IV +TO THE ENGLISH GIPSIES {6} + + + ROUGH swarthy Gipsy folk, + Would that my voice could once forget to falter, + And sing a song as free as swallows’ wings + Of ancient Gipsies, and their “dukes” and “kings,” + The men who braved the branding-rod and halter, + Because like birds they nimbly came and went, + And loved the stars and road, and crouching tent + Beneath a grove of oak. + + In ages long ago + The Brahman priests pursued you with their curses, + Because you found life sweeter at the core + Without the mumbling of their magic lore. + And you have lived to see their Sanskrit verses + Fall dead; and Brahmans, like mere Romany, + Now tempt their gods by trusting to the sea, + Though trembling while they go. + + Then hardened against fear + You looted caravans of gold-shot dresses + And gems upon their way to bright Baghdad, + And drove the Moslem Khalif rampant mad, + When pearls culled from the ocean for the tresses + Of his Circassian, in your pouches fell, + As trifles to adorn the dusky shell + Of some black virgin’s ear. + + Next Greece and Thessaly + Became the home of many a jocund roamer, + Who gaily danced, or begged with mien forlorn, + And patched his Indian speech where it was torn + With remnants from Demosthenes and Homer, + Until you struck your blackened tents again + And tattered pageants crossed the endless plain + Of fertile Hungary. + + ’Tis even said you planned + To trick the Pope with penitential moaning, + And gained his leave to wander seven years + Towards the melancholy North, with tears + The sin of feigned apostasy atoning: + Thus fortified against enquiring foes, + You, with the budding of the Tudor rose, + Alighted on our land. + + Who says it was not good + To see your handkerchiefs of red and yellow, + And silver rings and basket-laden carts, + And hear the honey-lipped prophetic arts + Of wheedling witches, or a clean-limbed fellow + Who fiddled by the hedgerow in the smoke, + And roused the antique Gipsy song that woke + The silence of the wood? + + Now that your blood must fail, + What artist soul revengefully remembers + You raided the domain of chanticleer, + Or deftly poisoned pigs to swell your cheer + Of hedgehogs cooked in clay amid the embers? + Who says you sometimes wedded art to force, + Or made the worse appear the better horse + Before a coming sale? + + You soon will pass away; + Laid one by one below the village steeple + You face the East from which your fathers sprang, + Or sleep in moorland turf, beyond the clang + Of towns and fairs; your tribes have joined the people + Whom no true Romany will call by name, + The folk departed like the camp-fire flame + Of withered yesterday. + + + + +V +AUTUMN DYING + + + AUTUMN shakes in golden raiment, + Gashed with red; + None can ransom him by payment + From the dead. + + They have shorn his strength with reaping, + Left him cold; + Now he wakes each morning weeping, + Weak and old. + + And last night he sought my casement, + Came and fled; + Wailed for aid from roof to basement, + Touched my bed. + + Though I cannot find his ransom, + Ere he dies; + I will pay all that I can—some + Hopes and sighs. + + + + +VI +THE DEPARTURE FOR CYTHERA + + + ERE they parted for Cythera + When the spring had reached its bloom, + Phyllis, Doris and Neaera + Peeped into their pictured room, + Wished to go, yet wished to linger, + Lifted each a taper finger, + Threw a kiss towards their portraits set in walls of rose brocade. + + Where the beeches lift a curtain + Over shifting sunlit scenes, + They with footsteps light and certain + Used to dance like fairy queens; + Now they speed beneath the beeches + Till the path the water reaches + And the bay just softly ripples by a marble balustrade. + + Purple were the sails that beckoned + And the deck was ivory, + Love stood smiling there and reckoned + His embarking company; + Every mast wore silver sheathing, + Music in the air was breathing, + In the rigging little laughing cupids upwards climbed and strayed. + + On they sailed through fields of azure, + White was all their furrowed way, + Melting in a blue erasure, + Melting fast like yesterday; + Radiant Hope still steered them hoping, + Steered them past the woodlands sloping, + Where the doves descend and flutter on an ancient colonnade. + + On they passed through golden hazes, + Watching distant peaks of snow, + On through shadowed island mazes, + Where the dreamy spices blow; + Till the moon herself was setting, + And the dew fell fast and wetting, + And the silver masts no image on the blackening waves displayed. + + Frayed are now the rose-red panels + Filled with squares of rare brocade, + In the ceiling Time carves channels + Where the frescoes slowly fade; + Chipped are now the scrolls of plaster, + Which a skilled Italian master + Moulded all along the cornice, and with tips of gold o’erlaid. + + But the shallow oval spaces + Underneath the white festoons, + Hold the tender pastel faces + Waiting endless afternoons; + For they never touched Cythera, + Phyllis, Doris, and Neaera, + And again they never landed by the marble balustrade. + + + + +VII +THE VILLAGE CHERUB + + + UP at the church at the edge of the moor, + Flat on the pathway that leads to the door, + Worn by the tread of the mourning and poor, + There is a face that is fit for God’s floor. + + How could a mason create in his brain + Just such a cherub to sob in the rain? + How could the pride of the dying but vain + Want such a cherub to blow a refrain? + + This one had ankles with which he could run— + Is it a fact that a cherub has none? + This one had love-locks that flashed in the sun, + Yes, and his lips often pouted in fun. + + Who was the angel that played on the street; + Whose was the face I can’t soil with my feet? + Nobody knows; but I hope I shall meet + One such a cherub in front of God’s seat. + + + + +VIII +LADY DAY NEAR BIGNOR + + + SOUTH-EASTWARD where the waving line of hills + Bears up the clouds that speed like passing boats, + On one sweet spot which distant sunlight fills + A sudden silver haze descends and floats. + + The trees below like lace veil glistening streams, + The gorse puts on its tiny gloves of gold, + The cattle move as though they fed in dreams, + And timid lambs are bleating in the fold. + + Though tangled bracken like an old man’s beard + Blends autumn’s ruddy brown with winter’s grey, + Soft blows the breeze that through the pines is heard, + Green moss and yellow primrose deck the way. + + The Roman villa level on the grass, + With wrestling cupids on the floor within; + The church where first a Norman priest said mass, + The ivied chimneys of the Georgian inn: + + These have their message. All things tell the change + Of seasons, races, and of man’s estate: + All bid us mark within how small a range + There moves a story tragically great. + + The hills abide, and that mysterious Breath + Which brooded on the slowly shaping earth, + And came to-day like dew to Nazareth + To fashion our Redeemer’s Virgin-birth. + + + + +IX +A COTTAGE INSCRIPTION + + + “TIME trieth troth.” Who carved the text + Above the narrow cottage door? + Two hundred years of storm have vexed + The words which front the western moor. + + Was it a hind who loved the king + That held his court beyond the sea, + A hind who taught his child to sing + Of Stuart rose and Stuart tree? + + Was it a swain whose soul adored + A maid who went to London town? + And did she choose some spangled lord + And coldly flout her country clown? + + “Time trieth troth.” And was he true + Whose chisel carved that rugged line? + And was he loyal till the yew + O’erarched his heart’s now silent shrine? + + Then, though bereft of king or love, + He found the poet’s secret gain, + The sympathy of suns above, + The friendship of the falling rain. + + + + +X +A MEMORY OF IRELAND + + + WHERE the saints of Holy Ireland sleep + No chancels pen them round, + But the waving trees their vigils keep + Above each verdant mound. + + Here they climbed no lofty marble beds + To find a frigid rest, + But a canopy of golden threads + Hangs o’er them in the west. + + When the larks have ceased their thankful hymn, + The ocean booms his bell, + And the lamps of heaven swing o’er the rim + Of every holy well. + + May the Lord bring back that race of men + Whom charity enticed + To desert the world for some poor glen + And give the people Christ. + + + + +XI +“TÍR NAN ÓG” {19} + + + WHEN thou didst die, they say a fairy’s pipe + Was heard outside the castle door, + And wee folk thick as August corn that’s ripe + Came trooping down the moor, + And bore thy soul with laughter and with light + O’er glen and heathered height. + + Friends waked thee till the dawn thrice slanted by + To quench the tapers round thy bier, + And countless decades of the rosary + They numbered with a tear; + But yet they whispered, “She is now a queen, + And clad in rainbow green.” + + They set thy form near blessed Finnan’s side, + And wailed the Gaelic death-lament; + But they believed thee happy as a bride + With long-dreamed joys content + Within the land they name with wistful tongue, + “The land where all are young.” + + + + +XII +A HIGHLAND DAY +WITHIN SIGHT OF CULLODEN + + + THE snow-white borders of the grey-green sea + Peep through the mist that veils the strait with dew, + The sun grows bold and smites the landscape free, + The burn, the woods, the rocks of rose-red hue. + + The world lies warm upon the heart of day, + The callants push their boat from off the shore, + The white gulls sail and flutter through the bay, + The jet-black daws are calling evermore. + + The doves fly wheeling past their mountain wall, + The whispering pine trees weave a ceiling cool, + The rowans redden o’er the foaming fall, + The ferns keep guard around the fairies’ pool. + + The distant moorland where the tribesmen bled + To win their wandering prince a royal home, + Now wraps a deeper purple on their bed, + While he sleeps cold below St. Peter’s dome. + + The waves turn opal in the waning light, + The rocks exchange for grey their rose-red bloom, + The finite sinks into the infinite, + And sea and sky are wedded in the gloom. + + + + +XIII +TO THE FIRS + + + I LOVE the oak-grove where the Druid’s knife + Cut down the mistletoe in days of old; + I love the elms around the convent fold + Where souls escape the dust of highway life. + + I love to watch the tiny milk-white spires + That on the chestnut branches lift their head; + I love to see the rowan growing red + With clusters bright as frosty winter fires. + + But better still I love you, firs that crest + The lonely hill above the moaning firth, + Beside the path where bluebells gently nod. + + To your grey arms, ere sunset leaves the West, + I can confide each sorrow at its birth, + For you have known the waves and storms of God. + + + + +XIV +GOOD-BYE + + + SING me one more villanelle, + Light as elfin foot that brushes + Through the ferns and foxgloves of the fairy dell. + + Come where woodland spices smell, + Where the wild rose faintly flushes, + Sing me one more villanelle. + + Rare as snowy heather bell, + Sweet as melody of thrushes + Through the ferns and foxgloves of the fairy dell. + + When the shade creeps up the fell + Mid the parting sun’s last blushes, + Sing me one more villanelle. + + Sing it to the curfew knell, + Where the streamlet plays with rushes + Through the ferns and foxgloves of the fairy dell. + + Let it breathe no sad farewell, + Only mirth with silent hushes. + Sing me one more villanelle + Through the ferns and foxgloves of the fairy dell. + + + + +XV +THE FAIRY GLEN REVISITED + + + THAT pure and shy retreat + A Tartar would have spared, + But not that lawyer cur from Inverness, + Who thought its sylvan virgin loveliness + Would bring him gold if rudely bared + And hawked upon the street. + + There children checked their race + And crept on tiptoed feet, + Lest they should break upon the rainbow rings + Of fairies glinting through transparent wings, + Or kindly wizard come to meet + A maid with lovelorn face. + + No snow nor stinging sleet + Could chill the fairies’ bath; + So close the vaulting was with fir and larch + Which laid deep carpets underneath their arch, + That on the fairies’ silent path + No blast could ever beat. + + Mid foam more white than fleece + The waterfall rang sweet, + It made each rocky cup a rippling well, + It coyly dived and peeped along the dell, + Then ran the rising sea to greet, + And greeting found its peace. + + And now the cold and heat + Scourge all the glen with ire; + The broken boughs have choked the sobbing stream, + The silver birch is but a sodden beam, + The fairies’ path is sunk in mire, + The moss has left their seat. + + Flash sorrow and disdain + For this most sordid feat, + You whom Burns taught to love a daisy’s face, + And Scott to love the mountains’ gloom and grace; + Or say they scattered chaff for wheat, + And sang their songs in vain. + + + + +XVI +WAITING + + + BASED ON THE GAELIC FEAR A’ BHÀTA + + THE year may change its time, + But still I climb + The cliff above the sea, + And look with eyes half dim with rain, + To know if God has brought again + My lover back to me. + + When darkness downward glides + And slowly hides + The fading hills of blue, + I never bar the cottage door + Without one look across the moor, + A look of hope for you. + + Sometimes when I am free + I seek the quay + Soon after break of day, + And find a newly harboured boat, + And ask if you are still afloat + Near home or far away. + + I ask if you are well, + And they can tell + My heart is set on you: + And then they call me just a fool, + A baby in the world’s hard school + To give you love so true. + + You promised me silk gowns + From Lowland towns, + And rings of twisted gold; + And, best of all, your picture bound + With stones to hem its beauty round + That I might kiss and hold. + + My love is not the flower + Of one short hour; + You were my childhood’s pride; + Your image is my dream by night, + By day if ever put to flight + It comes back like the tide. + + The swan upon the lake + When robbers take + Her young, is left to moan; + None tends her wounds or heeds her cry, + She wails her loss and waits to die: + Like her I cry alone. + + + + +XVII +NEAR HAARLEM + + + TRIUMPHANTLY it soars, that full-domed sky, + Of lucent turquoise fading into pearl; + And here the happy birds their brown wings furl + By waters that lisp seaward dreamily. + + Beyond these plains of silver and of green, + Amid the floating vapours of the town + The vast grey church uplifts its belfry crown, + A chiselled shrine through incense dimly seen. + + The burdened barges trust the smiling flood, + Calm wraps the distance of reclining dunes, + The tower rings peace in soft alternate tones. + + And who that hears the bells’ low luting tunes, + Now thinks of Haarlem’s siege and starving moans, + Or how these brooks once bubbled with brave blood? + + + + +XVIII +THE TOMB OF ST. AUGUSTINE AT PAVIA + + + BENEATH the low barbaric Lombard apse + It rises like a ridge of Alpine snow, + And wry-wheeled ages with uneasy lapse + Creak past its majesty, and go. + + Such music as leaves Milan’s marble spires + To mount towards a greater whiter throne, + Or tempts to earth again seraphic choirs, + Is at Augustine’s shrine unknown. + + No wave of pilgrim footsteps surges here, + No sheaf of tapers lifts its votive gleam, + The half-taught critic comes not with his sneer, + When I draw nigh, dear saint, to dream. + + Enough if far-off sounds of children’s glee + Bid me to “take and read” God’s open call, + Or some sad Monnica pray here to see + Her son, like thee, a second Paul. + + + + +XIX +MODERN FLORENCE + + + HARD by the home of Dante’s infant life + I saw a Yankee “Kake Walk” advertised; + Within San Miniato’s pillared aisle + A Japanese was peering unsurprised; + Where Michelangelo set “Dawn” and “Night,” + And her, most blest, whose softly sculptured smile + Glows with a maiden’s and a mother’s light, + A German Jew was nagging with his wife. + + + + +XX +TO DANTE + + + THE Church divided and the Empire fell, + Grave Dante, but thy verse in magic grows + And charms men upward to the snow-white Rose + Of heaven from the mire and grief of hell. + + No lonely isle of dull forgetfulness + Hides Beatrice within its shadowed gloom, + For ’mid the petals of thy Rose’s bloom + Time’s hand has set that pearl of loveliness. + + Though patched and powdered poets could not taste + Thy limpid sweetness, and exposed thy fame + To meet the leering Frenchman’s cynic air, + + Thy love was fair without brocade or paste, + Thyself too great to need a gilded name; + Thy Comedy and God survive Voltaire. + + + + +XXI +TO PETRARCH + + + YES, Petrarch, we most certainly believe + That you who wore your heart upon your sleeve, + Did love your love for Laura, and the eye + Of public fame, at which your sonnets fly, + Like skyward larks that court the genial sun; + And o’er the tears you treasured one by one + You downward bent with all a statue’s grace + To see reflections of your tearful face. + But none redeemed by love will e’er consent + To say you tasted of love’s sacrament. + + + + +XXII +TO A LADY OF +THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY + + + IN MEMORY OF METASTASIO + + NICE, though your lips of coral + Now are dust; + And the schoolboy scans the moral + Graven on your broken bust + + In the gilt barocco chapel + After Mass; + Where ten coats with broidered lappel + Bent when Nice used to pass. + + Still perchance your spirit hovers + Where the lute + And the voices of your lovers + Chimed, but now are gone and mute. + + Where the lonely arbour’s hollow + Shadier grows, + And the butterflies can follow + Fearlessly to kiss the rose. + + And you smile because a poet + À la mode + Flouted you; and then, we know it, + Wrote an abject palinode. + + For your hands, though light as feathers, + Held him tight: + Love was made to last all weathers, + Not to change with day and night. + + + + +XXIII +THE “LIBERAL” DIVINE + + + THE “middle path” meets every need, + The Stagirite and Buddha say; + I won’t doubt more than half the creed + Nor wear a costume wholly lay. + + + + +XXIV +THE QUARREL + + + SUGGESTED BY A PICTURE OF FRAGONARD + + ON the elm tree she was swinging, + Just beyond the hedge of yew; + But she slowly ceased from singing, + From her breast a pink she drew. + + Buttoning his coat of satin, + Off he strode towards the woods, + Tartly quoting Virgil’s Latin, + That a woman’s made of moods. + + Long ago within God’s garden + Both were wrapped in long lone sleep, + Heeding not if hoar frosts harden, + Or the autumn leaves fall deep. + + Laugh not at the statue calling + Phyllis with her marble muff, + Nor the marble cupids sprawling + On a cloud of powder puff. + + Laugh not at his hermit fashions + Nor the book unwarmed by hope; + Say not that it shows the passions + Of a stony misanthrope. + + For they loved while they were living, + Loved with love untold, unheard; + Though they parted unforgiving, + Each too proud to say a word. + + + + +XXV +THE OLD FOUNTAIN + + + ONE gay glint of rose and silver flounces + In a deep green dell, + Where a streamlet bubbles down and bounces + From a Triton’s mossy shell. + + One more dance ere sunset on the mountain + Laughing says, “Too late”; + One sweet lute that tinkled with the fountain + Called two hearts to court their fate. + + Some small raindrops, just to tease the Triton, + Mischievously fell; + Some one spoke a jest that quenched the light on + Eyes that he had long loved well. + + That dark night he cursed the love he brought her, + Though it made his soul; + And she sobbed an echo to the water + Brimming in the fountain bowl. + + + + +XXVI +LOVE AND DEATH + + + ONCE toward a sunlit garden, laden + With the lime trees’ scented breath, + Came to watch a merry youth and maiden, + Love and Death. + + At their bosoms Love threw fragrant posies, + Tossed them laughing low and blithe, + In the background Death amid the roses + Moved his scythe. + + Ere the latest rose the path was strewing, + Her sweet maiden soul was fled; + He beside her grave his cheeks bedewing, + Bent his head. + + Sobbing Love then thought to give him pleasure, + Bade his curse on Death attend; + But the youth begged Death who held his treasure + Be his friend. + + Death as friend might give the old completeness + Time could give to him no more, + Death, not Love alone, the former sweetness + Might restore. + + Love then saw the youth was worthier loving, + Dowered with a stronger grace; + And with downcast eyelids shyly moving, + Kissed Death’s face. + + + + +XXVII +VIOLETS + + + WHERE burning tapers hold + White suppliant hands from arms of gold + Around the Host; there no one sets + Sweet violets. + + Fair roses droop and die + In halls of dance and minstrelsy; + But who within those walls has met + The violet? + + Where faintly smiles the sun + Through chequered skies on beech groves dun, + There hides in vales sequestered yet + The violet. + + Where I shall lie asleep, + Some friend, perhaps, a tear will weep, + And if our love knew no regrets, + Strew violets. + + + + +XXVIII +THE GARDENS OF THE SOUL + + + IN a restless land beside a river + Stands a stone enclosure tall, + Rich the finder is, and rich the giver + Of the key to pierce that wall. + + Once within, you drink the clearest pleasures, + And your sorrow change for ease; + Ancient bards enchant you with their measures, + Sweetly sighs the Highland breeze. + + Next amid the orange trees and cedars + Bearded Homer deigns to roam, + Musing tales of marching Argive leaders, + And Ulysses welcomed home. + + Here where daffodils their crowns are bending + On a lawn of English green, + Milton gravely sits to tell the ending + Of angelic strifes unseen. + + Here the almond bloom for ever blushes, + And Italian fountains rise; + While the wine of dawn their dewdrops flushes, + Dante speaks of Paradise. + + But beyond where any poet paces, + Grows a gnarled grey olive grove, + Where the furthest stars have veiled their faces, + Weeping for eternal Love. + + + + +XXIX +A MAN TO CHILDISH THINGS + + + WHERE are the domes of pure mysterious gold, + And myriad angel wings in ordered flight + My childish gaze could once at eve behold + Before the mountains melted into night? + + Where is the island, shy abode of bliss, + Which seemed through summer haze to rise and float, + The isle which merchant fleets could never kiss, + But once stood still for Brendan’s hermit boat? + + Where are my paladins with souls of snow, + Whose swords were fashioned at no mortal forge, + The men who rode where Arthur bade them go + To meet the dragon in his dungeon gorge? + + O happy, happy dreams, ye were no lies, + No true apostle made me put away + Such “childish things,” which mirrored to mine eyes + Faith, Hope and Love. I call you back to stay. + + + + +XXX +THE KNIGHT + + + HE was so courteous to the paynim horde, + Men doubted if he served the Lord + Or held the faith of Christ. + They said he proudly scorned life’s sweetest prize, + Who never played with sparkling eyes + Or kept an evening tryst. + + Their god of love was but Cupidity, + Their Lord an idol vanity + With mail below his vest: + While he, true knight, believed in Christ alone, + And though they thought his heart a stone, + Made love a hero’s quest. + + + + +XXXI +HOPES + + + TO have lived just like a man + And done what one man can, + Not basking like a dog in summer dust; + Nor like a butterfly + That flaunts and flutters by, + Till showers have dimmed its silver wings with rust. + + To have lightened some stiff load + Of men upon the road— + May some remember I am flesh and blood! + To have dried some children’s tears, + And slain some women’s fears + That bid them crouch beneath a brooding flood. + + To have known the throbbing stars, + And traced the ancient scars + That streams have ploughed upon the mountain side; + To have sung songs passing sweet, + And sung with lasting heat + As pure as that of stars that burn and bide. + + To have said the simply true, + Although to preach the new + Might win me prizes and the world’s caress; + To have been misunderstood, + If so the common good + Might bear more harvest through my loneliness. + + To have learnt that love is light + In rain and fog and night, + For eyes that sadly peer and feet that plod: + To have found all life a song + Of rapture calm and strong, + And found the music of the song was God. + + + + +XXXII +THE PATH + + + TO buzzing lecture halls his steps he bent, + Where all the paths to God were well discussed, + Or faith and reason weighed with balance just, + Till he was dizzy with strong argument. + He saw philosophers who shook their fists, + And broke commandment nine; + He saw the Sadducean alchemists + Draw water out of wine; + He saw the knife-eyed Pharisees + Adjusting their phylacteries: + But never found the gate where he could see + The One in Three. + + He watched the hills as dawn unlocked the day, + And felt vibrating o’er the low green lea + The breath of lilac and of hawthorn tree, + While gold laburnums rocked each pendent spray. + He saw the sun salute the moon afar, + And felt their common soul; + He heard the song of star to sister star + Around the sky’s deep bowl; + He watched the waves withdraw their foam, + He watched the rivers wending home: + He found the One, and yet he could not see + The One in Three. + + Still doubting he beheld a brother man, + Whom he ignored and scorned to think akin; + But now a sudden breath of love within + Drove him to serve, and humbly he began. + His hands that worked in love were torn with red, + He shrank not at the sight, + For he who suffered saw a Heart that bled + Become his beacon-light. + Thus brother to the Son of God + With life from heaven on earth he trod: + The Life, the Light, the Love, he knew to be + The One in Three. + + + + +XXXIII +THE CALL TO BETHLEHEM + + + SHEPHERDS, come to Bethlehem, + Pluck yon bush of Christmas rose, + Weave a dainty diadem. + + From my flute with tuneful stem + Music warbles as it flows, + “Shepherds, come to Bethlehem.” + + Lo, upon the mountain’s hem + Ruby clouds above the snows + Weave a dainty diadem. + + Seek not proud Jerusalem, + Where the empty temple shows; + Shepherds, come to Bethlehem. + + Christ without a crown or gem + Lies on straw while winter blows; + Weave a dainty diadem. + + Christ will not our gift condemn; + All our poverty He knows. + Shepherds, come to Bethlehem, + Weave a dainty diadem. + + + + +XXXIV +A CHRISTMAS LULLABY + + + ADAPTED FROM THE SPANISH + + STARS, + Stay your bright amethyst cars, + Flee not away, + Wait till the day, + Come and adore. + + Flowers, + Born in the morning’s first hours, + Stars of the earth, + Bloom for Christ’s birth, + Come and adore. + + Birds, + Songs are far fresher than words, + Christ is your Sun, + Sing every one, + Come and adore. + + Streams, + Whisper in tune with Christ’s dreams, + Throw your sweet spells + From crystal bells, + Come and adore. + + Breeze, + Say to all lands and all seas, + “This merry morn, + Jesus is born, + Come and adore.” + + Child, + Seeking the lost on the wild, + Though Thou dost sleep, + Smile on thy sheep + Come to adore. + + + + +XXXV +TO THE HOLY CHILD + + + AS PAINTED BY RAPHAEL + + O LORD, Thyself hast taught that sight is not belief; + And yet within Thine eyes I see eternity, + The love which told the dying thief + That he should rest in Paradise + Is there, though Thou art still a Child at Mary’s knee; + The joy of perfect sacrifice + Is there, and that unfathomed grief + In which our griefs have sunk like tears in one wide sea. + + + + +XXXVI +MATER AMABILIS + + + AS PAINTED BY BOTTICELLI + + MARY, on the Prince of peace thy gladness + Gleams from radiant eyes; + But their light is touched with passing sadness, + Like our English summer skies. + + Angels’ arms above thy head are holding + Crowns of golden stars; + But the baby hands thy breast enfolding + Show to thee their future scars. + + Lilies cense thee with their exhalations, + But thy heart has guessed + Slanders of the scoffing generations + Who will call thee cursed, not blessed. + + So when clouds of faint foreboding sorrow + From an unknown sea + Come to warn me of a broken morrow, + Mother Mary, pray for me. + + + + +XXXVII +SAINT STEPHEN + + + I SEE that I must die. + O Christ, how shall I bear the cruel stones, + E’en though there be a place among the thrones + At thy right hand for me? Create again + The very sinews of my soul: + I ask not for an aureole, + But strength to brave the pain. + + Help me, for life is dear: + The growing rapture of the summer morn, + The cedared hills, and soft-cheeked roses born + Within the cooling breath of Hermon’s snow, + The rare reluctant shaded streams, + The sea that sings, and weeps, and dreams; + I love them: Thou dost know. + + I loved my father’s faith: + The synagogue with all its sacred gear, + The feasts that guard the march of every year, + The trumpets, lamps, and waving of the palms, + The azure fringe on robes like milk, + The yellow scrolls wrapped round with silk, + The triumph of the Psalms. + + I loved to preach the truth, + To thrust and parry in a fair debate, + To trace God’s dayspring in His nation’s fate, + To lift up Christ, who dying broke death’s bands; + I loved to give men joy for sighs, + To win the thanks of widows’ eyes, + And children’s trustful hands. + + “The truth.” Yes, I will die. + This chafing Sanhedrin shall not prevail + To check me. They shall see the truth full-sail; + They cannot sink truth, stone me though they can. + Lord, I am ready. By thy grace + No shade of fear shall cross my face, + And I will play the man. + + + + +XXXVIII +SAINT JOHN AT EPHESUS + + + MEN ask why I am left alone: + My brother, James, and Peter, all are slain; + Brave men who met the surging crimson deep + With equal minds. And Mary fell asleep, + His mother whom He gave me for my own. + But I with anchored hope remain. + + I loved Him. It is long ago + Since I with Mary stood upon the hill + Where His last breath rose up in Sacrifice, + While tears fell earthward from our burning eyes, + And Jews were gibing on the slope below. + And yet I know He loves me still. + + He loved me. And whene’er I dream + Of sunsets changing into glassy gold + The waters of the Galilean lake, + Or see in thought the Temple portals take + A pearly softness from the moonlight gleam, + He speaks with me, as once of old. + + I love Him, for He first loved me. + He let me lean upon His holy breast, + He brought me first to view His empty grave; + He bade me learn that only love can save, + And call no fire from heaven but charity. + I work and wait, for He knows best. + + That Rome which now oppresses us, + And all this rout of grey idolatry + Shall soon dissolve. For I can see the Light + Which guides the sun disperse the Asian night: + And straight above the reek of Ephesus + There burns the Love which died for me. + + + + +XXXIX +THE LITTLE CHILDREN + + + ALONG the ocean’s stormless side, + Below the never setting sun, + Where Innocent is every one, + Meet all Christ’s babes that ever died. + + Some home around their Monarch’s seat, + Like doves that flutter to their rest; + Within His arms they find their nest + And wonder at His wounded feet. + + Some make a goal of Mary’s knee, + To which they run in joyous race; + Then tell her that their mother’s face + On earth was just like hers to see. + + Some call the angels to their play + Mid flowers of one unfading spring; + In radiant wheels they move and sing, + And learn the angels’ roundelay. + + But some, I think, amid those bands, + Remembering our ruder lore + And love, towards this colder shore + Lift speed-well eyes and rose-leaf hands. + + + + +XL +THE CIRCUMCISION + + + MORE bright than rosebuds on the rounded base + Of some veined alabaster urn, + Wherein a lamp was set to burn + And throw false smiles on Aphrodite’s face. + + More bright than crowns of red anemones, + Which every flushing Syrian year + Saw laid upon Adonis’ bier + By mourning maidens on adoring knees. + + More brightly flashed the drops of precious blood, + The rubies linked upon the shrine + Of Christ the Babe, the Christ divine, + To seal His body for the holy rood. + + + + +XLI +THE RETURN OF THE MAGI + + + HOW they did laugh, when mounting our camels + Three of us rode, obeying the light; + Slowly we cut our hearts from the trammels + Doubt flung around us that first wistful night. + Only a star above wind and rain, + Only a bloom on the passionless plain, + Waving us onward; yet we were right. + We thank Thee, Lord. + + Oft we recalled that kindly derision, + Measuring seas of measureless sand, + Mocked by the streams and trees of the vision + Moving and melting at magic’s command. + Cheated and choked we quailed and burned, + While the blast blew and the desert was churned, + Slipping, it seemed, out of God’s own hand. + We praise Thee, Lord. + + Onward we rode, where silver-meshed rivers + Sang to the birds which singing replied, + Where the soft light through rose-bowers quivers, + On past the voice of the bridegroom and bride. + Seeking the desert and star again, + Leaving the homesteads and fields of white grain + Where the doves called us to dream and bide. + We bless Thee, Lord. + + Onward we went, past temples that brighten, + Sepulchres hiding souls that are dead, + Chambers where bought lips wearily whiten, + Altars and pavements with hecatombs red. + Onward we travelled to Bethlehem, + Guided from Zion, the earth’s diadem, + On to a stable and manger bed, + To greet Thee, Lord. + + Dimly His eyes flashed, laden with presage, + Telling of strife and triumph to be; + Gracious His lips, and glowed with a message + Merciful, strong to set prisoners free. + Lord, use our myrrh and our urns of gold; + Fairer than children of men to behold, + Thine is the sceptre and victory! + We worship Thee. + + + + +XLII +ATONEMENT + + + WHAT love it was that Thou shouldst choose to feel + The chill of valleys where no dawns emerge + To break the mist, and streams repeat the dirge + For faith crushed like a pearl beneath man’s heel. + + How just it was that Thou our Judge shouldst learn + The force of taunts that goad us into sin, + And slowly aureoled perfection win + Through blackened hopes, and through the stripes that burn. + + Thou who didst steel thy will to impotence, + And wouldst not save Thyself, or take control + Of force, make us so dead that we may live. + + Thou God of sorrows, wash our penitence, + Thou who wast naked, help each smitten soul, + Christ strong to suffer, stronger to forgive. + + + + +XLIII +CALVARY + + + AS some weak bird, tossed homeward by the gale, + Is safely nested in the rocky scar + That cleaves the curving beach, but hears afar + The ocean writhing at the tempest’s flail, + + So thou, my soul, hast reached the refuge hill + That Pilate made a pleasance for his jest, + And in Christ’s rose-red side hast found a rest, + Borne half by passion, yet by conscious will. + + O Lord, whose spirit waged so hard a fight, + Scorn not the tainted thing beside thy heart + As too unfit to feel that sacred glow; + + But lest I ere forget how much I owe, + Let not the vision utterly depart + Of frenzied storm and all-engulfing night. + + + + +XLIV +“THE DESERT SHALL BLOSSOM” + + + LONG, long ago He died, and yet He is not dead; + From out His riven side and patient hands that bled + Flows one unebbing tide, by love and pity fed. + + God’s heart is satisfied, man’s eyes are upward led, + And o’er the desert wide, the dew that’s downward shed + Drawn from that flowing tide, forms flowers white and red. + + + + +XLV +RESURRECTION + + + HOPE, last of all the angels, left the three + Who with their woman’s courage watched Christ die; + But Hope, when she had fled, + Returned to plant in them one humble flower, + The thought that in His grey sepulchral bower + They three might strew around the Dead + The alms of one adoring sympathy, + And pray a last good-bye. + + They sped in silence, but the sharp-fanged doubt + Lurked in the path to mock their pungent store + Of spices, hissing, “Nay, + Ye cannot reach the Tenant of that gloom.” + But when the dawn and they retouched the tomb, + They found the stone was rolled away, + And He, their Life who died, now stood without, + Alive for evermore. + + Thus when we seek our buried innocence + With bitter myrrh and grey-leaved rosemary, + And writhing doubts delay + Our steps towards the tomb of our desire, + Do Thou, O Lord, our musing eyes inspire + To see the stone is rolled away, + And find that self has thrown its grave-clothes hence + And risen to live free. + + + + +XLVI +THE ASCENSION + + + “LO, I am with you alway.” Thus He spake + Girt with the zone of His disciples’ love, + And straightway, like the nascent flames that wake + Upon a placid hearth, He soars above. + Forlorn they cannot move; + Their eyes are voyaging to track the Friend + Who promised to be with them till the end. + + Once, the last once, His scar-gemmed Hand He lifts, + The Hand that twined the children to His knee, + Once downward bends the pitying Eye that sifts + Our chaff and grain for all eternity: + The blue immensity + Robes its Creator in a cope of light, + A cloud receives Him from their upturned sight. + + Thou “alway with us”? Do the brakes of thorn + No more entangle our tormented earth, + Do women travail less when babes are born, + Costs it less sweat for men to fight with dearth, + Is life one Eden mirth, + Moves there more laughter on the purple sea, + Or richer gold across the rippling lea? + + I care not: but we know, O Friend of friends, + Thou throned above art by our weary side, + The light that upward sailed with Thee descends + To be our morn undimmed by night or tide; + And Thou, eternal Guide, + Art not content to lead us to thy goal, + But buildest heaven in the broken soul. + + + + +XLVII +A HYMN TO THE HOLY SPIRIT + + + O SMILE upon the mirror of the world, + O Bearer of the censer whence is curled + The fragrant breath of watered trees at eve, + And fires that slowly in the sunrise weave. + + Thou art the Why within the universe, + Thou fillest hidden caves which seas immerse, + Thou sowest flowers upon the snow-bound hills, + And teachest music to the listening rills. + + Thou art the Guide of man’s supreme ascent + From sullen shapes that through the forest bent, + To minds that sift the sovran right from wrong + And forms more perfect than a polished song. + + The lily sceptre of sweet virgin love + Is thine; the rosy coronet above + The bridal brow is thine; from Thee the might + Of infant eyes, like stars that calm the night. + + Thou art the Spirit of insurgent truth, + Thou givest buried lore a second youth, + Thou makest charity with wisdom grow, + And provest falsehood but a losing throw. + + Thou calledst Moses from the wealthy Nile + And all the idols of fair Philae’s isle, + To march for life beneath the desert sun + And teach a rabble that their God was one. + + And Thou didst barb the tongue of Socrates + To sting a city settled on the lees, + To lash the vice of fluent sophistry + And crucify the shifting inward lie. + + Thou plantedst pity in the Indian sage, + Who conned the verses penned on sorrow’s page, + And strove to cut by mental abstinence + The silken cord that threads the beads of sense + + But could not in himself his pity slake, + And watching lotos blooms upon a lake, + Which helpless sank or rose with every wave, + Resolved all sinking souls to lift and save. + + And Thou within a cloud of maiden white + Didst form that sun of radiating light, + Christ’s strong immaculate humanity, + Transparent monstrance of His Deity. + + He, sinless, trod the brink of sin’s abyss + And for His love received a traitor’s kiss; + Then driven by thy soft compelling breath + He, who was Life, resigned himself to death. + + He showed us that this fleshly house of sense + Is not a nomad tent or barrier fence, + But some fair chancel where thy vivid flame + Might find an altar and reveal His name. + + Come, Holy Ghost, and breathe from sea to sea, + Give each his special fruit of liberty; + Tear from deceit the scintillating robe, + From Satan’s hands hurl down the rod and globe. + + Break Thou the spirit of the lords of lust, + Whose passions scatter an infected dust; + Reduce the men for whom the poor have bled, + Who elevate their gold as God and Bread. + + Grant me a mind that may become thy lyre, + A hate of hatred and a tongue of fire; + And mid the clamour of all transient things + Let me not miss the passage of thy wings. + + + + +XLVIII +“ADORA ET TACE” + + + LOVE only is the school of love, + And they who learn from Thee their art, + Will find thy presence from above + Touch altar, hand, and heart. + + While others ask how Thou canst come, + Or tell me when Thou goest away, + Be mine to call Thee to my home, + And know that Thou wilt stay. + + While others all their worship weigh, + And keenly blame the less or more, + Be mine my lowly best to pay, + “Be silent, and adore.” + + Give me to keep thy new command, + Who at thy precious blood was priced; + Make all my world a holy land, + Let all my life be Christ. + + + + +XLIX +THE REFUGE OF THE WANDERING + + + COLD and cruel as the winds that carry + Arctic hills of ice and snow, + Past the cliffs where skirling sea-birds tarry + And the seething breakers flow. + + Burning as the Afric wind that races + Northward from its desert land, + Wind that blasts and covers green oases + With its ropes of parching sand. + + Rough and angry as the winds that bluster + Where Tibetan temples shine, + Winds like savage lancers come to muster + On an Eastern frontier line. + + Sad and blind as winds that wander sobbing, + Where the raw Atlantic mist + From the stars their pearly radiance robbing, + Grips the shore with damp white fist. + + So our souls from every quarter eddy, + North and South and East and West, + Jesu, till the wayward and the ready + On thy heart all sink to rest. + + + + +L +THE LEGEND OF ST. CHRISTOPHER + + + ON to the bank that recedes, + On through the shadows that mock, + Tearing my staff from the weeds, + Bruising my feet on the rock, + Caught by this Babe who appealed, + Calling to echoes astray; + Would that my heart I had steeled, + Left Him to listen till day! + Child, who dost crush me with weight, + Child of the pitiful eyes, + Whence didst Thou come to my gate? + How didst Thou fool me to rise + From my lone bed? + + Sweeter than bells at the Mass, + Older and newer than time, + Charming the shadows to pass + Ringeth His voice in a chime. + Firm is the touch of His hands, + Soft as my mother’s caress, + Loosing my misery’s bands, + Calming the wrath I confess. + Child, who hast healed all my pain, + Joy of my soul, must we part + Just when the bank we shall gain? + Blest be these feet on my heart! + They too have bled. + + + + +LI +THE LIGHT INVISIBLE + + + O LIGHT that lives on every hill and shore, + Beyond the light that dies at close of day, + The tears fill up the chalice of mine eyes + With gladness, when I see Thee far away. + + O Stream that flows until the world shall end, + Past fretful town and hermitage and field, + Red are thy waters, but they throb with peace; + I touch their dew and all my wounds are healed. + + O Voice that speaks in every grove and street, + Above the song of birds and oaths of men, + I hear and follow Thee, although my steps + Begin a course that lies beyond my ken. + + O Face returning at each Eucharist, + More close than forms that change with changing years, + I am the veil between myself and Thee, + Burn Thou the veil, and burning, kill my fears. + + O Guest that comes to take away our best, + And all the loves we garner at our side, + Thou art our Best, our Home art Thou. For Thee, + Attentive I will labour and abide. + + + + +LII +ONWARD + + + FAR, and how far it is not mine to tell, + The hills of silken grey + Enfold the vale, and yet above that fell + The Shepherd knows a way. + + Far, and how far it is not mine to guess, + A sea of hungry waves + Surrounds me, but the Pilot thwarts their stress + With skill that guides and saves. + + Far, and how far is all unknown to me, + The many mansions lie + Beyond the grave, yet will the Builder see + And come to meet my cry. + + + + +LIII +THE FAITHFUL DEPARTED + + + SAY what good-bye + We owe to those who lived unstained by guile, + Who seemed to die, + But made their death a smile, + As though to promise we should meet within + A little while. + + Is this good-bye, + To sorrow o’er the blood-red pall of day, + Till in the sky + Faint tapers coldly pray; + And think our joy died like the buried sun’s + Last golden ray? + + Is this good-bye, + To tread on sallow leaves in autumn rain, + And hear winds sigh + An echo of our pain; + And think that never can the bud-crowned spring + Return again? + + Is this good-bye, + To watch the myriad falling flakes of snow + Whirl down and lie + Upon the fields below; + And think the wonted path is now too dim + For us to know? + + Not so: good-bye + Means faith in love kept warm by robes of white, + Faith to deny + The death of any light, + Faith that to-morrow will be yesterday + Without its night. + + + + +LIV +LETHE + + + ERE we shall touch the jasper parapet, + That God has set + About His garden and the sea of glass, + Shall we first pass + Through some calm stream of soft forgetfulness + And wash our hapless little joys away? + And shall our souls in infant nakedness + Emerge to bathe in God’s eternal day? + + Shall we forget the garden roundelays + Of piping Mays, + When thrushes sang around the dewy lawns + In roseleaf dawns, + And tulips—purple, saffron, red and white,— + Below the shade of box and fragrant bay, + Would lift to heaven their well-poised heads, as bright + As ever bloomed in Shiraz or Cathay? + + Shall we forget the music of the sea, + The virgin glee + Which swayed beneath her robes dyed emerald, + And so enthralled + The vernal sun that he would downward shower + More silver on her violet crystal fringe + Than ever Sultan made his daughter’s dower + Or locked in Istamboul with key and hinge? + + Shall we forget our hearts did ever ache + And slowly break, + Because a dream by lightning truth was rent, + Or we had spent + A love too deep for one whole life to speak + To gain a joy which proved too light to stay, + As quickly fading as the tulip’s cheek, + As fickle as the sea in witching May? + + + + +LV +AVE ATQUE VALE + + + OUR life is but a rosary + Of Hail and then Farewell; + Some never read the mystery + The onyx beads foretell. + + They think each bead falls on the ground + And spells another loss: + God gathers them to make a round + And seals it with His cross. + + WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, LTD. + PRINTERS, PLYMOUTH + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +{6} This poem is founded on a genuine study of the history of the +gipsies, whose language was learnt by the writer in his boyhood. + +{19} This poem refers to the mother of one of my friends. She was +believed by the peasants on her estate to have been stolen by the +fairies. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE DARK AGES*** + + +******* This file should be named 46112-0.txt or 46112-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/4/6/1/1/46112 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions 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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License available with this file or online at + www.gutenberg.org/license. + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH 1.F.3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS', WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need are critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation information page at www.gutenberg.org + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at 809 +North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887. Email +contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the +Foundation's web site and official page at www.gutenberg.org/contact + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit www.gutenberg.org/donate + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: www.gutenberg.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart was the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For forty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. |