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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/9984-8.txt b/9984-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fc7960b --- /dev/null +++ b/9984-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16608 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetical Works of George MacDonald, Vol. 2, by +George MacDonald + +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: Poetical Works of George MacDonald, Vol. 2 + +Author: George MacDonald + +Posting Date: December 7, 2011 [EBook #9984] +Release Date: February, 2006 +First Posted: November 5, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS, G. MACDONALD, VOL 2 *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jonathan Ingram, Charles M. +Bidwell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + + +THE POETICAL WORKS OF + +GEORGE MACDONALD + +IN TWO VOLUMES + +VOL. 2 + + + CONTENTS. + +PARABLES-- + The Man of Songs + The Hills + The Journey + The Tree's Prayer + Were I a Skilful Painter + Far and Near + My Room + Death and Birth + Love's Ordeal + The Lost Soul + The Three Horses + The Golden Key + Somnium Mystici + The Sangreal + The Failing Track + Tell Me + Brother Artist + After an Old Legend + A Meditation of St Eligius + The Early Bird + Sir Lark and King Sun + The Owl and the Bell + A Mammon-Marriage + A Song in the Night + Love's History + The Lark and the Wind + A Dead House + Bell upon Organ + Master and Boy + The Clock of the Universe + The Thorn in the Flesh + Lycabas + +BALLADS-- + The Unseen Model + The Homeless Ghost + Abu Midjan + The Thankless Lady + Legend of the Corrievrechan + The Dead Hand + + +MINOR DITTIES-- + In the Night + The Giver + False Prophets + Life-Weary + Approaches + Travellers' Song + Love is Strength + Coming + A Song of the Waiting Dead + Obedience + A Song in the Night + De Profundis + Blind Sorrow + +MOTES IN THE SUN-- + Angels + The Father's Worshippers + A Birthday-Wish + To Any One + Waiting + Lost but Safe + Much and More + Hope and Patience + A Better Thing + A Prisoner + To My Lord and Master + To One Unsatisfied + To My God + Triolet + The Word of God + Eine Kleine Predigt + To the Life Eternal + Hope Deferred + Forgiveness + Dejection + Appeal + +POEMS FOR CHILDREN-- + Lessons for a Child + What makes Summer? + Mother Nature + The Mistletoe + Professor Noctutus + Bird-Songs + Riddles + Baby + Up and Down + Up in the Tree + A Baby-Sermon + Little Bo-Peep + Little Boy Blue + Willie's Question + King Cole + Said and Did + Dr. Doddridge's Dog + The Girl that Lost Things + A Make-Believe + The Christmas Child + A Christmas Prayer + No End of No-Story + +A THREEFOLD CORD-- + Dedication + The Haunted House + In the Winter + Christmas Day, 1878 + The New Year + Two Rondels + Rondel + Song + Smoke + To a Certain Critic + Song + A Cry + From Home + To My Mother Earth + Thy Heart + 0 Lord, how Happy + No Sign + November, 1851 + Of One who Died in Spring + An Autumn Song + Triolet + I See Thee Not + A Broken Prayer + Come Down + A Mood + The Carpenter + The Old Garden + A Noonday Melody + Who Lights the Fire? + Who would have Thought? + On a December Day + Christmas Day, 1850 + To a February Primrose + In February + The True + The Dwellers Therein + Autumn's Gold + Punishment + Shew us the Father + The Pinafore + The Prism + Sleep + Sharing + In Bonds + Hunger + New Year's Eve: A Waking Dream + From North Wales: To the Mother + Come to Me + A Fear + The Lost House + The Talk of the Echoes + The Goal + The Healer + Oh that a Wind + A Vision of St. Eligius + Of the Son of Man + A Song-Sermon + Words in the Night + Consider the Ravens + The Wind of the World + Sabbath Bells + Fighting + After the Fashion of an Old Emblem + A Prayer in Sickness + Quiet Dead + Let your Light so Shine + Triolet + The Souls' Rising + Awake + To an Autograph-Hunter + With a Copy of "In Memoriam" + They are Blind + When the Storm was Proudest + The Diver + To the Clouds + Second Sight + Not Understood + Hom II. v. 403 + The Dawn + Galileo + Subsidy + The Prophet + The Watcher + The Beloved Disciple + The Lily of the Valley + Evil Influence + Spoken of several Philosophers + Nature a Moral Power + To June + Summer + On a Midge + Steadfast + Provision + First Sight of the Sea + On the Source of the Arve + Confidence + Fate + Unrest + One with Nature + My Two Geniuses + Sudden Calm + Thou Also + The Aurora Borealis + The Human + Written on a Stormy Night + Reverence waking Hope + Born of Water + To a Thunder-Cloud + Sun and Moon + Doubt heralding Vision + Life or Death? + Lost and Found + The Moon + Truth, not Form + God in Growth + In a Churchyard + Power + Death + That Holy Thing + From Novalis + What Man is there of You? + O Wind of God + Shall the Dead praise Thee? + A Year-Song + Song + For where your Treasure is, there will your Heart be also + The Asthmatic Man to the Satan that binds him + Song-Sermon + Shadows + A Winter Prayer + Song of a Poor Pilgrim + An Evening Prayer + Song-Sermon + A Dream-Song + Christmas, 1880 + Rondel + The Sparrow + December 23, 1879 + Song-Prayer + December 27, 1879 + Sunday, December 28, 1879 + Song-Sermon + The Donkey in the Cart to the Horse in the Carriage + Room to Roam + Cottage Songs-- + 1. By the Cradle + 2. Sweeping the Floor + 3. Washing the Clothes + 4. Drawing Water + 5. Cleaning the Windows + The Wind and the Moon + The Foolish Harebell + Song + An Improvisation + Equity + Contrition + The Consoler + To ------. + To a Sister + The Shortest and Sweetest of Songs + +SCOTS SONGS AND BALLADS-- + Annie she's Dowie + O Lassie ayont the Hill! + The bonny, bonny Dell + Nannie Braw + Ower the Hedge + Gaein and Comin + A Sang o' Zion + Time and Tide + The Waesome Carl + The Mermaid + The Yerl o' Waterydeck + The Twa Gordons + The Last Wooin + Halloween + The Laverock + Godly Ballants-- + 1. This Side an' That + 2. The Twa Baubees + 3. Wha's my Neibour? + 4. Him wi' the Bag + 5. The Coorse Cratur + The Deil's Forhooit his Ain + The Auld Fisher + The Herd and the Mavis + A Lown Nicht + The Home of Death + Triolet + Win' that Blaws + A Song of Hope + The Burnie + Hame + The Sang o' the Auld Fowk + The Auld Man's Prayer + Granny Canty + Time + What the Auld Fowk are Thinkin + Greitna, Father + I Ken Something + Mirls + + + + + PARABLES + + + +_THE MAN OF SONGS._ + +"Thou wanderest in the land of dreams, + O man of many songs! +To thee what is, but looks and seems; + No realm to thee belongs!" + +"Seest thou those mountains, faint and far, + O spirit caged and tame?" +"Blue clouds like distant hills they are, + And like is not the same." + +"Nay, nay; I know each mountain well, + Each cliff, and peak, and dome! +In that cloudland, in one high dell, + Nesteth my little home." + + + +_THE HILLS._ + +Behind my father's cottage lies + A gentle grassy height +Up which I often ran--to gaze + Back with a wondering sight, +For then the chimneys I thought high + Were down below me quite! + +All round, where'er I turned mine eyes, + Huge hills closed up the view; +The town 'mid their converging roots + Was clasped by rivers two; +From, one range to another sprang + The sky's great vault of blue. + +It was a joy to climb their sides, + And in the heather lie! +A joy to look at vantage down + On the castle grim and high! +Blue streams below, white clouds above, + In silent earth and sky! + +And now, where'er my feet may roam, + At sight of stranger hill +A new sense of the old delight + Springs in my bosom still, +And longings for the high unknown + Their ancient channels fill. + +For I am always climbing hills, + From the known to the unknown-- +Surely, at last, on some high peak, + To find my Father's throne, +Though hitherto I have only found + His footsteps in the stone! + +And in my wanderings I did meet + Another searching too: +The dawning hope, the shared quest + Our thoughts together drew; +Fearless she laid her band in mine + Because her heart was true. + +She was not born among the hills, + Yet on each mountain face +A something known her inward eye + By inborn light can trace; +For up the hills must homeward be, + Though no one knows the place. + +Clasp my hand close, my child, in thine-- + A long way we have come! +Clasp my hand closer yet, my child, + Farther we yet must roam-- +Climbing and climbing till we reach + Our heavenly father's home. + + + +_THE JOURNEY._ + +I. + +Hark, the rain is on my roof! +Every murmur, through the dark, +Stings me with a dull reproof +Like a half-extinguished spark. +Me! ah me! how came I here, +Wide awake and wide alone! +Caught within a net of fear, +All my dreams undreamed and gone! + +I will rise; I will go forth. +Better dare the hideous night, +Better face the freezing north +Than be still, where is no light! +Black wind rushing round me now, +Sown with arrowy points of rain! +Gone are there and then and now-- +I am here, and so is pain! + +Dead in dreams the gloomy street! +I will out on open roads. +Eager grow my aimless feet-- +Onward, onward something goads! +I will take the mountain path, +Beard the storm within its den; +Know the worst of this dim wrath +Harassing the souls of men. + +Chasm 'neath chasm! rock piled on rock! +Roots, and crumbling earth, and stones! +Hark, the torrent's thundering shock! +Hark, the swaying pine tree's groans! +Ah! I faint, I fall, I die, +Sink to nothingness away!-- +Lo, a streak upon the sky! +Lo, the opening eye of day! + +II. + +Mountain summits lift their snows +O'er a valley green and low; +And a winding pathway goes +Guided by the river's flow; +And a music rises ever, +As of peace and low content, +From the pebble-paven river +Like an odour upward sent. + +And the sound of ancient harms +Moans behind, the hills among, +Like the humming of the swarms +That unseen the forest throng. +Now I meet the shining rain +From a cloud with sunny weft; +Now against the wind I strain, +Sudden burst from mountain cleft. + +Now a sky that hath a moon +Staining all the cloudy white +With a faded rainbow--soon +Lost in deeps of heavenly night! +Now a morning clear and soft, +Amber on the purple hills; +Warm blue day of summer, oft +Cooled by wandering windy rills! + +Joy to travel thus along +With the universe around! +Every creature of the throng, +Every sight and scent and sound +Homeward speeding, beauty-laden, +Beelike, to its hive, my soul! +Mine the eye the stars are made in! +Mine the heart of Nature's whole! + +III. + +Hills retreating on each hand +Slowly sink into the plain; +Solemn through the outspread land +Rolls the river to the main. +In the glooming of the night +Something through the dusky air +Doubtful glimmers, faintly white, +But I know not what or where. + +Is it but a chalky ridge +Bared of sod, like tree of bark? +Or a river-spanning bridge +Miles away into the dark? +Or the foremost leaping waves +Of the everlasting sea, +Where the Undivided laves +Time with its eternity? + +Is it but an eye-made sight, +In my brain a fancied gleam? +Or a faint aurora-light +From the sun's tired smoking team? +In the darkness it is gone, +Yet with every step draws nigh; +Known shall be the thing unknown +When the morning climbs the sky! + +Onward, onward through the night +Matters it I cannot see? +I am moving in a might +Dwelling in the dark and me! +End or way I cannot lose-- +Grudge to rest, or fear to roam; +All is well with wanderer whose +Heart is travelling hourly home. + +IV. + +Joy! O joy! the dawning sea +Answers to the dawning sky, +Foretaste of the coming glee +When the sun will lord it high! +See the swelling radiance growing +To a dazzling glory-might! +See the shadows gently going +'Twixt the wave-tops wild with light! + +Hear the smiting billows clang! +See the falling billows lean +Half a watery vault, and hang +Gleaming with translucent green, +Then in thousand fleeces fall, +Thundering light upon the strand!-- +This the whiteness which did call +Through the dusk, across the land! + +See, a boat! Out, out we dance! +Fierce blasts swoop upon my sail! +What a terrible expanse-- +Tumbling hill and heaving dale! +Stayless, helpless, lost I float, +Captive to the lawless free! +But a prison is my boat! +Oh, for petrel-wings to flee! + +Look below: each watery whirl +Cast in beauty's living mould! +Look above: each feathery curl +Dropping crimson, dropping gold!-- +Oh, I tremble in the flush +Of the everlasting youth! +Love and awe together rush: +I am free in God, the Truth! + + + +_THE TREE'S PRAYER_. + +Alas, 'tis cold and dark! +The wind all night hath sung a wintry tune! +Hail from black clouds that swallowed up the moon +Beat, beat against my bark. + +Oh! why delays the spring? +Not yet the sap moves in my frozen veins; +Through all my stiffened roots creep numbing pains, +That I can hardly cling. + +The sun shone yester-morn; +I felt the glow down every fibre float, +And thought I heard a thrush's piping note +Of dim dream-gladness born. + +Then, on the salt gale driven, +The streaming cloud hissed through my outstretched arms, +Tossed me about in slanting snowy swarms, +And blotted out the heaven. + +All night I brood and choose +Among past joys. Oh, for the breath of June! +The feathery light-flakes quavering from the moon +The slow baptizing dews! + +Oh, the joy-frantic birds!-- +They are the tongues of us, mute, longing trees! +Aha, the billowy odours! and the bees +That browse like scattered herds! + +The comfort-whispering showers +That thrill with gratefulness my youngest shoot! +The children playing round my deep-sunk root, +Green-caved from burning hours! + +See, see the heartless dawn, +With naked, chilly arms latticed across! +Another weary day of moaning loss +On the thin-shadowed lawn! + +But icy winter's past; +Yea, climbing suns persuade the relenting wind: +I will endure with steadfast, patient mind; +My leaves _will_ come at last! + + + +_WERE I A SKILFUL PAINTER._ + +Were I a skilful painter, +My pencil, not my pen, +Should try to teach thee hope and fear, +And who would blame me then?-- +Fear of the tide of darkness +That floweth fast behind, +And hope to make thee journey on +In the journey of the mind. + +Were I a skilful painter, +What should I paint for thee?-- +A tiny spring-bud peeping out +From a withered wintry tree; +The warm blue sky of summer +O'er jagged ice and snow, +And water hurrying gladsome out +From a cavern down below; + +The dim light of a beacon +Upon a stormy sea, +Where a lonely ship to windward beats +For life and liberty; +A watery sun-ray gleaming +Athwart a sullen cloud +And falling on some grassy flower +The rain had earthward bowed; + +Morn peeping o'er a mountain, +In ambush for the dark, +And a traveller in the vale below +Rejoicing like a lark; +A taper nearly vanished +Amid the dawning gray, +And a maiden lifting up her head, +And lo, the coming day! + +I am no skilful painter; +Let who will blame me then +That I would teach thee hope and fear +With my plain-talking pen!-- +Fear of the tide of darkness +That floweth fast behind, +And hope to make thee journey on +In the journey of the mind. + + + +_FAR AND NEAR_. +[The fact which suggested this poem is related by Clarke in his Travels.] + +I. + +Blue sky above, blue sea below, + Far off, the old Nile's mouth, +'Twas a blue world, wherein did blow + A soft wind from the south. + +In great and solemn heaves the mass + Of pulsing ocean beat, +Unwrinkled as the sea of glass + Beneath the holy feet. + +With forward leaning of desire + The ship sped calmly on, +A pilgrim strong that would not tire + Or hasten to be gone. + +II. + +List!--on the wave!--what can they be, + Those sounds that hither glide? +No lovers whisper tremulously + Under the ship's round side! + +No sail across the dark blue sphere + Holds white obedient way; +No far-fled, sharp-winged boat is near, + No following fish at play! + +'Tis not the rippling of the wave, + Nor sighing of the cords; +No winds or waters ever gave + A murmur so like words; + +Nor wings of birds that northward strain, + Nor talk of hidden crew: +The traveller questioned, but in vain-- + He found no answer true. + +III. + +A hundred level miles away, + On Egypt's troubled shore, +Two nations fought, that sunny day, + With bellowing cannons' roar. + +The fluttering whisper, low and near, + Was that far battle's blare; +A lipping, rippling motion here, + The blasting thunder there. + +IV. + +Can this dull sighing in my breast + So faint and undefined, +Be the worn edge of far unrest + Borne on the spirit's wind? + +The uproar of high battle fought + Betwixt the bond and free, +The thunderous roll of armed thought + Dwarfed to an ache in me? + + + +_MY ROOM_ + +To G. E. M. + + 'Tis a little room, my friend-- +Baby walks from end to end; +All the things look sadly real +This hot noontide unideal; +Vaporous heat from cope to basement +All you see outside the casement, +Save one house all mud-becrusted, +And a street all drought-bedusted! +There behold its happiest vision, +Trickling water-cart's derision! +Shut we out the staring space, +Draw the curtains in its face! + + Close the eyelids of the room, +Fill it with a scarlet gloom: +Lo, the walls with warm flush dyed! +Lo, the ceiling glorified, +As when, lost in tenderest pinks, +White rose on the red rose thinks! +But beneath, a hue right rosy, +Red as a geranium-posy, +Stains the air with power estranging, +Known with unknown clouding, changing. +See in ruddy atmosphere +Commonplaceness disappear! +Look around on either hand-- +Are we not in fairyland? + + On that couch, inwrapt in mist +Of vaporized amethyst, +Lie, as in a rose's heart: +Secret things I would impart; +Any time you would believe them-- +Easier, though, you will receive them +Bathed in glowing mystery +Of the red light shadowy; +For this ruby-hearted hue, +Sanguine core of all the true, +Which for love the heart would plunder +Is the very hue of wonder; +This dissolving dreamy red +Is the self-same radiance shed +From the heart of poet young, +Glowing poppy sunlight-stung: +If in light you make a schism +'Tis the deepest in the prism. + + This poor-seeming room, in fact +Is of marvels all compact, +So disguised by common daylight +By its disenchanting gray light, +Only eyes that see by shining, +Inside pierce to its live lining. +Loftiest observatory +Ne'er unveiled such hidden glory; +Never sage's furnace-kitchen +Magic wonders was so rich in; +Never book of wizard old +Clasped such in its iron hold. + + See that case against the wall, +Darkly-dull-purpureal!-- +A piano to the prosy, +But to us in twilight rosy-- +What?--A cave where Nereids lie, +Naiads, Dryads, Oreads sigh, +Dreaming of the time when they +Danced in forest and in bay. +In that chest before your eyes +Nature self-enchanted lies;-- +Lofty days of summer splendour; +Low dim eves of opal tender; +Airy hunts of cloud and wind; +Brooding storm--below, behind; +Awful hills and midnight woods; +Sunny rains in solitudes; +Babbling streams in forests hoar; +Seven-hued icebergs; oceans frore.-- +Yes; did I not say _enchanted_, +That is, hid away till wanted? +Do you hear a low-voiced singing? +'Tis the sorceress's, flinging +Spells around her baby's riot, +Binding her in moveless quiet:-- +She at will can disenchant them, +And to prayer believing grant them. + + You believe me: soon will night +Free her hands for fair delight; +Then invoke her--she will come. +Fold your arms, be blind and dumb. +She will bring a book of spells +Writ like crabbed oracles; +Like Sabrina's will her hands +Thaw the power of charmed bands. +First will ransomed music rush +Round thee in a glorious gush; +Next, upon its waves will sally, +Like a stream-god down a valley, +Nature's self, the formless former, +Nature's self, the peaceful stormer; +She will enter, captive take thee, +And both one and many make thee, +One by softest power to still thee, +Many by the thoughts that fill thee.-- +Let me guess three guesses where +She her prisoner will bear! + + On a mountain-top you stand +Gazing o'er a sunny land; +Shining streams, like silver veins, +Rise in dells and meet in plains; +Up yon brook a hollow lies +Dumb as love that fears surprise; +Moorland tracts of broken ground +O'er it rise and close it round: +He who climbs from bosky dale +Hears the foggy breezes wail. +Yes, thou know'st the nest of love, +Know'st the waste around, above! +In thy soul or in thy past, +Straight it melts into the vast, +Quickly vanishes away +In a gloom of darkening gray. + + Sinks the sadness into rest, +Ripple like on water's breast: +Mother's bosom rests the daughter-- +Grief the ripple, love the water; +And thy brain like wind-harp lies +Breathed upon from distant skies, +Till, soft-gathering, visions new +Grow like vapours in the blue: +White forms, flushing hyacinthine, +Move in motions labyrinthine; +With an airy wishful gait +On the counter-motion wait; +Sweet restraint and action free +Show the law of liberty; +Master of the revel still +The obedient, perfect will; +Hating smallest thing awry, +Breathing, breeding harmony; +While the god-like graceful feet, +For such mazy marvelling meet, +Press from air a shining sound, +Rippling after, lingering round: +Hair afloat and arms aloft +Fill the chord of movement soft. + + Gone the measure polyhedral! +Towers aloft a fair cathedral! +Every arch--like praying arms +Upward flung in love's alarms, +Knit by clasped hands o'erhead-- +Heaves to heaven a weight of dread; +In thee, like an angel-crowd, +Grows the music, praying loud, +Swells thy spirit with devotion +As a strong wind swells the ocean, +Sweeps the visioned pile away, +Leaves thy heart alone to pray. + + As the prayer grows dim and dies +Like a sunset from the skies, +Glides another change of mood +O'er thy inner solitude: +Girt with Music's magic zone, +Lo, thyself magician grown! +Open-eyed thou walk'st through earth +Brooding on the aeonian birth +Of a thousand wonder-things +In divine dusk of their springs: +Half thou seest whence they flow, +Half thou seest whither go-- +Nature's consciousness, whereby +On herself she turns her eye, +Hoping for all men and thee +Perfected, pure harmony. + + But when, sinking slow, the sun +Leaves the glowing curtain dun, +I, of prophet-insight reft, +Shall be dull and dreamless left; +I must hasten proof on proof, +Weaving in the warp my woof! + + What are those upon the wall, +Ranged in rows symmetrical? +Through the wall of things external +Posterns they to the supernal; +Through Earth's battlemented height +Loopholes to the Infinite; +Through locked gates of place and time, +Wickets to the eternal prime +Lying round the noisy day +Full of silences alway. + + That, my friend? Now, it is curious +You should hit upon the spurious! +'Tis a door to nowhere, that; +Never soul went in thereat; +Lies behind, a limy wall +Hung with cobwebs, that is all. + + Do not open that one yet, +Wait until the sun is set. +If you careless lift its latch +Glimpse of nothing will you catch; +Mere negation, blank of hue, +Out of it will stare at you; +Wait, I say, the coming night, +Fittest time for second sight, +Then the wide eyes of the mind +See far down the Spirit's wind. +You may have to strain and pull, +Force and lift with cunning tool, +Ere the rugged, ill-joined door +Yield the sight it stands before: +When at last, with grating sweep, +Wide it swings--behold, the deep! + + Thou art standing on the verge +Where material things emerge; +Hoary silence, lightning fleet, +Shooteth hellward at thy feet! +Fear not thou whose life is truth, +Gazing will renew thy youth; +But where sin of soul or flesh +Held a man in spider-mesh, +It would drag him through that door, +Give him up to loreless lore, +Ages to be blown and hurled +Up and down a deedless world. + + Ah, your eyes ask how I brook +Doors that are not, doors to look! +That is whither I was tending, +And it brings me to good ending. + + Baby is the cause of this; +Odd it seems, but so it is;-- +Baby, with her pretty prate +Molten, half articulate, +Full of hints, suggestions, catches, +Broken verse, and music snatches! +She, like seraph gone astray, +Must be shown the homeward way; +Plant of heaven, she, rooted lowly, +Must put forth a blossom holy, +Must, through culture high and steady, +Slow unfold a gracious lady; +She must therefore live in wonder, +See nought common up or under; +She the moon and stars and sea, +Worm and butterfly and bee, +Yea, the sparkle in a stone, +Must with marvel look upon; +She must love, in heaven's own blueness, +Both the colour and the newness; +Must each day from darkness break, +Often often come awake, +Never with her childhood part, +Change the brain, but keep the heart. + + So, from lips and hands and looks, +She must learn to honour books, +Turn the leaves with careful fingers, +Never lean where long she lingers; +But when she is old enough +She must learn the lesson rough +That to seem is not to be, +As to know is not to see; +That to man or book, _appearing_ +Gives no title to revering; +That a pump is not a well, +Nor a priest an oracle: +This to leave safe in her mind, +I will take her and go find +Certain no-books, dreary apes, +Tell her they are mere mock-shapes +No more to be honoured by her +But be laid upon the fire; +Book-appearance must not hinder +Their consuming to a cinder. + + Would you see the small immortal +One short pace within Time's portal? +I will fetch her.--Is she white? +Solemn? true? a light in light? +See! is not her lily-skin +White as whitest ermelin +Washed in palest thinnest rose? +Very thought of God she goes, +Ne'er to wander, in her dance, +Out of his love-radiance! + + But, my friend, I've rattled plenty +To suffice for mornings twenty! +I should never stop of course, +Therefore stop I will perforce.-- +If I led them up, choragic, +To reveal their nature magic, +Twenty things, past contradiction, +Yet would prove I spoke no fiction +Of the room's belongings cryptic +Read by light apocalyptic: +There is that strange thing, glass-masked, +With continual questions tasked, +Ticking with untiring rock: +It is called an eight-day clock, +But to me the thing appears +Busy winding up the years, +Drawing on with coiling chain +The epiphany again. + + + +_DEATH AND BIRTH_. + +'Tis the midnight hour; I heard +The Abbey-bell give out the word. +Seldom is the lamp-ray shed +On some dwarfed foot-farer's head +In the deep and narrow street +Lying ditch-like at my feet +Where I stand at lattice high +Downward gazing listlessly +From my house upon the rock, +Peak of earth's foundation-block. + + There her windows, every story, +Shine with far-off nebulous glory! +Round her in that luminous cloud +Stars obedient press and crowd, +She the centre of all gazing, +She the sun her planets dazing! +In her eyes' victorious lightning +Some are paling, some are brightening: +Those on which they gracious turn, +Stars combust, all tenfold burn; +Those from which they look away +Listless roam in twilight gray! +When on her my looks I bent +Wonder shook me like a tent, +And my eyes grew dim with sheen, +Wasting light upon its queen! +But though she my eyes might chain, +Rule my ebbing flowing brain, +Truth alone, without, within, +Can the soul's high homage win! + + He, I do not doubt, is there +Who unveiled my idol fair! +And I thank him, grateful much, +Though his end was none of such. +He from shapely lips of wit +Let the fire-flakes lightly flit, +Scorching as the snow that fell +On the damned in Dante's hell; +With keen, gentle opposition, +Playful, merciless precision, +Mocked the sweet romance of youth +Balancing on spheric truth; +He on sense's firm set plane +Rolled the unstable ball amain: +With a smile she looked at me, +Stung my soul, and set me free. + + Welcome, friend! Bring in your bricks. +Mortar there? No need to mix? +That is well. And picks and hammers? +Verily these are no shammers!-- +There, my friend, build up that niche, +That one with the painting rich! + + Yes, you're right; it is a show +Picture seldom can bestow; +City palaces and towers, +Terraced gardens, twilight bowers, +Vistas deep through swaying masts, +Pennons flaunting in the blasts: +Build; my room it does not fit; +Brick-glaze is the thing for it! + + Yes, a window you may call it; +Not the less up you must wall it: +In that niche the dead world lies; +Bury death, and free mine eyes. + + There were youths who held by me, +Said I taught, yet left them free: +Will they do as I said then? +God forbid! As ye are men, +Find the secret--follow and find! +All forget that lies behind; +Me, the schools, yourselves, forsake; +In your souls a silence make; +Hearken till a whisper come, +Listen, follow, and be dumb. + + There! 'tis over; I am dead! +Of my life the broken thread +Here I cast out of my hand!-- +O my soul, the merry land! +On my heart the sinking vault +Of my ruining past makes halt; +Ages I could sit and moan +For the shining world that's gone! + + Haste and pierce the other wall; +Break an opening to the All! +Where? No matter; done is best. +Kind of window? Let that rest: +Who at morning ever lies +Pondering how to ope his eyes! + + I bethink me: we must fall +On the thinnest of the wall! +There it must be, in that niche!-- +No, the deepest--that in which +Stands the Crucifix. + + You start?-- +Ah, your half-believing heart +Shrinks from that as sacrilege, +Or, at least, upon its edge! +Worse than sacrilege, I say, +Is it to withhold the day +From the brother whom thou knowest +For the God thou never sawest! + + Reverently, O marble cold, +Thee in living arms I fold! +Thou who art thyself the way +From the darkness to the day, +Window, thou, to every land, +Wouldst not one dread moment stand +Shutting out the air and sky +And the dayspring from on high! +Brother with the rugged crown, +Gently thus I lift thee down! + + Give me pick and hammer; you +Stand aside; the deed I'll do. +Yes, in truth, I have small skill, +But the best thing is the will. + + Stroke on stroke! The frescoed plaster +Clashes downward, fast and faster. +Hark, I hear an outer stone +Down the rough rock rumbling thrown! +There's a cranny! there's a crack! +The great sun is at its back! +Lo, a mass is outward flung! +In the universe hath sprung! + + See the gold upon the blue! +See the sun come blinding through! +See the far-off mountain shine +In the dazzling light divine! +Prisoned world, thy captive's gone! +Welcome wind, and sky, and sun! + + + +_LOVE'S ORDEAL._ + +A recollection and attempted completion of a prose fragment read in +boyhood. + + "Hear'st thou that sound upon the window pane?" +Said the youth softly, as outstretched he lay +Where for an hour outstretched he had lain-- +Softly, yet with some token of dismay. +Answered the maiden: "It is but the rain +That has been gathering in the west all day! +Why shouldst thou hearken so? Thine eyelids close, +And let me gather peace from thy repose." + + "Hear'st thou that moan creeping along the ground?" +Said the youth, and his veiling eyelids rose +From deeps of lightning-haunted dark profound +Ruffled with herald blasts of coming woes. +"I hear it," said the maiden; "'tis the sound +Of a great wind that here not seldom blows; +It swings the huge arms of the dreary pine, +But thou art safe, my darling, clasped in mine." + + "Hear'st thou the baying of my hounds?" said he; +"Draw back the lattice bar and let them in." +From a rent cloud the moonlight, ghostily, +Slid clearer to the floor, as, gauntly thin, +She opening, they leaped through with bound so free, +Then shook the rain-drops from their shaggy skin. +The maiden closed the shower-bespattered glass, +Whose spotted shadow through the room did pass. + + The youth, half-raised, was leaning on his hand, +But, when again beside him sat the maid, +His eyes for one slow minute having scanned +Her moonlit face, he laid him down, and said, +Monotonous, like solemn-read command: +"For Love is of the earth, earthy, and is laid +Lifeless at length back in the mother-tomb." +Strange moanings from the pine entered the room. + + And then two shadows like the shadow of glass, +Over the moonbeams on the cottage floor, +As wind almost as thin and shapeless, pass; +A sound of rain-drops came about the door, +And a soft sighing as of plumy grass; +A look of sorrowing doubt the youth's face wore; +The two great hounds half rose; with aspect grim +They eyed his countenance by the taper dim. + + Shadow nor moaning sound the maiden noted, +But on his face dwelt her reproachful look; +She doubted whether he the saying had quoted +Out of some evil, earth-begotten book, +Or up from his deep heart, like bubbles, had floated +Words which no maiden ever yet could brook; +But his eyes held the question, "Yea or No?" +Therefore the maiden answered, "Nay, not so; + + "Love is of heaven, eternal." Half a smile +Just twinned his lips: shy, like all human best, +A hopeful thought bloomed out, and lived a while; +He looked one moment like a dead man blest-- +His soul a bark that in a sunny isle +At length had found the haven of its rest; +But he could not remain, must forward fare: +He spoke, and said with words abrupt and bare, + + "Maiden, I have loved other maidens." Pale +Her red lips grew. "I loved them, yes, but they +Successively in trial's hour did fail, +For after sunset clouds again are gray." +A sudden light shone through the fringy veil +That drooping hid her eyes; and then there lay +A stillness on her face, waiting; and then +The little clock rung out the hour of ten. + + Moaning once more the great pine-branches bow +To a soft plaining wind they would not stem. +Brooding upon her face, the youth said, "Thou +Art not more beautiful than some of them, +But a fair courage crowns thy peaceful brow, +Nor glow thine eyes, but shine serene like gem +That lamps from radiant store upon the dark +The light it gathered where its song the lark. + + "The horse that broke this day from grasp of three, +Thou sawest then the hand thou holdest, hold: +Ere two fleet hours are gone, that hand will be +Dry, big-veined, wrinkled, withered up and old!-- +No woman yet hath shared my doom with me." +With calm fixed eyes she heard till he had told; +The stag-hounds rose, a moment gazed at him, +Then laid them down with aspect yet more grim. + + Spake on the youth, nor altered look or tone: +"'Tis thy turn, maiden, to say no or dare."-- +Was it the maiden's, that importunate moan?-- +"At midnight, when the moon sets, wilt thou share +The terror with me? or must I go alone +To meet an agony that will not spare?" +She answered not, but rose to take her cloak; +He staid her with his hand, and further spoke. + + "Not yet," he said; "yet there is respite; see, +Time's finger points not yet to the dead hour! +Enough is left even now for telling thee +The far beginnings whence the fearful power +Of the great dark came shadowing down on me: +Red roses crowding clothe my love's dear bower-- +Nightshade and hemlock, darnel, toadstools white +Compass the place where I must lie to-night!" + + Around his neck the maiden put her arm +And knelt beside him leaning on his breast, +As o'er his love, to keep it strong and warm, +Brooding like bird outspread upon her nest. +And well the faith of her dear eyes might charm +All doubt away from love's primeval rest! +He hid his face upon her heart, and there +Spake on with voice like wind from lonely lair. + + A drearier moaning through the pine did go +As if a human voice complained and cried +For one long minute; then the sound grew low, +Sank to a sigh, and sighing sank and died. +Together at the silence two voices mow-- +His, and the clock's, which, loud grown, did divide +The hours into live moments--sparks of time +Scorching the soul that trembles for the chime. + + He spoke of sins ancestral, born in him +Impulses; of resistance fierce and wild; +Of failure weak, and strength reviving dim; +Self-hatred, dreariness no love beguiled; +Of storm, and blasting light, and darkness grim; +Of torrent paths, and tombs with mountains piled; +Of gulfs in the unsunned bosom of the earth; +Of dying ever into dawning birth. + + "But when I find a heart whose blood is wine; +Whose faith lights up the cold brain's passionless hour; +Whose love, like unborn rose-bud, will not pine, +But waits the sun and the baptizing shower-- +Till then lies hid, and gathers odours fine +To greet the human summer, when its flower +Shall blossom in the heart and soul and brain, +And love and passion be one holy twain-- + + "Then shall I rest, rest like the seven of yore; +Slumber divine will steep my outworn soul +And every stain dissolve to the very core. +She too will slumber, having found her goal. +Time's ocean o'er us will, in silence frore, +Aeonian tides of change-filled seasons roll, +And our long, dark, appointed period fill. +Then shall we wake together, loving still." + + Her face on his, her mouth to his mouth pressed, +Was all the answer of the trusting maid. +Close in his arms he held her to his breast +For one brief moment--would have yet assayed +Some deeper word her heart to strengthen, lest +It should though faithful be too much afraid; +But the clock gave the warning to the hour-- +And on the thatch fell sounds not of a shower. + + One long kiss, and the maiden rose. A fear +Lay, thin as a glassy shadow, on her heart; +She trembled as some unknown thing were near, +But smiled next moment--for they should not part! +The youth arose. With solemn-joyous cheer, +He helped the maid, whose trembling hands did thwart +Her haste to wrap her in her mantle's fold; +Then out they passed into the midnight cold. + + The moon was sinking in the dim green west, +Curled upward, half-way to the horizon's brink, +A leaf of glory falling to its rest, +The maiden's hand, still trembling, sought to link +Her arm to his, with love's instinctive quest, +But his enfolded her; hers did not sink, +But, thus set free, it stole his body round, +And so they walked, in freedom's fetters bound. + + Pressed to his side, she felt, like full-toned bell, +A mighty heart heave large in measured play; +But as the floating moon aye lower fell +Its bounding force did, by slow loss, decay. +It throbbed now like a bird; now like far knell +Pulsed low and faint! And now, with sick dismay, +She felt the arm relax that round her clung, +And from her circling arm he forward hung. + + His footsteps feeble, short his paces grow; +Her strength and courage mount and swell amain. +He lifted up his head: the moon lay low, +Nigh the world's edge. His lips with some keen pain +Quivered, but with a smile his eyes turned slow +Seeking in hers the balsam for his bane +And finding it--love over death supreme: +Like two sad souls they walked met in one dream.[A] + +[Note A: + +In a lovely garden walking + Two lovers went hand in hand; +Two wan, worn figures, talking + They sat in the flowery land. + +On the cheek they kissed one another, + On the mouth with sweet refrain; +Fast held they each the other, + And were young and well again. + +Two little bells rang shrilly-- + The dream went with the hour: +She lay in the cloister stilly, + He far in the dungeon-tower! + + _From Uhland._] + + Hanging his head, behind each came a hound, +Padding with gentle paws upon the road. +Straight silent pines rose here and there around; +A dull stream on the left side hardly flowed; +A black snake through the sluggish waters wound. +Hark, the night raven! see the crawling toad! +She thinks how dark will be the moonless night, +How feeblest ray is yet supernal light. + + The moon's last gleam fell on dim glazed eyes, +A body shrunken from its garments' fold: +An aged man whose bent knees could not rise, +He tottered in the maiden's tightening hold. +She shivered, but too slight was the disguise +To hide from love what never yet was old; +She held him fast, with open eyes did pray, +Walked through the fear, and kept the onward way. + + Toward a gloomy thicket of tall firs, +Dragging his inch-long steps, he turned aside. +There Silence sleeps; not one green needle stirs. +They enter it. A breeze begins to chide +Among the cones. It swells until it whirs, +Vibrating so each sharp leaf that it sighed: +The grove became a harp of mighty chords, +Wing-smote by unseen creatures wild for words. + + But when he turned again, toward the cleft +Of a great rock, as instantly it ceased, +And the tall pines stood sudden, as if reft +Of a strong passion, or from pain released; +Again they wove their straight, dark, motionless weft +Across the moonset-bars; and, west and east, +Cloud-giants rose and marched up cloudy stairs; +And like sad thoughts the bats came unawares. + + 'Twas a drear chamber for thy bridal night, +O poor, pale, saviour bride! An earthen lamp +With shaking hands he kindled, whose faint light +Mooned out a tiny halo on the damp +That filled the cavern to its unseen height, +Dim glimmering like death-candle in a swamp. +Watching the entrance, each side lies a hound, +With liquid light his red eyes gleaming round. + + A heap rose grave-like from the rocky floor +Of moss and leaves, by many a sunny wind +Long tossed and dried--with rich furs covered o'er +Expectant. Up a jealous glory shined +In her possessing heart: he should find more +In her than in those faithless! With sweet mind +She, praying gently, did herself unclothe, +And lay down by him, trusting, and not loath. + + Once more a wind came, flapping overhead; +The hounds pricked up their ears, their eyes flashed fire. +The trembling maiden heard a sudden tread-- +Dull, yet plain dinted on the windy gyre, +As if long, wet feet o'er smooth pavement sped-- +Come fiercely up, as driven by longing dire +To enter; followed sounds of hurried rout: +With bristling hair, the hounds stood looking out. + + Then came, half querulous, a whisper old, +Feeble and hollow as if shut in a chest: +"Take my face on your bosom; I am cold." +She bared her holy bosom's truth-white nest, +And forth her two hands instant went, love-bold, +And took the face, and close against her pressed: +Ah, the dead chill!--Was that the feet again?-- +But her great heart kept beating for the twain. + + She heard the wind fall, heard the following rain +Swelling the silent waters till their sound +Went wallowing through the night along the plain. +The lamp went out, by the slow darkness drowned. +Must the fair dawn a thousand years refrain? +Like centuries the feeble hours went round. +Eternal night entombed her with decay: +To her live soul she clasped the breathless clay. + + The world stood still. Her life sank down so low +That but for wretchedness no life she knew. +A charnel wind moaned out a moaning--_No_; +From the devouring heart of earth it blew. +Fair memories lost all their sunny glow: +Out of the dark the forms of old friends grew +But so transparent blanched with dole and smart +She saw the pale worm lying in each heart. + + And, worst of all--Oh death of keep-fled life! +A voice within her woke and cried: In sooth +Vain is all sorrow, hope, and care, and strife! +Love and its beauty, its tenderness and truth +Are shadows bred in hearts too fancy-rife, +Which melt and pass with sure-decaying youth: +Regard them, and they quiver, waver, blot; +Gaze at them fixedly, and they are not. + + And all the answer the poor child could make +Was in the tightened clasp of arms and hands. +Hopeless she lay, like one Death would not take +But still kept driving from his empty lands, +Yet hopeless held she out for his dear sake; +The darksome horror grew like drifting sands +Till nought was precious--neither God nor light, +And yet she braved the false, denying night. + + So dead was hope, that, when a glimmer weak +Stole through a fissure somewhere in the cave, +Thinning the clotted darkness on his cheek, +She thought her own tired eyes the glimmer gave: +He moved his head; she saw his eyes, love-meek, +And knew that Death was dead and filled the Grave. +Old age, convicted lie, had fled away! +Youth, Youth eternal, in her bosom lay! + + With a low cry closer to him she crept +And on his bosom hid a face that glowed: +It was his turn to comfort--he had slept! +Oh earth and sky, oh ever patient God, +She had not yielded, but the truth had kept! +New love, new bliss in weeping overflowed. +I can no farther tell the tale begun; +They are asleep, and waiting for the sun. + + + +_THE LOST SOUL_. + + Look! look there! +Send your eyes across the gray +By my finger-point away +Through the vaporous, fumy air. +Beyond the air, you see the dark? +Beyond the dark, the dawning day? +On its horizon, pray you, mark +Something like a ruined heap +Of worlds half-uncreated, that go back: +Down all the grades through which they rose +Up to harmonious life and law's repose, +Back, slow, to the awful deep +Of nothingness, mere being's lack: +On its surface, lone and bare, +Shapeless as a dumb despair, +Formless, nameless, something lies: +Can the vision in your eyes +Its idea recognize? + + 'Tis a poor lost soul, alack!-- +Half he lived some ages back; +But, with hardly opened eyes, +Thinking him already wise, +Down he sat and wrote a book; +Drew his life into a nook; +Out of it would not arise +To peruse the letters dim, +Graven dark on his own walls; +Those, he judged, were chance-led scrawls, +Or at best no use to him. +A lamp was there for reading these; +This he trimmed, sitting at ease, +For its aid to write his book, +Never at his walls to look-- +Trimmed and trimmed to one faint spark +Which went out, and left him dark.-- +I will try if he can hear +Spirit words with spirit ear! + + Motionless thing! who once, +Like him who cries to thee, +Hadst thy place with thy shining peers, +Thy changeful place in the changeless dance +Issuing ever in radiance +From the doors of the far eternity, +With feet that glitter and glide and glance +To the music-law that binds the free, +And sets the captive at liberty-- +To the clang of the crystal spheres! +O heart for love! O thirst to drink +From the wells that feed the sea! +O hands of truth, a human link +'Twixt mine and the Father's knee! +O eyes to see! O soul to think! +O life, the brother of me! +Has Infinitude sucked back all +The individual life it gave? +Boots it nothing to cry and call? +Is thy form an empty grave? + + It heareth not, brothers, the terrible thing! +Sounds no sense to its ear will bring! +Let us away, 'tis no use to tarry; +Love no light to its heart will carry! +Sting it with words, it will never shrink; +It will not repent, it cannot think! +Hath God forgotten it, alas! +Lost in eternity's lumber-room? +Will the wind of his breathing never pass +Over it through the insensate gloom? +Like a frost-killed bud on a tombstone curled, +Crumbling it lies on its crumbling world, +Sightless and deaf, with never a cry, +In the hell of its own vacuity! + + See, see yon angel crossing our flight +Where the thunder vapours loom, +From his upcast pinions flashing the light +Of some outbreaking doom! +Up, brothers! away! a storm is nigh! +Smite we the wing up a steeper sky! +What matters the hail or the clashing winds, +The thunder that buffets, the lightning that blinds! +We know by the tempest we do not lie +Dead in the pits of eternity! + + + +_THE THREE HORSES_. + +What shall I be?--I will be a knight + Walled up in armour black, +With a sword of sharpness, a hammer of might. + And a spear that will not crack-- +So black, so blank, no glimmer of light + Will betray my darkling track. + +Saddle my coal-black steed, my men, + Fittest for sunless work; +Old Night is steaming from her den, + And her children gather and lurk; +Bad things are creeping from the fen, + And sliding down the murk. + +Let him go!--let him go! Let him plunge!--Keep away! + He's a foal of the third seal's brood! +Gaunt with armour, in grim array + Of poitrel and frontlet-hood, +Let him go, a living castle, away-- + Right for the evil wood. + +I and Ravenwing on the course, + Heavy in fighting gear-- +Woe to the thing that checks our force, + That meets us in career! +Giant, enchanter, devil, or worse-- + What cares the couched spear! + +Slow through the trees zigzag I ride. + See! the goblins!--to and fro! +From the skull of the dark, on either side, + See the eyes of a dragon glow! +From the thickets the silent serpents glide-- + I pass them, I let them go; + +For somewhere in the evil night + A little one cries alone; +An aged knight, outnumbered in fight, + But for me will be stricken prone; +A lady with terror is staring white, + For her champion is overthrown. + +The child in my arms, to my hauberk prest, + Like a trembling bird will cling; +I will cover him over, in iron nest, + With my shield, my one steel wing, +And bear him home to his mother's breast, + A radiant, rescued thing. + +Spur in flank, and lance in rest, + On the old knight's foes I flash; +The caitiffs I scatter to east and west + With clang and hurtle and crash; +Leave them the law, as knaves learn it best, + In bruise, and breach, and gash. + +The lady I lift on my panting steed; + On the pommel she holds my mace; +Hand on bridle I gently lead + The horse at a gentle pace; +The thickets with martel-axe I heed, + For the wood is an evil place. + +What treasure is there in manly might + That hid in the bosom lies! +Who for the crying will not fight + Had better be he that cries! +A man is a knight that loves the right + And mounts for it till he dies. + +Alas, 'tis a dream of ages hoar! + In the fens no dragons won; +No giants from moated castles roar; + Through the forest wide roadways run; +Of all the deeds they did of yore + Not one is left to be done! + +If I should saddle old Ravenwing + And hie me out at night, +Scared little birds away would spring + An ill-shot arrow's flight: +The idle fancy away I fling, + Now I will dream aright! + +Let a youth bridle Twilight, my dapple-gray, + With broad rein and snaffle bit; +He must bring him round at break of day + When the shadows begin to flit, +When the darkness begins to dream away, + And the owls begin to sit. + +Ungraithed in plate or mail I go, + With only my sword--gray-blue +Like the scythe of the dawning come to mow + The night-sprung shadows anew +From the gates of the east, that, fair and slow, + Maid Morning may walk through. + +I seek no forest with darkness grim, + To the open land I ride; +Low light, from the broad horizon's brim, + Lies wet on the flowing tide, +And mottles with shadows dun and dim + The mountain's rugged side. + +Steadily, hasteless, o'er valley and hill. + O'er the moor, along the beach, +We ride, nor slacken our pace until + Some city of men we reach; +There, in the market, my horse stands still, + And I lift my voice and preach. + +Wealth and poverty, age and youth + Around me gather and throng; +I tell them of justice, of wisdom, of truth, + Of mercy, and law, and wrong; +My words are moulded by right and ruth + To a solemn-chanted song. + +They bring me questions which would be scanned, + That strife may be forgot; +Swerves my balance to neither hand, + The poor I favour no jot; +If a man withstand, out sweeps my brand. + I slay him upon the spot. + +But what if my eye have in it a beam + And therefore spy his mote? +Righteousness only, wisdom supreme + Can tell the sheep from the goat! +Not thus I dream a wise man's dream, + Not thus take Wrong by the throat! + +Lead Twilight home. I dare not kill; + The sword myself would scare.-- +When the sun looks over the eastern hill, + Bring out my snow-white mare: +One labour is left which no one will + Deny me the right to share! + +Take heed, my men, from crest to heel + Snow-white have no speck; +No curb, no bit her mouth must feel, + No tightening rein her neck; +No saddle-girth drawn with buckle of steel + Shall her mighty breathing check! + +Lay on her a cloth of silver sheen, + Bring me a robe of white; +Wherever we go we must be seen + By the shining of our light-- +A glistening splendour in forest green, + A star on the mountain-height. + +With jar and shudder the gates unclose; + Out in the sun she leaps! +A unit of light and power she goes + Levelling vales and steeps: +The wind around her eddies and blows, + Before and behind her sleeps. + +Oh joy, oh joy to ride the world + And glad, good tidings bear! +A flag of peace on the winds unfurled + Is the mane of my shining mare: +To the sound of her hoofs, lo, the dead stars hurled + Quivering adown the air! + +Oh, the sun and the wind! Oh, the life and the love! + Where the serpent swung all day +The loud dove coos to the silent dove; + Where the web-winged dragon lay +In its hole beneath, on the rock above + Merry-tongued children play. + +With eyes of light the maidens look up + As they sit in the summer heat +Twining green blade with golden cup-- + They see, and they rise to their feet; +I call aloud, for I must not stop, + "Good tidings, my sisters sweet!" + +For mine is a message of holy mirth + To city and land of corn; +Of praise for heaviness, plenty for dearth, + For darkness a shining morn: +Clap hands, ye billows; be glad, O earth, + For a child, a child is born! + +Lo, even the just shall live by faith! + None argue of mine and thine! +Old Self shall die an ecstatic death + And be born a thing divine, +For God's own being and God's own breath + Shall be its bread and wine. + +Ambition shall vanish, and Love be king, + And Pride to his darkness hie; +Yea, for very love of a living thing + A man would forget and die, +If very love were not the spring + Whence life springs endlessly! + +The myrtle shall grow where grew the thorn; + Earth shall be young as heaven; +The heart with remorse or anger torn + Shall weep like a summer even; +For to us a child, a child is born, + Unto us a son is given! + +Lord, with thy message I dare not ride! + I am a fool, a beast! +The little ones only from thy side + Go forth to publish thy feast! +And I, where but sons and daughters abide, + Would have walked about, a priest! + +Take Snow-white back to her glimmering stall; + There let her stand and feed!-- +I am overweening, ambitious, small, + A creature of pride and greed! +Let me wash the hoofs, let me be the thrall, + Jesus, of thy white steed! + + + +_THE GOLDEN KEY._ + +From off the earth the vapours curled, + Went up to meet their joy; +The boy awoke, and all the world + Was waiting for the boy! + +The sky, the water, the wide earth + Was full of windy play-- +Shining and fair, alive with mirth, + All for his holiday! + +The hill said "Climb me;" and the wood + "Come to my bosom, child; +Mine is a merry gamboling brood, + Come, and with them go wild." + +The shadows with the sunlight played, + The birds were singing loud; +The hill stood up with pines arrayed-- + He ran to join the crowd. + +But long ere noon, dark grew the skies, + Pale grew the shrinking sun: +"How soon," he said, "for clouds to rise + When day was but begun!" + +The wind grew rough; a wilful power + It swept o'er tree and town; +The boy exulted for an hour, + Then weary sat him down. + +And as he sat the rain began, + And rained till all was still: +He looked, and saw a rainbow span + The vale from hill to hill. + +He dried his tears. "Ah, now," he said, + "The storm was good, I see! +Yon pine-dressed hill, upon its head + I'll find the golden key!" + +He thrid the copse, he climbed the fence, + At last the top did scale; +But, lo, the rainbow, vanished thence, + Was shining in the vale! + +"Still, here it stood! yes, here," he said, + "Its very foot was set! +I saw this fir-tree through the red, + This through the violet!" + +He searched and searched, while down the skies + Went slow the slanting sun. +At length he lifted hopeless eyes, + And day was nearly done! + +Beyond the vale, above the heath, + High flamed the crimson west; +His mother's cottage lay beneath + The sky-bird's rosy breast. + +"Oh, joy," he cried, "not _all_ the way + Farther from home we go! +The rain will come another day + And bring another bow!" + +Long ere he reached his mother's cot, + Still tiring more and more, +The red was all one cold gray blot, + And night lay round the door. + +But when his mother stroked his head + The night was grim in vain; +And when she kissed him in his bed + The rainbow rose again. + +Soon, things that are and things that seem + Did mingle merrily; +He dreamed, nor was it all a dream, + His mother had the key. + + + +_SOMNIUM MYSTICI_ + +A Microcosm In Terza Rima. + +I. + +Quiet I lay at last, and knew no more + Whether I breathed or not, so worn I lay + With the death-struggle. What was yet before +Neither I met, nor turned from it away; + My only conscious being was the rest + Of pain gone dead--dead with the bygone day, +And long I could have lingered all but blest + In that half-slumber. But there came a sound + As of a door that opened--in the west +Somewhere I thought it. As the hare the hound, + The noise did start my eyelids and they rose. + I turned my eyes and looked. Then straight I found +It was my chamber-door that did unclose, + For a tall form up to my bedside drew. + Grand was it, silent, its very walk repose; +And when I saw the countenance, I knew + That I was lying in my chamber dead; + For this my brother--brothers such are few-- +That now to greet me bowed his kingly head, + Had, many years agone, like holy dove + Returning, from his friends and kindred sped, +And, leaving memories of mournful love, + Passed vanishing behind the unseen veil; + And though I loved him, all high words above. +Not for his loss then did I weep or wail, + Knowing that here we live but in a tent, + And, seeking home, shall find it without fail. +Feeble but eager, toward him my hands went-- + I too was dead, so might the dead embrace! + Taking me by the shoulders down he bent, +And lifted me. I was in sickly case, + But, growing stronger, stood up on the floor, + There turned, and once regarded my dead face +With curious eyes: its brow contentment wore, + But I had done with it, and turned away. + I saw my brother by the open door, +And followed him out into the night blue-gray. + The houses stood up hard in limpid air, + The moon hung in the heavens in half decay, +And all the world to my bare feet lay bare. + +II. + +Now I had suffered in my life, as they + Must suffer, and by slow years younger grow, + From whom the false fool-self must drop away, +Compact of greed and fear, which, gathered slow, + Darkens the angel-self that, evermore, + Where no vain phantom in or out shall go, +Moveless beholds the Father--stands before + The throne of revelation, waiting there, + With wings low-drooping on the sapphire-floor, +Until it find the Father's ideal fair, + And be itself at last: not one small thorn + Shall needless any pilgrim's garments tear; +And but to say I had suffered I would scorn + Save for the marvellous thing that next befell: + Sudden I grew aware I was new-born; +All pain had vanished in the absorbent swell + Of some exalting peace that was my own; + As the moon dwelt in heaven did calmness dwell +At home in me, essential. The earth's moan + Lay all behind. Had I then lost my part + In human griefs, dear part with them that groan? +"'Tis weariness!" I said; but with a start + That set it trembling and yet brake it not, + I found the peace was love. Oh, my rich heart! +For, every time I spied a glimmering spot + Of window pane, "There, in that silent room," + Thought I, "mayhap sleeps human heart whose lot +Is therefore dear to mine!" I cared for whom + I saw not, had not seen, and might not see! + After the love crept prone its shadow-gloom, +But instant a mightier love arose in me, + As in an ocean a single wave will swell, + And heaved the shadow to the centre: we +Had called it prayer, before on sleep I fell. + It sank, and left my sea in holy calm: + I gave each man to God, and all was well. +And in my heart stirred soft a sleeping psalm. + +III. + +No gentlest murmur through the city crept; + Not one lone word my brother to me had spoken; + But when beyond the city-gate we stept +I knew the hovering silence would be broken. + A low night wind came whispering: through and through + It did baptize me with the pledge and token +Of that soft spirit-wind which blows and blew + And fans the human world since evermore. + The very grass, cool to my feet, I knew +To be love also, and with the love I bore + To hold far sympathy, silent and sweet, + As having known the secret from of yore +In the eternal heart where all things meet, + Feelings and thinkings, and where still they are bred. + Sudden he stood, and with arrested feet +I also. Like a half-sunned orb, his head + Slow turned the bright side: lo, the brother-smile + That ancient human glory on me shed +Clothéd in which Jesus came forth to wile + Unto his bosom every labouring soul, + And all dividing passions to beguile +To winsome death, and then on them to roll + The blessed stone of the holy sepulchre! + "Thank God," he said, "thou also now art whole +And sound and well! For the keen pain, and stir + Uneasy, and sore grief that came to us all, + In that we knew not how the wine and myrrh +Could ever from the vinegar and gall + Be parted, are deep sunk, yea drowned in God; + And yet the past not folded in a pall, +But breathed upon, like Aaron's withered rod, + By a sweet light that brings the blossoms through, + Showing in dreariest paths that men have trod +Another's foot-prints, spotted of crimson hue, + Still on before wherever theirs did wend; + Yea, through the desert leading, of thyme and rue, +The desert souls in which young lions rend + And roar--the passionate who, to be blest, + Ravin as bears, and do not gain their end, +Because that, save in God, there is no rest." + +IV. + +Something my brother said to me like this, + But how unlike it also, think, I pray: + His eyes were music, and his smile a kiss; +Himself the word, his speech was but a ray + In the clear nimbus that with verity + Of absolute utterance made a home-born day +Of truth about him, lamping solemnly; + And when he paused, there came a swift repose, + Too high, too still to be called ecstasy-- +A purple silence, lanced through in the close + By such keen thought that, with a sudden smiling, + It grew sheen silver, hearted with burning rose. +He was a glory full of reconciling, + Of faithfulness, of love with no self-stain, + Of tenderness, and care, and brother-wiling +Back to the bosom of a speechless gain. + +V. + +I cannot tell how long we joyous talked, + For from my sense old time had vanished quite, + Space dim-remaining--for onward still we walked. +No sun arose to blot the pale, still night-- + Still as the night of some great spongy stone + That turns but once an age betwixt the light +And the huge shadow from its own bulk thrown, + And long as that to me before whose face + Visions so many slid, and veils were blown +Aside from the vague vast of Isis' grace. + Innumerous thoughts yet throng that infinite hour, + And hopes which greater hopes unceasing chase, +For I was all responsive to his power. + I saw my friends weep, wept, and let them weep; + I saw the growth of each grief-nurtured flower; +I saw the gardener watching--in their sleep + Wiping their tears with the napkin he had laid + Wrapped by itself when he climbed Hades' steep; +What wonder then I saw nor was dismayed! + I saw the dull, degraded monsters nursed + In money-marshes, greedy men that preyed +Upon the helpless, ground the feeblest worst; + Yea all the human chaos, wild and waste, + Where he who will not leave what God hath cursed +Now fruitless wallows, now is stung and chased + By visions lovely and by longings dire. + "But who believeth, he shall not make haste, +Even passing through the water and the fire, + Or sad with memories of a better lot! + He, saved by hope, for all men will desire, +Knowing that God into a mustard-jot + May shut an aeon; give a world that lay + Wombed in its sun, a molten unorbed clot, +One moment from the red rim to spin away + Librating--ages to roll on weary wheel + Ere it turn homeward, almost spent its day! +Who knows love all, time nothing, he shall feel + No anxious heart, shall lift no trembling hand; + Tender as air, but clothed in triple steel, +He for his kind, in every age and land, + Hoping will live; and, to his labour bent, + The Father's will shall, doing, understand." +So spake my brother as we onward went: + His words my heart received, as corn the lea, + And answered with a harvest of content. +We came at last upon a lonesome sea. + +VI. + +And onward still he went, I following + Out on the water. But the water, lo, + Like a thin sheet of glass, lay vanishing! +The starry host in glorious twofold show + Looked up, looked down. The moment I saw this, + A quivering fear thorough my heart did go: +Unstayed I walked across a twin abyss, + A hollow sphere of blue; nor floor was found + Of questing eye, only the foot met the kiss +Of the cool water lightly crisping round + The edges of the footsteps! Terror froze + My fallen eyelids. But again the sound +Of my guide's voice on the still air arose: + "Hast thou forgotten that we walk by faith? + For keenest sight but multiplies the shows. +Lift up thine eyelids; take a valiant breath; + Terrified, dare the terror in God's name; + Step wider; trust the invisible. Can Death +Avail no more to hearten up thy flame?" + I trembled, but I opened wide mine eyes, + And strode on the invisible sea. The same +High moment vanished all my cowardice, + And God was with me. The well-pleased stars + Threw quivering smiles across the gulfy skies, +The white aurora flashed great scimitars + From north to zenith; and again my guide + Full turned on me his face. No prison-bars +Latticed across a soul I there descried, + No weather-stains of grief; quiet age-long + Brooded upon his forehead clear and wide; +Yet from that face a pang shot, vivid and strong, + Into my heart. For, though I saw him stand + Close to me in the void as one in a throng, +Yet on the border of some nameless land + He stood afar; a still-eyed mystery + Caught him whole worlds away. Though in my hand +His hand I held, and, gazing earnestly, + Searched in his countenance, as in a mine, + For jewels of contentment, satisfy +My heart I could not. Seeming to divine + My hidden trouble, gently he stooped and kissed + My forehead, and his arms did round me twine, +And held me to his bosom. Still I missed + That ancient earthly nearness, when we shared + One bed, like birds that of no morrow wist; +Roamed our one father's farm; or, later, fared + Along the dusty highways of the old clime. + Backward he drew, and, as if he had bared +My soul, stood reading there a little time, + While in his eyes tears gathered slow, like dew + That dims the grass at evening or at prime, +But makes the stars clear-goldener in the blue: + And on his lips a faint ethereal smile + Hovered, as hangs the mist of its own hue +Trembling about a purple flower, the while + Evening grows brown. "Brother! brother!" I cried; + But straight outbursting tears my words beguile, +And in my bosom all the utterance died. + +VII. + +A moment more he stood, then softly sighed. + "I know thy pain; but this sorrow is far + Beyond my help," his voice at length replied +To my beseeching tears. "Look at yon star + Up from the low east half-way, all ablaze: + Think'st thou, because no cloud between doth mar +The liquid glory that from its visage rays, + Thou therefore knowest that same world on high, + Its people and its orders and its ways?" +"What meanest thou?" I said. "Thou know'st that + Would hold, not thy dear form, but the self-thee! + Thou art not near me! For thyself I cry!" +"Not the less near that nearer I shall be. + I have a world within thou dost not know-- + Would I could make thee know it! but all of me +Is thine, though thou not yet canst enter so + Into possession that betwixt us twain + The frolic homeliness of love should flow +As o'er the brim of childhood's cup again: + Away the deeper childhood first must wipe + That clouded consciousness which was our pain. +When in thy breast the godlike hath grown ripe, + And thou, Christ's little one, art ten times more + A child than when we played with drum and pipe +About our earthly father's happy door, + Then--" He ceased not; his holy utterance still + Flowing went on, like spring from hidden store +Of wasteless waters; but I wept my fill, + Nor heeded much the comfort of his speech. + At length he said: "When first I clomb the hill-- +With earthly words I heavenly things would reach-- + Where dwelleth now the man we used to call + Father, whose voice, oh memory dear! did teach +Us in our beds, when straight, as once a stall + Became a temple, holy grew the room, + Prone on the ground before him I did fall, +So grand he towered above me like a doom; + But now I look into the well-known face + Fearless, yea, basking blessed in the bloom +Of his eternal youthfulness and grace." + "But something separates us," yet I cried; + "Let light at least begin the dark to chase, +The dark begin to waver and divide, + And clear the path of vision. In the old time, + When clouds one heart did from the other hide, +A wind would blow between! If I would climb, + This foot must rise ere that can go up higher: + Some big A teach me of the eternal prime." +He answered me: "Hearts that to love aspire + Must learn its mighty harmony ere they can + Give out one perfect note in its great quire; +And thereto am I sent--oh, sent of one + Who makes the dumb for joy break out and sing: + He opens every door 'twixt man and man; +He to all inner chambers all will bring." + +VIII. + +It was enough; Hope waked from dreary swound, + And Hope had ever been enough for me, + To kennel driving grim Tomorrow's hound; +From chains of school and mode she set me free, + And urged my life to living.--On we went + Across the stars that underlay the sea, +And came to a blown shore of sand and bent. + Beyond the sand a marshy moor we crossed + Silent--I, for I pondered what he meant, +And he, that sacred speech might not be lost-- + And came at length upon an evil place: + Trees lay about like a half-buried host, +Each in its desolate pool; some fearful race + Of creatures was not far, for howls and cries + And gurgling hisses rose. With even pace +Walking, "Fear not," he said, "for this way lies + Our journey." On we went; and soon the ground + Slow from the waste began a gentle rise; +And tender grass in patches, then all round, + Came clouding up, with its fresh homely tinge + Of softest green cold-flushing every mound; +At length, of lowly shrubs a scattered fringe; + And last, a gloomy forest, almost blind, + For on its roof no sun-ray did impinge, +So that its very leaves did share the mind + Of a brown shadowless day. Not, all the year, + Once part its branches to let through a wind, +But all day long the unmoving trees appear + To ponder on the past, as men may do + That for the future wait without a fear, +And in the past the coming present view. + +IX. + +I know not if for days many or few + Pathless we thrid the wood; for never sun, + Its sylvan-traceried windows peeping through, +Mottled with brighter green the mosses dun, + Or meted with moving shadows Time the shade. + No life was there--not even a spider spun. +At length we came into a sky-roofed glade, + An open level, in a circle shut + By solemn trees that stood aside and made +Large room and lonely for a little hut + By grassy sweeps wide-margined from the wood. + 'Twas built of saplings old, that had been cut +When those great trees no larger by them stood; + Thick with an ancient moss, it seemed to have grown + Thus from the old brown earth, a covert rude, +Half-house, half-grave; half-lifted up, half-prone. + To its low door my brother led me. "There + Is thy first school," he said; "there be thou shown +Thy pictured alphabet. Wake a mind of prayer, + And praying enter." "But wilt thou not come, + Brother?" I said. "No," said he. And I, "Where +Then shall I find thee? Thou wilt not leave me dumb, + And a whole world of thoughts unuttered?" + With half-sad smile and dewy eyes, and some +Conflicting motions of his kingly head, + He pointed to the open-standing door. + I entered: inward, lo, my shadow led! +I turned: his countenance shone like lightning hoar! + Then slow he turned from me, and parted slow, + Like one unwilling, whom I should see no more; +With voice nor hand said, _Farewell, I must go!_ + But drew the clinging door hard to the post. + No dry leaves rustled 'neath his going; no +Footfalls came back from the departing ghost. + He was no more. I laid me down and wept; + I dared not follow him, restrained the most +By fear I should not see him if I leapt + Out after him with cries of pleading love. + Close to the wall, in hopeless loss, I crept; +There cool sleep came, God's shadow, from above. + +X. + +I woke, with calmness cleansed and sanctified-- + The peace that filled my heart of old, when I + Woke in my mother's lap; for since I died +The past lay bare, even to the dreaming shy + That shadowed my yet gathering unborn brain. + And, marvelling, on the floor I saw, close by +My elbow-pillowed head, as if it had lain + Beside me all the time I dreamless lay, + A little pool of sunlight, which did stain +The earthen brown with gold; marvelling, I say, + Because, across the sea and through the wood, + No sun had shone upon me all the way. +I rose, and through a chink the glade I viewed, + But all was dull as it had always been, + And sunless every tree-top round it stood, +With hardly light enough to show it green; + Yet through the broken roof, serenely glad, + By a rough hole entered that heavenly sheen. +Then I remembered in old years I had + Seen such a light--where, with dropt eyelids gloomed, + Sitting on such a floor, dark women sad +In a low barn-like house where lay entombed + Their sires and children; only there the door + Was open to the sun, which entering plumed +With shadowy palms the stones that on the floor + Stood up like lidless chests--again to find + That the soul needs no brain, but keeps her store +In hidden chambers of the eternal mind. + Thence backward ran my roused Memory + Down the ever-opening vista--back to blind +Anticipations while my soul did lie + Closed in my mother's; forward thence through bright + Spring morns of childhood, gay with hopes that fly +Bird-like across their doming blue and white, + To passionate summer noons, to saddened eves + Of autumn rain, so on to wintred night; +Thence up once more to the dewy dawn that weaves + Saffron and gold--weaves hope with still content, + And wakes the worship that even wrong bereaves +Of half its pain. And round her as she went + Hovered a sense as of an odour dear + Whose flower was far--as of a letter sent +Not yet arrived--a footstep coming near, + But, oh, how long delayed the lifting latch!-- + As of a waiting sun, ready to peer +Yet peering not--as of a breathless watch + Over a sleeping beauty--babbling rime + About her lips, but no winged word to catch! +And here I lay, the child of changeful Time + Shut in the weary, changeless Evermore, + A dull, eternal, fadeless, fruitless clime! +Was this the dungeon of my sinning sore-- + A gentle hell of loneliness, foredoomed + For such as I, whose love was yet the core +Of all my being? The brown shadow gloomed + Persistent, faded, warm. No ripple ran + Across the air, no roaming insect boomed. +"Alas," I cried, "I am no living man! + Better were darkness and the leave to grope + Than light that builds its own drear prison! Can +This be the folding of the wings of Hope?" + +XI. + +That instant--through the branches overhead + No sound of going went--a shadow fell + Isled in the unrippled pool of sunlight fed +From some far fountain hid in heavenly dell. + I looked, and in the low roofs broken place + A single snowdrop stood--a radiant bell +Of silvery shine, softly subdued by grace + Of delicate green that made the white appear + Yet whiter. Blind it bowed its head a space, +Half-timid--then, as in despite of fear, + Unfolded its three rays. If it had swung + Its pendent bell, and music golden clear-- +Division just entrancing sounds among-- + Had flickered down as tender as flakes of snow, + It had not shed more influence as it rung +Than from its look alone did rain and flow. + I knew the flower; perceived its human ways; + Dim saw the secret that had made it grow: +My heart supplied the music's golden phrase. + Light from the dark and snowdrops from the earth, + Life's resurrection out of gross decays, +The endless round of beauty's yearly birth, + And nations' rise and fall--were in the flower, + And read themselves in silence. Heavenly mirth +Awoke in my sad heart. For one whole hour + I praised the God of snowdrops. But at height + The bliss gave way. Next, faith began to cower; +And then the snowdrop vanished from my sight. + +XII. + +Last, I began in unbelief to say: + "No angel this! a snowdrop--nothing more! + A trifle which God's hands drew forth in play +From the tangled pond of chaos, dank and frore, + Threw on the bank, and left blindly to breed! + A wilful fancy would have gathered store +Of evanescence from the pretty weed, + White, shapely--then divine! Conclusion lame + O'erdriven into the shelter of a creed! +Not out of God, but nothingness it came: + Colourless, feeble, flying from life's heat, + It has no honour, hardly shunning shame!" +When, see, another shadow at my feet! + Hopeless I lifted now my weary head: + Why mock me with another heavenly cheat?-- +A primrose fair, from its rough-blanketed bed + Laughed, lo, my unbelief to heavenly scorn! + A sun-child, just awake, no prayer yet said, +Half rising from the couch where it was born, + And smiling to the world! I breathed again; + Out of the midnight once more dawned the morn, +And fled the phantom Doubt with all his train. + +XIII. + +I was a child once more, nor pondered life, + Thought not of what or how much. All my soul + With sudden births of lovely things grew rife. +In peeps a daisy: on the instant roll + Rich lawny fields, with red tips crowding the green, + Across the hollows, over ridge and knoll, +To where the rosy sun goes down serene. + From out of heaven in looks a pimpernel: + I walk in morning scents of thyme and bean; +Dewdrops on every stalk and bud and bell + Flash, like a jewel-orchard, many roods; + Glow ruby suns, which emerald suns would quell; +Topaz saint-glories, sapphire beatitudes + Blaze in the slanting sunshine all around; + Above, the high-priest-lark, o'er fields and woods-- +Rich-hearted with his five eggs on the ground-- + The sacrifice bore through the veil of light, + Odour and colour offering up in sound.-- +Filled heart-full thus with forms of lowly might + And shapeful silences of lovely lore, + I sat a child, happy with only sight, +And for a time I needed nothing more. + +XIV. + +Supine to the revelation I did lie, + Passive as prophet to his dreaming deep, + Or harp Aeolian to the breathing sky, +And blest as any child whom twilight sleep + Holds half, and half lets go. But the new day + Of higher need up-dawned with sudden leap: +"Ah, flowers," I said, "ye are divinely gay, + But your fair music is too far and fine! + Ye are full cups, yet reach not to allay +The drought of those for human love who pine + As the hart for water-brooks!" At once a face + Was looking in my face; its eyes through mine +Were feeding me with tenderness and grace, + And by their love I knew my mother's eyes. + Gazing in them, there grew in me apace +A longing grief, and love did swell and rise + Till weeping I brake out and did bemoan + My blameful share in bygone tears and cries: +"O mother, wilt thou plead for me?" I groan; + "I say not, plead with Christ, but plead with those + Who, gathered now in peace about his throne, +Were near me when my heart was full of throes, + And longings vain alter a flying bliss, + Which oft the fountain by the threshold froze: +They must forgive me, mother! Tell them this: + No more shall swell the love-dividing sigh; + Down at their feet I lay my selfishness." +The face grew passionate at this my cry; + The gathering tears up to its eyebrims rose; + It grew a trembling mist, that did not fly +But slow dissolved. I wept as one of those + Who wake outside the garden of their dream, + And, lo, the droop-winged hours laborious close +Its opal gates with stone and stake and beam. + +XV. + +But glory went that glory more might come. + Behold a countless multitude--no less! + A host of faces, me besieging, dumb +In the lone castle of my mournfulness! + Had then my mother given the word I sent, + Gathering my dear ones from the shining press? +And had these others their love-aidance lent + For full assurance of the pardon prayed? + Would they concentre love, with sweet intent, +On my self-love, to blast the evil shade? + Ah, perfect vision! pledge of endless hope! + Oh army of the holy spirit, arrayed +In comfort's panoply! For words I grope-- + For clouds to catch your radiant dawn, my own, + And tell your coming! From the highest cope +Of blue, down to my roof-breach came a cone + Of faces and their eyes on love's will borne, + Bright heads down-bending like the forward blown, +Heavy with ripeness, golden ears of corn, + By gentle wind on crowded harvest-field, + All gazing toward my prison-hut forlorn +As if with power of eyes they would have healed + My troubled heart, making it like their own + In which the bitter fountain had been sealed, +And the life-giving water flowed alone! + +XVI. + +With what I thus beheld, glorified then, + "God, let me love my fill and pass!" I sighed, + And dead, for love had almost died again. +"O fathers, brothers, I am yours!" I cried; + "O mothers, sisters. I am nothing now + Save as I am yours, and in you sanctified! +O men, O women, of the peaceful brow, + And infinite abysses in the eyes + Whence God's ineffable gazes on me, how +Care ye for me, impassioned and unwise? + Oh ever draw my heart out after you! + Ever, O grandeur, thus before me rise +And I need nothing, not even for love will sue! + I am no more, and love is all in all! + Henceforth there is, there can be nothing new-- +All things are always new!" Then, like the fall + Of a steep avalanche, my joy fell steep: + Up in my spirit rose as it were the call +Of an old sorrow from an ancient deep; + For, with my eyes fixed on the eyes of him + Whom I had loved before I learned to creep-- +God's vicar in his twilight nursery dim + To gather us to the higher father's knee-- + I saw a something fill their azure rim +That caught him worlds and years away from me; + And like a javelin once more through me passed + The pang that pierced me walking on the sea: +"O saints," I cried, "must loss be still the last?" + +XVII. + +When I said this, the cloud of witnesses + Turned their heads sideways, and the cloud grew dim + I saw their faces half, but now their bliss +Gleamed low, like the old moon in the new moon's rim. + Then as I gazed, a better kind of light + On every outline 'gan to glimmer and swim, +Faint as the young moon threadlike on the night, + Just born of sunbeams trembling on her edge: + 'Twas a great cluster of profiles in sharp white. +Had some far dawn begun to drive a wedge + Into the night, and cleave the clinging dark? + I saw no moon or star, token or pledge +Of light, save that manifold silvery mark, + The shining title of each spirit-book. + Whence came that light? Sudden, as if a spark +Of vital touch had found some hidden nook + Where germs of potent harmonies lay prest, + And their outbursting life old Aether shook, +Rose, as in prayer to lingering promised guest, + From that great cone of faces such a song, + Instinct with hope's harmonical unrest, +That with sore weeping, and the cry "How long?" + I bore my part because I could not sing. + And as they sang, the light more clear and strong +Bordered their faces, till the glory-sting + I could almost no more encounter and bear; + Light from their eyes, like water from a spring, +Flowed; on their foreheads reigned their flashing hair; + I saw the light from eyes I could not see. + "He comes! he comes!" they sang, "comes to our prayer!" +"Oh my poor heart, if only it were _He!_" + I cried. Thereat the faces moved! those eyes + Were turning on me! In rushed ecstasy, +And woke me to the light of lower skies. + +XVIII. + +"What matter," said I, "whether clank of chain + Or over-bliss wakes up to bitterness!" + Stung with its loss, I called the vision vain. +Yet feeling life grown larger, suffering less, + Sleep's ashes from my eyelids I did brush. + The room was veiled, that morning should not press +Upon the slumber which had stayed the rush + Of ebbing life; I looked into the gloom: + Upon her brow the dawn's first grayest flush, +And on her cheek pale hope's reviving bloom, + Sat, patient watcher, darkling and alone, + She who had lifted me from many a tomb! +One then was left me of Love's radiant cone! + Its light on her dear face, though faint and wan, + Was shining yet--a dawn upon it thrown +From the far coming of the Son of Man! + +XIX. + +In every forehead now I see a sky + Catching the dawn; I hear the wintriest breeze + About me blow the news the Lord is nigh. +Long is the night, dark are the polar seas, + Yet slanting suns ascend the northern hill. + Round Spring's own steps the oozy waters freeze +But hold them not. Dreamers are sleeping still, + But labourers, light-stung, from their slumber start: + Faith sees the ripening ears with harvest fill +When but green blades the clinging earth-clods part. + +XX. + +Lord, I have spoken a poor parable, + In which I would have said thy name alone + Is the one secret lying in Truth's well, +Thy voice the hidden charm in every tone, + Thy face the heart of every flower on earth, + Its vision the one hope; for every moan +Thy love the cure! O sharer of the birth + Of little children seated on thy knee! + O human God! I laugh with sacred mirth +To think how all the laden shall go free; + For, though the vision tarry, in healing ruth + One morn the eyes that shone in Galilee +Will dawn upon them, full of grace and truth, + And thy own love--the vivifying core + Of every love in heart of age or youth, +Of every hope that sank 'neath burden sore! + + + +_THE SANGREAL_: + + A Part Of The Story Omitted In The Old Romances. + +I. + + _How sir Galahad despaired of finding the Grail._ + +Through the wood the sunny day + Glimmered sweetly glad; +Through the wood his weary way + Rode sir Galahad. + +All about stood open porch, + Long-drawn cloister dim; +'Twas a wavering wandering church + Every side of him. + +On through columns arching high, + Foliage-vaulted, he +Rode in thirst that made him sigh, + Longing miserably. + +Came the moon, and through the trees + Glimmered faintly sad; +Withered, worn, and ill at ease + Down lay Galahad; + +Closed his eyes and took no heed + What might come or pass; +Heard his hunger-busy steed + Cropping dewy grass. + +Cool and juicy was the blade, + Good to him as wine: +For his labour he was paid, + Galahad must pine! + +Late had he at Arthur's board, + Arthur strong and wise, +Pledged the cup with friendly lord, + Looked in ladies' eyes; + +Now, alas! he wandered wide, + Resting never more, +Over lake and mountain-side, + Over sea and shore! + +Swift in vision rose and fled + All he might have had; +Weary tossed his restless head, + And his heart grew sad. + +With the lowliest in the land + He a maiden fair +Might have led with virgin hand + From the altar-stair: + +Youth away with strength would glide, + Age bring frost and woe; +Through the world so dreary wide + Mateless he must go! + +Lost was life and all its good, + Gone without avail! +All his labour never would + Find the Holy Grail! + +II. + + _How sir Galahad found and lost the Grail._ + +Galahad was in the night, + And the wood was drear; +But to men in darksome plight + Radiant things appear: + +Wings he heard not floating by, + Heard no heavenly hail; +But he started with a cry, + For he saw the Grail. + +Hid from bright beholding sun, + Hid from moonlight wan, +Lo, from age-long darkness won, + It was seen of man! + +Three feet off, on cushioned moss, + As if cast away, +Homely wood with carven cross, + Rough and rude it lay! + +To his knees the knight rose up, + Loosed his gauntlet-band; +Fearing, daring, toward the cup + Went his naked hand; + +When, as if it fled from harm, + Sank the holy thing, +And his eager following arm + Plunged into a spring. + +Oh the thirst, the water sweet! + Down he lay and quaffed, +Quaffed and rose up on his feet, + Rose and gayly laughed; + +Fell upon his knees to thank, + Loved and lauded there; +Stretched him on the mossy bank, + Fell asleep in prayer; + +Dreamed, and dreaming murmured low + Ave, pater, creed; +When the fir-tops gan to glow + Waked and called his steed; + +Bitted him and drew his girth, + Watered from his helm: +Happier knight or better worth + Was not in the realm! + +Belted on him then his sword, + Braced his slackened mail; +Doubting said: "I dreamed the Lord + Offered me the Grail." + +III. + + _How sir Galahad gave up the Quest for the Grail._ + +Ere the sun had cast his light + On the water's face, +Firm in saddle rode the knight + From the holy place, + +Merry songs began to sing, + Let his matins bide; +Rode a good hour pondering, + And was turned aside, + +Saying, "I will henceforth then + Yield this hopeless quest; +Tis a dream of holy men + This ideal Best!" + +"Every good for miracle + Heart devout may hold; +Grail indeed was that fair well + Full of water cold! + +"Not my thirst alone it stilled + But my soul it stayed; +And my heart, with gladness filled, + Wept and laughed and prayed! + +"Spectral church with cryptic niche + I will seek no more; +That the holiest Grail is, which + Helps the need most sore!" + +And he spake with speech more true + Than his thought indeed, +For not yet the good knight knew + His own sorest need. + +IV. + + _How sir Galahad sought yet again for the Grail._ + +On he rode, to succour bound, + But his faith grew dim; +Wells for thirst he many found, + Water none for him. + +Never more from drinking deep + Rose he up and laughed; +Never more did prayerful sleep + Follow on the draught. + +Good the water which they bore, + Plenteously it flowed, +Quenched his thirst, but, ah, no more + Eased his bosom's load! + +For the _Best_ no more he sighed; + Rode as in a trance; +Life grew poor, undignified, + And he spake of chance. + +Then he dreamed through Jesus' hand + That he drove a nail-- +Woke and cried, "Through every land, + Lord, I seek thy Grail!" + +V. + + _That sir Galahad found the Grail._ + +Up the quest again he took, + Rode through wood and wave; +Sought in many a mossy nook, + Many a hermit-cave; + +Sought until the evening red + Sunk in shadow deep; +Sought until the moonlight fled; + Slept, and sought in sleep. + +Where he wandered, seeking, sad, + Story doth not say, +But at length sir Galahad + Found it on a day; + +Took the Grail with holy hand, + Had the cup of joy; +Carried it about the land, + Gleesome as a boy; + +Laid his sword where he had found + Boot for every bale, +Stuck his spear into the ground, + Kept alone the Grail. + +VI. + + _How sir Galahad carried about the Grail._ + +Horse and crested helmet gone, + Greaves and shield and mail, +Caroling loud the knight walked on, + For he had the Grail; + +Caroling loud walked south and north, + East and west, for years; +Where he went, the smiles came forth, + Where he left, the tears. + +Glave nor dagger mourned he, + Axe nor iron flail: +Evil might not brook to see + Once the Holy Grail. + +Wilds he wandered with his staff, + Woods no longer sad; +Earth and sky and sea did laugh + Round sir Galahad. + +Bitter mere nor trodden pool + Did in service fail, +Water all grew sweet and cool + In the Holy Grail. + +Without where to lay his head, + Chanting loud he went; +Found each cave a palace-bed, + Every rock a tent. + +Age that had begun to quail + In the gathering gloom, +Counselled he to seek the Grail + And forget the tomb. + +Youth with hope or passion pale, + Youth with eager eyes, +Taught he that the Holy Grail + Was the only prize. + +Maiden worn with hidden ail, + Restless and unsure, +Taught he that the Holy Grail + Was the only cure. + +Children rosy in the sun + Ran to hear his tale +How twelve little ones had won + Each of them the Grail. + +VII. + + _How sir Galahad hid the Grail._ + +Very still was earth and sky + When he passing lay; +Oft he said he should not die, + Would but go away. + +When he passed, they reverent sought, + Where his hand lay prest, +For the cup he bare, they thought, + Hidden in his breast. + +Hope and haste and eager thrill + Turned to sorrowing wail: +Hid he held it deeper still, + Took with him the Grail. + + + +_THE FAILING TRACK_. + +Where went the feet that hitherto have come? + Here yawns no gulf to quench the flowing past! +With lengthening pauses broke, the path grows dumb; + The grass floats in; the gazer stands aghast. + +Tremble not, maiden, though the footprints die; + By no air-path ascend the lark's clear notes; +The mighty-throated when he mounts the sky + Over some lowly landmark sings and floats. + +Be of good cheer. Paths vanish from the wave; + There all the ships tear each its track of gray; +Undaunted they the wandering desert brave: + In each a magic finger points the way. + +No finger finely touched, no eye of lark + Hast thou to guide thy steps where footprints fail? +Ah, then, 'twere well to turn before the dark, + Nor dream to find thy dreams in yonder vale! + +The backward way one hour is plain to thee, + Hard hap were hers who saw no trace behind! +Back to confession at thy mother's knee, + Back to the question and the childlike mind! + +Then start afresh, but toward unending end, + The goal o'er which hangs thy own star all night; +So shalt thou need no footprints to befriend, + Child-heart and shining star will guide thee right. + + + +_TELL ME._ + +"Traveller, what lies over the hill? + Traveller, tell to me: +Tip-toe-high on the window-sill + Over I cannot see." + +"My child, a valley green lies there, + Lovely with trees, and shy; +And a tiny brook that says, 'Take care, + Or I'll drown you by and by!'" + +"And what comes next?"--"A little town, + And a towering hill again; +More hills and valleys up and down, + And a river now and then." + +"And what comes next?"--"A lonely moor + Without one beaten way, +And slow clouds drifting dull before + A wind that will not stay." + +"And then?"--"Dark rocks and yellow sand, + Blue sea and a moaning tide." +"And then?"--"More sea, and then more land, + With rivers deep and wide." + +"And then?"--"Oh, rock and mountain and vale, + Ocean and shores and men, +Over and over, a weary tale, + And round to your home again!" + +"And is that all? From day to day, + Like one with a long chain bound, +Should I walk and walk and not get away, + But go always round and round?" + +"No, no; I have not told you the best, + I have not told you the end: +If you want to escape, away in the west + You will see a stair ascend, + +"Built of all colours of lovely stones, + A stair up into the sky +Where no one is weary, and no one moans, + Or wishes to be laid by." + +"Is it far away?"--"I do not know: + You must fix your eyes thereon, +And travel, travel through thunder and snow, + Till the weary way is gone. + +"All day, though you never see it shine, + You must travel nor turn aside, +All night you must keep as straight a line + Through moonbeams or darkness wide." + +"When I am older!"--"Nay, not so!" + "I have hardly opened my eyes!" +"He who to the old sunset would go, + Starts best with the young sunrise." + +"Is the stair right up? is it very steep?" + "Too steep for you to climb; +You must lie at the foot of the glorious heap + And patient wait your time." + +"How long?"--"Nay, that I cannot tell." + "In wind, and rain, and frost?" +"It may be so; and it is well + That you should count the cost. + +"Pilgrims from near and from distant lands + Will step on you lying there; +But a wayfaring man with wounded hands + Will carry you up the stair." + + + +_BROTHER ARTIST!_ + +Brother artist, help me; come! + Artists are a maimed band: + I have words but not a hand; +Thou hast hands though thou art dumb. + +Had I thine, when words did fail-- + Vassal-words their hasting chief, + On the white awaiting leaf +Shapes of power should tell the tale. + +Had I hers of music-might, + I would shake the air with storm + Till the red clouds trailed enorm +Boreal dances through the night. + +Had I his whose foresight rare + Piles the stones with lordliest art, + From the quarry of my heart +Love should climb a heavenly stair! + +Had I his whose wooing slow + Wins the marble's hidden child, + Out in passion undefiled +Stood my Psyche, white as snow! + +Maimed, a little help I pray; + Words suffice not for my end; + Let thy hand obey thy friend, +Say for me what I would say. + +Draw me, on an arid plain + With hoar-headed mountains nigh, + Under a clear morning sky +Telling of a night of rain, + +Huge and half-shaped, like a block + Chosen for sarcophagus + By a Pharaoh glorious, +One rude solitary rock. + +Cleave it down along the ridge + With a fissure yawning deep + To the heart of the hard heap, +Like the rent of riving wedge. + +Through the cleft let hands appear, + Upward pointed with pressed palms + As if raised in silent psalms +For salvation come anear. + +Turn thee now--'tis almost done!-- + To the near horizon's verge: + Make the smallest arc emerge +Of the forehead of the sun. + +One thing more--I ask too much!-- + From a brow which hope makes brave + Sweep the shadow of the grave +With a single golden touch. + +Thanks, dear painter; that is all. + If thy picture one day should + Need some words to make it good, +I am ready to thy call. + + + +_AFTER AN OLD LEGEND._ + +The monk was praying in his cell, + With bowed head praying sore; +He had been praying on his knees + For two long hours and more. + +As of themselves, all suddenly, + His eyelids opened wide; +Before him on the ground he saw + A man's feet close beside; + +And almost to the feet came down + A garment wove throughout; +Such garment he had never seen + In countries round about! + +His eyes he lifted tremblingly + Until a hand they spied: +A chisel-scar on it he saw, + And a deep, torn scar beside. + +His eyes they leaped up to the face, + His heart gave one wild bound, +Then stood as if its work were done-- + The Master he had found! + +With sudden clang the convent bell + Told him the poor did wait +His hand to give the daily bread + Doled at the convent-gate. + +Then Love rose in him passionate, + And with Duty wrestled strong; +And the bell kept calling all the time + With merciless iron tongue. + +The Master stood and looked at him + He rose up with a sigh: +"He will be gone when I come back + I go to him by and by!" + +He chid his heart, he fed the poor + All at the convent-gate; +Then with slow-dragging feet went back + To his cell so desolate: + +His heart bereaved by duty done, + He had sore need of prayer! +Oh, sad he lifted the latch!--and, lo, + The Master standing there! + +He said, "My poor had not to stand + Wearily at thy gate: +For him who feeds the shepherd's sheep + The shepherd will stand and wait." + +_Yet, Lord--for thou would'st have us judge, + And I will humbly dare-- +If he had staid, I do not think + Thou wouldst have left him there. + +Thy voice in far-off time I hear, + With sweet defending, say: +"The poor ye always have with you, + Me ye have not alway!" + +Thou wouldst have said: "Go feed my poor, + The deed thou shalt not rue; +Wherever ye do my father's will + I always am with you."_ + + + +_A MEDITATION OF ST. ELIGIUS_. + +_Queen Mary one day Jesus sent + To fetch some water, legends tell; +The little boy, obedient, + Drew a full pitcher from the well; + +But as he raised it to his head, + The water lipping with the rim, +The handle broke, and all was shed + Upon the stones about the brim. + +His cloak upon the ground he laid + And in it gathered up the pool; [Proverbs xxx. 4.] +Obedient there the water staid, + And home he bore it plentiful._ + +Eligius said, "Tis fabled ill: + The hands that all the world control, +Had here been room for miracle, + Had made his mother's pitcher whole! + +"Still, some few drops for thirsty need + A poor invention even, when told +In love of thee the Truth indeed, + Like broken pitcher yet may hold: + +"Thy truth, alas, Lord, once I spilt: + I thought to bear the pitcher high; +Upon the shining stones of guilt + I slipped, and there the potsherds lie! + +_"Master,_ I cried, _no man will drink, + No human thirst will e'er be stilled +Through me, who sit upon the brink, + My pitcher broke, thy water spilled! + +"What will they do I waiting left? + They looked to me to bring thy law! +The well is deep, and, sin-bereft, + I nothing have wherewith to draw!"_ + +"But as I sat in evil plight, + With dry parched heart and sickened brain, +Uprose in me the water bright, + Thou gavest me thyself again!" + + + +_THE EARLY BIRD._ + +A little bird sat on the edge of her nest; + Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as tops; +Day-long she had worked almost without rest, + And had filled every one of their gibbous crops; +Her own she had filled just over-full, +And she felt like a dead bird stuffed with wool. + +"Oh dear!" she sighed, as she sat with her head + Sunk in her chest, and no neck at all, +Looking like an apple on a feather-bed + Poked and rounded and fluffed to a ball, +"What's to be done if things don't reform? +I cannot tell where there is one more worm! + +"I've had fifteen to-day, and the children five each, + Besides a few flies, and some very fat spiders: +Who will dare say I don't do as I preach? + I set an example to all providers! +But what's the use? We want a storm: +I don't know where there's a single worm!" + +"There's five in my crop," chirped a wee, wee bird + Who woke at the voice of his mother's pain; +"I know where there's five!" And with the word + He tucked in his head and went off again. +"The folly of childhood," sighed his mother, +"Has always been my especial bother!" + +Careless the yellow-beaks slept on, + They never had heard of the bogy, Tomorrow; +The mother sat outside making her moan-- + "I shall soon have to beg, or steal, or borrow! +I have always to say, the night before, +Where shall I find one red worm more!" + +Her case was this, she had gobbled too many, + And sleepless, had an attack she called foresight: +A barn of crumbs, if she knew but of any! + Could she but get of the great worm-store sight! +The eastern sky was growing red +Ere she laid her wise beak in its feather-bed. + +Just then, the fellow who knew of five, + Nor troubled his sleep with anxious tricks, +Woke, and stirred, and felt alive: + "To-day," he said, "I am up to six! +But my mother feels in her lot the crook-- +What if I tried my own little hook!" + +When his mother awoke, she winked her eyes + As if she had dreamed that she was a mole: +Could she believe them? "What a huge prize + That child is dragging out of its hole!" +The fledgeling indeed had just caught his third! +_And here is a fable to catch the bird!_ + + + +_SIR LARK AND KING SUN._ + +"Good morrow, my lord!" in the sky alone +Sang the lark as the sun ascended his throne. +"Shine on me, my lord: I only am come, +Of all your servants, to welcome you home! +I have shot straight up, a whole hour, I swear, +To catch the first gleam of your golden hair." + +"Must I thank you then," said the king, "sir Lark, +For flying so high and hating the dark? +You ask a full cup for half a thirst: +Half was love of me, half love to be first. +Some of my subjects serve better my taste: +Their watching and waiting means more than your haste." + +King Sun wrapt his head in a turban of cloud; +Sir Lark stopped singing, quite vexed and cowed; +But higher he flew, for he thought, "Anon +The wrath of the king will be over and gone; +And, scattering his head-gear manifold, +He will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold!" + +He flew, with the strength of a lark he flew, +But as he rose the cloud rose too; +And not one gleam of the flashing hair +Brought signal of favour across the air; +And his wings felt withered and worn and old, +For their feathers had had no chrism of gold. + +Outwearied at length, and throbbing sore, +The strong sun-seeker could do no more; +He faltered and sank, then dropped like a stone +Beside his nest, where, patient, alone, +Sat his little wife on her little eggs, +Keeping them warm with wings and legs. + +Did I say alone? Ah, no such thing! +There was the cloudless, the ray-crowned king! +"Welcome, sir Lark!--You look tired!" said he; +"_Up_ is not always the best way to me: +While you have been racing my turban gray, +I have been shining where you would not stay!" + +He had set a coronet round the nest; +Its radiance foamed on the wife's little breast; +And so glorious was she in russet gold +That sir Lark for wonder and awe grew cold; +He popped his head under her wing, and lay +As still as a stone till king Sun went away. + + + +_THE OWL AND THE BELL._ + +_Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_ +Sang the Bell to himself in his house at home, +High in the church-tower, lone and unseen, +In a twilight of ivy, cool and green; +With his _Bing, Bing, Bim, Bing, Bang, Bome!_ +Singing bass to himself in his house at home. + +Said the Owl, on a shadowy ledge below, +Like a glimmering ball of forgotten snow, +"Pest on that fellow sitting up there, +Always calling the people to prayer! +He shatters my nerves with his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_--- +Far too big in his house at home! + +"I think I will move.--But it suits me well, +And one may get used to it, who can tell!" +So he slept again with all his might, +Then woke and snooved out in the hush of night +When the Bell was asleep in his house at home, +Dreaming over his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +For the Owl was born so poor and genteel +What could he do but pick and steal? +He scorned to work for honest bread-- +"Better have never been hatched!" he said. +So his day was the night, for he dared not roam +Till sleep had silenced the _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +When five greedy Owlets chipped the egg +He wanted two beaks and another leg, +And they ate the more that they did not sleep well: +"It's their gizzards," said Owless; said Owl, "It's that Bell!" +For they quivered like leaves of a wind-blown tome +When the Bell bellowed out his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +But the Bell began to throb with the fear +Of bringing his house about his one ear; +And his people came round it, quite a throng, +To buttress the walls and make them strong: +A full month he sat, and felt like a mome +Not daring to shout his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +Said the Owl to himself, and hissed as he said, +"I trust in my heart the old fool is dead! +No more will he scare church-mice with his bounce, +And make them so thin they're scarce worth a pounce! +Once I will see him ere he's laid in the loam, +And shout in his ear _Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_" + +"Hoo! hoo!" he cried, as he entered the steeple, +"They've hanged him at last, the righteous people! +His swollen tongue lolls out of his head! +Hoo! hoo! at last the old brute is dead! +There let him hang, the shapeless gnome, +Choked with a throatful of _Bing, Bang, Bome!_" + +He fluttered about him, singing _Too-whoo!_ +He flapped the poor Bell, and said, "Is that you? +You that never would matters mince, +Banging poor owls and making them wince? +A fig for you now, in your great hall-dome! +_Too-whit_ is better than _Bing, Bang, Bome!_" + +Still braver he grew, the downy, the dapper; +He flew in and perched on the knob of the clapper, +And shouted _Too-whoo!_ An echo awoke +Like a far-off ghostly _Bing-Bang_ stroke: +"Just so!" he cried; "I am quite at home! +I will take his place with my _Bing, Bang, Bome!_" + +He hissed with the scorn of his grand self-wonder, +And thought the Bell's tremble his own great thunder: +He sat the Jove of creation's fowl.-- +_Bang!_ went the Bell--through the rope-hole the owl, +A fluffy avalanche, light as foam, +Loosed by the boom of the _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +He sat where he fell, as if he had meant it, +Ready for any remark anent it. +Said the eldest Owlet, "Pa, you were wrong; +He's at it again with his vulgar song!" +"Child," said the Owl, "of the mark you are wide: +I brought him to life by perching inside." + +"Why did you, my dear?" said his startled wife; +"He has always been the plague of your life!" +"I have given him a lesson of good for evil: +Perhaps the old ruffian will now be civil!" +The Owl sat righteous, he raised his comb. +The Bell bawled on, _Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_ + + + +A MAMMON-MARRIAGE. + +The croak of a raven hoar! + A dog's howl, kennel-tied! +Loud shuts the carriage-door: + The two are away on their ghastly ride +To Death's salt shore! + +Where are the love and the grace? + The bridegroom is thirsty and cold! +The bride's skull sharpens her face! + But the coachman is driving, jubilant, bold, +The devil's pace. + +The horses shivered and shook + Waiting gaunt and haggard +With sorry and evil look; + But swift as a drunken wind they staggered +'Longst Lethe brook. + +Long since, they ran no more; + Heavily pulling they died +On the sand of the hopeless shore + Where never swelled or sank a tide, +And the salt burns sore. + +Flat their skeletons lie, + White shadows on shining sand; +The crusted reins go high + To the crumbling coachman's bony hand +On his knees awry. + +Side by side, jarring no more, + Day and night side by side, +Each by a doorless door, + Motionless sit the bridegroom and bride +On the Dead-Sea-shore. + + + +_A SONG IN THE NIGHT._ + +A brown bird sang on a blossomy tree, +Sang in the moonshine, merrily, +Three little songs, one, two, and three, +A song for his wife, for himself, and me. + +He sang for his wife, sang low, sang high, +Filling the moonlight that filled the sky; +"Thee, thee, I love thee, heart alive! +Thee, thee, thee, and thy round eggs five!" + +He sang to himself, "What shall I do +With this life that thrills me through and through! +Glad is so glad that it turns to ache! +Out with it, song, or my heart will break!" + +He sang to me, "Man, do not fear +Though the moon goes down and the dark is near; +Listen my song and rest thine eyes; +Let the moon go down that the sun may rise!" + +I folded me up in the heart of his tune, +And fell asleep with the sinking moon; +I woke with the day's first golden gleam, +And, lo, I had dreamed a precious dream! + + + +_LOVE'S HISTORY_. + +Love, the baby, + Crept abroad to pluck a flower: +One said, Yes, sir; one said, Maybe; + One said, Wait the hour. + +Love, the boy, + Joined the youngsters at their play: +But they gave him little joy, + And he went away. + +Love, the youth, + Roamed the country, quiver-laden; +From him fled away in sooth + Many a man and maiden! + +Love, the man, + Sought a service all about; +But they called him feeble, one + They could do without. + +Love, the aged, + Walking, bowed, the shadeless miles, +Read a volume many-paged, + Full of tears and smiles. + +Love, the weary, + Tottered down the shelving road: +At its foot, lo, Night, the starry, + Meeting him from God! + +"Love, the holy," + Sang a music in her dome, +Sang it softly, sang it slowly, + "Love is coming home!" + + + +THE LARK AND THE WIND. + +In the air why such a ringing? + On the earth why such a droning? + +In the air the lark is singing; + On the earth the wind is moaning. + +"I am blest, in sunlight swinging!" + "Sad am I: the world lies groaning!" + +In the sky the lark kept singing; + On the earth the wind kept moaning. + + + +A DEAD HOUSE. + +When the clock hath ceased to tick + Soul-like in the gloomy hall; +When the latch no more doth click + Tongue-like in the red peach-wall; +When no more come sounds of play, + Mice nor children romping roam, +Then looks down the eye of day + On a dead house, not a home! + +But when, like an old sun's ghost, + Haunts her vault the spectral moon; +When earth's margins all are lost, + Melting shapes nigh merged in swoon, +Then a sound--hark! there again!-- + No, 'tis not a nibbling mouse! +'Tis a ghost, unseen of men, + Walking through the bare-floored house! + +And with lightning on the stair + To that silent upper room, +With the thunder-shaken air + Sudden gleaming into gloom, +With a frost-wind whistling round, + From the raging northern coasts, +Then, mid sieging light and sound, + All the house is live with ghosts! + +Brother, is thy soul a cell + Empty save of glittering motes, +Where no live loves live and dwell, + Only notions, things, and thoughts? +Then thou wilt, when comes a Breath + Tempest-shaking ridge and post, +Find thyself alone with Death + In a house where walks no ghost. + + + +'BELL UPON ORGAN. + + It's all very well, +Said the Bell, +To be the big Organ below! +But the folk come and go, +Said the Bell, +And you never can tell +What sort of person the Organ will blow! +And, besides, it is much at the mercy of the weather +For 'tis all made in pieces and glued together! + + But up in my cell +Next door to the sky, +Said the Bell, +I dwell +Very high; +And with glorious go +I swing to and fro; +I swing swift or slow, +I swing as I please, +With summons or knell; +I swing at my ease, +Said the Bell: +Not the tallest of men +Can reach up to touch me, +To smirch me or smutch me, +Or make me do what +I would not be at! +And, then, +The weather can't cause me to shrink or increase: +I chose to be made in one perfect piece! + + + +MASTER AND BOY. + +"WHO is this little one lying," + Said Time, "at my garden-gate, +Moaning and sobbing and crying, + Out in the cold so late?" + +"They lurked until we came near, + Master and I," the child said, +"Then caught me, with 'Welcome, New-year! + Happy Year! Golden-head!' + +"See Christmas-day, my Master, + On the meadow a mile away! +Father Time, make me run faster! + I'm the Shadow of Christmas-day!" + +"Run, my child; still he's in sight! + Only look well to his track; +Little Shadow, run like the light, + He misses you at his back!" + +Old Time sat down in the sun + On a grave-stone--his legs were numb: +"When the boy to his master has run," + He said, "Heaven's New Year is come!" + + + +_THE CLOCK OF THE UNIVERSE_. + + A clock aeonian, steady and tall, +With its back to creation's flaming wall, +Stands at the foot of a dim, wide stair. +Swing, swang, its pendulum goes, +Swing--swang--here--there! +Its tick and its tack like the sledge-hammer blows +Of Tubal Cain, the mighty man! +But they strike on the anvil of never an ear, +On the heart of man and woman they fall, +With an echo of blessing, an echo of ban; +For each tick is a hope, each tack is a fear, +Each tick is a _Where_, each tack a _Not here_, +Each tick is a kiss, each tack is a blow, +Each tick says _Why_, each tack _I don't know_. +Swing, swang, the pendulum! +Tick and tack, and _go_ and _come_, +With a haunting, far-off, dreamy hum, +With a tick, tack, loud and dumb, +Swings the pendulum. + + Two hands, together joined in prayer, +With a roll and a volley of spheric thunder; +Two hands, in hope spread half asunder, +An empty gulf of longing embrace; +Two hands, wide apart as they can fare +In a fear still coasting not touching Despair, +But turning again, ever round to prayer: +Two hands, human hands, pass with awful motion +From isle to isle of the sapphire ocean. + + The silent, surfaceless ocean-face +Is filled with a brooding, hearkening grace; +The stars dream in, and sink fainting out, +And the sun and the moon go walking about, +Walking about in it, solemn and slow, +Solemn and slow, at a thinking pace, +Walking about in it to and fro, +Walking, walking about. + + With open beak and half-open wing +Ever with eagerness quivering, +On the peak of the clock +Stands a cock: +Tip-toe stands the cock to crow-- +Golden cock with silver call +Clear as trumpet tearing the sky! +No one yet has heard him cry, +Nor ever will till the hour supreme +When Self on itself shall turn with a scream, +What time the hands are joined on high +In a hoping, despairing, speechless sigh, +The perfect groan-prayer of the universe +When the darkness clings and will not disperse +Though the time is come, told ages ago, +For the great white rose of the world to blow: +--Tick, tack, to the waiting cock, +Tick, tack, goes the aeon-clock! + + A polar bear, golden and gray, +Crawls and crawls around the top. +Black and black as an Ethiop +The great sea-serpent lies coiled beneath, +Living, living, but does not breathe. +For the crawling bear is so far away +That he cannot hear, by night or day, +The bourdon big of his deep bear-bass +Roaring atop of the silent face, +Else would he move, and none knows then +What would befall the sons of men! + + Eat up old Time, O raging Bear; +Take Bald-head, and the children spare! +Lie still, O Serpent, nor let one breath +Stir thy pool and stay Time's death! +Steady, Hands! for the noon is nigh: +See the silvery ghost of the Dawning shy +Low on the floor of the level sky! +Warn for the strike, O blessed Clock; +Gather thy clarion breath, gold Cock; +Push on the month-figures, pale, weary-faced Moon; +Tick, awful Pendulum, tick amain; +And soon, oh, soon, +Lord of life, and Father of boon, +Give us our own in our arms again! + + Then the great old clock to pieces will fall +Sans groaning of axle or whirring of wheel. +And away like a mist of the morning steal, +To stand no more in creation's hall; +Its mighty weights will fall down plumb +Into the regions where all is dumb; +No more will its hands, in horror or prayer, +Be lifted or spread at the foot of the stair +That springs aloft to the Father's room; +Its tick and its tack, _When?--Not now_, +Will cease, and its muffled groan below; +Its sapphire face will dissolve away +In the dawn of the perfect, love-potent day; +The serpent and bear will be seen no more, +Growling atop, or prone on the floor; +And up the stair will run as they please +The children to clasp the Father's knees. + +O God, our father, Allhearts' All, +Open the doors of thy clockless hall! + + + +_THE THORN IN THE FLESH._ + +Within my heart a worm had long been hid. +I knew it not when I went down and chid +Because some servants of my inner house +Had not, I found, of late been doing well, +But then I spied the horror hideous +Dwelling defiant in the inmost cell-- +No, not the inmost, for there God did dwell! +But the small monster, softly burrowing, +Near by God's chamber had made itself a den, +And lay in it and grew, the noisome thing! +Aghast I prayed--'twas time I did pray then! +But as I prayed it seemed the loathsome shape +Grew livelier, and did so gnaw and scrape +That I grew faint. Whereon to me he said-- +Some one, that is, who held my swimming head, +"Lo, I am with thee: let him do his worst; +The creature is, but not his work, accurst; +Thou hating him, he is as a thing dead." +Then I lay still, nor thought, only endured. +At last I said, "Lo, now I am inured +A burgess of Pain's town!" The pain grew worse. +Then I cried out as if my heart would break. +But he, whom, in the fretting, sickening ache, +I had forgotten, spoke: "The law of the universe +Is this," he said: "Weakness shall be the nurse +Of strength. The help I had will serve thee too." +So I took courage and did bear anew. +At last, through bones and flesh and shrinking skin, +Lo, the thing ate his way, and light came in, +And the thing died. I knew then what it meant, +And, turning, saw the Lord on whom I leant. + + + +_LYCABAS:_ + +A name of the Year. Some say the word means _a march of wolves_, +which wolves, running in single file, are the Months of the Year. +Others say the word means _the path of the light_. + + O ye months of the year, +Are ye a march of wolves? +Lycabas! Lycabas! twelve to growl and slay? +Men hearken at night, and lie in fear, +Some men hearken all day! + + Lycabas, verily thou art a gallop of wolves, +Gaunt gray wolves, gray months of the year, hunting in twelves, +Running and howling, head to tail, +In a single file, over the snow, +A long low gliding of silent horror and fear! +On and on, ghastly and drear, +Not a head turning, not a foot swerving, ye go, +Twelve making only a one-wolf track! +Onward ye howl, and behind we wail; +Wail behind your narrow and slack +Wallowing line, and moan and weep, +As ye draw it on, straight and deep, +Thorough the night so swart! +Behind you a desert, and eyes a-weary, +A long, bare highway, stony and dreary, +A hungry soul, and a wolf-cub wrapt, +A live wolf-cub, sharp-toothed, steel-chapt, +In the garment next the heart! + + Lycabas! +One of them hurt me sore! +Two of them hurt and tore! +Three of them made me bleed! +The fourth did a terrible deed, +Rent me the worst of the four! +Rent me, and shook me, and tore, +And ran away with a growl! +Lycabas, if I feared you a jot, +You, and your devils running in twelves, +Black-mouthed, hell-throated, straight-going wolves, +I would run like a wolf, I too, and howl! +I live, and I fear you not. + + But shall I not hate you, low-galloping wolves +Hunting in ceaseless twelves? +Ye have hunted away my lambs! +Ye ran at them open-mouthed, +And your mouths were gleamy-toothed, +And their whiteness with red foam frothed, +And your throats were a purple-black gulf: +My lambs they fled, and they came not back! +Lovely white lambs they were, alack! +They fled afar and they left a track +Which at night, when the lone sky clears, +Glistens with Nature's tears! +Many a shepherd scarce thinks of a lamb +But he hears behind it the growl of a wolf, +And behind that the wail of its dam! + + They ran, nor cried, but fled +From day's sweet pasture, from night's soft bed: +Ah me, the look in their eyes! +For behind them rushed the swallowing gulf, +The maw of the growl-throated wolf, +And they fled as the thing that speeds or dies: +They looked not behind, +But fled as over the grass the wind. + + Oh my lambs, I would drop away +Into a night that never saw day +That so in your dear hearts you might say, +"_All is well for ever and aye!_" +Yet it was well to hurry away, +To hurry from me, your shepherd gray: +I had no sword to bite and slay, +And the wolfy Months were on your track! +It was well to start from work and play, +It was well to hurry from me away-- +But why not once look back? + + The wolves came panting down the lea-- +What was left you but somewhere flee! +Ye saw the Shepherd that never grows old, +Ye saw the great Shepherd, and him ye knew, +And the wolves never once came near to you; +For he saw you coming, threw down his crook, +Ran, and his arms about you threw; +He gathered you into his garment's fold, +He kneeled, he gathered, he lifted you, +And his bosom and arms were full of you. +He has taken you home to his stronghold: +Out of the castle of Love ye look; +The castle of Love is now your home, +From the garden of Love you will never roam, +And the wolves no more shall flutter you. + + Lycabas! Lycabas! +For all your hunting and howling and cries, +Your yelling of _woe_! and _alas_! +For all your thin tongues and your fiery eyes, +Your questing thorough the windy grass, +Your gurgling gnar, and your horrent hair, +And your white teeth that will not spare-- +Wolves, I fear you never a jot, +Though you come at me with your mouths red-hot, +Eyes of fury, and teeth that foam: +Ye can do nothing but drive me home! +Wolves, wolves, you will lie one day-- +Ye are lying even now, this very day, +Wolves in twelves, gaunt and gray, +At the feet of the Shepherd that leads the dams, +At the feet of the Shepherd that carries the lambs! + + And now that I see you with my mind's eye, +What are you indeed? my mind revolves. +Are you, are you verily wolves? +I saw you only through twilight dark, +Through rain and wind, and ill could mark! +Now I come near--are you verily wolves? +Ye have torn, but I never saw you slay! +Me ye have torn, but I live to-day, +Live, and hope to live ever and aye! +Closer still let me look at you!-- +Black are your mouths, but your eyes are true!-- +Now, now I know you!--the Shepherd's sheep-dogs! +Friends of us sheep on the moors and bogs, +Lost so often in swamps and fogs! +Dear creatures, forgive me; I did you wrong; +You to the castle of Love belong: +Forgive the sore heart that made sharp the tongue! +Your swift-flying feet the Shepherd sends +To gather the lambs, his little friends, +And draw the sheep after for rich amends! +Sharp are your teeth, my wolves divine, +But loves and no hates in your deep eyes shine! +No more will I call you evil names, +No more assail you with untrue blames! +Wake me with howling, check me with biting, +Rouse up my strength for the holy fighting: +Hunt me still back, nor let me stray +Out of the infinite narrow way, +The radiant march of the Lord of Light +Home to the Father of Love and Might, +Where each puts Thou in the place of I, +And Love is the Law of Liberty. + + + + + BALLADS + + +_THE UNSEEN MODEL_. + +Forth to his study the sculptor goes + In a mood of lofty mirth: +"Now shall the tongues of my carping foes + Confess what my art is worth! +In my brain last night the vision arose, + To-morrow shall see its birth!" + +He stood like a god; with creating hand + He struck the formless clay: +"Psyche, arise," he said, "and stand; + In beauty confront the day. +I have sought nor found thee in any land; + I call thee: arise; obey!" + +The sun was low in the eastern skies + When spoke the confident youth; +Sweet Psyche, all day, his hands and eyes + Wiled from the clay uncouth, +Nor ceased when the shadows came up like spies + That dog the steps of Truth. + +He said, "I will do my will in spite + Of the rising dark; for, see, +She grows to my hand! The mar-work night + Shall hurry and hide and flee +From the glow of my lamp and the making might + That passeth out of me!" + +In the flickering lamplight the figure swayed, + In the shadows did melt and swim: +With tool and thumb he modelled and made, + Nor knew that feature and limb +Half-obeying, half-disobeyed, + And mocking eluded him. + +At the dawning Psyche of his brain + Joyous he wrought all night: +The oil went low, and he trimmed in vain, + The lamp would not burn bright; +But he still wrought on: through the high roof-pane + He saw the first faint light! + +The dark retreated; the morning spread; + His creatures their shapes resume; +The plaster stares dumb-white and dead; + A faint blue liquid bloom +Lies on each marble bosom and head; + To his Psyche clings the gloom. + +Backward he stept to see the clay: + His visage grew white and sear; +No beauty ideal confronted the day, + No Psyche from upper sphere, +But a once loved shape that in darkness lay, + Buried a lonesome year! + +From maidenhood's wilderness fair and wild + A girl to his charm had hied: +He had blown out the lamp of the trusting child, + And in the darkness she died; +Now from the clay she sadly smiled, + And the sculptor stood staring-eyed. + +He had summoned Psyche--and Psyche crept + From a half-forgotten tomb; +She brought her sad smile, that still she kept, + Her eyes she left in the gloom! +High grace had found him, for now he wept, + And love was his endless doom! + +Night-long he pined, all day did rue; + He haunted her form with sighs: +As oft as his clay to a lady grew + The carvers, with dim surmise, +Would whisper, "The same shape come to woo, + With its blindly beseeching eyes!" + + + +_THE HOMELESS GHOST_. + +Through still, bare streets, and cold moonshine + His homeward way he bent; +The clocks gave out the midnight sign + As lost in thought he went +Along the rampart's ocean-line, +Where, high above the tossing brine, + Seaward his lattice leant. + +He knew not why he left the throng, + Why there he could not rest, +What something pained him in the song + And mocked him in the jest, +Or why, the flitting crowd among, +A moveless moonbeam lay so long + Athwart one lady's breast! + +He watched, but saw her speak to none, + Saw no one speak to her; +Like one decried, she stood alone, + From the window did not stir; +Her hair by a haunting gust was blown, +Her eyes in the shadow strangely shown, + She looked a wanderer. + +He reached his room, he sought a book + His brooding to beguile; +But ever he saw her pallid look, + Her face too still to smile. +An hour he sat in his fireside nook, +The time flowed past like a silent brook, + Not a word he read the while. + +Vague thoughts absorbed his passive brain + Of love that bleeding lies, +Of hoping ever and hoping in vain, + Of a sorrow that never dies-- +When a sudden spatter of angry rain +Smote against every window-pane, + And he heard far sea-birds' cries. + +He looked from the lattice: the misty moon + Hardly a glimmer gave; +The wind was like one that hums a tune, + The first low gathering stave; +The ocean lay in a sullen swoon, +With a moveless, monotonous, murmured croon + Like the moaning of a slave. + +Sudden, with masterful, angry blare + It howled from the watery west: +The storm was up, he had left his lair! + The night would be no jest! +He turned: a lady sat in his chair! +Through her loose dim robe her arm came bare, + And it lay across her breast. + +She sat a white queen on a ruined throne, + A lily bowed with blight; +In her eyes the darkness about was blown + By flashes of liquid light; +Her skin with very whiteness shone; +Back from her forehead loosely thrown + Her hair was dusk as night. + +Wet, wet it hung, and wept like weeds + Down her pearly shoulders bare; +The pale drops glistened like diamond beads + Caught in a silken snare; +As the silver-filmy husk to its seeds +Her dank robe clings, and but half recedes + Her form so shadowy fair. + +Doubting she gazed in his wondering face, + Wonder his utterance ties; +She searches, like one in forgetful case, + For something within his eyes, +For something that love holds ever in chase, +For something that is, and has no place, + But away in the thinking lies. + +Speechless he ran, brought a wrap of wool, + And a fur that with down might vie; +Listless, into the gathering pool + She dropped them, and let them lie. +He piled the hearth with fagots so full +That the flames, as if from the log of Yule, + Up the chimney went roaring high. + +Then she spoke, and lovely to heart and ear + Was her voice, though broke by pain; +Afar it sounded, though sweet and clear, + As if from out of the rain; +As if from out of the night-wind drear +It came like the voice of one in fear + Lest she should no welcome gain. + +"I am too far off to feel the cold, + Too cold to feel the fire; +It cannot get through the heap of mould + That soaks in the drip from the spire: +Cerement of wax 'neath cloth of gold, +'Neath fur and wool in fold on fold, + Freezes in frost so dire." + +Her voice and her eyes and her cheek so white + Thrilled him through heart and brain; +Wonder and pity and love unite + In a passion of bodiless pain; +Her beauty possessed him with strange delight: +He was out with her in the live wan night, + With her in the blowing rain! + +Sudden she rose, she kneeled, she flung + Her loveliness at his feet: +"I am tired of being blown and swung + In the rain and the snow and the sleet! +But better no rest than stillness among +Things whose names would defile my tongue! + How I hate the mouldy sheet! + +"Ah, though a ghost, I'm a lady still!" + The youth recoiled aghast. +Her eyes grew wide and pale and chill + With a terror that surpassed. +He caught her hand: a freezing thrill +Stung to his wrist, but with steadfast will + He held it warm and fast. + +"What can I do to save thee, dear?" + At the word she sprang upright; +On tiptoe she stood, he bent his ear, + She whispered, whispered light. +She withdrew; she gazed with an asking fear: +Like one that looks on his lady's bier + He stood, with a face ghost-white. + +"Six times--in vain, oh hapless maid!-- + I have humbled myself to sue! +This is the last: as the sunset decayed, + Out with the twilight I grew, +And about the city flitted and strayed, +A wandering, lonely, forsaken shade: + No one saw me but you." + +He shivered, he shook, he had turned to clay, + Vile fear had gone into his blood; +His face was a dismal ashy gray, + Through his heart crept slime and mud; +The lady stood in a still dismay, +She drooped, she shrank, she withered away + Like a half-blown frozen bud. + +"Speak once more. Am I frightful then? + I live, though they call it death; +I am only cold! Say _dear_ again." + But scarce could he heave a breath; +Over a dank and steaming fen +He floated astray from the world of men, + A lost, half-conscious wraith. + +"Ah, 'tis the last time! Save me!" Her cry + Entered his heart, and lay. +But he loved the sunshine, the golden sky, + And the ghosts' moonlight is gray!-- +As feverous visions flit and fly +And without a motion elude the eye, + She stood three steps away. + +But oh, her eyes!--refusal base + Those live-soul-stars had slain! +Frozen eyes in an icy face + They had grown. Like a ghost of the brain, +Beside the lattice, thought-moved in space, +She stood with a doleful despairing grace: + The fire burned! clanged the rain! + +Faded or fled, she had vanished quite! + The loud wind sank to a sigh; +Pale faces without paled the face of night, + Sweeping the window by; +Some to the glass pressed a cheek of fright, +Some shot a gleam of decaying light + From a flickering, uncertain eye. + +Whence did it come, from the sky or the deep, + That faint, long-cadenced wail? +From the closing door of the down-way steep, + His own bosom, or out of the gale? +From the land where dead dreams, or dead maidens sleep? +Out of every night to come will creep + That cry his heart to quail! + +The clouds had broken, the wind was at rest, + The sea would be still ere morn, +The moon had gone down behind its breast + Save the tip of one blunt horn: +Was that the ghost-angel without a nest-- +Across the moonset far in the west + That thin white vapour borne? + +He turned from the lattice: the fire-lit room + With its ghost-forsaken chair +Was cold and drear as a rifled tomb, + Shameful and dreamless and bare! +Filled it was with his own soul's gloom, +With the sense of a traitor's merited doom, + With a lovely ghost's despair! + +He had driven a lady, and lightly clad, + Out in the stormy cold! +Was she a ghost?--Divinely sad + Are the people of Hades old! +A wandering ghost? Oh, self-care bad, +Caitiff and craven and cowering, which had + Refused her an earthly fold! + +Ill had she fared, his lovely guest!-- + A passion of wild self-blame +Tore the heart that failed in the test + With a thousand hooks of shame, +Bent his proud head on his heaving breast, +Shore the plume from his ancient crest, + Puffed at his ancient name. + +He sickened with scorn of a fallen will, + With love and remorse he wept; +He sank and kissed her footprints chill + And the track by her garment swept; +He kneeled by her chair, all ice-cold still, +Dropped his head in it, moaned until + For weariness he slept. + +He slept until the flaming sun + Laughed at the by-gone dark: +"A frightful dream!--but the night is done," + He said, "and I hear the lark!" +All day he held out; with the evening gun +A booming terror his brain did stun, + And Doubt, the jackal, gan bark. + +Followed the lion, Conviction, fast, + And the truth no dream he knew! +Night after night raved the conscience-blast, + But stilled as the morning grew. +When seven slow moons had come and passed +His self-reproach aside he cast, + And the truth appeared untrue. + +A lady fair--old story vile!-- + Would make his heart her boast: +In the growing glamour of her smile + He forgot the lovely ghost: +Forgot her for bitterness wrapt in wile, +For the lady was false as a crocodile, + And her heart was a cave of frost. + +Then the cold white face, with its woe divine, + Came back in the hour of sighs: +Not always with comfort to those that pine + The dear true faces arise! +He yearned for her, dreamed of her, prayed for a sign; +He wept for her pleading voice, and the shine + Of her solitary eyes. + +"With thy face so still, which I made so sad-- + Ah me! which I might have wooed-- +Thou holdest my heart in a love not glad, + Sorrowful, shame-subdued! +Come to me, lady, in pardon clad; +Come to my dreams, white Aidead, + For on thee all day I brood!" + +She came not. He sought her in churchyards old, + In churchyards by the sea; +And in many a church, when the midnight tolled + And the moon shone eerily, +Down to the crypt he crept, grown bold, +Sat all night in the dead men's cold, + And called to her: never came she. + +Praying forgiveness more and more, + And her love at any cost, +Pining and sighing and longing sore + He grew like a creature lost; +Thin and spectral his body wore, +He faded out at the ghostly door, + And was himself a ghost. + +But if he found the lady then, + So sorrowfully lost +For lack of the love 'mong earthly men + That was ready to brave love's cost, +I know not till I drop my pen, +Wander away from earthly ken, + And am myself a ghost. + + + +_ABU MIDJAN_. + +"If I sit in the dust + For lauding good wine, +Ha, ha! it is just: + So sits the vine!" + +Abu Midjan sang as he sat in chains, +For the blood of the grape ran the juice of his veins. +The Prophet had said, "O Faithful, drink not!" +Abu Midjan drank till his heart was hot; +Yea, he sang a song in praise of wine, +He called it good names--a joy divine, +The giver of might, the opener of eyes, +Love's handmaid, the water of Paradise! +Therefore Saad his chief spake words of blame, +And set him in irons--a fettered flame; +But he sings of the wine as he sits in his chains, +For the blood of the grape runs the juice of his veins: + +"I will not think + That the Prophet said +_Ye shall not drink + Of the flowing red!_" + +"'Tis a drenched brain + Whose after-sting +Cries out, _Refrain: + 'Tis an evil thing!_ + +"But I will dare, + With a goodly drought, +To drink, nor spare + Till my thirst be out. + +"_I_ do not laugh + Like a Christian fool +But in silence quaff + The liquor cool + +"At door of tent + 'Neath evening star, +With daylight spent, + And Uriel afar! + +"Then, through the sky, + Lo, the emerald hills! +My faith swells high, + My bosom thrills: + +"I see them hearken, + The Houris that wait! +Their dark eyes darken + The diamond gate! + +"I hear the float + Of their chant divine, +And my heart like a boat + Sails thither on wine! + +"Can an evil thing + Make beauty more? +Or a sinner bring + To the heavenly door? + +"The sun-rain fine + Would sink and escape, +But is drunk by the vine, + Is stored in the grape: + +"And the prisoned light + I free again: +It flows in might + Through my shining brain + +"I love and I know; + The truth is mine; +I walk in the glow + Of the sun-bred wine. + +"_I_ will not think + That the Prophet said +_Ye shall not drink + Of the flowing red!_ + +"For his promises, lo, + Sevenfold they shine +When the channels o'erflow + With the singing wine! + +"But I care not, I!--'tis a small annoy +To sit in chains for a heavenly joy!" + + Away went the song on the light wind borne; +His head sank down, and a ripple of scorn +Shook the hair that flowed from his curling lip +As he eyed his brown limbs in the iron's grip. + + Sudden his forehead he lifted high: +A faint sound strayed like a moth-wing by! +Like beacons his eyes burst blazing forth: +A dust-cloud he spied in the distant north! +A noise and a smoke on the plain afar? +'Tis the cloud and the clang of the Moslem war! +He leapt aloft like a tiger snared; +The wine in his veins through his visage flared; +He tore at his fetters in bootless ire, +He called the Prophet, he named his sire; +From his lips, with wild shout, the Techir burst; +He danced in his irons; the Giaours he cursed; +And his eyes they flamed like a beacon dun, +Or like wine in the crystal twixt eye and sun. + + The lady of Saad heard him shout, +Heard his fetters ring on the stones about +The heart of a warrior she understood, +And the rage of the thwarted battle-mood: +Her name, with the cry of an angry prayer, +He called but once, and the lady was there. + + "The Giaour!" he panted, "the Godless brute! +And me like a camel tied foot to foot! +Let me go, and I swear by Allah's fear +At sunset I don again this gear, +Or lie in a heaven of starry eyes, +Kissed by moon-maidens of Paradise! +O lady, grant me the death of the just! +Hark to the hurtle! see the dust!" + + With ready fingers the noble dame +Unlocked her husband's iron blame; +Brought his second horse, his Abdon, out, +And his second hauberk, light and stout; +Harnessed the warrior, and hight him go +An angel of vengeance upon the foe. + + With clank of steel and thud of hoof +Away he galloped; she climbed the roof. + + She sees the cloud and the flashes that leap +From the scythe-shaped swords inside it that sweep +Down with back-stroke the disordered swath: +Thither he speeds, a bolt of wrath! +Straight as an arrow she sees him go, +Abu Midjan, the singer, upon the foe! +Like an eagle he vanishes in the cloud, +And the thunder of battle bursts more loud, +Mingled of crashes and blows and falls, +Of the whish that severs the throat that calls, +Of neighing and shouting and groaning grim: +Abu Midjan, she sees no more of him! +Northward the battle drifts afar +On the flowing tide of the holy war. + + Lonely across the desert sand, +From his wrist by its thong hung his clotted brand, +Red in the sunset's level flame +Back to his bonds Abu Midjan came. + + "Lady, I swear your Saad's horse-- +The Prophet himself might have rode a worse! +Like the knots of a serpent the play of his flesh +As he tore to the quarry in Allah's mesh! +I forgot him, and mowed at the traitor weeds, +Which fell before me like rushes and reeds, +Or like the tall poppies that sudden drop low +Their heads to an urchin's unstrung bow! +Fled the Giaour; the faithful flew after to kill; +I turned to surrender: beneath me still +Was Abdon unjaded, fresh in force, +Faithful and fearless--a heavenly horse! +Give him water, lady, and barley to eat; +Then haste thee and fetter the wine-bibber's feet." + + To the terrace he went, and she to the stall; +She tended the horse like guest in hall, +Then to the warrior unhasting returned. +The fire of the fight in his eyes yet burned, +But he sat in a silence that might betoken +One ashamed that his heart had spoken-- +Though where was the word to breed remorse? +He had lauded only his chief's brave horse! +Not a word she spoke, but his fetters locked; +He watched with a smile that himself bemocked; +She left him seated in caitiff-plight, +Like one that had feared and fled the fight. + + But what singer ever sat lonely long +Ere the hidden fountain burst in song! +The battle wine foamed in the warrior's veins, +And he sang sword-tempest who sat in chains. + + "Oh, the wine +Of the vine + Is a feeble thing! +In the rattle +Of battle + The true grapes spring! + +"When on whir +Of Tecbir + Allah's wrath flies, +And the power +Of the Giaour + A blasted leaf lies! + +"When on force +Of the horse + The arm flung abroad +Is sweeping, +And reaping + The harvest of God! + +"Ha! they drop +From the top + To the sear heap below! +Ha! deeper, +Down steeper, + The infidels go! + +"Azrael +Sheer to hell + Shoots the foul shoals! +There Monker +And Nakir + Torture their souls! + +"But when drop +On their crop + The scimitars red, +And under +War's thunder + The faithful lie dead, + +"Oh, bright +Is the light + On hero slow breaking! +Rapturous faces +Bent for embraces + Watch for his waking! + +"And he hears +In his ears + The voice of Life's river, +Like a song +Of the strong, + Jubilant ever! + +"Oh, the wine +Of the vine + May lead to the gates, +But the rattle +Of battle + Wakes the angel who waits! + +"To the lord +Of the sword + Open it must! +The drinker, +The thinker + Sits in the dust! + +"He dreams +Of the gleams + Of their garments of white; +He misses +Their kisses, + The maidens of light! + +"They long +For the strong + Who has burst through alarms-- +Up, by the labour +Of stirrup and sabre, + Up to their arms! + +"Oh, the wine of the grape is a feeble ghost! +The wine of the fight is the joy of a host!" + + When Saad came home from the far pursuit, +An hour he sat, and an hour was mute. +Then he opened his mouth: "Ah, wife, the fight +Had been lost full sure, but an arm of might +Sudden rose up on the crest of the battle, +Flashed blue lightnings, thundered steel rattle, +Took up the fighting, and drove it on-- +Enoch sure, or the good Saint John! +Wherever he leaped, like a lion he, +The battle was thickest, or soon to be! +Wherever he sprang with his lion roar, +In a minute the battle was there no more! +With a headlong fear, the sinners fled, +And we swept them down the steep of the dead: +Before us, not from us, did they flee, +They ceased in the depths of a new Red Sea! +But him who saved us we saw no more; +He went as he came, by a secret door! +And strangest of all--nor think I err +If a miracle I for truth aver-- +I was close to him thrice--the holy Force +Wore my silver-ringed hauberk, rode Abdon my horse!" + + The lady rose up, withholding her word, +And led to the terrace her wondering lord, +Where, song-soothed, and weary with battle strain, +Abu Midjan sat counting the links of his chain: +"The battle was raging, he raging worse; +I freed him, harnessed him, gave him thy horse." + + "Abu Midjan! the singer of love and of wine! +The arm of the battle, it also was thine? +Rise up, shake the irons from off thy feet: +For the lord of the fight are fetters meet? +If thou wilt, then drink till thou be hoar: +Allah shall judge thee; I judge no more!" + + Abu Midjan arose; he flung aside +The clanking fetters, and thus he cried: +"If thou give me to God and his decrees, +Nor purge my sin with the shame of these, +Wrath against me I dare not store: +In the name of Allah, I drink no more!" + + + +_THE THANKLESS LADY_. + +It is May, and the moon leans down at night + Over a blossomy land; +Leans from her window a lady white, + With her cheek upon her hand. + +"Oh, why in the blue so misty, moon? + Why so dull in the sky? +Thou look'st like one that is ready to swoon + Because her tear-well is dry. + +"Enough, enough of longing and wail! + Oh, bird, I pray thee, be glad! +Sing to me once, dear nightingale, + The old song, merry mad. + +"Hold, hold with thy blossoming, colourless, cold, + Apple-tree white as woe! +Blossom yet once with the blossom of old, + Let the roses shine through the snow!" + +The moon and the blossoms they gloomily gleam, + The bird will not be glad: +The dead never speak when the mournful dream, + They are too weak and sad. + +Listened she listless till night grew late, + Bound by a weary spell; +Then clanked the latch of the garden-gate, + And a wondrous thing befell: + +Out burst the gladness, up dawned the love. + In the song, in the waiting show; +Grew silver the moon in the sky above. + Blushed rosy the blossom below. + +But the merry bird, nor the silvery moon, + Nor the blossoms that flushed the night +Had one poor thanks for the granted boon: + The lady forgot them quite! + + + +_LEGEND OF THE CORRIEVRECHAN_. + +Prince Breacan of Denmark was lord of the strand + And lord of the billowy sea; +Lord of the sea and lord of the land, + He might have let maidens be! + +A maiden he met with locks of gold, + Straying beside the sea: +Maidens listened in days of old, + And repented grievously. + +Wiser he left her in evil wiles, + Went sailing over the sea; +Came to the lord of the Western Isles: + Give me thy daughter, said he. + +The lord of the Isles he laughed, and said: + Only a king of the sea +May think the Maid of the Isles to wed, + And such, men call not thee! + +Hold thine own three nights and days + In yon whirlpool of the sea, +Or turn thy prow and go thy ways + And let the isle-maiden be. + +Prince Breacan he turned his dragon prow + To Denmark over the sea: +Wise women, he said, now tell me how + In yon whirlpool to anchor me. + +Make a cable of hemp and a cable of wool + And a cable of maidens' hair, +And hie thee back to the roaring pool + And anchor in safety there. + +The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule, + Will forge three anchors rare; +The hemp thou shalt pull, thou shalt shear the wool, + And the maidens will bring their hair. + +Of the hair that is brown thou shalt twist one strand, + Of the hair that is raven another; +Of the golden hair thou shalt twine a band + To bind the one to the other! + +The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule, + They forged three anchors rare; +The hemp he did pull, and he shore the wool, + And the maidens brought their hair. + +He twisted the brown hair for one strand, + The raven hair for another; +He twined the golden hair in a band + To bind the one to the other. + +He took the cables of hemp and wool. + He took the cable of hair, +He hied him back to the roaring pool, + He cast the three anchors there. + +The whirlpool roared, and the day went by, + And night came down on the sea; +But or ever the morning broke the sky + The hemp was broken in three. + +The night it came down, the whirlpool it ran, + The wind it fiercely blew; +And or ever the second morning began + The wool it parted in two. + +The storm it roared all day the third, + The whirlpool wallowed about, +The night came down like a wild black bird, + But the cable of hair held out. + +Round and round with a giddy swing + Went the sea-king through the dark; +Round went the rope in the swivel-ring, + Round reeled the straining bark. + +Prince Breacan he stood on his dragon prow, + A lantern in his hand: +Blest be the maidens of Denmark now, + By them shall Denmark stand! + +He watched the rope through the tempest black + A lantern in his hold: +Out, out, alack! one strand will crack! + It is the strand of gold! + +The third morn clear and calm came out: + No anchored ship was there! +The golden strand in the cable stout + Was not all of maidens' hair. + + + +_THE DEAD HAND_. + +The witch lady walked along the strand, + Heard a roaring of the sea, +On the edge of a pool saw a dead man's hand, + Good thing for a witch lady! + +Lightly she stepped across the rocks, + Came where the dead man lay: +Now pretty maid with your merry mocks, + Now I shall have my way! + +On a finger shone a sapphire blue + In the heart of six rubies red: +Come back to me, my promise true, + Come back, my ring, she said. + +She took the dead hand in the live, + And at the ring drew she; +The dead hand closed its fingers five, + And it held the witch lady. + +She swore the storm was not her deed, + Dark spells she backward spoke; +If the dead man heard he took no heed, + But held like a cloven oak. + +Deathly cold, crept up the tide, + Sure of her, made no haste; +Crept up to her knees, crept up each side, + Crept up to her wicked waist. + +Over the blue sea sailed the bride + In her love's own sailing ship, +And the witch she saw them across the tide + As it rose to her lying lip. + +Oh, the heart of the dead and the hand of the dead + Are strong hasps they to hold! +Fled the true dove with the kite's new love, + And left the false kite with the old. + + + + + MINOR DITTIES. + + + +_IN THE NIGHT_. + +As to her child a mother calls, +"Come to me, child; come near!" +Calling, in silent intervals, +The Master's voice I hear. + +But does he call me verily? +To have me does he care? +Why should he seek my poverty, +My selfishness so bare? + +The dear voice makes his gladness brim, +But not a child can know +Why that large woman cares for him, +Why she should love him so! + +Lord, to thy call of me I bow, +Obey like Abraham: +Thou lov'st me because thou art thou, +And I am what I am! + +Doubt whispers, _Thou art such a blot +He cannot love poor thee_: +If what I am he loveth not, +He loves what I shall be. + +Nay, that which can be drawn and wooed, +And turned away from ill, +Is what his father made for good: +He loves me, I say still! + + + +_THE GIVER._ + +To give a thing and take again +Is counted meanness among men; +To take away what once is given +Cannot then be the way of heaven! + +But human hearts are crumbly stuff, +And never, never love enough, +Therefore God takes and, with a smile, +Puts our best things away a while. + +Thereon some weep, some rave, some scorn, +Some wish they never had been born; +Some humble grow at last and still, +And then God gives them what they will. + + + +_FALSE PROPHETS._ + +Would-be prophets tell us +We shall not re-know +Them that walked our fellows +In the ways below! + +Smoking, smouldering Tophets +Steaming hopeless plaints! +Dreary, mole-eyed prophets! +Mean, skin-pledging saints! + +Knowing not the Father +What their prophecies! +Grapes of such none gather, +Only thorns and lies. + +Loving thus the brother, +How the Father tell? +Go without each other +To your heavenly hell! + + + +_LIFE-WEARY_. + +O Thou that walkest with nigh hopeless feet +Past the one harbour, built for thee and thine. +Doth no stray odour from its table greet, +No truant beam from fire or candle shine? + +At his wide door the host doth stand and call; +At every lattice gracious forms invite; +Thou seest but a dull-gray, solid wall +In forest sullen with the things of night! + +Thou cravest rest, and Rest for thee doth crave, +The white sheet folded down, white robe apart.-- +Shame, Faithless! No, I do not mean the grave! +I mean Love's very house and hearth and heart. + + + +_APPROACHES_. + +When thou turn'st away from ill, +Christ is this side of thy hill. + +When thou turnest toward good, +Christ is walking in thy wood. + +When thy heart says, "Father, pardon!" +Then the Lord is in thy garden. + +When stern Duty wakes to watch, +Then his hand is on the latch. + +But when Hope thy song doth rouse, +Then the Lord is in the house. + +When to love is all thy wit, +Christ doth at thy table sit. + +When God's will is thy heart's pole, +Then is Christ thy very soul. + + + +_TRAVELLERS' SONG_. + +Bands of dark and bands of light +Lie athwart the homeward way; +Now we cross a belt of Night, +Now a strip of shining Day! + +Now it is a month of June, +Now December's shivering hour; +Now rides high loved memories' Moon, +Now the Dark is dense with power! + +Summers, winters, days, and nights, +Moons, and clouds, they come and go; +Joys and sorrows, pains, delights, +Hope and fear, and _yes_ and _no_. + +All is well: come, girls and boys, +Not a weary mile is vain! +Hark--dim laughter's radiant noise! +See the windows through the rain! + + + +_LOVE IS STRENGTH_. + +Love alone is great in might, +Makes the heavy burden light, +Smooths rough ways to weary feet, +Makes the bitter morsel sweet: +Love alone is strength! + +Might that is not born of Love +Is not Might born from above, +Has its birthplace down below +Where they neither reap nor sow: +Love alone is strength! + +Love is stronger than all force, +Is its own eternal source; +Might is always in decay, +Love grows fresher every day: +Love alone is strength! + +Little ones, no ill can chance; +Fear ye not, but sing and dance; +Though the high-heaved heaven should fall +God is plenty for us all: +God is Love and Strength! + + + +_COMING_. + +When the snow is on the earth +Birds and waters cease their mirth; +When the sunlight is prevailing +Even the night-winds drop their wailing. + +On the earth when deep snows lie +Still the sun is in the sky, +And when most we miss his fire +He is ever drawing nigher. + +In the darkest winter day +Thou, God, art not far away; +When the nights grow colder, drearer, +Father, thou art coming nearer! + +For thee coming I would watch +With my hand upon the latch-- +Of the door, I mean, that faces +Out upon the eternal spaces! + + + +_SONG OF THE WAITING DEAD_. + +With us there is no gray fearing, +With us no aching for lack! +For the morn it is always nearing, +And the night is at our back. +At times a song will fall dumb, +A thought-bell burst in a sigh, +But no one says, "He will not come!" +She says, "He is almost nigh!" + +The thing you call a sorrow +Is our delight on its way: +We know that the coming morrow +Comes on the wheels of to-day! +Our Past is a child asleep; +Delay is ripening the kiss; +The rising tear we will not weep +Until it flow for bliss. + + + +_OBEDIENCE_. + +Trust him in the common light; +Trust him in the awesome night; + +Trust him when the earth doth quake: +Trust him when thy heart doth ache; + +Trust him when thy brain doth reel +And thy friend turns on his heel; + +Trust him when the way is rough, +Cry not yet, _It is enough_! + +But obey with true endeavour, +Else the salt hath lost his savour. + + + +_A SONG IN THE NIGHT_. + +I would I were an angel strong, +An angel of the sun, hasting along! + +I would I were just come awake, +A child outbursting from night's dusky brake! + +Or lark whose inward, upward fate +Mocks every wall that masks the heavenly gate! + +Or hopeful cock whose clarion clear +Shrills ten times ere a film of dawn appear! + +Or but a glowworm: even then +My light would come straight from the Light of Men! + +I am a dead seed, dark and slow: +Father of larks and children, make me grow. + + + +_DE PROFUNDIS_. + +When I am dead unto myself, and let, +O Father, thee live on in me, +Contented to do nought but pay my debt, +And leave the house to thee, + +Then shall I be thy ransomed--from the cark +Of living, from the strain for breath, +From tossing in my coffin strait and dark, +At hourly strife with death! + +Have mercy! in my coffin! and awake! +A buried temple of the Lord! +Grow, Temple, grow! Heart, from thy cerements break! +Stream out, O living Sword! + +When I am with thee as thou art with me, +Life will be self-forgetting power; +Love, ever conscious, buoyant, clear, and free, +Will flame in darkest hour. + +Where now I sit alone, unmoving, calm, +With windows open to thy wind, +Shall I not know thee in the radiant psalm +Soaring from heart and mind? + +The body of this death will melt away, +And I shall know as I am known; +Know thee my father, every hour and day, +As thou know'st me thine own! + + + +_BLIND SORROW_. + +"My life is drear; walking I labour sore; + The heart in me is heavy as a stone; +And of my sorrows this the icy core: + Life is so wide, and I am all alone!" + +Thou did'st walk so, with heaven-born eyes down bent + Upon the earth's gold-rosy, radiant clay, +That thou had'st seen no star in all God's tent + Had not thy tears made pools first on the way. + +Ah, little knowest thou the tender care + In a love-plenteous cloak around thee thrown! +Full many a dim-seen, saving mountain-stair + Toiling thou climb'st--but not one step alone! + +Lift but thy languid head and see thy guide; + Let thy steps go in his, nor choose thine own; +Then soon wilt thou, thine eyes with wonder wide, + Cry, _Now I know I never was alone_! + + + + + MOTES IN THE SUN. + + + +_ANGELS_. + +Came of old to houses lonely + Men with wings, but did not show them: +Angels come to our house, only, + For their wings, they do not know them! + + + +_THE FATHER'S WORSHIPPERS_. + +'Tis we, not in thine arms, who weep and pray; +The children in thy bosom laugh and play. + + + +_A BIRTHDAY-WISH_. + +Who know thee, love: thy life be such + That, ere the year be o'er, +Each one who loves thee now so much, + Even God, may love thee more! + + + +_TO ANY ONE_. + +Go not forth to call Dame Sorrow +From the dim fields of Tomorrow; +Let her roam there all unheeded, +She will come when she is needed; +Then, when she draws near thy door, +She will find God there before. + + + +_WAITING_. + +Lie, little cow, and chew thy cud, + The farmer soon will shift thy tether; +Chirp, linnet, on the frozen mud, + Sun and song will come together; +Wait, soul, for God, and thou shalt bud, + He waits thy waiting with his weather. + + + +_LOST BUT SAFE_. + +Lost the little one roams about, +Pathway or shelter none can find; +Blinking stars are coming out; +No one is moving but the wind; +It is no use to cry or shout, +All the world is still as a mouse; +One thing only eases her mind: +"Father knows I'm not in the house!" + + + +_MUCH AND MORE_. + +When thy heart, love-filled, grows graver, + And eternal bliss looks nearer, +Ask thy heart, nor show it favour, + Is the gift or giver dearer? + +Love, love on; love higher, deeper; + Let love's ocean close above her; +Only, love thou more love's keeper, + More, the love-creating lover. + + + +_HOPE AND PATIENCE_. + +An unborn bird lies crumpled and curled, +A-dreaming of the world. + +Round it, for castle-wall, a shell +Is guarding it well. + +_Hope_ is the bird with its dim sensations; +The shell that keeps it alive is _Patience_. + + + +_A BETTER THING_. + +I took it for a bird of prey that soared +High over ocean, battled mount, and plain; +'Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored +The invisibly obstructing window-pane! + +Better than eagle, with far-towering nerve +But downward bent, greedy, marauding eye, +Guest of the flowers, thou art: unhurt they serve +Thee, little angel of a lower sky! + + + +_A PRISONER_. + +The hinges are so rusty +The door is fixed and fast; +The windows are so dusty +The sun looks in aghast: +Knock out the glass, I pray, +Or dash the door away, +Or break the house down bodily, +And let my soul go free! + + + +_TO MY LORD AND MASTER_. + +Imagination cannot rise above thee; +Near and afar I see thee, and I love thee; +My misery away from me I thrust it, +For thy perfection I behold, and trust it. + + + +_TO ONE UNSATISFIED_. + +When, with all the loved around thee, + Still thy heart says, "I am lonely," +It is well; the truth hath found thee: + Rest is with the Father only. + + + +_TO MY GOD_. + +Oh how oft I wake and find + I have been forgetting thee! +I am never from thy mind: + Thou it is that wakest me. + + + +_TRIOLET_. + +Oh that men would praise the Lord + For his goodness unto men! +Forth he sends his saving word, + --Oh that men would praise the Lord!-- +And from shades of death abhorred + Lifts them up to light again: +Oh that men would praise the Lord + For his goodness unto men! + + + +_THE WORD OF GOD_. + +Where the bud has never blown + Who for scent is debtor? +Where the spirit rests unknown + Fatal is the letter. + +In thee, Jesus, Godhead-stored, + All things we inherit, +For thou art the very Word + And the very Spirit! + + + +_EINE KLEINE PREDIGT_. + +Graut Euch nicht, Ihr lieben Leute, + Vor dem ungeheuren Morgen; +Wenn es kommt, es ist das Heute, + Und der liebe Gott zu sorgen. + + + +_TO THE LIFE ETERNAL_. + +Thou art my thought, my heart, my being's fortune, + The search for thee my growth's first conscious date; +For nought, for everything, I thee importune; + Thou art my all, my origin and fate! + + + +_HOPE DEFERRED_. + +"Where is thy crown, O tree of Love? + Flowers only bears thy root! +Will never rain drop from above + Divine enough for fruit?" + +"I dwell in hope that gives good cheer, + Twilight my darkest hour; +For seest thou not that every year + I break in better flower?" + + + +_FORGIVENESS_. + +God gives his child upon his slate a sum-- + To find eternity in hours and years; +With both sides covered, back the child doth come, + His dim eyes swollen with shed and unshed tears; +God smiles, wipes clean the upper side and nether, +And says, "Now, dear, we'll do the sum together!" + + + +_DEJECTION_. + +O Father, I am in the dark, + My soul is heavy-bowed: +I send my prayer up like a lark, + Up through my vapoury shroud, + To find thee, + And remind thee +I am thy child, and thou my father, +Though round me death itself should gather. + +Lay thy loved hand upon my head, + Let thy heart beat in mine; +One thought from thee, when all seems dead, + Will make the darkness shine + About me + And throughout me! +And should again the dull night gather, +I'll cry again, _Thou art my father_. + + + +_APPEAL_. + +If in my arms I bore my child, + Would he cry out for fear +Because the night was dark and wild + And no one else was near? + +Shall I then treat thee, Father, as + My fatherhood would grieve? +I will be hopeful, though, alas, + I cannot quite believe! + +I had no power, no wish to be: + Thou madest me half blind! +The darkness comes! I cling to thee! + Be thou my perfect mind. + + + + + POEMS FOR CHILDREN + + + +_LESSONS FOR A CHILD_. + +I. + +There breathes not a breath of the summer air +But the spirit of love is moving there; +Not a trembling leaf on the shadowy tree, +Flutters with hundreds in harmony, +But that spirit can part its tone from the rest, +And read the life in its beetle's breast. +When the sunshiny butterflies come and go, +Like flowers paying visits to and fro, +Not a single wave of their fanning wings +Is unfelt by the spirit that feeleth all things. +The long-mantled moths that sleep at noon +And rove in the light of the gentler moon; +And the myriad gnats that dance like a wall, +Or a moving column that will not fall; +And the dragon-flies that go burning by, +Shot like a glance from a seeking eye-- +There is one being that loves them all: +Not a fly in a spider's web can fall +But he cares for the spider, and cares for the fly; +He cares for you, whether you laugh or cry, +Cares whether your mother smile or sigh. +How he cares for so many, I do not know, +But it would be too strange if he did not so-- +Dreadful and dreary for even a fly: +So I cannot wait for the _how_ and _why_, +But believe that all things are gathered and nursed +In the love of him whose love went first +And made this world--like a huge great nest +For a hen to sit on with feathery breast. + +II. + + The bird on the leafy tree, + The bird in the cloudy sky, + The hart in the forest free, + The stag on the mountain high, + The fish inside the sea, + The albatross asleep + On the outside of the deep, + The bee through the summer sunny + Hunting for wells of honey-- + What is the thought in the breast + Of the little bird in its nest? + What is the thought in the songs + The lark in the sky prolongs? + What mean the dolphin's rays, + Winding his watery ways? + What is the thought of the stag, + Stately on yonder crag? + What does the albatross think, + Dreaming upon the brink + Of the mountain billow, and then + Dreaming down in its glen? + What is the thought of the bee + Fleeting so silently, + Or flitting--with busy hum, + But a careless go-and-come-- + From flower-chalice to chalice, + Like a prince from palace to palace? + What makes them alive, so very-- + Some of them, surely, merry. + And others so stately calm + They might be singing a psalm? + + I cannot tell what they think--- + Only know they eat and drink, + And on all that lies about + With a quiet heart look out, + Each after its kind, stately or coy, + Solemn like man, gamesome like boy, + Glad with its own mysterious joy. + + And God, who knows their thoughts and ways + Though his the creatures do not know, + From his full heart fills each of theirs: + Into them all his breath doth go; + Good and better with them he shares; + Content with their bliss while they have no prayers, + He takes their joy for praise. + + If thou wouldst be like him, little one, go + And be kind with a kindness undefiled; + Who gives for the pleasure of thanks, my child, + God's gladness cannot know. + +III. + + Root met root in the spongy ground, + Searching each for food: + Each turned aside, and away it wound. + And each got something good. + + Sound met sound in the wavy air-- + That made a little to-do! + They jostled not long, but were quick and fair; + Each found its path and flew. + + Drop dashed on drop, as the rain-shower fell; + They joined and sank below: + In gathered thousands they rose a well, + With a singing overflow. + + Wind met wind in a garden green, + They began to push and fret: + A tearing whirlwind arose between: + There love lies bleeding yet. + + + +_WHAT MAKES SUMMER?_ + + Winter froze both brook and well; +Fast and fast the snowflakes fell; +Children gathered round the hearth +Made a summer of their mirth; +When a boy, so lately come +That his life was yet one sum +Of delights--of aimless rambles. +Romps and dreams and games and gambols, +Thought aloud: "I wish I knew +What makes summer--that I do!" +Father heard, and it did show him +How to write a little poem. + + What makes summer, little one, +Do you ask? It is the sun. +Want of heat is all the harm, +Summer is but winter warm. +'Tis the sun--yes, that one there, +Dim and gray, low in the air! +Now he looks at us askance, +But will lift his countenance +Higher up, and look down straighter. +Rise much earlier, set much later, +Till we sing out, "Hail, Well-comer, +Thou hast brought our own old Summer!" + + When the sun thus rises early +And keeps shining all day rarely, +Up he draws the larks to meet him, +Earth's bird-angels, wild to greet him; +Up he draws the clouds, and pours +Down again their shining showers; +Out he draws the grass and clover, +Daisies, buttercups all over; +Out he wiles all flowers to stare +At their father in the air-- +He all light, they how much duller, +Yet son-suns of every colour! +Then he draws their odours out, +Sends them on the winds about. +Next he draws out flying things-- +Out of eggs, fast-flapping wings; +Out of lumps like frozen snails, +Butterflies with splendid sails; +Draws the blossoms from the trees, +From their hives the buzzy bees, +Golden things from muddy cracks-- +Beetles with their burnished backs; +Laughter draws he from the river +Gleaming back to the gleam-giver; +Light he sends to every nook +That no creature be forsook; +Draws from gloom and pain and sadness, +Hope and blessing, peace and gladness, +Making man's heart sing and shine +With his brilliancy divine: +Summer, thus it is he makes it, +And the little child he takes it. + + Day's work done, adown the west +Lingering he goes to rest; +Like a child, who, blissful yet, +Is unwilling to forget, +And, though sleepy, heels and head, +Thinks he cannot go to bed. +Even when down behind the hill +Back his bright look shineth still, +Whose keen glory with the night +Makes the lovely gray twilight-- +Drawing out the downy owl, +With his musical bird-howl; +Drawing out the leathery bats-- +Mice they are, turned airy cats-- +Noiseless, sly, and slippery things +Swimming through the air on wings; +Drawing out the feathery moth, +Lazy, drowsy, very loath; +Drawing children to the door +For one goodnight-frolic more; +Drawing from the glow-worms' tails +Glimmers green in grassy dales; +Making ocean's phosphor-flashes +Glow as if they were sun-ashes. + + Then the moon comes up the hill, +Wide awake, but dreaming still, +Soft and slow, as if in fear +Lest her path should not be clear. +Like a timid lady she +Looks around her daintily, +Begs the clouds to come about her, +Tells the stars to shine without her, +Then unveils, and, bolder grown, +Climbs the steps of her blue throne: +Stately in a calm delight, +Mistress of a whole fair night, +Lonely but for stars a few, +There she sits in silence blue, +And the world before her lies +Faint, a round shade in the skies! + + But what fun is all about +When the humans are shut out! +Shadowy to the moon, the earth +Is a very world of mirth! +Night is then a dream opaque +Full of creatures wide awake! +Noiseless then, on feet or wings, +Out they come, all moon-eyed things! +In and out they pop and play, +Have it all their own wild way, +Fly and frolic, scamper, glow; +Treat the moon, for all her show, +State, and opal diadem, +Like a nursemaid watching them. +And the nightingale doth snare +All the merry tumult rare, +All the music and the magic, +All the comic and the tragic, +All the wisdom and the riot +Of the midnight moonlight diet, +In a diamond hoop of song, +Which he trundles all night long. + + What doth make the sun, you ask, +Able for such mighty task? +He is not a lamp hung high +Sliding up and down the sky, +He is carried in a hand: +That's what makes him strong and grand! +From that hand comes all his power; +If it set him down one hour, +Yea, one moment set him by, +In that moment he would die, +And the winter, ice, and snow +Come on us, and never go. + + Need I tell you whose the hand +Bears him high o'er sea and land? + + + +_MOTHER NATURE._ + + Beautiful mother is busy all day, +So busy she neither can sing nor say; +But lovely thoughts, in a ceaseless flow, +Through her eyes, and her ears, and her bosom go-- +Motion, sight, and sound, and scent, +Weaving a royal, rich content. + + When night is come, and her children sleep, +Beautiful mother her watch doth keep; +With glowing stars in her dusky hair +Down she sits to her music rare; +And her instrument that never fails, +Is the hearts and the throats of her nightingales. + + + +_THE MISTLETOE._ + + Kiss me: there now, little Neddy, +Do you see her staring steady? +There again you had a chance of her! +Didn't you catch the pretty glance of her? +See her nest! On any planet +Never was a sweeter than it! +Never nest was such as this is: +Tis the nest of all the kisses, +With the mother kiss-bird sitting +All through Christmas, never flitting, +Kisses, kisses, kisses hatching, +Sweetest birdies, for the catching! +Oh, the precious little brood +Always in a loving mood!-- +There's one under Mamy's hood! + + There, that's one I caught this minute, +Musical as any linnet! +Where it is, your big eyes question, +With of doubt a wee suggestion? +There it is--upon mouth merry! +There it is--upon cheek cherry! +There's another on chin-chinnie! +Now it's off, and lights on Minnie! +There's another on nose-nosey! +There's another on lip-rosy! +And the kissy-bird is hatching +Hundreds more for only catching. + + Why the mistletoe she chooses, +And the Christmas-tree refuses? +There's a puzzle for your mother? +I'll present you with another! +Tell me why, you question-asker, +Cruel, heartless mother-tasker-- +Why, of all the trees before her, +Gathered round, or spreading o'er her, +Jenny Wren should choose the apple +For her nursery and chapel! +Or Jack Daw build in the steeple +High above the praying people! +Tell me why the limping plover +O'er moist meadow likes to hover; +Why the partridge with such trouble +Builds her nest where soon the stubble +Will betray her hop-thumb-cheepers +To the eyes of all the reapers!-- +Tell me, Charley; tell me, Janey; +Answer all, or answer any, +And I'll tell you, with much pleasure, +Why this little bird of treasure +Nestles only in the mistletoe, +Never, never goes the thistle to. + + Not an answer? Tell without it? +Yes--all that I know about it:-- +Mistletoe, then, cannot flourish, +Cannot find the food to nourish +But on other plant when planted-- +And for kissing two are wanted. +That is why the kissy-birdie +Looks about for oak-tree sturdy +And the plant that grows upon it +Like a wax-flower on a bonnet. + + But, my blessed little mannie, +All the birdies are not cannie +That the kissy-birdie hatches! +Some are worthless little patches, +Which indeed if they don't smutch you, +'Tis they're dead before they touch you! +While for kisses vain and greedy, +Kisses flattering, kisses needy, +They are birds that never waddled +Out of eggs that only addled! +Some there are leave spots behind them, +On your cheek for years you'd find them: +Little ones, I do beseech you, +Never let such birdies reach you. + + It depends what net you venture +What the sort of bird will enter! +I will tell you in a minute +What net takes kiss--lark or linnet-- +Any bird indeed worth hatching +And just therefore worth the catching: +The one net that never misses +Catching at least some true kisses, +Is the heart that, loving truly, +Always loves the old love newly; +But to spread out would undo it-- +Let the birdies fly into it. + + + +_PROFESSOR NOCTUTUS._ + +Nobody knows the world but me. +The rest go to bed; I sit up and see. +I'm a better observer than any of you all, +For I never look out till the twilight fall, +And never then without green glasses, +And that is how my wisdom passes. + +I never think, for that is not fit: +_I observe._ I have seen the white moon sit +On her nest, the sea, like a fluffy owl, +Hatching the boats and the long-legged fowl! +When the oysters gape--you may make a note-- +She drops a pearl into every throat. + +I can see the wind: can you do that? +I see the dreams he has in his hat, +I see him shaking them out as he goes, +I see them rush in at man's snoring nose. +Ten thousand things you could not think, +I can write down plain with pen and ink! + +You know that I know; therefore pull off your hat, +Whether round and tall, or square and flat: +You cannot do better than trust in me; +You may shut your eyes in fact--_I_ see! +Lifelong I will lead you, and then, like the owl, +I will bury you nicely with my spade and showl. + + + +_BIRD-SONGS._ + +I will sing a song, + Said the owl. +You sing a song, sing-song + Ugly fowl! +What will you sing about, +Night in and day out? + +All about the night, + When the gray +With her cloak smothers bright, + Hard, sharp day. +Oh, the moon! the cool dew! +And the shadows!--tu-whoo! + +I will sing a song, + Said the nightingale. +Sing a song, long, long, + Little Neverfail! +What will you sing about, +Day in or day out? + +All about the light + Gone away, +Down, away, and out of sight: + Wake up, day! +For the master is not dead, +Only gone to bed. + +I will sing a song, + Said the lark. +Sing, sing, Throat-strong, + Little Kill-the-dark! +What will you sing about, +Day in and night out? + +I can only call! + I can't think! +Let me up, that's all! + I see a chink! +I've been thirsting all night +For the glorious light! + + + +_RIDDLES._ + +I. + +I have only one foot, but thousands of toes; +My one foot stands well, but never goes; +I've a good many arms, if you count them all, +But hundreds of fingers, large and small; +From the ends of my fingers my beauty grows; +I breathe with my hair, and I drink with my toes; +I grow bigger and bigger about the waist +Although I am always very tight laced; +None e'er saw me eat--I've no mouth to bite! +Yet I eat all day, and digest all night. +In the summer, with song I shake and quiver, +But in winter I fast and groan and shiver. + +II. + +There is a plough that hath no share, +Only a coulter that parteth fair; + But the ridges they rise + To a terrible size +Or ever the coulter comes near to tear: +The horses and ridges fierce battle make; +The horses are safe, but the plough may break. + +Seed cast in its furrows, or green or sear, +Will lift to the sun neither blade nor ear: + Down it drops plumb + Where no spring-times come, +Nor needeth it any harrowing gear; +Wheat nor poppy nor blade has been found +Able to grow on the naked ground. + +FOR MY GRANDCHILD. + +III. + +Who is it that sleeps like a top all night, +And wakes in the morning so fresh and bright +That he breaks his bed as he gets up, +And leaves it smashed like a china cup? + +IV. + +I've a very long nose, but what of that? +It is not too long to lie on a mat! + +I have very big jaws, but never get fat: +I don't go to church, and I'm not a church rat! + +I've a mouth in my middle my food goes in at, +Just like a skate's--that's a fish that's a flat. + +In summer I'm seldom able to breathe, +But when winter his blades in ice doth sheathe + +I swell my one lung, I look big and I puff, +And I sometimes hiss.--There, that's enough! + + + +_BABY._ + +Where did you come from, baby dear? +Out of the everywhere into here. + +Where did you get those eyes so blue? +Out of the sky as I came through. + +What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? +Some of the starry twinkles left in. + +Where did you get that little tear? +I found it waiting when I got here. + +What makes your forehead so smooth and high? +A soft hand stroked it as I went by. + +What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? +I saw something better than any one knows. + +Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? +Three angels gave me at once a kiss. + +Where did you get this pearly ear? +God spoke, and it came out to hear. + +Where did you get those arms and hands? +Love made itself into bonds and bands. + +Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? +From the same box as the cherubs' wings. + +How did they all just come to be you? +God thought about me, and so I grew. + +But how did you come to us, you dear? +God thought about you, and so I am here. + + + +_UP AND-DOWN._ + +The sun is gone down + And the moon's in the sky +But the sun will come up + And the moon be laid by. + +The flower is asleep. + But it is not dead, +When the morning shines + It will lift its head. + +When winter comes + It will die! No, no, +It will only hide + From the frost and snow. + +Sure is the summer, + Sure is the sun; +The night and the winter + Away they run. + + + +_UP IN THE TREE_. + +What would you see, if I took you up +My little aerie-stair? +You would see the sky like a clear blue cup +Turned upside down in the air. + +What would you do, up my aerie-stair +In my little nest on the tree? +With cry upon cry you would ripple the air +To get at what you would see. + +And what would you reach in the top of the tree +To still your grasping grief? +Not a star would you clutch of all you would see, +You would gather just one green leaf. + +But when you had lost your greedy grief, +Content to see from afar, +Your hand it would hold a withering leaf, +But your heart a shining star. + + + +_A BABY-SERMON_. + +The lightning and thunder +They go and they come: +But the stars and the stillness +Are always at home. + + + +_LITTLE BO-PEEP_. + +Little Bo-Peep, she has lost her sheep, + And will not know where to find them; +They are over the height and out of sight, + Trailing their tails behind them! + +Little Bo-Peep woke out of her sleep, + Jump'd up and set out to find them: +"The silly things! they've got no wings, + And they've left their trails behind them! + +"They've taken their tails, but they've left their trails, + And so I shall follow and find them!" +For wherever a tail had dragged a trail + The grass lay bent behind them. + +She washed in the brook, and caught up her crook. + And after her sheep did run +Along the trail that went up the dale + Across the grass in the sun. + +She ran with a will, and she came to a hill + That went up steep like a spire; +On its very top the sun seemed to stop, + And burned like a flame of fire. + +But now she went slow, for the hill did go + Up steeper as she went higher; +When she reached its crown, the sun was down, + Leaving a trail of fire. + +And her sheep were gone, and hope she had none. + For now was no trail behind them. +Yes, there they were! long-tailed and fair! + But to see was not to find them! + +Golden in hue, and rosy and blue, + And white as blossom of pears, +Her sheep they did run in the trail of the sun, + As she had been running in theirs! + +After the sun like clouds they did run, + But she knew they were her sheep: +She sat down to cry and look up at the sky, + But she cried herself to sleep. + +And as she slept the dew down wept, + And the wind did blow from the sky; +And doings strange brought a lovely change: + She woke with a different cry! + +Nibble, nibble, crop, without a stop! + A hundred little lambs +Did pluck and eat the grass so sweet + That grew in the trail of their dams! + +She gave one look, she caught up her crook, + Wiped away the sleep that did blind her; +And nibble-nibble-crop, without a stop + The lambs came nibbling behind her. + +Home, home she came, both tired and lame, + With three times as large a stock; +In a month or more, they'll be sheep as before, + A lovely, long-wooled flock! + +But what will she say, if, one fine day, + When they've got their bushiest tails, +Their grown-up game should be just the same, + And again she must follow mere trails? + +Never weep, Bo-Peep, though you lose your sheep, + Tears will turn rainbow-laughter! +In the trail of the sun if the mothers did run, + The lambs are sure to run after; + +But a day is coming when little feet drumming + Will wake you up to find them-- +All the old sheep--how your heart will leap!-- + With their big little lambs behind them! + + + +_LITTLE BOY BLUE._ + +Little Boy Blue lost his way in a wood-- + _Sing apples and cherries, roses and honey:_ +He said, "I would not go back if I could, + _It's all so jolly and funny!"_ + +He sang, "This wood is all my own-- + _Apples and cherries, roses and honey!_ +Here I will sit, a king on my throne, + _All so jolly and funny!"_ + +A little snake crept out of a tree-- + _Apples and cherries, roses and honey:_ +"Lie down at my feet, little snake," said he-- + _All so jolly and funny!_ + +A little bird sang in the tree overhead-- + _"Apples and cherries, roses and honey:"_ +"Come and sing your song on my finger," he said, + _All so jolly and funny._ + +Up coiled the snake; the bird came down, +And sang him the song of Birdie Brown. + +But little Boy Blue found it tiresome to sit +Though it was on a throne: he would walk a bit! + +He took up his horn, and he blew a blast: +"Snake, you go first, and, birdie, come last." + +Waves of green snake o'er the yellow leaves went; +The snake led the way, and he knew what he meant: + +But by Boy Blue's head, with flutter and dart, +Flew Birdie Brown, her song in her heart. + +Boy Blue came where apples grew fair and sweet: +"Tree, drop me an apple down at my feet." + +He came where cherries hung plump and red: +"Come to my mouth, sweet kisses," he said. + +And the boughs bow down, and the apples they dapple +The grass, too many for him to grapple; + +And the cheeriest cherries, with never a miss, +Fall to his mouth, each a full-grown kiss. + +He met a little brook singing a song: +"Little brook," he said, "you are going wrong, + +"You must follow me, follow me, follow, I say, +Do as I tell you, and come this way." + +And the song-singing, sing-songing forest brook +Leapt from its bed and after him took; + +And the dead leaves rustled, yellow and wan, +As over their beds the water ran. + +He called every bird that sat on a bough; +He called every creature with poop and prow-- + +I mean, with two ends, that is, nose and tail: +With legs or without, they followed full sail; + +Squirrels that carried their tails like a sack, +Each his own on his little brown humpy back; + +Snails that drew their own caravans, +Poking out their own eyes on the point of a lance, + +And houseless slugs, white, black, and red-- +Snails too lazy to build a shed; + +And butterflies, flutterbys, weasels, and larks, +And owls, and shrew-mice, and harkydarks, + +Cockchafers, henchafers, cockioli-birds, +Cockroaches, henroaches, cuckoos in herds; + +The dappled fawns fawning, the fallow-deer following; +The swallows and flies, flying and swallowing-- + +All went flitting, and sailing, and flowing +After the merry boy running and blowing. + +The spider forgot, and followed him spinning, +And lost all his thread from end to beginning; + +The gay wasp forgot his rings and his waist-- +He never had made such undignified haste! + +The dragon-flies melted to mist with their hurrying; +The mole forsook his harrowing and burrowing; + +The bees went buzzing, not busy but beesy, +And the midges in columns, upright and easy. + +But Little Boy Blue was not content, +Calling for followers still as he went, + +Blowing his horn, and beating his drum, +And crying aloud, "Come all of you, come!" + +He said to the shadows, "Come after me;" +And the shadows began to flicker and flee, + +And away through the wood went flattering and fluttering, +Shaking and quivering, quavering and muttering. + +He said to the wind, "Come, follow; come, follow +With whistle and pipe, with rustle and hollo;" + +And the wind wound round at his desire, +As if Boy had been the gold cock on the spire; + +And the cock itself flew down from the church +And left the farmers all in the lurch. + +Everything, everything, all and sum, +They run and they fly, they creep and they come; + +The very trees they tugged at their roots, +Only their feet were too fast in their boots-- + +After him leaning and straining and bending, +As on through their boles the army kept wending, + +Till out of the wood Boy burst on a lea, +Shouting and calling, "Come after me," + +And then they rose with a leafy hiss +And stood as if nothing had been amiss. + +Little Boy Blue sat down on a stone, +And the creatures came round him every one. + +He said to the clouds, "I want you there!" +And down they sank through the thin blue air. + +He said to the sunset far in the west, +"Come here; I want you; 'tis my behest!" + +And the sunset came and stood up on the wold, +And burned and glowed in purple and gold. + +Then Little Boy Blue began to ponder: +"What's to be done with them all, I wonder!" + +He thought a while, then he said, quite low, +"What to do with you all, I am sure I don't know!" + +The clouds clodded down till dismal it grew; +The snake sneaked close; round Birdie Brown flew; + +The brook, like a cobra, rose on its tail, +And the wind sank down with a _what-will-you_ wail, + +And all the creatures sat and stared; +The mole opened the eyes that he hadn't, and glared; + +And for rats and bats, and the world and his wife +Little Boy Blue was afraid of his life. + +Then Birdie Brown began to sing, +And what he sang was the very thing: + +"Little Boy Blue, you have brought us all hither: +Pray, are we to sit and grow old together?" + +"Go away; go away," said Little Boy Blue; +"I'm sure I don't want you! get away--do." + +"No, no; no, no; no, yes, and no, no," +Sang Birdie Brown, "it mustn't be so! + +"If we've come for no good, we can't go away. +Give us reason for going, or here we stay!" + +They covered the earth, they darkened the air, +They hovered, they sat, with a countless stare. + +"If I do not give them something to do, +They will stare me up!" said Little Boy Blue. + +"Oh dear! oh dear!" he began to cry, +"They're an awful crew, and I feel so shy!" + +All of a sudden he thought of a thing, +And up he stood, and spoke like a king: + +"You're the plague of my life! have done with your bother! +Off with you all: take me back to my mother!" + +The sunset went back to the gates of the west. +"Follow _me_" sang Birdie, "I know the way best!" + +"I am going the same way as fast as I can!" +Said the brook, as it sank and turned and ran. + +To the wood fled the shadows, like scared black ghosts: +"If we stay, we shall all be missed from our posts!" + +Said the wind, with a voice that had changed its cheer, +"I was just going there when you brought me here!" + +"That's where I live," said the sack-backed squirrel, +And he turned his sack with a swing and a swirl. + +Said the gold weather-cock, "I'm the churchwarden!" +Said the mole, "I live in the parson's garden!" + +Said they all, "If that's where you want us to steer for, +What on earth or in air did you bring us here for?" + +"You are none the worse!" said Boy. "If you won't +Do as I tell you, why, then, don't; + +"I'll leave you behind, and go home without you; +And it's time I did: I begin to doubt you!" + +He jumped to his feet. The snake rose on his tail, +And hissed three times, a hiss full of bale, + +And shot out his tongue at Boy Blue to scare him, +And stared at him, out of his courage to stare him. + +"You ugly snake," Little Boy Blue said, +"Get out of my way, or I'll break your head!" + +The snake would not move, but glared at him glum; +Boy Blue hit him hard with the stick of his drum. + +The snake fell down as if he was dead. +Little Boy Blue set his foot on his head. + +"Hurrah!" cried the creatures, "hurray! hurrah! +Little Boy Blue, your will is a law!" + +And away they went, marching before him, +And marshalled him home with a high cockolorum. + +And Birdie Brown sang, _"Twirrr twitter, twirrr twee! +In the rosiest rose-bush a rare nest! +Twirrr twitter, twirrr twitter, twirrr twitter, twirrrrr tweeeee! +In the fun he has found the earnest!"_ + + + +_WILLIE'S QUESTION_. + +I. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Is it wrong, the wish to be great, + For I do wish it so? +I have asked already my sister Kate; + She says she does not know. + +Yestereve at the gate I stood + Watching the sun in the west; +When I saw him look so grand and good + It swelled up in my breast. + +Next from the rising moon + It stole like a silver dart; +In the night when the wind began his tune + It woke with a sudden start. + +This morning a trumpet blast + Made all the cottage quake; +It came so sudden and shook so fast + It blew me wide awake. + +It told me I must make haste, + And some great glory win, +For every day was running to waste, + And at once I must begin. + +I want to be great and strong, + I want to begin to-day; +But if you think it very wrong + I will send the wish away. + +II. + + _The Father answers._ + +Wrong to wish to be great? + No, Willie; it is not wrong: +The child who stands at the high closed gate + Must wish to be tall and strong! + +If you did not wish to grow + I should be a sorry man; +I should think my boy was dull and slow, + Nor worthy of his clan. + +You are bound to be great, my boy: + Wish, and get up, and do. +Were you content to be little, my joy + Would be little enough in you. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Papa, papa! I'm so glad + That what I wish is right! +I will not lose a chance to be had; + I'll begin this very night. + +I will work so hard at school! + I will waste no time in play; +At my fingers' ends I'll have every rule, + For knowledge is power, they say. + +I _would_ be a king and reign, + But I can't be that, and so +Field-marshal I'll be, I think, and gain + Sharp battles and sieges slow. + +I shall gallop and shout and call, + Waving my shining sword: +Artillery, cavalry, infantry, all + Hear and obey my word. + +Or admiral I will be, + Wherever the salt wave runs, +Sailing, fighting over the sea, + With flashing and roaring guns. + +I will make myself hardy and strong; + I will never, never give in. +I _am_ so glad it is not wrong! + At once I will begin. + + _The Father speaks._ + +Fighting and shining along, + All for the show of the thing! +Any puppet will mimic the grand and strong + If you pull the proper string! + + _Willie speaks._ + +But indeed I want to _be_ great, + I should despise mere show; +The thing I want is the glory-state-- + Above the rest, you know! + + _The Father answers._ + +The harder you run that race, + The farther you tread that track, +The greatness you fancy before your face + Is the farther behind your back. + +To be up in the heavens afar, + Miles above all the rest, +Would make a star not the greatest star, + Only the dreariest. + +That book on the highest shelf + Is not the greatest book; +If you would be great, it must be in yourself, + Neither by place nor look. + +The Highest is not high + By being higher than others; +To greatness you come not a step more nigh + By getting above your brothers. + +III. + + _Willie speaks._ + +I meant the boys at school, + I did not mean my brother. +Somebody first, is there the rule-- + It must be me or another. + + _The Father answers._ + +Oh, Willie, it's all the same! + They are your brothers all; +For when you say, "Hallowed be thy name!" + Whose Father is it you call? + +Could you pray for such rule to _him_? + Do you think that he would hear? +Must he favour one in a greedy whim + Where all are his children dear? + +It is right to get up and do, + But why outstrip the rest? +Why should one of the many be one of the few? + Why should _you_ think to be best? + + _Willie speaks._ + +Then how am I to be great? + I know no other way; +It would be folly to sit and wait, + I must up and do, you say! + + _The Father answers._ + +I do not want you to wait, + For few before they die +Have got so far as begin to be great, + The lesson is so high. + +I will tell you the only plan + To climb and not to fall: +He who would rise and be greater than + He is, must be servant of all. + +Turn it each way in your mind, + Try every other plan, +You may think yourself great, but at length you'll find + You are not even a man. + +Climb to the top of the trees, + Climb to the top of the hill, +Get up on the crown of the sky if you please, + You'll be a small creature still. + +Be admiral, poet, or king, + Let praises fill both your ears, +Your soul will be but a windmill thing + Blown round by its hopes and fears. + +IV. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Then put me in the way, + For you, papa, are a man: +What thing shall I do this very day?-- + Only be sure I _can_. + +I want to know--I am willing, + Let me at least have a chance! +Shall I give the monkey-boy my shilling?-- + I want to serve at once. + + _The Father answers._ + +Give all your shillings you might + And hurt your brothers the more; +He only can serve his fellows aright + Who goes in at the little door. + +We must do the thing we _must_ + Before the thing we _may;_ +We are unfit for any trust + Till we can and do obey. + + _Willie speaks._ + +I will try more and more; + I have nothing now to ask; +_Obedience_ I know is the little door: + Now set me some hard task. + + _The Father answers._ + +No, Willie; the father of all, + Teacher and master high, +Has set your task beyond recall, + Nothing can set it by. + + _Willie speaks._ + +What is it, father dear, + That he would have me do? +I'd ask himself, but he's not near, + And so I must ask you! + + _The Father answers._ + +Me 'tis no use to ask, + I too am one of his boys! +But he tells each boy his own plain task; + Listen, and hear his voice. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Father, I'm listening _so_ + To hear him if I may! +His voice must either be very low, + Or very far away! + + _The Father answers._ + +It is neither hard to hear, + Nor hard to understand; +It is very low, but very near, + A still, small, strong command. + + _Willie answers._ + +I do not hear it at all; + I am only hearing you! + + _The Father speaks._ + +Think: is there nothing, great or small, + You ought to go and do? + + _Willie answers._ + +Let me think:--I ought to feed + My rabbits. I went away +In such a hurry this morning! Indeed + They've not had enough to-day! + + _The Father speaks._ + +That is his whisper low! + That is his very word! +You had only to stop and listen, and so + Very plainly you heard! + +That duty's the little door: + You must open it and go in; +There is nothing else to do before, + There is nowhere else to begin. + + _Willie speaks._ + +But that's so easily done! + It's such a trifling affair! +So nearly over as soon as begun. + For that he can hardly care! + + _The Father answers._ + +You are turning from his call + If you let that duty wait; +You would not think any duty small + If you yourself were great. + +The nearest is at life's core; + With the first, you all begin: +What matter how little the little door + If it only let you in? + +V. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Papa, I am come again: + It is now three months and more +That I've tried to do the thing that was plain, + And I feel as small as before. + + _The Father answers._ + +Your honour comes too slow? + How much then have you done? +One foot on a mole-heap, would you crow + As if you had reached the sun? + + _Willie speaks._ + +But I cannot help a doubt + Whether this way be the true: +The more I do to work it out + The more there comes to do; + +And yet, were all done and past, + I should feel just as small, +For when I had tried to the very last-- + 'Twas my duty, after all! + +It is only much the same + As not being liar or thief! + + _The Father answers._ + +One who tried it found even, with shame, + That of sinners he was the chief! + +My boy, I am glad indeed + You have been finding the truth! + + _Willie speaks._ + +But where's the good? I shall never speed-- + Be one whit greater, in sooth! + +If duty itself must fail, + And that be the only plan, +How shall my scarce begun duty prevail + To make me a mighty man? + + _The Father answers._ + +Ah, Willie! what if it were + Quite another way to fall? +What if the greatness itself lie there-- + In knowing that you are small? + +In seeing the good so good + That you feel poor, weak, and low; +And hungrily long for it as for food, + With an endless need to grow? + +The man who was lord of fate, + Born in an ox's stall, +Was great because he was much too great + To care about greatness at all. + +Ever and only he sought + The will of his Father good; +Never of what was high he thought, + But of what his Father would. + +You long to be great; you try; + You feel yourself smaller still: +In the name of God let ambition die; + Let him make you what he will. + +Who does the truth, is one + With the living Truth above: +Be God's obedient little son, + Let ambition die in love. + + + +_KING COLE_. + +King Cole he reigned in Aureoland, +But the sceptre was seldom in his hand + +Far oftener was there his golden cup-- +He ate too much, but he drank all up! + +To be called a king and to be a king, +That is one thing and another thing! + +So his majesty's head began to shake, +And his hands and his feet to swell and ache, + +The doctors were called, but they dared not say +Your majesty drinks too much Tokay; + +So out of the king's heart died all mirth, +And he thought there was nothing good on earth. + +Then up rose the fool, whose every word +Was three parts wise and one part absurd. + +Nuncle, he said, never mind the gout; +I will make you laugh till you laugh it out. + +King Cole pushed away his full gold plate: +The jester he opened the palace gate, + +Brought in a cold man, with hunger grim, +And on the dais-edge seated him; + +Then caught up the king's own golden plate, +And set it beside him: oh, how he ate! + +And the king took note, with a pleased surprise, +That he ate with his mouth and his cheeks and his eyes, + +With his arms and his legs and his body whole, +And laughed aloud from his heart and soul. + +Then from his lordly chair got up, +And carried the man his own gold cup; + +The goblet was deep and wide and full, +The poor man drank like a cow at a pool. + +Said the king to the jester--I call it well done +To drink with two mouths instead of one! + +Said the king to himself, as he took his seat, +It is quite as good to feed as to eat! + +It is better, I do begin to think, +To give to the thirsty than to drink! + +And now I have thought of it, said the king, +There might be more of this kind of thing! + +The fool heard. The king had not long to wait: +The fool cried aloud at the palace-gate; + +The ragged and wretched, the hungry and thin, +Loose in their clothes and tight in their skin, + +Gathered in shoals till they filled the hall, +And the king and the fool they fed them all; + +And as with good things their plates they piled +The king grew merry as a little child. + +On the morrow, early, he went abroad +And sought poor folk in their own abode-- + +Sought them till evening foggy and dim, +Did not wait till they came to him; + +And every day after did what he could, +Gave them work and gave them food. + +Thus he made war on the wintry weather, +And his health and the spring came back together. + +But, lo, a change had passed on the king, +Like the change of the world in that same spring! + +His face had grown noble and good to see, +And the crown sat well on his majesty. + +Now he ate enough, and ate no more, +He drank about half what he drank before, + +He reigned a real king in Aureoland, +Reigned with his head and his heart and his hand. + +All this through the fool did come to pass. +And every Christmas-eve that was, + +The palace-gates stood open wide +And the poor came in from every side, + +And the king rose up and served them duly, +And his people loved him very truly. + + + +_SAID_ AND _DID_. + +Said the boy as he read, "I too will be bold, + I will fight for the truth and its glory!" +He went to the playground, and soon had told + A very cowardly story! + +Said the girl as she read, "That was grand, I declare! + What a true, what a lovely, sweet soul!" +In half-an-hour she went up the stair, + Looking as black as a coal! + +"The mean little wretch, I wish I could fling + This book at his head!" said another; +Then he went and did the same ugly thing + To his own little trusting brother! + +Alas for him who sees a thing grand + And does not fit himself to it! +But the meanest act, on sea or on land, + Is to find a fault, and then do it! + + + +_DR. DODDRIDGE'S DOG_. + +"What! you Dr. Doddridge's dog, and not know who made you?" + +My little dog, who blessed you + With such white toothy-pegs? +And who was it that dressed you + In such a lot of legs? + +Perhaps he never told you! + Perhaps you know quite well, +And beg me not to scold you + For you can't speak to tell! + +I'll tell you, little brother, + In case you do not know:-- +One only, not another, + Could make us two just so. + +You love me?--Quiet!--I'm proving!-- + It must be God above +That filled those eyes with loving: + He was the first to love! + +One day he'll stop all sadness-- + Hark to the nightingale! +Oh blessed God of gladness!-- + Come, doggie, wag your tail! + +That's--Thank you, God!--He gave you + Of life this little taste; +And with more life he'll save you, + Not let you go to waste! + +He says now, Live together, + And share your bite and sup; +And then he'll say, Come hither-- + And lift us both high up. + + + +_THE GIRL THAT LOST THINGS_. + +There was a girl that lost things-- + Nor only from her hand; +She lost, indeed--why, most things, + As if they had been sand! + +She said, "But I must use them, + And can't look after all! +Indeed I did not lose them, + I only let them fall!" + +That's how she lost her thimble, + It fell upon the floor: +Her eyes were very nimble + But she never saw it more. + +And then she lost her dolly, + Her very doll of all! +That loss was far from jolly, + But worse things did befall. + +She lost a ring of pearls + With a ruby in them set; +But the dearest girl of girls + Cried only, did not fret. + +And then she lost her robin; + Ah, that was sorrow dire! +He hopped along, and--bob in-- + Hopped bob into the fire! + +And once she lost a kiss + As she came down the stair; +But that she did not miss, + For sure it was somewhere! + +Just then she lost her heart too, + But did so well without it +She took that in good part too, + And said--not much about it. + +But when she lost her health + She did feel rather poor, +Till in came loads of wealth + By quite another door! + +And soon she lost a dimple + That was upon her cheek, +But that was very simple-- + She was so thin and weak! + +And then she lost her mother, + And thought that she was dead; +Sure there was not another + On whom to lay her head! + +And then she lost her self-- + But that she threw away; +And God upon his shelf + It carefully did lay. + +And then she lost her sight, + And lost all hope to find it; +But a fountain-well of light + Came flashing up behind it. + +At last she lost the world: + In a black and stormy wind +Away from her it whirled-- + But the loss how could she mind? + +For with it she lost her losses, + Her aching and her weeping, +Her pains and griefs and crosses, + And all things not worth keeping; + +It left her with the lost things + Her heart had still been craving; +'Mong them she found--why, most things, + And all things worth the saving. + +She found her precious mother, + Who not the least had died; +And then she found that other + Whose heart had hers inside. + +And next she found the kiss + She lost upon the stair; +'Twas sweeter far, I guess, + For ripening in that air. + +She found her self, all mended, + New-drest, and strong, and white; +She found her health, new-blended + With a radiant delight. + +She found her little robin: + He made his wings go flap, +Came fluttering, and went bob in, + Went bob into her lap. + +So, girls that cannot keep things, + Be patient till to-morrow; +And mind you don't beweep things + That are not worth such sorrow; + +For the Father great of fathers, + Of mothers, girls, and boys, +In his arms his children gathers, + And sees to all their toys. + + + +_A MAKE-BELIEVE_. + +I will think as thinks the rabbit:-- + + Oh, delight + In the night + When the moon + Sets the tune + To the woods! + And the broods + All run out, + Frisk about, + Go and come, + Beat the drum-- + Here in groups, + There in troops! + Now there's one! + Now it's gone! + There are none! +And now they are dancing like chaff! +I look, and I laugh, +But sit by my door, and keep to my habit-- +A wise, respectable, clean-furred old rabbit! + + Now I'm going, + Business calls me out-- + Going, going, + Very knowing, + Slow, long-heeled, and stout, + Loping, lumbering, + Nipping, numbering, + Head on this side and on that, + Along the pathway footed flat, + Through the meadow, through the heather, + Through the rich dusky weather-- + Big stars and little moon! + + Dews are lighting down in crowds, + Odours rising in thin clouds, + Night has all her chords in tune-- + The very night for us, God's rabbits, + Suiting all our little habits! +Wind not loud, but playful with our fur, +Just a cool, a sweet, a gentle stir! +And all the way not one rough bur, +But the dewiest, freshest grasses, +That whisper thanks to every foot that passes! + + I, the king the rest call Mappy, + Canter on, composed and happy, + Till I come where there is plenty + For a varied meal and dainty. + Is it cabbage, I grab it; + Is it parsley, I nab it; + Is it carrot, I mar it; + The turnip I turn up + And hollow and swallow; + A lettuce? Let us eat it! + A beetroot? Let's beat it! + If you are juicy, + Sweet sir, I will use you! + For all kinds of corn-crop + I have a born crop! + Are you a green top? + You shall be gleaned up! + Sucking and feazing, + Crushing and squeezing + All that is feathery, + Crisp, not leathery, + Juicy and bruisy-- + All comes proper + To my little hopper + Still on the dance, + Driven by hunger and drouth! + +All is welcome to my crunching, +Finding, grinding, +Milling, munching, +Gobbling, lunching, +Fore-toothed, three-lipped mouth-- +Eating side way, round way, flat way, +Eating this way, eating that way, +Every way at once! + +Hark to the rain!-- +Pattering, clattering, +The cabbage leaves battering, +Down it comes amain!-- +Home we hurry +Hop and scurry, +And in with a flurry! +Hustling, jostling +Out of the airy land +Into the dry warm sand; +Our family white tails, +The last of our vitals, +Following hard with a whisk to them, +And with a great sense of risk to them! + +Hear to it pouring! +Hear the thunder roaring +Far off and up high, +While we all lie +So warm and so dry +In the mellow dark, +Where never a spark, +White or rosy or blue, +Of the sheeting, fleeting, +Forking, frightening, +Lashing lightning +Ever can come through! + +Let the wind chafe +In the trees overhead, +We are quite safe +In our dark, yellow bed! +Let the rain pour! +It never can bore +A hole in our roof-- +It is waterproof! +So is the cloak +We always carry, +We furry folk, +In sandhole or quarry! +It is perfect bliss +To lie in a nest +So soft as this, +All so warmly drest! +No one to flurry you! +No one to hurry you! +No one to scurry you! +Holes plenty to creep in! +All day to sleep in! +All night to roam in! +Gray dawn to run home in! +And all the days and nights to come after-- +All the to-morrows for hind-legs and laughter! + +Now the rain is over, +We are out again, +Every merry, leaping rover, +On his right leg and his wrong leg, +On his doubled, shortened long leg, +Floundering amain! +Oh, it is merry +And jolly--yes, very! + +But what--what is that? +What can he be at? +Is it a cat? +Ah, my poor little brother, +He's caught in the trap +That goes-to with a snap! +Ah me! there was never, +Nor will be for ever-- +There was never such another, +Such a funny, funny bunny, +Such a frisking, such a whisking, +Such a frolicking brother! +He's screeching, beseeching! +They're going to-- + +Ah, my poor foot, +It is caught in a root! +No, no! 'tis a trap +That goes-to with a snap! +Ah me, I'm forsaken! +Ah me, I am taken! +I am screeching, beseeching! +They are going to-- + +No more! no more! I must stop this play, +Be a boy again, and kneel down and pray +To the God of sparrows and rabbits and men, +Who never lets any one out of his ken-- +It must be so, though it be bewild'ring-- +To save his dear beasts from his cruel children! + + + +_THE CHRISTMAS CHILD_. + +"Little one, who straight hast come +Down the heavenly stair, +Tell us all about your home, +And the father there." + +"He is such a one as I, +Like as like can be. +Do his will, and, by and by, +Home and him you'll see." + + + +_A CHRISTMAS PRAYER_. + +Loving looks the large-eyed cow, +Loving stares the long-eared ass +At Heaven's glory in the grass! +Child, with added human birth +Come to bring the child of earth +Glad repentance, tearful mirth, +And a seat beside the hearth +At the Father's knee-- +Make us peaceful as thy cow; +Make us patient as thine ass; +Make us quiet as thou art now; +Make us strong as thou wilt be. +Make us always know and see +We are his as well as thou. + + + +_NO END OF NO-STORY_. + +There is a river +whose waters run asleep +run run ever +singing in the shallows +dumb in the hollows +sleeping so deep +and all the swallows +that dip their feathers +in the hollows +or in the shallows +are the merriest swallows +and the nests they make +with the clay they cake +with the water they shake +from their wings that rake +the water out of the shallows +or out of the hollows +will hold together +in any weather +and the swallows +are the merriest fellows +and have the merriest children +and are built very narrow +like the head of an arrow +to cut the air +and go just where +the nicest water is flowing +and the nicest dust is blowing +and each so narrow +like the head of an arrow +is a wonderful barrow +to carry the mud he makes +for his children's sakes +from the wet water flowing +and the dry dust blowing +to build his nest +for her he loves best +and the wind cakes it +the sun bakes it +into a nest +for the rest +of her he loves best +and all their merry children +each little fellow +with a beak as yellow +as the buttercups growing +beside the flowing +of the singing river +always and ever +growing and blowing +as fast as the sheep +awake or asleep +crop them and crop +and cannot stop +their yellowness blowing +nor yet the growing +of the obstinate daisies +the little white praises +they grow and they blow +they spread out their crown +and they praise the sun +and when he goes down +their praising is done +they fold up their crown +and sleep every one +till over the plain +he is shining amain +and they're at it again +praising and praising +such low songs raising +that no one can hear them +but the sun so near them +and the sheep that bite them +but do not fright them +are the quietest sheep +awake or asleep +with the merriest bleat +and the little lambs +are the merriest lambs +forgetting to eat +for the frolic in their feet +and the lambs and their dams +are the whitest sheep +with the woolliest wool +for the swallow to pull +when he makes his nest +for her he loves best +and they shine like snow +in the grasses that grow +by the singing river +that sings for ever +and the sheep and the lambs +are merry for ever +because the river +sings and they drink it +and the lambs and their dams +would any one think it +are bright and white +because of their diet +which gladdens them quiet +for what they bite +is buttercups yellow +and daisies white +and grass as green +as the river can make it +with wind as mellow +to kiss it and shake it +as never was known +but here in the hollows +beside the river +where all the swallows +are the merriest fellows +and the nests they make +with the clay they cake +in the sunshine bake +till they are like bone +and as dry in the wind +as a marble stone +dried in the wind +the sweetest wind +that blows by the river +flowing for ever +and who shall find +whence comes the wind +that blows on the hollows +and over the shallows +where dip the swallows +and comes and goes +and the sweet life blows +into the river +that sings as it flows +and the sweet life blows +into the sheep +awake or asleep +with the woolliest wool +and the trailingest tails +and never fails +gentle and cool +to wave the wool +and to toss the grass +as the lambs and the sheep +over it pass +and tug and bite +with their teeth so white +and then with the sweep +of their trailing tails +smooth it again +and it grows amain +and amain it grows +and the wind that blows +tosses the swallows +over the hollows +and over the shallows +and blows the sweet life +and the joy so rife +into the swallows +that skim the shallows +and have the yellowest children +and the wind that blows +is the life of the river +that flows for ever +and washes the grasses +still as it passes +and feeds the daisies +the little white praises +and buttercups sunny +with butter and honey +that whiten the sheep +awake or asleep +that nibble and bite +and grow whiter than white +and merry and quiet +on such good diet +watered by the river +and tossed for ever +by the wind that tosses +the wool and the grasses +and the swallow that crosses +with all the swallows +over the shallows +dipping their wings +to gather the water +and bake the cake +for the wind to make +as hard as a bone +and as dry as a stone +and who shall find +whence comes the wind +that blows from behind +and ripples the river +that flows for ever +and still as it passes +waves the grasses +and cools the daisies +the white sun praises +that feed the sheep +awake or asleep +and give them their wool +for the swallows to pull +a little away +to mix with the clay +that cakes to a nest +for those they love best +and all the yellow children +soon to go trying +their wings at the flying +over the hollows +and over the shallows +with all the swallows +that do not know +whence the wind doth blow +that comes from behind +a blowing wind. + + + + + A THREEFOLD CORD: + + Poems by Three Friends. + + +TO + +GREVILLE MATHESON MACDONALD. + +First, most, to thee, my son, I give this book + In which a friend's and brother's verses blend + With mine; for not son only--brother, friend, +Art thou, through sonship which no veil can brook +Between the eyes that in each other look, + Or any shadow 'twixt the hearts that tend + Still nearer, with divine approach, to end +In love eternal that cannot be shook + When all the shakable shall cease to be. + With growing hope I greet the coming day +When from thy journey done I welcome thee +Who sharest in the names of all the three, + And take thee to the two, and humbly say, + _Let this man be the fourth with us, I pray._ + +CASA CORAGGIO: +_May, 1883._ + + + + + A THREEFOLD CHORD. + + + +_THE HAUNTED HOUSE_: + +_Suggested by a drawing of Thomas Moran, the American painter._ + +This must be the very night! +The moon knows it!--and the trees! +They stand straight upright, +Each a sentinel drawn up, +As if they dared not know +Which way the wind might blow! +The very pool, with dead gray eye, +Dully expectant, feels it nigh, +And begins to curdle and freeze! +And the dark night, +With its fringe of light, +Holds the secret in its cup! + +II. What can it be, to make +The poplars cease to shiver and shake, +And up in the dismal air +Stand straight and stiff as the human hair +When the human soul is dizzy with dread-- +All but those two that strain +Aside in a frenzy of speechless pain, +Though never a wind sends out a breath +To tunnel the foggy rheum of death? +What can it be has power to scare +The full-grown moon to the idiot stare +Of a blasted eye in the midnight air? +Something has gone wrong; +A scream will come tearing out ere long! + +III. Still as death, +Although I listen with bated breath! +Yet something is coming, I know--is coming! +With an inward soundless humming +Somewhere in me, or if in the air +I cannot tell, but it is there! +Marching on to an unheard drumming +Something is coming--coming-- +Growing and coming! +And the moon is aware, +Aghast in the air +At the thing that is only coming +With an inward soundless humming +And an unheard spectral drumming! + +IV. Nothing to see and nothing to hear! +Only across the inner sky +The wing of a shadowy thought flits by, +Vague and featureless, faceless, drear-- +Only a thinness to catch the eye: +Is it a dim foreboding unborn, +Or a buried memory, wasted and worn +As the fading frost of a wintry sigh? +Anon I shall have it!--anon!--it draws nigh! +A night when--a something it was took place +That drove the blood from that scared moon-face! +Hark! was that the cry of a goat, +Or the gurgle of water in a throat? +Hush! there is nothing to see or hear, +Only a silent something is near; +No knock, no footsteps three or four, +Only a presence outside the door! +See! the moon is remembering!--what? +The wail of a mother-left, lie-alone brat? +Or a raven sharpening its beak to peck? +Or a cold blue knife and a warm white neck? +Or only a heart that burst and ceased +For a man that went away released? +I know not--know not, but something is coming +Somehow back with an inward humming! + +V. Ha! look there! look at that house, +Forsaken of all things, beetle and mouse! +Mark how it looks! It must have a soul! +It looks, it looks, though it cannot stir! +See the ribs of it, how they stare! +Its blind eyes yet have a seeing air! +It _knows_ it has a soul! +Haggard it hangs o'er the slimy pool, +And gapes wide open as corpses gape: +It is the very murderer! +The ghost has modelled himself to the shape +Of this drear house all sodden with woe +Where the deed was done, long, long ago, +And filled with himself his new body full-- +To haunt for ever his ghastly crime, +And see it come and go-- +Brooding around it like motionless time, +With a mouth that gapes, and eyes that yawn +Blear and blintering and full of the moon, +Like one aghast at a hellish dawn!-- +The deed! the deed! it is coming soon! + +VI. For, ever and always, when round the tune +Grinds on the barrel of organ-Time, +The deed is done. And it comes anon: +True to the roll of the clock-faced moon, +True to the ring of the spheric chime, +True to the cosmic rhythm and rime, +Every point, as it first fell out, +Will come and go in the fearsome bout. +See! palsied with horror from garret to core, +The house cannot shut its gaping door; +Its burst eye stares as if trying to see, +And it leans as if settling heavily, +Settling heavy with sickness dull: +_It_ also is hearing the soundless humming +Of the wheel that is turning--the thing that is coming! +On the naked rafters of its brain, +Gaunt and wintred, see the train +Of gossiping, scandal-mongering crows +That watch, all silent, with necks a-strain, +Wickedly knowing, with heads awry +And the sharpened gleam of a cunning eye-- +Watch, through the cracks of the ruined skull, +How the evil business goes!-- +Beyond the eyes of the cherubim, +Beyond the ears of the seraphim, +Outside, forsaken, in the dim +Phantom-haunted chaos grim +He stands, with the deed going on in him! + +VII. O winds, winds, that lurk and peep +Under the edge of the moony fringe! +O winds, winds, up and sweep, +Up and blow and billow the air, +Billow the air with blow and swinge, +Rend me this ghastly house of groans! +Rend and scatter the skeleton's bones +Over the deserts and mountains bare! +Blast and hurl and shiver aside +Nailed sticks and mortared stones! +Clear the phantom, with torrent and tide, +Out of the moon and out of my brain, +That the light may fall shadowless in again! + +VIII. But, alas, then the ghost +O'er mountain and coast +Would go roaming, roaming! and never was swine +That, grubbing and talking with snork and whine +On Gadarene mountains, had taken him in +But would rush to the lake to unhouse the sin! +For any charnel +This ghost is too carnal; +There is no volcano, burnt out and cold, +Whose very ashes are gray and old, +But would cast him forth in reviving flame +To blister the sky with a smudge of shame! + +IX. Is there no help? none anywhere +Under the earth or above the air?-- +Come, sad woman, whose tender throat +Has a red-lipped mouth that can sing no note! +Child, whose midwife, the third grim Fate, +Shears in hand, thy coming did wait! +Father, with blood-bedabbled hair! +Mother, all withered with love's despair! +Come, broken heart, whatever thou be, +Hasten to help this misery! +Thou wast only murdered, or left forlorn: +He is a horror, a hate, a scorn! +Come, if out of the holiest blue +That the sapphire throne shines through; +For pity come, though thy fair feet stand +Next to the elder-band; +Fling thy harp on the hyaline, +Hurry thee down the spheres divine; +Come, and drive those ravens away; +Cover his eyes from the pitiless moon, +Shadow his brain from her stinging spray; +Droop around him, a tent of love, +An odour of grace, a fanning dove; +Walk through the house with the healing tune +Of gentle footsteps; banish the shape +Remorse calls up thyself to ape; +Comfort him, dear, with pardon sweet; +Cool his heart from its burning heat +With the water of life that laves the feet +Of the throne of God, and the holy street! + +X. O God, he is but a living blot, +Yet he lives by thee--for if thou wast not, +They would vanish together, self-forgot, +He and his crime:--one breathing blown +From thy spirit on his would all atone, +Scatter the horror, and bring relief +In an amber dawn of holy grief! +God, give him sorrow; arise from within, +His primal being, deeper than sin! + +XI. Why do I tremble, a creature at bay? +'Tis but a dream--I drive it away. +Back comes my breath, and my heart again +Pumps the red blood to my fainting brain +Released from the nightmare's nine-fold train: +God is in heaven--yes, everywhere, +And Love, the all-shining, will kill Despair!-- +To the wall's blank eyeless space +I turn the picture's face. + +XII. But why is the moon so bare, up there? +And why is she so white? +And why does the moon so stare, up there-- +Strangely stare, out of the night? +Why stand up the poplars +That still way? +And why do those two of them +Start astray? +And out of the black why hangs the gray? +Why does it hang down so, I say, +Over that house, like a fringed pall +Where the dead goes by in a funeral?-- +Soul of mine, +Thou the reason canst divine: +Into _thee_ the moon doth stare +With pallid, terror-smitten air! +Thou, and the Horror lonely-stark, +Outcast of eternal dark, +Are in nature same and one, +And _thy_ story is not done! +So let the picture face thee from the wall, +And let its white moon stare! + + + +_IN THE WINTER_. + +In the winter, flowers are springing; +In the winter, woods are green, +Where our banished birds are singing, +Where our summer sun is seen! +Our cold midnights are coeval +With an evening and a morn +Where the forest-gods hold revel, +And the spring is newly born! + +While the earth is full of fighting, +While men rise and curse their day, +While the foolish strong are smiting, +And the foolish weak betray-- +The true hearts beyond are growing, +The brave spirits work alone, +Where Love's summer-wind is blowing +In a truth-irradiate zone! + +While we cannot shape our living +To the beauty of our skies, +While man wants and earth is giving-- +Nature calls and man denies-- +How the old worlds round Him gather +Where their Maker is their sun! +How the children know the Father +Where the will of God is done! + +Daily woven with our story, +Sounding far above our strife, +Is a time-enclosing glory, +Is a space-absorbing life. +We can dream no dream Elysian, +There is no good thing might be, +But some angel has the vision, +But some human soul shall see! + +Is thy strait horizon dreary? +Is thy foolish fancy chill? +Change the feet that have grown weary +For the wings that never will. +Burst the flesh, and live the spirit; +Haunt the beautiful and far; +Thou hast all things to inherit, +And a soul for every star. + + + +_CHRISTMAS-DAY, 1878_. + +I think I might be weary of this day +That comes inevitably every year, +The same when I was young and strong and gay, +The same when I am old and growing sere-- +I should grow weary of it every year +But that thou comest to me every day. + +I shall grow weary if thou every day +But come to me, Lord of eternal life; +I shall grow weary thus to watch and pray, +For ever out of labour into strife; +Take everlasting house with me, my life, +And I shall be new-born this Christmas-day. + +Thou art the Eternal Son, and born no day, +But ever he the Father, thou the Son; +I am his child, but being born alway-- +How long, O Lord, how long till it be done? +Be thou from endless years to years the Son-- +And I thy brother, new-born every day. + + + +_THE NEW YEAR_. + +Be welcome, year! with corn and sickle come; + Make poor the body, but make rich the heart: +What man that bears his sheaves, gold-nodding, home, + Will heed the paint rubbed from his groaning cart! + +Nor leave behind thy fears and holy shames, + Thy sorrows on the horizon hanging low-- +Gray gathered fuel for the sunset-flames + When joyous in death's harvest-home we go. + + + +_TWO RONDELS_. + +I. + +When, in the mid-sea of the night, + I waken at thy call, O Lord, + The first that troop my bark aboard +Are darksome imps that hate the light, +Whose tongues are arrows, eyes a blight-- + Of wraths and cares a pirate horde-- +Though on the mid-sea of the night + It was thy call that waked me, Lord. + +Then I must to my arms and fight-- + Catch up my shield and two-edged sword, + The words of him who is thy word-- +Nor cease till they are put to flight; +Then in the mid-sea of the night + I turn and listen for thee, Lord. + +II. + +There comes no voice from thee, O Lord, + Across the mid-sea of the night! + I lift my voice and cry with might: +If thou keep silent, soon a horde +Of imps again will swarm aboard, + And I shall be in sorry plight +If no voice come from thee, my Lord, +Across the mid-sea of the night. + +There comes no voice; I hear no word! + But in my soul dawns something bright:-- + There is no sea, no foe to fight! +Thy heart and mine beat one accord: +I need no voice from thee, O Lord, + Across the mid-sea of the night. + + + +_RONDEL_. + +Heart, thou must learn to do without-- + That is the riches of the poor, + Their liberty is to endure; +Wrap thou thine old cloak thee about, +And carol loud and carol stout; + Let thy rags fly, nor wish them fewer; +Thou too must learn to do without, + Must earn the riches of the poor! + +Why should'st thou only wear no clout? + Thou only walk in love-robes pure? + Why should thy step alone be sure? +Thou only free of fortune's flout? +Nay, nay! but learn to go without, + And so be humbly, richly poor. + + + +_SONG_. + +Lighter and sweeter + Let your song be; +And for sorrow--oh cheat her + With melody! + + + +_SMOKE_. + +Lord, I have laid my heart upon thy altar + But cannot get the wood to burn; +It hardly flares ere it begins to falter + And to the dark return. + +Old sap, or night-fallen dew, makes damp the fuel; + In vain my breath would flame provoke; +Yet see--at every poor attempt's renewal + To thee ascends the smoke! + +'Tis all I have--smoke, failure, foiled endeavour, + Coldness and doubt and palsied lack: +Such as I have I send thee!--perfect Giver, + Send thou thy lightning back. + + + +_TO A CERTAIN CRITIC_. + +Such guests as you, sir, were not in my mind +When I my homely dish with care designed; +'Twas certain humble souls I would have fed +Who do not turn from wholesome milk and bread: +You came, slow-trotting on the narrow way, +O'erturned the food, and trod it in the clay; +Then low with discoid nostrils sniffing curt, +Cried, "Sorry cook! why, what a mess of dirt!" + + + +_SONG_. + +She loves thee, loves thee not! +That, that is all, my heart. +Why should she take a part +In every selfish blot, +In every greedy spot +That now doth ache and smart +Because she loves thee not-- +Not, not at all, poor heart! + +Thou art no such dove-cot +Of virtues--no such chart +Of highways, though the dart +Of love be through thee shot! +Why should she not love not +Thee, poor, pinched, selfish heart? + + + +_A CRY_. + +Lord, hear my discontent: all blank I stand, +A mirror polished by thy hand; +Thy sun's beams flash and flame from me-- +I cannot help it: here I stand, there he! +To one of them I cannot say, +Go, and on yonder water play; +Nor one poor ragged daisy can I fashion-- +I do not make the words of this my limping passion! +If I should say, Now I will think a thought, +Lo, I must wait, unknowing +What thought in me is growing, +Until the thing to birth be brought! +Nor know I then what next will come +From out the gulf of silence dumb: +I am the door the thing will find +To pass into the general mind! +I cannot say _I think_-- +I only stand upon the thought-well's brink: +From darkness to the sun the water bubbles up-- +lift it in my cup. +Thou only thinkest--I am thought; +Me and my thought thou thinkest. Nought +Am I but as a fountain spout +From which thy water welleth out. +Thou art the only one, the all in all.-- +Yet when my soul on thee doth call +And thou dost answer out of everywhere, +I in thy allness have my perfect share. + + + +_FROM HOME_. + +Some men there are who cannot spare + A single tear until they feel + The last cold pressure, and the heel +Is stamped upon the outmost layer. + +And, waking, some will sigh to think + The clouds have borrowed winter's wing, + Sad winter, when the grasses spring +No more about the fountain's brink. + +And some would call me coward fool: + I lay a claim to better blood, + But yet a heap of idle mud +Hath power to make me sorrowful. + + + +_TO MY MOTHER EARTH_. + +0 Earth, Earth, Earth, + I am dying for love of thee, +For thou hast given me birth, + And thy hands have tended me. + +I would fall asleep on thy breast + When its swelling folds are bare, +When the thrush dreams of its nest + And the life of its joy in the air; + +When thy life is a vanished ghost, + And the glory hath left thy waves, +When thine eye is blind with frost, + And the fog sits on the graves; + +When the blasts are shivering about, + And the rain thy branches beats, +When the damps of death are out, + And the mourners are in the streets. + +Oh my sleep should be deep + In the arms of thy swiftening motion, +And my dirge the mystic sweep + Of the winds that nurse the ocean. + +And my eye would slowly ope + With the voice that awakens thee, +And runs like a glance of hope + Up through the quickening tree; + +When the roots of the lonely fir + Are dipt in thy veining heat, +And thy countless atoms stir + With the gather of mossy feet; + +When the sun's great censer swings + In the hands that always be, +And the mists from thy watery rings + Go up like dust from the sea; + +When the midnight airs are assembling + With a gush in thy whispering halls, +And the leafy air is trembling + Like a stream before it falls. + +Thy shadowy hand hath found me + On the drifts of the Godhead's will, +And thy dust hath risen around me + With a life that guards me still. + +O Earth! I have caught from thine + The pulse of a mystic chase; +O Earth! I have drunk like wine + The life of thy swiftening race. + +Wilt miss me, mother sweet, + A life in thy milky veins? +Wilt miss the sound of my feet + In the tramp that shakes thy plains + +When the jaws of darkness rend, + And the vapours fold away, +And the sounds of life ascend + Like dust in the blinding day? + +I would know thy silver strain + In the shouts of the starry crowd +When the souls of thy changing men + Rise up like an incense cloud. + +I would know thy brightening lobes + And the lap of thy watery bars +Though space were choked with globes + And the night were blind with stars! + +From the folds of my unknown place, + When my soul is glad and free, +I will slide by my God's sweet grace + And hang like a cloud on thee. + +When the pale moon sits at night + By the brink of her shining well, +Laving the rings of her widening light + On the slopes of the weltering swell, + +I will fall like a wind from the west + On the locks of thy prancing streams, +And sow the fields of thy rest + With handfuls of sweet young dreams. + +When the sound of thy children's cry + Hath stricken thy gladness dumb, +I will kindle thine upward eye + With a laugh from the years that come. + +Far above where the loud wind raves, + On a wing as still as snow +I will watch the grind of the curly waves + As they bite the coasts below; + +When the shining ranks of the frost + Draw down on the glistening wold +In the mail of a fairy host, + And the earth is mossed with cold, + +Till the plates that shine about + Close up with a filmy din, +Till the air is frozen out, + And the stars are frozen in. + +I will often stoop to range + On the fields where my youth was spent, +And my feet shall smite the cliffs of change + With the rush of a steep descent; + +And my glowing soul shall burn + With a love that knows no pall, +And my eye of worship turn + Upon him that fashioned all-- + +When the sounding waves of strife + Have died on the Godhead's sea, +And thy life is a purer life + That nurses a life in me. + + + +_THY HEART_. + +Make not of thy heart a casket, +Opening seldom, quick to close; +But of bread a wide-mouthed basket, +Or a cup that overflows. + + + +_0 LORD, HOW HAPPY!_ + +_From the German of Dessler._ + +O Lord, how happy is the time + When in thy love I rest! +When from my weariness I climb + Even to thy tender breast! +The night of sorrow endeth there-- + Thou art brighter than the sun; +And in thy pardon and thy care + The heaven of heaven is won. + +Let the world call herself my foe, + Or let the world allure-- +I care not for the world; I go + To this dear friend and sure. +And when life's fiercest storms are sent + Upon life's wildest sea, +My little bark is confident + Because it holds by thee. + +When the law threatens endless death + Upon the dreadful hill, +Straightway from her consuming breath + My soul goeth higher still-- +Goeth to Jesus, wounded, slain, + And maketh him her home, +Whence she will not go out again, + And where death cannot come. + +I do not fear the wilderness + Where thou hast been before; +Nay rather will I daily press + After thee, near thee, more! +Thou art my food; on thee I lean, + Thou makest my heart sing; +And to thy heavenly pastures green + All thy dear flock dost bring. + +And if the gate that opens there + Be dark to other men, +It is not dark to those who share + The heart of Jesus then: +That is not losing much of life + Which is not losing thee, +Who art as present in the strife + As in the victory. + +Therefore how happy is the time + When in thy love I rest! +When from my weariness I climb + Even to thy tender breast! +The night of sorrow endeth there-- + Thou art brighter than the sun! +And in thy pardon and thy care + The heaven of heaven is won! + + + +_NO SIGN_. + +O Lord, if on the wind, at cool of day, + I heard one whispered word of mighty grace; +If through the darkness, as in bed I lay, + But once had come a hand upon my face; + +If but one sign that might not be mistook + Had ever been, since first thy face I sought, +I should not now be doubting o'er a book, + But serving thee with burning heart and thought. + +So dreams that heart. But to my heart I say, + Turning my face to front the dark and wind: +Such signs had only barred anew his way + Into thee, longing heart, thee, wildered mind. + +They asked the very Way, where lies the way? + The very Son, where is the Father's face? +How he could show himself, if not in clay, + Who was the lord of spirit, form, and space! + +My being, Lord, will nevermore be whole + Until thou come behind mine ears and eyes, +Enter and fill the temple of my soul + With perfect contact--such a sweet surprise, + +Such presence as, before it met the view, + The prophet-fancy could not once foresee, +Though every corner of the temple knew + By very emptiness its need of thee. + +When I keep _all_ thy words, no favoured some, + Heedless of worldly winds or judgment's tide, +Then, Jesus, thou wilt with thy father come-- + Oh, ended prayers!--and in my soul abide. + +Ah, long delay! ah, cunning, creeping sin! + I shall but fail, and cease at length to try: +O Jesus, though thou wilt not yet come in, + Knock at my window as thou passest by! + + + +_NOVEMBER, 1851_. + + What dost thou here, O soul, +Beyond thy own control, +Under the strange wild sky? +0 stars, reach down your hands, +And clasp me in your silver bands, +I tremble with this mystery!-- +Flung hither by a chance +Of restless circumstance, +Thou art but here, and wast not sent; +Yet once more mayest thou draw +By thy own mystic law +To the centre of thy wonderment. + + Why wilt thou stop and start? +Draw nearer, oh my heart, +And I will question thee most wistfully; +Gather thy last clear resolution +To look upon thy dissolution. + + The great God's life throbs far and free, +And thou art but a spark +Known only in thy dark, +Or a foam-fleck upon the awful ocean, +Thyself thy slender dignity, +Thy own thy vexing mystery, +In the vast change that is not change but motion. + + 'Tis not so hard as it would seem; +Thy life is but a dream-- +And yet thou hast some thoughts about the past; +Let go, let go thy memories, +They are not things but wandering cries-- +Wave them each one a long farewell at last: +I hear thee say--"Take them, O tide, +And I will turn aside, +Gazing with heedlessness, nay, even with laughter! +Bind me, ye winds and storms, +Among the things that once had forms, +And carry me clean out of sight thereafter!" + + Thou hast lived long enough +To know thy own weak stuff, +Laughing thy fondest joys to utter scorn; +Give up the idle strife-- +It is but mockery of life; +The fates had need of thee and thou wast born! +They are, in sooth, but thou shalt die. +O wandering spark! O homeless cry! +O empty will, still lacking self-intent! +Look up among the autumn trees: +The ripened fruits fall through the breeze, +And they will shake thee even like these +Into the lap of an Accomplishment! + + Thou hadst a faith, and voices said:-- +"Doubt not _that_ truth, but bend thy head +Unto the God who drew thee from the night:" +Thou liftedst up thy eyes--and, lo! +A host of voices answered--"No; +A thousand things as good have seen the light!" +Look how the swarms arise +From every clod before thy eyes! +Are thine the only hopes that fade and fall +When to the centre of its action +One purpose draws each separate fraction, +And nothing but effects are left at all? +Aha, thy faith! what is thy faith? +The sleep that waits on coming death-- +A blind delirious swoon that follows pain. +"True to thy nature!"--well! right well! +But what that nature is thou canst not tell-- +It has a thousand voices in thy brain. +Danced all the leaflets to and fro? +--Thy feet have trod them long ago! +Sprung the glad music up the blue? +--The hawk hath cut the song in two. +All the mountains crumble, +All the forests fall, +All thy brethren stumble, +And rise no more at all! +In the dim woods there is a sound +When the winds begin to moan; +It is not of joy or yet of mirth, +But the mournful cry of our mother Earth, +As she calleth back her own. +Through the rosy air to-night +The living creatures play +Up and down through the rich faint light-- +None so happy as they! +But the blast is here, and noises fall +Like the sound of steps in a ruined hall, +An icy touch is upon them all, +And they sicken and fade away. + + The child awoke with an eye of gladness, +With a light on his head and a matchless grace, +And laughed at the passing shades of sadness +That chased the smiles on his mother's face; +And life with its lightsome load of youth +Swam like a boat on a shining lake-- +Freighted with hopes enough, in sooth, +But he lived to trample on joy and truth, +And change his crown for a murder-stake! + + Oh, a ruddy light went through the room, +Till the dark ran out to his mother Night! +And that little chamber showed through the gloom +Like a Noah's ark with its nest of light! +Right glad was the maiden there, I wis, +With the youth that held her hand in his! +Oh, sweet were the words that went and came +Through the light and shade of the leaping flame +That glowed on the cheerful faces! +So human the speech, so sunny and kind, +That the darkness danced on the wall behind, +And even the wail of the winter wind +Sang sweet through the window-cases! + + But a mournful wail crept round and round, +And a voice cried:--"Come!" with a dreary sound, +And the circle wider grew; +The light flame sank, and sorrow fell +On the faces of those that loved so well; +Darker and wilder grew the tone; +Fainter and fainter the faces shone; +The wild night clasped them, and they were gone-- +And thou art passing too! + + Lo, the morning slowly springs +Like a meek white babe from the womb of night! +One golden planet sits and stings +The shifting gloom with his point of light! +Lo, the sun on its throne of flame! +--Wouldst thou climb and win a crown? +Oh, many a heart that pants for the same +Falls to the earth ere he goes down! +Thy heart is a flower with an open cup-- +Sit and watch, if it pleaseth thee, +Till the melting twilight fill it up +With a crystal of tender sympathy; +So, gently will it tremble +The silent midnight through, +And flocks of stars assemble +By turns in its depths of dew;-- +But look! oh, look again! +After the driving wind and rain! +When the day is up and the sun is strong, +And the voices of men are loud and long, +When the flower hath slunk to its rest again, +And love is lost in the strife of men! + + Let the morning break with thoughts of love, +And the evening fall with dreams of bliss-- +So vainly panteth the prisoned dove +For the depths of her sweet wilderness; +So stoops the eagle in his pride +From his rocky nest ere the bow is bent; +So sleeps the deer on the mountain-side +Ere the howling pack hath caught the scent! + + The fire climbs high till its work is done; +The stalk falls down when the flower is gone; +And the stars of heaven when their course is run +Melt silently away! +There was a footfall on the snow, +A line of light on the ocean-flow, +And a billow's dash on the rocks below +That stand by the wintry bay:-- +The snow was gone on the coming night; +Another wave arose in his might, +Uplifted his foaming breast of white, +And died like the rest for aye! + + Oh, the stars were bright! and thyself in thee +Yearned for an immortality! +And the thoughts that drew from thy busy brain +Clasped the worlds like an endless chain-- +When a moon arose, and her moving chime +Smote on thy soul, like a word in time, +Or a breathless wish, or a thought in rime, +And the truth that looked so gloomy and high +Leapt to thy arms with a joyful cry! +But what wert thou when a soulless Cause +Opened the book of its barren laws, +And thy spirit that was so glad and free +Was caught in the gin of necessity, +And a howl arose from the strife of things +Vexing each other with scorpion stings? +What wert thou but an orphan child +Thrust from the door when the night was wild? +Or a sailor on the toiling main +Looking blindly up through the wind and rain +As the hull of the vessel fell in twain! + + Seals are on the book of fate, +Hands may not unbind it; +Eyes may search for truth till late, +But will never find it--! +Rising on the brow of night +Like a portent of dismay, +As the worlds in wild affright +Track it on its direful way; +Resting like a rainbow bar +Where the curve and level meet, +As the children chase it far +O'er the sands with blistered feet; +Sadly through the mist of ages +Gazing on this life of fear, +Doubtful shining on its pages, +Only seen to disappear! +Sit thee by the sounding shore +--Winds and waves of human breath!-- +Learn a lesson from their roar, +Swelling, bursting evermore: +Live thy life and die thy death! +Die not like the writhing worm, +Rise and win thy highest stake; +Better perish in the storm +Than sit rotting on the lake! +Triumph in thy present youth, +Pulse of fire and heart of glee; +Leap at once into the truth, +If there is a truth for thee. + + Shapeless thoughts and dull opinions, +Slow distinctions and degrees,-- +Vex not thou thy weary pinions +With such leaden weights as these-- +Through this mystic jurisdiction +Reaching out a hand by chance, +Resting on a dull conviction +Whetted but by ignorance; +Living ever to behold +Mournful eyes that watch and weep; +Spirit suns that flashed in gold +Failing from the vasty deep; +Starry lights that glowed like Truth +Gazing with unnumbered eyes, +Melting from the skies of youth, +Swallowed up of mysteries; +Cords of love that sweetly bound thee; +Faded writing on thy brow; +Presences that came around thee; +Hands of faith that fail thee now! + + Groping hands will ever find thee +In the night with loads of chains! +Lift thy fetters and unbind thee, +Cast thee on the midnight plains: +Shapes of vision all-providing-- +Famished cheeks and hungry cries! +Sound of crystal waters sliding-- +Thirsty lips and bloodshot eyes! +Empty forms that send no gleaming +Through the mystery of this strife!-- +Oh, in such a life of seeming, +Death were worth an endless life! + + Hark the trumpet of the ocean +Where glad lands were wont to be! +Many voices of commotion +Break in tumult over thee! +Lo, they climb the frowning ages, +Marching o'er their level lands! +Far behind the strife that rages +Silence sits with clasped hands; +Undivided Purpose, freeing +His own steps from hindrances, +Sending out great floods of being, +Bathes thy steps in silentness. +Sit thee down in mirth and laughter-- +One there is that waits for thee; +If there is a true hereafter +He will lend thee eyes to see. + + Like a snowflake gently falling +On a quiet fountain, +Or a weary echo calling +From a distant mountain, +Drop thy hands in peace,-- +Fail--falter--cease. + + + +_OF ONE WHO DIED IN SPRING_. + +Loosener of springs, he died by thee! +Softness, not hardness, sent him home; +He loved thee--and thou mad'st him free +Of all the place thou comest from! + + + +_AN AUTUMN SONG_. + +Are the leaves falling round about + The churchyard on the hill? +Is the glow of autumn going out? + Is that the winter chill? +And yet through winter's noise, no doubt + The graves are very still! + +Are the woods empty, voiceless, bare? + On sodden leaves do you tread? +Is nothing left of all those fair? + Is the whole summer fled? +Well, so from this unwholesome air + Have gone away these dead! + +The seasons pierce me; like a leaf + I feel the autumn blow, +And tremble between nature's grief + And the silent death below. +O Summer, thou art very brief! + Where do these exiles go? + +_Gilesgate, Durham._ + + + +_TRIOLET_. + +Few in joy's sweet riot +Able are to listen: +Thou, to make me quiet, +Quenchest the sweet riot, +Tak'st away my diet, +Puttest me in prison-- +Quenchest joy's sweet riot +That the heart may listen. + + + +_I SEE THEE NOT_. + +Yes, Master, when thou comest thou shalt find + A little faith on earth, if I am here! +Thou know'st how oft I turn to thee my mind. + How sad I wait until thy face appear! + +Hast thou not ploughed my thorny ground full sore, + And from it gathered many stones and sherds? +Plough, plough and harrow till it needs no more-- + Then sow thy mustard-seed, and send thy birds. + +I love thee, Lord; and if I yield to fears, + Nor trust with triumph that pale doubt defies, +Remember, Lord, 'tis nigh two thousand years, + And I have never seen thee with mine eyes! + +And when I lift them from the wondrous tale, + See, all about me hath so strange a show! +Is that thy river running down the vale? + Is that thy wind that through the pines doth blow? + +Could'st thou right verily appear again, + The same who walked the paths of Palestine, +And here in England teach thy trusting men + In church and field and house, with word and sign? + +Here are but lilies, sparrows, and the rest! + My hands on some dear proof would light and stay! +But my heart sees John leaning on thy breast, + And sends them forth to do what thou dost say. + + + +_A BROKEN PRAYER_. + +0 Lord, my God, how long +Shall my poor heart pant for a boundless joy? +How long, O mighty Spirit, shall I hear +The murmur of Truth's crystal waters slide +From the deep caverns of their endless being, +But my lips taste not, and the grosser air +Choke each pure inspiration of thy will? + +I am a denseness 'twixt me and the light; +1 cannot round myself; my purest thought, +Ere it is thought, hath caught the taint of earth, +And mocked me with hard thoughts beyond my will. + +I would be a wind +Whose smallest atom is a viewless wing, +All busy with the pulsing life that throbs +To do thy bidding; yea, or the meanest thing +That has relation to a changeless truth, +Could I but be instinct with thee--each thought +The lightning of a pure intelligence, +And every act as the loud thunder-clap +Of currents warring for a vacuum. + +Lord, clothe me with thy truth as with a robe; +Purge me with sorrow; I will bend my head +And let the nations of thy waves pass over, +Bathing me in thy consecrated strength; +And let thy many-voiced and silver winds +Pass through my frame with their clear influence, +O save me; I am blind; lo, thwarting shapes +Wall up the void before, and thrusting out +Lean arms of unshaped expectation, beckon +Down to the night of all unholy thoughts. + +Oh, when at midnight one of thy strong angels +Stems back the waves of earthly influence +That shape unsteady continents around me, +And they draw off with the devouring gush +Of exile billows that have found a home, +Leaving me islanded on unseen points, +Hanging 'twixt thee and chaos--I have seen +Unholy shapes lop off my shining thoughts, +And they have lent me leathern wings of fear, +Of baffled pride and harrowing distrust; +And Godhead, with its crown of many stars, +Its pinnacles of flaming holiness, +And voice of leaves in the green summer-time, +Has seemed the shadowed image of a self! +Then my soul blackened; and I rose to find +And grasp my doom, and cleave the arching deeps +Of desolation. + +O Lord, my soul is a forgotten well +Clad round with its own rank luxuriance; +A fountain a kind sunbeam searches for, +Sinking the lustre of its arrowy finger +Through the long grass its own strange virtue +Hath blinded up its crystal eye withal: +Make me a broad strong river coming down +With shouts from its high hills, whose rocky hearts +Throb forth the joy of their stability +In watery pulses from their inmost deeps; +And I shall be a vein upon thy world, +Circling perpetual from the parent deep. + +Most mighty One, +Confirm and multiply my thoughts of good; +Help me to wall each sacred treasure round +With the firm battlements of special action. +Alas, my holy happy thoughts of thee +Make not perpetual nest within my soul, +But like strange birds of dazzling colours stoop +The trailing glories of their sunward speed +For one glad moment, filling my blasted boughs +With the sunshine of their wings. Make me a forest +Of gladdest life wherein perpetual spring +Lifts up her leafy tresses in the wind. +Lo, now I see +Thy trembling starlight sit among my pines, +And thy young moon slide down my arching boughs +With a soft sound of restless eloquence! +And I can feel a joy as when thy hosts +Of trampling winds, gathering in maddened bands, +Roar upward through the blue and flashing day +Round my still depths of uncleft solitude. + +Hear me, O Lord, +When the black night draws down upon my soul, +And voices of temptation darken down +The misty wind, slamming thy starry doors +With bitter jests:--"Thou fool!" they seem to say, +"Thou hast no seed of goodness in thee; all +Thy nature hath been stung right through and through; +Thy sin hath blasted thee and made thee old; +Thou hadst a will, but thou hast killed it dead, +And with the fulsome garniture of life +Built out the loathsome corpse; thou art a child +Of night and death, even lower than a worm; +Gather the skirts up of thy shadowy self, +And with what resolution thou hast left +Fall on the damned spikes of doom!" + +Oh, take me like a child, +If thou hast made me for thyself, my God, +And lead me up thy hills. I shall not fear, +So thou wilt make me pure, and beat back sin +With the terrors of thine eye: it fears me not +As once it might have feared thine own good image, +But lays bold siege at my heart's doors. + +Oh, I have seen a thing of beauty stand +In the young moonlight of its upward thoughts, +And the old earth came round it with its gifts +Of gladness, whispering leaves, and odorous plants, +Until its large and spiritual eye +Burned with intensest love: my God, I could +Have watched it evermore with Argus-eyes, +Lest when the noontide of the summer's sun +Let down the tented sunlight on the plain, +His flaming beams should scorch my darling flower; +And through the fruitless nights of leaden gloom, +Of plashing rains, and knotted winds of cold, +Yea, when thy lightnings ran across the sky, +And the loud stumbling blasts fell from the hills +Upon the mounds of death, I could have watched +Guarding such beauty like another life! +But, O my God, it changed!-- +Yet methinks I know not if it was not I! +Its beauty turned to ghastly loathsomeness! +Then a hand spurned me backwards from the clouds, +And with the gather of a mighty whirlwind, +Drew in the glittering gifts of life. + +How long, O Lord, how long? +I am a man lost in a rocky place! +Lo, all thy echoes smite me with confusion +Of varied speech,--the cry of vanished Life +Rolled upon nations' sighs--of hearts uplifted +Against despair--the stifled sounds of Woe +Sitting perpetual by its grey cold well-- +Or wasted Toil climbing its endless hills +With quickening gasps--or the thin winds of Joy +That beat about the voices of the crowd! + +Lord, hast thou sent +Thy moons to mock us with perpetual hope? +Lighted within our breasts the love of love +To make us ripen for despair, my God? + +Oh, dost thou hold each individual soul +Strung clear upon thy flaming rods of purpose? +Or does thine inextinguishable will +Stand on the steeps of night with lifted hand +Filling the yawning wells of monstrous space +With mixing thought--drinking up single life +As in a cup? and from the rending folds +Of glimmering purpose, do all thy navied stars +Slide through the gloom with mystic melody, +Like wishes on a brow? Oh, is my soul, +Hung like a dewdrop in thy grassy ways, +Drawn up again into the rack of change +Even through the lustre which created it? +--O mighty one, thou wilt not smite me through +With scorching wrath, because my spirit stands +Bewildered in thy circling mysteries! + +Oh lift the burdened gloom that chokes my soul +With dews of darkness; smite the lean winds of death +That run with howls around the ruined temples, +Blowing the souls of men about like leaves. + +Lo, the broad life-lands widen overhead, +Star-galaxies arise like drifting snow, +And happy life goes whitening down the stream +Of boundless action, whilst my fettered soul +Sits, as a captive in a noisome dungeon +Watches the pulses of his withered heart +Lave out the sparkling minutes of his life +On the idle flags! + +Come in the glory of thine excellence, +Rive the dense gloom with wedges of clear light, +And let the shimmer of thy chariot wheels +Burn through the cracks of night! So slowly, Lord, +To lift myself to thee with hands of toil, +Climbing the slippery cliffs of unheard prayer! +Lift up a hand among my idle days-- +One beckoning finger: I will cast aside +The clogs of earthly circumstance and run +Up the broad highways where the countless worlds +Sit ripening in the summer of thy love. +Send a clear meaning sparkling through the years; +Burst all the prison-doors, and make men's hearts +Gush up like fountains with thy melody; +Brighten the hollow eyes; fill with life's fruits +The hands that grope and scramble down the wastes; +And let the ghastly troops of withered ones +Come shining o'er the mountains of thy love. + +Lord, thy strange mysteries come thickening down +Upon my head like snowflakes, shutting out +The happy upper fields with chilly vapour. +Shall I content my soul with a weak sense +Of safety? or feed my ravenous hunger with +Sore purged hopes, that are not hopes but fears +Clad in white raiment? + +The creeds lie in the hollow of men's hearts +Like festering pools glassing their own corruption; +The slimy eyes stare up with dull approval, +And answer not when thy bright starry feet +Move on the watery floors: oh, shake men's souls +Together like the gathering of all oceans +Rent from their hidden chambers, till the waves +Lift up their million voices of high joy +Along the echoing cliffs! come thus, O Lord, +With nightly gifts of stars, and lay a hand +Of mighty peace upon the quivering flood. + +O wilt thou hear me when I cry to thee? +I am a child lost in a mighty forest; +The air is thick with voices, and strange hands +Reach through the dusk, and pluck me by the skirts. +There is a voice which sounds like words from home, +But, as I stumble on to reach it, seems +To leap from rock to rock: oh, if it is +Willing obliquity of sense, descend, +Heal all my wanderings, take me by the hand, +And lead me homeward through the shadows. +Let me not by my wilful acts of pride +Block up the windows of thy truth, and grow +A wasted, withered thing, that stumbles on +Down to the grave with folded hands of sloth +And leaden confidence. + + + +_COME DOWN_. + +Still am I haunting + Thy door with my prayers; +Still they are panting + Up thy steep stairs! +Wouldst thou not rather + Come down to my heart, +And there, O my Father, + Be what thou art? + + + +_A MOOD_. + +My thoughts are like fire-flies, pulsing in moonlight; + My heart like a silver cup, filled with red wine; +My soul a pale gleaming horizon, whence soon light + Will flood the gold earth with a torrent divine. + + + +_THE CARPENTER_. + +0 Lord, at Joseph's humble bench +Thy hands did handle saw and plane; +Thy hammer nails did drive and clench, +Avoiding knot and humouring grain. + +That thou didst seem, thou wast indeed, +In sport thy tools thou didst not use; +Nor, helping hind's or fisher's need, +The labourer's hire, too nice, refuse. + +Lord, might I be but as a saw, +A plane, a chisel, in thy hand!-- +No, Lord! I take it back in awe, +Such prayer for me is far too grand. + +I pray, O Master, let me lie, +As on thy bench the favoured wood; +Thy saw, thy plane, thy chisel ply, +And work me into something good. + +No, no; ambition, holy-high, +Urges for more than both to pray: +Come in, O gracious Force, I cry-- +O workman, share my shed of clay. + +Then I, at bench, or desk, or oar, +With knife or needle, voice or pen, +As thou in Nazareth of yore, +Shall do the Father's will again. + +Thus fashioning a workman rare, +O Master, this shall be thy fee: +Home to thy father thou shall bear +Another child made like to thee. + + + +_THE OLD GARDEN_. + +I. + +I stood in an ancient garden +With high red walls around; +Over them grey and green lichens +In shadowy arabesque wound. + +The topmost climbing blossoms +On fields kine-haunted looked out; +But within were shelter and shadow, +With daintiest odours about. + +There were alleys and lurking arbours, +Deep glooms into which to dive. +The lawns were as soft as fleeces, +Of daisies I counted but five. + +The sun-dial was so aged +It had gathered a thoughtful grace; +'Twas the round-about of the shadow +That so had furrowed its face. + +The flowers were all of the oldest +That ever in garden sprung; +Red, and blood-red, and dark purple +The rose-lamps flaming hung. + +Along the borders fringed +With broad thick edges of box +Stood foxgloves and gorgeous poppies +And great-eyed hollyhocks. + +There were junipers trimmed into castles, +And ash-trees bowed into tents; +For the garden, though ancient and pensive, +Still wore quaint ornaments. + +It was all so stately fantastic +Its old wind hardly would stir; +Young Spring, when she merrily entered, +Scarce felt it a place for her. + +II. + +I stood in the summer morning +Under a cavernous yew; +The sun was gently climbing, +And the scents rose after the dew. + +I saw the wise old mansion, +Like a cow in the noon-day heat, +Stand in a lake of shadows +That rippled about its feet. + +Its windows were oriel and latticed, +Lowly and wide and fair; +And its chimneys like clustered pillars +Stood up in the thin blue air. + +White doves, like the thoughts of a lady, +Haunted it all about; +With a train of green and blue comets +The peacock went marching stout. + +The birds in the trees were singing +A song as old as the world, +Of love and green leaves and sunshine, +And winter folded and furled. + +They sang that never was sadness +But it melted and passed away; +They sang that never was darkness +But in came the conquering day. + +And I knew that a maiden somewhere, +In a low oak-panelled room, +In a nimbus of shining garments, +An aureole of white-browed bloom, + +Looked out on the garden dreamy, +And knew not it was old; +Looked past the gray and the sombre, +Saw but the green and the gold, + +III. + +I stood in the gathering twilight, +In a gently blowing wind; +Then the house looked half uneasy, +Like one that was left behind. + +The roses had lost their redness, +And cold the grass had grown; +At roost were the pigeons and peacock, +The sun-dial seemed a head-stone. + +The world by the gathering twilight +In a gauzy dusk was clad; +Something went into my spirit +And made me a little sad. + +Grew and gathered the twilight, +It filled my heart and brain; +The sadness grew more than sadness, +It turned to a gentle pain. + +Browned and brooded the twilight, +Pervaded, absorbed the calm, +Till it seemed for some human sorrows +There could not be any balm. + +IV. + +Then I knew that, up a staircase +Which untrod will yet creak and shake, +Deep in a distant chamber +A ghost was coming awake-- + +In the growing darkness growing, +Growing till her eyes appear +Like spots of a deeper twilight, +But more transparent clear: + +Thin as hot air up-trembling, +Thin as sun-molten crape, +An ethereal shadow of something +Is taking a certain shape; + +A shape whose hands hang listless, +Let hang its disordered hair; +A shape whose bosom is heaving +But draws not in the air. + +And I know, what time the moonlight +On her nest of shadows will sit, +Out on the dim lawn gliding +That shadowy shadow will flit. + +V. + +The moon is dreaming upward +From a sea of cloud and gleam; +She looks as if she had seen me +Never but in a dream. + +Down the stair I know she is coming, +Bare-footed, lifting her train; +It creaks not--she hears it creaking +Where once there was a brain. + +Out at yon side-door she's coming, +With a timid glance right and left; +Her look is hopeless yet eager, +The look of a heart bereft. + +Across the lawn she is flitting, +Her thin gown feels the wind; +Are her white feet bending the grasses? +Her hair is lifted behind! + +VI. + +Shall I stay to look on her nearer? +Would she start and vanish away? +Oh, no, she will never see me, +Stand I near as I may! + +It is not this wind she is feeling, +Not this cool grass below; +'Tis the wind and the grass of an evening +A hundred years ago. + +She sees no roses darkling, +No stately hollyhocks dim; +She is only thinking and dreaming +The garden, the night, and him, + +The unlit windows behind her, +The timeless dial-stone, +The trees, and the moon, and the shadows +A hundred years agone! + +'Tis a night for a ghostly lover +To haunt the best-loved spot: +Is he come in his dreams to this garden? +I gaze, but I see him not. + +VII. + +I will not look on her nearer, +My heart would be torn in twain; +From my eyes the garden would vanish +In the falling of their rain. + +I will not look on a sorrow +That darkens into despair, +On the surge of a heart that cannot +Yet cannot cease to bear. + +My soul to hers would be calling: +She would hear no word it said! +If I cried aloud in the stillness +She would never turn her head! + +She is dreaming the sky above her, +She is dreaming the earth below:-- +This night she lost her lover +A hundred years ago. + + + +_A NOONDAY MELODY_. + +Everything goes to its rest; + The hills are asleep in the noon; +And life is as still in its nest + As the moon when she looks on a moon +In the depth of a calm river's breast + As it steals through a midnight in June. + +The streams have forgotten the sea + In the dream of their musical sound; +The sunlight is thick on the tree, + And the shadows lie warm on the ground,-- +So still, you may watch them and see + Every breath that awakens around. + +The churchyard lies still in the heat, + With its handful of mouldering bone, +As still as the long stalk of wheat + In the shadow that sits by the stone, +As still as the grass at my feet + When I walk in the meadows alone. + +The waves are asleep on the main, + And the ships are asleep on the wave; +And the thoughts are as still in my brain + As the echo that sleeps in the cave; +All rest from their labour and pain-- + Then why should not I in my grave? + + + +_WHO LIGHTS THE FIRE_? + +Who lights the fire--that forth so gracefully + And freely frolicketh the fairy smoke? + Some pretty one who never felt the yoke-- +Glad girl, or maiden more sedate than she. + +Pedant it cannot, villain cannot be! + Some genius, may-be, his own symbol woke; + But puritan, nor rogue in virtue's cloke, +Nor kitchen-maid has done it certainly! + +Ha, ha! you cannot find the lighter out + For all the blue smoke's pantomimic gesture-- + His name or nature, sex or age or vesture! +The fire was lit by human care, no doubt-- + But now the smoke is Nature's tributary, + Dancing 'twixt man and nothing like a fairy. + + + +_WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT_? + +Who would have thought that even an idle song + Were such a holy and celestial thing + That wickedness and envy cannot sing-- +That music for no moment lives with wrong? +I know this, for a very grievous throng, + Dark thoughts, low wishes, round my bosom cling, + And, underneath, the hidden holy spring +Stagnates because of their enchantment strong. + +Blow, breath of heaven, on all this poison blow! + And, heart, glow upward to this gracious breath! + Between them, vanish, mist of sin and death, +And let the life of life within me flow! + Love is the green earth, the celestial air, + And music runs like dews and rivers there! + + + +_ON A DECEMBER DAY_. + +I. + +This is the sweetness of an April day; + The softness of the spring is on the face + Of the old year. She has no natural grace, +But something comes to her from far away + +Out of the Past, and on her old decay + The beauty of her childhood you can trace.-- + And yet she moveth with a stormy pace, +And goeth quickly.--Stay, old year, oh, stay! + +We do not like new friends, we love the old; + With young, fierce, hopeful hearts we ill agree; +But thou art patient, stagnant, calm, and cold, + And not like that new year that is to be;-- + Life, promise, love, her eyes may fill, fair child! + We know the past, and will not be beguiled. + +II. + +Yet the free heart will not be captive long; + And if she changes often, she is free. + But if she changes: One has mastery +Who makes the joy the last in every song. +And so to-day I blessed the breezes strong + That swept the blue; I blessed the breezes free + That rolled wet leaves like rivers shiningly; +I blessed the purple woods I stood among. + +"And yet the spring is better!" Bitterness + Came with the words, but did not stay with them. + "Accomplishment and promise! field and stem +New green fresh growing in a fragrant dress! + And we behind with death and memory!" + --Nay, prophet-spring! but I will follow thee. + + + +_CHRISTMAS DAY, 1850_. + +Beautiful stories wed with lovely days + Like words and music:--what shall be the tale + Of love and nobleness that might avail +To express in action what this sweetness says-- + +The sweetness of a day of airs and rays + That are strange glories on the winter pale? + Alas, O beauty, all my fancies fail! +I cannot tell a story in thy praise! + +Thou hast, thou hast one--set, and sure to chime + With thee, as with the days of "winter wild;" + For Joy like Sorrow loves his blessed feet +Who shone from Heaven on Earth this Christmas-time + A Brother and a Saviour, Mary's child!-- + And so, fair day, thou _hast_ thy story sweet. + + + +_TO A FEBRUARY PRIMROSE_. + +I know not what among the grass thou art, + Thy nature, nor thy substance, fairest flower, + Nor what to other eyes thou hast of power +To send thine image through them to the heart; +But when I push the frosty leaves apart + And see thee hiding in thy wintry bower + Thou growest up within me from that hour, +And through the snow I with the spring depart. + +I have no words. But fragrant is the breath, + Pale beauty, of thy second life within. +There is a wind that cometh for thy death, + But thou a life immortal dost begin, +Where in one soul, which is thy heaven, shall dwell +Thy spirit, beautiful Unspeakable! + + + +_IN FEBRUARY_. + +Now in the dark of February rains, + Poor lovers of the sunshine, spring is born, + The earthy fields are full of hidden corn, +And March's violets bud along the lanes; + +Therefore with joy believe in what remains. + And thou who dost not feel them, do not scorn + Our early songs for winter overworn, +And faith in God's handwriting on the plains. + +"Hope" writes he, "Love" in the first violet, + "Joy," even from Heaven, in songs and winds and trees; + And having caught the happy words in these +While Nature labours with the letters yet, + Spring cannot cheat us, though her _hopes_ be broken, + Nor leave us, for we know what God hath spoken. + + + +_THE TRUE_. + +I envy the tree-tops that shake so high + In winds that fill them full of heavenly airs; + I envy every little cloud that shares +With unseen angels evening in the sky; +I envy most the youngest stars that lie + Sky-nested, and the loving heaven that bears, + And night that makes strong worlds of them unawares; +And all God's other beautiful and nigh! + +Nay, nay, I envy not! And these are dreams, + Fancies and images of real heaven! + My longings, all my longing prayers are given +For that which is, and not for that which seems. + Draw me, O Lord, to thy true heaven above, + The Heaven of thy Thought, thy Rest, thy Love. + + + +_THE DWELLERS THEREIN_. + +Down a warm alley, early in the year, + Among the woods, with all the sunshine in + And all the winds outside it, I begin +To think that something gracious will appear, +If anything of grace inhabit here, + Or there be friendship in the woods to win. + Might one but find companions more akin +To trees and grass and happy daylight clear, +And in this wood spend one long hour at home! + The fairies do not love so bright a place, +And angels to the forest never come, + But I have dreamed of some harmonious race, +The kindred of the shapes that haunt the shore +Of Music's flow and flow for evermore. + + + +_AUTUMN'S GOLD_. + +Along the tops of all the yellow trees, + The golden-yellow trees, the sunshine lies; + And where the leaves are gone, long rays surprise +Lone depths of thicket with their brightnesses; +And through the woods, all waste of many a breeze, + Cometh more joy of light for Poet's eyes-- + Green fields lying yellow underneath the skies, +And shining houses and blue distances. + +By the roadside, like rocks of golden ore + That make the western river-beds so bright, + The briar and the furze are all alight! +Perhaps the year will be so fair no more, + But now the fallen, falling leaves are gay, + And autumn old has shone into a Day! + + + +_PUNISHMENT_. + +Mourner, that dost deserve thy mournfulness, + Call thyself punished, call the earth thy hell; + Say, "God is angry, and I earned it well-- +I would not have him smile on wickedness:" + +Say this, and straightway all thy grief grows less:-- + "God rules at least, I find as prophets tell, + And proves it in this prison!"--then thy cell +Smiles with an unsuspected loveliness. + +--"A prison--and yet from door and window-bar + I catch a thousand breaths of his sweet air! + Even to me his days and nights are fair! +He shows me many a flower and many a star! +And though I mourn and he is very far, + He does not kill the hope that reaches there!" + + + +_SHEW US THE FATHER_. + +"Shew us the Father." Chiming stars of space, + And lives that fit the worlds, and means and powers, + A Thought that holds them up reveal to ours-- +A Wisdom we have been made wise to trace. +And, looking out from sweetest Nature's face, + From sunsets, moonlights, rivers, hills, and flowers, + Infinite love and beauty, all the hours, +Woo men that love them with divinest grace; +And to the depths of all the answering soul + High Justice speaks, and calls the world her own; + And yet we long, and yet we have not known +The very Father's face who means the whole! + Shew us the Father! Nature, conscience, love + Revealed in beauty, is there One above? + + + +_THE PINAFORE_. + +When peevish flaws his soul have stirred + To fretful tears for crossed desires, +Obedient to his mother's word + My child to banishment retires. + +As disappears the moon, when wind + Heaps miles of mist her visage o'er, +So vanisheth his face behind + The cloud of his white pinafore. + +I cannot then come near my child-- + A gulf between of gainful loss; +He to the infinite exiled-- + I waiting, for I cannot cross. + +Ah then, what wonder, passing show, + The Isis-veil behind it brings-- +Like that self-coffined creatures know, + Remembering legs, foreseeing wings! + +Mysterious moment! When or how + Is the bewildering change begun? +Hid in far deeps the awful now + When turns his being to the sun! + +A light goes up behind his eyes, + A still small voice behind his ears; +A listing wind about him sighs, + And lo the inner landscape clears! + +Hid by that screen, a wondrous shine + Is gathering for a sweet surprise; +As Moses grew, in dark divine, + Too radiant for his people's eyes. + +For when the garment sinks again, + Outbeams a brow of heavenly wile, +Clear as a morning after rain, + And sunny with a perfect smile. + +Oh, would that I the secret knew + Of hiding from my evil part, +And turning to the lovely true + The open windows of my heart! + +Lord, in thy skirt, love's tender gaol, + Hide thou my selfish heart's disgrace; +Fill me with light, and then unveil + To friend and foe a friendly face. + + + +_THE PRISM_. + +I. + +A pool of broken sunbeams lay + Upon the passage-floor, +Radiant and rich, profound and gay + As ever diamond bore. + +Small, flitting hands a handkerchief + Spread like a cunning trap: +Prone lay the gorgeous jewel-sheaf + In the glory-gleaner's lap! + +Deftly she folded up the prize, + With lovely avarice; +Like one whom having had made wise, + She bore it off in bliss. + +But ah, when for her prisoned gems + She peeped, to prove them there, +No glories broken from their stems + Lay in the kerchief bare! + +For still, outside the nursery door, + The bright persistency, +A molten diadem on the floor, + Lay burning wondrously. + +II. + +How oft have I laid fold from fold + And peered into my mind-- +To see of all the purple and gold + Not one gleam left behind! + +The best of gifts will not be stored: + The manna of yesterday +Has filled no sacred miser-hoard + To keep new need away. + +Thy grace, O Lord, it is thyself; + Thy presence is thy light; +I cannot lay it on my shelf, + Or take it from thy sight. + +For daily bread we daily pray-- + The want still breeds the cry; +And so we meet, day after day, + Thou, Father in heaven, and I. + +Is my house dreary, wall and floor, + Will not the darkness flit, +I go outside my shadowy door + And in thy rainbow sit. + + + +_SLEEP_. + +Oh! is it Death that comes +To have a foretaste of the whole? + To-night the planets and the stars + Will glimmer through my window-bars +But will not shine upon my soul! + +For I shall lie as dead +Though yet I am above the ground; + All passionless, with scarce a breath, + With hands of rest and eyes of death, +I shall be carried swiftly round. + +Or if my life should break +The idle night with doubtful gleams, + Through mossy arches will I go, + Through arches ruinous and low, +And chase the true and false in dreams. + +Why should I fall asleep? +When I am still upon my bed + The moon will shine, the winds will rise + And all around and through the skies +The light clouds travel o'er my head! + +O busy, busy things, +Ye mock me with your ceaseless life! + For all the hidden springs will flow + And all the blades of grass will grow +When I have neither peace nor strife. + +And all the long night through +The restless streams will hurry by; + And round the lands, with endless roar, + The white waves fall upon the shore, +And bit by bit devour the dry. + +Even thus, but silently, +Eternity, thy tide shall flow, + And side by side with every star + Thy long-drawn swell shall bear me far, +An idle boat with none to row. + +My senses fail with sleep; +My heart beats thick; the night is noon; + And faintly through its misty folds + I hear a drowsy clock that holds +Its converse with the waning moon. + +Oh, solemn mystery +That I should be so closely bound + With neither terror nor constraint, + Without a murmur of complaint, +And lose myself upon such ground! + + + +_SHARING_. + +On the far horizon there +Heaps of cloudy darkness rest; +Though the wind is in the air +There is stupor east and west. + +For the sky no change is making, +Scarce we know it from the plain; +Droop its eyelids never waking, +Blinded by the misty rain; + +Save on high one little spot, +Round the baffled moon a space +Where the tumult ceaseth not: +Wildly goes the midnight race! + +And a joy doth rise in me +Upward gazing on the sight, +When I think that others see +In yon clouds a like delight; + +How perchance an aged man +Struggling with the wind and rain, +In the moonlight cold and wan +Feels his heart grow young again; + +As the cloudy rack goes by, +How the life-blood mantles up +Till the fountain deep and dry +Yields once more a sparkling cup. + +Or upon the gazing child +Cometh down a thought of glory +Which will keep him undefiled +Till his head is old and hoary. + +For it may be he hath woke +And hath raised his fair young form; +Strangely on his eyes have broke +All the splendours of the storm; + +And his young soul forth doth leap +With the storm-clouds in the moon; +And his heart the light will keep +Though the vision passeth soon. + +Thus a joy hath often laughed +On my soul from other skies, +Bearing on its wings a draught +From the wells of Paradise, + +For that not to me alone +Comes a splendour out of fear; +Where the light of heaven hath shone +There is glory far and near. + + + +_IN BONDS_. + +Of the poor bird that cannot fly +Kindly you think and mournfully; +For prisoners and for exiles all +You let the tears of pity fall; +And very true the grief should be +That mourns the bondage of the free. + +The soul--_she_ has a fatherland; +Binds _her_ not many a tyrant's hand? +And the winged spirit has a home, +But can she always homeward come? +Poor souls, with all their wounds and foes, +Will you not also pity those? + + + +_HUNGER_. + +Father, I cry to thee for bread + With hungred longing, eager prayer; +Thou hear'st, and givest me instead + More hunger and a half-despair. + +0 Lord, how long? My days decline, + My youth is lapped in memories old; +I need not bread alone, but wine-- + See, cup and hand to thee I hold! + +And yet thou givest: thanks, O Lord, + That still my heart with hunger faints! +The day will come when at thy board + I sit, forgetting all my plaints. + +If rain must come and winds must blow, + And I pore long o'er dim-seen chart, +Yet, Lord, let not the hunger go, + And keep the faintness at my heart. + + + +_NEW YEAR'S EVE: A WAKING DREAM_. + +I have not any fearful tale to tell +Of fabled giant or of dragon-claw, +Or bloody deed to pilfer and to sell +To those who feed, with such, a gaping maw; +But what in yonder hamlet there befell, +Or rather what in it my fancy saw, +I will declare, albeit it may seem +Too simple and too common for a dream. + +Two brothers were they, and they sat alone +Without a word, beside the winter's glow; +For it was many years since they had known +The love that bindeth brothers, till the snow +Of age had frozen it, and it had grown +An icy-withered stream that would not flow; +And so they sat with warmth about their feet +And ice about their hearts that would not beat. + +And yet it was a night for quiet hope:-- +A night the very last of all the year +To many a youthful heart did seem to ope +An eye within the future, round and clear; +And age itself, that travels down the slope, +Sat glad and waiting as the hour drew near, +The dreamy hour that hath the heaviest chime, +Jerking our souls into the coming time. + +But they!--alas for age when it is old! +The silly calendar they did not heed; +Alas for age when in its bosom cold +There is not warmth to nurse a bladed weed! +They thought not of the morrow, but did hold +A quiet sitting as their hearts did feed +Inwardly on themselves, as still and mute +As if they were a-cold from head to foot. + +O solemn kindly night, she looketh still +With all her moon upon us now and then! +And though she dwelleth most in craggy hill, +She hath an eye unto the hearts of men! +So past a corner of the window-sill +She thrust a long bright finger just as ten +Had struck, and on the dial-plate it came, +Healing each hour's raw edge with tender flame. + +There is a something in the winds of heaven +That stirreth purposely and maketh men; +And unto every little wind is given +A thing to do ere it is still again; +So when the little clock had struck eleven, +The edging moon had drawn her silver pen +Across a mirror, making them aware +Of something ghostlier than their own grey hair. + +Therefore they drew aside the window-blind +And looked upon the sleeping town below, +And on the little church which sat behind +As keeping watch upon the scanty row +Of steady tombstones--some of which inclined +And others upright, in the moon did show +Like to a village down below the waves-- +It was so still and cool among the graves. + +But not a word from either mouth did fall, +Except it were some very plain remark. +Ah! why should such as they be glad at all? +For years they had not listened to the lark! +The child was dead in them!--yet did there crawl +A wish about their hearts; and as the bark +Of distant sheep-dog came, they were aware +Of a strange longing for the open air. + +Ah! many an earthy-weaving year had spun +A web of heavy cloud about their brain! +And many a sun and moon had come and gone +Since they walked arm in arm, these brothers twain! +But now with timéd pace their feet did stun +The village echoes into quiet pain: +The street appearéd very short and white, +And they like ghosts unquiet for the light. + +"Right through the churchyard," one of them did say +--I knew not which was elder of the two-- +"Right through the churchyard is our better way." +"Ay," said the other, "past the scrubby yew. +I have not seen her grave for many a day; +And it is in me that with moonlight too +It might be pleasant thinking of old faces, +And yet I seldom go into such places." + +Strange, strange indeed to me the moonlight wan +Sitting about a solitary stone! +Stranger than many tales it is to scan +The earthy fragment of a human bone; +But stranger still to see a grey old man +Apart from all his fellows, and alone +With the pale night and all its giant quiet; +Therefore that stone was strange and those two by it. + +It was their mother's grave, and here were hid +The priceless pulses of a mother's soul. +Full sixty years it was since she had slid +Into the other world through that deep hole. +But as they stood it seemed the coffin-lid +Grew deaf with sudden hammers!--'twas the mole +Niddering about its roots.--Be still, old men, +Be very still and ye will hear again. + +Ay, ye will hear it! Ye may go away, +But it will stay with you till ye are dead! +It is but earthy mould and quiet clay, +But it hath power to turn the oldest head. +Their eyes met in the moon, and they did say +More than a hundred tongues had ever said. +So they passed onwards through the rapping wicket +Into the centre of a firry thicket. + +It was a solemn meeting of Earth's life, +An inquest held upon the death of things; +And in the naked north full thick and rife +The snow-clouds too were meeting as on wings +Shorn round the edges by the frost's keen knife; +And the trees seemed to gather into rings, +Waiting to be made blind, as they did quail +Among their own wan shadows thin and pale. + +Many strange noises are there among trees, +And most within the quiet moony light, +Therefore those aged men are on their knees +As if they listened somewhat:--Ye are right-- +Upwards it bubbles like the hum of bees! +Although ye never heard it till to-night, +The mighty mother calleth ever so +To all her pale-eyed children from below. + +Ay, ye have walked upon her paven ways, +And heard her voices in the market-place, +But ye have never listened what she says +When the snow-moon is pressing on her face! +One night like this is more than many days +To him who hears the music and the bass +Of deep immortal lullabies which calm +His troubled soul as with a hushing psalm. + +I know not whether there is power in sleep +To dim the eyelids of the shining moon, +But so it seemed then, for still more deep +She grew into a heavy cloud, which, soon +Hiding her outmost edges, seemed to keep +A pressure on her; so there came a swoon +Among the shadows, which still lay together +But in their slumber knew not one another. + +But while the midnight gropéd for the chime +As she were heavy with excess of dreams, +She from the cloud's thick web a second time +Made many shadows, though with minished beams; +And as she lookéd eastward through the rime +Of a thin vapour got of frosty steams, +There fell a little snow upon the crown +Of a near hillock very bald and brown. + +And on its top they found a little spring, +A very helpful little spring indeed, +Which evermore unwound a tiny string +Of earnest water with continual speed-- +And so the brothers stood and heard it sing; +For all was snowy-still, and not a seed +Had struck, and nothing came but noises light +Of the continual whitening of the night. + +There is a kindness in the falling snow-- +It is a grey head to the spring time mild; +So as the creamy vapour bowéd low +Crowning the earth with honour undefiled, +Within each withered man arose a glow +As if he fain would turn into a child: +There was a gladness somewhere in the ground +Which in his bosom nowhere could be found! + +Not through the purple summer or the blush +Of red voluptuous roses did it come +That silent speaking voice, but through the slush +And snowy quiet of the winter numb! +It was a barren mound that heard the gush +Of living water from two fountains dumb-- +Two rocky human hearts which long had striven +To make a pleasant noise beneath high heaven! + +Now from the village came the onward shout +Of lightsome voices and of merry cheer; +It was a youthful group that wandered out +To do obeisance to the glad new year; +And as they passed they sang with voices stout +A song which I was very fain to hear, +But as they darkened on, away it died, +And the two men walked homewards side by side. + + + +_FROM NORTH WALES: TO THE MOTHER_. + +When the summer gave us a longer day, +And the leaves were thickest, I went away: +Like an isle, through dark clouds, of the infinite blue, +Was that summer-ramble from London and you. + +It was but one burst into life and air, +One backward glance on the skirts of care, +A height on the hills with the smoke below-- +And the joy that came quickly was quick to go. + +But I know and I cannot forget so soon +How the Earth is shone on by Sun and Moon; +How the clouds hide the mountains, and how they move +When the morning sunshine lies warm above. + +I know how the waters fall and run +In the rocks and the heather, away from the sun; +How they hang like garlands on all hill-sides, +And are the land's music, those crystal tides. + +I know how they gather in valleys fair, +Meet valleys those beautiful waves to bear; +How they dance through the rocks, how they rest in the pool, +How they darken, how sparkle, and how they are cool. + +I know how the rocks from their kisses climb +To keep the storms off with a front sublime; +And how on their platforms and sloping walls +The shadow of oak-tree and fir-tree falls. + +I know how the valleys are bright from far, +Rocks, meadows, and waters, the wood and the scaur; +And how the roadside and the nearest hill +The foxglove and heather and harebell fill. + +I know--but the joy that was quick to go +Gave more knowledge to me than words can shew; +And _you_ know the story, and how they fare +Who love the green earth and the heavenly air. + + + +_COME TO ME_. + +Come to me, come to me, O my God; + Come to me everywhere! +Let the trees mean thee, and the grassy sod, + And the water and the air! + +For thou art so far that I often doubt, + As on every side I stare, +Searching within, and looking without, + If thou canst be anywhere. + +How did men find thee in days of old? + How did they grow so sure? +They fought in thy name, they were glad and bold, + They suffered, and kept themselves pure! + +But now they say--neither above the sphere + Nor down in the heart of man, +But solely in fancy, ambition, and fear + The thought of thee began. + +If only that perfect tale were true + Which ages have not made old, +Which of endless many makes one anew, + And simplicity manifold! + +But _he_ taught that they who did his word + The truth of it sure would know: +I will try to do it: if he be lord + Again the old faith will glow; + +Again the old spirit-wind will blow + That he promised to their prayer; +And obeying the Son, I too shall know + His father everywhere! + + + +_A FEAR_. + +O Mother Earth, I have a fear +Which I would tell to thee-- +Softly and gently in thine ear +When the moon and we are three. + +Thy grass and flowers are beautiful; +Among thy trees I hide; +And underneath the moonlight cool +Thy sea looks broad and wide; + +But this I fear--lest thou shouldst grow +To me so small and strange, +So distant I should never know +On thee a shade of change, + +Although great earthquakes should uplift +Deep mountains from their base, +And thy continual motion shift +The lands upon thy face;-- + +The grass, the flowers, the dews that lie +Upon them as before-- +Driven upwards evermore, lest I +Should love these things no more. + +Even now thou dimly hast a place +In deep star galaxies! +And I, driven ever on through space, +Have lost thee in the skies! + + + +_THE LOST HOUSE_. + +Out of thy door I run to do the thing + That calls upon me. Straight the wind of words +Whoops from mine ears the sounds of them that sing +About their work, "My God, my father-king!" + +I turn in haste to see thy blessed door, + But, lo, a cloud of flies and bats and birds, + And stalking vapours, and vague monster-herds + Have risen and lighted, rushed and swollen between! + +Ah me! the house of peace is there no more. +Was it a dream then?--Walls, fireside, and floor, + And sweet obedience, loving, calm, and free, + Are vanished--gone as they had never been! + + I labour groaning. Comes a sudden sheen!-- +And I am kneeling at my father's knee, +Sighing with joy, and hoping utterly. + + + +_THE TALK OF THE ECHOES_. + +A FRAGMENT. + +When the cock crows loud from the glen, +And the moor-cock chirrs from the heather, +What hear ye and see ye then, +Ye children of air and ether? + +1_st Echo_. + A thunder as of waves at the rising of the moon, + And a darkness on the graves though the day is at its noon. + +_2nd Echo_. A springing as of grass though the air is damp and chill, + And a glimmer from the river that winds about the hill. + +_1st Echo_. A lapse of crags that leant from the mountain's earthen +sheath, + And a shock of ruin sent on the river underneath. + +_2nd Echo_. A sound as of a building that groweth fair and good, + And a piping of the thrushes from the hollow of the wood. + +_1st Echo_. A wailing as of lambs that have wandered from the flock, + And a bleating of their dams that was answered from the rock. + +_2nd Echo_. A breathing as of cattle in the shadow where they dream, + And a sound of children playing with the pebbles in the stream. + +_1st Echo_. A driving as of clouds in the kingdom of the air, + And a tumult as of crowds that mingle everywhere. + +_2nd Echo_. A waving of the grass, and a passing o'er the lakes, + And a shred of tempest-cloud in the glory when it breaks. + + + +_THE GOAL_ + +In God alone, the perfect end, +Wilt thou find thyself or friend. + + + +_THE HEALER_. + +They come to thee, the halt, the maimed, the blind, + The devil-torn, the sick, the sore; +Thy heart their well of life they find, + Thine ear their open door. + +Ah, who can tell the joy in Palestine-- + What smiles and tears of rescued throngs! +Their lees of life were turned to wine, + Their prayers to shouts and songs! + +The story dear our wise men fable call, + Give paltry facts the mighty range; +To me it seems just what should fall, + And nothing very strange. + +But were I deaf and lame and blind and sore, + I scarce would care for cure to ask; +Another prayer should haunt thy door-- + Set thee a harder task. + +If thou art Christ, see here this heart of mine, + Torn, empty, moaning, and unblest! +Had ever heart more need of thine, + If thine indeed hath rest? + +Thy word, thy hand right soon did scare the bane + That in their bodies death did breed; +If thou canst cure my deeper pain + Then art thou lord indeed. + + + +_OH THAT A WIND_. + +Oh that a wind would call + From the depths of the leafless wood! +Oh that a voice would fall + On the ear of my solitude! + +Far away is the sea, + With its sound and its spirit tone; +Over it white clouds flee; + But I am alone, alone. + +Straight and steady and tall + The trees stand on their feet; +Fast by the old stone wall + The moss grows green and sweet; +But my heart is full of fears, + For the sun shines far away; +And they look in my face through tears, + And the light of a dying day. + +My heart was glad last night + As I pressed it with my palm; +Its throb was airy and light + As it sang some spirit psalm; +But it died away in my breast + As I wandered forth to-day,-- +As a bird sat dead on its nest, + While others sang on the spray. + +O weary heart of mine, + Is there ever a Truth for thee? +Will ever a sun outshine + But the sun that shines on me? +Away, away through the air + The clouds and the leaves are blown; +And my heart hath need of prayer, + For it sitteth alone, alone. + + + +_A VISION OF ST. ELIGIUS_. + +I. + +I see thy house, but I am blown about, + A wind-mocked kite, between the earth and sky, +All out of doors--alas! of thy doors out, + And drenched in dews no summer suns can dry. + +For every blast is passion of my own; + The dews cold sweats of selfish agony; +Dank vapour steams from memories lying prone; + And all my soul is but a stifled cry. + +II. + +Lord, thou dost hold my string, else were I driven + Down to some gulf where I were tossed no more, +No turmoil telling I was not in heaven, + No billows raving on a blessed shore. + +Thou standest on thy door-sill, calm as day, + And all my throbs and pangs are pulls from thee; +Hold fast the string, lest I should break away + And outer dark and silence swallow me. + +III. + +No longer fly thy kite, Lord; draw me home. + Thou pull'st the string through all the distance bleak; +Lord, I am nearing thee; O Lord, I come; + Thy pulls grow stronger and the wind grows weak. + +In thy remodelling hands thou tak'st thy kite; + A moment to thy bosom hold'st me fast. +Thou flingest me abroad:--lo, in thy might + A strong-winged bird I soar on every blast! + + + +_OF THE SON OF MAN_. + +I. I honour Nature, holding it unjust +To look with jealousy on her designs; +With every passing year more fast she twines +About my heart; with her mysterious dust +Claim I a fellowship not less august +Although she works before me and combines +Her changing forms, wherever the sun shines +Spreading a leafy volume on the crust +Of the old world; and man himself likewise +Is of her making: wherefore then divorce +What God hath joined thus, and rend by force +Spirit away from substance, bursting ties +By which in one great bond of unity +God hath together bound all things that be? + +II. And in these lines my purpose is to show +That He who left the Father, though he came +Not with art-splendour or the earthly flame +Of genius, yet in that he did bestow +His own true loving heart, did cause to grow, +Unseen and buried deep, whate'er we name +The best in human art, without the shame +Of idle sitting in most real woe; +And that whate'er of Beautiful and Grand +The Earth contains, by him was not despised, +But rather was so deeply realized +In word and deed, though not with artist hand, +That it was either hid or all disguised +From those who were not wise to understand. + +III. Art is the bond of weakness, and we find +Therein acknowledgment of failing power: +A man would worship, gazing on a flower-- +Onward he passeth, lo his eyes are blind! +The unenlivened form he left behind +Grew up within him only for an hour! +And he will grapple with Nature till the dower +Of strength shall be retreasured in his mind. +And each form-record is a high protest +Of treason done unto the soul of man, +Which, striving upwards, ever is oppress'd +By the old bondage, underneath whose ban +He, failing in his struggle for the best, +Must live in pain upon what food he can. + +IV. Moreover, were there perfect harmony +'Twixt soul and Nature, we should never waste +The precious hours in gazing, but should haste +To assimilate her offerings, and we +From high life-elements, as doth the tree, +Should grow to higher; so what we call Taste +Is a slow living as of roots encased +In the grim chinks of some sterility +Both cramping and withholding. Art is Truth, +But Truth dammed up and frozen, gagged and bound +As is a streamlet icy and uncouth +Which pebbles hath and channel but no sound: +Give it again its summer heart of youth +And it will be a life upon the ground. + +V. And Love had not been prisoned in cold stone, +Nor Beauty smeared on the dead canvas so, +Had not their worshipper been forced to go +Questful and restless through the world alone, +Searching but finding not, till on him shone +Back from his own deep heart a chilly glow +As of a frost-nipped sunbeam, or of snow +Under a storm-dodged crescent which hath grown +Wasted to mockery; and beneath such gleam +His wan conceits have found an utterance, +Which, had they found a true and sunny beam, +Had ripened into real touch and glance-- +Nay more, to real deed, the Truth of all, +To some perfection high and personal. + +VI. "But yet the great of soul have ever been +The first to glory in all works of art; +For from the genius-form would ever dart +A light of inspiration, and a sheen +As of new comings; and ourselves have seen +Men of stern purpose to whose eyes would start +Sorrow at sight of sorrow though no heart +Did riot underneath that chilly, screen; +And hence we judge such utterance native to +The human soul--expression highest--best." +--Nay, it is by such sign they will pursue, +Albeit unknowing, Beauty, without rest; +And failing in the search, themselves will fling +Speechless before its shadow, worshipping. + +VII. And how shall he whose mission is to bring +The soul to worship at its rightful shrine, +Seeing in Beauty what is most divine, +Give out the mightiest impulse, and thus fling +His soul into the future, scattering +The living seed of wisdom? Shall there shine +From underneath his hand a matchless line +Of high earth-beauties, till the wide world ring +With the far clang that tells a missioned soul, +Kneeling to homage all about his feet? +Alas for such a gift were this the whole, +The only bread of life men had to eat! +Lo, I behold them dead about him now, +And him the heart of death, for all that brow! + +VIII. If _Thou_ didst pass by Art, thou didst not scorn +The souls that by such symbol yearned in vain +From Truth and Love true nourishment to gain: +On thy warm breast, so chilly and forlorn +Fell these thy nurslings little more than born +That thou wast anguished, and there fell a rain +From thy blest eyelids, and in grief and pain +Thou partedst from them yet one night and morn +To find them wholesome food and nourishment +Instead of what their blindness took for such, +Laying thyself a seed in earthen rent +From which, outspringing to the willing touch, +Riseth for all thy children harvest great, +For which they will all learn to bless thee yet. + +IV. Thou sawest Beauty in the streaking cloud +When grief lift up those eyelids; nor in scorn +Broke ever on thine eyes the purple morn +Along the cedar tops; to thee aloud +Spake the night-solitude, when hushed and bowed +The earth lay at thy feet stony and worn; +Loving thou markedst when the lamb unshorn +Was glad before thee, and amongst the crowd +Famished and pent in cities did thine eye +Read strangest glory--though in human art +No record lives to tell us that thy heart +Bowed to its own deep beauty: deeper did lie +The burden of thy mission, even whereby +We know that Beauty liveth where Thou art. + +X. Doubtless thine eyes have watched the sun aspire +From that same Olivet, when back on thee +Flushed upwards after some night-agony +Thy proper Godhead, with a purer fire +Purpling thy Infinite, and in strong desire +Thou sattest in the dawn that was to be +Uplifted on our dark perplexity. +Yea in thee lay thy soul, a living lyre, +And each wild beauty smote it, though the sound +Rung to the night-winds oft and desert air; +Beneath thine eyes the lily paled more fair, +And each still shadow slanting on the ground +Lay sweetly on thee as commissioned there, +So full wast thou of eyes all round and round. + +XI. And so thou neededst not our human skill +To fix what thus were transient--there it grew +Wedded to thy perfection; and anew +With every coming vision rose there still +Some living principle which did fulfil +Thy most legitimate manhood; and unto +Thy soul all Nature rendered up its due +With not a contradiction; and each hill +And mountain torrent and each wandering light +Grew out divinely on thy countenance, +Whereon, as we are told, by word and glance +Thy hearers read an ever strange delight--So +strange to them thy Truth, they could not tell +What made thy message so unspeakable. + +XII. And by such living witness didst thou preach: +Not with blind hands of groping forward thrust +Into the darkness, gathering only dust, +But by this real sign--that thou didst reach, +In natural order, rising each from each, +Thy own ideals of the True and Just; +And that as thou didst live, even so he must +Who would aspire his fellow-men to teach, +Looking perpetual from new heights of Thought +On his old self. Of art no scorner thou! +Instead of leafy chaplet, on thy brow +Wearing the light of manhood, thou hast brought +Death unto Life! Above all statues now, +Immortal Artist, hail! thy work is wrought! + +XIII. Solemn and icy stand ye in my eyes, +Far up into the niches of the Past, +Ye marble statues, dim and holden fast +Within your stony homes! nor human cries +Had shook you from your frozen phantasies +Or sent the life-blood through you, till there passed +Through all your chilly bulks a new life-blast +From the Eternal Living, and ye rise +From out your stiffened postures rosy-warm, +Walking abroad a goodly company +Of living virtues at that wondrous charm, +As he with human heart and hand and eye +Walked sorrowing upon our highways then, +The Eternal Father's living gift to men! + +XIV. As the pent torrent in uneasy rest +Under the griping rocks, doth ever keep +A monstrous working as it lies asleep +In the round hollow of some mountain's breast, +Till where it hideth in its sweltering nest +Some earthquake finds it, and its waters leap +Forth to the sunshine down the mighty steep, +So in thee once was anguished forth the quest +Whereby man sought for life-power as he lay +Under his own proud heart and black despair +Wedged fast and stifled up with loads of care, +Yet at dumb struggle with the tyrant clay; +Thou wentest down below the roots of prayer, +And he hath cried aloud since that same day! + +XV. As he that parts in hatred from a friend +Mixing with other men forgets the woe +Which anguished him when he beheld and lo +Two souls had fled asunder which did bend +Under the same blue heaven! yet ere the end, +When the loud world hath tossed him to and fro, +Will often strangely reappear that glow +At simplest memory which some chance may send, +Although much stronger bonds have lost their power: +So thou God-sent didst come in lowly guise, +Striking on simple chords,--not with surprise +Or mightiest recollectings in that hour, +But like remembered fragrance of a flower +A man with human heart and loving eyes. + +_March_, 1852. + + + +_A SONG-SERMON:_ + +Job xiv. 13-15. + +RONDEL. + +Would that thou hid me in the grave +And kept me with death's gaoler-care; +Until thy wrath away should wear +A sentence fixed thy prisoner gave! +I would endure with patience brave +So thou remembered I was there! +Would that thou hid me in the grave, +And kept me with death's gaoler-care! + +To see thy creature thou wouldst crave-- +Desire thy handiwork so fair; +Then wouldst thou call through death's dank air +And I would answer from the cave! +Would that thou hid me in the grave, +And kept me with death's gaoler-care! + + + +_WORDS IN THE NIGHT_. + +I woke at midnight, and my heart, +My beating heart, said this to me: +Thou seest the moon, how calm and bright! +The world is fair by day and night, +But what is that to thee? +One touch to me, down dips the light +Over the land and sea. +All is mine, all is my own! +Toss the purple fountain high! +The breast of man is a vat of stone; +I am alive, I, only I! + +One little touch and all is dark-- +The winter with its sparkling moons, +The spring with all her violets, +The crimson dawns and rich sunsets, +The autumn's yellowing noons! +I only toss my purple jets, +And thou art one that swoons +Upon a night of gust and roar, +Shipwrecked among the waves, and seems +Across the purple hills to roam: +Sweet odours touch him from the foam, +And downward sinking still he dreams +He walks the clover fields at home +And hears the rattling teams. +All is mine, all is my own! +Toss the purple fountain high! +The breast of man is a vat of stone; +I am alive, I, only I! + +Thou hast beheld a throated fountain spout +Full in the air, and in the downward spray +A hovering Iris span the marble tank, +Which, as the wind came, ever rose and sank, +Violet and red; so my continual play +Makes beauty for the Gods with many a prank +Of human excellence, while they, +Weary of all the noon, in shadows sweet, +Supine and heavy-eyed rest in the boundless heat. +Let the world's fountain play! +Beauty is pleasant in the eyes of Jove; +Betwixt the wavering shadows where he lies +He marks the dancing column with his eyes +Celestial, and amid his inmost grove +Upgathers all his limbs, serenely blest, +Lulled by the mellow noise of the great world's unrest. + +One heart beats in all nature, differing +But in the work it works; its doubts and clamours +Are but the waste and brunt of instruments +Wherewith a work is done, or as the hammers +On forge Cyclopean plied beneath the rents +Of lowest Etna, conquering into shape +The hard and scattered ore; +Choose thou narcotics, and the dizzy grape +Outworking passion, lest with horrid crash +Thy life go from thee in a night of pain; +So tutoring thy vision, shall the flash +Of dove white-breasted be to thee no more +Than a white stone heavy upon the plain. + +Hark, the cock crows loud! +And without, all ghastly and ill, +Like a man uplift in his shroud, +The white, white morn is propped on the hill; +And adown from the eaves, pointed and chill +The icicles 'gin to glitter +And the birds with a warble short and shrill +Pass by the chamber-window still-- +With a quick, uneasy twitter! +Let me pump warm blood, for the cold is bitter; +And wearily, wearily, one by one, +Men awake with the weary sun! +Life is a phantom shut in thee: +I am the master and keep the key; +So let me toss thee the days of old +Crimson and orange and green and gold; +So let me fill thee yet again +With a rush of dreams from my spout amain; +For all is mine, all is my own: +Toss the purple fountain high! +The breast of man is a vat of stone, +And I am alive, I only, I! + + + +_CONSIDER THE RAVENS_ + +Lord, according to thy words, +I have considered thy birds; +And I find their life good, +And better the better understood: +Sowing neither corn nor wheat +They have all that they can eat; +Reaping no more than they sow +They have more than they could stow; +Having neither barn nor store, +Hungry again, they eat more. + +Considering, I see too that they +Have a busy life, and plenty of play; +In the earth they dig their bills deep +And work well though they do not heap; +Then to play in the air they are not loath, +And their nests between are better than both. +But this is when there blow no storms, +When berries are plenty in winter, and worms, +When feathers are rife, with oil enough-- +To keep the cold out and send the rain off; +If there come, indeed, a long hard frost +Then it looks as thy birds were lost. + +But I consider further, and find +A hungry bird has a free mind; +He is hungry to-day, not to-morrow, +Steals no comfort, no grief doth borrow; +This moment is his, thy will hath said it, +The next is nothing till thou hast made it. + +Thy bird has pain, but has no fear +Which is the worst of any gear; +When cold and hunger and harm betide him, +He does not take them and stuff inside him; +Content with the day's ill he has got, +He waits just, nor haggles with his lot: +Neither jumbles God's will +With driblets from his own still. + +But next I see, in my endeavour, +Thy birds here do not live for ever; +That cold or hunger, sickness or age +Finishes their earthly stage; +The rooks drop in cold nights, +Leaving all their wrongs and rights; +Birds lie here and birds lie there +With their feathers all astare; +And in thy own sermon, thou +That the sparrow falls dost allow. + +It shall not cause me any alarm, +For neither so comes the bird to harm +Seeing our father, thou hast said, +Is by the sparrow's dying bed; +Therefore it is a blessed place, +And the sparrow in high grace. + +It cometh therefore to this, Lord: +I have considered thy word, +And henceforth will be thy bird. + + + +_THE WIND OF THE WORLD_. + +Chained is the Spring. The Night-wind bold + Blows over the hard earth; +Time is not more confused and cold, + Nor keeps more wintry mirth. + +Yet blow, and roll the world about-- + Blow, Time, blow, winter's Wind! +Through chinks of time heaven peepeth out, + And Spring the frost behind. + + + +_SABBATH BELLS_. + +Oh holy Sabbath bells, +Ye have a pleasant voice! +Through all the land your music swells, +And man with one commandment tells +To rest and to rejoice. + +As birds rejoice to flee +From dark and stormy skies +To brighter lands beyond the sea +Where skies are calm, and wings are free +To wander and to rise; + +As thirsty travellers sing, +Through desert paths that pass, +To hear the welcome waters spring, +And see, beyond the spray they fling +Tall trees and waving grass; + +So we rejoice to know +Your melody begun; +For when our paths are parched below +Ye tell us where green pastures glow +And living waters run. + +LONDON, _December_ 15, 1840. + + + +_FIGHTING_. + +Here is a temple strangely wrought: + Within it I can see +Two spirits of a diverse thought + Contend for mastery. + +One is an angel fair and bright, + Adown the aisle comes he, +Adown the aisle in raiment white, + A creature fair to see. + +The other wears an evil mien, + And he hath doubtless slipt, +A fearful being dark and lean, + Up from the mouldy crypt. + + * * * * * + +Is that the roof that grows so black? + Did some one call my name? +Was it the bursting thunder crack + That filled this place with flame? + +I move--I wake from out my sleep: + Some one hath victor been! +I see two radiant pinions sweep, + And I am borne between. + +Beneath the clouds that under roll + An upturned face I see-- +A dead man's face, but, ah, the soul + Was right well known to me! + +A man's dead face! Away I haste + Through regions calm and fair: +Go vanquish sin, and thou shall taste + The same celestial air. + + + +_AFTER THE FASHION OF AN OLD EMBLEM._ + +I have long enough been working down in my cellar, + Working spade and pick, boring-chisel and drill; +I long for wider spaces, airy, clear-dark, and stellar: + Successless labour never the love of it did fill. + +More profit surely lies in a holy, pure quiescence, + In a setting forth of cups to catch the heavenly rain, +In a yielding of the being to the ever waiting presence, + In a lifting of the eyes upward, homeward again! + +Up to my garret, its storm-windows and skylights! + There I'll lay me on the floor, and patient let the sun, +The moon and the stars, the blueness and the twilights + Do what their pleasure is, and wait till they have done. + +But, lo, I hear a waving on the roof of great pinions! + 'Tis the labour of a windmill, broad-spreading to the wind! +Lo, down there goes a. shaft through all the house-dominions! + I trace it to a cellar, whose door I cannot find. + +But there I hear ever a keen diamond-drill in motion, + Now fast and now slow as the wind sits in the sails, +Drilling and boring to the far eternal ocean, + The living well of all wells whose water never fails. + +So now I go no more to the cellar to my labour, + But up to my garret where those arms are ever going; +There the sky is ever o'er me, and the wind my blessed neighbour, + And the prayer-handle ready turns the sails to its blowing. + +Blow, blow, my blessed wind; oh, keep ever blowing! + Keep the great windmill going full and free; +So shall the diamond-drill down below keep going + Till in burst the waters of God's eternal sea. + + + +_A PRAYER IN SICKNESS._ + +Thou foldest me in sickness; + Thou callest through the cloud; +I batter with the thickness + Of the swathing, blinding shroud: +Oh, let me see thy face, +The only perfect grace + That thou canst show thy child. + +0 father, being-giver, + Take off the sickness-cloud; +Saviour, my life deliver + From this dull body-shroud: +Till I can see thy face +I am not full of grace, + I am not reconciled. + + + +_QUIET DEAD!_ + +Quiet, quiet dead, +Have ye aught to say +From your hidden bed +In the earthy clay? + +Fathers, children, mothers, +Ye are very quiet; +Can ye shout, my brothers? +I would know you by it! + +Have ye any words +That are like to ours? +Have ye any birds? +Have ye any flowers? + +Could ye rise a minute +When the sun is warm? +I would know you in it, +I would take no harm. + +I am half afraid +In the ghostly night; +If ye all obeyed +I should fear you quite. + +But when day is breaking +In the purple east +I would meet you waking-- +One of you at least-- + +When the sun is tipping +Every stony block, +And the sun is slipping +Down the weathercock. + +Quiet, quiet dead, +I will not perplex you; +What my tongue hath said +Haply it may vex you! + +Yet I hear you speaking +With a quiet speech, +As if ye were seeking +Better things to teach: + +"Wait a little longer, +Suffer and endure +Till your heart is stronger +And your eyes are pure-- + +A little longer, brother, +With your fellow-men: +We will meet each other +Otherwhere again." + + + +_LET YOUR LIGHT SO SHINE._ + +Sometimes, O Lord, thou lightest in my head + A lamp that well might pharos all the lands; +Anon the light will neither rise nor spread: + Shrouded in danger gray the beacon stands! + +A pharos? Oh dull brain! poor dying lamp + Under a bushel with an earthy smell! +Mouldering it stands, in rust and eating damp, + While the slow oil keeps oozing from its cell! + +For me it were enough to be a flower + Knowing its root in thee, the Living, hid, +Ordained to blossom at the appointed hour, + And wake or sleep as thou, my Nature, bid; + +But hear my brethren in their darkling fright! + Hearten my lamp that it may shine abroad +Then will they cry--Lo, there is something bright! + Who kindled it if not the shining God? + + + +_TRIOLET._ + +When the heart is a cup + In the body low lying, +And wine, drop by drop + Falls into that cup + +From somewhere high up, + It is good to be dying +With the heart for a cup + In the body low lying. + + + +_THE SOULS' RISING._ + + See how the storm of life ascends +Up through the shadow of the world! +Beyond our gaze the line extends, +Like wreaths of vapour tempest-hurled! +Grasp tighter, brother, lest the storm +Should sweep us down from where we stand, +And we may catch some human form +We know, amongst the straining band. + + See! see in yonder misty cloud +One whirlwind sweep, and we shall hear +The voice that waxes yet more loud +And louder still approaching near! + + Tremble not, brother, fear not thou, +For yonder wild and mystic strain +Will bring before us strangely now +The visions of our youth again! + + Listen! oh listen! +See how its eyeballs roll and glisten +With a wild and fearful stare +Upwards through the shining air, +Or backwards with averted look, +As a child were gazing at a book +Full of tales of fear and dread, +When the thick night-wind came hollow and dead. + + Round about it, wavering and light. +As the moths flock round a candle at night, +A crowd of phantoms sheeted and dumb +Strain to its words as they shrilly come: +Brother, my brother, dost thou hear? +They pierce through the tumult sharp and clear! + + "The rush of speed is on my soul, +My eyes are blind with things I see; +I cannot grasp the awful whole, +I cannot gird the mystery! +The mountains sweep like mist away; +The great sea shakes like flakes of fire; +The rush of things I cannot see +Is mounting upward higher and higher! +Oh! life was still and full of calm +In yonder spot of earthly ground, +But now it rolls a thunder-psalm, +Its voices drown my ear in sound! +Would God I were a child again +To nurse the seeds of faith and power; +I might have clasped in wisdom then +A wing to beat this awful hour! +The dullest things would take my marks-- +_They_ took my marks like drifted snow-- +God! how the footsteps rise in sparks, +Rise like myself and onward go! +Have pity, O ye driving things +That once like me had human form! +For I am driven for lack of wings +A shreddy cloud before the storm!" + + How its words went through me then, +Like a long forgotten pang, +Till the storm's embrace again +Swept it far with sudden clang!-- +Ah, methinks I see it still! +Let us follow it, my brother, +Keeping close to one another, +Blessing God for might of will! +Closer, closer, side by side! +Ours are wings that deftly glide +Upwards, downwards, and crosswise +Flashing past our ears and eyes, +Splitting up the comet-tracks +With a whirlwind at our backs! + + How the sky is blackening! +Yet the race is never slackening; +Swift, continual, and strong, +Streams the torrent slope along, +Like a tidal surge of faces +Molten into one despair; +Each the other now displaces, +A continual whirl of spaces; +Ah, my fainting eyesight reels +As I strive in vain to stare +On a thousand turning wheels +Dimly in the gloom descending, +Faces with each other blending!-- +Let us beat the vapours back, +We are yet upon his track. + + Didst thou see a spirit halt +Upright on a cloudy peak, +As the lightning's horrid fault +Smote a gash into the cheek +Of the grinning thunder-cloud +Which doth still besiege and crowd +Upward from the nether pits +Where the monster Chaos sits, +Building o'er the fleeing rack +Roofs of thunder long and black? +Yes, I see it! I will shout +Till I stop the horrid rout. +Ho, ho! spirit-phantom, tell +Is thy path to heaven or hell? +We would hear thee yet again, +What thy standing amongst men, +What thy former history, +And thy hope of things to be! +Wisdom still we gain from hearing: +We would know, we would know +Whither thou art steering-- +Unto weal or woe! + + + Ah, I cannot hear it speaking! +Yet it seems as it were seeking +Through our eyes our souls to reach +With a quaint mysterious speech, +As with stretched and crossing palms +One were tracing diagrams +On the ebbing of the beach, +Till with wild unmeasured dance +All the tiptoe waves advance, +Seize him by the shoulder, cover, +Turn him up and toss him over: +He is vanished from our sight, +Nothing mars the quiet night +Save a speck of gloom afar +Like the ruin of a star! + + Brother, streams it ever so, +Such a torrent tide of woe? +Ah, I know not; let us haste +Upwards from this dreary waste, +Up to where like music flowing +Gentler feet are ever going, +Streams of life encircling run +Round about the spirit-sun! +Up beyond the storm and rush +With our lesson let us rise! +Lo, the morning's golden flush +Meets us midway in the skies! +Perished all the dream and strife! +Death is swallowed up of Life! + + + +_AWAKE!_ + + The stars are all watching; + God's angel is catching +At thy skirts in the darkness deep! + Gold hinges grating, + The mighty dead waiting, +Why dost thou sleep? + + Years without number, + Ages of slumber, +Stiff in the track of the infinite One! + Dead, can I think it? + Dropt like a trinket, +A thing whose uses are done! + + White wings are crossing, + Glad waves are tossing, +The earth flames out in crimson and green + Spring is appearing, + Summer is nearing-- +Where hast thou been? + + Down in some cavern, + Death's sleepy tavern, +Housing, carousing with spectres of night? + There is my right hand! + Grasp it full tight and +Spring to the light. + + Wonder, oh, wonder! + How the life-thunder +Bursts on his ear in horror and dread! + Happy shapes meet him; + Heaven and earth greet him: +Life from the dead! + + + +_TO AN AUTOGRAPH-HUNTER_. + +Seek not my name--it doth no virtue bear; + Seek, seek thine own primeval name to find-- +The name God called when thy ideal fair + Arose in deeps of the eternal mind. + +When that thou findest, thou art straight a lord + Of time and space--art heir of all things grown; +And not my name, poor, earthly label-word, + But I myself thenceforward am thine own. + +Thou hearest not? Or hearest as a man + Who hears the muttering of a foolish spell? +My very shadow would feel strange and wan + In thy abode:--I say _No_, and _Farewell_. + +Thou understandest? Then it is enough; + No shadow-deputy shall mock my friend; +We walk the same path, over smooth and rough, + To meet ere long at the unending end. + + + +_WITH A COPY OF "IN MEMORIAM."_ + + TO E.M. II. + +Dear friend, you love the poet's song, + And here is one for your regard. + You know the "melancholy bard," +Whose grief is wise as well as strong; + +Already something understand + For whom he mourns and what he sings, + And how he wakes with golden strings +The echoes of "the silent land;" + +How, restless, faint, and worn with grief, + Yet loving all and hoping all, + He gazes where the shadows fall, +And finds in darkness some relief; + +And how he sends his cries across, + His cries for him that comes no more, + Till one might think that silent shore +Full of the burden of his loss; + +And how there comes sublimer cheer-- + Not darkness solacing sad eyes, + Not the wild joy of mournful cries, +But light that makes his spirit clear; + +How, while he gazes, something high, + Something of Heaven has fallen on him, + His distance and his future dim +Broken into a dawning sky! + +Something of this, dear friend, you know; + And will you take the book from me + That holds this mournful melody, +And softens grief to sadness so? + +Perhaps it scarcely suits the day + Of joyful hopes and memories clear, + When love should have no thought of fear, +And only smiles be round your way; + +Yet from the mystery and the gloom, + From tempted faith and conquering trust, + From spirit stronger than the dust, +And love that looks beyond the tomb, + +What can there be but good to win, + But hope for life, but love for all, + But strength whatever may befall?-- +So for the year that you begin, + +For all the years that follow this + While a long happy life endures, + This hope, this love, this strength be yours, +And afterwards a larger bliss! + +May nothing in this mournful song + Too much take off your thoughts from time, + For joy should fill your vernal prime, +And peace your summer mild and long. + +And may his love who can restore + All losses, give all new good things, + Like loving eyes and sheltering wings +Be round us all for evermore! + + + +_THEY ARE BLIND_. + +They are blind, and they are dead: + We will wake them as we go; +There are words have not been said, + There are sounds they do not know: + We will pipe and we will sing-- + With the Music and the Spring + Set their hearts a wondering! + +They are tired of what is old, + We will give it voices new; +For the half hath not been told + Of the Beautiful and True. + Drowsy eyelids shut and sleeping! + Heavy eyes oppressed with weeping! + Flashes through the lashes leaping! + +Ye that have a pleasant voice, + Hither come without delay; +Ye will never have a choice + Like to that ye have to-day: + Round the wide world we will go, + Singing through the frost and snow + Till the daisies are in blow. + +Ye that cannot pipe or sing, + Ye must also come with speed; +Ye must come, and with you bring + Weighty word and weightier deed-- + Helping hands and loving eyes! + These will make them truly wise-- + Then will be our Paradise. + +_March 27, 1852._ + + + +_WHEN THE STORM WAS PROUDEST_. + + When the storm was proudest, + And the wind was loudest, +I heard the hollow caverns drinking down below; + When the stars were bright, + And the ground was white, +I heard the grasses springing underneath the snow. + + Many voices spake-- + The river to the lake, +And the iron-ribbed sky was talking to the sea; + And every starry spark + Made music with the dark, +And said how bright and beautiful everything must be. + + When the sun was setting, + All the clouds were getting +Beautiful and silvery in the rising moon; + Beneath the leafless trees + Wrangling in the breeze, +I could hardly see them for the leaves of June. + + When the day had ended, + And the night descended, +I heard the sound of streams that I heard not through the day, + And every peak afar + Was ready for a star, +And they climbed and rolled around until the morning gray. + + Then slumber soft and holy + Came down upon me slowly, +And I went I know not whither, and I lived I know not how; + My glory had been banished, + For when I woke it vanished; +But I waited on its coming, and I am waiting now. + + + +_THE DIVER._ + + FROM SCHILLER. + +"Which of you, knight or squire, will dare + Plunge into yonder gulf? +A golden beaker I fling in it--there! + The black mouth swallows it like a wolf! +Who brings me the cup again, whoever, +It is his own--he may keep it for ever!" + +'Tis the king who speaks. He flings from the brow + Of the cliff, that, rugged and steep, +Hangs out o'er the endless sea below, + The cup in the whirlpool's howling heap:-- +"Again I ask, what hero will follow, +What hero plunge into yon dark hollow?" + +The knights and the squires the king about + Hear, and dumbly stare +Into the wild sea's tumbling rout; + To win the beaker they hardly care! +The king, for the third time, round him glaring-- +"Not one soul of you has the daring?" + +Speechless all, as before, they stand. + Then a squire, young, gentle, gay, +Steps from his comrades' shrinking band, + Flinging his girdle and cloak away; +And all the women and men that surrounded +Gazed on the noble youth, astounded. + +And when he stepped to the rock's rough brow + And looked down on the gulf so black, +The waters which it had swallowed, now +Charybdis bellowing rendered back; +And, with a roar as of distant thunder, +Foaming they burst from the dark lap under. + +It wallows, seethes, hisses in raging rout, + As when water wrestles with fire, +Till to heaven the yeasty tongues they spout; + And flood upon flood keeps mounting higher: +It will never its endless coil unravel, +As the sea with another sea were in travail! + +But, at last, slow sinks the writhing spasm, + And, black through the foaming white, +Downward gapes a yawning chasm-- + Bottomless, cloven to hell's wide night; +And, sucked up, see the billows roaring +Down through the whirling funnel pouring! + +Then in haste, ere the out-rage return again, + The youth to his God doth pray, +And--ascends a cry of horror and pain!-- + Already the vortex hath swept him away, +And o'er the bold swimmer, in darkness eternal, +Close the great jaws of the gulf infernal! + +Then the water above grows smooth as glass, + While, below, dull roarings ply; +And trembling they hear the murmur pass-- + "High-hearted youth, farewell, good-bye!" +And hollower still comes the howl affraying, +Till their hearts are sick with the frightful delaying. + +If the crown itself thou in should fling, + And say, "Who back with it hies +Himself shall wear it, and shall be king," + I would not covet the precious prize! +What Ocean hides in that howling hell of it +Live soul will never come back to tell of it! + +Ships many, caught in that whirling surge, + Shot sheer to their dismal doom: +Keel and mast only did ever emerge, + Shattered, from out the all-gulping tomb!-- +Like the bluster of tempest, clearer and clearer, +Comes its roaring nearer and ever nearer! + +It wallows, seethes, hisses, in raging rout, + As when water wrestles with fire, +Till to heaven the yeasty tongues they spout, + Wave upon wave's back mounting higher; +And as with the grumble of distant thunder, +Bellowing it bursts from the dark lap under. + +And, see, from its bosom, flowing dark, + Something heave up, swan-white! +An arm and a shining neck they mark, + And it rows with never relaxing might! +It is he! and high his golden capture +His left hand waves in success's rapture! + +With long deep breaths his path he ploughed, + And he hailed the heavenly day; +Jubilant shouted the gazing crowd, + "He lives! he is there! he broke away! +Out of the grave, the whirlpool uproarious, +The hero hath rescued his life victorious!" + +He comes; they surround him with shouts of glee; + At the king's feet he sinks on the sod, +And hands him the beaker upon his knee; + To his lovely daughter the king gives a nod: +She fills it brim-full of wine sparkling and playing, +And then to the king the youth turned him saying: + +"Long live the king!--Well doth he fare + Who breathes in this rosy light, +But, ah, it is horrible down there! + And man must not tempt the heavenly Might, +Or ever seek, with prying unwholesome, +What he graciously covers with darkness dolesome! + +"It tore me down with a headlong swing; + Then a shaft in a rock outpours, +Wild-rushing against me, a torrent spring; + It seized me, the double stream's raging force, +And like a top, with giddy twisting, +It spun me round--there was no resisting! + +"Then God did show me, sore beseeching + In deepest, frightfullest need, +Up from the bottom a rock-ledge reaching-- + At it I caught, and from death was freed! +And, behold, on spiked corals the beaker suspended, +Which had else to the very abyss descended! + +"For below me it lay yet mountain-deep + The purply darksome maw; +And though to the ear it was dead asleep, + The ghasted eye, down staring, saw +How with dragons, lizards, salamanders crawling, +The hell-jaws horrible were sprawling. + +"Black swarming in medley miscreate, + In masses lumped hideously, +Wallowed the conger, the thorny skate, + The lobster's grisly deformity; +And bared its teeth with cruel sheen a +Terrible shark, the sea's hyena. + +"And there I hung, and shuddering knew + That human help was none; +One thinking soul mid the horrid crew, + In the ghastly solitude I was alone-- +Deeper than man's speech ever sounded, +By the waste sea's dismal monsters surrounded. + +"I thought and shivered. Then something crept near, + Moved at once a hundred joints! +Now it will have me!--Frantic with fear + I lost my grasp of the coral points! +Away the whirl in its raging tore me, +But it was my salvation, and upward bore me!" + +The king at the tale is filled with amaze:-- + "The beaker, well won, is thine; +And this ring I will give thee too," he says, + "Precious with gems that are more than fine, +If thou dive yet once, and bring me the story-- +What thou sawst in the sea's lowest repertory." + +His daughter she hears with a tender dismay, + And her words sweet-suasive plead: +"Father, enough of this cruel play! + For you he has done an unheard-of deed! +And can you not master your soul's desire, +'Tis the knights' turn now to disgrace the squire!" + +The king he snatches and hurls the cup + Into the swirling pool:-- +"If thou bring me once more that beaker up, + My best knight I hold thee, most worshipful; +And this very day to thy home thou shall lead her +Who there for thee stands such a pitying pleader." + +A heavenly passion his being invades, + His eyes dart a lightning ray; +He sees on her beauty the flushing shades, + He sees her grow pallid and sink away! +Determination thorough him flashes, +And downward for life or for death he dashes! + +They hear the dull roar!--it is turning again, + Its herald the thunderous brawl! +Downward they bend with loving strain: + They come! they are coming, the waters all!-- +They rush up!--they rush down!--up, down, for ever! +The youth again bring they never. + + + +_TO THE CLOUDS._ + +Through the unchanging heaven, as ye have sped, +Speed onward still, a strange wild company, +Fleet children of the waters! Glorious ye, +Whether the sun lift up his shining head, +High throned at noontide and established +Among the shifting pillars, or we see +The sable ghosts of air sleep mournfully +Against the sunlight, passionless and dead! +Take thus a glory, oh thou higher Sun, +From all the cloudy labour of man's hand-- +Whether the quickening nations rise and run, +Or in the market-place we idly stand +Casting huge shadows over these thy plains-- +Even thence, O God, draw thy rich gifts of rains. + + + +_SECOND SIGHT._ + +Rich is the fancy which can double back +All seeming forms, and from cold icicles +Build up high glittering palaces where dwells +Summer perfection, moulding all this wrack +To spirit symmetry, and doth not lack +The power to hear amidst the funeral bells +The eternal heart's wind-melody which swells +In whirlwind flashes all along its track! +So hath the sun made all the winter mine +With gardens springing round me fresh and fair; +On hidden leaves uncounted jewels shine; +I live with forms of beauty everywhere, +Peopling the crumbling waste and icy pool +With sights and sounds of life most beautiful. + + + +_NOT UNDERSTOOD._ + +Tumultuous rushing o'er the outstretched plains; +A wildered maze of comets and of suns; +The blood of changeless God that ever runs +With quick diastole up the immortal veins; +A phantom host that moves and works in chains; +A monstrous fiction, which, collapsing, stuns +The mind to stupor and amaze at once; +A tragedy which that man best explains +Who rushes blindly on his wild career +With trampling hoofs and sound of mailed war, +Who will not nurse a life to win a tear, +But is extinguished like a falling star;-- +Such will at times this life appear to me +Until I learn to read more perfectly. + + + +_HOM. IL. v. 403._ + +If thou art tempted by a thought of ill, +Crave not too soon for victory, nor deem +Thou art a coward if thy safety seem +To spring too little from a righteous will; +For there is nightmare on thee, nor until +Thy soul hath caught the morning's early gleam +Seek thou to analyze the monstrous dream +By painful introversion; rather fill +Thine eye with forms thou knowest to be truth; +But see thou cherish higher hope than this,-- +hope hereafter that thou shall be fit +Calm-eyed to face distortion, and to sit +Transparent among other forms of youth +Who own no impulse save to God and bliss. + + + +_THE DAWN_. + +And must I ever wake, gray dawn, to know +Thee standing sadly by me like a ghost? +I am perplexed with thee that thou shouldst cost +This earth another turning! All aglow +Thou shouldst have reached me, with a purple show +Along far mountain-tops! and I would post +Over the breadth of seas, though I were lost +In the hot phantom-chase for life, if so +Thou earnest ever with this numbing sense +Of chilly distance and unlovely light, +Waking this gnawing soul anew to fight +With its perpetual load: I drive thee hence! +I have another mountain-range from whence +Bursteth a sun unutterably bright! + + + +_GALILEO_. + +"And yet it moves!" Ah, Truth, where wert thou then +When all for thee they racked each piteous limb? +Wert thou in heaven, and busy with thy hymn +When those poor hands convulsed that held thy pen? +Art thou a phantom that deceives! men +To their undoing? or dost thou watch him +Pale, cold, and silent in his dungeon dim? +And wilt thou ever speak to him again? +"It moves, it moves! Alas, my flesh was weak! +That was a hideous dream! I'll cry aloud +How the green bulk wheels sunward day by day! +Ah me! ah me! perchance my heart was proud +That I alone should know that word to speak! +And now, sweet Truth, shine upon these, I pray." + + + +_SUBSIDY_. + +If thou wouldst live the Truth in very deed, +Thou hast thy joy, but thou hast more of pain. +Others will live in peace, and thou be fain +To bargain with despair, and in thy need +To make thy meal upon the scantiest weed. +These palaces, for thee they stand in vain; +Thine is a ruinous hut, and oft the rain +Shall drench thee in the midnight; yea, the speed +Of earth outstrip thee, pilgrim, while thy feet +Move slowly up the heights. Yet will there come +Through the time-rents about thy moving cell, +_Shot from the Truth's own bow, and flaming sweet,_ +An arrow for despair, and oft the hum +Of far-off populous realms where spirits dwell. + + + +_THE PROPHET_. + +Speak, Prophet of the Lord! We may not start +To find thee with us in thine ancient dress, +Haggard and pale from some bleak wilderness, +Empty of all save God and thy loud heart, +Nor with like rugged message quick to dart +Into the hideous fiction mean and base; +But yet, O prophet man, we need not less +But more of earnest, though it is thy part +To deal in other words, if thou wouldst smite +The living Mammon, seated, not as then +In bestial quiescence grimly dight, +But _robed as priest, and honoured of good men +Yet_ thrice as much an idol-god as when +He stared at his own feet from morn to night. + + + +_THE WATCHER_. + +From out a windy cleft there comes a gaze +Of eyes unearthly, which go to and fro +Upon the people's tumult, for below +The nations smite each other: no amaze +Troubles their liquid rolling, or affrays +Their deep-set contemplation; steadily glow +Those ever holier eyeballs, for they grow +Liker unto the eyes of one that prays. +And if those clasped hands tremble, comes a power +As of the might of worlds, and they are holden +Blessing above us in the sunrise golden; +And they will be uplifted till that hour +Of terrible rolling which shall rise and shake +This conscious nightmare from us, and we wake. + + + +_THE BELOVED DISCIPLE_. + +I. + +One do I see and twelve; but second there +Methinks I know thee, thou beloved one; +Not from thy nobler port, for there are none +More quiet-featured: some there are who bear +Their message on their brows, while others wear +A look of large commission, nor will shun +The fiery trial, so their work is done; +But thou hast parted with thine eyes in prayer-- +Unearthly are they both; and so thy lips +Seem like the porches of the spirit land; +For thou hast laid a mighty treasure by +Unlocked by Him in Nature, and thine eye +Burns with a vision and apocalypse +Thy own sweet soul can hardly understand. + +II. + +A Boanerges too! Upon my heart +It lay a heavy hour: features like thine +Should glow with other message than the shine +Of the earth-burrowing levin, and the start +That cleaveth horrid gulfs! Awful and swart +A moment stoodest thou, but less divine-- +Brawny and clad in ruin--till with mine +Thy heart made answering signals, and apart +Beamed forth thy two rapt eyeballs doubly clear +And twice as strong because thou didst thy duty, +And, though affianced to immortal Beauty, +Hiddest not weakly underneath her veil +The pest of Sin and Death which maketh pale: +Henceforward be thy spirit doubly dear! + + + +_THE LILY OF THE VALLEY_. + +There is not any weed but hath its shower, +There is not any pool but hath its star; +And black and muddy though the waters are +We may not miss the glory of a flower, +And winter moons will give them magic power +To spin in cylinders of diamond spar; +And everything hath beauty near and far, +And keepeth close and waiteth on its hour! +And I, when I encounter on my road +A human soul that looketh black and grim, +Shall I more ceremonious be than God? +Shall I refuse to watch one hour with him +Who once beside our deepest woe did bud +A patient watching flower about the brim? + + + +_EVIL INFLUENCE_. + +'Tis not the violent hands alone that bring +The curse, the ravage, and the downward doom, +Although to these full oft the yawning tomb +Owes deadly surfeit; but a keener sting, +A more immortal agony will cling +To the half fashioned sin which would assume +Fair Virtue's garb; the eye that sows the gloom +With quiet seeds of Death henceforth to spring +What time the sun of passion burning fierce +Breaks through the kindly cloud of circumstance; +The bitter word, and the unkindly glance, +The crust and canker coming with the years, +Are liker Death than arrows and the lance +Which through the living heart at once doth pierce. + + + +_SPOKEN OF SEVERAL PHILOSOPHERS_. + +I pray you, all ye men who put your trust +In moulds and systems and well-tackled gear, +Holding that Nature lives from year to year +In one continual round because she must-- +Set me not down, I pray you, in the dust +Of all these centuries, like a pot of beer-- +A pewter-pot disconsolately clear, +Which holds a potful, as is right and just! +I will grow clamorous--by the rood, I will, +If thus ye use me like a pewter pot! +Good friend, thou art a toper and a sot-- +will not be the lead to hold thy swill, +Nor any lead: I will arise and spill +Thy silly beverage--spill it piping hot! + + + +_NATURE A MORAL POWER_. + +Nature, to him no message dost thou bear +Who in thy beauty findeth not the power +To gird himself more strongly for the hour +Of night and darkness. Oh, what colours rare +The woods, the valleys, and the mountains wear +To him who knows thy secret, and, in shower, +And fog, and ice-cloud, hath a secret bower +Where he may rest until the heavens are fair! +Not with the rest of slumber, but the trance +Of onward movement steady and serene, +Where oft, in struggle and in contest keen, +His eyes will opened be, and all the dance +Of life break on him, and a wide expanse +Roll upward through the void, sunny and green. + + + +_TO JUNE_. + +Ah, truant, thou art here again, I see! +For in a season of such wretched weather +I thought that thou hadst left us altogether, +Although I could not choose but fancy thee +Skulking about the hill-tops, whence the glee +Of thy blue laughter peeped at times, or rather +Thy bashful awkwardness, as doubtful whether +Thou shouldst be seen in such a company +Of ugly runaways, unshapely heaps +Of ruffian vapour, broken from restraint +Of their slim prison in the ocean deeps. +But yet I may not chide: fall to thy books-- +Fall to immediately without complaint-- +There they are lying, hills and vales and brooks. + + + +_SUMMER_. + +Summer, sweet Summer, many-fingered Summer! +We hold thee very dear, as well we may: +It is the kernel of the year to-day-- +All hail to thee! thou art a welcome comer! +If every insect were a fairy drummer, +And I a fifer that could deftly play, +We'd give the old Earth such a roundelay +That she would cast all thought of labour from her.-- +Ah! what is this upon my window-pane? +Some sulky, drooping cloud comes pouting up, +Stamping its glittering feet along the plain!-- +Well, I will let that idle fancy drop! +Oh, how the spouts are bubbling with the rain! +And all the earth shines like a silver cup! + + + +_ON A MIDGE_. + +Whence do ye come, ye creatures? Each of you +Is perfect as an angel! wings and eyes +Stupendous in their beauty--gorgeous dyes +In feathery fields of purple and of blue! +Would God I saw a moment as ye do! +I would become a molecule in size, +Rest with you, hum with you, or slanting rise +Along your one dear sunbeam, could I view +The pearly secret which each tiny fly-- +Each tiny fly that hums and bobs and stirs +Hides in its little breast eternally +From you, ye prickly, grim philosophers +With all your theories that sound so high: +Hark to the buz a moment, my good sirs! + + + +_STEADFAST_. + +Here stands a giant stone from whose far top +Comes down the sounding water: let me gaze +Till every sense of man and human ways +Is wrecked and quenched for ever, and I drop +Into the whirl of time, and without stop +Pass downward thus! Again my eyes I raise +To thee, dark rock; and through the mist and haze +My strength returns when I behold thy prop +Gleam stern and steady through the wavering wrack. +Surely thy strength is human, and like me +Thou bearest loads of thunder on thy back! +And, lo, a smile upon thy visage black-- +A breezy tuft of grass which I can see +Waving serenely from a sunlit crack! + + + +_PROVISION_. + +Above my head the great pine-branches tower; +Backwards and forwards each to the other bends, +Beckoning the tempest-cloud which hither wends +Like a slow-laboured thought, heavy with power: +Hark to the patter of the coming shower! +Let me be silent while the Almighty sends +His thunder-word along--but when it ends +I will arise and fashion from the hour +Words of stupendous import, fit to guard +High thoughts and purposes, which I may wave, +When the temptation cometh close and hard, +Like fiery brands betwixt me and the grave +Of meaner things--to which I am a slave, +If evermore I keep not watch and ward. + + + +_FIRST SIGHT OF THE SEA_. + +I do remember how, when very young, +I saw the great sea first, and heard its swell +As I drew nearer, caught within the spell +Of its vast size and its mysterious tongue. +How the floor trembled, and the dark boat swung +With a man in it, and a great wave fell +Within a stone's cast! Words may never tell +The passion of the moment, when I flung +All childish records by, and felt arise +A thing that died no more! An awful power +I claimed with trembling hands and eager eyes, +Mine, mine for ever, an immortal dower.-- +The noise of waters soundeth to this hour +When I look seaward through the quiet skies. + + + +_ON THE SOURCE OF THE ARVE_. + +Hears't thou the dash of water, loud and hoarse, +With its perpetual tidings upward climb, +Struggling against the wind? Oh, how sublime! +For not in vain from its portentous source +Thy heart, wild stream, hath yearned for its full force, +But from thine ice-toothed caverns, dark as time, +At last thou issuest, dancing to the rime +Of thy outvolleying freedom! Lo, thy course +Lies straight before thee as the arrow flies! +Right to the ocean-plains away, away! +Thy parent waits thee, and her sunset dyes +Are ruffled for thy coming, and the gray +Of all her glittering borders flashes high +Against the glittering rocks!--oh, haste, and fly! + + + +_CONFIDENCE_. + +Lie down upon the ground, thou hopeless one! +Press thy face in the grass, and do not speak. +Dost feel the green globe whirl? Seven times a week +Climbeth she out of darkness to the sun, +Which is her God; seven times she doth not shun +Awful eclipse, laying her patient cheek +Upon a pillow ghost-beset with shriek +Of voices utterless, which rave and run +Through all the star-penumbra, craving light +And tidings of the dawn from East and West. +Calmly she sleepeth, and her sleep is blest +With heavenly visions, and the joy of Night +Treading aloft with moons; nor hath she fright +Though cloudy tempests beat upon her breast. + + + +_FATE_. + +Oft, as I rest in quiet peace, am I +Thrust out at sudden doors, and madly driven +Through desert solitudes, and thunder-riven +Black passages which have not any sky: +The scourge is on me now, with all the cry +Of ancient life that hath with murder striven. +How many an anguish hath gone up to heaven, +How many a hand in prayer been lifted high +When the black fate came onward with the rush +Of whirlwind, avalanche, or fiery spume! +Even at my feet is cleft a shivering tomb +Beneath the waves; or else, with solemn hush +The graveyard opens, and I feel a crush +As if we were all huddled in one doom! + + + +_UNREST_. + +Comes there, O Earth, no breathing time for thee, +No pause upon thy many-chequered lands? +Now resting on my bed with listless hands +I mourn thee resting not. Continually +Hear I the plashing borders of the sea +Answer each other from the rocks and sands! +Troop all the rivers seawards; nothing stands, +But with strange noises hasteth terribly! +Loam-eared hyenas go a moaning by; +Howls to each other all the bloody crew +Of Afric's tigers! but, O men, from you +Comes this perpetual sound more loud and high +Than aught that vexes air! I hear the cry +Of infant generations rising too! + + + +_ONE WITH NATURE_. + +I have a fellowship with every shade +Of changing nature: with the tempest hour +My soul goes forth to claim her early dower +Of living princedom; and her wings have staid +Amidst the wildest uproar undismayed! +Yet she hath often owned a better power, +And blessed the gentle coming of the shower, +The speechless majesty of love arrayed +In lowly virtue, under which disguise +Full many a princely thing hath passed her by; +And she from homely intercourse of eyes +Hath gathered visions wider than the sky, +And seen the withered heart of man arise +Peaceful as God, and full of majesty. + + + +_MY TWO GENIUSES_. + +I. + +One is a slow and melancholy maid; +I know riot if she cometh from the skies +Or from the sleepy gulfs, but she will rise +Often before me in the twilight shade, +Holding a bunch of poppies and a blade +Of springing wheat: prostrate my body lies +Before her on the turf, the while she ties +A fillet of the weed about my head; +And in the gaps of sleep I seem to hear +A gentle rustle like the stir of corn, +And words like odours thronging to my ear: +"Lie still, beloved--still until the morn; +Lie still with me upon this rolling sphere-- +Still till the judgment; thou art faint and worn." + +II. + +The other meets me in the public throng; +Her hair streams backward from her loose attire; +She hath a trumpet and an eye of fire; +She points me downward, steadily and long:-- +"There is thy grave--arise, my son, be strong! +Hands are upon thy crown--awake, aspire +To immortality; heed not the lyre +Of the Enchantress, nor her poppy-song, +But in the stillness of the summer calm +Tremble for what is Godlike in thy being. +Listen a while, and thou shall hear the psalm +Of victory sung by creatures past thy seeing; +And from far battle-fields there comes the neighing +Of dreadful onset, though the air is balm." + +III. + +Maid with the poppies, must I let thee go? +Alas, I may not; thou art likewise dear! +I am but human, and thou hast a tear +When she hath nought but splendour, and the glow +Of a wild energy that mocks the flow +Of the poor sympathies which keep us here: +Lay past thy poppies, and come twice as near, +And I will teach thee, and thou too shalt grow; +And thou shalt walk with me in open day +Through the rough thoroughfares with quiet grace; +And the wild-visaged maid shall lead the way, +Timing her footsteps to a gentler pace +As her great orbs turn ever on thy face, +Drinking in draughts of loving help alway. + + + +_SUDDEN CALM_. + +There is a bellowing in me, as of might +Unfleshed and visionless, mangling the air +With horrible convulse, as if it bare +The cruel weight of worlds, but could not fight +With the thick-dropping clods, and could but bite +A vapour-cloud! Oh, I will climb the stair +Of the great universe, and lay me there +Even at the threshold of his gate, despite +The tempest, and the weakness, and the rush +Of this quick crowding on me!--Oh, I dream! +Now I am sailing swiftly, as we seem +To do in sleep! and I can hear the gush +Of a melodious wave that carries me +On, on for ever to eternity! + + + +_THOU ALSO_. + +Cry out upon the crime, and then let slip +The dogs of hate, whose hanging muzzles track +The bloody secret; let the welkin crack +Reverberating, while ye dance and skip +About the horrid blaze! or else ye strip, +More secretly, for the avenging rack, +Him who hath done the deed, till, oozing black +Ye watch the anguish from his nostrils drip, +And all the knotted limbs lie quivering! +Or, if your hearts disdain such banqueting, +With wide and tearless eyes go staring through +The murder cells! but think--that, if your knees +Bow not to holiness, then even in you +Lie deeper gulfs and blacker crimes than these. + + + +_THE AURORA BOREALIS_. + +Now have I grown a sharpness and an edge +Unto my future nights, and I will cut +Sheer through the ebon gates that yet will shut +On every set of day; or as a sledge +Drawn over snowy plains; where not a hedge +Breaks this Aurora's dancing, nothing but +The one cold Esquimaux' unlikely hut +That swims in the broad moonlight! Lo, a wedge +Of the clean meteor hath been brightly driven +Right home into the fastness of the north! +Anon it quickeneth up into the heaven! +And I with it have clomb and spreaded forth +Upon the crisp and cooling atmosphere! +My soul is all abroad: I cannot find it here! + + + +_THE HUMAN._ + +Within each living man there doth reside, +In some unrifled chamber of the heart, +A hidden treasure: wayward as thou art +I love thee, man, and bind thee to my side! +By that sweet act I purify my pride +And hasten onward--willing even to part +With pleasant graces: though thy hue is swart, +I bear thee company, thou art my guide! +Even in thy sinning wise beyond thy ken +To thee a subtle debt my soul is owing! +I take an impulse from the worst of men +That lends a wing unto my onward going; +Then let me pay them gladly back again +With prayer and love from Faith and Duty flowing! + + + +_WRITTEN ON A STORMY NIGHT._ + +O wild and dark! a night hath found me now +Wherein I mingle with that element +Sent madly loose through the wide staring rent +In yon tormented branches! I will bow +A while unto the storm, and thenceforth grow +Into a mighty patience strongly bent +Before the unconquering Power which hither sent +These winds to fight their battles on my brow!-- +Again the loud boughs thunder! and the din +Licks up my footfall from the hissing earth! +But I have found a mighty peace within, +And I have risen into a home of mirth! +Wildly I climb above the shaking spires, +Above the sobbing clouds, up through the steady fires! + + + +_REVERENCE WAKING HOPE_. + +A power is on me, and my soul must speak +To thee, thou grey, grey man, whom I behold +With those white-headed children. I am bold +To commune with thy setting, and to wreak +My doubts on thy grey hair; for I would seek +Thee in that other world, but I am told +Thou goest elsewhere and wilt never hold +Thy head so high as now. Oh I were weak, +Weak even to despair, could I forego +The tender vision which will give somehow +Thee standing brightly one day even as now! +Thou art a very grey old man, and so +I may not pass thee darkly, but bestow +A look of reverence on thy wrinkled brow. + + + +_BORN OF WATER_. + +Methought I stood among the stars alone, +Watching a grey parched orb which onward flew +Half blinded by the dusty winds that blew, +Empty as Death and barren as a stone, +The pleasant sound of water all unknown! +When, as I looked in wonderment, there grew, +High in the air above, a drop of dew, +Which, gathering slowly through long cycles, shone +Like a great tear; and then at last it fell +Clasping the orb, which drank it greedily, +With a delicious noise and upward swell +Of sweet cool joy that tossed me like a sea; +And then the thick life sprang as from a grave, +With trees, flowers, boats upon the bounding wave! + + + +_TO A THUNDER-CLOUD._ + +Oh, melancholy fragment of the night +Drawing thy lazy web against the sun, +Thou shouldst have waited till the day was done +With kindred glooms to build thy fane aright, +Sublime amid the ruins of the light! +But thus to shape our glories one by one +With fearful hands, ere we had well begun +To look for shadows--even in the bright! +Yet may we charm a lesson from thy breast, +A secret wisdom from thy folds of thunder: +There is a wind that cometh from the west +Will rend thy tottering piles of gloom asunder, +And fling thee ruinous along the grass, +To sparkle on us as our footsteps pass! + + + +_SUN AND MOON._ + +First came the red-eyed sun as I did wake; +He smote me on the temples and I rose, +Casting the night aside and all its woes; +And I would spurn my idleness, and take +My own wild journey even like him, and shake +The pillars of all doubt with lusty blows, +Even like himself when his rich glory goes +Right through the stalwart fogs that part and break. +But ere my soul was ready for the fight, +His solemn setting mocked me in the west; +And as I trembled in the lifting night, +The white moon met me, and my heart confess'd +A mellow wisdom in her silent youth, +Which fed my hope with fear, and made my strength a truth. + + + +_DOUBT HERALDING VISION._ + +An angel saw me sitting by a brook, +Pleased with the silence, and the melodies +Of wind and water which did fall and rise: +He gently stirred his plumes and from them shook +An outworn doubt, which fell on me and took +The shape of darkness, hiding all the skies, +Blinding the sun, but giving to my eyes +An inextinguishable wish to look; +When, lo! thick as the buds of spring there came, +Crowd upon crowd, informing all the sky, +A host of splendours watching silently, +With lustrous eyes that wept as if in blame, +And waving hands that crossed in lines of flame, +And signalled things I hope to hold although I die! + + + +_LIFE OR DEATH?_ + +Is there a secret Joy, that may not weep, +For every flower that ends its little span, +For every child that groweth up to man, +For every captive bird a cage doth keep, +For every aching eye that went to sleep +Long ages back, when other eyes began +To see and know and love as now they can, +Unravelling God's wonders heap by heap? +Or doth the Past lie 'mid Eternity +In charnel dens that rot and reek alway, +A dismal light for those that go astray, +A pit of foul deformity--to be, +Beauty, a dreadful source of growth for thee +When thou wouldst lift thine eyes to greet the day? + + + +_LOST AND FOUND._ + +I missed him when the sun began to bend; +I found him not when I had lost his rim; +With many tears I went in search of him, +Climbing high mountains which did still ascend, +And gave me echoes when I called my friend; +Through cities vast and charnel-houses grim, +And high cathedrals where the light was dim, +Through books and arts and works without an end, +But found him not--the friend whom I had lost. +And yet I found him--as I found the lark, +A sound in fields I heard but could not mark; +I found him nearest when I missed him most; +I found him in my heart, a life in frost, +A light I knew not till my soul was dark. + + + +_THE MOON._ + +She comes! again she comes, the bright-eyed moon! +Under a ragged cloud I found her out, +Clasping her own dark orb like hope in doubt! +That ragged cloud hath waited her since noon, +And he hath found and he will hide her soon! +Come, all ye little winds that sit without, +And blow the shining leaves her edge about, +And hold her fast--ye have a pleasant tune! +She will forget us in her walks at night +Among the other worlds that are so fair! +She will forget to look on our despair! +She will forget to be so young and bright! +Nay, gentle moon, thou hast the keys of light-- +I saw them hanging by thy girdle there! + + + +_TRUTH, NOT FORM!_ + +I came upon a fountain on my way +When it was hot, and sat me down to drink +Its sparkling stream, when all around the brink +I spied full many vessels made of clay, +Whereon were written, not without display, +In deep engraving or with merely ink, +The blessings which each owner seemed to think +Would light on him who drank with each alway. +I looked so hard my eyes were looking double +Into them all, but when I came to see +That they were filthy, each in his degree, +I bent my head, though not without some trouble, +To where the little waves did leap and bubble, +And so I journeyed on most pleasantly. + + + +_GOD IN GROWTH._ + +I said, I will arise and work some thing, +Nor be content with growth, but cause to grow +A life around me, clear as yes from no, +That to my restless hand some rest may bring, +And give a vital power to Action's spring: +Thus, I must cease to be! I cried; when, lo! +An angel stood beside me on the snow, +With folded wings that came of pondering. +"God's glory flashes on the silence here +Beneath the moon," he cried, and upward threw +His glorious eyes that swept the utmost blue, +"Ere yet his bounding brooks run forth with cheer +To bear his message to the hidden year +Who cometh up in haste to make his glory new." + + + +_IN A CHURCHYARD._ + +There may be seeming calm above, but no!-- +There is a pulse below which ceases not, +A subterranean working, fiery hot, +Deep in the million-hearted bosom, though +Earthquakes unlock not the prodigious show +Of elemental conflict; and this spot +Nurses most quiet bones which lie and rot, +And here the humblest weeds take root and grow. +There is a calm upon the mighty sea, +Yet are its depths alive and full of being, +Enormous bulks that move unwieldily; +Yet, pore we on it, they are past our seeing!-- +From the deep sea-weed fields, though wide and ample, +Comes there no rushing sound: _these_ do not trample! + + + +_POWER._ + +Power that is not of God, however great, +Is but the downward rushing and the glare +Of a swift meteor that hath lost its share +In the one impulse which doth animate +The parent mass: emblem to me of fate! +Which through vast nightly wastes doth onward fare, +Wild-eyed and headlong, rent away from prayer-- +A moment brilliant, then most desolate! +And, O my brothers, shall we ever learn +From all the things we see continually +That pride is but the empty mockery +Of what is strong in man! Not so the stern +And sweet repose of soul which we can earn +Only through reverence and humility! + + + +_DEATH._ + +Yes, there is one who makes us all lay down +Our mushroom vanities, our speculations, +Our well-set theories and calculations, +Our workman's jacket or our monarch's crown! +To him alike the country and the town, +Barbaric hordes or civilized nations, +Men of all names and ranks and occupations, +Squire, parson, lawyer, Jones, or Smith, or Brown! +He stops the carter: the uplifted whip +Falls dreamily among the horses' straw; +He stops the helmsman, and the gallant ship +Holdeth to westward by another law; +No one will see him, no one ever saw, +But he sees all and lets not any slip. + + + +_THAT HOLY THING._ + +They all were looking for a king + To slay their foes, and lift them high: +Thou cam'st a little baby thing + That made a woman cry. + +O son of man, to right my lot + Nought but thy presence can avail; +Yet on the road thy wheels are not, + Nor on the sea thy sail! + +My fancied ways why shouldst thou heed? + Thou com'st down thine own secret stair: +Com'st down to answer all my need, + Yea, every bygone prayer! + + + +_FROM NOVALIS_. + +Uplifted is the stone + And all mankind arisen! +We are thy very own, + We are no more in prison! +What bitterest grief can stay + Beside thy golden cup, +When earth and life give way + And with our Lord we sup! + +To the marriage Death doth call, + The lamps are burning clear, +The virgins, ready all, + Have for their oil no fear. +Would that even now were ringing + The distance with thy throng! +And that the stars were singing + To us a human song! + +Courage! for life is hasting + To endless life away; +The inward fire, unwasting, + Transfigures our dull clay! +See the stars melting, sinking + In life-wine golden-bright! +We, of the splendour drinking, + Shall grow to stars of light. + +Lost, lost are all our losses! + Love is for ever free! +The full life heaves and tosses + Like an unbounded sea! +One live, eternal story! + One poem high and broad! +And sun of all our glory + The countenance of God! + + + +_WHAT MAN IS THERE OF YOU?_ + +The homely words how often read! + How seldom fully known! +"Which father of you, asked for bread, + Would give his son a stone?" + +How oft has bitter tear been shed, + And heaved how many a groan, +Because thou wouldst not give for bread + The thing that was a stone! + +How oft the child thou wouldst have fed, + Thy gift away has thrown! +He prayed, thou heard'st, and gav'st the bread: + He cried, "It is a stone!" + +Lord, if I ask in doubt and dread + Lest I be left to moan, +Am I not he who, asked for bread, + Would give his son a stone? + + + +_O WIND OF GOD._ + +O wind of God, that blowest in the mind, + Blow, blow and wake the gentle spring in me; +Blow, swifter blow, a strong warm summer wind, + Till all the flowers with eyes come out to see; + Blow till the fruit hangs red on every tree, +And our high-soaring song-larks meet thy dove-- +High the imperfect soars, descends the perfect love! + +Blow not the less though winter cometh then; + Blow, wind of God, blow hither changes keen; +Let the spring creep into the ground again, + The flowers close all their eyes and not be seen: + All lives in thee that ever once hath been! +Blow, fill my upper air with icy storms; +Breathe cold, O wind of God, and kill my cankerworms. + + + +_SHALL THE DEAD PRAISE THEE?_ + +I cannot praise thee. By his instrument + The master sits, and moves nor foot nor hand; +For see the organ-pipes this, that way bent, + Leaning, o'erthrown, like wheat-stalks tempest-fanned! + +I well could praise thee for a flower, a dove, + But not for life that is not life in me; +Not for a being that is less than love-- + A barren shoal half lifted from a sea! + +Unto a land where no wind bloweth ships + Thy wind one day will blow me to my own: +Rather I'd kiss no more their loving lips + Than carry them a heart so poor and prone! + +I bless thee, Father, thou art what thou art, + That thou dost know thyself what thou dost know-- +A perfect, simple, tender, rhythmic heart, + Beating its blood to all in bounteous flow. + +And I can bless thee too for every smart, + For every disappointment, ache, and fear; +For every hook thou fixest in my heart, + For every burning cord that draws me near. + +But prayer these wake, not song. Thyself I crave. + Come thou, or all thy gifts away I fling. +Thou silent, I am but an empty grave: + Think to me, Father, and I am a king! + +My organ-pipes will then stand up awake, + Their life soar, as from smouldering wood the blaze; +And swift contending harmonies shall shake + Thy windows with a storm of jubilant praise. + + + +_A YEAR SONG._ + +Sighing above, + Rustling below, +Thorough the woods + The winds go. +Beneath, dead crowds; + Above, life bare; +And the besom tempest + Sweeps the air: +_Heart, leave thy woe: +Let the dead things go._ + +Through the brown + Gold doth push; +Misty green + Veils the bush. +Here a twitter, + There a croak! +They are coming-- + The spring-folk! +_Heart, be not numb; +Let the live things come._ + +Through the beech + The winds go, +With gentle speech, + Long and slow. +The grass is fine, + And soft to lie in: +The sun doth shine + The blue sky in: +_Heart, be alive; +Let the new things thrive._ + +Round again! + Here art thou, +A rimy fruit + On a bare bough! +Winter comes, + Winter and snow; +And a weary sighing + To fall and go! +_Heart, thy hour shall be; +Thy dead will comfort thee._ + + + +_SONG_. + +Why do the houses stand + When they that built them are gone; + When remaineth even of one +That lived there and loved and planned +Not a face, not an eye, not a hand, + Only here and there a bone? +Why do the houses stand + When they who built them are gone? + +Oft in the moonlighted land + When the day is overblown, + With happy memorial moan +Sweet ghosts in a loving band +Roam through the houses that stand-- + For the builders are not gone. + + + +_FOR WHERE YOUR TREASURE IS, THERE WILL YOUR HEART BE ALSO._ + + The miser lay on his lonely bed; + Life's candle was burning dim. +His heart in an iron chest was hid +Under heaps of gold and an iron lid; + And whether it were alive or dead + It never troubled him. + + Slowly out of his body he crept. + He said, "I am just the same! +Only I want my heart in my breast; +I will go and fetch it out of my chest!" + Through the dark a darker shadow he leapt, + Saying "Hell is a fabled flame!" + + He opened the lid. Oh, Hell's own night! + His ghost-eyes saw no gold!-- +Empty and swept! Not a gleam was there! +In goes his hand, but the chest is bare! + Ghost-fingers, aha! have only might + To close, not to clasp and hold! + + But his heart he saw, and he made a clutch + At the fungous puff-ball of sin: +Eaten with moths, and fretted with rust, +He grasped a handful of rotten dust, + And shrieked, as ghosts may, at the crumbling touch, + But hid it his breast within. + + And some there are who see him sit + Under the church, apart, +Counting out coins and coins of gold +Heap by heap on the dank death-mould: + Alas poor ghost and his sore lack of wit-- + They breed in the dust of his heart! + + Another miser has now his chest, + And it hoards wealth more and more; +Like ferrets his hands go in and out, +Burrowing, tossing the gold about-- + Nor heed the heart that, gone from his breast, + Is the cold heap's bloodless core. + + Now wherein differ old ghosts that sit + Counting ghost-coins all day +From the man who clings with spirit prone +To whatever can never be his own? + Who will leave the world with not one whit + But a heart all eaten away? + + + +_THE ASTHMATIC MAN TO THE SATAN THAT BINDS HIM_. + +Satan, avaunt! + Nay, take thine hour, +Thou canst not daunt, + Thou hast no power; +Be welcome to thy nest, +Though it be in my breast. + +Burrow amain; + Dig like a mole; +Fill every vein + With half-burnt coal; +Puff the keen dust about, +And all to choke me out. + +Fill music's ways + With creaking cries, +That no loud praise + May climb the skies; +And on my labouring chest +Lay mountains of unrest. + +My slumber steep + In dreams of haste, +That only sleep, + No rest, I taste-- +With stiflings, rimes of rote, +And fingers on my throat. + +Satan, thy might + I do defy; +Live core of night + I patient lie: +A wind comes up the gray +Will blow thee clean away. + +Christ's angel, Death, + All radiant white, +With one cold breath + Will scare thee quite, +And give my lungs an air +As fresh as answered prayer. + +So, Satan, do + Thy worst with me +Until the True + Shall set me free, +And end what he began, +By making me a man. + + + +_SONG-SERMON._ + +Lord, what is man +That thou art mindful of him! +Though in creation's van, +Lord, what is man! +He wills less than he can, +Lets his ideal scoff him! +Lord, what is man +That thou art mindful of him! + + + +_SHADOWS._ + +All things are shadows of thee, Lord; + The sun himself is but thy shade; +My spirit is the shadow of thy word, + A thing that thou hast said. + +Diamonds are shadows of the sun, + They gleam as after him they hark: +My soul some arrows of thy light hath won. + And feebly fights the dark! + +All knowledges are broken shades, + In gulfs of dark a scattered horde: +Together rush the parted glory-grades-- + Then, lo, thy garment, Lord! + +My soul, the shadow, still is light + Because the shadow falls from thee; +I turn, dull candle, to the centre bright, + And home flit shadowy. + +Shine, Lord; shine me thy shadow still; + The brighter I, the more thy shade! +My motion be thy lovely moveless will! + My darkness, light delayed! + + + +_A WINTER PRAYER._ + +Come through the gloom of clouded skies, + The slow dim rain and fog athwart; +Through east winds keen with wrong and lies + Come and lift up my hopeless heart. + +Come through the sickness and the pain, + The sore unrest that tosses still; +Through aching dark that hides the gain + Come and arouse my fainting will. + +Come through the prate of foolish words, + The science with no God behind; +Through all the pangs of untuned chords + Speak wisdom to my shaken mind. + +Through all the fears that spirits bow + Of what hath been, or may befall, +Come down and talk with me, for thou + Canst tell me all about them all. + +Hear, hear my sad lone heart entreat, + Heart of all joy, below, above! +Come near and let me kiss thy feet, + And name the names of those I love! + + + +_SONG OF A POOR PILGRIM_. + +Roses all the rosy way! + Roses to the rosier west +Where the roses of the day + Cling to night's unrosy breast! + +Thou who mak'st the roses, why + Give to every leaf a thorn? +On thy rosy highway I + Still am by thy roses torn! + +Pardon! I will not mistake + These good thorns that make me fret! +Goads to urge me, stings to wake, + For my freedom they are set. + +Yea, on one steep mountain-side, + Climbing to a fancied fold, +Roses grasped had let me slide + But the thorns did keep their hold. + +Out of darkness light is born, + Out of weakness make me strong: +One glad day will every thorn + Break into a rose of song. + +Though like sparrow sit thy bird + Lonely on the house-top dark, +By the rosy dawning stirred + Up will soar thy praising lark; + +Roses, roses all his song! + Roses in a gorgeous feast! +Roses in a royal throng, + Surging, rosing from the east! + + + +_AN EVENING PRAYER_. + +I am a bubble + Upon thy ever-moving, resting sea: +Oh, rest me now from tossing, trespass, trouble! + Take me down into thee. + +Give me thy peace. + My heart is aching with unquietness: +Oh, make its inharmonious beating cease! + Thy hand upon it press. + +My Night! my Day! + Swift night and day betwixt, my world doth reel: +Potter, take not thy hand from off the clay + That whirls upon thy wheel. + +O Heart, I cry + For love and life, pardon and hope and strength! +O Father, I am thine; I shall not die, + But I shall sleep at length! + + + +_SONG-SERMON_. + +Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs, +For as his work thou giv'st the man. +From us, not thee, come all our wrongs; +Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs: +With small-cord whips and scorpion thongs +Thou lay'st on every ill thy ban. +Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs, +For as his work thou giv'st the man. + + + +_A DREAM-SONG_. + +The stars are spinning their threads, + And the clouds are the dust that flies, +And the suns are weaving them up + For the day when the sleepers arise. + +The ocean in music rolls, + The gems are turning to eyes, +And the trees are gathering souls + For the day when the sleepers arise. + +The weepers are learning to smile, + And laughter to glean the sighs, +And hearts to bury their care and guile + For the day when the sleepers arise. + +Oh, the dews and the moths and the daisy-red, + The larks and the glimmers and flows! +The lilies and sparrows and daily bread, + And the something that nobody knows! + + + +_CHRISTMAS, 1880._ + +Great-hearted child, thy very being _The Son_, + Who know'st the hearts of all us prodigals;-- +For who is prodigal but he who has gone + Far from the true to heart it with the false?-- + Who, who but thou, that, from the animals', + Know'st all the hearts, up to the Father's own, + Can tell what it would be to be alone! + +Alone! No father!--At the very thought + Thou, the eternal light, wast once aghast; +A death in death for thee it almost wrought! + But thou didst haste, about to breathe thy last, + And call'dst out _Father_ ere thy spirit passed, + Exhausted in fulfilling not any vow, + But doing his will who greater is than thou. + +That we might know him, thou didst come and live; + That we might find him, thou didst come and die; +The son-heart, brother, thy son-being give-- + We too would love the father perfectly, + And to his bosom go back with the cry, + Father, into thy hands I give the heart + Which left thee but to learn how good thou art! + +There are but two in all the universe-- + The father and his children--not a third; +Nor, all the weary time, fell any curse! + Not once dropped from its nest an unfledged bird + But thou wast with it! Never sorrow stirred + But a love-pull it was upon the chain + That draws the children to the father again! + +O Jesus Christ, babe, man, eternal son, + Take pity! we are poor where thou art rich: +Our hearts are small; and yet there is not one + In all thy father's noisy nursery which, + Merry, or mourning in its narrow niche, + Needs not thy father's heart, this very now, + With all his being's being, even as thou! + + + +_RONDEL_. + +I do not know thy final will, + It is too good for me to know: + Thou willest that I mercy show, +That I take heed and do no ill, +That I the needy warm and fill, + Nor stones at any sinner throw; +But I know not thy final will-- + It is too good for me to know. + +I know thy love unspeakable-- + For love's sake able to send woe! + To find thine own thou lost didst go, +And wouldst for men thy blood yet spill!-- +How should I know thy final will, + Godwise too good for me to know! + + + +_THE SPARROW_. + +O Lord, I cannot but believe +The birds do sing thy praises then, when they sing to one another, +And they are lying seed-sown land when the winter makes them grieve, +Their little bosoms breeding songs for the summer to unsmother! + +If thou hadst finished me, O Lord, +Nor left out of me part of that great gift that goes to singing, +I sure had known the meaning high of the songster's praising word, +Had known upon what thoughts of thee his pearly talk he was stringing! + +I should have read the wisdom hid +In the storm-inspired melody of thy thrush's bosom solemn: +I should not then have understood what thy free spirit did +To make the lark-soprano mount like to a geyser-column! + +I think I almost understand +Thy owl, his muffled swiftness, moon-round eyes, and intoned hooting; +I think I could take up the part of a night-owl in the land, +With yellow moon and starry things day-dreamers all confuting. + +But 'mong thy creatures that do sing +Perhaps of all I likest am to the housetop-haunting sparrow, +That flies brief, sudden flights upon a dumpy, fluttering wing, +And chirps thy praises from a throat that's very short and narrow. + +But if thy sparrow praise thee well +By singing well thy song, nor letting noisy traffic quell it, +It may be that, in some remote and leafy heavenly dell, +He may with a trumpet-throat awake, and a trumpet-song to swell it! + + + +_DECEMBER 23, 1879._ + +I. + +A thousand houses of poesy stand around me everywhere; +They fill the earth and they fill my thought, they are in and above the +air; +But to-night they have shut their doors, they have shut their shining +windows fair, +And I am left in a desert world, with an aching as if of care. + +II. + +Cannot I break some little nut and get at the poetry in it? +Cannot I break the shining egg of some all but hatched heavenly linnet? +Cannot I find some beauty-worm, and its moony cocoon-silk spin it? +Cannot I find my all but lost day in the rich content of a minute? + +III. + +I will sit me down, all aching and tired, in the midst of this +never-unclosing +Of door or window that makes it look as if truth herself were dozing; +I will sit me down and make me a tent, call it poetizing or prosing, +Of what may be lying within my reach, things at my poor disposing! + +IV. + +Now what is nearest?--My conscious self. Here I sit quiet and say: +"Lo, I myself am already a house of poetry solemn and gay! +But, alas, the windows are shut, all shut: 'tis a cold and foggy day, +And I have not now the light to see what is in me the same alway!" + +V. + +Nay, rather I'll say: "I am a nut in the hard and frozen ground; +Above is the damp and frozen air, the cold blue sky all round; +And the power of a leafy and branchy tree is in me crushed and bound +Till the summer come and set it free from the grave-clothes + in which it is wound!" + +VI. + +But I bethink me of something better!--something better, yea best! +"I am lying a voiceless, featherless thing in God's own perfect nest; +And the voice and the song are growing within me, slowly lifting my +breast; +And his wide night-wings are closed about me, for his sun is down in the +west!" + +VII. + +Doors and windows, tents and grave-clothes, winters and eggs and seeds, +Ye shall all be opened and broken and torn; ye are but to serve my needs! +On the will of the Father all lovely things are strung like a string of +beads +For his heart to give the obedient child that the will of the father +heeds. + + + +_SONG-PRAYER_: AFTER KING DAVID. + +I shall be satisfied +With the seeing of thy face. +When I awake, wide-eyed, +I shall be satisfied +With what this life did hide, +The one supernal grace! +I shall be satisfied +With the seeing of thy face. + + + +_DECEMBER 27, 1879_ + +Every time would have its song + If the heart were right, +Seeing Love all tender-strong + Fills the day and night. + +Weary drop the hands of Prayer + Calling out for peace; +Love always and everywhere + Sings and does not cease. + +Fear, the caitiff, through the night + Silent peers about; +Love comes singing with a light + And doth cast him out. + +Hate and Guile and Wrath and Doubt + Never try to sing; +If they did, oh, what a rout + Anguished ears would sting! + +Pride indeed will sometimes aim + At the finer speech, +But the best that he can frame + Is a peacock-screech. + +Greed will also sometimes try: + Happiness he hunts! +But his dwelling is a sty, + And his tones are grunts. + +Faith will sometimes raise a song + Soaring up to heaven, +Then she will be silent long, + And will weep at even. + +Hope has many a gladsome note + Now and then to pipe; +But, alas, he has the throat + Of a bird unripe. + +Often Joy a stave will start + Which the welkin rends, +But it always breaks athwart, + And untimely ends. + +Grief, who still for death doth long, + Always self-abhorred, +Has but one low, troubled song, +_I am sorry, Lord_. + +But Love singeth in the vault. + Singeth on the stair; +Even for Sorrow will not halt, + Singeth everywhere. + +For the great Love everywhere + Over all doth glow; +Draws his birds up trough the air, + Tends his birds below. + +And with songs ascending sheer + Love-born Love replies, +Singing _Father_ in his ear + Where she bleeding lies. + +Therefore, if my heart were right + I should sing out clear, +Sing aloud both day and night + Every month in the year! + + + +_SUNDAY_, + +DECEMBER 28, 1879. + +A dim, vague shrinking haunts my soul, + My spirit bodeth ill-- +As some far-off restraining bank +Had burst, and waters, many a rank, + Were marching on my hill; + +As if I had no fire within + For thoughts to sit about; +As if I had no flax to spin, +No lamp to lure the good things in + And keep the bad things out. + +The wind, south-west, raves in the pines + That guard my cottage round; +The sea-waves fall in stormy lines +Below the sandy cliffs and chines, + And swell the roaring sound. + +The misty air, the bellowing wind + Not often trouble me; +The storm that's outside of the mind +Doth oftener wake my heart to find + More peace and liberty. + +Why is not such my fate to-night? + Chance is not lord of things! +Man were indeed a hapless wight +Things, thoughts occurring as they might-- + Chaotic wallowings! + +The man of moods might merely say + As by the fire he sat, +"I am low spirited to-day; +I must do something, work or play, + Lest care should kill the cat!" + +Not such my saw: I was not meant + To be the sport of things! +The mood has meaning and intent, +And my dull heart is humbly bent + To have the truth it brings. + +This sense of needed shelter round, + This frequent mental start +Show what a poor life mine were found, +To what a dead self I were bound, + How feeble were my heart, + +If I who think did stand alone + Centre to what I thought, +A brain within a box of bone, +A king on a deserted throne, + A something that was nought! + +A being without power to be, + Or any power to cease; +Whom objects but compelled to see, +Whose trouble was a windblown sea, + A windless sea his peace! + +This very sadness makes me think + How readily I might +Be driven to reason's farthest brink, +Then over it, and sudden sink + In ghastly waves of night. + +It makes me know when I am glad + 'Tis thy strength makes me strong; +But for thy bliss I should be sad, +But for thy reason should be mad, + But for thy right be wrong. + +Around me spreads no empty waste, + No lordless host of things; +My restlessness but seeks thy rest; +My little good doth seek thy best, + My needs thy ministerings. + +'Tis this, this only makes me safe-- + I am, immediate, +Of one that lives; I am no waif +That haggard waters toss and chafe, + But of a royal fate, + +The born-child of a Power that lives + Because it will and can, +A Love whose slightest motion gives, +A Freedom that forever strives + To liberate his Man. + +I live not on the circling air, + Live not by daily food; +I live not even by thinkings fair, +I hold my very being there + Where God is pondering good. + +Because God lives I live; because + He thinks, I also think; +I am dependent on no laws +But on himself, and without pause; + Between us hangs no link. + +The man that lives he knows not how + May well fear any mouse! +I should be trembling this same now +If I did think, my Father, thou + Wast nowhere in the house! + +O Father, lift me on thine arm, + And hold me close to thee; +Lift me into thy breathing warm, +Then cast me, and I fear no harm, + Into creation's sea! + + + +_SONG-SERMON_. + +In his arms thy silly lamb, +Lo, he gathers to his breast! +See, thou sadly bleating dam, +See him lift thy silly lamb! +Hear it cry, "How blest I am! +Here is love, and love is rest!" +In his arms thy silly lamb +See him gather to his breast! + + + +_THE DONKEY IN THE CART TO THE HORSE IN THE CARRIAGE_. + +I. + +I say! hey! cousin there! I mustn't call you brother! +Yet you have a tail behind, and I have another! +You pull, and I pull, though we don't pull together: +You have less hardship, and I have more weather! + +II. + +Your legs are long, mine are short; I am lean, you are fatter; +Your step is bold and free, mine goes pitter-patter; +Your head is in the air, and mine hangs down like lead-- +But then my two great ears are so heavy on my head! + +III. + +You need not whisk your stump, nor turn away your nose; +Poor donkeys ain't so stupid as rich horses may suppose! +I could feed in any manger just as well as you, +Though I don't despise a thistle--with sauce of dust and dew! + +IV. + +T'other day a bishop's cob stopped before me in a lane, +With a tail as broad as oil-cake, and a close-clipped hoggy mane; +I stood sideways to the hedge, but he did not want to pass, +And he was so full of corn he didn't care about the grass. + +V. + +Quoth the cob, "You are a donkey of a most peculiar breed! +You've just eaten up a thistle that was going fast to seed! +If you had but let it be, you might have raised a crop! +To many a coming dinner you have put a sad stop!" + +VI. + +I told him I was hungry, and to leave one of ten +Would have spoiled my best dinner, the one I wanted then. +Said the cob, "_I_ ought to know the truth about dinners, +_I_ don't eat on roadsides like poor tramping sinners!" + +VII. + +"Why don't you take it easy? You are working much too hard! +In the shafts you'll die one day, if you're not upon your guard! +Have pity on your friends: work seems to you delectable, +But believe me such a cart--excuse me--'s not respectable!" + +VIII. + +I told him I must trot in the shafts where I was put, +Nor look round at the cart, but set foremost my best foot; +It _was_ rather rickety, and the axle wanted oil, +But I always slept at night with the deep sleep of toil! + +IX. + +"All very fine," he said, "to wag your ears and parley, +And pretend you quite despise my bellyfuls of barley! +But with blows and with starving, and with labour over-hard, +By spurs! a week will see you in the knacker's yard." + +X. + +I thanked him for his counsel, and said I thought I'd take it, really, +If he'd spare me half a feed out of four feeds daily. +He tossed his head at that: "Now don't be cheeky!" said he; +"When I find I'm getting fat, I'll think of you: keep steady." + +XI. + +"Good-bye!" I said--and say, for you are such another! +Why, now I look at you, I see you are his brother! +Yes, thank you for your kick: 'twas all that you could spare, +For, sure, they clip and singe you very, very bare! + +XII. + +My cart it is upsets you! but in that cart behind +There's no dirt or rubbish, no bags of gold or wind! +There's potatoes there, and wine, and corn, and mustard-seed, +And a good can of milk, and some honey too, indeed! + +XIII. + +Few blows I get, some hay, and of water many a draught: +I tell you he's no coster that sits upon my shaft! +And for the knacker's yard--that's not my destined bed: +No donkey ever yet saw himself there lying dead. + + + +_ROOM TO ROAM_. + +Strait is the path? He means we must not roam? +Yes; but the strait path leads into a boundless home. + + + +_COTTAGE SONGS_. + +I.--BY THE CRADLE. + +Close her eyes: she must not peep! +Let her little puds go slack; +Slide away far into sleep: +Sis will watch till she comes back! + +Mother's knitting at the door, +Waiting till the kettle sings; +When the kettle's song is o'er +She will set the bright tea-things. + +Father's busy making hay +In the meadow by the brook, +Not so very far away-- +Close its peeps, it needn't look! + +God is round us everywhere-- +Sees the scythe glitter and rip; +Watches baby gone somewhere; +Sees how mother's fingers skip! + +Sleep, dear baby; sleep outright: + Mother's sitting just behind: +Father's only out of sight; + God is round us like the wind. + +II.--SWEEPING THE FLOOR. + +Sweep and sweep and sweep the floor, + Sweep the dust, pick up the pin; +Make it clean from fire to door, + Clean for father to come in! + +Mother said that God goes sweeping, + Looking, sweeping with a broom, +All the time that we are sleeping, + For a shilling in the room: + +Did he drop it out of glory, + Walking far above the birds? +Or did parson make the story + For the thinking afterwards? + +If I were the swept-for shilling + I would hearken through the gloom; +Roll out fast, and fall down willing + Right before the sweeping broom! + +III.--WASHING THE CLOTHES. + +This is the way we wash the clo'es + Free from dirt and smoke and clay! +Through and through the water flows, + Carries Ugly right away! + +This is the way we bleach the clo'es: + Lay them out upon the green; +Through and through the sunshine goes, + Makes them white as well as clean! + +This is the way we dry the clo'es: + Hang them on the bushes about; +Through and through the soft wind blows, + Draws and drives the wetness out! + +Water, sun, and windy air + Make the clothes clean, white, and sweet +Lay them now in lavender + For the Sunday, folded neat! + +IV.--DRAWING WATER. + +Dark, as if it would not tell, + Lies the water, still and cool: +Dip the bucket in the well, + Lift it from the precious pool! + +Up it comes all brown and dim, + Telling of the twilight sweet: +As it rises to the brim + See the sun and water meet! + +See the friends each other hail! + "Here you are!" cries Master Sun; +Mistress Water from the pail + Flashes back, alive with fun! + +Have you not a tale to tell, + Water, as I take you home? +Tell me of the hidden well + Whence you, first of all, did come. + +Of it you have kept some flavour + Through long paths of darkling strife: +Water all has still a savour + Of the primal well of life! + +Could you show the lovely way + Back and up through sea and sky +To that well? Oh, happy day, + I would drink, and never die! + +Jesus sits there on its brink + All the world's great thirst to slake, +Offering every one to drink + Who will only come and take! + +Lord of wells and waters all, + Lord of rains and dewy beads, +Unto thee my thirst doth call + For the thing thou know'st it needs! + +Come home, water sweet and cool, + Gift of God thou always art! +Spring up, Well more beautiful, + Rise in mine straight from his heart. + +V.--CLEANING THE WINDOWS. + +Wash the window; rub it dry; + Make the ray-door clean and bright: +He who lords it in the sky + Loves on cottage floors to light! + +Looking over sea and beck, + Mountain-forest, orchard-bloom, +He can spy the smallest speck + Anywhere about the room! + +See how bright his torch is blazing + In the heart of mother's store! +Strange! I never saw him gazing + So into that press before! + +Ah, I see!--the wooden pane + In the window, dull and dead, +Father called its loss a gain, + And a glass one put instead! + +What a difference it makes! + How it melts the filmy gloom! +What a little more it takes + Much to brighten up a room! + +There I spy a dusty streak! + There a corner not quite clean! +There a cobweb! There the sneak + Of a spider, watching keen! + +Lord of suns, and eyes that see, + Shine into me, see and show; +Leave no darksome spot in me + Where thou dost not shining go. + +Fill my spirit full of eyes, + Doors of light in every part; +Open windows to the skies + That no moth corrupt my heart. + + + +_THE WIND AND THE MOON_. + +Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out! + You stare + In the air + As if crying _Beware_, +Always looking what I am about: +I hate to be watched; I will blow you out!" + +The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon. + So, deep + On a heap + Of clouds, to sleep +Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon, +Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon!" + +He turned in his bed: she was there again! + On high + In the sky + With her one ghost-eye +The Moon shone white and alive and plain: +Said the Wind, "I will blow you out again!" + +The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew slim. + "With my sledge + And my wedge + I have knocked off her edge! +I will blow," said the Wind, "right fierce and grim, +And the creature will soon be slimmer than slim!" + +He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread. + "One puff + More's enough + To blow her to snuff! +One good puff more where the last was bred, +And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go that thread!" + +He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone. + In the air + Nowhere + Was a moonbeam bare; +Larger and nearer the shy stars shone: +Sure and certain the Moon was gone! + +The Wind he took to his revels once more; + On down + And in town, + A merry-mad clown, +He leaped and holloed with whistle and roar-- +When there was that glimmering thread once more! + +He flew in a rage--he danced and blew; + But in vain + Was the pain + Of his bursting brain, +For still the Moon-scrap the broader grew +The more that he swelled his big cheeks and blew. + +Slowly she grew--till she filled the night, + And shone + On her throne + In the sky alone +A matchless, wonderful, silvery light, +Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night. + +Said the Wind, "What a marvel of power am I! + With my breath, + In good faith, + I blew her to death!-- +First blew her away right out of the sky, +Then blew her in: what a strength am I!" + +But the Moon she knew nought of the silly affair; + For, high + In the sky + With her one white eye, +Motionless miles above the air, +She never had heard the great Wind blare. + + + +_THE FOOLISH HAREBELL_. + +A harebell hung her wilful head: +"I am tired, so tired! I wish I was dead." + +She hung her head in the mossy dell: +"If all were over, then all were well!" + +The Wind he heard, and was pitiful, +And waved her about to make her cool. + +"Wind, you are rough!" said the dainty Bell; +"Leave me alone--I am not well." + +The Wind, at the word of the drooping dame, +Sighed to himself and ceased in shame. + +"I am hot, so hot!" she moaned and said; +"I am withering up; I wish I was dead!" + +Then the Sun he pitied her woeful case, +And drew a thick veil over his face. + +"Cloud go away, and don't be rude," +She said; "I do not see why you should!" + +The Cloud withdrew. Then the Harebell cried, +"I am faint, so faint!--and no water beside!" + +The Dew came down its millionfold path: +She murmured, "I did not want a bath!" + +The Dew went up; the Wind softly crept; +The Night came down, and the Harebell slept. + +A boy ran past in the morning gray, +Plucked the Harebell, and threw her away. + +The Harebell shivered, and sighed, "Oh! oh! +I am faint indeed! Come, dear Wind, blow." + +The Wind blew gently, and did not speak. +She thanked him kindly, but grew more weak. + +"Sun, dear Sun, I am cold!" she said. +He shone; but lower she drooped her head. + +"O Rain, I am withering! all the blue +Is fading out of me!--come, please do!" + +The Rain came down as fast as he could, +But for all his good will he could do her no good. + +She shuddered and shrivelled, and moaning said, +"Thank you all kindly!" and then she was dead. + +Let us hope, let us hope when she comes next year +She'll be simple and sweet! But I fear, I fear! + + + +_SONG_. + +I was very cold + In the summer weather; +The sun shone all his gold, +But I was very cold-- +Alas, we were grown old, + Love and I together! +Oh, but I was cold + In the summer weather! + +Sudden I grew warmer + Though the brooks were frozen: +"Truly, scorn did harm her!" +I said, and I grew warmer; +"Better men the charmer + Knows at least a dozen!" +I said, and I grew warmer + Though the brooks were frozen. + +Spring sits on her nest, + Daisies and white clover; +And my heart at rest +Lies in the spring's young nest: +My love she loves me best, + And the frost is over! +Spring sits on her nest, + Daisies and white clover! + + + +_AN IMPROVISATION_. + +The stars cleave the sky. + Yet for us they rest, +And their race-course high + Is a shining nest! + +The hours hurry on. + But where is thy flight, +Soft pavilion + Of motionless night? + +Earth gives up her trees + To the holy air; +They live in the breeze; + They are saints at prayer! + +Summer night, come from God, + On your beauty, I see, +A still wave has flowed + Of eternity! + + + +_EQUITY_. + +No bird can sing in tune but that the Lord +Sits throned in equity above the heaven, +And holds the righteous balance always even; +No heart can true response to love afford +Wherein from one to eight not every chord +Is yet attuned by the spirits seven: +For tuneful no bird sings but that the Lord +Is throned in equity above high heaven. + +Oh heart, by wrong unfilial scathed and scored, +And from thy humble throne with mazedness driven, +Take courage: when thy wrongs thou hast forgiven, +Thy rights in love thy God will see restored: +No bird could sing in tune but that the Lord +Sits throned in equity above the heaven. + + + +_CONTRITION_. + +Out of the gulf into the glory, + Father, my soul cries out to be lifted. +Dark is the woof of my dismal story, + Thorough thy sun-warp stormily drifted!-- +Out of the gulf into the glory, +Lift me, and save my story. + +I have done many things merely shameful; + I am a man ashamed, my father! +My life is ashamed and broken and blameful-- + The broken and blameful, oh, cleanse and gather! +Heartily shame me, Lord, of the shameful! +To my judge I flee with my blameful. + +Saviour, at peace in thy perfect purity, + Think what it is, not to be pure! +Strong in thy love's essential security, + Think upon those who are never secure. +Full fill my soul with the light of thy purity: +Fold me in love's security. + +O Father, O Brother, my heart is sore aching! + Help it to ache as much as is needful; +Is it you cleansing me, mending, remaking, + Dear potter-hands, so tender and heedful? +Sick of my past, of my own self aching-- +Hurt on, dear hands, with your making. + +Proud of the form thou hadst given thy vessel, + Proud of myself, I forgot my donor; +Down in the dust I began to nestle, + Poured thee no wine, and drank deep of dishonour! +Lord, thou hast broken, thou mendest thy vessel! +In the dust of thy glory I nestle. + + + + +_THE CONSOLER_: +ON AN ENGRAVING OF SCHEFFER'S _Christus Consolator_. + +I. + +What human form is this? what form divine? +And who are these that gaze upon his face +Mild, beautiful, and full of heavenly grace, +With whose reflected light the gazers shine? +Saviour, who does not know it to be thine? +Who does not long to fill a gazer's place? +And yet there is no time, there is no space +To keep away thy servants from thy shrine! +Here if we kneel, and watch with faithful eyes, +Thou art not too far for faithful eyes to see, +Thou art not too far to turn and look on me, +To speak to me, and to receive my sighs. +Therefore for ever I forget the skies, +And find an everlasting Sun in thee. + +II. + +Oh let us never leave that happy throng! +From that low attitude of love not cease! +In all the world there is no other peace, +In all the world no other shield from wrong. +But chiefly, Saviour, for thy feet we long-- +For no vain quiet, for no pride's increase-- +But that, being weak, and Thou divinely strong, +Us from our hateful selves thou mayst release. +We wander from thy fold's free holy air, +Forget thy looks, and take our fill of sin! +But if thou keep us evermore within, +We never surely can forget thee there-- +Breathing thy breath, thy white robe given to wear, +And loving thee for all thou diedst to win! + +III. + +To speak of him in language of our own, +Is not for us too daringly to try; +But, Saviour, we can read thy history +Upon the faces round thy humble throne; +And as the flower among the grass makes known +What summer suns have warmed it from the sky, +As every human smile and human sigh +Is witness that we do not live alone, +So in that company--in those sweet tears, +The first-born of a rugged melted heart, +In those gaunt chains for ever torn apart, +And in the words that weeping mother hears, +We read the story of two thousand years, +And know thee somewhat, Saviour, as thou art. + + + +_TO_ ---- + +I cannot write old verses here, + Dead things a thousand years away, +When all the life of the young year + Is in the summer day. + +The roses make the world so sweet, + The bees, the birds have such a tune, +There's such a light and such a heat + And such a joy this June, + +One must expand one's heart with praise, + And make the memory secure +Of sunshine and the woodland days + And summer twilights pure. + +Oh listen rather! Nature's song + Comes from the waters, beating tides, +Green-margined rivers, and the throng + Of streams on mountain-sides. + +So fair those water-spirits are, + Such happy strength their music fills, +Our joy shall be to wander far + And find them on the hills. + + + +_TO A SISTER_. + +A fresh young voice that sings to me +So often many a simple thing, +Should surely not unanswered be +By all that I can sing. + +Dear voice, be happy every way +A thousand changing tones among, +From little child's unfinished lay +To angel's perfect song. + +In dewy woods--fair, soft, and green +Like morning woods are childhood's bower-- +Be like the voice of brook unseen +Among the stones and flowers; + +A joyful voice though born so low, +And making all its neighbours glad; +Sweet, hidden, constant in its flow +Even when the winds are sad. + +So, strengthen in a peaceful home, +And daily deeper meanings bear; +And when life's wildernesses come +Be brave and faithful there. + +Try all the glorious magic range, +Worship, forgive, console, rejoice, +Until the last and sweetest change-- +So live and grow, dear voice. + + + +_THE SHORTEST AND SWEETEST OF SONGS_. + +Come +Home. + + + + + SCOTS SONGS AND BALLADS. + + + +_ANNIE SHE'S DOWIE_. + +Annie she's dowie, and Willie he's wae: +What can be the matter wi' siccan a twae, +For Annie she's fair as the first o' the day, +And Willie he's honest and stalwart and gay? + +Oh, the tane has a daddy is poor and is proud, +And the tither a minnie that cleiks at the goud '. +They lo'ed are anither, and said their say, +But the daddy and minnie hae partit the twae! + + + +_O LASSIE AYONT THE HILL_! + +O lassie ayont the hill, +Come ower the tap o' the hill, +Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill, +Bidena ayont the hill! + I'm needin ye sair the nicht, +For I'm tired and sick o' mysel. + A body's sel 's the sairest weicht: +O lassie, come ower the hill! + +Gien a body could be a thoucht o' grace, + And no a sel ava! +I'm sick o' my heid and my ban's and my face, + O' my thouchts and mysel and a'; + + I'm sick o' the warl' and a'; +The win' gangs by wi' a hiss; + Throu my starin een the sunbeams fa' +But my weary hert they miss! + O lassie ayont the hill, + Come ower the tap o' the hill, + Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill, + Bidena ayont the hill! &c. + +For gien I but saw yer bonnie heid, + And the sunlicht o' yer hair, +The ghaist o' mysel wud fa' doun deid, + I wud be mysel nae mair. + I wud be mysel nae mair, +Filled o' the sole remeid, + Slain by the arrows o' licht frae yer hair, +Killed by yer body and heid! + O lassie ayont the hill, &c. + +My sel micht wauk up at the saft fitfa' + O' my bonnie departin dame; +But gien she lo'ed me ever sae sma' + I micht bide it--the weary same! + Noo, sick o' my body and name +Whan it lifts its upsettin heid, + I turn frae the cla'es that cover my frame +As gien they war roun the deid. + O lassie ayont the hill, &c. + +But gien ye lo'ed me as I lo'e you + I wud ring my ain deid knell; +The spectre wud melt, shot through and through + Wi' the shine o' your sunny sel! + By the shine o' yer sunny sel, +By the licht aneth yer broo + I wud dee to mysel, ring my ain deid-bell, +And live again in you! + +O lassie ayont the hill, +Come ower the tap o' the hill, +Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill, + For I want ye sair the nicht! + I'm needin ye sair the nicht, +For I'm tired and sick o' mysel. + A body's sel 's the sairest weicht: +O lassie, come ower the hill! + + + +_THE BONNY, BONNY DELL_. + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the yorlin sings, +Wi' a clip o' the sunshine atween his wings; +Whaur the birks are a' straikit wi' fair munelicht, +And the brume hings its lamps by day and by nicht; +Whaur the burnie comes trottin ower shingle and stane +Liltin bonny havers til 'tsel its lane; +And the sliddery troot wi' ae soop o' its tail +Is ahint the green weed's dark swingin veil! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang as I saw +The yorlin, the brume, and the burnie, and a'! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the primroses won, +Luikin oot o' their leaves like wee sons o' the sun; +Whaur the wild roses hing like flickers o' flame, +And fa' at the touch wi' a dainty shame; +Whaur the bee swings ower the white-clovery sod, +And the butterfly flits like a stray thoucht o' God; +Whaur, like arrow shot frae life's unseen bow, +The dragon-fly burns the sunlicht throu! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang to see +The rose and the primrose, the draigon and bee! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the mune luiks doon +As gien she war hearin a soughless tune, +Whan the flooers and the birdies are a' asleep, +And the verra burnie gangs creepy-creep; +Whaur the corn-craik craiks i' the lang-heidit rye, +And the nicht is the safter for his rouch cry; +Whaur the win' wud fain lie doon on the slope, +And the gloamin waukens the high-reachin hope! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur, silent, I felt +The mune and the darkness baith into me melt! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luiks in +Sayin, "Here awa, there awa, hand awa, Sin!" +Sayin darkness and sorrow a' work for the licht, +And the will o' God was the hert o' the nicht; +Whaur the laverock hings hie, on his ain sang borne, +Wi' bird-shout and tirralee hailin the morn; +Whaur my hert ran ower wi' the lusome bliss +That, come winter, come weather, nocht gaed amiss! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luikit in +Sayin, "Here awa, there awa, hand awa, Sin!" + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur aft I wud lie, +Wi' Jeanie aside me sae sweet and sae shy; +Whaur the starry gowans wi' rose-dippit tips +War as white as her cheek and as reid as her lips; +Whaur she spread her gowd hert till she saw that I saw, +Syne fauldit it up and gied me it a'; +Whaur o' sunlicht and munelicht she was the queen, +For baith war but middlin withoot my Jean! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur aft I wud lie, +Wi' Jeanie aside me sae sweet and sae shy! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the kirkyard lies +A' day and a' nicht luikin up to the skies; +Whaur the sheep wauken up i' the simmer nicht, +Tak a bite and lie doon, and await the licht; +Whaur the psalms roll ower the grassy heaps; +Whaur the win' comes and moans, and the rain comes and weeps; +Whaur my Jeanie's no lyin in a' the lair, +For she's up and awa up the angels' stair! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the kirkyard lies, +Whaur the stars luik doon, and the nicht-wind sighs! + + + +_NANNIE BRAW_. + +I like ye weel upo Sundays, Nannie, + I' yer goon and yer ribbons and a'; +But I like ye better on Mondays, Nannie, + Whan ye're no sae buskit and braw. + +For whan we're sittin sae douce, Nannie, + Wi' the lave o' the worshippin fowk, +That aneth the haly hoose, Nannie, + Ye micht hear a moudiwarp howk, + +It _will_ come into my heid, Nannie, + O' yer braws ye are thinkin a wee; +No alane o' the Bible-seed, Nannie, + Nor the minister nor me! + +Syne hame athort the green, Nannie, + Ye gang wi' a toss o' yer chin; +And there walks a shadow atween 's, Nannie, + A dark ane though it be thin! + +But noo, whan I see ye gang, Nannie, + Eident at what's to be dune, +Liltin a haiveless sang, Nannie, + I wud kiss yer verra shune! + +Wi' yer silken net on yer hair, Nannie, + I' yer bonnie blue petticoat, +Wi' yer kin'ly arms a' bare, Nannie, + On yer ilka motion I doat. + +For, oh, but ye're canty and free, Nannie, + Airy o' hert and o' fit! +A star-beam glents frae yer ee, Nannie-- + O' yersel ye're no thinkin a bit! + +Fillin the cogue frae the coo, Nannie, + Skimmin the yallow ream, +Pourin awa the het broo, Nannie, + Lichtin the lampie's leme, + +Turnin or steppin alang, Nannie, + Liftin and layin doon, +Settin richt what's aye gaein wrang, Nannie, + Yer motion's baith dance and tune! + +I' the hoose ye're a licht and a law, Nannie, + A servan like him 'at's abune: +Oh, a woman's bonniest o' a', Nannie, + Doin what _maun_ be dune! + +Cled i' yer Sunday claes, Nannie, + Fair kythe ye to mony an ee; +But cled i' yer ilka-day's, Nannie, + Ye draw the hert frae me! + + + +_OWER THE HEDGE_. + +I. + +"Bonny lassie, rosy lassie, + Ken ye what is care? +Had ye ever a thought, lassie, + Made yer hertie sair?" + +Johnnie said it, Johnnie seekin + Sicht o' Mally's face, +Keekin i' the hedge o' holly + For a thinner place. + +"Na," said Mally, pawky smilin, + "Nought o' care ken I; +Gien I meet the gruesome carline, + I s' hand weel ootby!" + +"Lang be licht o' hert, Mally, + As o' fut and ban'! +Lang be ready wi' sic answer + To ony speirin man!" + +"Ay, the men 'll aye be speirin! + Troth, it's naething new! +There's yersel wi' queston, queston-- + And there's mair like you!" + +"Deed ye wadna mock me, Mally, + Wi' yer lauchin ee, +Gien ye saw the thing aye muvin + I' the hert o' me!" + +"Troth, I'm no sae pryin, laddie, + Yon's no my concern! +Jist as sune I wud gang speirin + What's intil yon cairn!" + +"Still and on, there's ae thing, Mally, + Yont yer help, my doo-- +That's to haud my hert frae lo'in + At the hert o' you!" + +II. + +Johnnie turned and left her, + Listit for the war; +In a year cam limpin + Hame wi' mony a scar. + +Wha was that was sittin + On the brae, sae still? +Worn and wan and altert, + Could it be hersel? + +Cled in black, her eelids + Reid wi' greitin sair-- +Was she wife and widow + In a towmond bare? + +Mally's hert played wallop, + Kenned him or he spak: +"Are ye no deid, Johnnie? + Is't yersel come back?" + +"Are ye wife or widow? + Tell me in a breath; +Lanely life is fearsome, + Waur nor ony death!" + +"Wha cud be a widow + Wife was never nane? +Noo, gien ye will hae me, + Noo I will be ane!" + +Crutch awa he flang it, + Clean forgot his hairms, +Cudna stan' withoot it, + Fell in Mally's airms. + + + +_GAEIN AND COMIN_. + +Whan Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed + The lift was lowerin dreary, +The sun he wadna raise his heid, + The win' blew laich and eerie. +In's pooch he had a plack or twa-- + I vow he hadna mony, +Yet Andrew like a linty sang, + For Lizzie was sae bonny! + O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny lassie! + Bonny, saucy hizzy! + What richt had ye to luik at me + And drive me daft and dizzy? + +Whan Andrew to Strathbogie cam + The sun was shinin rarely; +He rade a horse that pranced and sprang-- + I vow he sat him fairly! +And he had gowd to spen' and spare, + And a hert as true as ony; +But his luik was doon, his sigh was sair, + For Lizzie was sae bonny! + O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny hizzy! + Aih, the sunlicht weary! + Ye're straucht and rare--ye're fause though fair!-- + Hech, auld John Armstrong's deary! + + + +_A SANG O' ZION_. + +Ane by ane they gang awa; +The getherer gethers grit and sma': +Ane by ane maks ane and a'! + +Aye whan ane sets doon the cup +Ane ahint maun tak it up: +A' thegither they will sup! + +Golden-heidit, ripe, and strang, +Shorn will be the hairst or lang: +Syne begins a better sang! + + + +_TIME AND TIDE_. + + As I was walkin on the strand, + I spied ane auld man sit + On ane auld black rock; and aye the waves + Cam washin up its fit. + His lips they gaed as gien they wad lilt, + But o' liltin, wae's me, was nane! + He spak but an owercome, dreary and dreigh, + A burden wha's sang was gane: +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns; + They playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush." + + "What can the auld man mean," quod I, + "Sittin o' the auld black rock? + The tide creeps up wi' a moan and a cry, + And a hiss 'maist like a mock! + The words he mutters maun be the en' + O' some weary auld-warl' sang-- + A deid thing floatin aboot in his brain, + 'At the tide 'ill no lat gang!" +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns; + They playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush." + + "Hoo pairtit it them, auld man?" I said; + "Was't the sea cam up ower strang? + Oh, gien thegither the twa o' them gaed + Their pairtin wasna lang! + Or was are ta'en, and the ither left-- + Ane to sing, are to greit? + It's sair, I ken, to be sae bereft-- + But there's the tide at yer feet!" +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, + And they playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush." + + "Was't the sea o' space wi' its storm o' time + That wadna lat things bide? + But Death's a diver frae heavenly clime + Seekin ye neth its tide, + And ye'll gaze again in ither's ee, + Far abune space and time!" + Never ae word he answered me, + But changed a wee his rime: +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, + And they playt thegither upo' the shore; +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa for evermore." + + "May be, auld man, 'twas the tide o' change + That crap atween the twa? + Hech! that's a droonin fearsome strange, + Waur, waur nor are and a'!" + He said nae mair. I luikit, and saw + His lips they couldna gang: + Death, the diver, had ta'en him awa, + To gie him a new auld sang. +Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, + And they playt thegither upo' the shore: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And souft them awa throu a mirksome door! + + + +_THE WAESOME CARL_. + +There cam a man to oor toon-en', + And a waesome carl was he, +Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou'd, + And gleyt o' a blinterin ee. +Muckle he spied, and muckle he spak, + But the owercome o' his sang, +Whatever it said, was aye the same:-- + There's nane o' ye a' but's wrang! + Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang: + There's no a man aboot the toon + But's a'thegither a' wrang. + +That's no the gait to fire the breid, + Nor yet to brew the yill; +That's no the gait to haud the pleuch, + Nor yet to ca the mill; +That's no the gait to milk the coo, + Nor yet to spean the calf, +Nor yet to tramp the girnel-meal-- + Ye kenna yer wark by half! + Ye're a' wrang, &c. + +The minister wasna fit to pray + And lat alane to preach; +He nowther had the gift o' grace + Nor yet the gift o' speech! +He mind't him o' Balaäm's ass, + Wi' a differ we micht ken: +The Lord he opened the ass's mou, + The minister opened's ain! + He was a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There wasna a man aboot the toon + But was a'thegither a' wrang! + +The puir precentor couldna sing, + He gruntit like a swine; +The verra elders couldna pass + The ladles til his min'. +And for the rulin' elder's grace + It wasna worth a horn; +He didna half uncurse the meat, + Nor pray for mair the morn! + He was a' wrang, &c. + +And aye he gied his nose a thraw, + And aye he crook't his mou; +And aye he cockit up his ee + And said, Tak tent the noo! +We snichert hint oor loof, my man, + But never said him nay; +As gien he had been a prophet, man, + We loot him say his say: + Ye're a' wrang, &c. + +Quo oor gudeman: The crater's daft! + Heard ye ever sic a claik? +Lat's see gien he can turn a ban', + Or only luik and craik! +It's true we maunna lippin til him-- + He's fairly crack wi' pride, +But he maun live--we canna kill him! + Gien he can work, he s' bide. + He was a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There, troth, the gudeman o' the toon + Was a'thegither a' wrang! + +Quo he, It's but a laddie's turn, + But best the first be a sma' thing: +There's a' thae weyds to gether and burn, + And he's the man for a' thing!-- +We yokit for the far hill-moss, + There was peats to cast and ca; +O' 's company we thoucht na loss, + 'Twas peace till gloamin-fa'! + We war a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There wasna man aboot the toon + But was a'thegither a' wrang! + +For, losh, or it was denner-time + The toon was in a low! +The reek rase up as it had been + Frae Sodom-flames, I vow. +We lowst and rade like mad, for byre + And ruck bleezt a' thegither, +As gien the deil had broucht the fire + Frae's hell to mak anither! + 'Twas a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang, + Stick and strae aboot the place + Was a'thegither a' wrang! + +And luikin on, ban's neth his tails, + The waesome carl stude; +To see him wagglin at thae tails + 'Maist drave 's a' fairly wud. +Ain wite! he cried; I tauld ye sae! + Ye're a' wrang to the last: +What gart ye burn thae deevilich weyds + Whan the win' blew frae the wast! + Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There's no a man i' this fule warl + But's a'thegither a' wrang! + + + +_THE MERMAID_. + +Up cam the tide wi' a burst and a whush, + And back gaed the stanes wi' a whurr; +The king's son walkit i' the evenin hush, + To hear the sea murmur and murr. + +Straucht ower the water slade frae the mune + A glimmer o' cauld weet licht; +Ane o' her horns rase the water abune, + And lampit across the nicht. + +Quhat's that, and that, far oot i' the gray, + The laich mune bobbin afore? +It's the bonny sea-maidens at their play-- + Haud awa, king's son, frae the shore. + +Ae rock stude up like an auld aik-root, + The king's son he steppit ahin'; +The bonny sea-maidens cam gambolin oot, + Kaimin their hair to the win'. + +O merry their lauch whan they fan the warm san', + For the lichtsome reel sae meet! +Ilk are flang her kaim frae her pearly ban', + And tuik til her pearly feet. + +But are, wha's beauty was dream and spell, + Her kaim on the rock she cuist; +Her back was scarce turnt whan the munelicht shell + Was lyin i' the prince's breist! + +The cluds grew grim as he watched their game, + Th' win' blew up an angry tune; +Ane efter are tuik up her kaim, + And seaward gaed dancin doon. + +But are, wi' hair like the mune in a clud, + Was left by the rock her lane; +Wi' flittin ban's, like a priest's, she stude, + 'Maist veiled in a rush o' rain. + +She spied the prince, she sank at his feet, + And lay like a wreath o' snaw +Meltin awa i' the win' and weet + O' a wastin wastlin thaw. + +He liftit her, trimlin wi' houp and dreid, + And hame wi' his prize he gaed, +And laid her doon, like a witherin weed, + Saft on a gowden bed. + +A' that nicht, and a' day the neist, + She never liftit heid; +Quaiet lay the sea, and quaiet lay her breist, + And quaiet lay the kirkyard-deid. + +But quhan at the gloamin a sea-breeze keen + Blew intil the glimsome room, +Like twa settin stars she opened her een, + And the sea-flooer began to bloom. + +And she saw the prince kneelin at her bed, + And afore the mune was new, +Careless and cauld she was wooed and wed-- + But a winsome wife she grew. + +And a' gaed weel till their bairn was born, + And syne she cudna sleep; +She wud rise at midnicht, and wan'er till morn, + Hark-harkin the sough o' the deep. + +Ae nicht whan the win' gaed ravin aboot, + And the winnocks war speckled wi' faem, +Frae room to room she strayt in and oot, + And she spied her pearly kaim. + +She twined up her hair wi' eager ban's, + And in wi' the rainbow kaim! +She's oot, and she's aff ower the shinin san's + And awa til her moanin hame! + +The prince he startit whaur he lay, + He waukit, and was himlane! +He soucht far intil the mornin gray, + But his bonny sea-wife was gane! + +And ever and aye, i' the mirk or the mune, + Whan the win' blew saft frae the sea, +The sad shore up and the sad shore doon + By the lanely rock paced he. + +But never again on the sands to play + Cam the maids o' the merry, cauld sea; +He heard them lauch far oot i' the bay, + But hert-alane gaed he. + + + +_THE YERL O' WATERYDECK_. + +The wind it blew, and the ship it flew, + And it was "Hey for hame!" +But up an' cried the skipper til his crew, + "Haud her oot ower the saut sea faem." + +Syne up an' spak the angry king: + "Haud on for Dumferline!" +Quo' the skipper, "My lord, this maunna be-- + _I_'m king on this boat o' mine!" + +He tuik the helm intil his han', + He left the shore un'er the lee; +Syne croodit sail, an', east an' south, + Stude awa richt oot to sea. + +Quo' the king, "Leise-majesty, I trow! + Here lies some ill-set plan! +'Bout ship!" Quo' the skipper, "Yer grace forgets + Ye are king but o' the lan'!" + +Oot he heild to the open sea + Quhill the north wind flaughtered an' fell; +Syne the east had a bitter word to say + That waukent a watery hell. + +He turnt her heid intil the north: + Quo' the nobles, "He s' droon, by the mass!" +Quo' the skipper, "Haud afif yer lady-ban's + Or ye'll never see the Bass." + +The king creepit down the cabin-stair + To drink the gude French wine; +An' up cam his dochter, the princess fair, + An' luikit ower the brine. + +She turnt her face to the drivin snaw, + To the snaw but and the weet; +It claucht her snood, an' awa like a dud + Her hair drave oot i' the sleet. + +She turnt her face frae the drivin win'-- + "Quhat's that aheid?" quo' she. +The skipper he threw himsel frae the win' + An' he brayt the helm alee. + +"Put to yer han', my lady fair! + Haud up her heid!" quo' he; +"Gien she dinna face the win' a wee mair + It's faurweel to you an' me!" + +To the tiller the lady she laid her han', + An' the ship brayt her cheek to the blast; +They joukit the berg, but her quarter scraped, + An' they luikit at ither aghast. + +Quo' the skipper, "Ye are a lady fair, + An' a princess gran' to see, +But war ye a beggar, a man wud sail + To the hell i' yer company!" + +She liftit a pale an' a queenly face, + Her een flashed, an' syne they swam: +"An' what for no to the hevin?" she says, + An' she turnt awa frae him. + +Bot she tuik na her han' frae the gude ship's helm + Till the day begouth to daw; +An' the skipper he spak, but what was said + It was said atween them twa. + +An' syne the gude ship she lay to, + Wi' Scotlan' hyne un'er the lee; +An' the king cam up the cabin-stair + Wi' wan face an' bluidshot ee. + +Laigh loutit the skipper upo' the deck; + "Stan' up, stan' up," quo' the king; +"Ye're an honest loun--an' beg me a boon + Quhan ye gie me back this ring." + +Lowne blew the win'; the stars cam oot; + The ship turnt frae the north; +An' or ever the sun was up an' aboot + They war intil the firth o' Forth. + +Quhan the gude ship lay at the pier-heid, + And the king stude steady o' the lan',-- +"Doon wi' ye, skipper--doon!" he said, + "Hoo daur ye afore me stan'!" + +The skipper he loutit on his knee; + The king his blade he drew: +Quo' the king, "Noo mynt ye to centre me! + I'm aboord _my_ vessel noo! + +"Gien I hadna been yer verra gude lord + I wud hae thrawn yer neck! +Bot--ye wha loutit Skipper o' Doon, + Rise up Yerl o' Waterydeck." + +The skipper he rasena: "Yer Grace is great, + Yer wull it can heize or ding: +Wi' ae wee word ye hae made me a yerl-- + Wi' anither mak me a king." + +"I canna mak ye a king," quo' he, + "The Lord alane can do that! +I snowk leise-majesty, my man! + Quhat the Sathan wad ye be at?" + +Glowert at the skipper the doutsum king + Jalousin aneth his croon; +Quo' the skipper, "Here is yer Grace's ring-- + An' yer dochter is my boon!" + +The black blude shot intil the king's face + He wasna bonny to see: +"The rascal skipper! he lichtlies oor grace!-- + Gar hang him heigh on yon tree." + +Up sprang the skipper an' aboord his ship, + Cleikit up a bytin blade +An' hackit at the cable that held her to the pier, + An' thoucht it 'maist ower weel made. + +The king he blew shill in a siller whustle; + An' tramp, tramp, doon the pier +Cam twenty men on twenty horses, + Clankin wi' spur an' spear. + +At the king's fute fell his dochter fair: + "His life ye wadna spill!" +"Ye daur stan' twixt my hert an' my hate?" + "I daur, wi' a richt gude will!" + +"Ye was aye to yer faither a thrawart bairn, + But, my lady, here stan's the king! +Luikna _him_ i' the angry face-- + A monarch's anither thing!" + +"I lout to my father for his grace + Low on my bendit knee; +But I stan' an' luik the king i' the face, + For the skipper is king o' me!" + +She turnt, she sprang upo' the deck, + The cable splashed i' the Forth, +Her wings sae braid the gude ship spread + And flew east, an' syne flew north. + +Now was not this a king's dochter-- + A lady that feared no skaith? +A woman wi' quhilk a man micht sail + Prood intil the Port o' Death? + + + +_THE TWA GORDONS_. + +I. + +There was John Gordon an' Archibold, +An' a yerl's twin sons war they; +Quhan they war are an' twenty year auld +They fell oot on their ae birthday. + +"Turn ye, John Gordon, nae brither to me! +Turn ye, fause an' fell! +Or doon ye s' gang, as black as a lee, +To the muckle deevil o' hell." + +"An' quhat for that, Archie Gordon, I pray? +Quhat ill hae I dune to thee?" +"Twa-faced loon, ye sail rue this day +The answer I'm gauin to gie! + +"For it'll be roucher nor lady Janet's, +An' loud i' the braid daylicht; +An' the wa' to speil is my iron mail, +No her castle-wa' by nicht!" + +"I speilt the wa' o' her castle braw +I' the roarin win' yestreen; +An' I sat in her bower till the gloamin sta' +Licht-fittit ahint the mune." + +"Turn ye, John Gordon--the twasum we s' twin! +Turn ye, an' haud yer ain; +For ane sall lie on a cauld weet bed-- +An' I downa curse again!" + +"O Archie, Janet is my true love-- +notna speir leave o' thee!" +"Gien that be true, the deevil's a sanct, +An' ye are no tellin a lee!" + +Their suerds they drew, an' the fire-flauchts flew, + An' they shiftit wi' fendin feet; +An' the blude ran doon, till the grun a' roun + Like a verra bog was weet. + +"O Archie, I hae gotten a cauld supper-- + O' steel, but shortest grace! +Ae grip o' yer han' afore ye gang! + An' turn me upo' my face." + +But he's turnit himsel upon his heel, + An' wordless awa he's gane; +An' the corbie-craw i' the aik abune + Is roupin for his ain. + +II. + +Lady Margaret, her hert richt gret, + Luiks ower the castle wa'; +Lord Archibold rides oot at the yett, + Ahint him his merry men a'. + +Wi' a' his band, to the Holy Land + He's boune wi' merry din, +His shouther's doss a Christ's cross, + In his breist an ugsome sin. + +But the cross it brunt him like the fire. + Its burnin never ceast; +It brunt in an' in, to win at the sin + Lay cowerin in his breist. + +A mile frae the shore o' the Deid Sea + The army haltit ae nicht; +Lord Archie was waukrife, an' oot gaed he + A walkin i' the munelicht. + +Dour-like he gaed, wi' doon-hingin heid, + Quhill he cam, by the licht o' the mune, +Quhaur michty stanes lay scattert like sheep, + An' ance they worshipt Mahoun. + +The scruff an' scum o' the deid shore gleamt + An' glintit a sauty gray; +The banes o' the deid stack oot o' its bed, + The sea lickit them as they lay. + +He sat him doon on a sunken stane, + An' he sighit sae dreary an' deep: +"I can thole ohn grutten, lyin awauk, + But he comes whan I'm asleep! + +"I wud gie my soul for ever an' aye + Intil en'less dule an' smert, +To sleep a' nicht like a bairn again, + An' cule my burnin hert!" + +Oot frae ahint a muckle stane + Cam a voice like a huddy craw's: +"Behaud there, Archibold Gordon!" it said, + "Behaud--ye hae ower gude cause!" + +"I'll say quhat I like," quod Archibold, + "Be ye ghaist or deevil or quhat!" +"Tak tent, lord Archie, gien ye be wise-- + The tit winna even the tat!" + +Lord Archibold leuch wi' a loud ha, ha, + Eerisome, grousum to hear: +"A bonny bargain auld Cloots wad hae, + It has ilka faut but fear!" + +"Dune, lord Archibold?" craikit the voice; + "Dune, Belzie!" cried he again.-- +The gray banes glimmert, the white saut shimmert-- + Lord Archie was him lane. + +Back he gaed straught, by the glowerin mune, + An' doun in his plaid he lay, +An' soun' he sleepit.--A ghaist-like man + Sat by his heid quhill the day. + +An' quhanever he moanit or turnit him roun, + Or his broo gae token o' plycht, +The waukin man i' the sleepin man's lug + Wud rown a murgeon o' micht. + +An' the glint o' a smile wud quaver athort + The sleepin cheek sae broun, +An' a tear atween the ee-lids wud stert, + An' whiles rin fairly doun. + +An' aye by his lair sat the ghaist-like man, + He watchit his sleep a' nicht; +An' in mail rust-broun, wi' his visorne doun, + Rade at his knee i' the fecht. + +Nor anis nor twyis the horn-helmit chiel + Saved him frae deidly dad; +An' Archie said, "Gien this be the deil + He's no sac black as he's ca'd." + +But wat ye fu' weel it wasna the deil + That tuik lord Archie's pairt, +But his twin-brother John he thoucht deid an' gone, + Wi' luve like a lowe in his hert. + +III. + +Hame cam lord Archibold, weary wicht, + Hame til his ain countree; +An' he cried, quhan his castle rase in sicht, + "Noo Christ me sain an' see!" + +He turnit him roun: the man in rust-broun + Was gane, he saw nocht quhair! +At the ha' door he lichtit him doun, + Lady Margaret met him there. + +Reid, reid war her een, but hie was her mien, + An' her words war sharp an' sair: +"Welcome, Archie, to dule an' tene, + An' welcome ye s' get nae mair! + +Quhaur is yer twin, lord Archibold, + That lay i' my body wi' thee? +I miss my mark gien he liesna stark + Quhaur the daylicht comesna to see!" + +Lord Archibold dochtna speik a word + For his hert was like a stane; +He turnt him awa--an' the huddy craw + Was roupin for his ain. + +"Quhaur are ye gaein, lord Archie," she said, + "Wi' yer lips sae white an' thin?" +"Mother, gude-bye! I'm gaein to lie + Ance mair wi' my body-twin." + +Up she brade, but awa he gaed + Straucht for the corbie-tree; +For quhaur he had slain he thoucht to slay, + An' cast him doon an' dee. + +"God guide us!" he cried wi' gastit rair, + "Has he lien there ever sin' syne?" +An' he thoucht he saw the banes, pykit an' bare, + Throu the cracks o' his harness shine. + +"Oh Johnnie! my brither!" quo' Archibold + Wi' a hert-upheavin mane, +"I wad pit my soul i' yer wastit corp + To see ye alive again!" + +"Haud ye there!" quod a voice frae oot the helm, + "A man suld heed quhat he says!" +An' the closin joints grippit an' tore the gerse +As up the armour rase:-- + +"Soul ye hae nane to ca' yer ain + An' its time to hand yer jaw! +The sleep it was thine, an' the soul it is mine: + Deil Archie, come awa!" + +"Auld Hornie," quo' Archie, "twa words to that: + My burnin hert burns on; +An' the sleep, weel I wat, was nae reek frae thy pat, + For aye I was dreamin o' John! + +"But I carena a plack for a soul sae black-- + Wae's me 'at my mither bore me! +Put fire i' my breist an' fire at my back, + But ae minute set Johnnie afore me!" + +The gantlets grippit the helm sae stoot + An' liftit frae chin an' broo: +An' Johnnie himsel keekit smilin oot:-- + "O Archie, I hae ye noo! + +"O' yer wee bit brod I was little the waur, + I crap awa my lane; +An' never a deevil cam ye nar, + 'Cep ye coont yer Johnnie ane!" + +Quhare quhylum his brither Johnnie lay, + Fell Archie upon his knees; +The words he said I dinna say, + But I'm sure they warna lees. + + + +_THE LAST WOOIN_. + +"O lat me in, my bonny lass! + It's a lang road ower the hill, +And the flauchterin snaw begud to fa' + On the brig ayont the mill!" + +"Here's nae change-hoose, John Munro!" + "I'll ken that to my cost +Gien ye gar me tak the hill the nicht, + Wi' snaw o' the back o' frost! + +But tell me, lass, what's my offence." + "Weel ken ye! At the fair +Ye lichtlied me! Ay, twasna ance!-- + Ye needna come nae mair!" + +"I lichtlied ye?"--"Ay, ower the glass!" + "Foul-fa' the ill-faured mou +'At made the leein word to pass + By rowin 't i' the true! + +The trouth is this: I dochtna bide + To hear yer bonnie name +Whaur lawless mous war openit wide + Wi' ill-tongued scoff and blame; + +And what I said was: 'Hoot, lat sit! + She's but a bairn, the lass!' +It turnt the spait o' words a bit, + And loot yer fair name pass." + +"Thank ye for naething, John Munro! + My name it needna hide; +It's no a drucken sough wud gar + Me turn my heid aside!" + +"O Elsie, lassie, be yersel! + The snaw-stour's driftin thrang! +O tak me in, the win' 's sae snell, + And in an hour I'll gang." + +"I downa pay ye guid for ill, + Ye heedna fause and true! +Gang back to Katie at the mill-- + She loos sic like as you!" + +He turnt his fit; she heardna mair. + The lift was like to fa'; +And Elsie's hert grew grit and sair + At sicht o' the drivin snaw. + +She laid her doon, but no to sleep, + Her verra hert was cauld; +And the sheets war like a frozen heap + O' drift aboot her faul'd. + +She rase fu' air; the warl lay fair + And still in its windin-sheet; +At door-cheek, or at winnock-lug, + Was never a mark o' feet! + +She crap for days aboot the hoose, + Dull-futtit and hert-sair, +Aye keekin oot like a hungert moose-- + But Johnnie was na there! + +Lang or the spring begoud to thow + The waesome, sick-faced snaw, +Her hert was saft a' throu and throu, + Her pride had ta'en a fa'. + +And whan the wreaths war halflins gane, + And the sun was blinkin bonnie, +Oot ower the hill she wud gang her lane + To speir aboot her Johnnie. + +Half ower, she cam intil a lair + O' snaw and slush and weet: +The Lord hae mercy! what's that there? + It was Johnnie at her feet. + +Aneth the snaw his heid was smorit, + But his breist was maistly bare, +And twixt his richt ban' and his hert + Lay a lock o' gouden hair. + +The warm win' blew, the blackcock flew, + The lerrick muntit the skies; +The burnie ran, and a baein began, + But Johnnie wudna rise. + +The sun was clear, the lift was blue, + The winter was awa; +Up cam the green gerse plentifu, + The better for the snaw; + +And warm it happit Johnnie's grave + Whaur the ae lock gouden lay; +But on Elsie's hingin heid the lave + Was afore the barley gray. + + + +_HALLOWEEN_. + +Sweep up the flure, Janet; + Put on anither peat. +It's a lown and a starry nicht, Janet, + And nowther cauld nor weet. + +It's the nicht atween the Sancts and Souls + Whan the bodiless gang aboot; +And it's open hoose we keep the nicht + For ony that may be oot. + +Set the cheirs back to the wa', Janet; + Mak ready for quaiet fowk. +Hae a'thing as clean as a windin-sheet: + They comena ilka ook. + +There's a spale upo' the flure, Janet, + And there's a rowan-berry! +Sweep them intil the fire, Janet, + Or they'll neither come nor tarry. + +Syne set open the outer dure-- + Wide open for wha kens wha? +As ye come ben to your bed, Janet, + Set baith dures to the wa'. + +She set the cheirs back to the wa', + But ane that was o' the birk; +She sweepit the flure, but left the spale-- + A lang spale o' the aik. + +The nicht was lown; the stars sae still + War glintin doon the sky; +The souls crap oot o' their mooly graves, + A' dank wi' lyin by. + +They faund the dure wide to the wa', + And the peats blawn rosy reid: +They war shuneless feet gaed in and oot, + Nor clampit as they gaed. + +The mither she keekit but the hoose, + Saw what she ill could say; +Quakin she slidit doon by Janet, + And gaspin a whilie she lay. + +There's are o' them sittin afore the fire! + Ye wudna hearken to me! +Janet, ye left a cheir by the fire, + Whaur I tauld ye nae cheir suld be! + +Janet she smilit in her minnie's face: + She had brunt the roden reid, +But she left aneth the birken cheir + The spale frae a coffin-lid! + +Saft she rase and gaed but the hoose, + And ilka dure did steik. +Three hours gaed by, and her minnie heard + Sound o' the deid nor quick. + +Whan the gray cock crew, she heard on the flure + The fa' o' shuneless feet; +Whan the rud cock crew, she heard the dure, + And a sough o' win' and weet. + +Whan the goud cock crew, Janet cam back; + Her face it was gray o' ble; +Wi' starin een, at her mither's side + She lay doon like a bairn to dee. + +Her white lips hadna a word to lat fa' + Mair nor the soulless deid; +Seven lang days and nights she lay, + And never a word she said. + +Syne suddent, as oot o' a sleep, she brade, + Smilin richt winsumly; +And she spak, but her word it was far and strayit, + Like a whisper come ower the sea. + +And never again did they hear her lauch, + Nor ever a tear doun ran; +But a smile aye flittit aboot her face + Like the mune on a water wan. + +And ilka nicht atween Sancts and Souls + She laid the dures to the wa', +Blew up the fire, and set the cheir, + And loot the spale doon fa'. + +And at midnicht she gaed but the hoose + Aye steekin dure and dure. +Whan the goud cock crew, quaiet as a moose + She cam creepin ower the flure. + +Mair wan grew her face, and her smile mair sweet + Quhill the seventh Halloweve: +Her mother she heard the shuneless feet, + Said--She'll be ben belyve! + +She camna ben. Her minnie rase-- + For fear she 'maist cudna stan; +She grippit the wa', and but she gaed, + For the goud cock lang had crawn. + +There sat Janet upo' the birk cheir, + White as the day did daw; +But her smile was a sunglint left on the sea + Whan the sun himsel is awa. + + + +_THE LAVEROCK_. + +_The Man says:_ + +Laverock i' the lift, +Hae ye nae sang-thrift, +'At ye scatter 't sae heigh, and lat it a' drift? + Wasterfu laverock! + +Dinna ye ken +'At ye hing ower men +Wha haena a sang or a penny to spen? + Hertless laverock! + +But up there you, +I' the bow o' the blue, +Haud skirlin on as gien a' war new! + Toom-heidit laverock! + +Haith, ye're ower blythe! +I see a great scythe +Swing whaur yer nestie lies, doon i' the lythe, + Liltin laverock! + +Eh, sic a soun! +Birdie, come doun, +Ye're fey to sing sic a merry tune! + Gowkit laverock! + +Come to yer nest; +Yer wife's sair prest, +She's clean worn oot wi' duin her best! + Rovin laverock! + +Winna ye haud? +Ye're surely mad! +Is there naebody there to gie ye a dad, + Menseless laverock? + +Come doon and conform, +Pyke an honest worm, +And hap yer bairns frae the comin storm, + Spendrife laverock! + +_The Bird sings:_ + + My nestie it lieth + I' the how o' a ban'; + The swing o' the scythe + 'Ill miss 't by a span. + + The lift it's sae cheery! + The win' it's sae free! + I hing ower my dearie, + And sing 'cause I see. + + My wifie's wee breistie + Grows warm wi' my sang, + And ilk crumpled-up beastie + Kens no to think lang. + + Up here the sun sings, but + He only shines there! + Ye haena nae wings, but + Come up on a prayer. + +_The man sings:_ + + Ye wee daurin cratur, + Ye rant and ye sing + Like an oye o' auld Natur + Ta'en hame by the king! + + Ye wee feathert priestie, + Yer bells i' yer thro't, + Yer altar yer breistie, + Yer mitre forgot-- + + Offerin and Aaron, + Ye burn hert and brain; + And dertin and daurin, + Flee back to yer ain! + + Ye wee minor prophet, + It's 'maist my belief + 'At I'm doon in Tophet, + And you abune grief! + + Ye've deavt me and daudit + And ca'd me a fule: + I'm nearhan' persuaudit + To gang to your schule! + + For, birdie, I'm thinkin + Ye ken mair nor me-- + Gien ye haena been drinkin, + And sing as ye see. + + Ye maun hae a sicht 'at + Sees gay and far ben, + And a hert, for the micht o' 't, + Wad sair for nine men! + +There's somebody's been til +Roun saft to ye wha +Said birdies are seen til, +And e'en whan they fa'! + + + +_GODLY BALLANTS_. + +I.--THIS SIDE AN' THAT. + +The rich man sat in his father's seat-- + Purple an' linen, an' a'thing fine! +The puir man lay at his yett i' the street-- + Sairs an' tatters, an' weary pine! + +To the rich man's table ilk dainty comes, + Mony a morsel gaed frae't, or fell; +The puir man fain wud hae dined on the crumbs, + But whether he got them I canna tell. + +Servants prood, saft-fittit, an' stoot, + Stan by the rich man's curtained doors; +Maisterless dogs 'at rin aboot + Cam to the puir man an' lickit his sores. + +The rich man deeit, an' they buried him gran', + In linen fine his body they wrap; +But the angels tuik up the beggar man, + An' layit him doun in Abraham's lap. + +The guid upo' this side, the ill upo' that-- + Sic was the rich man's waesome fa'! +But his brithers they eat, an' they drink, an' they chat, + An' carena a strae for their Father's ha'! + +The trowth's the trowth, think what ye will; + An' some they kenna what they wad be at; +But the beggar man thoucht he did no that ill, + Wi' the dogs o' this side, the angels o' that! + +II.--THE TWA BAUBEES. + +Stately, lang-robit, an' steppin at ease, + The rich men gaed up the temple ha'; +Hasty, an' grippin her twa baubees, +The widow cam efter, booit an' sma'. + +Their goud rang lood as it fell, an' lay + Yallow an' glintin, bonnie an' braw; +But the fowk roun the Maister h'ard him say + The puir body's baubees was mair nor it a'. + +III.--WHA'S MY NEIBOUR? + +Doon frae Jerus'lem a traveller took + The laigh road to Jericho; +It had an ill name an' mony a crook, + It was lang an' unco how. + +Oot cam the robbers, an' fell o' the man, + An' knockit him o' the heid, +Took a' whauron they couth lay their han', + An' left him nakit for deid. + +By cam a minister o' the kirk: + "A sair mishanter!" he cried; +"Wha kens whaur the villains may lirk! + I s' haud to the ither side!" + +By cam an elder o' the kirk; + Like a young horse he shied: +"Fie! here's a bonnie mornin's wark!" + An' he spangt to the ither side. + +By cam ane gaed to the wrang kirk; + Douce he trottit alang. +"Puir body!" he cried, an' wi' a yerk + Aff o' his cuddy he sprang. + +He ran to the body, an' turnt it ower: + "There's life i' the man!" he cried. +_He_ wasna ane to stan an' glower, + Nor hand to the ither side! + +He doctort his oons, an' heised him then + To the back o' the beastie douce; +An' he heild him on till, twa weary men, + They wan to the half-way hoose. + +He ten'd him a' nicht, an' o' the morn did say, + "Lan'lord, latna him lack; +Here's auchteen pence!--an' ony mair ootlay + I'll sattle 't as I come back." + +Sae tak til ye, neibours; read aricht the word; + It's a portion o' God's ain spell! +"Wha is my neibour?" speirna the Lord, + But, "Am I a neibour?" yersel. + +IV.--HIM WI' THE BAG. + +Ance was a woman wha's hert was gret; + Her love was sae dumb it was 'maist a grief; +She brak the box--it's tellt o' her yet-- + The bonny box for her hert's relief. + +Ane was there wha's tale's but brief, + Yet was ower lang, the gait he cawed; +He luikit a man, and was but a thief, + Michty the gear to grip and hand. + +"What guid," he cried, "sic a boxfu to blaud? + Wilfu waste I couth never beir! +It micht hae been sellt for ten poun, I wad-- + Sellt for ten poun, and gien to the puir!" + +Savin he was, but for love o' the gear; + Carefu he was, but a' for himsel; +He carried the bag to his hert sae near + What fell i' the ane i' the ither fell. + +And the strings o' his hert hingit doun to hell, + They war pu'd sae ticht aboot the mou; +And hence it comes that I hae to tell + The warst ill tale that ever was true. + +The hert that's greedy maun mischief brew, + And the deils pu'd the strings doon yon'er in hell; +And he sauld, or the agein mune was new, + For thirty shillins the Maister himsel! + +Gear i' the hert it's a canker fell: + Brithers, latna the siller ben! +Troth, gien ye du, I warn ye ye'll sell + The verra Maister or ever ye ken! + +V.--THE COORSE CRATUR. + + The Lord gaed wi' a crood o' men + Throu Jericho the bonny; + 'Twas ill the Son o' Man to ken + Mang sons o' men sae mony: + + The wee bit son o' man Zacchay + To see the Maister seekit; + He speilt a fig-tree, bauld an' shy, + An' sae his shortness ekit. + + But as he thoucht to see his back, + Roun turnt the haill face til 'im, + Up luikit straucht, an' til 'im spak-- + His hert gaed like to kill 'im. + + "Come doun, Zacchay; bestir yersel; + This nicht I want a lodgin." + Like a ripe aipple 'maist he fell, + Nor needit ony nudgin. + + But up amang the unco guid + There rase a murmurin won'er: + "This is a deemis want o' heed, + The man's a special sinner!" + + Up spak Zacchay, his hert ableeze: + "Half mine, the puir, Lord, hae it; + Gien oucht I've taen by ony lees, + Fourfauld again I pay it!" + + Then Jesus said, "This is a man! + His hoose I'm here to save it; + He's are o' Abraham's ain clan, + An' siclike has behavit! + + I cam the lost to seek an' win."-- + Zacchay was are he wantit: + To ony man that left his sin + His grace he never scantit. + + + +_THE DEIL'S FORHOOIT HIS AIN_. + + _The Deil's forhooit his ain, his ain! + The Deil's forhooit his ain! + His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk, + For the Deil's forhooit his ain._ + +The Deil he tuik his stick and his hat, + And his yallow gluves on he drew: +"The coal's sae dear, and the preachin sae flat. + And I canna be aye wi' you!" + + _The Deil's, &c._ + +"But I'll gie ye my blessin afore I gang, + Wi' jist ae word o' advice; +And gien onything efter that gaes wrang + It'll be yer ain wull and ch'ice! + +"Noo hark: There's diseases gaein aboot, + Whiles are, and whiles a' thegither! +Ane's ca'd Repentance--haith, hand it oot! + It comes wi' a change o' weather. + +"For that, see aye 'at ye're gude at the spune + And tak yer fair share o' the drink; +Gien ye dinna, I wadna won'er but sune + Ye micht 'maist begin to think! + +"Neist, luik efter yer liver; that's the place + Whaur Conscience gars ye fin'! +Some fowk has mair o' 't, and some has less-- + It comes o' breedin in. + +"But there's waur nor diseases gaein aboot, + There's a heap o' fair-spoken lees; +And there's naething i' natur, in or oot, + 'At waur with the health agrees. + +"There's what they ca' Faith, 'at wad aye be fain; + And Houp that glowers, and tynes a'; +And Love, that never yet faund its ain, + But aye turnt its face to the wa'. + +"And Trouth--the sough o' a sickly win'; + And Richt--what needna be; +And Beauty--nae deeper nor the skin; + And Blude--that's naething but bree. + +"But there's ae gran' doctor for a' and mair-- + For diseases and lees in a breath:-- +My bairns, I lea' ye wi'oot a care + To yer best freen, Doctor Death. + +"He'll no distress ye: as quaiet's a cat + He grips ye, and a'thing's ower; +There's naething mair 'at ye wad be at, + There's never a sweet nor sour! + +"They ca' 't a sleep, but it's better bliss, + For ye wauken up no more; +They ca' 't a mansion--and sae it is, + And the coffin-lid's the door! + +"Jist ae word mair---and it's _verbum sat_-- + I hae preacht it mony's the year: +Whaur there's naething ava to be frictit at + There's naething ava to fear. + +"I dinna say 'at there isna a hell-- + To lee wad be a disgrace! +I bide there whan I'm at hame mysel, + And it's no sic a byous ill place! + +"Ye see yon blue thing they ca' the lift? + It's but hell turnt upside doun, +A whummilt bossie, whiles fou o' drift, + And whiles o' a rumlin soun! + +"Lat auld wives tell their tales i' the reek, + Men hae to du wi' fac's: +There's naebody there to watch, and keek + Intil yer wee mistaks. + +"But nor ben there's naebody there + Frae the yird to the farthest spark; +Ye'll rub the knees o' yer breeks to the bare + Afore ye'll pray ye a sark! + +"Sae fare ye weel, my bonny men, + And weel may ye thrive and the! +Gien I dinna see ye some time again + It'll be 'at ye're no to see." + +He cockit his hat ower ane o' his cheeks, + And awa wi' a halt and a spang-- +For his tail was doun ae leg o' his breeks, + And his butes war a half ower lang. + + _The Deil's forhooit his ain, his ain! + The Deil's forhooit his ain! + His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk, + For the Deil's forhooit his ain._ + + + +_THE AULD FISHER_. + +There was an auld fisher, he sat by the wa', + An' luikit oot ower the sea; +The bairnies war playin, he smil't on them a', + But the tear stude in his e'e. + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! + An' it's, oh to win awa +Whaur the bairns come hame, an' the wives they bide, + An' God is the father o' a'!_ + +Jocky an' Jeamy an' Tammy oot there + A' i' the boatie gaed doon; +An' I'm ower auld to fish ony mair, + Sae I hinna the chance to droon! + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! &c._ + +An' Jeannie she grat to ease her hert, + An' she easit hersel awa; +But I'm ower auld for the tears to stert, + An' sae the sighs maun blaw. + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! &c._ + +Lord, steer me hame whaur my Lord has steerit, + For I'm tired o' life's rockin sea; +An' dinna be lang, for I'm growin that fearit + 'At I'm ablins ower auld to dee! + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! + An' it's, oh to win awa +Whaur the bairns come hame, an' the wives they bide, + An' God is the father o' a'!_ + + + +_THE HERD AND THE MAVIS_. + +"What gars ye sing," said the herd-laddie, + "What gars ye sing sae lood?" +"To tice them oot o' the yerd, laddie, + The worms for my daily food." + + _An' aye he sang, an' better he sang, + An' the worms creepit in an' oot; + An' ane he tuik, an' twa he loot gang, + An' still he carolled stoot._ + +"It's no for the worms, sir," said the herd; + "They comena for your sang!" +"Think ye sae, sir?" answered the bird, + "Maybe ye're no i' the wrang!" + + _But aye &c._ + +"Sing ye young Sorrow to beguile, + Or to gie auld Fear the flegs?" +"Na," quo' the mavis, "I sing to wile + My wee things oot o' her eggs." + + _An' aye &c._ + +"The mistress is plenty for that same gear + Though ye sangna air nor late!" +"I wud draw the deid frae the moul sae drear. + An' open the kirkyard-gate." + + _An' aye &c._ + +"Better ye sing nor a burn i' the mune, + Nor a wave ower san' that flows, +Nor a win' wi' the glintin stars abune, + An' aneth the roses in rows; + + _An' aye &c._ + +But a better sang it wud tak nor yer ain, + Though ye hae o' notes a feck, +To mak the auld Barebanes there sae fain + As to lift the muckle sneck! + + _An' aye &c._ + +An' ye wudna draw ae bairnie back + Frae the arms o' the bonny man +Though its minnie was greitin alas an' alack, + An' her cries to the bairnie wan! + + _An' aye &c._ + +An' I'll speir ye nae mair, sir," said the herd, + "I fear what ye micht say neist!" +"I doobt ye wud won'er, sir," said the bird, + "To see the thouchts i' my breist!" + + _An' aye he sang, an' better he sang, + An' the worms creepit in an' oot; + An' ane he tuik, an' twa he loot gang, + An' still he carolled stoot._ + + + +_A LOWN NICHT_. + +Rose o' my hert, + Open yer leaves to the lampin mune; +Into the curls lat her keek an' dert, + She'll tak the colour but gie ye tune. + +Buik o' my brain, + Open yer faulds to the starry signs; +Lat the e'en o' the holy luik an' strain, + Lat them glimmer an' score atween the lines. + +Cup o' my soul, + Goud an' diamond an' ruby cup, +Ye're noucht ava but a toom dry bowl + Till the wine o' the kingdom fill ye up. + +Conscience-glass, + Mirror the en'less All in thee; +Melt the boundered and make it pass + Into the tideless, shoreless sea. + +Warl o' my life, + Swing thee roun thy sunny track; +Fire an' win' an' water an' strife, + Carry them a' to the glory back. + + + +_THE HOME OF DEATH_. + +"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" +"I bide in ilka breath," +Quo' Death; +"No i' the pyramids, +No whaur the wormie rids +'Neth coffin-lids; +I bidena whaur life has been, +An' whaur's nae mair to be dune." + +"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" +"Wi' the leevin, to dee 'at are laith," +Quo' Death; +"Wi' the man an' the wife +'At loo like life, +Bot strife; +Wi' the bairns 'at hing to their mither, +Wi' a' 'at loo ane anither." + +"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" +"Abune an' aboot an' aneth," +Quo' Death; +"But o' a' the airts +An' o' a' the pairts, +In herts-- +Whan the tane to the tither says, Na, +An' the north win' begins to blaw." + + + +_TRIOLET_. + +I'm a puir man I grant, +But I am weel neiboured; +And nane shall me daunt +Though a puir man, I grant; +For I shall not want-- +The Lord is my Shepherd! +I'm a puir man I grant, +But I am weel neiboured! + + + +_WIN' THAT 'BLAWS_. + +Win' that blaws the simmer plaid +Ower the hie hill's shoothers laid, +Green wi' gerse, an' reid wi' heather-- +Welcome wi' yer sowl-like weather! +Mony a win' there has been sent +Oot aneth the firmament-- +Ilka ane its story has; +Ilka ane began an' was; +Ilka ane fell quaiet an' mute +Whan its angel wark was oot: +First gaed are oot throu the mirk +Whan the maker gan to work; +Ower it gaed an' ower the sea, +An' the warl begud to be. +Mony are has come an' gane +Sin' the time there was but ane: +Ane was grit an' strong, an' rent +Rocks an' muntains as it went +Afore the Lord, his trumpeter, +Waukin up the prophet's ear; +Ane was like a stepping soun +I' the mulberry taps abune-- +Them the Lord's ain steps did swing, +Walkin on afore his king; +Ane lay dune like scoldit pup +At his feet, an' gatna up-- +Whan the word the Maister spak +Drave the wull-cat billows back; +Ane gaed frae his lips, an' dang +To the yird the sodger thrang; +Ane comes frae his hert to mine +Ilka day to mak it fine. +Breath o' God, eh! come an' blaw +Frae my hert ilk fog awa; +Wauk me up an' mak me strang, +Fill my hert wi' mony a sang, +Frae my lips again to stert +Fillin sails o' mony a hert, +Blawin them ower seas dividin +To the only place to bide in. + + + +_A SONG OF HOPE_. + +I dinna ken what's come ower me! + There's a how whaur ance was a hert! +I never luik oot afore me, + An' a cry winna gar me stert; +There's naething nae mair to come ower me, + Blaw the win' frae ony airt! + +For i' yon kirkyard there's a hillock, + A hert whaur ance was a how; +An' o' joy there's no left a mealock-- + Deid aiss whaur ance was a low! +For i' yon kirkyard, i' the hillock, + Lies a seed 'at winna grow. + +It's my hert 'at hauds up the wee hillie-- + That's hoo there's a how i' my breist; +It's awa doon there wi' my Willie-- + Gaed wi' him whan he was releast; +It's doon i' the green-grown hillie, + But I s' be efter it neist! + +Come awa, nicht an' mornin, + Come ooks, years, a' Time's clan: +Ye're welcome: I'm no a bit scornin! + Tak me til him as fest as ye can. +Come awa, nicht an' mornin, + Ye are wings o' a michty span! + +For I ken he's luikin an' waitin, + Luikin aye doon as I clim; +An' I'll no hae him see me sit greitin + I'stead o' gaein to him! +I'll step oot like ane sure o' a meetin, + I'll travel an' rin to him. + + + +_THE BURNIE_. + +The water ran doon frae the heich hope-heid, + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_; +It wimpled, an' waggled, an' sang a screed + O' nonsense, an' wadna blin + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_. + +Frae the hert o' the warl, wi' a swirl an' a sway, + _An' a Rin, burnie, rin_, +That water lap clear frae the dark til the day, + An' singin awa did spin, + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_. + +Ae wee bit mile frae the heich hope-heid + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_, +Mang her yows an' her lammies the herd-lassie stude, + An' she loot a tear fa' in, + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_. + +Frae the hert o' the maiden that tear-drap rase + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_; +Wear'ly clim'in up weary ways + There was but a drap to fa' in, + Sae laith did that burnie rin. + +Twa wee bit miles frae the heich hope-heid + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_, +Doon creepit a cowerin streakie o' reid, + An' it meltit awa within + The burnie 'at aye did rin. + +Frae the hert o' a youth cam the tricklin reid, + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_; +It ran an' ran till it left him deid, + An' syne it dried up i' the win': + That burnie nae mair did rin. + +Whan the wimplin burn that frae three herts gaed + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_, +Cam to the lip o' the sea sae braid, + It curled an' groued wi' pain o' sin-- + But it tuik that burnie in. + + + +_HAME_. + +The warl it's dottit wi' hames + As thick as gowans o' the green, +Aye bonnier ilk ane nor the lave + To him wha there opent his een. + +An' mony an' bonny's the hame + That lies neth auld Scotlan's crests, +Her hills an' her mountains they are the sides + O' a muckle nest o' nests. + +His lies i' the dip o' a muir + Wi' a twa three elder trees, +A lanely cot wi' a sough o' win', + An' a simmer bum o' bees; + +An' mine in a bloomin strath, + Wi' a river rowin by, +Wi' the green corn glintin i' the sun, + An' a lowin o' the kye; + +An' yours whaur the chimleys auld + Stan up i' the gloamin pale +Wi' the line o' a gran' sierra drawn + On the lift as sharp's wi' a nail. + +But whether by ingle-neuk + On a creepie ye sookit yer thumb, +Dreamin, an' watchin the blue peat-reek + Wamle oot up the muckle lum, + +Or yer wee feet sank i' the fur + Afore a bleezin hearth, +Wi' the curtains drawn, shuttin oot the toon-- + Aberdeen, Auld Reekie, or Perth, + +It's a naething, nor here nor there; + Leal Scots are a'ane thegither! +Ilk ane has a hame, an' it's a' the same + Whether in clover or heather! + +An' the hert aye turns to the hame-- + That's whaur oor ain folk wons; +An' gien hame binna hame, the hert bauds ayont + Abune the stars an' the suns. + +For o' a' the hames there's a hame + Herty an' warm an' wide, +Whaur a' that maks hame ower the big roun earth + Gangs til its hame to bide. + + + +_THE SANG O' THE AULD FOWK._ + +Doon cam the sunbeams, and up gaed the stour, +As we spangt ower the road at ten mile the hoor, +The horse wasna timmer, the cart wasna strae, +And little cared we for the burn or the brae. + +We war young, and the hert in's was strang i' the loup, +And deeper in yet was the courage and houp; +The sun was gey aft in a clood, but the heat +Cam throu, and dried saftly the doon fa'en weet. + +Noo, the horsie's some tired, but the road's nae sae lang; +The sun comes na oot, but he's no in a fang: +The nicht's comin on, but hame's no far awa; +We hae come a far road, but hae payit for a'. + +For ane has been wi' us--and sometimes 'maist seen, +Wha's cared for us better nor a' oor four e'en; +He's cared for the horsie, the man, and the wife, +And we're gaein hame to him for the rest o' oor life. + +Doon comes the water, and up gangs nae stour; +We creep ower the road at twa mile the hoor; +But oor herts they are canty, for ane's to the fore +Wha was and wha is and will be evermore. + + + +_THE AULD MAN'S PRAYER_ + +Lord, I'm an auld man, + An' I'm deein! +An' do what I can + I canna help bein +Some feart at the thoucht! +I'm no what I oucht! +An' thou art sae gran', +Me but an auld man! + +I haena gotten muckle + Guid o' the warld; +Though siller a puckle + Thegither I hae harlt, +Noo I maun be rid o' 't, +The ill an' the guid o' 't! +An' I wud--I s' no back frae 't-- +Rather put til 't nor tak frae 't! + +It's a pity a body + Coudna haud on here, +Puttin cloddy to cloddy + Till he had a bit lan' here!-- +But eh I'm forgettin +Whaur the tide's settin! +It'll pusion my prayer +Till it's no worth a hair! + +It's awfu, it's awfu + To think 'at I'm gaein +Whaur a' 's ower wi' the lawfu, + Whaur's an en' til a' haein! +It's gruesome to en' +The thing 'at ye ken, +An' gang to begin til +What ye canna see intil! + +Thou may weel turn awa, + Lord, an' say it's a shame +'At noo I suld ca' + On thy licht-giein name +Wha my lang life-time +Wud no see a stime! +An' the fac' there's no fleein-- +But hae pity--I'm deein! + +I'm thine ain efter a'-- + The waur shame I'm nae better! +Dinna sen' me awa, + Dinna curse a puir cratur! +I never jist cheatit-- +I own I defeatit, +Gart his poverty tell +On him 'at maun sell! + +Oh that my probation + Had lain i' some region +Whaur was less consideration + For gear mixt wi' religion! +It's the mixin the twa +'At jist ruins a'! +That kirk's the deil's place +Whaur gear glorifees grace! + +I hae learnt nought but ae thing + 'At life's but a span! +I hae warslet for naething! + I hae noucht i' my han'! +At the fut o' the stairs +I'm sayin my prayers:-- +Lord, lat the auld loon +Confess an' lie doon. + +I hae been an ill man-- + Micht hae made a guid dog! +I could rin though no stan-- + Micht hae won throu a bog! +But 't was ower easy gaein, +An' I set me to playin! +Dinna sen' me awa +Whaur's no licht ava! + +Forgie me an' hap me! + I hae been a sharp thorn. +But, oh, dinna drap me! + I'll be coothie the morn! +To my brither John +Oh, lat me atone-- +An' to mair I cud name +Gien I'd time to tak blame! + +I hae wullt a' my gear + To my cousin Lippit: +She needs 't no a hair, + An' wud haud it grippit! +But I'm thinkin 't 'll be better +To gie 't a bit scatter +Whaur it winna canker +But mak a bit anchor! + +Noo I s'try to sit loose + To the warld an' its thrang! +Lord, come intil my hoose, + For Sathan sall gang! +Awa here I sen' him-- +Oh, haud the hoose agane him, +Or thou kens what he'll daur-- +He'll be back wi' seven waur! + +Lord, I knock at thy yett! + I hear the dog yowlin! +Lang latna me wait-- + My conscience is growlin! +Whaur but to thee +Wha was broken for me, +But to thee, Lord, sae gran', +Can flee an auld man! + + + +_GRANNY CANTY._ + +"What maks ye sae canty, granny dear? +Has some kin' body been for ye to speir? +Ye luik as smilin an' fain an' willin +As gien ye had fun a bonny shillin!" + +"Ye think I luik canty, my bonny man, +Sittin watchin the last o' the sun sae gran'? +Weel, an' I'm thinkin ye're no that wrang, +For 'deed i' my hert there's a wordless sang! + +"Ken ye the meanin o' _canty_, my dow? +It's bein i' the humour o' singin, I trow! +An' though nae sang ever crosses my lips +I'm aye like to sing whan anither sun dips. + +"For the time, wee laddie, the time grows lang +Sin' I saw the man wha's sicht was my sang-- +Yer gran'father, that's--an' the sun's last glim +Says aye to me, 'Lass, ye're a mile nearer him! + +"For he's hame afore me, an' lang's the road! +He fain at my side wud hae timed his plod, +But, eh, he was sent for, an' hurried awa! +Noo, I'm thinkin he's harkin to hear my fit-fa'." + +"But, grannie, yer face is sae lirkit an' thin, +Wi' a doun-luikin nose an' an up-luikin chin, +An' a mou clumpit up oot o' sicht atween, +Like the witherin half o' an auld weary mune!" + +"Hoot, laddie, ye needna glower yersel blin'! +The body 'at loos, sees far throu the skin; +An', believe me or no, the hoor's comin amain +Whan ugly auld fowk 'ill be bonny again. + +"For there is _ane_--an' it's no my dear man, +Though I loo him as nane but a wife's hert can-- +The joy o' beholdin wha's gran' lovely face +Til mak me like him in a' 'at's ca'd grace. + +"But what I am like I carena a strae +Sae lang as I'm _his_, an' what _he_ wud hae! +Be ye a guid man, John, an' ae day ye'll ken +What maks granny canty yont four score an' ten." + + + +_TIME_. + +A lang-backit, spilgie, fuistit auld carl +Gangs a' nicht rakin athort the warl +Wi' a pock on his back, luikin hungry an' lean, +His crook-fingert han' aye followin his e'en: +He gathers up a'thing that canna but fa'-- +Intil his bag wi' 't, an' on, an' awa! +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw!-- +Intil his bag wi' 't, an' on, an' awa! + +But whan he comes to the wa' o' the warl, +Spangs up it, like lang-leggit spidder, the carl; +Up gangs his pock wi' him, humpit ahin, +For naething fa's oot 'at ance he pat in; +Syne he warstles doon ootside the flamin wa', +His bag 'maist the deith o' him, pangt like a ba'; +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw! +His bag 'maist throttlin him, pangt like a ba'! + +Doon he draps weary upon a laigh rock, +Flingin aside him his muckle-mou'd pock: +An' there he sits, his heid in his han', +Like a broken-hertit, despairin man; +Him air his pock no bonny, na, na! +Him an' his pock an ugsome twa! +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw! +Him an' his pock an ugsome twa! + +But sune 's the first ray o' the sunshine bare +Lichts on the carl, what see ye there? +An angel set on eternity's brink, +Wi' e'en to gar the sun himsel blink; +By his side a glintin, glimmerin urn, +Furth frae wha's mou rins a liltin burn:-- +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw! +The dirt o' the warl rins in glory awa! + + + +_WHAT THE AULD FOWK ARE THINKIN_. + +The bairns i' their beds, worn oot wi' nae wark, + Are sleepin, nor ever an eelid winkin; +The auld fowk lie still wi' their een starin stark, + An' the mirk pang-fou o' the things they are thinkin. + +Whan oot o' ilk corner the bairnies they keek, + Lauchin an' daffin, airms loosin an' linkin, +The auld fowk they watch frae the warm ingle-cheek, + But the bairns little think what the auld fowk are thinkin. + +Whan the auld fowk sit quaiet at the reet o' a stook, + I' the sunlicht their washt een blinterin an' blinkin, +Fowk scythin, or bin'in, or shearin wi' heuk + Carena a strae what the auld fowk are thinkin. + +At the kirk, whan the minister's dreich an' dry, + His fardens as gien they war gowd guineas chinkin, +An' the young fowk are noddin, or fidgetin sly, + Naebody kens what the auld fowk are thinkin. + +Whan the young fowk are greitin aboot the bed + Whaur like water throu san' the auld life is sinkin, +An' some wud say the last word was said, + The auld fowk smile, an' ken what they're thinkin. + + + +_GREITNA, FATHER_. + +Greitna, father, that I'm gauin, + For fu' well ye ken the gaet; +I' the winter, corn ye're sawin, + I' the hairst again ye hae't. + +I'm gauin hame to see my mither; + She'll be weel acquant or this! +Sair we'll muse at ane anither + 'Tween the auld word an' new kiss! + +Love I'm doobtin may be scanty + Roun ye efter I'm awa: +Yon kirkyard has happin plenty + Close aside me, green an' braw! + +An' abune there's room for mony; + 'Twasna made for ane or twa, +But was aye for a' an' ony + Countin love the best ava. + +There nane less ye'll be my father; + Auld names we'll nor tyne nor spare! +A' my sonship I maun gather + For the Son is king up there. + +Greitna, father, that I'm gauin, + For ye ken fu' well the gaet! +Here, in winter, cast yer sawin, + There, in hairst, again ye hae't! + + + +_I KEN SOMETHING._ + +What gars ye sing sae, birdie, + As gien ye war lord o' the lift? +On breid ye're an unco sma' lairdie, + But in hicht ye've a kingly gift! + +A' ye hae to coont yersel rich in + 'S a wee mawn o' glory-motes! +The whilk to the throne ye're aye hitchin + Wi a lang tow o' sapphire notes! + +Ay, yer sang's the sang o' an angel + For a sinfu' thrapple no meet, +Like the pipes til a heavenly braingel + Whaur they dance their herts intil their feet! + +But though ye canna behaud, birdie, + Ye needna gar a'thing wheesht! +I'm noucht but a hirplin herdie, + But I hae a sang i' my breist! + +Len' me yer throat to sing throu, + Len' me yer wings to gang hie, +And I'll sing ye a sang a laverock to cow, + And for bliss to gar him dee! + + + +_MIRLS_. + +The stars are steady abune; + I' the water they flichter and flee; +But, steady aye, luikin doon + They ken theirsels i' the sea. + +A' licht, and clear, and free, + God, thou shinest abune; +Yet luik, and see thysel in me, + Aye on me luikin doon. + + * * * * * + +Throu the heather an' how gaed the creepin thing, +But abune was the waff o' an angel's wing. + + * * * * * + +Hither an' thither, here an' awa, +Into the dub ye maunna fa'; +Oot o' the dub wad ye come wi' speed, +Ye maun lift yer han's abune yer heid. + + * * * * * + +Whaur's nor sun nor mune, +Laigh things come abune. + + * * * * * + +My thouchts are like worms in a starless gloamin + My hert's like a sponge that's fillit wi' gall; +My soul's like a bodiless ghaist sent a roamin + I' the haar an' the mirk till the trumpet call. + +Lord, turn ilk worm til a butterflee, + Wring oot my hert, an' fill 't frae thy ain; +My soul syne in patience its weird will dree, + An' luik for the mornin throu the rain. + + +THE END. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetical Works of George MacDonald, +Vol. 2, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS, G. 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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: + + https://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. diff --git a/9984-8.zip b/9984-8.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..27e0e81 --- /dev/null +++ b/9984-8.zip diff --git a/9984.txt b/9984.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..289532e --- /dev/null +++ b/9984.txt @@ -0,0 +1,16608 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetical Works of George MacDonald, Vol. 2, by +George MacDonald + +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: Poetical Works of George MacDonald, Vol. 2 + +Author: George MacDonald + +Posting Date: December 7, 2011 [EBook #9984] +Release Date: February, 2006 +First Posted: November 5, 2003 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS, G. MACDONALD, VOL 2 *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jonathan Ingram, Charles M. +Bidwell and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + + + + + + + +THE POETICAL WORKS OF + +GEORGE MACDONALD + +IN TWO VOLUMES + +VOL. 2 + + + CONTENTS. + +PARABLES-- + The Man of Songs + The Hills + The Journey + The Tree's Prayer + Were I a Skilful Painter + Far and Near + My Room + Death and Birth + Love's Ordeal + The Lost Soul + The Three Horses + The Golden Key + Somnium Mystici + The Sangreal + The Failing Track + Tell Me + Brother Artist + After an Old Legend + A Meditation of St Eligius + The Early Bird + Sir Lark and King Sun + The Owl and the Bell + A Mammon-Marriage + A Song in the Night + Love's History + The Lark and the Wind + A Dead House + Bell upon Organ + Master and Boy + The Clock of the Universe + The Thorn in the Flesh + Lycabas + +BALLADS-- + The Unseen Model + The Homeless Ghost + Abu Midjan + The Thankless Lady + Legend of the Corrievrechan + The Dead Hand + + +MINOR DITTIES-- + In the Night + The Giver + False Prophets + Life-Weary + Approaches + Travellers' Song + Love is Strength + Coming + A Song of the Waiting Dead + Obedience + A Song in the Night + De Profundis + Blind Sorrow + +MOTES IN THE SUN-- + Angels + The Father's Worshippers + A Birthday-Wish + To Any One + Waiting + Lost but Safe + Much and More + Hope and Patience + A Better Thing + A Prisoner + To My Lord and Master + To One Unsatisfied + To My God + Triolet + The Word of God + Eine Kleine Predigt + To the Life Eternal + Hope Deferred + Forgiveness + Dejection + Appeal + +POEMS FOR CHILDREN-- + Lessons for a Child + What makes Summer? + Mother Nature + The Mistletoe + Professor Noctutus + Bird-Songs + Riddles + Baby + Up and Down + Up in the Tree + A Baby-Sermon + Little Bo-Peep + Little Boy Blue + Willie's Question + King Cole + Said and Did + Dr. Doddridge's Dog + The Girl that Lost Things + A Make-Believe + The Christmas Child + A Christmas Prayer + No End of No-Story + +A THREEFOLD CORD-- + Dedication + The Haunted House + In the Winter + Christmas Day, 1878 + The New Year + Two Rondels + Rondel + Song + Smoke + To a Certain Critic + Song + A Cry + From Home + To My Mother Earth + Thy Heart + 0 Lord, how Happy + No Sign + November, 1851 + Of One who Died in Spring + An Autumn Song + Triolet + I See Thee Not + A Broken Prayer + Come Down + A Mood + The Carpenter + The Old Garden + A Noonday Melody + Who Lights the Fire? + Who would have Thought? + On a December Day + Christmas Day, 1850 + To a February Primrose + In February + The True + The Dwellers Therein + Autumn's Gold + Punishment + Shew us the Father + The Pinafore + The Prism + Sleep + Sharing + In Bonds + Hunger + New Year's Eve: A Waking Dream + From North Wales: To the Mother + Come to Me + A Fear + The Lost House + The Talk of the Echoes + The Goal + The Healer + Oh that a Wind + A Vision of St. Eligius + Of the Son of Man + A Song-Sermon + Words in the Night + Consider the Ravens + The Wind of the World + Sabbath Bells + Fighting + After the Fashion of an Old Emblem + A Prayer in Sickness + Quiet Dead + Let your Light so Shine + Triolet + The Souls' Rising + Awake + To an Autograph-Hunter + With a Copy of "In Memoriam" + They are Blind + When the Storm was Proudest + The Diver + To the Clouds + Second Sight + Not Understood + Hom II. v. 403 + The Dawn + Galileo + Subsidy + The Prophet + The Watcher + The Beloved Disciple + The Lily of the Valley + Evil Influence + Spoken of several Philosophers + Nature a Moral Power + To June + Summer + On a Midge + Steadfast + Provision + First Sight of the Sea + On the Source of the Arve + Confidence + Fate + Unrest + One with Nature + My Two Geniuses + Sudden Calm + Thou Also + The Aurora Borealis + The Human + Written on a Stormy Night + Reverence waking Hope + Born of Water + To a Thunder-Cloud + Sun and Moon + Doubt heralding Vision + Life or Death? + Lost and Found + The Moon + Truth, not Form + God in Growth + In a Churchyard + Power + Death + That Holy Thing + From Novalis + What Man is there of You? + O Wind of God + Shall the Dead praise Thee? + A Year-Song + Song + For where your Treasure is, there will your Heart be also + The Asthmatic Man to the Satan that binds him + Song-Sermon + Shadows + A Winter Prayer + Song of a Poor Pilgrim + An Evening Prayer + Song-Sermon + A Dream-Song + Christmas, 1880 + Rondel + The Sparrow + December 23, 1879 + Song-Prayer + December 27, 1879 + Sunday, December 28, 1879 + Song-Sermon + The Donkey in the Cart to the Horse in the Carriage + Room to Roam + Cottage Songs-- + 1. By the Cradle + 2. Sweeping the Floor + 3. Washing the Clothes + 4. Drawing Water + 5. Cleaning the Windows + The Wind and the Moon + The Foolish Harebell + Song + An Improvisation + Equity + Contrition + The Consoler + To ------. + To a Sister + The Shortest and Sweetest of Songs + +SCOTS SONGS AND BALLADS-- + Annie she's Dowie + O Lassie ayont the Hill! + The bonny, bonny Dell + Nannie Braw + Ower the Hedge + Gaein and Comin + A Sang o' Zion + Time and Tide + The Waesome Carl + The Mermaid + The Yerl o' Waterydeck + The Twa Gordons + The Last Wooin + Halloween + The Laverock + Godly Ballants-- + 1. This Side an' That + 2. The Twa Baubees + 3. Wha's my Neibour? + 4. Him wi' the Bag + 5. The Coorse Cratur + The Deil's Forhooit his Ain + The Auld Fisher + The Herd and the Mavis + A Lown Nicht + The Home of Death + Triolet + Win' that Blaws + A Song of Hope + The Burnie + Hame + The Sang o' the Auld Fowk + The Auld Man's Prayer + Granny Canty + Time + What the Auld Fowk are Thinkin + Greitna, Father + I Ken Something + Mirls + + + + + PARABLES + + + +_THE MAN OF SONGS._ + +"Thou wanderest in the land of dreams, + O man of many songs! +To thee what is, but looks and seems; + No realm to thee belongs!" + +"Seest thou those mountains, faint and far, + O spirit caged and tame?" +"Blue clouds like distant hills they are, + And like is not the same." + +"Nay, nay; I know each mountain well, + Each cliff, and peak, and dome! +In that cloudland, in one high dell, + Nesteth my little home." + + + +_THE HILLS._ + +Behind my father's cottage lies + A gentle grassy height +Up which I often ran--to gaze + Back with a wondering sight, +For then the chimneys I thought high + Were down below me quite! + +All round, where'er I turned mine eyes, + Huge hills closed up the view; +The town 'mid their converging roots + Was clasped by rivers two; +From, one range to another sprang + The sky's great vault of blue. + +It was a joy to climb their sides, + And in the heather lie! +A joy to look at vantage down + On the castle grim and high! +Blue streams below, white clouds above, + In silent earth and sky! + +And now, where'er my feet may roam, + At sight of stranger hill +A new sense of the old delight + Springs in my bosom still, +And longings for the high unknown + Their ancient channels fill. + +For I am always climbing hills, + From the known to the unknown-- +Surely, at last, on some high peak, + To find my Father's throne, +Though hitherto I have only found + His footsteps in the stone! + +And in my wanderings I did meet + Another searching too: +The dawning hope, the shared quest + Our thoughts together drew; +Fearless she laid her band in mine + Because her heart was true. + +She was not born among the hills, + Yet on each mountain face +A something known her inward eye + By inborn light can trace; +For up the hills must homeward be, + Though no one knows the place. + +Clasp my hand close, my child, in thine-- + A long way we have come! +Clasp my hand closer yet, my child, + Farther we yet must roam-- +Climbing and climbing till we reach + Our heavenly father's home. + + + +_THE JOURNEY._ + +I. + +Hark, the rain is on my roof! +Every murmur, through the dark, +Stings me with a dull reproof +Like a half-extinguished spark. +Me! ah me! how came I here, +Wide awake and wide alone! +Caught within a net of fear, +All my dreams undreamed and gone! + +I will rise; I will go forth. +Better dare the hideous night, +Better face the freezing north +Than be still, where is no light! +Black wind rushing round me now, +Sown with arrowy points of rain! +Gone are there and then and now-- +I am here, and so is pain! + +Dead in dreams the gloomy street! +I will out on open roads. +Eager grow my aimless feet-- +Onward, onward something goads! +I will take the mountain path, +Beard the storm within its den; +Know the worst of this dim wrath +Harassing the souls of men. + +Chasm 'neath chasm! rock piled on rock! +Roots, and crumbling earth, and stones! +Hark, the torrent's thundering shock! +Hark, the swaying pine tree's groans! +Ah! I faint, I fall, I die, +Sink to nothingness away!-- +Lo, a streak upon the sky! +Lo, the opening eye of day! + +II. + +Mountain summits lift their snows +O'er a valley green and low; +And a winding pathway goes +Guided by the river's flow; +And a music rises ever, +As of peace and low content, +From the pebble-paven river +Like an odour upward sent. + +And the sound of ancient harms +Moans behind, the hills among, +Like the humming of the swarms +That unseen the forest throng. +Now I meet the shining rain +From a cloud with sunny weft; +Now against the wind I strain, +Sudden burst from mountain cleft. + +Now a sky that hath a moon +Staining all the cloudy white +With a faded rainbow--soon +Lost in deeps of heavenly night! +Now a morning clear and soft, +Amber on the purple hills; +Warm blue day of summer, oft +Cooled by wandering windy rills! + +Joy to travel thus along +With the universe around! +Every creature of the throng, +Every sight and scent and sound +Homeward speeding, beauty-laden, +Beelike, to its hive, my soul! +Mine the eye the stars are made in! +Mine the heart of Nature's whole! + +III. + +Hills retreating on each hand +Slowly sink into the plain; +Solemn through the outspread land +Rolls the river to the main. +In the glooming of the night +Something through the dusky air +Doubtful glimmers, faintly white, +But I know not what or where. + +Is it but a chalky ridge +Bared of sod, like tree of bark? +Or a river-spanning bridge +Miles away into the dark? +Or the foremost leaping waves +Of the everlasting sea, +Where the Undivided laves +Time with its eternity? + +Is it but an eye-made sight, +In my brain a fancied gleam? +Or a faint aurora-light +From the sun's tired smoking team? +In the darkness it is gone, +Yet with every step draws nigh; +Known shall be the thing unknown +When the morning climbs the sky! + +Onward, onward through the night +Matters it I cannot see? +I am moving in a might +Dwelling in the dark and me! +End or way I cannot lose-- +Grudge to rest, or fear to roam; +All is well with wanderer whose +Heart is travelling hourly home. + +IV. + +Joy! O joy! the dawning sea +Answers to the dawning sky, +Foretaste of the coming glee +When the sun will lord it high! +See the swelling radiance growing +To a dazzling glory-might! +See the shadows gently going +'Twixt the wave-tops wild with light! + +Hear the smiting billows clang! +See the falling billows lean +Half a watery vault, and hang +Gleaming with translucent green, +Then in thousand fleeces fall, +Thundering light upon the strand!-- +This the whiteness which did call +Through the dusk, across the land! + +See, a boat! Out, out we dance! +Fierce blasts swoop upon my sail! +What a terrible expanse-- +Tumbling hill and heaving dale! +Stayless, helpless, lost I float, +Captive to the lawless free! +But a prison is my boat! +Oh, for petrel-wings to flee! + +Look below: each watery whirl +Cast in beauty's living mould! +Look above: each feathery curl +Dropping crimson, dropping gold!-- +Oh, I tremble in the flush +Of the everlasting youth! +Love and awe together rush: +I am free in God, the Truth! + + + +_THE TREE'S PRAYER_. + +Alas, 'tis cold and dark! +The wind all night hath sung a wintry tune! +Hail from black clouds that swallowed up the moon +Beat, beat against my bark. + +Oh! why delays the spring? +Not yet the sap moves in my frozen veins; +Through all my stiffened roots creep numbing pains, +That I can hardly cling. + +The sun shone yester-morn; +I felt the glow down every fibre float, +And thought I heard a thrush's piping note +Of dim dream-gladness born. + +Then, on the salt gale driven, +The streaming cloud hissed through my outstretched arms, +Tossed me about in slanting snowy swarms, +And blotted out the heaven. + +All night I brood and choose +Among past joys. Oh, for the breath of June! +The feathery light-flakes quavering from the moon +The slow baptizing dews! + +Oh, the joy-frantic birds!-- +They are the tongues of us, mute, longing trees! +Aha, the billowy odours! and the bees +That browse like scattered herds! + +The comfort-whispering showers +That thrill with gratefulness my youngest shoot! +The children playing round my deep-sunk root, +Green-caved from burning hours! + +See, see the heartless dawn, +With naked, chilly arms latticed across! +Another weary day of moaning loss +On the thin-shadowed lawn! + +But icy winter's past; +Yea, climbing suns persuade the relenting wind: +I will endure with steadfast, patient mind; +My leaves _will_ come at last! + + + +_WERE I A SKILFUL PAINTER._ + +Were I a skilful painter, +My pencil, not my pen, +Should try to teach thee hope and fear, +And who would blame me then?-- +Fear of the tide of darkness +That floweth fast behind, +And hope to make thee journey on +In the journey of the mind. + +Were I a skilful painter, +What should I paint for thee?-- +A tiny spring-bud peeping out +From a withered wintry tree; +The warm blue sky of summer +O'er jagged ice and snow, +And water hurrying gladsome out +From a cavern down below; + +The dim light of a beacon +Upon a stormy sea, +Where a lonely ship to windward beats +For life and liberty; +A watery sun-ray gleaming +Athwart a sullen cloud +And falling on some grassy flower +The rain had earthward bowed; + +Morn peeping o'er a mountain, +In ambush for the dark, +And a traveller in the vale below +Rejoicing like a lark; +A taper nearly vanished +Amid the dawning gray, +And a maiden lifting up her head, +And lo, the coming day! + +I am no skilful painter; +Let who will blame me then +That I would teach thee hope and fear +With my plain-talking pen!-- +Fear of the tide of darkness +That floweth fast behind, +And hope to make thee journey on +In the journey of the mind. + + + +_FAR AND NEAR_. +[The fact which suggested this poem is related by Clarke in his Travels.] + +I. + +Blue sky above, blue sea below, + Far off, the old Nile's mouth, +'Twas a blue world, wherein did blow + A soft wind from the south. + +In great and solemn heaves the mass + Of pulsing ocean beat, +Unwrinkled as the sea of glass + Beneath the holy feet. + +With forward leaning of desire + The ship sped calmly on, +A pilgrim strong that would not tire + Or hasten to be gone. + +II. + +List!--on the wave!--what can they be, + Those sounds that hither glide? +No lovers whisper tremulously + Under the ship's round side! + +No sail across the dark blue sphere + Holds white obedient way; +No far-fled, sharp-winged boat is near, + No following fish at play! + +'Tis not the rippling of the wave, + Nor sighing of the cords; +No winds or waters ever gave + A murmur so like words; + +Nor wings of birds that northward strain, + Nor talk of hidden crew: +The traveller questioned, but in vain-- + He found no answer true. + +III. + +A hundred level miles away, + On Egypt's troubled shore, +Two nations fought, that sunny day, + With bellowing cannons' roar. + +The fluttering whisper, low and near, + Was that far battle's blare; +A lipping, rippling motion here, + The blasting thunder there. + +IV. + +Can this dull sighing in my breast + So faint and undefined, +Be the worn edge of far unrest + Borne on the spirit's wind? + +The uproar of high battle fought + Betwixt the bond and free, +The thunderous roll of armed thought + Dwarfed to an ache in me? + + + +_MY ROOM_ + +To G. E. M. + + 'Tis a little room, my friend-- +Baby walks from end to end; +All the things look sadly real +This hot noontide unideal; +Vaporous heat from cope to basement +All you see outside the casement, +Save one house all mud-becrusted, +And a street all drought-bedusted! +There behold its happiest vision, +Trickling water-cart's derision! +Shut we out the staring space, +Draw the curtains in its face! + + Close the eyelids of the room, +Fill it with a scarlet gloom: +Lo, the walls with warm flush dyed! +Lo, the ceiling glorified, +As when, lost in tenderest pinks, +White rose on the red rose thinks! +But beneath, a hue right rosy, +Red as a geranium-posy, +Stains the air with power estranging, +Known with unknown clouding, changing. +See in ruddy atmosphere +Commonplaceness disappear! +Look around on either hand-- +Are we not in fairyland? + + On that couch, inwrapt in mist +Of vaporized amethyst, +Lie, as in a rose's heart: +Secret things I would impart; +Any time you would believe them-- +Easier, though, you will receive them +Bathed in glowing mystery +Of the red light shadowy; +For this ruby-hearted hue, +Sanguine core of all the true, +Which for love the heart would plunder +Is the very hue of wonder; +This dissolving dreamy red +Is the self-same radiance shed +From the heart of poet young, +Glowing poppy sunlight-stung: +If in light you make a schism +'Tis the deepest in the prism. + + This poor-seeming room, in fact +Is of marvels all compact, +So disguised by common daylight +By its disenchanting gray light, +Only eyes that see by shining, +Inside pierce to its live lining. +Loftiest observatory +Ne'er unveiled such hidden glory; +Never sage's furnace-kitchen +Magic wonders was so rich in; +Never book of wizard old +Clasped such in its iron hold. + + See that case against the wall, +Darkly-dull-purpureal!-- +A piano to the prosy, +But to us in twilight rosy-- +What?--A cave where Nereids lie, +Naiads, Dryads, Oreads sigh, +Dreaming of the time when they +Danced in forest and in bay. +In that chest before your eyes +Nature self-enchanted lies;-- +Lofty days of summer splendour; +Low dim eves of opal tender; +Airy hunts of cloud and wind; +Brooding storm--below, behind; +Awful hills and midnight woods; +Sunny rains in solitudes; +Babbling streams in forests hoar; +Seven-hued icebergs; oceans frore.-- +Yes; did I not say _enchanted_, +That is, hid away till wanted? +Do you hear a low-voiced singing? +'Tis the sorceress's, flinging +Spells around her baby's riot, +Binding her in moveless quiet:-- +She at will can disenchant them, +And to prayer believing grant them. + + You believe me: soon will night +Free her hands for fair delight; +Then invoke her--she will come. +Fold your arms, be blind and dumb. +She will bring a book of spells +Writ like crabbed oracles; +Like Sabrina's will her hands +Thaw the power of charmed bands. +First will ransomed music rush +Round thee in a glorious gush; +Next, upon its waves will sally, +Like a stream-god down a valley, +Nature's self, the formless former, +Nature's self, the peaceful stormer; +She will enter, captive take thee, +And both one and many make thee, +One by softest power to still thee, +Many by the thoughts that fill thee.-- +Let me guess three guesses where +She her prisoner will bear! + + On a mountain-top you stand +Gazing o'er a sunny land; +Shining streams, like silver veins, +Rise in dells and meet in plains; +Up yon brook a hollow lies +Dumb as love that fears surprise; +Moorland tracts of broken ground +O'er it rise and close it round: +He who climbs from bosky dale +Hears the foggy breezes wail. +Yes, thou know'st the nest of love, +Know'st the waste around, above! +In thy soul or in thy past, +Straight it melts into the vast, +Quickly vanishes away +In a gloom of darkening gray. + + Sinks the sadness into rest, +Ripple like on water's breast: +Mother's bosom rests the daughter-- +Grief the ripple, love the water; +And thy brain like wind-harp lies +Breathed upon from distant skies, +Till, soft-gathering, visions new +Grow like vapours in the blue: +White forms, flushing hyacinthine, +Move in motions labyrinthine; +With an airy wishful gait +On the counter-motion wait; +Sweet restraint and action free +Show the law of liberty; +Master of the revel still +The obedient, perfect will; +Hating smallest thing awry, +Breathing, breeding harmony; +While the god-like graceful feet, +For such mazy marvelling meet, +Press from air a shining sound, +Rippling after, lingering round: +Hair afloat and arms aloft +Fill the chord of movement soft. + + Gone the measure polyhedral! +Towers aloft a fair cathedral! +Every arch--like praying arms +Upward flung in love's alarms, +Knit by clasped hands o'erhead-- +Heaves to heaven a weight of dread; +In thee, like an angel-crowd, +Grows the music, praying loud, +Swells thy spirit with devotion +As a strong wind swells the ocean, +Sweeps the visioned pile away, +Leaves thy heart alone to pray. + + As the prayer grows dim and dies +Like a sunset from the skies, +Glides another change of mood +O'er thy inner solitude: +Girt with Music's magic zone, +Lo, thyself magician grown! +Open-eyed thou walk'st through earth +Brooding on the aeonian birth +Of a thousand wonder-things +In divine dusk of their springs: +Half thou seest whence they flow, +Half thou seest whither go-- +Nature's consciousness, whereby +On herself she turns her eye, +Hoping for all men and thee +Perfected, pure harmony. + + But when, sinking slow, the sun +Leaves the glowing curtain dun, +I, of prophet-insight reft, +Shall be dull and dreamless left; +I must hasten proof on proof, +Weaving in the warp my woof! + + What are those upon the wall, +Ranged in rows symmetrical? +Through the wall of things external +Posterns they to the supernal; +Through Earth's battlemented height +Loopholes to the Infinite; +Through locked gates of place and time, +Wickets to the eternal prime +Lying round the noisy day +Full of silences alway. + + That, my friend? Now, it is curious +You should hit upon the spurious! +'Tis a door to nowhere, that; +Never soul went in thereat; +Lies behind, a limy wall +Hung with cobwebs, that is all. + + Do not open that one yet, +Wait until the sun is set. +If you careless lift its latch +Glimpse of nothing will you catch; +Mere negation, blank of hue, +Out of it will stare at you; +Wait, I say, the coming night, +Fittest time for second sight, +Then the wide eyes of the mind +See far down the Spirit's wind. +You may have to strain and pull, +Force and lift with cunning tool, +Ere the rugged, ill-joined door +Yield the sight it stands before: +When at last, with grating sweep, +Wide it swings--behold, the deep! + + Thou art standing on the verge +Where material things emerge; +Hoary silence, lightning fleet, +Shooteth hellward at thy feet! +Fear not thou whose life is truth, +Gazing will renew thy youth; +But where sin of soul or flesh +Held a man in spider-mesh, +It would drag him through that door, +Give him up to loreless lore, +Ages to be blown and hurled +Up and down a deedless world. + + Ah, your eyes ask how I brook +Doors that are not, doors to look! +That is whither I was tending, +And it brings me to good ending. + + Baby is the cause of this; +Odd it seems, but so it is;-- +Baby, with her pretty prate +Molten, half articulate, +Full of hints, suggestions, catches, +Broken verse, and music snatches! +She, like seraph gone astray, +Must be shown the homeward way; +Plant of heaven, she, rooted lowly, +Must put forth a blossom holy, +Must, through culture high and steady, +Slow unfold a gracious lady; +She must therefore live in wonder, +See nought common up or under; +She the moon and stars and sea, +Worm and butterfly and bee, +Yea, the sparkle in a stone, +Must with marvel look upon; +She must love, in heaven's own blueness, +Both the colour and the newness; +Must each day from darkness break, +Often often come awake, +Never with her childhood part, +Change the brain, but keep the heart. + + So, from lips and hands and looks, +She must learn to honour books, +Turn the leaves with careful fingers, +Never lean where long she lingers; +But when she is old enough +She must learn the lesson rough +That to seem is not to be, +As to know is not to see; +That to man or book, _appearing_ +Gives no title to revering; +That a pump is not a well, +Nor a priest an oracle: +This to leave safe in her mind, +I will take her and go find +Certain no-books, dreary apes, +Tell her they are mere mock-shapes +No more to be honoured by her +But be laid upon the fire; +Book-appearance must not hinder +Their consuming to a cinder. + + Would you see the small immortal +One short pace within Time's portal? +I will fetch her.--Is she white? +Solemn? true? a light in light? +See! is not her lily-skin +White as whitest ermelin +Washed in palest thinnest rose? +Very thought of God she goes, +Ne'er to wander, in her dance, +Out of his love-radiance! + + But, my friend, I've rattled plenty +To suffice for mornings twenty! +I should never stop of course, +Therefore stop I will perforce.-- +If I led them up, choragic, +To reveal their nature magic, +Twenty things, past contradiction, +Yet would prove I spoke no fiction +Of the room's belongings cryptic +Read by light apocalyptic: +There is that strange thing, glass-masked, +With continual questions tasked, +Ticking with untiring rock: +It is called an eight-day clock, +But to me the thing appears +Busy winding up the years, +Drawing on with coiling chain +The epiphany again. + + + +_DEATH AND BIRTH_. + +'Tis the midnight hour; I heard +The Abbey-bell give out the word. +Seldom is the lamp-ray shed +On some dwarfed foot-farer's head +In the deep and narrow street +Lying ditch-like at my feet +Where I stand at lattice high +Downward gazing listlessly +From my house upon the rock, +Peak of earth's foundation-block. + + There her windows, every story, +Shine with far-off nebulous glory! +Round her in that luminous cloud +Stars obedient press and crowd, +She the centre of all gazing, +She the sun her planets dazing! +In her eyes' victorious lightning +Some are paling, some are brightening: +Those on which they gracious turn, +Stars combust, all tenfold burn; +Those from which they look away +Listless roam in twilight gray! +When on her my looks I bent +Wonder shook me like a tent, +And my eyes grew dim with sheen, +Wasting light upon its queen! +But though she my eyes might chain, +Rule my ebbing flowing brain, +Truth alone, without, within, +Can the soul's high homage win! + + He, I do not doubt, is there +Who unveiled my idol fair! +And I thank him, grateful much, +Though his end was none of such. +He from shapely lips of wit +Let the fire-flakes lightly flit, +Scorching as the snow that fell +On the damned in Dante's hell; +With keen, gentle opposition, +Playful, merciless precision, +Mocked the sweet romance of youth +Balancing on spheric truth; +He on sense's firm set plane +Rolled the unstable ball amain: +With a smile she looked at me, +Stung my soul, and set me free. + + Welcome, friend! Bring in your bricks. +Mortar there? No need to mix? +That is well. And picks and hammers? +Verily these are no shammers!-- +There, my friend, build up that niche, +That one with the painting rich! + + Yes, you're right; it is a show +Picture seldom can bestow; +City palaces and towers, +Terraced gardens, twilight bowers, +Vistas deep through swaying masts, +Pennons flaunting in the blasts: +Build; my room it does not fit; +Brick-glaze is the thing for it! + + Yes, a window you may call it; +Not the less up you must wall it: +In that niche the dead world lies; +Bury death, and free mine eyes. + + There were youths who held by me, +Said I taught, yet left them free: +Will they do as I said then? +God forbid! As ye are men, +Find the secret--follow and find! +All forget that lies behind; +Me, the schools, yourselves, forsake; +In your souls a silence make; +Hearken till a whisper come, +Listen, follow, and be dumb. + + There! 'tis over; I am dead! +Of my life the broken thread +Here I cast out of my hand!-- +O my soul, the merry land! +On my heart the sinking vault +Of my ruining past makes halt; +Ages I could sit and moan +For the shining world that's gone! + + Haste and pierce the other wall; +Break an opening to the All! +Where? No matter; done is best. +Kind of window? Let that rest: +Who at morning ever lies +Pondering how to ope his eyes! + + I bethink me: we must fall +On the thinnest of the wall! +There it must be, in that niche!-- +No, the deepest--that in which +Stands the Crucifix. + + You start?-- +Ah, your half-believing heart +Shrinks from that as sacrilege, +Or, at least, upon its edge! +Worse than sacrilege, I say, +Is it to withhold the day +From the brother whom thou knowest +For the God thou never sawest! + + Reverently, O marble cold, +Thee in living arms I fold! +Thou who art thyself the way +From the darkness to the day, +Window, thou, to every land, +Wouldst not one dread moment stand +Shutting out the air and sky +And the dayspring from on high! +Brother with the rugged crown, +Gently thus I lift thee down! + + Give me pick and hammer; you +Stand aside; the deed I'll do. +Yes, in truth, I have small skill, +But the best thing is the will. + + Stroke on stroke! The frescoed plaster +Clashes downward, fast and faster. +Hark, I hear an outer stone +Down the rough rock rumbling thrown! +There's a cranny! there's a crack! +The great sun is at its back! +Lo, a mass is outward flung! +In the universe hath sprung! + + See the gold upon the blue! +See the sun come blinding through! +See the far-off mountain shine +In the dazzling light divine! +Prisoned world, thy captive's gone! +Welcome wind, and sky, and sun! + + + +_LOVE'S ORDEAL._ + +A recollection and attempted completion of a prose fragment read in +boyhood. + + "Hear'st thou that sound upon the window pane?" +Said the youth softly, as outstretched he lay +Where for an hour outstretched he had lain-- +Softly, yet with some token of dismay. +Answered the maiden: "It is but the rain +That has been gathering in the west all day! +Why shouldst thou hearken so? Thine eyelids close, +And let me gather peace from thy repose." + + "Hear'st thou that moan creeping along the ground?" +Said the youth, and his veiling eyelids rose +From deeps of lightning-haunted dark profound +Ruffled with herald blasts of coming woes. +"I hear it," said the maiden; "'tis the sound +Of a great wind that here not seldom blows; +It swings the huge arms of the dreary pine, +But thou art safe, my darling, clasped in mine." + + "Hear'st thou the baying of my hounds?" said he; +"Draw back the lattice bar and let them in." +From a rent cloud the moonlight, ghostily, +Slid clearer to the floor, as, gauntly thin, +She opening, they leaped through with bound so free, +Then shook the rain-drops from their shaggy skin. +The maiden closed the shower-bespattered glass, +Whose spotted shadow through the room did pass. + + The youth, half-raised, was leaning on his hand, +But, when again beside him sat the maid, +His eyes for one slow minute having scanned +Her moonlit face, he laid him down, and said, +Monotonous, like solemn-read command: +"For Love is of the earth, earthy, and is laid +Lifeless at length back in the mother-tomb." +Strange moanings from the pine entered the room. + + And then two shadows like the shadow of glass, +Over the moonbeams on the cottage floor, +As wind almost as thin and shapeless, pass; +A sound of rain-drops came about the door, +And a soft sighing as of plumy grass; +A look of sorrowing doubt the youth's face wore; +The two great hounds half rose; with aspect grim +They eyed his countenance by the taper dim. + + Shadow nor moaning sound the maiden noted, +But on his face dwelt her reproachful look; +She doubted whether he the saying had quoted +Out of some evil, earth-begotten book, +Or up from his deep heart, like bubbles, had floated +Words which no maiden ever yet could brook; +But his eyes held the question, "Yea or No?" +Therefore the maiden answered, "Nay, not so; + + "Love is of heaven, eternal." Half a smile +Just twinned his lips: shy, like all human best, +A hopeful thought bloomed out, and lived a while; +He looked one moment like a dead man blest-- +His soul a bark that in a sunny isle +At length had found the haven of its rest; +But he could not remain, must forward fare: +He spoke, and said with words abrupt and bare, + + "Maiden, I have loved other maidens." Pale +Her red lips grew. "I loved them, yes, but they +Successively in trial's hour did fail, +For after sunset clouds again are gray." +A sudden light shone through the fringy veil +That drooping hid her eyes; and then there lay +A stillness on her face, waiting; and then +The little clock rung out the hour of ten. + + Moaning once more the great pine-branches bow +To a soft plaining wind they would not stem. +Brooding upon her face, the youth said, "Thou +Art not more beautiful than some of them, +But a fair courage crowns thy peaceful brow, +Nor glow thine eyes, but shine serene like gem +That lamps from radiant store upon the dark +The light it gathered where its song the lark. + + "The horse that broke this day from grasp of three, +Thou sawest then the hand thou holdest, hold: +Ere two fleet hours are gone, that hand will be +Dry, big-veined, wrinkled, withered up and old!-- +No woman yet hath shared my doom with me." +With calm fixed eyes she heard till he had told; +The stag-hounds rose, a moment gazed at him, +Then laid them down with aspect yet more grim. + + Spake on the youth, nor altered look or tone: +"'Tis thy turn, maiden, to say no or dare."-- +Was it the maiden's, that importunate moan?-- +"At midnight, when the moon sets, wilt thou share +The terror with me? or must I go alone +To meet an agony that will not spare?" +She answered not, but rose to take her cloak; +He staid her with his hand, and further spoke. + + "Not yet," he said; "yet there is respite; see, +Time's finger points not yet to the dead hour! +Enough is left even now for telling thee +The far beginnings whence the fearful power +Of the great dark came shadowing down on me: +Red roses crowding clothe my love's dear bower-- +Nightshade and hemlock, darnel, toadstools white +Compass the place where I must lie to-night!" + + Around his neck the maiden put her arm +And knelt beside him leaning on his breast, +As o'er his love, to keep it strong and warm, +Brooding like bird outspread upon her nest. +And well the faith of her dear eyes might charm +All doubt away from love's primeval rest! +He hid his face upon her heart, and there +Spake on with voice like wind from lonely lair. + + A drearier moaning through the pine did go +As if a human voice complained and cried +For one long minute; then the sound grew low, +Sank to a sigh, and sighing sank and died. +Together at the silence two voices mow-- +His, and the clock's, which, loud grown, did divide +The hours into live moments--sparks of time +Scorching the soul that trembles for the chime. + + He spoke of sins ancestral, born in him +Impulses; of resistance fierce and wild; +Of failure weak, and strength reviving dim; +Self-hatred, dreariness no love beguiled; +Of storm, and blasting light, and darkness grim; +Of torrent paths, and tombs with mountains piled; +Of gulfs in the unsunned bosom of the earth; +Of dying ever into dawning birth. + + "But when I find a heart whose blood is wine; +Whose faith lights up the cold brain's passionless hour; +Whose love, like unborn rose-bud, will not pine, +But waits the sun and the baptizing shower-- +Till then lies hid, and gathers odours fine +To greet the human summer, when its flower +Shall blossom in the heart and soul and brain, +And love and passion be one holy twain-- + + "Then shall I rest, rest like the seven of yore; +Slumber divine will steep my outworn soul +And every stain dissolve to the very core. +She too will slumber, having found her goal. +Time's ocean o'er us will, in silence frore, +Aeonian tides of change-filled seasons roll, +And our long, dark, appointed period fill. +Then shall we wake together, loving still." + + Her face on his, her mouth to his mouth pressed, +Was all the answer of the trusting maid. +Close in his arms he held her to his breast +For one brief moment--would have yet assayed +Some deeper word her heart to strengthen, lest +It should though faithful be too much afraid; +But the clock gave the warning to the hour-- +And on the thatch fell sounds not of a shower. + + One long kiss, and the maiden rose. A fear +Lay, thin as a glassy shadow, on her heart; +She trembled as some unknown thing were near, +But smiled next moment--for they should not part! +The youth arose. With solemn-joyous cheer, +He helped the maid, whose trembling hands did thwart +Her haste to wrap her in her mantle's fold; +Then out they passed into the midnight cold. + + The moon was sinking in the dim green west, +Curled upward, half-way to the horizon's brink, +A leaf of glory falling to its rest, +The maiden's hand, still trembling, sought to link +Her arm to his, with love's instinctive quest, +But his enfolded her; hers did not sink, +But, thus set free, it stole his body round, +And so they walked, in freedom's fetters bound. + + Pressed to his side, she felt, like full-toned bell, +A mighty heart heave large in measured play; +But as the floating moon aye lower fell +Its bounding force did, by slow loss, decay. +It throbbed now like a bird; now like far knell +Pulsed low and faint! And now, with sick dismay, +She felt the arm relax that round her clung, +And from her circling arm he forward hung. + + His footsteps feeble, short his paces grow; +Her strength and courage mount and swell amain. +He lifted up his head: the moon lay low, +Nigh the world's edge. His lips with some keen pain +Quivered, but with a smile his eyes turned slow +Seeking in hers the balsam for his bane +And finding it--love over death supreme: +Like two sad souls they walked met in one dream.[A] + +[Note A: + +In a lovely garden walking + Two lovers went hand in hand; +Two wan, worn figures, talking + They sat in the flowery land. + +On the cheek they kissed one another, + On the mouth with sweet refrain; +Fast held they each the other, + And were young and well again. + +Two little bells rang shrilly-- + The dream went with the hour: +She lay in the cloister stilly, + He far in the dungeon-tower! + + _From Uhland._] + + Hanging his head, behind each came a hound, +Padding with gentle paws upon the road. +Straight silent pines rose here and there around; +A dull stream on the left side hardly flowed; +A black snake through the sluggish waters wound. +Hark, the night raven! see the crawling toad! +She thinks how dark will be the moonless night, +How feeblest ray is yet supernal light. + + The moon's last gleam fell on dim glazed eyes, +A body shrunken from its garments' fold: +An aged man whose bent knees could not rise, +He tottered in the maiden's tightening hold. +She shivered, but too slight was the disguise +To hide from love what never yet was old; +She held him fast, with open eyes did pray, +Walked through the fear, and kept the onward way. + + Toward a gloomy thicket of tall firs, +Dragging his inch-long steps, he turned aside. +There Silence sleeps; not one green needle stirs. +They enter it. A breeze begins to chide +Among the cones. It swells until it whirs, +Vibrating so each sharp leaf that it sighed: +The grove became a harp of mighty chords, +Wing-smote by unseen creatures wild for words. + + But when he turned again, toward the cleft +Of a great rock, as instantly it ceased, +And the tall pines stood sudden, as if reft +Of a strong passion, or from pain released; +Again they wove their straight, dark, motionless weft +Across the moonset-bars; and, west and east, +Cloud-giants rose and marched up cloudy stairs; +And like sad thoughts the bats came unawares. + + 'Twas a drear chamber for thy bridal night, +O poor, pale, saviour bride! An earthen lamp +With shaking hands he kindled, whose faint light +Mooned out a tiny halo on the damp +That filled the cavern to its unseen height, +Dim glimmering like death-candle in a swamp. +Watching the entrance, each side lies a hound, +With liquid light his red eyes gleaming round. + + A heap rose grave-like from the rocky floor +Of moss and leaves, by many a sunny wind +Long tossed and dried--with rich furs covered o'er +Expectant. Up a jealous glory shined +In her possessing heart: he should find more +In her than in those faithless! With sweet mind +She, praying gently, did herself unclothe, +And lay down by him, trusting, and not loath. + + Once more a wind came, flapping overhead; +The hounds pricked up their ears, their eyes flashed fire. +The trembling maiden heard a sudden tread-- +Dull, yet plain dinted on the windy gyre, +As if long, wet feet o'er smooth pavement sped-- +Come fiercely up, as driven by longing dire +To enter; followed sounds of hurried rout: +With bristling hair, the hounds stood looking out. + + Then came, half querulous, a whisper old, +Feeble and hollow as if shut in a chest: +"Take my face on your bosom; I am cold." +She bared her holy bosom's truth-white nest, +And forth her two hands instant went, love-bold, +And took the face, and close against her pressed: +Ah, the dead chill!--Was that the feet again?-- +But her great heart kept beating for the twain. + + She heard the wind fall, heard the following rain +Swelling the silent waters till their sound +Went wallowing through the night along the plain. +The lamp went out, by the slow darkness drowned. +Must the fair dawn a thousand years refrain? +Like centuries the feeble hours went round. +Eternal night entombed her with decay: +To her live soul she clasped the breathless clay. + + The world stood still. Her life sank down so low +That but for wretchedness no life she knew. +A charnel wind moaned out a moaning--_No_; +From the devouring heart of earth it blew. +Fair memories lost all their sunny glow: +Out of the dark the forms of old friends grew +But so transparent blanched with dole and smart +She saw the pale worm lying in each heart. + + And, worst of all--Oh death of keep-fled life! +A voice within her woke and cried: In sooth +Vain is all sorrow, hope, and care, and strife! +Love and its beauty, its tenderness and truth +Are shadows bred in hearts too fancy-rife, +Which melt and pass with sure-decaying youth: +Regard them, and they quiver, waver, blot; +Gaze at them fixedly, and they are not. + + And all the answer the poor child could make +Was in the tightened clasp of arms and hands. +Hopeless she lay, like one Death would not take +But still kept driving from his empty lands, +Yet hopeless held she out for his dear sake; +The darksome horror grew like drifting sands +Till nought was precious--neither God nor light, +And yet she braved the false, denying night. + + So dead was hope, that, when a glimmer weak +Stole through a fissure somewhere in the cave, +Thinning the clotted darkness on his cheek, +She thought her own tired eyes the glimmer gave: +He moved his head; she saw his eyes, love-meek, +And knew that Death was dead and filled the Grave. +Old age, convicted lie, had fled away! +Youth, Youth eternal, in her bosom lay! + + With a low cry closer to him she crept +And on his bosom hid a face that glowed: +It was his turn to comfort--he had slept! +Oh earth and sky, oh ever patient God, +She had not yielded, but the truth had kept! +New love, new bliss in weeping overflowed. +I can no farther tell the tale begun; +They are asleep, and waiting for the sun. + + + +_THE LOST SOUL_. + + Look! look there! +Send your eyes across the gray +By my finger-point away +Through the vaporous, fumy air. +Beyond the air, you see the dark? +Beyond the dark, the dawning day? +On its horizon, pray you, mark +Something like a ruined heap +Of worlds half-uncreated, that go back: +Down all the grades through which they rose +Up to harmonious life and law's repose, +Back, slow, to the awful deep +Of nothingness, mere being's lack: +On its surface, lone and bare, +Shapeless as a dumb despair, +Formless, nameless, something lies: +Can the vision in your eyes +Its idea recognize? + + 'Tis a poor lost soul, alack!-- +Half he lived some ages back; +But, with hardly opened eyes, +Thinking him already wise, +Down he sat and wrote a book; +Drew his life into a nook; +Out of it would not arise +To peruse the letters dim, +Graven dark on his own walls; +Those, he judged, were chance-led scrawls, +Or at best no use to him. +A lamp was there for reading these; +This he trimmed, sitting at ease, +For its aid to write his book, +Never at his walls to look-- +Trimmed and trimmed to one faint spark +Which went out, and left him dark.-- +I will try if he can hear +Spirit words with spirit ear! + + Motionless thing! who once, +Like him who cries to thee, +Hadst thy place with thy shining peers, +Thy changeful place in the changeless dance +Issuing ever in radiance +From the doors of the far eternity, +With feet that glitter and glide and glance +To the music-law that binds the free, +And sets the captive at liberty-- +To the clang of the crystal spheres! +O heart for love! O thirst to drink +From the wells that feed the sea! +O hands of truth, a human link +'Twixt mine and the Father's knee! +O eyes to see! O soul to think! +O life, the brother of me! +Has Infinitude sucked back all +The individual life it gave? +Boots it nothing to cry and call? +Is thy form an empty grave? + + It heareth not, brothers, the terrible thing! +Sounds no sense to its ear will bring! +Let us away, 'tis no use to tarry; +Love no light to its heart will carry! +Sting it with words, it will never shrink; +It will not repent, it cannot think! +Hath God forgotten it, alas! +Lost in eternity's lumber-room? +Will the wind of his breathing never pass +Over it through the insensate gloom? +Like a frost-killed bud on a tombstone curled, +Crumbling it lies on its crumbling world, +Sightless and deaf, with never a cry, +In the hell of its own vacuity! + + See, see yon angel crossing our flight +Where the thunder vapours loom, +From his upcast pinions flashing the light +Of some outbreaking doom! +Up, brothers! away! a storm is nigh! +Smite we the wing up a steeper sky! +What matters the hail or the clashing winds, +The thunder that buffets, the lightning that blinds! +We know by the tempest we do not lie +Dead in the pits of eternity! + + + +_THE THREE HORSES_. + +What shall I be?--I will be a knight + Walled up in armour black, +With a sword of sharpness, a hammer of might. + And a spear that will not crack-- +So black, so blank, no glimmer of light + Will betray my darkling track. + +Saddle my coal-black steed, my men, + Fittest for sunless work; +Old Night is steaming from her den, + And her children gather and lurk; +Bad things are creeping from the fen, + And sliding down the murk. + +Let him go!--let him go! Let him plunge!--Keep away! + He's a foal of the third seal's brood! +Gaunt with armour, in grim array + Of poitrel and frontlet-hood, +Let him go, a living castle, away-- + Right for the evil wood. + +I and Ravenwing on the course, + Heavy in fighting gear-- +Woe to the thing that checks our force, + That meets us in career! +Giant, enchanter, devil, or worse-- + What cares the couched spear! + +Slow through the trees zigzag I ride. + See! the goblins!--to and fro! +From the skull of the dark, on either side, + See the eyes of a dragon glow! +From the thickets the silent serpents glide-- + I pass them, I let them go; + +For somewhere in the evil night + A little one cries alone; +An aged knight, outnumbered in fight, + But for me will be stricken prone; +A lady with terror is staring white, + For her champion is overthrown. + +The child in my arms, to my hauberk prest, + Like a trembling bird will cling; +I will cover him over, in iron nest, + With my shield, my one steel wing, +And bear him home to his mother's breast, + A radiant, rescued thing. + +Spur in flank, and lance in rest, + On the old knight's foes I flash; +The caitiffs I scatter to east and west + With clang and hurtle and crash; +Leave them the law, as knaves learn it best, + In bruise, and breach, and gash. + +The lady I lift on my panting steed; + On the pommel she holds my mace; +Hand on bridle I gently lead + The horse at a gentle pace; +The thickets with martel-axe I heed, + For the wood is an evil place. + +What treasure is there in manly might + That hid in the bosom lies! +Who for the crying will not fight + Had better be he that cries! +A man is a knight that loves the right + And mounts for it till he dies. + +Alas, 'tis a dream of ages hoar! + In the fens no dragons won; +No giants from moated castles roar; + Through the forest wide roadways run; +Of all the deeds they did of yore + Not one is left to be done! + +If I should saddle old Ravenwing + And hie me out at night, +Scared little birds away would spring + An ill-shot arrow's flight: +The idle fancy away I fling, + Now I will dream aright! + +Let a youth bridle Twilight, my dapple-gray, + With broad rein and snaffle bit; +He must bring him round at break of day + When the shadows begin to flit, +When the darkness begins to dream away, + And the owls begin to sit. + +Ungraithed in plate or mail I go, + With only my sword--gray-blue +Like the scythe of the dawning come to mow + The night-sprung shadows anew +From the gates of the east, that, fair and slow, + Maid Morning may walk through. + +I seek no forest with darkness grim, + To the open land I ride; +Low light, from the broad horizon's brim, + Lies wet on the flowing tide, +And mottles with shadows dun and dim + The mountain's rugged side. + +Steadily, hasteless, o'er valley and hill. + O'er the moor, along the beach, +We ride, nor slacken our pace until + Some city of men we reach; +There, in the market, my horse stands still, + And I lift my voice and preach. + +Wealth and poverty, age and youth + Around me gather and throng; +I tell them of justice, of wisdom, of truth, + Of mercy, and law, and wrong; +My words are moulded by right and ruth + To a solemn-chanted song. + +They bring me questions which would be scanned, + That strife may be forgot; +Swerves my balance to neither hand, + The poor I favour no jot; +If a man withstand, out sweeps my brand. + I slay him upon the spot. + +But what if my eye have in it a beam + And therefore spy his mote? +Righteousness only, wisdom supreme + Can tell the sheep from the goat! +Not thus I dream a wise man's dream, + Not thus take Wrong by the throat! + +Lead Twilight home. I dare not kill; + The sword myself would scare.-- +When the sun looks over the eastern hill, + Bring out my snow-white mare: +One labour is left which no one will + Deny me the right to share! + +Take heed, my men, from crest to heel + Snow-white have no speck; +No curb, no bit her mouth must feel, + No tightening rein her neck; +No saddle-girth drawn with buckle of steel + Shall her mighty breathing check! + +Lay on her a cloth of silver sheen, + Bring me a robe of white; +Wherever we go we must be seen + By the shining of our light-- +A glistening splendour in forest green, + A star on the mountain-height. + +With jar and shudder the gates unclose; + Out in the sun she leaps! +A unit of light and power she goes + Levelling vales and steeps: +The wind around her eddies and blows, + Before and behind her sleeps. + +Oh joy, oh joy to ride the world + And glad, good tidings bear! +A flag of peace on the winds unfurled + Is the mane of my shining mare: +To the sound of her hoofs, lo, the dead stars hurled + Quivering adown the air! + +Oh, the sun and the wind! Oh, the life and the love! + Where the serpent swung all day +The loud dove coos to the silent dove; + Where the web-winged dragon lay +In its hole beneath, on the rock above + Merry-tongued children play. + +With eyes of light the maidens look up + As they sit in the summer heat +Twining green blade with golden cup-- + They see, and they rise to their feet; +I call aloud, for I must not stop, + "Good tidings, my sisters sweet!" + +For mine is a message of holy mirth + To city and land of corn; +Of praise for heaviness, plenty for dearth, + For darkness a shining morn: +Clap hands, ye billows; be glad, O earth, + For a child, a child is born! + +Lo, even the just shall live by faith! + None argue of mine and thine! +Old Self shall die an ecstatic death + And be born a thing divine, +For God's own being and God's own breath + Shall be its bread and wine. + +Ambition shall vanish, and Love be king, + And Pride to his darkness hie; +Yea, for very love of a living thing + A man would forget and die, +If very love were not the spring + Whence life springs endlessly! + +The myrtle shall grow where grew the thorn; + Earth shall be young as heaven; +The heart with remorse or anger torn + Shall weep like a summer even; +For to us a child, a child is born, + Unto us a son is given! + +Lord, with thy message I dare not ride! + I am a fool, a beast! +The little ones only from thy side + Go forth to publish thy feast! +And I, where but sons and daughters abide, + Would have walked about, a priest! + +Take Snow-white back to her glimmering stall; + There let her stand and feed!-- +I am overweening, ambitious, small, + A creature of pride and greed! +Let me wash the hoofs, let me be the thrall, + Jesus, of thy white steed! + + + +_THE GOLDEN KEY._ + +From off the earth the vapours curled, + Went up to meet their joy; +The boy awoke, and all the world + Was waiting for the boy! + +The sky, the water, the wide earth + Was full of windy play-- +Shining and fair, alive with mirth, + All for his holiday! + +The hill said "Climb me;" and the wood + "Come to my bosom, child; +Mine is a merry gamboling brood, + Come, and with them go wild." + +The shadows with the sunlight played, + The birds were singing loud; +The hill stood up with pines arrayed-- + He ran to join the crowd. + +But long ere noon, dark grew the skies, + Pale grew the shrinking sun: +"How soon," he said, "for clouds to rise + When day was but begun!" + +The wind grew rough; a wilful power + It swept o'er tree and town; +The boy exulted for an hour, + Then weary sat him down. + +And as he sat the rain began, + And rained till all was still: +He looked, and saw a rainbow span + The vale from hill to hill. + +He dried his tears. "Ah, now," he said, + "The storm was good, I see! +Yon pine-dressed hill, upon its head + I'll find the golden key!" + +He thrid the copse, he climbed the fence, + At last the top did scale; +But, lo, the rainbow, vanished thence, + Was shining in the vale! + +"Still, here it stood! yes, here," he said, + "Its very foot was set! +I saw this fir-tree through the red, + This through the violet!" + +He searched and searched, while down the skies + Went slow the slanting sun. +At length he lifted hopeless eyes, + And day was nearly done! + +Beyond the vale, above the heath, + High flamed the crimson west; +His mother's cottage lay beneath + The sky-bird's rosy breast. + +"Oh, joy," he cried, "not _all_ the way + Farther from home we go! +The rain will come another day + And bring another bow!" + +Long ere he reached his mother's cot, + Still tiring more and more, +The red was all one cold gray blot, + And night lay round the door. + +But when his mother stroked his head + The night was grim in vain; +And when she kissed him in his bed + The rainbow rose again. + +Soon, things that are and things that seem + Did mingle merrily; +He dreamed, nor was it all a dream, + His mother had the key. + + + +_SOMNIUM MYSTICI_ + +A Microcosm In Terza Rima. + +I. + +Quiet I lay at last, and knew no more + Whether I breathed or not, so worn I lay + With the death-struggle. What was yet before +Neither I met, nor turned from it away; + My only conscious being was the rest + Of pain gone dead--dead with the bygone day, +And long I could have lingered all but blest + In that half-slumber. But there came a sound + As of a door that opened--in the west +Somewhere I thought it. As the hare the hound, + The noise did start my eyelids and they rose. + I turned my eyes and looked. Then straight I found +It was my chamber-door that did unclose, + For a tall form up to my bedside drew. + Grand was it, silent, its very walk repose; +And when I saw the countenance, I knew + That I was lying in my chamber dead; + For this my brother--brothers such are few-- +That now to greet me bowed his kingly head, + Had, many years agone, like holy dove + Returning, from his friends and kindred sped, +And, leaving memories of mournful love, + Passed vanishing behind the unseen veil; + And though I loved him, all high words above. +Not for his loss then did I weep or wail, + Knowing that here we live but in a tent, + And, seeking home, shall find it without fail. +Feeble but eager, toward him my hands went-- + I too was dead, so might the dead embrace! + Taking me by the shoulders down he bent, +And lifted me. I was in sickly case, + But, growing stronger, stood up on the floor, + There turned, and once regarded my dead face +With curious eyes: its brow contentment wore, + But I had done with it, and turned away. + I saw my brother by the open door, +And followed him out into the night blue-gray. + The houses stood up hard in limpid air, + The moon hung in the heavens in half decay, +And all the world to my bare feet lay bare. + +II. + +Now I had suffered in my life, as they + Must suffer, and by slow years younger grow, + From whom the false fool-self must drop away, +Compact of greed and fear, which, gathered slow, + Darkens the angel-self that, evermore, + Where no vain phantom in or out shall go, +Moveless beholds the Father--stands before + The throne of revelation, waiting there, + With wings low-drooping on the sapphire-floor, +Until it find the Father's ideal fair, + And be itself at last: not one small thorn + Shall needless any pilgrim's garments tear; +And but to say I had suffered I would scorn + Save for the marvellous thing that next befell: + Sudden I grew aware I was new-born; +All pain had vanished in the absorbent swell + Of some exalting peace that was my own; + As the moon dwelt in heaven did calmness dwell +At home in me, essential. The earth's moan + Lay all behind. Had I then lost my part + In human griefs, dear part with them that groan? +"'Tis weariness!" I said; but with a start + That set it trembling and yet brake it not, + I found the peace was love. Oh, my rich heart! +For, every time I spied a glimmering spot + Of window pane, "There, in that silent room," + Thought I, "mayhap sleeps human heart whose lot +Is therefore dear to mine!" I cared for whom + I saw not, had not seen, and might not see! + After the love crept prone its shadow-gloom, +But instant a mightier love arose in me, + As in an ocean a single wave will swell, + And heaved the shadow to the centre: we +Had called it prayer, before on sleep I fell. + It sank, and left my sea in holy calm: + I gave each man to God, and all was well. +And in my heart stirred soft a sleeping psalm. + +III. + +No gentlest murmur through the city crept; + Not one lone word my brother to me had spoken; + But when beyond the city-gate we stept +I knew the hovering silence would be broken. + A low night wind came whispering: through and through + It did baptize me with the pledge and token +Of that soft spirit-wind which blows and blew + And fans the human world since evermore. + The very grass, cool to my feet, I knew +To be love also, and with the love I bore + To hold far sympathy, silent and sweet, + As having known the secret from of yore +In the eternal heart where all things meet, + Feelings and thinkings, and where still they are bred. + Sudden he stood, and with arrested feet +I also. Like a half-sunned orb, his head + Slow turned the bright side: lo, the brother-smile + That ancient human glory on me shed +Clothed in which Jesus came forth to wile + Unto his bosom every labouring soul, + And all dividing passions to beguile +To winsome death, and then on them to roll + The blessed stone of the holy sepulchre! + "Thank God," he said, "thou also now art whole +And sound and well! For the keen pain, and stir + Uneasy, and sore grief that came to us all, + In that we knew not how the wine and myrrh +Could ever from the vinegar and gall + Be parted, are deep sunk, yea drowned in God; + And yet the past not folded in a pall, +But breathed upon, like Aaron's withered rod, + By a sweet light that brings the blossoms through, + Showing in dreariest paths that men have trod +Another's foot-prints, spotted of crimson hue, + Still on before wherever theirs did wend; + Yea, through the desert leading, of thyme and rue, +The desert souls in which young lions rend + And roar--the passionate who, to be blest, + Ravin as bears, and do not gain their end, +Because that, save in God, there is no rest." + +IV. + +Something my brother said to me like this, + But how unlike it also, think, I pray: + His eyes were music, and his smile a kiss; +Himself the word, his speech was but a ray + In the clear nimbus that with verity + Of absolute utterance made a home-born day +Of truth about him, lamping solemnly; + And when he paused, there came a swift repose, + Too high, too still to be called ecstasy-- +A purple silence, lanced through in the close + By such keen thought that, with a sudden smiling, + It grew sheen silver, hearted with burning rose. +He was a glory full of reconciling, + Of faithfulness, of love with no self-stain, + Of tenderness, and care, and brother-wiling +Back to the bosom of a speechless gain. + +V. + +I cannot tell how long we joyous talked, + For from my sense old time had vanished quite, + Space dim-remaining--for onward still we walked. +No sun arose to blot the pale, still night-- + Still as the night of some great spongy stone + That turns but once an age betwixt the light +And the huge shadow from its own bulk thrown, + And long as that to me before whose face + Visions so many slid, and veils were blown +Aside from the vague vast of Isis' grace. + Innumerous thoughts yet throng that infinite hour, + And hopes which greater hopes unceasing chase, +For I was all responsive to his power. + I saw my friends weep, wept, and let them weep; + I saw the growth of each grief-nurtured flower; +I saw the gardener watching--in their sleep + Wiping their tears with the napkin he had laid + Wrapped by itself when he climbed Hades' steep; +What wonder then I saw nor was dismayed! + I saw the dull, degraded monsters nursed + In money-marshes, greedy men that preyed +Upon the helpless, ground the feeblest worst; + Yea all the human chaos, wild and waste, + Where he who will not leave what God hath cursed +Now fruitless wallows, now is stung and chased + By visions lovely and by longings dire. + "But who believeth, he shall not make haste, +Even passing through the water and the fire, + Or sad with memories of a better lot! + He, saved by hope, for all men will desire, +Knowing that God into a mustard-jot + May shut an aeon; give a world that lay + Wombed in its sun, a molten unorbed clot, +One moment from the red rim to spin away + Librating--ages to roll on weary wheel + Ere it turn homeward, almost spent its day! +Who knows love all, time nothing, he shall feel + No anxious heart, shall lift no trembling hand; + Tender as air, but clothed in triple steel, +He for his kind, in every age and land, + Hoping will live; and, to his labour bent, + The Father's will shall, doing, understand." +So spake my brother as we onward went: + His words my heart received, as corn the lea, + And answered with a harvest of content. +We came at last upon a lonesome sea. + +VI. + +And onward still he went, I following + Out on the water. But the water, lo, + Like a thin sheet of glass, lay vanishing! +The starry host in glorious twofold show + Looked up, looked down. The moment I saw this, + A quivering fear thorough my heart did go: +Unstayed I walked across a twin abyss, + A hollow sphere of blue; nor floor was found + Of questing eye, only the foot met the kiss +Of the cool water lightly crisping round + The edges of the footsteps! Terror froze + My fallen eyelids. But again the sound +Of my guide's voice on the still air arose: + "Hast thou forgotten that we walk by faith? + For keenest sight but multiplies the shows. +Lift up thine eyelids; take a valiant breath; + Terrified, dare the terror in God's name; + Step wider; trust the invisible. Can Death +Avail no more to hearten up thy flame?" + I trembled, but I opened wide mine eyes, + And strode on the invisible sea. The same +High moment vanished all my cowardice, + And God was with me. The well-pleased stars + Threw quivering smiles across the gulfy skies, +The white aurora flashed great scimitars + From north to zenith; and again my guide + Full turned on me his face. No prison-bars +Latticed across a soul I there descried, + No weather-stains of grief; quiet age-long + Brooded upon his forehead clear and wide; +Yet from that face a pang shot, vivid and strong, + Into my heart. For, though I saw him stand + Close to me in the void as one in a throng, +Yet on the border of some nameless land + He stood afar; a still-eyed mystery + Caught him whole worlds away. Though in my hand +His hand I held, and, gazing earnestly, + Searched in his countenance, as in a mine, + For jewels of contentment, satisfy +My heart I could not. Seeming to divine + My hidden trouble, gently he stooped and kissed + My forehead, and his arms did round me twine, +And held me to his bosom. Still I missed + That ancient earthly nearness, when we shared + One bed, like birds that of no morrow wist; +Roamed our one father's farm; or, later, fared + Along the dusty highways of the old clime. + Backward he drew, and, as if he had bared +My soul, stood reading there a little time, + While in his eyes tears gathered slow, like dew + That dims the grass at evening or at prime, +But makes the stars clear-goldener in the blue: + And on his lips a faint ethereal smile + Hovered, as hangs the mist of its own hue +Trembling about a purple flower, the while + Evening grows brown. "Brother! brother!" I cried; + But straight outbursting tears my words beguile, +And in my bosom all the utterance died. + +VII. + +A moment more he stood, then softly sighed. + "I know thy pain; but this sorrow is far + Beyond my help," his voice at length replied +To my beseeching tears. "Look at yon star + Up from the low east half-way, all ablaze: + Think'st thou, because no cloud between doth mar +The liquid glory that from its visage rays, + Thou therefore knowest that same world on high, + Its people and its orders and its ways?" +"What meanest thou?" I said. "Thou know'st that + Would hold, not thy dear form, but the self-thee! + Thou art not near me! For thyself I cry!" +"Not the less near that nearer I shall be. + I have a world within thou dost not know-- + Would I could make thee know it! but all of me +Is thine, though thou not yet canst enter so + Into possession that betwixt us twain + The frolic homeliness of love should flow +As o'er the brim of childhood's cup again: + Away the deeper childhood first must wipe + That clouded consciousness which was our pain. +When in thy breast the godlike hath grown ripe, + And thou, Christ's little one, art ten times more + A child than when we played with drum and pipe +About our earthly father's happy door, + Then--" He ceased not; his holy utterance still + Flowing went on, like spring from hidden store +Of wasteless waters; but I wept my fill, + Nor heeded much the comfort of his speech. + At length he said: "When first I clomb the hill-- +With earthly words I heavenly things would reach-- + Where dwelleth now the man we used to call + Father, whose voice, oh memory dear! did teach +Us in our beds, when straight, as once a stall + Became a temple, holy grew the room, + Prone on the ground before him I did fall, +So grand he towered above me like a doom; + But now I look into the well-known face + Fearless, yea, basking blessed in the bloom +Of his eternal youthfulness and grace." + "But something separates us," yet I cried; + "Let light at least begin the dark to chase, +The dark begin to waver and divide, + And clear the path of vision. In the old time, + When clouds one heart did from the other hide, +A wind would blow between! If I would climb, + This foot must rise ere that can go up higher: + Some big A teach me of the eternal prime." +He answered me: "Hearts that to love aspire + Must learn its mighty harmony ere they can + Give out one perfect note in its great quire; +And thereto am I sent--oh, sent of one + Who makes the dumb for joy break out and sing: + He opens every door 'twixt man and man; +He to all inner chambers all will bring." + +VIII. + +It was enough; Hope waked from dreary swound, + And Hope had ever been enough for me, + To kennel driving grim Tomorrow's hound; +From chains of school and mode she set me free, + And urged my life to living.--On we went + Across the stars that underlay the sea, +And came to a blown shore of sand and bent. + Beyond the sand a marshy moor we crossed + Silent--I, for I pondered what he meant, +And he, that sacred speech might not be lost-- + And came at length upon an evil place: + Trees lay about like a half-buried host, +Each in its desolate pool; some fearful race + Of creatures was not far, for howls and cries + And gurgling hisses rose. With even pace +Walking, "Fear not," he said, "for this way lies + Our journey." On we went; and soon the ground + Slow from the waste began a gentle rise; +And tender grass in patches, then all round, + Came clouding up, with its fresh homely tinge + Of softest green cold-flushing every mound; +At length, of lowly shrubs a scattered fringe; + And last, a gloomy forest, almost blind, + For on its roof no sun-ray did impinge, +So that its very leaves did share the mind + Of a brown shadowless day. Not, all the year, + Once part its branches to let through a wind, +But all day long the unmoving trees appear + To ponder on the past, as men may do + That for the future wait without a fear, +And in the past the coming present view. + +IX. + +I know not if for days many or few + Pathless we thrid the wood; for never sun, + Its sylvan-traceried windows peeping through, +Mottled with brighter green the mosses dun, + Or meted with moving shadows Time the shade. + No life was there--not even a spider spun. +At length we came into a sky-roofed glade, + An open level, in a circle shut + By solemn trees that stood aside and made +Large room and lonely for a little hut + By grassy sweeps wide-margined from the wood. + 'Twas built of saplings old, that had been cut +When those great trees no larger by them stood; + Thick with an ancient moss, it seemed to have grown + Thus from the old brown earth, a covert rude, +Half-house, half-grave; half-lifted up, half-prone. + To its low door my brother led me. "There + Is thy first school," he said; "there be thou shown +Thy pictured alphabet. Wake a mind of prayer, + And praying enter." "But wilt thou not come, + Brother?" I said. "No," said he. And I, "Where +Then shall I find thee? Thou wilt not leave me dumb, + And a whole world of thoughts unuttered?" + With half-sad smile and dewy eyes, and some +Conflicting motions of his kingly head, + He pointed to the open-standing door. + I entered: inward, lo, my shadow led! +I turned: his countenance shone like lightning hoar! + Then slow he turned from me, and parted slow, + Like one unwilling, whom I should see no more; +With voice nor hand said, _Farewell, I must go!_ + But drew the clinging door hard to the post. + No dry leaves rustled 'neath his going; no +Footfalls came back from the departing ghost. + He was no more. I laid me down and wept; + I dared not follow him, restrained the most +By fear I should not see him if I leapt + Out after him with cries of pleading love. + Close to the wall, in hopeless loss, I crept; +There cool sleep came, God's shadow, from above. + +X. + +I woke, with calmness cleansed and sanctified-- + The peace that filled my heart of old, when I + Woke in my mother's lap; for since I died +The past lay bare, even to the dreaming shy + That shadowed my yet gathering unborn brain. + And, marvelling, on the floor I saw, close by +My elbow-pillowed head, as if it had lain + Beside me all the time I dreamless lay, + A little pool of sunlight, which did stain +The earthen brown with gold; marvelling, I say, + Because, across the sea and through the wood, + No sun had shone upon me all the way. +I rose, and through a chink the glade I viewed, + But all was dull as it had always been, + And sunless every tree-top round it stood, +With hardly light enough to show it green; + Yet through the broken roof, serenely glad, + By a rough hole entered that heavenly sheen. +Then I remembered in old years I had + Seen such a light--where, with dropt eyelids gloomed, + Sitting on such a floor, dark women sad +In a low barn-like house where lay entombed + Their sires and children; only there the door + Was open to the sun, which entering plumed +With shadowy palms the stones that on the floor + Stood up like lidless chests--again to find + That the soul needs no brain, but keeps her store +In hidden chambers of the eternal mind. + Thence backward ran my roused Memory + Down the ever-opening vista--back to blind +Anticipations while my soul did lie + Closed in my mother's; forward thence through bright + Spring morns of childhood, gay with hopes that fly +Bird-like across their doming blue and white, + To passionate summer noons, to saddened eves + Of autumn rain, so on to wintred night; +Thence up once more to the dewy dawn that weaves + Saffron and gold--weaves hope with still content, + And wakes the worship that even wrong bereaves +Of half its pain. And round her as she went + Hovered a sense as of an odour dear + Whose flower was far--as of a letter sent +Not yet arrived--a footstep coming near, + But, oh, how long delayed the lifting latch!-- + As of a waiting sun, ready to peer +Yet peering not--as of a breathless watch + Over a sleeping beauty--babbling rime + About her lips, but no winged word to catch! +And here I lay, the child of changeful Time + Shut in the weary, changeless Evermore, + A dull, eternal, fadeless, fruitless clime! +Was this the dungeon of my sinning sore-- + A gentle hell of loneliness, foredoomed + For such as I, whose love was yet the core +Of all my being? The brown shadow gloomed + Persistent, faded, warm. No ripple ran + Across the air, no roaming insect boomed. +"Alas," I cried, "I am no living man! + Better were darkness and the leave to grope + Than light that builds its own drear prison! Can +This be the folding of the wings of Hope?" + +XI. + +That instant--through the branches overhead + No sound of going went--a shadow fell + Isled in the unrippled pool of sunlight fed +From some far fountain hid in heavenly dell. + I looked, and in the low roofs broken place + A single snowdrop stood--a radiant bell +Of silvery shine, softly subdued by grace + Of delicate green that made the white appear + Yet whiter. Blind it bowed its head a space, +Half-timid--then, as in despite of fear, + Unfolded its three rays. If it had swung + Its pendent bell, and music golden clear-- +Division just entrancing sounds among-- + Had flickered down as tender as flakes of snow, + It had not shed more influence as it rung +Than from its look alone did rain and flow. + I knew the flower; perceived its human ways; + Dim saw the secret that had made it grow: +My heart supplied the music's golden phrase. + Light from the dark and snowdrops from the earth, + Life's resurrection out of gross decays, +The endless round of beauty's yearly birth, + And nations' rise and fall--were in the flower, + And read themselves in silence. Heavenly mirth +Awoke in my sad heart. For one whole hour + I praised the God of snowdrops. But at height + The bliss gave way. Next, faith began to cower; +And then the snowdrop vanished from my sight. + +XII. + +Last, I began in unbelief to say: + "No angel this! a snowdrop--nothing more! + A trifle which God's hands drew forth in play +From the tangled pond of chaos, dank and frore, + Threw on the bank, and left blindly to breed! + A wilful fancy would have gathered store +Of evanescence from the pretty weed, + White, shapely--then divine! Conclusion lame + O'erdriven into the shelter of a creed! +Not out of God, but nothingness it came: + Colourless, feeble, flying from life's heat, + It has no honour, hardly shunning shame!" +When, see, another shadow at my feet! + Hopeless I lifted now my weary head: + Why mock me with another heavenly cheat?-- +A primrose fair, from its rough-blanketed bed + Laughed, lo, my unbelief to heavenly scorn! + A sun-child, just awake, no prayer yet said, +Half rising from the couch where it was born, + And smiling to the world! I breathed again; + Out of the midnight once more dawned the morn, +And fled the phantom Doubt with all his train. + +XIII. + +I was a child once more, nor pondered life, + Thought not of what or how much. All my soul + With sudden births of lovely things grew rife. +In peeps a daisy: on the instant roll + Rich lawny fields, with red tips crowding the green, + Across the hollows, over ridge and knoll, +To where the rosy sun goes down serene. + From out of heaven in looks a pimpernel: + I walk in morning scents of thyme and bean; +Dewdrops on every stalk and bud and bell + Flash, like a jewel-orchard, many roods; + Glow ruby suns, which emerald suns would quell; +Topaz saint-glories, sapphire beatitudes + Blaze in the slanting sunshine all around; + Above, the high-priest-lark, o'er fields and woods-- +Rich-hearted with his five eggs on the ground-- + The sacrifice bore through the veil of light, + Odour and colour offering up in sound.-- +Filled heart-full thus with forms of lowly might + And shapeful silences of lovely lore, + I sat a child, happy with only sight, +And for a time I needed nothing more. + +XIV. + +Supine to the revelation I did lie, + Passive as prophet to his dreaming deep, + Or harp Aeolian to the breathing sky, +And blest as any child whom twilight sleep + Holds half, and half lets go. But the new day + Of higher need up-dawned with sudden leap: +"Ah, flowers," I said, "ye are divinely gay, + But your fair music is too far and fine! + Ye are full cups, yet reach not to allay +The drought of those for human love who pine + As the hart for water-brooks!" At once a face + Was looking in my face; its eyes through mine +Were feeding me with tenderness and grace, + And by their love I knew my mother's eyes. + Gazing in them, there grew in me apace +A longing grief, and love did swell and rise + Till weeping I brake out and did bemoan + My blameful share in bygone tears and cries: +"O mother, wilt thou plead for me?" I groan; + "I say not, plead with Christ, but plead with those + Who, gathered now in peace about his throne, +Were near me when my heart was full of throes, + And longings vain alter a flying bliss, + Which oft the fountain by the threshold froze: +They must forgive me, mother! Tell them this: + No more shall swell the love-dividing sigh; + Down at their feet I lay my selfishness." +The face grew passionate at this my cry; + The gathering tears up to its eyebrims rose; + It grew a trembling mist, that did not fly +But slow dissolved. I wept as one of those + Who wake outside the garden of their dream, + And, lo, the droop-winged hours laborious close +Its opal gates with stone and stake and beam. + +XV. + +But glory went that glory more might come. + Behold a countless multitude--no less! + A host of faces, me besieging, dumb +In the lone castle of my mournfulness! + Had then my mother given the word I sent, + Gathering my dear ones from the shining press? +And had these others their love-aidance lent + For full assurance of the pardon prayed? + Would they concentre love, with sweet intent, +On my self-love, to blast the evil shade? + Ah, perfect vision! pledge of endless hope! + Oh army of the holy spirit, arrayed +In comfort's panoply! For words I grope-- + For clouds to catch your radiant dawn, my own, + And tell your coming! From the highest cope +Of blue, down to my roof-breach came a cone + Of faces and their eyes on love's will borne, + Bright heads down-bending like the forward blown, +Heavy with ripeness, golden ears of corn, + By gentle wind on crowded harvest-field, + All gazing toward my prison-hut forlorn +As if with power of eyes they would have healed + My troubled heart, making it like their own + In which the bitter fountain had been sealed, +And the life-giving water flowed alone! + +XVI. + +With what I thus beheld, glorified then, + "God, let me love my fill and pass!" I sighed, + And dead, for love had almost died again. +"O fathers, brothers, I am yours!" I cried; + "O mothers, sisters. I am nothing now + Save as I am yours, and in you sanctified! +O men, O women, of the peaceful brow, + And infinite abysses in the eyes + Whence God's ineffable gazes on me, how +Care ye for me, impassioned and unwise? + Oh ever draw my heart out after you! + Ever, O grandeur, thus before me rise +And I need nothing, not even for love will sue! + I am no more, and love is all in all! + Henceforth there is, there can be nothing new-- +All things are always new!" Then, like the fall + Of a steep avalanche, my joy fell steep: + Up in my spirit rose as it were the call +Of an old sorrow from an ancient deep; + For, with my eyes fixed on the eyes of him + Whom I had loved before I learned to creep-- +God's vicar in his twilight nursery dim + To gather us to the higher father's knee-- + I saw a something fill their azure rim +That caught him worlds and years away from me; + And like a javelin once more through me passed + The pang that pierced me walking on the sea: +"O saints," I cried, "must loss be still the last?" + +XVII. + +When I said this, the cloud of witnesses + Turned their heads sideways, and the cloud grew dim + I saw their faces half, but now their bliss +Gleamed low, like the old moon in the new moon's rim. + Then as I gazed, a better kind of light + On every outline 'gan to glimmer and swim, +Faint as the young moon threadlike on the night, + Just born of sunbeams trembling on her edge: + 'Twas a great cluster of profiles in sharp white. +Had some far dawn begun to drive a wedge + Into the night, and cleave the clinging dark? + I saw no moon or star, token or pledge +Of light, save that manifold silvery mark, + The shining title of each spirit-book. + Whence came that light? Sudden, as if a spark +Of vital touch had found some hidden nook + Where germs of potent harmonies lay prest, + And their outbursting life old Aether shook, +Rose, as in prayer to lingering promised guest, + From that great cone of faces such a song, + Instinct with hope's harmonical unrest, +That with sore weeping, and the cry "How long?" + I bore my part because I could not sing. + And as they sang, the light more clear and strong +Bordered their faces, till the glory-sting + I could almost no more encounter and bear; + Light from their eyes, like water from a spring, +Flowed; on their foreheads reigned their flashing hair; + I saw the light from eyes I could not see. + "He comes! he comes!" they sang, "comes to our prayer!" +"Oh my poor heart, if only it were _He!_" + I cried. Thereat the faces moved! those eyes + Were turning on me! In rushed ecstasy, +And woke me to the light of lower skies. + +XVIII. + +"What matter," said I, "whether clank of chain + Or over-bliss wakes up to bitterness!" + Stung with its loss, I called the vision vain. +Yet feeling life grown larger, suffering less, + Sleep's ashes from my eyelids I did brush. + The room was veiled, that morning should not press +Upon the slumber which had stayed the rush + Of ebbing life; I looked into the gloom: + Upon her brow the dawn's first grayest flush, +And on her cheek pale hope's reviving bloom, + Sat, patient watcher, darkling and alone, + She who had lifted me from many a tomb! +One then was left me of Love's radiant cone! + Its light on her dear face, though faint and wan, + Was shining yet--a dawn upon it thrown +From the far coming of the Son of Man! + +XIX. + +In every forehead now I see a sky + Catching the dawn; I hear the wintriest breeze + About me blow the news the Lord is nigh. +Long is the night, dark are the polar seas, + Yet slanting suns ascend the northern hill. + Round Spring's own steps the oozy waters freeze +But hold them not. Dreamers are sleeping still, + But labourers, light-stung, from their slumber start: + Faith sees the ripening ears with harvest fill +When but green blades the clinging earth-clods part. + +XX. + +Lord, I have spoken a poor parable, + In which I would have said thy name alone + Is the one secret lying in Truth's well, +Thy voice the hidden charm in every tone, + Thy face the heart of every flower on earth, + Its vision the one hope; for every moan +Thy love the cure! O sharer of the birth + Of little children seated on thy knee! + O human God! I laugh with sacred mirth +To think how all the laden shall go free; + For, though the vision tarry, in healing ruth + One morn the eyes that shone in Galilee +Will dawn upon them, full of grace and truth, + And thy own love--the vivifying core + Of every love in heart of age or youth, +Of every hope that sank 'neath burden sore! + + + +_THE SANGREAL_: + + A Part Of The Story Omitted In The Old Romances. + +I. + + _How sir Galahad despaired of finding the Grail._ + +Through the wood the sunny day + Glimmered sweetly glad; +Through the wood his weary way + Rode sir Galahad. + +All about stood open porch, + Long-drawn cloister dim; +'Twas a wavering wandering church + Every side of him. + +On through columns arching high, + Foliage-vaulted, he +Rode in thirst that made him sigh, + Longing miserably. + +Came the moon, and through the trees + Glimmered faintly sad; +Withered, worn, and ill at ease + Down lay Galahad; + +Closed his eyes and took no heed + What might come or pass; +Heard his hunger-busy steed + Cropping dewy grass. + +Cool and juicy was the blade, + Good to him as wine: +For his labour he was paid, + Galahad must pine! + +Late had he at Arthur's board, + Arthur strong and wise, +Pledged the cup with friendly lord, + Looked in ladies' eyes; + +Now, alas! he wandered wide, + Resting never more, +Over lake and mountain-side, + Over sea and shore! + +Swift in vision rose and fled + All he might have had; +Weary tossed his restless head, + And his heart grew sad. + +With the lowliest in the land + He a maiden fair +Might have led with virgin hand + From the altar-stair: + +Youth away with strength would glide, + Age bring frost and woe; +Through the world so dreary wide + Mateless he must go! + +Lost was life and all its good, + Gone without avail! +All his labour never would + Find the Holy Grail! + +II. + + _How sir Galahad found and lost the Grail._ + +Galahad was in the night, + And the wood was drear; +But to men in darksome plight + Radiant things appear: + +Wings he heard not floating by, + Heard no heavenly hail; +But he started with a cry, + For he saw the Grail. + +Hid from bright beholding sun, + Hid from moonlight wan, +Lo, from age-long darkness won, + It was seen of man! + +Three feet off, on cushioned moss, + As if cast away, +Homely wood with carven cross, + Rough and rude it lay! + +To his knees the knight rose up, + Loosed his gauntlet-band; +Fearing, daring, toward the cup + Went his naked hand; + +When, as if it fled from harm, + Sank the holy thing, +And his eager following arm + Plunged into a spring. + +Oh the thirst, the water sweet! + Down he lay and quaffed, +Quaffed and rose up on his feet, + Rose and gayly laughed; + +Fell upon his knees to thank, + Loved and lauded there; +Stretched him on the mossy bank, + Fell asleep in prayer; + +Dreamed, and dreaming murmured low + Ave, pater, creed; +When the fir-tops gan to glow + Waked and called his steed; + +Bitted him and drew his girth, + Watered from his helm: +Happier knight or better worth + Was not in the realm! + +Belted on him then his sword, + Braced his slackened mail; +Doubting said: "I dreamed the Lord + Offered me the Grail." + +III. + + _How sir Galahad gave up the Quest for the Grail._ + +Ere the sun had cast his light + On the water's face, +Firm in saddle rode the knight + From the holy place, + +Merry songs began to sing, + Let his matins bide; +Rode a good hour pondering, + And was turned aside, + +Saying, "I will henceforth then + Yield this hopeless quest; +Tis a dream of holy men + This ideal Best!" + +"Every good for miracle + Heart devout may hold; +Grail indeed was that fair well + Full of water cold! + +"Not my thirst alone it stilled + But my soul it stayed; +And my heart, with gladness filled, + Wept and laughed and prayed! + +"Spectral church with cryptic niche + I will seek no more; +That the holiest Grail is, which + Helps the need most sore!" + +And he spake with speech more true + Than his thought indeed, +For not yet the good knight knew + His own sorest need. + +IV. + + _How sir Galahad sought yet again for the Grail._ + +On he rode, to succour bound, + But his faith grew dim; +Wells for thirst he many found, + Water none for him. + +Never more from drinking deep + Rose he up and laughed; +Never more did prayerful sleep + Follow on the draught. + +Good the water which they bore, + Plenteously it flowed, +Quenched his thirst, but, ah, no more + Eased his bosom's load! + +For the _Best_ no more he sighed; + Rode as in a trance; +Life grew poor, undignified, + And he spake of chance. + +Then he dreamed through Jesus' hand + That he drove a nail-- +Woke and cried, "Through every land, + Lord, I seek thy Grail!" + +V. + + _That sir Galahad found the Grail._ + +Up the quest again he took, + Rode through wood and wave; +Sought in many a mossy nook, + Many a hermit-cave; + +Sought until the evening red + Sunk in shadow deep; +Sought until the moonlight fled; + Slept, and sought in sleep. + +Where he wandered, seeking, sad, + Story doth not say, +But at length sir Galahad + Found it on a day; + +Took the Grail with holy hand, + Had the cup of joy; +Carried it about the land, + Gleesome as a boy; + +Laid his sword where he had found + Boot for every bale, +Stuck his spear into the ground, + Kept alone the Grail. + +VI. + + _How sir Galahad carried about the Grail._ + +Horse and crested helmet gone, + Greaves and shield and mail, +Caroling loud the knight walked on, + For he had the Grail; + +Caroling loud walked south and north, + East and west, for years; +Where he went, the smiles came forth, + Where he left, the tears. + +Glave nor dagger mourned he, + Axe nor iron flail: +Evil might not brook to see + Once the Holy Grail. + +Wilds he wandered with his staff, + Woods no longer sad; +Earth and sky and sea did laugh + Round sir Galahad. + +Bitter mere nor trodden pool + Did in service fail, +Water all grew sweet and cool + In the Holy Grail. + +Without where to lay his head, + Chanting loud he went; +Found each cave a palace-bed, + Every rock a tent. + +Age that had begun to quail + In the gathering gloom, +Counselled he to seek the Grail + And forget the tomb. + +Youth with hope or passion pale, + Youth with eager eyes, +Taught he that the Holy Grail + Was the only prize. + +Maiden worn with hidden ail, + Restless and unsure, +Taught he that the Holy Grail + Was the only cure. + +Children rosy in the sun + Ran to hear his tale +How twelve little ones had won + Each of them the Grail. + +VII. + + _How sir Galahad hid the Grail._ + +Very still was earth and sky + When he passing lay; +Oft he said he should not die, + Would but go away. + +When he passed, they reverent sought, + Where his hand lay prest, +For the cup he bare, they thought, + Hidden in his breast. + +Hope and haste and eager thrill + Turned to sorrowing wail: +Hid he held it deeper still, + Took with him the Grail. + + + +_THE FAILING TRACK_. + +Where went the feet that hitherto have come? + Here yawns no gulf to quench the flowing past! +With lengthening pauses broke, the path grows dumb; + The grass floats in; the gazer stands aghast. + +Tremble not, maiden, though the footprints die; + By no air-path ascend the lark's clear notes; +The mighty-throated when he mounts the sky + Over some lowly landmark sings and floats. + +Be of good cheer. Paths vanish from the wave; + There all the ships tear each its track of gray; +Undaunted they the wandering desert brave: + In each a magic finger points the way. + +No finger finely touched, no eye of lark + Hast thou to guide thy steps where footprints fail? +Ah, then, 'twere well to turn before the dark, + Nor dream to find thy dreams in yonder vale! + +The backward way one hour is plain to thee, + Hard hap were hers who saw no trace behind! +Back to confession at thy mother's knee, + Back to the question and the childlike mind! + +Then start afresh, but toward unending end, + The goal o'er which hangs thy own star all night; +So shalt thou need no footprints to befriend, + Child-heart and shining star will guide thee right. + + + +_TELL ME._ + +"Traveller, what lies over the hill? + Traveller, tell to me: +Tip-toe-high on the window-sill + Over I cannot see." + +"My child, a valley green lies there, + Lovely with trees, and shy; +And a tiny brook that says, 'Take care, + Or I'll drown you by and by!'" + +"And what comes next?"--"A little town, + And a towering hill again; +More hills and valleys up and down, + And a river now and then." + +"And what comes next?"--"A lonely moor + Without one beaten way, +And slow clouds drifting dull before + A wind that will not stay." + +"And then?"--"Dark rocks and yellow sand, + Blue sea and a moaning tide." +"And then?"--"More sea, and then more land, + With rivers deep and wide." + +"And then?"--"Oh, rock and mountain and vale, + Ocean and shores and men, +Over and over, a weary tale, + And round to your home again!" + +"And is that all? From day to day, + Like one with a long chain bound, +Should I walk and walk and not get away, + But go always round and round?" + +"No, no; I have not told you the best, + I have not told you the end: +If you want to escape, away in the west + You will see a stair ascend, + +"Built of all colours of lovely stones, + A stair up into the sky +Where no one is weary, and no one moans, + Or wishes to be laid by." + +"Is it far away?"--"I do not know: + You must fix your eyes thereon, +And travel, travel through thunder and snow, + Till the weary way is gone. + +"All day, though you never see it shine, + You must travel nor turn aside, +All night you must keep as straight a line + Through moonbeams or darkness wide." + +"When I am older!"--"Nay, not so!" + "I have hardly opened my eyes!" +"He who to the old sunset would go, + Starts best with the young sunrise." + +"Is the stair right up? is it very steep?" + "Too steep for you to climb; +You must lie at the foot of the glorious heap + And patient wait your time." + +"How long?"--"Nay, that I cannot tell." + "In wind, and rain, and frost?" +"It may be so; and it is well + That you should count the cost. + +"Pilgrims from near and from distant lands + Will step on you lying there; +But a wayfaring man with wounded hands + Will carry you up the stair." + + + +_BROTHER ARTIST!_ + +Brother artist, help me; come! + Artists are a maimed band: + I have words but not a hand; +Thou hast hands though thou art dumb. + +Had I thine, when words did fail-- + Vassal-words their hasting chief, + On the white awaiting leaf +Shapes of power should tell the tale. + +Had I hers of music-might, + I would shake the air with storm + Till the red clouds trailed enorm +Boreal dances through the night. + +Had I his whose foresight rare + Piles the stones with lordliest art, + From the quarry of my heart +Love should climb a heavenly stair! + +Had I his whose wooing slow + Wins the marble's hidden child, + Out in passion undefiled +Stood my Psyche, white as snow! + +Maimed, a little help I pray; + Words suffice not for my end; + Let thy hand obey thy friend, +Say for me what I would say. + +Draw me, on an arid plain + With hoar-headed mountains nigh, + Under a clear morning sky +Telling of a night of rain, + +Huge and half-shaped, like a block + Chosen for sarcophagus + By a Pharaoh glorious, +One rude solitary rock. + +Cleave it down along the ridge + With a fissure yawning deep + To the heart of the hard heap, +Like the rent of riving wedge. + +Through the cleft let hands appear, + Upward pointed with pressed palms + As if raised in silent psalms +For salvation come anear. + +Turn thee now--'tis almost done!-- + To the near horizon's verge: + Make the smallest arc emerge +Of the forehead of the sun. + +One thing more--I ask too much!-- + From a brow which hope makes brave + Sweep the shadow of the grave +With a single golden touch. + +Thanks, dear painter; that is all. + If thy picture one day should + Need some words to make it good, +I am ready to thy call. + + + +_AFTER AN OLD LEGEND._ + +The monk was praying in his cell, + With bowed head praying sore; +He had been praying on his knees + For two long hours and more. + +As of themselves, all suddenly, + His eyelids opened wide; +Before him on the ground he saw + A man's feet close beside; + +And almost to the feet came down + A garment wove throughout; +Such garment he had never seen + In countries round about! + +His eyes he lifted tremblingly + Until a hand they spied: +A chisel-scar on it he saw, + And a deep, torn scar beside. + +His eyes they leaped up to the face, + His heart gave one wild bound, +Then stood as if its work were done-- + The Master he had found! + +With sudden clang the convent bell + Told him the poor did wait +His hand to give the daily bread + Doled at the convent-gate. + +Then Love rose in him passionate, + And with Duty wrestled strong; +And the bell kept calling all the time + With merciless iron tongue. + +The Master stood and looked at him + He rose up with a sigh: +"He will be gone when I come back + I go to him by and by!" + +He chid his heart, he fed the poor + All at the convent-gate; +Then with slow-dragging feet went back + To his cell so desolate: + +His heart bereaved by duty done, + He had sore need of prayer! +Oh, sad he lifted the latch!--and, lo, + The Master standing there! + +He said, "My poor had not to stand + Wearily at thy gate: +For him who feeds the shepherd's sheep + The shepherd will stand and wait." + +_Yet, Lord--for thou would'st have us judge, + And I will humbly dare-- +If he had staid, I do not think + Thou wouldst have left him there. + +Thy voice in far-off time I hear, + With sweet defending, say: +"The poor ye always have with you, + Me ye have not alway!" + +Thou wouldst have said: "Go feed my poor, + The deed thou shalt not rue; +Wherever ye do my father's will + I always am with you."_ + + + +_A MEDITATION OF ST. ELIGIUS_. + +_Queen Mary one day Jesus sent + To fetch some water, legends tell; +The little boy, obedient, + Drew a full pitcher from the well; + +But as he raised it to his head, + The water lipping with the rim, +The handle broke, and all was shed + Upon the stones about the brim. + +His cloak upon the ground he laid + And in it gathered up the pool; [Proverbs xxx. 4.] +Obedient there the water staid, + And home he bore it plentiful._ + +Eligius said, "Tis fabled ill: + The hands that all the world control, +Had here been room for miracle, + Had made his mother's pitcher whole! + +"Still, some few drops for thirsty need + A poor invention even, when told +In love of thee the Truth indeed, + Like broken pitcher yet may hold: + +"Thy truth, alas, Lord, once I spilt: + I thought to bear the pitcher high; +Upon the shining stones of guilt + I slipped, and there the potsherds lie! + +_"Master,_ I cried, _no man will drink, + No human thirst will e'er be stilled +Through me, who sit upon the brink, + My pitcher broke, thy water spilled! + +"What will they do I waiting left? + They looked to me to bring thy law! +The well is deep, and, sin-bereft, + I nothing have wherewith to draw!"_ + +"But as I sat in evil plight, + With dry parched heart and sickened brain, +Uprose in me the water bright, + Thou gavest me thyself again!" + + + +_THE EARLY BIRD._ + +A little bird sat on the edge of her nest; + Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as tops; +Day-long she had worked almost without rest, + And had filled every one of their gibbous crops; +Her own she had filled just over-full, +And she felt like a dead bird stuffed with wool. + +"Oh dear!" she sighed, as she sat with her head + Sunk in her chest, and no neck at all, +Looking like an apple on a feather-bed + Poked and rounded and fluffed to a ball, +"What's to be done if things don't reform? +I cannot tell where there is one more worm! + +"I've had fifteen to-day, and the children five each, + Besides a few flies, and some very fat spiders: +Who will dare say I don't do as I preach? + I set an example to all providers! +But what's the use? We want a storm: +I don't know where there's a single worm!" + +"There's five in my crop," chirped a wee, wee bird + Who woke at the voice of his mother's pain; +"I know where there's five!" And with the word + He tucked in his head and went off again. +"The folly of childhood," sighed his mother, +"Has always been my especial bother!" + +Careless the yellow-beaks slept on, + They never had heard of the bogy, Tomorrow; +The mother sat outside making her moan-- + "I shall soon have to beg, or steal, or borrow! +I have always to say, the night before, +Where shall I find one red worm more!" + +Her case was this, she had gobbled too many, + And sleepless, had an attack she called foresight: +A barn of crumbs, if she knew but of any! + Could she but get of the great worm-store sight! +The eastern sky was growing red +Ere she laid her wise beak in its feather-bed. + +Just then, the fellow who knew of five, + Nor troubled his sleep with anxious tricks, +Woke, and stirred, and felt alive: + "To-day," he said, "I am up to six! +But my mother feels in her lot the crook-- +What if I tried my own little hook!" + +When his mother awoke, she winked her eyes + As if she had dreamed that she was a mole: +Could she believe them? "What a huge prize + That child is dragging out of its hole!" +The fledgeling indeed had just caught his third! +_And here is a fable to catch the bird!_ + + + +_SIR LARK AND KING SUN._ + +"Good morrow, my lord!" in the sky alone +Sang the lark as the sun ascended his throne. +"Shine on me, my lord: I only am come, +Of all your servants, to welcome you home! +I have shot straight up, a whole hour, I swear, +To catch the first gleam of your golden hair." + +"Must I thank you then," said the king, "sir Lark, +For flying so high and hating the dark? +You ask a full cup for half a thirst: +Half was love of me, half love to be first. +Some of my subjects serve better my taste: +Their watching and waiting means more than your haste." + +King Sun wrapt his head in a turban of cloud; +Sir Lark stopped singing, quite vexed and cowed; +But higher he flew, for he thought, "Anon +The wrath of the king will be over and gone; +And, scattering his head-gear manifold, +He will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold!" + +He flew, with the strength of a lark he flew, +But as he rose the cloud rose too; +And not one gleam of the flashing hair +Brought signal of favour across the air; +And his wings felt withered and worn and old, +For their feathers had had no chrism of gold. + +Outwearied at length, and throbbing sore, +The strong sun-seeker could do no more; +He faltered and sank, then dropped like a stone +Beside his nest, where, patient, alone, +Sat his little wife on her little eggs, +Keeping them warm with wings and legs. + +Did I say alone? Ah, no such thing! +There was the cloudless, the ray-crowned king! +"Welcome, sir Lark!--You look tired!" said he; +"_Up_ is not always the best way to me: +While you have been racing my turban gray, +I have been shining where you would not stay!" + +He had set a coronet round the nest; +Its radiance foamed on the wife's little breast; +And so glorious was she in russet gold +That sir Lark for wonder and awe grew cold; +He popped his head under her wing, and lay +As still as a stone till king Sun went away. + + + +_THE OWL AND THE BELL._ + +_Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_ +Sang the Bell to himself in his house at home, +High in the church-tower, lone and unseen, +In a twilight of ivy, cool and green; +With his _Bing, Bing, Bim, Bing, Bang, Bome!_ +Singing bass to himself in his house at home. + +Said the Owl, on a shadowy ledge below, +Like a glimmering ball of forgotten snow, +"Pest on that fellow sitting up there, +Always calling the people to prayer! +He shatters my nerves with his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_--- +Far too big in his house at home! + +"I think I will move.--But it suits me well, +And one may get used to it, who can tell!" +So he slept again with all his might, +Then woke and snooved out in the hush of night +When the Bell was asleep in his house at home, +Dreaming over his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +For the Owl was born so poor and genteel +What could he do but pick and steal? +He scorned to work for honest bread-- +"Better have never been hatched!" he said. +So his day was the night, for he dared not roam +Till sleep had silenced the _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +When five greedy Owlets chipped the egg +He wanted two beaks and another leg, +And they ate the more that they did not sleep well: +"It's their gizzards," said Owless; said Owl, "It's that Bell!" +For they quivered like leaves of a wind-blown tome +When the Bell bellowed out his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +But the Bell began to throb with the fear +Of bringing his house about his one ear; +And his people came round it, quite a throng, +To buttress the walls and make them strong: +A full month he sat, and felt like a mome +Not daring to shout his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +Said the Owl to himself, and hissed as he said, +"I trust in my heart the old fool is dead! +No more will he scare church-mice with his bounce, +And make them so thin they're scarce worth a pounce! +Once I will see him ere he's laid in the loam, +And shout in his ear _Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_" + +"Hoo! hoo!" he cried, as he entered the steeple, +"They've hanged him at last, the righteous people! +His swollen tongue lolls out of his head! +Hoo! hoo! at last the old brute is dead! +There let him hang, the shapeless gnome, +Choked with a throatful of _Bing, Bang, Bome!_" + +He fluttered about him, singing _Too-whoo!_ +He flapped the poor Bell, and said, "Is that you? +You that never would matters mince, +Banging poor owls and making them wince? +A fig for you now, in your great hall-dome! +_Too-whit_ is better than _Bing, Bang, Bome!_" + +Still braver he grew, the downy, the dapper; +He flew in and perched on the knob of the clapper, +And shouted _Too-whoo!_ An echo awoke +Like a far-off ghostly _Bing-Bang_ stroke: +"Just so!" he cried; "I am quite at home! +I will take his place with my _Bing, Bang, Bome!_" + +He hissed with the scorn of his grand self-wonder, +And thought the Bell's tremble his own great thunder: +He sat the Jove of creation's fowl.-- +_Bang!_ went the Bell--through the rope-hole the owl, +A fluffy avalanche, light as foam, +Loosed by the boom of the _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +He sat where he fell, as if he had meant it, +Ready for any remark anent it. +Said the eldest Owlet, "Pa, you were wrong; +He's at it again with his vulgar song!" +"Child," said the Owl, "of the mark you are wide: +I brought him to life by perching inside." + +"Why did you, my dear?" said his startled wife; +"He has always been the plague of your life!" +"I have given him a lesson of good for evil: +Perhaps the old ruffian will now be civil!" +The Owl sat righteous, he raised his comb. +The Bell bawled on, _Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_ + + + +A MAMMON-MARRIAGE. + +The croak of a raven hoar! + A dog's howl, kennel-tied! +Loud shuts the carriage-door: + The two are away on their ghastly ride +To Death's salt shore! + +Where are the love and the grace? + The bridegroom is thirsty and cold! +The bride's skull sharpens her face! + But the coachman is driving, jubilant, bold, +The devil's pace. + +The horses shivered and shook + Waiting gaunt and haggard +With sorry and evil look; + But swift as a drunken wind they staggered +'Longst Lethe brook. + +Long since, they ran no more; + Heavily pulling they died +On the sand of the hopeless shore + Where never swelled or sank a tide, +And the salt burns sore. + +Flat their skeletons lie, + White shadows on shining sand; +The crusted reins go high + To the crumbling coachman's bony hand +On his knees awry. + +Side by side, jarring no more, + Day and night side by side, +Each by a doorless door, + Motionless sit the bridegroom and bride +On the Dead-Sea-shore. + + + +_A SONG IN THE NIGHT._ + +A brown bird sang on a blossomy tree, +Sang in the moonshine, merrily, +Three little songs, one, two, and three, +A song for his wife, for himself, and me. + +He sang for his wife, sang low, sang high, +Filling the moonlight that filled the sky; +"Thee, thee, I love thee, heart alive! +Thee, thee, thee, and thy round eggs five!" + +He sang to himself, "What shall I do +With this life that thrills me through and through! +Glad is so glad that it turns to ache! +Out with it, song, or my heart will break!" + +He sang to me, "Man, do not fear +Though the moon goes down and the dark is near; +Listen my song and rest thine eyes; +Let the moon go down that the sun may rise!" + +I folded me up in the heart of his tune, +And fell asleep with the sinking moon; +I woke with the day's first golden gleam, +And, lo, I had dreamed a precious dream! + + + +_LOVE'S HISTORY_. + +Love, the baby, + Crept abroad to pluck a flower: +One said, Yes, sir; one said, Maybe; + One said, Wait the hour. + +Love, the boy, + Joined the youngsters at their play: +But they gave him little joy, + And he went away. + +Love, the youth, + Roamed the country, quiver-laden; +From him fled away in sooth + Many a man and maiden! + +Love, the man, + Sought a service all about; +But they called him feeble, one + They could do without. + +Love, the aged, + Walking, bowed, the shadeless miles, +Read a volume many-paged, + Full of tears and smiles. + +Love, the weary, + Tottered down the shelving road: +At its foot, lo, Night, the starry, + Meeting him from God! + +"Love, the holy," + Sang a music in her dome, +Sang it softly, sang it slowly, + "Love is coming home!" + + + +THE LARK AND THE WIND. + +In the air why such a ringing? + On the earth why such a droning? + +In the air the lark is singing; + On the earth the wind is moaning. + +"I am blest, in sunlight swinging!" + "Sad am I: the world lies groaning!" + +In the sky the lark kept singing; + On the earth the wind kept moaning. + + + +A DEAD HOUSE. + +When the clock hath ceased to tick + Soul-like in the gloomy hall; +When the latch no more doth click + Tongue-like in the red peach-wall; +When no more come sounds of play, + Mice nor children romping roam, +Then looks down the eye of day + On a dead house, not a home! + +But when, like an old sun's ghost, + Haunts her vault the spectral moon; +When earth's margins all are lost, + Melting shapes nigh merged in swoon, +Then a sound--hark! there again!-- + No, 'tis not a nibbling mouse! +'Tis a ghost, unseen of men, + Walking through the bare-floored house! + +And with lightning on the stair + To that silent upper room, +With the thunder-shaken air + Sudden gleaming into gloom, +With a frost-wind whistling round, + From the raging northern coasts, +Then, mid sieging light and sound, + All the house is live with ghosts! + +Brother, is thy soul a cell + Empty save of glittering motes, +Where no live loves live and dwell, + Only notions, things, and thoughts? +Then thou wilt, when comes a Breath + Tempest-shaking ridge and post, +Find thyself alone with Death + In a house where walks no ghost. + + + +'BELL UPON ORGAN. + + It's all very well, +Said the Bell, +To be the big Organ below! +But the folk come and go, +Said the Bell, +And you never can tell +What sort of person the Organ will blow! +And, besides, it is much at the mercy of the weather +For 'tis all made in pieces and glued together! + + But up in my cell +Next door to the sky, +Said the Bell, +I dwell +Very high; +And with glorious go +I swing to and fro; +I swing swift or slow, +I swing as I please, +With summons or knell; +I swing at my ease, +Said the Bell: +Not the tallest of men +Can reach up to touch me, +To smirch me or smutch me, +Or make me do what +I would not be at! +And, then, +The weather can't cause me to shrink or increase: +I chose to be made in one perfect piece! + + + +MASTER AND BOY. + +"WHO is this little one lying," + Said Time, "at my garden-gate, +Moaning and sobbing and crying, + Out in the cold so late?" + +"They lurked until we came near, + Master and I," the child said, +"Then caught me, with 'Welcome, New-year! + Happy Year! Golden-head!' + +"See Christmas-day, my Master, + On the meadow a mile away! +Father Time, make me run faster! + I'm the Shadow of Christmas-day!" + +"Run, my child; still he's in sight! + Only look well to his track; +Little Shadow, run like the light, + He misses you at his back!" + +Old Time sat down in the sun + On a grave-stone--his legs were numb: +"When the boy to his master has run," + He said, "Heaven's New Year is come!" + + + +_THE CLOCK OF THE UNIVERSE_. + + A clock aeonian, steady and tall, +With its back to creation's flaming wall, +Stands at the foot of a dim, wide stair. +Swing, swang, its pendulum goes, +Swing--swang--here--there! +Its tick and its tack like the sledge-hammer blows +Of Tubal Cain, the mighty man! +But they strike on the anvil of never an ear, +On the heart of man and woman they fall, +With an echo of blessing, an echo of ban; +For each tick is a hope, each tack is a fear, +Each tick is a _Where_, each tack a _Not here_, +Each tick is a kiss, each tack is a blow, +Each tick says _Why_, each tack _I don't know_. +Swing, swang, the pendulum! +Tick and tack, and _go_ and _come_, +With a haunting, far-off, dreamy hum, +With a tick, tack, loud and dumb, +Swings the pendulum. + + Two hands, together joined in prayer, +With a roll and a volley of spheric thunder; +Two hands, in hope spread half asunder, +An empty gulf of longing embrace; +Two hands, wide apart as they can fare +In a fear still coasting not touching Despair, +But turning again, ever round to prayer: +Two hands, human hands, pass with awful motion +From isle to isle of the sapphire ocean. + + The silent, surfaceless ocean-face +Is filled with a brooding, hearkening grace; +The stars dream in, and sink fainting out, +And the sun and the moon go walking about, +Walking about in it, solemn and slow, +Solemn and slow, at a thinking pace, +Walking about in it to and fro, +Walking, walking about. + + With open beak and half-open wing +Ever with eagerness quivering, +On the peak of the clock +Stands a cock: +Tip-toe stands the cock to crow-- +Golden cock with silver call +Clear as trumpet tearing the sky! +No one yet has heard him cry, +Nor ever will till the hour supreme +When Self on itself shall turn with a scream, +What time the hands are joined on high +In a hoping, despairing, speechless sigh, +The perfect groan-prayer of the universe +When the darkness clings and will not disperse +Though the time is come, told ages ago, +For the great white rose of the world to blow: +--Tick, tack, to the waiting cock, +Tick, tack, goes the aeon-clock! + + A polar bear, golden and gray, +Crawls and crawls around the top. +Black and black as an Ethiop +The great sea-serpent lies coiled beneath, +Living, living, but does not breathe. +For the crawling bear is so far away +That he cannot hear, by night or day, +The bourdon big of his deep bear-bass +Roaring atop of the silent face, +Else would he move, and none knows then +What would befall the sons of men! + + Eat up old Time, O raging Bear; +Take Bald-head, and the children spare! +Lie still, O Serpent, nor let one breath +Stir thy pool and stay Time's death! +Steady, Hands! for the noon is nigh: +See the silvery ghost of the Dawning shy +Low on the floor of the level sky! +Warn for the strike, O blessed Clock; +Gather thy clarion breath, gold Cock; +Push on the month-figures, pale, weary-faced Moon; +Tick, awful Pendulum, tick amain; +And soon, oh, soon, +Lord of life, and Father of boon, +Give us our own in our arms again! + + Then the great old clock to pieces will fall +Sans groaning of axle or whirring of wheel. +And away like a mist of the morning steal, +To stand no more in creation's hall; +Its mighty weights will fall down plumb +Into the regions where all is dumb; +No more will its hands, in horror or prayer, +Be lifted or spread at the foot of the stair +That springs aloft to the Father's room; +Its tick and its tack, _When?--Not now_, +Will cease, and its muffled groan below; +Its sapphire face will dissolve away +In the dawn of the perfect, love-potent day; +The serpent and bear will be seen no more, +Growling atop, or prone on the floor; +And up the stair will run as they please +The children to clasp the Father's knees. + +O God, our father, Allhearts' All, +Open the doors of thy clockless hall! + + + +_THE THORN IN THE FLESH._ + +Within my heart a worm had long been hid. +I knew it not when I went down and chid +Because some servants of my inner house +Had not, I found, of late been doing well, +But then I spied the horror hideous +Dwelling defiant in the inmost cell-- +No, not the inmost, for there God did dwell! +But the small monster, softly burrowing, +Near by God's chamber had made itself a den, +And lay in it and grew, the noisome thing! +Aghast I prayed--'twas time I did pray then! +But as I prayed it seemed the loathsome shape +Grew livelier, and did so gnaw and scrape +That I grew faint. Whereon to me he said-- +Some one, that is, who held my swimming head, +"Lo, I am with thee: let him do his worst; +The creature is, but not his work, accurst; +Thou hating him, he is as a thing dead." +Then I lay still, nor thought, only endured. +At last I said, "Lo, now I am inured +A burgess of Pain's town!" The pain grew worse. +Then I cried out as if my heart would break. +But he, whom, in the fretting, sickening ache, +I had forgotten, spoke: "The law of the universe +Is this," he said: "Weakness shall be the nurse +Of strength. The help I had will serve thee too." +So I took courage and did bear anew. +At last, through bones and flesh and shrinking skin, +Lo, the thing ate his way, and light came in, +And the thing died. I knew then what it meant, +And, turning, saw the Lord on whom I leant. + + + +_LYCABAS:_ + +A name of the Year. Some say the word means _a march of wolves_, +which wolves, running in single file, are the Months of the Year. +Others say the word means _the path of the light_. + + O ye months of the year, +Are ye a march of wolves? +Lycabas! Lycabas! twelve to growl and slay? +Men hearken at night, and lie in fear, +Some men hearken all day! + + Lycabas, verily thou art a gallop of wolves, +Gaunt gray wolves, gray months of the year, hunting in twelves, +Running and howling, head to tail, +In a single file, over the snow, +A long low gliding of silent horror and fear! +On and on, ghastly and drear, +Not a head turning, not a foot swerving, ye go, +Twelve making only a one-wolf track! +Onward ye howl, and behind we wail; +Wail behind your narrow and slack +Wallowing line, and moan and weep, +As ye draw it on, straight and deep, +Thorough the night so swart! +Behind you a desert, and eyes a-weary, +A long, bare highway, stony and dreary, +A hungry soul, and a wolf-cub wrapt, +A live wolf-cub, sharp-toothed, steel-chapt, +In the garment next the heart! + + Lycabas! +One of them hurt me sore! +Two of them hurt and tore! +Three of them made me bleed! +The fourth did a terrible deed, +Rent me the worst of the four! +Rent me, and shook me, and tore, +And ran away with a growl! +Lycabas, if I feared you a jot, +You, and your devils running in twelves, +Black-mouthed, hell-throated, straight-going wolves, +I would run like a wolf, I too, and howl! +I live, and I fear you not. + + But shall I not hate you, low-galloping wolves +Hunting in ceaseless twelves? +Ye have hunted away my lambs! +Ye ran at them open-mouthed, +And your mouths were gleamy-toothed, +And their whiteness with red foam frothed, +And your throats were a purple-black gulf: +My lambs they fled, and they came not back! +Lovely white lambs they were, alack! +They fled afar and they left a track +Which at night, when the lone sky clears, +Glistens with Nature's tears! +Many a shepherd scarce thinks of a lamb +But he hears behind it the growl of a wolf, +And behind that the wail of its dam! + + They ran, nor cried, but fled +From day's sweet pasture, from night's soft bed: +Ah me, the look in their eyes! +For behind them rushed the swallowing gulf, +The maw of the growl-throated wolf, +And they fled as the thing that speeds or dies: +They looked not behind, +But fled as over the grass the wind. + + Oh my lambs, I would drop away +Into a night that never saw day +That so in your dear hearts you might say, +"_All is well for ever and aye!_" +Yet it was well to hurry away, +To hurry from me, your shepherd gray: +I had no sword to bite and slay, +And the wolfy Months were on your track! +It was well to start from work and play, +It was well to hurry from me away-- +But why not once look back? + + The wolves came panting down the lea-- +What was left you but somewhere flee! +Ye saw the Shepherd that never grows old, +Ye saw the great Shepherd, and him ye knew, +And the wolves never once came near to you; +For he saw you coming, threw down his crook, +Ran, and his arms about you threw; +He gathered you into his garment's fold, +He kneeled, he gathered, he lifted you, +And his bosom and arms were full of you. +He has taken you home to his stronghold: +Out of the castle of Love ye look; +The castle of Love is now your home, +From the garden of Love you will never roam, +And the wolves no more shall flutter you. + + Lycabas! Lycabas! +For all your hunting and howling and cries, +Your yelling of _woe_! and _alas_! +For all your thin tongues and your fiery eyes, +Your questing thorough the windy grass, +Your gurgling gnar, and your horrent hair, +And your white teeth that will not spare-- +Wolves, I fear you never a jot, +Though you come at me with your mouths red-hot, +Eyes of fury, and teeth that foam: +Ye can do nothing but drive me home! +Wolves, wolves, you will lie one day-- +Ye are lying even now, this very day, +Wolves in twelves, gaunt and gray, +At the feet of the Shepherd that leads the dams, +At the feet of the Shepherd that carries the lambs! + + And now that I see you with my mind's eye, +What are you indeed? my mind revolves. +Are you, are you verily wolves? +I saw you only through twilight dark, +Through rain and wind, and ill could mark! +Now I come near--are you verily wolves? +Ye have torn, but I never saw you slay! +Me ye have torn, but I live to-day, +Live, and hope to live ever and aye! +Closer still let me look at you!-- +Black are your mouths, but your eyes are true!-- +Now, now I know you!--the Shepherd's sheep-dogs! +Friends of us sheep on the moors and bogs, +Lost so often in swamps and fogs! +Dear creatures, forgive me; I did you wrong; +You to the castle of Love belong: +Forgive the sore heart that made sharp the tongue! +Your swift-flying feet the Shepherd sends +To gather the lambs, his little friends, +And draw the sheep after for rich amends! +Sharp are your teeth, my wolves divine, +But loves and no hates in your deep eyes shine! +No more will I call you evil names, +No more assail you with untrue blames! +Wake me with howling, check me with biting, +Rouse up my strength for the holy fighting: +Hunt me still back, nor let me stray +Out of the infinite narrow way, +The radiant march of the Lord of Light +Home to the Father of Love and Might, +Where each puts Thou in the place of I, +And Love is the Law of Liberty. + + + + + BALLADS + + +_THE UNSEEN MODEL_. + +Forth to his study the sculptor goes + In a mood of lofty mirth: +"Now shall the tongues of my carping foes + Confess what my art is worth! +In my brain last night the vision arose, + To-morrow shall see its birth!" + +He stood like a god; with creating hand + He struck the formless clay: +"Psyche, arise," he said, "and stand; + In beauty confront the day. +I have sought nor found thee in any land; + I call thee: arise; obey!" + +The sun was low in the eastern skies + When spoke the confident youth; +Sweet Psyche, all day, his hands and eyes + Wiled from the clay uncouth, +Nor ceased when the shadows came up like spies + That dog the steps of Truth. + +He said, "I will do my will in spite + Of the rising dark; for, see, +She grows to my hand! The mar-work night + Shall hurry and hide and flee +From the glow of my lamp and the making might + That passeth out of me!" + +In the flickering lamplight the figure swayed, + In the shadows did melt and swim: +With tool and thumb he modelled and made, + Nor knew that feature and limb +Half-obeying, half-disobeyed, + And mocking eluded him. + +At the dawning Psyche of his brain + Joyous he wrought all night: +The oil went low, and he trimmed in vain, + The lamp would not burn bright; +But he still wrought on: through the high roof-pane + He saw the first faint light! + +The dark retreated; the morning spread; + His creatures their shapes resume; +The plaster stares dumb-white and dead; + A faint blue liquid bloom +Lies on each marble bosom and head; + To his Psyche clings the gloom. + +Backward he stept to see the clay: + His visage grew white and sear; +No beauty ideal confronted the day, + No Psyche from upper sphere, +But a once loved shape that in darkness lay, + Buried a lonesome year! + +From maidenhood's wilderness fair and wild + A girl to his charm had hied: +He had blown out the lamp of the trusting child, + And in the darkness she died; +Now from the clay she sadly smiled, + And the sculptor stood staring-eyed. + +He had summoned Psyche--and Psyche crept + From a half-forgotten tomb; +She brought her sad smile, that still she kept, + Her eyes she left in the gloom! +High grace had found him, for now he wept, + And love was his endless doom! + +Night-long he pined, all day did rue; + He haunted her form with sighs: +As oft as his clay to a lady grew + The carvers, with dim surmise, +Would whisper, "The same shape come to woo, + With its blindly beseeching eyes!" + + + +_THE HOMELESS GHOST_. + +Through still, bare streets, and cold moonshine + His homeward way he bent; +The clocks gave out the midnight sign + As lost in thought he went +Along the rampart's ocean-line, +Where, high above the tossing brine, + Seaward his lattice leant. + +He knew not why he left the throng, + Why there he could not rest, +What something pained him in the song + And mocked him in the jest, +Or why, the flitting crowd among, +A moveless moonbeam lay so long + Athwart one lady's breast! + +He watched, but saw her speak to none, + Saw no one speak to her; +Like one decried, she stood alone, + From the window did not stir; +Her hair by a haunting gust was blown, +Her eyes in the shadow strangely shown, + She looked a wanderer. + +He reached his room, he sought a book + His brooding to beguile; +But ever he saw her pallid look, + Her face too still to smile. +An hour he sat in his fireside nook, +The time flowed past like a silent brook, + Not a word he read the while. + +Vague thoughts absorbed his passive brain + Of love that bleeding lies, +Of hoping ever and hoping in vain, + Of a sorrow that never dies-- +When a sudden spatter of angry rain +Smote against every window-pane, + And he heard far sea-birds' cries. + +He looked from the lattice: the misty moon + Hardly a glimmer gave; +The wind was like one that hums a tune, + The first low gathering stave; +The ocean lay in a sullen swoon, +With a moveless, monotonous, murmured croon + Like the moaning of a slave. + +Sudden, with masterful, angry blare + It howled from the watery west: +The storm was up, he had left his lair! + The night would be no jest! +He turned: a lady sat in his chair! +Through her loose dim robe her arm came bare, + And it lay across her breast. + +She sat a white queen on a ruined throne, + A lily bowed with blight; +In her eyes the darkness about was blown + By flashes of liquid light; +Her skin with very whiteness shone; +Back from her forehead loosely thrown + Her hair was dusk as night. + +Wet, wet it hung, and wept like weeds + Down her pearly shoulders bare; +The pale drops glistened like diamond beads + Caught in a silken snare; +As the silver-filmy husk to its seeds +Her dank robe clings, and but half recedes + Her form so shadowy fair. + +Doubting she gazed in his wondering face, + Wonder his utterance ties; +She searches, like one in forgetful case, + For something within his eyes, +For something that love holds ever in chase, +For something that is, and has no place, + But away in the thinking lies. + +Speechless he ran, brought a wrap of wool, + And a fur that with down might vie; +Listless, into the gathering pool + She dropped them, and let them lie. +He piled the hearth with fagots so full +That the flames, as if from the log of Yule, + Up the chimney went roaring high. + +Then she spoke, and lovely to heart and ear + Was her voice, though broke by pain; +Afar it sounded, though sweet and clear, + As if from out of the rain; +As if from out of the night-wind drear +It came like the voice of one in fear + Lest she should no welcome gain. + +"I am too far off to feel the cold, + Too cold to feel the fire; +It cannot get through the heap of mould + That soaks in the drip from the spire: +Cerement of wax 'neath cloth of gold, +'Neath fur and wool in fold on fold, + Freezes in frost so dire." + +Her voice and her eyes and her cheek so white + Thrilled him through heart and brain; +Wonder and pity and love unite + In a passion of bodiless pain; +Her beauty possessed him with strange delight: +He was out with her in the live wan night, + With her in the blowing rain! + +Sudden she rose, she kneeled, she flung + Her loveliness at his feet: +"I am tired of being blown and swung + In the rain and the snow and the sleet! +But better no rest than stillness among +Things whose names would defile my tongue! + How I hate the mouldy sheet! + +"Ah, though a ghost, I'm a lady still!" + The youth recoiled aghast. +Her eyes grew wide and pale and chill + With a terror that surpassed. +He caught her hand: a freezing thrill +Stung to his wrist, but with steadfast will + He held it warm and fast. + +"What can I do to save thee, dear?" + At the word she sprang upright; +On tiptoe she stood, he bent his ear, + She whispered, whispered light. +She withdrew; she gazed with an asking fear: +Like one that looks on his lady's bier + He stood, with a face ghost-white. + +"Six times--in vain, oh hapless maid!-- + I have humbled myself to sue! +This is the last: as the sunset decayed, + Out with the twilight I grew, +And about the city flitted and strayed, +A wandering, lonely, forsaken shade: + No one saw me but you." + +He shivered, he shook, he had turned to clay, + Vile fear had gone into his blood; +His face was a dismal ashy gray, + Through his heart crept slime and mud; +The lady stood in a still dismay, +She drooped, she shrank, she withered away + Like a half-blown frozen bud. + +"Speak once more. Am I frightful then? + I live, though they call it death; +I am only cold! Say _dear_ again." + But scarce could he heave a breath; +Over a dank and steaming fen +He floated astray from the world of men, + A lost, half-conscious wraith. + +"Ah, 'tis the last time! Save me!" Her cry + Entered his heart, and lay. +But he loved the sunshine, the golden sky, + And the ghosts' moonlight is gray!-- +As feverous visions flit and fly +And without a motion elude the eye, + She stood three steps away. + +But oh, her eyes!--refusal base + Those live-soul-stars had slain! +Frozen eyes in an icy face + They had grown. Like a ghost of the brain, +Beside the lattice, thought-moved in space, +She stood with a doleful despairing grace: + The fire burned! clanged the rain! + +Faded or fled, she had vanished quite! + The loud wind sank to a sigh; +Pale faces without paled the face of night, + Sweeping the window by; +Some to the glass pressed a cheek of fright, +Some shot a gleam of decaying light + From a flickering, uncertain eye. + +Whence did it come, from the sky or the deep, + That faint, long-cadenced wail? +From the closing door of the down-way steep, + His own bosom, or out of the gale? +From the land where dead dreams, or dead maidens sleep? +Out of every night to come will creep + That cry his heart to quail! + +The clouds had broken, the wind was at rest, + The sea would be still ere morn, +The moon had gone down behind its breast + Save the tip of one blunt horn: +Was that the ghost-angel without a nest-- +Across the moonset far in the west + That thin white vapour borne? + +He turned from the lattice: the fire-lit room + With its ghost-forsaken chair +Was cold and drear as a rifled tomb, + Shameful and dreamless and bare! +Filled it was with his own soul's gloom, +With the sense of a traitor's merited doom, + With a lovely ghost's despair! + +He had driven a lady, and lightly clad, + Out in the stormy cold! +Was she a ghost?--Divinely sad + Are the people of Hades old! +A wandering ghost? Oh, self-care bad, +Caitiff and craven and cowering, which had + Refused her an earthly fold! + +Ill had she fared, his lovely guest!-- + A passion of wild self-blame +Tore the heart that failed in the test + With a thousand hooks of shame, +Bent his proud head on his heaving breast, +Shore the plume from his ancient crest, + Puffed at his ancient name. + +He sickened with scorn of a fallen will, + With love and remorse he wept; +He sank and kissed her footprints chill + And the track by her garment swept; +He kneeled by her chair, all ice-cold still, +Dropped his head in it, moaned until + For weariness he slept. + +He slept until the flaming sun + Laughed at the by-gone dark: +"A frightful dream!--but the night is done," + He said, "and I hear the lark!" +All day he held out; with the evening gun +A booming terror his brain did stun, + And Doubt, the jackal, gan bark. + +Followed the lion, Conviction, fast, + And the truth no dream he knew! +Night after night raved the conscience-blast, + But stilled as the morning grew. +When seven slow moons had come and passed +His self-reproach aside he cast, + And the truth appeared untrue. + +A lady fair--old story vile!-- + Would make his heart her boast: +In the growing glamour of her smile + He forgot the lovely ghost: +Forgot her for bitterness wrapt in wile, +For the lady was false as a crocodile, + And her heart was a cave of frost. + +Then the cold white face, with its woe divine, + Came back in the hour of sighs: +Not always with comfort to those that pine + The dear true faces arise! +He yearned for her, dreamed of her, prayed for a sign; +He wept for her pleading voice, and the shine + Of her solitary eyes. + +"With thy face so still, which I made so sad-- + Ah me! which I might have wooed-- +Thou holdest my heart in a love not glad, + Sorrowful, shame-subdued! +Come to me, lady, in pardon clad; +Come to my dreams, white Aidead, + For on thee all day I brood!" + +She came not. He sought her in churchyards old, + In churchyards by the sea; +And in many a church, when the midnight tolled + And the moon shone eerily, +Down to the crypt he crept, grown bold, +Sat all night in the dead men's cold, + And called to her: never came she. + +Praying forgiveness more and more, + And her love at any cost, +Pining and sighing and longing sore + He grew like a creature lost; +Thin and spectral his body wore, +He faded out at the ghostly door, + And was himself a ghost. + +But if he found the lady then, + So sorrowfully lost +For lack of the love 'mong earthly men + That was ready to brave love's cost, +I know not till I drop my pen, +Wander away from earthly ken, + And am myself a ghost. + + + +_ABU MIDJAN_. + +"If I sit in the dust + For lauding good wine, +Ha, ha! it is just: + So sits the vine!" + +Abu Midjan sang as he sat in chains, +For the blood of the grape ran the juice of his veins. +The Prophet had said, "O Faithful, drink not!" +Abu Midjan drank till his heart was hot; +Yea, he sang a song in praise of wine, +He called it good names--a joy divine, +The giver of might, the opener of eyes, +Love's handmaid, the water of Paradise! +Therefore Saad his chief spake words of blame, +And set him in irons--a fettered flame; +But he sings of the wine as he sits in his chains, +For the blood of the grape runs the juice of his veins: + +"I will not think + That the Prophet said +_Ye shall not drink + Of the flowing red!_" + +"'Tis a drenched brain + Whose after-sting +Cries out, _Refrain: + 'Tis an evil thing!_ + +"But I will dare, + With a goodly drought, +To drink, nor spare + Till my thirst be out. + +"_I_ do not laugh + Like a Christian fool +But in silence quaff + The liquor cool + +"At door of tent + 'Neath evening star, +With daylight spent, + And Uriel afar! + +"Then, through the sky, + Lo, the emerald hills! +My faith swells high, + My bosom thrills: + +"I see them hearken, + The Houris that wait! +Their dark eyes darken + The diamond gate! + +"I hear the float + Of their chant divine, +And my heart like a boat + Sails thither on wine! + +"Can an evil thing + Make beauty more? +Or a sinner bring + To the heavenly door? + +"The sun-rain fine + Would sink and escape, +But is drunk by the vine, + Is stored in the grape: + +"And the prisoned light + I free again: +It flows in might + Through my shining brain + +"I love and I know; + The truth is mine; +I walk in the glow + Of the sun-bred wine. + +"_I_ will not think + That the Prophet said +_Ye shall not drink + Of the flowing red!_ + +"For his promises, lo, + Sevenfold they shine +When the channels o'erflow + With the singing wine! + +"But I care not, I!--'tis a small annoy +To sit in chains for a heavenly joy!" + + Away went the song on the light wind borne; +His head sank down, and a ripple of scorn +Shook the hair that flowed from his curling lip +As he eyed his brown limbs in the iron's grip. + + Sudden his forehead he lifted high: +A faint sound strayed like a moth-wing by! +Like beacons his eyes burst blazing forth: +A dust-cloud he spied in the distant north! +A noise and a smoke on the plain afar? +'Tis the cloud and the clang of the Moslem war! +He leapt aloft like a tiger snared; +The wine in his veins through his visage flared; +He tore at his fetters in bootless ire, +He called the Prophet, he named his sire; +From his lips, with wild shout, the Techir burst; +He danced in his irons; the Giaours he cursed; +And his eyes they flamed like a beacon dun, +Or like wine in the crystal twixt eye and sun. + + The lady of Saad heard him shout, +Heard his fetters ring on the stones about +The heart of a warrior she understood, +And the rage of the thwarted battle-mood: +Her name, with the cry of an angry prayer, +He called but once, and the lady was there. + + "The Giaour!" he panted, "the Godless brute! +And me like a camel tied foot to foot! +Let me go, and I swear by Allah's fear +At sunset I don again this gear, +Or lie in a heaven of starry eyes, +Kissed by moon-maidens of Paradise! +O lady, grant me the death of the just! +Hark to the hurtle! see the dust!" + + With ready fingers the noble dame +Unlocked her husband's iron blame; +Brought his second horse, his Abdon, out, +And his second hauberk, light and stout; +Harnessed the warrior, and hight him go +An angel of vengeance upon the foe. + + With clank of steel and thud of hoof +Away he galloped; she climbed the roof. + + She sees the cloud and the flashes that leap +From the scythe-shaped swords inside it that sweep +Down with back-stroke the disordered swath: +Thither he speeds, a bolt of wrath! +Straight as an arrow she sees him go, +Abu Midjan, the singer, upon the foe! +Like an eagle he vanishes in the cloud, +And the thunder of battle bursts more loud, +Mingled of crashes and blows and falls, +Of the whish that severs the throat that calls, +Of neighing and shouting and groaning grim: +Abu Midjan, she sees no more of him! +Northward the battle drifts afar +On the flowing tide of the holy war. + + Lonely across the desert sand, +From his wrist by its thong hung his clotted brand, +Red in the sunset's level flame +Back to his bonds Abu Midjan came. + + "Lady, I swear your Saad's horse-- +The Prophet himself might have rode a worse! +Like the knots of a serpent the play of his flesh +As he tore to the quarry in Allah's mesh! +I forgot him, and mowed at the traitor weeds, +Which fell before me like rushes and reeds, +Or like the tall poppies that sudden drop low +Their heads to an urchin's unstrung bow! +Fled the Giaour; the faithful flew after to kill; +I turned to surrender: beneath me still +Was Abdon unjaded, fresh in force, +Faithful and fearless--a heavenly horse! +Give him water, lady, and barley to eat; +Then haste thee and fetter the wine-bibber's feet." + + To the terrace he went, and she to the stall; +She tended the horse like guest in hall, +Then to the warrior unhasting returned. +The fire of the fight in his eyes yet burned, +But he sat in a silence that might betoken +One ashamed that his heart had spoken-- +Though where was the word to breed remorse? +He had lauded only his chief's brave horse! +Not a word she spoke, but his fetters locked; +He watched with a smile that himself bemocked; +She left him seated in caitiff-plight, +Like one that had feared and fled the fight. + + But what singer ever sat lonely long +Ere the hidden fountain burst in song! +The battle wine foamed in the warrior's veins, +And he sang sword-tempest who sat in chains. + + "Oh, the wine +Of the vine + Is a feeble thing! +In the rattle +Of battle + The true grapes spring! + +"When on whir +Of Tecbir + Allah's wrath flies, +And the power +Of the Giaour + A blasted leaf lies! + +"When on force +Of the horse + The arm flung abroad +Is sweeping, +And reaping + The harvest of God! + +"Ha! they drop +From the top + To the sear heap below! +Ha! deeper, +Down steeper, + The infidels go! + +"Azrael +Sheer to hell + Shoots the foul shoals! +There Monker +And Nakir + Torture their souls! + +"But when drop +On their crop + The scimitars red, +And under +War's thunder + The faithful lie dead, + +"Oh, bright +Is the light + On hero slow breaking! +Rapturous faces +Bent for embraces + Watch for his waking! + +"And he hears +In his ears + The voice of Life's river, +Like a song +Of the strong, + Jubilant ever! + +"Oh, the wine +Of the vine + May lead to the gates, +But the rattle +Of battle + Wakes the angel who waits! + +"To the lord +Of the sword + Open it must! +The drinker, +The thinker + Sits in the dust! + +"He dreams +Of the gleams + Of their garments of white; +He misses +Their kisses, + The maidens of light! + +"They long +For the strong + Who has burst through alarms-- +Up, by the labour +Of stirrup and sabre, + Up to their arms! + +"Oh, the wine of the grape is a feeble ghost! +The wine of the fight is the joy of a host!" + + When Saad came home from the far pursuit, +An hour he sat, and an hour was mute. +Then he opened his mouth: "Ah, wife, the fight +Had been lost full sure, but an arm of might +Sudden rose up on the crest of the battle, +Flashed blue lightnings, thundered steel rattle, +Took up the fighting, and drove it on-- +Enoch sure, or the good Saint John! +Wherever he leaped, like a lion he, +The battle was thickest, or soon to be! +Wherever he sprang with his lion roar, +In a minute the battle was there no more! +With a headlong fear, the sinners fled, +And we swept them down the steep of the dead: +Before us, not from us, did they flee, +They ceased in the depths of a new Red Sea! +But him who saved us we saw no more; +He went as he came, by a secret door! +And strangest of all--nor think I err +If a miracle I for truth aver-- +I was close to him thrice--the holy Force +Wore my silver-ringed hauberk, rode Abdon my horse!" + + The lady rose up, withholding her word, +And led to the terrace her wondering lord, +Where, song-soothed, and weary with battle strain, +Abu Midjan sat counting the links of his chain: +"The battle was raging, he raging worse; +I freed him, harnessed him, gave him thy horse." + + "Abu Midjan! the singer of love and of wine! +The arm of the battle, it also was thine? +Rise up, shake the irons from off thy feet: +For the lord of the fight are fetters meet? +If thou wilt, then drink till thou be hoar: +Allah shall judge thee; I judge no more!" + + Abu Midjan arose; he flung aside +The clanking fetters, and thus he cried: +"If thou give me to God and his decrees, +Nor purge my sin with the shame of these, +Wrath against me I dare not store: +In the name of Allah, I drink no more!" + + + +_THE THANKLESS LADY_. + +It is May, and the moon leans down at night + Over a blossomy land; +Leans from her window a lady white, + With her cheek upon her hand. + +"Oh, why in the blue so misty, moon? + Why so dull in the sky? +Thou look'st like one that is ready to swoon + Because her tear-well is dry. + +"Enough, enough of longing and wail! + Oh, bird, I pray thee, be glad! +Sing to me once, dear nightingale, + The old song, merry mad. + +"Hold, hold with thy blossoming, colourless, cold, + Apple-tree white as woe! +Blossom yet once with the blossom of old, + Let the roses shine through the snow!" + +The moon and the blossoms they gloomily gleam, + The bird will not be glad: +The dead never speak when the mournful dream, + They are too weak and sad. + +Listened she listless till night grew late, + Bound by a weary spell; +Then clanked the latch of the garden-gate, + And a wondrous thing befell: + +Out burst the gladness, up dawned the love. + In the song, in the waiting show; +Grew silver the moon in the sky above. + Blushed rosy the blossom below. + +But the merry bird, nor the silvery moon, + Nor the blossoms that flushed the night +Had one poor thanks for the granted boon: + The lady forgot them quite! + + + +_LEGEND OF THE CORRIEVRECHAN_. + +Prince Breacan of Denmark was lord of the strand + And lord of the billowy sea; +Lord of the sea and lord of the land, + He might have let maidens be! + +A maiden he met with locks of gold, + Straying beside the sea: +Maidens listened in days of old, + And repented grievously. + +Wiser he left her in evil wiles, + Went sailing over the sea; +Came to the lord of the Western Isles: + Give me thy daughter, said he. + +The lord of the Isles he laughed, and said: + Only a king of the sea +May think the Maid of the Isles to wed, + And such, men call not thee! + +Hold thine own three nights and days + In yon whirlpool of the sea, +Or turn thy prow and go thy ways + And let the isle-maiden be. + +Prince Breacan he turned his dragon prow + To Denmark over the sea: +Wise women, he said, now tell me how + In yon whirlpool to anchor me. + +Make a cable of hemp and a cable of wool + And a cable of maidens' hair, +And hie thee back to the roaring pool + And anchor in safety there. + +The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule, + Will forge three anchors rare; +The hemp thou shalt pull, thou shalt shear the wool, + And the maidens will bring their hair. + +Of the hair that is brown thou shalt twist one strand, + Of the hair that is raven another; +Of the golden hair thou shalt twine a band + To bind the one to the other! + +The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule, + They forged three anchors rare; +The hemp he did pull, and he shore the wool, + And the maidens brought their hair. + +He twisted the brown hair for one strand, + The raven hair for another; +He twined the golden hair in a band + To bind the one to the other. + +He took the cables of hemp and wool. + He took the cable of hair, +He hied him back to the roaring pool, + He cast the three anchors there. + +The whirlpool roared, and the day went by, + And night came down on the sea; +But or ever the morning broke the sky + The hemp was broken in three. + +The night it came down, the whirlpool it ran, + The wind it fiercely blew; +And or ever the second morning began + The wool it parted in two. + +The storm it roared all day the third, + The whirlpool wallowed about, +The night came down like a wild black bird, + But the cable of hair held out. + +Round and round with a giddy swing + Went the sea-king through the dark; +Round went the rope in the swivel-ring, + Round reeled the straining bark. + +Prince Breacan he stood on his dragon prow, + A lantern in his hand: +Blest be the maidens of Denmark now, + By them shall Denmark stand! + +He watched the rope through the tempest black + A lantern in his hold: +Out, out, alack! one strand will crack! + It is the strand of gold! + +The third morn clear and calm came out: + No anchored ship was there! +The golden strand in the cable stout + Was not all of maidens' hair. + + + +_THE DEAD HAND_. + +The witch lady walked along the strand, + Heard a roaring of the sea, +On the edge of a pool saw a dead man's hand, + Good thing for a witch lady! + +Lightly she stepped across the rocks, + Came where the dead man lay: +Now pretty maid with your merry mocks, + Now I shall have my way! + +On a finger shone a sapphire blue + In the heart of six rubies red: +Come back to me, my promise true, + Come back, my ring, she said. + +She took the dead hand in the live, + And at the ring drew she; +The dead hand closed its fingers five, + And it held the witch lady. + +She swore the storm was not her deed, + Dark spells she backward spoke; +If the dead man heard he took no heed, + But held like a cloven oak. + +Deathly cold, crept up the tide, + Sure of her, made no haste; +Crept up to her knees, crept up each side, + Crept up to her wicked waist. + +Over the blue sea sailed the bride + In her love's own sailing ship, +And the witch she saw them across the tide + As it rose to her lying lip. + +Oh, the heart of the dead and the hand of the dead + Are strong hasps they to hold! +Fled the true dove with the kite's new love, + And left the false kite with the old. + + + + + MINOR DITTIES. + + + +_IN THE NIGHT_. + +As to her child a mother calls, +"Come to me, child; come near!" +Calling, in silent intervals, +The Master's voice I hear. + +But does he call me verily? +To have me does he care? +Why should he seek my poverty, +My selfishness so bare? + +The dear voice makes his gladness brim, +But not a child can know +Why that large woman cares for him, +Why she should love him so! + +Lord, to thy call of me I bow, +Obey like Abraham: +Thou lov'st me because thou art thou, +And I am what I am! + +Doubt whispers, _Thou art such a blot +He cannot love poor thee_: +If what I am he loveth not, +He loves what I shall be. + +Nay, that which can be drawn and wooed, +And turned away from ill, +Is what his father made for good: +He loves me, I say still! + + + +_THE GIVER._ + +To give a thing and take again +Is counted meanness among men; +To take away what once is given +Cannot then be the way of heaven! + +But human hearts are crumbly stuff, +And never, never love enough, +Therefore God takes and, with a smile, +Puts our best things away a while. + +Thereon some weep, some rave, some scorn, +Some wish they never had been born; +Some humble grow at last and still, +And then God gives them what they will. + + + +_FALSE PROPHETS._ + +Would-be prophets tell us +We shall not re-know +Them that walked our fellows +In the ways below! + +Smoking, smouldering Tophets +Steaming hopeless plaints! +Dreary, mole-eyed prophets! +Mean, skin-pledging saints! + +Knowing not the Father +What their prophecies! +Grapes of such none gather, +Only thorns and lies. + +Loving thus the brother, +How the Father tell? +Go without each other +To your heavenly hell! + + + +_LIFE-WEARY_. + +O Thou that walkest with nigh hopeless feet +Past the one harbour, built for thee and thine. +Doth no stray odour from its table greet, +No truant beam from fire or candle shine? + +At his wide door the host doth stand and call; +At every lattice gracious forms invite; +Thou seest but a dull-gray, solid wall +In forest sullen with the things of night! + +Thou cravest rest, and Rest for thee doth crave, +The white sheet folded down, white robe apart.-- +Shame, Faithless! No, I do not mean the grave! +I mean Love's very house and hearth and heart. + + + +_APPROACHES_. + +When thou turn'st away from ill, +Christ is this side of thy hill. + +When thou turnest toward good, +Christ is walking in thy wood. + +When thy heart says, "Father, pardon!" +Then the Lord is in thy garden. + +When stern Duty wakes to watch, +Then his hand is on the latch. + +But when Hope thy song doth rouse, +Then the Lord is in the house. + +When to love is all thy wit, +Christ doth at thy table sit. + +When God's will is thy heart's pole, +Then is Christ thy very soul. + + + +_TRAVELLERS' SONG_. + +Bands of dark and bands of light +Lie athwart the homeward way; +Now we cross a belt of Night, +Now a strip of shining Day! + +Now it is a month of June, +Now December's shivering hour; +Now rides high loved memories' Moon, +Now the Dark is dense with power! + +Summers, winters, days, and nights, +Moons, and clouds, they come and go; +Joys and sorrows, pains, delights, +Hope and fear, and _yes_ and _no_. + +All is well: come, girls and boys, +Not a weary mile is vain! +Hark--dim laughter's radiant noise! +See the windows through the rain! + + + +_LOVE IS STRENGTH_. + +Love alone is great in might, +Makes the heavy burden light, +Smooths rough ways to weary feet, +Makes the bitter morsel sweet: +Love alone is strength! + +Might that is not born of Love +Is not Might born from above, +Has its birthplace down below +Where they neither reap nor sow: +Love alone is strength! + +Love is stronger than all force, +Is its own eternal source; +Might is always in decay, +Love grows fresher every day: +Love alone is strength! + +Little ones, no ill can chance; +Fear ye not, but sing and dance; +Though the high-heaved heaven should fall +God is plenty for us all: +God is Love and Strength! + + + +_COMING_. + +When the snow is on the earth +Birds and waters cease their mirth; +When the sunlight is prevailing +Even the night-winds drop their wailing. + +On the earth when deep snows lie +Still the sun is in the sky, +And when most we miss his fire +He is ever drawing nigher. + +In the darkest winter day +Thou, God, art not far away; +When the nights grow colder, drearer, +Father, thou art coming nearer! + +For thee coming I would watch +With my hand upon the latch-- +Of the door, I mean, that faces +Out upon the eternal spaces! + + + +_SONG OF THE WAITING DEAD_. + +With us there is no gray fearing, +With us no aching for lack! +For the morn it is always nearing, +And the night is at our back. +At times a song will fall dumb, +A thought-bell burst in a sigh, +But no one says, "He will not come!" +She says, "He is almost nigh!" + +The thing you call a sorrow +Is our delight on its way: +We know that the coming morrow +Comes on the wheels of to-day! +Our Past is a child asleep; +Delay is ripening the kiss; +The rising tear we will not weep +Until it flow for bliss. + + + +_OBEDIENCE_. + +Trust him in the common light; +Trust him in the awesome night; + +Trust him when the earth doth quake: +Trust him when thy heart doth ache; + +Trust him when thy brain doth reel +And thy friend turns on his heel; + +Trust him when the way is rough, +Cry not yet, _It is enough_! + +But obey with true endeavour, +Else the salt hath lost his savour. + + + +_A SONG IN THE NIGHT_. + +I would I were an angel strong, +An angel of the sun, hasting along! + +I would I were just come awake, +A child outbursting from night's dusky brake! + +Or lark whose inward, upward fate +Mocks every wall that masks the heavenly gate! + +Or hopeful cock whose clarion clear +Shrills ten times ere a film of dawn appear! + +Or but a glowworm: even then +My light would come straight from the Light of Men! + +I am a dead seed, dark and slow: +Father of larks and children, make me grow. + + + +_DE PROFUNDIS_. + +When I am dead unto myself, and let, +O Father, thee live on in me, +Contented to do nought but pay my debt, +And leave the house to thee, + +Then shall I be thy ransomed--from the cark +Of living, from the strain for breath, +From tossing in my coffin strait and dark, +At hourly strife with death! + +Have mercy! in my coffin! and awake! +A buried temple of the Lord! +Grow, Temple, grow! Heart, from thy cerements break! +Stream out, O living Sword! + +When I am with thee as thou art with me, +Life will be self-forgetting power; +Love, ever conscious, buoyant, clear, and free, +Will flame in darkest hour. + +Where now I sit alone, unmoving, calm, +With windows open to thy wind, +Shall I not know thee in the radiant psalm +Soaring from heart and mind? + +The body of this death will melt away, +And I shall know as I am known; +Know thee my father, every hour and day, +As thou know'st me thine own! + + + +_BLIND SORROW_. + +"My life is drear; walking I labour sore; + The heart in me is heavy as a stone; +And of my sorrows this the icy core: + Life is so wide, and I am all alone!" + +Thou did'st walk so, with heaven-born eyes down bent + Upon the earth's gold-rosy, radiant clay, +That thou had'st seen no star in all God's tent + Had not thy tears made pools first on the way. + +Ah, little knowest thou the tender care + In a love-plenteous cloak around thee thrown! +Full many a dim-seen, saving mountain-stair + Toiling thou climb'st--but not one step alone! + +Lift but thy languid head and see thy guide; + Let thy steps go in his, nor choose thine own; +Then soon wilt thou, thine eyes with wonder wide, + Cry, _Now I know I never was alone_! + + + + + MOTES IN THE SUN. + + + +_ANGELS_. + +Came of old to houses lonely + Men with wings, but did not show them: +Angels come to our house, only, + For their wings, they do not know them! + + + +_THE FATHER'S WORSHIPPERS_. + +'Tis we, not in thine arms, who weep and pray; +The children in thy bosom laugh and play. + + + +_A BIRTHDAY-WISH_. + +Who know thee, love: thy life be such + That, ere the year be o'er, +Each one who loves thee now so much, + Even God, may love thee more! + + + +_TO ANY ONE_. + +Go not forth to call Dame Sorrow +From the dim fields of Tomorrow; +Let her roam there all unheeded, +She will come when she is needed; +Then, when she draws near thy door, +She will find God there before. + + + +_WAITING_. + +Lie, little cow, and chew thy cud, + The farmer soon will shift thy tether; +Chirp, linnet, on the frozen mud, + Sun and song will come together; +Wait, soul, for God, and thou shalt bud, + He waits thy waiting with his weather. + + + +_LOST BUT SAFE_. + +Lost the little one roams about, +Pathway or shelter none can find; +Blinking stars are coming out; +No one is moving but the wind; +It is no use to cry or shout, +All the world is still as a mouse; +One thing only eases her mind: +"Father knows I'm not in the house!" + + + +_MUCH AND MORE_. + +When thy heart, love-filled, grows graver, + And eternal bliss looks nearer, +Ask thy heart, nor show it favour, + Is the gift or giver dearer? + +Love, love on; love higher, deeper; + Let love's ocean close above her; +Only, love thou more love's keeper, + More, the love-creating lover. + + + +_HOPE AND PATIENCE_. + +An unborn bird lies crumpled and curled, +A-dreaming of the world. + +Round it, for castle-wall, a shell +Is guarding it well. + +_Hope_ is the bird with its dim sensations; +The shell that keeps it alive is _Patience_. + + + +_A BETTER THING_. + +I took it for a bird of prey that soared +High over ocean, battled mount, and plain; +'Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored +The invisibly obstructing window-pane! + +Better than eagle, with far-towering nerve +But downward bent, greedy, marauding eye, +Guest of the flowers, thou art: unhurt they serve +Thee, little angel of a lower sky! + + + +_A PRISONER_. + +The hinges are so rusty +The door is fixed and fast; +The windows are so dusty +The sun looks in aghast: +Knock out the glass, I pray, +Or dash the door away, +Or break the house down bodily, +And let my soul go free! + + + +_TO MY LORD AND MASTER_. + +Imagination cannot rise above thee; +Near and afar I see thee, and I love thee; +My misery away from me I thrust it, +For thy perfection I behold, and trust it. + + + +_TO ONE UNSATISFIED_. + +When, with all the loved around thee, + Still thy heart says, "I am lonely," +It is well; the truth hath found thee: + Rest is with the Father only. + + + +_TO MY GOD_. + +Oh how oft I wake and find + I have been forgetting thee! +I am never from thy mind: + Thou it is that wakest me. + + + +_TRIOLET_. + +Oh that men would praise the Lord + For his goodness unto men! +Forth he sends his saving word, + --Oh that men would praise the Lord!-- +And from shades of death abhorred + Lifts them up to light again: +Oh that men would praise the Lord + For his goodness unto men! + + + +_THE WORD OF GOD_. + +Where the bud has never blown + Who for scent is debtor? +Where the spirit rests unknown + Fatal is the letter. + +In thee, Jesus, Godhead-stored, + All things we inherit, +For thou art the very Word + And the very Spirit! + + + +_EINE KLEINE PREDIGT_. + +Graut Euch nicht, Ihr lieben Leute, + Vor dem ungeheuren Morgen; +Wenn es kommt, es ist das Heute, + Und der liebe Gott zu sorgen. + + + +_TO THE LIFE ETERNAL_. + +Thou art my thought, my heart, my being's fortune, + The search for thee my growth's first conscious date; +For nought, for everything, I thee importune; + Thou art my all, my origin and fate! + + + +_HOPE DEFERRED_. + +"Where is thy crown, O tree of Love? + Flowers only bears thy root! +Will never rain drop from above + Divine enough for fruit?" + +"I dwell in hope that gives good cheer, + Twilight my darkest hour; +For seest thou not that every year + I break in better flower?" + + + +_FORGIVENESS_. + +God gives his child upon his slate a sum-- + To find eternity in hours and years; +With both sides covered, back the child doth come, + His dim eyes swollen with shed and unshed tears; +God smiles, wipes clean the upper side and nether, +And says, "Now, dear, we'll do the sum together!" + + + +_DEJECTION_. + +O Father, I am in the dark, + My soul is heavy-bowed: +I send my prayer up like a lark, + Up through my vapoury shroud, + To find thee, + And remind thee +I am thy child, and thou my father, +Though round me death itself should gather. + +Lay thy loved hand upon my head, + Let thy heart beat in mine; +One thought from thee, when all seems dead, + Will make the darkness shine + About me + And throughout me! +And should again the dull night gather, +I'll cry again, _Thou art my father_. + + + +_APPEAL_. + +If in my arms I bore my child, + Would he cry out for fear +Because the night was dark and wild + And no one else was near? + +Shall I then treat thee, Father, as + My fatherhood would grieve? +I will be hopeful, though, alas, + I cannot quite believe! + +I had no power, no wish to be: + Thou madest me half blind! +The darkness comes! I cling to thee! + Be thou my perfect mind. + + + + + POEMS FOR CHILDREN + + + +_LESSONS FOR A CHILD_. + +I. + +There breathes not a breath of the summer air +But the spirit of love is moving there; +Not a trembling leaf on the shadowy tree, +Flutters with hundreds in harmony, +But that spirit can part its tone from the rest, +And read the life in its beetle's breast. +When the sunshiny butterflies come and go, +Like flowers paying visits to and fro, +Not a single wave of their fanning wings +Is unfelt by the spirit that feeleth all things. +The long-mantled moths that sleep at noon +And rove in the light of the gentler moon; +And the myriad gnats that dance like a wall, +Or a moving column that will not fall; +And the dragon-flies that go burning by, +Shot like a glance from a seeking eye-- +There is one being that loves them all: +Not a fly in a spider's web can fall +But he cares for the spider, and cares for the fly; +He cares for you, whether you laugh or cry, +Cares whether your mother smile or sigh. +How he cares for so many, I do not know, +But it would be too strange if he did not so-- +Dreadful and dreary for even a fly: +So I cannot wait for the _how_ and _why_, +But believe that all things are gathered and nursed +In the love of him whose love went first +And made this world--like a huge great nest +For a hen to sit on with feathery breast. + +II. + + The bird on the leafy tree, + The bird in the cloudy sky, + The hart in the forest free, + The stag on the mountain high, + The fish inside the sea, + The albatross asleep + On the outside of the deep, + The bee through the summer sunny + Hunting for wells of honey-- + What is the thought in the breast + Of the little bird in its nest? + What is the thought in the songs + The lark in the sky prolongs? + What mean the dolphin's rays, + Winding his watery ways? + What is the thought of the stag, + Stately on yonder crag? + What does the albatross think, + Dreaming upon the brink + Of the mountain billow, and then + Dreaming down in its glen? + What is the thought of the bee + Fleeting so silently, + Or flitting--with busy hum, + But a careless go-and-come-- + From flower-chalice to chalice, + Like a prince from palace to palace? + What makes them alive, so very-- + Some of them, surely, merry. + And others so stately calm + They might be singing a psalm? + + I cannot tell what they think--- + Only know they eat and drink, + And on all that lies about + With a quiet heart look out, + Each after its kind, stately or coy, + Solemn like man, gamesome like boy, + Glad with its own mysterious joy. + + And God, who knows their thoughts and ways + Though his the creatures do not know, + From his full heart fills each of theirs: + Into them all his breath doth go; + Good and better with them he shares; + Content with their bliss while they have no prayers, + He takes their joy for praise. + + If thou wouldst be like him, little one, go + And be kind with a kindness undefiled; + Who gives for the pleasure of thanks, my child, + God's gladness cannot know. + +III. + + Root met root in the spongy ground, + Searching each for food: + Each turned aside, and away it wound. + And each got something good. + + Sound met sound in the wavy air-- + That made a little to-do! + They jostled not long, but were quick and fair; + Each found its path and flew. + + Drop dashed on drop, as the rain-shower fell; + They joined and sank below: + In gathered thousands they rose a well, + With a singing overflow. + + Wind met wind in a garden green, + They began to push and fret: + A tearing whirlwind arose between: + There love lies bleeding yet. + + + +_WHAT MAKES SUMMER?_ + + Winter froze both brook and well; +Fast and fast the snowflakes fell; +Children gathered round the hearth +Made a summer of their mirth; +When a boy, so lately come +That his life was yet one sum +Of delights--of aimless rambles. +Romps and dreams and games and gambols, +Thought aloud: "I wish I knew +What makes summer--that I do!" +Father heard, and it did show him +How to write a little poem. + + What makes summer, little one, +Do you ask? It is the sun. +Want of heat is all the harm, +Summer is but winter warm. +'Tis the sun--yes, that one there, +Dim and gray, low in the air! +Now he looks at us askance, +But will lift his countenance +Higher up, and look down straighter. +Rise much earlier, set much later, +Till we sing out, "Hail, Well-comer, +Thou hast brought our own old Summer!" + + When the sun thus rises early +And keeps shining all day rarely, +Up he draws the larks to meet him, +Earth's bird-angels, wild to greet him; +Up he draws the clouds, and pours +Down again their shining showers; +Out he draws the grass and clover, +Daisies, buttercups all over; +Out he wiles all flowers to stare +At their father in the air-- +He all light, they how much duller, +Yet son-suns of every colour! +Then he draws their odours out, +Sends them on the winds about. +Next he draws out flying things-- +Out of eggs, fast-flapping wings; +Out of lumps like frozen snails, +Butterflies with splendid sails; +Draws the blossoms from the trees, +From their hives the buzzy bees, +Golden things from muddy cracks-- +Beetles with their burnished backs; +Laughter draws he from the river +Gleaming back to the gleam-giver; +Light he sends to every nook +That no creature be forsook; +Draws from gloom and pain and sadness, +Hope and blessing, peace and gladness, +Making man's heart sing and shine +With his brilliancy divine: +Summer, thus it is he makes it, +And the little child he takes it. + + Day's work done, adown the west +Lingering he goes to rest; +Like a child, who, blissful yet, +Is unwilling to forget, +And, though sleepy, heels and head, +Thinks he cannot go to bed. +Even when down behind the hill +Back his bright look shineth still, +Whose keen glory with the night +Makes the lovely gray twilight-- +Drawing out the downy owl, +With his musical bird-howl; +Drawing out the leathery bats-- +Mice they are, turned airy cats-- +Noiseless, sly, and slippery things +Swimming through the air on wings; +Drawing out the feathery moth, +Lazy, drowsy, very loath; +Drawing children to the door +For one goodnight-frolic more; +Drawing from the glow-worms' tails +Glimmers green in grassy dales; +Making ocean's phosphor-flashes +Glow as if they were sun-ashes. + + Then the moon comes up the hill, +Wide awake, but dreaming still, +Soft and slow, as if in fear +Lest her path should not be clear. +Like a timid lady she +Looks around her daintily, +Begs the clouds to come about her, +Tells the stars to shine without her, +Then unveils, and, bolder grown, +Climbs the steps of her blue throne: +Stately in a calm delight, +Mistress of a whole fair night, +Lonely but for stars a few, +There she sits in silence blue, +And the world before her lies +Faint, a round shade in the skies! + + But what fun is all about +When the humans are shut out! +Shadowy to the moon, the earth +Is a very world of mirth! +Night is then a dream opaque +Full of creatures wide awake! +Noiseless then, on feet or wings, +Out they come, all moon-eyed things! +In and out they pop and play, +Have it all their own wild way, +Fly and frolic, scamper, glow; +Treat the moon, for all her show, +State, and opal diadem, +Like a nursemaid watching them. +And the nightingale doth snare +All the merry tumult rare, +All the music and the magic, +All the comic and the tragic, +All the wisdom and the riot +Of the midnight moonlight diet, +In a diamond hoop of song, +Which he trundles all night long. + + What doth make the sun, you ask, +Able for such mighty task? +He is not a lamp hung high +Sliding up and down the sky, +He is carried in a hand: +That's what makes him strong and grand! +From that hand comes all his power; +If it set him down one hour, +Yea, one moment set him by, +In that moment he would die, +And the winter, ice, and snow +Come on us, and never go. + + Need I tell you whose the hand +Bears him high o'er sea and land? + + + +_MOTHER NATURE._ + + Beautiful mother is busy all day, +So busy she neither can sing nor say; +But lovely thoughts, in a ceaseless flow, +Through her eyes, and her ears, and her bosom go-- +Motion, sight, and sound, and scent, +Weaving a royal, rich content. + + When night is come, and her children sleep, +Beautiful mother her watch doth keep; +With glowing stars in her dusky hair +Down she sits to her music rare; +And her instrument that never fails, +Is the hearts and the throats of her nightingales. + + + +_THE MISTLETOE._ + + Kiss me: there now, little Neddy, +Do you see her staring steady? +There again you had a chance of her! +Didn't you catch the pretty glance of her? +See her nest! On any planet +Never was a sweeter than it! +Never nest was such as this is: +Tis the nest of all the kisses, +With the mother kiss-bird sitting +All through Christmas, never flitting, +Kisses, kisses, kisses hatching, +Sweetest birdies, for the catching! +Oh, the precious little brood +Always in a loving mood!-- +There's one under Mamy's hood! + + There, that's one I caught this minute, +Musical as any linnet! +Where it is, your big eyes question, +With of doubt a wee suggestion? +There it is--upon mouth merry! +There it is--upon cheek cherry! +There's another on chin-chinnie! +Now it's off, and lights on Minnie! +There's another on nose-nosey! +There's another on lip-rosy! +And the kissy-bird is hatching +Hundreds more for only catching. + + Why the mistletoe she chooses, +And the Christmas-tree refuses? +There's a puzzle for your mother? +I'll present you with another! +Tell me why, you question-asker, +Cruel, heartless mother-tasker-- +Why, of all the trees before her, +Gathered round, or spreading o'er her, +Jenny Wren should choose the apple +For her nursery and chapel! +Or Jack Daw build in the steeple +High above the praying people! +Tell me why the limping plover +O'er moist meadow likes to hover; +Why the partridge with such trouble +Builds her nest where soon the stubble +Will betray her hop-thumb-cheepers +To the eyes of all the reapers!-- +Tell me, Charley; tell me, Janey; +Answer all, or answer any, +And I'll tell you, with much pleasure, +Why this little bird of treasure +Nestles only in the mistletoe, +Never, never goes the thistle to. + + Not an answer? Tell without it? +Yes--all that I know about it:-- +Mistletoe, then, cannot flourish, +Cannot find the food to nourish +But on other plant when planted-- +And for kissing two are wanted. +That is why the kissy-birdie +Looks about for oak-tree sturdy +And the plant that grows upon it +Like a wax-flower on a bonnet. + + But, my blessed little mannie, +All the birdies are not cannie +That the kissy-birdie hatches! +Some are worthless little patches, +Which indeed if they don't smutch you, +'Tis they're dead before they touch you! +While for kisses vain and greedy, +Kisses flattering, kisses needy, +They are birds that never waddled +Out of eggs that only addled! +Some there are leave spots behind them, +On your cheek for years you'd find them: +Little ones, I do beseech you, +Never let such birdies reach you. + + It depends what net you venture +What the sort of bird will enter! +I will tell you in a minute +What net takes kiss--lark or linnet-- +Any bird indeed worth hatching +And just therefore worth the catching: +The one net that never misses +Catching at least some true kisses, +Is the heart that, loving truly, +Always loves the old love newly; +But to spread out would undo it-- +Let the birdies fly into it. + + + +_PROFESSOR NOCTUTUS._ + +Nobody knows the world but me. +The rest go to bed; I sit up and see. +I'm a better observer than any of you all, +For I never look out till the twilight fall, +And never then without green glasses, +And that is how my wisdom passes. + +I never think, for that is not fit: +_I observe._ I have seen the white moon sit +On her nest, the sea, like a fluffy owl, +Hatching the boats and the long-legged fowl! +When the oysters gape--you may make a note-- +She drops a pearl into every throat. + +I can see the wind: can you do that? +I see the dreams he has in his hat, +I see him shaking them out as he goes, +I see them rush in at man's snoring nose. +Ten thousand things you could not think, +I can write down plain with pen and ink! + +You know that I know; therefore pull off your hat, +Whether round and tall, or square and flat: +You cannot do better than trust in me; +You may shut your eyes in fact--_I_ see! +Lifelong I will lead you, and then, like the owl, +I will bury you nicely with my spade and showl. + + + +_BIRD-SONGS._ + +I will sing a song, + Said the owl. +You sing a song, sing-song + Ugly fowl! +What will you sing about, +Night in and day out? + +All about the night, + When the gray +With her cloak smothers bright, + Hard, sharp day. +Oh, the moon! the cool dew! +And the shadows!--tu-whoo! + +I will sing a song, + Said the nightingale. +Sing a song, long, long, + Little Neverfail! +What will you sing about, +Day in or day out? + +All about the light + Gone away, +Down, away, and out of sight: + Wake up, day! +For the master is not dead, +Only gone to bed. + +I will sing a song, + Said the lark. +Sing, sing, Throat-strong, + Little Kill-the-dark! +What will you sing about, +Day in and night out? + +I can only call! + I can't think! +Let me up, that's all! + I see a chink! +I've been thirsting all night +For the glorious light! + + + +_RIDDLES._ + +I. + +I have only one foot, but thousands of toes; +My one foot stands well, but never goes; +I've a good many arms, if you count them all, +But hundreds of fingers, large and small; +From the ends of my fingers my beauty grows; +I breathe with my hair, and I drink with my toes; +I grow bigger and bigger about the waist +Although I am always very tight laced; +None e'er saw me eat--I've no mouth to bite! +Yet I eat all day, and digest all night. +In the summer, with song I shake and quiver, +But in winter I fast and groan and shiver. + +II. + +There is a plough that hath no share, +Only a coulter that parteth fair; + But the ridges they rise + To a terrible size +Or ever the coulter comes near to tear: +The horses and ridges fierce battle make; +The horses are safe, but the plough may break. + +Seed cast in its furrows, or green or sear, +Will lift to the sun neither blade nor ear: + Down it drops plumb + Where no spring-times come, +Nor needeth it any harrowing gear; +Wheat nor poppy nor blade has been found +Able to grow on the naked ground. + +FOR MY GRANDCHILD. + +III. + +Who is it that sleeps like a top all night, +And wakes in the morning so fresh and bright +That he breaks his bed as he gets up, +And leaves it smashed like a china cup? + +IV. + +I've a very long nose, but what of that? +It is not too long to lie on a mat! + +I have very big jaws, but never get fat: +I don't go to church, and I'm not a church rat! + +I've a mouth in my middle my food goes in at, +Just like a skate's--that's a fish that's a flat. + +In summer I'm seldom able to breathe, +But when winter his blades in ice doth sheathe + +I swell my one lung, I look big and I puff, +And I sometimes hiss.--There, that's enough! + + + +_BABY._ + +Where did you come from, baby dear? +Out of the everywhere into here. + +Where did you get those eyes so blue? +Out of the sky as I came through. + +What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? +Some of the starry twinkles left in. + +Where did you get that little tear? +I found it waiting when I got here. + +What makes your forehead so smooth and high? +A soft hand stroked it as I went by. + +What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? +I saw something better than any one knows. + +Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? +Three angels gave me at once a kiss. + +Where did you get this pearly ear? +God spoke, and it came out to hear. + +Where did you get those arms and hands? +Love made itself into bonds and bands. + +Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? +From the same box as the cherubs' wings. + +How did they all just come to be you? +God thought about me, and so I grew. + +But how did you come to us, you dear? +God thought about you, and so I am here. + + + +_UP AND-DOWN._ + +The sun is gone down + And the moon's in the sky +But the sun will come up + And the moon be laid by. + +The flower is asleep. + But it is not dead, +When the morning shines + It will lift its head. + +When winter comes + It will die! No, no, +It will only hide + From the frost and snow. + +Sure is the summer, + Sure is the sun; +The night and the winter + Away they run. + + + +_UP IN THE TREE_. + +What would you see, if I took you up +My little aerie-stair? +You would see the sky like a clear blue cup +Turned upside down in the air. + +What would you do, up my aerie-stair +In my little nest on the tree? +With cry upon cry you would ripple the air +To get at what you would see. + +And what would you reach in the top of the tree +To still your grasping grief? +Not a star would you clutch of all you would see, +You would gather just one green leaf. + +But when you had lost your greedy grief, +Content to see from afar, +Your hand it would hold a withering leaf, +But your heart a shining star. + + + +_A BABY-SERMON_. + +The lightning and thunder +They go and they come: +But the stars and the stillness +Are always at home. + + + +_LITTLE BO-PEEP_. + +Little Bo-Peep, she has lost her sheep, + And will not know where to find them; +They are over the height and out of sight, + Trailing their tails behind them! + +Little Bo-Peep woke out of her sleep, + Jump'd up and set out to find them: +"The silly things! they've got no wings, + And they've left their trails behind them! + +"They've taken their tails, but they've left their trails, + And so I shall follow and find them!" +For wherever a tail had dragged a trail + The grass lay bent behind them. + +She washed in the brook, and caught up her crook. + And after her sheep did run +Along the trail that went up the dale + Across the grass in the sun. + +She ran with a will, and she came to a hill + That went up steep like a spire; +On its very top the sun seemed to stop, + And burned like a flame of fire. + +But now she went slow, for the hill did go + Up steeper as she went higher; +When she reached its crown, the sun was down, + Leaving a trail of fire. + +And her sheep were gone, and hope she had none. + For now was no trail behind them. +Yes, there they were! long-tailed and fair! + But to see was not to find them! + +Golden in hue, and rosy and blue, + And white as blossom of pears, +Her sheep they did run in the trail of the sun, + As she had been running in theirs! + +After the sun like clouds they did run, + But she knew they were her sheep: +She sat down to cry and look up at the sky, + But she cried herself to sleep. + +And as she slept the dew down wept, + And the wind did blow from the sky; +And doings strange brought a lovely change: + She woke with a different cry! + +Nibble, nibble, crop, without a stop! + A hundred little lambs +Did pluck and eat the grass so sweet + That grew in the trail of their dams! + +She gave one look, she caught up her crook, + Wiped away the sleep that did blind her; +And nibble-nibble-crop, without a stop + The lambs came nibbling behind her. + +Home, home she came, both tired and lame, + With three times as large a stock; +In a month or more, they'll be sheep as before, + A lovely, long-wooled flock! + +But what will she say, if, one fine day, + When they've got their bushiest tails, +Their grown-up game should be just the same, + And again she must follow mere trails? + +Never weep, Bo-Peep, though you lose your sheep, + Tears will turn rainbow-laughter! +In the trail of the sun if the mothers did run, + The lambs are sure to run after; + +But a day is coming when little feet drumming + Will wake you up to find them-- +All the old sheep--how your heart will leap!-- + With their big little lambs behind them! + + + +_LITTLE BOY BLUE._ + +Little Boy Blue lost his way in a wood-- + _Sing apples and cherries, roses and honey:_ +He said, "I would not go back if I could, + _It's all so jolly and funny!"_ + +He sang, "This wood is all my own-- + _Apples and cherries, roses and honey!_ +Here I will sit, a king on my throne, + _All so jolly and funny!"_ + +A little snake crept out of a tree-- + _Apples and cherries, roses and honey:_ +"Lie down at my feet, little snake," said he-- + _All so jolly and funny!_ + +A little bird sang in the tree overhead-- + _"Apples and cherries, roses and honey:"_ +"Come and sing your song on my finger," he said, + _All so jolly and funny._ + +Up coiled the snake; the bird came down, +And sang him the song of Birdie Brown. + +But little Boy Blue found it tiresome to sit +Though it was on a throne: he would walk a bit! + +He took up his horn, and he blew a blast: +"Snake, you go first, and, birdie, come last." + +Waves of green snake o'er the yellow leaves went; +The snake led the way, and he knew what he meant: + +But by Boy Blue's head, with flutter and dart, +Flew Birdie Brown, her song in her heart. + +Boy Blue came where apples grew fair and sweet: +"Tree, drop me an apple down at my feet." + +He came where cherries hung plump and red: +"Come to my mouth, sweet kisses," he said. + +And the boughs bow down, and the apples they dapple +The grass, too many for him to grapple; + +And the cheeriest cherries, with never a miss, +Fall to his mouth, each a full-grown kiss. + +He met a little brook singing a song: +"Little brook," he said, "you are going wrong, + +"You must follow me, follow me, follow, I say, +Do as I tell you, and come this way." + +And the song-singing, sing-songing forest brook +Leapt from its bed and after him took; + +And the dead leaves rustled, yellow and wan, +As over their beds the water ran. + +He called every bird that sat on a bough; +He called every creature with poop and prow-- + +I mean, with two ends, that is, nose and tail: +With legs or without, they followed full sail; + +Squirrels that carried their tails like a sack, +Each his own on his little brown humpy back; + +Snails that drew their own caravans, +Poking out their own eyes on the point of a lance, + +And houseless slugs, white, black, and red-- +Snails too lazy to build a shed; + +And butterflies, flutterbys, weasels, and larks, +And owls, and shrew-mice, and harkydarks, + +Cockchafers, henchafers, cockioli-birds, +Cockroaches, henroaches, cuckoos in herds; + +The dappled fawns fawning, the fallow-deer following; +The swallows and flies, flying and swallowing-- + +All went flitting, and sailing, and flowing +After the merry boy running and blowing. + +The spider forgot, and followed him spinning, +And lost all his thread from end to beginning; + +The gay wasp forgot his rings and his waist-- +He never had made such undignified haste! + +The dragon-flies melted to mist with their hurrying; +The mole forsook his harrowing and burrowing; + +The bees went buzzing, not busy but beesy, +And the midges in columns, upright and easy. + +But Little Boy Blue was not content, +Calling for followers still as he went, + +Blowing his horn, and beating his drum, +And crying aloud, "Come all of you, come!" + +He said to the shadows, "Come after me;" +And the shadows began to flicker and flee, + +And away through the wood went flattering and fluttering, +Shaking and quivering, quavering and muttering. + +He said to the wind, "Come, follow; come, follow +With whistle and pipe, with rustle and hollo;" + +And the wind wound round at his desire, +As if Boy had been the gold cock on the spire; + +And the cock itself flew down from the church +And left the farmers all in the lurch. + +Everything, everything, all and sum, +They run and they fly, they creep and they come; + +The very trees they tugged at their roots, +Only their feet were too fast in their boots-- + +After him leaning and straining and bending, +As on through their boles the army kept wending, + +Till out of the wood Boy burst on a lea, +Shouting and calling, "Come after me," + +And then they rose with a leafy hiss +And stood as if nothing had been amiss. + +Little Boy Blue sat down on a stone, +And the creatures came round him every one. + +He said to the clouds, "I want you there!" +And down they sank through the thin blue air. + +He said to the sunset far in the west, +"Come here; I want you; 'tis my behest!" + +And the sunset came and stood up on the wold, +And burned and glowed in purple and gold. + +Then Little Boy Blue began to ponder: +"What's to be done with them all, I wonder!" + +He thought a while, then he said, quite low, +"What to do with you all, I am sure I don't know!" + +The clouds clodded down till dismal it grew; +The snake sneaked close; round Birdie Brown flew; + +The brook, like a cobra, rose on its tail, +And the wind sank down with a _what-will-you_ wail, + +And all the creatures sat and stared; +The mole opened the eyes that he hadn't, and glared; + +And for rats and bats, and the world and his wife +Little Boy Blue was afraid of his life. + +Then Birdie Brown began to sing, +And what he sang was the very thing: + +"Little Boy Blue, you have brought us all hither: +Pray, are we to sit and grow old together?" + +"Go away; go away," said Little Boy Blue; +"I'm sure I don't want you! get away--do." + +"No, no; no, no; no, yes, and no, no," +Sang Birdie Brown, "it mustn't be so! + +"If we've come for no good, we can't go away. +Give us reason for going, or here we stay!" + +They covered the earth, they darkened the air, +They hovered, they sat, with a countless stare. + +"If I do not give them something to do, +They will stare me up!" said Little Boy Blue. + +"Oh dear! oh dear!" he began to cry, +"They're an awful crew, and I feel so shy!" + +All of a sudden he thought of a thing, +And up he stood, and spoke like a king: + +"You're the plague of my life! have done with your bother! +Off with you all: take me back to my mother!" + +The sunset went back to the gates of the west. +"Follow _me_" sang Birdie, "I know the way best!" + +"I am going the same way as fast as I can!" +Said the brook, as it sank and turned and ran. + +To the wood fled the shadows, like scared black ghosts: +"If we stay, we shall all be missed from our posts!" + +Said the wind, with a voice that had changed its cheer, +"I was just going there when you brought me here!" + +"That's where I live," said the sack-backed squirrel, +And he turned his sack with a swing and a swirl. + +Said the gold weather-cock, "I'm the churchwarden!" +Said the mole, "I live in the parson's garden!" + +Said they all, "If that's where you want us to steer for, +What on earth or in air did you bring us here for?" + +"You are none the worse!" said Boy. "If you won't +Do as I tell you, why, then, don't; + +"I'll leave you behind, and go home without you; +And it's time I did: I begin to doubt you!" + +He jumped to his feet. The snake rose on his tail, +And hissed three times, a hiss full of bale, + +And shot out his tongue at Boy Blue to scare him, +And stared at him, out of his courage to stare him. + +"You ugly snake," Little Boy Blue said, +"Get out of my way, or I'll break your head!" + +The snake would not move, but glared at him glum; +Boy Blue hit him hard with the stick of his drum. + +The snake fell down as if he was dead. +Little Boy Blue set his foot on his head. + +"Hurrah!" cried the creatures, "hurray! hurrah! +Little Boy Blue, your will is a law!" + +And away they went, marching before him, +And marshalled him home with a high cockolorum. + +And Birdie Brown sang, _"Twirrr twitter, twirrr twee! +In the rosiest rose-bush a rare nest! +Twirrr twitter, twirrr twitter, twirrr twitter, twirrrrr tweeeee! +In the fun he has found the earnest!"_ + + + +_WILLIE'S QUESTION_. + +I. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Is it wrong, the wish to be great, + For I do wish it so? +I have asked already my sister Kate; + She says she does not know. + +Yestereve at the gate I stood + Watching the sun in the west; +When I saw him look so grand and good + It swelled up in my breast. + +Next from the rising moon + It stole like a silver dart; +In the night when the wind began his tune + It woke with a sudden start. + +This morning a trumpet blast + Made all the cottage quake; +It came so sudden and shook so fast + It blew me wide awake. + +It told me I must make haste, + And some great glory win, +For every day was running to waste, + And at once I must begin. + +I want to be great and strong, + I want to begin to-day; +But if you think it very wrong + I will send the wish away. + +II. + + _The Father answers._ + +Wrong to wish to be great? + No, Willie; it is not wrong: +The child who stands at the high closed gate + Must wish to be tall and strong! + +If you did not wish to grow + I should be a sorry man; +I should think my boy was dull and slow, + Nor worthy of his clan. + +You are bound to be great, my boy: + Wish, and get up, and do. +Were you content to be little, my joy + Would be little enough in you. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Papa, papa! I'm so glad + That what I wish is right! +I will not lose a chance to be had; + I'll begin this very night. + +I will work so hard at school! + I will waste no time in play; +At my fingers' ends I'll have every rule, + For knowledge is power, they say. + +I _would_ be a king and reign, + But I can't be that, and so +Field-marshal I'll be, I think, and gain + Sharp battles and sieges slow. + +I shall gallop and shout and call, + Waving my shining sword: +Artillery, cavalry, infantry, all + Hear and obey my word. + +Or admiral I will be, + Wherever the salt wave runs, +Sailing, fighting over the sea, + With flashing and roaring guns. + +I will make myself hardy and strong; + I will never, never give in. +I _am_ so glad it is not wrong! + At once I will begin. + + _The Father speaks._ + +Fighting and shining along, + All for the show of the thing! +Any puppet will mimic the grand and strong + If you pull the proper string! + + _Willie speaks._ + +But indeed I want to _be_ great, + I should despise mere show; +The thing I want is the glory-state-- + Above the rest, you know! + + _The Father answers._ + +The harder you run that race, + The farther you tread that track, +The greatness you fancy before your face + Is the farther behind your back. + +To be up in the heavens afar, + Miles above all the rest, +Would make a star not the greatest star, + Only the dreariest. + +That book on the highest shelf + Is not the greatest book; +If you would be great, it must be in yourself, + Neither by place nor look. + +The Highest is not high + By being higher than others; +To greatness you come not a step more nigh + By getting above your brothers. + +III. + + _Willie speaks._ + +I meant the boys at school, + I did not mean my brother. +Somebody first, is there the rule-- + It must be me or another. + + _The Father answers._ + +Oh, Willie, it's all the same! + They are your brothers all; +For when you say, "Hallowed be thy name!" + Whose Father is it you call? + +Could you pray for such rule to _him_? + Do you think that he would hear? +Must he favour one in a greedy whim + Where all are his children dear? + +It is right to get up and do, + But why outstrip the rest? +Why should one of the many be one of the few? + Why should _you_ think to be best? + + _Willie speaks._ + +Then how am I to be great? + I know no other way; +It would be folly to sit and wait, + I must up and do, you say! + + _The Father answers._ + +I do not want you to wait, + For few before they die +Have got so far as begin to be great, + The lesson is so high. + +I will tell you the only plan + To climb and not to fall: +He who would rise and be greater than + He is, must be servant of all. + +Turn it each way in your mind, + Try every other plan, +You may think yourself great, but at length you'll find + You are not even a man. + +Climb to the top of the trees, + Climb to the top of the hill, +Get up on the crown of the sky if you please, + You'll be a small creature still. + +Be admiral, poet, or king, + Let praises fill both your ears, +Your soul will be but a windmill thing + Blown round by its hopes and fears. + +IV. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Then put me in the way, + For you, papa, are a man: +What thing shall I do this very day?-- + Only be sure I _can_. + +I want to know--I am willing, + Let me at least have a chance! +Shall I give the monkey-boy my shilling?-- + I want to serve at once. + + _The Father answers._ + +Give all your shillings you might + And hurt your brothers the more; +He only can serve his fellows aright + Who goes in at the little door. + +We must do the thing we _must_ + Before the thing we _may;_ +We are unfit for any trust + Till we can and do obey. + + _Willie speaks._ + +I will try more and more; + I have nothing now to ask; +_Obedience_ I know is the little door: + Now set me some hard task. + + _The Father answers._ + +No, Willie; the father of all, + Teacher and master high, +Has set your task beyond recall, + Nothing can set it by. + + _Willie speaks._ + +What is it, father dear, + That he would have me do? +I'd ask himself, but he's not near, + And so I must ask you! + + _The Father answers._ + +Me 'tis no use to ask, + I too am one of his boys! +But he tells each boy his own plain task; + Listen, and hear his voice. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Father, I'm listening _so_ + To hear him if I may! +His voice must either be very low, + Or very far away! + + _The Father answers._ + +It is neither hard to hear, + Nor hard to understand; +It is very low, but very near, + A still, small, strong command. + + _Willie answers._ + +I do not hear it at all; + I am only hearing you! + + _The Father speaks._ + +Think: is there nothing, great or small, + You ought to go and do? + + _Willie answers._ + +Let me think:--I ought to feed + My rabbits. I went away +In such a hurry this morning! Indeed + They've not had enough to-day! + + _The Father speaks._ + +That is his whisper low! + That is his very word! +You had only to stop and listen, and so + Very plainly you heard! + +That duty's the little door: + You must open it and go in; +There is nothing else to do before, + There is nowhere else to begin. + + _Willie speaks._ + +But that's so easily done! + It's such a trifling affair! +So nearly over as soon as begun. + For that he can hardly care! + + _The Father answers._ + +You are turning from his call + If you let that duty wait; +You would not think any duty small + If you yourself were great. + +The nearest is at life's core; + With the first, you all begin: +What matter how little the little door + If it only let you in? + +V. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Papa, I am come again: + It is now three months and more +That I've tried to do the thing that was plain, + And I feel as small as before. + + _The Father answers._ + +Your honour comes too slow? + How much then have you done? +One foot on a mole-heap, would you crow + As if you had reached the sun? + + _Willie speaks._ + +But I cannot help a doubt + Whether this way be the true: +The more I do to work it out + The more there comes to do; + +And yet, were all done and past, + I should feel just as small, +For when I had tried to the very last-- + 'Twas my duty, after all! + +It is only much the same + As not being liar or thief! + + _The Father answers._ + +One who tried it found even, with shame, + That of sinners he was the chief! + +My boy, I am glad indeed + You have been finding the truth! + + _Willie speaks._ + +But where's the good? I shall never speed-- + Be one whit greater, in sooth! + +If duty itself must fail, + And that be the only plan, +How shall my scarce begun duty prevail + To make me a mighty man? + + _The Father answers._ + +Ah, Willie! what if it were + Quite another way to fall? +What if the greatness itself lie there-- + In knowing that you are small? + +In seeing the good so good + That you feel poor, weak, and low; +And hungrily long for it as for food, + With an endless need to grow? + +The man who was lord of fate, + Born in an ox's stall, +Was great because he was much too great + To care about greatness at all. + +Ever and only he sought + The will of his Father good; +Never of what was high he thought, + But of what his Father would. + +You long to be great; you try; + You feel yourself smaller still: +In the name of God let ambition die; + Let him make you what he will. + +Who does the truth, is one + With the living Truth above: +Be God's obedient little son, + Let ambition die in love. + + + +_KING COLE_. + +King Cole he reigned in Aureoland, +But the sceptre was seldom in his hand + +Far oftener was there his golden cup-- +He ate too much, but he drank all up! + +To be called a king and to be a king, +That is one thing and another thing! + +So his majesty's head began to shake, +And his hands and his feet to swell and ache, + +The doctors were called, but they dared not say +Your majesty drinks too much Tokay; + +So out of the king's heart died all mirth, +And he thought there was nothing good on earth. + +Then up rose the fool, whose every word +Was three parts wise and one part absurd. + +Nuncle, he said, never mind the gout; +I will make you laugh till you laugh it out. + +King Cole pushed away his full gold plate: +The jester he opened the palace gate, + +Brought in a cold man, with hunger grim, +And on the dais-edge seated him; + +Then caught up the king's own golden plate, +And set it beside him: oh, how he ate! + +And the king took note, with a pleased surprise, +That he ate with his mouth and his cheeks and his eyes, + +With his arms and his legs and his body whole, +And laughed aloud from his heart and soul. + +Then from his lordly chair got up, +And carried the man his own gold cup; + +The goblet was deep and wide and full, +The poor man drank like a cow at a pool. + +Said the king to the jester--I call it well done +To drink with two mouths instead of one! + +Said the king to himself, as he took his seat, +It is quite as good to feed as to eat! + +It is better, I do begin to think, +To give to the thirsty than to drink! + +And now I have thought of it, said the king, +There might be more of this kind of thing! + +The fool heard. The king had not long to wait: +The fool cried aloud at the palace-gate; + +The ragged and wretched, the hungry and thin, +Loose in their clothes and tight in their skin, + +Gathered in shoals till they filled the hall, +And the king and the fool they fed them all; + +And as with good things their plates they piled +The king grew merry as a little child. + +On the morrow, early, he went abroad +And sought poor folk in their own abode-- + +Sought them till evening foggy and dim, +Did not wait till they came to him; + +And every day after did what he could, +Gave them work and gave them food. + +Thus he made war on the wintry weather, +And his health and the spring came back together. + +But, lo, a change had passed on the king, +Like the change of the world in that same spring! + +His face had grown noble and good to see, +And the crown sat well on his majesty. + +Now he ate enough, and ate no more, +He drank about half what he drank before, + +He reigned a real king in Aureoland, +Reigned with his head and his heart and his hand. + +All this through the fool did come to pass. +And every Christmas-eve that was, + +The palace-gates stood open wide +And the poor came in from every side, + +And the king rose up and served them duly, +And his people loved him very truly. + + + +_SAID_ AND _DID_. + +Said the boy as he read, "I too will be bold, + I will fight for the truth and its glory!" +He went to the playground, and soon had told + A very cowardly story! + +Said the girl as she read, "That was grand, I declare! + What a true, what a lovely, sweet soul!" +In half-an-hour she went up the stair, + Looking as black as a coal! + +"The mean little wretch, I wish I could fling + This book at his head!" said another; +Then he went and did the same ugly thing + To his own little trusting brother! + +Alas for him who sees a thing grand + And does not fit himself to it! +But the meanest act, on sea or on land, + Is to find a fault, and then do it! + + + +_DR. DODDRIDGE'S DOG_. + +"What! you Dr. Doddridge's dog, and not know who made you?" + +My little dog, who blessed you + With such white toothy-pegs? +And who was it that dressed you + In such a lot of legs? + +Perhaps he never told you! + Perhaps you know quite well, +And beg me not to scold you + For you can't speak to tell! + +I'll tell you, little brother, + In case you do not know:-- +One only, not another, + Could make us two just so. + +You love me?--Quiet!--I'm proving!-- + It must be God above +That filled those eyes with loving: + He was the first to love! + +One day he'll stop all sadness-- + Hark to the nightingale! +Oh blessed God of gladness!-- + Come, doggie, wag your tail! + +That's--Thank you, God!--He gave you + Of life this little taste; +And with more life he'll save you, + Not let you go to waste! + +He says now, Live together, + And share your bite and sup; +And then he'll say, Come hither-- + And lift us both high up. + + + +_THE GIRL THAT LOST THINGS_. + +There was a girl that lost things-- + Nor only from her hand; +She lost, indeed--why, most things, + As if they had been sand! + +She said, "But I must use them, + And can't look after all! +Indeed I did not lose them, + I only let them fall!" + +That's how she lost her thimble, + It fell upon the floor: +Her eyes were very nimble + But she never saw it more. + +And then she lost her dolly, + Her very doll of all! +That loss was far from jolly, + But worse things did befall. + +She lost a ring of pearls + With a ruby in them set; +But the dearest girl of girls + Cried only, did not fret. + +And then she lost her robin; + Ah, that was sorrow dire! +He hopped along, and--bob in-- + Hopped bob into the fire! + +And once she lost a kiss + As she came down the stair; +But that she did not miss, + For sure it was somewhere! + +Just then she lost her heart too, + But did so well without it +She took that in good part too, + And said--not much about it. + +But when she lost her health + She did feel rather poor, +Till in came loads of wealth + By quite another door! + +And soon she lost a dimple + That was upon her cheek, +But that was very simple-- + She was so thin and weak! + +And then she lost her mother, + And thought that she was dead; +Sure there was not another + On whom to lay her head! + +And then she lost her self-- + But that she threw away; +And God upon his shelf + It carefully did lay. + +And then she lost her sight, + And lost all hope to find it; +But a fountain-well of light + Came flashing up behind it. + +At last she lost the world: + In a black and stormy wind +Away from her it whirled-- + But the loss how could she mind? + +For with it she lost her losses, + Her aching and her weeping, +Her pains and griefs and crosses, + And all things not worth keeping; + +It left her with the lost things + Her heart had still been craving; +'Mong them she found--why, most things, + And all things worth the saving. + +She found her precious mother, + Who not the least had died; +And then she found that other + Whose heart had hers inside. + +And next she found the kiss + She lost upon the stair; +'Twas sweeter far, I guess, + For ripening in that air. + +She found her self, all mended, + New-drest, and strong, and white; +She found her health, new-blended + With a radiant delight. + +She found her little robin: + He made his wings go flap, +Came fluttering, and went bob in, + Went bob into her lap. + +So, girls that cannot keep things, + Be patient till to-morrow; +And mind you don't beweep things + That are not worth such sorrow; + +For the Father great of fathers, + Of mothers, girls, and boys, +In his arms his children gathers, + And sees to all their toys. + + + +_A MAKE-BELIEVE_. + +I will think as thinks the rabbit:-- + + Oh, delight + In the night + When the moon + Sets the tune + To the woods! + And the broods + All run out, + Frisk about, + Go and come, + Beat the drum-- + Here in groups, + There in troops! + Now there's one! + Now it's gone! + There are none! +And now they are dancing like chaff! +I look, and I laugh, +But sit by my door, and keep to my habit-- +A wise, respectable, clean-furred old rabbit! + + Now I'm going, + Business calls me out-- + Going, going, + Very knowing, + Slow, long-heeled, and stout, + Loping, lumbering, + Nipping, numbering, + Head on this side and on that, + Along the pathway footed flat, + Through the meadow, through the heather, + Through the rich dusky weather-- + Big stars and little moon! + + Dews are lighting down in crowds, + Odours rising in thin clouds, + Night has all her chords in tune-- + The very night for us, God's rabbits, + Suiting all our little habits! +Wind not loud, but playful with our fur, +Just a cool, a sweet, a gentle stir! +And all the way not one rough bur, +But the dewiest, freshest grasses, +That whisper thanks to every foot that passes! + + I, the king the rest call Mappy, + Canter on, composed and happy, + Till I come where there is plenty + For a varied meal and dainty. + Is it cabbage, I grab it; + Is it parsley, I nab it; + Is it carrot, I mar it; + The turnip I turn up + And hollow and swallow; + A lettuce? Let us eat it! + A beetroot? Let's beat it! + If you are juicy, + Sweet sir, I will use you! + For all kinds of corn-crop + I have a born crop! + Are you a green top? + You shall be gleaned up! + Sucking and feazing, + Crushing and squeezing + All that is feathery, + Crisp, not leathery, + Juicy and bruisy-- + All comes proper + To my little hopper + Still on the dance, + Driven by hunger and drouth! + +All is welcome to my crunching, +Finding, grinding, +Milling, munching, +Gobbling, lunching, +Fore-toothed, three-lipped mouth-- +Eating side way, round way, flat way, +Eating this way, eating that way, +Every way at once! + +Hark to the rain!-- +Pattering, clattering, +The cabbage leaves battering, +Down it comes amain!-- +Home we hurry +Hop and scurry, +And in with a flurry! +Hustling, jostling +Out of the airy land +Into the dry warm sand; +Our family white tails, +The last of our vitals, +Following hard with a whisk to them, +And with a great sense of risk to them! + +Hear to it pouring! +Hear the thunder roaring +Far off and up high, +While we all lie +So warm and so dry +In the mellow dark, +Where never a spark, +White or rosy or blue, +Of the sheeting, fleeting, +Forking, frightening, +Lashing lightning +Ever can come through! + +Let the wind chafe +In the trees overhead, +We are quite safe +In our dark, yellow bed! +Let the rain pour! +It never can bore +A hole in our roof-- +It is waterproof! +So is the cloak +We always carry, +We furry folk, +In sandhole or quarry! +It is perfect bliss +To lie in a nest +So soft as this, +All so warmly drest! +No one to flurry you! +No one to hurry you! +No one to scurry you! +Holes plenty to creep in! +All day to sleep in! +All night to roam in! +Gray dawn to run home in! +And all the days and nights to come after-- +All the to-morrows for hind-legs and laughter! + +Now the rain is over, +We are out again, +Every merry, leaping rover, +On his right leg and his wrong leg, +On his doubled, shortened long leg, +Floundering amain! +Oh, it is merry +And jolly--yes, very! + +But what--what is that? +What can he be at? +Is it a cat? +Ah, my poor little brother, +He's caught in the trap +That goes-to with a snap! +Ah me! there was never, +Nor will be for ever-- +There was never such another, +Such a funny, funny bunny, +Such a frisking, such a whisking, +Such a frolicking brother! +He's screeching, beseeching! +They're going to-- + +Ah, my poor foot, +It is caught in a root! +No, no! 'tis a trap +That goes-to with a snap! +Ah me, I'm forsaken! +Ah me, I am taken! +I am screeching, beseeching! +They are going to-- + +No more! no more! I must stop this play, +Be a boy again, and kneel down and pray +To the God of sparrows and rabbits and men, +Who never lets any one out of his ken-- +It must be so, though it be bewild'ring-- +To save his dear beasts from his cruel children! + + + +_THE CHRISTMAS CHILD_. + +"Little one, who straight hast come +Down the heavenly stair, +Tell us all about your home, +And the father there." + +"He is such a one as I, +Like as like can be. +Do his will, and, by and by, +Home and him you'll see." + + + +_A CHRISTMAS PRAYER_. + +Loving looks the large-eyed cow, +Loving stares the long-eared ass +At Heaven's glory in the grass! +Child, with added human birth +Come to bring the child of earth +Glad repentance, tearful mirth, +And a seat beside the hearth +At the Father's knee-- +Make us peaceful as thy cow; +Make us patient as thine ass; +Make us quiet as thou art now; +Make us strong as thou wilt be. +Make us always know and see +We are his as well as thou. + + + +_NO END OF NO-STORY_. + +There is a river +whose waters run asleep +run run ever +singing in the shallows +dumb in the hollows +sleeping so deep +and all the swallows +that dip their feathers +in the hollows +or in the shallows +are the merriest swallows +and the nests they make +with the clay they cake +with the water they shake +from their wings that rake +the water out of the shallows +or out of the hollows +will hold together +in any weather +and the swallows +are the merriest fellows +and have the merriest children +and are built very narrow +like the head of an arrow +to cut the air +and go just where +the nicest water is flowing +and the nicest dust is blowing +and each so narrow +like the head of an arrow +is a wonderful barrow +to carry the mud he makes +for his children's sakes +from the wet water flowing +and the dry dust blowing +to build his nest +for her he loves best +and the wind cakes it +the sun bakes it +into a nest +for the rest +of her he loves best +and all their merry children +each little fellow +with a beak as yellow +as the buttercups growing +beside the flowing +of the singing river +always and ever +growing and blowing +as fast as the sheep +awake or asleep +crop them and crop +and cannot stop +their yellowness blowing +nor yet the growing +of the obstinate daisies +the little white praises +they grow and they blow +they spread out their crown +and they praise the sun +and when he goes down +their praising is done +they fold up their crown +and sleep every one +till over the plain +he is shining amain +and they're at it again +praising and praising +such low songs raising +that no one can hear them +but the sun so near them +and the sheep that bite them +but do not fright them +are the quietest sheep +awake or asleep +with the merriest bleat +and the little lambs +are the merriest lambs +forgetting to eat +for the frolic in their feet +and the lambs and their dams +are the whitest sheep +with the woolliest wool +for the swallow to pull +when he makes his nest +for her he loves best +and they shine like snow +in the grasses that grow +by the singing river +that sings for ever +and the sheep and the lambs +are merry for ever +because the river +sings and they drink it +and the lambs and their dams +would any one think it +are bright and white +because of their diet +which gladdens them quiet +for what they bite +is buttercups yellow +and daisies white +and grass as green +as the river can make it +with wind as mellow +to kiss it and shake it +as never was known +but here in the hollows +beside the river +where all the swallows +are the merriest fellows +and the nests they make +with the clay they cake +in the sunshine bake +till they are like bone +and as dry in the wind +as a marble stone +dried in the wind +the sweetest wind +that blows by the river +flowing for ever +and who shall find +whence comes the wind +that blows on the hollows +and over the shallows +where dip the swallows +and comes and goes +and the sweet life blows +into the river +that sings as it flows +and the sweet life blows +into the sheep +awake or asleep +with the woolliest wool +and the trailingest tails +and never fails +gentle and cool +to wave the wool +and to toss the grass +as the lambs and the sheep +over it pass +and tug and bite +with their teeth so white +and then with the sweep +of their trailing tails +smooth it again +and it grows amain +and amain it grows +and the wind that blows +tosses the swallows +over the hollows +and over the shallows +and blows the sweet life +and the joy so rife +into the swallows +that skim the shallows +and have the yellowest children +and the wind that blows +is the life of the river +that flows for ever +and washes the grasses +still as it passes +and feeds the daisies +the little white praises +and buttercups sunny +with butter and honey +that whiten the sheep +awake or asleep +that nibble and bite +and grow whiter than white +and merry and quiet +on such good diet +watered by the river +and tossed for ever +by the wind that tosses +the wool and the grasses +and the swallow that crosses +with all the swallows +over the shallows +dipping their wings +to gather the water +and bake the cake +for the wind to make +as hard as a bone +and as dry as a stone +and who shall find +whence comes the wind +that blows from behind +and ripples the river +that flows for ever +and still as it passes +waves the grasses +and cools the daisies +the white sun praises +that feed the sheep +awake or asleep +and give them their wool +for the swallows to pull +a little away +to mix with the clay +that cakes to a nest +for those they love best +and all the yellow children +soon to go trying +their wings at the flying +over the hollows +and over the shallows +with all the swallows +that do not know +whence the wind doth blow +that comes from behind +a blowing wind. + + + + + A THREEFOLD CORD: + + Poems by Three Friends. + + +TO + +GREVILLE MATHESON MACDONALD. + +First, most, to thee, my son, I give this book + In which a friend's and brother's verses blend + With mine; for not son only--brother, friend, +Art thou, through sonship which no veil can brook +Between the eyes that in each other look, + Or any shadow 'twixt the hearts that tend + Still nearer, with divine approach, to end +In love eternal that cannot be shook + When all the shakable shall cease to be. + With growing hope I greet the coming day +When from thy journey done I welcome thee +Who sharest in the names of all the three, + And take thee to the two, and humbly say, + _Let this man be the fourth with us, I pray._ + +CASA CORAGGIO: +_May, 1883._ + + + + + A THREEFOLD CHORD. + + + +_THE HAUNTED HOUSE_: + +_Suggested by a drawing of Thomas Moran, the American painter._ + +This must be the very night! +The moon knows it!--and the trees! +They stand straight upright, +Each a sentinel drawn up, +As if they dared not know +Which way the wind might blow! +The very pool, with dead gray eye, +Dully expectant, feels it nigh, +And begins to curdle and freeze! +And the dark night, +With its fringe of light, +Holds the secret in its cup! + +II. What can it be, to make +The poplars cease to shiver and shake, +And up in the dismal air +Stand straight and stiff as the human hair +When the human soul is dizzy with dread-- +All but those two that strain +Aside in a frenzy of speechless pain, +Though never a wind sends out a breath +To tunnel the foggy rheum of death? +What can it be has power to scare +The full-grown moon to the idiot stare +Of a blasted eye in the midnight air? +Something has gone wrong; +A scream will come tearing out ere long! + +III. Still as death, +Although I listen with bated breath! +Yet something is coming, I know--is coming! +With an inward soundless humming +Somewhere in me, or if in the air +I cannot tell, but it is there! +Marching on to an unheard drumming +Something is coming--coming-- +Growing and coming! +And the moon is aware, +Aghast in the air +At the thing that is only coming +With an inward soundless humming +And an unheard spectral drumming! + +IV. Nothing to see and nothing to hear! +Only across the inner sky +The wing of a shadowy thought flits by, +Vague and featureless, faceless, drear-- +Only a thinness to catch the eye: +Is it a dim foreboding unborn, +Or a buried memory, wasted and worn +As the fading frost of a wintry sigh? +Anon I shall have it!--anon!--it draws nigh! +A night when--a something it was took place +That drove the blood from that scared moon-face! +Hark! was that the cry of a goat, +Or the gurgle of water in a throat? +Hush! there is nothing to see or hear, +Only a silent something is near; +No knock, no footsteps three or four, +Only a presence outside the door! +See! the moon is remembering!--what? +The wail of a mother-left, lie-alone brat? +Or a raven sharpening its beak to peck? +Or a cold blue knife and a warm white neck? +Or only a heart that burst and ceased +For a man that went away released? +I know not--know not, but something is coming +Somehow back with an inward humming! + +V. Ha! look there! look at that house, +Forsaken of all things, beetle and mouse! +Mark how it looks! It must have a soul! +It looks, it looks, though it cannot stir! +See the ribs of it, how they stare! +Its blind eyes yet have a seeing air! +It _knows_ it has a soul! +Haggard it hangs o'er the slimy pool, +And gapes wide open as corpses gape: +It is the very murderer! +The ghost has modelled himself to the shape +Of this drear house all sodden with woe +Where the deed was done, long, long ago, +And filled with himself his new body full-- +To haunt for ever his ghastly crime, +And see it come and go-- +Brooding around it like motionless time, +With a mouth that gapes, and eyes that yawn +Blear and blintering and full of the moon, +Like one aghast at a hellish dawn!-- +The deed! the deed! it is coming soon! + +VI. For, ever and always, when round the tune +Grinds on the barrel of organ-Time, +The deed is done. And it comes anon: +True to the roll of the clock-faced moon, +True to the ring of the spheric chime, +True to the cosmic rhythm and rime, +Every point, as it first fell out, +Will come and go in the fearsome bout. +See! palsied with horror from garret to core, +The house cannot shut its gaping door; +Its burst eye stares as if trying to see, +And it leans as if settling heavily, +Settling heavy with sickness dull: +_It_ also is hearing the soundless humming +Of the wheel that is turning--the thing that is coming! +On the naked rafters of its brain, +Gaunt and wintred, see the train +Of gossiping, scandal-mongering crows +That watch, all silent, with necks a-strain, +Wickedly knowing, with heads awry +And the sharpened gleam of a cunning eye-- +Watch, through the cracks of the ruined skull, +How the evil business goes!-- +Beyond the eyes of the cherubim, +Beyond the ears of the seraphim, +Outside, forsaken, in the dim +Phantom-haunted chaos grim +He stands, with the deed going on in him! + +VII. O winds, winds, that lurk and peep +Under the edge of the moony fringe! +O winds, winds, up and sweep, +Up and blow and billow the air, +Billow the air with blow and swinge, +Rend me this ghastly house of groans! +Rend and scatter the skeleton's bones +Over the deserts and mountains bare! +Blast and hurl and shiver aside +Nailed sticks and mortared stones! +Clear the phantom, with torrent and tide, +Out of the moon and out of my brain, +That the light may fall shadowless in again! + +VIII. But, alas, then the ghost +O'er mountain and coast +Would go roaming, roaming! and never was swine +That, grubbing and talking with snork and whine +On Gadarene mountains, had taken him in +But would rush to the lake to unhouse the sin! +For any charnel +This ghost is too carnal; +There is no volcano, burnt out and cold, +Whose very ashes are gray and old, +But would cast him forth in reviving flame +To blister the sky with a smudge of shame! + +IX. Is there no help? none anywhere +Under the earth or above the air?-- +Come, sad woman, whose tender throat +Has a red-lipped mouth that can sing no note! +Child, whose midwife, the third grim Fate, +Shears in hand, thy coming did wait! +Father, with blood-bedabbled hair! +Mother, all withered with love's despair! +Come, broken heart, whatever thou be, +Hasten to help this misery! +Thou wast only murdered, or left forlorn: +He is a horror, a hate, a scorn! +Come, if out of the holiest blue +That the sapphire throne shines through; +For pity come, though thy fair feet stand +Next to the elder-band; +Fling thy harp on the hyaline, +Hurry thee down the spheres divine; +Come, and drive those ravens away; +Cover his eyes from the pitiless moon, +Shadow his brain from her stinging spray; +Droop around him, a tent of love, +An odour of grace, a fanning dove; +Walk through the house with the healing tune +Of gentle footsteps; banish the shape +Remorse calls up thyself to ape; +Comfort him, dear, with pardon sweet; +Cool his heart from its burning heat +With the water of life that laves the feet +Of the throne of God, and the holy street! + +X. O God, he is but a living blot, +Yet he lives by thee--for if thou wast not, +They would vanish together, self-forgot, +He and his crime:--one breathing blown +From thy spirit on his would all atone, +Scatter the horror, and bring relief +In an amber dawn of holy grief! +God, give him sorrow; arise from within, +His primal being, deeper than sin! + +XI. Why do I tremble, a creature at bay? +'Tis but a dream--I drive it away. +Back comes my breath, and my heart again +Pumps the red blood to my fainting brain +Released from the nightmare's nine-fold train: +God is in heaven--yes, everywhere, +And Love, the all-shining, will kill Despair!-- +To the wall's blank eyeless space +I turn the picture's face. + +XII. But why is the moon so bare, up there? +And why is she so white? +And why does the moon so stare, up there-- +Strangely stare, out of the night? +Why stand up the poplars +That still way? +And why do those two of them +Start astray? +And out of the black why hangs the gray? +Why does it hang down so, I say, +Over that house, like a fringed pall +Where the dead goes by in a funeral?-- +Soul of mine, +Thou the reason canst divine: +Into _thee_ the moon doth stare +With pallid, terror-smitten air! +Thou, and the Horror lonely-stark, +Outcast of eternal dark, +Are in nature same and one, +And _thy_ story is not done! +So let the picture face thee from the wall, +And let its white moon stare! + + + +_IN THE WINTER_. + +In the winter, flowers are springing; +In the winter, woods are green, +Where our banished birds are singing, +Where our summer sun is seen! +Our cold midnights are coeval +With an evening and a morn +Where the forest-gods hold revel, +And the spring is newly born! + +While the earth is full of fighting, +While men rise and curse their day, +While the foolish strong are smiting, +And the foolish weak betray-- +The true hearts beyond are growing, +The brave spirits work alone, +Where Love's summer-wind is blowing +In a truth-irradiate zone! + +While we cannot shape our living +To the beauty of our skies, +While man wants and earth is giving-- +Nature calls and man denies-- +How the old worlds round Him gather +Where their Maker is their sun! +How the children know the Father +Where the will of God is done! + +Daily woven with our story, +Sounding far above our strife, +Is a time-enclosing glory, +Is a space-absorbing life. +We can dream no dream Elysian, +There is no good thing might be, +But some angel has the vision, +But some human soul shall see! + +Is thy strait horizon dreary? +Is thy foolish fancy chill? +Change the feet that have grown weary +For the wings that never will. +Burst the flesh, and live the spirit; +Haunt the beautiful and far; +Thou hast all things to inherit, +And a soul for every star. + + + +_CHRISTMAS-DAY, 1878_. + +I think I might be weary of this day +That comes inevitably every year, +The same when I was young and strong and gay, +The same when I am old and growing sere-- +I should grow weary of it every year +But that thou comest to me every day. + +I shall grow weary if thou every day +But come to me, Lord of eternal life; +I shall grow weary thus to watch and pray, +For ever out of labour into strife; +Take everlasting house with me, my life, +And I shall be new-born this Christmas-day. + +Thou art the Eternal Son, and born no day, +But ever he the Father, thou the Son; +I am his child, but being born alway-- +How long, O Lord, how long till it be done? +Be thou from endless years to years the Son-- +And I thy brother, new-born every day. + + + +_THE NEW YEAR_. + +Be welcome, year! with corn and sickle come; + Make poor the body, but make rich the heart: +What man that bears his sheaves, gold-nodding, home, + Will heed the paint rubbed from his groaning cart! + +Nor leave behind thy fears and holy shames, + Thy sorrows on the horizon hanging low-- +Gray gathered fuel for the sunset-flames + When joyous in death's harvest-home we go. + + + +_TWO RONDELS_. + +I. + +When, in the mid-sea of the night, + I waken at thy call, O Lord, + The first that troop my bark aboard +Are darksome imps that hate the light, +Whose tongues are arrows, eyes a blight-- + Of wraths and cares a pirate horde-- +Though on the mid-sea of the night + It was thy call that waked me, Lord. + +Then I must to my arms and fight-- + Catch up my shield and two-edged sword, + The words of him who is thy word-- +Nor cease till they are put to flight; +Then in the mid-sea of the night + I turn and listen for thee, Lord. + +II. + +There comes no voice from thee, O Lord, + Across the mid-sea of the night! + I lift my voice and cry with might: +If thou keep silent, soon a horde +Of imps again will swarm aboard, + And I shall be in sorry plight +If no voice come from thee, my Lord, +Across the mid-sea of the night. + +There comes no voice; I hear no word! + But in my soul dawns something bright:-- + There is no sea, no foe to fight! +Thy heart and mine beat one accord: +I need no voice from thee, O Lord, + Across the mid-sea of the night. + + + +_RONDEL_. + +Heart, thou must learn to do without-- + That is the riches of the poor, + Their liberty is to endure; +Wrap thou thine old cloak thee about, +And carol loud and carol stout; + Let thy rags fly, nor wish them fewer; +Thou too must learn to do without, + Must earn the riches of the poor! + +Why should'st thou only wear no clout? + Thou only walk in love-robes pure? + Why should thy step alone be sure? +Thou only free of fortune's flout? +Nay, nay! but learn to go without, + And so be humbly, richly poor. + + + +_SONG_. + +Lighter and sweeter + Let your song be; +And for sorrow--oh cheat her + With melody! + + + +_SMOKE_. + +Lord, I have laid my heart upon thy altar + But cannot get the wood to burn; +It hardly flares ere it begins to falter + And to the dark return. + +Old sap, or night-fallen dew, makes damp the fuel; + In vain my breath would flame provoke; +Yet see--at every poor attempt's renewal + To thee ascends the smoke! + +'Tis all I have--smoke, failure, foiled endeavour, + Coldness and doubt and palsied lack: +Such as I have I send thee!--perfect Giver, + Send thou thy lightning back. + + + +_TO A CERTAIN CRITIC_. + +Such guests as you, sir, were not in my mind +When I my homely dish with care designed; +'Twas certain humble souls I would have fed +Who do not turn from wholesome milk and bread: +You came, slow-trotting on the narrow way, +O'erturned the food, and trod it in the clay; +Then low with discoid nostrils sniffing curt, +Cried, "Sorry cook! why, what a mess of dirt!" + + + +_SONG_. + +She loves thee, loves thee not! +That, that is all, my heart. +Why should she take a part +In every selfish blot, +In every greedy spot +That now doth ache and smart +Because she loves thee not-- +Not, not at all, poor heart! + +Thou art no such dove-cot +Of virtues--no such chart +Of highways, though the dart +Of love be through thee shot! +Why should she not love not +Thee, poor, pinched, selfish heart? + + + +_A CRY_. + +Lord, hear my discontent: all blank I stand, +A mirror polished by thy hand; +Thy sun's beams flash and flame from me-- +I cannot help it: here I stand, there he! +To one of them I cannot say, +Go, and on yonder water play; +Nor one poor ragged daisy can I fashion-- +I do not make the words of this my limping passion! +If I should say, Now I will think a thought, +Lo, I must wait, unknowing +What thought in me is growing, +Until the thing to birth be brought! +Nor know I then what next will come +From out the gulf of silence dumb: +I am the door the thing will find +To pass into the general mind! +I cannot say _I think_-- +I only stand upon the thought-well's brink: +From darkness to the sun the water bubbles up-- +lift it in my cup. +Thou only thinkest--I am thought; +Me and my thought thou thinkest. Nought +Am I but as a fountain spout +From which thy water welleth out. +Thou art the only one, the all in all.-- +Yet when my soul on thee doth call +And thou dost answer out of everywhere, +I in thy allness have my perfect share. + + + +_FROM HOME_. + +Some men there are who cannot spare + A single tear until they feel + The last cold pressure, and the heel +Is stamped upon the outmost layer. + +And, waking, some will sigh to think + The clouds have borrowed winter's wing, + Sad winter, when the grasses spring +No more about the fountain's brink. + +And some would call me coward fool: + I lay a claim to better blood, + But yet a heap of idle mud +Hath power to make me sorrowful. + + + +_TO MY MOTHER EARTH_. + +0 Earth, Earth, Earth, + I am dying for love of thee, +For thou hast given me birth, + And thy hands have tended me. + +I would fall asleep on thy breast + When its swelling folds are bare, +When the thrush dreams of its nest + And the life of its joy in the air; + +When thy life is a vanished ghost, + And the glory hath left thy waves, +When thine eye is blind with frost, + And the fog sits on the graves; + +When the blasts are shivering about, + And the rain thy branches beats, +When the damps of death are out, + And the mourners are in the streets. + +Oh my sleep should be deep + In the arms of thy swiftening motion, +And my dirge the mystic sweep + Of the winds that nurse the ocean. + +And my eye would slowly ope + With the voice that awakens thee, +And runs like a glance of hope + Up through the quickening tree; + +When the roots of the lonely fir + Are dipt in thy veining heat, +And thy countless atoms stir + With the gather of mossy feet; + +When the sun's great censer swings + In the hands that always be, +And the mists from thy watery rings + Go up like dust from the sea; + +When the midnight airs are assembling + With a gush in thy whispering halls, +And the leafy air is trembling + Like a stream before it falls. + +Thy shadowy hand hath found me + On the drifts of the Godhead's will, +And thy dust hath risen around me + With a life that guards me still. + +O Earth! I have caught from thine + The pulse of a mystic chase; +O Earth! I have drunk like wine + The life of thy swiftening race. + +Wilt miss me, mother sweet, + A life in thy milky veins? +Wilt miss the sound of my feet + In the tramp that shakes thy plains + +When the jaws of darkness rend, + And the vapours fold away, +And the sounds of life ascend + Like dust in the blinding day? + +I would know thy silver strain + In the shouts of the starry crowd +When the souls of thy changing men + Rise up like an incense cloud. + +I would know thy brightening lobes + And the lap of thy watery bars +Though space were choked with globes + And the night were blind with stars! + +From the folds of my unknown place, + When my soul is glad and free, +I will slide by my God's sweet grace + And hang like a cloud on thee. + +When the pale moon sits at night + By the brink of her shining well, +Laving the rings of her widening light + On the slopes of the weltering swell, + +I will fall like a wind from the west + On the locks of thy prancing streams, +And sow the fields of thy rest + With handfuls of sweet young dreams. + +When the sound of thy children's cry + Hath stricken thy gladness dumb, +I will kindle thine upward eye + With a laugh from the years that come. + +Far above where the loud wind raves, + On a wing as still as snow +I will watch the grind of the curly waves + As they bite the coasts below; + +When the shining ranks of the frost + Draw down on the glistening wold +In the mail of a fairy host, + And the earth is mossed with cold, + +Till the plates that shine about + Close up with a filmy din, +Till the air is frozen out, + And the stars are frozen in. + +I will often stoop to range + On the fields where my youth was spent, +And my feet shall smite the cliffs of change + With the rush of a steep descent; + +And my glowing soul shall burn + With a love that knows no pall, +And my eye of worship turn + Upon him that fashioned all-- + +When the sounding waves of strife + Have died on the Godhead's sea, +And thy life is a purer life + That nurses a life in me. + + + +_THY HEART_. + +Make not of thy heart a casket, +Opening seldom, quick to close; +But of bread a wide-mouthed basket, +Or a cup that overflows. + + + +_0 LORD, HOW HAPPY!_ + +_From the German of Dessler._ + +O Lord, how happy is the time + When in thy love I rest! +When from my weariness I climb + Even to thy tender breast! +The night of sorrow endeth there-- + Thou art brighter than the sun; +And in thy pardon and thy care + The heaven of heaven is won. + +Let the world call herself my foe, + Or let the world allure-- +I care not for the world; I go + To this dear friend and sure. +And when life's fiercest storms are sent + Upon life's wildest sea, +My little bark is confident + Because it holds by thee. + +When the law threatens endless death + Upon the dreadful hill, +Straightway from her consuming breath + My soul goeth higher still-- +Goeth to Jesus, wounded, slain, + And maketh him her home, +Whence she will not go out again, + And where death cannot come. + +I do not fear the wilderness + Where thou hast been before; +Nay rather will I daily press + After thee, near thee, more! +Thou art my food; on thee I lean, + Thou makest my heart sing; +And to thy heavenly pastures green + All thy dear flock dost bring. + +And if the gate that opens there + Be dark to other men, +It is not dark to those who share + The heart of Jesus then: +That is not losing much of life + Which is not losing thee, +Who art as present in the strife + As in the victory. + +Therefore how happy is the time + When in thy love I rest! +When from my weariness I climb + Even to thy tender breast! +The night of sorrow endeth there-- + Thou art brighter than the sun! +And in thy pardon and thy care + The heaven of heaven is won! + + + +_NO SIGN_. + +O Lord, if on the wind, at cool of day, + I heard one whispered word of mighty grace; +If through the darkness, as in bed I lay, + But once had come a hand upon my face; + +If but one sign that might not be mistook + Had ever been, since first thy face I sought, +I should not now be doubting o'er a book, + But serving thee with burning heart and thought. + +So dreams that heart. But to my heart I say, + Turning my face to front the dark and wind: +Such signs had only barred anew his way + Into thee, longing heart, thee, wildered mind. + +They asked the very Way, where lies the way? + The very Son, where is the Father's face? +How he could show himself, if not in clay, + Who was the lord of spirit, form, and space! + +My being, Lord, will nevermore be whole + Until thou come behind mine ears and eyes, +Enter and fill the temple of my soul + With perfect contact--such a sweet surprise, + +Such presence as, before it met the view, + The prophet-fancy could not once foresee, +Though every corner of the temple knew + By very emptiness its need of thee. + +When I keep _all_ thy words, no favoured some, + Heedless of worldly winds or judgment's tide, +Then, Jesus, thou wilt with thy father come-- + Oh, ended prayers!--and in my soul abide. + +Ah, long delay! ah, cunning, creeping sin! + I shall but fail, and cease at length to try: +O Jesus, though thou wilt not yet come in, + Knock at my window as thou passest by! + + + +_NOVEMBER, 1851_. + + What dost thou here, O soul, +Beyond thy own control, +Under the strange wild sky? +0 stars, reach down your hands, +And clasp me in your silver bands, +I tremble with this mystery!-- +Flung hither by a chance +Of restless circumstance, +Thou art but here, and wast not sent; +Yet once more mayest thou draw +By thy own mystic law +To the centre of thy wonderment. + + Why wilt thou stop and start? +Draw nearer, oh my heart, +And I will question thee most wistfully; +Gather thy last clear resolution +To look upon thy dissolution. + + The great God's life throbs far and free, +And thou art but a spark +Known only in thy dark, +Or a foam-fleck upon the awful ocean, +Thyself thy slender dignity, +Thy own thy vexing mystery, +In the vast change that is not change but motion. + + 'Tis not so hard as it would seem; +Thy life is but a dream-- +And yet thou hast some thoughts about the past; +Let go, let go thy memories, +They are not things but wandering cries-- +Wave them each one a long farewell at last: +I hear thee say--"Take them, O tide, +And I will turn aside, +Gazing with heedlessness, nay, even with laughter! +Bind me, ye winds and storms, +Among the things that once had forms, +And carry me clean out of sight thereafter!" + + Thou hast lived long enough +To know thy own weak stuff, +Laughing thy fondest joys to utter scorn; +Give up the idle strife-- +It is but mockery of life; +The fates had need of thee and thou wast born! +They are, in sooth, but thou shalt die. +O wandering spark! O homeless cry! +O empty will, still lacking self-intent! +Look up among the autumn trees: +The ripened fruits fall through the breeze, +And they will shake thee even like these +Into the lap of an Accomplishment! + + Thou hadst a faith, and voices said:-- +"Doubt not _that_ truth, but bend thy head +Unto the God who drew thee from the night:" +Thou liftedst up thy eyes--and, lo! +A host of voices answered--"No; +A thousand things as good have seen the light!" +Look how the swarms arise +From every clod before thy eyes! +Are thine the only hopes that fade and fall +When to the centre of its action +One purpose draws each separate fraction, +And nothing but effects are left at all? +Aha, thy faith! what is thy faith? +The sleep that waits on coming death-- +A blind delirious swoon that follows pain. +"True to thy nature!"--well! right well! +But what that nature is thou canst not tell-- +It has a thousand voices in thy brain. +Danced all the leaflets to and fro? +--Thy feet have trod them long ago! +Sprung the glad music up the blue? +--The hawk hath cut the song in two. +All the mountains crumble, +All the forests fall, +All thy brethren stumble, +And rise no more at all! +In the dim woods there is a sound +When the winds begin to moan; +It is not of joy or yet of mirth, +But the mournful cry of our mother Earth, +As she calleth back her own. +Through the rosy air to-night +The living creatures play +Up and down through the rich faint light-- +None so happy as they! +But the blast is here, and noises fall +Like the sound of steps in a ruined hall, +An icy touch is upon them all, +And they sicken and fade away. + + The child awoke with an eye of gladness, +With a light on his head and a matchless grace, +And laughed at the passing shades of sadness +That chased the smiles on his mother's face; +And life with its lightsome load of youth +Swam like a boat on a shining lake-- +Freighted with hopes enough, in sooth, +But he lived to trample on joy and truth, +And change his crown for a murder-stake! + + Oh, a ruddy light went through the room, +Till the dark ran out to his mother Night! +And that little chamber showed through the gloom +Like a Noah's ark with its nest of light! +Right glad was the maiden there, I wis, +With the youth that held her hand in his! +Oh, sweet were the words that went and came +Through the light and shade of the leaping flame +That glowed on the cheerful faces! +So human the speech, so sunny and kind, +That the darkness danced on the wall behind, +And even the wail of the winter wind +Sang sweet through the window-cases! + + But a mournful wail crept round and round, +And a voice cried:--"Come!" with a dreary sound, +And the circle wider grew; +The light flame sank, and sorrow fell +On the faces of those that loved so well; +Darker and wilder grew the tone; +Fainter and fainter the faces shone; +The wild night clasped them, and they were gone-- +And thou art passing too! + + Lo, the morning slowly springs +Like a meek white babe from the womb of night! +One golden planet sits and stings +The shifting gloom with his point of light! +Lo, the sun on its throne of flame! +--Wouldst thou climb and win a crown? +Oh, many a heart that pants for the same +Falls to the earth ere he goes down! +Thy heart is a flower with an open cup-- +Sit and watch, if it pleaseth thee, +Till the melting twilight fill it up +With a crystal of tender sympathy; +So, gently will it tremble +The silent midnight through, +And flocks of stars assemble +By turns in its depths of dew;-- +But look! oh, look again! +After the driving wind and rain! +When the day is up and the sun is strong, +And the voices of men are loud and long, +When the flower hath slunk to its rest again, +And love is lost in the strife of men! + + Let the morning break with thoughts of love, +And the evening fall with dreams of bliss-- +So vainly panteth the prisoned dove +For the depths of her sweet wilderness; +So stoops the eagle in his pride +From his rocky nest ere the bow is bent; +So sleeps the deer on the mountain-side +Ere the howling pack hath caught the scent! + + The fire climbs high till its work is done; +The stalk falls down when the flower is gone; +And the stars of heaven when their course is run +Melt silently away! +There was a footfall on the snow, +A line of light on the ocean-flow, +And a billow's dash on the rocks below +That stand by the wintry bay:-- +The snow was gone on the coming night; +Another wave arose in his might, +Uplifted his foaming breast of white, +And died like the rest for aye! + + Oh, the stars were bright! and thyself in thee +Yearned for an immortality! +And the thoughts that drew from thy busy brain +Clasped the worlds like an endless chain-- +When a moon arose, and her moving chime +Smote on thy soul, like a word in time, +Or a breathless wish, or a thought in rime, +And the truth that looked so gloomy and high +Leapt to thy arms with a joyful cry! +But what wert thou when a soulless Cause +Opened the book of its barren laws, +And thy spirit that was so glad and free +Was caught in the gin of necessity, +And a howl arose from the strife of things +Vexing each other with scorpion stings? +What wert thou but an orphan child +Thrust from the door when the night was wild? +Or a sailor on the toiling main +Looking blindly up through the wind and rain +As the hull of the vessel fell in twain! + + Seals are on the book of fate, +Hands may not unbind it; +Eyes may search for truth till late, +But will never find it--! +Rising on the brow of night +Like a portent of dismay, +As the worlds in wild affright +Track it on its direful way; +Resting like a rainbow bar +Where the curve and level meet, +As the children chase it far +O'er the sands with blistered feet; +Sadly through the mist of ages +Gazing on this life of fear, +Doubtful shining on its pages, +Only seen to disappear! +Sit thee by the sounding shore +--Winds and waves of human breath!-- +Learn a lesson from their roar, +Swelling, bursting evermore: +Live thy life and die thy death! +Die not like the writhing worm, +Rise and win thy highest stake; +Better perish in the storm +Than sit rotting on the lake! +Triumph in thy present youth, +Pulse of fire and heart of glee; +Leap at once into the truth, +If there is a truth for thee. + + Shapeless thoughts and dull opinions, +Slow distinctions and degrees,-- +Vex not thou thy weary pinions +With such leaden weights as these-- +Through this mystic jurisdiction +Reaching out a hand by chance, +Resting on a dull conviction +Whetted but by ignorance; +Living ever to behold +Mournful eyes that watch and weep; +Spirit suns that flashed in gold +Failing from the vasty deep; +Starry lights that glowed like Truth +Gazing with unnumbered eyes, +Melting from the skies of youth, +Swallowed up of mysteries; +Cords of love that sweetly bound thee; +Faded writing on thy brow; +Presences that came around thee; +Hands of faith that fail thee now! + + Groping hands will ever find thee +In the night with loads of chains! +Lift thy fetters and unbind thee, +Cast thee on the midnight plains: +Shapes of vision all-providing-- +Famished cheeks and hungry cries! +Sound of crystal waters sliding-- +Thirsty lips and bloodshot eyes! +Empty forms that send no gleaming +Through the mystery of this strife!-- +Oh, in such a life of seeming, +Death were worth an endless life! + + Hark the trumpet of the ocean +Where glad lands were wont to be! +Many voices of commotion +Break in tumult over thee! +Lo, they climb the frowning ages, +Marching o'er their level lands! +Far behind the strife that rages +Silence sits with clasped hands; +Undivided Purpose, freeing +His own steps from hindrances, +Sending out great floods of being, +Bathes thy steps in silentness. +Sit thee down in mirth and laughter-- +One there is that waits for thee; +If there is a true hereafter +He will lend thee eyes to see. + + Like a snowflake gently falling +On a quiet fountain, +Or a weary echo calling +From a distant mountain, +Drop thy hands in peace,-- +Fail--falter--cease. + + + +_OF ONE WHO DIED IN SPRING_. + +Loosener of springs, he died by thee! +Softness, not hardness, sent him home; +He loved thee--and thou mad'st him free +Of all the place thou comest from! + + + +_AN AUTUMN SONG_. + +Are the leaves falling round about + The churchyard on the hill? +Is the glow of autumn going out? + Is that the winter chill? +And yet through winter's noise, no doubt + The graves are very still! + +Are the woods empty, voiceless, bare? + On sodden leaves do you tread? +Is nothing left of all those fair? + Is the whole summer fled? +Well, so from this unwholesome air + Have gone away these dead! + +The seasons pierce me; like a leaf + I feel the autumn blow, +And tremble between nature's grief + And the silent death below. +O Summer, thou art very brief! + Where do these exiles go? + +_Gilesgate, Durham._ + + + +_TRIOLET_. + +Few in joy's sweet riot +Able are to listen: +Thou, to make me quiet, +Quenchest the sweet riot, +Tak'st away my diet, +Puttest me in prison-- +Quenchest joy's sweet riot +That the heart may listen. + + + +_I SEE THEE NOT_. + +Yes, Master, when thou comest thou shalt find + A little faith on earth, if I am here! +Thou know'st how oft I turn to thee my mind. + How sad I wait until thy face appear! + +Hast thou not ploughed my thorny ground full sore, + And from it gathered many stones and sherds? +Plough, plough and harrow till it needs no more-- + Then sow thy mustard-seed, and send thy birds. + +I love thee, Lord; and if I yield to fears, + Nor trust with triumph that pale doubt defies, +Remember, Lord, 'tis nigh two thousand years, + And I have never seen thee with mine eyes! + +And when I lift them from the wondrous tale, + See, all about me hath so strange a show! +Is that thy river running down the vale? + Is that thy wind that through the pines doth blow? + +Could'st thou right verily appear again, + The same who walked the paths of Palestine, +And here in England teach thy trusting men + In church and field and house, with word and sign? + +Here are but lilies, sparrows, and the rest! + My hands on some dear proof would light and stay! +But my heart sees John leaning on thy breast, + And sends them forth to do what thou dost say. + + + +_A BROKEN PRAYER_. + +0 Lord, my God, how long +Shall my poor heart pant for a boundless joy? +How long, O mighty Spirit, shall I hear +The murmur of Truth's crystal waters slide +From the deep caverns of their endless being, +But my lips taste not, and the grosser air +Choke each pure inspiration of thy will? + +I am a denseness 'twixt me and the light; +1 cannot round myself; my purest thought, +Ere it is thought, hath caught the taint of earth, +And mocked me with hard thoughts beyond my will. + +I would be a wind +Whose smallest atom is a viewless wing, +All busy with the pulsing life that throbs +To do thy bidding; yea, or the meanest thing +That has relation to a changeless truth, +Could I but be instinct with thee--each thought +The lightning of a pure intelligence, +And every act as the loud thunder-clap +Of currents warring for a vacuum. + +Lord, clothe me with thy truth as with a robe; +Purge me with sorrow; I will bend my head +And let the nations of thy waves pass over, +Bathing me in thy consecrated strength; +And let thy many-voiced and silver winds +Pass through my frame with their clear influence, +O save me; I am blind; lo, thwarting shapes +Wall up the void before, and thrusting out +Lean arms of unshaped expectation, beckon +Down to the night of all unholy thoughts. + +Oh, when at midnight one of thy strong angels +Stems back the waves of earthly influence +That shape unsteady continents around me, +And they draw off with the devouring gush +Of exile billows that have found a home, +Leaving me islanded on unseen points, +Hanging 'twixt thee and chaos--I have seen +Unholy shapes lop off my shining thoughts, +And they have lent me leathern wings of fear, +Of baffled pride and harrowing distrust; +And Godhead, with its crown of many stars, +Its pinnacles of flaming holiness, +And voice of leaves in the green summer-time, +Has seemed the shadowed image of a self! +Then my soul blackened; and I rose to find +And grasp my doom, and cleave the arching deeps +Of desolation. + +O Lord, my soul is a forgotten well +Clad round with its own rank luxuriance; +A fountain a kind sunbeam searches for, +Sinking the lustre of its arrowy finger +Through the long grass its own strange virtue +Hath blinded up its crystal eye withal: +Make me a broad strong river coming down +With shouts from its high hills, whose rocky hearts +Throb forth the joy of their stability +In watery pulses from their inmost deeps; +And I shall be a vein upon thy world, +Circling perpetual from the parent deep. + +Most mighty One, +Confirm and multiply my thoughts of good; +Help me to wall each sacred treasure round +With the firm battlements of special action. +Alas, my holy happy thoughts of thee +Make not perpetual nest within my soul, +But like strange birds of dazzling colours stoop +The trailing glories of their sunward speed +For one glad moment, filling my blasted boughs +With the sunshine of their wings. Make me a forest +Of gladdest life wherein perpetual spring +Lifts up her leafy tresses in the wind. +Lo, now I see +Thy trembling starlight sit among my pines, +And thy young moon slide down my arching boughs +With a soft sound of restless eloquence! +And I can feel a joy as when thy hosts +Of trampling winds, gathering in maddened bands, +Roar upward through the blue and flashing day +Round my still depths of uncleft solitude. + +Hear me, O Lord, +When the black night draws down upon my soul, +And voices of temptation darken down +The misty wind, slamming thy starry doors +With bitter jests:--"Thou fool!" they seem to say, +"Thou hast no seed of goodness in thee; all +Thy nature hath been stung right through and through; +Thy sin hath blasted thee and made thee old; +Thou hadst a will, but thou hast killed it dead, +And with the fulsome garniture of life +Built out the loathsome corpse; thou art a child +Of night and death, even lower than a worm; +Gather the skirts up of thy shadowy self, +And with what resolution thou hast left +Fall on the damned spikes of doom!" + +Oh, take me like a child, +If thou hast made me for thyself, my God, +And lead me up thy hills. I shall not fear, +So thou wilt make me pure, and beat back sin +With the terrors of thine eye: it fears me not +As once it might have feared thine own good image, +But lays bold siege at my heart's doors. + +Oh, I have seen a thing of beauty stand +In the young moonlight of its upward thoughts, +And the old earth came round it with its gifts +Of gladness, whispering leaves, and odorous plants, +Until its large and spiritual eye +Burned with intensest love: my God, I could +Have watched it evermore with Argus-eyes, +Lest when the noontide of the summer's sun +Let down the tented sunlight on the plain, +His flaming beams should scorch my darling flower; +And through the fruitless nights of leaden gloom, +Of plashing rains, and knotted winds of cold, +Yea, when thy lightnings ran across the sky, +And the loud stumbling blasts fell from the hills +Upon the mounds of death, I could have watched +Guarding such beauty like another life! +But, O my God, it changed!-- +Yet methinks I know not if it was not I! +Its beauty turned to ghastly loathsomeness! +Then a hand spurned me backwards from the clouds, +And with the gather of a mighty whirlwind, +Drew in the glittering gifts of life. + +How long, O Lord, how long? +I am a man lost in a rocky place! +Lo, all thy echoes smite me with confusion +Of varied speech,--the cry of vanished Life +Rolled upon nations' sighs--of hearts uplifted +Against despair--the stifled sounds of Woe +Sitting perpetual by its grey cold well-- +Or wasted Toil climbing its endless hills +With quickening gasps--or the thin winds of Joy +That beat about the voices of the crowd! + +Lord, hast thou sent +Thy moons to mock us with perpetual hope? +Lighted within our breasts the love of love +To make us ripen for despair, my God? + +Oh, dost thou hold each individual soul +Strung clear upon thy flaming rods of purpose? +Or does thine inextinguishable will +Stand on the steeps of night with lifted hand +Filling the yawning wells of monstrous space +With mixing thought--drinking up single life +As in a cup? and from the rending folds +Of glimmering purpose, do all thy navied stars +Slide through the gloom with mystic melody, +Like wishes on a brow? Oh, is my soul, +Hung like a dewdrop in thy grassy ways, +Drawn up again into the rack of change +Even through the lustre which created it? +--O mighty one, thou wilt not smite me through +With scorching wrath, because my spirit stands +Bewildered in thy circling mysteries! + +Oh lift the burdened gloom that chokes my soul +With dews of darkness; smite the lean winds of death +That run with howls around the ruined temples, +Blowing the souls of men about like leaves. + +Lo, the broad life-lands widen overhead, +Star-galaxies arise like drifting snow, +And happy life goes whitening down the stream +Of boundless action, whilst my fettered soul +Sits, as a captive in a noisome dungeon +Watches the pulses of his withered heart +Lave out the sparkling minutes of his life +On the idle flags! + +Come in the glory of thine excellence, +Rive the dense gloom with wedges of clear light, +And let the shimmer of thy chariot wheels +Burn through the cracks of night! So slowly, Lord, +To lift myself to thee with hands of toil, +Climbing the slippery cliffs of unheard prayer! +Lift up a hand among my idle days-- +One beckoning finger: I will cast aside +The clogs of earthly circumstance and run +Up the broad highways where the countless worlds +Sit ripening in the summer of thy love. +Send a clear meaning sparkling through the years; +Burst all the prison-doors, and make men's hearts +Gush up like fountains with thy melody; +Brighten the hollow eyes; fill with life's fruits +The hands that grope and scramble down the wastes; +And let the ghastly troops of withered ones +Come shining o'er the mountains of thy love. + +Lord, thy strange mysteries come thickening down +Upon my head like snowflakes, shutting out +The happy upper fields with chilly vapour. +Shall I content my soul with a weak sense +Of safety? or feed my ravenous hunger with +Sore purged hopes, that are not hopes but fears +Clad in white raiment? + +The creeds lie in the hollow of men's hearts +Like festering pools glassing their own corruption; +The slimy eyes stare up with dull approval, +And answer not when thy bright starry feet +Move on the watery floors: oh, shake men's souls +Together like the gathering of all oceans +Rent from their hidden chambers, till the waves +Lift up their million voices of high joy +Along the echoing cliffs! come thus, O Lord, +With nightly gifts of stars, and lay a hand +Of mighty peace upon the quivering flood. + +O wilt thou hear me when I cry to thee? +I am a child lost in a mighty forest; +The air is thick with voices, and strange hands +Reach through the dusk, and pluck me by the skirts. +There is a voice which sounds like words from home, +But, as I stumble on to reach it, seems +To leap from rock to rock: oh, if it is +Willing obliquity of sense, descend, +Heal all my wanderings, take me by the hand, +And lead me homeward through the shadows. +Let me not by my wilful acts of pride +Block up the windows of thy truth, and grow +A wasted, withered thing, that stumbles on +Down to the grave with folded hands of sloth +And leaden confidence. + + + +_COME DOWN_. + +Still am I haunting + Thy door with my prayers; +Still they are panting + Up thy steep stairs! +Wouldst thou not rather + Come down to my heart, +And there, O my Father, + Be what thou art? + + + +_A MOOD_. + +My thoughts are like fire-flies, pulsing in moonlight; + My heart like a silver cup, filled with red wine; +My soul a pale gleaming horizon, whence soon light + Will flood the gold earth with a torrent divine. + + + +_THE CARPENTER_. + +0 Lord, at Joseph's humble bench +Thy hands did handle saw and plane; +Thy hammer nails did drive and clench, +Avoiding knot and humouring grain. + +That thou didst seem, thou wast indeed, +In sport thy tools thou didst not use; +Nor, helping hind's or fisher's need, +The labourer's hire, too nice, refuse. + +Lord, might I be but as a saw, +A plane, a chisel, in thy hand!-- +No, Lord! I take it back in awe, +Such prayer for me is far too grand. + +I pray, O Master, let me lie, +As on thy bench the favoured wood; +Thy saw, thy plane, thy chisel ply, +And work me into something good. + +No, no; ambition, holy-high, +Urges for more than both to pray: +Come in, O gracious Force, I cry-- +O workman, share my shed of clay. + +Then I, at bench, or desk, or oar, +With knife or needle, voice or pen, +As thou in Nazareth of yore, +Shall do the Father's will again. + +Thus fashioning a workman rare, +O Master, this shall be thy fee: +Home to thy father thou shall bear +Another child made like to thee. + + + +_THE OLD GARDEN_. + +I. + +I stood in an ancient garden +With high red walls around; +Over them grey and green lichens +In shadowy arabesque wound. + +The topmost climbing blossoms +On fields kine-haunted looked out; +But within were shelter and shadow, +With daintiest odours about. + +There were alleys and lurking arbours, +Deep glooms into which to dive. +The lawns were as soft as fleeces, +Of daisies I counted but five. + +The sun-dial was so aged +It had gathered a thoughtful grace; +'Twas the round-about of the shadow +That so had furrowed its face. + +The flowers were all of the oldest +That ever in garden sprung; +Red, and blood-red, and dark purple +The rose-lamps flaming hung. + +Along the borders fringed +With broad thick edges of box +Stood foxgloves and gorgeous poppies +And great-eyed hollyhocks. + +There were junipers trimmed into castles, +And ash-trees bowed into tents; +For the garden, though ancient and pensive, +Still wore quaint ornaments. + +It was all so stately fantastic +Its old wind hardly would stir; +Young Spring, when she merrily entered, +Scarce felt it a place for her. + +II. + +I stood in the summer morning +Under a cavernous yew; +The sun was gently climbing, +And the scents rose after the dew. + +I saw the wise old mansion, +Like a cow in the noon-day heat, +Stand in a lake of shadows +That rippled about its feet. + +Its windows were oriel and latticed, +Lowly and wide and fair; +And its chimneys like clustered pillars +Stood up in the thin blue air. + +White doves, like the thoughts of a lady, +Haunted it all about; +With a train of green and blue comets +The peacock went marching stout. + +The birds in the trees were singing +A song as old as the world, +Of love and green leaves and sunshine, +And winter folded and furled. + +They sang that never was sadness +But it melted and passed away; +They sang that never was darkness +But in came the conquering day. + +And I knew that a maiden somewhere, +In a low oak-panelled room, +In a nimbus of shining garments, +An aureole of white-browed bloom, + +Looked out on the garden dreamy, +And knew not it was old; +Looked past the gray and the sombre, +Saw but the green and the gold, + +III. + +I stood in the gathering twilight, +In a gently blowing wind; +Then the house looked half uneasy, +Like one that was left behind. + +The roses had lost their redness, +And cold the grass had grown; +At roost were the pigeons and peacock, +The sun-dial seemed a head-stone. + +The world by the gathering twilight +In a gauzy dusk was clad; +Something went into my spirit +And made me a little sad. + +Grew and gathered the twilight, +It filled my heart and brain; +The sadness grew more than sadness, +It turned to a gentle pain. + +Browned and brooded the twilight, +Pervaded, absorbed the calm, +Till it seemed for some human sorrows +There could not be any balm. + +IV. + +Then I knew that, up a staircase +Which untrod will yet creak and shake, +Deep in a distant chamber +A ghost was coming awake-- + +In the growing darkness growing, +Growing till her eyes appear +Like spots of a deeper twilight, +But more transparent clear: + +Thin as hot air up-trembling, +Thin as sun-molten crape, +An ethereal shadow of something +Is taking a certain shape; + +A shape whose hands hang listless, +Let hang its disordered hair; +A shape whose bosom is heaving +But draws not in the air. + +And I know, what time the moonlight +On her nest of shadows will sit, +Out on the dim lawn gliding +That shadowy shadow will flit. + +V. + +The moon is dreaming upward +From a sea of cloud and gleam; +She looks as if she had seen me +Never but in a dream. + +Down the stair I know she is coming, +Bare-footed, lifting her train; +It creaks not--she hears it creaking +Where once there was a brain. + +Out at yon side-door she's coming, +With a timid glance right and left; +Her look is hopeless yet eager, +The look of a heart bereft. + +Across the lawn she is flitting, +Her thin gown feels the wind; +Are her white feet bending the grasses? +Her hair is lifted behind! + +VI. + +Shall I stay to look on her nearer? +Would she start and vanish away? +Oh, no, she will never see me, +Stand I near as I may! + +It is not this wind she is feeling, +Not this cool grass below; +'Tis the wind and the grass of an evening +A hundred years ago. + +She sees no roses darkling, +No stately hollyhocks dim; +She is only thinking and dreaming +The garden, the night, and him, + +The unlit windows behind her, +The timeless dial-stone, +The trees, and the moon, and the shadows +A hundred years agone! + +'Tis a night for a ghostly lover +To haunt the best-loved spot: +Is he come in his dreams to this garden? +I gaze, but I see him not. + +VII. + +I will not look on her nearer, +My heart would be torn in twain; +From my eyes the garden would vanish +In the falling of their rain. + +I will not look on a sorrow +That darkens into despair, +On the surge of a heart that cannot +Yet cannot cease to bear. + +My soul to hers would be calling: +She would hear no word it said! +If I cried aloud in the stillness +She would never turn her head! + +She is dreaming the sky above her, +She is dreaming the earth below:-- +This night she lost her lover +A hundred years ago. + + + +_A NOONDAY MELODY_. + +Everything goes to its rest; + The hills are asleep in the noon; +And life is as still in its nest + As the moon when she looks on a moon +In the depth of a calm river's breast + As it steals through a midnight in June. + +The streams have forgotten the sea + In the dream of their musical sound; +The sunlight is thick on the tree, + And the shadows lie warm on the ground,-- +So still, you may watch them and see + Every breath that awakens around. + +The churchyard lies still in the heat, + With its handful of mouldering bone, +As still as the long stalk of wheat + In the shadow that sits by the stone, +As still as the grass at my feet + When I walk in the meadows alone. + +The waves are asleep on the main, + And the ships are asleep on the wave; +And the thoughts are as still in my brain + As the echo that sleeps in the cave; +All rest from their labour and pain-- + Then why should not I in my grave? + + + +_WHO LIGHTS THE FIRE_? + +Who lights the fire--that forth so gracefully + And freely frolicketh the fairy smoke? + Some pretty one who never felt the yoke-- +Glad girl, or maiden more sedate than she. + +Pedant it cannot, villain cannot be! + Some genius, may-be, his own symbol woke; + But puritan, nor rogue in virtue's cloke, +Nor kitchen-maid has done it certainly! + +Ha, ha! you cannot find the lighter out + For all the blue smoke's pantomimic gesture-- + His name or nature, sex or age or vesture! +The fire was lit by human care, no doubt-- + But now the smoke is Nature's tributary, + Dancing 'twixt man and nothing like a fairy. + + + +_WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT_? + +Who would have thought that even an idle song + Were such a holy and celestial thing + That wickedness and envy cannot sing-- +That music for no moment lives with wrong? +I know this, for a very grievous throng, + Dark thoughts, low wishes, round my bosom cling, + And, underneath, the hidden holy spring +Stagnates because of their enchantment strong. + +Blow, breath of heaven, on all this poison blow! + And, heart, glow upward to this gracious breath! + Between them, vanish, mist of sin and death, +And let the life of life within me flow! + Love is the green earth, the celestial air, + And music runs like dews and rivers there! + + + +_ON A DECEMBER DAY_. + +I. + +This is the sweetness of an April day; + The softness of the spring is on the face + Of the old year. She has no natural grace, +But something comes to her from far away + +Out of the Past, and on her old decay + The beauty of her childhood you can trace.-- + And yet she moveth with a stormy pace, +And goeth quickly.--Stay, old year, oh, stay! + +We do not like new friends, we love the old; + With young, fierce, hopeful hearts we ill agree; +But thou art patient, stagnant, calm, and cold, + And not like that new year that is to be;-- + Life, promise, love, her eyes may fill, fair child! + We know the past, and will not be beguiled. + +II. + +Yet the free heart will not be captive long; + And if she changes often, she is free. + But if she changes: One has mastery +Who makes the joy the last in every song. +And so to-day I blessed the breezes strong + That swept the blue; I blessed the breezes free + That rolled wet leaves like rivers shiningly; +I blessed the purple woods I stood among. + +"And yet the spring is better!" Bitterness + Came with the words, but did not stay with them. + "Accomplishment and promise! field and stem +New green fresh growing in a fragrant dress! + And we behind with death and memory!" + --Nay, prophet-spring! but I will follow thee. + + + +_CHRISTMAS DAY, 1850_. + +Beautiful stories wed with lovely days + Like words and music:--what shall be the tale + Of love and nobleness that might avail +To express in action what this sweetness says-- + +The sweetness of a day of airs and rays + That are strange glories on the winter pale? + Alas, O beauty, all my fancies fail! +I cannot tell a story in thy praise! + +Thou hast, thou hast one--set, and sure to chime + With thee, as with the days of "winter wild;" + For Joy like Sorrow loves his blessed feet +Who shone from Heaven on Earth this Christmas-time + A Brother and a Saviour, Mary's child!-- + And so, fair day, thou _hast_ thy story sweet. + + + +_TO A FEBRUARY PRIMROSE_. + +I know not what among the grass thou art, + Thy nature, nor thy substance, fairest flower, + Nor what to other eyes thou hast of power +To send thine image through them to the heart; +But when I push the frosty leaves apart + And see thee hiding in thy wintry bower + Thou growest up within me from that hour, +And through the snow I with the spring depart. + +I have no words. But fragrant is the breath, + Pale beauty, of thy second life within. +There is a wind that cometh for thy death, + But thou a life immortal dost begin, +Where in one soul, which is thy heaven, shall dwell +Thy spirit, beautiful Unspeakable! + + + +_IN FEBRUARY_. + +Now in the dark of February rains, + Poor lovers of the sunshine, spring is born, + The earthy fields are full of hidden corn, +And March's violets bud along the lanes; + +Therefore with joy believe in what remains. + And thou who dost not feel them, do not scorn + Our early songs for winter overworn, +And faith in God's handwriting on the plains. + +"Hope" writes he, "Love" in the first violet, + "Joy," even from Heaven, in songs and winds and trees; + And having caught the happy words in these +While Nature labours with the letters yet, + Spring cannot cheat us, though her _hopes_ be broken, + Nor leave us, for we know what God hath spoken. + + + +_THE TRUE_. + +I envy the tree-tops that shake so high + In winds that fill them full of heavenly airs; + I envy every little cloud that shares +With unseen angels evening in the sky; +I envy most the youngest stars that lie + Sky-nested, and the loving heaven that bears, + And night that makes strong worlds of them unawares; +And all God's other beautiful and nigh! + +Nay, nay, I envy not! And these are dreams, + Fancies and images of real heaven! + My longings, all my longing prayers are given +For that which is, and not for that which seems. + Draw me, O Lord, to thy true heaven above, + The Heaven of thy Thought, thy Rest, thy Love. + + + +_THE DWELLERS THEREIN_. + +Down a warm alley, early in the year, + Among the woods, with all the sunshine in + And all the winds outside it, I begin +To think that something gracious will appear, +If anything of grace inhabit here, + Or there be friendship in the woods to win. + Might one but find companions more akin +To trees and grass and happy daylight clear, +And in this wood spend one long hour at home! + The fairies do not love so bright a place, +And angels to the forest never come, + But I have dreamed of some harmonious race, +The kindred of the shapes that haunt the shore +Of Music's flow and flow for evermore. + + + +_AUTUMN'S GOLD_. + +Along the tops of all the yellow trees, + The golden-yellow trees, the sunshine lies; + And where the leaves are gone, long rays surprise +Lone depths of thicket with their brightnesses; +And through the woods, all waste of many a breeze, + Cometh more joy of light for Poet's eyes-- + Green fields lying yellow underneath the skies, +And shining houses and blue distances. + +By the roadside, like rocks of golden ore + That make the western river-beds so bright, + The briar and the furze are all alight! +Perhaps the year will be so fair no more, + But now the fallen, falling leaves are gay, + And autumn old has shone into a Day! + + + +_PUNISHMENT_. + +Mourner, that dost deserve thy mournfulness, + Call thyself punished, call the earth thy hell; + Say, "God is angry, and I earned it well-- +I would not have him smile on wickedness:" + +Say this, and straightway all thy grief grows less:-- + "God rules at least, I find as prophets tell, + And proves it in this prison!"--then thy cell +Smiles with an unsuspected loveliness. + +--"A prison--and yet from door and window-bar + I catch a thousand breaths of his sweet air! + Even to me his days and nights are fair! +He shows me many a flower and many a star! +And though I mourn and he is very far, + He does not kill the hope that reaches there!" + + + +_SHEW US THE FATHER_. + +"Shew us the Father." Chiming stars of space, + And lives that fit the worlds, and means and powers, + A Thought that holds them up reveal to ours-- +A Wisdom we have been made wise to trace. +And, looking out from sweetest Nature's face, + From sunsets, moonlights, rivers, hills, and flowers, + Infinite love and beauty, all the hours, +Woo men that love them with divinest grace; +And to the depths of all the answering soul + High Justice speaks, and calls the world her own; + And yet we long, and yet we have not known +The very Father's face who means the whole! + Shew us the Father! Nature, conscience, love + Revealed in beauty, is there One above? + + + +_THE PINAFORE_. + +When peevish flaws his soul have stirred + To fretful tears for crossed desires, +Obedient to his mother's word + My child to banishment retires. + +As disappears the moon, when wind + Heaps miles of mist her visage o'er, +So vanisheth his face behind + The cloud of his white pinafore. + +I cannot then come near my child-- + A gulf between of gainful loss; +He to the infinite exiled-- + I waiting, for I cannot cross. + +Ah then, what wonder, passing show, + The Isis-veil behind it brings-- +Like that self-coffined creatures know, + Remembering legs, foreseeing wings! + +Mysterious moment! When or how + Is the bewildering change begun? +Hid in far deeps the awful now + When turns his being to the sun! + +A light goes up behind his eyes, + A still small voice behind his ears; +A listing wind about him sighs, + And lo the inner landscape clears! + +Hid by that screen, a wondrous shine + Is gathering for a sweet surprise; +As Moses grew, in dark divine, + Too radiant for his people's eyes. + +For when the garment sinks again, + Outbeams a brow of heavenly wile, +Clear as a morning after rain, + And sunny with a perfect smile. + +Oh, would that I the secret knew + Of hiding from my evil part, +And turning to the lovely true + The open windows of my heart! + +Lord, in thy skirt, love's tender gaol, + Hide thou my selfish heart's disgrace; +Fill me with light, and then unveil + To friend and foe a friendly face. + + + +_THE PRISM_. + +I. + +A pool of broken sunbeams lay + Upon the passage-floor, +Radiant and rich, profound and gay + As ever diamond bore. + +Small, flitting hands a handkerchief + Spread like a cunning trap: +Prone lay the gorgeous jewel-sheaf + In the glory-gleaner's lap! + +Deftly she folded up the prize, + With lovely avarice; +Like one whom having had made wise, + She bore it off in bliss. + +But ah, when for her prisoned gems + She peeped, to prove them there, +No glories broken from their stems + Lay in the kerchief bare! + +For still, outside the nursery door, + The bright persistency, +A molten diadem on the floor, + Lay burning wondrously. + +II. + +How oft have I laid fold from fold + And peered into my mind-- +To see of all the purple and gold + Not one gleam left behind! + +The best of gifts will not be stored: + The manna of yesterday +Has filled no sacred miser-hoard + To keep new need away. + +Thy grace, O Lord, it is thyself; + Thy presence is thy light; +I cannot lay it on my shelf, + Or take it from thy sight. + +For daily bread we daily pray-- + The want still breeds the cry; +And so we meet, day after day, + Thou, Father in heaven, and I. + +Is my house dreary, wall and floor, + Will not the darkness flit, +I go outside my shadowy door + And in thy rainbow sit. + + + +_SLEEP_. + +Oh! is it Death that comes +To have a foretaste of the whole? + To-night the planets and the stars + Will glimmer through my window-bars +But will not shine upon my soul! + +For I shall lie as dead +Though yet I am above the ground; + All passionless, with scarce a breath, + With hands of rest and eyes of death, +I shall be carried swiftly round. + +Or if my life should break +The idle night with doubtful gleams, + Through mossy arches will I go, + Through arches ruinous and low, +And chase the true and false in dreams. + +Why should I fall asleep? +When I am still upon my bed + The moon will shine, the winds will rise + And all around and through the skies +The light clouds travel o'er my head! + +O busy, busy things, +Ye mock me with your ceaseless life! + For all the hidden springs will flow + And all the blades of grass will grow +When I have neither peace nor strife. + +And all the long night through +The restless streams will hurry by; + And round the lands, with endless roar, + The white waves fall upon the shore, +And bit by bit devour the dry. + +Even thus, but silently, +Eternity, thy tide shall flow, + And side by side with every star + Thy long-drawn swell shall bear me far, +An idle boat with none to row. + +My senses fail with sleep; +My heart beats thick; the night is noon; + And faintly through its misty folds + I hear a drowsy clock that holds +Its converse with the waning moon. + +Oh, solemn mystery +That I should be so closely bound + With neither terror nor constraint, + Without a murmur of complaint, +And lose myself upon such ground! + + + +_SHARING_. + +On the far horizon there +Heaps of cloudy darkness rest; +Though the wind is in the air +There is stupor east and west. + +For the sky no change is making, +Scarce we know it from the plain; +Droop its eyelids never waking, +Blinded by the misty rain; + +Save on high one little spot, +Round the baffled moon a space +Where the tumult ceaseth not: +Wildly goes the midnight race! + +And a joy doth rise in me +Upward gazing on the sight, +When I think that others see +In yon clouds a like delight; + +How perchance an aged man +Struggling with the wind and rain, +In the moonlight cold and wan +Feels his heart grow young again; + +As the cloudy rack goes by, +How the life-blood mantles up +Till the fountain deep and dry +Yields once more a sparkling cup. + +Or upon the gazing child +Cometh down a thought of glory +Which will keep him undefiled +Till his head is old and hoary. + +For it may be he hath woke +And hath raised his fair young form; +Strangely on his eyes have broke +All the splendours of the storm; + +And his young soul forth doth leap +With the storm-clouds in the moon; +And his heart the light will keep +Though the vision passeth soon. + +Thus a joy hath often laughed +On my soul from other skies, +Bearing on its wings a draught +From the wells of Paradise, + +For that not to me alone +Comes a splendour out of fear; +Where the light of heaven hath shone +There is glory far and near. + + + +_IN BONDS_. + +Of the poor bird that cannot fly +Kindly you think and mournfully; +For prisoners and for exiles all +You let the tears of pity fall; +And very true the grief should be +That mourns the bondage of the free. + +The soul--_she_ has a fatherland; +Binds _her_ not many a tyrant's hand? +And the winged spirit has a home, +But can she always homeward come? +Poor souls, with all their wounds and foes, +Will you not also pity those? + + + +_HUNGER_. + +Father, I cry to thee for bread + With hungred longing, eager prayer; +Thou hear'st, and givest me instead + More hunger and a half-despair. + +0 Lord, how long? My days decline, + My youth is lapped in memories old; +I need not bread alone, but wine-- + See, cup and hand to thee I hold! + +And yet thou givest: thanks, O Lord, + That still my heart with hunger faints! +The day will come when at thy board + I sit, forgetting all my plaints. + +If rain must come and winds must blow, + And I pore long o'er dim-seen chart, +Yet, Lord, let not the hunger go, + And keep the faintness at my heart. + + + +_NEW YEAR'S EVE: A WAKING DREAM_. + +I have not any fearful tale to tell +Of fabled giant or of dragon-claw, +Or bloody deed to pilfer and to sell +To those who feed, with such, a gaping maw; +But what in yonder hamlet there befell, +Or rather what in it my fancy saw, +I will declare, albeit it may seem +Too simple and too common for a dream. + +Two brothers were they, and they sat alone +Without a word, beside the winter's glow; +For it was many years since they had known +The love that bindeth brothers, till the snow +Of age had frozen it, and it had grown +An icy-withered stream that would not flow; +And so they sat with warmth about their feet +And ice about their hearts that would not beat. + +And yet it was a night for quiet hope:-- +A night the very last of all the year +To many a youthful heart did seem to ope +An eye within the future, round and clear; +And age itself, that travels down the slope, +Sat glad and waiting as the hour drew near, +The dreamy hour that hath the heaviest chime, +Jerking our souls into the coming time. + +But they!--alas for age when it is old! +The silly calendar they did not heed; +Alas for age when in its bosom cold +There is not warmth to nurse a bladed weed! +They thought not of the morrow, but did hold +A quiet sitting as their hearts did feed +Inwardly on themselves, as still and mute +As if they were a-cold from head to foot. + +O solemn kindly night, she looketh still +With all her moon upon us now and then! +And though she dwelleth most in craggy hill, +She hath an eye unto the hearts of men! +So past a corner of the window-sill +She thrust a long bright finger just as ten +Had struck, and on the dial-plate it came, +Healing each hour's raw edge with tender flame. + +There is a something in the winds of heaven +That stirreth purposely and maketh men; +And unto every little wind is given +A thing to do ere it is still again; +So when the little clock had struck eleven, +The edging moon had drawn her silver pen +Across a mirror, making them aware +Of something ghostlier than their own grey hair. + +Therefore they drew aside the window-blind +And looked upon the sleeping town below, +And on the little church which sat behind +As keeping watch upon the scanty row +Of steady tombstones--some of which inclined +And others upright, in the moon did show +Like to a village down below the waves-- +It was so still and cool among the graves. + +But not a word from either mouth did fall, +Except it were some very plain remark. +Ah! why should such as they be glad at all? +For years they had not listened to the lark! +The child was dead in them!--yet did there crawl +A wish about their hearts; and as the bark +Of distant sheep-dog came, they were aware +Of a strange longing for the open air. + +Ah! many an earthy-weaving year had spun +A web of heavy cloud about their brain! +And many a sun and moon had come and gone +Since they walked arm in arm, these brothers twain! +But now with timed pace their feet did stun +The village echoes into quiet pain: +The street appeared very short and white, +And they like ghosts unquiet for the light. + +"Right through the churchyard," one of them did say +--I knew not which was elder of the two-- +"Right through the churchyard is our better way." +"Ay," said the other, "past the scrubby yew. +I have not seen her grave for many a day; +And it is in me that with moonlight too +It might be pleasant thinking of old faces, +And yet I seldom go into such places." + +Strange, strange indeed to me the moonlight wan +Sitting about a solitary stone! +Stranger than many tales it is to scan +The earthy fragment of a human bone; +But stranger still to see a grey old man +Apart from all his fellows, and alone +With the pale night and all its giant quiet; +Therefore that stone was strange and those two by it. + +It was their mother's grave, and here were hid +The priceless pulses of a mother's soul. +Full sixty years it was since she had slid +Into the other world through that deep hole. +But as they stood it seemed the coffin-lid +Grew deaf with sudden hammers!--'twas the mole +Niddering about its roots.--Be still, old men, +Be very still and ye will hear again. + +Ay, ye will hear it! Ye may go away, +But it will stay with you till ye are dead! +It is but earthy mould and quiet clay, +But it hath power to turn the oldest head. +Their eyes met in the moon, and they did say +More than a hundred tongues had ever said. +So they passed onwards through the rapping wicket +Into the centre of a firry thicket. + +It was a solemn meeting of Earth's life, +An inquest held upon the death of things; +And in the naked north full thick and rife +The snow-clouds too were meeting as on wings +Shorn round the edges by the frost's keen knife; +And the trees seemed to gather into rings, +Waiting to be made blind, as they did quail +Among their own wan shadows thin and pale. + +Many strange noises are there among trees, +And most within the quiet moony light, +Therefore those aged men are on their knees +As if they listened somewhat:--Ye are right-- +Upwards it bubbles like the hum of bees! +Although ye never heard it till to-night, +The mighty mother calleth ever so +To all her pale-eyed children from below. + +Ay, ye have walked upon her paven ways, +And heard her voices in the market-place, +But ye have never listened what she says +When the snow-moon is pressing on her face! +One night like this is more than many days +To him who hears the music and the bass +Of deep immortal lullabies which calm +His troubled soul as with a hushing psalm. + +I know not whether there is power in sleep +To dim the eyelids of the shining moon, +But so it seemed then, for still more deep +She grew into a heavy cloud, which, soon +Hiding her outmost edges, seemed to keep +A pressure on her; so there came a swoon +Among the shadows, which still lay together +But in their slumber knew not one another. + +But while the midnight groped for the chime +As she were heavy with excess of dreams, +She from the cloud's thick web a second time +Made many shadows, though with minished beams; +And as she looked eastward through the rime +Of a thin vapour got of frosty steams, +There fell a little snow upon the crown +Of a near hillock very bald and brown. + +And on its top they found a little spring, +A very helpful little spring indeed, +Which evermore unwound a tiny string +Of earnest water with continual speed-- +And so the brothers stood and heard it sing; +For all was snowy-still, and not a seed +Had struck, and nothing came but noises light +Of the continual whitening of the night. + +There is a kindness in the falling snow-- +It is a grey head to the spring time mild; +So as the creamy vapour bowed low +Crowning the earth with honour undefiled, +Within each withered man arose a glow +As if he fain would turn into a child: +There was a gladness somewhere in the ground +Which in his bosom nowhere could be found! + +Not through the purple summer or the blush +Of red voluptuous roses did it come +That silent speaking voice, but through the slush +And snowy quiet of the winter numb! +It was a barren mound that heard the gush +Of living water from two fountains dumb-- +Two rocky human hearts which long had striven +To make a pleasant noise beneath high heaven! + +Now from the village came the onward shout +Of lightsome voices and of merry cheer; +It was a youthful group that wandered out +To do obeisance to the glad new year; +And as they passed they sang with voices stout +A song which I was very fain to hear, +But as they darkened on, away it died, +And the two men walked homewards side by side. + + + +_FROM NORTH WALES: TO THE MOTHER_. + +When the summer gave us a longer day, +And the leaves were thickest, I went away: +Like an isle, through dark clouds, of the infinite blue, +Was that summer-ramble from London and you. + +It was but one burst into life and air, +One backward glance on the skirts of care, +A height on the hills with the smoke below-- +And the joy that came quickly was quick to go. + +But I know and I cannot forget so soon +How the Earth is shone on by Sun and Moon; +How the clouds hide the mountains, and how they move +When the morning sunshine lies warm above. + +I know how the waters fall and run +In the rocks and the heather, away from the sun; +How they hang like garlands on all hill-sides, +And are the land's music, those crystal tides. + +I know how they gather in valleys fair, +Meet valleys those beautiful waves to bear; +How they dance through the rocks, how they rest in the pool, +How they darken, how sparkle, and how they are cool. + +I know how the rocks from their kisses climb +To keep the storms off with a front sublime; +And how on their platforms and sloping walls +The shadow of oak-tree and fir-tree falls. + +I know how the valleys are bright from far, +Rocks, meadows, and waters, the wood and the scaur; +And how the roadside and the nearest hill +The foxglove and heather and harebell fill. + +I know--but the joy that was quick to go +Gave more knowledge to me than words can shew; +And _you_ know the story, and how they fare +Who love the green earth and the heavenly air. + + + +_COME TO ME_. + +Come to me, come to me, O my God; + Come to me everywhere! +Let the trees mean thee, and the grassy sod, + And the water and the air! + +For thou art so far that I often doubt, + As on every side I stare, +Searching within, and looking without, + If thou canst be anywhere. + +How did men find thee in days of old? + How did they grow so sure? +They fought in thy name, they were glad and bold, + They suffered, and kept themselves pure! + +But now they say--neither above the sphere + Nor down in the heart of man, +But solely in fancy, ambition, and fear + The thought of thee began. + +If only that perfect tale were true + Which ages have not made old, +Which of endless many makes one anew, + And simplicity manifold! + +But _he_ taught that they who did his word + The truth of it sure would know: +I will try to do it: if he be lord + Again the old faith will glow; + +Again the old spirit-wind will blow + That he promised to their prayer; +And obeying the Son, I too shall know + His father everywhere! + + + +_A FEAR_. + +O Mother Earth, I have a fear +Which I would tell to thee-- +Softly and gently in thine ear +When the moon and we are three. + +Thy grass and flowers are beautiful; +Among thy trees I hide; +And underneath the moonlight cool +Thy sea looks broad and wide; + +But this I fear--lest thou shouldst grow +To me so small and strange, +So distant I should never know +On thee a shade of change, + +Although great earthquakes should uplift +Deep mountains from their base, +And thy continual motion shift +The lands upon thy face;-- + +The grass, the flowers, the dews that lie +Upon them as before-- +Driven upwards evermore, lest I +Should love these things no more. + +Even now thou dimly hast a place +In deep star galaxies! +And I, driven ever on through space, +Have lost thee in the skies! + + + +_THE LOST HOUSE_. + +Out of thy door I run to do the thing + That calls upon me. Straight the wind of words +Whoops from mine ears the sounds of them that sing +About their work, "My God, my father-king!" + +I turn in haste to see thy blessed door, + But, lo, a cloud of flies and bats and birds, + And stalking vapours, and vague monster-herds + Have risen and lighted, rushed and swollen between! + +Ah me! the house of peace is there no more. +Was it a dream then?--Walls, fireside, and floor, + And sweet obedience, loving, calm, and free, + Are vanished--gone as they had never been! + + I labour groaning. Comes a sudden sheen!-- +And I am kneeling at my father's knee, +Sighing with joy, and hoping utterly. + + + +_THE TALK OF THE ECHOES_. + +A FRAGMENT. + +When the cock crows loud from the glen, +And the moor-cock chirrs from the heather, +What hear ye and see ye then, +Ye children of air and ether? + +1_st Echo_. + A thunder as of waves at the rising of the moon, + And a darkness on the graves though the day is at its noon. + +_2nd Echo_. A springing as of grass though the air is damp and chill, + And a glimmer from the river that winds about the hill. + +_1st Echo_. A lapse of crags that leant from the mountain's earthen +sheath, + And a shock of ruin sent on the river underneath. + +_2nd Echo_. A sound as of a building that groweth fair and good, + And a piping of the thrushes from the hollow of the wood. + +_1st Echo_. A wailing as of lambs that have wandered from the flock, + And a bleating of their dams that was answered from the rock. + +_2nd Echo_. A breathing as of cattle in the shadow where they dream, + And a sound of children playing with the pebbles in the stream. + +_1st Echo_. A driving as of clouds in the kingdom of the air, + And a tumult as of crowds that mingle everywhere. + +_2nd Echo_. A waving of the grass, and a passing o'er the lakes, + And a shred of tempest-cloud in the glory when it breaks. + + + +_THE GOAL_ + +In God alone, the perfect end, +Wilt thou find thyself or friend. + + + +_THE HEALER_. + +They come to thee, the halt, the maimed, the blind, + The devil-torn, the sick, the sore; +Thy heart their well of life they find, + Thine ear their open door. + +Ah, who can tell the joy in Palestine-- + What smiles and tears of rescued throngs! +Their lees of life were turned to wine, + Their prayers to shouts and songs! + +The story dear our wise men fable call, + Give paltry facts the mighty range; +To me it seems just what should fall, + And nothing very strange. + +But were I deaf and lame and blind and sore, + I scarce would care for cure to ask; +Another prayer should haunt thy door-- + Set thee a harder task. + +If thou art Christ, see here this heart of mine, + Torn, empty, moaning, and unblest! +Had ever heart more need of thine, + If thine indeed hath rest? + +Thy word, thy hand right soon did scare the bane + That in their bodies death did breed; +If thou canst cure my deeper pain + Then art thou lord indeed. + + + +_OH THAT A WIND_. + +Oh that a wind would call + From the depths of the leafless wood! +Oh that a voice would fall + On the ear of my solitude! + +Far away is the sea, + With its sound and its spirit tone; +Over it white clouds flee; + But I am alone, alone. + +Straight and steady and tall + The trees stand on their feet; +Fast by the old stone wall + The moss grows green and sweet; +But my heart is full of fears, + For the sun shines far away; +And they look in my face through tears, + And the light of a dying day. + +My heart was glad last night + As I pressed it with my palm; +Its throb was airy and light + As it sang some spirit psalm; +But it died away in my breast + As I wandered forth to-day,-- +As a bird sat dead on its nest, + While others sang on the spray. + +O weary heart of mine, + Is there ever a Truth for thee? +Will ever a sun outshine + But the sun that shines on me? +Away, away through the air + The clouds and the leaves are blown; +And my heart hath need of prayer, + For it sitteth alone, alone. + + + +_A VISION OF ST. ELIGIUS_. + +I. + +I see thy house, but I am blown about, + A wind-mocked kite, between the earth and sky, +All out of doors--alas! of thy doors out, + And drenched in dews no summer suns can dry. + +For every blast is passion of my own; + The dews cold sweats of selfish agony; +Dank vapour steams from memories lying prone; + And all my soul is but a stifled cry. + +II. + +Lord, thou dost hold my string, else were I driven + Down to some gulf where I were tossed no more, +No turmoil telling I was not in heaven, + No billows raving on a blessed shore. + +Thou standest on thy door-sill, calm as day, + And all my throbs and pangs are pulls from thee; +Hold fast the string, lest I should break away + And outer dark and silence swallow me. + +III. + +No longer fly thy kite, Lord; draw me home. + Thou pull'st the string through all the distance bleak; +Lord, I am nearing thee; O Lord, I come; + Thy pulls grow stronger and the wind grows weak. + +In thy remodelling hands thou tak'st thy kite; + A moment to thy bosom hold'st me fast. +Thou flingest me abroad:--lo, in thy might + A strong-winged bird I soar on every blast! + + + +_OF THE SON OF MAN_. + +I. I honour Nature, holding it unjust +To look with jealousy on her designs; +With every passing year more fast she twines +About my heart; with her mysterious dust +Claim I a fellowship not less august +Although she works before me and combines +Her changing forms, wherever the sun shines +Spreading a leafy volume on the crust +Of the old world; and man himself likewise +Is of her making: wherefore then divorce +What God hath joined thus, and rend by force +Spirit away from substance, bursting ties +By which in one great bond of unity +God hath together bound all things that be? + +II. And in these lines my purpose is to show +That He who left the Father, though he came +Not with art-splendour or the earthly flame +Of genius, yet in that he did bestow +His own true loving heart, did cause to grow, +Unseen and buried deep, whate'er we name +The best in human art, without the shame +Of idle sitting in most real woe; +And that whate'er of Beautiful and Grand +The Earth contains, by him was not despised, +But rather was so deeply realized +In word and deed, though not with artist hand, +That it was either hid or all disguised +From those who were not wise to understand. + +III. Art is the bond of weakness, and we find +Therein acknowledgment of failing power: +A man would worship, gazing on a flower-- +Onward he passeth, lo his eyes are blind! +The unenlivened form he left behind +Grew up within him only for an hour! +And he will grapple with Nature till the dower +Of strength shall be retreasured in his mind. +And each form-record is a high protest +Of treason done unto the soul of man, +Which, striving upwards, ever is oppress'd +By the old bondage, underneath whose ban +He, failing in his struggle for the best, +Must live in pain upon what food he can. + +IV. Moreover, were there perfect harmony +'Twixt soul and Nature, we should never waste +The precious hours in gazing, but should haste +To assimilate her offerings, and we +From high life-elements, as doth the tree, +Should grow to higher; so what we call Taste +Is a slow living as of roots encased +In the grim chinks of some sterility +Both cramping and withholding. Art is Truth, +But Truth dammed up and frozen, gagged and bound +As is a streamlet icy and uncouth +Which pebbles hath and channel but no sound: +Give it again its summer heart of youth +And it will be a life upon the ground. + +V. And Love had not been prisoned in cold stone, +Nor Beauty smeared on the dead canvas so, +Had not their worshipper been forced to go +Questful and restless through the world alone, +Searching but finding not, till on him shone +Back from his own deep heart a chilly glow +As of a frost-nipped sunbeam, or of snow +Under a storm-dodged crescent which hath grown +Wasted to mockery; and beneath such gleam +His wan conceits have found an utterance, +Which, had they found a true and sunny beam, +Had ripened into real touch and glance-- +Nay more, to real deed, the Truth of all, +To some perfection high and personal. + +VI. "But yet the great of soul have ever been +The first to glory in all works of art; +For from the genius-form would ever dart +A light of inspiration, and a sheen +As of new comings; and ourselves have seen +Men of stern purpose to whose eyes would start +Sorrow at sight of sorrow though no heart +Did riot underneath that chilly, screen; +And hence we judge such utterance native to +The human soul--expression highest--best." +--Nay, it is by such sign they will pursue, +Albeit unknowing, Beauty, without rest; +And failing in the search, themselves will fling +Speechless before its shadow, worshipping. + +VII. And how shall he whose mission is to bring +The soul to worship at its rightful shrine, +Seeing in Beauty what is most divine, +Give out the mightiest impulse, and thus fling +His soul into the future, scattering +The living seed of wisdom? Shall there shine +From underneath his hand a matchless line +Of high earth-beauties, till the wide world ring +With the far clang that tells a missioned soul, +Kneeling to homage all about his feet? +Alas for such a gift were this the whole, +The only bread of life men had to eat! +Lo, I behold them dead about him now, +And him the heart of death, for all that brow! + +VIII. If _Thou_ didst pass by Art, thou didst not scorn +The souls that by such symbol yearned in vain +From Truth and Love true nourishment to gain: +On thy warm breast, so chilly and forlorn +Fell these thy nurslings little more than born +That thou wast anguished, and there fell a rain +From thy blest eyelids, and in grief and pain +Thou partedst from them yet one night and morn +To find them wholesome food and nourishment +Instead of what their blindness took for such, +Laying thyself a seed in earthen rent +From which, outspringing to the willing touch, +Riseth for all thy children harvest great, +For which they will all learn to bless thee yet. + +IV. Thou sawest Beauty in the streaking cloud +When grief lift up those eyelids; nor in scorn +Broke ever on thine eyes the purple morn +Along the cedar tops; to thee aloud +Spake the night-solitude, when hushed and bowed +The earth lay at thy feet stony and worn; +Loving thou markedst when the lamb unshorn +Was glad before thee, and amongst the crowd +Famished and pent in cities did thine eye +Read strangest glory--though in human art +No record lives to tell us that thy heart +Bowed to its own deep beauty: deeper did lie +The burden of thy mission, even whereby +We know that Beauty liveth where Thou art. + +X. Doubtless thine eyes have watched the sun aspire +From that same Olivet, when back on thee +Flushed upwards after some night-agony +Thy proper Godhead, with a purer fire +Purpling thy Infinite, and in strong desire +Thou sattest in the dawn that was to be +Uplifted on our dark perplexity. +Yea in thee lay thy soul, a living lyre, +And each wild beauty smote it, though the sound +Rung to the night-winds oft and desert air; +Beneath thine eyes the lily paled more fair, +And each still shadow slanting on the ground +Lay sweetly on thee as commissioned there, +So full wast thou of eyes all round and round. + +XI. And so thou neededst not our human skill +To fix what thus were transient--there it grew +Wedded to thy perfection; and anew +With every coming vision rose there still +Some living principle which did fulfil +Thy most legitimate manhood; and unto +Thy soul all Nature rendered up its due +With not a contradiction; and each hill +And mountain torrent and each wandering light +Grew out divinely on thy countenance, +Whereon, as we are told, by word and glance +Thy hearers read an ever strange delight--So +strange to them thy Truth, they could not tell +What made thy message so unspeakable. + +XII. And by such living witness didst thou preach: +Not with blind hands of groping forward thrust +Into the darkness, gathering only dust, +But by this real sign--that thou didst reach, +In natural order, rising each from each, +Thy own ideals of the True and Just; +And that as thou didst live, even so he must +Who would aspire his fellow-men to teach, +Looking perpetual from new heights of Thought +On his old self. Of art no scorner thou! +Instead of leafy chaplet, on thy brow +Wearing the light of manhood, thou hast brought +Death unto Life! Above all statues now, +Immortal Artist, hail! thy work is wrought! + +XIII. Solemn and icy stand ye in my eyes, +Far up into the niches of the Past, +Ye marble statues, dim and holden fast +Within your stony homes! nor human cries +Had shook you from your frozen phantasies +Or sent the life-blood through you, till there passed +Through all your chilly bulks a new life-blast +From the Eternal Living, and ye rise +From out your stiffened postures rosy-warm, +Walking abroad a goodly company +Of living virtues at that wondrous charm, +As he with human heart and hand and eye +Walked sorrowing upon our highways then, +The Eternal Father's living gift to men! + +XIV. As the pent torrent in uneasy rest +Under the griping rocks, doth ever keep +A monstrous working as it lies asleep +In the round hollow of some mountain's breast, +Till where it hideth in its sweltering nest +Some earthquake finds it, and its waters leap +Forth to the sunshine down the mighty steep, +So in thee once was anguished forth the quest +Whereby man sought for life-power as he lay +Under his own proud heart and black despair +Wedged fast and stifled up with loads of care, +Yet at dumb struggle with the tyrant clay; +Thou wentest down below the roots of prayer, +And he hath cried aloud since that same day! + +XV. As he that parts in hatred from a friend +Mixing with other men forgets the woe +Which anguished him when he beheld and lo +Two souls had fled asunder which did bend +Under the same blue heaven! yet ere the end, +When the loud world hath tossed him to and fro, +Will often strangely reappear that glow +At simplest memory which some chance may send, +Although much stronger bonds have lost their power: +So thou God-sent didst come in lowly guise, +Striking on simple chords,--not with surprise +Or mightiest recollectings in that hour, +But like remembered fragrance of a flower +A man with human heart and loving eyes. + +_March_, 1852. + + + +_A SONG-SERMON:_ + +Job xiv. 13-15. + +RONDEL. + +Would that thou hid me in the grave +And kept me with death's gaoler-care; +Until thy wrath away should wear +A sentence fixed thy prisoner gave! +I would endure with patience brave +So thou remembered I was there! +Would that thou hid me in the grave, +And kept me with death's gaoler-care! + +To see thy creature thou wouldst crave-- +Desire thy handiwork so fair; +Then wouldst thou call through death's dank air +And I would answer from the cave! +Would that thou hid me in the grave, +And kept me with death's gaoler-care! + + + +_WORDS IN THE NIGHT_. + +I woke at midnight, and my heart, +My beating heart, said this to me: +Thou seest the moon, how calm and bright! +The world is fair by day and night, +But what is that to thee? +One touch to me, down dips the light +Over the land and sea. +All is mine, all is my own! +Toss the purple fountain high! +The breast of man is a vat of stone; +I am alive, I, only I! + +One little touch and all is dark-- +The winter with its sparkling moons, +The spring with all her violets, +The crimson dawns and rich sunsets, +The autumn's yellowing noons! +I only toss my purple jets, +And thou art one that swoons +Upon a night of gust and roar, +Shipwrecked among the waves, and seems +Across the purple hills to roam: +Sweet odours touch him from the foam, +And downward sinking still he dreams +He walks the clover fields at home +And hears the rattling teams. +All is mine, all is my own! +Toss the purple fountain high! +The breast of man is a vat of stone; +I am alive, I, only I! + +Thou hast beheld a throated fountain spout +Full in the air, and in the downward spray +A hovering Iris span the marble tank, +Which, as the wind came, ever rose and sank, +Violet and red; so my continual play +Makes beauty for the Gods with many a prank +Of human excellence, while they, +Weary of all the noon, in shadows sweet, +Supine and heavy-eyed rest in the boundless heat. +Let the world's fountain play! +Beauty is pleasant in the eyes of Jove; +Betwixt the wavering shadows where he lies +He marks the dancing column with his eyes +Celestial, and amid his inmost grove +Upgathers all his limbs, serenely blest, +Lulled by the mellow noise of the great world's unrest. + +One heart beats in all nature, differing +But in the work it works; its doubts and clamours +Are but the waste and brunt of instruments +Wherewith a work is done, or as the hammers +On forge Cyclopean plied beneath the rents +Of lowest Etna, conquering into shape +The hard and scattered ore; +Choose thou narcotics, and the dizzy grape +Outworking passion, lest with horrid crash +Thy life go from thee in a night of pain; +So tutoring thy vision, shall the flash +Of dove white-breasted be to thee no more +Than a white stone heavy upon the plain. + +Hark, the cock crows loud! +And without, all ghastly and ill, +Like a man uplift in his shroud, +The white, white morn is propped on the hill; +And adown from the eaves, pointed and chill +The icicles 'gin to glitter +And the birds with a warble short and shrill +Pass by the chamber-window still-- +With a quick, uneasy twitter! +Let me pump warm blood, for the cold is bitter; +And wearily, wearily, one by one, +Men awake with the weary sun! +Life is a phantom shut in thee: +I am the master and keep the key; +So let me toss thee the days of old +Crimson and orange and green and gold; +So let me fill thee yet again +With a rush of dreams from my spout amain; +For all is mine, all is my own: +Toss the purple fountain high! +The breast of man is a vat of stone, +And I am alive, I only, I! + + + +_CONSIDER THE RAVENS_ + +Lord, according to thy words, +I have considered thy birds; +And I find their life good, +And better the better understood: +Sowing neither corn nor wheat +They have all that they can eat; +Reaping no more than they sow +They have more than they could stow; +Having neither barn nor store, +Hungry again, they eat more. + +Considering, I see too that they +Have a busy life, and plenty of play; +In the earth they dig their bills deep +And work well though they do not heap; +Then to play in the air they are not loath, +And their nests between are better than both. +But this is when there blow no storms, +When berries are plenty in winter, and worms, +When feathers are rife, with oil enough-- +To keep the cold out and send the rain off; +If there come, indeed, a long hard frost +Then it looks as thy birds were lost. + +But I consider further, and find +A hungry bird has a free mind; +He is hungry to-day, not to-morrow, +Steals no comfort, no grief doth borrow; +This moment is his, thy will hath said it, +The next is nothing till thou hast made it. + +Thy bird has pain, but has no fear +Which is the worst of any gear; +When cold and hunger and harm betide him, +He does not take them and stuff inside him; +Content with the day's ill he has got, +He waits just, nor haggles with his lot: +Neither jumbles God's will +With driblets from his own still. + +But next I see, in my endeavour, +Thy birds here do not live for ever; +That cold or hunger, sickness or age +Finishes their earthly stage; +The rooks drop in cold nights, +Leaving all their wrongs and rights; +Birds lie here and birds lie there +With their feathers all astare; +And in thy own sermon, thou +That the sparrow falls dost allow. + +It shall not cause me any alarm, +For neither so comes the bird to harm +Seeing our father, thou hast said, +Is by the sparrow's dying bed; +Therefore it is a blessed place, +And the sparrow in high grace. + +It cometh therefore to this, Lord: +I have considered thy word, +And henceforth will be thy bird. + + + +_THE WIND OF THE WORLD_. + +Chained is the Spring. The Night-wind bold + Blows over the hard earth; +Time is not more confused and cold, + Nor keeps more wintry mirth. + +Yet blow, and roll the world about-- + Blow, Time, blow, winter's Wind! +Through chinks of time heaven peepeth out, + And Spring the frost behind. + + + +_SABBATH BELLS_. + +Oh holy Sabbath bells, +Ye have a pleasant voice! +Through all the land your music swells, +And man with one commandment tells +To rest and to rejoice. + +As birds rejoice to flee +From dark and stormy skies +To brighter lands beyond the sea +Where skies are calm, and wings are free +To wander and to rise; + +As thirsty travellers sing, +Through desert paths that pass, +To hear the welcome waters spring, +And see, beyond the spray they fling +Tall trees and waving grass; + +So we rejoice to know +Your melody begun; +For when our paths are parched below +Ye tell us where green pastures glow +And living waters run. + +LONDON, _December_ 15, 1840. + + + +_FIGHTING_. + +Here is a temple strangely wrought: + Within it I can see +Two spirits of a diverse thought + Contend for mastery. + +One is an angel fair and bright, + Adown the aisle comes he, +Adown the aisle in raiment white, + A creature fair to see. + +The other wears an evil mien, + And he hath doubtless slipt, +A fearful being dark and lean, + Up from the mouldy crypt. + + * * * * * + +Is that the roof that grows so black? + Did some one call my name? +Was it the bursting thunder crack + That filled this place with flame? + +I move--I wake from out my sleep: + Some one hath victor been! +I see two radiant pinions sweep, + And I am borne between. + +Beneath the clouds that under roll + An upturned face I see-- +A dead man's face, but, ah, the soul + Was right well known to me! + +A man's dead face! Away I haste + Through regions calm and fair: +Go vanquish sin, and thou shall taste + The same celestial air. + + + +_AFTER THE FASHION OF AN OLD EMBLEM._ + +I have long enough been working down in my cellar, + Working spade and pick, boring-chisel and drill; +I long for wider spaces, airy, clear-dark, and stellar: + Successless labour never the love of it did fill. + +More profit surely lies in a holy, pure quiescence, + In a setting forth of cups to catch the heavenly rain, +In a yielding of the being to the ever waiting presence, + In a lifting of the eyes upward, homeward again! + +Up to my garret, its storm-windows and skylights! + There I'll lay me on the floor, and patient let the sun, +The moon and the stars, the blueness and the twilights + Do what their pleasure is, and wait till they have done. + +But, lo, I hear a waving on the roof of great pinions! + 'Tis the labour of a windmill, broad-spreading to the wind! +Lo, down there goes a. shaft through all the house-dominions! + I trace it to a cellar, whose door I cannot find. + +But there I hear ever a keen diamond-drill in motion, + Now fast and now slow as the wind sits in the sails, +Drilling and boring to the far eternal ocean, + The living well of all wells whose water never fails. + +So now I go no more to the cellar to my labour, + But up to my garret where those arms are ever going; +There the sky is ever o'er me, and the wind my blessed neighbour, + And the prayer-handle ready turns the sails to its blowing. + +Blow, blow, my blessed wind; oh, keep ever blowing! + Keep the great windmill going full and free; +So shall the diamond-drill down below keep going + Till in burst the waters of God's eternal sea. + + + +_A PRAYER IN SICKNESS._ + +Thou foldest me in sickness; + Thou callest through the cloud; +I batter with the thickness + Of the swathing, blinding shroud: +Oh, let me see thy face, +The only perfect grace + That thou canst show thy child. + +0 father, being-giver, + Take off the sickness-cloud; +Saviour, my life deliver + From this dull body-shroud: +Till I can see thy face +I am not full of grace, + I am not reconciled. + + + +_QUIET DEAD!_ + +Quiet, quiet dead, +Have ye aught to say +From your hidden bed +In the earthy clay? + +Fathers, children, mothers, +Ye are very quiet; +Can ye shout, my brothers? +I would know you by it! + +Have ye any words +That are like to ours? +Have ye any birds? +Have ye any flowers? + +Could ye rise a minute +When the sun is warm? +I would know you in it, +I would take no harm. + +I am half afraid +In the ghostly night; +If ye all obeyed +I should fear you quite. + +But when day is breaking +In the purple east +I would meet you waking-- +One of you at least-- + +When the sun is tipping +Every stony block, +And the sun is slipping +Down the weathercock. + +Quiet, quiet dead, +I will not perplex you; +What my tongue hath said +Haply it may vex you! + +Yet I hear you speaking +With a quiet speech, +As if ye were seeking +Better things to teach: + +"Wait a little longer, +Suffer and endure +Till your heart is stronger +And your eyes are pure-- + +A little longer, brother, +With your fellow-men: +We will meet each other +Otherwhere again." + + + +_LET YOUR LIGHT SO SHINE._ + +Sometimes, O Lord, thou lightest in my head + A lamp that well might pharos all the lands; +Anon the light will neither rise nor spread: + Shrouded in danger gray the beacon stands! + +A pharos? Oh dull brain! poor dying lamp + Under a bushel with an earthy smell! +Mouldering it stands, in rust and eating damp, + While the slow oil keeps oozing from its cell! + +For me it were enough to be a flower + Knowing its root in thee, the Living, hid, +Ordained to blossom at the appointed hour, + And wake or sleep as thou, my Nature, bid; + +But hear my brethren in their darkling fright! + Hearten my lamp that it may shine abroad +Then will they cry--Lo, there is something bright! + Who kindled it if not the shining God? + + + +_TRIOLET._ + +When the heart is a cup + In the body low lying, +And wine, drop by drop + Falls into that cup + +From somewhere high up, + It is good to be dying +With the heart for a cup + In the body low lying. + + + +_THE SOULS' RISING._ + + See how the storm of life ascends +Up through the shadow of the world! +Beyond our gaze the line extends, +Like wreaths of vapour tempest-hurled! +Grasp tighter, brother, lest the storm +Should sweep us down from where we stand, +And we may catch some human form +We know, amongst the straining band. + + See! see in yonder misty cloud +One whirlwind sweep, and we shall hear +The voice that waxes yet more loud +And louder still approaching near! + + Tremble not, brother, fear not thou, +For yonder wild and mystic strain +Will bring before us strangely now +The visions of our youth again! + + Listen! oh listen! +See how its eyeballs roll and glisten +With a wild and fearful stare +Upwards through the shining air, +Or backwards with averted look, +As a child were gazing at a book +Full of tales of fear and dread, +When the thick night-wind came hollow and dead. + + Round about it, wavering and light. +As the moths flock round a candle at night, +A crowd of phantoms sheeted and dumb +Strain to its words as they shrilly come: +Brother, my brother, dost thou hear? +They pierce through the tumult sharp and clear! + + "The rush of speed is on my soul, +My eyes are blind with things I see; +I cannot grasp the awful whole, +I cannot gird the mystery! +The mountains sweep like mist away; +The great sea shakes like flakes of fire; +The rush of things I cannot see +Is mounting upward higher and higher! +Oh! life was still and full of calm +In yonder spot of earthly ground, +But now it rolls a thunder-psalm, +Its voices drown my ear in sound! +Would God I were a child again +To nurse the seeds of faith and power; +I might have clasped in wisdom then +A wing to beat this awful hour! +The dullest things would take my marks-- +_They_ took my marks like drifted snow-- +God! how the footsteps rise in sparks, +Rise like myself and onward go! +Have pity, O ye driving things +That once like me had human form! +For I am driven for lack of wings +A shreddy cloud before the storm!" + + How its words went through me then, +Like a long forgotten pang, +Till the storm's embrace again +Swept it far with sudden clang!-- +Ah, methinks I see it still! +Let us follow it, my brother, +Keeping close to one another, +Blessing God for might of will! +Closer, closer, side by side! +Ours are wings that deftly glide +Upwards, downwards, and crosswise +Flashing past our ears and eyes, +Splitting up the comet-tracks +With a whirlwind at our backs! + + How the sky is blackening! +Yet the race is never slackening; +Swift, continual, and strong, +Streams the torrent slope along, +Like a tidal surge of faces +Molten into one despair; +Each the other now displaces, +A continual whirl of spaces; +Ah, my fainting eyesight reels +As I strive in vain to stare +On a thousand turning wheels +Dimly in the gloom descending, +Faces with each other blending!-- +Let us beat the vapours back, +We are yet upon his track. + + Didst thou see a spirit halt +Upright on a cloudy peak, +As the lightning's horrid fault +Smote a gash into the cheek +Of the grinning thunder-cloud +Which doth still besiege and crowd +Upward from the nether pits +Where the monster Chaos sits, +Building o'er the fleeing rack +Roofs of thunder long and black? +Yes, I see it! I will shout +Till I stop the horrid rout. +Ho, ho! spirit-phantom, tell +Is thy path to heaven or hell? +We would hear thee yet again, +What thy standing amongst men, +What thy former history, +And thy hope of things to be! +Wisdom still we gain from hearing: +We would know, we would know +Whither thou art steering-- +Unto weal or woe! + + + Ah, I cannot hear it speaking! +Yet it seems as it were seeking +Through our eyes our souls to reach +With a quaint mysterious speech, +As with stretched and crossing palms +One were tracing diagrams +On the ebbing of the beach, +Till with wild unmeasured dance +All the tiptoe waves advance, +Seize him by the shoulder, cover, +Turn him up and toss him over: +He is vanished from our sight, +Nothing mars the quiet night +Save a speck of gloom afar +Like the ruin of a star! + + Brother, streams it ever so, +Such a torrent tide of woe? +Ah, I know not; let us haste +Upwards from this dreary waste, +Up to where like music flowing +Gentler feet are ever going, +Streams of life encircling run +Round about the spirit-sun! +Up beyond the storm and rush +With our lesson let us rise! +Lo, the morning's golden flush +Meets us midway in the skies! +Perished all the dream and strife! +Death is swallowed up of Life! + + + +_AWAKE!_ + + The stars are all watching; + God's angel is catching +At thy skirts in the darkness deep! + Gold hinges grating, + The mighty dead waiting, +Why dost thou sleep? + + Years without number, + Ages of slumber, +Stiff in the track of the infinite One! + Dead, can I think it? + Dropt like a trinket, +A thing whose uses are done! + + White wings are crossing, + Glad waves are tossing, +The earth flames out in crimson and green + Spring is appearing, + Summer is nearing-- +Where hast thou been? + + Down in some cavern, + Death's sleepy tavern, +Housing, carousing with spectres of night? + There is my right hand! + Grasp it full tight and +Spring to the light. + + Wonder, oh, wonder! + How the life-thunder +Bursts on his ear in horror and dread! + Happy shapes meet him; + Heaven and earth greet him: +Life from the dead! + + + +_TO AN AUTOGRAPH-HUNTER_. + +Seek not my name--it doth no virtue bear; + Seek, seek thine own primeval name to find-- +The name God called when thy ideal fair + Arose in deeps of the eternal mind. + +When that thou findest, thou art straight a lord + Of time and space--art heir of all things grown; +And not my name, poor, earthly label-word, + But I myself thenceforward am thine own. + +Thou hearest not? Or hearest as a man + Who hears the muttering of a foolish spell? +My very shadow would feel strange and wan + In thy abode:--I say _No_, and _Farewell_. + +Thou understandest? Then it is enough; + No shadow-deputy shall mock my friend; +We walk the same path, over smooth and rough, + To meet ere long at the unending end. + + + +_WITH A COPY OF "IN MEMORIAM."_ + + TO E.M. II. + +Dear friend, you love the poet's song, + And here is one for your regard. + You know the "melancholy bard," +Whose grief is wise as well as strong; + +Already something understand + For whom he mourns and what he sings, + And how he wakes with golden strings +The echoes of "the silent land;" + +How, restless, faint, and worn with grief, + Yet loving all and hoping all, + He gazes where the shadows fall, +And finds in darkness some relief; + +And how he sends his cries across, + His cries for him that comes no more, + Till one might think that silent shore +Full of the burden of his loss; + +And how there comes sublimer cheer-- + Not darkness solacing sad eyes, + Not the wild joy of mournful cries, +But light that makes his spirit clear; + +How, while he gazes, something high, + Something of Heaven has fallen on him, + His distance and his future dim +Broken into a dawning sky! + +Something of this, dear friend, you know; + And will you take the book from me + That holds this mournful melody, +And softens grief to sadness so? + +Perhaps it scarcely suits the day + Of joyful hopes and memories clear, + When love should have no thought of fear, +And only smiles be round your way; + +Yet from the mystery and the gloom, + From tempted faith and conquering trust, + From spirit stronger than the dust, +And love that looks beyond the tomb, + +What can there be but good to win, + But hope for life, but love for all, + But strength whatever may befall?-- +So for the year that you begin, + +For all the years that follow this + While a long happy life endures, + This hope, this love, this strength be yours, +And afterwards a larger bliss! + +May nothing in this mournful song + Too much take off your thoughts from time, + For joy should fill your vernal prime, +And peace your summer mild and long. + +And may his love who can restore + All losses, give all new good things, + Like loving eyes and sheltering wings +Be round us all for evermore! + + + +_THEY ARE BLIND_. + +They are blind, and they are dead: + We will wake them as we go; +There are words have not been said, + There are sounds they do not know: + We will pipe and we will sing-- + With the Music and the Spring + Set their hearts a wondering! + +They are tired of what is old, + We will give it voices new; +For the half hath not been told + Of the Beautiful and True. + Drowsy eyelids shut and sleeping! + Heavy eyes oppressed with weeping! + Flashes through the lashes leaping! + +Ye that have a pleasant voice, + Hither come without delay; +Ye will never have a choice + Like to that ye have to-day: + Round the wide world we will go, + Singing through the frost and snow + Till the daisies are in blow. + +Ye that cannot pipe or sing, + Ye must also come with speed; +Ye must come, and with you bring + Weighty word and weightier deed-- + Helping hands and loving eyes! + These will make them truly wise-- + Then will be our Paradise. + +_March 27, 1852._ + + + +_WHEN THE STORM WAS PROUDEST_. + + When the storm was proudest, + And the wind was loudest, +I heard the hollow caverns drinking down below; + When the stars were bright, + And the ground was white, +I heard the grasses springing underneath the snow. + + Many voices spake-- + The river to the lake, +And the iron-ribbed sky was talking to the sea; + And every starry spark + Made music with the dark, +And said how bright and beautiful everything must be. + + When the sun was setting, + All the clouds were getting +Beautiful and silvery in the rising moon; + Beneath the leafless trees + Wrangling in the breeze, +I could hardly see them for the leaves of June. + + When the day had ended, + And the night descended, +I heard the sound of streams that I heard not through the day, + And every peak afar + Was ready for a star, +And they climbed and rolled around until the morning gray. + + Then slumber soft and holy + Came down upon me slowly, +And I went I know not whither, and I lived I know not how; + My glory had been banished, + For when I woke it vanished; +But I waited on its coming, and I am waiting now. + + + +_THE DIVER._ + + FROM SCHILLER. + +"Which of you, knight or squire, will dare + Plunge into yonder gulf? +A golden beaker I fling in it--there! + The black mouth swallows it like a wolf! +Who brings me the cup again, whoever, +It is his own--he may keep it for ever!" + +'Tis the king who speaks. He flings from the brow + Of the cliff, that, rugged and steep, +Hangs out o'er the endless sea below, + The cup in the whirlpool's howling heap:-- +"Again I ask, what hero will follow, +What hero plunge into yon dark hollow?" + +The knights and the squires the king about + Hear, and dumbly stare +Into the wild sea's tumbling rout; + To win the beaker they hardly care! +The king, for the third time, round him glaring-- +"Not one soul of you has the daring?" + +Speechless all, as before, they stand. + Then a squire, young, gentle, gay, +Steps from his comrades' shrinking band, + Flinging his girdle and cloak away; +And all the women and men that surrounded +Gazed on the noble youth, astounded. + +And when he stepped to the rock's rough brow + And looked down on the gulf so black, +The waters which it had swallowed, now +Charybdis bellowing rendered back; +And, with a roar as of distant thunder, +Foaming they burst from the dark lap under. + +It wallows, seethes, hisses in raging rout, + As when water wrestles with fire, +Till to heaven the yeasty tongues they spout; + And flood upon flood keeps mounting higher: +It will never its endless coil unravel, +As the sea with another sea were in travail! + +But, at last, slow sinks the writhing spasm, + And, black through the foaming white, +Downward gapes a yawning chasm-- + Bottomless, cloven to hell's wide night; +And, sucked up, see the billows roaring +Down through the whirling funnel pouring! + +Then in haste, ere the out-rage return again, + The youth to his God doth pray, +And--ascends a cry of horror and pain!-- + Already the vortex hath swept him away, +And o'er the bold swimmer, in darkness eternal, +Close the great jaws of the gulf infernal! + +Then the water above grows smooth as glass, + While, below, dull roarings ply; +And trembling they hear the murmur pass-- + "High-hearted youth, farewell, good-bye!" +And hollower still comes the howl affraying, +Till their hearts are sick with the frightful delaying. + +If the crown itself thou in should fling, + And say, "Who back with it hies +Himself shall wear it, and shall be king," + I would not covet the precious prize! +What Ocean hides in that howling hell of it +Live soul will never come back to tell of it! + +Ships many, caught in that whirling surge, + Shot sheer to their dismal doom: +Keel and mast only did ever emerge, + Shattered, from out the all-gulping tomb!-- +Like the bluster of tempest, clearer and clearer, +Comes its roaring nearer and ever nearer! + +It wallows, seethes, hisses, in raging rout, + As when water wrestles with fire, +Till to heaven the yeasty tongues they spout, + Wave upon wave's back mounting higher; +And as with the grumble of distant thunder, +Bellowing it bursts from the dark lap under. + +And, see, from its bosom, flowing dark, + Something heave up, swan-white! +An arm and a shining neck they mark, + And it rows with never relaxing might! +It is he! and high his golden capture +His left hand waves in success's rapture! + +With long deep breaths his path he ploughed, + And he hailed the heavenly day; +Jubilant shouted the gazing crowd, + "He lives! he is there! he broke away! +Out of the grave, the whirlpool uproarious, +The hero hath rescued his life victorious!" + +He comes; they surround him with shouts of glee; + At the king's feet he sinks on the sod, +And hands him the beaker upon his knee; + To his lovely daughter the king gives a nod: +She fills it brim-full of wine sparkling and playing, +And then to the king the youth turned him saying: + +"Long live the king!--Well doth he fare + Who breathes in this rosy light, +But, ah, it is horrible down there! + And man must not tempt the heavenly Might, +Or ever seek, with prying unwholesome, +What he graciously covers with darkness dolesome! + +"It tore me down with a headlong swing; + Then a shaft in a rock outpours, +Wild-rushing against me, a torrent spring; + It seized me, the double stream's raging force, +And like a top, with giddy twisting, +It spun me round--there was no resisting! + +"Then God did show me, sore beseeching + In deepest, frightfullest need, +Up from the bottom a rock-ledge reaching-- + At it I caught, and from death was freed! +And, behold, on spiked corals the beaker suspended, +Which had else to the very abyss descended! + +"For below me it lay yet mountain-deep + The purply darksome maw; +And though to the ear it was dead asleep, + The ghasted eye, down staring, saw +How with dragons, lizards, salamanders crawling, +The hell-jaws horrible were sprawling. + +"Black swarming in medley miscreate, + In masses lumped hideously, +Wallowed the conger, the thorny skate, + The lobster's grisly deformity; +And bared its teeth with cruel sheen a +Terrible shark, the sea's hyena. + +"And there I hung, and shuddering knew + That human help was none; +One thinking soul mid the horrid crew, + In the ghastly solitude I was alone-- +Deeper than man's speech ever sounded, +By the waste sea's dismal monsters surrounded. + +"I thought and shivered. Then something crept near, + Moved at once a hundred joints! +Now it will have me!--Frantic with fear + I lost my grasp of the coral points! +Away the whirl in its raging tore me, +But it was my salvation, and upward bore me!" + +The king at the tale is filled with amaze:-- + "The beaker, well won, is thine; +And this ring I will give thee too," he says, + "Precious with gems that are more than fine, +If thou dive yet once, and bring me the story-- +What thou sawst in the sea's lowest repertory." + +His daughter she hears with a tender dismay, + And her words sweet-suasive plead: +"Father, enough of this cruel play! + For you he has done an unheard-of deed! +And can you not master your soul's desire, +'Tis the knights' turn now to disgrace the squire!" + +The king he snatches and hurls the cup + Into the swirling pool:-- +"If thou bring me once more that beaker up, + My best knight I hold thee, most worshipful; +And this very day to thy home thou shall lead her +Who there for thee stands such a pitying pleader." + +A heavenly passion his being invades, + His eyes dart a lightning ray; +He sees on her beauty the flushing shades, + He sees her grow pallid and sink away! +Determination thorough him flashes, +And downward for life or for death he dashes! + +They hear the dull roar!--it is turning again, + Its herald the thunderous brawl! +Downward they bend with loving strain: + They come! they are coming, the waters all!-- +They rush up!--they rush down!--up, down, for ever! +The youth again bring they never. + + + +_TO THE CLOUDS._ + +Through the unchanging heaven, as ye have sped, +Speed onward still, a strange wild company, +Fleet children of the waters! Glorious ye, +Whether the sun lift up his shining head, +High throned at noontide and established +Among the shifting pillars, or we see +The sable ghosts of air sleep mournfully +Against the sunlight, passionless and dead! +Take thus a glory, oh thou higher Sun, +From all the cloudy labour of man's hand-- +Whether the quickening nations rise and run, +Or in the market-place we idly stand +Casting huge shadows over these thy plains-- +Even thence, O God, draw thy rich gifts of rains. + + + +_SECOND SIGHT._ + +Rich is the fancy which can double back +All seeming forms, and from cold icicles +Build up high glittering palaces where dwells +Summer perfection, moulding all this wrack +To spirit symmetry, and doth not lack +The power to hear amidst the funeral bells +The eternal heart's wind-melody which swells +In whirlwind flashes all along its track! +So hath the sun made all the winter mine +With gardens springing round me fresh and fair; +On hidden leaves uncounted jewels shine; +I live with forms of beauty everywhere, +Peopling the crumbling waste and icy pool +With sights and sounds of life most beautiful. + + + +_NOT UNDERSTOOD._ + +Tumultuous rushing o'er the outstretched plains; +A wildered maze of comets and of suns; +The blood of changeless God that ever runs +With quick diastole up the immortal veins; +A phantom host that moves and works in chains; +A monstrous fiction, which, collapsing, stuns +The mind to stupor and amaze at once; +A tragedy which that man best explains +Who rushes blindly on his wild career +With trampling hoofs and sound of mailed war, +Who will not nurse a life to win a tear, +But is extinguished like a falling star;-- +Such will at times this life appear to me +Until I learn to read more perfectly. + + + +_HOM. IL. v. 403._ + +If thou art tempted by a thought of ill, +Crave not too soon for victory, nor deem +Thou art a coward if thy safety seem +To spring too little from a righteous will; +For there is nightmare on thee, nor until +Thy soul hath caught the morning's early gleam +Seek thou to analyze the monstrous dream +By painful introversion; rather fill +Thine eye with forms thou knowest to be truth; +But see thou cherish higher hope than this,-- +hope hereafter that thou shall be fit +Calm-eyed to face distortion, and to sit +Transparent among other forms of youth +Who own no impulse save to God and bliss. + + + +_THE DAWN_. + +And must I ever wake, gray dawn, to know +Thee standing sadly by me like a ghost? +I am perplexed with thee that thou shouldst cost +This earth another turning! All aglow +Thou shouldst have reached me, with a purple show +Along far mountain-tops! and I would post +Over the breadth of seas, though I were lost +In the hot phantom-chase for life, if so +Thou earnest ever with this numbing sense +Of chilly distance and unlovely light, +Waking this gnawing soul anew to fight +With its perpetual load: I drive thee hence! +I have another mountain-range from whence +Bursteth a sun unutterably bright! + + + +_GALILEO_. + +"And yet it moves!" Ah, Truth, where wert thou then +When all for thee they racked each piteous limb? +Wert thou in heaven, and busy with thy hymn +When those poor hands convulsed that held thy pen? +Art thou a phantom that deceives! men +To their undoing? or dost thou watch him +Pale, cold, and silent in his dungeon dim? +And wilt thou ever speak to him again? +"It moves, it moves! Alas, my flesh was weak! +That was a hideous dream! I'll cry aloud +How the green bulk wheels sunward day by day! +Ah me! ah me! perchance my heart was proud +That I alone should know that word to speak! +And now, sweet Truth, shine upon these, I pray." + + + +_SUBSIDY_. + +If thou wouldst live the Truth in very deed, +Thou hast thy joy, but thou hast more of pain. +Others will live in peace, and thou be fain +To bargain with despair, and in thy need +To make thy meal upon the scantiest weed. +These palaces, for thee they stand in vain; +Thine is a ruinous hut, and oft the rain +Shall drench thee in the midnight; yea, the speed +Of earth outstrip thee, pilgrim, while thy feet +Move slowly up the heights. Yet will there come +Through the time-rents about thy moving cell, +_Shot from the Truth's own bow, and flaming sweet,_ +An arrow for despair, and oft the hum +Of far-off populous realms where spirits dwell. + + + +_THE PROPHET_. + +Speak, Prophet of the Lord! We may not start +To find thee with us in thine ancient dress, +Haggard and pale from some bleak wilderness, +Empty of all save God and thy loud heart, +Nor with like rugged message quick to dart +Into the hideous fiction mean and base; +But yet, O prophet man, we need not less +But more of earnest, though it is thy part +To deal in other words, if thou wouldst smite +The living Mammon, seated, not as then +In bestial quiescence grimly dight, +But _robed as priest, and honoured of good men +Yet_ thrice as much an idol-god as when +He stared at his own feet from morn to night. + + + +_THE WATCHER_. + +From out a windy cleft there comes a gaze +Of eyes unearthly, which go to and fro +Upon the people's tumult, for below +The nations smite each other: no amaze +Troubles their liquid rolling, or affrays +Their deep-set contemplation; steadily glow +Those ever holier eyeballs, for they grow +Liker unto the eyes of one that prays. +And if those clasped hands tremble, comes a power +As of the might of worlds, and they are holden +Blessing above us in the sunrise golden; +And they will be uplifted till that hour +Of terrible rolling which shall rise and shake +This conscious nightmare from us, and we wake. + + + +_THE BELOVED DISCIPLE_. + +I. + +One do I see and twelve; but second there +Methinks I know thee, thou beloved one; +Not from thy nobler port, for there are none +More quiet-featured: some there are who bear +Their message on their brows, while others wear +A look of large commission, nor will shun +The fiery trial, so their work is done; +But thou hast parted with thine eyes in prayer-- +Unearthly are they both; and so thy lips +Seem like the porches of the spirit land; +For thou hast laid a mighty treasure by +Unlocked by Him in Nature, and thine eye +Burns with a vision and apocalypse +Thy own sweet soul can hardly understand. + +II. + +A Boanerges too! Upon my heart +It lay a heavy hour: features like thine +Should glow with other message than the shine +Of the earth-burrowing levin, and the start +That cleaveth horrid gulfs! Awful and swart +A moment stoodest thou, but less divine-- +Brawny and clad in ruin--till with mine +Thy heart made answering signals, and apart +Beamed forth thy two rapt eyeballs doubly clear +And twice as strong because thou didst thy duty, +And, though affianced to immortal Beauty, +Hiddest not weakly underneath her veil +The pest of Sin and Death which maketh pale: +Henceforward be thy spirit doubly dear! + + + +_THE LILY OF THE VALLEY_. + +There is not any weed but hath its shower, +There is not any pool but hath its star; +And black and muddy though the waters are +We may not miss the glory of a flower, +And winter moons will give them magic power +To spin in cylinders of diamond spar; +And everything hath beauty near and far, +And keepeth close and waiteth on its hour! +And I, when I encounter on my road +A human soul that looketh black and grim, +Shall I more ceremonious be than God? +Shall I refuse to watch one hour with him +Who once beside our deepest woe did bud +A patient watching flower about the brim? + + + +_EVIL INFLUENCE_. + +'Tis not the violent hands alone that bring +The curse, the ravage, and the downward doom, +Although to these full oft the yawning tomb +Owes deadly surfeit; but a keener sting, +A more immortal agony will cling +To the half fashioned sin which would assume +Fair Virtue's garb; the eye that sows the gloom +With quiet seeds of Death henceforth to spring +What time the sun of passion burning fierce +Breaks through the kindly cloud of circumstance; +The bitter word, and the unkindly glance, +The crust and canker coming with the years, +Are liker Death than arrows and the lance +Which through the living heart at once doth pierce. + + + +_SPOKEN OF SEVERAL PHILOSOPHERS_. + +I pray you, all ye men who put your trust +In moulds and systems and well-tackled gear, +Holding that Nature lives from year to year +In one continual round because she must-- +Set me not down, I pray you, in the dust +Of all these centuries, like a pot of beer-- +A pewter-pot disconsolately clear, +Which holds a potful, as is right and just! +I will grow clamorous--by the rood, I will, +If thus ye use me like a pewter pot! +Good friend, thou art a toper and a sot-- +will not be the lead to hold thy swill, +Nor any lead: I will arise and spill +Thy silly beverage--spill it piping hot! + + + +_NATURE A MORAL POWER_. + +Nature, to him no message dost thou bear +Who in thy beauty findeth not the power +To gird himself more strongly for the hour +Of night and darkness. Oh, what colours rare +The woods, the valleys, and the mountains wear +To him who knows thy secret, and, in shower, +And fog, and ice-cloud, hath a secret bower +Where he may rest until the heavens are fair! +Not with the rest of slumber, but the trance +Of onward movement steady and serene, +Where oft, in struggle and in contest keen, +His eyes will opened be, and all the dance +Of life break on him, and a wide expanse +Roll upward through the void, sunny and green. + + + +_TO JUNE_. + +Ah, truant, thou art here again, I see! +For in a season of such wretched weather +I thought that thou hadst left us altogether, +Although I could not choose but fancy thee +Skulking about the hill-tops, whence the glee +Of thy blue laughter peeped at times, or rather +Thy bashful awkwardness, as doubtful whether +Thou shouldst be seen in such a company +Of ugly runaways, unshapely heaps +Of ruffian vapour, broken from restraint +Of their slim prison in the ocean deeps. +But yet I may not chide: fall to thy books-- +Fall to immediately without complaint-- +There they are lying, hills and vales and brooks. + + + +_SUMMER_. + +Summer, sweet Summer, many-fingered Summer! +We hold thee very dear, as well we may: +It is the kernel of the year to-day-- +All hail to thee! thou art a welcome comer! +If every insect were a fairy drummer, +And I a fifer that could deftly play, +We'd give the old Earth such a roundelay +That she would cast all thought of labour from her.-- +Ah! what is this upon my window-pane? +Some sulky, drooping cloud comes pouting up, +Stamping its glittering feet along the plain!-- +Well, I will let that idle fancy drop! +Oh, how the spouts are bubbling with the rain! +And all the earth shines like a silver cup! + + + +_ON A MIDGE_. + +Whence do ye come, ye creatures? Each of you +Is perfect as an angel! wings and eyes +Stupendous in their beauty--gorgeous dyes +In feathery fields of purple and of blue! +Would God I saw a moment as ye do! +I would become a molecule in size, +Rest with you, hum with you, or slanting rise +Along your one dear sunbeam, could I view +The pearly secret which each tiny fly-- +Each tiny fly that hums and bobs and stirs +Hides in its little breast eternally +From you, ye prickly, grim philosophers +With all your theories that sound so high: +Hark to the buz a moment, my good sirs! + + + +_STEADFAST_. + +Here stands a giant stone from whose far top +Comes down the sounding water: let me gaze +Till every sense of man and human ways +Is wrecked and quenched for ever, and I drop +Into the whirl of time, and without stop +Pass downward thus! Again my eyes I raise +To thee, dark rock; and through the mist and haze +My strength returns when I behold thy prop +Gleam stern and steady through the wavering wrack. +Surely thy strength is human, and like me +Thou bearest loads of thunder on thy back! +And, lo, a smile upon thy visage black-- +A breezy tuft of grass which I can see +Waving serenely from a sunlit crack! + + + +_PROVISION_. + +Above my head the great pine-branches tower; +Backwards and forwards each to the other bends, +Beckoning the tempest-cloud which hither wends +Like a slow-laboured thought, heavy with power: +Hark to the patter of the coming shower! +Let me be silent while the Almighty sends +His thunder-word along--but when it ends +I will arise and fashion from the hour +Words of stupendous import, fit to guard +High thoughts and purposes, which I may wave, +When the temptation cometh close and hard, +Like fiery brands betwixt me and the grave +Of meaner things--to which I am a slave, +If evermore I keep not watch and ward. + + + +_FIRST SIGHT OF THE SEA_. + +I do remember how, when very young, +I saw the great sea first, and heard its swell +As I drew nearer, caught within the spell +Of its vast size and its mysterious tongue. +How the floor trembled, and the dark boat swung +With a man in it, and a great wave fell +Within a stone's cast! Words may never tell +The passion of the moment, when I flung +All childish records by, and felt arise +A thing that died no more! An awful power +I claimed with trembling hands and eager eyes, +Mine, mine for ever, an immortal dower.-- +The noise of waters soundeth to this hour +When I look seaward through the quiet skies. + + + +_ON THE SOURCE OF THE ARVE_. + +Hears't thou the dash of water, loud and hoarse, +With its perpetual tidings upward climb, +Struggling against the wind? Oh, how sublime! +For not in vain from its portentous source +Thy heart, wild stream, hath yearned for its full force, +But from thine ice-toothed caverns, dark as time, +At last thou issuest, dancing to the rime +Of thy outvolleying freedom! Lo, thy course +Lies straight before thee as the arrow flies! +Right to the ocean-plains away, away! +Thy parent waits thee, and her sunset dyes +Are ruffled for thy coming, and the gray +Of all her glittering borders flashes high +Against the glittering rocks!--oh, haste, and fly! + + + +_CONFIDENCE_. + +Lie down upon the ground, thou hopeless one! +Press thy face in the grass, and do not speak. +Dost feel the green globe whirl? Seven times a week +Climbeth she out of darkness to the sun, +Which is her God; seven times she doth not shun +Awful eclipse, laying her patient cheek +Upon a pillow ghost-beset with shriek +Of voices utterless, which rave and run +Through all the star-penumbra, craving light +And tidings of the dawn from East and West. +Calmly she sleepeth, and her sleep is blest +With heavenly visions, and the joy of Night +Treading aloft with moons; nor hath she fright +Though cloudy tempests beat upon her breast. + + + +_FATE_. + +Oft, as I rest in quiet peace, am I +Thrust out at sudden doors, and madly driven +Through desert solitudes, and thunder-riven +Black passages which have not any sky: +The scourge is on me now, with all the cry +Of ancient life that hath with murder striven. +How many an anguish hath gone up to heaven, +How many a hand in prayer been lifted high +When the black fate came onward with the rush +Of whirlwind, avalanche, or fiery spume! +Even at my feet is cleft a shivering tomb +Beneath the waves; or else, with solemn hush +The graveyard opens, and I feel a crush +As if we were all huddled in one doom! + + + +_UNREST_. + +Comes there, O Earth, no breathing time for thee, +No pause upon thy many-chequered lands? +Now resting on my bed with listless hands +I mourn thee resting not. Continually +Hear I the plashing borders of the sea +Answer each other from the rocks and sands! +Troop all the rivers seawards; nothing stands, +But with strange noises hasteth terribly! +Loam-eared hyenas go a moaning by; +Howls to each other all the bloody crew +Of Afric's tigers! but, O men, from you +Comes this perpetual sound more loud and high +Than aught that vexes air! I hear the cry +Of infant generations rising too! + + + +_ONE WITH NATURE_. + +I have a fellowship with every shade +Of changing nature: with the tempest hour +My soul goes forth to claim her early dower +Of living princedom; and her wings have staid +Amidst the wildest uproar undismayed! +Yet she hath often owned a better power, +And blessed the gentle coming of the shower, +The speechless majesty of love arrayed +In lowly virtue, under which disguise +Full many a princely thing hath passed her by; +And she from homely intercourse of eyes +Hath gathered visions wider than the sky, +And seen the withered heart of man arise +Peaceful as God, and full of majesty. + + + +_MY TWO GENIUSES_. + +I. + +One is a slow and melancholy maid; +I know riot if she cometh from the skies +Or from the sleepy gulfs, but she will rise +Often before me in the twilight shade, +Holding a bunch of poppies and a blade +Of springing wheat: prostrate my body lies +Before her on the turf, the while she ties +A fillet of the weed about my head; +And in the gaps of sleep I seem to hear +A gentle rustle like the stir of corn, +And words like odours thronging to my ear: +"Lie still, beloved--still until the morn; +Lie still with me upon this rolling sphere-- +Still till the judgment; thou art faint and worn." + +II. + +The other meets me in the public throng; +Her hair streams backward from her loose attire; +She hath a trumpet and an eye of fire; +She points me downward, steadily and long:-- +"There is thy grave--arise, my son, be strong! +Hands are upon thy crown--awake, aspire +To immortality; heed not the lyre +Of the Enchantress, nor her poppy-song, +But in the stillness of the summer calm +Tremble for what is Godlike in thy being. +Listen a while, and thou shall hear the psalm +Of victory sung by creatures past thy seeing; +And from far battle-fields there comes the neighing +Of dreadful onset, though the air is balm." + +III. + +Maid with the poppies, must I let thee go? +Alas, I may not; thou art likewise dear! +I am but human, and thou hast a tear +When she hath nought but splendour, and the glow +Of a wild energy that mocks the flow +Of the poor sympathies which keep us here: +Lay past thy poppies, and come twice as near, +And I will teach thee, and thou too shalt grow; +And thou shalt walk with me in open day +Through the rough thoroughfares with quiet grace; +And the wild-visaged maid shall lead the way, +Timing her footsteps to a gentler pace +As her great orbs turn ever on thy face, +Drinking in draughts of loving help alway. + + + +_SUDDEN CALM_. + +There is a bellowing in me, as of might +Unfleshed and visionless, mangling the air +With horrible convulse, as if it bare +The cruel weight of worlds, but could not fight +With the thick-dropping clods, and could but bite +A vapour-cloud! Oh, I will climb the stair +Of the great universe, and lay me there +Even at the threshold of his gate, despite +The tempest, and the weakness, and the rush +Of this quick crowding on me!--Oh, I dream! +Now I am sailing swiftly, as we seem +To do in sleep! and I can hear the gush +Of a melodious wave that carries me +On, on for ever to eternity! + + + +_THOU ALSO_. + +Cry out upon the crime, and then let slip +The dogs of hate, whose hanging muzzles track +The bloody secret; let the welkin crack +Reverberating, while ye dance and skip +About the horrid blaze! or else ye strip, +More secretly, for the avenging rack, +Him who hath done the deed, till, oozing black +Ye watch the anguish from his nostrils drip, +And all the knotted limbs lie quivering! +Or, if your hearts disdain such banqueting, +With wide and tearless eyes go staring through +The murder cells! but think--that, if your knees +Bow not to holiness, then even in you +Lie deeper gulfs and blacker crimes than these. + + + +_THE AURORA BOREALIS_. + +Now have I grown a sharpness and an edge +Unto my future nights, and I will cut +Sheer through the ebon gates that yet will shut +On every set of day; or as a sledge +Drawn over snowy plains; where not a hedge +Breaks this Aurora's dancing, nothing but +The one cold Esquimaux' unlikely hut +That swims in the broad moonlight! Lo, a wedge +Of the clean meteor hath been brightly driven +Right home into the fastness of the north! +Anon it quickeneth up into the heaven! +And I with it have clomb and spreaded forth +Upon the crisp and cooling atmosphere! +My soul is all abroad: I cannot find it here! + + + +_THE HUMAN._ + +Within each living man there doth reside, +In some unrifled chamber of the heart, +A hidden treasure: wayward as thou art +I love thee, man, and bind thee to my side! +By that sweet act I purify my pride +And hasten onward--willing even to part +With pleasant graces: though thy hue is swart, +I bear thee company, thou art my guide! +Even in thy sinning wise beyond thy ken +To thee a subtle debt my soul is owing! +I take an impulse from the worst of men +That lends a wing unto my onward going; +Then let me pay them gladly back again +With prayer and love from Faith and Duty flowing! + + + +_WRITTEN ON A STORMY NIGHT._ + +O wild and dark! a night hath found me now +Wherein I mingle with that element +Sent madly loose through the wide staring rent +In yon tormented branches! I will bow +A while unto the storm, and thenceforth grow +Into a mighty patience strongly bent +Before the unconquering Power which hither sent +These winds to fight their battles on my brow!-- +Again the loud boughs thunder! and the din +Licks up my footfall from the hissing earth! +But I have found a mighty peace within, +And I have risen into a home of mirth! +Wildly I climb above the shaking spires, +Above the sobbing clouds, up through the steady fires! + + + +_REVERENCE WAKING HOPE_. + +A power is on me, and my soul must speak +To thee, thou grey, grey man, whom I behold +With those white-headed children. I am bold +To commune with thy setting, and to wreak +My doubts on thy grey hair; for I would seek +Thee in that other world, but I am told +Thou goest elsewhere and wilt never hold +Thy head so high as now. Oh I were weak, +Weak even to despair, could I forego +The tender vision which will give somehow +Thee standing brightly one day even as now! +Thou art a very grey old man, and so +I may not pass thee darkly, but bestow +A look of reverence on thy wrinkled brow. + + + +_BORN OF WATER_. + +Methought I stood among the stars alone, +Watching a grey parched orb which onward flew +Half blinded by the dusty winds that blew, +Empty as Death and barren as a stone, +The pleasant sound of water all unknown! +When, as I looked in wonderment, there grew, +High in the air above, a drop of dew, +Which, gathering slowly through long cycles, shone +Like a great tear; and then at last it fell +Clasping the orb, which drank it greedily, +With a delicious noise and upward swell +Of sweet cool joy that tossed me like a sea; +And then the thick life sprang as from a grave, +With trees, flowers, boats upon the bounding wave! + + + +_TO A THUNDER-CLOUD._ + +Oh, melancholy fragment of the night +Drawing thy lazy web against the sun, +Thou shouldst have waited till the day was done +With kindred glooms to build thy fane aright, +Sublime amid the ruins of the light! +But thus to shape our glories one by one +With fearful hands, ere we had well begun +To look for shadows--even in the bright! +Yet may we charm a lesson from thy breast, +A secret wisdom from thy folds of thunder: +There is a wind that cometh from the west +Will rend thy tottering piles of gloom asunder, +And fling thee ruinous along the grass, +To sparkle on us as our footsteps pass! + + + +_SUN AND MOON._ + +First came the red-eyed sun as I did wake; +He smote me on the temples and I rose, +Casting the night aside and all its woes; +And I would spurn my idleness, and take +My own wild journey even like him, and shake +The pillars of all doubt with lusty blows, +Even like himself when his rich glory goes +Right through the stalwart fogs that part and break. +But ere my soul was ready for the fight, +His solemn setting mocked me in the west; +And as I trembled in the lifting night, +The white moon met me, and my heart confess'd +A mellow wisdom in her silent youth, +Which fed my hope with fear, and made my strength a truth. + + + +_DOUBT HERALDING VISION._ + +An angel saw me sitting by a brook, +Pleased with the silence, and the melodies +Of wind and water which did fall and rise: +He gently stirred his plumes and from them shook +An outworn doubt, which fell on me and took +The shape of darkness, hiding all the skies, +Blinding the sun, but giving to my eyes +An inextinguishable wish to look; +When, lo! thick as the buds of spring there came, +Crowd upon crowd, informing all the sky, +A host of splendours watching silently, +With lustrous eyes that wept as if in blame, +And waving hands that crossed in lines of flame, +And signalled things I hope to hold although I die! + + + +_LIFE OR DEATH?_ + +Is there a secret Joy, that may not weep, +For every flower that ends its little span, +For every child that groweth up to man, +For every captive bird a cage doth keep, +For every aching eye that went to sleep +Long ages back, when other eyes began +To see and know and love as now they can, +Unravelling God's wonders heap by heap? +Or doth the Past lie 'mid Eternity +In charnel dens that rot and reek alway, +A dismal light for those that go astray, +A pit of foul deformity--to be, +Beauty, a dreadful source of growth for thee +When thou wouldst lift thine eyes to greet the day? + + + +_LOST AND FOUND._ + +I missed him when the sun began to bend; +I found him not when I had lost his rim; +With many tears I went in search of him, +Climbing high mountains which did still ascend, +And gave me echoes when I called my friend; +Through cities vast and charnel-houses grim, +And high cathedrals where the light was dim, +Through books and arts and works without an end, +But found him not--the friend whom I had lost. +And yet I found him--as I found the lark, +A sound in fields I heard but could not mark; +I found him nearest when I missed him most; +I found him in my heart, a life in frost, +A light I knew not till my soul was dark. + + + +_THE MOON._ + +She comes! again she comes, the bright-eyed moon! +Under a ragged cloud I found her out, +Clasping her own dark orb like hope in doubt! +That ragged cloud hath waited her since noon, +And he hath found and he will hide her soon! +Come, all ye little winds that sit without, +And blow the shining leaves her edge about, +And hold her fast--ye have a pleasant tune! +She will forget us in her walks at night +Among the other worlds that are so fair! +She will forget to look on our despair! +She will forget to be so young and bright! +Nay, gentle moon, thou hast the keys of light-- +I saw them hanging by thy girdle there! + + + +_TRUTH, NOT FORM!_ + +I came upon a fountain on my way +When it was hot, and sat me down to drink +Its sparkling stream, when all around the brink +I spied full many vessels made of clay, +Whereon were written, not without display, +In deep engraving or with merely ink, +The blessings which each owner seemed to think +Would light on him who drank with each alway. +I looked so hard my eyes were looking double +Into them all, but when I came to see +That they were filthy, each in his degree, +I bent my head, though not without some trouble, +To where the little waves did leap and bubble, +And so I journeyed on most pleasantly. + + + +_GOD IN GROWTH._ + +I said, I will arise and work some thing, +Nor be content with growth, but cause to grow +A life around me, clear as yes from no, +That to my restless hand some rest may bring, +And give a vital power to Action's spring: +Thus, I must cease to be! I cried; when, lo! +An angel stood beside me on the snow, +With folded wings that came of pondering. +"God's glory flashes on the silence here +Beneath the moon," he cried, and upward threw +His glorious eyes that swept the utmost blue, +"Ere yet his bounding brooks run forth with cheer +To bear his message to the hidden year +Who cometh up in haste to make his glory new." + + + +_IN A CHURCHYARD._ + +There may be seeming calm above, but no!-- +There is a pulse below which ceases not, +A subterranean working, fiery hot, +Deep in the million-hearted bosom, though +Earthquakes unlock not the prodigious show +Of elemental conflict; and this spot +Nurses most quiet bones which lie and rot, +And here the humblest weeds take root and grow. +There is a calm upon the mighty sea, +Yet are its depths alive and full of being, +Enormous bulks that move unwieldily; +Yet, pore we on it, they are past our seeing!-- +From the deep sea-weed fields, though wide and ample, +Comes there no rushing sound: _these_ do not trample! + + + +_POWER._ + +Power that is not of God, however great, +Is but the downward rushing and the glare +Of a swift meteor that hath lost its share +In the one impulse which doth animate +The parent mass: emblem to me of fate! +Which through vast nightly wastes doth onward fare, +Wild-eyed and headlong, rent away from prayer-- +A moment brilliant, then most desolate! +And, O my brothers, shall we ever learn +From all the things we see continually +That pride is but the empty mockery +Of what is strong in man! Not so the stern +And sweet repose of soul which we can earn +Only through reverence and humility! + + + +_DEATH._ + +Yes, there is one who makes us all lay down +Our mushroom vanities, our speculations, +Our well-set theories and calculations, +Our workman's jacket or our monarch's crown! +To him alike the country and the town, +Barbaric hordes or civilized nations, +Men of all names and ranks and occupations, +Squire, parson, lawyer, Jones, or Smith, or Brown! +He stops the carter: the uplifted whip +Falls dreamily among the horses' straw; +He stops the helmsman, and the gallant ship +Holdeth to westward by another law; +No one will see him, no one ever saw, +But he sees all and lets not any slip. + + + +_THAT HOLY THING._ + +They all were looking for a king + To slay their foes, and lift them high: +Thou cam'st a little baby thing + That made a woman cry. + +O son of man, to right my lot + Nought but thy presence can avail; +Yet on the road thy wheels are not, + Nor on the sea thy sail! + +My fancied ways why shouldst thou heed? + Thou com'st down thine own secret stair: +Com'st down to answer all my need, + Yea, every bygone prayer! + + + +_FROM NOVALIS_. + +Uplifted is the stone + And all mankind arisen! +We are thy very own, + We are no more in prison! +What bitterest grief can stay + Beside thy golden cup, +When earth and life give way + And with our Lord we sup! + +To the marriage Death doth call, + The lamps are burning clear, +The virgins, ready all, + Have for their oil no fear. +Would that even now were ringing + The distance with thy throng! +And that the stars were singing + To us a human song! + +Courage! for life is hasting + To endless life away; +The inward fire, unwasting, + Transfigures our dull clay! +See the stars melting, sinking + In life-wine golden-bright! +We, of the splendour drinking, + Shall grow to stars of light. + +Lost, lost are all our losses! + Love is for ever free! +The full life heaves and tosses + Like an unbounded sea! +One live, eternal story! + One poem high and broad! +And sun of all our glory + The countenance of God! + + + +_WHAT MAN IS THERE OF YOU?_ + +The homely words how often read! + How seldom fully known! +"Which father of you, asked for bread, + Would give his son a stone?" + +How oft has bitter tear been shed, + And heaved how many a groan, +Because thou wouldst not give for bread + The thing that was a stone! + +How oft the child thou wouldst have fed, + Thy gift away has thrown! +He prayed, thou heard'st, and gav'st the bread: + He cried, "It is a stone!" + +Lord, if I ask in doubt and dread + Lest I be left to moan, +Am I not he who, asked for bread, + Would give his son a stone? + + + +_O WIND OF GOD._ + +O wind of God, that blowest in the mind, + Blow, blow and wake the gentle spring in me; +Blow, swifter blow, a strong warm summer wind, + Till all the flowers with eyes come out to see; + Blow till the fruit hangs red on every tree, +And our high-soaring song-larks meet thy dove-- +High the imperfect soars, descends the perfect love! + +Blow not the less though winter cometh then; + Blow, wind of God, blow hither changes keen; +Let the spring creep into the ground again, + The flowers close all their eyes and not be seen: + All lives in thee that ever once hath been! +Blow, fill my upper air with icy storms; +Breathe cold, O wind of God, and kill my cankerworms. + + + +_SHALL THE DEAD PRAISE THEE?_ + +I cannot praise thee. By his instrument + The master sits, and moves nor foot nor hand; +For see the organ-pipes this, that way bent, + Leaning, o'erthrown, like wheat-stalks tempest-fanned! + +I well could praise thee for a flower, a dove, + But not for life that is not life in me; +Not for a being that is less than love-- + A barren shoal half lifted from a sea! + +Unto a land where no wind bloweth ships + Thy wind one day will blow me to my own: +Rather I'd kiss no more their loving lips + Than carry them a heart so poor and prone! + +I bless thee, Father, thou art what thou art, + That thou dost know thyself what thou dost know-- +A perfect, simple, tender, rhythmic heart, + Beating its blood to all in bounteous flow. + +And I can bless thee too for every smart, + For every disappointment, ache, and fear; +For every hook thou fixest in my heart, + For every burning cord that draws me near. + +But prayer these wake, not song. Thyself I crave. + Come thou, or all thy gifts away I fling. +Thou silent, I am but an empty grave: + Think to me, Father, and I am a king! + +My organ-pipes will then stand up awake, + Their life soar, as from smouldering wood the blaze; +And swift contending harmonies shall shake + Thy windows with a storm of jubilant praise. + + + +_A YEAR SONG._ + +Sighing above, + Rustling below, +Thorough the woods + The winds go. +Beneath, dead crowds; + Above, life bare; +And the besom tempest + Sweeps the air: +_Heart, leave thy woe: +Let the dead things go._ + +Through the brown + Gold doth push; +Misty green + Veils the bush. +Here a twitter, + There a croak! +They are coming-- + The spring-folk! +_Heart, be not numb; +Let the live things come._ + +Through the beech + The winds go, +With gentle speech, + Long and slow. +The grass is fine, + And soft to lie in: +The sun doth shine + The blue sky in: +_Heart, be alive; +Let the new things thrive._ + +Round again! + Here art thou, +A rimy fruit + On a bare bough! +Winter comes, + Winter and snow; +And a weary sighing + To fall and go! +_Heart, thy hour shall be; +Thy dead will comfort thee._ + + + +_SONG_. + +Why do the houses stand + When they that built them are gone; + When remaineth even of one +That lived there and loved and planned +Not a face, not an eye, not a hand, + Only here and there a bone? +Why do the houses stand + When they who built them are gone? + +Oft in the moonlighted land + When the day is overblown, + With happy memorial moan +Sweet ghosts in a loving band +Roam through the houses that stand-- + For the builders are not gone. + + + +_FOR WHERE YOUR TREASURE IS, THERE WILL YOUR HEART BE ALSO._ + + The miser lay on his lonely bed; + Life's candle was burning dim. +His heart in an iron chest was hid +Under heaps of gold and an iron lid; + And whether it were alive or dead + It never troubled him. + + Slowly out of his body he crept. + He said, "I am just the same! +Only I want my heart in my breast; +I will go and fetch it out of my chest!" + Through the dark a darker shadow he leapt, + Saying "Hell is a fabled flame!" + + He opened the lid. Oh, Hell's own night! + His ghost-eyes saw no gold!-- +Empty and swept! Not a gleam was there! +In goes his hand, but the chest is bare! + Ghost-fingers, aha! have only might + To close, not to clasp and hold! + + But his heart he saw, and he made a clutch + At the fungous puff-ball of sin: +Eaten with moths, and fretted with rust, +He grasped a handful of rotten dust, + And shrieked, as ghosts may, at the crumbling touch, + But hid it his breast within. + + And some there are who see him sit + Under the church, apart, +Counting out coins and coins of gold +Heap by heap on the dank death-mould: + Alas poor ghost and his sore lack of wit-- + They breed in the dust of his heart! + + Another miser has now his chest, + And it hoards wealth more and more; +Like ferrets his hands go in and out, +Burrowing, tossing the gold about-- + Nor heed the heart that, gone from his breast, + Is the cold heap's bloodless core. + + Now wherein differ old ghosts that sit + Counting ghost-coins all day +From the man who clings with spirit prone +To whatever can never be his own? + Who will leave the world with not one whit + But a heart all eaten away? + + + +_THE ASTHMATIC MAN TO THE SATAN THAT BINDS HIM_. + +Satan, avaunt! + Nay, take thine hour, +Thou canst not daunt, + Thou hast no power; +Be welcome to thy nest, +Though it be in my breast. + +Burrow amain; + Dig like a mole; +Fill every vein + With half-burnt coal; +Puff the keen dust about, +And all to choke me out. + +Fill music's ways + With creaking cries, +That no loud praise + May climb the skies; +And on my labouring chest +Lay mountains of unrest. + +My slumber steep + In dreams of haste, +That only sleep, + No rest, I taste-- +With stiflings, rimes of rote, +And fingers on my throat. + +Satan, thy might + I do defy; +Live core of night + I patient lie: +A wind comes up the gray +Will blow thee clean away. + +Christ's angel, Death, + All radiant white, +With one cold breath + Will scare thee quite, +And give my lungs an air +As fresh as answered prayer. + +So, Satan, do + Thy worst with me +Until the True + Shall set me free, +And end what he began, +By making me a man. + + + +_SONG-SERMON._ + +Lord, what is man +That thou art mindful of him! +Though in creation's van, +Lord, what is man! +He wills less than he can, +Lets his ideal scoff him! +Lord, what is man +That thou art mindful of him! + + + +_SHADOWS._ + +All things are shadows of thee, Lord; + The sun himself is but thy shade; +My spirit is the shadow of thy word, + A thing that thou hast said. + +Diamonds are shadows of the sun, + They gleam as after him they hark: +My soul some arrows of thy light hath won. + And feebly fights the dark! + +All knowledges are broken shades, + In gulfs of dark a scattered horde: +Together rush the parted glory-grades-- + Then, lo, thy garment, Lord! + +My soul, the shadow, still is light + Because the shadow falls from thee; +I turn, dull candle, to the centre bright, + And home flit shadowy. + +Shine, Lord; shine me thy shadow still; + The brighter I, the more thy shade! +My motion be thy lovely moveless will! + My darkness, light delayed! + + + +_A WINTER PRAYER._ + +Come through the gloom of clouded skies, + The slow dim rain and fog athwart; +Through east winds keen with wrong and lies + Come and lift up my hopeless heart. + +Come through the sickness and the pain, + The sore unrest that tosses still; +Through aching dark that hides the gain + Come and arouse my fainting will. + +Come through the prate of foolish words, + The science with no God behind; +Through all the pangs of untuned chords + Speak wisdom to my shaken mind. + +Through all the fears that spirits bow + Of what hath been, or may befall, +Come down and talk with me, for thou + Canst tell me all about them all. + +Hear, hear my sad lone heart entreat, + Heart of all joy, below, above! +Come near and let me kiss thy feet, + And name the names of those I love! + + + +_SONG OF A POOR PILGRIM_. + +Roses all the rosy way! + Roses to the rosier west +Where the roses of the day + Cling to night's unrosy breast! + +Thou who mak'st the roses, why + Give to every leaf a thorn? +On thy rosy highway I + Still am by thy roses torn! + +Pardon! I will not mistake + These good thorns that make me fret! +Goads to urge me, stings to wake, + For my freedom they are set. + +Yea, on one steep mountain-side, + Climbing to a fancied fold, +Roses grasped had let me slide + But the thorns did keep their hold. + +Out of darkness light is born, + Out of weakness make me strong: +One glad day will every thorn + Break into a rose of song. + +Though like sparrow sit thy bird + Lonely on the house-top dark, +By the rosy dawning stirred + Up will soar thy praising lark; + +Roses, roses all his song! + Roses in a gorgeous feast! +Roses in a royal throng, + Surging, rosing from the east! + + + +_AN EVENING PRAYER_. + +I am a bubble + Upon thy ever-moving, resting sea: +Oh, rest me now from tossing, trespass, trouble! + Take me down into thee. + +Give me thy peace. + My heart is aching with unquietness: +Oh, make its inharmonious beating cease! + Thy hand upon it press. + +My Night! my Day! + Swift night and day betwixt, my world doth reel: +Potter, take not thy hand from off the clay + That whirls upon thy wheel. + +O Heart, I cry + For love and life, pardon and hope and strength! +O Father, I am thine; I shall not die, + But I shall sleep at length! + + + +_SONG-SERMON_. + +Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs, +For as his work thou giv'st the man. +From us, not thee, come all our wrongs; +Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs: +With small-cord whips and scorpion thongs +Thou lay'st on every ill thy ban. +Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs, +For as his work thou giv'st the man. + + + +_A DREAM-SONG_. + +The stars are spinning their threads, + And the clouds are the dust that flies, +And the suns are weaving them up + For the day when the sleepers arise. + +The ocean in music rolls, + The gems are turning to eyes, +And the trees are gathering souls + For the day when the sleepers arise. + +The weepers are learning to smile, + And laughter to glean the sighs, +And hearts to bury their care and guile + For the day when the sleepers arise. + +Oh, the dews and the moths and the daisy-red, + The larks and the glimmers and flows! +The lilies and sparrows and daily bread, + And the something that nobody knows! + + + +_CHRISTMAS, 1880._ + +Great-hearted child, thy very being _The Son_, + Who know'st the hearts of all us prodigals;-- +For who is prodigal but he who has gone + Far from the true to heart it with the false?-- + Who, who but thou, that, from the animals', + Know'st all the hearts, up to the Father's own, + Can tell what it would be to be alone! + +Alone! No father!--At the very thought + Thou, the eternal light, wast once aghast; +A death in death for thee it almost wrought! + But thou didst haste, about to breathe thy last, + And call'dst out _Father_ ere thy spirit passed, + Exhausted in fulfilling not any vow, + But doing his will who greater is than thou. + +That we might know him, thou didst come and live; + That we might find him, thou didst come and die; +The son-heart, brother, thy son-being give-- + We too would love the father perfectly, + And to his bosom go back with the cry, + Father, into thy hands I give the heart + Which left thee but to learn how good thou art! + +There are but two in all the universe-- + The father and his children--not a third; +Nor, all the weary time, fell any curse! + Not once dropped from its nest an unfledged bird + But thou wast with it! Never sorrow stirred + But a love-pull it was upon the chain + That draws the children to the father again! + +O Jesus Christ, babe, man, eternal son, + Take pity! we are poor where thou art rich: +Our hearts are small; and yet there is not one + In all thy father's noisy nursery which, + Merry, or mourning in its narrow niche, + Needs not thy father's heart, this very now, + With all his being's being, even as thou! + + + +_RONDEL_. + +I do not know thy final will, + It is too good for me to know: + Thou willest that I mercy show, +That I take heed and do no ill, +That I the needy warm and fill, + Nor stones at any sinner throw; +But I know not thy final will-- + It is too good for me to know. + +I know thy love unspeakable-- + For love's sake able to send woe! + To find thine own thou lost didst go, +And wouldst for men thy blood yet spill!-- +How should I know thy final will, + Godwise too good for me to know! + + + +_THE SPARROW_. + +O Lord, I cannot but believe +The birds do sing thy praises then, when they sing to one another, +And they are lying seed-sown land when the winter makes them grieve, +Their little bosoms breeding songs for the summer to unsmother! + +If thou hadst finished me, O Lord, +Nor left out of me part of that great gift that goes to singing, +I sure had known the meaning high of the songster's praising word, +Had known upon what thoughts of thee his pearly talk he was stringing! + +I should have read the wisdom hid +In the storm-inspired melody of thy thrush's bosom solemn: +I should not then have understood what thy free spirit did +To make the lark-soprano mount like to a geyser-column! + +I think I almost understand +Thy owl, his muffled swiftness, moon-round eyes, and intoned hooting; +I think I could take up the part of a night-owl in the land, +With yellow moon and starry things day-dreamers all confuting. + +But 'mong thy creatures that do sing +Perhaps of all I likest am to the housetop-haunting sparrow, +That flies brief, sudden flights upon a dumpy, fluttering wing, +And chirps thy praises from a throat that's very short and narrow. + +But if thy sparrow praise thee well +By singing well thy song, nor letting noisy traffic quell it, +It may be that, in some remote and leafy heavenly dell, +He may with a trumpet-throat awake, and a trumpet-song to swell it! + + + +_DECEMBER 23, 1879._ + +I. + +A thousand houses of poesy stand around me everywhere; +They fill the earth and they fill my thought, they are in and above the +air; +But to-night they have shut their doors, they have shut their shining +windows fair, +And I am left in a desert world, with an aching as if of care. + +II. + +Cannot I break some little nut and get at the poetry in it? +Cannot I break the shining egg of some all but hatched heavenly linnet? +Cannot I find some beauty-worm, and its moony cocoon-silk spin it? +Cannot I find my all but lost day in the rich content of a minute? + +III. + +I will sit me down, all aching and tired, in the midst of this +never-unclosing +Of door or window that makes it look as if truth herself were dozing; +I will sit me down and make me a tent, call it poetizing or prosing, +Of what may be lying within my reach, things at my poor disposing! + +IV. + +Now what is nearest?--My conscious self. Here I sit quiet and say: +"Lo, I myself am already a house of poetry solemn and gay! +But, alas, the windows are shut, all shut: 'tis a cold and foggy day, +And I have not now the light to see what is in me the same alway!" + +V. + +Nay, rather I'll say: "I am a nut in the hard and frozen ground; +Above is the damp and frozen air, the cold blue sky all round; +And the power of a leafy and branchy tree is in me crushed and bound +Till the summer come and set it free from the grave-clothes + in which it is wound!" + +VI. + +But I bethink me of something better!--something better, yea best! +"I am lying a voiceless, featherless thing in God's own perfect nest; +And the voice and the song are growing within me, slowly lifting my +breast; +And his wide night-wings are closed about me, for his sun is down in the +west!" + +VII. + +Doors and windows, tents and grave-clothes, winters and eggs and seeds, +Ye shall all be opened and broken and torn; ye are but to serve my needs! +On the will of the Father all lovely things are strung like a string of +beads +For his heart to give the obedient child that the will of the father +heeds. + + + +_SONG-PRAYER_: AFTER KING DAVID. + +I shall be satisfied +With the seeing of thy face. +When I awake, wide-eyed, +I shall be satisfied +With what this life did hide, +The one supernal grace! +I shall be satisfied +With the seeing of thy face. + + + +_DECEMBER 27, 1879_ + +Every time would have its song + If the heart were right, +Seeing Love all tender-strong + Fills the day and night. + +Weary drop the hands of Prayer + Calling out for peace; +Love always and everywhere + Sings and does not cease. + +Fear, the caitiff, through the night + Silent peers about; +Love comes singing with a light + And doth cast him out. + +Hate and Guile and Wrath and Doubt + Never try to sing; +If they did, oh, what a rout + Anguished ears would sting! + +Pride indeed will sometimes aim + At the finer speech, +But the best that he can frame + Is a peacock-screech. + +Greed will also sometimes try: + Happiness he hunts! +But his dwelling is a sty, + And his tones are grunts. + +Faith will sometimes raise a song + Soaring up to heaven, +Then she will be silent long, + And will weep at even. + +Hope has many a gladsome note + Now and then to pipe; +But, alas, he has the throat + Of a bird unripe. + +Often Joy a stave will start + Which the welkin rends, +But it always breaks athwart, + And untimely ends. + +Grief, who still for death doth long, + Always self-abhorred, +Has but one low, troubled song, +_I am sorry, Lord_. + +But Love singeth in the vault. + Singeth on the stair; +Even for Sorrow will not halt, + Singeth everywhere. + +For the great Love everywhere + Over all doth glow; +Draws his birds up trough the air, + Tends his birds below. + +And with songs ascending sheer + Love-born Love replies, +Singing _Father_ in his ear + Where she bleeding lies. + +Therefore, if my heart were right + I should sing out clear, +Sing aloud both day and night + Every month in the year! + + + +_SUNDAY_, + +DECEMBER 28, 1879. + +A dim, vague shrinking haunts my soul, + My spirit bodeth ill-- +As some far-off restraining bank +Had burst, and waters, many a rank, + Were marching on my hill; + +As if I had no fire within + For thoughts to sit about; +As if I had no flax to spin, +No lamp to lure the good things in + And keep the bad things out. + +The wind, south-west, raves in the pines + That guard my cottage round; +The sea-waves fall in stormy lines +Below the sandy cliffs and chines, + And swell the roaring sound. + +The misty air, the bellowing wind + Not often trouble me; +The storm that's outside of the mind +Doth oftener wake my heart to find + More peace and liberty. + +Why is not such my fate to-night? + Chance is not lord of things! +Man were indeed a hapless wight +Things, thoughts occurring as they might-- + Chaotic wallowings! + +The man of moods might merely say + As by the fire he sat, +"I am low spirited to-day; +I must do something, work or play, + Lest care should kill the cat!" + +Not such my saw: I was not meant + To be the sport of things! +The mood has meaning and intent, +And my dull heart is humbly bent + To have the truth it brings. + +This sense of needed shelter round, + This frequent mental start +Show what a poor life mine were found, +To what a dead self I were bound, + How feeble were my heart, + +If I who think did stand alone + Centre to what I thought, +A brain within a box of bone, +A king on a deserted throne, + A something that was nought! + +A being without power to be, + Or any power to cease; +Whom objects but compelled to see, +Whose trouble was a windblown sea, + A windless sea his peace! + +This very sadness makes me think + How readily I might +Be driven to reason's farthest brink, +Then over it, and sudden sink + In ghastly waves of night. + +It makes me know when I am glad + 'Tis thy strength makes me strong; +But for thy bliss I should be sad, +But for thy reason should be mad, + But for thy right be wrong. + +Around me spreads no empty waste, + No lordless host of things; +My restlessness but seeks thy rest; +My little good doth seek thy best, + My needs thy ministerings. + +'Tis this, this only makes me safe-- + I am, immediate, +Of one that lives; I am no waif +That haggard waters toss and chafe, + But of a royal fate, + +The born-child of a Power that lives + Because it will and can, +A Love whose slightest motion gives, +A Freedom that forever strives + To liberate his Man. + +I live not on the circling air, + Live not by daily food; +I live not even by thinkings fair, +I hold my very being there + Where God is pondering good. + +Because God lives I live; because + He thinks, I also think; +I am dependent on no laws +But on himself, and without pause; + Between us hangs no link. + +The man that lives he knows not how + May well fear any mouse! +I should be trembling this same now +If I did think, my Father, thou + Wast nowhere in the house! + +O Father, lift me on thine arm, + And hold me close to thee; +Lift me into thy breathing warm, +Then cast me, and I fear no harm, + Into creation's sea! + + + +_SONG-SERMON_. + +In his arms thy silly lamb, +Lo, he gathers to his breast! +See, thou sadly bleating dam, +See him lift thy silly lamb! +Hear it cry, "How blest I am! +Here is love, and love is rest!" +In his arms thy silly lamb +See him gather to his breast! + + + +_THE DONKEY IN THE CART TO THE HORSE IN THE CARRIAGE_. + +I. + +I say! hey! cousin there! I mustn't call you brother! +Yet you have a tail behind, and I have another! +You pull, and I pull, though we don't pull together: +You have less hardship, and I have more weather! + +II. + +Your legs are long, mine are short; I am lean, you are fatter; +Your step is bold and free, mine goes pitter-patter; +Your head is in the air, and mine hangs down like lead-- +But then my two great ears are so heavy on my head! + +III. + +You need not whisk your stump, nor turn away your nose; +Poor donkeys ain't so stupid as rich horses may suppose! +I could feed in any manger just as well as you, +Though I don't despise a thistle--with sauce of dust and dew! + +IV. + +T'other day a bishop's cob stopped before me in a lane, +With a tail as broad as oil-cake, and a close-clipped hoggy mane; +I stood sideways to the hedge, but he did not want to pass, +And he was so full of corn he didn't care about the grass. + +V. + +Quoth the cob, "You are a donkey of a most peculiar breed! +You've just eaten up a thistle that was going fast to seed! +If you had but let it be, you might have raised a crop! +To many a coming dinner you have put a sad stop!" + +VI. + +I told him I was hungry, and to leave one of ten +Would have spoiled my best dinner, the one I wanted then. +Said the cob, "_I_ ought to know the truth about dinners, +_I_ don't eat on roadsides like poor tramping sinners!" + +VII. + +"Why don't you take it easy? You are working much too hard! +In the shafts you'll die one day, if you're not upon your guard! +Have pity on your friends: work seems to you delectable, +But believe me such a cart--excuse me--'s not respectable!" + +VIII. + +I told him I must trot in the shafts where I was put, +Nor look round at the cart, but set foremost my best foot; +It _was_ rather rickety, and the axle wanted oil, +But I always slept at night with the deep sleep of toil! + +IX. + +"All very fine," he said, "to wag your ears and parley, +And pretend you quite despise my bellyfuls of barley! +But with blows and with starving, and with labour over-hard, +By spurs! a week will see you in the knacker's yard." + +X. + +I thanked him for his counsel, and said I thought I'd take it, really, +If he'd spare me half a feed out of four feeds daily. +He tossed his head at that: "Now don't be cheeky!" said he; +"When I find I'm getting fat, I'll think of you: keep steady." + +XI. + +"Good-bye!" I said--and say, for you are such another! +Why, now I look at you, I see you are his brother! +Yes, thank you for your kick: 'twas all that you could spare, +For, sure, they clip and singe you very, very bare! + +XII. + +My cart it is upsets you! but in that cart behind +There's no dirt or rubbish, no bags of gold or wind! +There's potatoes there, and wine, and corn, and mustard-seed, +And a good can of milk, and some honey too, indeed! + +XIII. + +Few blows I get, some hay, and of water many a draught: +I tell you he's no coster that sits upon my shaft! +And for the knacker's yard--that's not my destined bed: +No donkey ever yet saw himself there lying dead. + + + +_ROOM TO ROAM_. + +Strait is the path? He means we must not roam? +Yes; but the strait path leads into a boundless home. + + + +_COTTAGE SONGS_. + +I.--BY THE CRADLE. + +Close her eyes: she must not peep! +Let her little puds go slack; +Slide away far into sleep: +Sis will watch till she comes back! + +Mother's knitting at the door, +Waiting till the kettle sings; +When the kettle's song is o'er +She will set the bright tea-things. + +Father's busy making hay +In the meadow by the brook, +Not so very far away-- +Close its peeps, it needn't look! + +God is round us everywhere-- +Sees the scythe glitter and rip; +Watches baby gone somewhere; +Sees how mother's fingers skip! + +Sleep, dear baby; sleep outright: + Mother's sitting just behind: +Father's only out of sight; + God is round us like the wind. + +II.--SWEEPING THE FLOOR. + +Sweep and sweep and sweep the floor, + Sweep the dust, pick up the pin; +Make it clean from fire to door, + Clean for father to come in! + +Mother said that God goes sweeping, + Looking, sweeping with a broom, +All the time that we are sleeping, + For a shilling in the room: + +Did he drop it out of glory, + Walking far above the birds? +Or did parson make the story + For the thinking afterwards? + +If I were the swept-for shilling + I would hearken through the gloom; +Roll out fast, and fall down willing + Right before the sweeping broom! + +III.--WASHING THE CLOTHES. + +This is the way we wash the clo'es + Free from dirt and smoke and clay! +Through and through the water flows, + Carries Ugly right away! + +This is the way we bleach the clo'es: + Lay them out upon the green; +Through and through the sunshine goes, + Makes them white as well as clean! + +This is the way we dry the clo'es: + Hang them on the bushes about; +Through and through the soft wind blows, + Draws and drives the wetness out! + +Water, sun, and windy air + Make the clothes clean, white, and sweet +Lay them now in lavender + For the Sunday, folded neat! + +IV.--DRAWING WATER. + +Dark, as if it would not tell, + Lies the water, still and cool: +Dip the bucket in the well, + Lift it from the precious pool! + +Up it comes all brown and dim, + Telling of the twilight sweet: +As it rises to the brim + See the sun and water meet! + +See the friends each other hail! + "Here you are!" cries Master Sun; +Mistress Water from the pail + Flashes back, alive with fun! + +Have you not a tale to tell, + Water, as I take you home? +Tell me of the hidden well + Whence you, first of all, did come. + +Of it you have kept some flavour + Through long paths of darkling strife: +Water all has still a savour + Of the primal well of life! + +Could you show the lovely way + Back and up through sea and sky +To that well? Oh, happy day, + I would drink, and never die! + +Jesus sits there on its brink + All the world's great thirst to slake, +Offering every one to drink + Who will only come and take! + +Lord of wells and waters all, + Lord of rains and dewy beads, +Unto thee my thirst doth call + For the thing thou know'st it needs! + +Come home, water sweet and cool, + Gift of God thou always art! +Spring up, Well more beautiful, + Rise in mine straight from his heart. + +V.--CLEANING THE WINDOWS. + +Wash the window; rub it dry; + Make the ray-door clean and bright: +He who lords it in the sky + Loves on cottage floors to light! + +Looking over sea and beck, + Mountain-forest, orchard-bloom, +He can spy the smallest speck + Anywhere about the room! + +See how bright his torch is blazing + In the heart of mother's store! +Strange! I never saw him gazing + So into that press before! + +Ah, I see!--the wooden pane + In the window, dull and dead, +Father called its loss a gain, + And a glass one put instead! + +What a difference it makes! + How it melts the filmy gloom! +What a little more it takes + Much to brighten up a room! + +There I spy a dusty streak! + There a corner not quite clean! +There a cobweb! There the sneak + Of a spider, watching keen! + +Lord of suns, and eyes that see, + Shine into me, see and show; +Leave no darksome spot in me + Where thou dost not shining go. + +Fill my spirit full of eyes, + Doors of light in every part; +Open windows to the skies + That no moth corrupt my heart. + + + +_THE WIND AND THE MOON_. + +Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out! + You stare + In the air + As if crying _Beware_, +Always looking what I am about: +I hate to be watched; I will blow you out!" + +The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon. + So, deep + On a heap + Of clouds, to sleep +Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon, +Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon!" + +He turned in his bed: she was there again! + On high + In the sky + With her one ghost-eye +The Moon shone white and alive and plain: +Said the Wind, "I will blow you out again!" + +The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew slim. + "With my sledge + And my wedge + I have knocked off her edge! +I will blow," said the Wind, "right fierce and grim, +And the creature will soon be slimmer than slim!" + +He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread. + "One puff + More's enough + To blow her to snuff! +One good puff more where the last was bred, +And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go that thread!" + +He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone. + In the air + Nowhere + Was a moonbeam bare; +Larger and nearer the shy stars shone: +Sure and certain the Moon was gone! + +The Wind he took to his revels once more; + On down + And in town, + A merry-mad clown, +He leaped and holloed with whistle and roar-- +When there was that glimmering thread once more! + +He flew in a rage--he danced and blew; + But in vain + Was the pain + Of his bursting brain, +For still the Moon-scrap the broader grew +The more that he swelled his big cheeks and blew. + +Slowly she grew--till she filled the night, + And shone + On her throne + In the sky alone +A matchless, wonderful, silvery light, +Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night. + +Said the Wind, "What a marvel of power am I! + With my breath, + In good faith, + I blew her to death!-- +First blew her away right out of the sky, +Then blew her in: what a strength am I!" + +But the Moon she knew nought of the silly affair; + For, high + In the sky + With her one white eye, +Motionless miles above the air, +She never had heard the great Wind blare. + + + +_THE FOOLISH HAREBELL_. + +A harebell hung her wilful head: +"I am tired, so tired! I wish I was dead." + +She hung her head in the mossy dell: +"If all were over, then all were well!" + +The Wind he heard, and was pitiful, +And waved her about to make her cool. + +"Wind, you are rough!" said the dainty Bell; +"Leave me alone--I am not well." + +The Wind, at the word of the drooping dame, +Sighed to himself and ceased in shame. + +"I am hot, so hot!" she moaned and said; +"I am withering up; I wish I was dead!" + +Then the Sun he pitied her woeful case, +And drew a thick veil over his face. + +"Cloud go away, and don't be rude," +She said; "I do not see why you should!" + +The Cloud withdrew. Then the Harebell cried, +"I am faint, so faint!--and no water beside!" + +The Dew came down its millionfold path: +She murmured, "I did not want a bath!" + +The Dew went up; the Wind softly crept; +The Night came down, and the Harebell slept. + +A boy ran past in the morning gray, +Plucked the Harebell, and threw her away. + +The Harebell shivered, and sighed, "Oh! oh! +I am faint indeed! Come, dear Wind, blow." + +The Wind blew gently, and did not speak. +She thanked him kindly, but grew more weak. + +"Sun, dear Sun, I am cold!" she said. +He shone; but lower she drooped her head. + +"O Rain, I am withering! all the blue +Is fading out of me!--come, please do!" + +The Rain came down as fast as he could, +But for all his good will he could do her no good. + +She shuddered and shrivelled, and moaning said, +"Thank you all kindly!" and then she was dead. + +Let us hope, let us hope when she comes next year +She'll be simple and sweet! But I fear, I fear! + + + +_SONG_. + +I was very cold + In the summer weather; +The sun shone all his gold, +But I was very cold-- +Alas, we were grown old, + Love and I together! +Oh, but I was cold + In the summer weather! + +Sudden I grew warmer + Though the brooks were frozen: +"Truly, scorn did harm her!" +I said, and I grew warmer; +"Better men the charmer + Knows at least a dozen!" +I said, and I grew warmer + Though the brooks were frozen. + +Spring sits on her nest, + Daisies and white clover; +And my heart at rest +Lies in the spring's young nest: +My love she loves me best, + And the frost is over! +Spring sits on her nest, + Daisies and white clover! + + + +_AN IMPROVISATION_. + +The stars cleave the sky. + Yet for us they rest, +And their race-course high + Is a shining nest! + +The hours hurry on. + But where is thy flight, +Soft pavilion + Of motionless night? + +Earth gives up her trees + To the holy air; +They live in the breeze; + They are saints at prayer! + +Summer night, come from God, + On your beauty, I see, +A still wave has flowed + Of eternity! + + + +_EQUITY_. + +No bird can sing in tune but that the Lord +Sits throned in equity above the heaven, +And holds the righteous balance always even; +No heart can true response to love afford +Wherein from one to eight not every chord +Is yet attuned by the spirits seven: +For tuneful no bird sings but that the Lord +Is throned in equity above high heaven. + +Oh heart, by wrong unfilial scathed and scored, +And from thy humble throne with mazedness driven, +Take courage: when thy wrongs thou hast forgiven, +Thy rights in love thy God will see restored: +No bird could sing in tune but that the Lord +Sits throned in equity above the heaven. + + + +_CONTRITION_. + +Out of the gulf into the glory, + Father, my soul cries out to be lifted. +Dark is the woof of my dismal story, + Thorough thy sun-warp stormily drifted!-- +Out of the gulf into the glory, +Lift me, and save my story. + +I have done many things merely shameful; + I am a man ashamed, my father! +My life is ashamed and broken and blameful-- + The broken and blameful, oh, cleanse and gather! +Heartily shame me, Lord, of the shameful! +To my judge I flee with my blameful. + +Saviour, at peace in thy perfect purity, + Think what it is, not to be pure! +Strong in thy love's essential security, + Think upon those who are never secure. +Full fill my soul with the light of thy purity: +Fold me in love's security. + +O Father, O Brother, my heart is sore aching! + Help it to ache as much as is needful; +Is it you cleansing me, mending, remaking, + Dear potter-hands, so tender and heedful? +Sick of my past, of my own self aching-- +Hurt on, dear hands, with your making. + +Proud of the form thou hadst given thy vessel, + Proud of myself, I forgot my donor; +Down in the dust I began to nestle, + Poured thee no wine, and drank deep of dishonour! +Lord, thou hast broken, thou mendest thy vessel! +In the dust of thy glory I nestle. + + + + +_THE CONSOLER_: +ON AN ENGRAVING OF SCHEFFER'S _Christus Consolator_. + +I. + +What human form is this? what form divine? +And who are these that gaze upon his face +Mild, beautiful, and full of heavenly grace, +With whose reflected light the gazers shine? +Saviour, who does not know it to be thine? +Who does not long to fill a gazer's place? +And yet there is no time, there is no space +To keep away thy servants from thy shrine! +Here if we kneel, and watch with faithful eyes, +Thou art not too far for faithful eyes to see, +Thou art not too far to turn and look on me, +To speak to me, and to receive my sighs. +Therefore for ever I forget the skies, +And find an everlasting Sun in thee. + +II. + +Oh let us never leave that happy throng! +From that low attitude of love not cease! +In all the world there is no other peace, +In all the world no other shield from wrong. +But chiefly, Saviour, for thy feet we long-- +For no vain quiet, for no pride's increase-- +But that, being weak, and Thou divinely strong, +Us from our hateful selves thou mayst release. +We wander from thy fold's free holy air, +Forget thy looks, and take our fill of sin! +But if thou keep us evermore within, +We never surely can forget thee there-- +Breathing thy breath, thy white robe given to wear, +And loving thee for all thou diedst to win! + +III. + +To speak of him in language of our own, +Is not for us too daringly to try; +But, Saviour, we can read thy history +Upon the faces round thy humble throne; +And as the flower among the grass makes known +What summer suns have warmed it from the sky, +As every human smile and human sigh +Is witness that we do not live alone, +So in that company--in those sweet tears, +The first-born of a rugged melted heart, +In those gaunt chains for ever torn apart, +And in the words that weeping mother hears, +We read the story of two thousand years, +And know thee somewhat, Saviour, as thou art. + + + +_TO_ ---- + +I cannot write old verses here, + Dead things a thousand years away, +When all the life of the young year + Is in the summer day. + +The roses make the world so sweet, + The bees, the birds have such a tune, +There's such a light and such a heat + And such a joy this June, + +One must expand one's heart with praise, + And make the memory secure +Of sunshine and the woodland days + And summer twilights pure. + +Oh listen rather! Nature's song + Comes from the waters, beating tides, +Green-margined rivers, and the throng + Of streams on mountain-sides. + +So fair those water-spirits are, + Such happy strength their music fills, +Our joy shall be to wander far + And find them on the hills. + + + +_TO A SISTER_. + +A fresh young voice that sings to me +So often many a simple thing, +Should surely not unanswered be +By all that I can sing. + +Dear voice, be happy every way +A thousand changing tones among, +From little child's unfinished lay +To angel's perfect song. + +In dewy woods--fair, soft, and green +Like morning woods are childhood's bower-- +Be like the voice of brook unseen +Among the stones and flowers; + +A joyful voice though born so low, +And making all its neighbours glad; +Sweet, hidden, constant in its flow +Even when the winds are sad. + +So, strengthen in a peaceful home, +And daily deeper meanings bear; +And when life's wildernesses come +Be brave and faithful there. + +Try all the glorious magic range, +Worship, forgive, console, rejoice, +Until the last and sweetest change-- +So live and grow, dear voice. + + + +_THE SHORTEST AND SWEETEST OF SONGS_. + +Come +Home. + + + + + SCOTS SONGS AND BALLADS. + + + +_ANNIE SHE'S DOWIE_. + +Annie she's dowie, and Willie he's wae: +What can be the matter wi' siccan a twae, +For Annie she's fair as the first o' the day, +And Willie he's honest and stalwart and gay? + +Oh, the tane has a daddy is poor and is proud, +And the tither a minnie that cleiks at the goud '. +They lo'ed are anither, and said their say, +But the daddy and minnie hae partit the twae! + + + +_O LASSIE AYONT THE HILL_! + +O lassie ayont the hill, +Come ower the tap o' the hill, +Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill, +Bidena ayont the hill! + I'm needin ye sair the nicht, +For I'm tired and sick o' mysel. + A body's sel 's the sairest weicht: +O lassie, come ower the hill! + +Gien a body could be a thoucht o' grace, + And no a sel ava! +I'm sick o' my heid and my ban's and my face, + O' my thouchts and mysel and a'; + + I'm sick o' the warl' and a'; +The win' gangs by wi' a hiss; + Throu my starin een the sunbeams fa' +But my weary hert they miss! + O lassie ayont the hill, + Come ower the tap o' the hill, + Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill, + Bidena ayont the hill! &c. + +For gien I but saw yer bonnie heid, + And the sunlicht o' yer hair, +The ghaist o' mysel wud fa' doun deid, + I wud be mysel nae mair. + I wud be mysel nae mair, +Filled o' the sole remeid, + Slain by the arrows o' licht frae yer hair, +Killed by yer body and heid! + O lassie ayont the hill, &c. + +My sel micht wauk up at the saft fitfa' + O' my bonnie departin dame; +But gien she lo'ed me ever sae sma' + I micht bide it--the weary same! + Noo, sick o' my body and name +Whan it lifts its upsettin heid, + I turn frae the cla'es that cover my frame +As gien they war roun the deid. + O lassie ayont the hill, &c. + +But gien ye lo'ed me as I lo'e you + I wud ring my ain deid knell; +The spectre wud melt, shot through and through + Wi' the shine o' your sunny sel! + By the shine o' yer sunny sel, +By the licht aneth yer broo + I wud dee to mysel, ring my ain deid-bell, +And live again in you! + +O lassie ayont the hill, +Come ower the tap o' the hill, +Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill, + For I want ye sair the nicht! + I'm needin ye sair the nicht, +For I'm tired and sick o' mysel. + A body's sel 's the sairest weicht: +O lassie, come ower the hill! + + + +_THE BONNY, BONNY DELL_. + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the yorlin sings, +Wi' a clip o' the sunshine atween his wings; +Whaur the birks are a' straikit wi' fair munelicht, +And the brume hings its lamps by day and by nicht; +Whaur the burnie comes trottin ower shingle and stane +Liltin bonny havers til 'tsel its lane; +And the sliddery troot wi' ae soop o' its tail +Is ahint the green weed's dark swingin veil! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang as I saw +The yorlin, the brume, and the burnie, and a'! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the primroses won, +Luikin oot o' their leaves like wee sons o' the sun; +Whaur the wild roses hing like flickers o' flame, +And fa' at the touch wi' a dainty shame; +Whaur the bee swings ower the white-clovery sod, +And the butterfly flits like a stray thoucht o' God; +Whaur, like arrow shot frae life's unseen bow, +The dragon-fly burns the sunlicht throu! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang to see +The rose and the primrose, the draigon and bee! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the mune luiks doon +As gien she war hearin a soughless tune, +Whan the flooers and the birdies are a' asleep, +And the verra burnie gangs creepy-creep; +Whaur the corn-craik craiks i' the lang-heidit rye, +And the nicht is the safter for his rouch cry; +Whaur the win' wud fain lie doon on the slope, +And the gloamin waukens the high-reachin hope! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur, silent, I felt +The mune and the darkness baith into me melt! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luiks in +Sayin, "Here awa, there awa, hand awa, Sin!" +Sayin darkness and sorrow a' work for the licht, +And the will o' God was the hert o' the nicht; +Whaur the laverock hings hie, on his ain sang borne, +Wi' bird-shout and tirralee hailin the morn; +Whaur my hert ran ower wi' the lusome bliss +That, come winter, come weather, nocht gaed amiss! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luikit in +Sayin, "Here awa, there awa, hand awa, Sin!" + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur aft I wud lie, +Wi' Jeanie aside me sae sweet and sae shy; +Whaur the starry gowans wi' rose-dippit tips +War as white as her cheek and as reid as her lips; +Whaur she spread her gowd hert till she saw that I saw, +Syne fauldit it up and gied me it a'; +Whaur o' sunlicht and munelicht she was the queen, +For baith war but middlin withoot my Jean! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur aft I wud lie, +Wi' Jeanie aside me sae sweet and sae shy! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the kirkyard lies +A' day and a' nicht luikin up to the skies; +Whaur the sheep wauken up i' the simmer nicht, +Tak a bite and lie doon, and await the licht; +Whaur the psalms roll ower the grassy heaps; +Whaur the win' comes and moans, and the rain comes and weeps; +Whaur my Jeanie's no lyin in a' the lair, +For she's up and awa up the angels' stair! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the kirkyard lies, +Whaur the stars luik doon, and the nicht-wind sighs! + + + +_NANNIE BRAW_. + +I like ye weel upo Sundays, Nannie, + I' yer goon and yer ribbons and a'; +But I like ye better on Mondays, Nannie, + Whan ye're no sae buskit and braw. + +For whan we're sittin sae douce, Nannie, + Wi' the lave o' the worshippin fowk, +That aneth the haly hoose, Nannie, + Ye micht hear a moudiwarp howk, + +It _will_ come into my heid, Nannie, + O' yer braws ye are thinkin a wee; +No alane o' the Bible-seed, Nannie, + Nor the minister nor me! + +Syne hame athort the green, Nannie, + Ye gang wi' a toss o' yer chin; +And there walks a shadow atween 's, Nannie, + A dark ane though it be thin! + +But noo, whan I see ye gang, Nannie, + Eident at what's to be dune, +Liltin a haiveless sang, Nannie, + I wud kiss yer verra shune! + +Wi' yer silken net on yer hair, Nannie, + I' yer bonnie blue petticoat, +Wi' yer kin'ly arms a' bare, Nannie, + On yer ilka motion I doat. + +For, oh, but ye're canty and free, Nannie, + Airy o' hert and o' fit! +A star-beam glents frae yer ee, Nannie-- + O' yersel ye're no thinkin a bit! + +Fillin the cogue frae the coo, Nannie, + Skimmin the yallow ream, +Pourin awa the het broo, Nannie, + Lichtin the lampie's leme, + +Turnin or steppin alang, Nannie, + Liftin and layin doon, +Settin richt what's aye gaein wrang, Nannie, + Yer motion's baith dance and tune! + +I' the hoose ye're a licht and a law, Nannie, + A servan like him 'at's abune: +Oh, a woman's bonniest o' a', Nannie, + Doin what _maun_ be dune! + +Cled i' yer Sunday claes, Nannie, + Fair kythe ye to mony an ee; +But cled i' yer ilka-day's, Nannie, + Ye draw the hert frae me! + + + +_OWER THE HEDGE_. + +I. + +"Bonny lassie, rosy lassie, + Ken ye what is care? +Had ye ever a thought, lassie, + Made yer hertie sair?" + +Johnnie said it, Johnnie seekin + Sicht o' Mally's face, +Keekin i' the hedge o' holly + For a thinner place. + +"Na," said Mally, pawky smilin, + "Nought o' care ken I; +Gien I meet the gruesome carline, + I s' hand weel ootby!" + +"Lang be licht o' hert, Mally, + As o' fut and ban'! +Lang be ready wi' sic answer + To ony speirin man!" + +"Ay, the men 'll aye be speirin! + Troth, it's naething new! +There's yersel wi' queston, queston-- + And there's mair like you!" + +"Deed ye wadna mock me, Mally, + Wi' yer lauchin ee, +Gien ye saw the thing aye muvin + I' the hert o' me!" + +"Troth, I'm no sae pryin, laddie, + Yon's no my concern! +Jist as sune I wud gang speirin + What's intil yon cairn!" + +"Still and on, there's ae thing, Mally, + Yont yer help, my doo-- +That's to haud my hert frae lo'in + At the hert o' you!" + +II. + +Johnnie turned and left her, + Listit for the war; +In a year cam limpin + Hame wi' mony a scar. + +Wha was that was sittin + On the brae, sae still? +Worn and wan and altert, + Could it be hersel? + +Cled in black, her eelids + Reid wi' greitin sair-- +Was she wife and widow + In a towmond bare? + +Mally's hert played wallop, + Kenned him or he spak: +"Are ye no deid, Johnnie? + Is't yersel come back?" + +"Are ye wife or widow? + Tell me in a breath; +Lanely life is fearsome, + Waur nor ony death!" + +"Wha cud be a widow + Wife was never nane? +Noo, gien ye will hae me, + Noo I will be ane!" + +Crutch awa he flang it, + Clean forgot his hairms, +Cudna stan' withoot it, + Fell in Mally's airms. + + + +_GAEIN AND COMIN_. + +Whan Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed + The lift was lowerin dreary, +The sun he wadna raise his heid, + The win' blew laich and eerie. +In's pooch he had a plack or twa-- + I vow he hadna mony, +Yet Andrew like a linty sang, + For Lizzie was sae bonny! + O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny lassie! + Bonny, saucy hizzy! + What richt had ye to luik at me + And drive me daft and dizzy? + +Whan Andrew to Strathbogie cam + The sun was shinin rarely; +He rade a horse that pranced and sprang-- + I vow he sat him fairly! +And he had gowd to spen' and spare, + And a hert as true as ony; +But his luik was doon, his sigh was sair, + For Lizzie was sae bonny! + O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny hizzy! + Aih, the sunlicht weary! + Ye're straucht and rare--ye're fause though fair!-- + Hech, auld John Armstrong's deary! + + + +_A SANG O' ZION_. + +Ane by ane they gang awa; +The getherer gethers grit and sma': +Ane by ane maks ane and a'! + +Aye whan ane sets doon the cup +Ane ahint maun tak it up: +A' thegither they will sup! + +Golden-heidit, ripe, and strang, +Shorn will be the hairst or lang: +Syne begins a better sang! + + + +_TIME AND TIDE_. + + As I was walkin on the strand, + I spied ane auld man sit + On ane auld black rock; and aye the waves + Cam washin up its fit. + His lips they gaed as gien they wad lilt, + But o' liltin, wae's me, was nane! + He spak but an owercome, dreary and dreigh, + A burden wha's sang was gane: +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns; + They playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush." + + "What can the auld man mean," quod I, + "Sittin o' the auld black rock? + The tide creeps up wi' a moan and a cry, + And a hiss 'maist like a mock! + The words he mutters maun be the en' + O' some weary auld-warl' sang-- + A deid thing floatin aboot in his brain, + 'At the tide 'ill no lat gang!" +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns; + They playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush." + + "Hoo pairtit it them, auld man?" I said; + "Was't the sea cam up ower strang? + Oh, gien thegither the twa o' them gaed + Their pairtin wasna lang! + Or was are ta'en, and the ither left-- + Ane to sing, are to greit? + It's sair, I ken, to be sae bereft-- + But there's the tide at yer feet!" +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, + And they playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush." + + "Was't the sea o' space wi' its storm o' time + That wadna lat things bide? + But Death's a diver frae heavenly clime + Seekin ye neth its tide, + And ye'll gaze again in ither's ee, + Far abune space and time!" + Never ae word he answered me, + But changed a wee his rime: +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, + And they playt thegither upo' the shore; +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa for evermore." + + "May be, auld man, 'twas the tide o' change + That crap atween the twa? + Hech! that's a droonin fearsome strange, + Waur, waur nor are and a'!" + He said nae mair. I luikit, and saw + His lips they couldna gang: + Death, the diver, had ta'en him awa, + To gie him a new auld sang. +Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, + And they playt thegither upo' the shore: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And souft them awa throu a mirksome door! + + + +_THE WAESOME CARL_. + +There cam a man to oor toon-en', + And a waesome carl was he, +Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou'd, + And gleyt o' a blinterin ee. +Muckle he spied, and muckle he spak, + But the owercome o' his sang, +Whatever it said, was aye the same:-- + There's nane o' ye a' but's wrang! + Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang: + There's no a man aboot the toon + But's a'thegither a' wrang. + +That's no the gait to fire the breid, + Nor yet to brew the yill; +That's no the gait to haud the pleuch, + Nor yet to ca the mill; +That's no the gait to milk the coo, + Nor yet to spean the calf, +Nor yet to tramp the girnel-meal-- + Ye kenna yer wark by half! + Ye're a' wrang, &c. + +The minister wasna fit to pray + And lat alane to preach; +He nowther had the gift o' grace + Nor yet the gift o' speech! +He mind't him o' Balaaem's ass, + Wi' a differ we micht ken: +The Lord he opened the ass's mou, + The minister opened's ain! + He was a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There wasna a man aboot the toon + But was a'thegither a' wrang! + +The puir precentor couldna sing, + He gruntit like a swine; +The verra elders couldna pass + The ladles til his min'. +And for the rulin' elder's grace + It wasna worth a horn; +He didna half uncurse the meat, + Nor pray for mair the morn! + He was a' wrang, &c. + +And aye he gied his nose a thraw, + And aye he crook't his mou; +And aye he cockit up his ee + And said, Tak tent the noo! +We snichert hint oor loof, my man, + But never said him nay; +As gien he had been a prophet, man, + We loot him say his say: + Ye're a' wrang, &c. + +Quo oor gudeman: The crater's daft! + Heard ye ever sic a claik? +Lat's see gien he can turn a ban', + Or only luik and craik! +It's true we maunna lippin til him-- + He's fairly crack wi' pride, +But he maun live--we canna kill him! + Gien he can work, he s' bide. + He was a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There, troth, the gudeman o' the toon + Was a'thegither a' wrang! + +Quo he, It's but a laddie's turn, + But best the first be a sma' thing: +There's a' thae weyds to gether and burn, + And he's the man for a' thing!-- +We yokit for the far hill-moss, + There was peats to cast and ca; +O' 's company we thoucht na loss, + 'Twas peace till gloamin-fa'! + We war a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There wasna man aboot the toon + But was a'thegither a' wrang! + +For, losh, or it was denner-time + The toon was in a low! +The reek rase up as it had been + Frae Sodom-flames, I vow. +We lowst and rade like mad, for byre + And ruck bleezt a' thegither, +As gien the deil had broucht the fire + Frae's hell to mak anither! + 'Twas a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang, + Stick and strae aboot the place + Was a'thegither a' wrang! + +And luikin on, ban's neth his tails, + The waesome carl stude; +To see him wagglin at thae tails + 'Maist drave 's a' fairly wud. +Ain wite! he cried; I tauld ye sae! + Ye're a' wrang to the last: +What gart ye burn thae deevilich weyds + Whan the win' blew frae the wast! + Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There's no a man i' this fule warl + But's a'thegither a' wrang! + + + +_THE MERMAID_. + +Up cam the tide wi' a burst and a whush, + And back gaed the stanes wi' a whurr; +The king's son walkit i' the evenin hush, + To hear the sea murmur and murr. + +Straucht ower the water slade frae the mune + A glimmer o' cauld weet licht; +Ane o' her horns rase the water abune, + And lampit across the nicht. + +Quhat's that, and that, far oot i' the gray, + The laich mune bobbin afore? +It's the bonny sea-maidens at their play-- + Haud awa, king's son, frae the shore. + +Ae rock stude up like an auld aik-root, + The king's son he steppit ahin'; +The bonny sea-maidens cam gambolin oot, + Kaimin their hair to the win'. + +O merry their lauch whan they fan the warm san', + For the lichtsome reel sae meet! +Ilk are flang her kaim frae her pearly ban', + And tuik til her pearly feet. + +But are, wha's beauty was dream and spell, + Her kaim on the rock she cuist; +Her back was scarce turnt whan the munelicht shell + Was lyin i' the prince's breist! + +The cluds grew grim as he watched their game, + Th' win' blew up an angry tune; +Ane efter are tuik up her kaim, + And seaward gaed dancin doon. + +But are, wi' hair like the mune in a clud, + Was left by the rock her lane; +Wi' flittin ban's, like a priest's, she stude, + 'Maist veiled in a rush o' rain. + +She spied the prince, she sank at his feet, + And lay like a wreath o' snaw +Meltin awa i' the win' and weet + O' a wastin wastlin thaw. + +He liftit her, trimlin wi' houp and dreid, + And hame wi' his prize he gaed, +And laid her doon, like a witherin weed, + Saft on a gowden bed. + +A' that nicht, and a' day the neist, + She never liftit heid; +Quaiet lay the sea, and quaiet lay her breist, + And quaiet lay the kirkyard-deid. + +But quhan at the gloamin a sea-breeze keen + Blew intil the glimsome room, +Like twa settin stars she opened her een, + And the sea-flooer began to bloom. + +And she saw the prince kneelin at her bed, + And afore the mune was new, +Careless and cauld she was wooed and wed-- + But a winsome wife she grew. + +And a' gaed weel till their bairn was born, + And syne she cudna sleep; +She wud rise at midnicht, and wan'er till morn, + Hark-harkin the sough o' the deep. + +Ae nicht whan the win' gaed ravin aboot, + And the winnocks war speckled wi' faem, +Frae room to room she strayt in and oot, + And she spied her pearly kaim. + +She twined up her hair wi' eager ban's, + And in wi' the rainbow kaim! +She's oot, and she's aff ower the shinin san's + And awa til her moanin hame! + +The prince he startit whaur he lay, + He waukit, and was himlane! +He soucht far intil the mornin gray, + But his bonny sea-wife was gane! + +And ever and aye, i' the mirk or the mune, + Whan the win' blew saft frae the sea, +The sad shore up and the sad shore doon + By the lanely rock paced he. + +But never again on the sands to play + Cam the maids o' the merry, cauld sea; +He heard them lauch far oot i' the bay, + But hert-alane gaed he. + + + +_THE YERL O' WATERYDECK_. + +The wind it blew, and the ship it flew, + And it was "Hey for hame!" +But up an' cried the skipper til his crew, + "Haud her oot ower the saut sea faem." + +Syne up an' spak the angry king: + "Haud on for Dumferline!" +Quo' the skipper, "My lord, this maunna be-- + _I_'m king on this boat o' mine!" + +He tuik the helm intil his han', + He left the shore un'er the lee; +Syne croodit sail, an', east an' south, + Stude awa richt oot to sea. + +Quo' the king, "Leise-majesty, I trow! + Here lies some ill-set plan! +'Bout ship!" Quo' the skipper, "Yer grace forgets + Ye are king but o' the lan'!" + +Oot he heild to the open sea + Quhill the north wind flaughtered an' fell; +Syne the east had a bitter word to say + That waukent a watery hell. + +He turnt her heid intil the north: + Quo' the nobles, "He s' droon, by the mass!" +Quo' the skipper, "Haud afif yer lady-ban's + Or ye'll never see the Bass." + +The king creepit down the cabin-stair + To drink the gude French wine; +An' up cam his dochter, the princess fair, + An' luikit ower the brine. + +She turnt her face to the drivin snaw, + To the snaw but and the weet; +It claucht her snood, an' awa like a dud + Her hair drave oot i' the sleet. + +She turnt her face frae the drivin win'-- + "Quhat's that aheid?" quo' she. +The skipper he threw himsel frae the win' + An' he brayt the helm alee. + +"Put to yer han', my lady fair! + Haud up her heid!" quo' he; +"Gien she dinna face the win' a wee mair + It's faurweel to you an' me!" + +To the tiller the lady she laid her han', + An' the ship brayt her cheek to the blast; +They joukit the berg, but her quarter scraped, + An' they luikit at ither aghast. + +Quo' the skipper, "Ye are a lady fair, + An' a princess gran' to see, +But war ye a beggar, a man wud sail + To the hell i' yer company!" + +She liftit a pale an' a queenly face, + Her een flashed, an' syne they swam: +"An' what for no to the hevin?" she says, + An' she turnt awa frae him. + +Bot she tuik na her han' frae the gude ship's helm + Till the day begouth to daw; +An' the skipper he spak, but what was said + It was said atween them twa. + +An' syne the gude ship she lay to, + Wi' Scotlan' hyne un'er the lee; +An' the king cam up the cabin-stair + Wi' wan face an' bluidshot ee. + +Laigh loutit the skipper upo' the deck; + "Stan' up, stan' up," quo' the king; +"Ye're an honest loun--an' beg me a boon + Quhan ye gie me back this ring." + +Lowne blew the win'; the stars cam oot; + The ship turnt frae the north; +An' or ever the sun was up an' aboot + They war intil the firth o' Forth. + +Quhan the gude ship lay at the pier-heid, + And the king stude steady o' the lan',-- +"Doon wi' ye, skipper--doon!" he said, + "Hoo daur ye afore me stan'!" + +The skipper he loutit on his knee; + The king his blade he drew: +Quo' the king, "Noo mynt ye to centre me! + I'm aboord _my_ vessel noo! + +"Gien I hadna been yer verra gude lord + I wud hae thrawn yer neck! +Bot--ye wha loutit Skipper o' Doon, + Rise up Yerl o' Waterydeck." + +The skipper he rasena: "Yer Grace is great, + Yer wull it can heize or ding: +Wi' ae wee word ye hae made me a yerl-- + Wi' anither mak me a king." + +"I canna mak ye a king," quo' he, + "The Lord alane can do that! +I snowk leise-majesty, my man! + Quhat the Sathan wad ye be at?" + +Glowert at the skipper the doutsum king + Jalousin aneth his croon; +Quo' the skipper, "Here is yer Grace's ring-- + An' yer dochter is my boon!" + +The black blude shot intil the king's face + He wasna bonny to see: +"The rascal skipper! he lichtlies oor grace!-- + Gar hang him heigh on yon tree." + +Up sprang the skipper an' aboord his ship, + Cleikit up a bytin blade +An' hackit at the cable that held her to the pier, + An' thoucht it 'maist ower weel made. + +The king he blew shill in a siller whustle; + An' tramp, tramp, doon the pier +Cam twenty men on twenty horses, + Clankin wi' spur an' spear. + +At the king's fute fell his dochter fair: + "His life ye wadna spill!" +"Ye daur stan' twixt my hert an' my hate?" + "I daur, wi' a richt gude will!" + +"Ye was aye to yer faither a thrawart bairn, + But, my lady, here stan's the king! +Luikna _him_ i' the angry face-- + A monarch's anither thing!" + +"I lout to my father for his grace + Low on my bendit knee; +But I stan' an' luik the king i' the face, + For the skipper is king o' me!" + +She turnt, she sprang upo' the deck, + The cable splashed i' the Forth, +Her wings sae braid the gude ship spread + And flew east, an' syne flew north. + +Now was not this a king's dochter-- + A lady that feared no skaith? +A woman wi' quhilk a man micht sail + Prood intil the Port o' Death? + + + +_THE TWA GORDONS_. + +I. + +There was John Gordon an' Archibold, +An' a yerl's twin sons war they; +Quhan they war are an' twenty year auld +They fell oot on their ae birthday. + +"Turn ye, John Gordon, nae brither to me! +Turn ye, fause an' fell! +Or doon ye s' gang, as black as a lee, +To the muckle deevil o' hell." + +"An' quhat for that, Archie Gordon, I pray? +Quhat ill hae I dune to thee?" +"Twa-faced loon, ye sail rue this day +The answer I'm gauin to gie! + +"For it'll be roucher nor lady Janet's, +An' loud i' the braid daylicht; +An' the wa' to speil is my iron mail, +No her castle-wa' by nicht!" + +"I speilt the wa' o' her castle braw +I' the roarin win' yestreen; +An' I sat in her bower till the gloamin sta' +Licht-fittit ahint the mune." + +"Turn ye, John Gordon--the twasum we s' twin! +Turn ye, an' haud yer ain; +For ane sall lie on a cauld weet bed-- +An' I downa curse again!" + +"O Archie, Janet is my true love-- +notna speir leave o' thee!" +"Gien that be true, the deevil's a sanct, +An' ye are no tellin a lee!" + +Their suerds they drew, an' the fire-flauchts flew, + An' they shiftit wi' fendin feet; +An' the blude ran doon, till the grun a' roun + Like a verra bog was weet. + +"O Archie, I hae gotten a cauld supper-- + O' steel, but shortest grace! +Ae grip o' yer han' afore ye gang! + An' turn me upo' my face." + +But he's turnit himsel upon his heel, + An' wordless awa he's gane; +An' the corbie-craw i' the aik abune + Is roupin for his ain. + +II. + +Lady Margaret, her hert richt gret, + Luiks ower the castle wa'; +Lord Archibold rides oot at the yett, + Ahint him his merry men a'. + +Wi' a' his band, to the Holy Land + He's boune wi' merry din, +His shouther's doss a Christ's cross, + In his breist an ugsome sin. + +But the cross it brunt him like the fire. + Its burnin never ceast; +It brunt in an' in, to win at the sin + Lay cowerin in his breist. + +A mile frae the shore o' the Deid Sea + The army haltit ae nicht; +Lord Archie was waukrife, an' oot gaed he + A walkin i' the munelicht. + +Dour-like he gaed, wi' doon-hingin heid, + Quhill he cam, by the licht o' the mune, +Quhaur michty stanes lay scattert like sheep, + An' ance they worshipt Mahoun. + +The scruff an' scum o' the deid shore gleamt + An' glintit a sauty gray; +The banes o' the deid stack oot o' its bed, + The sea lickit them as they lay. + +He sat him doon on a sunken stane, + An' he sighit sae dreary an' deep: +"I can thole ohn grutten, lyin awauk, + But he comes whan I'm asleep! + +"I wud gie my soul for ever an' aye + Intil en'less dule an' smert, +To sleep a' nicht like a bairn again, + An' cule my burnin hert!" + +Oot frae ahint a muckle stane + Cam a voice like a huddy craw's: +"Behaud there, Archibold Gordon!" it said, + "Behaud--ye hae ower gude cause!" + +"I'll say quhat I like," quod Archibold, + "Be ye ghaist or deevil or quhat!" +"Tak tent, lord Archie, gien ye be wise-- + The tit winna even the tat!" + +Lord Archibold leuch wi' a loud ha, ha, + Eerisome, grousum to hear: +"A bonny bargain auld Cloots wad hae, + It has ilka faut but fear!" + +"Dune, lord Archibold?" craikit the voice; + "Dune, Belzie!" cried he again.-- +The gray banes glimmert, the white saut shimmert-- + Lord Archie was him lane. + +Back he gaed straught, by the glowerin mune, + An' doun in his plaid he lay, +An' soun' he sleepit.--A ghaist-like man + Sat by his heid quhill the day. + +An' quhanever he moanit or turnit him roun, + Or his broo gae token o' plycht, +The waukin man i' the sleepin man's lug + Wud rown a murgeon o' micht. + +An' the glint o' a smile wud quaver athort + The sleepin cheek sae broun, +An' a tear atween the ee-lids wud stert, + An' whiles rin fairly doun. + +An' aye by his lair sat the ghaist-like man, + He watchit his sleep a' nicht; +An' in mail rust-broun, wi' his visorne doun, + Rade at his knee i' the fecht. + +Nor anis nor twyis the horn-helmit chiel + Saved him frae deidly dad; +An' Archie said, "Gien this be the deil + He's no sac black as he's ca'd." + +But wat ye fu' weel it wasna the deil + That tuik lord Archie's pairt, +But his twin-brother John he thoucht deid an' gone, + Wi' luve like a lowe in his hert. + +III. + +Hame cam lord Archibold, weary wicht, + Hame til his ain countree; +An' he cried, quhan his castle rase in sicht, + "Noo Christ me sain an' see!" + +He turnit him roun: the man in rust-broun + Was gane, he saw nocht quhair! +At the ha' door he lichtit him doun, + Lady Margaret met him there. + +Reid, reid war her een, but hie was her mien, + An' her words war sharp an' sair: +"Welcome, Archie, to dule an' tene, + An' welcome ye s' get nae mair! + +Quhaur is yer twin, lord Archibold, + That lay i' my body wi' thee? +I miss my mark gien he liesna stark + Quhaur the daylicht comesna to see!" + +Lord Archibold dochtna speik a word + For his hert was like a stane; +He turnt him awa--an' the huddy craw + Was roupin for his ain. + +"Quhaur are ye gaein, lord Archie," she said, + "Wi' yer lips sae white an' thin?" +"Mother, gude-bye! I'm gaein to lie + Ance mair wi' my body-twin." + +Up she brade, but awa he gaed + Straucht for the corbie-tree; +For quhaur he had slain he thoucht to slay, + An' cast him doon an' dee. + +"God guide us!" he cried wi' gastit rair, + "Has he lien there ever sin' syne?" +An' he thoucht he saw the banes, pykit an' bare, + Throu the cracks o' his harness shine. + +"Oh Johnnie! my brither!" quo' Archibold + Wi' a hert-upheavin mane, +"I wad pit my soul i' yer wastit corp + To see ye alive again!" + +"Haud ye there!" quod a voice frae oot the helm, + "A man suld heed quhat he says!" +An' the closin joints grippit an' tore the gerse +As up the armour rase:-- + +"Soul ye hae nane to ca' yer ain + An' its time to hand yer jaw! +The sleep it was thine, an' the soul it is mine: + Deil Archie, come awa!" + +"Auld Hornie," quo' Archie, "twa words to that: + My burnin hert burns on; +An' the sleep, weel I wat, was nae reek frae thy pat, + For aye I was dreamin o' John! + +"But I carena a plack for a soul sae black-- + Wae's me 'at my mither bore me! +Put fire i' my breist an' fire at my back, + But ae minute set Johnnie afore me!" + +The gantlets grippit the helm sae stoot + An' liftit frae chin an' broo: +An' Johnnie himsel keekit smilin oot:-- + "O Archie, I hae ye noo! + +"O' yer wee bit brod I was little the waur, + I crap awa my lane; +An' never a deevil cam ye nar, + 'Cep ye coont yer Johnnie ane!" + +Quhare quhylum his brither Johnnie lay, + Fell Archie upon his knees; +The words he said I dinna say, + But I'm sure they warna lees. + + + +_THE LAST WOOIN_. + +"O lat me in, my bonny lass! + It's a lang road ower the hill, +And the flauchterin snaw begud to fa' + On the brig ayont the mill!" + +"Here's nae change-hoose, John Munro!" + "I'll ken that to my cost +Gien ye gar me tak the hill the nicht, + Wi' snaw o' the back o' frost! + +But tell me, lass, what's my offence." + "Weel ken ye! At the fair +Ye lichtlied me! Ay, twasna ance!-- + Ye needna come nae mair!" + +"I lichtlied ye?"--"Ay, ower the glass!" + "Foul-fa' the ill-faured mou +'At made the leein word to pass + By rowin 't i' the true! + +The trouth is this: I dochtna bide + To hear yer bonnie name +Whaur lawless mous war openit wide + Wi' ill-tongued scoff and blame; + +And what I said was: 'Hoot, lat sit! + She's but a bairn, the lass!' +It turnt the spait o' words a bit, + And loot yer fair name pass." + +"Thank ye for naething, John Munro! + My name it needna hide; +It's no a drucken sough wud gar + Me turn my heid aside!" + +"O Elsie, lassie, be yersel! + The snaw-stour's driftin thrang! +O tak me in, the win' 's sae snell, + And in an hour I'll gang." + +"I downa pay ye guid for ill, + Ye heedna fause and true! +Gang back to Katie at the mill-- + She loos sic like as you!" + +He turnt his fit; she heardna mair. + The lift was like to fa'; +And Elsie's hert grew grit and sair + At sicht o' the drivin snaw. + +She laid her doon, but no to sleep, + Her verra hert was cauld; +And the sheets war like a frozen heap + O' drift aboot her faul'd. + +She rase fu' air; the warl lay fair + And still in its windin-sheet; +At door-cheek, or at winnock-lug, + Was never a mark o' feet! + +She crap for days aboot the hoose, + Dull-futtit and hert-sair, +Aye keekin oot like a hungert moose-- + But Johnnie was na there! + +Lang or the spring begoud to thow + The waesome, sick-faced snaw, +Her hert was saft a' throu and throu, + Her pride had ta'en a fa'. + +And whan the wreaths war halflins gane, + And the sun was blinkin bonnie, +Oot ower the hill she wud gang her lane + To speir aboot her Johnnie. + +Half ower, she cam intil a lair + O' snaw and slush and weet: +The Lord hae mercy! what's that there? + It was Johnnie at her feet. + +Aneth the snaw his heid was smorit, + But his breist was maistly bare, +And twixt his richt ban' and his hert + Lay a lock o' gouden hair. + +The warm win' blew, the blackcock flew, + The lerrick muntit the skies; +The burnie ran, and a baein began, + But Johnnie wudna rise. + +The sun was clear, the lift was blue, + The winter was awa; +Up cam the green gerse plentifu, + The better for the snaw; + +And warm it happit Johnnie's grave + Whaur the ae lock gouden lay; +But on Elsie's hingin heid the lave + Was afore the barley gray. + + + +_HALLOWEEN_. + +Sweep up the flure, Janet; + Put on anither peat. +It's a lown and a starry nicht, Janet, + And nowther cauld nor weet. + +It's the nicht atween the Sancts and Souls + Whan the bodiless gang aboot; +And it's open hoose we keep the nicht + For ony that may be oot. + +Set the cheirs back to the wa', Janet; + Mak ready for quaiet fowk. +Hae a'thing as clean as a windin-sheet: + They comena ilka ook. + +There's a spale upo' the flure, Janet, + And there's a rowan-berry! +Sweep them intil the fire, Janet, + Or they'll neither come nor tarry. + +Syne set open the outer dure-- + Wide open for wha kens wha? +As ye come ben to your bed, Janet, + Set baith dures to the wa'. + +She set the cheirs back to the wa', + But ane that was o' the birk; +She sweepit the flure, but left the spale-- + A lang spale o' the aik. + +The nicht was lown; the stars sae still + War glintin doon the sky; +The souls crap oot o' their mooly graves, + A' dank wi' lyin by. + +They faund the dure wide to the wa', + And the peats blawn rosy reid: +They war shuneless feet gaed in and oot, + Nor clampit as they gaed. + +The mither she keekit but the hoose, + Saw what she ill could say; +Quakin she slidit doon by Janet, + And gaspin a whilie she lay. + +There's are o' them sittin afore the fire! + Ye wudna hearken to me! +Janet, ye left a cheir by the fire, + Whaur I tauld ye nae cheir suld be! + +Janet she smilit in her minnie's face: + She had brunt the roden reid, +But she left aneth the birken cheir + The spale frae a coffin-lid! + +Saft she rase and gaed but the hoose, + And ilka dure did steik. +Three hours gaed by, and her minnie heard + Sound o' the deid nor quick. + +Whan the gray cock crew, she heard on the flure + The fa' o' shuneless feet; +Whan the rud cock crew, she heard the dure, + And a sough o' win' and weet. + +Whan the goud cock crew, Janet cam back; + Her face it was gray o' ble; +Wi' starin een, at her mither's side + She lay doon like a bairn to dee. + +Her white lips hadna a word to lat fa' + Mair nor the soulless deid; +Seven lang days and nights she lay, + And never a word she said. + +Syne suddent, as oot o' a sleep, she brade, + Smilin richt winsumly; +And she spak, but her word it was far and strayit, + Like a whisper come ower the sea. + +And never again did they hear her lauch, + Nor ever a tear doun ran; +But a smile aye flittit aboot her face + Like the mune on a water wan. + +And ilka nicht atween Sancts and Souls + She laid the dures to the wa', +Blew up the fire, and set the cheir, + And loot the spale doon fa'. + +And at midnicht she gaed but the hoose + Aye steekin dure and dure. +Whan the goud cock crew, quaiet as a moose + She cam creepin ower the flure. + +Mair wan grew her face, and her smile mair sweet + Quhill the seventh Halloweve: +Her mother she heard the shuneless feet, + Said--She'll be ben belyve! + +She camna ben. Her minnie rase-- + For fear she 'maist cudna stan; +She grippit the wa', and but she gaed, + For the goud cock lang had crawn. + +There sat Janet upo' the birk cheir, + White as the day did daw; +But her smile was a sunglint left on the sea + Whan the sun himsel is awa. + + + +_THE LAVEROCK_. + +_The Man says:_ + +Laverock i' the lift, +Hae ye nae sang-thrift, +'At ye scatter 't sae heigh, and lat it a' drift? + Wasterfu laverock! + +Dinna ye ken +'At ye hing ower men +Wha haena a sang or a penny to spen? + Hertless laverock! + +But up there you, +I' the bow o' the blue, +Haud skirlin on as gien a' war new! + Toom-heidit laverock! + +Haith, ye're ower blythe! +I see a great scythe +Swing whaur yer nestie lies, doon i' the lythe, + Liltin laverock! + +Eh, sic a soun! +Birdie, come doun, +Ye're fey to sing sic a merry tune! + Gowkit laverock! + +Come to yer nest; +Yer wife's sair prest, +She's clean worn oot wi' duin her best! + Rovin laverock! + +Winna ye haud? +Ye're surely mad! +Is there naebody there to gie ye a dad, + Menseless laverock? + +Come doon and conform, +Pyke an honest worm, +And hap yer bairns frae the comin storm, + Spendrife laverock! + +_The Bird sings:_ + + My nestie it lieth + I' the how o' a ban'; + The swing o' the scythe + 'Ill miss 't by a span. + + The lift it's sae cheery! + The win' it's sae free! + I hing ower my dearie, + And sing 'cause I see. + + My wifie's wee breistie + Grows warm wi' my sang, + And ilk crumpled-up beastie + Kens no to think lang. + + Up here the sun sings, but + He only shines there! + Ye haena nae wings, but + Come up on a prayer. + +_The man sings:_ + + Ye wee daurin cratur, + Ye rant and ye sing + Like an oye o' auld Natur + Ta'en hame by the king! + + Ye wee feathert priestie, + Yer bells i' yer thro't, + Yer altar yer breistie, + Yer mitre forgot-- + + Offerin and Aaron, + Ye burn hert and brain; + And dertin and daurin, + Flee back to yer ain! + + Ye wee minor prophet, + It's 'maist my belief + 'At I'm doon in Tophet, + And you abune grief! + + Ye've deavt me and daudit + And ca'd me a fule: + I'm nearhan' persuaudit + To gang to your schule! + + For, birdie, I'm thinkin + Ye ken mair nor me-- + Gien ye haena been drinkin, + And sing as ye see. + + Ye maun hae a sicht 'at + Sees gay and far ben, + And a hert, for the micht o' 't, + Wad sair for nine men! + +There's somebody's been til +Roun saft to ye wha +Said birdies are seen til, +And e'en whan they fa'! + + + +_GODLY BALLANTS_. + +I.--THIS SIDE AN' THAT. + +The rich man sat in his father's seat-- + Purple an' linen, an' a'thing fine! +The puir man lay at his yett i' the street-- + Sairs an' tatters, an' weary pine! + +To the rich man's table ilk dainty comes, + Mony a morsel gaed frae't, or fell; +The puir man fain wud hae dined on the crumbs, + But whether he got them I canna tell. + +Servants prood, saft-fittit, an' stoot, + Stan by the rich man's curtained doors; +Maisterless dogs 'at rin aboot + Cam to the puir man an' lickit his sores. + +The rich man deeit, an' they buried him gran', + In linen fine his body they wrap; +But the angels tuik up the beggar man, + An' layit him doun in Abraham's lap. + +The guid upo' this side, the ill upo' that-- + Sic was the rich man's waesome fa'! +But his brithers they eat, an' they drink, an' they chat, + An' carena a strae for their Father's ha'! + +The trowth's the trowth, think what ye will; + An' some they kenna what they wad be at; +But the beggar man thoucht he did no that ill, + Wi' the dogs o' this side, the angels o' that! + +II.--THE TWA BAUBEES. + +Stately, lang-robit, an' steppin at ease, + The rich men gaed up the temple ha'; +Hasty, an' grippin her twa baubees, +The widow cam efter, booit an' sma'. + +Their goud rang lood as it fell, an' lay + Yallow an' glintin, bonnie an' braw; +But the fowk roun the Maister h'ard him say + The puir body's baubees was mair nor it a'. + +III.--WHA'S MY NEIBOUR? + +Doon frae Jerus'lem a traveller took + The laigh road to Jericho; +It had an ill name an' mony a crook, + It was lang an' unco how. + +Oot cam the robbers, an' fell o' the man, + An' knockit him o' the heid, +Took a' whauron they couth lay their han', + An' left him nakit for deid. + +By cam a minister o' the kirk: + "A sair mishanter!" he cried; +"Wha kens whaur the villains may lirk! + I s' haud to the ither side!" + +By cam an elder o' the kirk; + Like a young horse he shied: +"Fie! here's a bonnie mornin's wark!" + An' he spangt to the ither side. + +By cam ane gaed to the wrang kirk; + Douce he trottit alang. +"Puir body!" he cried, an' wi' a yerk + Aff o' his cuddy he sprang. + +He ran to the body, an' turnt it ower: + "There's life i' the man!" he cried. +_He_ wasna ane to stan an' glower, + Nor hand to the ither side! + +He doctort his oons, an' heised him then + To the back o' the beastie douce; +An' he heild him on till, twa weary men, + They wan to the half-way hoose. + +He ten'd him a' nicht, an' o' the morn did say, + "Lan'lord, latna him lack; +Here's auchteen pence!--an' ony mair ootlay + I'll sattle 't as I come back." + +Sae tak til ye, neibours; read aricht the word; + It's a portion o' God's ain spell! +"Wha is my neibour?" speirna the Lord, + But, "Am I a neibour?" yersel. + +IV.--HIM WI' THE BAG. + +Ance was a woman wha's hert was gret; + Her love was sae dumb it was 'maist a grief; +She brak the box--it's tellt o' her yet-- + The bonny box for her hert's relief. + +Ane was there wha's tale's but brief, + Yet was ower lang, the gait he cawed; +He luikit a man, and was but a thief, + Michty the gear to grip and hand. + +"What guid," he cried, "sic a boxfu to blaud? + Wilfu waste I couth never beir! +It micht hae been sellt for ten poun, I wad-- + Sellt for ten poun, and gien to the puir!" + +Savin he was, but for love o' the gear; + Carefu he was, but a' for himsel; +He carried the bag to his hert sae near + What fell i' the ane i' the ither fell. + +And the strings o' his hert hingit doun to hell, + They war pu'd sae ticht aboot the mou; +And hence it comes that I hae to tell + The warst ill tale that ever was true. + +The hert that's greedy maun mischief brew, + And the deils pu'd the strings doon yon'er in hell; +And he sauld, or the agein mune was new, + For thirty shillins the Maister himsel! + +Gear i' the hert it's a canker fell: + Brithers, latna the siller ben! +Troth, gien ye du, I warn ye ye'll sell + The verra Maister or ever ye ken! + +V.--THE COORSE CRATUR. + + The Lord gaed wi' a crood o' men + Throu Jericho the bonny; + 'Twas ill the Son o' Man to ken + Mang sons o' men sae mony: + + The wee bit son o' man Zacchay + To see the Maister seekit; + He speilt a fig-tree, bauld an' shy, + An' sae his shortness ekit. + + But as he thoucht to see his back, + Roun turnt the haill face til 'im, + Up luikit straucht, an' til 'im spak-- + His hert gaed like to kill 'im. + + "Come doun, Zacchay; bestir yersel; + This nicht I want a lodgin." + Like a ripe aipple 'maist he fell, + Nor needit ony nudgin. + + But up amang the unco guid + There rase a murmurin won'er: + "This is a deemis want o' heed, + The man's a special sinner!" + + Up spak Zacchay, his hert ableeze: + "Half mine, the puir, Lord, hae it; + Gien oucht I've taen by ony lees, + Fourfauld again I pay it!" + + Then Jesus said, "This is a man! + His hoose I'm here to save it; + He's are o' Abraham's ain clan, + An' siclike has behavit! + + I cam the lost to seek an' win."-- + Zacchay was are he wantit: + To ony man that left his sin + His grace he never scantit. + + + +_THE DEIL'S FORHOOIT HIS AIN_. + + _The Deil's forhooit his ain, his ain! + The Deil's forhooit his ain! + His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk, + For the Deil's forhooit his ain._ + +The Deil he tuik his stick and his hat, + And his yallow gluves on he drew: +"The coal's sae dear, and the preachin sae flat. + And I canna be aye wi' you!" + + _The Deil's, &c._ + +"But I'll gie ye my blessin afore I gang, + Wi' jist ae word o' advice; +And gien onything efter that gaes wrang + It'll be yer ain wull and ch'ice! + +"Noo hark: There's diseases gaein aboot, + Whiles are, and whiles a' thegither! +Ane's ca'd Repentance--haith, hand it oot! + It comes wi' a change o' weather. + +"For that, see aye 'at ye're gude at the spune + And tak yer fair share o' the drink; +Gien ye dinna, I wadna won'er but sune + Ye micht 'maist begin to think! + +"Neist, luik efter yer liver; that's the place + Whaur Conscience gars ye fin'! +Some fowk has mair o' 't, and some has less-- + It comes o' breedin in. + +"But there's waur nor diseases gaein aboot, + There's a heap o' fair-spoken lees; +And there's naething i' natur, in or oot, + 'At waur with the health agrees. + +"There's what they ca' Faith, 'at wad aye be fain; + And Houp that glowers, and tynes a'; +And Love, that never yet faund its ain, + But aye turnt its face to the wa'. + +"And Trouth--the sough o' a sickly win'; + And Richt--what needna be; +And Beauty--nae deeper nor the skin; + And Blude--that's naething but bree. + +"But there's ae gran' doctor for a' and mair-- + For diseases and lees in a breath:-- +My bairns, I lea' ye wi'oot a care + To yer best freen, Doctor Death. + +"He'll no distress ye: as quaiet's a cat + He grips ye, and a'thing's ower; +There's naething mair 'at ye wad be at, + There's never a sweet nor sour! + +"They ca' 't a sleep, but it's better bliss, + For ye wauken up no more; +They ca' 't a mansion--and sae it is, + And the coffin-lid's the door! + +"Jist ae word mair---and it's _verbum sat_-- + I hae preacht it mony's the year: +Whaur there's naething ava to be frictit at + There's naething ava to fear. + +"I dinna say 'at there isna a hell-- + To lee wad be a disgrace! +I bide there whan I'm at hame mysel, + And it's no sic a byous ill place! + +"Ye see yon blue thing they ca' the lift? + It's but hell turnt upside doun, +A whummilt bossie, whiles fou o' drift, + And whiles o' a rumlin soun! + +"Lat auld wives tell their tales i' the reek, + Men hae to du wi' fac's: +There's naebody there to watch, and keek + Intil yer wee mistaks. + +"But nor ben there's naebody there + Frae the yird to the farthest spark; +Ye'll rub the knees o' yer breeks to the bare + Afore ye'll pray ye a sark! + +"Sae fare ye weel, my bonny men, + And weel may ye thrive and the! +Gien I dinna see ye some time again + It'll be 'at ye're no to see." + +He cockit his hat ower ane o' his cheeks, + And awa wi' a halt and a spang-- +For his tail was doun ae leg o' his breeks, + And his butes war a half ower lang. + + _The Deil's forhooit his ain, his ain! + The Deil's forhooit his ain! + His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk, + For the Deil's forhooit his ain._ + + + +_THE AULD FISHER_. + +There was an auld fisher, he sat by the wa', + An' luikit oot ower the sea; +The bairnies war playin, he smil't on them a', + But the tear stude in his e'e. + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! + An' it's, oh to win awa +Whaur the bairns come hame, an' the wives they bide, + An' God is the father o' a'!_ + +Jocky an' Jeamy an' Tammy oot there + A' i' the boatie gaed doon; +An' I'm ower auld to fish ony mair, + Sae I hinna the chance to droon! + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! &c._ + +An' Jeannie she grat to ease her hert, + An' she easit hersel awa; +But I'm ower auld for the tears to stert, + An' sae the sighs maun blaw. + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! &c._ + +Lord, steer me hame whaur my Lord has steerit, + For I'm tired o' life's rockin sea; +An' dinna be lang, for I'm growin that fearit + 'At I'm ablins ower auld to dee! + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! + An' it's, oh to win awa +Whaur the bairns come hame, an' the wives they bide, + An' God is the father o' a'!_ + + + +_THE HERD AND THE MAVIS_. + +"What gars ye sing," said the herd-laddie, + "What gars ye sing sae lood?" +"To tice them oot o' the yerd, laddie, + The worms for my daily food." + + _An' aye he sang, an' better he sang, + An' the worms creepit in an' oot; + An' ane he tuik, an' twa he loot gang, + An' still he carolled stoot._ + +"It's no for the worms, sir," said the herd; + "They comena for your sang!" +"Think ye sae, sir?" answered the bird, + "Maybe ye're no i' the wrang!" + + _But aye &c._ + +"Sing ye young Sorrow to beguile, + Or to gie auld Fear the flegs?" +"Na," quo' the mavis, "I sing to wile + My wee things oot o' her eggs." + + _An' aye &c._ + +"The mistress is plenty for that same gear + Though ye sangna air nor late!" +"I wud draw the deid frae the moul sae drear. + An' open the kirkyard-gate." + + _An' aye &c._ + +"Better ye sing nor a burn i' the mune, + Nor a wave ower san' that flows, +Nor a win' wi' the glintin stars abune, + An' aneth the roses in rows; + + _An' aye &c._ + +But a better sang it wud tak nor yer ain, + Though ye hae o' notes a feck, +To mak the auld Barebanes there sae fain + As to lift the muckle sneck! + + _An' aye &c._ + +An' ye wudna draw ae bairnie back + Frae the arms o' the bonny man +Though its minnie was greitin alas an' alack, + An' her cries to the bairnie wan! + + _An' aye &c._ + +An' I'll speir ye nae mair, sir," said the herd, + "I fear what ye micht say neist!" +"I doobt ye wud won'er, sir," said the bird, + "To see the thouchts i' my breist!" + + _An' aye he sang, an' better he sang, + An' the worms creepit in an' oot; + An' ane he tuik, an' twa he loot gang, + An' still he carolled stoot._ + + + +_A LOWN NICHT_. + +Rose o' my hert, + Open yer leaves to the lampin mune; +Into the curls lat her keek an' dert, + She'll tak the colour but gie ye tune. + +Buik o' my brain, + Open yer faulds to the starry signs; +Lat the e'en o' the holy luik an' strain, + Lat them glimmer an' score atween the lines. + +Cup o' my soul, + Goud an' diamond an' ruby cup, +Ye're noucht ava but a toom dry bowl + Till the wine o' the kingdom fill ye up. + +Conscience-glass, + Mirror the en'less All in thee; +Melt the boundered and make it pass + Into the tideless, shoreless sea. + +Warl o' my life, + Swing thee roun thy sunny track; +Fire an' win' an' water an' strife, + Carry them a' to the glory back. + + + +_THE HOME OF DEATH_. + +"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" +"I bide in ilka breath," +Quo' Death; +"No i' the pyramids, +No whaur the wormie rids +'Neth coffin-lids; +I bidena whaur life has been, +An' whaur's nae mair to be dune." + +"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" +"Wi' the leevin, to dee 'at are laith," +Quo' Death; +"Wi' the man an' the wife +'At loo like life, +Bot strife; +Wi' the bairns 'at hing to their mither, +Wi' a' 'at loo ane anither." + +"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" +"Abune an' aboot an' aneth," +Quo' Death; +"But o' a' the airts +An' o' a' the pairts, +In herts-- +Whan the tane to the tither says, Na, +An' the north win' begins to blaw." + + + +_TRIOLET_. + +I'm a puir man I grant, +But I am weel neiboured; +And nane shall me daunt +Though a puir man, I grant; +For I shall not want-- +The Lord is my Shepherd! +I'm a puir man I grant, +But I am weel neiboured! + + + +_WIN' THAT 'BLAWS_. + +Win' that blaws the simmer plaid +Ower the hie hill's shoothers laid, +Green wi' gerse, an' reid wi' heather-- +Welcome wi' yer sowl-like weather! +Mony a win' there has been sent +Oot aneth the firmament-- +Ilka ane its story has; +Ilka ane began an' was; +Ilka ane fell quaiet an' mute +Whan its angel wark was oot: +First gaed are oot throu the mirk +Whan the maker gan to work; +Ower it gaed an' ower the sea, +An' the warl begud to be. +Mony are has come an' gane +Sin' the time there was but ane: +Ane was grit an' strong, an' rent +Rocks an' muntains as it went +Afore the Lord, his trumpeter, +Waukin up the prophet's ear; +Ane was like a stepping soun +I' the mulberry taps abune-- +Them the Lord's ain steps did swing, +Walkin on afore his king; +Ane lay dune like scoldit pup +At his feet, an' gatna up-- +Whan the word the Maister spak +Drave the wull-cat billows back; +Ane gaed frae his lips, an' dang +To the yird the sodger thrang; +Ane comes frae his hert to mine +Ilka day to mak it fine. +Breath o' God, eh! come an' blaw +Frae my hert ilk fog awa; +Wauk me up an' mak me strang, +Fill my hert wi' mony a sang, +Frae my lips again to stert +Fillin sails o' mony a hert, +Blawin them ower seas dividin +To the only place to bide in. + + + +_A SONG OF HOPE_. + +I dinna ken what's come ower me! + There's a how whaur ance was a hert! +I never luik oot afore me, + An' a cry winna gar me stert; +There's naething nae mair to come ower me, + Blaw the win' frae ony airt! + +For i' yon kirkyard there's a hillock, + A hert whaur ance was a how; +An' o' joy there's no left a mealock-- + Deid aiss whaur ance was a low! +For i' yon kirkyard, i' the hillock, + Lies a seed 'at winna grow. + +It's my hert 'at hauds up the wee hillie-- + That's hoo there's a how i' my breist; +It's awa doon there wi' my Willie-- + Gaed wi' him whan he was releast; +It's doon i' the green-grown hillie, + But I s' be efter it neist! + +Come awa, nicht an' mornin, + Come ooks, years, a' Time's clan: +Ye're welcome: I'm no a bit scornin! + Tak me til him as fest as ye can. +Come awa, nicht an' mornin, + Ye are wings o' a michty span! + +For I ken he's luikin an' waitin, + Luikin aye doon as I clim; +An' I'll no hae him see me sit greitin + I'stead o' gaein to him! +I'll step oot like ane sure o' a meetin, + I'll travel an' rin to him. + + + +_THE BURNIE_. + +The water ran doon frae the heich hope-heid, + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_; +It wimpled, an' waggled, an' sang a screed + O' nonsense, an' wadna blin + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_. + +Frae the hert o' the warl, wi' a swirl an' a sway, + _An' a Rin, burnie, rin_, +That water lap clear frae the dark til the day, + An' singin awa did spin, + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_. + +Ae wee bit mile frae the heich hope-heid + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_, +Mang her yows an' her lammies the herd-lassie stude, + An' she loot a tear fa' in, + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_. + +Frae the hert o' the maiden that tear-drap rase + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_; +Wear'ly clim'in up weary ways + There was but a drap to fa' in, + Sae laith did that burnie rin. + +Twa wee bit miles frae the heich hope-heid + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_, +Doon creepit a cowerin streakie o' reid, + An' it meltit awa within + The burnie 'at aye did rin. + +Frae the hert o' a youth cam the tricklin reid, + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_; +It ran an' ran till it left him deid, + An' syne it dried up i' the win': + That burnie nae mair did rin. + +Whan the wimplin burn that frae three herts gaed + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_, +Cam to the lip o' the sea sae braid, + It curled an' groued wi' pain o' sin-- + But it tuik that burnie in. + + + +_HAME_. + +The warl it's dottit wi' hames + As thick as gowans o' the green, +Aye bonnier ilk ane nor the lave + To him wha there opent his een. + +An' mony an' bonny's the hame + That lies neth auld Scotlan's crests, +Her hills an' her mountains they are the sides + O' a muckle nest o' nests. + +His lies i' the dip o' a muir + Wi' a twa three elder trees, +A lanely cot wi' a sough o' win', + An' a simmer bum o' bees; + +An' mine in a bloomin strath, + Wi' a river rowin by, +Wi' the green corn glintin i' the sun, + An' a lowin o' the kye; + +An' yours whaur the chimleys auld + Stan up i' the gloamin pale +Wi' the line o' a gran' sierra drawn + On the lift as sharp's wi' a nail. + +But whether by ingle-neuk + On a creepie ye sookit yer thumb, +Dreamin, an' watchin the blue peat-reek + Wamle oot up the muckle lum, + +Or yer wee feet sank i' the fur + Afore a bleezin hearth, +Wi' the curtains drawn, shuttin oot the toon-- + Aberdeen, Auld Reekie, or Perth, + +It's a naething, nor here nor there; + Leal Scots are a'ane thegither! +Ilk ane has a hame, an' it's a' the same + Whether in clover or heather! + +An' the hert aye turns to the hame-- + That's whaur oor ain folk wons; +An' gien hame binna hame, the hert bauds ayont + Abune the stars an' the suns. + +For o' a' the hames there's a hame + Herty an' warm an' wide, +Whaur a' that maks hame ower the big roun earth + Gangs til its hame to bide. + + + +_THE SANG O' THE AULD FOWK._ + +Doon cam the sunbeams, and up gaed the stour, +As we spangt ower the road at ten mile the hoor, +The horse wasna timmer, the cart wasna strae, +And little cared we for the burn or the brae. + +We war young, and the hert in's was strang i' the loup, +And deeper in yet was the courage and houp; +The sun was gey aft in a clood, but the heat +Cam throu, and dried saftly the doon fa'en weet. + +Noo, the horsie's some tired, but the road's nae sae lang; +The sun comes na oot, but he's no in a fang: +The nicht's comin on, but hame's no far awa; +We hae come a far road, but hae payit for a'. + +For ane has been wi' us--and sometimes 'maist seen, +Wha's cared for us better nor a' oor four e'en; +He's cared for the horsie, the man, and the wife, +And we're gaein hame to him for the rest o' oor life. + +Doon comes the water, and up gangs nae stour; +We creep ower the road at twa mile the hoor; +But oor herts they are canty, for ane's to the fore +Wha was and wha is and will be evermore. + + + +_THE AULD MAN'S PRAYER_ + +Lord, I'm an auld man, + An' I'm deein! +An' do what I can + I canna help bein +Some feart at the thoucht! +I'm no what I oucht! +An' thou art sae gran', +Me but an auld man! + +I haena gotten muckle + Guid o' the warld; +Though siller a puckle + Thegither I hae harlt, +Noo I maun be rid o' 't, +The ill an' the guid o' 't! +An' I wud--I s' no back frae 't-- +Rather put til 't nor tak frae 't! + +It's a pity a body + Coudna haud on here, +Puttin cloddy to cloddy + Till he had a bit lan' here!-- +But eh I'm forgettin +Whaur the tide's settin! +It'll pusion my prayer +Till it's no worth a hair! + +It's awfu, it's awfu + To think 'at I'm gaein +Whaur a' 's ower wi' the lawfu, + Whaur's an en' til a' haein! +It's gruesome to en' +The thing 'at ye ken, +An' gang to begin til +What ye canna see intil! + +Thou may weel turn awa, + Lord, an' say it's a shame +'At noo I suld ca' + On thy licht-giein name +Wha my lang life-time +Wud no see a stime! +An' the fac' there's no fleein-- +But hae pity--I'm deein! + +I'm thine ain efter a'-- + The waur shame I'm nae better! +Dinna sen' me awa, + Dinna curse a puir cratur! +I never jist cheatit-- +I own I defeatit, +Gart his poverty tell +On him 'at maun sell! + +Oh that my probation + Had lain i' some region +Whaur was less consideration + For gear mixt wi' religion! +It's the mixin the twa +'At jist ruins a'! +That kirk's the deil's place +Whaur gear glorifees grace! + +I hae learnt nought but ae thing + 'At life's but a span! +I hae warslet for naething! + I hae noucht i' my han'! +At the fut o' the stairs +I'm sayin my prayers:-- +Lord, lat the auld loon +Confess an' lie doon. + +I hae been an ill man-- + Micht hae made a guid dog! +I could rin though no stan-- + Micht hae won throu a bog! +But 't was ower easy gaein, +An' I set me to playin! +Dinna sen' me awa +Whaur's no licht ava! + +Forgie me an' hap me! + I hae been a sharp thorn. +But, oh, dinna drap me! + I'll be coothie the morn! +To my brither John +Oh, lat me atone-- +An' to mair I cud name +Gien I'd time to tak blame! + +I hae wullt a' my gear + To my cousin Lippit: +She needs 't no a hair, + An' wud haud it grippit! +But I'm thinkin 't 'll be better +To gie 't a bit scatter +Whaur it winna canker +But mak a bit anchor! + +Noo I s'try to sit loose + To the warld an' its thrang! +Lord, come intil my hoose, + For Sathan sall gang! +Awa here I sen' him-- +Oh, haud the hoose agane him, +Or thou kens what he'll daur-- +He'll be back wi' seven waur! + +Lord, I knock at thy yett! + I hear the dog yowlin! +Lang latna me wait-- + My conscience is growlin! +Whaur but to thee +Wha was broken for me, +But to thee, Lord, sae gran', +Can flee an auld man! + + + +_GRANNY CANTY._ + +"What maks ye sae canty, granny dear? +Has some kin' body been for ye to speir? +Ye luik as smilin an' fain an' willin +As gien ye had fun a bonny shillin!" + +"Ye think I luik canty, my bonny man, +Sittin watchin the last o' the sun sae gran'? +Weel, an' I'm thinkin ye're no that wrang, +For 'deed i' my hert there's a wordless sang! + +"Ken ye the meanin o' _canty_, my dow? +It's bein i' the humour o' singin, I trow! +An' though nae sang ever crosses my lips +I'm aye like to sing whan anither sun dips. + +"For the time, wee laddie, the time grows lang +Sin' I saw the man wha's sicht was my sang-- +Yer gran'father, that's--an' the sun's last glim +Says aye to me, 'Lass, ye're a mile nearer him! + +"For he's hame afore me, an' lang's the road! +He fain at my side wud hae timed his plod, +But, eh, he was sent for, an' hurried awa! +Noo, I'm thinkin he's harkin to hear my fit-fa'." + +"But, grannie, yer face is sae lirkit an' thin, +Wi' a doun-luikin nose an' an up-luikin chin, +An' a mou clumpit up oot o' sicht atween, +Like the witherin half o' an auld weary mune!" + +"Hoot, laddie, ye needna glower yersel blin'! +The body 'at loos, sees far throu the skin; +An', believe me or no, the hoor's comin amain +Whan ugly auld fowk 'ill be bonny again. + +"For there is _ane_--an' it's no my dear man, +Though I loo him as nane but a wife's hert can-- +The joy o' beholdin wha's gran' lovely face +Til mak me like him in a' 'at's ca'd grace. + +"But what I am like I carena a strae +Sae lang as I'm _his_, an' what _he_ wud hae! +Be ye a guid man, John, an' ae day ye'll ken +What maks granny canty yont four score an' ten." + + + +_TIME_. + +A lang-backit, spilgie, fuistit auld carl +Gangs a' nicht rakin athort the warl +Wi' a pock on his back, luikin hungry an' lean, +His crook-fingert han' aye followin his e'en: +He gathers up a'thing that canna but fa'-- +Intil his bag wi' 't, an' on, an' awa! +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw!-- +Intil his bag wi' 't, an' on, an' awa! + +But whan he comes to the wa' o' the warl, +Spangs up it, like lang-leggit spidder, the carl; +Up gangs his pock wi' him, humpit ahin, +For naething fa's oot 'at ance he pat in; +Syne he warstles doon ootside the flamin wa', +His bag 'maist the deith o' him, pangt like a ba'; +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw! +His bag 'maist throttlin him, pangt like a ba'! + +Doon he draps weary upon a laigh rock, +Flingin aside him his muckle-mou'd pock: +An' there he sits, his heid in his han', +Like a broken-hertit, despairin man; +Him air his pock no bonny, na, na! +Him an' his pock an ugsome twa! +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw! +Him an' his pock an ugsome twa! + +But sune 's the first ray o' the sunshine bare +Lichts on the carl, what see ye there? +An angel set on eternity's brink, +Wi' e'en to gar the sun himsel blink; +By his side a glintin, glimmerin urn, +Furth frae wha's mou rins a liltin burn:-- +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw! +The dirt o' the warl rins in glory awa! + + + +_WHAT THE AULD FOWK ARE THINKIN_. + +The bairns i' their beds, worn oot wi' nae wark, + Are sleepin, nor ever an eelid winkin; +The auld fowk lie still wi' their een starin stark, + An' the mirk pang-fou o' the things they are thinkin. + +Whan oot o' ilk corner the bairnies they keek, + Lauchin an' daffin, airms loosin an' linkin, +The auld fowk they watch frae the warm ingle-cheek, + But the bairns little think what the auld fowk are thinkin. + +Whan the auld fowk sit quaiet at the reet o' a stook, + I' the sunlicht their washt een blinterin an' blinkin, +Fowk scythin, or bin'in, or shearin wi' heuk + Carena a strae what the auld fowk are thinkin. + +At the kirk, whan the minister's dreich an' dry, + His fardens as gien they war gowd guineas chinkin, +An' the young fowk are noddin, or fidgetin sly, + Naebody kens what the auld fowk are thinkin. + +Whan the young fowk are greitin aboot the bed + Whaur like water throu san' the auld life is sinkin, +An' some wud say the last word was said, + The auld fowk smile, an' ken what they're thinkin. + + + +_GREITNA, FATHER_. + +Greitna, father, that I'm gauin, + For fu' well ye ken the gaet; +I' the winter, corn ye're sawin, + I' the hairst again ye hae't. + +I'm gauin hame to see my mither; + She'll be weel acquant or this! +Sair we'll muse at ane anither + 'Tween the auld word an' new kiss! + +Love I'm doobtin may be scanty + Roun ye efter I'm awa: +Yon kirkyard has happin plenty + Close aside me, green an' braw! + +An' abune there's room for mony; + 'Twasna made for ane or twa, +But was aye for a' an' ony + Countin love the best ava. + +There nane less ye'll be my father; + Auld names we'll nor tyne nor spare! +A' my sonship I maun gather + For the Son is king up there. + +Greitna, father, that I'm gauin, + For ye ken fu' well the gaet! +Here, in winter, cast yer sawin, + There, in hairst, again ye hae't! + + + +_I KEN SOMETHING._ + +What gars ye sing sae, birdie, + As gien ye war lord o' the lift? +On breid ye're an unco sma' lairdie, + But in hicht ye've a kingly gift! + +A' ye hae to coont yersel rich in + 'S a wee mawn o' glory-motes! +The whilk to the throne ye're aye hitchin + Wi a lang tow o' sapphire notes! + +Ay, yer sang's the sang o' an angel + For a sinfu' thrapple no meet, +Like the pipes til a heavenly braingel + Whaur they dance their herts intil their feet! + +But though ye canna behaud, birdie, + Ye needna gar a'thing wheesht! +I'm noucht but a hirplin herdie, + But I hae a sang i' my breist! + +Len' me yer throat to sing throu, + Len' me yer wings to gang hie, +And I'll sing ye a sang a laverock to cow, + And for bliss to gar him dee! + + + +_MIRLS_. + +The stars are steady abune; + I' the water they flichter and flee; +But, steady aye, luikin doon + They ken theirsels i' the sea. + +A' licht, and clear, and free, + God, thou shinest abune; +Yet luik, and see thysel in me, + Aye on me luikin doon. + + * * * * * + +Throu the heather an' how gaed the creepin thing, +But abune was the waff o' an angel's wing. + + * * * * * + +Hither an' thither, here an' awa, +Into the dub ye maunna fa'; +Oot o' the dub wad ye come wi' speed, +Ye maun lift yer han's abune yer heid. + + * * * * * + +Whaur's nor sun nor mune, +Laigh things come abune. + + * * * * * + +My thouchts are like worms in a starless gloamin + My hert's like a sponge that's fillit wi' gall; +My soul's like a bodiless ghaist sent a roamin + I' the haar an' the mirk till the trumpet call. + +Lord, turn ilk worm til a butterflee, + Wring oot my hert, an' fill 't frae thy ain; +My soul syne in patience its weird will dree, + An' luik for the mornin throu the rain. + + +THE END. + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetical Works of George MacDonald, +Vol. 2, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POETICAL WORKS, G. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Poetical Works of George MacDonald, Vol. 2 + +Author: George MacDonald + +Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9984] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on November 5, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF GEORGE MACDONALD, VOL. 2 *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jonathan Ingram, Charles M. Bidwell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + +THE POETICAL WORKS OF + +GEORGE MACDONALD + +IN TWO VOLUMES + +VOL. 2 + + + CONTENTS. + +PARABLES-- + The Man of Songs + The Hills + The Journey + The Tree's Prayer + Were I a Skilful Painter + Far and Near + My Room + Death and Birth + Love's Ordeal + The Lost Soul + The Three Horses + The Golden Key + Somnium Mystici + The Sangreal + The Failing Track + Tell Me + Brother Artist + After an Old Legend + A Meditation of St Eligius + The Early Bird + Sir Lark and King Sun + The Owl and the Bell + A Mammon-Marriage + A Song in the Night + Love's History + The Lark and the Wind + A Dead House + Bell upon Organ + Master and Boy + The Clock of the Universe + The Thorn in the Flesh + Lycabas + +BALLADS-- + The Unseen Model + The Homeless Ghost + Abu Midjan + The Thankless Lady + Legend of the Corrievrechan + The Dead Hand + + +MINOR DITTIES-- + In the Night + The Giver + False Prophets + Life-Weary + Approaches + Travellers' Song + Love is Strength + Coming + A Song of the Waiting Dead + Obedience + A Song in the Night + De Profundis + Blind Sorrow + +MOTES IN THE SUN-- + Angels + The Father's Worshippers + A Birthday-Wish + To Any One + Waiting + Lost but Safe + Much and More + Hope and Patience + A Better Thing + A Prisoner + To My Lord and Master + To One Unsatisfied + To My God + Triolet + The Word of God + Eine Kleine Predigt + To the Life Eternal + Hope Deferred + Forgiveness + Dejection + Appeal + +POEMS FOR CHILDREN-- + Lessons for a Child + What makes Summer? + Mother Nature + The Mistletoe + Professor Noctutus + Bird-Songs + Riddles + Baby + Up and Down + Up in the Tree + A Baby-Sermon + Little Bo-Peep + Little Boy Blue + Willie's Question + King Cole + Said and Did + Dr. Doddridge's Dog + The Girl that Lost Things + A Make-Believe + The Christmas Child + A Christmas Prayer + No End of No-Story + +A THREEFOLD CORD-- + Dedication + The Haunted House + In the Winter + Christmas Day, 1878 + The New Year + Two Rondels + Rondel + Song + Smoke + To a Certain Critic + Song + A Cry + From Home + To My Mother Earth + Thy Heart + 0 Lord, how Happy + No Sign + November, 1851 + Of One who Died in Spring + An Autumn Song + Triolet + I See Thee Not + A Broken Prayer + Come Down + A Mood + The Carpenter + The Old Garden + A Noonday Melody + Who Lights the Fire? + Who would have Thought? + On a December Day + Christmas Day, 1850 + To a February Primrose + In February + The True + The Dwellers Therein + Autumn's Gold + Punishment + Shew us the Father + The Pinafore + The Prism + Sleep + Sharing + In Bonds + Hunger + New Year's Eve: A Waking Dream + From North Wales: To the Mother + Come to Me + A Fear + The Lost House + The Talk of the Echoes + The Goal + The Healer + Oh that a Wind + A Vision of St. Eligius + Of the Son of Man + A Song-Sermon + Words in the Night + Consider the Ravens + The Wind of the World + Sabbath Bells + Fighting + After the Fashion of an Old Emblem + A Prayer in Sickness + Quiet Dead + Let your Light so Shine + Triolet + The Souls' Rising + Awake + To an Autograph-Hunter + With a Copy of "In Memoriam" + They are Blind + When the Storm was Proudest + The Diver + To the Clouds + Second Sight + Not Understood + Hom II. v. 403 + The Dawn + Galileo + Subsidy + The Prophet + The Watcher + The Beloved Disciple + The Lily of the Valley + Evil Influence + Spoken of several Philosophers + Nature a Moral Power + To June + Summer + On a Midge + Steadfast + Provision + First Sight of the Sea + On the Source of the Arve + Confidence + Fate + Unrest + One with Nature + My Two Geniuses + Sudden Calm + Thou Also + The Aurora Borealis + The Human + Written on a Stormy Night + Reverence waking Hope + Born of Water + To a Thunder-Cloud + Sun and Moon + Doubt heralding Vision + Life or Death? + Lost and Found + The Moon + Truth, not Form + God in Growth + In a Churchyard + Power + Death + That Holy Thing + From Novalis + What Man is there of You? + O Wind of God + Shall the Dead praise Thee? + A Year-Song + Song + For where your Treasure is, there will your Heart be also + The Asthmatic Man to the Satan that binds him + Song-Sermon + Shadows + A Winter Prayer + Song of a Poor Pilgrim + An Evening Prayer + Song-Sermon + A Dream-Song + Christmas, 1880 + Rondel + The Sparrow + December 23, 1879 + Song-Prayer + December 27, 1879 + Sunday, December 28, 1879 + Song-Sermon + The Donkey in the Cart to the Horse in the Carriage + Room to Roam + Cottage Songs-- + 1. By the Cradle + 2. Sweeping the Floor + 3. Washing the Clothes + 4. Drawing Water + 5. Cleaning the Windows + The Wind and the Moon + The Foolish Harebell + Song + An Improvisation + Equity + Contrition + The Consoler + To ------. + To a Sister + The Shortest and Sweetest of Songs + +SCOTS SONGS AND BALLADS-- + Annie she's Dowie + O Lassie ayont the Hill! + The bonny, bonny Dell + Nannie Braw + Ower the Hedge + Gaein and Comin + A Sang o' Zion + Time and Tide + The Waesome Carl + The Mermaid + The Yerl o' Waterydeck + The Twa Gordons + The Last Wooin + Halloween + The Laverock + Godly Ballants-- + 1. This Side an' That + 2. The Twa Baubees + 3. Wha's my Neibour? + 4. Him wi' the Bag + 5. The Coorse Cratur + The Deil's Forhooit his Ain + The Auld Fisher + The Herd and the Mavis + A Lown Nicht + The Home of Death + Triolet + Win' that Blaws + A Song of Hope + The Burnie + Hame + The Sang o' the Auld Fowk + The Auld Man's Prayer + Granny Canty + Time + What the Auld Fowk are Thinkin + Greitna, Father + I Ken Something + Mirls + + + + + PARABLES + + + +_THE MAN OF SONGS._ + +"Thou wanderest in the land of dreams, + O man of many songs! +To thee what is, but looks and seems; + No realm to thee belongs!" + +"Seest thou those mountains, faint and far, + O spirit caged and tame?" +"Blue clouds like distant hills they are, + And like is not the same." + +"Nay, nay; I know each mountain well, + Each cliff, and peak, and dome! +In that cloudland, in one high dell, + Nesteth my little home." + + + +_THE HILLS._ + +Behind my father's cottage lies + A gentle grassy height +Up which I often ran--to gaze + Back with a wondering sight, +For then the chimneys I thought high + Were down below me quite! + +All round, where'er I turned mine eyes, + Huge hills closed up the view; +The town 'mid their converging roots + Was clasped by rivers two; +From, one range to another sprang + The sky's great vault of blue. + +It was a joy to climb their sides, + And in the heather lie! +A joy to look at vantage down + On the castle grim and high! +Blue streams below, white clouds above, + In silent earth and sky! + +And now, where'er my feet may roam, + At sight of stranger hill +A new sense of the old delight + Springs in my bosom still, +And longings for the high unknown + Their ancient channels fill. + +For I am always climbing hills, + From the known to the unknown-- +Surely, at last, on some high peak, + To find my Father's throne, +Though hitherto I have only found + His footsteps in the stone! + +And in my wanderings I did meet + Another searching too: +The dawning hope, the shared quest + Our thoughts together drew; +Fearless she laid her band in mine + Because her heart was true. + +She was not born among the hills, + Yet on each mountain face +A something known her inward eye + By inborn light can trace; +For up the hills must homeward be, + Though no one knows the place. + +Clasp my hand close, my child, in thine-- + A long way we have come! +Clasp my hand closer yet, my child, + Farther we yet must roam-- +Climbing and climbing till we reach + Our heavenly father's home. + + + +_THE JOURNEY._ + +I. + +Hark, the rain is on my roof! +Every murmur, through the dark, +Stings me with a dull reproof +Like a half-extinguished spark. +Me! ah me! how came I here, +Wide awake and wide alone! +Caught within a net of fear, +All my dreams undreamed and gone! + +I will rise; I will go forth. +Better dare the hideous night, +Better face the freezing north +Than be still, where is no light! +Black wind rushing round me now, +Sown with arrowy points of rain! +Gone are there and then and now-- +I am here, and so is pain! + +Dead in dreams the gloomy street! +I will out on open roads. +Eager grow my aimless feet-- +Onward, onward something goads! +I will take the mountain path, +Beard the storm within its den; +Know the worst of this dim wrath +Harassing the souls of men. + +Chasm 'neath chasm! rock piled on rock! +Roots, and crumbling earth, and stones! +Hark, the torrent's thundering shock! +Hark, the swaying pine tree's groans! +Ah! I faint, I fall, I die, +Sink to nothingness away!-- +Lo, a streak upon the sky! +Lo, the opening eye of day! + +II. + +Mountain summits lift their snows +O'er a valley green and low; +And a winding pathway goes +Guided by the river's flow; +And a music rises ever, +As of peace and low content, +From the pebble-paven river +Like an odour upward sent. + +And the sound of ancient harms +Moans behind, the hills among, +Like the humming of the swarms +That unseen the forest throng. +Now I meet the shining rain +From a cloud with sunny weft; +Now against the wind I strain, +Sudden burst from mountain cleft. + +Now a sky that hath a moon +Staining all the cloudy white +With a faded rainbow--soon +Lost in deeps of heavenly night! +Now a morning clear and soft, +Amber on the purple hills; +Warm blue day of summer, oft +Cooled by wandering windy rills! + +Joy to travel thus along +With the universe around! +Every creature of the throng, +Every sight and scent and sound +Homeward speeding, beauty-laden, +Beelike, to its hive, my soul! +Mine the eye the stars are made in! +Mine the heart of Nature's whole! + +III. + +Hills retreating on each hand +Slowly sink into the plain; +Solemn through the outspread land +Rolls the river to the main. +In the glooming of the night +Something through the dusky air +Doubtful glimmers, faintly white, +But I know not what or where. + +Is it but a chalky ridge +Bared of sod, like tree of bark? +Or a river-spanning bridge +Miles away into the dark? +Or the foremost leaping waves +Of the everlasting sea, +Where the Undivided laves +Time with its eternity? + +Is it but an eye-made sight, +In my brain a fancied gleam? +Or a faint aurora-light +From the sun's tired smoking team? +In the darkness it is gone, +Yet with every step draws nigh; +Known shall be the thing unknown +When the morning climbs the sky! + +Onward, onward through the night +Matters it I cannot see? +I am moving in a might +Dwelling in the dark and me! +End or way I cannot lose-- +Grudge to rest, or fear to roam; +All is well with wanderer whose +Heart is travelling hourly home. + +IV. + +Joy! O joy! the dawning sea +Answers to the dawning sky, +Foretaste of the coming glee +When the sun will lord it high! +See the swelling radiance growing +To a dazzling glory-might! +See the shadows gently going +'Twixt the wave-tops wild with light! + +Hear the smiting billows clang! +See the falling billows lean +Half a watery vault, and hang +Gleaming with translucent green, +Then in thousand fleeces fall, +Thundering light upon the strand!-- +This the whiteness which did call +Through the dusk, across the land! + +See, a boat! Out, out we dance! +Fierce blasts swoop upon my sail! +What a terrible expanse-- +Tumbling hill and heaving dale! +Stayless, helpless, lost I float, +Captive to the lawless free! +But a prison is my boat! +Oh, for petrel-wings to flee! + +Look below: each watery whirl +Cast in beauty's living mould! +Look above: each feathery curl +Dropping crimson, dropping gold!-- +Oh, I tremble in the flush +Of the everlasting youth! +Love and awe together rush: +I am free in God, the Truth! + + + +_THE TREE'S PRAYER_. + +Alas, 'tis cold and dark! +The wind all night hath sung a wintry tune! +Hail from black clouds that swallowed up the moon +Beat, beat against my bark. + +Oh! why delays the spring? +Not yet the sap moves in my frozen veins; +Through all my stiffened roots creep numbing pains, +That I can hardly cling. + +The sun shone yester-morn; +I felt the glow down every fibre float, +And thought I heard a thrush's piping note +Of dim dream-gladness born. + +Then, on the salt gale driven, +The streaming cloud hissed through my outstretched arms, +Tossed me about in slanting snowy swarms, +And blotted out the heaven. + +All night I brood and choose +Among past joys. Oh, for the breath of June! +The feathery light-flakes quavering from the moon +The slow baptizing dews! + +Oh, the joy-frantic birds!-- +They are the tongues of us, mute, longing trees! +Aha, the billowy odours! and the bees +That browse like scattered herds! + +The comfort-whispering showers +That thrill with gratefulness my youngest shoot! +The children playing round my deep-sunk root, +Green-caved from burning hours! + +See, see the heartless dawn, +With naked, chilly arms latticed across! +Another weary day of moaning loss +On the thin-shadowed lawn! + +But icy winter's past; +Yea, climbing suns persuade the relenting wind: +I will endure with steadfast, patient mind; +My leaves _will_ come at last! + + + +_WERE I A SKILFUL PAINTER._ + +Were I a skilful painter, +My pencil, not my pen, +Should try to teach thee hope and fear, +And who would blame me then?-- +Fear of the tide of darkness +That floweth fast behind, +And hope to make thee journey on +In the journey of the mind. + +Were I a skilful painter, +What should I paint for thee?-- +A tiny spring-bud peeping out +From a withered wintry tree; +The warm blue sky of summer +O'er jagged ice and snow, +And water hurrying gladsome out +From a cavern down below; + +The dim light of a beacon +Upon a stormy sea, +Where a lonely ship to windward beats +For life and liberty; +A watery sun-ray gleaming +Athwart a sullen cloud +And falling on some grassy flower +The rain had earthward bowed; + +Morn peeping o'er a mountain, +In ambush for the dark, +And a traveller in the vale below +Rejoicing like a lark; +A taper nearly vanished +Amid the dawning gray, +And a maiden lifting up her head, +And lo, the coming day! + +I am no skilful painter; +Let who will blame me then +That I would teach thee hope and fear +With my plain-talking pen!-- +Fear of the tide of darkness +That floweth fast behind, +And hope to make thee journey on +In the journey of the mind. + + + +_FAR AND NEAR_. +[The fact which suggested this poem is related by Clarke in his Travels.] + +I. + +Blue sky above, blue sea below, + Far off, the old Nile's mouth, +'Twas a blue world, wherein did blow + A soft wind from the south. + +In great and solemn heaves the mass + Of pulsing ocean beat, +Unwrinkled as the sea of glass + Beneath the holy feet. + +With forward leaning of desire + The ship sped calmly on, +A pilgrim strong that would not tire + Or hasten to be gone. + +II. + +List!--on the wave!--what can they be, + Those sounds that hither glide? +No lovers whisper tremulously + Under the ship's round side! + +No sail across the dark blue sphere + Holds white obedient way; +No far-fled, sharp-winged boat is near, + No following fish at play! + +'Tis not the rippling of the wave, + Nor sighing of the cords; +No winds or waters ever gave + A murmur so like words; + +Nor wings of birds that northward strain, + Nor talk of hidden crew: +The traveller questioned, but in vain-- + He found no answer true. + +III. + +A hundred level miles away, + On Egypt's troubled shore, +Two nations fought, that sunny day, + With bellowing cannons' roar. + +The fluttering whisper, low and near, + Was that far battle's blare; +A lipping, rippling motion here, + The blasting thunder there. + +IV. + +Can this dull sighing in my breast + So faint and undefined, +Be the worn edge of far unrest + Borne on the spirit's wind? + +The uproar of high battle fought + Betwixt the bond and free, +The thunderous roll of armed thought + Dwarfed to an ache in me? + + + +_MY ROOM_ + +To G. E. M. + + 'Tis a little room, my friend-- +Baby walks from end to end; +All the things look sadly real +This hot noontide unideal; +Vaporous heat from cope to basement +All you see outside the casement, +Save one house all mud-becrusted, +And a street all drought-bedusted! +There behold its happiest vision, +Trickling water-cart's derision! +Shut we out the staring space, +Draw the curtains in its face! + + Close the eyelids of the room, +Fill it with a scarlet gloom: +Lo, the walls with warm flush dyed! +Lo, the ceiling glorified, +As when, lost in tenderest pinks, +White rose on the red rose thinks! +But beneath, a hue right rosy, +Red as a geranium-posy, +Stains the air with power estranging, +Known with unknown clouding, changing. +See in ruddy atmosphere +Commonplaceness disappear! +Look around on either hand-- +Are we not in fairyland? + + On that couch, inwrapt in mist +Of vaporized amethyst, +Lie, as in a rose's heart: +Secret things I would impart; +Any time you would believe them-- +Easier, though, you will receive them +Bathed in glowing mystery +Of the red light shadowy; +For this ruby-hearted hue, +Sanguine core of all the true, +Which for love the heart would plunder +Is the very hue of wonder; +This dissolving dreamy red +Is the self-same radiance shed +From the heart of poet young, +Glowing poppy sunlight-stung: +If in light you make a schism +'Tis the deepest in the prism. + + This poor-seeming room, in fact +Is of marvels all compact, +So disguised by common daylight +By its disenchanting gray light, +Only eyes that see by shining, +Inside pierce to its live lining. +Loftiest observatory +Ne'er unveiled such hidden glory; +Never sage's furnace-kitchen +Magic wonders was so rich in; +Never book of wizard old +Clasped such in its iron hold. + + See that case against the wall, +Darkly-dull-purpureal!-- +A piano to the prosy, +But to us in twilight rosy-- +What?--A cave where Nereids lie, +Naiads, Dryads, Oreads sigh, +Dreaming of the time when they +Danced in forest and in bay. +In that chest before your eyes +Nature self-enchanted lies;-- +Lofty days of summer splendour; +Low dim eves of opal tender; +Airy hunts of cloud and wind; +Brooding storm--below, behind; +Awful hills and midnight woods; +Sunny rains in solitudes; +Babbling streams in forests hoar; +Seven-hued icebergs; oceans frore.-- +Yes; did I not say _enchanted_, +That is, hid away till wanted? +Do you hear a low-voiced singing? +'Tis the sorceress's, flinging +Spells around her baby's riot, +Binding her in moveless quiet:-- +She at will can disenchant them, +And to prayer believing grant them. + + You believe me: soon will night +Free her hands for fair delight; +Then invoke her--she will come. +Fold your arms, be blind and dumb. +She will bring a book of spells +Writ like crabbed oracles; +Like Sabrina's will her hands +Thaw the power of charmed bands. +First will ransomed music rush +Round thee in a glorious gush; +Next, upon its waves will sally, +Like a stream-god down a valley, +Nature's self, the formless former, +Nature's self, the peaceful stormer; +She will enter, captive take thee, +And both one and many make thee, +One by softest power to still thee, +Many by the thoughts that fill thee.-- +Let me guess three guesses where +She her prisoner will bear! + + On a mountain-top you stand +Gazing o'er a sunny land; +Shining streams, like silver veins, +Rise in dells and meet in plains; +Up yon brook a hollow lies +Dumb as love that fears surprise; +Moorland tracts of broken ground +O'er it rise and close it round: +He who climbs from bosky dale +Hears the foggy breezes wail. +Yes, thou know'st the nest of love, +Know'st the waste around, above! +In thy soul or in thy past, +Straight it melts into the vast, +Quickly vanishes away +In a gloom of darkening gray. + + Sinks the sadness into rest, +Ripple like on water's breast: +Mother's bosom rests the daughter-- +Grief the ripple, love the water; +And thy brain like wind-harp lies +Breathed upon from distant skies, +Till, soft-gathering, visions new +Grow like vapours in the blue: +White forms, flushing hyacinthine, +Move in motions labyrinthine; +With an airy wishful gait +On the counter-motion wait; +Sweet restraint and action free +Show the law of liberty; +Master of the revel still +The obedient, perfect will; +Hating smallest thing awry, +Breathing, breeding harmony; +While the god-like graceful feet, +For such mazy marvelling meet, +Press from air a shining sound, +Rippling after, lingering round: +Hair afloat and arms aloft +Fill the chord of movement soft. + + Gone the measure polyhedral! +Towers aloft a fair cathedral! +Every arch--like praying arms +Upward flung in love's alarms, +Knit by clasped hands o'erhead-- +Heaves to heaven a weight of dread; +In thee, like an angel-crowd, +Grows the music, praying loud, +Swells thy spirit with devotion +As a strong wind swells the ocean, +Sweeps the visioned pile away, +Leaves thy heart alone to pray. + + As the prayer grows dim and dies +Like a sunset from the skies, +Glides another change of mood +O'er thy inner solitude: +Girt with Music's magic zone, +Lo, thyself magician grown! +Open-eyed thou walk'st through earth +Brooding on the aeonian birth +Of a thousand wonder-things +In divine dusk of their springs: +Half thou seest whence they flow, +Half thou seest whither go-- +Nature's consciousness, whereby +On herself she turns her eye, +Hoping for all men and thee +Perfected, pure harmony. + + But when, sinking slow, the sun +Leaves the glowing curtain dun, +I, of prophet-insight reft, +Shall be dull and dreamless left; +I must hasten proof on proof, +Weaving in the warp my woof! + + What are those upon the wall, +Ranged in rows symmetrical? +Through the wall of things external +Posterns they to the supernal; +Through Earth's battlemented height +Loopholes to the Infinite; +Through locked gates of place and time, +Wickets to the eternal prime +Lying round the noisy day +Full of silences alway. + + That, my friend? Now, it is curious +You should hit upon the spurious! +'Tis a door to nowhere, that; +Never soul went in thereat; +Lies behind, a limy wall +Hung with cobwebs, that is all. + + Do not open that one yet, +Wait until the sun is set. +If you careless lift its latch +Glimpse of nothing will you catch; +Mere negation, blank of hue, +Out of it will stare at you; +Wait, I say, the coming night, +Fittest time for second sight, +Then the wide eyes of the mind +See far down the Spirit's wind. +You may have to strain and pull, +Force and lift with cunning tool, +Ere the rugged, ill-joined door +Yield the sight it stands before: +When at last, with grating sweep, +Wide it swings--behold, the deep! + + Thou art standing on the verge +Where material things emerge; +Hoary silence, lightning fleet, +Shooteth hellward at thy feet! +Fear not thou whose life is truth, +Gazing will renew thy youth; +But where sin of soul or flesh +Held a man in spider-mesh, +It would drag him through that door, +Give him up to loreless lore, +Ages to be blown and hurled +Up and down a deedless world. + + Ah, your eyes ask how I brook +Doors that are not, doors to look! +That is whither I was tending, +And it brings me to good ending. + + Baby is the cause of this; +Odd it seems, but so it is;-- +Baby, with her pretty prate +Molten, half articulate, +Full of hints, suggestions, catches, +Broken verse, and music snatches! +She, like seraph gone astray, +Must be shown the homeward way; +Plant of heaven, she, rooted lowly, +Must put forth a blossom holy, +Must, through culture high and steady, +Slow unfold a gracious lady; +She must therefore live in wonder, +See nought common up or under; +She the moon and stars and sea, +Worm and butterfly and bee, +Yea, the sparkle in a stone, +Must with marvel look upon; +She must love, in heaven's own blueness, +Both the colour and the newness; +Must each day from darkness break, +Often often come awake, +Never with her childhood part, +Change the brain, but keep the heart. + + So, from lips and hands and looks, +She must learn to honour books, +Turn the leaves with careful fingers, +Never lean where long she lingers; +But when she is old enough +She must learn the lesson rough +That to seem is not to be, +As to know is not to see; +That to man or book, _appearing_ +Gives no title to revering; +That a pump is not a well, +Nor a priest an oracle: +This to leave safe in her mind, +I will take her and go find +Certain no-books, dreary apes, +Tell her they are mere mock-shapes +No more to be honoured by her +But be laid upon the fire; +Book-appearance must not hinder +Their consuming to a cinder. + + Would you see the small immortal +One short pace within Time's portal? +I will fetch her.--Is she white? +Solemn? true? a light in light? +See! is not her lily-skin +White as whitest ermelin +Washed in palest thinnest rose? +Very thought of God she goes, +Ne'er to wander, in her dance, +Out of his love-radiance! + + But, my friend, I've rattled plenty +To suffice for mornings twenty! +I should never stop of course, +Therefore stop I will perforce.-- +If I led them up, choragic, +To reveal their nature magic, +Twenty things, past contradiction, +Yet would prove I spoke no fiction +Of the room's belongings cryptic +Read by light apocalyptic: +There is that strange thing, glass-masked, +With continual questions tasked, +Ticking with untiring rock: +It is called an eight-day clock, +But to me the thing appears +Busy winding up the years, +Drawing on with coiling chain +The epiphany again. + + + +_DEATH AND BIRTH_. + +'Tis the midnight hour; I heard +The Abbey-bell give out the word. +Seldom is the lamp-ray shed +On some dwarfed foot-farer's head +In the deep and narrow street +Lying ditch-like at my feet +Where I stand at lattice high +Downward gazing listlessly +From my house upon the rock, +Peak of earth's foundation-block. + + There her windows, every story, +Shine with far-off nebulous glory! +Round her in that luminous cloud +Stars obedient press and crowd, +She the centre of all gazing, +She the sun her planets dazing! +In her eyes' victorious lightning +Some are paling, some are brightening: +Those on which they gracious turn, +Stars combust, all tenfold burn; +Those from which they look away +Listless roam in twilight gray! +When on her my looks I bent +Wonder shook me like a tent, +And my eyes grew dim with sheen, +Wasting light upon its queen! +But though she my eyes might chain, +Rule my ebbing flowing brain, +Truth alone, without, within, +Can the soul's high homage win! + + He, I do not doubt, is there +Who unveiled my idol fair! +And I thank him, grateful much, +Though his end was none of such. +He from shapely lips of wit +Let the fire-flakes lightly flit, +Scorching as the snow that fell +On the damned in Dante's hell; +With keen, gentle opposition, +Playful, merciless precision, +Mocked the sweet romance of youth +Balancing on spheric truth; +He on sense's firm set plane +Rolled the unstable ball amain: +With a smile she looked at me, +Stung my soul, and set me free. + + Welcome, friend! Bring in your bricks. +Mortar there? No need to mix? +That is well. And picks and hammers? +Verily these are no shammers!-- +There, my friend, build up that niche, +That one with the painting rich! + + Yes, you're right; it is a show +Picture seldom can bestow; +City palaces and towers, +Terraced gardens, twilight bowers, +Vistas deep through swaying masts, +Pennons flaunting in the blasts: +Build; my room it does not fit; +Brick-glaze is the thing for it! + + Yes, a window you may call it; +Not the less up you must wall it: +In that niche the dead world lies; +Bury death, and free mine eyes. + + There were youths who held by me, +Said I taught, yet left them free: +Will they do as I said then? +God forbid! As ye are men, +Find the secret--follow and find! +All forget that lies behind; +Me, the schools, yourselves, forsake; +In your souls a silence make; +Hearken till a whisper come, +Listen, follow, and be dumb. + + There! 'tis over; I am dead! +Of my life the broken thread +Here I cast out of my hand!-- +O my soul, the merry land! +On my heart the sinking vault +Of my ruining past makes halt; +Ages I could sit and moan +For the shining world that's gone! + + Haste and pierce the other wall; +Break an opening to the All! +Where? No matter; done is best. +Kind of window? Let that rest: +Who at morning ever lies +Pondering how to ope his eyes! + + I bethink me: we must fall +On the thinnest of the wall! +There it must be, in that niche!-- +No, the deepest--that in which +Stands the Crucifix. + + You start?-- +Ah, your half-believing heart +Shrinks from that as sacrilege, +Or, at least, upon its edge! +Worse than sacrilege, I say, +Is it to withhold the day +From the brother whom thou knowest +For the God thou never sawest! + + Reverently, O marble cold, +Thee in living arms I fold! +Thou who art thyself the way +From the darkness to the day, +Window, thou, to every land, +Wouldst not one dread moment stand +Shutting out the air and sky +And the dayspring from on high! +Brother with the rugged crown, +Gently thus I lift thee down! + + Give me pick and hammer; you +Stand aside; the deed I'll do. +Yes, in truth, I have small skill, +But the best thing is the will. + + Stroke on stroke! The frescoed plaster +Clashes downward, fast and faster. +Hark, I hear an outer stone +Down the rough rock rumbling thrown! +There's a cranny! there's a crack! +The great sun is at its back! +Lo, a mass is outward flung! +In the universe hath sprung! + + See the gold upon the blue! +See the sun come blinding through! +See the far-off mountain shine +In the dazzling light divine! +Prisoned world, thy captive's gone! +Welcome wind, and sky, and sun! + + + +_LOVE'S ORDEAL._ + +A recollection and attempted completion of a prose fragment read in +boyhood. + + "Hear'st thou that sound upon the window pane?" +Said the youth softly, as outstretched he lay +Where for an hour outstretched he had lain-- +Softly, yet with some token of dismay. +Answered the maiden: "It is but the rain +That has been gathering in the west all day! +Why shouldst thou hearken so? Thine eyelids close, +And let me gather peace from thy repose." + + "Hear'st thou that moan creeping along the ground?" +Said the youth, and his veiling eyelids rose +From deeps of lightning-haunted dark profound +Ruffled with herald blasts of coming woes. +"I hear it," said the maiden; "'tis the sound +Of a great wind that here not seldom blows; +It swings the huge arms of the dreary pine, +But thou art safe, my darling, clasped in mine." + + "Hear'st thou the baying of my hounds?" said he; +"Draw back the lattice bar and let them in." +From a rent cloud the moonlight, ghostily, +Slid clearer to the floor, as, gauntly thin, +She opening, they leaped through with bound so free, +Then shook the rain-drops from their shaggy skin. +The maiden closed the shower-bespattered glass, +Whose spotted shadow through the room did pass. + + The youth, half-raised, was leaning on his hand, +But, when again beside him sat the maid, +His eyes for one slow minute having scanned +Her moonlit face, he laid him down, and said, +Monotonous, like solemn-read command: +"For Love is of the earth, earthy, and is laid +Lifeless at length back in the mother-tomb." +Strange moanings from the pine entered the room. + + And then two shadows like the shadow of glass, +Over the moonbeams on the cottage floor, +As wind almost as thin and shapeless, pass; +A sound of rain-drops came about the door, +And a soft sighing as of plumy grass; +A look of sorrowing doubt the youth's face wore; +The two great hounds half rose; with aspect grim +They eyed his countenance by the taper dim. + + Shadow nor moaning sound the maiden noted, +But on his face dwelt her reproachful look; +She doubted whether he the saying had quoted +Out of some evil, earth-begotten book, +Or up from his deep heart, like bubbles, had floated +Words which no maiden ever yet could brook; +But his eyes held the question, "Yea or No?" +Therefore the maiden answered, "Nay, not so; + + "Love is of heaven, eternal." Half a smile +Just twinned his lips: shy, like all human best, +A hopeful thought bloomed out, and lived a while; +He looked one moment like a dead man blest-- +His soul a bark that in a sunny isle +At length had found the haven of its rest; +But he could not remain, must forward fare: +He spoke, and said with words abrupt and bare, + + "Maiden, I have loved other maidens." Pale +Her red lips grew. "I loved them, yes, but they +Successively in trial's hour did fail, +For after sunset clouds again are gray." +A sudden light shone through the fringy veil +That drooping hid her eyes; and then there lay +A stillness on her face, waiting; and then +The little clock rung out the hour of ten. + + Moaning once more the great pine-branches bow +To a soft plaining wind they would not stem. +Brooding upon her face, the youth said, "Thou +Art not more beautiful than some of them, +But a fair courage crowns thy peaceful brow, +Nor glow thine eyes, but shine serene like gem +That lamps from radiant store upon the dark +The light it gathered where its song the lark. + + "The horse that broke this day from grasp of three, +Thou sawest then the hand thou holdest, hold: +Ere two fleet hours are gone, that hand will be +Dry, big-veined, wrinkled, withered up and old!-- +No woman yet hath shared my doom with me." +With calm fixed eyes she heard till he had told; +The stag-hounds rose, a moment gazed at him, +Then laid them down with aspect yet more grim. + + Spake on the youth, nor altered look or tone: +"'Tis thy turn, maiden, to say no or dare."-- +Was it the maiden's, that importunate moan?-- +"At midnight, when the moon sets, wilt thou share +The terror with me? or must I go alone +To meet an agony that will not spare?" +She answered not, but rose to take her cloak; +He staid her with his hand, and further spoke. + + "Not yet," he said; "yet there is respite; see, +Time's finger points not yet to the dead hour! +Enough is left even now for telling thee +The far beginnings whence the fearful power +Of the great dark came shadowing down on me: +Red roses crowding clothe my love's dear bower-- +Nightshade and hemlock, darnel, toadstools white +Compass the place where I must lie to-night!" + + Around his neck the maiden put her arm +And knelt beside him leaning on his breast, +As o'er his love, to keep it strong and warm, +Brooding like bird outspread upon her nest. +And well the faith of her dear eyes might charm +All doubt away from love's primeval rest! +He hid his face upon her heart, and there +Spake on with voice like wind from lonely lair. + + A drearier moaning through the pine did go +As if a human voice complained and cried +For one long minute; then the sound grew low, +Sank to a sigh, and sighing sank and died. +Together at the silence two voices mow-- +His, and the clock's, which, loud grown, did divide +The hours into live moments--sparks of time +Scorching the soul that trembles for the chime. + + He spoke of sins ancestral, born in him +Impulses; of resistance fierce and wild; +Of failure weak, and strength reviving dim; +Self-hatred, dreariness no love beguiled; +Of storm, and blasting light, and darkness grim; +Of torrent paths, and tombs with mountains piled; +Of gulfs in the unsunned bosom of the earth; +Of dying ever into dawning birth. + + "But when I find a heart whose blood is wine; +Whose faith lights up the cold brain's passionless hour; +Whose love, like unborn rose-bud, will not pine, +But waits the sun and the baptizing shower-- +Till then lies hid, and gathers odours fine +To greet the human summer, when its flower +Shall blossom in the heart and soul and brain, +And love and passion be one holy twain-- + + "Then shall I rest, rest like the seven of yore; +Slumber divine will steep my outworn soul +And every stain dissolve to the very core. +She too will slumber, having found her goal. +Time's ocean o'er us will, in silence frore, +Aeonian tides of change-filled seasons roll, +And our long, dark, appointed period fill. +Then shall we wake together, loving still." + + Her face on his, her mouth to his mouth pressed, +Was all the answer of the trusting maid. +Close in his arms he held her to his breast +For one brief moment--would have yet assayed +Some deeper word her heart to strengthen, lest +It should though faithful be too much afraid; +But the clock gave the warning to the hour-- +And on the thatch fell sounds not of a shower. + + One long kiss, and the maiden rose. A fear +Lay, thin as a glassy shadow, on her heart; +She trembled as some unknown thing were near, +But smiled next moment--for they should not part! +The youth arose. With solemn-joyous cheer, +He helped the maid, whose trembling hands did thwart +Her haste to wrap her in her mantle's fold; +Then out they passed into the midnight cold. + + The moon was sinking in the dim green west, +Curled upward, half-way to the horizon's brink, +A leaf of glory falling to its rest, +The maiden's hand, still trembling, sought to link +Her arm to his, with love's instinctive quest, +But his enfolded her; hers did not sink, +But, thus set free, it stole his body round, +And so they walked, in freedom's fetters bound. + + Pressed to his side, she felt, like full-toned bell, +A mighty heart heave large in measured play; +But as the floating moon aye lower fell +Its bounding force did, by slow loss, decay. +It throbbed now like a bird; now like far knell +Pulsed low and faint! And now, with sick dismay, +She felt the arm relax that round her clung, +And from her circling arm he forward hung. + + His footsteps feeble, short his paces grow; +Her strength and courage mount and swell amain. +He lifted up his head: the moon lay low, +Nigh the world's edge. His lips with some keen pain +Quivered, but with a smile his eyes turned slow +Seeking in hers the balsam for his bane +And finding it--love over death supreme: +Like two sad souls they walked met in one dream.[A] + +[Note A: + +In a lovely garden walking + Two lovers went hand in hand; +Two wan, worn figures, talking + They sat in the flowery land. + +On the cheek they kissed one another, + On the mouth with sweet refrain; +Fast held they each the other, + And were young and well again. + +Two little bells rang shrilly-- + The dream went with the hour: +She lay in the cloister stilly, + He far in the dungeon-tower! + + _From Uhland._] + + Hanging his head, behind each came a hound, +Padding with gentle paws upon the road. +Straight silent pines rose here and there around; +A dull stream on the left side hardly flowed; +A black snake through the sluggish waters wound. +Hark, the night raven! see the crawling toad! +She thinks how dark will be the moonless night, +How feeblest ray is yet supernal light. + + The moon's last gleam fell on dim glazed eyes, +A body shrunken from its garments' fold: +An aged man whose bent knees could not rise, +He tottered in the maiden's tightening hold. +She shivered, but too slight was the disguise +To hide from love what never yet was old; +She held him fast, with open eyes did pray, +Walked through the fear, and kept the onward way. + + Toward a gloomy thicket of tall firs, +Dragging his inch-long steps, he turned aside. +There Silence sleeps; not one green needle stirs. +They enter it. A breeze begins to chide +Among the cones. It swells until it whirs, +Vibrating so each sharp leaf that it sighed: +The grove became a harp of mighty chords, +Wing-smote by unseen creatures wild for words. + + But when he turned again, toward the cleft +Of a great rock, as instantly it ceased, +And the tall pines stood sudden, as if reft +Of a strong passion, or from pain released; +Again they wove their straight, dark, motionless weft +Across the moonset-bars; and, west and east, +Cloud-giants rose and marched up cloudy stairs; +And like sad thoughts the bats came unawares. + + 'Twas a drear chamber for thy bridal night, +O poor, pale, saviour bride! An earthen lamp +With shaking hands he kindled, whose faint light +Mooned out a tiny halo on the damp +That filled the cavern to its unseen height, +Dim glimmering like death-candle in a swamp. +Watching the entrance, each side lies a hound, +With liquid light his red eyes gleaming round. + + A heap rose grave-like from the rocky floor +Of moss and leaves, by many a sunny wind +Long tossed and dried--with rich furs covered o'er +Expectant. Up a jealous glory shined +In her possessing heart: he should find more +In her than in those faithless! With sweet mind +She, praying gently, did herself unclothe, +And lay down by him, trusting, and not loath. + + Once more a wind came, flapping overhead; +The hounds pricked up their ears, their eyes flashed fire. +The trembling maiden heard a sudden tread-- +Dull, yet plain dinted on the windy gyre, +As if long, wet feet o'er smooth pavement sped-- +Come fiercely up, as driven by longing dire +To enter; followed sounds of hurried rout: +With bristling hair, the hounds stood looking out. + + Then came, half querulous, a whisper old, +Feeble and hollow as if shut in a chest: +"Take my face on your bosom; I am cold." +She bared her holy bosom's truth-white nest, +And forth her two hands instant went, love-bold, +And took the face, and close against her pressed: +Ah, the dead chill!--Was that the feet again?-- +But her great heart kept beating for the twain. + + She heard the wind fall, heard the following rain +Swelling the silent waters till their sound +Went wallowing through the night along the plain. +The lamp went out, by the slow darkness drowned. +Must the fair dawn a thousand years refrain? +Like centuries the feeble hours went round. +Eternal night entombed her with decay: +To her live soul she clasped the breathless clay. + + The world stood still. Her life sank down so low +That but for wretchedness no life she knew. +A charnel wind moaned out a moaning--_No_; +From the devouring heart of earth it blew. +Fair memories lost all their sunny glow: +Out of the dark the forms of old friends grew +But so transparent blanched with dole and smart +She saw the pale worm lying in each heart. + + And, worst of all--Oh death of keep-fled life! +A voice within her woke and cried: In sooth +Vain is all sorrow, hope, and care, and strife! +Love and its beauty, its tenderness and truth +Are shadows bred in hearts too fancy-rife, +Which melt and pass with sure-decaying youth: +Regard them, and they quiver, waver, blot; +Gaze at them fixedly, and they are not. + + And all the answer the poor child could make +Was in the tightened clasp of arms and hands. +Hopeless she lay, like one Death would not take +But still kept driving from his empty lands, +Yet hopeless held she out for his dear sake; +The darksome horror grew like drifting sands +Till nought was precious--neither God nor light, +And yet she braved the false, denying night. + + So dead was hope, that, when a glimmer weak +Stole through a fissure somewhere in the cave, +Thinning the clotted darkness on his cheek, +She thought her own tired eyes the glimmer gave: +He moved his head; she saw his eyes, love-meek, +And knew that Death was dead and filled the Grave. +Old age, convicted lie, had fled away! +Youth, Youth eternal, in her bosom lay! + + With a low cry closer to him she crept +And on his bosom hid a face that glowed: +It was his turn to comfort--he had slept! +Oh earth and sky, oh ever patient God, +She had not yielded, but the truth had kept! +New love, new bliss in weeping overflowed. +I can no farther tell the tale begun; +They are asleep, and waiting for the sun. + + + +_THE LOST SOUL_. + + Look! look there! +Send your eyes across the gray +By my finger-point away +Through the vaporous, fumy air. +Beyond the air, you see the dark? +Beyond the dark, the dawning day? +On its horizon, pray you, mark +Something like a ruined heap +Of worlds half-uncreated, that go back: +Down all the grades through which they rose +Up to harmonious life and law's repose, +Back, slow, to the awful deep +Of nothingness, mere being's lack: +On its surface, lone and bare, +Shapeless as a dumb despair, +Formless, nameless, something lies: +Can the vision in your eyes +Its idea recognize? + + 'Tis a poor lost soul, alack!-- +Half he lived some ages back; +But, with hardly opened eyes, +Thinking him already wise, +Down he sat and wrote a book; +Drew his life into a nook; +Out of it would not arise +To peruse the letters dim, +Graven dark on his own walls; +Those, he judged, were chance-led scrawls, +Or at best no use to him. +A lamp was there for reading these; +This he trimmed, sitting at ease, +For its aid to write his book, +Never at his walls to look-- +Trimmed and trimmed to one faint spark +Which went out, and left him dark.-- +I will try if he can hear +Spirit words with spirit ear! + + Motionless thing! who once, +Like him who cries to thee, +Hadst thy place with thy shining peers, +Thy changeful place in the changeless dance +Issuing ever in radiance +From the doors of the far eternity, +With feet that glitter and glide and glance +To the music-law that binds the free, +And sets the captive at liberty-- +To the clang of the crystal spheres! +O heart for love! O thirst to drink +From the wells that feed the sea! +O hands of truth, a human link +'Twixt mine and the Father's knee! +O eyes to see! O soul to think! +O life, the brother of me! +Has Infinitude sucked back all +The individual life it gave? +Boots it nothing to cry and call? +Is thy form an empty grave? + + It heareth not, brothers, the terrible thing! +Sounds no sense to its ear will bring! +Let us away, 'tis no use to tarry; +Love no light to its heart will carry! +Sting it with words, it will never shrink; +It will not repent, it cannot think! +Hath God forgotten it, alas! +Lost in eternity's lumber-room? +Will the wind of his breathing never pass +Over it through the insensate gloom? +Like a frost-killed bud on a tombstone curled, +Crumbling it lies on its crumbling world, +Sightless and deaf, with never a cry, +In the hell of its own vacuity! + + See, see yon angel crossing our flight +Where the thunder vapours loom, +From his upcast pinions flashing the light +Of some outbreaking doom! +Up, brothers! away! a storm is nigh! +Smite we the wing up a steeper sky! +What matters the hail or the clashing winds, +The thunder that buffets, the lightning that blinds! +We know by the tempest we do not lie +Dead in the pits of eternity! + + + +_THE THREE HORSES_. + +What shall I be?--I will be a knight + Walled up in armour black, +With a sword of sharpness, a hammer of might. + And a spear that will not crack-- +So black, so blank, no glimmer of light + Will betray my darkling track. + +Saddle my coal-black steed, my men, + Fittest for sunless work; +Old Night is steaming from her den, + And her children gather and lurk; +Bad things are creeping from the fen, + And sliding down the murk. + +Let him go!--let him go! Let him plunge!--Keep away! + He's a foal of the third seal's brood! +Gaunt with armour, in grim array + Of poitrel and frontlet-hood, +Let him go, a living castle, away-- + Right for the evil wood. + +I and Ravenwing on the course, + Heavy in fighting gear-- +Woe to the thing that checks our force, + That meets us in career! +Giant, enchanter, devil, or worse-- + What cares the couched spear! + +Slow through the trees zigzag I ride. + See! the goblins!--to and fro! +From the skull of the dark, on either side, + See the eyes of a dragon glow! +From the thickets the silent serpents glide-- + I pass them, I let them go; + +For somewhere in the evil night + A little one cries alone; +An aged knight, outnumbered in fight, + But for me will be stricken prone; +A lady with terror is staring white, + For her champion is overthrown. + +The child in my arms, to my hauberk prest, + Like a trembling bird will cling; +I will cover him over, in iron nest, + With my shield, my one steel wing, +And bear him home to his mother's breast, + A radiant, rescued thing. + +Spur in flank, and lance in rest, + On the old knight's foes I flash; +The caitiffs I scatter to east and west + With clang and hurtle and crash; +Leave them the law, as knaves learn it best, + In bruise, and breach, and gash. + +The lady I lift on my panting steed; + On the pommel she holds my mace; +Hand on bridle I gently lead + The horse at a gentle pace; +The thickets with martel-axe I heed, + For the wood is an evil place. + +What treasure is there in manly might + That hid in the bosom lies! +Who for the crying will not fight + Had better be he that cries! +A man is a knight that loves the right + And mounts for it till he dies. + +Alas, 'tis a dream of ages hoar! + In the fens no dragons won; +No giants from moated castles roar; + Through the forest wide roadways run; +Of all the deeds they did of yore + Not one is left to be done! + +If I should saddle old Ravenwing + And hie me out at night, +Scared little birds away would spring + An ill-shot arrow's flight: +The idle fancy away I fling, + Now I will dream aright! + +Let a youth bridle Twilight, my dapple-gray, + With broad rein and snaffle bit; +He must bring him round at break of day + When the shadows begin to flit, +When the darkness begins to dream away, + And the owls begin to sit. + +Ungraithed in plate or mail I go, + With only my sword--gray-blue +Like the scythe of the dawning come to mow + The night-sprung shadows anew +From the gates of the east, that, fair and slow, + Maid Morning may walk through. + +I seek no forest with darkness grim, + To the open land I ride; +Low light, from the broad horizon's brim, + Lies wet on the flowing tide, +And mottles with shadows dun and dim + The mountain's rugged side. + +Steadily, hasteless, o'er valley and hill. + O'er the moor, along the beach, +We ride, nor slacken our pace until + Some city of men we reach; +There, in the market, my horse stands still, + And I lift my voice and preach. + +Wealth and poverty, age and youth + Around me gather and throng; +I tell them of justice, of wisdom, of truth, + Of mercy, and law, and wrong; +My words are moulded by right and ruth + To a solemn-chanted song. + +They bring me questions which would be scanned, + That strife may be forgot; +Swerves my balance to neither hand, + The poor I favour no jot; +If a man withstand, out sweeps my brand. + I slay him upon the spot. + +But what if my eye have in it a beam + And therefore spy his mote? +Righteousness only, wisdom supreme + Can tell the sheep from the goat! +Not thus I dream a wise man's dream, + Not thus take Wrong by the throat! + +Lead Twilight home. I dare not kill; + The sword myself would scare.-- +When the sun looks over the eastern hill, + Bring out my snow-white mare: +One labour is left which no one will + Deny me the right to share! + +Take heed, my men, from crest to heel + Snow-white have no speck; +No curb, no bit her mouth must feel, + No tightening rein her neck; +No saddle-girth drawn with buckle of steel + Shall her mighty breathing check! + +Lay on her a cloth of silver sheen, + Bring me a robe of white; +Wherever we go we must be seen + By the shining of our light-- +A glistening splendour in forest green, + A star on the mountain-height. + +With jar and shudder the gates unclose; + Out in the sun she leaps! +A unit of light and power she goes + Levelling vales and steeps: +The wind around her eddies and blows, + Before and behind her sleeps. + +Oh joy, oh joy to ride the world + And glad, good tidings bear! +A flag of peace on the winds unfurled + Is the mane of my shining mare: +To the sound of her hoofs, lo, the dead stars hurled + Quivering adown the air! + +Oh, the sun and the wind! Oh, the life and the love! + Where the serpent swung all day +The loud dove coos to the silent dove; + Where the web-winged dragon lay +In its hole beneath, on the rock above + Merry-tongued children play. + +With eyes of light the maidens look up + As they sit in the summer heat +Twining green blade with golden cup-- + They see, and they rise to their feet; +I call aloud, for I must not stop, + "Good tidings, my sisters sweet!" + +For mine is a message of holy mirth + To city and land of corn; +Of praise for heaviness, plenty for dearth, + For darkness a shining morn: +Clap hands, ye billows; be glad, O earth, + For a child, a child is born! + +Lo, even the just shall live by faith! + None argue of mine and thine! +Old Self shall die an ecstatic death + And be born a thing divine, +For God's own being and God's own breath + Shall be its bread and wine. + +Ambition shall vanish, and Love be king, + And Pride to his darkness hie; +Yea, for very love of a living thing + A man would forget and die, +If very love were not the spring + Whence life springs endlessly! + +The myrtle shall grow where grew the thorn; + Earth shall be young as heaven; +The heart with remorse or anger torn + Shall weep like a summer even; +For to us a child, a child is born, + Unto us a son is given! + +Lord, with thy message I dare not ride! + I am a fool, a beast! +The little ones only from thy side + Go forth to publish thy feast! +And I, where but sons and daughters abide, + Would have walked about, a priest! + +Take Snow-white back to her glimmering stall; + There let her stand and feed!-- +I am overweening, ambitious, small, + A creature of pride and greed! +Let me wash the hoofs, let me be the thrall, + Jesus, of thy white steed! + + + +_THE GOLDEN KEY._ + +From off the earth the vapours curled, + Went up to meet their joy; +The boy awoke, and all the world + Was waiting for the boy! + +The sky, the water, the wide earth + Was full of windy play-- +Shining and fair, alive with mirth, + All for his holiday! + +The hill said "Climb me;" and the wood + "Come to my bosom, child; +Mine is a merry gamboling brood, + Come, and with them go wild." + +The shadows with the sunlight played, + The birds were singing loud; +The hill stood up with pines arrayed-- + He ran to join the crowd. + +But long ere noon, dark grew the skies, + Pale grew the shrinking sun: +"How soon," he said, "for clouds to rise + When day was but begun!" + +The wind grew rough; a wilful power + It swept o'er tree and town; +The boy exulted for an hour, + Then weary sat him down. + +And as he sat the rain began, + And rained till all was still: +He looked, and saw a rainbow span + The vale from hill to hill. + +He dried his tears. "Ah, now," he said, + "The storm was good, I see! +Yon pine-dressed hill, upon its head + I'll find the golden key!" + +He thrid the copse, he climbed the fence, + At last the top did scale; +But, lo, the rainbow, vanished thence, + Was shining in the vale! + +"Still, here it stood! yes, here," he said, + "Its very foot was set! +I saw this fir-tree through the red, + This through the violet!" + +He searched and searched, while down the skies + Went slow the slanting sun. +At length he lifted hopeless eyes, + And day was nearly done! + +Beyond the vale, above the heath, + High flamed the crimson west; +His mother's cottage lay beneath + The sky-bird's rosy breast. + +"Oh, joy," he cried, "not _all_ the way + Farther from home we go! +The rain will come another day + And bring another bow!" + +Long ere he reached his mother's cot, + Still tiring more and more, +The red was all one cold gray blot, + And night lay round the door. + +But when his mother stroked his head + The night was grim in vain; +And when she kissed him in his bed + The rainbow rose again. + +Soon, things that are and things that seem + Did mingle merrily; +He dreamed, nor was it all a dream, + His mother had the key. + + + +_SOMNIUM MYSTICI_ + +A Microcosm In Terza Rima. + +I. + +Quiet I lay at last, and knew no more + Whether I breathed or not, so worn I lay + With the death-struggle. What was yet before +Neither I met, nor turned from it away; + My only conscious being was the rest + Of pain gone dead--dead with the bygone day, +And long I could have lingered all but blest + In that half-slumber. But there came a sound + As of a door that opened--in the west +Somewhere I thought it. As the hare the hound, + The noise did start my eyelids and they rose. + I turned my eyes and looked. Then straight I found +It was my chamber-door that did unclose, + For a tall form up to my bedside drew. + Grand was it, silent, its very walk repose; +And when I saw the countenance, I knew + That I was lying in my chamber dead; + For this my brother--brothers such are few-- +That now to greet me bowed his kingly head, + Had, many years agone, like holy dove + Returning, from his friends and kindred sped, +And, leaving memories of mournful love, + Passed vanishing behind the unseen veil; + And though I loved him, all high words above. +Not for his loss then did I weep or wail, + Knowing that here we live but in a tent, + And, seeking home, shall find it without fail. +Feeble but eager, toward him my hands went-- + I too was dead, so might the dead embrace! + Taking me by the shoulders down he bent, +And lifted me. I was in sickly case, + But, growing stronger, stood up on the floor, + There turned, and once regarded my dead face +With curious eyes: its brow contentment wore, + But I had done with it, and turned away. + I saw my brother by the open door, +And followed him out into the night blue-gray. + The houses stood up hard in limpid air, + The moon hung in the heavens in half decay, +And all the world to my bare feet lay bare. + +II. + +Now I had suffered in my life, as they + Must suffer, and by slow years younger grow, + From whom the false fool-self must drop away, +Compact of greed and fear, which, gathered slow, + Darkens the angel-self that, evermore, + Where no vain phantom in or out shall go, +Moveless beholds the Father--stands before + The throne of revelation, waiting there, + With wings low-drooping on the sapphire-floor, +Until it find the Father's ideal fair, + And be itself at last: not one small thorn + Shall needless any pilgrim's garments tear; +And but to say I had suffered I would scorn + Save for the marvellous thing that next befell: + Sudden I grew aware I was new-born; +All pain had vanished in the absorbent swell + Of some exalting peace that was my own; + As the moon dwelt in heaven did calmness dwell +At home in me, essential. The earth's moan + Lay all behind. Had I then lost my part + In human griefs, dear part with them that groan? +"'Tis weariness!" I said; but with a start + That set it trembling and yet brake it not, + I found the peace was love. Oh, my rich heart! +For, every time I spied a glimmering spot + Of window pane, "There, in that silent room," + Thought I, "mayhap sleeps human heart whose lot +Is therefore dear to mine!" I cared for whom + I saw not, had not seen, and might not see! + After the love crept prone its shadow-gloom, +But instant a mightier love arose in me, + As in an ocean a single wave will swell, + And heaved the shadow to the centre: we +Had called it prayer, before on sleep I fell. + It sank, and left my sea in holy calm: + I gave each man to God, and all was well. +And in my heart stirred soft a sleeping psalm. + +III. + +No gentlest murmur through the city crept; + Not one lone word my brother to me had spoken; + But when beyond the city-gate we stept +I knew the hovering silence would be broken. + A low night wind came whispering: through and through + It did baptize me with the pledge and token +Of that soft spirit-wind which blows and blew + And fans the human world since evermore. + The very grass, cool to my feet, I knew +To be love also, and with the love I bore + To hold far sympathy, silent and sweet, + As having known the secret from of yore +In the eternal heart where all things meet, + Feelings and thinkings, and where still they are bred. + Sudden he stood, and with arrested feet +I also. Like a half-sunned orb, his head + Slow turned the bright side: lo, the brother-smile + That ancient human glory on me shed +Clothed in which Jesus came forth to wile + Unto his bosom every labouring soul, + And all dividing passions to beguile +To winsome death, and then on them to roll + The blessed stone of the holy sepulchre! + "Thank God," he said, "thou also now art whole +And sound and well! For the keen pain, and stir + Uneasy, and sore grief that came to us all, + In that we knew not how the wine and myrrh +Could ever from the vinegar and gall + Be parted, are deep sunk, yea drowned in God; + And yet the past not folded in a pall, +But breathed upon, like Aaron's withered rod, + By a sweet light that brings the blossoms through, + Showing in dreariest paths that men have trod +Another's foot-prints, spotted of crimson hue, + Still on before wherever theirs did wend; + Yea, through the desert leading, of thyme and rue, +The desert souls in which young lions rend + And roar--the passionate who, to be blest, + Ravin as bears, and do not gain their end, +Because that, save in God, there is no rest." + +IV. + +Something my brother said to me like this, + But how unlike it also, think, I pray: + His eyes were music, and his smile a kiss; +Himself the word, his speech was but a ray + In the clear nimbus that with verity + Of absolute utterance made a home-born day +Of truth about him, lamping solemnly; + And when he paused, there came a swift repose, + Too high, too still to be called ecstasy-- +A purple silence, lanced through in the close + By such keen thought that, with a sudden smiling, + It grew sheen silver, hearted with burning rose. +He was a glory full of reconciling, + Of faithfulness, of love with no self-stain, + Of tenderness, and care, and brother-wiling +Back to the bosom of a speechless gain. + +V. + +I cannot tell how long we joyous talked, + For from my sense old time had vanished quite, + Space dim-remaining--for onward still we walked. +No sun arose to blot the pale, still night-- + Still as the night of some great spongy stone + That turns but once an age betwixt the light +And the huge shadow from its own bulk thrown, + And long as that to me before whose face + Visions so many slid, and veils were blown +Aside from the vague vast of Isis' grace. + Innumerous thoughts yet throng that infinite hour, + And hopes which greater hopes unceasing chase, +For I was all responsive to his power. + I saw my friends weep, wept, and let them weep; + I saw the growth of each grief-nurtured flower; +I saw the gardener watching--in their sleep + Wiping their tears with the napkin he had laid + Wrapped by itself when he climbed Hades' steep; +What wonder then I saw nor was dismayed! + I saw the dull, degraded monsters nursed + In money-marshes, greedy men that preyed +Upon the helpless, ground the feeblest worst; + Yea all the human chaos, wild and waste, + Where he who will not leave what God hath cursed +Now fruitless wallows, now is stung and chased + By visions lovely and by longings dire. + "But who believeth, he shall not make haste, +Even passing through the water and the fire, + Or sad with memories of a better lot! + He, saved by hope, for all men will desire, +Knowing that God into a mustard-jot + May shut an aeon; give a world that lay + Wombed in its sun, a molten unorbed clot, +One moment from the red rim to spin away + Librating--ages to roll on weary wheel + Ere it turn homeward, almost spent its day! +Who knows love all, time nothing, he shall feel + No anxious heart, shall lift no trembling hand; + Tender as air, but clothed in triple steel, +He for his kind, in every age and land, + Hoping will live; and, to his labour bent, + The Father's will shall, doing, understand." +So spake my brother as we onward went: + His words my heart received, as corn the lea, + And answered with a harvest of content. +We came at last upon a lonesome sea. + +VI. + +And onward still he went, I following + Out on the water. But the water, lo, + Like a thin sheet of glass, lay vanishing! +The starry host in glorious twofold show + Looked up, looked down. The moment I saw this, + A quivering fear thorough my heart did go: +Unstayed I walked across a twin abyss, + A hollow sphere of blue; nor floor was found + Of questing eye, only the foot met the kiss +Of the cool water lightly crisping round + The edges of the footsteps! Terror froze + My fallen eyelids. But again the sound +Of my guide's voice on the still air arose: + "Hast thou forgotten that we walk by faith? + For keenest sight but multiplies the shows. +Lift up thine eyelids; take a valiant breath; + Terrified, dare the terror in God's name; + Step wider; trust the invisible. Can Death +Avail no more to hearten up thy flame?" + I trembled, but I opened wide mine eyes, + And strode on the invisible sea. The same +High moment vanished all my cowardice, + And God was with me. The well-pleased stars + Threw quivering smiles across the gulfy skies, +The white aurora flashed great scimitars + From north to zenith; and again my guide + Full turned on me his face. No prison-bars +Latticed across a soul I there descried, + No weather-stains of grief; quiet age-long + Brooded upon his forehead clear and wide; +Yet from that face a pang shot, vivid and strong, + Into my heart. For, though I saw him stand + Close to me in the void as one in a throng, +Yet on the border of some nameless land + He stood afar; a still-eyed mystery + Caught him whole worlds away. Though in my hand +His hand I held, and, gazing earnestly, + Searched in his countenance, as in a mine, + For jewels of contentment, satisfy +My heart I could not. Seeming to divine + My hidden trouble, gently he stooped and kissed + My forehead, and his arms did round me twine, +And held me to his bosom. Still I missed + That ancient earthly nearness, when we shared + One bed, like birds that of no morrow wist; +Roamed our one father's farm; or, later, fared + Along the dusty highways of the old clime. + Backward he drew, and, as if he had bared +My soul, stood reading there a little time, + While in his eyes tears gathered slow, like dew + That dims the grass at evening or at prime, +But makes the stars clear-goldener in the blue: + And on his lips a faint ethereal smile + Hovered, as hangs the mist of its own hue +Trembling about a purple flower, the while + Evening grows brown. "Brother! brother!" I cried; + But straight outbursting tears my words beguile, +And in my bosom all the utterance died. + +VII. + +A moment more he stood, then softly sighed. + "I know thy pain; but this sorrow is far + Beyond my help," his voice at length replied +To my beseeching tears. "Look at yon star + Up from the low east half-way, all ablaze: + Think'st thou, because no cloud between doth mar +The liquid glory that from its visage rays, + Thou therefore knowest that same world on high, + Its people and its orders and its ways?" +"What meanest thou?" I said. "Thou know'st that + Would hold, not thy dear form, but the self-thee! + Thou art not near me! For thyself I cry!" +"Not the less near that nearer I shall be. + I have a world within thou dost not know-- + Would I could make thee know it! but all of me +Is thine, though thou not yet canst enter so + Into possession that betwixt us twain + The frolic homeliness of love should flow +As o'er the brim of childhood's cup again: + Away the deeper childhood first must wipe + That clouded consciousness which was our pain. +When in thy breast the godlike hath grown ripe, + And thou, Christ's little one, art ten times more + A child than when we played with drum and pipe +About our earthly father's happy door, + Then--" He ceased not; his holy utterance still + Flowing went on, like spring from hidden store +Of wasteless waters; but I wept my fill, + Nor heeded much the comfort of his speech. + At length he said: "When first I clomb the hill-- +With earthly words I heavenly things would reach-- + Where dwelleth now the man we used to call + Father, whose voice, oh memory dear! did teach +Us in our beds, when straight, as once a stall + Became a temple, holy grew the room, + Prone on the ground before him I did fall, +So grand he towered above me like a doom; + But now I look into the well-known face + Fearless, yea, basking blessed in the bloom +Of his eternal youthfulness and grace." + "But something separates us," yet I cried; + "Let light at least begin the dark to chase, +The dark begin to waver and divide, + And clear the path of vision. In the old time, + When clouds one heart did from the other hide, +A wind would blow between! If I would climb, + This foot must rise ere that can go up higher: + Some big A teach me of the eternal prime." +He answered me: "Hearts that to love aspire + Must learn its mighty harmony ere they can + Give out one perfect note in its great quire; +And thereto am I sent--oh, sent of one + Who makes the dumb for joy break out and sing: + He opens every door 'twixt man and man; +He to all inner chambers all will bring." + +VIII. + +It was enough; Hope waked from dreary swound, + And Hope had ever been enough for me, + To kennel driving grim Tomorrow's hound; +From chains of school and mode she set me free, + And urged my life to living.--On we went + Across the stars that underlay the sea, +And came to a blown shore of sand and bent. + Beyond the sand a marshy moor we crossed + Silent--I, for I pondered what he meant, +And he, that sacred speech might not be lost-- + And came at length upon an evil place: + Trees lay about like a half-buried host, +Each in its desolate pool; some fearful race + Of creatures was not far, for howls and cries + And gurgling hisses rose. With even pace +Walking, "Fear not," he said, "for this way lies + Our journey." On we went; and soon the ground + Slow from the waste began a gentle rise; +And tender grass in patches, then all round, + Came clouding up, with its fresh homely tinge + Of softest green cold-flushing every mound; +At length, of lowly shrubs a scattered fringe; + And last, a gloomy forest, almost blind, + For on its roof no sun-ray did impinge, +So that its very leaves did share the mind + Of a brown shadowless day. Not, all the year, + Once part its branches to let through a wind, +But all day long the unmoving trees appear + To ponder on the past, as men may do + That for the future wait without a fear, +And in the past the coming present view. + +IX. + +I know not if for days many or few + Pathless we thrid the wood; for never sun, + Its sylvan-traceried windows peeping through, +Mottled with brighter green the mosses dun, + Or meted with moving shadows Time the shade. + No life was there--not even a spider spun. +At length we came into a sky-roofed glade, + An open level, in a circle shut + By solemn trees that stood aside and made +Large room and lonely for a little hut + By grassy sweeps wide-margined from the wood. + 'Twas built of saplings old, that had been cut +When those great trees no larger by them stood; + Thick with an ancient moss, it seemed to have grown + Thus from the old brown earth, a covert rude, +Half-house, half-grave; half-lifted up, half-prone. + To its low door my brother led me. "There + Is thy first school," he said; "there be thou shown +Thy pictured alphabet. Wake a mind of prayer, + And praying enter." "But wilt thou not come, + Brother?" I said. "No," said he. And I, "Where +Then shall I find thee? Thou wilt not leave me dumb, + And a whole world of thoughts unuttered?" + With half-sad smile and dewy eyes, and some +Conflicting motions of his kingly head, + He pointed to the open-standing door. + I entered: inward, lo, my shadow led! +I turned: his countenance shone like lightning hoar! + Then slow he turned from me, and parted slow, + Like one unwilling, whom I should see no more; +With voice nor hand said, _Farewell, I must go!_ + But drew the clinging door hard to the post. + No dry leaves rustled 'neath his going; no +Footfalls came back from the departing ghost. + He was no more. I laid me down and wept; + I dared not follow him, restrained the most +By fear I should not see him if I leapt + Out after him with cries of pleading love. + Close to the wall, in hopeless loss, I crept; +There cool sleep came, God's shadow, from above. + +X. + +I woke, with calmness cleansed and sanctified-- + The peace that filled my heart of old, when I + Woke in my mother's lap; for since I died +The past lay bare, even to the dreaming shy + That shadowed my yet gathering unborn brain. + And, marvelling, on the floor I saw, close by +My elbow-pillowed head, as if it had lain + Beside me all the time I dreamless lay, + A little pool of sunlight, which did stain +The earthen brown with gold; marvelling, I say, + Because, across the sea and through the wood, + No sun had shone upon me all the way. +I rose, and through a chink the glade I viewed, + But all was dull as it had always been, + And sunless every tree-top round it stood, +With hardly light enough to show it green; + Yet through the broken roof, serenely glad, + By a rough hole entered that heavenly sheen. +Then I remembered in old years I had + Seen such a light--where, with dropt eyelids gloomed, + Sitting on such a floor, dark women sad +In a low barn-like house where lay entombed + Their sires and children; only there the door + Was open to the sun, which entering plumed +With shadowy palms the stones that on the floor + Stood up like lidless chests--again to find + That the soul needs no brain, but keeps her store +In hidden chambers of the eternal mind. + Thence backward ran my roused Memory + Down the ever-opening vista--back to blind +Anticipations while my soul did lie + Closed in my mother's; forward thence through bright + Spring morns of childhood, gay with hopes that fly +Bird-like across their doming blue and white, + To passionate summer noons, to saddened eves + Of autumn rain, so on to wintred night; +Thence up once more to the dewy dawn that weaves + Saffron and gold--weaves hope with still content, + And wakes the worship that even wrong bereaves +Of half its pain. And round her as she went + Hovered a sense as of an odour dear + Whose flower was far--as of a letter sent +Not yet arrived--a footstep coming near, + But, oh, how long delayed the lifting latch!-- + As of a waiting sun, ready to peer +Yet peering not--as of a breathless watch + Over a sleeping beauty--babbling rime + About her lips, but no winged word to catch! +And here I lay, the child of changeful Time + Shut in the weary, changeless Evermore, + A dull, eternal, fadeless, fruitless clime! +Was this the dungeon of my sinning sore-- + A gentle hell of loneliness, foredoomed + For such as I, whose love was yet the core +Of all my being? The brown shadow gloomed + Persistent, faded, warm. No ripple ran + Across the air, no roaming insect boomed. +"Alas," I cried, "I am no living man! + Better were darkness and the leave to grope + Than light that builds its own drear prison! Can +This be the folding of the wings of Hope?" + +XI. + +That instant--through the branches overhead + No sound of going went--a shadow fell + Isled in the unrippled pool of sunlight fed +From some far fountain hid in heavenly dell. + I looked, and in the low roofs broken place + A single snowdrop stood--a radiant bell +Of silvery shine, softly subdued by grace + Of delicate green that made the white appear + Yet whiter. Blind it bowed its head a space, +Half-timid--then, as in despite of fear, + Unfolded its three rays. If it had swung + Its pendent bell, and music golden clear-- +Division just entrancing sounds among-- + Had flickered down as tender as flakes of snow, + It had not shed more influence as it rung +Than from its look alone did rain and flow. + I knew the flower; perceived its human ways; + Dim saw the secret that had made it grow: +My heart supplied the music's golden phrase. + Light from the dark and snowdrops from the earth, + Life's resurrection out of gross decays, +The endless round of beauty's yearly birth, + And nations' rise and fall--were in the flower, + And read themselves in silence. Heavenly mirth +Awoke in my sad heart. For one whole hour + I praised the God of snowdrops. But at height + The bliss gave way. Next, faith began to cower; +And then the snowdrop vanished from my sight. + +XII. + +Last, I began in unbelief to say: + "No angel this! a snowdrop--nothing more! + A trifle which God's hands drew forth in play +From the tangled pond of chaos, dank and frore, + Threw on the bank, and left blindly to breed! + A wilful fancy would have gathered store +Of evanescence from the pretty weed, + White, shapely--then divine! Conclusion lame + O'erdriven into the shelter of a creed! +Not out of God, but nothingness it came: + Colourless, feeble, flying from life's heat, + It has no honour, hardly shunning shame!" +When, see, another shadow at my feet! + Hopeless I lifted now my weary head: + Why mock me with another heavenly cheat?-- +A primrose fair, from its rough-blanketed bed + Laughed, lo, my unbelief to heavenly scorn! + A sun-child, just awake, no prayer yet said, +Half rising from the couch where it was born, + And smiling to the world! I breathed again; + Out of the midnight once more dawned the morn, +And fled the phantom Doubt with all his train. + +XIII. + +I was a child once more, nor pondered life, + Thought not of what or how much. All my soul + With sudden births of lovely things grew rife. +In peeps a daisy: on the instant roll + Rich lawny fields, with red tips crowding the green, + Across the hollows, over ridge and knoll, +To where the rosy sun goes down serene. + From out of heaven in looks a pimpernel: + I walk in morning scents of thyme and bean; +Dewdrops on every stalk and bud and bell + Flash, like a jewel-orchard, many roods; + Glow ruby suns, which emerald suns would quell; +Topaz saint-glories, sapphire beatitudes + Blaze in the slanting sunshine all around; + Above, the high-priest-lark, o'er fields and woods-- +Rich-hearted with his five eggs on the ground-- + The sacrifice bore through the veil of light, + Odour and colour offering up in sound.-- +Filled heart-full thus with forms of lowly might + And shapeful silences of lovely lore, + I sat a child, happy with only sight, +And for a time I needed nothing more. + +XIV. + +Supine to the revelation I did lie, + Passive as prophet to his dreaming deep, + Or harp Aeolian to the breathing sky, +And blest as any child whom twilight sleep + Holds half, and half lets go. But the new day + Of higher need up-dawned with sudden leap: +"Ah, flowers," I said, "ye are divinely gay, + But your fair music is too far and fine! + Ye are full cups, yet reach not to allay +The drought of those for human love who pine + As the hart for water-brooks!" At once a face + Was looking in my face; its eyes through mine +Were feeding me with tenderness and grace, + And by their love I knew my mother's eyes. + Gazing in them, there grew in me apace +A longing grief, and love did swell and rise + Till weeping I brake out and did bemoan + My blameful share in bygone tears and cries: +"O mother, wilt thou plead for me?" I groan; + "I say not, plead with Christ, but plead with those + Who, gathered now in peace about his throne, +Were near me when my heart was full of throes, + And longings vain alter a flying bliss, + Which oft the fountain by the threshold froze: +They must forgive me, mother! Tell them this: + No more shall swell the love-dividing sigh; + Down at their feet I lay my selfishness." +The face grew passionate at this my cry; + The gathering tears up to its eyebrims rose; + It grew a trembling mist, that did not fly +But slow dissolved. I wept as one of those + Who wake outside the garden of their dream, + And, lo, the droop-winged hours laborious close +Its opal gates with stone and stake and beam. + +XV. + +But glory went that glory more might come. + Behold a countless multitude--no less! + A host of faces, me besieging, dumb +In the lone castle of my mournfulness! + Had then my mother given the word I sent, + Gathering my dear ones from the shining press? +And had these others their love-aidance lent + For full assurance of the pardon prayed? + Would they concentre love, with sweet intent, +On my self-love, to blast the evil shade? + Ah, perfect vision! pledge of endless hope! + Oh army of the holy spirit, arrayed +In comfort's panoply! For words I grope-- + For clouds to catch your radiant dawn, my own, + And tell your coming! From the highest cope +Of blue, down to my roof-breach came a cone + Of faces and their eyes on love's will borne, + Bright heads down-bending like the forward blown, +Heavy with ripeness, golden ears of corn, + By gentle wind on crowded harvest-field, + All gazing toward my prison-hut forlorn +As if with power of eyes they would have healed + My troubled heart, making it like their own + In which the bitter fountain had been sealed, +And the life-giving water flowed alone! + +XVI. + +With what I thus beheld, glorified then, + "God, let me love my fill and pass!" I sighed, + And dead, for love had almost died again. +"O fathers, brothers, I am yours!" I cried; + "O mothers, sisters. I am nothing now + Save as I am yours, and in you sanctified! +O men, O women, of the peaceful brow, + And infinite abysses in the eyes + Whence God's ineffable gazes on me, how +Care ye for me, impassioned and unwise? + Oh ever draw my heart out after you! + Ever, O grandeur, thus before me rise +And I need nothing, not even for love will sue! + I am no more, and love is all in all! + Henceforth there is, there can be nothing new-- +All things are always new!" Then, like the fall + Of a steep avalanche, my joy fell steep: + Up in my spirit rose as it were the call +Of an old sorrow from an ancient deep; + For, with my eyes fixed on the eyes of him + Whom I had loved before I learned to creep-- +God's vicar in his twilight nursery dim + To gather us to the higher father's knee-- + I saw a something fill their azure rim +That caught him worlds and years away from me; + And like a javelin once more through me passed + The pang that pierced me walking on the sea: +"O saints," I cried, "must loss be still the last?" + +XVII. + +When I said this, the cloud of witnesses + Turned their heads sideways, and the cloud grew dim + I saw their faces half, but now their bliss +Gleamed low, like the old moon in the new moon's rim. + Then as I gazed, a better kind of light + On every outline 'gan to glimmer and swim, +Faint as the young moon threadlike on the night, + Just born of sunbeams trembling on her edge: + 'Twas a great cluster of profiles in sharp white. +Had some far dawn begun to drive a wedge + Into the night, and cleave the clinging dark? + I saw no moon or star, token or pledge +Of light, save that manifold silvery mark, + The shining title of each spirit-book. + Whence came that light? Sudden, as if a spark +Of vital touch had found some hidden nook + Where germs of potent harmonies lay prest, + And their outbursting life old Aether shook, +Rose, as in prayer to lingering promised guest, + From that great cone of faces such a song, + Instinct with hope's harmonical unrest, +That with sore weeping, and the cry "How long?" + I bore my part because I could not sing. + And as they sang, the light more clear and strong +Bordered their faces, till the glory-sting + I could almost no more encounter and bear; + Light from their eyes, like water from a spring, +Flowed; on their foreheads reigned their flashing hair; + I saw the light from eyes I could not see. + "He comes! he comes!" they sang, "comes to our prayer!" +"Oh my poor heart, if only it were _He!_" + I cried. Thereat the faces moved! those eyes + Were turning on me! In rushed ecstasy, +And woke me to the light of lower skies. + +XVIII. + +"What matter," said I, "whether clank of chain + Or over-bliss wakes up to bitterness!" + Stung with its loss, I called the vision vain. +Yet feeling life grown larger, suffering less, + Sleep's ashes from my eyelids I did brush. + The room was veiled, that morning should not press +Upon the slumber which had stayed the rush + Of ebbing life; I looked into the gloom: + Upon her brow the dawn's first grayest flush, +And on her cheek pale hope's reviving bloom, + Sat, patient watcher, darkling and alone, + She who had lifted me from many a tomb! +One then was left me of Love's radiant cone! + Its light on her dear face, though faint and wan, + Was shining yet--a dawn upon it thrown +From the far coming of the Son of Man! + +XIX. + +In every forehead now I see a sky + Catching the dawn; I hear the wintriest breeze + About me blow the news the Lord is nigh. +Long is the night, dark are the polar seas, + Yet slanting suns ascend the northern hill. + Round Spring's own steps the oozy waters freeze +But hold them not. Dreamers are sleeping still, + But labourers, light-stung, from their slumber start: + Faith sees the ripening ears with harvest fill +When but green blades the clinging earth-clods part. + +XX. + +Lord, I have spoken a poor parable, + In which I would have said thy name alone + Is the one secret lying in Truth's well, +Thy voice the hidden charm in every tone, + Thy face the heart of every flower on earth, + Its vision the one hope; for every moan +Thy love the cure! O sharer of the birth + Of little children seated on thy knee! + O human God! I laugh with sacred mirth +To think how all the laden shall go free; + For, though the vision tarry, in healing ruth + One morn the eyes that shone in Galilee +Will dawn upon them, full of grace and truth, + And thy own love--the vivifying core + Of every love in heart of age or youth, +Of every hope that sank 'neath burden sore! + + + +_THE SANGREAL_: + + A Part Of The Story Omitted In The Old Romances. + +I. + + _How sir Galahad despaired of finding the Grail._ + +Through the wood the sunny day + Glimmered sweetly glad; +Through the wood his weary way + Rode sir Galahad. + +All about stood open porch, + Long-drawn cloister dim; +'Twas a wavering wandering church + Every side of him. + +On through columns arching high, + Foliage-vaulted, he +Rode in thirst that made him sigh, + Longing miserably. + +Came the moon, and through the trees + Glimmered faintly sad; +Withered, worn, and ill at ease + Down lay Galahad; + +Closed his eyes and took no heed + What might come or pass; +Heard his hunger-busy steed + Cropping dewy grass. + +Cool and juicy was the blade, + Good to him as wine: +For his labour he was paid, + Galahad must pine! + +Late had he at Arthur's board, + Arthur strong and wise, +Pledged the cup with friendly lord, + Looked in ladies' eyes; + +Now, alas! he wandered wide, + Resting never more, +Over lake and mountain-side, + Over sea and shore! + +Swift in vision rose and fled + All he might have had; +Weary tossed his restless head, + And his heart grew sad. + +With the lowliest in the land + He a maiden fair +Might have led with virgin hand + From the altar-stair: + +Youth away with strength would glide, + Age bring frost and woe; +Through the world so dreary wide + Mateless he must go! + +Lost was life and all its good, + Gone without avail! +All his labour never would + Find the Holy Grail! + +II. + + _How sir Galahad found and lost the Grail._ + +Galahad was in the night, + And the wood was drear; +But to men in darksome plight + Radiant things appear: + +Wings he heard not floating by, + Heard no heavenly hail; +But he started with a cry, + For he saw the Grail. + +Hid from bright beholding sun, + Hid from moonlight wan, +Lo, from age-long darkness won, + It was seen of man! + +Three feet off, on cushioned moss, + As if cast away, +Homely wood with carven cross, + Rough and rude it lay! + +To his knees the knight rose up, + Loosed his gauntlet-band; +Fearing, daring, toward the cup + Went his naked hand; + +When, as if it fled from harm, + Sank the holy thing, +And his eager following arm + Plunged into a spring. + +Oh the thirst, the water sweet! + Down he lay and quaffed, +Quaffed and rose up on his feet, + Rose and gayly laughed; + +Fell upon his knees to thank, + Loved and lauded there; +Stretched him on the mossy bank, + Fell asleep in prayer; + +Dreamed, and dreaming murmured low + Ave, pater, creed; +When the fir-tops gan to glow + Waked and called his steed; + +Bitted him and drew his girth, + Watered from his helm: +Happier knight or better worth + Was not in the realm! + +Belted on him then his sword, + Braced his slackened mail; +Doubting said: "I dreamed the Lord + Offered me the Grail." + +III. + + _How sir Galahad gave up the Quest for the Grail._ + +Ere the sun had cast his light + On the water's face, +Firm in saddle rode the knight + From the holy place, + +Merry songs began to sing, + Let his matins bide; +Rode a good hour pondering, + And was turned aside, + +Saying, "I will henceforth then + Yield this hopeless quest; +Tis a dream of holy men + This ideal Best!" + +"Every good for miracle + Heart devout may hold; +Grail indeed was that fair well + Full of water cold! + +"Not my thirst alone it stilled + But my soul it stayed; +And my heart, with gladness filled, + Wept and laughed and prayed! + +"Spectral church with cryptic niche + I will seek no more; +That the holiest Grail is, which + Helps the need most sore!" + +And he spake with speech more true + Than his thought indeed, +For not yet the good knight knew + His own sorest need. + +IV. + + _How sir Galahad sought yet again for the Grail._ + +On he rode, to succour bound, + But his faith grew dim; +Wells for thirst he many found, + Water none for him. + +Never more from drinking deep + Rose he up and laughed; +Never more did prayerful sleep + Follow on the draught. + +Good the water which they bore, + Plenteously it flowed, +Quenched his thirst, but, ah, no more + Eased his bosom's load! + +For the _Best_ no more he sighed; + Rode as in a trance; +Life grew poor, undignified, + And he spake of chance. + +Then he dreamed through Jesus' hand + That he drove a nail-- +Woke and cried, "Through every land, + Lord, I seek thy Grail!" + +V. + + _That sir Galahad found the Grail._ + +Up the quest again he took, + Rode through wood and wave; +Sought in many a mossy nook, + Many a hermit-cave; + +Sought until the evening red + Sunk in shadow deep; +Sought until the moonlight fled; + Slept, and sought in sleep. + +Where he wandered, seeking, sad, + Story doth not say, +But at length sir Galahad + Found it on a day; + +Took the Grail with holy hand, + Had the cup of joy; +Carried it about the land, + Gleesome as a boy; + +Laid his sword where he had found + Boot for every bale, +Stuck his spear into the ground, + Kept alone the Grail. + +VI. + + _How sir Galahad carried about the Grail._ + +Horse and crested helmet gone, + Greaves and shield and mail, +Caroling loud the knight walked on, + For he had the Grail; + +Caroling loud walked south and north, + East and west, for years; +Where he went, the smiles came forth, + Where he left, the tears. + +Glave nor dagger mourned he, + Axe nor iron flail: +Evil might not brook to see + Once the Holy Grail. + +Wilds he wandered with his staff, + Woods no longer sad; +Earth and sky and sea did laugh + Round sir Galahad. + +Bitter mere nor trodden pool + Did in service fail, +Water all grew sweet and cool + In the Holy Grail. + +Without where to lay his head, + Chanting loud he went; +Found each cave a palace-bed, + Every rock a tent. + +Age that had begun to quail + In the gathering gloom, +Counselled he to seek the Grail + And forget the tomb. + +Youth with hope or passion pale, + Youth with eager eyes, +Taught he that the Holy Grail + Was the only prize. + +Maiden worn with hidden ail, + Restless and unsure, +Taught he that the Holy Grail + Was the only cure. + +Children rosy in the sun + Ran to hear his tale +How twelve little ones had won + Each of them the Grail. + +VII. + + _How sir Galahad hid the Grail._ + +Very still was earth and sky + When he passing lay; +Oft he said he should not die, + Would but go away. + +When he passed, they reverent sought, + Where his hand lay prest, +For the cup he bare, they thought, + Hidden in his breast. + +Hope and haste and eager thrill + Turned to sorrowing wail: +Hid he held it deeper still, + Took with him the Grail. + + + +_THE FAILING TRACK_. + +Where went the feet that hitherto have come? + Here yawns no gulf to quench the flowing past! +With lengthening pauses broke, the path grows dumb; + The grass floats in; the gazer stands aghast. + +Tremble not, maiden, though the footprints die; + By no air-path ascend the lark's clear notes; +The mighty-throated when he mounts the sky + Over some lowly landmark sings and floats. + +Be of good cheer. Paths vanish from the wave; + There all the ships tear each its track of gray; +Undaunted they the wandering desert brave: + In each a magic finger points the way. + +No finger finely touched, no eye of lark + Hast thou to guide thy steps where footprints fail? +Ah, then, 'twere well to turn before the dark, + Nor dream to find thy dreams in yonder vale! + +The backward way one hour is plain to thee, + Hard hap were hers who saw no trace behind! +Back to confession at thy mother's knee, + Back to the question and the childlike mind! + +Then start afresh, but toward unending end, + The goal o'er which hangs thy own star all night; +So shalt thou need no footprints to befriend, + Child-heart and shining star will guide thee right. + + + +_TELL ME._ + +"Traveller, what lies over the hill? + Traveller, tell to me: +Tip-toe-high on the window-sill + Over I cannot see." + +"My child, a valley green lies there, + Lovely with trees, and shy; +And a tiny brook that says, 'Take care, + Or I'll drown you by and by!'" + +"And what comes next?"--"A little town, + And a towering hill again; +More hills and valleys up and down, + And a river now and then." + +"And what comes next?"--"A lonely moor + Without one beaten way, +And slow clouds drifting dull before + A wind that will not stay." + +"And then?"--"Dark rocks and yellow sand, + Blue sea and a moaning tide." +"And then?"--"More sea, and then more land, + With rivers deep and wide." + +"And then?"--"Oh, rock and mountain and vale, + Ocean and shores and men, +Over and over, a weary tale, + And round to your home again!" + +"And is that all? From day to day, + Like one with a long chain bound, +Should I walk and walk and not get away, + But go always round and round?" + +"No, no; I have not told you the best, + I have not told you the end: +If you want to escape, away in the west + You will see a stair ascend, + +"Built of all colours of lovely stones, + A stair up into the sky +Where no one is weary, and no one moans, + Or wishes to be laid by." + +"Is it far away?"--"I do not know: + You must fix your eyes thereon, +And travel, travel through thunder and snow, + Till the weary way is gone. + +"All day, though you never see it shine, + You must travel nor turn aside, +All night you must keep as straight a line + Through moonbeams or darkness wide." + +"When I am older!"--"Nay, not so!" + "I have hardly opened my eyes!" +"He who to the old sunset would go, + Starts best with the young sunrise." + +"Is the stair right up? is it very steep?" + "Too steep for you to climb; +You must lie at the foot of the glorious heap + And patient wait your time." + +"How long?"--"Nay, that I cannot tell." + "In wind, and rain, and frost?" +"It may be so; and it is well + That you should count the cost. + +"Pilgrims from near and from distant lands + Will step on you lying there; +But a wayfaring man with wounded hands + Will carry you up the stair." + + + +_BROTHER ARTIST!_ + +Brother artist, help me; come! + Artists are a maimed band: + I have words but not a hand; +Thou hast hands though thou art dumb. + +Had I thine, when words did fail-- + Vassal-words their hasting chief, + On the white awaiting leaf +Shapes of power should tell the tale. + +Had I hers of music-might, + I would shake the air with storm + Till the red clouds trailed enorm +Boreal dances through the night. + +Had I his whose foresight rare + Piles the stones with lordliest art, + From the quarry of my heart +Love should climb a heavenly stair! + +Had I his whose wooing slow + Wins the marble's hidden child, + Out in passion undefiled +Stood my Psyche, white as snow! + +Maimed, a little help I pray; + Words suffice not for my end; + Let thy hand obey thy friend, +Say for me what I would say. + +Draw me, on an arid plain + With hoar-headed mountains nigh, + Under a clear morning sky +Telling of a night of rain, + +Huge and half-shaped, like a block + Chosen for sarcophagus + By a Pharaoh glorious, +One rude solitary rock. + +Cleave it down along the ridge + With a fissure yawning deep + To the heart of the hard heap, +Like the rent of riving wedge. + +Through the cleft let hands appear, + Upward pointed with pressed palms + As if raised in silent psalms +For salvation come anear. + +Turn thee now--'tis almost done!-- + To the near horizon's verge: + Make the smallest arc emerge +Of the forehead of the sun. + +One thing more--I ask too much!-- + From a brow which hope makes brave + Sweep the shadow of the grave +With a single golden touch. + +Thanks, dear painter; that is all. + If thy picture one day should + Need some words to make it good, +I am ready to thy call. + + + +_AFTER AN OLD LEGEND._ + +The monk was praying in his cell, + With bowed head praying sore; +He had been praying on his knees + For two long hours and more. + +As of themselves, all suddenly, + His eyelids opened wide; +Before him on the ground he saw + A man's feet close beside; + +And almost to the feet came down + A garment wove throughout; +Such garment he had never seen + In countries round about! + +His eyes he lifted tremblingly + Until a hand they spied: +A chisel-scar on it he saw, + And a deep, torn scar beside. + +His eyes they leaped up to the face, + His heart gave one wild bound, +Then stood as if its work were done-- + The Master he had found! + +With sudden clang the convent bell + Told him the poor did wait +His hand to give the daily bread + Doled at the convent-gate. + +Then Love rose in him passionate, + And with Duty wrestled strong; +And the bell kept calling all the time + With merciless iron tongue. + +The Master stood and looked at him + He rose up with a sigh: +"He will be gone when I come back + I go to him by and by!" + +He chid his heart, he fed the poor + All at the convent-gate; +Then with slow-dragging feet went back + To his cell so desolate: + +His heart bereaved by duty done, + He had sore need of prayer! +Oh, sad he lifted the latch!--and, lo, + The Master standing there! + +He said, "My poor had not to stand + Wearily at thy gate: +For him who feeds the shepherd's sheep + The shepherd will stand and wait." + +_Yet, Lord--for thou would'st have us judge, + And I will humbly dare-- +If he had staid, I do not think + Thou wouldst have left him there. + +Thy voice in far-off time I hear, + With sweet defending, say: +"The poor ye always have with you, + Me ye have not alway!" + +Thou wouldst have said: "Go feed my poor, + The deed thou shalt not rue; +Wherever ye do my father's will + I always am with you."_ + + + +_A MEDITATION OF ST. ELIGIUS_. + +_Queen Mary one day Jesus sent + To fetch some water, legends tell; +The little boy, obedient, + Drew a full pitcher from the well; + +But as he raised it to his head, + The water lipping with the rim, +The handle broke, and all was shed + Upon the stones about the brim. + +His cloak upon the ground he laid + And in it gathered up the pool; [Proverbs xxx. 4.] +Obedient there the water staid, + And home he bore it plentiful._ + +Eligius said, "Tis fabled ill: + The hands that all the world control, +Had here been room for miracle, + Had made his mother's pitcher whole! + +"Still, some few drops for thirsty need + A poor invention even, when told +In love of thee the Truth indeed, + Like broken pitcher yet may hold: + +"Thy truth, alas, Lord, once I spilt: + I thought to bear the pitcher high; +Upon the shining stones of guilt + I slipped, and there the potsherds lie! + +_"Master,_ I cried, _no man will drink, + No human thirst will e'er be stilled +Through me, who sit upon the brink, + My pitcher broke, thy water spilled! + +"What will they do I waiting left? + They looked to me to bring thy law! +The well is deep, and, sin-bereft, + I nothing have wherewith to draw!"_ + +"But as I sat in evil plight, + With dry parched heart and sickened brain, +Uprose in me the water bright, + Thou gavest me thyself again!" + + + +_THE EARLY BIRD._ + +A little bird sat on the edge of her nest; + Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as tops; +Day-long she had worked almost without rest, + And had filled every one of their gibbous crops; +Her own she had filled just over-full, +And she felt like a dead bird stuffed with wool. + +"Oh dear!" she sighed, as she sat with her head + Sunk in her chest, and no neck at all, +Looking like an apple on a feather-bed + Poked and rounded and fluffed to a ball, +"What's to be done if things don't reform? +I cannot tell where there is one more worm! + +"I've had fifteen to-day, and the children five each, + Besides a few flies, and some very fat spiders: +Who will dare say I don't do as I preach? + I set an example to all providers! +But what's the use? We want a storm: +I don't know where there's a single worm!" + +"There's five in my crop," chirped a wee, wee bird + Who woke at the voice of his mother's pain; +"I know where there's five!" And with the word + He tucked in his head and went off again. +"The folly of childhood," sighed his mother, +"Has always been my especial bother!" + +Careless the yellow-beaks slept on, + They never had heard of the bogy, Tomorrow; +The mother sat outside making her moan-- + "I shall soon have to beg, or steal, or borrow! +I have always to say, the night before, +Where shall I find one red worm more!" + +Her case was this, she had gobbled too many, + And sleepless, had an attack she called foresight: +A barn of crumbs, if she knew but of any! + Could she but get of the great worm-store sight! +The eastern sky was growing red +Ere she laid her wise beak in its feather-bed. + +Just then, the fellow who knew of five, + Nor troubled his sleep with anxious tricks, +Woke, and stirred, and felt alive: + "To-day," he said, "I am up to six! +But my mother feels in her lot the crook-- +What if I tried my own little hook!" + +When his mother awoke, she winked her eyes + As if she had dreamed that she was a mole: +Could she believe them? "What a huge prize + That child is dragging out of its hole!" +The fledgeling indeed had just caught his third! +_And here is a fable to catch the bird!_ + + + +_SIR LARK AND KING SUN._ + +"Good morrow, my lord!" in the sky alone +Sang the lark as the sun ascended his throne. +"Shine on me, my lord: I only am come, +Of all your servants, to welcome you home! +I have shot straight up, a whole hour, I swear, +To catch the first gleam of your golden hair." + +"Must I thank you then," said the king, "sir Lark, +For flying so high and hating the dark? +You ask a full cup for half a thirst: +Half was love of me, half love to be first. +Some of my subjects serve better my taste: +Their watching and waiting means more than your haste." + +King Sun wrapt his head in a turban of cloud; +Sir Lark stopped singing, quite vexed and cowed; +But higher he flew, for he thought, "Anon +The wrath of the king will be over and gone; +And, scattering his head-gear manifold, +He will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold!" + +He flew, with the strength of a lark he flew, +But as he rose the cloud rose too; +And not one gleam of the flashing hair +Brought signal of favour across the air; +And his wings felt withered and worn and old, +For their feathers had had no chrism of gold. + +Outwearied at length, and throbbing sore, +The strong sun-seeker could do no more; +He faltered and sank, then dropped like a stone +Beside his nest, where, patient, alone, +Sat his little wife on her little eggs, +Keeping them warm with wings and legs. + +Did I say alone? Ah, no such thing! +There was the cloudless, the ray-crowned king! +"Welcome, sir Lark!--You look tired!" said he; +"_Up_ is not always the best way to me: +While you have been racing my turban gray, +I have been shining where you would not stay!" + +He had set a coronet round the nest; +Its radiance foamed on the wife's little breast; +And so glorious was she in russet gold +That sir Lark for wonder and awe grew cold; +He popped his head under her wing, and lay +As still as a stone till king Sun went away. + + + +_THE OWL AND THE BELL._ + +_Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_ +Sang the Bell to himself in his house at home, +High in the church-tower, lone and unseen, +In a twilight of ivy, cool and green; +With his _Bing, Bing, Bim, Bing, Bang, Bome!_ +Singing bass to himself in his house at home. + +Said the Owl, on a shadowy ledge below, +Like a glimmering ball of forgotten snow, +"Pest on that fellow sitting up there, +Always calling the people to prayer! +He shatters my nerves with his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_--- +Far too big in his house at home! + +"I think I will move.--But it suits me well, +And one may get used to it, who can tell!" +So he slept again with all his might, +Then woke and snooved out in the hush of night +When the Bell was asleep in his house at home, +Dreaming over his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +For the Owl was born so poor and genteel +What could he do but pick and steal? +He scorned to work for honest bread-- +"Better have never been hatched!" he said. +So his day was the night, for he dared not roam +Till sleep had silenced the _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +When five greedy Owlets chipped the egg +He wanted two beaks and another leg, +And they ate the more that they did not sleep well: +"It's their gizzards," said Owless; said Owl, "It's that Bell!" +For they quivered like leaves of a wind-blown tome +When the Bell bellowed out his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +But the Bell began to throb with the fear +Of bringing his house about his one ear; +And his people came round it, quite a throng, +To buttress the walls and make them strong: +A full month he sat, and felt like a mome +Not daring to shout his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +Said the Owl to himself, and hissed as he said, +"I trust in my heart the old fool is dead! +No more will he scare church-mice with his bounce, +And make them so thin they're scarce worth a pounce! +Once I will see him ere he's laid in the loam, +And shout in his ear _Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_" + +"Hoo! hoo!" he cried, as he entered the steeple, +"They've hanged him at last, the righteous people! +His swollen tongue lolls out of his head! +Hoo! hoo! at last the old brute is dead! +There let him hang, the shapeless gnome, +Choked with a throatful of _Bing, Bang, Bome!_" + +He fluttered about him, singing _Too-whoo!_ +He flapped the poor Bell, and said, "Is that you? +You that never would matters mince, +Banging poor owls and making them wince? +A fig for you now, in your great hall-dome! +_Too-whit_ is better than _Bing, Bang, Bome!_" + +Still braver he grew, the downy, the dapper; +He flew in and perched on the knob of the clapper, +And shouted _Too-whoo!_ An echo awoke +Like a far-off ghostly _Bing-Bang_ stroke: +"Just so!" he cried; "I am quite at home! +I will take his place with my _Bing, Bang, Bome!_" + +He hissed with the scorn of his grand self-wonder, +And thought the Bell's tremble his own great thunder: +He sat the Jove of creation's fowl.-- +_Bang!_ went the Bell--through the rope-hole the owl, +A fluffy avalanche, light as foam, +Loosed by the boom of the _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +He sat where he fell, as if he had meant it, +Ready for any remark anent it. +Said the eldest Owlet, "Pa, you were wrong; +He's at it again with his vulgar song!" +"Child," said the Owl, "of the mark you are wide: +I brought him to life by perching inside." + +"Why did you, my dear?" said his startled wife; +"He has always been the plague of your life!" +"I have given him a lesson of good for evil: +Perhaps the old ruffian will now be civil!" +The Owl sat righteous, he raised his comb. +The Bell bawled on, _Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_ + + + +A MAMMON-MARRIAGE. + +The croak of a raven hoar! + A dog's howl, kennel-tied! +Loud shuts the carriage-door: + The two are away on their ghastly ride +To Death's salt shore! + +Where are the love and the grace? + The bridegroom is thirsty and cold! +The bride's skull sharpens her face! + But the coachman is driving, jubilant, bold, +The devil's pace. + +The horses shivered and shook + Waiting gaunt and haggard +With sorry and evil look; + But swift as a drunken wind they staggered +'Longst Lethe brook. + +Long since, they ran no more; + Heavily pulling they died +On the sand of the hopeless shore + Where never swelled or sank a tide, +And the salt burns sore. + +Flat their skeletons lie, + White shadows on shining sand; +The crusted reins go high + To the crumbling coachman's bony hand +On his knees awry. + +Side by side, jarring no more, + Day and night side by side, +Each by a doorless door, + Motionless sit the bridegroom and bride +On the Dead-Sea-shore. + + + +_A SONG IN THE NIGHT._ + +A brown bird sang on a blossomy tree, +Sang in the moonshine, merrily, +Three little songs, one, two, and three, +A song for his wife, for himself, and me. + +He sang for his wife, sang low, sang high, +Filling the moonlight that filled the sky; +"Thee, thee, I love thee, heart alive! +Thee, thee, thee, and thy round eggs five!" + +He sang to himself, "What shall I do +With this life that thrills me through and through! +Glad is so glad that it turns to ache! +Out with it, song, or my heart will break!" + +He sang to me, "Man, do not fear +Though the moon goes down and the dark is near; +Listen my song and rest thine eyes; +Let the moon go down that the sun may rise!" + +I folded me up in the heart of his tune, +And fell asleep with the sinking moon; +I woke with the day's first golden gleam, +And, lo, I had dreamed a precious dream! + + + +_LOVE'S HISTORY_. + +Love, the baby, + Crept abroad to pluck a flower: +One said, Yes, sir; one said, Maybe; + One said, Wait the hour. + +Love, the boy, + Joined the youngsters at their play: +But they gave him little joy, + And he went away. + +Love, the youth, + Roamed the country, quiver-laden; +From him fled away in sooth + Many a man and maiden! + +Love, the man, + Sought a service all about; +But they called him feeble, one + They could do without. + +Love, the aged, + Walking, bowed, the shadeless miles, +Read a volume many-paged, + Full of tears and smiles. + +Love, the weary, + Tottered down the shelving road: +At its foot, lo, Night, the starry, + Meeting him from God! + +"Love, the holy," + Sang a music in her dome, +Sang it softly, sang it slowly, + "Love is coming home!" + + + +THE LARK AND THE WIND. + +In the air why such a ringing? + On the earth why such a droning? + +In the air the lark is singing; + On the earth the wind is moaning. + +"I am blest, in sunlight swinging!" + "Sad am I: the world lies groaning!" + +In the sky the lark kept singing; + On the earth the wind kept moaning. + + + +A DEAD HOUSE. + +When the clock hath ceased to tick + Soul-like in the gloomy hall; +When the latch no more doth click + Tongue-like in the red peach-wall; +When no more come sounds of play, + Mice nor children romping roam, +Then looks down the eye of day + On a dead house, not a home! + +But when, like an old sun's ghost, + Haunts her vault the spectral moon; +When earth's margins all are lost, + Melting shapes nigh merged in swoon, +Then a sound--hark! there again!-- + No, 'tis not a nibbling mouse! +'Tis a ghost, unseen of men, + Walking through the bare-floored house! + +And with lightning on the stair + To that silent upper room, +With the thunder-shaken air + Sudden gleaming into gloom, +With a frost-wind whistling round, + From the raging northern coasts, +Then, mid sieging light and sound, + All the house is live with ghosts! + +Brother, is thy soul a cell + Empty save of glittering motes, +Where no live loves live and dwell, + Only notions, things, and thoughts? +Then thou wilt, when comes a Breath + Tempest-shaking ridge and post, +Find thyself alone with Death + In a house where walks no ghost. + + + +'BELL UPON ORGAN. + + It's all very well, +Said the Bell, +To be the big Organ below! +But the folk come and go, +Said the Bell, +And you never can tell +What sort of person the Organ will blow! +And, besides, it is much at the mercy of the weather +For 'tis all made in pieces and glued together! + + But up in my cell +Next door to the sky, +Said the Bell, +I dwell +Very high; +And with glorious go +I swing to and fro; +I swing swift or slow, +I swing as I please, +With summons or knell; +I swing at my ease, +Said the Bell: +Not the tallest of men +Can reach up to touch me, +To smirch me or smutch me, +Or make me do what +I would not be at! +And, then, +The weather can't cause me to shrink or increase: +I chose to be made in one perfect piece! + + + +MASTER AND BOY. + +"WHO is this little one lying," + Said Time, "at my garden-gate, +Moaning and sobbing and crying, + Out in the cold so late?" + +"They lurked until we came near, + Master and I," the child said, +"Then caught me, with 'Welcome, New-year! + Happy Year! Golden-head!' + +"See Christmas-day, my Master, + On the meadow a mile away! +Father Time, make me run faster! + I'm the Shadow of Christmas-day!" + +"Run, my child; still he's in sight! + Only look well to his track; +Little Shadow, run like the light, + He misses you at his back!" + +Old Time sat down in the sun + On a grave-stone--his legs were numb: +"When the boy to his master has run," + He said, "Heaven's New Year is come!" + + + +_THE CLOCK OF THE UNIVERSE_. + + A clock aeonian, steady and tall, +With its back to creation's flaming wall, +Stands at the foot of a dim, wide stair. +Swing, swang, its pendulum goes, +Swing--swang--here--there! +Its tick and its tack like the sledge-hammer blows +Of Tubal Cain, the mighty man! +But they strike on the anvil of never an ear, +On the heart of man and woman they fall, +With an echo of blessing, an echo of ban; +For each tick is a hope, each tack is a fear, +Each tick is a _Where_, each tack a _Not here_, +Each tick is a kiss, each tack is a blow, +Each tick says _Why_, each tack _I don't know_. +Swing, swang, the pendulum! +Tick and tack, and _go_ and _come_, +With a haunting, far-off, dreamy hum, +With a tick, tack, loud and dumb, +Swings the pendulum. + + Two hands, together joined in prayer, +With a roll and a volley of spheric thunder; +Two hands, in hope spread half asunder, +An empty gulf of longing embrace; +Two hands, wide apart as they can fare +In a fear still coasting not touching Despair, +But turning again, ever round to prayer: +Two hands, human hands, pass with awful motion +From isle to isle of the sapphire ocean. + + The silent, surfaceless ocean-face +Is filled with a brooding, hearkening grace; +The stars dream in, and sink fainting out, +And the sun and the moon go walking about, +Walking about in it, solemn and slow, +Solemn and slow, at a thinking pace, +Walking about in it to and fro, +Walking, walking about. + + With open beak and half-open wing +Ever with eagerness quivering, +On the peak of the clock +Stands a cock: +Tip-toe stands the cock to crow-- +Golden cock with silver call +Clear as trumpet tearing the sky! +No one yet has heard him cry, +Nor ever will till the hour supreme +When Self on itself shall turn with a scream, +What time the hands are joined on high +In a hoping, despairing, speechless sigh, +The perfect groan-prayer of the universe +When the darkness clings and will not disperse +Though the time is come, told ages ago, +For the great white rose of the world to blow: +--Tick, tack, to the waiting cock, +Tick, tack, goes the aeon-clock! + + A polar bear, golden and gray, +Crawls and crawls around the top. +Black and black as an Ethiop +The great sea-serpent lies coiled beneath, +Living, living, but does not breathe. +For the crawling bear is so far away +That he cannot hear, by night or day, +The bourdon big of his deep bear-bass +Roaring atop of the silent face, +Else would he move, and none knows then +What would befall the sons of men! + + Eat up old Time, O raging Bear; +Take Bald-head, and the children spare! +Lie still, O Serpent, nor let one breath +Stir thy pool and stay Time's death! +Steady, Hands! for the noon is nigh: +See the silvery ghost of the Dawning shy +Low on the floor of the level sky! +Warn for the strike, O blessed Clock; +Gather thy clarion breath, gold Cock; +Push on the month-figures, pale, weary-faced Moon; +Tick, awful Pendulum, tick amain; +And soon, oh, soon, +Lord of life, and Father of boon, +Give us our own in our arms again! + + Then the great old clock to pieces will fall +Sans groaning of axle or whirring of wheel. +And away like a mist of the morning steal, +To stand no more in creation's hall; +Its mighty weights will fall down plumb +Into the regions where all is dumb; +No more will its hands, in horror or prayer, +Be lifted or spread at the foot of the stair +That springs aloft to the Father's room; +Its tick and its tack, _When?--Not now_, +Will cease, and its muffled groan below; +Its sapphire face will dissolve away +In the dawn of the perfect, love-potent day; +The serpent and bear will be seen no more, +Growling atop, or prone on the floor; +And up the stair will run as they please +The children to clasp the Father's knees. + +O God, our father, Allhearts' All, +Open the doors of thy clockless hall! + + + +_THE THORN IN THE FLESH._ + +Within my heart a worm had long been hid. +I knew it not when I went down and chid +Because some servants of my inner house +Had not, I found, of late been doing well, +But then I spied the horror hideous +Dwelling defiant in the inmost cell-- +No, not the inmost, for there God did dwell! +But the small monster, softly burrowing, +Near by God's chamber had made itself a den, +And lay in it and grew, the noisome thing! +Aghast I prayed--'twas time I did pray then! +But as I prayed it seemed the loathsome shape +Grew livelier, and did so gnaw and scrape +That I grew faint. Whereon to me he said-- +Some one, that is, who held my swimming head, +"Lo, I am with thee: let him do his worst; +The creature is, but not his work, accurst; +Thou hating him, he is as a thing dead." +Then I lay still, nor thought, only endured. +At last I said, "Lo, now I am inured +A burgess of Pain's town!" The pain grew worse. +Then I cried out as if my heart would break. +But he, whom, in the fretting, sickening ache, +I had forgotten, spoke: "The law of the universe +Is this," he said: "Weakness shall be the nurse +Of strength. The help I had will serve thee too." +So I took courage and did bear anew. +At last, through bones and flesh and shrinking skin, +Lo, the thing ate his way, and light came in, +And the thing died. I knew then what it meant, +And, turning, saw the Lord on whom I leant. + + + +_LYCABAS:_ + +A name of the Year. Some say the word means _a march of wolves_, +which wolves, running in single file, are the Months of the Year. +Others say the word means _the path of the light_. + + O ye months of the year, +Are ye a march of wolves? +Lycabas! Lycabas! twelve to growl and slay? +Men hearken at night, and lie in fear, +Some men hearken all day! + + Lycabas, verily thou art a gallop of wolves, +Gaunt gray wolves, gray months of the year, hunting in twelves, +Running and howling, head to tail, +In a single file, over the snow, +A long low gliding of silent horror and fear! +On and on, ghastly and drear, +Not a head turning, not a foot swerving, ye go, +Twelve making only a one-wolf track! +Onward ye howl, and behind we wail; +Wail behind your narrow and slack +Wallowing line, and moan and weep, +As ye draw it on, straight and deep, +Thorough the night so swart! +Behind you a desert, and eyes a-weary, +A long, bare highway, stony and dreary, +A hungry soul, and a wolf-cub wrapt, +A live wolf-cub, sharp-toothed, steel-chapt, +In the garment next the heart! + + Lycabas! +One of them hurt me sore! +Two of them hurt and tore! +Three of them made me bleed! +The fourth did a terrible deed, +Rent me the worst of the four! +Rent me, and shook me, and tore, +And ran away with a growl! +Lycabas, if I feared you a jot, +You, and your devils running in twelves, +Black-mouthed, hell-throated, straight-going wolves, +I would run like a wolf, I too, and howl! +I live, and I fear you not. + + But shall I not hate you, low-galloping wolves +Hunting in ceaseless twelves? +Ye have hunted away my lambs! +Ye ran at them open-mouthed, +And your mouths were gleamy-toothed, +And their whiteness with red foam frothed, +And your throats were a purple-black gulf: +My lambs they fled, and they came not back! +Lovely white lambs they were, alack! +They fled afar and they left a track +Which at night, when the lone sky clears, +Glistens with Nature's tears! +Many a shepherd scarce thinks of a lamb +But he hears behind it the growl of a wolf, +And behind that the wail of its dam! + + They ran, nor cried, but fled +From day's sweet pasture, from night's soft bed: +Ah me, the look in their eyes! +For behind them rushed the swallowing gulf, +The maw of the growl-throated wolf, +And they fled as the thing that speeds or dies: +They looked not behind, +But fled as over the grass the wind. + + Oh my lambs, I would drop away +Into a night that never saw day +That so in your dear hearts you might say, +"_All is well for ever and aye!_" +Yet it was well to hurry away, +To hurry from me, your shepherd gray: +I had no sword to bite and slay, +And the wolfy Months were on your track! +It was well to start from work and play, +It was well to hurry from me away-- +But why not once look back? + + The wolves came panting down the lea-- +What was left you but somewhere flee! +Ye saw the Shepherd that never grows old, +Ye saw the great Shepherd, and him ye knew, +And the wolves never once came near to you; +For he saw you coming, threw down his crook, +Ran, and his arms about you threw; +He gathered you into his garment's fold, +He kneeled, he gathered, he lifted you, +And his bosom and arms were full of you. +He has taken you home to his stronghold: +Out of the castle of Love ye look; +The castle of Love is now your home, +From the garden of Love you will never roam, +And the wolves no more shall flutter you. + + Lycabas! Lycabas! +For all your hunting and howling and cries, +Your yelling of _woe_! and _alas_! +For all your thin tongues and your fiery eyes, +Your questing thorough the windy grass, +Your gurgling gnar, and your horrent hair, +And your white teeth that will not spare-- +Wolves, I fear you never a jot, +Though you come at me with your mouths red-hot, +Eyes of fury, and teeth that foam: +Ye can do nothing but drive me home! +Wolves, wolves, you will lie one day-- +Ye are lying even now, this very day, +Wolves in twelves, gaunt and gray, +At the feet of the Shepherd that leads the dams, +At the feet of the Shepherd that carries the lambs! + + And now that I see you with my mind's eye, +What are you indeed? my mind revolves. +Are you, are you verily wolves? +I saw you only through twilight dark, +Through rain and wind, and ill could mark! +Now I come near--are you verily wolves? +Ye have torn, but I never saw you slay! +Me ye have torn, but I live to-day, +Live, and hope to live ever and aye! +Closer still let me look at you!-- +Black are your mouths, but your eyes are true!-- +Now, now I know you!--the Shepherd's sheep-dogs! +Friends of us sheep on the moors and bogs, +Lost so often in swamps and fogs! +Dear creatures, forgive me; I did you wrong; +You to the castle of Love belong: +Forgive the sore heart that made sharp the tongue! +Your swift-flying feet the Shepherd sends +To gather the lambs, his little friends, +And draw the sheep after for rich amends! +Sharp are your teeth, my wolves divine, +But loves and no hates in your deep eyes shine! +No more will I call you evil names, +No more assail you with untrue blames! +Wake me with howling, check me with biting, +Rouse up my strength for the holy fighting: +Hunt me still back, nor let me stray +Out of the infinite narrow way, +The radiant march of the Lord of Light +Home to the Father of Love and Might, +Where each puts Thou in the place of I, +And Love is the Law of Liberty. + + + + + BALLADS + + +_THE UNSEEN MODEL_. + +Forth to his study the sculptor goes + In a mood of lofty mirth: +"Now shall the tongues of my carping foes + Confess what my art is worth! +In my brain last night the vision arose, + To-morrow shall see its birth!" + +He stood like a god; with creating hand + He struck the formless clay: +"Psyche, arise," he said, "and stand; + In beauty confront the day. +I have sought nor found thee in any land; + I call thee: arise; obey!" + +The sun was low in the eastern skies + When spoke the confident youth; +Sweet Psyche, all day, his hands and eyes + Wiled from the clay uncouth, +Nor ceased when the shadows came up like spies + That dog the steps of Truth. + +He said, "I will do my will in spite + Of the rising dark; for, see, +She grows to my hand! The mar-work night + Shall hurry and hide and flee +From the glow of my lamp and the making might + That passeth out of me!" + +In the flickering lamplight the figure swayed, + In the shadows did melt and swim: +With tool and thumb he modelled and made, + Nor knew that feature and limb +Half-obeying, half-disobeyed, + And mocking eluded him. + +At the dawning Psyche of his brain + Joyous he wrought all night: +The oil went low, and he trimmed in vain, + The lamp would not burn bright; +But he still wrought on: through the high roof-pane + He saw the first faint light! + +The dark retreated; the morning spread; + His creatures their shapes resume; +The plaster stares dumb-white and dead; + A faint blue liquid bloom +Lies on each marble bosom and head; + To his Psyche clings the gloom. + +Backward he stept to see the clay: + His visage grew white and sear; +No beauty ideal confronted the day, + No Psyche from upper sphere, +But a once loved shape that in darkness lay, + Buried a lonesome year! + +From maidenhood's wilderness fair and wild + A girl to his charm had hied: +He had blown out the lamp of the trusting child, + And in the darkness she died; +Now from the clay she sadly smiled, + And the sculptor stood staring-eyed. + +He had summoned Psyche--and Psyche crept + From a half-forgotten tomb; +She brought her sad smile, that still she kept, + Her eyes she left in the gloom! +High grace had found him, for now he wept, + And love was his endless doom! + +Night-long he pined, all day did rue; + He haunted her form with sighs: +As oft as his clay to a lady grew + The carvers, with dim surmise, +Would whisper, "The same shape come to woo, + With its blindly beseeching eyes!" + + + +_THE HOMELESS GHOST_. + +Through still, bare streets, and cold moonshine + His homeward way he bent; +The clocks gave out the midnight sign + As lost in thought he went +Along the rampart's ocean-line, +Where, high above the tossing brine, + Seaward his lattice leant. + +He knew not why he left the throng, + Why there he could not rest, +What something pained him in the song + And mocked him in the jest, +Or why, the flitting crowd among, +A moveless moonbeam lay so long + Athwart one lady's breast! + +He watched, but saw her speak to none, + Saw no one speak to her; +Like one decried, she stood alone, + From the window did not stir; +Her hair by a haunting gust was blown, +Her eyes in the shadow strangely shown, + She looked a wanderer. + +He reached his room, he sought a book + His brooding to beguile; +But ever he saw her pallid look, + Her face too still to smile. +An hour he sat in his fireside nook, +The time flowed past like a silent brook, + Not a word he read the while. + +Vague thoughts absorbed his passive brain + Of love that bleeding lies, +Of hoping ever and hoping in vain, + Of a sorrow that never dies-- +When a sudden spatter of angry rain +Smote against every window-pane, + And he heard far sea-birds' cries. + +He looked from the lattice: the misty moon + Hardly a glimmer gave; +The wind was like one that hums a tune, + The first low gathering stave; +The ocean lay in a sullen swoon, +With a moveless, monotonous, murmured croon + Like the moaning of a slave. + +Sudden, with masterful, angry blare + It howled from the watery west: +The storm was up, he had left his lair! + The night would be no jest! +He turned: a lady sat in his chair! +Through her loose dim robe her arm came bare, + And it lay across her breast. + +She sat a white queen on a ruined throne, + A lily bowed with blight; +In her eyes the darkness about was blown + By flashes of liquid light; +Her skin with very whiteness shone; +Back from her forehead loosely thrown + Her hair was dusk as night. + +Wet, wet it hung, and wept like weeds + Down her pearly shoulders bare; +The pale drops glistened like diamond beads + Caught in a silken snare; +As the silver-filmy husk to its seeds +Her dank robe clings, and but half recedes + Her form so shadowy fair. + +Doubting she gazed in his wondering face, + Wonder his utterance ties; +She searches, like one in forgetful case, + For something within his eyes, +For something that love holds ever in chase, +For something that is, and has no place, + But away in the thinking lies. + +Speechless he ran, brought a wrap of wool, + And a fur that with down might vie; +Listless, into the gathering pool + She dropped them, and let them lie. +He piled the hearth with fagots so full +That the flames, as if from the log of Yule, + Up the chimney went roaring high. + +Then she spoke, and lovely to heart and ear + Was her voice, though broke by pain; +Afar it sounded, though sweet and clear, + As if from out of the rain; +As if from out of the night-wind drear +It came like the voice of one in fear + Lest she should no welcome gain. + +"I am too far off to feel the cold, + Too cold to feel the fire; +It cannot get through the heap of mould + That soaks in the drip from the spire: +Cerement of wax 'neath cloth of gold, +'Neath fur and wool in fold on fold, + Freezes in frost so dire." + +Her voice and her eyes and her cheek so white + Thrilled him through heart and brain; +Wonder and pity and love unite + In a passion of bodiless pain; +Her beauty possessed him with strange delight: +He was out with her in the live wan night, + With her in the blowing rain! + +Sudden she rose, she kneeled, she flung + Her loveliness at his feet: +"I am tired of being blown and swung + In the rain and the snow and the sleet! +But better no rest than stillness among +Things whose names would defile my tongue! + How I hate the mouldy sheet! + +"Ah, though a ghost, I'm a lady still!" + The youth recoiled aghast. +Her eyes grew wide and pale and chill + With a terror that surpassed. +He caught her hand: a freezing thrill +Stung to his wrist, but with steadfast will + He held it warm and fast. + +"What can I do to save thee, dear?" + At the word she sprang upright; +On tiptoe she stood, he bent his ear, + She whispered, whispered light. +She withdrew; she gazed with an asking fear: +Like one that looks on his lady's bier + He stood, with a face ghost-white. + +"Six times--in vain, oh hapless maid!-- + I have humbled myself to sue! +This is the last: as the sunset decayed, + Out with the twilight I grew, +And about the city flitted and strayed, +A wandering, lonely, forsaken shade: + No one saw me but you." + +He shivered, he shook, he had turned to clay, + Vile fear had gone into his blood; +His face was a dismal ashy gray, + Through his heart crept slime and mud; +The lady stood in a still dismay, +She drooped, she shrank, she withered away + Like a half-blown frozen bud. + +"Speak once more. Am I frightful then? + I live, though they call it death; +I am only cold! Say _dear_ again." + But scarce could he heave a breath; +Over a dank and steaming fen +He floated astray from the world of men, + A lost, half-conscious wraith. + +"Ah, 'tis the last time! Save me!" Her cry + Entered his heart, and lay. +But he loved the sunshine, the golden sky, + And the ghosts' moonlight is gray!-- +As feverous visions flit and fly +And without a motion elude the eye, + She stood three steps away. + +But oh, her eyes!--refusal base + Those live-soul-stars had slain! +Frozen eyes in an icy face + They had grown. Like a ghost of the brain, +Beside the lattice, thought-moved in space, +She stood with a doleful despairing grace: + The fire burned! clanged the rain! + +Faded or fled, she had vanished quite! + The loud wind sank to a sigh; +Pale faces without paled the face of night, + Sweeping the window by; +Some to the glass pressed a cheek of fright, +Some shot a gleam of decaying light + From a flickering, uncertain eye. + +Whence did it come, from the sky or the deep, + That faint, long-cadenced wail? +From the closing door of the down-way steep, + His own bosom, or out of the gale? +From the land where dead dreams, or dead maidens sleep? +Out of every night to come will creep + That cry his heart to quail! + +The clouds had broken, the wind was at rest, + The sea would be still ere morn, +The moon had gone down behind its breast + Save the tip of one blunt horn: +Was that the ghost-angel without a nest-- +Across the moonset far in the west + That thin white vapour borne? + +He turned from the lattice: the fire-lit room + With its ghost-forsaken chair +Was cold and drear as a rifled tomb, + Shameful and dreamless and bare! +Filled it was with his own soul's gloom, +With the sense of a traitor's merited doom, + With a lovely ghost's despair! + +He had driven a lady, and lightly clad, + Out in the stormy cold! +Was she a ghost?--Divinely sad + Are the people of Hades old! +A wandering ghost? Oh, self-care bad, +Caitiff and craven and cowering, which had + Refused her an earthly fold! + +Ill had she fared, his lovely guest!-- + A passion of wild self-blame +Tore the heart that failed in the test + With a thousand hooks of shame, +Bent his proud head on his heaving breast, +Shore the plume from his ancient crest, + Puffed at his ancient name. + +He sickened with scorn of a fallen will, + With love and remorse he wept; +He sank and kissed her footprints chill + And the track by her garment swept; +He kneeled by her chair, all ice-cold still, +Dropped his head in it, moaned until + For weariness he slept. + +He slept until the flaming sun + Laughed at the by-gone dark: +"A frightful dream!--but the night is done," + He said, "and I hear the lark!" +All day he held out; with the evening gun +A booming terror his brain did stun, + And Doubt, the jackal, gan bark. + +Followed the lion, Conviction, fast, + And the truth no dream he knew! +Night after night raved the conscience-blast, + But stilled as the morning grew. +When seven slow moons had come and passed +His self-reproach aside he cast, + And the truth appeared untrue. + +A lady fair--old story vile!-- + Would make his heart her boast: +In the growing glamour of her smile + He forgot the lovely ghost: +Forgot her for bitterness wrapt in wile, +For the lady was false as a crocodile, + And her heart was a cave of frost. + +Then the cold white face, with its woe divine, + Came back in the hour of sighs: +Not always with comfort to those that pine + The dear true faces arise! +He yearned for her, dreamed of her, prayed for a sign; +He wept for her pleading voice, and the shine + Of her solitary eyes. + +"With thy face so still, which I made so sad-- + Ah me! which I might have wooed-- +Thou holdest my heart in a love not glad, + Sorrowful, shame-subdued! +Come to me, lady, in pardon clad; +Come to my dreams, white Aidead, + For on thee all day I brood!" + +She came not. He sought her in churchyards old, + In churchyards by the sea; +And in many a church, when the midnight tolled + And the moon shone eerily, +Down to the crypt he crept, grown bold, +Sat all night in the dead men's cold, + And called to her: never came she. + +Praying forgiveness more and more, + And her love at any cost, +Pining and sighing and longing sore + He grew like a creature lost; +Thin and spectral his body wore, +He faded out at the ghostly door, + And was himself a ghost. + +But if he found the lady then, + So sorrowfully lost +For lack of the love 'mong earthly men + That was ready to brave love's cost, +I know not till I drop my pen, +Wander away from earthly ken, + And am myself a ghost. + + + +_ABU MIDJAN_. + +"If I sit in the dust + For lauding good wine, +Ha, ha! it is just: + So sits the vine!" + +Abu Midjan sang as he sat in chains, +For the blood of the grape ran the juice of his veins. +The Prophet had said, "O Faithful, drink not!" +Abu Midjan drank till his heart was hot; +Yea, he sang a song in praise of wine, +He called it good names--a joy divine, +The giver of might, the opener of eyes, +Love's handmaid, the water of Paradise! +Therefore Saad his chief spake words of blame, +And set him in irons--a fettered flame; +But he sings of the wine as he sits in his chains, +For the blood of the grape runs the juice of his veins: + +"I will not think + That the Prophet said +_Ye shall not drink + Of the flowing red!_" + +"'Tis a drenched brain + Whose after-sting +Cries out, _Refrain: + 'Tis an evil thing!_ + +"But I will dare, + With a goodly drought, +To drink, nor spare + Till my thirst be out. + +"_I_ do not laugh + Like a Christian fool +But in silence quaff + The liquor cool + +"At door of tent + 'Neath evening star, +With daylight spent, + And Uriel afar! + +"Then, through the sky, + Lo, the emerald hills! +My faith swells high, + My bosom thrills: + +"I see them hearken, + The Houris that wait! +Their dark eyes darken + The diamond gate! + +"I hear the float + Of their chant divine, +And my heart like a boat + Sails thither on wine! + +"Can an evil thing + Make beauty more? +Or a sinner bring + To the heavenly door? + +"The sun-rain fine + Would sink and escape, +But is drunk by the vine, + Is stored in the grape: + +"And the prisoned light + I free again: +It flows in might + Through my shining brain + +"I love and I know; + The truth is mine; +I walk in the glow + Of the sun-bred wine. + +"_I_ will not think + That the Prophet said +_Ye shall not drink + Of the flowing red!_ + +"For his promises, lo, + Sevenfold they shine +When the channels o'erflow + With the singing wine! + +"But I care not, I!--'tis a small annoy +To sit in chains for a heavenly joy!" + + Away went the song on the light wind borne; +His head sank down, and a ripple of scorn +Shook the hair that flowed from his curling lip +As he eyed his brown limbs in the iron's grip. + + Sudden his forehead he lifted high: +A faint sound strayed like a moth-wing by! +Like beacons his eyes burst blazing forth: +A dust-cloud he spied in the distant north! +A noise and a smoke on the plain afar? +'Tis the cloud and the clang of the Moslem war! +He leapt aloft like a tiger snared; +The wine in his veins through his visage flared; +He tore at his fetters in bootless ire, +He called the Prophet, he named his sire; +From his lips, with wild shout, the Techir burst; +He danced in his irons; the Giaours he cursed; +And his eyes they flamed like a beacon dun, +Or like wine in the crystal twixt eye and sun. + + The lady of Saad heard him shout, +Heard his fetters ring on the stones about +The heart of a warrior she understood, +And the rage of the thwarted battle-mood: +Her name, with the cry of an angry prayer, +He called but once, and the lady was there. + + "The Giaour!" he panted, "the Godless brute! +And me like a camel tied foot to foot! +Let me go, and I swear by Allah's fear +At sunset I don again this gear, +Or lie in a heaven of starry eyes, +Kissed by moon-maidens of Paradise! +O lady, grant me the death of the just! +Hark to the hurtle! see the dust!" + + With ready fingers the noble dame +Unlocked her husband's iron blame; +Brought his second horse, his Abdon, out, +And his second hauberk, light and stout; +Harnessed the warrior, and hight him go +An angel of vengeance upon the foe. + + With clank of steel and thud of hoof +Away he galloped; she climbed the roof. + + She sees the cloud and the flashes that leap +From the scythe-shaped swords inside it that sweep +Down with back-stroke the disordered swath: +Thither he speeds, a bolt of wrath! +Straight as an arrow she sees him go, +Abu Midjan, the singer, upon the foe! +Like an eagle he vanishes in the cloud, +And the thunder of battle bursts more loud, +Mingled of crashes and blows and falls, +Of the whish that severs the throat that calls, +Of neighing and shouting and groaning grim: +Abu Midjan, she sees no more of him! +Northward the battle drifts afar +On the flowing tide of the holy war. + + Lonely across the desert sand, +From his wrist by its thong hung his clotted brand, +Red in the sunset's level flame +Back to his bonds Abu Midjan came. + + "Lady, I swear your Saad's horse-- +The Prophet himself might have rode a worse! +Like the knots of a serpent the play of his flesh +As he tore to the quarry in Allah's mesh! +I forgot him, and mowed at the traitor weeds, +Which fell before me like rushes and reeds, +Or like the tall poppies that sudden drop low +Their heads to an urchin's unstrung bow! +Fled the Giaour; the faithful flew after to kill; +I turned to surrender: beneath me still +Was Abdon unjaded, fresh in force, +Faithful and fearless--a heavenly horse! +Give him water, lady, and barley to eat; +Then haste thee and fetter the wine-bibber's feet." + + To the terrace he went, and she to the stall; +She tended the horse like guest in hall, +Then to the warrior unhasting returned. +The fire of the fight in his eyes yet burned, +But he sat in a silence that might betoken +One ashamed that his heart had spoken-- +Though where was the word to breed remorse? +He had lauded only his chief's brave horse! +Not a word she spoke, but his fetters locked; +He watched with a smile that himself bemocked; +She left him seated in caitiff-plight, +Like one that had feared and fled the fight. + + But what singer ever sat lonely long +Ere the hidden fountain burst in song! +The battle wine foamed in the warrior's veins, +And he sang sword-tempest who sat in chains. + + "Oh, the wine +Of the vine + Is a feeble thing! +In the rattle +Of battle + The true grapes spring! + +"When on whir +Of Tecbir + Allah's wrath flies, +And the power +Of the Giaour + A blasted leaf lies! + +"When on force +Of the horse + The arm flung abroad +Is sweeping, +And reaping + The harvest of God! + +"Ha! they drop +From the top + To the sear heap below! +Ha! deeper, +Down steeper, + The infidels go! + +"Azrael +Sheer to hell + Shoots the foul shoals! +There Monker +And Nakir + Torture their souls! + +"But when drop +On their crop + The scimitars red, +And under +War's thunder + The faithful lie dead, + +"Oh, bright +Is the light + On hero slow breaking! +Rapturous faces +Bent for embraces + Watch for his waking! + +"And he hears +In his ears + The voice of Life's river, +Like a song +Of the strong, + Jubilant ever! + +"Oh, the wine +Of the vine + May lead to the gates, +But the rattle +Of battle + Wakes the angel who waits! + +"To the lord +Of the sword + Open it must! +The drinker, +The thinker + Sits in the dust! + +"He dreams +Of the gleams + Of their garments of white; +He misses +Their kisses, + The maidens of light! + +"They long +For the strong + Who has burst through alarms-- +Up, by the labour +Of stirrup and sabre, + Up to their arms! + +"Oh, the wine of the grape is a feeble ghost! +The wine of the fight is the joy of a host!" + + When Saad came home from the far pursuit, +An hour he sat, and an hour was mute. +Then he opened his mouth: "Ah, wife, the fight +Had been lost full sure, but an arm of might +Sudden rose up on the crest of the battle, +Flashed blue lightnings, thundered steel rattle, +Took up the fighting, and drove it on-- +Enoch sure, or the good Saint John! +Wherever he leaped, like a lion he, +The battle was thickest, or soon to be! +Wherever he sprang with his lion roar, +In a minute the battle was there no more! +With a headlong fear, the sinners fled, +And we swept them down the steep of the dead: +Before us, not from us, did they flee, +They ceased in the depths of a new Red Sea! +But him who saved us we saw no more; +He went as he came, by a secret door! +And strangest of all--nor think I err +If a miracle I for truth aver-- +I was close to him thrice--the holy Force +Wore my silver-ringed hauberk, rode Abdon my horse!" + + The lady rose up, withholding her word, +And led to the terrace her wondering lord, +Where, song-soothed, and weary with battle strain, +Abu Midjan sat counting the links of his chain: +"The battle was raging, he raging worse; +I freed him, harnessed him, gave him thy horse." + + "Abu Midjan! the singer of love and of wine! +The arm of the battle, it also was thine? +Rise up, shake the irons from off thy feet: +For the lord of the fight are fetters meet? +If thou wilt, then drink till thou be hoar: +Allah shall judge thee; I judge no more!" + + Abu Midjan arose; he flung aside +The clanking fetters, and thus he cried: +"If thou give me to God and his decrees, +Nor purge my sin with the shame of these, +Wrath against me I dare not store: +In the name of Allah, I drink no more!" + + + +_THE THANKLESS LADY_. + +It is May, and the moon leans down at night + Over a blossomy land; +Leans from her window a lady white, + With her cheek upon her hand. + +"Oh, why in the blue so misty, moon? + Why so dull in the sky? +Thou look'st like one that is ready to swoon + Because her tear-well is dry. + +"Enough, enough of longing and wail! + Oh, bird, I pray thee, be glad! +Sing to me once, dear nightingale, + The old song, merry mad. + +"Hold, hold with thy blossoming, colourless, cold, + Apple-tree white as woe! +Blossom yet once with the blossom of old, + Let the roses shine through the snow!" + +The moon and the blossoms they gloomily gleam, + The bird will not be glad: +The dead never speak when the mournful dream, + They are too weak and sad. + +Listened she listless till night grew late, + Bound by a weary spell; +Then clanked the latch of the garden-gate, + And a wondrous thing befell: + +Out burst the gladness, up dawned the love. + In the song, in the waiting show; +Grew silver the moon in the sky above. + Blushed rosy the blossom below. + +But the merry bird, nor the silvery moon, + Nor the blossoms that flushed the night +Had one poor thanks for the granted boon: + The lady forgot them quite! + + + +_LEGEND OF THE CORRIEVRECHAN_. + +Prince Breacan of Denmark was lord of the strand + And lord of the billowy sea; +Lord of the sea and lord of the land, + He might have let maidens be! + +A maiden he met with locks of gold, + Straying beside the sea: +Maidens listened in days of old, + And repented grievously. + +Wiser he left her in evil wiles, + Went sailing over the sea; +Came to the lord of the Western Isles: + Give me thy daughter, said he. + +The lord of the Isles he laughed, and said: + Only a king of the sea +May think the Maid of the Isles to wed, + And such, men call not thee! + +Hold thine own three nights and days + In yon whirlpool of the sea, +Or turn thy prow and go thy ways + And let the isle-maiden be. + +Prince Breacan he turned his dragon prow + To Denmark over the sea: +Wise women, he said, now tell me how + In yon whirlpool to anchor me. + +Make a cable of hemp and a cable of wool + And a cable of maidens' hair, +And hie thee back to the roaring pool + And anchor in safety there. + +The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule, + Will forge three anchors rare; +The hemp thou shalt pull, thou shalt shear the wool, + And the maidens will bring their hair. + +Of the hair that is brown thou shalt twist one strand, + Of the hair that is raven another; +Of the golden hair thou shalt twine a band + To bind the one to the other! + +The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule, + They forged three anchors rare; +The hemp he did pull, and he shore the wool, + And the maidens brought their hair. + +He twisted the brown hair for one strand, + The raven hair for another; +He twined the golden hair in a band + To bind the one to the other. + +He took the cables of hemp and wool. + He took the cable of hair, +He hied him back to the roaring pool, + He cast the three anchors there. + +The whirlpool roared, and the day went by, + And night came down on the sea; +But or ever the morning broke the sky + The hemp was broken in three. + +The night it came down, the whirlpool it ran, + The wind it fiercely blew; +And or ever the second morning began + The wool it parted in two. + +The storm it roared all day the third, + The whirlpool wallowed about, +The night came down like a wild black bird, + But the cable of hair held out. + +Round and round with a giddy swing + Went the sea-king through the dark; +Round went the rope in the swivel-ring, + Round reeled the straining bark. + +Prince Breacan he stood on his dragon prow, + A lantern in his hand: +Blest be the maidens of Denmark now, + By them shall Denmark stand! + +He watched the rope through the tempest black + A lantern in his hold: +Out, out, alack! one strand will crack! + It is the strand of gold! + +The third morn clear and calm came out: + No anchored ship was there! +The golden strand in the cable stout + Was not all of maidens' hair. + + + +_THE DEAD HAND_. + +The witch lady walked along the strand, + Heard a roaring of the sea, +On the edge of a pool saw a dead man's hand, + Good thing for a witch lady! + +Lightly she stepped across the rocks, + Came where the dead man lay: +Now pretty maid with your merry mocks, + Now I shall have my way! + +On a finger shone a sapphire blue + In the heart of six rubies red: +Come back to me, my promise true, + Come back, my ring, she said. + +She took the dead hand in the live, + And at the ring drew she; +The dead hand closed its fingers five, + And it held the witch lady. + +She swore the storm was not her deed, + Dark spells she backward spoke; +If the dead man heard he took no heed, + But held like a cloven oak. + +Deathly cold, crept up the tide, + Sure of her, made no haste; +Crept up to her knees, crept up each side, + Crept up to her wicked waist. + +Over the blue sea sailed the bride + In her love's own sailing ship, +And the witch she saw them across the tide + As it rose to her lying lip. + +Oh, the heart of the dead and the hand of the dead + Are strong hasps they to hold! +Fled the true dove with the kite's new love, + And left the false kite with the old. + + + + + MINOR DITTIES. + + + +_IN THE NIGHT_. + +As to her child a mother calls, +"Come to me, child; come near!" +Calling, in silent intervals, +The Master's voice I hear. + +But does he call me verily? +To have me does he care? +Why should he seek my poverty, +My selfishness so bare? + +The dear voice makes his gladness brim, +But not a child can know +Why that large woman cares for him, +Why she should love him so! + +Lord, to thy call of me I bow, +Obey like Abraham: +Thou lov'st me because thou art thou, +And I am what I am! + +Doubt whispers, _Thou art such a blot +He cannot love poor thee_: +If what I am he loveth not, +He loves what I shall be. + +Nay, that which can be drawn and wooed, +And turned away from ill, +Is what his father made for good: +He loves me, I say still! + + + +_THE GIVER._ + +To give a thing and take again +Is counted meanness among men; +To take away what once is given +Cannot then be the way of heaven! + +But human hearts are crumbly stuff, +And never, never love enough, +Therefore God takes and, with a smile, +Puts our best things away a while. + +Thereon some weep, some rave, some scorn, +Some wish they never had been born; +Some humble grow at last and still, +And then God gives them what they will. + + + +_FALSE PROPHETS._ + +Would-be prophets tell us +We shall not re-know +Them that walked our fellows +In the ways below! + +Smoking, smouldering Tophets +Steaming hopeless plaints! +Dreary, mole-eyed prophets! +Mean, skin-pledging saints! + +Knowing not the Father +What their prophecies! +Grapes of such none gather, +Only thorns and lies. + +Loving thus the brother, +How the Father tell? +Go without each other +To your heavenly hell! + + + +_LIFE-WEARY_. + +O Thou that walkest with nigh hopeless feet +Past the one harbour, built for thee and thine. +Doth no stray odour from its table greet, +No truant beam from fire or candle shine? + +At his wide door the host doth stand and call; +At every lattice gracious forms invite; +Thou seest but a dull-gray, solid wall +In forest sullen with the things of night! + +Thou cravest rest, and Rest for thee doth crave, +The white sheet folded down, white robe apart.-- +Shame, Faithless! No, I do not mean the grave! +I mean Love's very house and hearth and heart. + + + +_APPROACHES_. + +When thou turn'st away from ill, +Christ is this side of thy hill. + +When thou turnest toward good, +Christ is walking in thy wood. + +When thy heart says, "Father, pardon!" +Then the Lord is in thy garden. + +When stern Duty wakes to watch, +Then his hand is on the latch. + +But when Hope thy song doth rouse, +Then the Lord is in the house. + +When to love is all thy wit, +Christ doth at thy table sit. + +When God's will is thy heart's pole, +Then is Christ thy very soul. + + + +_TRAVELLERS' SONG_. + +Bands of dark and bands of light +Lie athwart the homeward way; +Now we cross a belt of Night, +Now a strip of shining Day! + +Now it is a month of June, +Now December's shivering hour; +Now rides high loved memories' Moon, +Now the Dark is dense with power! + +Summers, winters, days, and nights, +Moons, and clouds, they come and go; +Joys and sorrows, pains, delights, +Hope and fear, and _yes_ and _no_. + +All is well: come, girls and boys, +Not a weary mile is vain! +Hark--dim laughter's radiant noise! +See the windows through the rain! + + + +_LOVE IS STRENGTH_. + +Love alone is great in might, +Makes the heavy burden light, +Smooths rough ways to weary feet, +Makes the bitter morsel sweet: +Love alone is strength! + +Might that is not born of Love +Is not Might born from above, +Has its birthplace down below +Where they neither reap nor sow: +Love alone is strength! + +Love is stronger than all force, +Is its own eternal source; +Might is always in decay, +Love grows fresher every day: +Love alone is strength! + +Little ones, no ill can chance; +Fear ye not, but sing and dance; +Though the high-heaved heaven should fall +God is plenty for us all: +God is Love and Strength! + + + +_COMING_. + +When the snow is on the earth +Birds and waters cease their mirth; +When the sunlight is prevailing +Even the night-winds drop their wailing. + +On the earth when deep snows lie +Still the sun is in the sky, +And when most we miss his fire +He is ever drawing nigher. + +In the darkest winter day +Thou, God, art not far away; +When the nights grow colder, drearer, +Father, thou art coming nearer! + +For thee coming I would watch +With my hand upon the latch-- +Of the door, I mean, that faces +Out upon the eternal spaces! + + + +_SONG OF THE WAITING DEAD_. + +With us there is no gray fearing, +With us no aching for lack! +For the morn it is always nearing, +And the night is at our back. +At times a song will fall dumb, +A thought-bell burst in a sigh, +But no one says, "He will not come!" +She says, "He is almost nigh!" + +The thing you call a sorrow +Is our delight on its way: +We know that the coming morrow +Comes on the wheels of to-day! +Our Past is a child asleep; +Delay is ripening the kiss; +The rising tear we will not weep +Until it flow for bliss. + + + +_OBEDIENCE_. + +Trust him in the common light; +Trust him in the awesome night; + +Trust him when the earth doth quake: +Trust him when thy heart doth ache; + +Trust him when thy brain doth reel +And thy friend turns on his heel; + +Trust him when the way is rough, +Cry not yet, _It is enough_! + +But obey with true endeavour, +Else the salt hath lost his savour. + + + +_A SONG IN THE NIGHT_. + +I would I were an angel strong, +An angel of the sun, hasting along! + +I would I were just come awake, +A child outbursting from night's dusky brake! + +Or lark whose inward, upward fate +Mocks every wall that masks the heavenly gate! + +Or hopeful cock whose clarion clear +Shrills ten times ere a film of dawn appear! + +Or but a glowworm: even then +My light would come straight from the Light of Men! + +I am a dead seed, dark and slow: +Father of larks and children, make me grow. + + + +_DE PROFUNDIS_. + +When I am dead unto myself, and let, +O Father, thee live on in me, +Contented to do nought but pay my debt, +And leave the house to thee, + +Then shall I be thy ransomed--from the cark +Of living, from the strain for breath, +From tossing in my coffin strait and dark, +At hourly strife with death! + +Have mercy! in my coffin! and awake! +A buried temple of the Lord! +Grow, Temple, grow! Heart, from thy cerements break! +Stream out, O living Sword! + +When I am with thee as thou art with me, +Life will be self-forgetting power; +Love, ever conscious, buoyant, clear, and free, +Will flame in darkest hour. + +Where now I sit alone, unmoving, calm, +With windows open to thy wind, +Shall I not know thee in the radiant psalm +Soaring from heart and mind? + +The body of this death will melt away, +And I shall know as I am known; +Know thee my father, every hour and day, +As thou know'st me thine own! + + + +_BLIND SORROW_. + +"My life is drear; walking I labour sore; + The heart in me is heavy as a stone; +And of my sorrows this the icy core: + Life is so wide, and I am all alone!" + +Thou did'st walk so, with heaven-born eyes down bent + Upon the earth's gold-rosy, radiant clay, +That thou had'st seen no star in all God's tent + Had not thy tears made pools first on the way. + +Ah, little knowest thou the tender care + In a love-plenteous cloak around thee thrown! +Full many a dim-seen, saving mountain-stair + Toiling thou climb'st--but not one step alone! + +Lift but thy languid head and see thy guide; + Let thy steps go in his, nor choose thine own; +Then soon wilt thou, thine eyes with wonder wide, + Cry, _Now I know I never was alone_! + + + + + MOTES IN THE SUN. + + + +_ANGELS_. + +Came of old to houses lonely + Men with wings, but did not show them: +Angels come to our house, only, + For their wings, they do not know them! + + + +_THE FATHER'S WORSHIPPERS_. + +'Tis we, not in thine arms, who weep and pray; +The children in thy bosom laugh and play. + + + +_A BIRTHDAY-WISH_. + +Who know thee, love: thy life be such + That, ere the year be o'er, +Each one who loves thee now so much, + Even God, may love thee more! + + + +_TO ANY ONE_. + +Go not forth to call Dame Sorrow +From the dim fields of Tomorrow; +Let her roam there all unheeded, +She will come when she is needed; +Then, when she draws near thy door, +She will find God there before. + + + +_WAITING_. + +Lie, little cow, and chew thy cud, + The farmer soon will shift thy tether; +Chirp, linnet, on the frozen mud, + Sun and song will come together; +Wait, soul, for God, and thou shalt bud, + He waits thy waiting with his weather. + + + +_LOST BUT SAFE_. + +Lost the little one roams about, +Pathway or shelter none can find; +Blinking stars are coming out; +No one is moving but the wind; +It is no use to cry or shout, +All the world is still as a mouse; +One thing only eases her mind: +"Father knows I'm not in the house!" + + + +_MUCH AND MORE_. + +When thy heart, love-filled, grows graver, + And eternal bliss looks nearer, +Ask thy heart, nor show it favour, + Is the gift or giver dearer? + +Love, love on; love higher, deeper; + Let love's ocean close above her; +Only, love thou more love's keeper, + More, the love-creating lover. + + + +_HOPE AND PATIENCE_. + +An unborn bird lies crumpled and curled, +A-dreaming of the world. + +Round it, for castle-wall, a shell +Is guarding it well. + +_Hope_ is the bird with its dim sensations; +The shell that keeps it alive is _Patience_. + + + +_A BETTER THING_. + +I took it for a bird of prey that soared +High over ocean, battled mount, and plain; +'Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored +The invisibly obstructing window-pane! + +Better than eagle, with far-towering nerve +But downward bent, greedy, marauding eye, +Guest of the flowers, thou art: unhurt they serve +Thee, little angel of a lower sky! + + + +_A PRISONER_. + +The hinges are so rusty +The door is fixed and fast; +The windows are so dusty +The sun looks in aghast: +Knock out the glass, I pray, +Or dash the door away, +Or break the house down bodily, +And let my soul go free! + + + +_TO MY LORD AND MASTER_. + +Imagination cannot rise above thee; +Near and afar I see thee, and I love thee; +My misery away from me I thrust it, +For thy perfection I behold, and trust it. + + + +_TO ONE UNSATISFIED_. + +When, with all the loved around thee, + Still thy heart says, "I am lonely," +It is well; the truth hath found thee: + Rest is with the Father only. + + + +_TO MY GOD_. + +Oh how oft I wake and find + I have been forgetting thee! +I am never from thy mind: + Thou it is that wakest me. + + + +_TRIOLET_. + +Oh that men would praise the Lord + For his goodness unto men! +Forth he sends his saving word, + --Oh that men would praise the Lord!-- +And from shades of death abhorred + Lifts them up to light again: +Oh that men would praise the Lord + For his goodness unto men! + + + +_THE WORD OF GOD_. + +Where the bud has never blown + Who for scent is debtor? +Where the spirit rests unknown + Fatal is the letter. + +In thee, Jesus, Godhead-stored, + All things we inherit, +For thou art the very Word + And the very Spirit! + + + +_EINE KLEINE PREDIGT_. + +Graut Euch nicht, Ihr lieben Leute, + Vor dem ungeheuren Morgen; +Wenn es kommt, es ist das Heute, + Und der liebe Gott zu sorgen. + + + +_TO THE LIFE ETERNAL_. + +Thou art my thought, my heart, my being's fortune, + The search for thee my growth's first conscious date; +For nought, for everything, I thee importune; + Thou art my all, my origin and fate! + + + +_HOPE DEFERRED_. + +"Where is thy crown, O tree of Love? + Flowers only bears thy root! +Will never rain drop from above + Divine enough for fruit?" + +"I dwell in hope that gives good cheer, + Twilight my darkest hour; +For seest thou not that every year + I break in better flower?" + + + +_FORGIVENESS_. + +God gives his child upon his slate a sum-- + To find eternity in hours and years; +With both sides covered, back the child doth come, + His dim eyes swollen with shed and unshed tears; +God smiles, wipes clean the upper side and nether, +And says, "Now, dear, we'll do the sum together!" + + + +_DEJECTION_. + +O Father, I am in the dark, + My soul is heavy-bowed: +I send my prayer up like a lark, + Up through my vapoury shroud, + To find thee, + And remind thee +I am thy child, and thou my father, +Though round me death itself should gather. + +Lay thy loved hand upon my head, + Let thy heart beat in mine; +One thought from thee, when all seems dead, + Will make the darkness shine + About me + And throughout me! +And should again the dull night gather, +I'll cry again, _Thou art my father_. + + + +_APPEAL_. + +If in my arms I bore my child, + Would he cry out for fear +Because the night was dark and wild + And no one else was near? + +Shall I then treat thee, Father, as + My fatherhood would grieve? +I will be hopeful, though, alas, + I cannot quite believe! + +I had no power, no wish to be: + Thou madest me half blind! +The darkness comes! I cling to thee! + Be thou my perfect mind. + + + + + POEMS FOR CHILDREN + + + +_LESSONS FOR A CHILD_. + +I. + +There breathes not a breath of the summer air +But the spirit of love is moving there; +Not a trembling leaf on the shadowy tree, +Flutters with hundreds in harmony, +But that spirit can part its tone from the rest, +And read the life in its beetle's breast. +When the sunshiny butterflies come and go, +Like flowers paying visits to and fro, +Not a single wave of their fanning wings +Is unfelt by the spirit that feeleth all things. +The long-mantled moths that sleep at noon +And rove in the light of the gentler moon; +And the myriad gnats that dance like a wall, +Or a moving column that will not fall; +And the dragon-flies that go burning by, +Shot like a glance from a seeking eye-- +There is one being that loves them all: +Not a fly in a spider's web can fall +But he cares for the spider, and cares for the fly; +He cares for you, whether you laugh or cry, +Cares whether your mother smile or sigh. +How he cares for so many, I do not know, +But it would be too strange if he did not so-- +Dreadful and dreary for even a fly: +So I cannot wait for the _how_ and _why_, +But believe that all things are gathered and nursed +In the love of him whose love went first +And made this world--like a huge great nest +For a hen to sit on with feathery breast. + +II. + + The bird on the leafy tree, + The bird in the cloudy sky, + The hart in the forest free, + The stag on the mountain high, + The fish inside the sea, + The albatross asleep + On the outside of the deep, + The bee through the summer sunny + Hunting for wells of honey-- + What is the thought in the breast + Of the little bird in its nest? + What is the thought in the songs + The lark in the sky prolongs? + What mean the dolphin's rays, + Winding his watery ways? + What is the thought of the stag, + Stately on yonder crag? + What does the albatross think, + Dreaming upon the brink + Of the mountain billow, and then + Dreaming down in its glen? + What is the thought of the bee + Fleeting so silently, + Or flitting--with busy hum, + But a careless go-and-come-- + From flower-chalice to chalice, + Like a prince from palace to palace? + What makes them alive, so very-- + Some of them, surely, merry. + And others so stately calm + They might be singing a psalm? + + I cannot tell what they think--- + Only know they eat and drink, + And on all that lies about + With a quiet heart look out, + Each after its kind, stately or coy, + Solemn like man, gamesome like boy, + Glad with its own mysterious joy. + + And God, who knows their thoughts and ways + Though his the creatures do not know, + From his full heart fills each of theirs: + Into them all his breath doth go; + Good and better with them he shares; + Content with their bliss while they have no prayers, + He takes their joy for praise. + + If thou wouldst be like him, little one, go + And be kind with a kindness undefiled; + Who gives for the pleasure of thanks, my child, + God's gladness cannot know. + +III. + + Root met root in the spongy ground, + Searching each for food: + Each turned aside, and away it wound. + And each got something good. + + Sound met sound in the wavy air-- + That made a little to-do! + They jostled not long, but were quick and fair; + Each found its path and flew. + + Drop dashed on drop, as the rain-shower fell; + They joined and sank below: + In gathered thousands they rose a well, + With a singing overflow. + + Wind met wind in a garden green, + They began to push and fret: + A tearing whirlwind arose between: + There love lies bleeding yet. + + + +_WHAT MAKES SUMMER?_ + + Winter froze both brook and well; +Fast and fast the snowflakes fell; +Children gathered round the hearth +Made a summer of their mirth; +When a boy, so lately come +That his life was yet one sum +Of delights--of aimless rambles. +Romps and dreams and games and gambols, +Thought aloud: "I wish I knew +What makes summer--that I do!" +Father heard, and it did show him +How to write a little poem. + + What makes summer, little one, +Do you ask? It is the sun. +Want of heat is all the harm, +Summer is but winter warm. +'Tis the sun--yes, that one there, +Dim and gray, low in the air! +Now he looks at us askance, +But will lift his countenance +Higher up, and look down straighter. +Rise much earlier, set much later, +Till we sing out, "Hail, Well-comer, +Thou hast brought our own old Summer!" + + When the sun thus rises early +And keeps shining all day rarely, +Up he draws the larks to meet him, +Earth's bird-angels, wild to greet him; +Up he draws the clouds, and pours +Down again their shining showers; +Out he draws the grass and clover, +Daisies, buttercups all over; +Out he wiles all flowers to stare +At their father in the air-- +He all light, they how much duller, +Yet son-suns of every colour! +Then he draws their odours out, +Sends them on the winds about. +Next he draws out flying things-- +Out of eggs, fast-flapping wings; +Out of lumps like frozen snails, +Butterflies with splendid sails; +Draws the blossoms from the trees, +From their hives the buzzy bees, +Golden things from muddy cracks-- +Beetles with their burnished backs; +Laughter draws he from the river +Gleaming back to the gleam-giver; +Light he sends to every nook +That no creature be forsook; +Draws from gloom and pain and sadness, +Hope and blessing, peace and gladness, +Making man's heart sing and shine +With his brilliancy divine: +Summer, thus it is he makes it, +And the little child he takes it. + + Day's work done, adown the west +Lingering he goes to rest; +Like a child, who, blissful yet, +Is unwilling to forget, +And, though sleepy, heels and head, +Thinks he cannot go to bed. +Even when down behind the hill +Back his bright look shineth still, +Whose keen glory with the night +Makes the lovely gray twilight-- +Drawing out the downy owl, +With his musical bird-howl; +Drawing out the leathery bats-- +Mice they are, turned airy cats-- +Noiseless, sly, and slippery things +Swimming through the air on wings; +Drawing out the feathery moth, +Lazy, drowsy, very loath; +Drawing children to the door +For one goodnight-frolic more; +Drawing from the glow-worms' tails +Glimmers green in grassy dales; +Making ocean's phosphor-flashes +Glow as if they were sun-ashes. + + Then the moon comes up the hill, +Wide awake, but dreaming still, +Soft and slow, as if in fear +Lest her path should not be clear. +Like a timid lady she +Looks around her daintily, +Begs the clouds to come about her, +Tells the stars to shine without her, +Then unveils, and, bolder grown, +Climbs the steps of her blue throne: +Stately in a calm delight, +Mistress of a whole fair night, +Lonely but for stars a few, +There she sits in silence blue, +And the world before her lies +Faint, a round shade in the skies! + + But what fun is all about +When the humans are shut out! +Shadowy to the moon, the earth +Is a very world of mirth! +Night is then a dream opaque +Full of creatures wide awake! +Noiseless then, on feet or wings, +Out they come, all moon-eyed things! +In and out they pop and play, +Have it all their own wild way, +Fly and frolic, scamper, glow; +Treat the moon, for all her show, +State, and opal diadem, +Like a nursemaid watching them. +And the nightingale doth snare +All the merry tumult rare, +All the music and the magic, +All the comic and the tragic, +All the wisdom and the riot +Of the midnight moonlight diet, +In a diamond hoop of song, +Which he trundles all night long. + + What doth make the sun, you ask, +Able for such mighty task? +He is not a lamp hung high +Sliding up and down the sky, +He is carried in a hand: +That's what makes him strong and grand! +From that hand comes all his power; +If it set him down one hour, +Yea, one moment set him by, +In that moment he would die, +And the winter, ice, and snow +Come on us, and never go. + + Need I tell you whose the hand +Bears him high o'er sea and land? + + + +_MOTHER NATURE._ + + Beautiful mother is busy all day, +So busy she neither can sing nor say; +But lovely thoughts, in a ceaseless flow, +Through her eyes, and her ears, and her bosom go-- +Motion, sight, and sound, and scent, +Weaving a royal, rich content. + + When night is come, and her children sleep, +Beautiful mother her watch doth keep; +With glowing stars in her dusky hair +Down she sits to her music rare; +And her instrument that never fails, +Is the hearts and the throats of her nightingales. + + + +_THE MISTLETOE._ + + Kiss me: there now, little Neddy, +Do you see her staring steady? +There again you had a chance of her! +Didn't you catch the pretty glance of her? +See her nest! On any planet +Never was a sweeter than it! +Never nest was such as this is: +Tis the nest of all the kisses, +With the mother kiss-bird sitting +All through Christmas, never flitting, +Kisses, kisses, kisses hatching, +Sweetest birdies, for the catching! +Oh, the precious little brood +Always in a loving mood!-- +There's one under Mamy's hood! + + There, that's one I caught this minute, +Musical as any linnet! +Where it is, your big eyes question, +With of doubt a wee suggestion? +There it is--upon mouth merry! +There it is--upon cheek cherry! +There's another on chin-chinnie! +Now it's off, and lights on Minnie! +There's another on nose-nosey! +There's another on lip-rosy! +And the kissy-bird is hatching +Hundreds more for only catching. + + Why the mistletoe she chooses, +And the Christmas-tree refuses? +There's a puzzle for your mother? +I'll present you with another! +Tell me why, you question-asker, +Cruel, heartless mother-tasker-- +Why, of all the trees before her, +Gathered round, or spreading o'er her, +Jenny Wren should choose the apple +For her nursery and chapel! +Or Jack Daw build in the steeple +High above the praying people! +Tell me why the limping plover +O'er moist meadow likes to hover; +Why the partridge with such trouble +Builds her nest where soon the stubble +Will betray her hop-thumb-cheepers +To the eyes of all the reapers!-- +Tell me, Charley; tell me, Janey; +Answer all, or answer any, +And I'll tell you, with much pleasure, +Why this little bird of treasure +Nestles only in the mistletoe, +Never, never goes the thistle to. + + Not an answer? Tell without it? +Yes--all that I know about it:-- +Mistletoe, then, cannot flourish, +Cannot find the food to nourish +But on other plant when planted-- +And for kissing two are wanted. +That is why the kissy-birdie +Looks about for oak-tree sturdy +And the plant that grows upon it +Like a wax-flower on a bonnet. + + But, my blessed little mannie, +All the birdies are not cannie +That the kissy-birdie hatches! +Some are worthless little patches, +Which indeed if they don't smutch you, +'Tis they're dead before they touch you! +While for kisses vain and greedy, +Kisses flattering, kisses needy, +They are birds that never waddled +Out of eggs that only addled! +Some there are leave spots behind them, +On your cheek for years you'd find them: +Little ones, I do beseech you, +Never let such birdies reach you. + + It depends what net you venture +What the sort of bird will enter! +I will tell you in a minute +What net takes kiss--lark or linnet-- +Any bird indeed worth hatching +And just therefore worth the catching: +The one net that never misses +Catching at least some true kisses, +Is the heart that, loving truly, +Always loves the old love newly; +But to spread out would undo it-- +Let the birdies fly into it. + + + +_PROFESSOR NOCTUTUS._ + +Nobody knows the world but me. +The rest go to bed; I sit up and see. +I'm a better observer than any of you all, +For I never look out till the twilight fall, +And never then without green glasses, +And that is how my wisdom passes. + +I never think, for that is not fit: +_I observe._ I have seen the white moon sit +On her nest, the sea, like a fluffy owl, +Hatching the boats and the long-legged fowl! +When the oysters gape--you may make a note-- +She drops a pearl into every throat. + +I can see the wind: can you do that? +I see the dreams he has in his hat, +I see him shaking them out as he goes, +I see them rush in at man's snoring nose. +Ten thousand things you could not think, +I can write down plain with pen and ink! + +You know that I know; therefore pull off your hat, +Whether round and tall, or square and flat: +You cannot do better than trust in me; +You may shut your eyes in fact--_I_ see! +Lifelong I will lead you, and then, like the owl, +I will bury you nicely with my spade and showl. + + + +_BIRD-SONGS._ + +I will sing a song, + Said the owl. +You sing a song, sing-song + Ugly fowl! +What will you sing about, +Night in and day out? + +All about the night, + When the gray +With her cloak smothers bright, + Hard, sharp day. +Oh, the moon! the cool dew! +And the shadows!--tu-whoo! + +I will sing a song, + Said the nightingale. +Sing a song, long, long, + Little Neverfail! +What will you sing about, +Day in or day out? + +All about the light + Gone away, +Down, away, and out of sight: + Wake up, day! +For the master is not dead, +Only gone to bed. + +I will sing a song, + Said the lark. +Sing, sing, Throat-strong, + Little Kill-the-dark! +What will you sing about, +Day in and night out? + +I can only call! + I can't think! +Let me up, that's all! + I see a chink! +I've been thirsting all night +For the glorious light! + + + +_RIDDLES._ + +I. + +I have only one foot, but thousands of toes; +My one foot stands well, but never goes; +I've a good many arms, if you count them all, +But hundreds of fingers, large and small; +From the ends of my fingers my beauty grows; +I breathe with my hair, and I drink with my toes; +I grow bigger and bigger about the waist +Although I am always very tight laced; +None e'er saw me eat--I've no mouth to bite! +Yet I eat all day, and digest all night. +In the summer, with song I shake and quiver, +But in winter I fast and groan and shiver. + +II. + +There is a plough that hath no share, +Only a coulter that parteth fair; + But the ridges they rise + To a terrible size +Or ever the coulter comes near to tear: +The horses and ridges fierce battle make; +The horses are safe, but the plough may break. + +Seed cast in its furrows, or green or sear, +Will lift to the sun neither blade nor ear: + Down it drops plumb + Where no spring-times come, +Nor needeth it any harrowing gear; +Wheat nor poppy nor blade has been found +Able to grow on the naked ground. + +FOR MY GRANDCHILD. + +III. + +Who is it that sleeps like a top all night, +And wakes in the morning so fresh and bright +That he breaks his bed as he gets up, +And leaves it smashed like a china cup? + +IV. + +I've a very long nose, but what of that? +It is not too long to lie on a mat! + +I have very big jaws, but never get fat: +I don't go to church, and I'm not a church rat! + +I've a mouth in my middle my food goes in at, +Just like a skate's--that's a fish that's a flat. + +In summer I'm seldom able to breathe, +But when winter his blades in ice doth sheathe + +I swell my one lung, I look big and I puff, +And I sometimes hiss.--There, that's enough! + + + +_BABY._ + +Where did you come from, baby dear? +Out of the everywhere into here. + +Where did you get those eyes so blue? +Out of the sky as I came through. + +What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? +Some of the starry twinkles left in. + +Where did you get that little tear? +I found it waiting when I got here. + +What makes your forehead so smooth and high? +A soft hand stroked it as I went by. + +What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? +I saw something better than any one knows. + +Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? +Three angels gave me at once a kiss. + +Where did you get this pearly ear? +God spoke, and it came out to hear. + +Where did you get those arms and hands? +Love made itself into bonds and bands. + +Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? +From the same box as the cherubs' wings. + +How did they all just come to be you? +God thought about me, and so I grew. + +But how did you come to us, you dear? +God thought about you, and so I am here. + + + +_UP AND-DOWN._ + +The sun is gone down + And the moon's in the sky +But the sun will come up + And the moon be laid by. + +The flower is asleep. + But it is not dead, +When the morning shines + It will lift its head. + +When winter comes + It will die! No, no, +It will only hide + From the frost and snow. + +Sure is the summer, + Sure is the sun; +The night and the winter + Away they run. + + + +_UP IN THE TREE_. + +What would you see, if I took you up +My little aerie-stair? +You would see the sky like a clear blue cup +Turned upside down in the air. + +What would you do, up my aerie-stair +In my little nest on the tree? +With cry upon cry you would ripple the air +To get at what you would see. + +And what would you reach in the top of the tree +To still your grasping grief? +Not a star would you clutch of all you would see, +You would gather just one green leaf. + +But when you had lost your greedy grief, +Content to see from afar, +Your hand it would hold a withering leaf, +But your heart a shining star. + + + +_A BABY-SERMON_. + +The lightning and thunder +They go and they come: +But the stars and the stillness +Are always at home. + + + +_LITTLE BO-PEEP_. + +Little Bo-Peep, she has lost her sheep, + And will not know where to find them; +They are over the height and out of sight, + Trailing their tails behind them! + +Little Bo-Peep woke out of her sleep, + Jump'd up and set out to find them: +"The silly things! they've got no wings, + And they've left their trails behind them! + +"They've taken their tails, but they've left their trails, + And so I shall follow and find them!" +For wherever a tail had dragged a trail + The grass lay bent behind them. + +She washed in the brook, and caught up her crook. + And after her sheep did run +Along the trail that went up the dale + Across the grass in the sun. + +She ran with a will, and she came to a hill + That went up steep like a spire; +On its very top the sun seemed to stop, + And burned like a flame of fire. + +But now she went slow, for the hill did go + Up steeper as she went higher; +When she reached its crown, the sun was down, + Leaving a trail of fire. + +And her sheep were gone, and hope she had none. + For now was no trail behind them. +Yes, there they were! long-tailed and fair! + But to see was not to find them! + +Golden in hue, and rosy and blue, + And white as blossom of pears, +Her sheep they did run in the trail of the sun, + As she had been running in theirs! + +After the sun like clouds they did run, + But she knew they were her sheep: +She sat down to cry and look up at the sky, + But she cried herself to sleep. + +And as she slept the dew down wept, + And the wind did blow from the sky; +And doings strange brought a lovely change: + She woke with a different cry! + +Nibble, nibble, crop, without a stop! + A hundred little lambs +Did pluck and eat the grass so sweet + That grew in the trail of their dams! + +She gave one look, she caught up her crook, + Wiped away the sleep that did blind her; +And nibble-nibble-crop, without a stop + The lambs came nibbling behind her. + +Home, home she came, both tired and lame, + With three times as large a stock; +In a month or more, they'll be sheep as before, + A lovely, long-wooled flock! + +But what will she say, if, one fine day, + When they've got their bushiest tails, +Their grown-up game should be just the same, + And again she must follow mere trails? + +Never weep, Bo-Peep, though you lose your sheep, + Tears will turn rainbow-laughter! +In the trail of the sun if the mothers did run, + The lambs are sure to run after; + +But a day is coming when little feet drumming + Will wake you up to find them-- +All the old sheep--how your heart will leap!-- + With their big little lambs behind them! + + + +_LITTLE BOY BLUE._ + +Little Boy Blue lost his way in a wood-- + _Sing apples and cherries, roses and honey:_ +He said, "I would not go back if I could, + _It's all so jolly and funny!"_ + +He sang, "This wood is all my own-- + _Apples and cherries, roses and honey!_ +Here I will sit, a king on my throne, + _All so jolly and funny!"_ + +A little snake crept out of a tree-- + _Apples and cherries, roses and honey:_ +"Lie down at my feet, little snake," said he-- + _All so jolly and funny!_ + +A little bird sang in the tree overhead-- + _"Apples and cherries, roses and honey:"_ +"Come and sing your song on my finger," he said, + _All so jolly and funny._ + +Up coiled the snake; the bird came down, +And sang him the song of Birdie Brown. + +But little Boy Blue found it tiresome to sit +Though it was on a throne: he would walk a bit! + +He took up his horn, and he blew a blast: +"Snake, you go first, and, birdie, come last." + +Waves of green snake o'er the yellow leaves went; +The snake led the way, and he knew what he meant: + +But by Boy Blue's head, with flutter and dart, +Flew Birdie Brown, her song in her heart. + +Boy Blue came where apples grew fair and sweet: +"Tree, drop me an apple down at my feet." + +He came where cherries hung plump and red: +"Come to my mouth, sweet kisses," he said. + +And the boughs bow down, and the apples they dapple +The grass, too many for him to grapple; + +And the cheeriest cherries, with never a miss, +Fall to his mouth, each a full-grown kiss. + +He met a little brook singing a song: +"Little brook," he said, "you are going wrong, + +"You must follow me, follow me, follow, I say, +Do as I tell you, and come this way." + +And the song-singing, sing-songing forest brook +Leapt from its bed and after him took; + +And the dead leaves rustled, yellow and wan, +As over their beds the water ran. + +He called every bird that sat on a bough; +He called every creature with poop and prow-- + +I mean, with two ends, that is, nose and tail: +With legs or without, they followed full sail; + +Squirrels that carried their tails like a sack, +Each his own on his little brown humpy back; + +Snails that drew their own caravans, +Poking out their own eyes on the point of a lance, + +And houseless slugs, white, black, and red-- +Snails too lazy to build a shed; + +And butterflies, flutterbys, weasels, and larks, +And owls, and shrew-mice, and harkydarks, + +Cockchafers, henchafers, cockioli-birds, +Cockroaches, henroaches, cuckoos in herds; + +The dappled fawns fawning, the fallow-deer following; +The swallows and flies, flying and swallowing-- + +All went flitting, and sailing, and flowing +After the merry boy running and blowing. + +The spider forgot, and followed him spinning, +And lost all his thread from end to beginning; + +The gay wasp forgot his rings and his waist-- +He never had made such undignified haste! + +The dragon-flies melted to mist with their hurrying; +The mole forsook his harrowing and burrowing; + +The bees went buzzing, not busy but beesy, +And the midges in columns, upright and easy. + +But Little Boy Blue was not content, +Calling for followers still as he went, + +Blowing his horn, and beating his drum, +And crying aloud, "Come all of you, come!" + +He said to the shadows, "Come after me;" +And the shadows began to flicker and flee, + +And away through the wood went flattering and fluttering, +Shaking and quivering, quavering and muttering. + +He said to the wind, "Come, follow; come, follow +With whistle and pipe, with rustle and hollo;" + +And the wind wound round at his desire, +As if Boy had been the gold cock on the spire; + +And the cock itself flew down from the church +And left the farmers all in the lurch. + +Everything, everything, all and sum, +They run and they fly, they creep and they come; + +The very trees they tugged at their roots, +Only their feet were too fast in their boots-- + +After him leaning and straining and bending, +As on through their boles the army kept wending, + +Till out of the wood Boy burst on a lea, +Shouting and calling, "Come after me," + +And then they rose with a leafy hiss +And stood as if nothing had been amiss. + +Little Boy Blue sat down on a stone, +And the creatures came round him every one. + +He said to the clouds, "I want you there!" +And down they sank through the thin blue air. + +He said to the sunset far in the west, +"Come here; I want you; 'tis my behest!" + +And the sunset came and stood up on the wold, +And burned and glowed in purple and gold. + +Then Little Boy Blue began to ponder: +"What's to be done with them all, I wonder!" + +He thought a while, then he said, quite low, +"What to do with you all, I am sure I don't know!" + +The clouds clodded down till dismal it grew; +The snake sneaked close; round Birdie Brown flew; + +The brook, like a cobra, rose on its tail, +And the wind sank down with a _what-will-you_ wail, + +And all the creatures sat and stared; +The mole opened the eyes that he hadn't, and glared; + +And for rats and bats, and the world and his wife +Little Boy Blue was afraid of his life. + +Then Birdie Brown began to sing, +And what he sang was the very thing: + +"Little Boy Blue, you have brought us all hither: +Pray, are we to sit and grow old together?" + +"Go away; go away," said Little Boy Blue; +"I'm sure I don't want you! get away--do." + +"No, no; no, no; no, yes, and no, no," +Sang Birdie Brown, "it mustn't be so! + +"If we've come for no good, we can't go away. +Give us reason for going, or here we stay!" + +They covered the earth, they darkened the air, +They hovered, they sat, with a countless stare. + +"If I do not give them something to do, +They will stare me up!" said Little Boy Blue. + +"Oh dear! oh dear!" he began to cry, +"They're an awful crew, and I feel so shy!" + +All of a sudden he thought of a thing, +And up he stood, and spoke like a king: + +"You're the plague of my life! have done with your bother! +Off with you all: take me back to my mother!" + +The sunset went back to the gates of the west. +"Follow _me_" sang Birdie, "I know the way best!" + +"I am going the same way as fast as I can!" +Said the brook, as it sank and turned and ran. + +To the wood fled the shadows, like scared black ghosts: +"If we stay, we shall all be missed from our posts!" + +Said the wind, with a voice that had changed its cheer, +"I was just going there when you brought me here!" + +"That's where I live," said the sack-backed squirrel, +And he turned his sack with a swing and a swirl. + +Said the gold weather-cock, "I'm the churchwarden!" +Said the mole, "I live in the parson's garden!" + +Said they all, "If that's where you want us to steer for, +What on earth or in air did you bring us here for?" + +"You are none the worse!" said Boy. "If you won't +Do as I tell you, why, then, don't; + +"I'll leave you behind, and go home without you; +And it's time I did: I begin to doubt you!" + +He jumped to his feet. The snake rose on his tail, +And hissed three times, a hiss full of bale, + +And shot out his tongue at Boy Blue to scare him, +And stared at him, out of his courage to stare him. + +"You ugly snake," Little Boy Blue said, +"Get out of my way, or I'll break your head!" + +The snake would not move, but glared at him glum; +Boy Blue hit him hard with the stick of his drum. + +The snake fell down as if he was dead. +Little Boy Blue set his foot on his head. + +"Hurrah!" cried the creatures, "hurray! hurrah! +Little Boy Blue, your will is a law!" + +And away they went, marching before him, +And marshalled him home with a high cockolorum. + +And Birdie Brown sang, _"Twirrr twitter, twirrr twee! +In the rosiest rose-bush a rare nest! +Twirrr twitter, twirrr twitter, twirrr twitter, twirrrrr tweeeee! +In the fun he has found the earnest!"_ + + + +_WILLIE'S QUESTION_. + +I. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Is it wrong, the wish to be great, + For I do wish it so? +I have asked already my sister Kate; + She says she does not know. + +Yestereve at the gate I stood + Watching the sun in the west; +When I saw him look so grand and good + It swelled up in my breast. + +Next from the rising moon + It stole like a silver dart; +In the night when the wind began his tune + It woke with a sudden start. + +This morning a trumpet blast + Made all the cottage quake; +It came so sudden and shook so fast + It blew me wide awake. + +It told me I must make haste, + And some great glory win, +For every day was running to waste, + And at once I must begin. + +I want to be great and strong, + I want to begin to-day; +But if you think it very wrong + I will send the wish away. + +II. + + _The Father answers._ + +Wrong to wish to be great? + No, Willie; it is not wrong: +The child who stands at the high closed gate + Must wish to be tall and strong! + +If you did not wish to grow + I should be a sorry man; +I should think my boy was dull and slow, + Nor worthy of his clan. + +You are bound to be great, my boy: + Wish, and get up, and do. +Were you content to be little, my joy + Would be little enough in you. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Papa, papa! I'm so glad + That what I wish is right! +I will not lose a chance to be had; + I'll begin this very night. + +I will work so hard at school! + I will waste no time in play; +At my fingers' ends I'll have every rule, + For knowledge is power, they say. + +I _would_ be a king and reign, + But I can't be that, and so +Field-marshal I'll be, I think, and gain + Sharp battles and sieges slow. + +I shall gallop and shout and call, + Waving my shining sword: +Artillery, cavalry, infantry, all + Hear and obey my word. + +Or admiral I will be, + Wherever the salt wave runs, +Sailing, fighting over the sea, + With flashing and roaring guns. + +I will make myself hardy and strong; + I will never, never give in. +I _am_ so glad it is not wrong! + At once I will begin. + + _The Father speaks._ + +Fighting and shining along, + All for the show of the thing! +Any puppet will mimic the grand and strong + If you pull the proper string! + + _Willie speaks._ + +But indeed I want to _be_ great, + I should despise mere show; +The thing I want is the glory-state-- + Above the rest, you know! + + _The Father answers._ + +The harder you run that race, + The farther you tread that track, +The greatness you fancy before your face + Is the farther behind your back. + +To be up in the heavens afar, + Miles above all the rest, +Would make a star not the greatest star, + Only the dreariest. + +That book on the highest shelf + Is not the greatest book; +If you would be great, it must be in yourself, + Neither by place nor look. + +The Highest is not high + By being higher than others; +To greatness you come not a step more nigh + By getting above your brothers. + +III. + + _Willie speaks._ + +I meant the boys at school, + I did not mean my brother. +Somebody first, is there the rule-- + It must be me or another. + + _The Father answers._ + +Oh, Willie, it's all the same! + They are your brothers all; +For when you say, "Hallowed be thy name!" + Whose Father is it you call? + +Could you pray for such rule to _him_? + Do you think that he would hear? +Must he favour one in a greedy whim + Where all are his children dear? + +It is right to get up and do, + But why outstrip the rest? +Why should one of the many be one of the few? + Why should _you_ think to be best? + + _Willie speaks._ + +Then how am I to be great? + I know no other way; +It would be folly to sit and wait, + I must up and do, you say! + + _The Father answers._ + +I do not want you to wait, + For few before they die +Have got so far as begin to be great, + The lesson is so high. + +I will tell you the only plan + To climb and not to fall: +He who would rise and be greater than + He is, must be servant of all. + +Turn it each way in your mind, + Try every other plan, +You may think yourself great, but at length you'll find + You are not even a man. + +Climb to the top of the trees, + Climb to the top of the hill, +Get up on the crown of the sky if you please, + You'll be a small creature still. + +Be admiral, poet, or king, + Let praises fill both your ears, +Your soul will be but a windmill thing + Blown round by its hopes and fears. + +IV. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Then put me in the way, + For you, papa, are a man: +What thing shall I do this very day?-- + Only be sure I _can_. + +I want to know--I am willing, + Let me at least have a chance! +Shall I give the monkey-boy my shilling?-- + I want to serve at once. + + _The Father answers._ + +Give all your shillings you might + And hurt your brothers the more; +He only can serve his fellows aright + Who goes in at the little door. + +We must do the thing we _must_ + Before the thing we _may;_ +We are unfit for any trust + Till we can and do obey. + + _Willie speaks._ + +I will try more and more; + I have nothing now to ask; +_Obedience_ I know is the little door: + Now set me some hard task. + + _The Father answers._ + +No, Willie; the father of all, + Teacher and master high, +Has set your task beyond recall, + Nothing can set it by. + + _Willie speaks._ + +What is it, father dear, + That he would have me do? +I'd ask himself, but he's not near, + And so I must ask you! + + _The Father answers._ + +Me 'tis no use to ask, + I too am one of his boys! +But he tells each boy his own plain task; + Listen, and hear his voice. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Father, I'm listening _so_ + To hear him if I may! +His voice must either be very low, + Or very far away! + + _The Father answers._ + +It is neither hard to hear, + Nor hard to understand; +It is very low, but very near, + A still, small, strong command. + + _Willie answers._ + +I do not hear it at all; + I am only hearing you! + + _The Father speaks._ + +Think: is there nothing, great or small, + You ought to go and do? + + _Willie answers._ + +Let me think:--I ought to feed + My rabbits. I went away +In such a hurry this morning! Indeed + They've not had enough to-day! + + _The Father speaks._ + +That is his whisper low! + That is his very word! +You had only to stop and listen, and so + Very plainly you heard! + +That duty's the little door: + You must open it and go in; +There is nothing else to do before, + There is nowhere else to begin. + + _Willie speaks._ + +But that's so easily done! + It's such a trifling affair! +So nearly over as soon as begun. + For that he can hardly care! + + _The Father answers._ + +You are turning from his call + If you let that duty wait; +You would not think any duty small + If you yourself were great. + +The nearest is at life's core; + With the first, you all begin: +What matter how little the little door + If it only let you in? + +V. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Papa, I am come again: + It is now three months and more +That I've tried to do the thing that was plain, + And I feel as small as before. + + _The Father answers._ + +Your honour comes too slow? + How much then have you done? +One foot on a mole-heap, would you crow + As if you had reached the sun? + + _Willie speaks._ + +But I cannot help a doubt + Whether this way be the true: +The more I do to work it out + The more there comes to do; + +And yet, were all done and past, + I should feel just as small, +For when I had tried to the very last-- + 'Twas my duty, after all! + +It is only much the same + As not being liar or thief! + + _The Father answers._ + +One who tried it found even, with shame, + That of sinners he was the chief! + +My boy, I am glad indeed + You have been finding the truth! + + _Willie speaks._ + +But where's the good? I shall never speed-- + Be one whit greater, in sooth! + +If duty itself must fail, + And that be the only plan, +How shall my scarce begun duty prevail + To make me a mighty man? + + _The Father answers._ + +Ah, Willie! what if it were + Quite another way to fall? +What if the greatness itself lie there-- + In knowing that you are small? + +In seeing the good so good + That you feel poor, weak, and low; +And hungrily long for it as for food, + With an endless need to grow? + +The man who was lord of fate, + Born in an ox's stall, +Was great because he was much too great + To care about greatness at all. + +Ever and only he sought + The will of his Father good; +Never of what was high he thought, + But of what his Father would. + +You long to be great; you try; + You feel yourself smaller still: +In the name of God let ambition die; + Let him make you what he will. + +Who does the truth, is one + With the living Truth above: +Be God's obedient little son, + Let ambition die in love. + + + +_KING COLE_. + +King Cole he reigned in Aureoland, +But the sceptre was seldom in his hand + +Far oftener was there his golden cup-- +He ate too much, but he drank all up! + +To be called a king and to be a king, +That is one thing and another thing! + +So his majesty's head began to shake, +And his hands and his feet to swell and ache, + +The doctors were called, but they dared not say +Your majesty drinks too much Tokay; + +So out of the king's heart died all mirth, +And he thought there was nothing good on earth. + +Then up rose the fool, whose every word +Was three parts wise and one part absurd. + +Nuncle, he said, never mind the gout; +I will make you laugh till you laugh it out. + +King Cole pushed away his full gold plate: +The jester he opened the palace gate, + +Brought in a cold man, with hunger grim, +And on the dais-edge seated him; + +Then caught up the king's own golden plate, +And set it beside him: oh, how he ate! + +And the king took note, with a pleased surprise, +That he ate with his mouth and his cheeks and his eyes, + +With his arms and his legs and his body whole, +And laughed aloud from his heart and soul. + +Then from his lordly chair got up, +And carried the man his own gold cup; + +The goblet was deep and wide and full, +The poor man drank like a cow at a pool. + +Said the king to the jester--I call it well done +To drink with two mouths instead of one! + +Said the king to himself, as he took his seat, +It is quite as good to feed as to eat! + +It is better, I do begin to think, +To give to the thirsty than to drink! + +And now I have thought of it, said the king, +There might be more of this kind of thing! + +The fool heard. The king had not long to wait: +The fool cried aloud at the palace-gate; + +The ragged and wretched, the hungry and thin, +Loose in their clothes and tight in their skin, + +Gathered in shoals till they filled the hall, +And the king and the fool they fed them all; + +And as with good things their plates they piled +The king grew merry as a little child. + +On the morrow, early, he went abroad +And sought poor folk in their own abode-- + +Sought them till evening foggy and dim, +Did not wait till they came to him; + +And every day after did what he could, +Gave them work and gave them food. + +Thus he made war on the wintry weather, +And his health and the spring came back together. + +But, lo, a change had passed on the king, +Like the change of the world in that same spring! + +His face had grown noble and good to see, +And the crown sat well on his majesty. + +Now he ate enough, and ate no more, +He drank about half what he drank before, + +He reigned a real king in Aureoland, +Reigned with his head and his heart and his hand. + +All this through the fool did come to pass. +And every Christmas-eve that was, + +The palace-gates stood open wide +And the poor came in from every side, + +And the king rose up and served them duly, +And his people loved him very truly. + + + +_SAID_ AND _DID_. + +Said the boy as he read, "I too will be bold, + I will fight for the truth and its glory!" +He went to the playground, and soon had told + A very cowardly story! + +Said the girl as she read, "That was grand, I declare! + What a true, what a lovely, sweet soul!" +In half-an-hour she went up the stair, + Looking as black as a coal! + +"The mean little wretch, I wish I could fling + This book at his head!" said another; +Then he went and did the same ugly thing + To his own little trusting brother! + +Alas for him who sees a thing grand + And does not fit himself to it! +But the meanest act, on sea or on land, + Is to find a fault, and then do it! + + + +_DR. DODDRIDGE'S DOG_. + +"What! you Dr. Doddridge's dog, and not know who made you?" + +My little dog, who blessed you + With such white toothy-pegs? +And who was it that dressed you + In such a lot of legs? + +Perhaps he never told you! + Perhaps you know quite well, +And beg me not to scold you + For you can't speak to tell! + +I'll tell you, little brother, + In case you do not know:-- +One only, not another, + Could make us two just so. + +You love me?--Quiet!--I'm proving!-- + It must be God above +That filled those eyes with loving: + He was the first to love! + +One day he'll stop all sadness-- + Hark to the nightingale! +Oh blessed God of gladness!-- + Come, doggie, wag your tail! + +That's--Thank you, God!--He gave you + Of life this little taste; +And with more life he'll save you, + Not let you go to waste! + +He says now, Live together, + And share your bite and sup; +And then he'll say, Come hither-- + And lift us both high up. + + + +_THE GIRL THAT LOST THINGS_. + +There was a girl that lost things-- + Nor only from her hand; +She lost, indeed--why, most things, + As if they had been sand! + +She said, "But I must use them, + And can't look after all! +Indeed I did not lose them, + I only let them fall!" + +That's how she lost her thimble, + It fell upon the floor: +Her eyes were very nimble + But she never saw it more. + +And then she lost her dolly, + Her very doll of all! +That loss was far from jolly, + But worse things did befall. + +She lost a ring of pearls + With a ruby in them set; +But the dearest girl of girls + Cried only, did not fret. + +And then she lost her robin; + Ah, that was sorrow dire! +He hopped along, and--bob in-- + Hopped bob into the fire! + +And once she lost a kiss + As she came down the stair; +But that she did not miss, + For sure it was somewhere! + +Just then she lost her heart too, + But did so well without it +She took that in good part too, + And said--not much about it. + +But when she lost her health + She did feel rather poor, +Till in came loads of wealth + By quite another door! + +And soon she lost a dimple + That was upon her cheek, +But that was very simple-- + She was so thin and weak! + +And then she lost her mother, + And thought that she was dead; +Sure there was not another + On whom to lay her head! + +And then she lost her self-- + But that she threw away; +And God upon his shelf + It carefully did lay. + +And then she lost her sight, + And lost all hope to find it; +But a fountain-well of light + Came flashing up behind it. + +At last she lost the world: + In a black and stormy wind +Away from her it whirled-- + But the loss how could she mind? + +For with it she lost her losses, + Her aching and her weeping, +Her pains and griefs and crosses, + And all things not worth keeping; + +It left her with the lost things + Her heart had still been craving; +'Mong them she found--why, most things, + And all things worth the saving. + +She found her precious mother, + Who not the least had died; +And then she found that other + Whose heart had hers inside. + +And next she found the kiss + She lost upon the stair; +'Twas sweeter far, I guess, + For ripening in that air. + +She found her self, all mended, + New-drest, and strong, and white; +She found her health, new-blended + With a radiant delight. + +She found her little robin: + He made his wings go flap, +Came fluttering, and went bob in, + Went bob into her lap. + +So, girls that cannot keep things, + Be patient till to-morrow; +And mind you don't beweep things + That are not worth such sorrow; + +For the Father great of fathers, + Of mothers, girls, and boys, +In his arms his children gathers, + And sees to all their toys. + + + +_A MAKE-BELIEVE_. + +I will think as thinks the rabbit:-- + + Oh, delight + In the night + When the moon + Sets the tune + To the woods! + And the broods + All run out, + Frisk about, + Go and come, + Beat the drum-- + Here in groups, + There in troops! + Now there's one! + Now it's gone! + There are none! +And now they are dancing like chaff! +I look, and I laugh, +But sit by my door, and keep to my habit-- +A wise, respectable, clean-furred old rabbit! + + Now I'm going, + Business calls me out-- + Going, going, + Very knowing, + Slow, long-heeled, and stout, + Loping, lumbering, + Nipping, numbering, + Head on this side and on that, + Along the pathway footed flat, + Through the meadow, through the heather, + Through the rich dusky weather-- + Big stars and little moon! + + Dews are lighting down in crowds, + Odours rising in thin clouds, + Night has all her chords in tune-- + The very night for us, God's rabbits, + Suiting all our little habits! +Wind not loud, but playful with our fur, +Just a cool, a sweet, a gentle stir! +And all the way not one rough bur, +But the dewiest, freshest grasses, +That whisper thanks to every foot that passes! + + I, the king the rest call Mappy, + Canter on, composed and happy, + Till I come where there is plenty + For a varied meal and dainty. + Is it cabbage, I grab it; + Is it parsley, I nab it; + Is it carrot, I mar it; + The turnip I turn up + And hollow and swallow; + A lettuce? Let us eat it! + A beetroot? Let's beat it! + If you are juicy, + Sweet sir, I will use you! + For all kinds of corn-crop + I have a born crop! + Are you a green top? + You shall be gleaned up! + Sucking and feazing, + Crushing and squeezing + All that is feathery, + Crisp, not leathery, + Juicy and bruisy-- + All comes proper + To my little hopper + Still on the dance, + Driven by hunger and drouth! + +All is welcome to my crunching, +Finding, grinding, +Milling, munching, +Gobbling, lunching, +Fore-toothed, three-lipped mouth-- +Eating side way, round way, flat way, +Eating this way, eating that way, +Every way at once! + +Hark to the rain!-- +Pattering, clattering, +The cabbage leaves battering, +Down it comes amain!-- +Home we hurry +Hop and scurry, +And in with a flurry! +Hustling, jostling +Out of the airy land +Into the dry warm sand; +Our family white tails, +The last of our vitals, +Following hard with a whisk to them, +And with a great sense of risk to them! + +Hear to it pouring! +Hear the thunder roaring +Far off and up high, +While we all lie +So warm and so dry +In the mellow dark, +Where never a spark, +White or rosy or blue, +Of the sheeting, fleeting, +Forking, frightening, +Lashing lightning +Ever can come through! + +Let the wind chafe +In the trees overhead, +We are quite safe +In our dark, yellow bed! +Let the rain pour! +It never can bore +A hole in our roof-- +It is waterproof! +So is the cloak +We always carry, +We furry folk, +In sandhole or quarry! +It is perfect bliss +To lie in a nest +So soft as this, +All so warmly drest! +No one to flurry you! +No one to hurry you! +No one to scurry you! +Holes plenty to creep in! +All day to sleep in! +All night to roam in! +Gray dawn to run home in! +And all the days and nights to come after-- +All the to-morrows for hind-legs and laughter! + +Now the rain is over, +We are out again, +Every merry, leaping rover, +On his right leg and his wrong leg, +On his doubled, shortened long leg, +Floundering amain! +Oh, it is merry +And jolly--yes, very! + +But what--what is that? +What can he be at? +Is it a cat? +Ah, my poor little brother, +He's caught in the trap +That goes-to with a snap! +Ah me! there was never, +Nor will be for ever-- +There was never such another, +Such a funny, funny bunny, +Such a frisking, such a whisking, +Such a frolicking brother! +He's screeching, beseeching! +They're going to-- + +Ah, my poor foot, +It is caught in a root! +No, no! 'tis a trap +That goes-to with a snap! +Ah me, I'm forsaken! +Ah me, I am taken! +I am screeching, beseeching! +They are going to-- + +No more! no more! I must stop this play, +Be a boy again, and kneel down and pray +To the God of sparrows and rabbits and men, +Who never lets any one out of his ken-- +It must be so, though it be bewild'ring-- +To save his dear beasts from his cruel children! + + + +_THE CHRISTMAS CHILD_. + +"Little one, who straight hast come +Down the heavenly stair, +Tell us all about your home, +And the father there." + +"He is such a one as I, +Like as like can be. +Do his will, and, by and by, +Home and him you'll see." + + + +_A CHRISTMAS PRAYER_. + +Loving looks the large-eyed cow, +Loving stares the long-eared ass +At Heaven's glory in the grass! +Child, with added human birth +Come to bring the child of earth +Glad repentance, tearful mirth, +And a seat beside the hearth +At the Father's knee-- +Make us peaceful as thy cow; +Make us patient as thine ass; +Make us quiet as thou art now; +Make us strong as thou wilt be. +Make us always know and see +We are his as well as thou. + + + +_NO END OF NO-STORY_. + +There is a river +whose waters run asleep +run run ever +singing in the shallows +dumb in the hollows +sleeping so deep +and all the swallows +that dip their feathers +in the hollows +or in the shallows +are the merriest swallows +and the nests they make +with the clay they cake +with the water they shake +from their wings that rake +the water out of the shallows +or out of the hollows +will hold together +in any weather +and the swallows +are the merriest fellows +and have the merriest children +and are built very narrow +like the head of an arrow +to cut the air +and go just where +the nicest water is flowing +and the nicest dust is blowing +and each so narrow +like the head of an arrow +is a wonderful barrow +to carry the mud he makes +for his children's sakes +from the wet water flowing +and the dry dust blowing +to build his nest +for her he loves best +and the wind cakes it +the sun bakes it +into a nest +for the rest +of her he loves best +and all their merry children +each little fellow +with a beak as yellow +as the buttercups growing +beside the flowing +of the singing river +always and ever +growing and blowing +as fast as the sheep +awake or asleep +crop them and crop +and cannot stop +their yellowness blowing +nor yet the growing +of the obstinate daisies +the little white praises +they grow and they blow +they spread out their crown +and they praise the sun +and when he goes down +their praising is done +they fold up their crown +and sleep every one +till over the plain +he is shining amain +and they're at it again +praising and praising +such low songs raising +that no one can hear them +but the sun so near them +and the sheep that bite them +but do not fright them +are the quietest sheep +awake or asleep +with the merriest bleat +and the little lambs +are the merriest lambs +forgetting to eat +for the frolic in their feet +and the lambs and their dams +are the whitest sheep +with the woolliest wool +for the swallow to pull +when he makes his nest +for her he loves best +and they shine like snow +in the grasses that grow +by the singing river +that sings for ever +and the sheep and the lambs +are merry for ever +because the river +sings and they drink it +and the lambs and their dams +would any one think it +are bright and white +because of their diet +which gladdens them quiet +for what they bite +is buttercups yellow +and daisies white +and grass as green +as the river can make it +with wind as mellow +to kiss it and shake it +as never was known +but here in the hollows +beside the river +where all the swallows +are the merriest fellows +and the nests they make +with the clay they cake +in the sunshine bake +till they are like bone +and as dry in the wind +as a marble stone +dried in the wind +the sweetest wind +that blows by the river +flowing for ever +and who shall find +whence comes the wind +that blows on the hollows +and over the shallows +where dip the swallows +and comes and goes +and the sweet life blows +into the river +that sings as it flows +and the sweet life blows +into the sheep +awake or asleep +with the woolliest wool +and the trailingest tails +and never fails +gentle and cool +to wave the wool +and to toss the grass +as the lambs and the sheep +over it pass +and tug and bite +with their teeth so white +and then with the sweep +of their trailing tails +smooth it again +and it grows amain +and amain it grows +and the wind that blows +tosses the swallows +over the hollows +and over the shallows +and blows the sweet life +and the joy so rife +into the swallows +that skim the shallows +and have the yellowest children +and the wind that blows +is the life of the river +that flows for ever +and washes the grasses +still as it passes +and feeds the daisies +the little white praises +and buttercups sunny +with butter and honey +that whiten the sheep +awake or asleep +that nibble and bite +and grow whiter than white +and merry and quiet +on such good diet +watered by the river +and tossed for ever +by the wind that tosses +the wool and the grasses +and the swallow that crosses +with all the swallows +over the shallows +dipping their wings +to gather the water +and bake the cake +for the wind to make +as hard as a bone +and as dry as a stone +and who shall find +whence comes the wind +that blows from behind +and ripples the river +that flows for ever +and still as it passes +waves the grasses +and cools the daisies +the white sun praises +that feed the sheep +awake or asleep +and give them their wool +for the swallows to pull +a little away +to mix with the clay +that cakes to a nest +for those they love best +and all the yellow children +soon to go trying +their wings at the flying +over the hollows +and over the shallows +with all the swallows +that do not know +whence the wind doth blow +that comes from behind +a blowing wind. + + + + + A THREEFOLD CORD: + + Poems by Three Friends. + + +TO + +GREVILLE MATHESON MACDONALD. + +First, most, to thee, my son, I give this book + In which a friend's and brother's verses blend + With mine; for not son only--brother, friend, +Art thou, through sonship which no veil can brook +Between the eyes that in each other look, + Or any shadow 'twixt the hearts that tend + Still nearer, with divine approach, to end +In love eternal that cannot be shook + When all the shakable shall cease to be. + With growing hope I greet the coming day +When from thy journey done I welcome thee +Who sharest in the names of all the three, + And take thee to the two, and humbly say, + _Let this man be the fourth with us, I pray._ + +CASA CORAGGIO: +_May, 1883._ + + + + + A THREEFOLD CHORD. + + + +_THE HAUNTED HOUSE_: + +_Suggested by a drawing of Thomas Moran, the American painter._ + +This must be the very night! +The moon knows it!--and the trees! +They stand straight upright, +Each a sentinel drawn up, +As if they dared not know +Which way the wind might blow! +The very pool, with dead gray eye, +Dully expectant, feels it nigh, +And begins to curdle and freeze! +And the dark night, +With its fringe of light, +Holds the secret in its cup! + +II. What can it be, to make +The poplars cease to shiver and shake, +And up in the dismal air +Stand straight and stiff as the human hair +When the human soul is dizzy with dread-- +All but those two that strain +Aside in a frenzy of speechless pain, +Though never a wind sends out a breath +To tunnel the foggy rheum of death? +What can it be has power to scare +The full-grown moon to the idiot stare +Of a blasted eye in the midnight air? +Something has gone wrong; +A scream will come tearing out ere long! + +III. Still as death, +Although I listen with bated breath! +Yet something is coming, I know--is coming! +With an inward soundless humming +Somewhere in me, or if in the air +I cannot tell, but it is there! +Marching on to an unheard drumming +Something is coming--coming-- +Growing and coming! +And the moon is aware, +Aghast in the air +At the thing that is only coming +With an inward soundless humming +And an unheard spectral drumming! + +IV. Nothing to see and nothing to hear! +Only across the inner sky +The wing of a shadowy thought flits by, +Vague and featureless, faceless, drear-- +Only a thinness to catch the eye: +Is it a dim foreboding unborn, +Or a buried memory, wasted and worn +As the fading frost of a wintry sigh? +Anon I shall have it!--anon!--it draws nigh! +A night when--a something it was took place +That drove the blood from that scared moon-face! +Hark! was that the cry of a goat, +Or the gurgle of water in a throat? +Hush! there is nothing to see or hear, +Only a silent something is near; +No knock, no footsteps three or four, +Only a presence outside the door! +See! the moon is remembering!--what? +The wail of a mother-left, lie-alone brat? +Or a raven sharpening its beak to peck? +Or a cold blue knife and a warm white neck? +Or only a heart that burst and ceased +For a man that went away released? +I know not--know not, but something is coming +Somehow back with an inward humming! + +V. Ha! look there! look at that house, +Forsaken of all things, beetle and mouse! +Mark how it looks! It must have a soul! +It looks, it looks, though it cannot stir! +See the ribs of it, how they stare! +Its blind eyes yet have a seeing air! +It _knows_ it has a soul! +Haggard it hangs o'er the slimy pool, +And gapes wide open as corpses gape: +It is the very murderer! +The ghost has modelled himself to the shape +Of this drear house all sodden with woe +Where the deed was done, long, long ago, +And filled with himself his new body full-- +To haunt for ever his ghastly crime, +And see it come and go-- +Brooding around it like motionless time, +With a mouth that gapes, and eyes that yawn +Blear and blintering and full of the moon, +Like one aghast at a hellish dawn!-- +The deed! the deed! it is coming soon! + +VI. For, ever and always, when round the tune +Grinds on the barrel of organ-Time, +The deed is done. And it comes anon: +True to the roll of the clock-faced moon, +True to the ring of the spheric chime, +True to the cosmic rhythm and rime, +Every point, as it first fell out, +Will come and go in the fearsome bout. +See! palsied with horror from garret to core, +The house cannot shut its gaping door; +Its burst eye stares as if trying to see, +And it leans as if settling heavily, +Settling heavy with sickness dull: +_It_ also is hearing the soundless humming +Of the wheel that is turning--the thing that is coming! +On the naked rafters of its brain, +Gaunt and wintred, see the train +Of gossiping, scandal-mongering crows +That watch, all silent, with necks a-strain, +Wickedly knowing, with heads awry +And the sharpened gleam of a cunning eye-- +Watch, through the cracks of the ruined skull, +How the evil business goes!-- +Beyond the eyes of the cherubim, +Beyond the ears of the seraphim, +Outside, forsaken, in the dim +Phantom-haunted chaos grim +He stands, with the deed going on in him! + +VII. O winds, winds, that lurk and peep +Under the edge of the moony fringe! +O winds, winds, up and sweep, +Up and blow and billow the air, +Billow the air with blow and swinge, +Rend me this ghastly house of groans! +Rend and scatter the skeleton's bones +Over the deserts and mountains bare! +Blast and hurl and shiver aside +Nailed sticks and mortared stones! +Clear the phantom, with torrent and tide, +Out of the moon and out of my brain, +That the light may fall shadowless in again! + +VIII. But, alas, then the ghost +O'er mountain and coast +Would go roaming, roaming! and never was swine +That, grubbing and talking with snork and whine +On Gadarene mountains, had taken him in +But would rush to the lake to unhouse the sin! +For any charnel +This ghost is too carnal; +There is no volcano, burnt out and cold, +Whose very ashes are gray and old, +But would cast him forth in reviving flame +To blister the sky with a smudge of shame! + +IX. Is there no help? none anywhere +Under the earth or above the air?-- +Come, sad woman, whose tender throat +Has a red-lipped mouth that can sing no note! +Child, whose midwife, the third grim Fate, +Shears in hand, thy coming did wait! +Father, with blood-bedabbled hair! +Mother, all withered with love's despair! +Come, broken heart, whatever thou be, +Hasten to help this misery! +Thou wast only murdered, or left forlorn: +He is a horror, a hate, a scorn! +Come, if out of the holiest blue +That the sapphire throne shines through; +For pity come, though thy fair feet stand +Next to the elder-band; +Fling thy harp on the hyaline, +Hurry thee down the spheres divine; +Come, and drive those ravens away; +Cover his eyes from the pitiless moon, +Shadow his brain from her stinging spray; +Droop around him, a tent of love, +An odour of grace, a fanning dove; +Walk through the house with the healing tune +Of gentle footsteps; banish the shape +Remorse calls up thyself to ape; +Comfort him, dear, with pardon sweet; +Cool his heart from its burning heat +With the water of life that laves the feet +Of the throne of God, and the holy street! + +X. O God, he is but a living blot, +Yet he lives by thee--for if thou wast not, +They would vanish together, self-forgot, +He and his crime:--one breathing blown +From thy spirit on his would all atone, +Scatter the horror, and bring relief +In an amber dawn of holy grief! +God, give him sorrow; arise from within, +His primal being, deeper than sin! + +XI. Why do I tremble, a creature at bay? +'Tis but a dream--I drive it away. +Back comes my breath, and my heart again +Pumps the red blood to my fainting brain +Released from the nightmare's nine-fold train: +God is in heaven--yes, everywhere, +And Love, the all-shining, will kill Despair!-- +To the wall's blank eyeless space +I turn the picture's face. + +XII. But why is the moon so bare, up there? +And why is she so white? +And why does the moon so stare, up there-- +Strangely stare, out of the night? +Why stand up the poplars +That still way? +And why do those two of them +Start astray? +And out of the black why hangs the gray? +Why does it hang down so, I say, +Over that house, like a fringed pall +Where the dead goes by in a funeral?-- +Soul of mine, +Thou the reason canst divine: +Into _thee_ the moon doth stare +With pallid, terror-smitten air! +Thou, and the Horror lonely-stark, +Outcast of eternal dark, +Are in nature same and one, +And _thy_ story is not done! +So let the picture face thee from the wall, +And let its white moon stare! + + + +_IN THE WINTER_. + +In the winter, flowers are springing; +In the winter, woods are green, +Where our banished birds are singing, +Where our summer sun is seen! +Our cold midnights are coeval +With an evening and a morn +Where the forest-gods hold revel, +And the spring is newly born! + +While the earth is full of fighting, +While men rise and curse their day, +While the foolish strong are smiting, +And the foolish weak betray-- +The true hearts beyond are growing, +The brave spirits work alone, +Where Love's summer-wind is blowing +In a truth-irradiate zone! + +While we cannot shape our living +To the beauty of our skies, +While man wants and earth is giving-- +Nature calls and man denies-- +How the old worlds round Him gather +Where their Maker is their sun! +How the children know the Father +Where the will of God is done! + +Daily woven with our story, +Sounding far above our strife, +Is a time-enclosing glory, +Is a space-absorbing life. +We can dream no dream Elysian, +There is no good thing might be, +But some angel has the vision, +But some human soul shall see! + +Is thy strait horizon dreary? +Is thy foolish fancy chill? +Change the feet that have grown weary +For the wings that never will. +Burst the flesh, and live the spirit; +Haunt the beautiful and far; +Thou hast all things to inherit, +And a soul for every star. + + + +_CHRISTMAS-DAY, 1878_. + +I think I might be weary of this day +That comes inevitably every year, +The same when I was young and strong and gay, +The same when I am old and growing sere-- +I should grow weary of it every year +But that thou comest to me every day. + +I shall grow weary if thou every day +But come to me, Lord of eternal life; +I shall grow weary thus to watch and pray, +For ever out of labour into strife; +Take everlasting house with me, my life, +And I shall be new-born this Christmas-day. + +Thou art the Eternal Son, and born no day, +But ever he the Father, thou the Son; +I am his child, but being born alway-- +How long, O Lord, how long till it be done? +Be thou from endless years to years the Son-- +And I thy brother, new-born every day. + + + +_THE NEW YEAR_. + +Be welcome, year! with corn and sickle come; + Make poor the body, but make rich the heart: +What man that bears his sheaves, gold-nodding, home, + Will heed the paint rubbed from his groaning cart! + +Nor leave behind thy fears and holy shames, + Thy sorrows on the horizon hanging low-- +Gray gathered fuel for the sunset-flames + When joyous in death's harvest-home we go. + + + +_TWO RONDELS_. + +I. + +When, in the mid-sea of the night, + I waken at thy call, O Lord, + The first that troop my bark aboard +Are darksome imps that hate the light, +Whose tongues are arrows, eyes a blight-- + Of wraths and cares a pirate horde-- +Though on the mid-sea of the night + It was thy call that waked me, Lord. + +Then I must to my arms and fight-- + Catch up my shield and two-edged sword, + The words of him who is thy word-- +Nor cease till they are put to flight; +Then in the mid-sea of the night + I turn and listen for thee, Lord. + +II. + +There comes no voice from thee, O Lord, + Across the mid-sea of the night! + I lift my voice and cry with might: +If thou keep silent, soon a horde +Of imps again will swarm aboard, + And I shall be in sorry plight +If no voice come from thee, my Lord, +Across the mid-sea of the night. + +There comes no voice; I hear no word! + But in my soul dawns something bright:-- + There is no sea, no foe to fight! +Thy heart and mine beat one accord: +I need no voice from thee, O Lord, + Across the mid-sea of the night. + + + +_RONDEL_. + +Heart, thou must learn to do without-- + That is the riches of the poor, + Their liberty is to endure; +Wrap thou thine old cloak thee about, +And carol loud and carol stout; + Let thy rags fly, nor wish them fewer; +Thou too must learn to do without, + Must earn the riches of the poor! + +Why should'st thou only wear no clout? + Thou only walk in love-robes pure? + Why should thy step alone be sure? +Thou only free of fortune's flout? +Nay, nay! but learn to go without, + And so be humbly, richly poor. + + + +_SONG_. + +Lighter and sweeter + Let your song be; +And for sorrow--oh cheat her + With melody! + + + +_SMOKE_. + +Lord, I have laid my heart upon thy altar + But cannot get the wood to burn; +It hardly flares ere it begins to falter + And to the dark return. + +Old sap, or night-fallen dew, makes damp the fuel; + In vain my breath would flame provoke; +Yet see--at every poor attempt's renewal + To thee ascends the smoke! + +'Tis all I have--smoke, failure, foiled endeavour, + Coldness and doubt and palsied lack: +Such as I have I send thee!--perfect Giver, + Send thou thy lightning back. + + + +_TO A CERTAIN CRITIC_. + +Such guests as you, sir, were not in my mind +When I my homely dish with care designed; +'Twas certain humble souls I would have fed +Who do not turn from wholesome milk and bread: +You came, slow-trotting on the narrow way, +O'erturned the food, and trod it in the clay; +Then low with discoid nostrils sniffing curt, +Cried, "Sorry cook! why, what a mess of dirt!" + + + +_SONG_. + +She loves thee, loves thee not! +That, that is all, my heart. +Why should she take a part +In every selfish blot, +In every greedy spot +That now doth ache and smart +Because she loves thee not-- +Not, not at all, poor heart! + +Thou art no such dove-cot +Of virtues--no such chart +Of highways, though the dart +Of love be through thee shot! +Why should she not love not +Thee, poor, pinched, selfish heart? + + + +_A CRY_. + +Lord, hear my discontent: all blank I stand, +A mirror polished by thy hand; +Thy sun's beams flash and flame from me-- +I cannot help it: here I stand, there he! +To one of them I cannot say, +Go, and on yonder water play; +Nor one poor ragged daisy can I fashion-- +I do not make the words of this my limping passion! +If I should say, Now I will think a thought, +Lo, I must wait, unknowing +What thought in me is growing, +Until the thing to birth be brought! +Nor know I then what next will come +From out the gulf of silence dumb: +I am the door the thing will find +To pass into the general mind! +I cannot say _I think_-- +I only stand upon the thought-well's brink: +From darkness to the sun the water bubbles up-- +lift it in my cup. +Thou only thinkest--I am thought; +Me and my thought thou thinkest. Nought +Am I but as a fountain spout +From which thy water welleth out. +Thou art the only one, the all in all.-- +Yet when my soul on thee doth call +And thou dost answer out of everywhere, +I in thy allness have my perfect share. + + + +_FROM HOME_. + +Some men there are who cannot spare + A single tear until they feel + The last cold pressure, and the heel +Is stamped upon the outmost layer. + +And, waking, some will sigh to think + The clouds have borrowed winter's wing, + Sad winter, when the grasses spring +No more about the fountain's brink. + +And some would call me coward fool: + I lay a claim to better blood, + But yet a heap of idle mud +Hath power to make me sorrowful. + + + +_TO MY MOTHER EARTH_. + +0 Earth, Earth, Earth, + I am dying for love of thee, +For thou hast given me birth, + And thy hands have tended me. + +I would fall asleep on thy breast + When its swelling folds are bare, +When the thrush dreams of its nest + And the life of its joy in the air; + +When thy life is a vanished ghost, + And the glory hath left thy waves, +When thine eye is blind with frost, + And the fog sits on the graves; + +When the blasts are shivering about, + And the rain thy branches beats, +When the damps of death are out, + And the mourners are in the streets. + +Oh my sleep should be deep + In the arms of thy swiftening motion, +And my dirge the mystic sweep + Of the winds that nurse the ocean. + +And my eye would slowly ope + With the voice that awakens thee, +And runs like a glance of hope + Up through the quickening tree; + +When the roots of the lonely fir + Are dipt in thy veining heat, +And thy countless atoms stir + With the gather of mossy feet; + +When the sun's great censer swings + In the hands that always be, +And the mists from thy watery rings + Go up like dust from the sea; + +When the midnight airs are assembling + With a gush in thy whispering halls, +And the leafy air is trembling + Like a stream before it falls. + +Thy shadowy hand hath found me + On the drifts of the Godhead's will, +And thy dust hath risen around me + With a life that guards me still. + +O Earth! I have caught from thine + The pulse of a mystic chase; +O Earth! I have drunk like wine + The life of thy swiftening race. + +Wilt miss me, mother sweet, + A life in thy milky veins? +Wilt miss the sound of my feet + In the tramp that shakes thy plains + +When the jaws of darkness rend, + And the vapours fold away, +And the sounds of life ascend + Like dust in the blinding day? + +I would know thy silver strain + In the shouts of the starry crowd +When the souls of thy changing men + Rise up like an incense cloud. + +I would know thy brightening lobes + And the lap of thy watery bars +Though space were choked with globes + And the night were blind with stars! + +From the folds of my unknown place, + When my soul is glad and free, +I will slide by my God's sweet grace + And hang like a cloud on thee. + +When the pale moon sits at night + By the brink of her shining well, +Laving the rings of her widening light + On the slopes of the weltering swell, + +I will fall like a wind from the west + On the locks of thy prancing streams, +And sow the fields of thy rest + With handfuls of sweet young dreams. + +When the sound of thy children's cry + Hath stricken thy gladness dumb, +I will kindle thine upward eye + With a laugh from the years that come. + +Far above where the loud wind raves, + On a wing as still as snow +I will watch the grind of the curly waves + As they bite the coasts below; + +When the shining ranks of the frost + Draw down on the glistening wold +In the mail of a fairy host, + And the earth is mossed with cold, + +Till the plates that shine about + Close up with a filmy din, +Till the air is frozen out, + And the stars are frozen in. + +I will often stoop to range + On the fields where my youth was spent, +And my feet shall smite the cliffs of change + With the rush of a steep descent; + +And my glowing soul shall burn + With a love that knows no pall, +And my eye of worship turn + Upon him that fashioned all-- + +When the sounding waves of strife + Have died on the Godhead's sea, +And thy life is a purer life + That nurses a life in me. + + + +_THY HEART_. + +Make not of thy heart a casket, +Opening seldom, quick to close; +But of bread a wide-mouthed basket, +Or a cup that overflows. + + + +_0 LORD, HOW HAPPY!_ + +_From the German of Dessler._ + +O Lord, how happy is the time + When in thy love I rest! +When from my weariness I climb + Even to thy tender breast! +The night of sorrow endeth there-- + Thou art brighter than the sun; +And in thy pardon and thy care + The heaven of heaven is won. + +Let the world call herself my foe, + Or let the world allure-- +I care not for the world; I go + To this dear friend and sure. +And when life's fiercest storms are sent + Upon life's wildest sea, +My little bark is confident + Because it holds by thee. + +When the law threatens endless death + Upon the dreadful hill, +Straightway from her consuming breath + My soul goeth higher still-- +Goeth to Jesus, wounded, slain, + And maketh him her home, +Whence she will not go out again, + And where death cannot come. + +I do not fear the wilderness + Where thou hast been before; +Nay rather will I daily press + After thee, near thee, more! +Thou art my food; on thee I lean, + Thou makest my heart sing; +And to thy heavenly pastures green + All thy dear flock dost bring. + +And if the gate that opens there + Be dark to other men, +It is not dark to those who share + The heart of Jesus then: +That is not losing much of life + Which is not losing thee, +Who art as present in the strife + As in the victory. + +Therefore how happy is the time + When in thy love I rest! +When from my weariness I climb + Even to thy tender breast! +The night of sorrow endeth there-- + Thou art brighter than the sun! +And in thy pardon and thy care + The heaven of heaven is won! + + + +_NO SIGN_. + +O Lord, if on the wind, at cool of day, + I heard one whispered word of mighty grace; +If through the darkness, as in bed I lay, + But once had come a hand upon my face; + +If but one sign that might not be mistook + Had ever been, since first thy face I sought, +I should not now be doubting o'er a book, + But serving thee with burning heart and thought. + +So dreams that heart. But to my heart I say, + Turning my face to front the dark and wind: +Such signs had only barred anew his way + Into thee, longing heart, thee, wildered mind. + +They asked the very Way, where lies the way? + The very Son, where is the Father's face? +How he could show himself, if not in clay, + Who was the lord of spirit, form, and space! + +My being, Lord, will nevermore be whole + Until thou come behind mine ears and eyes, +Enter and fill the temple of my soul + With perfect contact--such a sweet surprise, + +Such presence as, before it met the view, + The prophet-fancy could not once foresee, +Though every corner of the temple knew + By very emptiness its need of thee. + +When I keep _all_ thy words, no favoured some, + Heedless of worldly winds or judgment's tide, +Then, Jesus, thou wilt with thy father come-- + Oh, ended prayers!--and in my soul abide. + +Ah, long delay! ah, cunning, creeping sin! + I shall but fail, and cease at length to try: +O Jesus, though thou wilt not yet come in, + Knock at my window as thou passest by! + + + +_NOVEMBER, 1851_. + + What dost thou here, O soul, +Beyond thy own control, +Under the strange wild sky? +0 stars, reach down your hands, +And clasp me in your silver bands, +I tremble with this mystery!-- +Flung hither by a chance +Of restless circumstance, +Thou art but here, and wast not sent; +Yet once more mayest thou draw +By thy own mystic law +To the centre of thy wonderment. + + Why wilt thou stop and start? +Draw nearer, oh my heart, +And I will question thee most wistfully; +Gather thy last clear resolution +To look upon thy dissolution. + + The great God's life throbs far and free, +And thou art but a spark +Known only in thy dark, +Or a foam-fleck upon the awful ocean, +Thyself thy slender dignity, +Thy own thy vexing mystery, +In the vast change that is not change but motion. + + 'Tis not so hard as it would seem; +Thy life is but a dream-- +And yet thou hast some thoughts about the past; +Let go, let go thy memories, +They are not things but wandering cries-- +Wave them each one a long farewell at last: +I hear thee say--"Take them, O tide, +And I will turn aside, +Gazing with heedlessness, nay, even with laughter! +Bind me, ye winds and storms, +Among the things that once had forms, +And carry me clean out of sight thereafter!" + + Thou hast lived long enough +To know thy own weak stuff, +Laughing thy fondest joys to utter scorn; +Give up the idle strife-- +It is but mockery of life; +The fates had need of thee and thou wast born! +They are, in sooth, but thou shalt die. +O wandering spark! O homeless cry! +O empty will, still lacking self-intent! +Look up among the autumn trees: +The ripened fruits fall through the breeze, +And they will shake thee even like these +Into the lap of an Accomplishment! + + Thou hadst a faith, and voices said:-- +"Doubt not _that_ truth, but bend thy head +Unto the God who drew thee from the night:" +Thou liftedst up thy eyes--and, lo! +A host of voices answered--"No; +A thousand things as good have seen the light!" +Look how the swarms arise +From every clod before thy eyes! +Are thine the only hopes that fade and fall +When to the centre of its action +One purpose draws each separate fraction, +And nothing but effects are left at all? +Aha, thy faith! what is thy faith? +The sleep that waits on coming death-- +A blind delirious swoon that follows pain. +"True to thy nature!"--well! right well! +But what that nature is thou canst not tell-- +It has a thousand voices in thy brain. +Danced all the leaflets to and fro? +--Thy feet have trod them long ago! +Sprung the glad music up the blue? +--The hawk hath cut the song in two. +All the mountains crumble, +All the forests fall, +All thy brethren stumble, +And rise no more at all! +In the dim woods there is a sound +When the winds begin to moan; +It is not of joy or yet of mirth, +But the mournful cry of our mother Earth, +As she calleth back her own. +Through the rosy air to-night +The living creatures play +Up and down through the rich faint light-- +None so happy as they! +But the blast is here, and noises fall +Like the sound of steps in a ruined hall, +An icy touch is upon them all, +And they sicken and fade away. + + The child awoke with an eye of gladness, +With a light on his head and a matchless grace, +And laughed at the passing shades of sadness +That chased the smiles on his mother's face; +And life with its lightsome load of youth +Swam like a boat on a shining lake-- +Freighted with hopes enough, in sooth, +But he lived to trample on joy and truth, +And change his crown for a murder-stake! + + Oh, a ruddy light went through the room, +Till the dark ran out to his mother Night! +And that little chamber showed through the gloom +Like a Noah's ark with its nest of light! +Right glad was the maiden there, I wis, +With the youth that held her hand in his! +Oh, sweet were the words that went and came +Through the light and shade of the leaping flame +That glowed on the cheerful faces! +So human the speech, so sunny and kind, +That the darkness danced on the wall behind, +And even the wail of the winter wind +Sang sweet through the window-cases! + + But a mournful wail crept round and round, +And a voice cried:--"Come!" with a dreary sound, +And the circle wider grew; +The light flame sank, and sorrow fell +On the faces of those that loved so well; +Darker and wilder grew the tone; +Fainter and fainter the faces shone; +The wild night clasped them, and they were gone-- +And thou art passing too! + + Lo, the morning slowly springs +Like a meek white babe from the womb of night! +One golden planet sits and stings +The shifting gloom with his point of light! +Lo, the sun on its throne of flame! +--Wouldst thou climb and win a crown? +Oh, many a heart that pants for the same +Falls to the earth ere he goes down! +Thy heart is a flower with an open cup-- +Sit and watch, if it pleaseth thee, +Till the melting twilight fill it up +With a crystal of tender sympathy; +So, gently will it tremble +The silent midnight through, +And flocks of stars assemble +By turns in its depths of dew;-- +But look! oh, look again! +After the driving wind and rain! +When the day is up and the sun is strong, +And the voices of men are loud and long, +When the flower hath slunk to its rest again, +And love is lost in the strife of men! + + Let the morning break with thoughts of love, +And the evening fall with dreams of bliss-- +So vainly panteth the prisoned dove +For the depths of her sweet wilderness; +So stoops the eagle in his pride +From his rocky nest ere the bow is bent; +So sleeps the deer on the mountain-side +Ere the howling pack hath caught the scent! + + The fire climbs high till its work is done; +The stalk falls down when the flower is gone; +And the stars of heaven when their course is run +Melt silently away! +There was a footfall on the snow, +A line of light on the ocean-flow, +And a billow's dash on the rocks below +That stand by the wintry bay:-- +The snow was gone on the coming night; +Another wave arose in his might, +Uplifted his foaming breast of white, +And died like the rest for aye! + + Oh, the stars were bright! and thyself in thee +Yearned for an immortality! +And the thoughts that drew from thy busy brain +Clasped the worlds like an endless chain-- +When a moon arose, and her moving chime +Smote on thy soul, like a word in time, +Or a breathless wish, or a thought in rime, +And the truth that looked so gloomy and high +Leapt to thy arms with a joyful cry! +But what wert thou when a soulless Cause +Opened the book of its barren laws, +And thy spirit that was so glad and free +Was caught in the gin of necessity, +And a howl arose from the strife of things +Vexing each other with scorpion stings? +What wert thou but an orphan child +Thrust from the door when the night was wild? +Or a sailor on the toiling main +Looking blindly up through the wind and rain +As the hull of the vessel fell in twain! + + Seals are on the book of fate, +Hands may not unbind it; +Eyes may search for truth till late, +But will never find it--! +Rising on the brow of night +Like a portent of dismay, +As the worlds in wild affright +Track it on its direful way; +Resting like a rainbow bar +Where the curve and level meet, +As the children chase it far +O'er the sands with blistered feet; +Sadly through the mist of ages +Gazing on this life of fear, +Doubtful shining on its pages, +Only seen to disappear! +Sit thee by the sounding shore +--Winds and waves of human breath!-- +Learn a lesson from their roar, +Swelling, bursting evermore: +Live thy life and die thy death! +Die not like the writhing worm, +Rise and win thy highest stake; +Better perish in the storm +Than sit rotting on the lake! +Triumph in thy present youth, +Pulse of fire and heart of glee; +Leap at once into the truth, +If there is a truth for thee. + + Shapeless thoughts and dull opinions, +Slow distinctions and degrees,-- +Vex not thou thy weary pinions +With such leaden weights as these-- +Through this mystic jurisdiction +Reaching out a hand by chance, +Resting on a dull conviction +Whetted but by ignorance; +Living ever to behold +Mournful eyes that watch and weep; +Spirit suns that flashed in gold +Failing from the vasty deep; +Starry lights that glowed like Truth +Gazing with unnumbered eyes, +Melting from the skies of youth, +Swallowed up of mysteries; +Cords of love that sweetly bound thee; +Faded writing on thy brow; +Presences that came around thee; +Hands of faith that fail thee now! + + Groping hands will ever find thee +In the night with loads of chains! +Lift thy fetters and unbind thee, +Cast thee on the midnight plains: +Shapes of vision all-providing-- +Famished cheeks and hungry cries! +Sound of crystal waters sliding-- +Thirsty lips and bloodshot eyes! +Empty forms that send no gleaming +Through the mystery of this strife!-- +Oh, in such a life of seeming, +Death were worth an endless life! + + Hark the trumpet of the ocean +Where glad lands were wont to be! +Many voices of commotion +Break in tumult over thee! +Lo, they climb the frowning ages, +Marching o'er their level lands! +Far behind the strife that rages +Silence sits with clasped hands; +Undivided Purpose, freeing +His own steps from hindrances, +Sending out great floods of being, +Bathes thy steps in silentness. +Sit thee down in mirth and laughter-- +One there is that waits for thee; +If there is a true hereafter +He will lend thee eyes to see. + + Like a snowflake gently falling +On a quiet fountain, +Or a weary echo calling +From a distant mountain, +Drop thy hands in peace,-- +Fail--falter--cease. + + + +_OF ONE WHO DIED IN SPRING_. + +Loosener of springs, he died by thee! +Softness, not hardness, sent him home; +He loved thee--and thou mad'st him free +Of all the place thou comest from! + + + +_AN AUTUMN SONG_. + +Are the leaves falling round about + The churchyard on the hill? +Is the glow of autumn going out? + Is that the winter chill? +And yet through winter's noise, no doubt + The graves are very still! + +Are the woods empty, voiceless, bare? + On sodden leaves do you tread? +Is nothing left of all those fair? + Is the whole summer fled? +Well, so from this unwholesome air + Have gone away these dead! + +The seasons pierce me; like a leaf + I feel the autumn blow, +And tremble between nature's grief + And the silent death below. +O Summer, thou art very brief! + Where do these exiles go? + +_Gilesgate, Durham._ + + + +_TRIOLET_. + +Few in joy's sweet riot +Able are to listen: +Thou, to make me quiet, +Quenchest the sweet riot, +Tak'st away my diet, +Puttest me in prison-- +Quenchest joy's sweet riot +That the heart may listen. + + + +_I SEE THEE NOT_. + +Yes, Master, when thou comest thou shalt find + A little faith on earth, if I am here! +Thou know'st how oft I turn to thee my mind. + How sad I wait until thy face appear! + +Hast thou not ploughed my thorny ground full sore, + And from it gathered many stones and sherds? +Plough, plough and harrow till it needs no more-- + Then sow thy mustard-seed, and send thy birds. + +I love thee, Lord; and if I yield to fears, + Nor trust with triumph that pale doubt defies, +Remember, Lord, 'tis nigh two thousand years, + And I have never seen thee with mine eyes! + +And when I lift them from the wondrous tale, + See, all about me hath so strange a show! +Is that thy river running down the vale? + Is that thy wind that through the pines doth blow? + +Could'st thou right verily appear again, + The same who walked the paths of Palestine, +And here in England teach thy trusting men + In church and field and house, with word and sign? + +Here are but lilies, sparrows, and the rest! + My hands on some dear proof would light and stay! +But my heart sees John leaning on thy breast, + And sends them forth to do what thou dost say. + + + +_A BROKEN PRAYER_. + +0 Lord, my God, how long +Shall my poor heart pant for a boundless joy? +How long, O mighty Spirit, shall I hear +The murmur of Truth's crystal waters slide +From the deep caverns of their endless being, +But my lips taste not, and the grosser air +Choke each pure inspiration of thy will? + +I am a denseness 'twixt me and the light; +1 cannot round myself; my purest thought, +Ere it is thought, hath caught the taint of earth, +And mocked me with hard thoughts beyond my will. + +I would be a wind +Whose smallest atom is a viewless wing, +All busy with the pulsing life that throbs +To do thy bidding; yea, or the meanest thing +That has relation to a changeless truth, +Could I but be instinct with thee--each thought +The lightning of a pure intelligence, +And every act as the loud thunder-clap +Of currents warring for a vacuum. + +Lord, clothe me with thy truth as with a robe; +Purge me with sorrow; I will bend my head +And let the nations of thy waves pass over, +Bathing me in thy consecrated strength; +And let thy many-voiced and silver winds +Pass through my frame with their clear influence, +O save me; I am blind; lo, thwarting shapes +Wall up the void before, and thrusting out +Lean arms of unshaped expectation, beckon +Down to the night of all unholy thoughts. + +Oh, when at midnight one of thy strong angels +Stems back the waves of earthly influence +That shape unsteady continents around me, +And they draw off with the devouring gush +Of exile billows that have found a home, +Leaving me islanded on unseen points, +Hanging 'twixt thee and chaos--I have seen +Unholy shapes lop off my shining thoughts, +And they have lent me leathern wings of fear, +Of baffled pride and harrowing distrust; +And Godhead, with its crown of many stars, +Its pinnacles of flaming holiness, +And voice of leaves in the green summer-time, +Has seemed the shadowed image of a self! +Then my soul blackened; and I rose to find +And grasp my doom, and cleave the arching deeps +Of desolation. + +O Lord, my soul is a forgotten well +Clad round with its own rank luxuriance; +A fountain a kind sunbeam searches for, +Sinking the lustre of its arrowy finger +Through the long grass its own strange virtue +Hath blinded up its crystal eye withal: +Make me a broad strong river coming down +With shouts from its high hills, whose rocky hearts +Throb forth the joy of their stability +In watery pulses from their inmost deeps; +And I shall be a vein upon thy world, +Circling perpetual from the parent deep. + +Most mighty One, +Confirm and multiply my thoughts of good; +Help me to wall each sacred treasure round +With the firm battlements of special action. +Alas, my holy happy thoughts of thee +Make not perpetual nest within my soul, +But like strange birds of dazzling colours stoop +The trailing glories of their sunward speed +For one glad moment, filling my blasted boughs +With the sunshine of their wings. Make me a forest +Of gladdest life wherein perpetual spring +Lifts up her leafy tresses in the wind. +Lo, now I see +Thy trembling starlight sit among my pines, +And thy young moon slide down my arching boughs +With a soft sound of restless eloquence! +And I can feel a joy as when thy hosts +Of trampling winds, gathering in maddened bands, +Roar upward through the blue and flashing day +Round my still depths of uncleft solitude. + +Hear me, O Lord, +When the black night draws down upon my soul, +And voices of temptation darken down +The misty wind, slamming thy starry doors +With bitter jests:--"Thou fool!" they seem to say, +"Thou hast no seed of goodness in thee; all +Thy nature hath been stung right through and through; +Thy sin hath blasted thee and made thee old; +Thou hadst a will, but thou hast killed it dead, +And with the fulsome garniture of life +Built out the loathsome corpse; thou art a child +Of night and death, even lower than a worm; +Gather the skirts up of thy shadowy self, +And with what resolution thou hast left +Fall on the damned spikes of doom!" + +Oh, take me like a child, +If thou hast made me for thyself, my God, +And lead me up thy hills. I shall not fear, +So thou wilt make me pure, and beat back sin +With the terrors of thine eye: it fears me not +As once it might have feared thine own good image, +But lays bold siege at my heart's doors. + +Oh, I have seen a thing of beauty stand +In the young moonlight of its upward thoughts, +And the old earth came round it with its gifts +Of gladness, whispering leaves, and odorous plants, +Until its large and spiritual eye +Burned with intensest love: my God, I could +Have watched it evermore with Argus-eyes, +Lest when the noontide of the summer's sun +Let down the tented sunlight on the plain, +His flaming beams should scorch my darling flower; +And through the fruitless nights of leaden gloom, +Of plashing rains, and knotted winds of cold, +Yea, when thy lightnings ran across the sky, +And the loud stumbling blasts fell from the hills +Upon the mounds of death, I could have watched +Guarding such beauty like another life! +But, O my God, it changed!-- +Yet methinks I know not if it was not I! +Its beauty turned to ghastly loathsomeness! +Then a hand spurned me backwards from the clouds, +And with the gather of a mighty whirlwind, +Drew in the glittering gifts of life. + +How long, O Lord, how long? +I am a man lost in a rocky place! +Lo, all thy echoes smite me with confusion +Of varied speech,--the cry of vanished Life +Rolled upon nations' sighs--of hearts uplifted +Against despair--the stifled sounds of Woe +Sitting perpetual by its grey cold well-- +Or wasted Toil climbing its endless hills +With quickening gasps--or the thin winds of Joy +That beat about the voices of the crowd! + +Lord, hast thou sent +Thy moons to mock us with perpetual hope? +Lighted within our breasts the love of love +To make us ripen for despair, my God? + +Oh, dost thou hold each individual soul +Strung clear upon thy flaming rods of purpose? +Or does thine inextinguishable will +Stand on the steeps of night with lifted hand +Filling the yawning wells of monstrous space +With mixing thought--drinking up single life +As in a cup? and from the rending folds +Of glimmering purpose, do all thy navied stars +Slide through the gloom with mystic melody, +Like wishes on a brow? Oh, is my soul, +Hung like a dewdrop in thy grassy ways, +Drawn up again into the rack of change +Even through the lustre which created it? +--O mighty one, thou wilt not smite me through +With scorching wrath, because my spirit stands +Bewildered in thy circling mysteries! + +Oh lift the burdened gloom that chokes my soul +With dews of darkness; smite the lean winds of death +That run with howls around the ruined temples, +Blowing the souls of men about like leaves. + +Lo, the broad life-lands widen overhead, +Star-galaxies arise like drifting snow, +And happy life goes whitening down the stream +Of boundless action, whilst my fettered soul +Sits, as a captive in a noisome dungeon +Watches the pulses of his withered heart +Lave out the sparkling minutes of his life +On the idle flags! + +Come in the glory of thine excellence, +Rive the dense gloom with wedges of clear light, +And let the shimmer of thy chariot wheels +Burn through the cracks of night! So slowly, Lord, +To lift myself to thee with hands of toil, +Climbing the slippery cliffs of unheard prayer! +Lift up a hand among my idle days-- +One beckoning finger: I will cast aside +The clogs of earthly circumstance and run +Up the broad highways where the countless worlds +Sit ripening in the summer of thy love. +Send a clear meaning sparkling through the years; +Burst all the prison-doors, and make men's hearts +Gush up like fountains with thy melody; +Brighten the hollow eyes; fill with life's fruits +The hands that grope and scramble down the wastes; +And let the ghastly troops of withered ones +Come shining o'er the mountains of thy love. + +Lord, thy strange mysteries come thickening down +Upon my head like snowflakes, shutting out +The happy upper fields with chilly vapour. +Shall I content my soul with a weak sense +Of safety? or feed my ravenous hunger with +Sore purged hopes, that are not hopes but fears +Clad in white raiment? + +The creeds lie in the hollow of men's hearts +Like festering pools glassing their own corruption; +The slimy eyes stare up with dull approval, +And answer not when thy bright starry feet +Move on the watery floors: oh, shake men's souls +Together like the gathering of all oceans +Rent from their hidden chambers, till the waves +Lift up their million voices of high joy +Along the echoing cliffs! come thus, O Lord, +With nightly gifts of stars, and lay a hand +Of mighty peace upon the quivering flood. + +O wilt thou hear me when I cry to thee? +I am a child lost in a mighty forest; +The air is thick with voices, and strange hands +Reach through the dusk, and pluck me by the skirts. +There is a voice which sounds like words from home, +But, as I stumble on to reach it, seems +To leap from rock to rock: oh, if it is +Willing obliquity of sense, descend, +Heal all my wanderings, take me by the hand, +And lead me homeward through the shadows. +Let me not by my wilful acts of pride +Block up the windows of thy truth, and grow +A wasted, withered thing, that stumbles on +Down to the grave with folded hands of sloth +And leaden confidence. + + + +_COME DOWN_. + +Still am I haunting + Thy door with my prayers; +Still they are panting + Up thy steep stairs! +Wouldst thou not rather + Come down to my heart, +And there, O my Father, + Be what thou art? + + + +_A MOOD_. + +My thoughts are like fire-flies, pulsing in moonlight; + My heart like a silver cup, filled with red wine; +My soul a pale gleaming horizon, whence soon light + Will flood the gold earth with a torrent divine. + + + +_THE CARPENTER_. + +0 Lord, at Joseph's humble bench +Thy hands did handle saw and plane; +Thy hammer nails did drive and clench, +Avoiding knot and humouring grain. + +That thou didst seem, thou wast indeed, +In sport thy tools thou didst not use; +Nor, helping hind's or fisher's need, +The labourer's hire, too nice, refuse. + +Lord, might I be but as a saw, +A plane, a chisel, in thy hand!-- +No, Lord! I take it back in awe, +Such prayer for me is far too grand. + +I pray, O Master, let me lie, +As on thy bench the favoured wood; +Thy saw, thy plane, thy chisel ply, +And work me into something good. + +No, no; ambition, holy-high, +Urges for more than both to pray: +Come in, O gracious Force, I cry-- +O workman, share my shed of clay. + +Then I, at bench, or desk, or oar, +With knife or needle, voice or pen, +As thou in Nazareth of yore, +Shall do the Father's will again. + +Thus fashioning a workman rare, +O Master, this shall be thy fee: +Home to thy father thou shall bear +Another child made like to thee. + + + +_THE OLD GARDEN_. + +I. + +I stood in an ancient garden +With high red walls around; +Over them grey and green lichens +In shadowy arabesque wound. + +The topmost climbing blossoms +On fields kine-haunted looked out; +But within were shelter and shadow, +With daintiest odours about. + +There were alleys and lurking arbours, +Deep glooms into which to dive. +The lawns were as soft as fleeces, +Of daisies I counted but five. + +The sun-dial was so aged +It had gathered a thoughtful grace; +'Twas the round-about of the shadow +That so had furrowed its face. + +The flowers were all of the oldest +That ever in garden sprung; +Red, and blood-red, and dark purple +The rose-lamps flaming hung. + +Along the borders fringed +With broad thick edges of box +Stood foxgloves and gorgeous poppies +And great-eyed hollyhocks. + +There were junipers trimmed into castles, +And ash-trees bowed into tents; +For the garden, though ancient and pensive, +Still wore quaint ornaments. + +It was all so stately fantastic +Its old wind hardly would stir; +Young Spring, when she merrily entered, +Scarce felt it a place for her. + +II. + +I stood in the summer morning +Under a cavernous yew; +The sun was gently climbing, +And the scents rose after the dew. + +I saw the wise old mansion, +Like a cow in the noon-day heat, +Stand in a lake of shadows +That rippled about its feet. + +Its windows were oriel and latticed, +Lowly and wide and fair; +And its chimneys like clustered pillars +Stood up in the thin blue air. + +White doves, like the thoughts of a lady, +Haunted it all about; +With a train of green and blue comets +The peacock went marching stout. + +The birds in the trees were singing +A song as old as the world, +Of love and green leaves and sunshine, +And winter folded and furled. + +They sang that never was sadness +But it melted and passed away; +They sang that never was darkness +But in came the conquering day. + +And I knew that a maiden somewhere, +In a low oak-panelled room, +In a nimbus of shining garments, +An aureole of white-browed bloom, + +Looked out on the garden dreamy, +And knew not it was old; +Looked past the gray and the sombre, +Saw but the green and the gold, + +III. + +I stood in the gathering twilight, +In a gently blowing wind; +Then the house looked half uneasy, +Like one that was left behind. + +The roses had lost their redness, +And cold the grass had grown; +At roost were the pigeons and peacock, +The sun-dial seemed a head-stone. + +The world by the gathering twilight +In a gauzy dusk was clad; +Something went into my spirit +And made me a little sad. + +Grew and gathered the twilight, +It filled my heart and brain; +The sadness grew more than sadness, +It turned to a gentle pain. + +Browned and brooded the twilight, +Pervaded, absorbed the calm, +Till it seemed for some human sorrows +There could not be any balm. + +IV. + +Then I knew that, up a staircase +Which untrod will yet creak and shake, +Deep in a distant chamber +A ghost was coming awake-- + +In the growing darkness growing, +Growing till her eyes appear +Like spots of a deeper twilight, +But more transparent clear: + +Thin as hot air up-trembling, +Thin as sun-molten crape, +An ethereal shadow of something +Is taking a certain shape; + +A shape whose hands hang listless, +Let hang its disordered hair; +A shape whose bosom is heaving +But draws not in the air. + +And I know, what time the moonlight +On her nest of shadows will sit, +Out on the dim lawn gliding +That shadowy shadow will flit. + +V. + +The moon is dreaming upward +From a sea of cloud and gleam; +She looks as if she had seen me +Never but in a dream. + +Down the stair I know she is coming, +Bare-footed, lifting her train; +It creaks not--she hears it creaking +Where once there was a brain. + +Out at yon side-door she's coming, +With a timid glance right and left; +Her look is hopeless yet eager, +The look of a heart bereft. + +Across the lawn she is flitting, +Her thin gown feels the wind; +Are her white feet bending the grasses? +Her hair is lifted behind! + +VI. + +Shall I stay to look on her nearer? +Would she start and vanish away? +Oh, no, she will never see me, +Stand I near as I may! + +It is not this wind she is feeling, +Not this cool grass below; +'Tis the wind and the grass of an evening +A hundred years ago. + +She sees no roses darkling, +No stately hollyhocks dim; +She is only thinking and dreaming +The garden, the night, and him, + +The unlit windows behind her, +The timeless dial-stone, +The trees, and the moon, and the shadows +A hundred years agone! + +'Tis a night for a ghostly lover +To haunt the best-loved spot: +Is he come in his dreams to this garden? +I gaze, but I see him not. + +VII. + +I will not look on her nearer, +My heart would be torn in twain; +From my eyes the garden would vanish +In the falling of their rain. + +I will not look on a sorrow +That darkens into despair, +On the surge of a heart that cannot +Yet cannot cease to bear. + +My soul to hers would be calling: +She would hear no word it said! +If I cried aloud in the stillness +She would never turn her head! + +She is dreaming the sky above her, +She is dreaming the earth below:-- +This night she lost her lover +A hundred years ago. + + + +_A NOONDAY MELODY_. + +Everything goes to its rest; + The hills are asleep in the noon; +And life is as still in its nest + As the moon when she looks on a moon +In the depth of a calm river's breast + As it steals through a midnight in June. + +The streams have forgotten the sea + In the dream of their musical sound; +The sunlight is thick on the tree, + And the shadows lie warm on the ground,-- +So still, you may watch them and see + Every breath that awakens around. + +The churchyard lies still in the heat, + With its handful of mouldering bone, +As still as the long stalk of wheat + In the shadow that sits by the stone, +As still as the grass at my feet + When I walk in the meadows alone. + +The waves are asleep on the main, + And the ships are asleep on the wave; +And the thoughts are as still in my brain + As the echo that sleeps in the cave; +All rest from their labour and pain-- + Then why should not I in my grave? + + + +_WHO LIGHTS THE FIRE_? + +Who lights the fire--that forth so gracefully + And freely frolicketh the fairy smoke? + Some pretty one who never felt the yoke-- +Glad girl, or maiden more sedate than she. + +Pedant it cannot, villain cannot be! + Some genius, may-be, his own symbol woke; + But puritan, nor rogue in virtue's cloke, +Nor kitchen-maid has done it certainly! + +Ha, ha! you cannot find the lighter out + For all the blue smoke's pantomimic gesture-- + His name or nature, sex or age or vesture! +The fire was lit by human care, no doubt-- + But now the smoke is Nature's tributary, + Dancing 'twixt man and nothing like a fairy. + + + +_WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT_? + +Who would have thought that even an idle song + Were such a holy and celestial thing + That wickedness and envy cannot sing-- +That music for no moment lives with wrong? +I know this, for a very grievous throng, + Dark thoughts, low wishes, round my bosom cling, + And, underneath, the hidden holy spring +Stagnates because of their enchantment strong. + +Blow, breath of heaven, on all this poison blow! + And, heart, glow upward to this gracious breath! + Between them, vanish, mist of sin and death, +And let the life of life within me flow! + Love is the green earth, the celestial air, + And music runs like dews and rivers there! + + + +_ON A DECEMBER DAY_. + +I. + +This is the sweetness of an April day; + The softness of the spring is on the face + Of the old year. She has no natural grace, +But something comes to her from far away + +Out of the Past, and on her old decay + The beauty of her childhood you can trace.-- + And yet she moveth with a stormy pace, +And goeth quickly.--Stay, old year, oh, stay! + +We do not like new friends, we love the old; + With young, fierce, hopeful hearts we ill agree; +But thou art patient, stagnant, calm, and cold, + And not like that new year that is to be;-- + Life, promise, love, her eyes may fill, fair child! + We know the past, and will not be beguiled. + +II. + +Yet the free heart will not be captive long; + And if she changes often, she is free. + But if she changes: One has mastery +Who makes the joy the last in every song. +And so to-day I blessed the breezes strong + That swept the blue; I blessed the breezes free + That rolled wet leaves like rivers shiningly; +I blessed the purple woods I stood among. + +"And yet the spring is better!" Bitterness + Came with the words, but did not stay with them. + "Accomplishment and promise! field and stem +New green fresh growing in a fragrant dress! + And we behind with death and memory!" + --Nay, prophet-spring! but I will follow thee. + + + +_CHRISTMAS DAY, 1850_. + +Beautiful stories wed with lovely days + Like words and music:--what shall be the tale + Of love and nobleness that might avail +To express in action what this sweetness says-- + +The sweetness of a day of airs and rays + That are strange glories on the winter pale? + Alas, O beauty, all my fancies fail! +I cannot tell a story in thy praise! + +Thou hast, thou hast one--set, and sure to chime + With thee, as with the days of "winter wild;" + For Joy like Sorrow loves his blessed feet +Who shone from Heaven on Earth this Christmas-time + A Brother and a Saviour, Mary's child!-- + And so, fair day, thou _hast_ thy story sweet. + + + +_TO A FEBRUARY PRIMROSE_. + +I know not what among the grass thou art, + Thy nature, nor thy substance, fairest flower, + Nor what to other eyes thou hast of power +To send thine image through them to the heart; +But when I push the frosty leaves apart + And see thee hiding in thy wintry bower + Thou growest up within me from that hour, +And through the snow I with the spring depart. + +I have no words. But fragrant is the breath, + Pale beauty, of thy second life within. +There is a wind that cometh for thy death, + But thou a life immortal dost begin, +Where in one soul, which is thy heaven, shall dwell +Thy spirit, beautiful Unspeakable! + + + +_IN FEBRUARY_. + +Now in the dark of February rains, + Poor lovers of the sunshine, spring is born, + The earthy fields are full of hidden corn, +And March's violets bud along the lanes; + +Therefore with joy believe in what remains. + And thou who dost not feel them, do not scorn + Our early songs for winter overworn, +And faith in God's handwriting on the plains. + +"Hope" writes he, "Love" in the first violet, + "Joy," even from Heaven, in songs and winds and trees; + And having caught the happy words in these +While Nature labours with the letters yet, + Spring cannot cheat us, though her _hopes_ be broken, + Nor leave us, for we know what God hath spoken. + + + +_THE TRUE_. + +I envy the tree-tops that shake so high + In winds that fill them full of heavenly airs; + I envy every little cloud that shares +With unseen angels evening in the sky; +I envy most the youngest stars that lie + Sky-nested, and the loving heaven that bears, + And night that makes strong worlds of them unawares; +And all God's other beautiful and nigh! + +Nay, nay, I envy not! And these are dreams, + Fancies and images of real heaven! + My longings, all my longing prayers are given +For that which is, and not for that which seems. + Draw me, O Lord, to thy true heaven above, + The Heaven of thy Thought, thy Rest, thy Love. + + + +_THE DWELLERS THEREIN_. + +Down a warm alley, early in the year, + Among the woods, with all the sunshine in + And all the winds outside it, I begin +To think that something gracious will appear, +If anything of grace inhabit here, + Or there be friendship in the woods to win. + Might one but find companions more akin +To trees and grass and happy daylight clear, +And in this wood spend one long hour at home! + The fairies do not love so bright a place, +And angels to the forest never come, + But I have dreamed of some harmonious race, +The kindred of the shapes that haunt the shore +Of Music's flow and flow for evermore. + + + +_AUTUMN'S GOLD_. + +Along the tops of all the yellow trees, + The golden-yellow trees, the sunshine lies; + And where the leaves are gone, long rays surprise +Lone depths of thicket with their brightnesses; +And through the woods, all waste of many a breeze, + Cometh more joy of light for Poet's eyes-- + Green fields lying yellow underneath the skies, +And shining houses and blue distances. + +By the roadside, like rocks of golden ore + That make the western river-beds so bright, + The briar and the furze are all alight! +Perhaps the year will be so fair no more, + But now the fallen, falling leaves are gay, + And autumn old has shone into a Day! + + + +_PUNISHMENT_. + +Mourner, that dost deserve thy mournfulness, + Call thyself punished, call the earth thy hell; + Say, "God is angry, and I earned it well-- +I would not have him smile on wickedness:" + +Say this, and straightway all thy grief grows less:-- + "God rules at least, I find as prophets tell, + And proves it in this prison!"--then thy cell +Smiles with an unsuspected loveliness. + +--"A prison--and yet from door and window-bar + I catch a thousand breaths of his sweet air! + Even to me his days and nights are fair! +He shows me many a flower and many a star! +And though I mourn and he is very far, + He does not kill the hope that reaches there!" + + + +_SHEW US THE FATHER_. + +"Shew us the Father." Chiming stars of space, + And lives that fit the worlds, and means and powers, + A Thought that holds them up reveal to ours-- +A Wisdom we have been made wise to trace. +And, looking out from sweetest Nature's face, + From sunsets, moonlights, rivers, hills, and flowers, + Infinite love and beauty, all the hours, +Woo men that love them with divinest grace; +And to the depths of all the answering soul + High Justice speaks, and calls the world her own; + And yet we long, and yet we have not known +The very Father's face who means the whole! + Shew us the Father! Nature, conscience, love + Revealed in beauty, is there One above? + + + +_THE PINAFORE_. + +When peevish flaws his soul have stirred + To fretful tears for crossed desires, +Obedient to his mother's word + My child to banishment retires. + +As disappears the moon, when wind + Heaps miles of mist her visage o'er, +So vanisheth his face behind + The cloud of his white pinafore. + +I cannot then come near my child-- + A gulf between of gainful loss; +He to the infinite exiled-- + I waiting, for I cannot cross. + +Ah then, what wonder, passing show, + The Isis-veil behind it brings-- +Like that self-coffined creatures know, + Remembering legs, foreseeing wings! + +Mysterious moment! When or how + Is the bewildering change begun? +Hid in far deeps the awful now + When turns his being to the sun! + +A light goes up behind his eyes, + A still small voice behind his ears; +A listing wind about him sighs, + And lo the inner landscape clears! + +Hid by that screen, a wondrous shine + Is gathering for a sweet surprise; +As Moses grew, in dark divine, + Too radiant for his people's eyes. + +For when the garment sinks again, + Outbeams a brow of heavenly wile, +Clear as a morning after rain, + And sunny with a perfect smile. + +Oh, would that I the secret knew + Of hiding from my evil part, +And turning to the lovely true + The open windows of my heart! + +Lord, in thy skirt, love's tender gaol, + Hide thou my selfish heart's disgrace; +Fill me with light, and then unveil + To friend and foe a friendly face. + + + +_THE PRISM_. + +I. + +A pool of broken sunbeams lay + Upon the passage-floor, +Radiant and rich, profound and gay + As ever diamond bore. + +Small, flitting hands a handkerchief + Spread like a cunning trap: +Prone lay the gorgeous jewel-sheaf + In the glory-gleaner's lap! + +Deftly she folded up the prize, + With lovely avarice; +Like one whom having had made wise, + She bore it off in bliss. + +But ah, when for her prisoned gems + She peeped, to prove them there, +No glories broken from their stems + Lay in the kerchief bare! + +For still, outside the nursery door, + The bright persistency, +A molten diadem on the floor, + Lay burning wondrously. + +II. + +How oft have I laid fold from fold + And peered into my mind-- +To see of all the purple and gold + Not one gleam left behind! + +The best of gifts will not be stored: + The manna of yesterday +Has filled no sacred miser-hoard + To keep new need away. + +Thy grace, O Lord, it is thyself; + Thy presence is thy light; +I cannot lay it on my shelf, + Or take it from thy sight. + +For daily bread we daily pray-- + The want still breeds the cry; +And so we meet, day after day, + Thou, Father in heaven, and I. + +Is my house dreary, wall and floor, + Will not the darkness flit, +I go outside my shadowy door + And in thy rainbow sit. + + + +_SLEEP_. + +Oh! is it Death that comes +To have a foretaste of the whole? + To-night the planets and the stars + Will glimmer through my window-bars +But will not shine upon my soul! + +For I shall lie as dead +Though yet I am above the ground; + All passionless, with scarce a breath, + With hands of rest and eyes of death, +I shall be carried swiftly round. + +Or if my life should break +The idle night with doubtful gleams, + Through mossy arches will I go, + Through arches ruinous and low, +And chase the true and false in dreams. + +Why should I fall asleep? +When I am still upon my bed + The moon will shine, the winds will rise + And all around and through the skies +The light clouds travel o'er my head! + +O busy, busy things, +Ye mock me with your ceaseless life! + For all the hidden springs will flow + And all the blades of grass will grow +When I have neither peace nor strife. + +And all the long night through +The restless streams will hurry by; + And round the lands, with endless roar, + The white waves fall upon the shore, +And bit by bit devour the dry. + +Even thus, but silently, +Eternity, thy tide shall flow, + And side by side with every star + Thy long-drawn swell shall bear me far, +An idle boat with none to row. + +My senses fail with sleep; +My heart beats thick; the night is noon; + And faintly through its misty folds + I hear a drowsy clock that holds +Its converse with the waning moon. + +Oh, solemn mystery +That I should be so closely bound + With neither terror nor constraint, + Without a murmur of complaint, +And lose myself upon such ground! + + + +_SHARING_. + +On the far horizon there +Heaps of cloudy darkness rest; +Though the wind is in the air +There is stupor east and west. + +For the sky no change is making, +Scarce we know it from the plain; +Droop its eyelids never waking, +Blinded by the misty rain; + +Save on high one little spot, +Round the baffled moon a space +Where the tumult ceaseth not: +Wildly goes the midnight race! + +And a joy doth rise in me +Upward gazing on the sight, +When I think that others see +In yon clouds a like delight; + +How perchance an aged man +Struggling with the wind and rain, +In the moonlight cold and wan +Feels his heart grow young again; + +As the cloudy rack goes by, +How the life-blood mantles up +Till the fountain deep and dry +Yields once more a sparkling cup. + +Or upon the gazing child +Cometh down a thought of glory +Which will keep him undefiled +Till his head is old and hoary. + +For it may be he hath woke +And hath raised his fair young form; +Strangely on his eyes have broke +All the splendours of the storm; + +And his young soul forth doth leap +With the storm-clouds in the moon; +And his heart the light will keep +Though the vision passeth soon. + +Thus a joy hath often laughed +On my soul from other skies, +Bearing on its wings a draught +From the wells of Paradise, + +For that not to me alone +Comes a splendour out of fear; +Where the light of heaven hath shone +There is glory far and near. + + + +_IN BONDS_. + +Of the poor bird that cannot fly +Kindly you think and mournfully; +For prisoners and for exiles all +You let the tears of pity fall; +And very true the grief should be +That mourns the bondage of the free. + +The soul--_she_ has a fatherland; +Binds _her_ not many a tyrant's hand? +And the winged spirit has a home, +But can she always homeward come? +Poor souls, with all their wounds and foes, +Will you not also pity those? + + + +_HUNGER_. + +Father, I cry to thee for bread + With hungred longing, eager prayer; +Thou hear'st, and givest me instead + More hunger and a half-despair. + +0 Lord, how long? My days decline, + My youth is lapped in memories old; +I need not bread alone, but wine-- + See, cup and hand to thee I hold! + +And yet thou givest: thanks, O Lord, + That still my heart with hunger faints! +The day will come when at thy board + I sit, forgetting all my plaints. + +If rain must come and winds must blow, + And I pore long o'er dim-seen chart, +Yet, Lord, let not the hunger go, + And keep the faintness at my heart. + + + +_NEW YEAR'S EVE: A WAKING DREAM_. + +I have not any fearful tale to tell +Of fabled giant or of dragon-claw, +Or bloody deed to pilfer and to sell +To those who feed, with such, a gaping maw; +But what in yonder hamlet there befell, +Or rather what in it my fancy saw, +I will declare, albeit it may seem +Too simple and too common for a dream. + +Two brothers were they, and they sat alone +Without a word, beside the winter's glow; +For it was many years since they had known +The love that bindeth brothers, till the snow +Of age had frozen it, and it had grown +An icy-withered stream that would not flow; +And so they sat with warmth about their feet +And ice about their hearts that would not beat. + +And yet it was a night for quiet hope:-- +A night the very last of all the year +To many a youthful heart did seem to ope +An eye within the future, round and clear; +And age itself, that travels down the slope, +Sat glad and waiting as the hour drew near, +The dreamy hour that hath the heaviest chime, +Jerking our souls into the coming time. + +But they!--alas for age when it is old! +The silly calendar they did not heed; +Alas for age when in its bosom cold +There is not warmth to nurse a bladed weed! +They thought not of the morrow, but did hold +A quiet sitting as their hearts did feed +Inwardly on themselves, as still and mute +As if they were a-cold from head to foot. + +O solemn kindly night, she looketh still +With all her moon upon us now and then! +And though she dwelleth most in craggy hill, +She hath an eye unto the hearts of men! +So past a corner of the window-sill +She thrust a long bright finger just as ten +Had struck, and on the dial-plate it came, +Healing each hour's raw edge with tender flame. + +There is a something in the winds of heaven +That stirreth purposely and maketh men; +And unto every little wind is given +A thing to do ere it is still again; +So when the little clock had struck eleven, +The edging moon had drawn her silver pen +Across a mirror, making them aware +Of something ghostlier than their own grey hair. + +Therefore they drew aside the window-blind +And looked upon the sleeping town below, +And on the little church which sat behind +As keeping watch upon the scanty row +Of steady tombstones--some of which inclined +And others upright, in the moon did show +Like to a village down below the waves-- +It was so still and cool among the graves. + +But not a word from either mouth did fall, +Except it were some very plain remark. +Ah! why should such as they be glad at all? +For years they had not listened to the lark! +The child was dead in them!--yet did there crawl +A wish about their hearts; and as the bark +Of distant sheep-dog came, they were aware +Of a strange longing for the open air. + +Ah! many an earthy-weaving year had spun +A web of heavy cloud about their brain! +And many a sun and moon had come and gone +Since they walked arm in arm, these brothers twain! +But now with timed pace their feet did stun +The village echoes into quiet pain: +The street appeared very short and white, +And they like ghosts unquiet for the light. + +"Right through the churchyard," one of them did say +--I knew not which was elder of the two-- +"Right through the churchyard is our better way." +"Ay," said the other, "past the scrubby yew. +I have not seen her grave for many a day; +And it is in me that with moonlight too +It might be pleasant thinking of old faces, +And yet I seldom go into such places." + +Strange, strange indeed to me the moonlight wan +Sitting about a solitary stone! +Stranger than many tales it is to scan +The earthy fragment of a human bone; +But stranger still to see a grey old man +Apart from all his fellows, and alone +With the pale night and all its giant quiet; +Therefore that stone was strange and those two by it. + +It was their mother's grave, and here were hid +The priceless pulses of a mother's soul. +Full sixty years it was since she had slid +Into the other world through that deep hole. +But as they stood it seemed the coffin-lid +Grew deaf with sudden hammers!--'twas the mole +Niddering about its roots.--Be still, old men, +Be very still and ye will hear again. + +Ay, ye will hear it! Ye may go away, +But it will stay with you till ye are dead! +It is but earthy mould and quiet clay, +But it hath power to turn the oldest head. +Their eyes met in the moon, and they did say +More than a hundred tongues had ever said. +So they passed onwards through the rapping wicket +Into the centre of a firry thicket. + +It was a solemn meeting of Earth's life, +An inquest held upon the death of things; +And in the naked north full thick and rife +The snow-clouds too were meeting as on wings +Shorn round the edges by the frost's keen knife; +And the trees seemed to gather into rings, +Waiting to be made blind, as they did quail +Among their own wan shadows thin and pale. + +Many strange noises are there among trees, +And most within the quiet moony light, +Therefore those aged men are on their knees +As if they listened somewhat:--Ye are right-- +Upwards it bubbles like the hum of bees! +Although ye never heard it till to-night, +The mighty mother calleth ever so +To all her pale-eyed children from below. + +Ay, ye have walked upon her paven ways, +And heard her voices in the market-place, +But ye have never listened what she says +When the snow-moon is pressing on her face! +One night like this is more than many days +To him who hears the music and the bass +Of deep immortal lullabies which calm +His troubled soul as with a hushing psalm. + +I know not whether there is power in sleep +To dim the eyelids of the shining moon, +But so it seemed then, for still more deep +She grew into a heavy cloud, which, soon +Hiding her outmost edges, seemed to keep +A pressure on her; so there came a swoon +Among the shadows, which still lay together +But in their slumber knew not one another. + +But while the midnight groped for the chime +As she were heavy with excess of dreams, +She from the cloud's thick web a second time +Made many shadows, though with minished beams; +And as she looked eastward through the rime +Of a thin vapour got of frosty steams, +There fell a little snow upon the crown +Of a near hillock very bald and brown. + +And on its top they found a little spring, +A very helpful little spring indeed, +Which evermore unwound a tiny string +Of earnest water with continual speed-- +And so the brothers stood and heard it sing; +For all was snowy-still, and not a seed +Had struck, and nothing came but noises light +Of the continual whitening of the night. + +There is a kindness in the falling snow-- +It is a grey head to the spring time mild; +So as the creamy vapour bowed low +Crowning the earth with honour undefiled, +Within each withered man arose a glow +As if he fain would turn into a child: +There was a gladness somewhere in the ground +Which in his bosom nowhere could be found! + +Not through the purple summer or the blush +Of red voluptuous roses did it come +That silent speaking voice, but through the slush +And snowy quiet of the winter numb! +It was a barren mound that heard the gush +Of living water from two fountains dumb-- +Two rocky human hearts which long had striven +To make a pleasant noise beneath high heaven! + +Now from the village came the onward shout +Of lightsome voices and of merry cheer; +It was a youthful group that wandered out +To do obeisance to the glad new year; +And as they passed they sang with voices stout +A song which I was very fain to hear, +But as they darkened on, away it died, +And the two men walked homewards side by side. + + + +_FROM NORTH WALES: TO THE MOTHER_. + +When the summer gave us a longer day, +And the leaves were thickest, I went away: +Like an isle, through dark clouds, of the infinite blue, +Was that summer-ramble from London and you. + +It was but one burst into life and air, +One backward glance on the skirts of care, +A height on the hills with the smoke below-- +And the joy that came quickly was quick to go. + +But I know and I cannot forget so soon +How the Earth is shone on by Sun and Moon; +How the clouds hide the mountains, and how they move +When the morning sunshine lies warm above. + +I know how the waters fall and run +In the rocks and the heather, away from the sun; +How they hang like garlands on all hill-sides, +And are the land's music, those crystal tides. + +I know how they gather in valleys fair, +Meet valleys those beautiful waves to bear; +How they dance through the rocks, how they rest in the pool, +How they darken, how sparkle, and how they are cool. + +I know how the rocks from their kisses climb +To keep the storms off with a front sublime; +And how on their platforms and sloping walls +The shadow of oak-tree and fir-tree falls. + +I know how the valleys are bright from far, +Rocks, meadows, and waters, the wood and the scaur; +And how the roadside and the nearest hill +The foxglove and heather and harebell fill. + +I know--but the joy that was quick to go +Gave more knowledge to me than words can shew; +And _you_ know the story, and how they fare +Who love the green earth and the heavenly air. + + + +_COME TO ME_. + +Come to me, come to me, O my God; + Come to me everywhere! +Let the trees mean thee, and the grassy sod, + And the water and the air! + +For thou art so far that I often doubt, + As on every side I stare, +Searching within, and looking without, + If thou canst be anywhere. + +How did men find thee in days of old? + How did they grow so sure? +They fought in thy name, they were glad and bold, + They suffered, and kept themselves pure! + +But now they say--neither above the sphere + Nor down in the heart of man, +But solely in fancy, ambition, and fear + The thought of thee began. + +If only that perfect tale were true + Which ages have not made old, +Which of endless many makes one anew, + And simplicity manifold! + +But _he_ taught that they who did his word + The truth of it sure would know: +I will try to do it: if he be lord + Again the old faith will glow; + +Again the old spirit-wind will blow + That he promised to their prayer; +And obeying the Son, I too shall know + His father everywhere! + + + +_A FEAR_. + +O Mother Earth, I have a fear +Which I would tell to thee-- +Softly and gently in thine ear +When the moon and we are three. + +Thy grass and flowers are beautiful; +Among thy trees I hide; +And underneath the moonlight cool +Thy sea looks broad and wide; + +But this I fear--lest thou shouldst grow +To me so small and strange, +So distant I should never know +On thee a shade of change, + +Although great earthquakes should uplift +Deep mountains from their base, +And thy continual motion shift +The lands upon thy face;-- + +The grass, the flowers, the dews that lie +Upon them as before-- +Driven upwards evermore, lest I +Should love these things no more. + +Even now thou dimly hast a place +In deep star galaxies! +And I, driven ever on through space, +Have lost thee in the skies! + + + +_THE LOST HOUSE_. + +Out of thy door I run to do the thing + That calls upon me. Straight the wind of words +Whoops from mine ears the sounds of them that sing +About their work, "My God, my father-king!" + +I turn in haste to see thy blessed door, + But, lo, a cloud of flies and bats and birds, + And stalking vapours, and vague monster-herds + Have risen and lighted, rushed and swollen between! + +Ah me! the house of peace is there no more. +Was it a dream then?--Walls, fireside, and floor, + And sweet obedience, loving, calm, and free, + Are vanished--gone as they had never been! + + I labour groaning. Comes a sudden sheen!-- +And I am kneeling at my father's knee, +Sighing with joy, and hoping utterly. + + + +_THE TALK OF THE ECHOES_. + +A FRAGMENT. + +When the cock crows loud from the glen, +And the moor-cock chirrs from the heather, +What hear ye and see ye then, +Ye children of air and ether? + +1_st Echo_. + A thunder as of waves at the rising of the moon, + And a darkness on the graves though the day is at its noon. + +_2nd Echo_. A springing as of grass though the air is damp and chill, + And a glimmer from the river that winds about the hill. + +_1st Echo_. A lapse of crags that leant from the mountain's earthen +sheath, + And a shock of ruin sent on the river underneath. + +_2nd Echo_. A sound as of a building that groweth fair and good, + And a piping of the thrushes from the hollow of the wood. + +_1st Echo_. A wailing as of lambs that have wandered from the flock, + And a bleating of their dams that was answered from the rock. + +_2nd Echo_. A breathing as of cattle in the shadow where they dream, + And a sound of children playing with the pebbles in the stream. + +_1st Echo_. A driving as of clouds in the kingdom of the air, + And a tumult as of crowds that mingle everywhere. + +_2nd Echo_. A waving of the grass, and a passing o'er the lakes, + And a shred of tempest-cloud in the glory when it breaks. + + + +_THE GOAL_ + +In God alone, the perfect end, +Wilt thou find thyself or friend. + + + +_THE HEALER_. + +They come to thee, the halt, the maimed, the blind, + The devil-torn, the sick, the sore; +Thy heart their well of life they find, + Thine ear their open door. + +Ah, who can tell the joy in Palestine-- + What smiles and tears of rescued throngs! +Their lees of life were turned to wine, + Their prayers to shouts and songs! + +The story dear our wise men fable call, + Give paltry facts the mighty range; +To me it seems just what should fall, + And nothing very strange. + +But were I deaf and lame and blind and sore, + I scarce would care for cure to ask; +Another prayer should haunt thy door-- + Set thee a harder task. + +If thou art Christ, see here this heart of mine, + Torn, empty, moaning, and unblest! +Had ever heart more need of thine, + If thine indeed hath rest? + +Thy word, thy hand right soon did scare the bane + That in their bodies death did breed; +If thou canst cure my deeper pain + Then art thou lord indeed. + + + +_OH THAT A WIND_. + +Oh that a wind would call + From the depths of the leafless wood! +Oh that a voice would fall + On the ear of my solitude! + +Far away is the sea, + With its sound and its spirit tone; +Over it white clouds flee; + But I am alone, alone. + +Straight and steady and tall + The trees stand on their feet; +Fast by the old stone wall + The moss grows green and sweet; +But my heart is full of fears, + For the sun shines far away; +And they look in my face through tears, + And the light of a dying day. + +My heart was glad last night + As I pressed it with my palm; +Its throb was airy and light + As it sang some spirit psalm; +But it died away in my breast + As I wandered forth to-day,-- +As a bird sat dead on its nest, + While others sang on the spray. + +O weary heart of mine, + Is there ever a Truth for thee? +Will ever a sun outshine + But the sun that shines on me? +Away, away through the air + The clouds and the leaves are blown; +And my heart hath need of prayer, + For it sitteth alone, alone. + + + +_A VISION OF ST. ELIGIUS_. + +I. + +I see thy house, but I am blown about, + A wind-mocked kite, between the earth and sky, +All out of doors--alas! of thy doors out, + And drenched in dews no summer suns can dry. + +For every blast is passion of my own; + The dews cold sweats of selfish agony; +Dank vapour steams from memories lying prone; + And all my soul is but a stifled cry. + +II. + +Lord, thou dost hold my string, else were I driven + Down to some gulf where I were tossed no more, +No turmoil telling I was not in heaven, + No billows raving on a blessed shore. + +Thou standest on thy door-sill, calm as day, + And all my throbs and pangs are pulls from thee; +Hold fast the string, lest I should break away + And outer dark and silence swallow me. + +III. + +No longer fly thy kite, Lord; draw me home. + Thou pull'st the string through all the distance bleak; +Lord, I am nearing thee; O Lord, I come; + Thy pulls grow stronger and the wind grows weak. + +In thy remodelling hands thou tak'st thy kite; + A moment to thy bosom hold'st me fast. +Thou flingest me abroad:--lo, in thy might + A strong-winged bird I soar on every blast! + + + +_OF THE SON OF MAN_. + +I. I honour Nature, holding it unjust +To look with jealousy on her designs; +With every passing year more fast she twines +About my heart; with her mysterious dust +Claim I a fellowship not less august +Although she works before me and combines +Her changing forms, wherever the sun shines +Spreading a leafy volume on the crust +Of the old world; and man himself likewise +Is of her making: wherefore then divorce +What God hath joined thus, and rend by force +Spirit away from substance, bursting ties +By which in one great bond of unity +God hath together bound all things that be? + +II. And in these lines my purpose is to show +That He who left the Father, though he came +Not with art-splendour or the earthly flame +Of genius, yet in that he did bestow +His own true loving heart, did cause to grow, +Unseen and buried deep, whate'er we name +The best in human art, without the shame +Of idle sitting in most real woe; +And that whate'er of Beautiful and Grand +The Earth contains, by him was not despised, +But rather was so deeply realized +In word and deed, though not with artist hand, +That it was either hid or all disguised +From those who were not wise to understand. + +III. Art is the bond of weakness, and we find +Therein acknowledgment of failing power: +A man would worship, gazing on a flower-- +Onward he passeth, lo his eyes are blind! +The unenlivened form he left behind +Grew up within him only for an hour! +And he will grapple with Nature till the dower +Of strength shall be retreasured in his mind. +And each form-record is a high protest +Of treason done unto the soul of man, +Which, striving upwards, ever is oppress'd +By the old bondage, underneath whose ban +He, failing in his struggle for the best, +Must live in pain upon what food he can. + +IV. Moreover, were there perfect harmony +'Twixt soul and Nature, we should never waste +The precious hours in gazing, but should haste +To assimilate her offerings, and we +From high life-elements, as doth the tree, +Should grow to higher; so what we call Taste +Is a slow living as of roots encased +In the grim chinks of some sterility +Both cramping and withholding. Art is Truth, +But Truth dammed up and frozen, gagged and bound +As is a streamlet icy and uncouth +Which pebbles hath and channel but no sound: +Give it again its summer heart of youth +And it will be a life upon the ground. + +V. And Love had not been prisoned in cold stone, +Nor Beauty smeared on the dead canvas so, +Had not their worshipper been forced to go +Questful and restless through the world alone, +Searching but finding not, till on him shone +Back from his own deep heart a chilly glow +As of a frost-nipped sunbeam, or of snow +Under a storm-dodged crescent which hath grown +Wasted to mockery; and beneath such gleam +His wan conceits have found an utterance, +Which, had they found a true and sunny beam, +Had ripened into real touch and glance-- +Nay more, to real deed, the Truth of all, +To some perfection high and personal. + +VI. "But yet the great of soul have ever been +The first to glory in all works of art; +For from the genius-form would ever dart +A light of inspiration, and a sheen +As of new comings; and ourselves have seen +Men of stern purpose to whose eyes would start +Sorrow at sight of sorrow though no heart +Did riot underneath that chilly, screen; +And hence we judge such utterance native to +The human soul--expression highest--best." +--Nay, it is by such sign they will pursue, +Albeit unknowing, Beauty, without rest; +And failing in the search, themselves will fling +Speechless before its shadow, worshipping. + +VII. And how shall he whose mission is to bring +The soul to worship at its rightful shrine, +Seeing in Beauty what is most divine, +Give out the mightiest impulse, and thus fling +His soul into the future, scattering +The living seed of wisdom? Shall there shine +From underneath his hand a matchless line +Of high earth-beauties, till the wide world ring +With the far clang that tells a missioned soul, +Kneeling to homage all about his feet? +Alas for such a gift were this the whole, +The only bread of life men had to eat! +Lo, I behold them dead about him now, +And him the heart of death, for all that brow! + +VIII. If _Thou_ didst pass by Art, thou didst not scorn +The souls that by such symbol yearned in vain +From Truth and Love true nourishment to gain: +On thy warm breast, so chilly and forlorn +Fell these thy nurslings little more than born +That thou wast anguished, and there fell a rain +From thy blest eyelids, and in grief and pain +Thou partedst from them yet one night and morn +To find them wholesome food and nourishment +Instead of what their blindness took for such, +Laying thyself a seed in earthen rent +From which, outspringing to the willing touch, +Riseth for all thy children harvest great, +For which they will all learn to bless thee yet. + +IV. Thou sawest Beauty in the streaking cloud +When grief lift up those eyelids; nor in scorn +Broke ever on thine eyes the purple morn +Along the cedar tops; to thee aloud +Spake the night-solitude, when hushed and bowed +The earth lay at thy feet stony and worn; +Loving thou markedst when the lamb unshorn +Was glad before thee, and amongst the crowd +Famished and pent in cities did thine eye +Read strangest glory--though in human art +No record lives to tell us that thy heart +Bowed to its own deep beauty: deeper did lie +The burden of thy mission, even whereby +We know that Beauty liveth where Thou art. + +X. Doubtless thine eyes have watched the sun aspire +From that same Olivet, when back on thee +Flushed upwards after some night-agony +Thy proper Godhead, with a purer fire +Purpling thy Infinite, and in strong desire +Thou sattest in the dawn that was to be +Uplifted on our dark perplexity. +Yea in thee lay thy soul, a living lyre, +And each wild beauty smote it, though the sound +Rung to the night-winds oft and desert air; +Beneath thine eyes the lily paled more fair, +And each still shadow slanting on the ground +Lay sweetly on thee as commissioned there, +So full wast thou of eyes all round and round. + +XI. And so thou neededst not our human skill +To fix what thus were transient--there it grew +Wedded to thy perfection; and anew +With every coming vision rose there still +Some living principle which did fulfil +Thy most legitimate manhood; and unto +Thy soul all Nature rendered up its due +With not a contradiction; and each hill +And mountain torrent and each wandering light +Grew out divinely on thy countenance, +Whereon, as we are told, by word and glance +Thy hearers read an ever strange delight--So +strange to them thy Truth, they could not tell +What made thy message so unspeakable. + +XII. And by such living witness didst thou preach: +Not with blind hands of groping forward thrust +Into the darkness, gathering only dust, +But by this real sign--that thou didst reach, +In natural order, rising each from each, +Thy own ideals of the True and Just; +And that as thou didst live, even so he must +Who would aspire his fellow-men to teach, +Looking perpetual from new heights of Thought +On his old self. Of art no scorner thou! +Instead of leafy chaplet, on thy brow +Wearing the light of manhood, thou hast brought +Death unto Life! Above all statues now, +Immortal Artist, hail! thy work is wrought! + +XIII. Solemn and icy stand ye in my eyes, +Far up into the niches of the Past, +Ye marble statues, dim and holden fast +Within your stony homes! nor human cries +Had shook you from your frozen phantasies +Or sent the life-blood through you, till there passed +Through all your chilly bulks a new life-blast +From the Eternal Living, and ye rise +From out your stiffened postures rosy-warm, +Walking abroad a goodly company +Of living virtues at that wondrous charm, +As he with human heart and hand and eye +Walked sorrowing upon our highways then, +The Eternal Father's living gift to men! + +XIV. As the pent torrent in uneasy rest +Under the griping rocks, doth ever keep +A monstrous working as it lies asleep +In the round hollow of some mountain's breast, +Till where it hideth in its sweltering nest +Some earthquake finds it, and its waters leap +Forth to the sunshine down the mighty steep, +So in thee once was anguished forth the quest +Whereby man sought for life-power as he lay +Under his own proud heart and black despair +Wedged fast and stifled up with loads of care, +Yet at dumb struggle with the tyrant clay; +Thou wentest down below the roots of prayer, +And he hath cried aloud since that same day! + +XV. As he that parts in hatred from a friend +Mixing with other men forgets the woe +Which anguished him when he beheld and lo +Two souls had fled asunder which did bend +Under the same blue heaven! yet ere the end, +When the loud world hath tossed him to and fro, +Will often strangely reappear that glow +At simplest memory which some chance may send, +Although much stronger bonds have lost their power: +So thou God-sent didst come in lowly guise, +Striking on simple chords,--not with surprise +Or mightiest recollectings in that hour, +But like remembered fragrance of a flower +A man with human heart and loving eyes. + +_March_, 1852. + + + +_A SONG-SERMON:_ + +Job xiv. 13-15. + +RONDEL. + +Would that thou hid me in the grave +And kept me with death's gaoler-care; +Until thy wrath away should wear +A sentence fixed thy prisoner gave! +I would endure with patience brave +So thou remembered I was there! +Would that thou hid me in the grave, +And kept me with death's gaoler-care! + +To see thy creature thou wouldst crave-- +Desire thy handiwork so fair; +Then wouldst thou call through death's dank air +And I would answer from the cave! +Would that thou hid me in the grave, +And kept me with death's gaoler-care! + + + +_WORDS IN THE NIGHT_. + +I woke at midnight, and my heart, +My beating heart, said this to me: +Thou seest the moon, how calm and bright! +The world is fair by day and night, +But what is that to thee? +One touch to me, down dips the light +Over the land and sea. +All is mine, all is my own! +Toss the purple fountain high! +The breast of man is a vat of stone; +I am alive, I, only I! + +One little touch and all is dark-- +The winter with its sparkling moons, +The spring with all her violets, +The crimson dawns and rich sunsets, +The autumn's yellowing noons! +I only toss my purple jets, +And thou art one that swoons +Upon a night of gust and roar, +Shipwrecked among the waves, and seems +Across the purple hills to roam: +Sweet odours touch him from the foam, +And downward sinking still he dreams +He walks the clover fields at home +And hears the rattling teams. +All is mine, all is my own! +Toss the purple fountain high! +The breast of man is a vat of stone; +I am alive, I, only I! + +Thou hast beheld a throated fountain spout +Full in the air, and in the downward spray +A hovering Iris span the marble tank, +Which, as the wind came, ever rose and sank, +Violet and red; so my continual play +Makes beauty for the Gods with many a prank +Of human excellence, while they, +Weary of all the noon, in shadows sweet, +Supine and heavy-eyed rest in the boundless heat. +Let the world's fountain play! +Beauty is pleasant in the eyes of Jove; +Betwixt the wavering shadows where he lies +He marks the dancing column with his eyes +Celestial, and amid his inmost grove +Upgathers all his limbs, serenely blest, +Lulled by the mellow noise of the great world's unrest. + +One heart beats in all nature, differing +But in the work it works; its doubts and clamours +Are but the waste and brunt of instruments +Wherewith a work is done, or as the hammers +On forge Cyclopean plied beneath the rents +Of lowest Etna, conquering into shape +The hard and scattered ore; +Choose thou narcotics, and the dizzy grape +Outworking passion, lest with horrid crash +Thy life go from thee in a night of pain; +So tutoring thy vision, shall the flash +Of dove white-breasted be to thee no more +Than a white stone heavy upon the plain. + +Hark, the cock crows loud! +And without, all ghastly and ill, +Like a man uplift in his shroud, +The white, white morn is propped on the hill; +And adown from the eaves, pointed and chill +The icicles 'gin to glitter +And the birds with a warble short and shrill +Pass by the chamber-window still-- +With a quick, uneasy twitter! +Let me pump warm blood, for the cold is bitter; +And wearily, wearily, one by one, +Men awake with the weary sun! +Life is a phantom shut in thee: +I am the master and keep the key; +So let me toss thee the days of old +Crimson and orange and green and gold; +So let me fill thee yet again +With a rush of dreams from my spout amain; +For all is mine, all is my own: +Toss the purple fountain high! +The breast of man is a vat of stone, +And I am alive, I only, I! + + + +_CONSIDER THE RAVENS_ + +Lord, according to thy words, +I have considered thy birds; +And I find their life good, +And better the better understood: +Sowing neither corn nor wheat +They have all that they can eat; +Reaping no more than they sow +They have more than they could stow; +Having neither barn nor store, +Hungry again, they eat more. + +Considering, I see too that they +Have a busy life, and plenty of play; +In the earth they dig their bills deep +And work well though they do not heap; +Then to play in the air they are not loath, +And their nests between are better than both. +But this is when there blow no storms, +When berries are plenty in winter, and worms, +When feathers are rife, with oil enough-- +To keep the cold out and send the rain off; +If there come, indeed, a long hard frost +Then it looks as thy birds were lost. + +But I consider further, and find +A hungry bird has a free mind; +He is hungry to-day, not to-morrow, +Steals no comfort, no grief doth borrow; +This moment is his, thy will hath said it, +The next is nothing till thou hast made it. + +Thy bird has pain, but has no fear +Which is the worst of any gear; +When cold and hunger and harm betide him, +He does not take them and stuff inside him; +Content with the day's ill he has got, +He waits just, nor haggles with his lot: +Neither jumbles God's will +With driblets from his own still. + +But next I see, in my endeavour, +Thy birds here do not live for ever; +That cold or hunger, sickness or age +Finishes their earthly stage; +The rooks drop in cold nights, +Leaving all their wrongs and rights; +Birds lie here and birds lie there +With their feathers all astare; +And in thy own sermon, thou +That the sparrow falls dost allow. + +It shall not cause me any alarm, +For neither so comes the bird to harm +Seeing our father, thou hast said, +Is by the sparrow's dying bed; +Therefore it is a blessed place, +And the sparrow in high grace. + +It cometh therefore to this, Lord: +I have considered thy word, +And henceforth will be thy bird. + + + +_THE WIND OF THE WORLD_. + +Chained is the Spring. The Night-wind bold + Blows over the hard earth; +Time is not more confused and cold, + Nor keeps more wintry mirth. + +Yet blow, and roll the world about-- + Blow, Time, blow, winter's Wind! +Through chinks of time heaven peepeth out, + And Spring the frost behind. + + + +_SABBATH BELLS_. + +Oh holy Sabbath bells, +Ye have a pleasant voice! +Through all the land your music swells, +And man with one commandment tells +To rest and to rejoice. + +As birds rejoice to flee +From dark and stormy skies +To brighter lands beyond the sea +Where skies are calm, and wings are free +To wander and to rise; + +As thirsty travellers sing, +Through desert paths that pass, +To hear the welcome waters spring, +And see, beyond the spray they fling +Tall trees and waving grass; + +So we rejoice to know +Your melody begun; +For when our paths are parched below +Ye tell us where green pastures glow +And living waters run. + +LONDON, _December_ 15, 1840. + + + +_FIGHTING_. + +Here is a temple strangely wrought: + Within it I can see +Two spirits of a diverse thought + Contend for mastery. + +One is an angel fair and bright, + Adown the aisle comes he, +Adown the aisle in raiment white, + A creature fair to see. + +The other wears an evil mien, + And he hath doubtless slipt, +A fearful being dark and lean, + Up from the mouldy crypt. + + * * * * * + +Is that the roof that grows so black? + Did some one call my name? +Was it the bursting thunder crack + That filled this place with flame? + +I move--I wake from out my sleep: + Some one hath victor been! +I see two radiant pinions sweep, + And I am borne between. + +Beneath the clouds that under roll + An upturned face I see-- +A dead man's face, but, ah, the soul + Was right well known to me! + +A man's dead face! Away I haste + Through regions calm and fair: +Go vanquish sin, and thou shall taste + The same celestial air. + + + +_AFTER THE FASHION OF AN OLD EMBLEM._ + +I have long enough been working down in my cellar, + Working spade and pick, boring-chisel and drill; +I long for wider spaces, airy, clear-dark, and stellar: + Successless labour never the love of it did fill. + +More profit surely lies in a holy, pure quiescence, + In a setting forth of cups to catch the heavenly rain, +In a yielding of the being to the ever waiting presence, + In a lifting of the eyes upward, homeward again! + +Up to my garret, its storm-windows and skylights! + There I'll lay me on the floor, and patient let the sun, +The moon and the stars, the blueness and the twilights + Do what their pleasure is, and wait till they have done. + +But, lo, I hear a waving on the roof of great pinions! + 'Tis the labour of a windmill, broad-spreading to the wind! +Lo, down there goes a. shaft through all the house-dominions! + I trace it to a cellar, whose door I cannot find. + +But there I hear ever a keen diamond-drill in motion, + Now fast and now slow as the wind sits in the sails, +Drilling and boring to the far eternal ocean, + The living well of all wells whose water never fails. + +So now I go no more to the cellar to my labour, + But up to my garret where those arms are ever going; +There the sky is ever o'er me, and the wind my blessed neighbour, + And the prayer-handle ready turns the sails to its blowing. + +Blow, blow, my blessed wind; oh, keep ever blowing! + Keep the great windmill going full and free; +So shall the diamond-drill down below keep going + Till in burst the waters of God's eternal sea. + + + +_A PRAYER IN SICKNESS._ + +Thou foldest me in sickness; + Thou callest through the cloud; +I batter with the thickness + Of the swathing, blinding shroud: +Oh, let me see thy face, +The only perfect grace + That thou canst show thy child. + +0 father, being-giver, + Take off the sickness-cloud; +Saviour, my life deliver + From this dull body-shroud: +Till I can see thy face +I am not full of grace, + I am not reconciled. + + + +_QUIET DEAD!_ + +Quiet, quiet dead, +Have ye aught to say +From your hidden bed +In the earthy clay? + +Fathers, children, mothers, +Ye are very quiet; +Can ye shout, my brothers? +I would know you by it! + +Have ye any words +That are like to ours? +Have ye any birds? +Have ye any flowers? + +Could ye rise a minute +When the sun is warm? +I would know you in it, +I would take no harm. + +I am half afraid +In the ghostly night; +If ye all obeyed +I should fear you quite. + +But when day is breaking +In the purple east +I would meet you waking-- +One of you at least-- + +When the sun is tipping +Every stony block, +And the sun is slipping +Down the weathercock. + +Quiet, quiet dead, +I will not perplex you; +What my tongue hath said +Haply it may vex you! + +Yet I hear you speaking +With a quiet speech, +As if ye were seeking +Better things to teach: + +"Wait a little longer, +Suffer and endure +Till your heart is stronger +And your eyes are pure-- + +A little longer, brother, +With your fellow-men: +We will meet each other +Otherwhere again." + + + +_LET YOUR LIGHT SO SHINE._ + +Sometimes, O Lord, thou lightest in my head + A lamp that well might pharos all the lands; +Anon the light will neither rise nor spread: + Shrouded in danger gray the beacon stands! + +A pharos? Oh dull brain! poor dying lamp + Under a bushel with an earthy smell! +Mouldering it stands, in rust and eating damp, + While the slow oil keeps oozing from its cell! + +For me it were enough to be a flower + Knowing its root in thee, the Living, hid, +Ordained to blossom at the appointed hour, + And wake or sleep as thou, my Nature, bid; + +But hear my brethren in their darkling fright! + Hearten my lamp that it may shine abroad +Then will they cry--Lo, there is something bright! + Who kindled it if not the shining God? + + + +_TRIOLET._ + +When the heart is a cup + In the body low lying, +And wine, drop by drop + Falls into that cup + +From somewhere high up, + It is good to be dying +With the heart for a cup + In the body low lying. + + + +_THE SOULS' RISING._ + + See how the storm of life ascends +Up through the shadow of the world! +Beyond our gaze the line extends, +Like wreaths of vapour tempest-hurled! +Grasp tighter, brother, lest the storm +Should sweep us down from where we stand, +And we may catch some human form +We know, amongst the straining band. + + See! see in yonder misty cloud +One whirlwind sweep, and we shall hear +The voice that waxes yet more loud +And louder still approaching near! + + Tremble not, brother, fear not thou, +For yonder wild and mystic strain +Will bring before us strangely now +The visions of our youth again! + + Listen! oh listen! +See how its eyeballs roll and glisten +With a wild and fearful stare +Upwards through the shining air, +Or backwards with averted look, +As a child were gazing at a book +Full of tales of fear and dread, +When the thick night-wind came hollow and dead. + + Round about it, wavering and light. +As the moths flock round a candle at night, +A crowd of phantoms sheeted and dumb +Strain to its words as they shrilly come: +Brother, my brother, dost thou hear? +They pierce through the tumult sharp and clear! + + "The rush of speed is on my soul, +My eyes are blind with things I see; +I cannot grasp the awful whole, +I cannot gird the mystery! +The mountains sweep like mist away; +The great sea shakes like flakes of fire; +The rush of things I cannot see +Is mounting upward higher and higher! +Oh! life was still and full of calm +In yonder spot of earthly ground, +But now it rolls a thunder-psalm, +Its voices drown my ear in sound! +Would God I were a child again +To nurse the seeds of faith and power; +I might have clasped in wisdom then +A wing to beat this awful hour! +The dullest things would take my marks-- +_They_ took my marks like drifted snow-- +God! how the footsteps rise in sparks, +Rise like myself and onward go! +Have pity, O ye driving things +That once like me had human form! +For I am driven for lack of wings +A shreddy cloud before the storm!" + + How its words went through me then, +Like a long forgotten pang, +Till the storm's embrace again +Swept it far with sudden clang!-- +Ah, methinks I see it still! +Let us follow it, my brother, +Keeping close to one another, +Blessing God for might of will! +Closer, closer, side by side! +Ours are wings that deftly glide +Upwards, downwards, and crosswise +Flashing past our ears and eyes, +Splitting up the comet-tracks +With a whirlwind at our backs! + + How the sky is blackening! +Yet the race is never slackening; +Swift, continual, and strong, +Streams the torrent slope along, +Like a tidal surge of faces +Molten into one despair; +Each the other now displaces, +A continual whirl of spaces; +Ah, my fainting eyesight reels +As I strive in vain to stare +On a thousand turning wheels +Dimly in the gloom descending, +Faces with each other blending!-- +Let us beat the vapours back, +We are yet upon his track. + + Didst thou see a spirit halt +Upright on a cloudy peak, +As the lightning's horrid fault +Smote a gash into the cheek +Of the grinning thunder-cloud +Which doth still besiege and crowd +Upward from the nether pits +Where the monster Chaos sits, +Building o'er the fleeing rack +Roofs of thunder long and black? +Yes, I see it! I will shout +Till I stop the horrid rout. +Ho, ho! spirit-phantom, tell +Is thy path to heaven or hell? +We would hear thee yet again, +What thy standing amongst men, +What thy former history, +And thy hope of things to be! +Wisdom still we gain from hearing: +We would know, we would know +Whither thou art steering-- +Unto weal or woe! + + + Ah, I cannot hear it speaking! +Yet it seems as it were seeking +Through our eyes our souls to reach +With a quaint mysterious speech, +As with stretched and crossing palms +One were tracing diagrams +On the ebbing of the beach, +Till with wild unmeasured dance +All the tiptoe waves advance, +Seize him by the shoulder, cover, +Turn him up and toss him over: +He is vanished from our sight, +Nothing mars the quiet night +Save a speck of gloom afar +Like the ruin of a star! + + Brother, streams it ever so, +Such a torrent tide of woe? +Ah, I know not; let us haste +Upwards from this dreary waste, +Up to where like music flowing +Gentler feet are ever going, +Streams of life encircling run +Round about the spirit-sun! +Up beyond the storm and rush +With our lesson let us rise! +Lo, the morning's golden flush +Meets us midway in the skies! +Perished all the dream and strife! +Death is swallowed up of Life! + + + +_AWAKE!_ + + The stars are all watching; + God's angel is catching +At thy skirts in the darkness deep! + Gold hinges grating, + The mighty dead waiting, +Why dost thou sleep? + + Years without number, + Ages of slumber, +Stiff in the track of the infinite One! + Dead, can I think it? + Dropt like a trinket, +A thing whose uses are done! + + White wings are crossing, + Glad waves are tossing, +The earth flames out in crimson and green + Spring is appearing, + Summer is nearing-- +Where hast thou been? + + Down in some cavern, + Death's sleepy tavern, +Housing, carousing with spectres of night? + There is my right hand! + Grasp it full tight and +Spring to the light. + + Wonder, oh, wonder! + How the life-thunder +Bursts on his ear in horror and dread! + Happy shapes meet him; + Heaven and earth greet him: +Life from the dead! + + + +_TO AN AUTOGRAPH-HUNTER_. + +Seek not my name--it doth no virtue bear; + Seek, seek thine own primeval name to find-- +The name God called when thy ideal fair + Arose in deeps of the eternal mind. + +When that thou findest, thou art straight a lord + Of time and space--art heir of all things grown; +And not my name, poor, earthly label-word, + But I myself thenceforward am thine own. + +Thou hearest not? Or hearest as a man + Who hears the muttering of a foolish spell? +My very shadow would feel strange and wan + In thy abode:--I say _No_, and _Farewell_. + +Thou understandest? Then it is enough; + No shadow-deputy shall mock my friend; +We walk the same path, over smooth and rough, + To meet ere long at the unending end. + + + +_WITH A COPY OF "IN MEMORIAM."_ + + TO E.M. II. + +Dear friend, you love the poet's song, + And here is one for your regard. + You know the "melancholy bard," +Whose grief is wise as well as strong; + +Already something understand + For whom he mourns and what he sings, + And how he wakes with golden strings +The echoes of "the silent land;" + +How, restless, faint, and worn with grief, + Yet loving all and hoping all, + He gazes where the shadows fall, +And finds in darkness some relief; + +And how he sends his cries across, + His cries for him that comes no more, + Till one might think that silent shore +Full of the burden of his loss; + +And how there comes sublimer cheer-- + Not darkness solacing sad eyes, + Not the wild joy of mournful cries, +But light that makes his spirit clear; + +How, while he gazes, something high, + Something of Heaven has fallen on him, + His distance and his future dim +Broken into a dawning sky! + +Something of this, dear friend, you know; + And will you take the book from me + That holds this mournful melody, +And softens grief to sadness so? + +Perhaps it scarcely suits the day + Of joyful hopes and memories clear, + When love should have no thought of fear, +And only smiles be round your way; + +Yet from the mystery and the gloom, + From tempted faith and conquering trust, + From spirit stronger than the dust, +And love that looks beyond the tomb, + +What can there be but good to win, + But hope for life, but love for all, + But strength whatever may befall?-- +So for the year that you begin, + +For all the years that follow this + While a long happy life endures, + This hope, this love, this strength be yours, +And afterwards a larger bliss! + +May nothing in this mournful song + Too much take off your thoughts from time, + For joy should fill your vernal prime, +And peace your summer mild and long. + +And may his love who can restore + All losses, give all new good things, + Like loving eyes and sheltering wings +Be round us all for evermore! + + + +_THEY ARE BLIND_. + +They are blind, and they are dead: + We will wake them as we go; +There are words have not been said, + There are sounds they do not know: + We will pipe and we will sing-- + With the Music and the Spring + Set their hearts a wondering! + +They are tired of what is old, + We will give it voices new; +For the half hath not been told + Of the Beautiful and True. + Drowsy eyelids shut and sleeping! + Heavy eyes oppressed with weeping! + Flashes through the lashes leaping! + +Ye that have a pleasant voice, + Hither come without delay; +Ye will never have a choice + Like to that ye have to-day: + Round the wide world we will go, + Singing through the frost and snow + Till the daisies are in blow. + +Ye that cannot pipe or sing, + Ye must also come with speed; +Ye must come, and with you bring + Weighty word and weightier deed-- + Helping hands and loving eyes! + These will make them truly wise-- + Then will be our Paradise. + +_March 27, 1852._ + + + +_WHEN THE STORM WAS PROUDEST_. + + When the storm was proudest, + And the wind was loudest, +I heard the hollow caverns drinking down below; + When the stars were bright, + And the ground was white, +I heard the grasses springing underneath the snow. + + Many voices spake-- + The river to the lake, +And the iron-ribbed sky was talking to the sea; + And every starry spark + Made music with the dark, +And said how bright and beautiful everything must be. + + When the sun was setting, + All the clouds were getting +Beautiful and silvery in the rising moon; + Beneath the leafless trees + Wrangling in the breeze, +I could hardly see them for the leaves of June. + + When the day had ended, + And the night descended, +I heard the sound of streams that I heard not through the day, + And every peak afar + Was ready for a star, +And they climbed and rolled around until the morning gray. + + Then slumber soft and holy + Came down upon me slowly, +And I went I know not whither, and I lived I know not how; + My glory had been banished, + For when I woke it vanished; +But I waited on its coming, and I am waiting now. + + + +_THE DIVER._ + + FROM SCHILLER. + +"Which of you, knight or squire, will dare + Plunge into yonder gulf? +A golden beaker I fling in it--there! + The black mouth swallows it like a wolf! +Who brings me the cup again, whoever, +It is his own--he may keep it for ever!" + +'Tis the king who speaks. He flings from the brow + Of the cliff, that, rugged and steep, +Hangs out o'er the endless sea below, + The cup in the whirlpool's howling heap:-- +"Again I ask, what hero will follow, +What hero plunge into yon dark hollow?" + +The knights and the squires the king about + Hear, and dumbly stare +Into the wild sea's tumbling rout; + To win the beaker they hardly care! +The king, for the third time, round him glaring-- +"Not one soul of you has the daring?" + +Speechless all, as before, they stand. + Then a squire, young, gentle, gay, +Steps from his comrades' shrinking band, + Flinging his girdle and cloak away; +And all the women and men that surrounded +Gazed on the noble youth, astounded. + +And when he stepped to the rock's rough brow + And looked down on the gulf so black, +The waters which it had swallowed, now +Charybdis bellowing rendered back; +And, with a roar as of distant thunder, +Foaming they burst from the dark lap under. + +It wallows, seethes, hisses in raging rout, + As when water wrestles with fire, +Till to heaven the yeasty tongues they spout; + And flood upon flood keeps mounting higher: +It will never its endless coil unravel, +As the sea with another sea were in travail! + +But, at last, slow sinks the writhing spasm, + And, black through the foaming white, +Downward gapes a yawning chasm-- + Bottomless, cloven to hell's wide night; +And, sucked up, see the billows roaring +Down through the whirling funnel pouring! + +Then in haste, ere the out-rage return again, + The youth to his God doth pray, +And--ascends a cry of horror and pain!-- + Already the vortex hath swept him away, +And o'er the bold swimmer, in darkness eternal, +Close the great jaws of the gulf infernal! + +Then the water above grows smooth as glass, + While, below, dull roarings ply; +And trembling they hear the murmur pass-- + "High-hearted youth, farewell, good-bye!" +And hollower still comes the howl affraying, +Till their hearts are sick with the frightful delaying. + +If the crown itself thou in should fling, + And say, "Who back with it hies +Himself shall wear it, and shall be king," + I would not covet the precious prize! +What Ocean hides in that howling hell of it +Live soul will never come back to tell of it! + +Ships many, caught in that whirling surge, + Shot sheer to their dismal doom: +Keel and mast only did ever emerge, + Shattered, from out the all-gulping tomb!-- +Like the bluster of tempest, clearer and clearer, +Comes its roaring nearer and ever nearer! + +It wallows, seethes, hisses, in raging rout, + As when water wrestles with fire, +Till to heaven the yeasty tongues they spout, + Wave upon wave's back mounting higher; +And as with the grumble of distant thunder, +Bellowing it bursts from the dark lap under. + +And, see, from its bosom, flowing dark, + Something heave up, swan-white! +An arm and a shining neck they mark, + And it rows with never relaxing might! +It is he! and high his golden capture +His left hand waves in success's rapture! + +With long deep breaths his path he ploughed, + And he hailed the heavenly day; +Jubilant shouted the gazing crowd, + "He lives! he is there! he broke away! +Out of the grave, the whirlpool uproarious, +The hero hath rescued his life victorious!" + +He comes; they surround him with shouts of glee; + At the king's feet he sinks on the sod, +And hands him the beaker upon his knee; + To his lovely daughter the king gives a nod: +She fills it brim-full of wine sparkling and playing, +And then to the king the youth turned him saying: + +"Long live the king!--Well doth he fare + Who breathes in this rosy light, +But, ah, it is horrible down there! + And man must not tempt the heavenly Might, +Or ever seek, with prying unwholesome, +What he graciously covers with darkness dolesome! + +"It tore me down with a headlong swing; + Then a shaft in a rock outpours, +Wild-rushing against me, a torrent spring; + It seized me, the double stream's raging force, +And like a top, with giddy twisting, +It spun me round--there was no resisting! + +"Then God did show me, sore beseeching + In deepest, frightfullest need, +Up from the bottom a rock-ledge reaching-- + At it I caught, and from death was freed! +And, behold, on spiked corals the beaker suspended, +Which had else to the very abyss descended! + +"For below me it lay yet mountain-deep + The purply darksome maw; +And though to the ear it was dead asleep, + The ghasted eye, down staring, saw +How with dragons, lizards, salamanders crawling, +The hell-jaws horrible were sprawling. + +"Black swarming in medley miscreate, + In masses lumped hideously, +Wallowed the conger, the thorny skate, + The lobster's grisly deformity; +And bared its teeth with cruel sheen a +Terrible shark, the sea's hyena. + +"And there I hung, and shuddering knew + That human help was none; +One thinking soul mid the horrid crew, + In the ghastly solitude I was alone-- +Deeper than man's speech ever sounded, +By the waste sea's dismal monsters surrounded. + +"I thought and shivered. Then something crept near, + Moved at once a hundred joints! +Now it will have me!--Frantic with fear + I lost my grasp of the coral points! +Away the whirl in its raging tore me, +But it was my salvation, and upward bore me!" + +The king at the tale is filled with amaze:-- + "The beaker, well won, is thine; +And this ring I will give thee too," he says, + "Precious with gems that are more than fine, +If thou dive yet once, and bring me the story-- +What thou sawst in the sea's lowest repertory." + +His daughter she hears with a tender dismay, + And her words sweet-suasive plead: +"Father, enough of this cruel play! + For you he has done an unheard-of deed! +And can you not master your soul's desire, +'Tis the knights' turn now to disgrace the squire!" + +The king he snatches and hurls the cup + Into the swirling pool:-- +"If thou bring me once more that beaker up, + My best knight I hold thee, most worshipful; +And this very day to thy home thou shall lead her +Who there for thee stands such a pitying pleader." + +A heavenly passion his being invades, + His eyes dart a lightning ray; +He sees on her beauty the flushing shades, + He sees her grow pallid and sink away! +Determination thorough him flashes, +And downward for life or for death he dashes! + +They hear the dull roar!--it is turning again, + Its herald the thunderous brawl! +Downward they bend with loving strain: + They come! they are coming, the waters all!-- +They rush up!--they rush down!--up, down, for ever! +The youth again bring they never. + + + +_TO THE CLOUDS._ + +Through the unchanging heaven, as ye have sped, +Speed onward still, a strange wild company, +Fleet children of the waters! Glorious ye, +Whether the sun lift up his shining head, +High throned at noontide and established +Among the shifting pillars, or we see +The sable ghosts of air sleep mournfully +Against the sunlight, passionless and dead! +Take thus a glory, oh thou higher Sun, +From all the cloudy labour of man's hand-- +Whether the quickening nations rise and run, +Or in the market-place we idly stand +Casting huge shadows over these thy plains-- +Even thence, O God, draw thy rich gifts of rains. + + + +_SECOND SIGHT._ + +Rich is the fancy which can double back +All seeming forms, and from cold icicles +Build up high glittering palaces where dwells +Summer perfection, moulding all this wrack +To spirit symmetry, and doth not lack +The power to hear amidst the funeral bells +The eternal heart's wind-melody which swells +In whirlwind flashes all along its track! +So hath the sun made all the winter mine +With gardens springing round me fresh and fair; +On hidden leaves uncounted jewels shine; +I live with forms of beauty everywhere, +Peopling the crumbling waste and icy pool +With sights and sounds of life most beautiful. + + + +_NOT UNDERSTOOD._ + +Tumultuous rushing o'er the outstretched plains; +A wildered maze of comets and of suns; +The blood of changeless God that ever runs +With quick diastole up the immortal veins; +A phantom host that moves and works in chains; +A monstrous fiction, which, collapsing, stuns +The mind to stupor and amaze at once; +A tragedy which that man best explains +Who rushes blindly on his wild career +With trampling hoofs and sound of mailed war, +Who will not nurse a life to win a tear, +But is extinguished like a falling star;-- +Such will at times this life appear to me +Until I learn to read more perfectly. + + + +_HOM. IL. v. 403._ + +If thou art tempted by a thought of ill, +Crave not too soon for victory, nor deem +Thou art a coward if thy safety seem +To spring too little from a righteous will; +For there is nightmare on thee, nor until +Thy soul hath caught the morning's early gleam +Seek thou to analyze the monstrous dream +By painful introversion; rather fill +Thine eye with forms thou knowest to be truth; +But see thou cherish higher hope than this,-- +hope hereafter that thou shall be fit +Calm-eyed to face distortion, and to sit +Transparent among other forms of youth +Who own no impulse save to God and bliss. + + + +_THE DAWN_. + +And must I ever wake, gray dawn, to know +Thee standing sadly by me like a ghost? +I am perplexed with thee that thou shouldst cost +This earth another turning! All aglow +Thou shouldst have reached me, with a purple show +Along far mountain-tops! and I would post +Over the breadth of seas, though I were lost +In the hot phantom-chase for life, if so +Thou earnest ever with this numbing sense +Of chilly distance and unlovely light, +Waking this gnawing soul anew to fight +With its perpetual load: I drive thee hence! +I have another mountain-range from whence +Bursteth a sun unutterably bright! + + + +_GALILEO_. + +"And yet it moves!" Ah, Truth, where wert thou then +When all for thee they racked each piteous limb? +Wert thou in heaven, and busy with thy hymn +When those poor hands convulsed that held thy pen? +Art thou a phantom that deceives! men +To their undoing? or dost thou watch him +Pale, cold, and silent in his dungeon dim? +And wilt thou ever speak to him again? +"It moves, it moves! Alas, my flesh was weak! +That was a hideous dream! I'll cry aloud +How the green bulk wheels sunward day by day! +Ah me! ah me! perchance my heart was proud +That I alone should know that word to speak! +And now, sweet Truth, shine upon these, I pray." + + + +_SUBSIDY_. + +If thou wouldst live the Truth in very deed, +Thou hast thy joy, but thou hast more of pain. +Others will live in peace, and thou be fain +To bargain with despair, and in thy need +To make thy meal upon the scantiest weed. +These palaces, for thee they stand in vain; +Thine is a ruinous hut, and oft the rain +Shall drench thee in the midnight; yea, the speed +Of earth outstrip thee, pilgrim, while thy feet +Move slowly up the heights. Yet will there come +Through the time-rents about thy moving cell, +_Shot from the Truth's own bow, and flaming sweet,_ +An arrow for despair, and oft the hum +Of far-off populous realms where spirits dwell. + + + +_THE PROPHET_. + +Speak, Prophet of the Lord! We may not start +To find thee with us in thine ancient dress, +Haggard and pale from some bleak wilderness, +Empty of all save God and thy loud heart, +Nor with like rugged message quick to dart +Into the hideous fiction mean and base; +But yet, O prophet man, we need not less +But more of earnest, though it is thy part +To deal in other words, if thou wouldst smite +The living Mammon, seated, not as then +In bestial quiescence grimly dight, +But _robed as priest, and honoured of good men +Yet_ thrice as much an idol-god as when +He stared at his own feet from morn to night. + + + +_THE WATCHER_. + +From out a windy cleft there comes a gaze +Of eyes unearthly, which go to and fro +Upon the people's tumult, for below +The nations smite each other: no amaze +Troubles their liquid rolling, or affrays +Their deep-set contemplation; steadily glow +Those ever holier eyeballs, for they grow +Liker unto the eyes of one that prays. +And if those clasped hands tremble, comes a power +As of the might of worlds, and they are holden +Blessing above us in the sunrise golden; +And they will be uplifted till that hour +Of terrible rolling which shall rise and shake +This conscious nightmare from us, and we wake. + + + +_THE BELOVED DISCIPLE_. + +I. + +One do I see and twelve; but second there +Methinks I know thee, thou beloved one; +Not from thy nobler port, for there are none +More quiet-featured: some there are who bear +Their message on their brows, while others wear +A look of large commission, nor will shun +The fiery trial, so their work is done; +But thou hast parted with thine eyes in prayer-- +Unearthly are they both; and so thy lips +Seem like the porches of the spirit land; +For thou hast laid a mighty treasure by +Unlocked by Him in Nature, and thine eye +Burns with a vision and apocalypse +Thy own sweet soul can hardly understand. + +II. + +A Boanerges too! Upon my heart +It lay a heavy hour: features like thine +Should glow with other message than the shine +Of the earth-burrowing levin, and the start +That cleaveth horrid gulfs! Awful and swart +A moment stoodest thou, but less divine-- +Brawny and clad in ruin--till with mine +Thy heart made answering signals, and apart +Beamed forth thy two rapt eyeballs doubly clear +And twice as strong because thou didst thy duty, +And, though affianced to immortal Beauty, +Hiddest not weakly underneath her veil +The pest of Sin and Death which maketh pale: +Henceforward be thy spirit doubly dear! + + + +_THE LILY OF THE VALLEY_. + +There is not any weed but hath its shower, +There is not any pool but hath its star; +And black and muddy though the waters are +We may not miss the glory of a flower, +And winter moons will give them magic power +To spin in cylinders of diamond spar; +And everything hath beauty near and far, +And keepeth close and waiteth on its hour! +And I, when I encounter on my road +A human soul that looketh black and grim, +Shall I more ceremonious be than God? +Shall I refuse to watch one hour with him +Who once beside our deepest woe did bud +A patient watching flower about the brim? + + + +_EVIL INFLUENCE_. + +'Tis not the violent hands alone that bring +The curse, the ravage, and the downward doom, +Although to these full oft the yawning tomb +Owes deadly surfeit; but a keener sting, +A more immortal agony will cling +To the half fashioned sin which would assume +Fair Virtue's garb; the eye that sows the gloom +With quiet seeds of Death henceforth to spring +What time the sun of passion burning fierce +Breaks through the kindly cloud of circumstance; +The bitter word, and the unkindly glance, +The crust and canker coming with the years, +Are liker Death than arrows and the lance +Which through the living heart at once doth pierce. + + + +_SPOKEN OF SEVERAL PHILOSOPHERS_. + +I pray you, all ye men who put your trust +In moulds and systems and well-tackled gear, +Holding that Nature lives from year to year +In one continual round because she must-- +Set me not down, I pray you, in the dust +Of all these centuries, like a pot of beer-- +A pewter-pot disconsolately clear, +Which holds a potful, as is right and just! +I will grow clamorous--by the rood, I will, +If thus ye use me like a pewter pot! +Good friend, thou art a toper and a sot-- +will not be the lead to hold thy swill, +Nor any lead: I will arise and spill +Thy silly beverage--spill it piping hot! + + + +_NATURE A MORAL POWER_. + +Nature, to him no message dost thou bear +Who in thy beauty findeth not the power +To gird himself more strongly for the hour +Of night and darkness. Oh, what colours rare +The woods, the valleys, and the mountains wear +To him who knows thy secret, and, in shower, +And fog, and ice-cloud, hath a secret bower +Where he may rest until the heavens are fair! +Not with the rest of slumber, but the trance +Of onward movement steady and serene, +Where oft, in struggle and in contest keen, +His eyes will opened be, and all the dance +Of life break on him, and a wide expanse +Roll upward through the void, sunny and green. + + + +_TO JUNE_. + +Ah, truant, thou art here again, I see! +For in a season of such wretched weather +I thought that thou hadst left us altogether, +Although I could not choose but fancy thee +Skulking about the hill-tops, whence the glee +Of thy blue laughter peeped at times, or rather +Thy bashful awkwardness, as doubtful whether +Thou shouldst be seen in such a company +Of ugly runaways, unshapely heaps +Of ruffian vapour, broken from restraint +Of their slim prison in the ocean deeps. +But yet I may not chide: fall to thy books-- +Fall to immediately without complaint-- +There they are lying, hills and vales and brooks. + + + +_SUMMER_. + +Summer, sweet Summer, many-fingered Summer! +We hold thee very dear, as well we may: +It is the kernel of the year to-day-- +All hail to thee! thou art a welcome comer! +If every insect were a fairy drummer, +And I a fifer that could deftly play, +We'd give the old Earth such a roundelay +That she would cast all thought of labour from her.-- +Ah! what is this upon my window-pane? +Some sulky, drooping cloud comes pouting up, +Stamping its glittering feet along the plain!-- +Well, I will let that idle fancy drop! +Oh, how the spouts are bubbling with the rain! +And all the earth shines like a silver cup! + + + +_ON A MIDGE_. + +Whence do ye come, ye creatures? Each of you +Is perfect as an angel! wings and eyes +Stupendous in their beauty--gorgeous dyes +In feathery fields of purple and of blue! +Would God I saw a moment as ye do! +I would become a molecule in size, +Rest with you, hum with you, or slanting rise +Along your one dear sunbeam, could I view +The pearly secret which each tiny fly-- +Each tiny fly that hums and bobs and stirs +Hides in its little breast eternally +From you, ye prickly, grim philosophers +With all your theories that sound so high: +Hark to the buz a moment, my good sirs! + + + +_STEADFAST_. + +Here stands a giant stone from whose far top +Comes down the sounding water: let me gaze +Till every sense of man and human ways +Is wrecked and quenched for ever, and I drop +Into the whirl of time, and without stop +Pass downward thus! Again my eyes I raise +To thee, dark rock; and through the mist and haze +My strength returns when I behold thy prop +Gleam stern and steady through the wavering wrack. +Surely thy strength is human, and like me +Thou bearest loads of thunder on thy back! +And, lo, a smile upon thy visage black-- +A breezy tuft of grass which I can see +Waving serenely from a sunlit crack! + + + +_PROVISION_. + +Above my head the great pine-branches tower; +Backwards and forwards each to the other bends, +Beckoning the tempest-cloud which hither wends +Like a slow-laboured thought, heavy with power: +Hark to the patter of the coming shower! +Let me be silent while the Almighty sends +His thunder-word along--but when it ends +I will arise and fashion from the hour +Words of stupendous import, fit to guard +High thoughts and purposes, which I may wave, +When the temptation cometh close and hard, +Like fiery brands betwixt me and the grave +Of meaner things--to which I am a slave, +If evermore I keep not watch and ward. + + + +_FIRST SIGHT OF THE SEA_. + +I do remember how, when very young, +I saw the great sea first, and heard its swell +As I drew nearer, caught within the spell +Of its vast size and its mysterious tongue. +How the floor trembled, and the dark boat swung +With a man in it, and a great wave fell +Within a stone's cast! Words may never tell +The passion of the moment, when I flung +All childish records by, and felt arise +A thing that died no more! An awful power +I claimed with trembling hands and eager eyes, +Mine, mine for ever, an immortal dower.-- +The noise of waters soundeth to this hour +When I look seaward through the quiet skies. + + + +_ON THE SOURCE OF THE ARVE_. + +Hears't thou the dash of water, loud and hoarse, +With its perpetual tidings upward climb, +Struggling against the wind? Oh, how sublime! +For not in vain from its portentous source +Thy heart, wild stream, hath yearned for its full force, +But from thine ice-toothed caverns, dark as time, +At last thou issuest, dancing to the rime +Of thy outvolleying freedom! Lo, thy course +Lies straight before thee as the arrow flies! +Right to the ocean-plains away, away! +Thy parent waits thee, and her sunset dyes +Are ruffled for thy coming, and the gray +Of all her glittering borders flashes high +Against the glittering rocks!--oh, haste, and fly! + + + +_CONFIDENCE_. + +Lie down upon the ground, thou hopeless one! +Press thy face in the grass, and do not speak. +Dost feel the green globe whirl? Seven times a week +Climbeth she out of darkness to the sun, +Which is her God; seven times she doth not shun +Awful eclipse, laying her patient cheek +Upon a pillow ghost-beset with shriek +Of voices utterless, which rave and run +Through all the star-penumbra, craving light +And tidings of the dawn from East and West. +Calmly she sleepeth, and her sleep is blest +With heavenly visions, and the joy of Night +Treading aloft with moons; nor hath she fright +Though cloudy tempests beat upon her breast. + + + +_FATE_. + +Oft, as I rest in quiet peace, am I +Thrust out at sudden doors, and madly driven +Through desert solitudes, and thunder-riven +Black passages which have not any sky: +The scourge is on me now, with all the cry +Of ancient life that hath with murder striven. +How many an anguish hath gone up to heaven, +How many a hand in prayer been lifted high +When the black fate came onward with the rush +Of whirlwind, avalanche, or fiery spume! +Even at my feet is cleft a shivering tomb +Beneath the waves; or else, with solemn hush +The graveyard opens, and I feel a crush +As if we were all huddled in one doom! + + + +_UNREST_. + +Comes there, O Earth, no breathing time for thee, +No pause upon thy many-chequered lands? +Now resting on my bed with listless hands +I mourn thee resting not. Continually +Hear I the plashing borders of the sea +Answer each other from the rocks and sands! +Troop all the rivers seawards; nothing stands, +But with strange noises hasteth terribly! +Loam-eared hyenas go a moaning by; +Howls to each other all the bloody crew +Of Afric's tigers! but, O men, from you +Comes this perpetual sound more loud and high +Than aught that vexes air! I hear the cry +Of infant generations rising too! + + + +_ONE WITH NATURE_. + +I have a fellowship with every shade +Of changing nature: with the tempest hour +My soul goes forth to claim her early dower +Of living princedom; and her wings have staid +Amidst the wildest uproar undismayed! +Yet she hath often owned a better power, +And blessed the gentle coming of the shower, +The speechless majesty of love arrayed +In lowly virtue, under which disguise +Full many a princely thing hath passed her by; +And she from homely intercourse of eyes +Hath gathered visions wider than the sky, +And seen the withered heart of man arise +Peaceful as God, and full of majesty. + + + +_MY TWO GENIUSES_. + +I. + +One is a slow and melancholy maid; +I know riot if she cometh from the skies +Or from the sleepy gulfs, but she will rise +Often before me in the twilight shade, +Holding a bunch of poppies and a blade +Of springing wheat: prostrate my body lies +Before her on the turf, the while she ties +A fillet of the weed about my head; +And in the gaps of sleep I seem to hear +A gentle rustle like the stir of corn, +And words like odours thronging to my ear: +"Lie still, beloved--still until the morn; +Lie still with me upon this rolling sphere-- +Still till the judgment; thou art faint and worn." + +II. + +The other meets me in the public throng; +Her hair streams backward from her loose attire; +She hath a trumpet and an eye of fire; +She points me downward, steadily and long:-- +"There is thy grave--arise, my son, be strong! +Hands are upon thy crown--awake, aspire +To immortality; heed not the lyre +Of the Enchantress, nor her poppy-song, +But in the stillness of the summer calm +Tremble for what is Godlike in thy being. +Listen a while, and thou shall hear the psalm +Of victory sung by creatures past thy seeing; +And from far battle-fields there comes the neighing +Of dreadful onset, though the air is balm." + +III. + +Maid with the poppies, must I let thee go? +Alas, I may not; thou art likewise dear! +I am but human, and thou hast a tear +When she hath nought but splendour, and the glow +Of a wild energy that mocks the flow +Of the poor sympathies which keep us here: +Lay past thy poppies, and come twice as near, +And I will teach thee, and thou too shalt grow; +And thou shalt walk with me in open day +Through the rough thoroughfares with quiet grace; +And the wild-visaged maid shall lead the way, +Timing her footsteps to a gentler pace +As her great orbs turn ever on thy face, +Drinking in draughts of loving help alway. + + + +_SUDDEN CALM_. + +There is a bellowing in me, as of might +Unfleshed and visionless, mangling the air +With horrible convulse, as if it bare +The cruel weight of worlds, but could not fight +With the thick-dropping clods, and could but bite +A vapour-cloud! Oh, I will climb the stair +Of the great universe, and lay me there +Even at the threshold of his gate, despite +The tempest, and the weakness, and the rush +Of this quick crowding on me!--Oh, I dream! +Now I am sailing swiftly, as we seem +To do in sleep! and I can hear the gush +Of a melodious wave that carries me +On, on for ever to eternity! + + + +_THOU ALSO_. + +Cry out upon the crime, and then let slip +The dogs of hate, whose hanging muzzles track +The bloody secret; let the welkin crack +Reverberating, while ye dance and skip +About the horrid blaze! or else ye strip, +More secretly, for the avenging rack, +Him who hath done the deed, till, oozing black +Ye watch the anguish from his nostrils drip, +And all the knotted limbs lie quivering! +Or, if your hearts disdain such banqueting, +With wide and tearless eyes go staring through +The murder cells! but think--that, if your knees +Bow not to holiness, then even in you +Lie deeper gulfs and blacker crimes than these. + + + +_THE AURORA BOREALIS_. + +Now have I grown a sharpness and an edge +Unto my future nights, and I will cut +Sheer through the ebon gates that yet will shut +On every set of day; or as a sledge +Drawn over snowy plains; where not a hedge +Breaks this Aurora's dancing, nothing but +The one cold Esquimaux' unlikely hut +That swims in the broad moonlight! Lo, a wedge +Of the clean meteor hath been brightly driven +Right home into the fastness of the north! +Anon it quickeneth up into the heaven! +And I with it have clomb and spreaded forth +Upon the crisp and cooling atmosphere! +My soul is all abroad: I cannot find it here! + + + +_THE HUMAN._ + +Within each living man there doth reside, +In some unrifled chamber of the heart, +A hidden treasure: wayward as thou art +I love thee, man, and bind thee to my side! +By that sweet act I purify my pride +And hasten onward--willing even to part +With pleasant graces: though thy hue is swart, +I bear thee company, thou art my guide! +Even in thy sinning wise beyond thy ken +To thee a subtle debt my soul is owing! +I take an impulse from the worst of men +That lends a wing unto my onward going; +Then let me pay them gladly back again +With prayer and love from Faith and Duty flowing! + + + +_WRITTEN ON A STORMY NIGHT._ + +O wild and dark! a night hath found me now +Wherein I mingle with that element +Sent madly loose through the wide staring rent +In yon tormented branches! I will bow +A while unto the storm, and thenceforth grow +Into a mighty patience strongly bent +Before the unconquering Power which hither sent +These winds to fight their battles on my brow!-- +Again the loud boughs thunder! and the din +Licks up my footfall from the hissing earth! +But I have found a mighty peace within, +And I have risen into a home of mirth! +Wildly I climb above the shaking spires, +Above the sobbing clouds, up through the steady fires! + + + +_REVERENCE WAKING HOPE_. + +A power is on me, and my soul must speak +To thee, thou grey, grey man, whom I behold +With those white-headed children. I am bold +To commune with thy setting, and to wreak +My doubts on thy grey hair; for I would seek +Thee in that other world, but I am told +Thou goest elsewhere and wilt never hold +Thy head so high as now. Oh I were weak, +Weak even to despair, could I forego +The tender vision which will give somehow +Thee standing brightly one day even as now! +Thou art a very grey old man, and so +I may not pass thee darkly, but bestow +A look of reverence on thy wrinkled brow. + + + +_BORN OF WATER_. + +Methought I stood among the stars alone, +Watching a grey parched orb which onward flew +Half blinded by the dusty winds that blew, +Empty as Death and barren as a stone, +The pleasant sound of water all unknown! +When, as I looked in wonderment, there grew, +High in the air above, a drop of dew, +Which, gathering slowly through long cycles, shone +Like a great tear; and then at last it fell +Clasping the orb, which drank it greedily, +With a delicious noise and upward swell +Of sweet cool joy that tossed me like a sea; +And then the thick life sprang as from a grave, +With trees, flowers, boats upon the bounding wave! + + + +_TO A THUNDER-CLOUD._ + +Oh, melancholy fragment of the night +Drawing thy lazy web against the sun, +Thou shouldst have waited till the day was done +With kindred glooms to build thy fane aright, +Sublime amid the ruins of the light! +But thus to shape our glories one by one +With fearful hands, ere we had well begun +To look for shadows--even in the bright! +Yet may we charm a lesson from thy breast, +A secret wisdom from thy folds of thunder: +There is a wind that cometh from the west +Will rend thy tottering piles of gloom asunder, +And fling thee ruinous along the grass, +To sparkle on us as our footsteps pass! + + + +_SUN AND MOON._ + +First came the red-eyed sun as I did wake; +He smote me on the temples and I rose, +Casting the night aside and all its woes; +And I would spurn my idleness, and take +My own wild journey even like him, and shake +The pillars of all doubt with lusty blows, +Even like himself when his rich glory goes +Right through the stalwart fogs that part and break. +But ere my soul was ready for the fight, +His solemn setting mocked me in the west; +And as I trembled in the lifting night, +The white moon met me, and my heart confess'd +A mellow wisdom in her silent youth, +Which fed my hope with fear, and made my strength a truth. + + + +_DOUBT HERALDING VISION._ + +An angel saw me sitting by a brook, +Pleased with the silence, and the melodies +Of wind and water which did fall and rise: +He gently stirred his plumes and from them shook +An outworn doubt, which fell on me and took +The shape of darkness, hiding all the skies, +Blinding the sun, but giving to my eyes +An inextinguishable wish to look; +When, lo! thick as the buds of spring there came, +Crowd upon crowd, informing all the sky, +A host of splendours watching silently, +With lustrous eyes that wept as if in blame, +And waving hands that crossed in lines of flame, +And signalled things I hope to hold although I die! + + + +_LIFE OR DEATH?_ + +Is there a secret Joy, that may not weep, +For every flower that ends its little span, +For every child that groweth up to man, +For every captive bird a cage doth keep, +For every aching eye that went to sleep +Long ages back, when other eyes began +To see and know and love as now they can, +Unravelling God's wonders heap by heap? +Or doth the Past lie 'mid Eternity +In charnel dens that rot and reek alway, +A dismal light for those that go astray, +A pit of foul deformity--to be, +Beauty, a dreadful source of growth for thee +When thou wouldst lift thine eyes to greet the day? + + + +_LOST AND FOUND._ + +I missed him when the sun began to bend; +I found him not when I had lost his rim; +With many tears I went in search of him, +Climbing high mountains which did still ascend, +And gave me echoes when I called my friend; +Through cities vast and charnel-houses grim, +And high cathedrals where the light was dim, +Through books and arts and works without an end, +But found him not--the friend whom I had lost. +And yet I found him--as I found the lark, +A sound in fields I heard but could not mark; +I found him nearest when I missed him most; +I found him in my heart, a life in frost, +A light I knew not till my soul was dark. + + + +_THE MOON._ + +She comes! again she comes, the bright-eyed moon! +Under a ragged cloud I found her out, +Clasping her own dark orb like hope in doubt! +That ragged cloud hath waited her since noon, +And he hath found and he will hide her soon! +Come, all ye little winds that sit without, +And blow the shining leaves her edge about, +And hold her fast--ye have a pleasant tune! +She will forget us in her walks at night +Among the other worlds that are so fair! +She will forget to look on our despair! +She will forget to be so young and bright! +Nay, gentle moon, thou hast the keys of light-- +I saw them hanging by thy girdle there! + + + +_TRUTH, NOT FORM!_ + +I came upon a fountain on my way +When it was hot, and sat me down to drink +Its sparkling stream, when all around the brink +I spied full many vessels made of clay, +Whereon were written, not without display, +In deep engraving or with merely ink, +The blessings which each owner seemed to think +Would light on him who drank with each alway. +I looked so hard my eyes were looking double +Into them all, but when I came to see +That they were filthy, each in his degree, +I bent my head, though not without some trouble, +To where the little waves did leap and bubble, +And so I journeyed on most pleasantly. + + + +_GOD IN GROWTH._ + +I said, I will arise and work some thing, +Nor be content with growth, but cause to grow +A life around me, clear as yes from no, +That to my restless hand some rest may bring, +And give a vital power to Action's spring: +Thus, I must cease to be! I cried; when, lo! +An angel stood beside me on the snow, +With folded wings that came of pondering. +"God's glory flashes on the silence here +Beneath the moon," he cried, and upward threw +His glorious eyes that swept the utmost blue, +"Ere yet his bounding brooks run forth with cheer +To bear his message to the hidden year +Who cometh up in haste to make his glory new." + + + +_IN A CHURCHYARD._ + +There may be seeming calm above, but no!-- +There is a pulse below which ceases not, +A subterranean working, fiery hot, +Deep in the million-hearted bosom, though +Earthquakes unlock not the prodigious show +Of elemental conflict; and this spot +Nurses most quiet bones which lie and rot, +And here the humblest weeds take root and grow. +There is a calm upon the mighty sea, +Yet are its depths alive and full of being, +Enormous bulks that move unwieldily; +Yet, pore we on it, they are past our seeing!-- +From the deep sea-weed fields, though wide and ample, +Comes there no rushing sound: _these_ do not trample! + + + +_POWER._ + +Power that is not of God, however great, +Is but the downward rushing and the glare +Of a swift meteor that hath lost its share +In the one impulse which doth animate +The parent mass: emblem to me of fate! +Which through vast nightly wastes doth onward fare, +Wild-eyed and headlong, rent away from prayer-- +A moment brilliant, then most desolate! +And, O my brothers, shall we ever learn +From all the things we see continually +That pride is but the empty mockery +Of what is strong in man! Not so the stern +And sweet repose of soul which we can earn +Only through reverence and humility! + + + +_DEATH._ + +Yes, there is one who makes us all lay down +Our mushroom vanities, our speculations, +Our well-set theories and calculations, +Our workman's jacket or our monarch's crown! +To him alike the country and the town, +Barbaric hordes or civilized nations, +Men of all names and ranks and occupations, +Squire, parson, lawyer, Jones, or Smith, or Brown! +He stops the carter: the uplifted whip +Falls dreamily among the horses' straw; +He stops the helmsman, and the gallant ship +Holdeth to westward by another law; +No one will see him, no one ever saw, +But he sees all and lets not any slip. + + + +_THAT HOLY THING._ + +They all were looking for a king + To slay their foes, and lift them high: +Thou cam'st a little baby thing + That made a woman cry. + +O son of man, to right my lot + Nought but thy presence can avail; +Yet on the road thy wheels are not, + Nor on the sea thy sail! + +My fancied ways why shouldst thou heed? + Thou com'st down thine own secret stair: +Com'st down to answer all my need, + Yea, every bygone prayer! + + + +_FROM NOVALIS_. + +Uplifted is the stone + And all mankind arisen! +We are thy very own, + We are no more in prison! +What bitterest grief can stay + Beside thy golden cup, +When earth and life give way + And with our Lord we sup! + +To the marriage Death doth call, + The lamps are burning clear, +The virgins, ready all, + Have for their oil no fear. +Would that even now were ringing + The distance with thy throng! +And that the stars were singing + To us a human song! + +Courage! for life is hasting + To endless life away; +The inward fire, unwasting, + Transfigures our dull clay! +See the stars melting, sinking + In life-wine golden-bright! +We, of the splendour drinking, + Shall grow to stars of light. + +Lost, lost are all our losses! + Love is for ever free! +The full life heaves and tosses + Like an unbounded sea! +One live, eternal story! + One poem high and broad! +And sun of all our glory + The countenance of God! + + + +_WHAT MAN IS THERE OF YOU?_ + +The homely words how often read! + How seldom fully known! +"Which father of you, asked for bread, + Would give his son a stone?" + +How oft has bitter tear been shed, + And heaved how many a groan, +Because thou wouldst not give for bread + The thing that was a stone! + +How oft the child thou wouldst have fed, + Thy gift away has thrown! +He prayed, thou heard'st, and gav'st the bread: + He cried, "It is a stone!" + +Lord, if I ask in doubt and dread + Lest I be left to moan, +Am I not he who, asked for bread, + Would give his son a stone? + + + +_O WIND OF GOD._ + +O wind of God, that blowest in the mind, + Blow, blow and wake the gentle spring in me; +Blow, swifter blow, a strong warm summer wind, + Till all the flowers with eyes come out to see; + Blow till the fruit hangs red on every tree, +And our high-soaring song-larks meet thy dove-- +High the imperfect soars, descends the perfect love! + +Blow not the less though winter cometh then; + Blow, wind of God, blow hither changes keen; +Let the spring creep into the ground again, + The flowers close all their eyes and not be seen: + All lives in thee that ever once hath been! +Blow, fill my upper air with icy storms; +Breathe cold, O wind of God, and kill my cankerworms. + + + +_SHALL THE DEAD PRAISE THEE?_ + +I cannot praise thee. By his instrument + The master sits, and moves nor foot nor hand; +For see the organ-pipes this, that way bent, + Leaning, o'erthrown, like wheat-stalks tempest-fanned! + +I well could praise thee for a flower, a dove, + But not for life that is not life in me; +Not for a being that is less than love-- + A barren shoal half lifted from a sea! + +Unto a land where no wind bloweth ships + Thy wind one day will blow me to my own: +Rather I'd kiss no more their loving lips + Than carry them a heart so poor and prone! + +I bless thee, Father, thou art what thou art, + That thou dost know thyself what thou dost know-- +A perfect, simple, tender, rhythmic heart, + Beating its blood to all in bounteous flow. + +And I can bless thee too for every smart, + For every disappointment, ache, and fear; +For every hook thou fixest in my heart, + For every burning cord that draws me near. + +But prayer these wake, not song. Thyself I crave. + Come thou, or all thy gifts away I fling. +Thou silent, I am but an empty grave: + Think to me, Father, and I am a king! + +My organ-pipes will then stand up awake, + Their life soar, as from smouldering wood the blaze; +And swift contending harmonies shall shake + Thy windows with a storm of jubilant praise. + + + +_A YEAR SONG._ + +Sighing above, + Rustling below, +Thorough the woods + The winds go. +Beneath, dead crowds; + Above, life bare; +And the besom tempest + Sweeps the air: +_Heart, leave thy woe: +Let the dead things go._ + +Through the brown + Gold doth push; +Misty green + Veils the bush. +Here a twitter, + There a croak! +They are coming-- + The spring-folk! +_Heart, be not numb; +Let the live things come._ + +Through the beech + The winds go, +With gentle speech, + Long and slow. +The grass is fine, + And soft to lie in: +The sun doth shine + The blue sky in: +_Heart, be alive; +Let the new things thrive._ + +Round again! + Here art thou, +A rimy fruit + On a bare bough! +Winter comes, + Winter and snow; +And a weary sighing + To fall and go! +_Heart, thy hour shall be; +Thy dead will comfort thee._ + + + +_SONG_. + +Why do the houses stand + When they that built them are gone; + When remaineth even of one +That lived there and loved and planned +Not a face, not an eye, not a hand, + Only here and there a bone? +Why do the houses stand + When they who built them are gone? + +Oft in the moonlighted land + When the day is overblown, + With happy memorial moan +Sweet ghosts in a loving band +Roam through the houses that stand-- + For the builders are not gone. + + + +_FOR WHERE YOUR TREASURE IS, THERE WILL YOUR HEART BE ALSO._ + + The miser lay on his lonely bed; + Life's candle was burning dim. +His heart in an iron chest was hid +Under heaps of gold and an iron lid; + And whether it were alive or dead + It never troubled him. + + Slowly out of his body he crept. + He said, "I am just the same! +Only I want my heart in my breast; +I will go and fetch it out of my chest!" + Through the dark a darker shadow he leapt, + Saying "Hell is a fabled flame!" + + He opened the lid. Oh, Hell's own night! + His ghost-eyes saw no gold!-- +Empty and swept! Not a gleam was there! +In goes his hand, but the chest is bare! + Ghost-fingers, aha! have only might + To close, not to clasp and hold! + + But his heart he saw, and he made a clutch + At the fungous puff-ball of sin: +Eaten with moths, and fretted with rust, +He grasped a handful of rotten dust, + And shrieked, as ghosts may, at the crumbling touch, + But hid it his breast within. + + And some there are who see him sit + Under the church, apart, +Counting out coins and coins of gold +Heap by heap on the dank death-mould: + Alas poor ghost and his sore lack of wit-- + They breed in the dust of his heart! + + Another miser has now his chest, + And it hoards wealth more and more; +Like ferrets his hands go in and out, +Burrowing, tossing the gold about-- + Nor heed the heart that, gone from his breast, + Is the cold heap's bloodless core. + + Now wherein differ old ghosts that sit + Counting ghost-coins all day +From the man who clings with spirit prone +To whatever can never be his own? + Who will leave the world with not one whit + But a heart all eaten away? + + + +_THE ASTHMATIC MAN TO THE SATAN THAT BINDS HIM_. + +Satan, avaunt! + Nay, take thine hour, +Thou canst not daunt, + Thou hast no power; +Be welcome to thy nest, +Though it be in my breast. + +Burrow amain; + Dig like a mole; +Fill every vein + With half-burnt coal; +Puff the keen dust about, +And all to choke me out. + +Fill music's ways + With creaking cries, +That no loud praise + May climb the skies; +And on my labouring chest +Lay mountains of unrest. + +My slumber steep + In dreams of haste, +That only sleep, + No rest, I taste-- +With stiflings, rimes of rote, +And fingers on my throat. + +Satan, thy might + I do defy; +Live core of night + I patient lie: +A wind comes up the gray +Will blow thee clean away. + +Christ's angel, Death, + All radiant white, +With one cold breath + Will scare thee quite, +And give my lungs an air +As fresh as answered prayer. + +So, Satan, do + Thy worst with me +Until the True + Shall set me free, +And end what he began, +By making me a man. + + + +_SONG-SERMON._ + +Lord, what is man +That thou art mindful of him! +Though in creation's van, +Lord, what is man! +He wills less than he can, +Lets his ideal scoff him! +Lord, what is man +That thou art mindful of him! + + + +_SHADOWS._ + +All things are shadows of thee, Lord; + The sun himself is but thy shade; +My spirit is the shadow of thy word, + A thing that thou hast said. + +Diamonds are shadows of the sun, + They gleam as after him they hark: +My soul some arrows of thy light hath won. + And feebly fights the dark! + +All knowledges are broken shades, + In gulfs of dark a scattered horde: +Together rush the parted glory-grades-- + Then, lo, thy garment, Lord! + +My soul, the shadow, still is light + Because the shadow falls from thee; +I turn, dull candle, to the centre bright, + And home flit shadowy. + +Shine, Lord; shine me thy shadow still; + The brighter I, the more thy shade! +My motion be thy lovely moveless will! + My darkness, light delayed! + + + +_A WINTER PRAYER._ + +Come through the gloom of clouded skies, + The slow dim rain and fog athwart; +Through east winds keen with wrong and lies + Come and lift up my hopeless heart. + +Come through the sickness and the pain, + The sore unrest that tosses still; +Through aching dark that hides the gain + Come and arouse my fainting will. + +Come through the prate of foolish words, + The science with no God behind; +Through all the pangs of untuned chords + Speak wisdom to my shaken mind. + +Through all the fears that spirits bow + Of what hath been, or may befall, +Come down and talk with me, for thou + Canst tell me all about them all. + +Hear, hear my sad lone heart entreat, + Heart of all joy, below, above! +Come near and let me kiss thy feet, + And name the names of those I love! + + + +_SONG OF A POOR PILGRIM_. + +Roses all the rosy way! + Roses to the rosier west +Where the roses of the day + Cling to night's unrosy breast! + +Thou who mak'st the roses, why + Give to every leaf a thorn? +On thy rosy highway I + Still am by thy roses torn! + +Pardon! I will not mistake + These good thorns that make me fret! +Goads to urge me, stings to wake, + For my freedom they are set. + +Yea, on one steep mountain-side, + Climbing to a fancied fold, +Roses grasped had let me slide + But the thorns did keep their hold. + +Out of darkness light is born, + Out of weakness make me strong: +One glad day will every thorn + Break into a rose of song. + +Though like sparrow sit thy bird + Lonely on the house-top dark, +By the rosy dawning stirred + Up will soar thy praising lark; + +Roses, roses all his song! + Roses in a gorgeous feast! +Roses in a royal throng, + Surging, rosing from the east! + + + +_AN EVENING PRAYER_. + +I am a bubble + Upon thy ever-moving, resting sea: +Oh, rest me now from tossing, trespass, trouble! + Take me down into thee. + +Give me thy peace. + My heart is aching with unquietness: +Oh, make its inharmonious beating cease! + Thy hand upon it press. + +My Night! my Day! + Swift night and day betwixt, my world doth reel: +Potter, take not thy hand from off the clay + That whirls upon thy wheel. + +O Heart, I cry + For love and life, pardon and hope and strength! +O Father, I am thine; I shall not die, + But I shall sleep at length! + + + +_SONG-SERMON_. + +Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs, +For as his work thou giv'st the man. +From us, not thee, come all our wrongs; +Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs: +With small-cord whips and scorpion thongs +Thou lay'st on every ill thy ban. +Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs, +For as his work thou giv'st the man. + + + +_A DREAM-SONG_. + +The stars are spinning their threads, + And the clouds are the dust that flies, +And the suns are weaving them up + For the day when the sleepers arise. + +The ocean in music rolls, + The gems are turning to eyes, +And the trees are gathering souls + For the day when the sleepers arise. + +The weepers are learning to smile, + And laughter to glean the sighs, +And hearts to bury their care and guile + For the day when the sleepers arise. + +Oh, the dews and the moths and the daisy-red, + The larks and the glimmers and flows! +The lilies and sparrows and daily bread, + And the something that nobody knows! + + + +_CHRISTMAS, 1880._ + +Great-hearted child, thy very being _The Son_, + Who know'st the hearts of all us prodigals;-- +For who is prodigal but he who has gone + Far from the true to heart it with the false?-- + Who, who but thou, that, from the animals', + Know'st all the hearts, up to the Father's own, + Can tell what it would be to be alone! + +Alone! No father!--At the very thought + Thou, the eternal light, wast once aghast; +A death in death for thee it almost wrought! + But thou didst haste, about to breathe thy last, + And call'dst out _Father_ ere thy spirit passed, + Exhausted in fulfilling not any vow, + But doing his will who greater is than thou. + +That we might know him, thou didst come and live; + That we might find him, thou didst come and die; +The son-heart, brother, thy son-being give-- + We too would love the father perfectly, + And to his bosom go back with the cry, + Father, into thy hands I give the heart + Which left thee but to learn how good thou art! + +There are but two in all the universe-- + The father and his children--not a third; +Nor, all the weary time, fell any curse! + Not once dropped from its nest an unfledged bird + But thou wast with it! Never sorrow stirred + But a love-pull it was upon the chain + That draws the children to the father again! + +O Jesus Christ, babe, man, eternal son, + Take pity! we are poor where thou art rich: +Our hearts are small; and yet there is not one + In all thy father's noisy nursery which, + Merry, or mourning in its narrow niche, + Needs not thy father's heart, this very now, + With all his being's being, even as thou! + + + +_RONDEL_. + +I do not know thy final will, + It is too good for me to know: + Thou willest that I mercy show, +That I take heed and do no ill, +That I the needy warm and fill, + Nor stones at any sinner throw; +But I know not thy final will-- + It is too good for me to know. + +I know thy love unspeakable-- + For love's sake able to send woe! + To find thine own thou lost didst go, +And wouldst for men thy blood yet spill!-- +How should I know thy final will, + Godwise too good for me to know! + + + +_THE SPARROW_. + +O Lord, I cannot but believe +The birds do sing thy praises then, when they sing to one another, +And they are lying seed-sown land when the winter makes them grieve, +Their little bosoms breeding songs for the summer to unsmother! + +If thou hadst finished me, O Lord, +Nor left out of me part of that great gift that goes to singing, +I sure had known the meaning high of the songster's praising word, +Had known upon what thoughts of thee his pearly talk he was stringing! + +I should have read the wisdom hid +In the storm-inspired melody of thy thrush's bosom solemn: +I should not then have understood what thy free spirit did +To make the lark-soprano mount like to a geyser-column! + +I think I almost understand +Thy owl, his muffled swiftness, moon-round eyes, and intoned hooting; +I think I could take up the part of a night-owl in the land, +With yellow moon and starry things day-dreamers all confuting. + +But 'mong thy creatures that do sing +Perhaps of all I likest am to the housetop-haunting sparrow, +That flies brief, sudden flights upon a dumpy, fluttering wing, +And chirps thy praises from a throat that's very short and narrow. + +But if thy sparrow praise thee well +By singing well thy song, nor letting noisy traffic quell it, +It may be that, in some remote and leafy heavenly dell, +He may with a trumpet-throat awake, and a trumpet-song to swell it! + + + +_DECEMBER 23, 1879._ + +I. + +A thousand houses of poesy stand around me everywhere; +They fill the earth and they fill my thought, they are in and above the +air; +But to-night they have shut their doors, they have shut their shining +windows fair, +And I am left in a desert world, with an aching as if of care. + +II. + +Cannot I break some little nut and get at the poetry in it? +Cannot I break the shining egg of some all but hatched heavenly linnet? +Cannot I find some beauty-worm, and its moony cocoon-silk spin it? +Cannot I find my all but lost day in the rich content of a minute? + +III. + +I will sit me down, all aching and tired, in the midst of this +never-unclosing +Of door or window that makes it look as if truth herself were dozing; +I will sit me down and make me a tent, call it poetizing or prosing, +Of what may be lying within my reach, things at my poor disposing! + +IV. + +Now what is nearest?--My conscious self. Here I sit quiet and say: +"Lo, I myself am already a house of poetry solemn and gay! +But, alas, the windows are shut, all shut: 'tis a cold and foggy day, +And I have not now the light to see what is in me the same alway!" + +V. + +Nay, rather I'll say: "I am a nut in the hard and frozen ground; +Above is the damp and frozen air, the cold blue sky all round; +And the power of a leafy and branchy tree is in me crushed and bound +Till the summer come and set it free from the grave-clothes + in which it is wound!" + +VI. + +But I bethink me of something better!--something better, yea best! +"I am lying a voiceless, featherless thing in God's own perfect nest; +And the voice and the song are growing within me, slowly lifting my +breast; +And his wide night-wings are closed about me, for his sun is down in the +west!" + +VII. + +Doors and windows, tents and grave-clothes, winters and eggs and seeds, +Ye shall all be opened and broken and torn; ye are but to serve my needs! +On the will of the Father all lovely things are strung like a string of +beads +For his heart to give the obedient child that the will of the father +heeds. + + + +_SONG-PRAYER_: AFTER KING DAVID. + +I shall be satisfied +With the seeing of thy face. +When I awake, wide-eyed, +I shall be satisfied +With what this life did hide, +The one supernal grace! +I shall be satisfied +With the seeing of thy face. + + + +_DECEMBER 27, 1879_ + +Every time would have its song + If the heart were right, +Seeing Love all tender-strong + Fills the day and night. + +Weary drop the hands of Prayer + Calling out for peace; +Love always and everywhere + Sings and does not cease. + +Fear, the caitiff, through the night + Silent peers about; +Love comes singing with a light + And doth cast him out. + +Hate and Guile and Wrath and Doubt + Never try to sing; +If they did, oh, what a rout + Anguished ears would sting! + +Pride indeed will sometimes aim + At the finer speech, +But the best that he can frame + Is a peacock-screech. + +Greed will also sometimes try: + Happiness he hunts! +But his dwelling is a sty, + And his tones are grunts. + +Faith will sometimes raise a song + Soaring up to heaven, +Then she will be silent long, + And will weep at even. + +Hope has many a gladsome note + Now and then to pipe; +But, alas, he has the throat + Of a bird unripe. + +Often Joy a stave will start + Which the welkin rends, +But it always breaks athwart, + And untimely ends. + +Grief, who still for death doth long, + Always self-abhorred, +Has but one low, troubled song, +_I am sorry, Lord_. + +But Love singeth in the vault. + Singeth on the stair; +Even for Sorrow will not halt, + Singeth everywhere. + +For the great Love everywhere + Over all doth glow; +Draws his birds up trough the air, + Tends his birds below. + +And with songs ascending sheer + Love-born Love replies, +Singing _Father_ in his ear + Where she bleeding lies. + +Therefore, if my heart were right + I should sing out clear, +Sing aloud both day and night + Every month in the year! + + + +_SUNDAY_, + +DECEMBER 28, 1879. + +A dim, vague shrinking haunts my soul, + My spirit bodeth ill-- +As some far-off restraining bank +Had burst, and waters, many a rank, + Were marching on my hill; + +As if I had no fire within + For thoughts to sit about; +As if I had no flax to spin, +No lamp to lure the good things in + And keep the bad things out. + +The wind, south-west, raves in the pines + That guard my cottage round; +The sea-waves fall in stormy lines +Below the sandy cliffs and chines, + And swell the roaring sound. + +The misty air, the bellowing wind + Not often trouble me; +The storm that's outside of the mind +Doth oftener wake my heart to find + More peace and liberty. + +Why is not such my fate to-night? + Chance is not lord of things! +Man were indeed a hapless wight +Things, thoughts occurring as they might-- + Chaotic wallowings! + +The man of moods might merely say + As by the fire he sat, +"I am low spirited to-day; +I must do something, work or play, + Lest care should kill the cat!" + +Not such my saw: I was not meant + To be the sport of things! +The mood has meaning and intent, +And my dull heart is humbly bent + To have the truth it brings. + +This sense of needed shelter round, + This frequent mental start +Show what a poor life mine were found, +To what a dead self I were bound, + How feeble were my heart, + +If I who think did stand alone + Centre to what I thought, +A brain within a box of bone, +A king on a deserted throne, + A something that was nought! + +A being without power to be, + Or any power to cease; +Whom objects but compelled to see, +Whose trouble was a windblown sea, + A windless sea his peace! + +This very sadness makes me think + How readily I might +Be driven to reason's farthest brink, +Then over it, and sudden sink + In ghastly waves of night. + +It makes me know when I am glad + 'Tis thy strength makes me strong; +But for thy bliss I should be sad, +But for thy reason should be mad, + But for thy right be wrong. + +Around me spreads no empty waste, + No lordless host of things; +My restlessness but seeks thy rest; +My little good doth seek thy best, + My needs thy ministerings. + +'Tis this, this only makes me safe-- + I am, immediate, +Of one that lives; I am no waif +That haggard waters toss and chafe, + But of a royal fate, + +The born-child of a Power that lives + Because it will and can, +A Love whose slightest motion gives, +A Freedom that forever strives + To liberate his Man. + +I live not on the circling air, + Live not by daily food; +I live not even by thinkings fair, +I hold my very being there + Where God is pondering good. + +Because God lives I live; because + He thinks, I also think; +I am dependent on no laws +But on himself, and without pause; + Between us hangs no link. + +The man that lives he knows not how + May well fear any mouse! +I should be trembling this same now +If I did think, my Father, thou + Wast nowhere in the house! + +O Father, lift me on thine arm, + And hold me close to thee; +Lift me into thy breathing warm, +Then cast me, and I fear no harm, + Into creation's sea! + + + +_SONG-SERMON_. + +In his arms thy silly lamb, +Lo, he gathers to his breast! +See, thou sadly bleating dam, +See him lift thy silly lamb! +Hear it cry, "How blest I am! +Here is love, and love is rest!" +In his arms thy silly lamb +See him gather to his breast! + + + +_THE DONKEY IN THE CART TO THE HORSE IN THE CARRIAGE_. + +I. + +I say! hey! cousin there! I mustn't call you brother! +Yet you have a tail behind, and I have another! +You pull, and I pull, though we don't pull together: +You have less hardship, and I have more weather! + +II. + +Your legs are long, mine are short; I am lean, you are fatter; +Your step is bold and free, mine goes pitter-patter; +Your head is in the air, and mine hangs down like lead-- +But then my two great ears are so heavy on my head! + +III. + +You need not whisk your stump, nor turn away your nose; +Poor donkeys ain't so stupid as rich horses may suppose! +I could feed in any manger just as well as you, +Though I don't despise a thistle--with sauce of dust and dew! + +IV. + +T'other day a bishop's cob stopped before me in a lane, +With a tail as broad as oil-cake, and a close-clipped hoggy mane; +I stood sideways to the hedge, but he did not want to pass, +And he was so full of corn he didn't care about the grass. + +V. + +Quoth the cob, "You are a donkey of a most peculiar breed! +You've just eaten up a thistle that was going fast to seed! +If you had but let it be, you might have raised a crop! +To many a coming dinner you have put a sad stop!" + +VI. + +I told him I was hungry, and to leave one of ten +Would have spoiled my best dinner, the one I wanted then. +Said the cob, "_I_ ought to know the truth about dinners, +_I_ don't eat on roadsides like poor tramping sinners!" + +VII. + +"Why don't you take it easy? You are working much too hard! +In the shafts you'll die one day, if you're not upon your guard! +Have pity on your friends: work seems to you delectable, +But believe me such a cart--excuse me--'s not respectable!" + +VIII. + +I told him I must trot in the shafts where I was put, +Nor look round at the cart, but set foremost my best foot; +It _was_ rather rickety, and the axle wanted oil, +But I always slept at night with the deep sleep of toil! + +IX. + +"All very fine," he said, "to wag your ears and parley, +And pretend you quite despise my bellyfuls of barley! +But with blows and with starving, and with labour over-hard, +By spurs! a week will see you in the knacker's yard." + +X. + +I thanked him for his counsel, and said I thought I'd take it, really, +If he'd spare me half a feed out of four feeds daily. +He tossed his head at that: "Now don't be cheeky!" said he; +"When I find I'm getting fat, I'll think of you: keep steady." + +XI. + +"Good-bye!" I said--and say, for you are such another! +Why, now I look at you, I see you are his brother! +Yes, thank you for your kick: 'twas all that you could spare, +For, sure, they clip and singe you very, very bare! + +XII. + +My cart it is upsets you! but in that cart behind +There's no dirt or rubbish, no bags of gold or wind! +There's potatoes there, and wine, and corn, and mustard-seed, +And a good can of milk, and some honey too, indeed! + +XIII. + +Few blows I get, some hay, and of water many a draught: +I tell you he's no coster that sits upon my shaft! +And for the knacker's yard--that's not my destined bed: +No donkey ever yet saw himself there lying dead. + + + +_ROOM TO ROAM_. + +Strait is the path? He means we must not roam? +Yes; but the strait path leads into a boundless home. + + + +_COTTAGE SONGS_. + +I.--BY THE CRADLE. + +Close her eyes: she must not peep! +Let her little puds go slack; +Slide away far into sleep: +Sis will watch till she comes back! + +Mother's knitting at the door, +Waiting till the kettle sings; +When the kettle's song is o'er +She will set the bright tea-things. + +Father's busy making hay +In the meadow by the brook, +Not so very far away-- +Close its peeps, it needn't look! + +God is round us everywhere-- +Sees the scythe glitter and rip; +Watches baby gone somewhere; +Sees how mother's fingers skip! + +Sleep, dear baby; sleep outright: + Mother's sitting just behind: +Father's only out of sight; + God is round us like the wind. + +II.--SWEEPING THE FLOOR. + +Sweep and sweep and sweep the floor, + Sweep the dust, pick up the pin; +Make it clean from fire to door, + Clean for father to come in! + +Mother said that God goes sweeping, + Looking, sweeping with a broom, +All the time that we are sleeping, + For a shilling in the room: + +Did he drop it out of glory, + Walking far above the birds? +Or did parson make the story + For the thinking afterwards? + +If I were the swept-for shilling + I would hearken through the gloom; +Roll out fast, and fall down willing + Right before the sweeping broom! + +III.--WASHING THE CLOTHES. + +This is the way we wash the clo'es + Free from dirt and smoke and clay! +Through and through the water flows, + Carries Ugly right away! + +This is the way we bleach the clo'es: + Lay them out upon the green; +Through and through the sunshine goes, + Makes them white as well as clean! + +This is the way we dry the clo'es: + Hang them on the bushes about; +Through and through the soft wind blows, + Draws and drives the wetness out! + +Water, sun, and windy air + Make the clothes clean, white, and sweet +Lay them now in lavender + For the Sunday, folded neat! + +IV.--DRAWING WATER. + +Dark, as if it would not tell, + Lies the water, still and cool: +Dip the bucket in the well, + Lift it from the precious pool! + +Up it comes all brown and dim, + Telling of the twilight sweet: +As it rises to the brim + See the sun and water meet! + +See the friends each other hail! + "Here you are!" cries Master Sun; +Mistress Water from the pail + Flashes back, alive with fun! + +Have you not a tale to tell, + Water, as I take you home? +Tell me of the hidden well + Whence you, first of all, did come. + +Of it you have kept some flavour + Through long paths of darkling strife: +Water all has still a savour + Of the primal well of life! + +Could you show the lovely way + Back and up through sea and sky +To that well? Oh, happy day, + I would drink, and never die! + +Jesus sits there on its brink + All the world's great thirst to slake, +Offering every one to drink + Who will only come and take! + +Lord of wells and waters all, + Lord of rains and dewy beads, +Unto thee my thirst doth call + For the thing thou know'st it needs! + +Come home, water sweet and cool, + Gift of God thou always art! +Spring up, Well more beautiful, + Rise in mine straight from his heart. + +V.--CLEANING THE WINDOWS. + +Wash the window; rub it dry; + Make the ray-door clean and bright: +He who lords it in the sky + Loves on cottage floors to light! + +Looking over sea and beck, + Mountain-forest, orchard-bloom, +He can spy the smallest speck + Anywhere about the room! + +See how bright his torch is blazing + In the heart of mother's store! +Strange! I never saw him gazing + So into that press before! + +Ah, I see!--the wooden pane + In the window, dull and dead, +Father called its loss a gain, + And a glass one put instead! + +What a difference it makes! + How it melts the filmy gloom! +What a little more it takes + Much to brighten up a room! + +There I spy a dusty streak! + There a corner not quite clean! +There a cobweb! There the sneak + Of a spider, watching keen! + +Lord of suns, and eyes that see, + Shine into me, see and show; +Leave no darksome spot in me + Where thou dost not shining go. + +Fill my spirit full of eyes, + Doors of light in every part; +Open windows to the skies + That no moth corrupt my heart. + + + +_THE WIND AND THE MOON_. + +Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out! + You stare + In the air + As if crying _Beware_, +Always looking what I am about: +I hate to be watched; I will blow you out!" + +The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon. + So, deep + On a heap + Of clouds, to sleep +Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon, +Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon!" + +He turned in his bed: she was there again! + On high + In the sky + With her one ghost-eye +The Moon shone white and alive and plain: +Said the Wind, "I will blow you out again!" + +The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew slim. + "With my sledge + And my wedge + I have knocked off her edge! +I will blow," said the Wind, "right fierce and grim, +And the creature will soon be slimmer than slim!" + +He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread. + "One puff + More's enough + To blow her to snuff! +One good puff more where the last was bred, +And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go that thread!" + +He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone. + In the air + Nowhere + Was a moonbeam bare; +Larger and nearer the shy stars shone: +Sure and certain the Moon was gone! + +The Wind he took to his revels once more; + On down + And in town, + A merry-mad clown, +He leaped and holloed with whistle and roar-- +When there was that glimmering thread once more! + +He flew in a rage--he danced and blew; + But in vain + Was the pain + Of his bursting brain, +For still the Moon-scrap the broader grew +The more that he swelled his big cheeks and blew. + +Slowly she grew--till she filled the night, + And shone + On her throne + In the sky alone +A matchless, wonderful, silvery light, +Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night. + +Said the Wind, "What a marvel of power am I! + With my breath, + In good faith, + I blew her to death!-- +First blew her away right out of the sky, +Then blew her in: what a strength am I!" + +But the Moon she knew nought of the silly affair; + For, high + In the sky + With her one white eye, +Motionless miles above the air, +She never had heard the great Wind blare. + + + +_THE FOOLISH HAREBELL_. + +A harebell hung her wilful head: +"I am tired, so tired! I wish I was dead." + +She hung her head in the mossy dell: +"If all were over, then all were well!" + +The Wind he heard, and was pitiful, +And waved her about to make her cool. + +"Wind, you are rough!" said the dainty Bell; +"Leave me alone--I am not well." + +The Wind, at the word of the drooping dame, +Sighed to himself and ceased in shame. + +"I am hot, so hot!" she moaned and said; +"I am withering up; I wish I was dead!" + +Then the Sun he pitied her woeful case, +And drew a thick veil over his face. + +"Cloud go away, and don't be rude," +She said; "I do not see why you should!" + +The Cloud withdrew. Then the Harebell cried, +"I am faint, so faint!--and no water beside!" + +The Dew came down its millionfold path: +She murmured, "I did not want a bath!" + +The Dew went up; the Wind softly crept; +The Night came down, and the Harebell slept. + +A boy ran past in the morning gray, +Plucked the Harebell, and threw her away. + +The Harebell shivered, and sighed, "Oh! oh! +I am faint indeed! Come, dear Wind, blow." + +The Wind blew gently, and did not speak. +She thanked him kindly, but grew more weak. + +"Sun, dear Sun, I am cold!" she said. +He shone; but lower she drooped her head. + +"O Rain, I am withering! all the blue +Is fading out of me!--come, please do!" + +The Rain came down as fast as he could, +But for all his good will he could do her no good. + +She shuddered and shrivelled, and moaning said, +"Thank you all kindly!" and then she was dead. + +Let us hope, let us hope when she comes next year +She'll be simple and sweet! But I fear, I fear! + + + +_SONG_. + +I was very cold + In the summer weather; +The sun shone all his gold, +But I was very cold-- +Alas, we were grown old, + Love and I together! +Oh, but I was cold + In the summer weather! + +Sudden I grew warmer + Though the brooks were frozen: +"Truly, scorn did harm her!" +I said, and I grew warmer; +"Better men the charmer + Knows at least a dozen!" +I said, and I grew warmer + Though the brooks were frozen. + +Spring sits on her nest, + Daisies and white clover; +And my heart at rest +Lies in the spring's young nest: +My love she loves me best, + And the frost is over! +Spring sits on her nest, + Daisies and white clover! + + + +_AN IMPROVISATION_. + +The stars cleave the sky. + Yet for us they rest, +And their race-course high + Is a shining nest! + +The hours hurry on. + But where is thy flight, +Soft pavilion + Of motionless night? + +Earth gives up her trees + To the holy air; +They live in the breeze; + They are saints at prayer! + +Summer night, come from God, + On your beauty, I see, +A still wave has flowed + Of eternity! + + + +_EQUITY_. + +No bird can sing in tune but that the Lord +Sits throned in equity above the heaven, +And holds the righteous balance always even; +No heart can true response to love afford +Wherein from one to eight not every chord +Is yet attuned by the spirits seven: +For tuneful no bird sings but that the Lord +Is throned in equity above high heaven. + +Oh heart, by wrong unfilial scathed and scored, +And from thy humble throne with mazedness driven, +Take courage: when thy wrongs thou hast forgiven, +Thy rights in love thy God will see restored: +No bird could sing in tune but that the Lord +Sits throned in equity above the heaven. + + + +_CONTRITION_. + +Out of the gulf into the glory, + Father, my soul cries out to be lifted. +Dark is the woof of my dismal story, + Thorough thy sun-warp stormily drifted!-- +Out of the gulf into the glory, +Lift me, and save my story. + +I have done many things merely shameful; + I am a man ashamed, my father! +My life is ashamed and broken and blameful-- + The broken and blameful, oh, cleanse and gather! +Heartily shame me, Lord, of the shameful! +To my judge I flee with my blameful. + +Saviour, at peace in thy perfect purity, + Think what it is, not to be pure! +Strong in thy love's essential security, + Think upon those who are never secure. +Full fill my soul with the light of thy purity: +Fold me in love's security. + +O Father, O Brother, my heart is sore aching! + Help it to ache as much as is needful; +Is it you cleansing me, mending, remaking, + Dear potter-hands, so tender and heedful? +Sick of my past, of my own self aching-- +Hurt on, dear hands, with your making. + +Proud of the form thou hadst given thy vessel, + Proud of myself, I forgot my donor; +Down in the dust I began to nestle, + Poured thee no wine, and drank deep of dishonour! +Lord, thou hast broken, thou mendest thy vessel! +In the dust of thy glory I nestle. + + + + +_THE CONSOLER_: +ON AN ENGRAVING OF SCHEFFER'S _Christus Consolator_. + +I. + +What human form is this? what form divine? +And who are these that gaze upon his face +Mild, beautiful, and full of heavenly grace, +With whose reflected light the gazers shine? +Saviour, who does not know it to be thine? +Who does not long to fill a gazer's place? +And yet there is no time, there is no space +To keep away thy servants from thy shrine! +Here if we kneel, and watch with faithful eyes, +Thou art not too far for faithful eyes to see, +Thou art not too far to turn and look on me, +To speak to me, and to receive my sighs. +Therefore for ever I forget the skies, +And find an everlasting Sun in thee. + +II. + +Oh let us never leave that happy throng! +From that low attitude of love not cease! +In all the world there is no other peace, +In all the world no other shield from wrong. +But chiefly, Saviour, for thy feet we long-- +For no vain quiet, for no pride's increase-- +But that, being weak, and Thou divinely strong, +Us from our hateful selves thou mayst release. +We wander from thy fold's free holy air, +Forget thy looks, and take our fill of sin! +But if thou keep us evermore within, +We never surely can forget thee there-- +Breathing thy breath, thy white robe given to wear, +And loving thee for all thou diedst to win! + +III. + +To speak of him in language of our own, +Is not for us too daringly to try; +But, Saviour, we can read thy history +Upon the faces round thy humble throne; +And as the flower among the grass makes known +What summer suns have warmed it from the sky, +As every human smile and human sigh +Is witness that we do not live alone, +So in that company--in those sweet tears, +The first-born of a rugged melted heart, +In those gaunt chains for ever torn apart, +And in the words that weeping mother hears, +We read the story of two thousand years, +And know thee somewhat, Saviour, as thou art. + + + +_TO_ ---- + +I cannot write old verses here, + Dead things a thousand years away, +When all the life of the young year + Is in the summer day. + +The roses make the world so sweet, + The bees, the birds have such a tune, +There's such a light and such a heat + And such a joy this June, + +One must expand one's heart with praise, + And make the memory secure +Of sunshine and the woodland days + And summer twilights pure. + +Oh listen rather! Nature's song + Comes from the waters, beating tides, +Green-margined rivers, and the throng + Of streams on mountain-sides. + +So fair those water-spirits are, + Such happy strength their music fills, +Our joy shall be to wander far + And find them on the hills. + + + +_TO A SISTER_. + +A fresh young voice that sings to me +So often many a simple thing, +Should surely not unanswered be +By all that I can sing. + +Dear voice, be happy every way +A thousand changing tones among, +From little child's unfinished lay +To angel's perfect song. + +In dewy woods--fair, soft, and green +Like morning woods are childhood's bower-- +Be like the voice of brook unseen +Among the stones and flowers; + +A joyful voice though born so low, +And making all its neighbours glad; +Sweet, hidden, constant in its flow +Even when the winds are sad. + +So, strengthen in a peaceful home, +And daily deeper meanings bear; +And when life's wildernesses come +Be brave and faithful there. + +Try all the glorious magic range, +Worship, forgive, console, rejoice, +Until the last and sweetest change-- +So live and grow, dear voice. + + + +_THE SHORTEST AND SWEETEST OF SONGS_. + +Come +Home. + + + + + SCOTS SONGS AND BALLADS. + + + +_ANNIE SHE'S DOWIE_. + +Annie she's dowie, and Willie he's wae: +What can be the matter wi' siccan a twae, +For Annie she's fair as the first o' the day, +And Willie he's honest and stalwart and gay? + +Oh, the tane has a daddy is poor and is proud, +And the tither a minnie that cleiks at the goud '. +They lo'ed are anither, and said their say, +But the daddy and minnie hae partit the twae! + + + +_O LASSIE AYONT THE HILL_! + +O lassie ayont the hill, +Come ower the tap o' the hill, +Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill, +Bidena ayont the hill! + I'm needin ye sair the nicht, +For I'm tired and sick o' mysel. + A body's sel 's the sairest weicht: +O lassie, come ower the hill! + +Gien a body could be a thoucht o' grace, + And no a sel ava! +I'm sick o' my heid and my ban's and my face, + O' my thouchts and mysel and a'; + + I'm sick o' the warl' and a'; +The win' gangs by wi' a hiss; + Throu my starin een the sunbeams fa' +But my weary hert they miss! + O lassie ayont the hill, + Come ower the tap o' the hill, + Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill, + Bidena ayont the hill! &c. + +For gien I but saw yer bonnie heid, + And the sunlicht o' yer hair, +The ghaist o' mysel wud fa' doun deid, + I wud be mysel nae mair. + I wud be mysel nae mair, +Filled o' the sole remeid, + Slain by the arrows o' licht frae yer hair, +Killed by yer body and heid! + O lassie ayont the hill, &c. + +My sel micht wauk up at the saft fitfa' + O' my bonnie departin dame; +But gien she lo'ed me ever sae sma' + I micht bide it--the weary same! + Noo, sick o' my body and name +Whan it lifts its upsettin heid, + I turn frae the cla'es that cover my frame +As gien they war roun the deid. + O lassie ayont the hill, &c. + +But gien ye lo'ed me as I lo'e you + I wud ring my ain deid knell; +The spectre wud melt, shot through and through + Wi' the shine o' your sunny sel! + By the shine o' yer sunny sel, +By the licht aneth yer broo + I wud dee to mysel, ring my ain deid-bell, +And live again in you! + +O lassie ayont the hill, +Come ower the tap o' the hill, +Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill, + For I want ye sair the nicht! + I'm needin ye sair the nicht, +For I'm tired and sick o' mysel. + A body's sel 's the sairest weicht: +O lassie, come ower the hill! + + + +_THE BONNY, BONNY DELL_. + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the yorlin sings, +Wi' a clip o' the sunshine atween his wings; +Whaur the birks are a' straikit wi' fair munelicht, +And the brume hings its lamps by day and by nicht; +Whaur the burnie comes trottin ower shingle and stane +Liltin bonny havers til 'tsel its lane; +And the sliddery troot wi' ae soop o' its tail +Is ahint the green weed's dark swingin veil! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang as I saw +The yorlin, the brume, and the burnie, and a'! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the primroses won, +Luikin oot o' their leaves like wee sons o' the sun; +Whaur the wild roses hing like flickers o' flame, +And fa' at the touch wi' a dainty shame; +Whaur the bee swings ower the white-clovery sod, +And the butterfly flits like a stray thoucht o' God; +Whaur, like arrow shot frae life's unseen bow, +The dragon-fly burns the sunlicht throu! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang to see +The rose and the primrose, the draigon and bee! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the mune luiks doon +As gien she war hearin a soughless tune, +Whan the flooers and the birdies are a' asleep, +And the verra burnie gangs creepy-creep; +Whaur the corn-craik craiks i' the lang-heidit rye, +And the nicht is the safter for his rouch cry; +Whaur the win' wud fain lie doon on the slope, +And the gloamin waukens the high-reachin hope! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur, silent, I felt +The mune and the darkness baith into me melt! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luiks in +Sayin, "Here awa, there awa, hand awa, Sin!" +Sayin darkness and sorrow a' work for the licht, +And the will o' God was the hert o' the nicht; +Whaur the laverock hings hie, on his ain sang borne, +Wi' bird-shout and tirralee hailin the morn; +Whaur my hert ran ower wi' the lusome bliss +That, come winter, come weather, nocht gaed amiss! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luikit in +Sayin, "Here awa, there awa, hand awa, Sin!" + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur aft I wud lie, +Wi' Jeanie aside me sae sweet and sae shy; +Whaur the starry gowans wi' rose-dippit tips +War as white as her cheek and as reid as her lips; +Whaur she spread her gowd hert till she saw that I saw, +Syne fauldit it up and gied me it a'; +Whaur o' sunlicht and munelicht she was the queen, +For baith war but middlin withoot my Jean! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur aft I wud lie, +Wi' Jeanie aside me sae sweet and sae shy! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the kirkyard lies +A' day and a' nicht luikin up to the skies; +Whaur the sheep wauken up i' the simmer nicht, +Tak a bite and lie doon, and await the licht; +Whaur the psalms roll ower the grassy heaps; +Whaur the win' comes and moans, and the rain comes and weeps; +Whaur my Jeanie's no lyin in a' the lair, +For she's up and awa up the angels' stair! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the kirkyard lies, +Whaur the stars luik doon, and the nicht-wind sighs! + + + +_NANNIE BRAW_. + +I like ye weel upo Sundays, Nannie, + I' yer goon and yer ribbons and a'; +But I like ye better on Mondays, Nannie, + Whan ye're no sae buskit and braw. + +For whan we're sittin sae douce, Nannie, + Wi' the lave o' the worshippin fowk, +That aneth the haly hoose, Nannie, + Ye micht hear a moudiwarp howk, + +It _will_ come into my heid, Nannie, + O' yer braws ye are thinkin a wee; +No alane o' the Bible-seed, Nannie, + Nor the minister nor me! + +Syne hame athort the green, Nannie, + Ye gang wi' a toss o' yer chin; +And there walks a shadow atween 's, Nannie, + A dark ane though it be thin! + +But noo, whan I see ye gang, Nannie, + Eident at what's to be dune, +Liltin a haiveless sang, Nannie, + I wud kiss yer verra shune! + +Wi' yer silken net on yer hair, Nannie, + I' yer bonnie blue petticoat, +Wi' yer kin'ly arms a' bare, Nannie, + On yer ilka motion I doat. + +For, oh, but ye're canty and free, Nannie, + Airy o' hert and o' fit! +A star-beam glents frae yer ee, Nannie-- + O' yersel ye're no thinkin a bit! + +Fillin the cogue frae the coo, Nannie, + Skimmin the yallow ream, +Pourin awa the het broo, Nannie, + Lichtin the lampie's leme, + +Turnin or steppin alang, Nannie, + Liftin and layin doon, +Settin richt what's aye gaein wrang, Nannie, + Yer motion's baith dance and tune! + +I' the hoose ye're a licht and a law, Nannie, + A servan like him 'at's abune: +Oh, a woman's bonniest o' a', Nannie, + Doin what _maun_ be dune! + +Cled i' yer Sunday claes, Nannie, + Fair kythe ye to mony an ee; +But cled i' yer ilka-day's, Nannie, + Ye draw the hert frae me! + + + +_OWER THE HEDGE_. + +I. + +"Bonny lassie, rosy lassie, + Ken ye what is care? +Had ye ever a thought, lassie, + Made yer hertie sair?" + +Johnnie said it, Johnnie seekin + Sicht o' Mally's face, +Keekin i' the hedge o' holly + For a thinner place. + +"Na," said Mally, pawky smilin, + "Nought o' care ken I; +Gien I meet the gruesome carline, + I s' hand weel ootby!" + +"Lang be licht o' hert, Mally, + As o' fut and ban'! +Lang be ready wi' sic answer + To ony speirin man!" + +"Ay, the men 'll aye be speirin! + Troth, it's naething new! +There's yersel wi' queston, queston-- + And there's mair like you!" + +"Deed ye wadna mock me, Mally, + Wi' yer lauchin ee, +Gien ye saw the thing aye muvin + I' the hert o' me!" + +"Troth, I'm no sae pryin, laddie, + Yon's no my concern! +Jist as sune I wud gang speirin + What's intil yon cairn!" + +"Still and on, there's ae thing, Mally, + Yont yer help, my doo-- +That's to haud my hert frae lo'in + At the hert o' you!" + +II. + +Johnnie turned and left her, + Listit for the war; +In a year cam limpin + Hame wi' mony a scar. + +Wha was that was sittin + On the brae, sae still? +Worn and wan and altert, + Could it be hersel? + +Cled in black, her eelids + Reid wi' greitin sair-- +Was she wife and widow + In a towmond bare? + +Mally's hert played wallop, + Kenned him or he spak: +"Are ye no deid, Johnnie? + Is't yersel come back?" + +"Are ye wife or widow? + Tell me in a breath; +Lanely life is fearsome, + Waur nor ony death!" + +"Wha cud be a widow + Wife was never nane? +Noo, gien ye will hae me, + Noo I will be ane!" + +Crutch awa he flang it, + Clean forgot his hairms, +Cudna stan' withoot it, + Fell in Mally's airms. + + + +_GAEIN AND COMIN_. + +Whan Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed + The lift was lowerin dreary, +The sun he wadna raise his heid, + The win' blew laich and eerie. +In's pooch he had a plack or twa-- + I vow he hadna mony, +Yet Andrew like a linty sang, + For Lizzie was sae bonny! + O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny lassie! + Bonny, saucy hizzy! + What richt had ye to luik at me + And drive me daft and dizzy? + +Whan Andrew to Strathbogie cam + The sun was shinin rarely; +He rade a horse that pranced and sprang-- + I vow he sat him fairly! +And he had gowd to spen' and spare, + And a hert as true as ony; +But his luik was doon, his sigh was sair, + For Lizzie was sae bonny! + O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny hizzy! + Aih, the sunlicht weary! + Ye're straucht and rare--ye're fause though fair!-- + Hech, auld John Armstrong's deary! + + + +_A SANG O' ZION_. + +Ane by ane they gang awa; +The getherer gethers grit and sma': +Ane by ane maks ane and a'! + +Aye whan ane sets doon the cup +Ane ahint maun tak it up: +A' thegither they will sup! + +Golden-heidit, ripe, and strang, +Shorn will be the hairst or lang: +Syne begins a better sang! + + + +_TIME AND TIDE_. + + As I was walkin on the strand, + I spied ane auld man sit + On ane auld black rock; and aye the waves + Cam washin up its fit. + His lips they gaed as gien they wad lilt, + But o' liltin, wae's me, was nane! + He spak but an owercome, dreary and dreigh, + A burden wha's sang was gane: +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns; + They playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush." + + "What can the auld man mean," quod I, + "Sittin o' the auld black rock? + The tide creeps up wi' a moan and a cry, + And a hiss 'maist like a mock! + The words he mutters maun be the en' + O' some weary auld-warl' sang-- + A deid thing floatin aboot in his brain, + 'At the tide 'ill no lat gang!" +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns; + They playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush." + + "Hoo pairtit it them, auld man?" I said; + "Was't the sea cam up ower strang? + Oh, gien thegither the twa o' them gaed + Their pairtin wasna lang! + Or was are ta'en, and the ither left-- + Ane to sing, are to greit? + It's sair, I ken, to be sae bereft-- + But there's the tide at yer feet!" +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, + And they playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush." + + "Was't the sea o' space wi' its storm o' time + That wadna lat things bide? + But Death's a diver frae heavenly clime + Seekin ye neth its tide, + And ye'll gaze again in ither's ee, + Far abune space and time!" + Never ae word he answered me, + But changed a wee his rime: +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, + And they playt thegither upo' the shore; +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa for evermore." + + "May be, auld man, 'twas the tide o' change + That crap atween the twa? + Hech! that's a droonin fearsome strange, + Waur, waur nor are and a'!" + He said nae mair. I luikit, and saw + His lips they couldna gang: + Death, the diver, had ta'en him awa, + To gie him a new auld sang. +Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, + And they playt thegither upo' the shore: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And souft them awa throu a mirksome door! + + + +_THE WAESOME CARL_. + +There cam a man to oor toon-en', + And a waesome carl was he, +Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou'd, + And gleyt o' a blinterin ee. +Muckle he spied, and muckle he spak, + But the owercome o' his sang, +Whatever it said, was aye the same:-- + There's nane o' ye a' but's wrang! + Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang: + There's no a man aboot the toon + But's a'thegither a' wrang. + +That's no the gait to fire the breid, + Nor yet to brew the yill; +That's no the gait to haud the pleuch, + Nor yet to ca the mill; +That's no the gait to milk the coo, + Nor yet to spean the calf, +Nor yet to tramp the girnel-meal-- + Ye kenna yer wark by half! + Ye're a' wrang, &c. + +The minister wasna fit to pray + And lat alane to preach; +He nowther had the gift o' grace + Nor yet the gift o' speech! +He mind't him o' Balaaem's ass, + Wi' a differ we micht ken: +The Lord he opened the ass's mou, + The minister opened's ain! + He was a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There wasna a man aboot the toon + But was a'thegither a' wrang! + +The puir precentor couldna sing, + He gruntit like a swine; +The verra elders couldna pass + The ladles til his min'. +And for the rulin' elder's grace + It wasna worth a horn; +He didna half uncurse the meat, + Nor pray for mair the morn! + He was a' wrang, &c. + +And aye he gied his nose a thraw, + And aye he crook't his mou; +And aye he cockit up his ee + And said, Tak tent the noo! +We snichert hint oor loof, my man, + But never said him nay; +As gien he had been a prophet, man, + We loot him say his say: + Ye're a' wrang, &c. + +Quo oor gudeman: The crater's daft! + Heard ye ever sic a claik? +Lat's see gien he can turn a ban', + Or only luik and craik! +It's true we maunna lippin til him-- + He's fairly crack wi' pride, +But he maun live--we canna kill him! + Gien he can work, he s' bide. + He was a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There, troth, the gudeman o' the toon + Was a'thegither a' wrang! + +Quo he, It's but a laddie's turn, + But best the first be a sma' thing: +There's a' thae weyds to gether and burn, + And he's the man for a' thing!-- +We yokit for the far hill-moss, + There was peats to cast and ca; +O' 's company we thoucht na loss, + 'Twas peace till gloamin-fa'! + We war a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There wasna man aboot the toon + But was a'thegither a' wrang! + +For, losh, or it was denner-time + The toon was in a low! +The reek rase up as it had been + Frae Sodom-flames, I vow. +We lowst and rade like mad, for byre + And ruck bleezt a' thegither, +As gien the deil had broucht the fire + Frae's hell to mak anither! + 'Twas a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang, + Stick and strae aboot the place + Was a'thegither a' wrang! + +And luikin on, ban's neth his tails, + The waesome carl stude; +To see him wagglin at thae tails + 'Maist drave 's a' fairly wud. +Ain wite! he cried; I tauld ye sae! + Ye're a' wrang to the last: +What gart ye burn thae deevilich weyds + Whan the win' blew frae the wast! + Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There's no a man i' this fule warl + But's a'thegither a' wrang! + + + +_THE MERMAID_. + +Up cam the tide wi' a burst and a whush, + And back gaed the stanes wi' a whurr; +The king's son walkit i' the evenin hush, + To hear the sea murmur and murr. + +Straucht ower the water slade frae the mune + A glimmer o' cauld weet licht; +Ane o' her horns rase the water abune, + And lampit across the nicht. + +Quhat's that, and that, far oot i' the gray, + The laich mune bobbin afore? +It's the bonny sea-maidens at their play-- + Haud awa, king's son, frae the shore. + +Ae rock stude up like an auld aik-root, + The king's son he steppit ahin'; +The bonny sea-maidens cam gambolin oot, + Kaimin their hair to the win'. + +O merry their lauch whan they fan the warm san', + For the lichtsome reel sae meet! +Ilk are flang her kaim frae her pearly ban', + And tuik til her pearly feet. + +But are, wha's beauty was dream and spell, + Her kaim on the rock she cuist; +Her back was scarce turnt whan the munelicht shell + Was lyin i' the prince's breist! + +The cluds grew grim as he watched their game, + Th' win' blew up an angry tune; +Ane efter are tuik up her kaim, + And seaward gaed dancin doon. + +But are, wi' hair like the mune in a clud, + Was left by the rock her lane; +Wi' flittin ban's, like a priest's, she stude, + 'Maist veiled in a rush o' rain. + +She spied the prince, she sank at his feet, + And lay like a wreath o' snaw +Meltin awa i' the win' and weet + O' a wastin wastlin thaw. + +He liftit her, trimlin wi' houp and dreid, + And hame wi' his prize he gaed, +And laid her doon, like a witherin weed, + Saft on a gowden bed. + +A' that nicht, and a' day the neist, + She never liftit heid; +Quaiet lay the sea, and quaiet lay her breist, + And quaiet lay the kirkyard-deid. + +But quhan at the gloamin a sea-breeze keen + Blew intil the glimsome room, +Like twa settin stars she opened her een, + And the sea-flooer began to bloom. + +And she saw the prince kneelin at her bed, + And afore the mune was new, +Careless and cauld she was wooed and wed-- + But a winsome wife she grew. + +And a' gaed weel till their bairn was born, + And syne she cudna sleep; +She wud rise at midnicht, and wan'er till morn, + Hark-harkin the sough o' the deep. + +Ae nicht whan the win' gaed ravin aboot, + And the winnocks war speckled wi' faem, +Frae room to room she strayt in and oot, + And she spied her pearly kaim. + +She twined up her hair wi' eager ban's, + And in wi' the rainbow kaim! +She's oot, and she's aff ower the shinin san's + And awa til her moanin hame! + +The prince he startit whaur he lay, + He waukit, and was himlane! +He soucht far intil the mornin gray, + But his bonny sea-wife was gane! + +And ever and aye, i' the mirk or the mune, + Whan the win' blew saft frae the sea, +The sad shore up and the sad shore doon + By the lanely rock paced he. + +But never again on the sands to play + Cam the maids o' the merry, cauld sea; +He heard them lauch far oot i' the bay, + But hert-alane gaed he. + + + +_THE YERL O' WATERYDECK_. + +The wind it blew, and the ship it flew, + And it was "Hey for hame!" +But up an' cried the skipper til his crew, + "Haud her oot ower the saut sea faem." + +Syne up an' spak the angry king: + "Haud on for Dumferline!" +Quo' the skipper, "My lord, this maunna be-- + _I_'m king on this boat o' mine!" + +He tuik the helm intil his han', + He left the shore un'er the lee; +Syne croodit sail, an', east an' south, + Stude awa richt oot to sea. + +Quo' the king, "Leise-majesty, I trow! + Here lies some ill-set plan! +'Bout ship!" Quo' the skipper, "Yer grace forgets + Ye are king but o' the lan'!" + +Oot he heild to the open sea + Quhill the north wind flaughtered an' fell; +Syne the east had a bitter word to say + That waukent a watery hell. + +He turnt her heid intil the north: + Quo' the nobles, "He s' droon, by the mass!" +Quo' the skipper, "Haud afif yer lady-ban's + Or ye'll never see the Bass." + +The king creepit down the cabin-stair + To drink the gude French wine; +An' up cam his dochter, the princess fair, + An' luikit ower the brine. + +She turnt her face to the drivin snaw, + To the snaw but and the weet; +It claucht her snood, an' awa like a dud + Her hair drave oot i' the sleet. + +She turnt her face frae the drivin win'-- + "Quhat's that aheid?" quo' she. +The skipper he threw himsel frae the win' + An' he brayt the helm alee. + +"Put to yer han', my lady fair! + Haud up her heid!" quo' he; +"Gien she dinna face the win' a wee mair + It's faurweel to you an' me!" + +To the tiller the lady she laid her han', + An' the ship brayt her cheek to the blast; +They joukit the berg, but her quarter scraped, + An' they luikit at ither aghast. + +Quo' the skipper, "Ye are a lady fair, + An' a princess gran' to see, +But war ye a beggar, a man wud sail + To the hell i' yer company!" + +She liftit a pale an' a queenly face, + Her een flashed, an' syne they swam: +"An' what for no to the hevin?" she says, + An' she turnt awa frae him. + +Bot she tuik na her han' frae the gude ship's helm + Till the day begouth to daw; +An' the skipper he spak, but what was said + It was said atween them twa. + +An' syne the gude ship she lay to, + Wi' Scotlan' hyne un'er the lee; +An' the king cam up the cabin-stair + Wi' wan face an' bluidshot ee. + +Laigh loutit the skipper upo' the deck; + "Stan' up, stan' up," quo' the king; +"Ye're an honest loun--an' beg me a boon + Quhan ye gie me back this ring." + +Lowne blew the win'; the stars cam oot; + The ship turnt frae the north; +An' or ever the sun was up an' aboot + They war intil the firth o' Forth. + +Quhan the gude ship lay at the pier-heid, + And the king stude steady o' the lan',-- +"Doon wi' ye, skipper--doon!" he said, + "Hoo daur ye afore me stan'!" + +The skipper he loutit on his knee; + The king his blade he drew: +Quo' the king, "Noo mynt ye to centre me! + I'm aboord _my_ vessel noo! + +"Gien I hadna been yer verra gude lord + I wud hae thrawn yer neck! +Bot--ye wha loutit Skipper o' Doon, + Rise up Yerl o' Waterydeck." + +The skipper he rasena: "Yer Grace is great, + Yer wull it can heize or ding: +Wi' ae wee word ye hae made me a yerl-- + Wi' anither mak me a king." + +"I canna mak ye a king," quo' he, + "The Lord alane can do that! +I snowk leise-majesty, my man! + Quhat the Sathan wad ye be at?" + +Glowert at the skipper the doutsum king + Jalousin aneth his croon; +Quo' the skipper, "Here is yer Grace's ring-- + An' yer dochter is my boon!" + +The black blude shot intil the king's face + He wasna bonny to see: +"The rascal skipper! he lichtlies oor grace!-- + Gar hang him heigh on yon tree." + +Up sprang the skipper an' aboord his ship, + Cleikit up a bytin blade +An' hackit at the cable that held her to the pier, + An' thoucht it 'maist ower weel made. + +The king he blew shill in a siller whustle; + An' tramp, tramp, doon the pier +Cam twenty men on twenty horses, + Clankin wi' spur an' spear. + +At the king's fute fell his dochter fair: + "His life ye wadna spill!" +"Ye daur stan' twixt my hert an' my hate?" + "I daur, wi' a richt gude will!" + +"Ye was aye to yer faither a thrawart bairn, + But, my lady, here stan's the king! +Luikna _him_ i' the angry face-- + A monarch's anither thing!" + +"I lout to my father for his grace + Low on my bendit knee; +But I stan' an' luik the king i' the face, + For the skipper is king o' me!" + +She turnt, she sprang upo' the deck, + The cable splashed i' the Forth, +Her wings sae braid the gude ship spread + And flew east, an' syne flew north. + +Now was not this a king's dochter-- + A lady that feared no skaith? +A woman wi' quhilk a man micht sail + Prood intil the Port o' Death? + + + +_THE TWA GORDONS_. + +I. + +There was John Gordon an' Archibold, +An' a yerl's twin sons war they; +Quhan they war are an' twenty year auld +They fell oot on their ae birthday. + +"Turn ye, John Gordon, nae brither to me! +Turn ye, fause an' fell! +Or doon ye s' gang, as black as a lee, +To the muckle deevil o' hell." + +"An' quhat for that, Archie Gordon, I pray? +Quhat ill hae I dune to thee?" +"Twa-faced loon, ye sail rue this day +The answer I'm gauin to gie! + +"For it'll be roucher nor lady Janet's, +An' loud i' the braid daylicht; +An' the wa' to speil is my iron mail, +No her castle-wa' by nicht!" + +"I speilt the wa' o' her castle braw +I' the roarin win' yestreen; +An' I sat in her bower till the gloamin sta' +Licht-fittit ahint the mune." + +"Turn ye, John Gordon--the twasum we s' twin! +Turn ye, an' haud yer ain; +For ane sall lie on a cauld weet bed-- +An' I downa curse again!" + +"O Archie, Janet is my true love-- +notna speir leave o' thee!" +"Gien that be true, the deevil's a sanct, +An' ye are no tellin a lee!" + +Their suerds they drew, an' the fire-flauchts flew, + An' they shiftit wi' fendin feet; +An' the blude ran doon, till the grun a' roun + Like a verra bog was weet. + +"O Archie, I hae gotten a cauld supper-- + O' steel, but shortest grace! +Ae grip o' yer han' afore ye gang! + An' turn me upo' my face." + +But he's turnit himsel upon his heel, + An' wordless awa he's gane; +An' the corbie-craw i' the aik abune + Is roupin for his ain. + +II. + +Lady Margaret, her hert richt gret, + Luiks ower the castle wa'; +Lord Archibold rides oot at the yett, + Ahint him his merry men a'. + +Wi' a' his band, to the Holy Land + He's boune wi' merry din, +His shouther's doss a Christ's cross, + In his breist an ugsome sin. + +But the cross it brunt him like the fire. + Its burnin never ceast; +It brunt in an' in, to win at the sin + Lay cowerin in his breist. + +A mile frae the shore o' the Deid Sea + The army haltit ae nicht; +Lord Archie was waukrife, an' oot gaed he + A walkin i' the munelicht. + +Dour-like he gaed, wi' doon-hingin heid, + Quhill he cam, by the licht o' the mune, +Quhaur michty stanes lay scattert like sheep, + An' ance they worshipt Mahoun. + +The scruff an' scum o' the deid shore gleamt + An' glintit a sauty gray; +The banes o' the deid stack oot o' its bed, + The sea lickit them as they lay. + +He sat him doon on a sunken stane, + An' he sighit sae dreary an' deep: +"I can thole ohn grutten, lyin awauk, + But he comes whan I'm asleep! + +"I wud gie my soul for ever an' aye + Intil en'less dule an' smert, +To sleep a' nicht like a bairn again, + An' cule my burnin hert!" + +Oot frae ahint a muckle stane + Cam a voice like a huddy craw's: +"Behaud there, Archibold Gordon!" it said, + "Behaud--ye hae ower gude cause!" + +"I'll say quhat I like," quod Archibold, + "Be ye ghaist or deevil or quhat!" +"Tak tent, lord Archie, gien ye be wise-- + The tit winna even the tat!" + +Lord Archibold leuch wi' a loud ha, ha, + Eerisome, grousum to hear: +"A bonny bargain auld Cloots wad hae, + It has ilka faut but fear!" + +"Dune, lord Archibold?" craikit the voice; + "Dune, Belzie!" cried he again.-- +The gray banes glimmert, the white saut shimmert-- + Lord Archie was him lane. + +Back he gaed straught, by the glowerin mune, + An' doun in his plaid he lay, +An' soun' he sleepit.--A ghaist-like man + Sat by his heid quhill the day. + +An' quhanever he moanit or turnit him roun, + Or his broo gae token o' plycht, +The waukin man i' the sleepin man's lug + Wud rown a murgeon o' micht. + +An' the glint o' a smile wud quaver athort + The sleepin cheek sae broun, +An' a tear atween the ee-lids wud stert, + An' whiles rin fairly doun. + +An' aye by his lair sat the ghaist-like man, + He watchit his sleep a' nicht; +An' in mail rust-broun, wi' his visorne doun, + Rade at his knee i' the fecht. + +Nor anis nor twyis the horn-helmit chiel + Saved him frae deidly dad; +An' Archie said, "Gien this be the deil + He's no sac black as he's ca'd." + +But wat ye fu' weel it wasna the deil + That tuik lord Archie's pairt, +But his twin-brother John he thoucht deid an' gone, + Wi' luve like a lowe in his hert. + +III. + +Hame cam lord Archibold, weary wicht, + Hame til his ain countree; +An' he cried, quhan his castle rase in sicht, + "Noo Christ me sain an' see!" + +He turnit him roun: the man in rust-broun + Was gane, he saw nocht quhair! +At the ha' door he lichtit him doun, + Lady Margaret met him there. + +Reid, reid war her een, but hie was her mien, + An' her words war sharp an' sair: +"Welcome, Archie, to dule an' tene, + An' welcome ye s' get nae mair! + +Quhaur is yer twin, lord Archibold, + That lay i' my body wi' thee? +I miss my mark gien he liesna stark + Quhaur the daylicht comesna to see!" + +Lord Archibold dochtna speik a word + For his hert was like a stane; +He turnt him awa--an' the huddy craw + Was roupin for his ain. + +"Quhaur are ye gaein, lord Archie," she said, + "Wi' yer lips sae white an' thin?" +"Mother, gude-bye! I'm gaein to lie + Ance mair wi' my body-twin." + +Up she brade, but awa he gaed + Straucht for the corbie-tree; +For quhaur he had slain he thoucht to slay, + An' cast him doon an' dee. + +"God guide us!" he cried wi' gastit rair, + "Has he lien there ever sin' syne?" +An' he thoucht he saw the banes, pykit an' bare, + Throu the cracks o' his harness shine. + +"Oh Johnnie! my brither!" quo' Archibold + Wi' a hert-upheavin mane, +"I wad pit my soul i' yer wastit corp + To see ye alive again!" + +"Haud ye there!" quod a voice frae oot the helm, + "A man suld heed quhat he says!" +An' the closin joints grippit an' tore the gerse +As up the armour rase:-- + +"Soul ye hae nane to ca' yer ain + An' its time to hand yer jaw! +The sleep it was thine, an' the soul it is mine: + Deil Archie, come awa!" + +"Auld Hornie," quo' Archie, "twa words to that: + My burnin hert burns on; +An' the sleep, weel I wat, was nae reek frae thy pat, + For aye I was dreamin o' John! + +"But I carena a plack for a soul sae black-- + Wae's me 'at my mither bore me! +Put fire i' my breist an' fire at my back, + But ae minute set Johnnie afore me!" + +The gantlets grippit the helm sae stoot + An' liftit frae chin an' broo: +An' Johnnie himsel keekit smilin oot:-- + "O Archie, I hae ye noo! + +"O' yer wee bit brod I was little the waur, + I crap awa my lane; +An' never a deevil cam ye nar, + 'Cep ye coont yer Johnnie ane!" + +Quhare quhylum his brither Johnnie lay, + Fell Archie upon his knees; +The words he said I dinna say, + But I'm sure they warna lees. + + + +_THE LAST WOOIN_. + +"O lat me in, my bonny lass! + It's a lang road ower the hill, +And the flauchterin snaw begud to fa' + On the brig ayont the mill!" + +"Here's nae change-hoose, John Munro!" + "I'll ken that to my cost +Gien ye gar me tak the hill the nicht, + Wi' snaw o' the back o' frost! + +But tell me, lass, what's my offence." + "Weel ken ye! At the fair +Ye lichtlied me! Ay, twasna ance!-- + Ye needna come nae mair!" + +"I lichtlied ye?"--"Ay, ower the glass!" + "Foul-fa' the ill-faured mou +'At made the leein word to pass + By rowin 't i' the true! + +The trouth is this: I dochtna bide + To hear yer bonnie name +Whaur lawless mous war openit wide + Wi' ill-tongued scoff and blame; + +And what I said was: 'Hoot, lat sit! + She's but a bairn, the lass!' +It turnt the spait o' words a bit, + And loot yer fair name pass." + +"Thank ye for naething, John Munro! + My name it needna hide; +It's no a drucken sough wud gar + Me turn my heid aside!" + +"O Elsie, lassie, be yersel! + The snaw-stour's driftin thrang! +O tak me in, the win' 's sae snell, + And in an hour I'll gang." + +"I downa pay ye guid for ill, + Ye heedna fause and true! +Gang back to Katie at the mill-- + She loos sic like as you!" + +He turnt his fit; she heardna mair. + The lift was like to fa'; +And Elsie's hert grew grit and sair + At sicht o' the drivin snaw. + +She laid her doon, but no to sleep, + Her verra hert was cauld; +And the sheets war like a frozen heap + O' drift aboot her faul'd. + +She rase fu' air; the warl lay fair + And still in its windin-sheet; +At door-cheek, or at winnock-lug, + Was never a mark o' feet! + +She crap for days aboot the hoose, + Dull-futtit and hert-sair, +Aye keekin oot like a hungert moose-- + But Johnnie was na there! + +Lang or the spring begoud to thow + The waesome, sick-faced snaw, +Her hert was saft a' throu and throu, + Her pride had ta'en a fa'. + +And whan the wreaths war halflins gane, + And the sun was blinkin bonnie, +Oot ower the hill she wud gang her lane + To speir aboot her Johnnie. + +Half ower, she cam intil a lair + O' snaw and slush and weet: +The Lord hae mercy! what's that there? + It was Johnnie at her feet. + +Aneth the snaw his heid was smorit, + But his breist was maistly bare, +And twixt his richt ban' and his hert + Lay a lock o' gouden hair. + +The warm win' blew, the blackcock flew, + The lerrick muntit the skies; +The burnie ran, and a baein began, + But Johnnie wudna rise. + +The sun was clear, the lift was blue, + The winter was awa; +Up cam the green gerse plentifu, + The better for the snaw; + +And warm it happit Johnnie's grave + Whaur the ae lock gouden lay; +But on Elsie's hingin heid the lave + Was afore the barley gray. + + + +_HALLOWEEN_. + +Sweep up the flure, Janet; + Put on anither peat. +It's a lown and a starry nicht, Janet, + And nowther cauld nor weet. + +It's the nicht atween the Sancts and Souls + Whan the bodiless gang aboot; +And it's open hoose we keep the nicht + For ony that may be oot. + +Set the cheirs back to the wa', Janet; + Mak ready for quaiet fowk. +Hae a'thing as clean as a windin-sheet: + They comena ilka ook. + +There's a spale upo' the flure, Janet, + And there's a rowan-berry! +Sweep them intil the fire, Janet, + Or they'll neither come nor tarry. + +Syne set open the outer dure-- + Wide open for wha kens wha? +As ye come ben to your bed, Janet, + Set baith dures to the wa'. + +She set the cheirs back to the wa', + But ane that was o' the birk; +She sweepit the flure, but left the spale-- + A lang spale o' the aik. + +The nicht was lown; the stars sae still + War glintin doon the sky; +The souls crap oot o' their mooly graves, + A' dank wi' lyin by. + +They faund the dure wide to the wa', + And the peats blawn rosy reid: +They war shuneless feet gaed in and oot, + Nor clampit as they gaed. + +The mither she keekit but the hoose, + Saw what she ill could say; +Quakin she slidit doon by Janet, + And gaspin a whilie she lay. + +There's are o' them sittin afore the fire! + Ye wudna hearken to me! +Janet, ye left a cheir by the fire, + Whaur I tauld ye nae cheir suld be! + +Janet she smilit in her minnie's face: + She had brunt the roden reid, +But she left aneth the birken cheir + The spale frae a coffin-lid! + +Saft she rase and gaed but the hoose, + And ilka dure did steik. +Three hours gaed by, and her minnie heard + Sound o' the deid nor quick. + +Whan the gray cock crew, she heard on the flure + The fa' o' shuneless feet; +Whan the rud cock crew, she heard the dure, + And a sough o' win' and weet. + +Whan the goud cock crew, Janet cam back; + Her face it was gray o' ble; +Wi' starin een, at her mither's side + She lay doon like a bairn to dee. + +Her white lips hadna a word to lat fa' + Mair nor the soulless deid; +Seven lang days and nights she lay, + And never a word she said. + +Syne suddent, as oot o' a sleep, she brade, + Smilin richt winsumly; +And she spak, but her word it was far and strayit, + Like a whisper come ower the sea. + +And never again did they hear her lauch, + Nor ever a tear doun ran; +But a smile aye flittit aboot her face + Like the mune on a water wan. + +And ilka nicht atween Sancts and Souls + She laid the dures to the wa', +Blew up the fire, and set the cheir, + And loot the spale doon fa'. + +And at midnicht she gaed but the hoose + Aye steekin dure and dure. +Whan the goud cock crew, quaiet as a moose + She cam creepin ower the flure. + +Mair wan grew her face, and her smile mair sweet + Quhill the seventh Halloweve: +Her mother she heard the shuneless feet, + Said--She'll be ben belyve! + +She camna ben. Her minnie rase-- + For fear she 'maist cudna stan; +She grippit the wa', and but she gaed, + For the goud cock lang had crawn. + +There sat Janet upo' the birk cheir, + White as the day did daw; +But her smile was a sunglint left on the sea + Whan the sun himsel is awa. + + + +_THE LAVEROCK_. + +_The Man says:_ + +Laverock i' the lift, +Hae ye nae sang-thrift, +'At ye scatter 't sae heigh, and lat it a' drift? + Wasterfu laverock! + +Dinna ye ken +'At ye hing ower men +Wha haena a sang or a penny to spen? + Hertless laverock! + +But up there you, +I' the bow o' the blue, +Haud skirlin on as gien a' war new! + Toom-heidit laverock! + +Haith, ye're ower blythe! +I see a great scythe +Swing whaur yer nestie lies, doon i' the lythe, + Liltin laverock! + +Eh, sic a soun! +Birdie, come doun, +Ye're fey to sing sic a merry tune! + Gowkit laverock! + +Come to yer nest; +Yer wife's sair prest, +She's clean worn oot wi' duin her best! + Rovin laverock! + +Winna ye haud? +Ye're surely mad! +Is there naebody there to gie ye a dad, + Menseless laverock? + +Come doon and conform, +Pyke an honest worm, +And hap yer bairns frae the comin storm, + Spendrife laverock! + +_The Bird sings:_ + + My nestie it lieth + I' the how o' a ban'; + The swing o' the scythe + 'Ill miss 't by a span. + + The lift it's sae cheery! + The win' it's sae free! + I hing ower my dearie, + And sing 'cause I see. + + My wifie's wee breistie + Grows warm wi' my sang, + And ilk crumpled-up beastie + Kens no to think lang. + + Up here the sun sings, but + He only shines there! + Ye haena nae wings, but + Come up on a prayer. + +_The man sings:_ + + Ye wee daurin cratur, + Ye rant and ye sing + Like an oye o' auld Natur + Ta'en hame by the king! + + Ye wee feathert priestie, + Yer bells i' yer thro't, + Yer altar yer breistie, + Yer mitre forgot-- + + Offerin and Aaron, + Ye burn hert and brain; + And dertin and daurin, + Flee back to yer ain! + + Ye wee minor prophet, + It's 'maist my belief + 'At I'm doon in Tophet, + And you abune grief! + + Ye've deavt me and daudit + And ca'd me a fule: + I'm nearhan' persuaudit + To gang to your schule! + + For, birdie, I'm thinkin + Ye ken mair nor me-- + Gien ye haena been drinkin, + And sing as ye see. + + Ye maun hae a sicht 'at + Sees gay and far ben, + And a hert, for the micht o' 't, + Wad sair for nine men! + +There's somebody's been til +Roun saft to ye wha +Said birdies are seen til, +And e'en whan they fa'! + + + +_GODLY BALLANTS_. + +I.--THIS SIDE AN' THAT. + +The rich man sat in his father's seat-- + Purple an' linen, an' a'thing fine! +The puir man lay at his yett i' the street-- + Sairs an' tatters, an' weary pine! + +To the rich man's table ilk dainty comes, + Mony a morsel gaed frae't, or fell; +The puir man fain wud hae dined on the crumbs, + But whether he got them I canna tell. + +Servants prood, saft-fittit, an' stoot, + Stan by the rich man's curtained doors; +Maisterless dogs 'at rin aboot + Cam to the puir man an' lickit his sores. + +The rich man deeit, an' they buried him gran', + In linen fine his body they wrap; +But the angels tuik up the beggar man, + An' layit him doun in Abraham's lap. + +The guid upo' this side, the ill upo' that-- + Sic was the rich man's waesome fa'! +But his brithers they eat, an' they drink, an' they chat, + An' carena a strae for their Father's ha'! + +The trowth's the trowth, think what ye will; + An' some they kenna what they wad be at; +But the beggar man thoucht he did no that ill, + Wi' the dogs o' this side, the angels o' that! + +II.--THE TWA BAUBEES. + +Stately, lang-robit, an' steppin at ease, + The rich men gaed up the temple ha'; +Hasty, an' grippin her twa baubees, +The widow cam efter, booit an' sma'. + +Their goud rang lood as it fell, an' lay + Yallow an' glintin, bonnie an' braw; +But the fowk roun the Maister h'ard him say + The puir body's baubees was mair nor it a'. + +III.--WHA'S MY NEIBOUR? + +Doon frae Jerus'lem a traveller took + The laigh road to Jericho; +It had an ill name an' mony a crook, + It was lang an' unco how. + +Oot cam the robbers, an' fell o' the man, + An' knockit him o' the heid, +Took a' whauron they couth lay their han', + An' left him nakit for deid. + +By cam a minister o' the kirk: + "A sair mishanter!" he cried; +"Wha kens whaur the villains may lirk! + I s' haud to the ither side!" + +By cam an elder o' the kirk; + Like a young horse he shied: +"Fie! here's a bonnie mornin's wark!" + An' he spangt to the ither side. + +By cam ane gaed to the wrang kirk; + Douce he trottit alang. +"Puir body!" he cried, an' wi' a yerk + Aff o' his cuddy he sprang. + +He ran to the body, an' turnt it ower: + "There's life i' the man!" he cried. +_He_ wasna ane to stan an' glower, + Nor hand to the ither side! + +He doctort his oons, an' heised him then + To the back o' the beastie douce; +An' he heild him on till, twa weary men, + They wan to the half-way hoose. + +He ten'd him a' nicht, an' o' the morn did say, + "Lan'lord, latna him lack; +Here's auchteen pence!--an' ony mair ootlay + I'll sattle 't as I come back." + +Sae tak til ye, neibours; read aricht the word; + It's a portion o' God's ain spell! +"Wha is my neibour?" speirna the Lord, + But, "Am I a neibour?" yersel. + +IV.--HIM WI' THE BAG. + +Ance was a woman wha's hert was gret; + Her love was sae dumb it was 'maist a grief; +She brak the box--it's tellt o' her yet-- + The bonny box for her hert's relief. + +Ane was there wha's tale's but brief, + Yet was ower lang, the gait he cawed; +He luikit a man, and was but a thief, + Michty the gear to grip and hand. + +"What guid," he cried, "sic a boxfu to blaud? + Wilfu waste I couth never beir! +It micht hae been sellt for ten poun, I wad-- + Sellt for ten poun, and gien to the puir!" + +Savin he was, but for love o' the gear; + Carefu he was, but a' for himsel; +He carried the bag to his hert sae near + What fell i' the ane i' the ither fell. + +And the strings o' his hert hingit doun to hell, + They war pu'd sae ticht aboot the mou; +And hence it comes that I hae to tell + The warst ill tale that ever was true. + +The hert that's greedy maun mischief brew, + And the deils pu'd the strings doon yon'er in hell; +And he sauld, or the agein mune was new, + For thirty shillins the Maister himsel! + +Gear i' the hert it's a canker fell: + Brithers, latna the siller ben! +Troth, gien ye du, I warn ye ye'll sell + The verra Maister or ever ye ken! + +V.--THE COORSE CRATUR. + + The Lord gaed wi' a crood o' men + Throu Jericho the bonny; + 'Twas ill the Son o' Man to ken + Mang sons o' men sae mony: + + The wee bit son o' man Zacchay + To see the Maister seekit; + He speilt a fig-tree, bauld an' shy, + An' sae his shortness ekit. + + But as he thoucht to see his back, + Roun turnt the haill face til 'im, + Up luikit straucht, an' til 'im spak-- + His hert gaed like to kill 'im. + + "Come doun, Zacchay; bestir yersel; + This nicht I want a lodgin." + Like a ripe aipple 'maist he fell, + Nor needit ony nudgin. + + But up amang the unco guid + There rase a murmurin won'er: + "This is a deemis want o' heed, + The man's a special sinner!" + + Up spak Zacchay, his hert ableeze: + "Half mine, the puir, Lord, hae it; + Gien oucht I've taen by ony lees, + Fourfauld again I pay it!" + + Then Jesus said, "This is a man! + His hoose I'm here to save it; + He's are o' Abraham's ain clan, + An' siclike has behavit! + + I cam the lost to seek an' win."-- + Zacchay was are he wantit: + To ony man that left his sin + His grace he never scantit. + + + +_THE DEIL'S FORHOOIT HIS AIN_. + + _The Deil's forhooit his ain, his ain! + The Deil's forhooit his ain! + His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk, + For the Deil's forhooit his ain._ + +The Deil he tuik his stick and his hat, + And his yallow gluves on he drew: +"The coal's sae dear, and the preachin sae flat. + And I canna be aye wi' you!" + + _The Deil's, &c._ + +"But I'll gie ye my blessin afore I gang, + Wi' jist ae word o' advice; +And gien onything efter that gaes wrang + It'll be yer ain wull and ch'ice! + +"Noo hark: There's diseases gaein aboot, + Whiles are, and whiles a' thegither! +Ane's ca'd Repentance--haith, hand it oot! + It comes wi' a change o' weather. + +"For that, see aye 'at ye're gude at the spune + And tak yer fair share o' the drink; +Gien ye dinna, I wadna won'er but sune + Ye micht 'maist begin to think! + +"Neist, luik efter yer liver; that's the place + Whaur Conscience gars ye fin'! +Some fowk has mair o' 't, and some has less-- + It comes o' breedin in. + +"But there's waur nor diseases gaein aboot, + There's a heap o' fair-spoken lees; +And there's naething i' natur, in or oot, + 'At waur with the health agrees. + +"There's what they ca' Faith, 'at wad aye be fain; + And Houp that glowers, and tynes a'; +And Love, that never yet faund its ain, + But aye turnt its face to the wa'. + +"And Trouth--the sough o' a sickly win'; + And Richt--what needna be; +And Beauty--nae deeper nor the skin; + And Blude--that's naething but bree. + +"But there's ae gran' doctor for a' and mair-- + For diseases and lees in a breath:-- +My bairns, I lea' ye wi'oot a care + To yer best freen, Doctor Death. + +"He'll no distress ye: as quaiet's a cat + He grips ye, and a'thing's ower; +There's naething mair 'at ye wad be at, + There's never a sweet nor sour! + +"They ca' 't a sleep, but it's better bliss, + For ye wauken up no more; +They ca' 't a mansion--and sae it is, + And the coffin-lid's the door! + +"Jist ae word mair---and it's _verbum sat_-- + I hae preacht it mony's the year: +Whaur there's naething ava to be frictit at + There's naething ava to fear. + +"I dinna say 'at there isna a hell-- + To lee wad be a disgrace! +I bide there whan I'm at hame mysel, + And it's no sic a byous ill place! + +"Ye see yon blue thing they ca' the lift? + It's but hell turnt upside doun, +A whummilt bossie, whiles fou o' drift, + And whiles o' a rumlin soun! + +"Lat auld wives tell their tales i' the reek, + Men hae to du wi' fac's: +There's naebody there to watch, and keek + Intil yer wee mistaks. + +"But nor ben there's naebody there + Frae the yird to the farthest spark; +Ye'll rub the knees o' yer breeks to the bare + Afore ye'll pray ye a sark! + +"Sae fare ye weel, my bonny men, + And weel may ye thrive and the! +Gien I dinna see ye some time again + It'll be 'at ye're no to see." + +He cockit his hat ower ane o' his cheeks, + And awa wi' a halt and a spang-- +For his tail was doun ae leg o' his breeks, + And his butes war a half ower lang. + + _The Deil's forhooit his ain, his ain! + The Deil's forhooit his ain! + His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk, + For the Deil's forhooit his ain._ + + + +_THE AULD FISHER_. + +There was an auld fisher, he sat by the wa', + An' luikit oot ower the sea; +The bairnies war playin, he smil't on them a', + But the tear stude in his e'e. + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! + An' it's, oh to win awa +Whaur the bairns come hame, an' the wives they bide, + An' God is the father o' a'!_ + +Jocky an' Jeamy an' Tammy oot there + A' i' the boatie gaed doon; +An' I'm ower auld to fish ony mair, + Sae I hinna the chance to droon! + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! &c._ + +An' Jeannie she grat to ease her hert, + An' she easit hersel awa; +But I'm ower auld for the tears to stert, + An' sae the sighs maun blaw. + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! &c._ + +Lord, steer me hame whaur my Lord has steerit, + For I'm tired o' life's rockin sea; +An' dinna be lang, for I'm growin that fearit + 'At I'm ablins ower auld to dee! + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! + An' it's, oh to win awa +Whaur the bairns come hame, an' the wives they bide, + An' God is the father o' a'!_ + + + +_THE HERD AND THE MAVIS_. + +"What gars ye sing," said the herd-laddie, + "What gars ye sing sae lood?" +"To tice them oot o' the yerd, laddie, + The worms for my daily food." + + _An' aye he sang, an' better he sang, + An' the worms creepit in an' oot; + An' ane he tuik, an' twa he loot gang, + An' still he carolled stoot._ + +"It's no for the worms, sir," said the herd; + "They comena for your sang!" +"Think ye sae, sir?" answered the bird, + "Maybe ye're no i' the wrang!" + + _But aye &c._ + +"Sing ye young Sorrow to beguile, + Or to gie auld Fear the flegs?" +"Na," quo' the mavis, "I sing to wile + My wee things oot o' her eggs." + + _An' aye &c._ + +"The mistress is plenty for that same gear + Though ye sangna air nor late!" +"I wud draw the deid frae the moul sae drear. + An' open the kirkyard-gate." + + _An' aye &c._ + +"Better ye sing nor a burn i' the mune, + Nor a wave ower san' that flows, +Nor a win' wi' the glintin stars abune, + An' aneth the roses in rows; + + _An' aye &c._ + +But a better sang it wud tak nor yer ain, + Though ye hae o' notes a feck, +To mak the auld Barebanes there sae fain + As to lift the muckle sneck! + + _An' aye &c._ + +An' ye wudna draw ae bairnie back + Frae the arms o' the bonny man +Though its minnie was greitin alas an' alack, + An' her cries to the bairnie wan! + + _An' aye &c._ + +An' I'll speir ye nae mair, sir," said the herd, + "I fear what ye micht say neist!" +"I doobt ye wud won'er, sir," said the bird, + "To see the thouchts i' my breist!" + + _An' aye he sang, an' better he sang, + An' the worms creepit in an' oot; + An' ane he tuik, an' twa he loot gang, + An' still he carolled stoot._ + + + +_A LOWN NICHT_. + +Rose o' my hert, + Open yer leaves to the lampin mune; +Into the curls lat her keek an' dert, + She'll tak the colour but gie ye tune. + +Buik o' my brain, + Open yer faulds to the starry signs; +Lat the e'en o' the holy luik an' strain, + Lat them glimmer an' score atween the lines. + +Cup o' my soul, + Goud an' diamond an' ruby cup, +Ye're noucht ava but a toom dry bowl + Till the wine o' the kingdom fill ye up. + +Conscience-glass, + Mirror the en'less All in thee; +Melt the boundered and make it pass + Into the tideless, shoreless sea. + +Warl o' my life, + Swing thee roun thy sunny track; +Fire an' win' an' water an' strife, + Carry them a' to the glory back. + + + +_THE HOME OF DEATH_. + +"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" +"I bide in ilka breath," +Quo' Death; +"No i' the pyramids, +No whaur the wormie rids +'Neth coffin-lids; +I bidena whaur life has been, +An' whaur's nae mair to be dune." + +"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" +"Wi' the leevin, to dee 'at are laith," +Quo' Death; +"Wi' the man an' the wife +'At loo like life, +Bot strife; +Wi' the bairns 'at hing to their mither, +Wi' a' 'at loo ane anither." + +"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" +"Abune an' aboot an' aneth," +Quo' Death; +"But o' a' the airts +An' o' a' the pairts, +In herts-- +Whan the tane to the tither says, Na, +An' the north win' begins to blaw." + + + +_TRIOLET_. + +I'm a puir man I grant, +But I am weel neiboured; +And nane shall me daunt +Though a puir man, I grant; +For I shall not want-- +The Lord is my Shepherd! +I'm a puir man I grant, +But I am weel neiboured! + + + +_WIN' THAT 'BLAWS_. + +Win' that blaws the simmer plaid +Ower the hie hill's shoothers laid, +Green wi' gerse, an' reid wi' heather-- +Welcome wi' yer sowl-like weather! +Mony a win' there has been sent +Oot aneth the firmament-- +Ilka ane its story has; +Ilka ane began an' was; +Ilka ane fell quaiet an' mute +Whan its angel wark was oot: +First gaed are oot throu the mirk +Whan the maker gan to work; +Ower it gaed an' ower the sea, +An' the warl begud to be. +Mony are has come an' gane +Sin' the time there was but ane: +Ane was grit an' strong, an' rent +Rocks an' muntains as it went +Afore the Lord, his trumpeter, +Waukin up the prophet's ear; +Ane was like a stepping soun +I' the mulberry taps abune-- +Them the Lord's ain steps did swing, +Walkin on afore his king; +Ane lay dune like scoldit pup +At his feet, an' gatna up-- +Whan the word the Maister spak +Drave the wull-cat billows back; +Ane gaed frae his lips, an' dang +To the yird the sodger thrang; +Ane comes frae his hert to mine +Ilka day to mak it fine. +Breath o' God, eh! come an' blaw +Frae my hert ilk fog awa; +Wauk me up an' mak me strang, +Fill my hert wi' mony a sang, +Frae my lips again to stert +Fillin sails o' mony a hert, +Blawin them ower seas dividin +To the only place to bide in. + + + +_A SONG OF HOPE_. + +I dinna ken what's come ower me! + There's a how whaur ance was a hert! +I never luik oot afore me, + An' a cry winna gar me stert; +There's naething nae mair to come ower me, + Blaw the win' frae ony airt! + +For i' yon kirkyard there's a hillock, + A hert whaur ance was a how; +An' o' joy there's no left a mealock-- + Deid aiss whaur ance was a low! +For i' yon kirkyard, i' the hillock, + Lies a seed 'at winna grow. + +It's my hert 'at hauds up the wee hillie-- + That's hoo there's a how i' my breist; +It's awa doon there wi' my Willie-- + Gaed wi' him whan he was releast; +It's doon i' the green-grown hillie, + But I s' be efter it neist! + +Come awa, nicht an' mornin, + Come ooks, years, a' Time's clan: +Ye're welcome: I'm no a bit scornin! + Tak me til him as fest as ye can. +Come awa, nicht an' mornin, + Ye are wings o' a michty span! + +For I ken he's luikin an' waitin, + Luikin aye doon as I clim; +An' I'll no hae him see me sit greitin + I'stead o' gaein to him! +I'll step oot like ane sure o' a meetin, + I'll travel an' rin to him. + + + +_THE BURNIE_. + +The water ran doon frae the heich hope-heid, + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_; +It wimpled, an' waggled, an' sang a screed + O' nonsense, an' wadna blin + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_. + +Frae the hert o' the warl, wi' a swirl an' a sway, + _An' a Rin, burnie, rin_, +That water lap clear frae the dark til the day, + An' singin awa did spin, + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_. + +Ae wee bit mile frae the heich hope-heid + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_, +Mang her yows an' her lammies the herd-lassie stude, + An' she loot a tear fa' in, + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_. + +Frae the hert o' the maiden that tear-drap rase + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_; +Wear'ly clim'in up weary ways + There was but a drap to fa' in, + Sae laith did that burnie rin. + +Twa wee bit miles frae the heich hope-heid + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_, +Doon creepit a cowerin streakie o' reid, + An' it meltit awa within + The burnie 'at aye did rin. + +Frae the hert o' a youth cam the tricklin reid, + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_; +It ran an' ran till it left him deid, + An' syne it dried up i' the win': + That burnie nae mair did rin. + +Whan the wimplin burn that frae three herts gaed + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_, +Cam to the lip o' the sea sae braid, + It curled an' groued wi' pain o' sin-- + But it tuik that burnie in. + + + +_HAME_. + +The warl it's dottit wi' hames + As thick as gowans o' the green, +Aye bonnier ilk ane nor the lave + To him wha there opent his een. + +An' mony an' bonny's the hame + That lies neth auld Scotlan's crests, +Her hills an' her mountains they are the sides + O' a muckle nest o' nests. + +His lies i' the dip o' a muir + Wi' a twa three elder trees, +A lanely cot wi' a sough o' win', + An' a simmer bum o' bees; + +An' mine in a bloomin strath, + Wi' a river rowin by, +Wi' the green corn glintin i' the sun, + An' a lowin o' the kye; + +An' yours whaur the chimleys auld + Stan up i' the gloamin pale +Wi' the line o' a gran' sierra drawn + On the lift as sharp's wi' a nail. + +But whether by ingle-neuk + On a creepie ye sookit yer thumb, +Dreamin, an' watchin the blue peat-reek + Wamle oot up the muckle lum, + +Or yer wee feet sank i' the fur + Afore a bleezin hearth, +Wi' the curtains drawn, shuttin oot the toon-- + Aberdeen, Auld Reekie, or Perth, + +It's a naething, nor here nor there; + Leal Scots are a'ane thegither! +Ilk ane has a hame, an' it's a' the same + Whether in clover or heather! + +An' the hert aye turns to the hame-- + That's whaur oor ain folk wons; +An' gien hame binna hame, the hert bauds ayont + Abune the stars an' the suns. + +For o' a' the hames there's a hame + Herty an' warm an' wide, +Whaur a' that maks hame ower the big roun earth + Gangs til its hame to bide. + + + +_THE SANG O' THE AULD FOWK._ + +Doon cam the sunbeams, and up gaed the stour, +As we spangt ower the road at ten mile the hoor, +The horse wasna timmer, the cart wasna strae, +And little cared we for the burn or the brae. + +We war young, and the hert in's was strang i' the loup, +And deeper in yet was the courage and houp; +The sun was gey aft in a clood, but the heat +Cam throu, and dried saftly the doon fa'en weet. + +Noo, the horsie's some tired, but the road's nae sae lang; +The sun comes na oot, but he's no in a fang: +The nicht's comin on, but hame's no far awa; +We hae come a far road, but hae payit for a'. + +For ane has been wi' us--and sometimes 'maist seen, +Wha's cared for us better nor a' oor four e'en; +He's cared for the horsie, the man, and the wife, +And we're gaein hame to him for the rest o' oor life. + +Doon comes the water, and up gangs nae stour; +We creep ower the road at twa mile the hoor; +But oor herts they are canty, for ane's to the fore +Wha was and wha is and will be evermore. + + + +_THE AULD MAN'S PRAYER_ + +Lord, I'm an auld man, + An' I'm deein! +An' do what I can + I canna help bein +Some feart at the thoucht! +I'm no what I oucht! +An' thou art sae gran', +Me but an auld man! + +I haena gotten muckle + Guid o' the warld; +Though siller a puckle + Thegither I hae harlt, +Noo I maun be rid o' 't, +The ill an' the guid o' 't! +An' I wud--I s' no back frae 't-- +Rather put til 't nor tak frae 't! + +It's a pity a body + Coudna haud on here, +Puttin cloddy to cloddy + Till he had a bit lan' here!-- +But eh I'm forgettin +Whaur the tide's settin! +It'll pusion my prayer +Till it's no worth a hair! + +It's awfu, it's awfu + To think 'at I'm gaein +Whaur a' 's ower wi' the lawfu, + Whaur's an en' til a' haein! +It's gruesome to en' +The thing 'at ye ken, +An' gang to begin til +What ye canna see intil! + +Thou may weel turn awa, + Lord, an' say it's a shame +'At noo I suld ca' + On thy licht-giein name +Wha my lang life-time +Wud no see a stime! +An' the fac' there's no fleein-- +But hae pity--I'm deein! + +I'm thine ain efter a'-- + The waur shame I'm nae better! +Dinna sen' me awa, + Dinna curse a puir cratur! +I never jist cheatit-- +I own I defeatit, +Gart his poverty tell +On him 'at maun sell! + +Oh that my probation + Had lain i' some region +Whaur was less consideration + For gear mixt wi' religion! +It's the mixin the twa +'At jist ruins a'! +That kirk's the deil's place +Whaur gear glorifees grace! + +I hae learnt nought but ae thing + 'At life's but a span! +I hae warslet for naething! + I hae noucht i' my han'! +At the fut o' the stairs +I'm sayin my prayers:-- +Lord, lat the auld loon +Confess an' lie doon. + +I hae been an ill man-- + Micht hae made a guid dog! +I could rin though no stan-- + Micht hae won throu a bog! +But 't was ower easy gaein, +An' I set me to playin! +Dinna sen' me awa +Whaur's no licht ava! + +Forgie me an' hap me! + I hae been a sharp thorn. +But, oh, dinna drap me! + I'll be coothie the morn! +To my brither John +Oh, lat me atone-- +An' to mair I cud name +Gien I'd time to tak blame! + +I hae wullt a' my gear + To my cousin Lippit: +She needs 't no a hair, + An' wud haud it grippit! +But I'm thinkin 't 'll be better +To gie 't a bit scatter +Whaur it winna canker +But mak a bit anchor! + +Noo I s'try to sit loose + To the warld an' its thrang! +Lord, come intil my hoose, + For Sathan sall gang! +Awa here I sen' him-- +Oh, haud the hoose agane him, +Or thou kens what he'll daur-- +He'll be back wi' seven waur! + +Lord, I knock at thy yett! + I hear the dog yowlin! +Lang latna me wait-- + My conscience is growlin! +Whaur but to thee +Wha was broken for me, +But to thee, Lord, sae gran', +Can flee an auld man! + + + +_GRANNY CANTY._ + +"What maks ye sae canty, granny dear? +Has some kin' body been for ye to speir? +Ye luik as smilin an' fain an' willin +As gien ye had fun a bonny shillin!" + +"Ye think I luik canty, my bonny man, +Sittin watchin the last o' the sun sae gran'? +Weel, an' I'm thinkin ye're no that wrang, +For 'deed i' my hert there's a wordless sang! + +"Ken ye the meanin o' _canty_, my dow? +It's bein i' the humour o' singin, I trow! +An' though nae sang ever crosses my lips +I'm aye like to sing whan anither sun dips. + +"For the time, wee laddie, the time grows lang +Sin' I saw the man wha's sicht was my sang-- +Yer gran'father, that's--an' the sun's last glim +Says aye to me, 'Lass, ye're a mile nearer him! + +"For he's hame afore me, an' lang's the road! +He fain at my side wud hae timed his plod, +But, eh, he was sent for, an' hurried awa! +Noo, I'm thinkin he's harkin to hear my fit-fa'." + +"But, grannie, yer face is sae lirkit an' thin, +Wi' a doun-luikin nose an' an up-luikin chin, +An' a mou clumpit up oot o' sicht atween, +Like the witherin half o' an auld weary mune!" + +"Hoot, laddie, ye needna glower yersel blin'! +The body 'at loos, sees far throu the skin; +An', believe me or no, the hoor's comin amain +Whan ugly auld fowk 'ill be bonny again. + +"For there is _ane_--an' it's no my dear man, +Though I loo him as nane but a wife's hert can-- +The joy o' beholdin wha's gran' lovely face +Til mak me like him in a' 'at's ca'd grace. + +"But what I am like I carena a strae +Sae lang as I'm _his_, an' what _he_ wud hae! +Be ye a guid man, John, an' ae day ye'll ken +What maks granny canty yont four score an' ten." + + + +_TIME_. + +A lang-backit, spilgie, fuistit auld carl +Gangs a' nicht rakin athort the warl +Wi' a pock on his back, luikin hungry an' lean, +His crook-fingert han' aye followin his e'en: +He gathers up a'thing that canna but fa'-- +Intil his bag wi' 't, an' on, an' awa! +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw!-- +Intil his bag wi' 't, an' on, an' awa! + +But whan he comes to the wa' o' the warl, +Spangs up it, like lang-leggit spidder, the carl; +Up gangs his pock wi' him, humpit ahin, +For naething fa's oot 'at ance he pat in; +Syne he warstles doon ootside the flamin wa', +His bag 'maist the deith o' him, pangt like a ba'; +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw! +His bag 'maist throttlin him, pangt like a ba'! + +Doon he draps weary upon a laigh rock, +Flingin aside him his muckle-mou'd pock: +An' there he sits, his heid in his han', +Like a broken-hertit, despairin man; +Him air his pock no bonny, na, na! +Him an' his pock an ugsome twa! +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw! +Him an' his pock an ugsome twa! + +But sune 's the first ray o' the sunshine bare +Lichts on the carl, what see ye there? +An angel set on eternity's brink, +Wi' e'en to gar the sun himsel blink; +By his side a glintin, glimmerin urn, +Furth frae wha's mou rins a liltin burn:-- +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw! +The dirt o' the warl rins in glory awa! + + + +_WHAT THE AULD FOWK ARE THINKIN_. + +The bairns i' their beds, worn oot wi' nae wark, + Are sleepin, nor ever an eelid winkin; +The auld fowk lie still wi' their een starin stark, + An' the mirk pang-fou o' the things they are thinkin. + +Whan oot o' ilk corner the bairnies they keek, + Lauchin an' daffin, airms loosin an' linkin, +The auld fowk they watch frae the warm ingle-cheek, + But the bairns little think what the auld fowk are thinkin. + +Whan the auld fowk sit quaiet at the reet o' a stook, + I' the sunlicht their washt een blinterin an' blinkin, +Fowk scythin, or bin'in, or shearin wi' heuk + Carena a strae what the auld fowk are thinkin. + +At the kirk, whan the minister's dreich an' dry, + His fardens as gien they war gowd guineas chinkin, +An' the young fowk are noddin, or fidgetin sly, + Naebody kens what the auld fowk are thinkin. + +Whan the young fowk are greitin aboot the bed + Whaur like water throu san' the auld life is sinkin, +An' some wud say the last word was said, + The auld fowk smile, an' ken what they're thinkin. + + + +_GREITNA, FATHER_. + +Greitna, father, that I'm gauin, + For fu' well ye ken the gaet; +I' the winter, corn ye're sawin, + I' the hairst again ye hae't. + +I'm gauin hame to see my mither; + She'll be weel acquant or this! +Sair we'll muse at ane anither + 'Tween the auld word an' new kiss! + +Love I'm doobtin may be scanty + Roun ye efter I'm awa: +Yon kirkyard has happin plenty + Close aside me, green an' braw! + +An' abune there's room for mony; + 'Twasna made for ane or twa, +But was aye for a' an' ony + Countin love the best ava. + +There nane less ye'll be my father; + Auld names we'll nor tyne nor spare! +A' my sonship I maun gather + For the Son is king up there. + +Greitna, father, that I'm gauin, + For ye ken fu' well the gaet! +Here, in winter, cast yer sawin, + There, in hairst, again ye hae't! + + + +_I KEN SOMETHING._ + +What gars ye sing sae, birdie, + As gien ye war lord o' the lift? +On breid ye're an unco sma' lairdie, + But in hicht ye've a kingly gift! + +A' ye hae to coont yersel rich in + 'S a wee mawn o' glory-motes! +The whilk to the throne ye're aye hitchin + Wi a lang tow o' sapphire notes! + +Ay, yer sang's the sang o' an angel + For a sinfu' thrapple no meet, +Like the pipes til a heavenly braingel + Whaur they dance their herts intil their feet! + +But though ye canna behaud, birdie, + Ye needna gar a'thing wheesht! +I'm noucht but a hirplin herdie, + But I hae a sang i' my breist! + +Len' me yer throat to sing throu, + Len' me yer wings to gang hie, +And I'll sing ye a sang a laverock to cow, + And for bliss to gar him dee! + + + +_MIRLS_. + +The stars are steady abune; + I' the water they flichter and flee; +But, steady aye, luikin doon + They ken theirsels i' the sea. + +A' licht, and clear, and free, + God, thou shinest abune; +Yet luik, and see thysel in me, + Aye on me luikin doon. + + * * * * * + +Throu the heather an' how gaed the creepin thing, +But abune was the waff o' an angel's wing. + + * * * * * + +Hither an' thither, here an' awa, +Into the dub ye maunna fa'; +Oot o' the dub wad ye come wi' speed, +Ye maun lift yer han's abune yer heid. + + * * * * * + +Whaur's nor sun nor mune, +Laigh things come abune. + + * * * * * + +My thouchts are like worms in a starless gloamin + My hert's like a sponge that's fillit wi' gall; +My soul's like a bodiless ghaist sent a roamin + I' the haar an' the mirk till the trumpet call. + +Lord, turn ilk worm til a butterflee, + Wring oot my hert, an' fill 't frae thy ain; +My soul syne in patience its weird will dree, + An' luik for the mornin throu the rain. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetical Works of George MacDonald, +Vol. 2, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF GEORGE MACDONALD, VOL. 2 *** + +This file should be named 7pgm210.txt or 7pgm210.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 7pgm211.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 7pgm210a.txt + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jonathan Ingram, Charles M. 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Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Poetical Works of George MacDonald, Vol. 2 + +Author: George MacDonald + +Release Date: February, 2006 [EBook #9984] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on November 5, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF GEORGE MACDONALD, VOL. 2 *** + + + + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jonathan Ingram, Charles M. Bidwell +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. + + + + +THE POETICAL WORKS OF + +GEORGE MACDONALD + +IN TWO VOLUMES + +VOL. 2 + + + CONTENTS. + +PARABLES-- + The Man of Songs + The Hills + The Journey + The Tree's Prayer + Were I a Skilful Painter + Far and Near + My Room + Death and Birth + Love's Ordeal + The Lost Soul + The Three Horses + The Golden Key + Somnium Mystici + The Sangreal + The Failing Track + Tell Me + Brother Artist + After an Old Legend + A Meditation of St Eligius + The Early Bird + Sir Lark and King Sun + The Owl and the Bell + A Mammon-Marriage + A Song in the Night + Love's History + The Lark and the Wind + A Dead House + Bell upon Organ + Master and Boy + The Clock of the Universe + The Thorn in the Flesh + Lycabas + +BALLADS-- + The Unseen Model + The Homeless Ghost + Abu Midjan + The Thankless Lady + Legend of the Corrievrechan + The Dead Hand + + +MINOR DITTIES-- + In the Night + The Giver + False Prophets + Life-Weary + Approaches + Travellers' Song + Love is Strength + Coming + A Song of the Waiting Dead + Obedience + A Song in the Night + De Profundis + Blind Sorrow + +MOTES IN THE SUN-- + Angels + The Father's Worshippers + A Birthday-Wish + To Any One + Waiting + Lost but Safe + Much and More + Hope and Patience + A Better Thing + A Prisoner + To My Lord and Master + To One Unsatisfied + To My God + Triolet + The Word of God + Eine Kleine Predigt + To the Life Eternal + Hope Deferred + Forgiveness + Dejection + Appeal + +POEMS FOR CHILDREN-- + Lessons for a Child + What makes Summer? + Mother Nature + The Mistletoe + Professor Noctutus + Bird-Songs + Riddles + Baby + Up and Down + Up in the Tree + A Baby-Sermon + Little Bo-Peep + Little Boy Blue + Willie's Question + King Cole + Said and Did + Dr. Doddridge's Dog + The Girl that Lost Things + A Make-Believe + The Christmas Child + A Christmas Prayer + No End of No-Story + +A THREEFOLD CORD-- + Dedication + The Haunted House + In the Winter + Christmas Day, 1878 + The New Year + Two Rondels + Rondel + Song + Smoke + To a Certain Critic + Song + A Cry + From Home + To My Mother Earth + Thy Heart + 0 Lord, how Happy + No Sign + November, 1851 + Of One who Died in Spring + An Autumn Song + Triolet + I See Thee Not + A Broken Prayer + Come Down + A Mood + The Carpenter + The Old Garden + A Noonday Melody + Who Lights the Fire? + Who would have Thought? + On a December Day + Christmas Day, 1850 + To a February Primrose + In February + The True + The Dwellers Therein + Autumn's Gold + Punishment + Shew us the Father + The Pinafore + The Prism + Sleep + Sharing + In Bonds + Hunger + New Year's Eve: A Waking Dream + From North Wales: To the Mother + Come to Me + A Fear + The Lost House + The Talk of the Echoes + The Goal + The Healer + Oh that a Wind + A Vision of St. Eligius + Of the Son of Man + A Song-Sermon + Words in the Night + Consider the Ravens + The Wind of the World + Sabbath Bells + Fighting + After the Fashion of an Old Emblem + A Prayer in Sickness + Quiet Dead + Let your Light so Shine + Triolet + The Souls' Rising + Awake + To an Autograph-Hunter + With a Copy of "In Memoriam" + They are Blind + When the Storm was Proudest + The Diver + To the Clouds + Second Sight + Not Understood + Hom II. v. 403 + The Dawn + Galileo + Subsidy + The Prophet + The Watcher + The Beloved Disciple + The Lily of the Valley + Evil Influence + Spoken of several Philosophers + Nature a Moral Power + To June + Summer + On a Midge + Steadfast + Provision + First Sight of the Sea + On the Source of the Arve + Confidence + Fate + Unrest + One with Nature + My Two Geniuses + Sudden Calm + Thou Also + The Aurora Borealis + The Human + Written on a Stormy Night + Reverence waking Hope + Born of Water + To a Thunder-Cloud + Sun and Moon + Doubt heralding Vision + Life or Death? + Lost and Found + The Moon + Truth, not Form + God in Growth + In a Churchyard + Power + Death + That Holy Thing + From Novalis + What Man is there of You? + O Wind of God + Shall the Dead praise Thee? + A Year-Song + Song + For where your Treasure is, there will your Heart be also + The Asthmatic Man to the Satan that binds him + Song-Sermon + Shadows + A Winter Prayer + Song of a Poor Pilgrim + An Evening Prayer + Song-Sermon + A Dream-Song + Christmas, 1880 + Rondel + The Sparrow + December 23, 1879 + Song-Prayer + December 27, 1879 + Sunday, December 28, 1879 + Song-Sermon + The Donkey in the Cart to the Horse in the Carriage + Room to Roam + Cottage Songs-- + 1. By the Cradle + 2. Sweeping the Floor + 3. Washing the Clothes + 4. Drawing Water + 5. Cleaning the Windows + The Wind and the Moon + The Foolish Harebell + Song + An Improvisation + Equity + Contrition + The Consoler + To ------. + To a Sister + The Shortest and Sweetest of Songs + +SCOTS SONGS AND BALLADS-- + Annie she's Dowie + O Lassie ayont the Hill! + The bonny, bonny Dell + Nannie Braw + Ower the Hedge + Gaein and Comin + A Sang o' Zion + Time and Tide + The Waesome Carl + The Mermaid + The Yerl o' Waterydeck + The Twa Gordons + The Last Wooin + Halloween + The Laverock + Godly Ballants-- + 1. This Side an' That + 2. The Twa Baubees + 3. Wha's my Neibour? + 4. Him wi' the Bag + 5. The Coorse Cratur + The Deil's Forhooit his Ain + The Auld Fisher + The Herd and the Mavis + A Lown Nicht + The Home of Death + Triolet + Win' that Blaws + A Song of Hope + The Burnie + Hame + The Sang o' the Auld Fowk + The Auld Man's Prayer + Granny Canty + Time + What the Auld Fowk are Thinkin + Greitna, Father + I Ken Something + Mirls + + + + + PARABLES + + + +_THE MAN OF SONGS._ + +"Thou wanderest in the land of dreams, + O man of many songs! +To thee what is, but looks and seems; + No realm to thee belongs!" + +"Seest thou those mountains, faint and far, + O spirit caged and tame?" +"Blue clouds like distant hills they are, + And like is not the same." + +"Nay, nay; I know each mountain well, + Each cliff, and peak, and dome! +In that cloudland, in one high dell, + Nesteth my little home." + + + +_THE HILLS._ + +Behind my father's cottage lies + A gentle grassy height +Up which I often ran--to gaze + Back with a wondering sight, +For then the chimneys I thought high + Were down below me quite! + +All round, where'er I turned mine eyes, + Huge hills closed up the view; +The town 'mid their converging roots + Was clasped by rivers two; +From, one range to another sprang + The sky's great vault of blue. + +It was a joy to climb their sides, + And in the heather lie! +A joy to look at vantage down + On the castle grim and high! +Blue streams below, white clouds above, + In silent earth and sky! + +And now, where'er my feet may roam, + At sight of stranger hill +A new sense of the old delight + Springs in my bosom still, +And longings for the high unknown + Their ancient channels fill. + +For I am always climbing hills, + From the known to the unknown-- +Surely, at last, on some high peak, + To find my Father's throne, +Though hitherto I have only found + His footsteps in the stone! + +And in my wanderings I did meet + Another searching too: +The dawning hope, the shared quest + Our thoughts together drew; +Fearless she laid her band in mine + Because her heart was true. + +She was not born among the hills, + Yet on each mountain face +A something known her inward eye + By inborn light can trace; +For up the hills must homeward be, + Though no one knows the place. + +Clasp my hand close, my child, in thine-- + A long way we have come! +Clasp my hand closer yet, my child, + Farther we yet must roam-- +Climbing and climbing till we reach + Our heavenly father's home. + + + +_THE JOURNEY._ + +I. + +Hark, the rain is on my roof! +Every murmur, through the dark, +Stings me with a dull reproof +Like a half-extinguished spark. +Me! ah me! how came I here, +Wide awake and wide alone! +Caught within a net of fear, +All my dreams undreamed and gone! + +I will rise; I will go forth. +Better dare the hideous night, +Better face the freezing north +Than be still, where is no light! +Black wind rushing round me now, +Sown with arrowy points of rain! +Gone are there and then and now-- +I am here, and so is pain! + +Dead in dreams the gloomy street! +I will out on open roads. +Eager grow my aimless feet-- +Onward, onward something goads! +I will take the mountain path, +Beard the storm within its den; +Know the worst of this dim wrath +Harassing the souls of men. + +Chasm 'neath chasm! rock piled on rock! +Roots, and crumbling earth, and stones! +Hark, the torrent's thundering shock! +Hark, the swaying pine tree's groans! +Ah! I faint, I fall, I die, +Sink to nothingness away!-- +Lo, a streak upon the sky! +Lo, the opening eye of day! + +II. + +Mountain summits lift their snows +O'er a valley green and low; +And a winding pathway goes +Guided by the river's flow; +And a music rises ever, +As of peace and low content, +From the pebble-paven river +Like an odour upward sent. + +And the sound of ancient harms +Moans behind, the hills among, +Like the humming of the swarms +That unseen the forest throng. +Now I meet the shining rain +From a cloud with sunny weft; +Now against the wind I strain, +Sudden burst from mountain cleft. + +Now a sky that hath a moon +Staining all the cloudy white +With a faded rainbow--soon +Lost in deeps of heavenly night! +Now a morning clear and soft, +Amber on the purple hills; +Warm blue day of summer, oft +Cooled by wandering windy rills! + +Joy to travel thus along +With the universe around! +Every creature of the throng, +Every sight and scent and sound +Homeward speeding, beauty-laden, +Beelike, to its hive, my soul! +Mine the eye the stars are made in! +Mine the heart of Nature's whole! + +III. + +Hills retreating on each hand +Slowly sink into the plain; +Solemn through the outspread land +Rolls the river to the main. +In the glooming of the night +Something through the dusky air +Doubtful glimmers, faintly white, +But I know not what or where. + +Is it but a chalky ridge +Bared of sod, like tree of bark? +Or a river-spanning bridge +Miles away into the dark? +Or the foremost leaping waves +Of the everlasting sea, +Where the Undivided laves +Time with its eternity? + +Is it but an eye-made sight, +In my brain a fancied gleam? +Or a faint aurora-light +From the sun's tired smoking team? +In the darkness it is gone, +Yet with every step draws nigh; +Known shall be the thing unknown +When the morning climbs the sky! + +Onward, onward through the night +Matters it I cannot see? +I am moving in a might +Dwelling in the dark and me! +End or way I cannot lose-- +Grudge to rest, or fear to roam; +All is well with wanderer whose +Heart is travelling hourly home. + +IV. + +Joy! O joy! the dawning sea +Answers to the dawning sky, +Foretaste of the coming glee +When the sun will lord it high! +See the swelling radiance growing +To a dazzling glory-might! +See the shadows gently going +'Twixt the wave-tops wild with light! + +Hear the smiting billows clang! +See the falling billows lean +Half a watery vault, and hang +Gleaming with translucent green, +Then in thousand fleeces fall, +Thundering light upon the strand!-- +This the whiteness which did call +Through the dusk, across the land! + +See, a boat! Out, out we dance! +Fierce blasts swoop upon my sail! +What a terrible expanse-- +Tumbling hill and heaving dale! +Stayless, helpless, lost I float, +Captive to the lawless free! +But a prison is my boat! +Oh, for petrel-wings to flee! + +Look below: each watery whirl +Cast in beauty's living mould! +Look above: each feathery curl +Dropping crimson, dropping gold!-- +Oh, I tremble in the flush +Of the everlasting youth! +Love and awe together rush: +I am free in God, the Truth! + + + +_THE TREE'S PRAYER_. + +Alas, 'tis cold and dark! +The wind all night hath sung a wintry tune! +Hail from black clouds that swallowed up the moon +Beat, beat against my bark. + +Oh! why delays the spring? +Not yet the sap moves in my frozen veins; +Through all my stiffened roots creep numbing pains, +That I can hardly cling. + +The sun shone yester-morn; +I felt the glow down every fibre float, +And thought I heard a thrush's piping note +Of dim dream-gladness born. + +Then, on the salt gale driven, +The streaming cloud hissed through my outstretched arms, +Tossed me about in slanting snowy swarms, +And blotted out the heaven. + +All night I brood and choose +Among past joys. Oh, for the breath of June! +The feathery light-flakes quavering from the moon +The slow baptizing dews! + +Oh, the joy-frantic birds!-- +They are the tongues of us, mute, longing trees! +Aha, the billowy odours! and the bees +That browse like scattered herds! + +The comfort-whispering showers +That thrill with gratefulness my youngest shoot! +The children playing round my deep-sunk root, +Green-caved from burning hours! + +See, see the heartless dawn, +With naked, chilly arms latticed across! +Another weary day of moaning loss +On the thin-shadowed lawn! + +But icy winter's past; +Yea, climbing suns persuade the relenting wind: +I will endure with steadfast, patient mind; +My leaves _will_ come at last! + + + +_WERE I A SKILFUL PAINTER._ + +Were I a skilful painter, +My pencil, not my pen, +Should try to teach thee hope and fear, +And who would blame me then?-- +Fear of the tide of darkness +That floweth fast behind, +And hope to make thee journey on +In the journey of the mind. + +Were I a skilful painter, +What should I paint for thee?-- +A tiny spring-bud peeping out +From a withered wintry tree; +The warm blue sky of summer +O'er jagged ice and snow, +And water hurrying gladsome out +From a cavern down below; + +The dim light of a beacon +Upon a stormy sea, +Where a lonely ship to windward beats +For life and liberty; +A watery sun-ray gleaming +Athwart a sullen cloud +And falling on some grassy flower +The rain had earthward bowed; + +Morn peeping o'er a mountain, +In ambush for the dark, +And a traveller in the vale below +Rejoicing like a lark; +A taper nearly vanished +Amid the dawning gray, +And a maiden lifting up her head, +And lo, the coming day! + +I am no skilful painter; +Let who will blame me then +That I would teach thee hope and fear +With my plain-talking pen!-- +Fear of the tide of darkness +That floweth fast behind, +And hope to make thee journey on +In the journey of the mind. + + + +_FAR AND NEAR_. +[The fact which suggested this poem is related by Clarke in his Travels.] + +I. + +Blue sky above, blue sea below, + Far off, the old Nile's mouth, +'Twas a blue world, wherein did blow + A soft wind from the south. + +In great and solemn heaves the mass + Of pulsing ocean beat, +Unwrinkled as the sea of glass + Beneath the holy feet. + +With forward leaning of desire + The ship sped calmly on, +A pilgrim strong that would not tire + Or hasten to be gone. + +II. + +List!--on the wave!--what can they be, + Those sounds that hither glide? +No lovers whisper tremulously + Under the ship's round side! + +No sail across the dark blue sphere + Holds white obedient way; +No far-fled, sharp-winged boat is near, + No following fish at play! + +'Tis not the rippling of the wave, + Nor sighing of the cords; +No winds or waters ever gave + A murmur so like words; + +Nor wings of birds that northward strain, + Nor talk of hidden crew: +The traveller questioned, but in vain-- + He found no answer true. + +III. + +A hundred level miles away, + On Egypt's troubled shore, +Two nations fought, that sunny day, + With bellowing cannons' roar. + +The fluttering whisper, low and near, + Was that far battle's blare; +A lipping, rippling motion here, + The blasting thunder there. + +IV. + +Can this dull sighing in my breast + So faint and undefined, +Be the worn edge of far unrest + Borne on the spirit's wind? + +The uproar of high battle fought + Betwixt the bond and free, +The thunderous roll of armed thought + Dwarfed to an ache in me? + + + +_MY ROOM_ + +To G. E. M. + + 'Tis a little room, my friend-- +Baby walks from end to end; +All the things look sadly real +This hot noontide unideal; +Vaporous heat from cope to basement +All you see outside the casement, +Save one house all mud-becrusted, +And a street all drought-bedusted! +There behold its happiest vision, +Trickling water-cart's derision! +Shut we out the staring space, +Draw the curtains in its face! + + Close the eyelids of the room, +Fill it with a scarlet gloom: +Lo, the walls with warm flush dyed! +Lo, the ceiling glorified, +As when, lost in tenderest pinks, +White rose on the red rose thinks! +But beneath, a hue right rosy, +Red as a geranium-posy, +Stains the air with power estranging, +Known with unknown clouding, changing. +See in ruddy atmosphere +Commonplaceness disappear! +Look around on either hand-- +Are we not in fairyland? + + On that couch, inwrapt in mist +Of vaporized amethyst, +Lie, as in a rose's heart: +Secret things I would impart; +Any time you would believe them-- +Easier, though, you will receive them +Bathed in glowing mystery +Of the red light shadowy; +For this ruby-hearted hue, +Sanguine core of all the true, +Which for love the heart would plunder +Is the very hue of wonder; +This dissolving dreamy red +Is the self-same radiance shed +From the heart of poet young, +Glowing poppy sunlight-stung: +If in light you make a schism +'Tis the deepest in the prism. + + This poor-seeming room, in fact +Is of marvels all compact, +So disguised by common daylight +By its disenchanting gray light, +Only eyes that see by shining, +Inside pierce to its live lining. +Loftiest observatory +Ne'er unveiled such hidden glory; +Never sage's furnace-kitchen +Magic wonders was so rich in; +Never book of wizard old +Clasped such in its iron hold. + + See that case against the wall, +Darkly-dull-purpureal!-- +A piano to the prosy, +But to us in twilight rosy-- +What?--A cave where Nereids lie, +Naiads, Dryads, Oreads sigh, +Dreaming of the time when they +Danced in forest and in bay. +In that chest before your eyes +Nature self-enchanted lies;-- +Lofty days of summer splendour; +Low dim eves of opal tender; +Airy hunts of cloud and wind; +Brooding storm--below, behind; +Awful hills and midnight woods; +Sunny rains in solitudes; +Babbling streams in forests hoar; +Seven-hued icebergs; oceans frore.-- +Yes; did I not say _enchanted_, +That is, hid away till wanted? +Do you hear a low-voiced singing? +'Tis the sorceress's, flinging +Spells around her baby's riot, +Binding her in moveless quiet:-- +She at will can disenchant them, +And to prayer believing grant them. + + You believe me: soon will night +Free her hands for fair delight; +Then invoke her--she will come. +Fold your arms, be blind and dumb. +She will bring a book of spells +Writ like crabbed oracles; +Like Sabrina's will her hands +Thaw the power of charmed bands. +First will ransomed music rush +Round thee in a glorious gush; +Next, upon its waves will sally, +Like a stream-god down a valley, +Nature's self, the formless former, +Nature's self, the peaceful stormer; +She will enter, captive take thee, +And both one and many make thee, +One by softest power to still thee, +Many by the thoughts that fill thee.-- +Let me guess three guesses where +She her prisoner will bear! + + On a mountain-top you stand +Gazing o'er a sunny land; +Shining streams, like silver veins, +Rise in dells and meet in plains; +Up yon brook a hollow lies +Dumb as love that fears surprise; +Moorland tracts of broken ground +O'er it rise and close it round: +He who climbs from bosky dale +Hears the foggy breezes wail. +Yes, thou know'st the nest of love, +Know'st the waste around, above! +In thy soul or in thy past, +Straight it melts into the vast, +Quickly vanishes away +In a gloom of darkening gray. + + Sinks the sadness into rest, +Ripple like on water's breast: +Mother's bosom rests the daughter-- +Grief the ripple, love the water; +And thy brain like wind-harp lies +Breathed upon from distant skies, +Till, soft-gathering, visions new +Grow like vapours in the blue: +White forms, flushing hyacinthine, +Move in motions labyrinthine; +With an airy wishful gait +On the counter-motion wait; +Sweet restraint and action free +Show the law of liberty; +Master of the revel still +The obedient, perfect will; +Hating smallest thing awry, +Breathing, breeding harmony; +While the god-like graceful feet, +For such mazy marvelling meet, +Press from air a shining sound, +Rippling after, lingering round: +Hair afloat and arms aloft +Fill the chord of movement soft. + + Gone the measure polyhedral! +Towers aloft a fair cathedral! +Every arch--like praying arms +Upward flung in love's alarms, +Knit by clasped hands o'erhead-- +Heaves to heaven a weight of dread; +In thee, like an angel-crowd, +Grows the music, praying loud, +Swells thy spirit with devotion +As a strong wind swells the ocean, +Sweeps the visioned pile away, +Leaves thy heart alone to pray. + + As the prayer grows dim and dies +Like a sunset from the skies, +Glides another change of mood +O'er thy inner solitude: +Girt with Music's magic zone, +Lo, thyself magician grown! +Open-eyed thou walk'st through earth +Brooding on the aeonian birth +Of a thousand wonder-things +In divine dusk of their springs: +Half thou seest whence they flow, +Half thou seest whither go-- +Nature's consciousness, whereby +On herself she turns her eye, +Hoping for all men and thee +Perfected, pure harmony. + + But when, sinking slow, the sun +Leaves the glowing curtain dun, +I, of prophet-insight reft, +Shall be dull and dreamless left; +I must hasten proof on proof, +Weaving in the warp my woof! + + What are those upon the wall, +Ranged in rows symmetrical? +Through the wall of things external +Posterns they to the supernal; +Through Earth's battlemented height +Loopholes to the Infinite; +Through locked gates of place and time, +Wickets to the eternal prime +Lying round the noisy day +Full of silences alway. + + That, my friend? Now, it is curious +You should hit upon the spurious! +'Tis a door to nowhere, that; +Never soul went in thereat; +Lies behind, a limy wall +Hung with cobwebs, that is all. + + Do not open that one yet, +Wait until the sun is set. +If you careless lift its latch +Glimpse of nothing will you catch; +Mere negation, blank of hue, +Out of it will stare at you; +Wait, I say, the coming night, +Fittest time for second sight, +Then the wide eyes of the mind +See far down the Spirit's wind. +You may have to strain and pull, +Force and lift with cunning tool, +Ere the rugged, ill-joined door +Yield the sight it stands before: +When at last, with grating sweep, +Wide it swings--behold, the deep! + + Thou art standing on the verge +Where material things emerge; +Hoary silence, lightning fleet, +Shooteth hellward at thy feet! +Fear not thou whose life is truth, +Gazing will renew thy youth; +But where sin of soul or flesh +Held a man in spider-mesh, +It would drag him through that door, +Give him up to loreless lore, +Ages to be blown and hurled +Up and down a deedless world. + + Ah, your eyes ask how I brook +Doors that are not, doors to look! +That is whither I was tending, +And it brings me to good ending. + + Baby is the cause of this; +Odd it seems, but so it is;-- +Baby, with her pretty prate +Molten, half articulate, +Full of hints, suggestions, catches, +Broken verse, and music snatches! +She, like seraph gone astray, +Must be shown the homeward way; +Plant of heaven, she, rooted lowly, +Must put forth a blossom holy, +Must, through culture high and steady, +Slow unfold a gracious lady; +She must therefore live in wonder, +See nought common up or under; +She the moon and stars and sea, +Worm and butterfly and bee, +Yea, the sparkle in a stone, +Must with marvel look upon; +She must love, in heaven's own blueness, +Both the colour and the newness; +Must each day from darkness break, +Often often come awake, +Never with her childhood part, +Change the brain, but keep the heart. + + So, from lips and hands and looks, +She must learn to honour books, +Turn the leaves with careful fingers, +Never lean where long she lingers; +But when she is old enough +She must learn the lesson rough +That to seem is not to be, +As to know is not to see; +That to man or book, _appearing_ +Gives no title to revering; +That a pump is not a well, +Nor a priest an oracle: +This to leave safe in her mind, +I will take her and go find +Certain no-books, dreary apes, +Tell her they are mere mock-shapes +No more to be honoured by her +But be laid upon the fire; +Book-appearance must not hinder +Their consuming to a cinder. + + Would you see the small immortal +One short pace within Time's portal? +I will fetch her.--Is she white? +Solemn? true? a light in light? +See! is not her lily-skin +White as whitest ermelin +Washed in palest thinnest rose? +Very thought of God she goes, +Ne'er to wander, in her dance, +Out of his love-radiance! + + But, my friend, I've rattled plenty +To suffice for mornings twenty! +I should never stop of course, +Therefore stop I will perforce.-- +If I led them up, choragic, +To reveal their nature magic, +Twenty things, past contradiction, +Yet would prove I spoke no fiction +Of the room's belongings cryptic +Read by light apocalyptic: +There is that strange thing, glass-masked, +With continual questions tasked, +Ticking with untiring rock: +It is called an eight-day clock, +But to me the thing appears +Busy winding up the years, +Drawing on with coiling chain +The epiphany again. + + + +_DEATH AND BIRTH_. + +'Tis the midnight hour; I heard +The Abbey-bell give out the word. +Seldom is the lamp-ray shed +On some dwarfed foot-farer's head +In the deep and narrow street +Lying ditch-like at my feet +Where I stand at lattice high +Downward gazing listlessly +From my house upon the rock, +Peak of earth's foundation-block. + + There her windows, every story, +Shine with far-off nebulous glory! +Round her in that luminous cloud +Stars obedient press and crowd, +She the centre of all gazing, +She the sun her planets dazing! +In her eyes' victorious lightning +Some are paling, some are brightening: +Those on which they gracious turn, +Stars combust, all tenfold burn; +Those from which they look away +Listless roam in twilight gray! +When on her my looks I bent +Wonder shook me like a tent, +And my eyes grew dim with sheen, +Wasting light upon its queen! +But though she my eyes might chain, +Rule my ebbing flowing brain, +Truth alone, without, within, +Can the soul's high homage win! + + He, I do not doubt, is there +Who unveiled my idol fair! +And I thank him, grateful much, +Though his end was none of such. +He from shapely lips of wit +Let the fire-flakes lightly flit, +Scorching as the snow that fell +On the damned in Dante's hell; +With keen, gentle opposition, +Playful, merciless precision, +Mocked the sweet romance of youth +Balancing on spheric truth; +He on sense's firm set plane +Rolled the unstable ball amain: +With a smile she looked at me, +Stung my soul, and set me free. + + Welcome, friend! Bring in your bricks. +Mortar there? No need to mix? +That is well. And picks and hammers? +Verily these are no shammers!-- +There, my friend, build up that niche, +That one with the painting rich! + + Yes, you're right; it is a show +Picture seldom can bestow; +City palaces and towers, +Terraced gardens, twilight bowers, +Vistas deep through swaying masts, +Pennons flaunting in the blasts: +Build; my room it does not fit; +Brick-glaze is the thing for it! + + Yes, a window you may call it; +Not the less up you must wall it: +In that niche the dead world lies; +Bury death, and free mine eyes. + + There were youths who held by me, +Said I taught, yet left them free: +Will they do as I said then? +God forbid! As ye are men, +Find the secret--follow and find! +All forget that lies behind; +Me, the schools, yourselves, forsake; +In your souls a silence make; +Hearken till a whisper come, +Listen, follow, and be dumb. + + There! 'tis over; I am dead! +Of my life the broken thread +Here I cast out of my hand!-- +O my soul, the merry land! +On my heart the sinking vault +Of my ruining past makes halt; +Ages I could sit and moan +For the shining world that's gone! + + Haste and pierce the other wall; +Break an opening to the All! +Where? No matter; done is best. +Kind of window? Let that rest: +Who at morning ever lies +Pondering how to ope his eyes! + + I bethink me: we must fall +On the thinnest of the wall! +There it must be, in that niche!-- +No, the deepest--that in which +Stands the Crucifix. + + You start?-- +Ah, your half-believing heart +Shrinks from that as sacrilege, +Or, at least, upon its edge! +Worse than sacrilege, I say, +Is it to withhold the day +From the brother whom thou knowest +For the God thou never sawest! + + Reverently, O marble cold, +Thee in living arms I fold! +Thou who art thyself the way +From the darkness to the day, +Window, thou, to every land, +Wouldst not one dread moment stand +Shutting out the air and sky +And the dayspring from on high! +Brother with the rugged crown, +Gently thus I lift thee down! + + Give me pick and hammer; you +Stand aside; the deed I'll do. +Yes, in truth, I have small skill, +But the best thing is the will. + + Stroke on stroke! The frescoed plaster +Clashes downward, fast and faster. +Hark, I hear an outer stone +Down the rough rock rumbling thrown! +There's a cranny! there's a crack! +The great sun is at its back! +Lo, a mass is outward flung! +In the universe hath sprung! + + See the gold upon the blue! +See the sun come blinding through! +See the far-off mountain shine +In the dazzling light divine! +Prisoned world, thy captive's gone! +Welcome wind, and sky, and sun! + + + +_LOVE'S ORDEAL._ + +A recollection and attempted completion of a prose fragment read in +boyhood. + + "Hear'st thou that sound upon the window pane?" +Said the youth softly, as outstretched he lay +Where for an hour outstretched he had lain-- +Softly, yet with some token of dismay. +Answered the maiden: "It is but the rain +That has been gathering in the west all day! +Why shouldst thou hearken so? Thine eyelids close, +And let me gather peace from thy repose." + + "Hear'st thou that moan creeping along the ground?" +Said the youth, and his veiling eyelids rose +From deeps of lightning-haunted dark profound +Ruffled with herald blasts of coming woes. +"I hear it," said the maiden; "'tis the sound +Of a great wind that here not seldom blows; +It swings the huge arms of the dreary pine, +But thou art safe, my darling, clasped in mine." + + "Hear'st thou the baying of my hounds?" said he; +"Draw back the lattice bar and let them in." +From a rent cloud the moonlight, ghostily, +Slid clearer to the floor, as, gauntly thin, +She opening, they leaped through with bound so free, +Then shook the rain-drops from their shaggy skin. +The maiden closed the shower-bespattered glass, +Whose spotted shadow through the room did pass. + + The youth, half-raised, was leaning on his hand, +But, when again beside him sat the maid, +His eyes for one slow minute having scanned +Her moonlit face, he laid him down, and said, +Monotonous, like solemn-read command: +"For Love is of the earth, earthy, and is laid +Lifeless at length back in the mother-tomb." +Strange moanings from the pine entered the room. + + And then two shadows like the shadow of glass, +Over the moonbeams on the cottage floor, +As wind almost as thin and shapeless, pass; +A sound of rain-drops came about the door, +And a soft sighing as of plumy grass; +A look of sorrowing doubt the youth's face wore; +The two great hounds half rose; with aspect grim +They eyed his countenance by the taper dim. + + Shadow nor moaning sound the maiden noted, +But on his face dwelt her reproachful look; +She doubted whether he the saying had quoted +Out of some evil, earth-begotten book, +Or up from his deep heart, like bubbles, had floated +Words which no maiden ever yet could brook; +But his eyes held the question, "Yea or No?" +Therefore the maiden answered, "Nay, not so; + + "Love is of heaven, eternal." Half a smile +Just twinned his lips: shy, like all human best, +A hopeful thought bloomed out, and lived a while; +He looked one moment like a dead man blest-- +His soul a bark that in a sunny isle +At length had found the haven of its rest; +But he could not remain, must forward fare: +He spoke, and said with words abrupt and bare, + + "Maiden, I have loved other maidens." Pale +Her red lips grew. "I loved them, yes, but they +Successively in trial's hour did fail, +For after sunset clouds again are gray." +A sudden light shone through the fringy veil +That drooping hid her eyes; and then there lay +A stillness on her face, waiting; and then +The little clock rung out the hour of ten. + + Moaning once more the great pine-branches bow +To a soft plaining wind they would not stem. +Brooding upon her face, the youth said, "Thou +Art not more beautiful than some of them, +But a fair courage crowns thy peaceful brow, +Nor glow thine eyes, but shine serene like gem +That lamps from radiant store upon the dark +The light it gathered where its song the lark. + + "The horse that broke this day from grasp of three, +Thou sawest then the hand thou holdest, hold: +Ere two fleet hours are gone, that hand will be +Dry, big-veined, wrinkled, withered up and old!-- +No woman yet hath shared my doom with me." +With calm fixed eyes she heard till he had told; +The stag-hounds rose, a moment gazed at him, +Then laid them down with aspect yet more grim. + + Spake on the youth, nor altered look or tone: +"'Tis thy turn, maiden, to say no or dare."-- +Was it the maiden's, that importunate moan?-- +"At midnight, when the moon sets, wilt thou share +The terror with me? or must I go alone +To meet an agony that will not spare?" +She answered not, but rose to take her cloak; +He staid her with his hand, and further spoke. + + "Not yet," he said; "yet there is respite; see, +Time's finger points not yet to the dead hour! +Enough is left even now for telling thee +The far beginnings whence the fearful power +Of the great dark came shadowing down on me: +Red roses crowding clothe my love's dear bower-- +Nightshade and hemlock, darnel, toadstools white +Compass the place where I must lie to-night!" + + Around his neck the maiden put her arm +And knelt beside him leaning on his breast, +As o'er his love, to keep it strong and warm, +Brooding like bird outspread upon her nest. +And well the faith of her dear eyes might charm +All doubt away from love's primeval rest! +He hid his face upon her heart, and there +Spake on with voice like wind from lonely lair. + + A drearier moaning through the pine did go +As if a human voice complained and cried +For one long minute; then the sound grew low, +Sank to a sigh, and sighing sank and died. +Together at the silence two voices mow-- +His, and the clock's, which, loud grown, did divide +The hours into live moments--sparks of time +Scorching the soul that trembles for the chime. + + He spoke of sins ancestral, born in him +Impulses; of resistance fierce and wild; +Of failure weak, and strength reviving dim; +Self-hatred, dreariness no love beguiled; +Of storm, and blasting light, and darkness grim; +Of torrent paths, and tombs with mountains piled; +Of gulfs in the unsunned bosom of the earth; +Of dying ever into dawning birth. + + "But when I find a heart whose blood is wine; +Whose faith lights up the cold brain's passionless hour; +Whose love, like unborn rose-bud, will not pine, +But waits the sun and the baptizing shower-- +Till then lies hid, and gathers odours fine +To greet the human summer, when its flower +Shall blossom in the heart and soul and brain, +And love and passion be one holy twain-- + + "Then shall I rest, rest like the seven of yore; +Slumber divine will steep my outworn soul +And every stain dissolve to the very core. +She too will slumber, having found her goal. +Time's ocean o'er us will, in silence frore, +Aeonian tides of change-filled seasons roll, +And our long, dark, appointed period fill. +Then shall we wake together, loving still." + + Her face on his, her mouth to his mouth pressed, +Was all the answer of the trusting maid. +Close in his arms he held her to his breast +For one brief moment--would have yet assayed +Some deeper word her heart to strengthen, lest +It should though faithful be too much afraid; +But the clock gave the warning to the hour-- +And on the thatch fell sounds not of a shower. + + One long kiss, and the maiden rose. A fear +Lay, thin as a glassy shadow, on her heart; +She trembled as some unknown thing were near, +But smiled next moment--for they should not part! +The youth arose. With solemn-joyous cheer, +He helped the maid, whose trembling hands did thwart +Her haste to wrap her in her mantle's fold; +Then out they passed into the midnight cold. + + The moon was sinking in the dim green west, +Curled upward, half-way to the horizon's brink, +A leaf of glory falling to its rest, +The maiden's hand, still trembling, sought to link +Her arm to his, with love's instinctive quest, +But his enfolded her; hers did not sink, +But, thus set free, it stole his body round, +And so they walked, in freedom's fetters bound. + + Pressed to his side, she felt, like full-toned bell, +A mighty heart heave large in measured play; +But as the floating moon aye lower fell +Its bounding force did, by slow loss, decay. +It throbbed now like a bird; now like far knell +Pulsed low and faint! And now, with sick dismay, +She felt the arm relax that round her clung, +And from her circling arm he forward hung. + + His footsteps feeble, short his paces grow; +Her strength and courage mount and swell amain. +He lifted up his head: the moon lay low, +Nigh the world's edge. His lips with some keen pain +Quivered, but with a smile his eyes turned slow +Seeking in hers the balsam for his bane +And finding it--love over death supreme: +Like two sad souls they walked met in one dream.[A] + +[Note A: + +In a lovely garden walking + Two lovers went hand in hand; +Two wan, worn figures, talking + They sat in the flowery land. + +On the cheek they kissed one another, + On the mouth with sweet refrain; +Fast held they each the other, + And were young and well again. + +Two little bells rang shrilly-- + The dream went with the hour: +She lay in the cloister stilly, + He far in the dungeon-tower! + + _From Uhland._] + + Hanging his head, behind each came a hound, +Padding with gentle paws upon the road. +Straight silent pines rose here and there around; +A dull stream on the left side hardly flowed; +A black snake through the sluggish waters wound. +Hark, the night raven! see the crawling toad! +She thinks how dark will be the moonless night, +How feeblest ray is yet supernal light. + + The moon's last gleam fell on dim glazed eyes, +A body shrunken from its garments' fold: +An aged man whose bent knees could not rise, +He tottered in the maiden's tightening hold. +She shivered, but too slight was the disguise +To hide from love what never yet was old; +She held him fast, with open eyes did pray, +Walked through the fear, and kept the onward way. + + Toward a gloomy thicket of tall firs, +Dragging his inch-long steps, he turned aside. +There Silence sleeps; not one green needle stirs. +They enter it. A breeze begins to chide +Among the cones. It swells until it whirs, +Vibrating so each sharp leaf that it sighed: +The grove became a harp of mighty chords, +Wing-smote by unseen creatures wild for words. + + But when he turned again, toward the cleft +Of a great rock, as instantly it ceased, +And the tall pines stood sudden, as if reft +Of a strong passion, or from pain released; +Again they wove their straight, dark, motionless weft +Across the moonset-bars; and, west and east, +Cloud-giants rose and marched up cloudy stairs; +And like sad thoughts the bats came unawares. + + 'Twas a drear chamber for thy bridal night, +O poor, pale, saviour bride! An earthen lamp +With shaking hands he kindled, whose faint light +Mooned out a tiny halo on the damp +That filled the cavern to its unseen height, +Dim glimmering like death-candle in a swamp. +Watching the entrance, each side lies a hound, +With liquid light his red eyes gleaming round. + + A heap rose grave-like from the rocky floor +Of moss and leaves, by many a sunny wind +Long tossed and dried--with rich furs covered o'er +Expectant. Up a jealous glory shined +In her possessing heart: he should find more +In her than in those faithless! With sweet mind +She, praying gently, did herself unclothe, +And lay down by him, trusting, and not loath. + + Once more a wind came, flapping overhead; +The hounds pricked up their ears, their eyes flashed fire. +The trembling maiden heard a sudden tread-- +Dull, yet plain dinted on the windy gyre, +As if long, wet feet o'er smooth pavement sped-- +Come fiercely up, as driven by longing dire +To enter; followed sounds of hurried rout: +With bristling hair, the hounds stood looking out. + + Then came, half querulous, a whisper old, +Feeble and hollow as if shut in a chest: +"Take my face on your bosom; I am cold." +She bared her holy bosom's truth-white nest, +And forth her two hands instant went, love-bold, +And took the face, and close against her pressed: +Ah, the dead chill!--Was that the feet again?-- +But her great heart kept beating for the twain. + + She heard the wind fall, heard the following rain +Swelling the silent waters till their sound +Went wallowing through the night along the plain. +The lamp went out, by the slow darkness drowned. +Must the fair dawn a thousand years refrain? +Like centuries the feeble hours went round. +Eternal night entombed her with decay: +To her live soul she clasped the breathless clay. + + The world stood still. Her life sank down so low +That but for wretchedness no life she knew. +A charnel wind moaned out a moaning--_No_; +From the devouring heart of earth it blew. +Fair memories lost all their sunny glow: +Out of the dark the forms of old friends grew +But so transparent blanched with dole and smart +She saw the pale worm lying in each heart. + + And, worst of all--Oh death of keep-fled life! +A voice within her woke and cried: In sooth +Vain is all sorrow, hope, and care, and strife! +Love and its beauty, its tenderness and truth +Are shadows bred in hearts too fancy-rife, +Which melt and pass with sure-decaying youth: +Regard them, and they quiver, waver, blot; +Gaze at them fixedly, and they are not. + + And all the answer the poor child could make +Was in the tightened clasp of arms and hands. +Hopeless she lay, like one Death would not take +But still kept driving from his empty lands, +Yet hopeless held she out for his dear sake; +The darksome horror grew like drifting sands +Till nought was precious--neither God nor light, +And yet she braved the false, denying night. + + So dead was hope, that, when a glimmer weak +Stole through a fissure somewhere in the cave, +Thinning the clotted darkness on his cheek, +She thought her own tired eyes the glimmer gave: +He moved his head; she saw his eyes, love-meek, +And knew that Death was dead and filled the Grave. +Old age, convicted lie, had fled away! +Youth, Youth eternal, in her bosom lay! + + With a low cry closer to him she crept +And on his bosom hid a face that glowed: +It was his turn to comfort--he had slept! +Oh earth and sky, oh ever patient God, +She had not yielded, but the truth had kept! +New love, new bliss in weeping overflowed. +I can no farther tell the tale begun; +They are asleep, and waiting for the sun. + + + +_THE LOST SOUL_. + + Look! look there! +Send your eyes across the gray +By my finger-point away +Through the vaporous, fumy air. +Beyond the air, you see the dark? +Beyond the dark, the dawning day? +On its horizon, pray you, mark +Something like a ruined heap +Of worlds half-uncreated, that go back: +Down all the grades through which they rose +Up to harmonious life and law's repose, +Back, slow, to the awful deep +Of nothingness, mere being's lack: +On its surface, lone and bare, +Shapeless as a dumb despair, +Formless, nameless, something lies: +Can the vision in your eyes +Its idea recognize? + + 'Tis a poor lost soul, alack!-- +Half he lived some ages back; +But, with hardly opened eyes, +Thinking him already wise, +Down he sat and wrote a book; +Drew his life into a nook; +Out of it would not arise +To peruse the letters dim, +Graven dark on his own walls; +Those, he judged, were chance-led scrawls, +Or at best no use to him. +A lamp was there for reading these; +This he trimmed, sitting at ease, +For its aid to write his book, +Never at his walls to look-- +Trimmed and trimmed to one faint spark +Which went out, and left him dark.-- +I will try if he can hear +Spirit words with spirit ear! + + Motionless thing! who once, +Like him who cries to thee, +Hadst thy place with thy shining peers, +Thy changeful place in the changeless dance +Issuing ever in radiance +From the doors of the far eternity, +With feet that glitter and glide and glance +To the music-law that binds the free, +And sets the captive at liberty-- +To the clang of the crystal spheres! +O heart for love! O thirst to drink +From the wells that feed the sea! +O hands of truth, a human link +'Twixt mine and the Father's knee! +O eyes to see! O soul to think! +O life, the brother of me! +Has Infinitude sucked back all +The individual life it gave? +Boots it nothing to cry and call? +Is thy form an empty grave? + + It heareth not, brothers, the terrible thing! +Sounds no sense to its ear will bring! +Let us away, 'tis no use to tarry; +Love no light to its heart will carry! +Sting it with words, it will never shrink; +It will not repent, it cannot think! +Hath God forgotten it, alas! +Lost in eternity's lumber-room? +Will the wind of his breathing never pass +Over it through the insensate gloom? +Like a frost-killed bud on a tombstone curled, +Crumbling it lies on its crumbling world, +Sightless and deaf, with never a cry, +In the hell of its own vacuity! + + See, see yon angel crossing our flight +Where the thunder vapours loom, +From his upcast pinions flashing the light +Of some outbreaking doom! +Up, brothers! away! a storm is nigh! +Smite we the wing up a steeper sky! +What matters the hail or the clashing winds, +The thunder that buffets, the lightning that blinds! +We know by the tempest we do not lie +Dead in the pits of eternity! + + + +_THE THREE HORSES_. + +What shall I be?--I will be a knight + Walled up in armour black, +With a sword of sharpness, a hammer of might. + And a spear that will not crack-- +So black, so blank, no glimmer of light + Will betray my darkling track. + +Saddle my coal-black steed, my men, + Fittest for sunless work; +Old Night is steaming from her den, + And her children gather and lurk; +Bad things are creeping from the fen, + And sliding down the murk. + +Let him go!--let him go! Let him plunge!--Keep away! + He's a foal of the third seal's brood! +Gaunt with armour, in grim array + Of poitrel and frontlet-hood, +Let him go, a living castle, away-- + Right for the evil wood. + +I and Ravenwing on the course, + Heavy in fighting gear-- +Woe to the thing that checks our force, + That meets us in career! +Giant, enchanter, devil, or worse-- + What cares the couched spear! + +Slow through the trees zigzag I ride. + See! the goblins!--to and fro! +From the skull of the dark, on either side, + See the eyes of a dragon glow! +From the thickets the silent serpents glide-- + I pass them, I let them go; + +For somewhere in the evil night + A little one cries alone; +An aged knight, outnumbered in fight, + But for me will be stricken prone; +A lady with terror is staring white, + For her champion is overthrown. + +The child in my arms, to my hauberk prest, + Like a trembling bird will cling; +I will cover him over, in iron nest, + With my shield, my one steel wing, +And bear him home to his mother's breast, + A radiant, rescued thing. + +Spur in flank, and lance in rest, + On the old knight's foes I flash; +The caitiffs I scatter to east and west + With clang and hurtle and crash; +Leave them the law, as knaves learn it best, + In bruise, and breach, and gash. + +The lady I lift on my panting steed; + On the pommel she holds my mace; +Hand on bridle I gently lead + The horse at a gentle pace; +The thickets with martel-axe I heed, + For the wood is an evil place. + +What treasure is there in manly might + That hid in the bosom lies! +Who for the crying will not fight + Had better be he that cries! +A man is a knight that loves the right + And mounts for it till he dies. + +Alas, 'tis a dream of ages hoar! + In the fens no dragons won; +No giants from moated castles roar; + Through the forest wide roadways run; +Of all the deeds they did of yore + Not one is left to be done! + +If I should saddle old Ravenwing + And hie me out at night, +Scared little birds away would spring + An ill-shot arrow's flight: +The idle fancy away I fling, + Now I will dream aright! + +Let a youth bridle Twilight, my dapple-gray, + With broad rein and snaffle bit; +He must bring him round at break of day + When the shadows begin to flit, +When the darkness begins to dream away, + And the owls begin to sit. + +Ungraithed in plate or mail I go, + With only my sword--gray-blue +Like the scythe of the dawning come to mow + The night-sprung shadows anew +From the gates of the east, that, fair and slow, + Maid Morning may walk through. + +I seek no forest with darkness grim, + To the open land I ride; +Low light, from the broad horizon's brim, + Lies wet on the flowing tide, +And mottles with shadows dun and dim + The mountain's rugged side. + +Steadily, hasteless, o'er valley and hill. + O'er the moor, along the beach, +We ride, nor slacken our pace until + Some city of men we reach; +There, in the market, my horse stands still, + And I lift my voice and preach. + +Wealth and poverty, age and youth + Around me gather and throng; +I tell them of justice, of wisdom, of truth, + Of mercy, and law, and wrong; +My words are moulded by right and ruth + To a solemn-chanted song. + +They bring me questions which would be scanned, + That strife may be forgot; +Swerves my balance to neither hand, + The poor I favour no jot; +If a man withstand, out sweeps my brand. + I slay him upon the spot. + +But what if my eye have in it a beam + And therefore spy his mote? +Righteousness only, wisdom supreme + Can tell the sheep from the goat! +Not thus I dream a wise man's dream, + Not thus take Wrong by the throat! + +Lead Twilight home. I dare not kill; + The sword myself would scare.-- +When the sun looks over the eastern hill, + Bring out my snow-white mare: +One labour is left which no one will + Deny me the right to share! + +Take heed, my men, from crest to heel + Snow-white have no speck; +No curb, no bit her mouth must feel, + No tightening rein her neck; +No saddle-girth drawn with buckle of steel + Shall her mighty breathing check! + +Lay on her a cloth of silver sheen, + Bring me a robe of white; +Wherever we go we must be seen + By the shining of our light-- +A glistening splendour in forest green, + A star on the mountain-height. + +With jar and shudder the gates unclose; + Out in the sun she leaps! +A unit of light and power she goes + Levelling vales and steeps: +The wind around her eddies and blows, + Before and behind her sleeps. + +Oh joy, oh joy to ride the world + And glad, good tidings bear! +A flag of peace on the winds unfurled + Is the mane of my shining mare: +To the sound of her hoofs, lo, the dead stars hurled + Quivering adown the air! + +Oh, the sun and the wind! Oh, the life and the love! + Where the serpent swung all day +The loud dove coos to the silent dove; + Where the web-winged dragon lay +In its hole beneath, on the rock above + Merry-tongued children play. + +With eyes of light the maidens look up + As they sit in the summer heat +Twining green blade with golden cup-- + They see, and they rise to their feet; +I call aloud, for I must not stop, + "Good tidings, my sisters sweet!" + +For mine is a message of holy mirth + To city and land of corn; +Of praise for heaviness, plenty for dearth, + For darkness a shining morn: +Clap hands, ye billows; be glad, O earth, + For a child, a child is born! + +Lo, even the just shall live by faith! + None argue of mine and thine! +Old Self shall die an ecstatic death + And be born a thing divine, +For God's own being and God's own breath + Shall be its bread and wine. + +Ambition shall vanish, and Love be king, + And Pride to his darkness hie; +Yea, for very love of a living thing + A man would forget and die, +If very love were not the spring + Whence life springs endlessly! + +The myrtle shall grow where grew the thorn; + Earth shall be young as heaven; +The heart with remorse or anger torn + Shall weep like a summer even; +For to us a child, a child is born, + Unto us a son is given! + +Lord, with thy message I dare not ride! + I am a fool, a beast! +The little ones only from thy side + Go forth to publish thy feast! +And I, where but sons and daughters abide, + Would have walked about, a priest! + +Take Snow-white back to her glimmering stall; + There let her stand and feed!-- +I am overweening, ambitious, small, + A creature of pride and greed! +Let me wash the hoofs, let me be the thrall, + Jesus, of thy white steed! + + + +_THE GOLDEN KEY._ + +From off the earth the vapours curled, + Went up to meet their joy; +The boy awoke, and all the world + Was waiting for the boy! + +The sky, the water, the wide earth + Was full of windy play-- +Shining and fair, alive with mirth, + All for his holiday! + +The hill said "Climb me;" and the wood + "Come to my bosom, child; +Mine is a merry gamboling brood, + Come, and with them go wild." + +The shadows with the sunlight played, + The birds were singing loud; +The hill stood up with pines arrayed-- + He ran to join the crowd. + +But long ere noon, dark grew the skies, + Pale grew the shrinking sun: +"How soon," he said, "for clouds to rise + When day was but begun!" + +The wind grew rough; a wilful power + It swept o'er tree and town; +The boy exulted for an hour, + Then weary sat him down. + +And as he sat the rain began, + And rained till all was still: +He looked, and saw a rainbow span + The vale from hill to hill. + +He dried his tears. "Ah, now," he said, + "The storm was good, I see! +Yon pine-dressed hill, upon its head + I'll find the golden key!" + +He thrid the copse, he climbed the fence, + At last the top did scale; +But, lo, the rainbow, vanished thence, + Was shining in the vale! + +"Still, here it stood! yes, here," he said, + "Its very foot was set! +I saw this fir-tree through the red, + This through the violet!" + +He searched and searched, while down the skies + Went slow the slanting sun. +At length he lifted hopeless eyes, + And day was nearly done! + +Beyond the vale, above the heath, + High flamed the crimson west; +His mother's cottage lay beneath + The sky-bird's rosy breast. + +"Oh, joy," he cried, "not _all_ the way + Farther from home we go! +The rain will come another day + And bring another bow!" + +Long ere he reached his mother's cot, + Still tiring more and more, +The red was all one cold gray blot, + And night lay round the door. + +But when his mother stroked his head + The night was grim in vain; +And when she kissed him in his bed + The rainbow rose again. + +Soon, things that are and things that seem + Did mingle merrily; +He dreamed, nor was it all a dream, + His mother had the key. + + + +_SOMNIUM MYSTICI_ + +A Microcosm In Terza Rima. + +I. + +Quiet I lay at last, and knew no more + Whether I breathed or not, so worn I lay + With the death-struggle. What was yet before +Neither I met, nor turned from it away; + My only conscious being was the rest + Of pain gone dead--dead with the bygone day, +And long I could have lingered all but blest + In that half-slumber. But there came a sound + As of a door that opened--in the west +Somewhere I thought it. As the hare the hound, + The noise did start my eyelids and they rose. + I turned my eyes and looked. Then straight I found +It was my chamber-door that did unclose, + For a tall form up to my bedside drew. + Grand was it, silent, its very walk repose; +And when I saw the countenance, I knew + That I was lying in my chamber dead; + For this my brother--brothers such are few-- +That now to greet me bowed his kingly head, + Had, many years agone, like holy dove + Returning, from his friends and kindred sped, +And, leaving memories of mournful love, + Passed vanishing behind the unseen veil; + And though I loved him, all high words above. +Not for his loss then did I weep or wail, + Knowing that here we live but in a tent, + And, seeking home, shall find it without fail. +Feeble but eager, toward him my hands went-- + I too was dead, so might the dead embrace! + Taking me by the shoulders down he bent, +And lifted me. I was in sickly case, + But, growing stronger, stood up on the floor, + There turned, and once regarded my dead face +With curious eyes: its brow contentment wore, + But I had done with it, and turned away. + I saw my brother by the open door, +And followed him out into the night blue-gray. + The houses stood up hard in limpid air, + The moon hung in the heavens in half decay, +And all the world to my bare feet lay bare. + +II. + +Now I had suffered in my life, as they + Must suffer, and by slow years younger grow, + From whom the false fool-self must drop away, +Compact of greed and fear, which, gathered slow, + Darkens the angel-self that, evermore, + Where no vain phantom in or out shall go, +Moveless beholds the Father--stands before + The throne of revelation, waiting there, + With wings low-drooping on the sapphire-floor, +Until it find the Father's ideal fair, + And be itself at last: not one small thorn + Shall needless any pilgrim's garments tear; +And but to say I had suffered I would scorn + Save for the marvellous thing that next befell: + Sudden I grew aware I was new-born; +All pain had vanished in the absorbent swell + Of some exalting peace that was my own; + As the moon dwelt in heaven did calmness dwell +At home in me, essential. The earth's moan + Lay all behind. Had I then lost my part + In human griefs, dear part with them that groan? +"'Tis weariness!" I said; but with a start + That set it trembling and yet brake it not, + I found the peace was love. Oh, my rich heart! +For, every time I spied a glimmering spot + Of window pane, "There, in that silent room," + Thought I, "mayhap sleeps human heart whose lot +Is therefore dear to mine!" I cared for whom + I saw not, had not seen, and might not see! + After the love crept prone its shadow-gloom, +But instant a mightier love arose in me, + As in an ocean a single wave will swell, + And heaved the shadow to the centre: we +Had called it prayer, before on sleep I fell. + It sank, and left my sea in holy calm: + I gave each man to God, and all was well. +And in my heart stirred soft a sleeping psalm. + +III. + +No gentlest murmur through the city crept; + Not one lone word my brother to me had spoken; + But when beyond the city-gate we stept +I knew the hovering silence would be broken. + A low night wind came whispering: through and through + It did baptize me with the pledge and token +Of that soft spirit-wind which blows and blew + And fans the human world since evermore. + The very grass, cool to my feet, I knew +To be love also, and with the love I bore + To hold far sympathy, silent and sweet, + As having known the secret from of yore +In the eternal heart where all things meet, + Feelings and thinkings, and where still they are bred. + Sudden he stood, and with arrested feet +I also. Like a half-sunned orb, his head + Slow turned the bright side: lo, the brother-smile + That ancient human glory on me shed +Clothéd in which Jesus came forth to wile + Unto his bosom every labouring soul, + And all dividing passions to beguile +To winsome death, and then on them to roll + The blessed stone of the holy sepulchre! + "Thank God," he said, "thou also now art whole +And sound and well! For the keen pain, and stir + Uneasy, and sore grief that came to us all, + In that we knew not how the wine and myrrh +Could ever from the vinegar and gall + Be parted, are deep sunk, yea drowned in God; + And yet the past not folded in a pall, +But breathed upon, like Aaron's withered rod, + By a sweet light that brings the blossoms through, + Showing in dreariest paths that men have trod +Another's foot-prints, spotted of crimson hue, + Still on before wherever theirs did wend; + Yea, through the desert leading, of thyme and rue, +The desert souls in which young lions rend + And roar--the passionate who, to be blest, + Ravin as bears, and do not gain their end, +Because that, save in God, there is no rest." + +IV. + +Something my brother said to me like this, + But how unlike it also, think, I pray: + His eyes were music, and his smile a kiss; +Himself the word, his speech was but a ray + In the clear nimbus that with verity + Of absolute utterance made a home-born day +Of truth about him, lamping solemnly; + And when he paused, there came a swift repose, + Too high, too still to be called ecstasy-- +A purple silence, lanced through in the close + By such keen thought that, with a sudden smiling, + It grew sheen silver, hearted with burning rose. +He was a glory full of reconciling, + Of faithfulness, of love with no self-stain, + Of tenderness, and care, and brother-wiling +Back to the bosom of a speechless gain. + +V. + +I cannot tell how long we joyous talked, + For from my sense old time had vanished quite, + Space dim-remaining--for onward still we walked. +No sun arose to blot the pale, still night-- + Still as the night of some great spongy stone + That turns but once an age betwixt the light +And the huge shadow from its own bulk thrown, + And long as that to me before whose face + Visions so many slid, and veils were blown +Aside from the vague vast of Isis' grace. + Innumerous thoughts yet throng that infinite hour, + And hopes which greater hopes unceasing chase, +For I was all responsive to his power. + I saw my friends weep, wept, and let them weep; + I saw the growth of each grief-nurtured flower; +I saw the gardener watching--in their sleep + Wiping their tears with the napkin he had laid + Wrapped by itself when he climbed Hades' steep; +What wonder then I saw nor was dismayed! + I saw the dull, degraded monsters nursed + In money-marshes, greedy men that preyed +Upon the helpless, ground the feeblest worst; + Yea all the human chaos, wild and waste, + Where he who will not leave what God hath cursed +Now fruitless wallows, now is stung and chased + By visions lovely and by longings dire. + "But who believeth, he shall not make haste, +Even passing through the water and the fire, + Or sad with memories of a better lot! + He, saved by hope, for all men will desire, +Knowing that God into a mustard-jot + May shut an aeon; give a world that lay + Wombed in its sun, a molten unorbed clot, +One moment from the red rim to spin away + Librating--ages to roll on weary wheel + Ere it turn homeward, almost spent its day! +Who knows love all, time nothing, he shall feel + No anxious heart, shall lift no trembling hand; + Tender as air, but clothed in triple steel, +He for his kind, in every age and land, + Hoping will live; and, to his labour bent, + The Father's will shall, doing, understand." +So spake my brother as we onward went: + His words my heart received, as corn the lea, + And answered with a harvest of content. +We came at last upon a lonesome sea. + +VI. + +And onward still he went, I following + Out on the water. But the water, lo, + Like a thin sheet of glass, lay vanishing! +The starry host in glorious twofold show + Looked up, looked down. The moment I saw this, + A quivering fear thorough my heart did go: +Unstayed I walked across a twin abyss, + A hollow sphere of blue; nor floor was found + Of questing eye, only the foot met the kiss +Of the cool water lightly crisping round + The edges of the footsteps! Terror froze + My fallen eyelids. But again the sound +Of my guide's voice on the still air arose: + "Hast thou forgotten that we walk by faith? + For keenest sight but multiplies the shows. +Lift up thine eyelids; take a valiant breath; + Terrified, dare the terror in God's name; + Step wider; trust the invisible. Can Death +Avail no more to hearten up thy flame?" + I trembled, but I opened wide mine eyes, + And strode on the invisible sea. The same +High moment vanished all my cowardice, + And God was with me. The well-pleased stars + Threw quivering smiles across the gulfy skies, +The white aurora flashed great scimitars + From north to zenith; and again my guide + Full turned on me his face. No prison-bars +Latticed across a soul I there descried, + No weather-stains of grief; quiet age-long + Brooded upon his forehead clear and wide; +Yet from that face a pang shot, vivid and strong, + Into my heart. For, though I saw him stand + Close to me in the void as one in a throng, +Yet on the border of some nameless land + He stood afar; a still-eyed mystery + Caught him whole worlds away. Though in my hand +His hand I held, and, gazing earnestly, + Searched in his countenance, as in a mine, + For jewels of contentment, satisfy +My heart I could not. Seeming to divine + My hidden trouble, gently he stooped and kissed + My forehead, and his arms did round me twine, +And held me to his bosom. Still I missed + That ancient earthly nearness, when we shared + One bed, like birds that of no morrow wist; +Roamed our one father's farm; or, later, fared + Along the dusty highways of the old clime. + Backward he drew, and, as if he had bared +My soul, stood reading there a little time, + While in his eyes tears gathered slow, like dew + That dims the grass at evening or at prime, +But makes the stars clear-goldener in the blue: + And on his lips a faint ethereal smile + Hovered, as hangs the mist of its own hue +Trembling about a purple flower, the while + Evening grows brown. "Brother! brother!" I cried; + But straight outbursting tears my words beguile, +And in my bosom all the utterance died. + +VII. + +A moment more he stood, then softly sighed. + "I know thy pain; but this sorrow is far + Beyond my help," his voice at length replied +To my beseeching tears. "Look at yon star + Up from the low east half-way, all ablaze: + Think'st thou, because no cloud between doth mar +The liquid glory that from its visage rays, + Thou therefore knowest that same world on high, + Its people and its orders and its ways?" +"What meanest thou?" I said. "Thou know'st that + Would hold, not thy dear form, but the self-thee! + Thou art not near me! For thyself I cry!" +"Not the less near that nearer I shall be. + I have a world within thou dost not know-- + Would I could make thee know it! but all of me +Is thine, though thou not yet canst enter so + Into possession that betwixt us twain + The frolic homeliness of love should flow +As o'er the brim of childhood's cup again: + Away the deeper childhood first must wipe + That clouded consciousness which was our pain. +When in thy breast the godlike hath grown ripe, + And thou, Christ's little one, art ten times more + A child than when we played with drum and pipe +About our earthly father's happy door, + Then--" He ceased not; his holy utterance still + Flowing went on, like spring from hidden store +Of wasteless waters; but I wept my fill, + Nor heeded much the comfort of his speech. + At length he said: "When first I clomb the hill-- +With earthly words I heavenly things would reach-- + Where dwelleth now the man we used to call + Father, whose voice, oh memory dear! did teach +Us in our beds, when straight, as once a stall + Became a temple, holy grew the room, + Prone on the ground before him I did fall, +So grand he towered above me like a doom; + But now I look into the well-known face + Fearless, yea, basking blessed in the bloom +Of his eternal youthfulness and grace." + "But something separates us," yet I cried; + "Let light at least begin the dark to chase, +The dark begin to waver and divide, + And clear the path of vision. In the old time, + When clouds one heart did from the other hide, +A wind would blow between! If I would climb, + This foot must rise ere that can go up higher: + Some big A teach me of the eternal prime." +He answered me: "Hearts that to love aspire + Must learn its mighty harmony ere they can + Give out one perfect note in its great quire; +And thereto am I sent--oh, sent of one + Who makes the dumb for joy break out and sing: + He opens every door 'twixt man and man; +He to all inner chambers all will bring." + +VIII. + +It was enough; Hope waked from dreary swound, + And Hope had ever been enough for me, + To kennel driving grim Tomorrow's hound; +From chains of school and mode she set me free, + And urged my life to living.--On we went + Across the stars that underlay the sea, +And came to a blown shore of sand and bent. + Beyond the sand a marshy moor we crossed + Silent--I, for I pondered what he meant, +And he, that sacred speech might not be lost-- + And came at length upon an evil place: + Trees lay about like a half-buried host, +Each in its desolate pool; some fearful race + Of creatures was not far, for howls and cries + And gurgling hisses rose. With even pace +Walking, "Fear not," he said, "for this way lies + Our journey." On we went; and soon the ground + Slow from the waste began a gentle rise; +And tender grass in patches, then all round, + Came clouding up, with its fresh homely tinge + Of softest green cold-flushing every mound; +At length, of lowly shrubs a scattered fringe; + And last, a gloomy forest, almost blind, + For on its roof no sun-ray did impinge, +So that its very leaves did share the mind + Of a brown shadowless day. Not, all the year, + Once part its branches to let through a wind, +But all day long the unmoving trees appear + To ponder on the past, as men may do + That for the future wait without a fear, +And in the past the coming present view. + +IX. + +I know not if for days many or few + Pathless we thrid the wood; for never sun, + Its sylvan-traceried windows peeping through, +Mottled with brighter green the mosses dun, + Or meted with moving shadows Time the shade. + No life was there--not even a spider spun. +At length we came into a sky-roofed glade, + An open level, in a circle shut + By solemn trees that stood aside and made +Large room and lonely for a little hut + By grassy sweeps wide-margined from the wood. + 'Twas built of saplings old, that had been cut +When those great trees no larger by them stood; + Thick with an ancient moss, it seemed to have grown + Thus from the old brown earth, a covert rude, +Half-house, half-grave; half-lifted up, half-prone. + To its low door my brother led me. "There + Is thy first school," he said; "there be thou shown +Thy pictured alphabet. Wake a mind of prayer, + And praying enter." "But wilt thou not come, + Brother?" I said. "No," said he. And I, "Where +Then shall I find thee? Thou wilt not leave me dumb, + And a whole world of thoughts unuttered?" + With half-sad smile and dewy eyes, and some +Conflicting motions of his kingly head, + He pointed to the open-standing door. + I entered: inward, lo, my shadow led! +I turned: his countenance shone like lightning hoar! + Then slow he turned from me, and parted slow, + Like one unwilling, whom I should see no more; +With voice nor hand said, _Farewell, I must go!_ + But drew the clinging door hard to the post. + No dry leaves rustled 'neath his going; no +Footfalls came back from the departing ghost. + He was no more. I laid me down and wept; + I dared not follow him, restrained the most +By fear I should not see him if I leapt + Out after him with cries of pleading love. + Close to the wall, in hopeless loss, I crept; +There cool sleep came, God's shadow, from above. + +X. + +I woke, with calmness cleansed and sanctified-- + The peace that filled my heart of old, when I + Woke in my mother's lap; for since I died +The past lay bare, even to the dreaming shy + That shadowed my yet gathering unborn brain. + And, marvelling, on the floor I saw, close by +My elbow-pillowed head, as if it had lain + Beside me all the time I dreamless lay, + A little pool of sunlight, which did stain +The earthen brown with gold; marvelling, I say, + Because, across the sea and through the wood, + No sun had shone upon me all the way. +I rose, and through a chink the glade I viewed, + But all was dull as it had always been, + And sunless every tree-top round it stood, +With hardly light enough to show it green; + Yet through the broken roof, serenely glad, + By a rough hole entered that heavenly sheen. +Then I remembered in old years I had + Seen such a light--where, with dropt eyelids gloomed, + Sitting on such a floor, dark women sad +In a low barn-like house where lay entombed + Their sires and children; only there the door + Was open to the sun, which entering plumed +With shadowy palms the stones that on the floor + Stood up like lidless chests--again to find + That the soul needs no brain, but keeps her store +In hidden chambers of the eternal mind. + Thence backward ran my roused Memory + Down the ever-opening vista--back to blind +Anticipations while my soul did lie + Closed in my mother's; forward thence through bright + Spring morns of childhood, gay with hopes that fly +Bird-like across their doming blue and white, + To passionate summer noons, to saddened eves + Of autumn rain, so on to wintred night; +Thence up once more to the dewy dawn that weaves + Saffron and gold--weaves hope with still content, + And wakes the worship that even wrong bereaves +Of half its pain. And round her as she went + Hovered a sense as of an odour dear + Whose flower was far--as of a letter sent +Not yet arrived--a footstep coming near, + But, oh, how long delayed the lifting latch!-- + As of a waiting sun, ready to peer +Yet peering not--as of a breathless watch + Over a sleeping beauty--babbling rime + About her lips, but no winged word to catch! +And here I lay, the child of changeful Time + Shut in the weary, changeless Evermore, + A dull, eternal, fadeless, fruitless clime! +Was this the dungeon of my sinning sore-- + A gentle hell of loneliness, foredoomed + For such as I, whose love was yet the core +Of all my being? The brown shadow gloomed + Persistent, faded, warm. No ripple ran + Across the air, no roaming insect boomed. +"Alas," I cried, "I am no living man! + Better were darkness and the leave to grope + Than light that builds its own drear prison! Can +This be the folding of the wings of Hope?" + +XI. + +That instant--through the branches overhead + No sound of going went--a shadow fell + Isled in the unrippled pool of sunlight fed +From some far fountain hid in heavenly dell. + I looked, and in the low roofs broken place + A single snowdrop stood--a radiant bell +Of silvery shine, softly subdued by grace + Of delicate green that made the white appear + Yet whiter. Blind it bowed its head a space, +Half-timid--then, as in despite of fear, + Unfolded its three rays. If it had swung + Its pendent bell, and music golden clear-- +Division just entrancing sounds among-- + Had flickered down as tender as flakes of snow, + It had not shed more influence as it rung +Than from its look alone did rain and flow. + I knew the flower; perceived its human ways; + Dim saw the secret that had made it grow: +My heart supplied the music's golden phrase. + Light from the dark and snowdrops from the earth, + Life's resurrection out of gross decays, +The endless round of beauty's yearly birth, + And nations' rise and fall--were in the flower, + And read themselves in silence. Heavenly mirth +Awoke in my sad heart. For one whole hour + I praised the God of snowdrops. But at height + The bliss gave way. Next, faith began to cower; +And then the snowdrop vanished from my sight. + +XII. + +Last, I began in unbelief to say: + "No angel this! a snowdrop--nothing more! + A trifle which God's hands drew forth in play +From the tangled pond of chaos, dank and frore, + Threw on the bank, and left blindly to breed! + A wilful fancy would have gathered store +Of evanescence from the pretty weed, + White, shapely--then divine! Conclusion lame + O'erdriven into the shelter of a creed! +Not out of God, but nothingness it came: + Colourless, feeble, flying from life's heat, + It has no honour, hardly shunning shame!" +When, see, another shadow at my feet! + Hopeless I lifted now my weary head: + Why mock me with another heavenly cheat?-- +A primrose fair, from its rough-blanketed bed + Laughed, lo, my unbelief to heavenly scorn! + A sun-child, just awake, no prayer yet said, +Half rising from the couch where it was born, + And smiling to the world! I breathed again; + Out of the midnight once more dawned the morn, +And fled the phantom Doubt with all his train. + +XIII. + +I was a child once more, nor pondered life, + Thought not of what or how much. All my soul + With sudden births of lovely things grew rife. +In peeps a daisy: on the instant roll + Rich lawny fields, with red tips crowding the green, + Across the hollows, over ridge and knoll, +To where the rosy sun goes down serene. + From out of heaven in looks a pimpernel: + I walk in morning scents of thyme and bean; +Dewdrops on every stalk and bud and bell + Flash, like a jewel-orchard, many roods; + Glow ruby suns, which emerald suns would quell; +Topaz saint-glories, sapphire beatitudes + Blaze in the slanting sunshine all around; + Above, the high-priest-lark, o'er fields and woods-- +Rich-hearted with his five eggs on the ground-- + The sacrifice bore through the veil of light, + Odour and colour offering up in sound.-- +Filled heart-full thus with forms of lowly might + And shapeful silences of lovely lore, + I sat a child, happy with only sight, +And for a time I needed nothing more. + +XIV. + +Supine to the revelation I did lie, + Passive as prophet to his dreaming deep, + Or harp Aeolian to the breathing sky, +And blest as any child whom twilight sleep + Holds half, and half lets go. But the new day + Of higher need up-dawned with sudden leap: +"Ah, flowers," I said, "ye are divinely gay, + But your fair music is too far and fine! + Ye are full cups, yet reach not to allay +The drought of those for human love who pine + As the hart for water-brooks!" At once a face + Was looking in my face; its eyes through mine +Were feeding me with tenderness and grace, + And by their love I knew my mother's eyes. + Gazing in them, there grew in me apace +A longing grief, and love did swell and rise + Till weeping I brake out and did bemoan + My blameful share in bygone tears and cries: +"O mother, wilt thou plead for me?" I groan; + "I say not, plead with Christ, but plead with those + Who, gathered now in peace about his throne, +Were near me when my heart was full of throes, + And longings vain alter a flying bliss, + Which oft the fountain by the threshold froze: +They must forgive me, mother! Tell them this: + No more shall swell the love-dividing sigh; + Down at their feet I lay my selfishness." +The face grew passionate at this my cry; + The gathering tears up to its eyebrims rose; + It grew a trembling mist, that did not fly +But slow dissolved. I wept as one of those + Who wake outside the garden of their dream, + And, lo, the droop-winged hours laborious close +Its opal gates with stone and stake and beam. + +XV. + +But glory went that glory more might come. + Behold a countless multitude--no less! + A host of faces, me besieging, dumb +In the lone castle of my mournfulness! + Had then my mother given the word I sent, + Gathering my dear ones from the shining press? +And had these others their love-aidance lent + For full assurance of the pardon prayed? + Would they concentre love, with sweet intent, +On my self-love, to blast the evil shade? + Ah, perfect vision! pledge of endless hope! + Oh army of the holy spirit, arrayed +In comfort's panoply! For words I grope-- + For clouds to catch your radiant dawn, my own, + And tell your coming! From the highest cope +Of blue, down to my roof-breach came a cone + Of faces and their eyes on love's will borne, + Bright heads down-bending like the forward blown, +Heavy with ripeness, golden ears of corn, + By gentle wind on crowded harvest-field, + All gazing toward my prison-hut forlorn +As if with power of eyes they would have healed + My troubled heart, making it like their own + In which the bitter fountain had been sealed, +And the life-giving water flowed alone! + +XVI. + +With what I thus beheld, glorified then, + "God, let me love my fill and pass!" I sighed, + And dead, for love had almost died again. +"O fathers, brothers, I am yours!" I cried; + "O mothers, sisters. I am nothing now + Save as I am yours, and in you sanctified! +O men, O women, of the peaceful brow, + And infinite abysses in the eyes + Whence God's ineffable gazes on me, how +Care ye for me, impassioned and unwise? + Oh ever draw my heart out after you! + Ever, O grandeur, thus before me rise +And I need nothing, not even for love will sue! + I am no more, and love is all in all! + Henceforth there is, there can be nothing new-- +All things are always new!" Then, like the fall + Of a steep avalanche, my joy fell steep: + Up in my spirit rose as it were the call +Of an old sorrow from an ancient deep; + For, with my eyes fixed on the eyes of him + Whom I had loved before I learned to creep-- +God's vicar in his twilight nursery dim + To gather us to the higher father's knee-- + I saw a something fill their azure rim +That caught him worlds and years away from me; + And like a javelin once more through me passed + The pang that pierced me walking on the sea: +"O saints," I cried, "must loss be still the last?" + +XVII. + +When I said this, the cloud of witnesses + Turned their heads sideways, and the cloud grew dim + I saw their faces half, but now their bliss +Gleamed low, like the old moon in the new moon's rim. + Then as I gazed, a better kind of light + On every outline 'gan to glimmer and swim, +Faint as the young moon threadlike on the night, + Just born of sunbeams trembling on her edge: + 'Twas a great cluster of profiles in sharp white. +Had some far dawn begun to drive a wedge + Into the night, and cleave the clinging dark? + I saw no moon or star, token or pledge +Of light, save that manifold silvery mark, + The shining title of each spirit-book. + Whence came that light? Sudden, as if a spark +Of vital touch had found some hidden nook + Where germs of potent harmonies lay prest, + And their outbursting life old Aether shook, +Rose, as in prayer to lingering promised guest, + From that great cone of faces such a song, + Instinct with hope's harmonical unrest, +That with sore weeping, and the cry "How long?" + I bore my part because I could not sing. + And as they sang, the light more clear and strong +Bordered their faces, till the glory-sting + I could almost no more encounter and bear; + Light from their eyes, like water from a spring, +Flowed; on their foreheads reigned their flashing hair; + I saw the light from eyes I could not see. + "He comes! he comes!" they sang, "comes to our prayer!" +"Oh my poor heart, if only it were _He!_" + I cried. Thereat the faces moved! those eyes + Were turning on me! In rushed ecstasy, +And woke me to the light of lower skies. + +XVIII. + +"What matter," said I, "whether clank of chain + Or over-bliss wakes up to bitterness!" + Stung with its loss, I called the vision vain. +Yet feeling life grown larger, suffering less, + Sleep's ashes from my eyelids I did brush. + The room was veiled, that morning should not press +Upon the slumber which had stayed the rush + Of ebbing life; I looked into the gloom: + Upon her brow the dawn's first grayest flush, +And on her cheek pale hope's reviving bloom, + Sat, patient watcher, darkling and alone, + She who had lifted me from many a tomb! +One then was left me of Love's radiant cone! + Its light on her dear face, though faint and wan, + Was shining yet--a dawn upon it thrown +From the far coming of the Son of Man! + +XIX. + +In every forehead now I see a sky + Catching the dawn; I hear the wintriest breeze + About me blow the news the Lord is nigh. +Long is the night, dark are the polar seas, + Yet slanting suns ascend the northern hill. + Round Spring's own steps the oozy waters freeze +But hold them not. Dreamers are sleeping still, + But labourers, light-stung, from their slumber start: + Faith sees the ripening ears with harvest fill +When but green blades the clinging earth-clods part. + +XX. + +Lord, I have spoken a poor parable, + In which I would have said thy name alone + Is the one secret lying in Truth's well, +Thy voice the hidden charm in every tone, + Thy face the heart of every flower on earth, + Its vision the one hope; for every moan +Thy love the cure! O sharer of the birth + Of little children seated on thy knee! + O human God! I laugh with sacred mirth +To think how all the laden shall go free; + For, though the vision tarry, in healing ruth + One morn the eyes that shone in Galilee +Will dawn upon them, full of grace and truth, + And thy own love--the vivifying core + Of every love in heart of age or youth, +Of every hope that sank 'neath burden sore! + + + +_THE SANGREAL_: + + A Part Of The Story Omitted In The Old Romances. + +I. + + _How sir Galahad despaired of finding the Grail._ + +Through the wood the sunny day + Glimmered sweetly glad; +Through the wood his weary way + Rode sir Galahad. + +All about stood open porch, + Long-drawn cloister dim; +'Twas a wavering wandering church + Every side of him. + +On through columns arching high, + Foliage-vaulted, he +Rode in thirst that made him sigh, + Longing miserably. + +Came the moon, and through the trees + Glimmered faintly sad; +Withered, worn, and ill at ease + Down lay Galahad; + +Closed his eyes and took no heed + What might come or pass; +Heard his hunger-busy steed + Cropping dewy grass. + +Cool and juicy was the blade, + Good to him as wine: +For his labour he was paid, + Galahad must pine! + +Late had he at Arthur's board, + Arthur strong and wise, +Pledged the cup with friendly lord, + Looked in ladies' eyes; + +Now, alas! he wandered wide, + Resting never more, +Over lake and mountain-side, + Over sea and shore! + +Swift in vision rose and fled + All he might have had; +Weary tossed his restless head, + And his heart grew sad. + +With the lowliest in the land + He a maiden fair +Might have led with virgin hand + From the altar-stair: + +Youth away with strength would glide, + Age bring frost and woe; +Through the world so dreary wide + Mateless he must go! + +Lost was life and all its good, + Gone without avail! +All his labour never would + Find the Holy Grail! + +II. + + _How sir Galahad found and lost the Grail._ + +Galahad was in the night, + And the wood was drear; +But to men in darksome plight + Radiant things appear: + +Wings he heard not floating by, + Heard no heavenly hail; +But he started with a cry, + For he saw the Grail. + +Hid from bright beholding sun, + Hid from moonlight wan, +Lo, from age-long darkness won, + It was seen of man! + +Three feet off, on cushioned moss, + As if cast away, +Homely wood with carven cross, + Rough and rude it lay! + +To his knees the knight rose up, + Loosed his gauntlet-band; +Fearing, daring, toward the cup + Went his naked hand; + +When, as if it fled from harm, + Sank the holy thing, +And his eager following arm + Plunged into a spring. + +Oh the thirst, the water sweet! + Down he lay and quaffed, +Quaffed and rose up on his feet, + Rose and gayly laughed; + +Fell upon his knees to thank, + Loved and lauded there; +Stretched him on the mossy bank, + Fell asleep in prayer; + +Dreamed, and dreaming murmured low + Ave, pater, creed; +When the fir-tops gan to glow + Waked and called his steed; + +Bitted him and drew his girth, + Watered from his helm: +Happier knight or better worth + Was not in the realm! + +Belted on him then his sword, + Braced his slackened mail; +Doubting said: "I dreamed the Lord + Offered me the Grail." + +III. + + _How sir Galahad gave up the Quest for the Grail._ + +Ere the sun had cast his light + On the water's face, +Firm in saddle rode the knight + From the holy place, + +Merry songs began to sing, + Let his matins bide; +Rode a good hour pondering, + And was turned aside, + +Saying, "I will henceforth then + Yield this hopeless quest; +Tis a dream of holy men + This ideal Best!" + +"Every good for miracle + Heart devout may hold; +Grail indeed was that fair well + Full of water cold! + +"Not my thirst alone it stilled + But my soul it stayed; +And my heart, with gladness filled, + Wept and laughed and prayed! + +"Spectral church with cryptic niche + I will seek no more; +That the holiest Grail is, which + Helps the need most sore!" + +And he spake with speech more true + Than his thought indeed, +For not yet the good knight knew + His own sorest need. + +IV. + + _How sir Galahad sought yet again for the Grail._ + +On he rode, to succour bound, + But his faith grew dim; +Wells for thirst he many found, + Water none for him. + +Never more from drinking deep + Rose he up and laughed; +Never more did prayerful sleep + Follow on the draught. + +Good the water which they bore, + Plenteously it flowed, +Quenched his thirst, but, ah, no more + Eased his bosom's load! + +For the _Best_ no more he sighed; + Rode as in a trance; +Life grew poor, undignified, + And he spake of chance. + +Then he dreamed through Jesus' hand + That he drove a nail-- +Woke and cried, "Through every land, + Lord, I seek thy Grail!" + +V. + + _That sir Galahad found the Grail._ + +Up the quest again he took, + Rode through wood and wave; +Sought in many a mossy nook, + Many a hermit-cave; + +Sought until the evening red + Sunk in shadow deep; +Sought until the moonlight fled; + Slept, and sought in sleep. + +Where he wandered, seeking, sad, + Story doth not say, +But at length sir Galahad + Found it on a day; + +Took the Grail with holy hand, + Had the cup of joy; +Carried it about the land, + Gleesome as a boy; + +Laid his sword where he had found + Boot for every bale, +Stuck his spear into the ground, + Kept alone the Grail. + +VI. + + _How sir Galahad carried about the Grail._ + +Horse and crested helmet gone, + Greaves and shield and mail, +Caroling loud the knight walked on, + For he had the Grail; + +Caroling loud walked south and north, + East and west, for years; +Where he went, the smiles came forth, + Where he left, the tears. + +Glave nor dagger mourned he, + Axe nor iron flail: +Evil might not brook to see + Once the Holy Grail. + +Wilds he wandered with his staff, + Woods no longer sad; +Earth and sky and sea did laugh + Round sir Galahad. + +Bitter mere nor trodden pool + Did in service fail, +Water all grew sweet and cool + In the Holy Grail. + +Without where to lay his head, + Chanting loud he went; +Found each cave a palace-bed, + Every rock a tent. + +Age that had begun to quail + In the gathering gloom, +Counselled he to seek the Grail + And forget the tomb. + +Youth with hope or passion pale, + Youth with eager eyes, +Taught he that the Holy Grail + Was the only prize. + +Maiden worn with hidden ail, + Restless and unsure, +Taught he that the Holy Grail + Was the only cure. + +Children rosy in the sun + Ran to hear his tale +How twelve little ones had won + Each of them the Grail. + +VII. + + _How sir Galahad hid the Grail._ + +Very still was earth and sky + When he passing lay; +Oft he said he should not die, + Would but go away. + +When he passed, they reverent sought, + Where his hand lay prest, +For the cup he bare, they thought, + Hidden in his breast. + +Hope and haste and eager thrill + Turned to sorrowing wail: +Hid he held it deeper still, + Took with him the Grail. + + + +_THE FAILING TRACK_. + +Where went the feet that hitherto have come? + Here yawns no gulf to quench the flowing past! +With lengthening pauses broke, the path grows dumb; + The grass floats in; the gazer stands aghast. + +Tremble not, maiden, though the footprints die; + By no air-path ascend the lark's clear notes; +The mighty-throated when he mounts the sky + Over some lowly landmark sings and floats. + +Be of good cheer. Paths vanish from the wave; + There all the ships tear each its track of gray; +Undaunted they the wandering desert brave: + In each a magic finger points the way. + +No finger finely touched, no eye of lark + Hast thou to guide thy steps where footprints fail? +Ah, then, 'twere well to turn before the dark, + Nor dream to find thy dreams in yonder vale! + +The backward way one hour is plain to thee, + Hard hap were hers who saw no trace behind! +Back to confession at thy mother's knee, + Back to the question and the childlike mind! + +Then start afresh, but toward unending end, + The goal o'er which hangs thy own star all night; +So shalt thou need no footprints to befriend, + Child-heart and shining star will guide thee right. + + + +_TELL ME._ + +"Traveller, what lies over the hill? + Traveller, tell to me: +Tip-toe-high on the window-sill + Over I cannot see." + +"My child, a valley green lies there, + Lovely with trees, and shy; +And a tiny brook that says, 'Take care, + Or I'll drown you by and by!'" + +"And what comes next?"--"A little town, + And a towering hill again; +More hills and valleys up and down, + And a river now and then." + +"And what comes next?"--"A lonely moor + Without one beaten way, +And slow clouds drifting dull before + A wind that will not stay." + +"And then?"--"Dark rocks and yellow sand, + Blue sea and a moaning tide." +"And then?"--"More sea, and then more land, + With rivers deep and wide." + +"And then?"--"Oh, rock and mountain and vale, + Ocean and shores and men, +Over and over, a weary tale, + And round to your home again!" + +"And is that all? From day to day, + Like one with a long chain bound, +Should I walk and walk and not get away, + But go always round and round?" + +"No, no; I have not told you the best, + I have not told you the end: +If you want to escape, away in the west + You will see a stair ascend, + +"Built of all colours of lovely stones, + A stair up into the sky +Where no one is weary, and no one moans, + Or wishes to be laid by." + +"Is it far away?"--"I do not know: + You must fix your eyes thereon, +And travel, travel through thunder and snow, + Till the weary way is gone. + +"All day, though you never see it shine, + You must travel nor turn aside, +All night you must keep as straight a line + Through moonbeams or darkness wide." + +"When I am older!"--"Nay, not so!" + "I have hardly opened my eyes!" +"He who to the old sunset would go, + Starts best with the young sunrise." + +"Is the stair right up? is it very steep?" + "Too steep for you to climb; +You must lie at the foot of the glorious heap + And patient wait your time." + +"How long?"--"Nay, that I cannot tell." + "In wind, and rain, and frost?" +"It may be so; and it is well + That you should count the cost. + +"Pilgrims from near and from distant lands + Will step on you lying there; +But a wayfaring man with wounded hands + Will carry you up the stair." + + + +_BROTHER ARTIST!_ + +Brother artist, help me; come! + Artists are a maimed band: + I have words but not a hand; +Thou hast hands though thou art dumb. + +Had I thine, when words did fail-- + Vassal-words their hasting chief, + On the white awaiting leaf +Shapes of power should tell the tale. + +Had I hers of music-might, + I would shake the air with storm + Till the red clouds trailed enorm +Boreal dances through the night. + +Had I his whose foresight rare + Piles the stones with lordliest art, + From the quarry of my heart +Love should climb a heavenly stair! + +Had I his whose wooing slow + Wins the marble's hidden child, + Out in passion undefiled +Stood my Psyche, white as snow! + +Maimed, a little help I pray; + Words suffice not for my end; + Let thy hand obey thy friend, +Say for me what I would say. + +Draw me, on an arid plain + With hoar-headed mountains nigh, + Under a clear morning sky +Telling of a night of rain, + +Huge and half-shaped, like a block + Chosen for sarcophagus + By a Pharaoh glorious, +One rude solitary rock. + +Cleave it down along the ridge + With a fissure yawning deep + To the heart of the hard heap, +Like the rent of riving wedge. + +Through the cleft let hands appear, + Upward pointed with pressed palms + As if raised in silent psalms +For salvation come anear. + +Turn thee now--'tis almost done!-- + To the near horizon's verge: + Make the smallest arc emerge +Of the forehead of the sun. + +One thing more--I ask too much!-- + From a brow which hope makes brave + Sweep the shadow of the grave +With a single golden touch. + +Thanks, dear painter; that is all. + If thy picture one day should + Need some words to make it good, +I am ready to thy call. + + + +_AFTER AN OLD LEGEND._ + +The monk was praying in his cell, + With bowed head praying sore; +He had been praying on his knees + For two long hours and more. + +As of themselves, all suddenly, + His eyelids opened wide; +Before him on the ground he saw + A man's feet close beside; + +And almost to the feet came down + A garment wove throughout; +Such garment he had never seen + In countries round about! + +His eyes he lifted tremblingly + Until a hand they spied: +A chisel-scar on it he saw, + And a deep, torn scar beside. + +His eyes they leaped up to the face, + His heart gave one wild bound, +Then stood as if its work were done-- + The Master he had found! + +With sudden clang the convent bell + Told him the poor did wait +His hand to give the daily bread + Doled at the convent-gate. + +Then Love rose in him passionate, + And with Duty wrestled strong; +And the bell kept calling all the time + With merciless iron tongue. + +The Master stood and looked at him + He rose up with a sigh: +"He will be gone when I come back + I go to him by and by!" + +He chid his heart, he fed the poor + All at the convent-gate; +Then with slow-dragging feet went back + To his cell so desolate: + +His heart bereaved by duty done, + He had sore need of prayer! +Oh, sad he lifted the latch!--and, lo, + The Master standing there! + +He said, "My poor had not to stand + Wearily at thy gate: +For him who feeds the shepherd's sheep + The shepherd will stand and wait." + +_Yet, Lord--for thou would'st have us judge, + And I will humbly dare-- +If he had staid, I do not think + Thou wouldst have left him there. + +Thy voice in far-off time I hear, + With sweet defending, say: +"The poor ye always have with you, + Me ye have not alway!" + +Thou wouldst have said: "Go feed my poor, + The deed thou shalt not rue; +Wherever ye do my father's will + I always am with you."_ + + + +_A MEDITATION OF ST. ELIGIUS_. + +_Queen Mary one day Jesus sent + To fetch some water, legends tell; +The little boy, obedient, + Drew a full pitcher from the well; + +But as he raised it to his head, + The water lipping with the rim, +The handle broke, and all was shed + Upon the stones about the brim. + +His cloak upon the ground he laid + And in it gathered up the pool; [Proverbs xxx. 4.] +Obedient there the water staid, + And home he bore it plentiful._ + +Eligius said, "Tis fabled ill: + The hands that all the world control, +Had here been room for miracle, + Had made his mother's pitcher whole! + +"Still, some few drops for thirsty need + A poor invention even, when told +In love of thee the Truth indeed, + Like broken pitcher yet may hold: + +"Thy truth, alas, Lord, once I spilt: + I thought to bear the pitcher high; +Upon the shining stones of guilt + I slipped, and there the potsherds lie! + +_"Master,_ I cried, _no man will drink, + No human thirst will e'er be stilled +Through me, who sit upon the brink, + My pitcher broke, thy water spilled! + +"What will they do I waiting left? + They looked to me to bring thy law! +The well is deep, and, sin-bereft, + I nothing have wherewith to draw!"_ + +"But as I sat in evil plight, + With dry parched heart and sickened brain, +Uprose in me the water bright, + Thou gavest me thyself again!" + + + +_THE EARLY BIRD._ + +A little bird sat on the edge of her nest; + Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as tops; +Day-long she had worked almost without rest, + And had filled every one of their gibbous crops; +Her own she had filled just over-full, +And she felt like a dead bird stuffed with wool. + +"Oh dear!" she sighed, as she sat with her head + Sunk in her chest, and no neck at all, +Looking like an apple on a feather-bed + Poked and rounded and fluffed to a ball, +"What's to be done if things don't reform? +I cannot tell where there is one more worm! + +"I've had fifteen to-day, and the children five each, + Besides a few flies, and some very fat spiders: +Who will dare say I don't do as I preach? + I set an example to all providers! +But what's the use? We want a storm: +I don't know where there's a single worm!" + +"There's five in my crop," chirped a wee, wee bird + Who woke at the voice of his mother's pain; +"I know where there's five!" And with the word + He tucked in his head and went off again. +"The folly of childhood," sighed his mother, +"Has always been my especial bother!" + +Careless the yellow-beaks slept on, + They never had heard of the bogy, Tomorrow; +The mother sat outside making her moan-- + "I shall soon have to beg, or steal, or borrow! +I have always to say, the night before, +Where shall I find one red worm more!" + +Her case was this, she had gobbled too many, + And sleepless, had an attack she called foresight: +A barn of crumbs, if she knew but of any! + Could she but get of the great worm-store sight! +The eastern sky was growing red +Ere she laid her wise beak in its feather-bed. + +Just then, the fellow who knew of five, + Nor troubled his sleep with anxious tricks, +Woke, and stirred, and felt alive: + "To-day," he said, "I am up to six! +But my mother feels in her lot the crook-- +What if I tried my own little hook!" + +When his mother awoke, she winked her eyes + As if she had dreamed that she was a mole: +Could she believe them? "What a huge prize + That child is dragging out of its hole!" +The fledgeling indeed had just caught his third! +_And here is a fable to catch the bird!_ + + + +_SIR LARK AND KING SUN._ + +"Good morrow, my lord!" in the sky alone +Sang the lark as the sun ascended his throne. +"Shine on me, my lord: I only am come, +Of all your servants, to welcome you home! +I have shot straight up, a whole hour, I swear, +To catch the first gleam of your golden hair." + +"Must I thank you then," said the king, "sir Lark, +For flying so high and hating the dark? +You ask a full cup for half a thirst: +Half was love of me, half love to be first. +Some of my subjects serve better my taste: +Their watching and waiting means more than your haste." + +King Sun wrapt his head in a turban of cloud; +Sir Lark stopped singing, quite vexed and cowed; +But higher he flew, for he thought, "Anon +The wrath of the king will be over and gone; +And, scattering his head-gear manifold, +He will change my brown feathers to a glory of gold!" + +He flew, with the strength of a lark he flew, +But as he rose the cloud rose too; +And not one gleam of the flashing hair +Brought signal of favour across the air; +And his wings felt withered and worn and old, +For their feathers had had no chrism of gold. + +Outwearied at length, and throbbing sore, +The strong sun-seeker could do no more; +He faltered and sank, then dropped like a stone +Beside his nest, where, patient, alone, +Sat his little wife on her little eggs, +Keeping them warm with wings and legs. + +Did I say alone? Ah, no such thing! +There was the cloudless, the ray-crowned king! +"Welcome, sir Lark!--You look tired!" said he; +"_Up_ is not always the best way to me: +While you have been racing my turban gray, +I have been shining where you would not stay!" + +He had set a coronet round the nest; +Its radiance foamed on the wife's little breast; +And so glorious was she in russet gold +That sir Lark for wonder and awe grew cold; +He popped his head under her wing, and lay +As still as a stone till king Sun went away. + + + +_THE OWL AND THE BELL._ + +_Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_ +Sang the Bell to himself in his house at home, +High in the church-tower, lone and unseen, +In a twilight of ivy, cool and green; +With his _Bing, Bing, Bim, Bing, Bang, Bome!_ +Singing bass to himself in his house at home. + +Said the Owl, on a shadowy ledge below, +Like a glimmering ball of forgotten snow, +"Pest on that fellow sitting up there, +Always calling the people to prayer! +He shatters my nerves with his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_--- +Far too big in his house at home! + +"I think I will move.--But it suits me well, +And one may get used to it, who can tell!" +So he slept again with all his might, +Then woke and snooved out in the hush of night +When the Bell was asleep in his house at home, +Dreaming over his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +For the Owl was born so poor and genteel +What could he do but pick and steal? +He scorned to work for honest bread-- +"Better have never been hatched!" he said. +So his day was the night, for he dared not roam +Till sleep had silenced the _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +When five greedy Owlets chipped the egg +He wanted two beaks and another leg, +And they ate the more that they did not sleep well: +"It's their gizzards," said Owless; said Owl, "It's that Bell!" +For they quivered like leaves of a wind-blown tome +When the Bell bellowed out his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +But the Bell began to throb with the fear +Of bringing his house about his one ear; +And his people came round it, quite a throng, +To buttress the walls and make them strong: +A full month he sat, and felt like a mome +Not daring to shout his _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +Said the Owl to himself, and hissed as he said, +"I trust in my heart the old fool is dead! +No more will he scare church-mice with his bounce, +And make them so thin they're scarce worth a pounce! +Once I will see him ere he's laid in the loam, +And shout in his ear _Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_" + +"Hoo! hoo!" he cried, as he entered the steeple, +"They've hanged him at last, the righteous people! +His swollen tongue lolls out of his head! +Hoo! hoo! at last the old brute is dead! +There let him hang, the shapeless gnome, +Choked with a throatful of _Bing, Bang, Bome!_" + +He fluttered about him, singing _Too-whoo!_ +He flapped the poor Bell, and said, "Is that you? +You that never would matters mince, +Banging poor owls and making them wince? +A fig for you now, in your great hall-dome! +_Too-whit_ is better than _Bing, Bang, Bome!_" + +Still braver he grew, the downy, the dapper; +He flew in and perched on the knob of the clapper, +And shouted _Too-whoo!_ An echo awoke +Like a far-off ghostly _Bing-Bang_ stroke: +"Just so!" he cried; "I am quite at home! +I will take his place with my _Bing, Bang, Bome!_" + +He hissed with the scorn of his grand self-wonder, +And thought the Bell's tremble his own great thunder: +He sat the Jove of creation's fowl.-- +_Bang!_ went the Bell--through the rope-hole the owl, +A fluffy avalanche, light as foam, +Loosed by the boom of the _Bing, Bang, Bome!_ + +He sat where he fell, as if he had meant it, +Ready for any remark anent it. +Said the eldest Owlet, "Pa, you were wrong; +He's at it again with his vulgar song!" +"Child," said the Owl, "of the mark you are wide: +I brought him to life by perching inside." + +"Why did you, my dear?" said his startled wife; +"He has always been the plague of your life!" +"I have given him a lesson of good for evil: +Perhaps the old ruffian will now be civil!" +The Owl sat righteous, he raised his comb. +The Bell bawled on, _Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome!_ + + + +A MAMMON-MARRIAGE. + +The croak of a raven hoar! + A dog's howl, kennel-tied! +Loud shuts the carriage-door: + The two are away on their ghastly ride +To Death's salt shore! + +Where are the love and the grace? + The bridegroom is thirsty and cold! +The bride's skull sharpens her face! + But the coachman is driving, jubilant, bold, +The devil's pace. + +The horses shivered and shook + Waiting gaunt and haggard +With sorry and evil look; + But swift as a drunken wind they staggered +'Longst Lethe brook. + +Long since, they ran no more; + Heavily pulling they died +On the sand of the hopeless shore + Where never swelled or sank a tide, +And the salt burns sore. + +Flat their skeletons lie, + White shadows on shining sand; +The crusted reins go high + To the crumbling coachman's bony hand +On his knees awry. + +Side by side, jarring no more, + Day and night side by side, +Each by a doorless door, + Motionless sit the bridegroom and bride +On the Dead-Sea-shore. + + + +_A SONG IN THE NIGHT._ + +A brown bird sang on a blossomy tree, +Sang in the moonshine, merrily, +Three little songs, one, two, and three, +A song for his wife, for himself, and me. + +He sang for his wife, sang low, sang high, +Filling the moonlight that filled the sky; +"Thee, thee, I love thee, heart alive! +Thee, thee, thee, and thy round eggs five!" + +He sang to himself, "What shall I do +With this life that thrills me through and through! +Glad is so glad that it turns to ache! +Out with it, song, or my heart will break!" + +He sang to me, "Man, do not fear +Though the moon goes down and the dark is near; +Listen my song and rest thine eyes; +Let the moon go down that the sun may rise!" + +I folded me up in the heart of his tune, +And fell asleep with the sinking moon; +I woke with the day's first golden gleam, +And, lo, I had dreamed a precious dream! + + + +_LOVE'S HISTORY_. + +Love, the baby, + Crept abroad to pluck a flower: +One said, Yes, sir; one said, Maybe; + One said, Wait the hour. + +Love, the boy, + Joined the youngsters at their play: +But they gave him little joy, + And he went away. + +Love, the youth, + Roamed the country, quiver-laden; +From him fled away in sooth + Many a man and maiden! + +Love, the man, + Sought a service all about; +But they called him feeble, one + They could do without. + +Love, the aged, + Walking, bowed, the shadeless miles, +Read a volume many-paged, + Full of tears and smiles. + +Love, the weary, + Tottered down the shelving road: +At its foot, lo, Night, the starry, + Meeting him from God! + +"Love, the holy," + Sang a music in her dome, +Sang it softly, sang it slowly, + "Love is coming home!" + + + +THE LARK AND THE WIND. + +In the air why such a ringing? + On the earth why such a droning? + +In the air the lark is singing; + On the earth the wind is moaning. + +"I am blest, in sunlight swinging!" + "Sad am I: the world lies groaning!" + +In the sky the lark kept singing; + On the earth the wind kept moaning. + + + +A DEAD HOUSE. + +When the clock hath ceased to tick + Soul-like in the gloomy hall; +When the latch no more doth click + Tongue-like in the red peach-wall; +When no more come sounds of play, + Mice nor children romping roam, +Then looks down the eye of day + On a dead house, not a home! + +But when, like an old sun's ghost, + Haunts her vault the spectral moon; +When earth's margins all are lost, + Melting shapes nigh merged in swoon, +Then a sound--hark! there again!-- + No, 'tis not a nibbling mouse! +'Tis a ghost, unseen of men, + Walking through the bare-floored house! + +And with lightning on the stair + To that silent upper room, +With the thunder-shaken air + Sudden gleaming into gloom, +With a frost-wind whistling round, + From the raging northern coasts, +Then, mid sieging light and sound, + All the house is live with ghosts! + +Brother, is thy soul a cell + Empty save of glittering motes, +Where no live loves live and dwell, + Only notions, things, and thoughts? +Then thou wilt, when comes a Breath + Tempest-shaking ridge and post, +Find thyself alone with Death + In a house where walks no ghost. + + + +'BELL UPON ORGAN. + + It's all very well, +Said the Bell, +To be the big Organ below! +But the folk come and go, +Said the Bell, +And you never can tell +What sort of person the Organ will blow! +And, besides, it is much at the mercy of the weather +For 'tis all made in pieces and glued together! + + But up in my cell +Next door to the sky, +Said the Bell, +I dwell +Very high; +And with glorious go +I swing to and fro; +I swing swift or slow, +I swing as I please, +With summons or knell; +I swing at my ease, +Said the Bell: +Not the tallest of men +Can reach up to touch me, +To smirch me or smutch me, +Or make me do what +I would not be at! +And, then, +The weather can't cause me to shrink or increase: +I chose to be made in one perfect piece! + + + +MASTER AND BOY. + +"WHO is this little one lying," + Said Time, "at my garden-gate, +Moaning and sobbing and crying, + Out in the cold so late?" + +"They lurked until we came near, + Master and I," the child said, +"Then caught me, with 'Welcome, New-year! + Happy Year! Golden-head!' + +"See Christmas-day, my Master, + On the meadow a mile away! +Father Time, make me run faster! + I'm the Shadow of Christmas-day!" + +"Run, my child; still he's in sight! + Only look well to his track; +Little Shadow, run like the light, + He misses you at his back!" + +Old Time sat down in the sun + On a grave-stone--his legs were numb: +"When the boy to his master has run," + He said, "Heaven's New Year is come!" + + + +_THE CLOCK OF THE UNIVERSE_. + + A clock aeonian, steady and tall, +With its back to creation's flaming wall, +Stands at the foot of a dim, wide stair. +Swing, swang, its pendulum goes, +Swing--swang--here--there! +Its tick and its tack like the sledge-hammer blows +Of Tubal Cain, the mighty man! +But they strike on the anvil of never an ear, +On the heart of man and woman they fall, +With an echo of blessing, an echo of ban; +For each tick is a hope, each tack is a fear, +Each tick is a _Where_, each tack a _Not here_, +Each tick is a kiss, each tack is a blow, +Each tick says _Why_, each tack _I don't know_. +Swing, swang, the pendulum! +Tick and tack, and _go_ and _come_, +With a haunting, far-off, dreamy hum, +With a tick, tack, loud and dumb, +Swings the pendulum. + + Two hands, together joined in prayer, +With a roll and a volley of spheric thunder; +Two hands, in hope spread half asunder, +An empty gulf of longing embrace; +Two hands, wide apart as they can fare +In a fear still coasting not touching Despair, +But turning again, ever round to prayer: +Two hands, human hands, pass with awful motion +From isle to isle of the sapphire ocean. + + The silent, surfaceless ocean-face +Is filled with a brooding, hearkening grace; +The stars dream in, and sink fainting out, +And the sun and the moon go walking about, +Walking about in it, solemn and slow, +Solemn and slow, at a thinking pace, +Walking about in it to and fro, +Walking, walking about. + + With open beak and half-open wing +Ever with eagerness quivering, +On the peak of the clock +Stands a cock: +Tip-toe stands the cock to crow-- +Golden cock with silver call +Clear as trumpet tearing the sky! +No one yet has heard him cry, +Nor ever will till the hour supreme +When Self on itself shall turn with a scream, +What time the hands are joined on high +In a hoping, despairing, speechless sigh, +The perfect groan-prayer of the universe +When the darkness clings and will not disperse +Though the time is come, told ages ago, +For the great white rose of the world to blow: +--Tick, tack, to the waiting cock, +Tick, tack, goes the aeon-clock! + + A polar bear, golden and gray, +Crawls and crawls around the top. +Black and black as an Ethiop +The great sea-serpent lies coiled beneath, +Living, living, but does not breathe. +For the crawling bear is so far away +That he cannot hear, by night or day, +The bourdon big of his deep bear-bass +Roaring atop of the silent face, +Else would he move, and none knows then +What would befall the sons of men! + + Eat up old Time, O raging Bear; +Take Bald-head, and the children spare! +Lie still, O Serpent, nor let one breath +Stir thy pool and stay Time's death! +Steady, Hands! for the noon is nigh: +See the silvery ghost of the Dawning shy +Low on the floor of the level sky! +Warn for the strike, O blessed Clock; +Gather thy clarion breath, gold Cock; +Push on the month-figures, pale, weary-faced Moon; +Tick, awful Pendulum, tick amain; +And soon, oh, soon, +Lord of life, and Father of boon, +Give us our own in our arms again! + + Then the great old clock to pieces will fall +Sans groaning of axle or whirring of wheel. +And away like a mist of the morning steal, +To stand no more in creation's hall; +Its mighty weights will fall down plumb +Into the regions where all is dumb; +No more will its hands, in horror or prayer, +Be lifted or spread at the foot of the stair +That springs aloft to the Father's room; +Its tick and its tack, _When?--Not now_, +Will cease, and its muffled groan below; +Its sapphire face will dissolve away +In the dawn of the perfect, love-potent day; +The serpent and bear will be seen no more, +Growling atop, or prone on the floor; +And up the stair will run as they please +The children to clasp the Father's knees. + +O God, our father, Allhearts' All, +Open the doors of thy clockless hall! + + + +_THE THORN IN THE FLESH._ + +Within my heart a worm had long been hid. +I knew it not when I went down and chid +Because some servants of my inner house +Had not, I found, of late been doing well, +But then I spied the horror hideous +Dwelling defiant in the inmost cell-- +No, not the inmost, for there God did dwell! +But the small monster, softly burrowing, +Near by God's chamber had made itself a den, +And lay in it and grew, the noisome thing! +Aghast I prayed--'twas time I did pray then! +But as I prayed it seemed the loathsome shape +Grew livelier, and did so gnaw and scrape +That I grew faint. Whereon to me he said-- +Some one, that is, who held my swimming head, +"Lo, I am with thee: let him do his worst; +The creature is, but not his work, accurst; +Thou hating him, he is as a thing dead." +Then I lay still, nor thought, only endured. +At last I said, "Lo, now I am inured +A burgess of Pain's town!" The pain grew worse. +Then I cried out as if my heart would break. +But he, whom, in the fretting, sickening ache, +I had forgotten, spoke: "The law of the universe +Is this," he said: "Weakness shall be the nurse +Of strength. The help I had will serve thee too." +So I took courage and did bear anew. +At last, through bones and flesh and shrinking skin, +Lo, the thing ate his way, and light came in, +And the thing died. I knew then what it meant, +And, turning, saw the Lord on whom I leant. + + + +_LYCABAS:_ + +A name of the Year. Some say the word means _a march of wolves_, +which wolves, running in single file, are the Months of the Year. +Others say the word means _the path of the light_. + + O ye months of the year, +Are ye a march of wolves? +Lycabas! Lycabas! twelve to growl and slay? +Men hearken at night, and lie in fear, +Some men hearken all day! + + Lycabas, verily thou art a gallop of wolves, +Gaunt gray wolves, gray months of the year, hunting in twelves, +Running and howling, head to tail, +In a single file, over the snow, +A long low gliding of silent horror and fear! +On and on, ghastly and drear, +Not a head turning, not a foot swerving, ye go, +Twelve making only a one-wolf track! +Onward ye howl, and behind we wail; +Wail behind your narrow and slack +Wallowing line, and moan and weep, +As ye draw it on, straight and deep, +Thorough the night so swart! +Behind you a desert, and eyes a-weary, +A long, bare highway, stony and dreary, +A hungry soul, and a wolf-cub wrapt, +A live wolf-cub, sharp-toothed, steel-chapt, +In the garment next the heart! + + Lycabas! +One of them hurt me sore! +Two of them hurt and tore! +Three of them made me bleed! +The fourth did a terrible deed, +Rent me the worst of the four! +Rent me, and shook me, and tore, +And ran away with a growl! +Lycabas, if I feared you a jot, +You, and your devils running in twelves, +Black-mouthed, hell-throated, straight-going wolves, +I would run like a wolf, I too, and howl! +I live, and I fear you not. + + But shall I not hate you, low-galloping wolves +Hunting in ceaseless twelves? +Ye have hunted away my lambs! +Ye ran at them open-mouthed, +And your mouths were gleamy-toothed, +And their whiteness with red foam frothed, +And your throats were a purple-black gulf: +My lambs they fled, and they came not back! +Lovely white lambs they were, alack! +They fled afar and they left a track +Which at night, when the lone sky clears, +Glistens with Nature's tears! +Many a shepherd scarce thinks of a lamb +But he hears behind it the growl of a wolf, +And behind that the wail of its dam! + + They ran, nor cried, but fled +From day's sweet pasture, from night's soft bed: +Ah me, the look in their eyes! +For behind them rushed the swallowing gulf, +The maw of the growl-throated wolf, +And they fled as the thing that speeds or dies: +They looked not behind, +But fled as over the grass the wind. + + Oh my lambs, I would drop away +Into a night that never saw day +That so in your dear hearts you might say, +"_All is well for ever and aye!_" +Yet it was well to hurry away, +To hurry from me, your shepherd gray: +I had no sword to bite and slay, +And the wolfy Months were on your track! +It was well to start from work and play, +It was well to hurry from me away-- +But why not once look back? + + The wolves came panting down the lea-- +What was left you but somewhere flee! +Ye saw the Shepherd that never grows old, +Ye saw the great Shepherd, and him ye knew, +And the wolves never once came near to you; +For he saw you coming, threw down his crook, +Ran, and his arms about you threw; +He gathered you into his garment's fold, +He kneeled, he gathered, he lifted you, +And his bosom and arms were full of you. +He has taken you home to his stronghold: +Out of the castle of Love ye look; +The castle of Love is now your home, +From the garden of Love you will never roam, +And the wolves no more shall flutter you. + + Lycabas! Lycabas! +For all your hunting and howling and cries, +Your yelling of _woe_! and _alas_! +For all your thin tongues and your fiery eyes, +Your questing thorough the windy grass, +Your gurgling gnar, and your horrent hair, +And your white teeth that will not spare-- +Wolves, I fear you never a jot, +Though you come at me with your mouths red-hot, +Eyes of fury, and teeth that foam: +Ye can do nothing but drive me home! +Wolves, wolves, you will lie one day-- +Ye are lying even now, this very day, +Wolves in twelves, gaunt and gray, +At the feet of the Shepherd that leads the dams, +At the feet of the Shepherd that carries the lambs! + + And now that I see you with my mind's eye, +What are you indeed? my mind revolves. +Are you, are you verily wolves? +I saw you only through twilight dark, +Through rain and wind, and ill could mark! +Now I come near--are you verily wolves? +Ye have torn, but I never saw you slay! +Me ye have torn, but I live to-day, +Live, and hope to live ever and aye! +Closer still let me look at you!-- +Black are your mouths, but your eyes are true!-- +Now, now I know you!--the Shepherd's sheep-dogs! +Friends of us sheep on the moors and bogs, +Lost so often in swamps and fogs! +Dear creatures, forgive me; I did you wrong; +You to the castle of Love belong: +Forgive the sore heart that made sharp the tongue! +Your swift-flying feet the Shepherd sends +To gather the lambs, his little friends, +And draw the sheep after for rich amends! +Sharp are your teeth, my wolves divine, +But loves and no hates in your deep eyes shine! +No more will I call you evil names, +No more assail you with untrue blames! +Wake me with howling, check me with biting, +Rouse up my strength for the holy fighting: +Hunt me still back, nor let me stray +Out of the infinite narrow way, +The radiant march of the Lord of Light +Home to the Father of Love and Might, +Where each puts Thou in the place of I, +And Love is the Law of Liberty. + + + + + BALLADS + + +_THE UNSEEN MODEL_. + +Forth to his study the sculptor goes + In a mood of lofty mirth: +"Now shall the tongues of my carping foes + Confess what my art is worth! +In my brain last night the vision arose, + To-morrow shall see its birth!" + +He stood like a god; with creating hand + He struck the formless clay: +"Psyche, arise," he said, "and stand; + In beauty confront the day. +I have sought nor found thee in any land; + I call thee: arise; obey!" + +The sun was low in the eastern skies + When spoke the confident youth; +Sweet Psyche, all day, his hands and eyes + Wiled from the clay uncouth, +Nor ceased when the shadows came up like spies + That dog the steps of Truth. + +He said, "I will do my will in spite + Of the rising dark; for, see, +She grows to my hand! The mar-work night + Shall hurry and hide and flee +From the glow of my lamp and the making might + That passeth out of me!" + +In the flickering lamplight the figure swayed, + In the shadows did melt and swim: +With tool and thumb he modelled and made, + Nor knew that feature and limb +Half-obeying, half-disobeyed, + And mocking eluded him. + +At the dawning Psyche of his brain + Joyous he wrought all night: +The oil went low, and he trimmed in vain, + The lamp would not burn bright; +But he still wrought on: through the high roof-pane + He saw the first faint light! + +The dark retreated; the morning spread; + His creatures their shapes resume; +The plaster stares dumb-white and dead; + A faint blue liquid bloom +Lies on each marble bosom and head; + To his Psyche clings the gloom. + +Backward he stept to see the clay: + His visage grew white and sear; +No beauty ideal confronted the day, + No Psyche from upper sphere, +But a once loved shape that in darkness lay, + Buried a lonesome year! + +From maidenhood's wilderness fair and wild + A girl to his charm had hied: +He had blown out the lamp of the trusting child, + And in the darkness she died; +Now from the clay she sadly smiled, + And the sculptor stood staring-eyed. + +He had summoned Psyche--and Psyche crept + From a half-forgotten tomb; +She brought her sad smile, that still she kept, + Her eyes she left in the gloom! +High grace had found him, for now he wept, + And love was his endless doom! + +Night-long he pined, all day did rue; + He haunted her form with sighs: +As oft as his clay to a lady grew + The carvers, with dim surmise, +Would whisper, "The same shape come to woo, + With its blindly beseeching eyes!" + + + +_THE HOMELESS GHOST_. + +Through still, bare streets, and cold moonshine + His homeward way he bent; +The clocks gave out the midnight sign + As lost in thought he went +Along the rampart's ocean-line, +Where, high above the tossing brine, + Seaward his lattice leant. + +He knew not why he left the throng, + Why there he could not rest, +What something pained him in the song + And mocked him in the jest, +Or why, the flitting crowd among, +A moveless moonbeam lay so long + Athwart one lady's breast! + +He watched, but saw her speak to none, + Saw no one speak to her; +Like one decried, she stood alone, + From the window did not stir; +Her hair by a haunting gust was blown, +Her eyes in the shadow strangely shown, + She looked a wanderer. + +He reached his room, he sought a book + His brooding to beguile; +But ever he saw her pallid look, + Her face too still to smile. +An hour he sat in his fireside nook, +The time flowed past like a silent brook, + Not a word he read the while. + +Vague thoughts absorbed his passive brain + Of love that bleeding lies, +Of hoping ever and hoping in vain, + Of a sorrow that never dies-- +When a sudden spatter of angry rain +Smote against every window-pane, + And he heard far sea-birds' cries. + +He looked from the lattice: the misty moon + Hardly a glimmer gave; +The wind was like one that hums a tune, + The first low gathering stave; +The ocean lay in a sullen swoon, +With a moveless, monotonous, murmured croon + Like the moaning of a slave. + +Sudden, with masterful, angry blare + It howled from the watery west: +The storm was up, he had left his lair! + The night would be no jest! +He turned: a lady sat in his chair! +Through her loose dim robe her arm came bare, + And it lay across her breast. + +She sat a white queen on a ruined throne, + A lily bowed with blight; +In her eyes the darkness about was blown + By flashes of liquid light; +Her skin with very whiteness shone; +Back from her forehead loosely thrown + Her hair was dusk as night. + +Wet, wet it hung, and wept like weeds + Down her pearly shoulders bare; +The pale drops glistened like diamond beads + Caught in a silken snare; +As the silver-filmy husk to its seeds +Her dank robe clings, and but half recedes + Her form so shadowy fair. + +Doubting she gazed in his wondering face, + Wonder his utterance ties; +She searches, like one in forgetful case, + For something within his eyes, +For something that love holds ever in chase, +For something that is, and has no place, + But away in the thinking lies. + +Speechless he ran, brought a wrap of wool, + And a fur that with down might vie; +Listless, into the gathering pool + She dropped them, and let them lie. +He piled the hearth with fagots so full +That the flames, as if from the log of Yule, + Up the chimney went roaring high. + +Then she spoke, and lovely to heart and ear + Was her voice, though broke by pain; +Afar it sounded, though sweet and clear, + As if from out of the rain; +As if from out of the night-wind drear +It came like the voice of one in fear + Lest she should no welcome gain. + +"I am too far off to feel the cold, + Too cold to feel the fire; +It cannot get through the heap of mould + That soaks in the drip from the spire: +Cerement of wax 'neath cloth of gold, +'Neath fur and wool in fold on fold, + Freezes in frost so dire." + +Her voice and her eyes and her cheek so white + Thrilled him through heart and brain; +Wonder and pity and love unite + In a passion of bodiless pain; +Her beauty possessed him with strange delight: +He was out with her in the live wan night, + With her in the blowing rain! + +Sudden she rose, she kneeled, she flung + Her loveliness at his feet: +"I am tired of being blown and swung + In the rain and the snow and the sleet! +But better no rest than stillness among +Things whose names would defile my tongue! + How I hate the mouldy sheet! + +"Ah, though a ghost, I'm a lady still!" + The youth recoiled aghast. +Her eyes grew wide and pale and chill + With a terror that surpassed. +He caught her hand: a freezing thrill +Stung to his wrist, but with steadfast will + He held it warm and fast. + +"What can I do to save thee, dear?" + At the word she sprang upright; +On tiptoe she stood, he bent his ear, + She whispered, whispered light. +She withdrew; she gazed with an asking fear: +Like one that looks on his lady's bier + He stood, with a face ghost-white. + +"Six times--in vain, oh hapless maid!-- + I have humbled myself to sue! +This is the last: as the sunset decayed, + Out with the twilight I grew, +And about the city flitted and strayed, +A wandering, lonely, forsaken shade: + No one saw me but you." + +He shivered, he shook, he had turned to clay, + Vile fear had gone into his blood; +His face was a dismal ashy gray, + Through his heart crept slime and mud; +The lady stood in a still dismay, +She drooped, she shrank, she withered away + Like a half-blown frozen bud. + +"Speak once more. Am I frightful then? + I live, though they call it death; +I am only cold! Say _dear_ again." + But scarce could he heave a breath; +Over a dank and steaming fen +He floated astray from the world of men, + A lost, half-conscious wraith. + +"Ah, 'tis the last time! Save me!" Her cry + Entered his heart, and lay. +But he loved the sunshine, the golden sky, + And the ghosts' moonlight is gray!-- +As feverous visions flit and fly +And without a motion elude the eye, + She stood three steps away. + +But oh, her eyes!--refusal base + Those live-soul-stars had slain! +Frozen eyes in an icy face + They had grown. Like a ghost of the brain, +Beside the lattice, thought-moved in space, +She stood with a doleful despairing grace: + The fire burned! clanged the rain! + +Faded or fled, she had vanished quite! + The loud wind sank to a sigh; +Pale faces without paled the face of night, + Sweeping the window by; +Some to the glass pressed a cheek of fright, +Some shot a gleam of decaying light + From a flickering, uncertain eye. + +Whence did it come, from the sky or the deep, + That faint, long-cadenced wail? +From the closing door of the down-way steep, + His own bosom, or out of the gale? +From the land where dead dreams, or dead maidens sleep? +Out of every night to come will creep + That cry his heart to quail! + +The clouds had broken, the wind was at rest, + The sea would be still ere morn, +The moon had gone down behind its breast + Save the tip of one blunt horn: +Was that the ghost-angel without a nest-- +Across the moonset far in the west + That thin white vapour borne? + +He turned from the lattice: the fire-lit room + With its ghost-forsaken chair +Was cold and drear as a rifled tomb, + Shameful and dreamless and bare! +Filled it was with his own soul's gloom, +With the sense of a traitor's merited doom, + With a lovely ghost's despair! + +He had driven a lady, and lightly clad, + Out in the stormy cold! +Was she a ghost?--Divinely sad + Are the people of Hades old! +A wandering ghost? Oh, self-care bad, +Caitiff and craven and cowering, which had + Refused her an earthly fold! + +Ill had she fared, his lovely guest!-- + A passion of wild self-blame +Tore the heart that failed in the test + With a thousand hooks of shame, +Bent his proud head on his heaving breast, +Shore the plume from his ancient crest, + Puffed at his ancient name. + +He sickened with scorn of a fallen will, + With love and remorse he wept; +He sank and kissed her footprints chill + And the track by her garment swept; +He kneeled by her chair, all ice-cold still, +Dropped his head in it, moaned until + For weariness he slept. + +He slept until the flaming sun + Laughed at the by-gone dark: +"A frightful dream!--but the night is done," + He said, "and I hear the lark!" +All day he held out; with the evening gun +A booming terror his brain did stun, + And Doubt, the jackal, gan bark. + +Followed the lion, Conviction, fast, + And the truth no dream he knew! +Night after night raved the conscience-blast, + But stilled as the morning grew. +When seven slow moons had come and passed +His self-reproach aside he cast, + And the truth appeared untrue. + +A lady fair--old story vile!-- + Would make his heart her boast: +In the growing glamour of her smile + He forgot the lovely ghost: +Forgot her for bitterness wrapt in wile, +For the lady was false as a crocodile, + And her heart was a cave of frost. + +Then the cold white face, with its woe divine, + Came back in the hour of sighs: +Not always with comfort to those that pine + The dear true faces arise! +He yearned for her, dreamed of her, prayed for a sign; +He wept for her pleading voice, and the shine + Of her solitary eyes. + +"With thy face so still, which I made so sad-- + Ah me! which I might have wooed-- +Thou holdest my heart in a love not glad, + Sorrowful, shame-subdued! +Come to me, lady, in pardon clad; +Come to my dreams, white Aidead, + For on thee all day I brood!" + +She came not. He sought her in churchyards old, + In churchyards by the sea; +And in many a church, when the midnight tolled + And the moon shone eerily, +Down to the crypt he crept, grown bold, +Sat all night in the dead men's cold, + And called to her: never came she. + +Praying forgiveness more and more, + And her love at any cost, +Pining and sighing and longing sore + He grew like a creature lost; +Thin and spectral his body wore, +He faded out at the ghostly door, + And was himself a ghost. + +But if he found the lady then, + So sorrowfully lost +For lack of the love 'mong earthly men + That was ready to brave love's cost, +I know not till I drop my pen, +Wander away from earthly ken, + And am myself a ghost. + + + +_ABU MIDJAN_. + +"If I sit in the dust + For lauding good wine, +Ha, ha! it is just: + So sits the vine!" + +Abu Midjan sang as he sat in chains, +For the blood of the grape ran the juice of his veins. +The Prophet had said, "O Faithful, drink not!" +Abu Midjan drank till his heart was hot; +Yea, he sang a song in praise of wine, +He called it good names--a joy divine, +The giver of might, the opener of eyes, +Love's handmaid, the water of Paradise! +Therefore Saad his chief spake words of blame, +And set him in irons--a fettered flame; +But he sings of the wine as he sits in his chains, +For the blood of the grape runs the juice of his veins: + +"I will not think + That the Prophet said +_Ye shall not drink + Of the flowing red!_" + +"'Tis a drenched brain + Whose after-sting +Cries out, _Refrain: + 'Tis an evil thing!_ + +"But I will dare, + With a goodly drought, +To drink, nor spare + Till my thirst be out. + +"_I_ do not laugh + Like a Christian fool +But in silence quaff + The liquor cool + +"At door of tent + 'Neath evening star, +With daylight spent, + And Uriel afar! + +"Then, through the sky, + Lo, the emerald hills! +My faith swells high, + My bosom thrills: + +"I see them hearken, + The Houris that wait! +Their dark eyes darken + The diamond gate! + +"I hear the float + Of their chant divine, +And my heart like a boat + Sails thither on wine! + +"Can an evil thing + Make beauty more? +Or a sinner bring + To the heavenly door? + +"The sun-rain fine + Would sink and escape, +But is drunk by the vine, + Is stored in the grape: + +"And the prisoned light + I free again: +It flows in might + Through my shining brain + +"I love and I know; + The truth is mine; +I walk in the glow + Of the sun-bred wine. + +"_I_ will not think + That the Prophet said +_Ye shall not drink + Of the flowing red!_ + +"For his promises, lo, + Sevenfold they shine +When the channels o'erflow + With the singing wine! + +"But I care not, I!--'tis a small annoy +To sit in chains for a heavenly joy!" + + Away went the song on the light wind borne; +His head sank down, and a ripple of scorn +Shook the hair that flowed from his curling lip +As he eyed his brown limbs in the iron's grip. + + Sudden his forehead he lifted high: +A faint sound strayed like a moth-wing by! +Like beacons his eyes burst blazing forth: +A dust-cloud he spied in the distant north! +A noise and a smoke on the plain afar? +'Tis the cloud and the clang of the Moslem war! +He leapt aloft like a tiger snared; +The wine in his veins through his visage flared; +He tore at his fetters in bootless ire, +He called the Prophet, he named his sire; +From his lips, with wild shout, the Techir burst; +He danced in his irons; the Giaours he cursed; +And his eyes they flamed like a beacon dun, +Or like wine in the crystal twixt eye and sun. + + The lady of Saad heard him shout, +Heard his fetters ring on the stones about +The heart of a warrior she understood, +And the rage of the thwarted battle-mood: +Her name, with the cry of an angry prayer, +He called but once, and the lady was there. + + "The Giaour!" he panted, "the Godless brute! +And me like a camel tied foot to foot! +Let me go, and I swear by Allah's fear +At sunset I don again this gear, +Or lie in a heaven of starry eyes, +Kissed by moon-maidens of Paradise! +O lady, grant me the death of the just! +Hark to the hurtle! see the dust!" + + With ready fingers the noble dame +Unlocked her husband's iron blame; +Brought his second horse, his Abdon, out, +And his second hauberk, light and stout; +Harnessed the warrior, and hight him go +An angel of vengeance upon the foe. + + With clank of steel and thud of hoof +Away he galloped; she climbed the roof. + + She sees the cloud and the flashes that leap +From the scythe-shaped swords inside it that sweep +Down with back-stroke the disordered swath: +Thither he speeds, a bolt of wrath! +Straight as an arrow she sees him go, +Abu Midjan, the singer, upon the foe! +Like an eagle he vanishes in the cloud, +And the thunder of battle bursts more loud, +Mingled of crashes and blows and falls, +Of the whish that severs the throat that calls, +Of neighing and shouting and groaning grim: +Abu Midjan, she sees no more of him! +Northward the battle drifts afar +On the flowing tide of the holy war. + + Lonely across the desert sand, +From his wrist by its thong hung his clotted brand, +Red in the sunset's level flame +Back to his bonds Abu Midjan came. + + "Lady, I swear your Saad's horse-- +The Prophet himself might have rode a worse! +Like the knots of a serpent the play of his flesh +As he tore to the quarry in Allah's mesh! +I forgot him, and mowed at the traitor weeds, +Which fell before me like rushes and reeds, +Or like the tall poppies that sudden drop low +Their heads to an urchin's unstrung bow! +Fled the Giaour; the faithful flew after to kill; +I turned to surrender: beneath me still +Was Abdon unjaded, fresh in force, +Faithful and fearless--a heavenly horse! +Give him water, lady, and barley to eat; +Then haste thee and fetter the wine-bibber's feet." + + To the terrace he went, and she to the stall; +She tended the horse like guest in hall, +Then to the warrior unhasting returned. +The fire of the fight in his eyes yet burned, +But he sat in a silence that might betoken +One ashamed that his heart had spoken-- +Though where was the word to breed remorse? +He had lauded only his chief's brave horse! +Not a word she spoke, but his fetters locked; +He watched with a smile that himself bemocked; +She left him seated in caitiff-plight, +Like one that had feared and fled the fight. + + But what singer ever sat lonely long +Ere the hidden fountain burst in song! +The battle wine foamed in the warrior's veins, +And he sang sword-tempest who sat in chains. + + "Oh, the wine +Of the vine + Is a feeble thing! +In the rattle +Of battle + The true grapes spring! + +"When on whir +Of Tecbir + Allah's wrath flies, +And the power +Of the Giaour + A blasted leaf lies! + +"When on force +Of the horse + The arm flung abroad +Is sweeping, +And reaping + The harvest of God! + +"Ha! they drop +From the top + To the sear heap below! +Ha! deeper, +Down steeper, + The infidels go! + +"Azrael +Sheer to hell + Shoots the foul shoals! +There Monker +And Nakir + Torture their souls! + +"But when drop +On their crop + The scimitars red, +And under +War's thunder + The faithful lie dead, + +"Oh, bright +Is the light + On hero slow breaking! +Rapturous faces +Bent for embraces + Watch for his waking! + +"And he hears +In his ears + The voice of Life's river, +Like a song +Of the strong, + Jubilant ever! + +"Oh, the wine +Of the vine + May lead to the gates, +But the rattle +Of battle + Wakes the angel who waits! + +"To the lord +Of the sword + Open it must! +The drinker, +The thinker + Sits in the dust! + +"He dreams +Of the gleams + Of their garments of white; +He misses +Their kisses, + The maidens of light! + +"They long +For the strong + Who has burst through alarms-- +Up, by the labour +Of stirrup and sabre, + Up to their arms! + +"Oh, the wine of the grape is a feeble ghost! +The wine of the fight is the joy of a host!" + + When Saad came home from the far pursuit, +An hour he sat, and an hour was mute. +Then he opened his mouth: "Ah, wife, the fight +Had been lost full sure, but an arm of might +Sudden rose up on the crest of the battle, +Flashed blue lightnings, thundered steel rattle, +Took up the fighting, and drove it on-- +Enoch sure, or the good Saint John! +Wherever he leaped, like a lion he, +The battle was thickest, or soon to be! +Wherever he sprang with his lion roar, +In a minute the battle was there no more! +With a headlong fear, the sinners fled, +And we swept them down the steep of the dead: +Before us, not from us, did they flee, +They ceased in the depths of a new Red Sea! +But him who saved us we saw no more; +He went as he came, by a secret door! +And strangest of all--nor think I err +If a miracle I for truth aver-- +I was close to him thrice--the holy Force +Wore my silver-ringed hauberk, rode Abdon my horse!" + + The lady rose up, withholding her word, +And led to the terrace her wondering lord, +Where, song-soothed, and weary with battle strain, +Abu Midjan sat counting the links of his chain: +"The battle was raging, he raging worse; +I freed him, harnessed him, gave him thy horse." + + "Abu Midjan! the singer of love and of wine! +The arm of the battle, it also was thine? +Rise up, shake the irons from off thy feet: +For the lord of the fight are fetters meet? +If thou wilt, then drink till thou be hoar: +Allah shall judge thee; I judge no more!" + + Abu Midjan arose; he flung aside +The clanking fetters, and thus he cried: +"If thou give me to God and his decrees, +Nor purge my sin with the shame of these, +Wrath against me I dare not store: +In the name of Allah, I drink no more!" + + + +_THE THANKLESS LADY_. + +It is May, and the moon leans down at night + Over a blossomy land; +Leans from her window a lady white, + With her cheek upon her hand. + +"Oh, why in the blue so misty, moon? + Why so dull in the sky? +Thou look'st like one that is ready to swoon + Because her tear-well is dry. + +"Enough, enough of longing and wail! + Oh, bird, I pray thee, be glad! +Sing to me once, dear nightingale, + The old song, merry mad. + +"Hold, hold with thy blossoming, colourless, cold, + Apple-tree white as woe! +Blossom yet once with the blossom of old, + Let the roses shine through the snow!" + +The moon and the blossoms they gloomily gleam, + The bird will not be glad: +The dead never speak when the mournful dream, + They are too weak and sad. + +Listened she listless till night grew late, + Bound by a weary spell; +Then clanked the latch of the garden-gate, + And a wondrous thing befell: + +Out burst the gladness, up dawned the love. + In the song, in the waiting show; +Grew silver the moon in the sky above. + Blushed rosy the blossom below. + +But the merry bird, nor the silvery moon, + Nor the blossoms that flushed the night +Had one poor thanks for the granted boon: + The lady forgot them quite! + + + +_LEGEND OF THE CORRIEVRECHAN_. + +Prince Breacan of Denmark was lord of the strand + And lord of the billowy sea; +Lord of the sea and lord of the land, + He might have let maidens be! + +A maiden he met with locks of gold, + Straying beside the sea: +Maidens listened in days of old, + And repented grievously. + +Wiser he left her in evil wiles, + Went sailing over the sea; +Came to the lord of the Western Isles: + Give me thy daughter, said he. + +The lord of the Isles he laughed, and said: + Only a king of the sea +May think the Maid of the Isles to wed, + And such, men call not thee! + +Hold thine own three nights and days + In yon whirlpool of the sea, +Or turn thy prow and go thy ways + And let the isle-maiden be. + +Prince Breacan he turned his dragon prow + To Denmark over the sea: +Wise women, he said, now tell me how + In yon whirlpool to anchor me. + +Make a cable of hemp and a cable of wool + And a cable of maidens' hair, +And hie thee back to the roaring pool + And anchor in safety there. + +The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule, + Will forge three anchors rare; +The hemp thou shalt pull, thou shalt shear the wool, + And the maidens will bring their hair. + +Of the hair that is brown thou shalt twist one strand, + Of the hair that is raven another; +Of the golden hair thou shalt twine a band + To bind the one to the other! + +The smiths of Greydule, on the eve of Yule, + They forged three anchors rare; +The hemp he did pull, and he shore the wool, + And the maidens brought their hair. + +He twisted the brown hair for one strand, + The raven hair for another; +He twined the golden hair in a band + To bind the one to the other. + +He took the cables of hemp and wool. + He took the cable of hair, +He hied him back to the roaring pool, + He cast the three anchors there. + +The whirlpool roared, and the day went by, + And night came down on the sea; +But or ever the morning broke the sky + The hemp was broken in three. + +The night it came down, the whirlpool it ran, + The wind it fiercely blew; +And or ever the second morning began + The wool it parted in two. + +The storm it roared all day the third, + The whirlpool wallowed about, +The night came down like a wild black bird, + But the cable of hair held out. + +Round and round with a giddy swing + Went the sea-king through the dark; +Round went the rope in the swivel-ring, + Round reeled the straining bark. + +Prince Breacan he stood on his dragon prow, + A lantern in his hand: +Blest be the maidens of Denmark now, + By them shall Denmark stand! + +He watched the rope through the tempest black + A lantern in his hold: +Out, out, alack! one strand will crack! + It is the strand of gold! + +The third morn clear and calm came out: + No anchored ship was there! +The golden strand in the cable stout + Was not all of maidens' hair. + + + +_THE DEAD HAND_. + +The witch lady walked along the strand, + Heard a roaring of the sea, +On the edge of a pool saw a dead man's hand, + Good thing for a witch lady! + +Lightly she stepped across the rocks, + Came where the dead man lay: +Now pretty maid with your merry mocks, + Now I shall have my way! + +On a finger shone a sapphire blue + In the heart of six rubies red: +Come back to me, my promise true, + Come back, my ring, she said. + +She took the dead hand in the live, + And at the ring drew she; +The dead hand closed its fingers five, + And it held the witch lady. + +She swore the storm was not her deed, + Dark spells she backward spoke; +If the dead man heard he took no heed, + But held like a cloven oak. + +Deathly cold, crept up the tide, + Sure of her, made no haste; +Crept up to her knees, crept up each side, + Crept up to her wicked waist. + +Over the blue sea sailed the bride + In her love's own sailing ship, +And the witch she saw them across the tide + As it rose to her lying lip. + +Oh, the heart of the dead and the hand of the dead + Are strong hasps they to hold! +Fled the true dove with the kite's new love, + And left the false kite with the old. + + + + + MINOR DITTIES. + + + +_IN THE NIGHT_. + +As to her child a mother calls, +"Come to me, child; come near!" +Calling, in silent intervals, +The Master's voice I hear. + +But does he call me verily? +To have me does he care? +Why should he seek my poverty, +My selfishness so bare? + +The dear voice makes his gladness brim, +But not a child can know +Why that large woman cares for him, +Why she should love him so! + +Lord, to thy call of me I bow, +Obey like Abraham: +Thou lov'st me because thou art thou, +And I am what I am! + +Doubt whispers, _Thou art such a blot +He cannot love poor thee_: +If what I am he loveth not, +He loves what I shall be. + +Nay, that which can be drawn and wooed, +And turned away from ill, +Is what his father made for good: +He loves me, I say still! + + + +_THE GIVER._ + +To give a thing and take again +Is counted meanness among men; +To take away what once is given +Cannot then be the way of heaven! + +But human hearts are crumbly stuff, +And never, never love enough, +Therefore God takes and, with a smile, +Puts our best things away a while. + +Thereon some weep, some rave, some scorn, +Some wish they never had been born; +Some humble grow at last and still, +And then God gives them what they will. + + + +_FALSE PROPHETS._ + +Would-be prophets tell us +We shall not re-know +Them that walked our fellows +In the ways below! + +Smoking, smouldering Tophets +Steaming hopeless plaints! +Dreary, mole-eyed prophets! +Mean, skin-pledging saints! + +Knowing not the Father +What their prophecies! +Grapes of such none gather, +Only thorns and lies. + +Loving thus the brother, +How the Father tell? +Go without each other +To your heavenly hell! + + + +_LIFE-WEARY_. + +O Thou that walkest with nigh hopeless feet +Past the one harbour, built for thee and thine. +Doth no stray odour from its table greet, +No truant beam from fire or candle shine? + +At his wide door the host doth stand and call; +At every lattice gracious forms invite; +Thou seest but a dull-gray, solid wall +In forest sullen with the things of night! + +Thou cravest rest, and Rest for thee doth crave, +The white sheet folded down, white robe apart.-- +Shame, Faithless! No, I do not mean the grave! +I mean Love's very house and hearth and heart. + + + +_APPROACHES_. + +When thou turn'st away from ill, +Christ is this side of thy hill. + +When thou turnest toward good, +Christ is walking in thy wood. + +When thy heart says, "Father, pardon!" +Then the Lord is in thy garden. + +When stern Duty wakes to watch, +Then his hand is on the latch. + +But when Hope thy song doth rouse, +Then the Lord is in the house. + +When to love is all thy wit, +Christ doth at thy table sit. + +When God's will is thy heart's pole, +Then is Christ thy very soul. + + + +_TRAVELLERS' SONG_. + +Bands of dark and bands of light +Lie athwart the homeward way; +Now we cross a belt of Night, +Now a strip of shining Day! + +Now it is a month of June, +Now December's shivering hour; +Now rides high loved memories' Moon, +Now the Dark is dense with power! + +Summers, winters, days, and nights, +Moons, and clouds, they come and go; +Joys and sorrows, pains, delights, +Hope and fear, and _yes_ and _no_. + +All is well: come, girls and boys, +Not a weary mile is vain! +Hark--dim laughter's radiant noise! +See the windows through the rain! + + + +_LOVE IS STRENGTH_. + +Love alone is great in might, +Makes the heavy burden light, +Smooths rough ways to weary feet, +Makes the bitter morsel sweet: +Love alone is strength! + +Might that is not born of Love +Is not Might born from above, +Has its birthplace down below +Where they neither reap nor sow: +Love alone is strength! + +Love is stronger than all force, +Is its own eternal source; +Might is always in decay, +Love grows fresher every day: +Love alone is strength! + +Little ones, no ill can chance; +Fear ye not, but sing and dance; +Though the high-heaved heaven should fall +God is plenty for us all: +God is Love and Strength! + + + +_COMING_. + +When the snow is on the earth +Birds and waters cease their mirth; +When the sunlight is prevailing +Even the night-winds drop their wailing. + +On the earth when deep snows lie +Still the sun is in the sky, +And when most we miss his fire +He is ever drawing nigher. + +In the darkest winter day +Thou, God, art not far away; +When the nights grow colder, drearer, +Father, thou art coming nearer! + +For thee coming I would watch +With my hand upon the latch-- +Of the door, I mean, that faces +Out upon the eternal spaces! + + + +_SONG OF THE WAITING DEAD_. + +With us there is no gray fearing, +With us no aching for lack! +For the morn it is always nearing, +And the night is at our back. +At times a song will fall dumb, +A thought-bell burst in a sigh, +But no one says, "He will not come!" +She says, "He is almost nigh!" + +The thing you call a sorrow +Is our delight on its way: +We know that the coming morrow +Comes on the wheels of to-day! +Our Past is a child asleep; +Delay is ripening the kiss; +The rising tear we will not weep +Until it flow for bliss. + + + +_OBEDIENCE_. + +Trust him in the common light; +Trust him in the awesome night; + +Trust him when the earth doth quake: +Trust him when thy heart doth ache; + +Trust him when thy brain doth reel +And thy friend turns on his heel; + +Trust him when the way is rough, +Cry not yet, _It is enough_! + +But obey with true endeavour, +Else the salt hath lost his savour. + + + +_A SONG IN THE NIGHT_. + +I would I were an angel strong, +An angel of the sun, hasting along! + +I would I were just come awake, +A child outbursting from night's dusky brake! + +Or lark whose inward, upward fate +Mocks every wall that masks the heavenly gate! + +Or hopeful cock whose clarion clear +Shrills ten times ere a film of dawn appear! + +Or but a glowworm: even then +My light would come straight from the Light of Men! + +I am a dead seed, dark and slow: +Father of larks and children, make me grow. + + + +_DE PROFUNDIS_. + +When I am dead unto myself, and let, +O Father, thee live on in me, +Contented to do nought but pay my debt, +And leave the house to thee, + +Then shall I be thy ransomed--from the cark +Of living, from the strain for breath, +From tossing in my coffin strait and dark, +At hourly strife with death! + +Have mercy! in my coffin! and awake! +A buried temple of the Lord! +Grow, Temple, grow! Heart, from thy cerements break! +Stream out, O living Sword! + +When I am with thee as thou art with me, +Life will be self-forgetting power; +Love, ever conscious, buoyant, clear, and free, +Will flame in darkest hour. + +Where now I sit alone, unmoving, calm, +With windows open to thy wind, +Shall I not know thee in the radiant psalm +Soaring from heart and mind? + +The body of this death will melt away, +And I shall know as I am known; +Know thee my father, every hour and day, +As thou know'st me thine own! + + + +_BLIND SORROW_. + +"My life is drear; walking I labour sore; + The heart in me is heavy as a stone; +And of my sorrows this the icy core: + Life is so wide, and I am all alone!" + +Thou did'st walk so, with heaven-born eyes down bent + Upon the earth's gold-rosy, radiant clay, +That thou had'st seen no star in all God's tent + Had not thy tears made pools first on the way. + +Ah, little knowest thou the tender care + In a love-plenteous cloak around thee thrown! +Full many a dim-seen, saving mountain-stair + Toiling thou climb'st--but not one step alone! + +Lift but thy languid head and see thy guide; + Let thy steps go in his, nor choose thine own; +Then soon wilt thou, thine eyes with wonder wide, + Cry, _Now I know I never was alone_! + + + + + MOTES IN THE SUN. + + + +_ANGELS_. + +Came of old to houses lonely + Men with wings, but did not show them: +Angels come to our house, only, + For their wings, they do not know them! + + + +_THE FATHER'S WORSHIPPERS_. + +'Tis we, not in thine arms, who weep and pray; +The children in thy bosom laugh and play. + + + +_A BIRTHDAY-WISH_. + +Who know thee, love: thy life be such + That, ere the year be o'er, +Each one who loves thee now so much, + Even God, may love thee more! + + + +_TO ANY ONE_. + +Go not forth to call Dame Sorrow +From the dim fields of Tomorrow; +Let her roam there all unheeded, +She will come when she is needed; +Then, when she draws near thy door, +She will find God there before. + + + +_WAITING_. + +Lie, little cow, and chew thy cud, + The farmer soon will shift thy tether; +Chirp, linnet, on the frozen mud, + Sun and song will come together; +Wait, soul, for God, and thou shalt bud, + He waits thy waiting with his weather. + + + +_LOST BUT SAFE_. + +Lost the little one roams about, +Pathway or shelter none can find; +Blinking stars are coming out; +No one is moving but the wind; +It is no use to cry or shout, +All the world is still as a mouse; +One thing only eases her mind: +"Father knows I'm not in the house!" + + + +_MUCH AND MORE_. + +When thy heart, love-filled, grows graver, + And eternal bliss looks nearer, +Ask thy heart, nor show it favour, + Is the gift or giver dearer? + +Love, love on; love higher, deeper; + Let love's ocean close above her; +Only, love thou more love's keeper, + More, the love-creating lover. + + + +_HOPE AND PATIENCE_. + +An unborn bird lies crumpled and curled, +A-dreaming of the world. + +Round it, for castle-wall, a shell +Is guarding it well. + +_Hope_ is the bird with its dim sensations; +The shell that keeps it alive is _Patience_. + + + +_A BETTER THING_. + +I took it for a bird of prey that soared +High over ocean, battled mount, and plain; +'Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored +The invisibly obstructing window-pane! + +Better than eagle, with far-towering nerve +But downward bent, greedy, marauding eye, +Guest of the flowers, thou art: unhurt they serve +Thee, little angel of a lower sky! + + + +_A PRISONER_. + +The hinges are so rusty +The door is fixed and fast; +The windows are so dusty +The sun looks in aghast: +Knock out the glass, I pray, +Or dash the door away, +Or break the house down bodily, +And let my soul go free! + + + +_TO MY LORD AND MASTER_. + +Imagination cannot rise above thee; +Near and afar I see thee, and I love thee; +My misery away from me I thrust it, +For thy perfection I behold, and trust it. + + + +_TO ONE UNSATISFIED_. + +When, with all the loved around thee, + Still thy heart says, "I am lonely," +It is well; the truth hath found thee: + Rest is with the Father only. + + + +_TO MY GOD_. + +Oh how oft I wake and find + I have been forgetting thee! +I am never from thy mind: + Thou it is that wakest me. + + + +_TRIOLET_. + +Oh that men would praise the Lord + For his goodness unto men! +Forth he sends his saving word, + --Oh that men would praise the Lord!-- +And from shades of death abhorred + Lifts them up to light again: +Oh that men would praise the Lord + For his goodness unto men! + + + +_THE WORD OF GOD_. + +Where the bud has never blown + Who for scent is debtor? +Where the spirit rests unknown + Fatal is the letter. + +In thee, Jesus, Godhead-stored, + All things we inherit, +For thou art the very Word + And the very Spirit! + + + +_EINE KLEINE PREDIGT_. + +Graut Euch nicht, Ihr lieben Leute, + Vor dem ungeheuren Morgen; +Wenn es kommt, es ist das Heute, + Und der liebe Gott zu sorgen. + + + +_TO THE LIFE ETERNAL_. + +Thou art my thought, my heart, my being's fortune, + The search for thee my growth's first conscious date; +For nought, for everything, I thee importune; + Thou art my all, my origin and fate! + + + +_HOPE DEFERRED_. + +"Where is thy crown, O tree of Love? + Flowers only bears thy root! +Will never rain drop from above + Divine enough for fruit?" + +"I dwell in hope that gives good cheer, + Twilight my darkest hour; +For seest thou not that every year + I break in better flower?" + + + +_FORGIVENESS_. + +God gives his child upon his slate a sum-- + To find eternity in hours and years; +With both sides covered, back the child doth come, + His dim eyes swollen with shed and unshed tears; +God smiles, wipes clean the upper side and nether, +And says, "Now, dear, we'll do the sum together!" + + + +_DEJECTION_. + +O Father, I am in the dark, + My soul is heavy-bowed: +I send my prayer up like a lark, + Up through my vapoury shroud, + To find thee, + And remind thee +I am thy child, and thou my father, +Though round me death itself should gather. + +Lay thy loved hand upon my head, + Let thy heart beat in mine; +One thought from thee, when all seems dead, + Will make the darkness shine + About me + And throughout me! +And should again the dull night gather, +I'll cry again, _Thou art my father_. + + + +_APPEAL_. + +If in my arms I bore my child, + Would he cry out for fear +Because the night was dark and wild + And no one else was near? + +Shall I then treat thee, Father, as + My fatherhood would grieve? +I will be hopeful, though, alas, + I cannot quite believe! + +I had no power, no wish to be: + Thou madest me half blind! +The darkness comes! I cling to thee! + Be thou my perfect mind. + + + + + POEMS FOR CHILDREN + + + +_LESSONS FOR A CHILD_. + +I. + +There breathes not a breath of the summer air +But the spirit of love is moving there; +Not a trembling leaf on the shadowy tree, +Flutters with hundreds in harmony, +But that spirit can part its tone from the rest, +And read the life in its beetle's breast. +When the sunshiny butterflies come and go, +Like flowers paying visits to and fro, +Not a single wave of their fanning wings +Is unfelt by the spirit that feeleth all things. +The long-mantled moths that sleep at noon +And rove in the light of the gentler moon; +And the myriad gnats that dance like a wall, +Or a moving column that will not fall; +And the dragon-flies that go burning by, +Shot like a glance from a seeking eye-- +There is one being that loves them all: +Not a fly in a spider's web can fall +But he cares for the spider, and cares for the fly; +He cares for you, whether you laugh or cry, +Cares whether your mother smile or sigh. +How he cares for so many, I do not know, +But it would be too strange if he did not so-- +Dreadful and dreary for even a fly: +So I cannot wait for the _how_ and _why_, +But believe that all things are gathered and nursed +In the love of him whose love went first +And made this world--like a huge great nest +For a hen to sit on with feathery breast. + +II. + + The bird on the leafy tree, + The bird in the cloudy sky, + The hart in the forest free, + The stag on the mountain high, + The fish inside the sea, + The albatross asleep + On the outside of the deep, + The bee through the summer sunny + Hunting for wells of honey-- + What is the thought in the breast + Of the little bird in its nest? + What is the thought in the songs + The lark in the sky prolongs? + What mean the dolphin's rays, + Winding his watery ways? + What is the thought of the stag, + Stately on yonder crag? + What does the albatross think, + Dreaming upon the brink + Of the mountain billow, and then + Dreaming down in its glen? + What is the thought of the bee + Fleeting so silently, + Or flitting--with busy hum, + But a careless go-and-come-- + From flower-chalice to chalice, + Like a prince from palace to palace? + What makes them alive, so very-- + Some of them, surely, merry. + And others so stately calm + They might be singing a psalm? + + I cannot tell what they think--- + Only know they eat and drink, + And on all that lies about + With a quiet heart look out, + Each after its kind, stately or coy, + Solemn like man, gamesome like boy, + Glad with its own mysterious joy. + + And God, who knows their thoughts and ways + Though his the creatures do not know, + From his full heart fills each of theirs: + Into them all his breath doth go; + Good and better with them he shares; + Content with their bliss while they have no prayers, + He takes their joy for praise. + + If thou wouldst be like him, little one, go + And be kind with a kindness undefiled; + Who gives for the pleasure of thanks, my child, + God's gladness cannot know. + +III. + + Root met root in the spongy ground, + Searching each for food: + Each turned aside, and away it wound. + And each got something good. + + Sound met sound in the wavy air-- + That made a little to-do! + They jostled not long, but were quick and fair; + Each found its path and flew. + + Drop dashed on drop, as the rain-shower fell; + They joined and sank below: + In gathered thousands they rose a well, + With a singing overflow. + + Wind met wind in a garden green, + They began to push and fret: + A tearing whirlwind arose between: + There love lies bleeding yet. + + + +_WHAT MAKES SUMMER?_ + + Winter froze both brook and well; +Fast and fast the snowflakes fell; +Children gathered round the hearth +Made a summer of their mirth; +When a boy, so lately come +That his life was yet one sum +Of delights--of aimless rambles. +Romps and dreams and games and gambols, +Thought aloud: "I wish I knew +What makes summer--that I do!" +Father heard, and it did show him +How to write a little poem. + + What makes summer, little one, +Do you ask? It is the sun. +Want of heat is all the harm, +Summer is but winter warm. +'Tis the sun--yes, that one there, +Dim and gray, low in the air! +Now he looks at us askance, +But will lift his countenance +Higher up, and look down straighter. +Rise much earlier, set much later, +Till we sing out, "Hail, Well-comer, +Thou hast brought our own old Summer!" + + When the sun thus rises early +And keeps shining all day rarely, +Up he draws the larks to meet him, +Earth's bird-angels, wild to greet him; +Up he draws the clouds, and pours +Down again their shining showers; +Out he draws the grass and clover, +Daisies, buttercups all over; +Out he wiles all flowers to stare +At their father in the air-- +He all light, they how much duller, +Yet son-suns of every colour! +Then he draws their odours out, +Sends them on the winds about. +Next he draws out flying things-- +Out of eggs, fast-flapping wings; +Out of lumps like frozen snails, +Butterflies with splendid sails; +Draws the blossoms from the trees, +From their hives the buzzy bees, +Golden things from muddy cracks-- +Beetles with their burnished backs; +Laughter draws he from the river +Gleaming back to the gleam-giver; +Light he sends to every nook +That no creature be forsook; +Draws from gloom and pain and sadness, +Hope and blessing, peace and gladness, +Making man's heart sing and shine +With his brilliancy divine: +Summer, thus it is he makes it, +And the little child he takes it. + + Day's work done, adown the west +Lingering he goes to rest; +Like a child, who, blissful yet, +Is unwilling to forget, +And, though sleepy, heels and head, +Thinks he cannot go to bed. +Even when down behind the hill +Back his bright look shineth still, +Whose keen glory with the night +Makes the lovely gray twilight-- +Drawing out the downy owl, +With his musical bird-howl; +Drawing out the leathery bats-- +Mice they are, turned airy cats-- +Noiseless, sly, and slippery things +Swimming through the air on wings; +Drawing out the feathery moth, +Lazy, drowsy, very loath; +Drawing children to the door +For one goodnight-frolic more; +Drawing from the glow-worms' tails +Glimmers green in grassy dales; +Making ocean's phosphor-flashes +Glow as if they were sun-ashes. + + Then the moon comes up the hill, +Wide awake, but dreaming still, +Soft and slow, as if in fear +Lest her path should not be clear. +Like a timid lady she +Looks around her daintily, +Begs the clouds to come about her, +Tells the stars to shine without her, +Then unveils, and, bolder grown, +Climbs the steps of her blue throne: +Stately in a calm delight, +Mistress of a whole fair night, +Lonely but for stars a few, +There she sits in silence blue, +And the world before her lies +Faint, a round shade in the skies! + + But what fun is all about +When the humans are shut out! +Shadowy to the moon, the earth +Is a very world of mirth! +Night is then a dream opaque +Full of creatures wide awake! +Noiseless then, on feet or wings, +Out they come, all moon-eyed things! +In and out they pop and play, +Have it all their own wild way, +Fly and frolic, scamper, glow; +Treat the moon, for all her show, +State, and opal diadem, +Like a nursemaid watching them. +And the nightingale doth snare +All the merry tumult rare, +All the music and the magic, +All the comic and the tragic, +All the wisdom and the riot +Of the midnight moonlight diet, +In a diamond hoop of song, +Which he trundles all night long. + + What doth make the sun, you ask, +Able for such mighty task? +He is not a lamp hung high +Sliding up and down the sky, +He is carried in a hand: +That's what makes him strong and grand! +From that hand comes all his power; +If it set him down one hour, +Yea, one moment set him by, +In that moment he would die, +And the winter, ice, and snow +Come on us, and never go. + + Need I tell you whose the hand +Bears him high o'er sea and land? + + + +_MOTHER NATURE._ + + Beautiful mother is busy all day, +So busy she neither can sing nor say; +But lovely thoughts, in a ceaseless flow, +Through her eyes, and her ears, and her bosom go-- +Motion, sight, and sound, and scent, +Weaving a royal, rich content. + + When night is come, and her children sleep, +Beautiful mother her watch doth keep; +With glowing stars in her dusky hair +Down she sits to her music rare; +And her instrument that never fails, +Is the hearts and the throats of her nightingales. + + + +_THE MISTLETOE._ + + Kiss me: there now, little Neddy, +Do you see her staring steady? +There again you had a chance of her! +Didn't you catch the pretty glance of her? +See her nest! On any planet +Never was a sweeter than it! +Never nest was such as this is: +Tis the nest of all the kisses, +With the mother kiss-bird sitting +All through Christmas, never flitting, +Kisses, kisses, kisses hatching, +Sweetest birdies, for the catching! +Oh, the precious little brood +Always in a loving mood!-- +There's one under Mamy's hood! + + There, that's one I caught this minute, +Musical as any linnet! +Where it is, your big eyes question, +With of doubt a wee suggestion? +There it is--upon mouth merry! +There it is--upon cheek cherry! +There's another on chin-chinnie! +Now it's off, and lights on Minnie! +There's another on nose-nosey! +There's another on lip-rosy! +And the kissy-bird is hatching +Hundreds more for only catching. + + Why the mistletoe she chooses, +And the Christmas-tree refuses? +There's a puzzle for your mother? +I'll present you with another! +Tell me why, you question-asker, +Cruel, heartless mother-tasker-- +Why, of all the trees before her, +Gathered round, or spreading o'er her, +Jenny Wren should choose the apple +For her nursery and chapel! +Or Jack Daw build in the steeple +High above the praying people! +Tell me why the limping plover +O'er moist meadow likes to hover; +Why the partridge with such trouble +Builds her nest where soon the stubble +Will betray her hop-thumb-cheepers +To the eyes of all the reapers!-- +Tell me, Charley; tell me, Janey; +Answer all, or answer any, +And I'll tell you, with much pleasure, +Why this little bird of treasure +Nestles only in the mistletoe, +Never, never goes the thistle to. + + Not an answer? Tell without it? +Yes--all that I know about it:-- +Mistletoe, then, cannot flourish, +Cannot find the food to nourish +But on other plant when planted-- +And for kissing two are wanted. +That is why the kissy-birdie +Looks about for oak-tree sturdy +And the plant that grows upon it +Like a wax-flower on a bonnet. + + But, my blessed little mannie, +All the birdies are not cannie +That the kissy-birdie hatches! +Some are worthless little patches, +Which indeed if they don't smutch you, +'Tis they're dead before they touch you! +While for kisses vain and greedy, +Kisses flattering, kisses needy, +They are birds that never waddled +Out of eggs that only addled! +Some there are leave spots behind them, +On your cheek for years you'd find them: +Little ones, I do beseech you, +Never let such birdies reach you. + + It depends what net you venture +What the sort of bird will enter! +I will tell you in a minute +What net takes kiss--lark or linnet-- +Any bird indeed worth hatching +And just therefore worth the catching: +The one net that never misses +Catching at least some true kisses, +Is the heart that, loving truly, +Always loves the old love newly; +But to spread out would undo it-- +Let the birdies fly into it. + + + +_PROFESSOR NOCTUTUS._ + +Nobody knows the world but me. +The rest go to bed; I sit up and see. +I'm a better observer than any of you all, +For I never look out till the twilight fall, +And never then without green glasses, +And that is how my wisdom passes. + +I never think, for that is not fit: +_I observe._ I have seen the white moon sit +On her nest, the sea, like a fluffy owl, +Hatching the boats and the long-legged fowl! +When the oysters gape--you may make a note-- +She drops a pearl into every throat. + +I can see the wind: can you do that? +I see the dreams he has in his hat, +I see him shaking them out as he goes, +I see them rush in at man's snoring nose. +Ten thousand things you could not think, +I can write down plain with pen and ink! + +You know that I know; therefore pull off your hat, +Whether round and tall, or square and flat: +You cannot do better than trust in me; +You may shut your eyes in fact--_I_ see! +Lifelong I will lead you, and then, like the owl, +I will bury you nicely with my spade and showl. + + + +_BIRD-SONGS._ + +I will sing a song, + Said the owl. +You sing a song, sing-song + Ugly fowl! +What will you sing about, +Night in and day out? + +All about the night, + When the gray +With her cloak smothers bright, + Hard, sharp day. +Oh, the moon! the cool dew! +And the shadows!--tu-whoo! + +I will sing a song, + Said the nightingale. +Sing a song, long, long, + Little Neverfail! +What will you sing about, +Day in or day out? + +All about the light + Gone away, +Down, away, and out of sight: + Wake up, day! +For the master is not dead, +Only gone to bed. + +I will sing a song, + Said the lark. +Sing, sing, Throat-strong, + Little Kill-the-dark! +What will you sing about, +Day in and night out? + +I can only call! + I can't think! +Let me up, that's all! + I see a chink! +I've been thirsting all night +For the glorious light! + + + +_RIDDLES._ + +I. + +I have only one foot, but thousands of toes; +My one foot stands well, but never goes; +I've a good many arms, if you count them all, +But hundreds of fingers, large and small; +From the ends of my fingers my beauty grows; +I breathe with my hair, and I drink with my toes; +I grow bigger and bigger about the waist +Although I am always very tight laced; +None e'er saw me eat--I've no mouth to bite! +Yet I eat all day, and digest all night. +In the summer, with song I shake and quiver, +But in winter I fast and groan and shiver. + +II. + +There is a plough that hath no share, +Only a coulter that parteth fair; + But the ridges they rise + To a terrible size +Or ever the coulter comes near to tear: +The horses and ridges fierce battle make; +The horses are safe, but the plough may break. + +Seed cast in its furrows, or green or sear, +Will lift to the sun neither blade nor ear: + Down it drops plumb + Where no spring-times come, +Nor needeth it any harrowing gear; +Wheat nor poppy nor blade has been found +Able to grow on the naked ground. + +FOR MY GRANDCHILD. + +III. + +Who is it that sleeps like a top all night, +And wakes in the morning so fresh and bright +That he breaks his bed as he gets up, +And leaves it smashed like a china cup? + +IV. + +I've a very long nose, but what of that? +It is not too long to lie on a mat! + +I have very big jaws, but never get fat: +I don't go to church, and I'm not a church rat! + +I've a mouth in my middle my food goes in at, +Just like a skate's--that's a fish that's a flat. + +In summer I'm seldom able to breathe, +But when winter his blades in ice doth sheathe + +I swell my one lung, I look big and I puff, +And I sometimes hiss.--There, that's enough! + + + +_BABY._ + +Where did you come from, baby dear? +Out of the everywhere into here. + +Where did you get those eyes so blue? +Out of the sky as I came through. + +What makes the light in them sparkle and spin? +Some of the starry twinkles left in. + +Where did you get that little tear? +I found it waiting when I got here. + +What makes your forehead so smooth and high? +A soft hand stroked it as I went by. + +What makes your cheek like a warm white rose? +I saw something better than any one knows. + +Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss? +Three angels gave me at once a kiss. + +Where did you get this pearly ear? +God spoke, and it came out to hear. + +Where did you get those arms and hands? +Love made itself into bonds and bands. + +Feet, whence did you come, you darling things? +From the same box as the cherubs' wings. + +How did they all just come to be you? +God thought about me, and so I grew. + +But how did you come to us, you dear? +God thought about you, and so I am here. + + + +_UP AND-DOWN._ + +The sun is gone down + And the moon's in the sky +But the sun will come up + And the moon be laid by. + +The flower is asleep. + But it is not dead, +When the morning shines + It will lift its head. + +When winter comes + It will die! No, no, +It will only hide + From the frost and snow. + +Sure is the summer, + Sure is the sun; +The night and the winter + Away they run. + + + +_UP IN THE TREE_. + +What would you see, if I took you up +My little aerie-stair? +You would see the sky like a clear blue cup +Turned upside down in the air. + +What would you do, up my aerie-stair +In my little nest on the tree? +With cry upon cry you would ripple the air +To get at what you would see. + +And what would you reach in the top of the tree +To still your grasping grief? +Not a star would you clutch of all you would see, +You would gather just one green leaf. + +But when you had lost your greedy grief, +Content to see from afar, +Your hand it would hold a withering leaf, +But your heart a shining star. + + + +_A BABY-SERMON_. + +The lightning and thunder +They go and they come: +But the stars and the stillness +Are always at home. + + + +_LITTLE BO-PEEP_. + +Little Bo-Peep, she has lost her sheep, + And will not know where to find them; +They are over the height and out of sight, + Trailing their tails behind them! + +Little Bo-Peep woke out of her sleep, + Jump'd up and set out to find them: +"The silly things! they've got no wings, + And they've left their trails behind them! + +"They've taken their tails, but they've left their trails, + And so I shall follow and find them!" +For wherever a tail had dragged a trail + The grass lay bent behind them. + +She washed in the brook, and caught up her crook. + And after her sheep did run +Along the trail that went up the dale + Across the grass in the sun. + +She ran with a will, and she came to a hill + That went up steep like a spire; +On its very top the sun seemed to stop, + And burned like a flame of fire. + +But now she went slow, for the hill did go + Up steeper as she went higher; +When she reached its crown, the sun was down, + Leaving a trail of fire. + +And her sheep were gone, and hope she had none. + For now was no trail behind them. +Yes, there they were! long-tailed and fair! + But to see was not to find them! + +Golden in hue, and rosy and blue, + And white as blossom of pears, +Her sheep they did run in the trail of the sun, + As she had been running in theirs! + +After the sun like clouds they did run, + But she knew they were her sheep: +She sat down to cry and look up at the sky, + But she cried herself to sleep. + +And as she slept the dew down wept, + And the wind did blow from the sky; +And doings strange brought a lovely change: + She woke with a different cry! + +Nibble, nibble, crop, without a stop! + A hundred little lambs +Did pluck and eat the grass so sweet + That grew in the trail of their dams! + +She gave one look, she caught up her crook, + Wiped away the sleep that did blind her; +And nibble-nibble-crop, without a stop + The lambs came nibbling behind her. + +Home, home she came, both tired and lame, + With three times as large a stock; +In a month or more, they'll be sheep as before, + A lovely, long-wooled flock! + +But what will she say, if, one fine day, + When they've got their bushiest tails, +Their grown-up game should be just the same, + And again she must follow mere trails? + +Never weep, Bo-Peep, though you lose your sheep, + Tears will turn rainbow-laughter! +In the trail of the sun if the mothers did run, + The lambs are sure to run after; + +But a day is coming when little feet drumming + Will wake you up to find them-- +All the old sheep--how your heart will leap!-- + With their big little lambs behind them! + + + +_LITTLE BOY BLUE._ + +Little Boy Blue lost his way in a wood-- + _Sing apples and cherries, roses and honey:_ +He said, "I would not go back if I could, + _It's all so jolly and funny!"_ + +He sang, "This wood is all my own-- + _Apples and cherries, roses and honey!_ +Here I will sit, a king on my throne, + _All so jolly and funny!"_ + +A little snake crept out of a tree-- + _Apples and cherries, roses and honey:_ +"Lie down at my feet, little snake," said he-- + _All so jolly and funny!_ + +A little bird sang in the tree overhead-- + _"Apples and cherries, roses and honey:"_ +"Come and sing your song on my finger," he said, + _All so jolly and funny._ + +Up coiled the snake; the bird came down, +And sang him the song of Birdie Brown. + +But little Boy Blue found it tiresome to sit +Though it was on a throne: he would walk a bit! + +He took up his horn, and he blew a blast: +"Snake, you go first, and, birdie, come last." + +Waves of green snake o'er the yellow leaves went; +The snake led the way, and he knew what he meant: + +But by Boy Blue's head, with flutter and dart, +Flew Birdie Brown, her song in her heart. + +Boy Blue came where apples grew fair and sweet: +"Tree, drop me an apple down at my feet." + +He came where cherries hung plump and red: +"Come to my mouth, sweet kisses," he said. + +And the boughs bow down, and the apples they dapple +The grass, too many for him to grapple; + +And the cheeriest cherries, with never a miss, +Fall to his mouth, each a full-grown kiss. + +He met a little brook singing a song: +"Little brook," he said, "you are going wrong, + +"You must follow me, follow me, follow, I say, +Do as I tell you, and come this way." + +And the song-singing, sing-songing forest brook +Leapt from its bed and after him took; + +And the dead leaves rustled, yellow and wan, +As over their beds the water ran. + +He called every bird that sat on a bough; +He called every creature with poop and prow-- + +I mean, with two ends, that is, nose and tail: +With legs or without, they followed full sail; + +Squirrels that carried their tails like a sack, +Each his own on his little brown humpy back; + +Snails that drew their own caravans, +Poking out their own eyes on the point of a lance, + +And houseless slugs, white, black, and red-- +Snails too lazy to build a shed; + +And butterflies, flutterbys, weasels, and larks, +And owls, and shrew-mice, and harkydarks, + +Cockchafers, henchafers, cockioli-birds, +Cockroaches, henroaches, cuckoos in herds; + +The dappled fawns fawning, the fallow-deer following; +The swallows and flies, flying and swallowing-- + +All went flitting, and sailing, and flowing +After the merry boy running and blowing. + +The spider forgot, and followed him spinning, +And lost all his thread from end to beginning; + +The gay wasp forgot his rings and his waist-- +He never had made such undignified haste! + +The dragon-flies melted to mist with their hurrying; +The mole forsook his harrowing and burrowing; + +The bees went buzzing, not busy but beesy, +And the midges in columns, upright and easy. + +But Little Boy Blue was not content, +Calling for followers still as he went, + +Blowing his horn, and beating his drum, +And crying aloud, "Come all of you, come!" + +He said to the shadows, "Come after me;" +And the shadows began to flicker and flee, + +And away through the wood went flattering and fluttering, +Shaking and quivering, quavering and muttering. + +He said to the wind, "Come, follow; come, follow +With whistle and pipe, with rustle and hollo;" + +And the wind wound round at his desire, +As if Boy had been the gold cock on the spire; + +And the cock itself flew down from the church +And left the farmers all in the lurch. + +Everything, everything, all and sum, +They run and they fly, they creep and they come; + +The very trees they tugged at their roots, +Only their feet were too fast in their boots-- + +After him leaning and straining and bending, +As on through their boles the army kept wending, + +Till out of the wood Boy burst on a lea, +Shouting and calling, "Come after me," + +And then they rose with a leafy hiss +And stood as if nothing had been amiss. + +Little Boy Blue sat down on a stone, +And the creatures came round him every one. + +He said to the clouds, "I want you there!" +And down they sank through the thin blue air. + +He said to the sunset far in the west, +"Come here; I want you; 'tis my behest!" + +And the sunset came and stood up on the wold, +And burned and glowed in purple and gold. + +Then Little Boy Blue began to ponder: +"What's to be done with them all, I wonder!" + +He thought a while, then he said, quite low, +"What to do with you all, I am sure I don't know!" + +The clouds clodded down till dismal it grew; +The snake sneaked close; round Birdie Brown flew; + +The brook, like a cobra, rose on its tail, +And the wind sank down with a _what-will-you_ wail, + +And all the creatures sat and stared; +The mole opened the eyes that he hadn't, and glared; + +And for rats and bats, and the world and his wife +Little Boy Blue was afraid of his life. + +Then Birdie Brown began to sing, +And what he sang was the very thing: + +"Little Boy Blue, you have brought us all hither: +Pray, are we to sit and grow old together?" + +"Go away; go away," said Little Boy Blue; +"I'm sure I don't want you! get away--do." + +"No, no; no, no; no, yes, and no, no," +Sang Birdie Brown, "it mustn't be so! + +"If we've come for no good, we can't go away. +Give us reason for going, or here we stay!" + +They covered the earth, they darkened the air, +They hovered, they sat, with a countless stare. + +"If I do not give them something to do, +They will stare me up!" said Little Boy Blue. + +"Oh dear! oh dear!" he began to cry, +"They're an awful crew, and I feel so shy!" + +All of a sudden he thought of a thing, +And up he stood, and spoke like a king: + +"You're the plague of my life! have done with your bother! +Off with you all: take me back to my mother!" + +The sunset went back to the gates of the west. +"Follow _me_" sang Birdie, "I know the way best!" + +"I am going the same way as fast as I can!" +Said the brook, as it sank and turned and ran. + +To the wood fled the shadows, like scared black ghosts: +"If we stay, we shall all be missed from our posts!" + +Said the wind, with a voice that had changed its cheer, +"I was just going there when you brought me here!" + +"That's where I live," said the sack-backed squirrel, +And he turned his sack with a swing and a swirl. + +Said the gold weather-cock, "I'm the churchwarden!" +Said the mole, "I live in the parson's garden!" + +Said they all, "If that's where you want us to steer for, +What on earth or in air did you bring us here for?" + +"You are none the worse!" said Boy. "If you won't +Do as I tell you, why, then, don't; + +"I'll leave you behind, and go home without you; +And it's time I did: I begin to doubt you!" + +He jumped to his feet. The snake rose on his tail, +And hissed three times, a hiss full of bale, + +And shot out his tongue at Boy Blue to scare him, +And stared at him, out of his courage to stare him. + +"You ugly snake," Little Boy Blue said, +"Get out of my way, or I'll break your head!" + +The snake would not move, but glared at him glum; +Boy Blue hit him hard with the stick of his drum. + +The snake fell down as if he was dead. +Little Boy Blue set his foot on his head. + +"Hurrah!" cried the creatures, "hurray! hurrah! +Little Boy Blue, your will is a law!" + +And away they went, marching before him, +And marshalled him home with a high cockolorum. + +And Birdie Brown sang, _"Twirrr twitter, twirrr twee! +In the rosiest rose-bush a rare nest! +Twirrr twitter, twirrr twitter, twirrr twitter, twirrrrr tweeeee! +In the fun he has found the earnest!"_ + + + +_WILLIE'S QUESTION_. + +I. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Is it wrong, the wish to be great, + For I do wish it so? +I have asked already my sister Kate; + She says she does not know. + +Yestereve at the gate I stood + Watching the sun in the west; +When I saw him look so grand and good + It swelled up in my breast. + +Next from the rising moon + It stole like a silver dart; +In the night when the wind began his tune + It woke with a sudden start. + +This morning a trumpet blast + Made all the cottage quake; +It came so sudden and shook so fast + It blew me wide awake. + +It told me I must make haste, + And some great glory win, +For every day was running to waste, + And at once I must begin. + +I want to be great and strong, + I want to begin to-day; +But if you think it very wrong + I will send the wish away. + +II. + + _The Father answers._ + +Wrong to wish to be great? + No, Willie; it is not wrong: +The child who stands at the high closed gate + Must wish to be tall and strong! + +If you did not wish to grow + I should be a sorry man; +I should think my boy was dull and slow, + Nor worthy of his clan. + +You are bound to be great, my boy: + Wish, and get up, and do. +Were you content to be little, my joy + Would be little enough in you. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Papa, papa! I'm so glad + That what I wish is right! +I will not lose a chance to be had; + I'll begin this very night. + +I will work so hard at school! + I will waste no time in play; +At my fingers' ends I'll have every rule, + For knowledge is power, they say. + +I _would_ be a king and reign, + But I can't be that, and so +Field-marshal I'll be, I think, and gain + Sharp battles and sieges slow. + +I shall gallop and shout and call, + Waving my shining sword: +Artillery, cavalry, infantry, all + Hear and obey my word. + +Or admiral I will be, + Wherever the salt wave runs, +Sailing, fighting over the sea, + With flashing and roaring guns. + +I will make myself hardy and strong; + I will never, never give in. +I _am_ so glad it is not wrong! + At once I will begin. + + _The Father speaks._ + +Fighting and shining along, + All for the show of the thing! +Any puppet will mimic the grand and strong + If you pull the proper string! + + _Willie speaks._ + +But indeed I want to _be_ great, + I should despise mere show; +The thing I want is the glory-state-- + Above the rest, you know! + + _The Father answers._ + +The harder you run that race, + The farther you tread that track, +The greatness you fancy before your face + Is the farther behind your back. + +To be up in the heavens afar, + Miles above all the rest, +Would make a star not the greatest star, + Only the dreariest. + +That book on the highest shelf + Is not the greatest book; +If you would be great, it must be in yourself, + Neither by place nor look. + +The Highest is not high + By being higher than others; +To greatness you come not a step more nigh + By getting above your brothers. + +III. + + _Willie speaks._ + +I meant the boys at school, + I did not mean my brother. +Somebody first, is there the rule-- + It must be me or another. + + _The Father answers._ + +Oh, Willie, it's all the same! + They are your brothers all; +For when you say, "Hallowed be thy name!" + Whose Father is it you call? + +Could you pray for such rule to _him_? + Do you think that he would hear? +Must he favour one in a greedy whim + Where all are his children dear? + +It is right to get up and do, + But why outstrip the rest? +Why should one of the many be one of the few? + Why should _you_ think to be best? + + _Willie speaks._ + +Then how am I to be great? + I know no other way; +It would be folly to sit and wait, + I must up and do, you say! + + _The Father answers._ + +I do not want you to wait, + For few before they die +Have got so far as begin to be great, + The lesson is so high. + +I will tell you the only plan + To climb and not to fall: +He who would rise and be greater than + He is, must be servant of all. + +Turn it each way in your mind, + Try every other plan, +You may think yourself great, but at length you'll find + You are not even a man. + +Climb to the top of the trees, + Climb to the top of the hill, +Get up on the crown of the sky if you please, + You'll be a small creature still. + +Be admiral, poet, or king, + Let praises fill both your ears, +Your soul will be but a windmill thing + Blown round by its hopes and fears. + +IV. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Then put me in the way, + For you, papa, are a man: +What thing shall I do this very day?-- + Only be sure I _can_. + +I want to know--I am willing, + Let me at least have a chance! +Shall I give the monkey-boy my shilling?-- + I want to serve at once. + + _The Father answers._ + +Give all your shillings you might + And hurt your brothers the more; +He only can serve his fellows aright + Who goes in at the little door. + +We must do the thing we _must_ + Before the thing we _may;_ +We are unfit for any trust + Till we can and do obey. + + _Willie speaks._ + +I will try more and more; + I have nothing now to ask; +_Obedience_ I know is the little door: + Now set me some hard task. + + _The Father answers._ + +No, Willie; the father of all, + Teacher and master high, +Has set your task beyond recall, + Nothing can set it by. + + _Willie speaks._ + +What is it, father dear, + That he would have me do? +I'd ask himself, but he's not near, + And so I must ask you! + + _The Father answers._ + +Me 'tis no use to ask, + I too am one of his boys! +But he tells each boy his own plain task; + Listen, and hear his voice. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Father, I'm listening _so_ + To hear him if I may! +His voice must either be very low, + Or very far away! + + _The Father answers._ + +It is neither hard to hear, + Nor hard to understand; +It is very low, but very near, + A still, small, strong command. + + _Willie answers._ + +I do not hear it at all; + I am only hearing you! + + _The Father speaks._ + +Think: is there nothing, great or small, + You ought to go and do? + + _Willie answers._ + +Let me think:--I ought to feed + My rabbits. I went away +In such a hurry this morning! Indeed + They've not had enough to-day! + + _The Father speaks._ + +That is his whisper low! + That is his very word! +You had only to stop and listen, and so + Very plainly you heard! + +That duty's the little door: + You must open it and go in; +There is nothing else to do before, + There is nowhere else to begin. + + _Willie speaks._ + +But that's so easily done! + It's such a trifling affair! +So nearly over as soon as begun. + For that he can hardly care! + + _The Father answers._ + +You are turning from his call + If you let that duty wait; +You would not think any duty small + If you yourself were great. + +The nearest is at life's core; + With the first, you all begin: +What matter how little the little door + If it only let you in? + +V. + + _Willie speaks._ + +Papa, I am come again: + It is now three months and more +That I've tried to do the thing that was plain, + And I feel as small as before. + + _The Father answers._ + +Your honour comes too slow? + How much then have you done? +One foot on a mole-heap, would you crow + As if you had reached the sun? + + _Willie speaks._ + +But I cannot help a doubt + Whether this way be the true: +The more I do to work it out + The more there comes to do; + +And yet, were all done and past, + I should feel just as small, +For when I had tried to the very last-- + 'Twas my duty, after all! + +It is only much the same + As not being liar or thief! + + _The Father answers._ + +One who tried it found even, with shame, + That of sinners he was the chief! + +My boy, I am glad indeed + You have been finding the truth! + + _Willie speaks._ + +But where's the good? I shall never speed-- + Be one whit greater, in sooth! + +If duty itself must fail, + And that be the only plan, +How shall my scarce begun duty prevail + To make me a mighty man? + + _The Father answers._ + +Ah, Willie! what if it were + Quite another way to fall? +What if the greatness itself lie there-- + In knowing that you are small? + +In seeing the good so good + That you feel poor, weak, and low; +And hungrily long for it as for food, + With an endless need to grow? + +The man who was lord of fate, + Born in an ox's stall, +Was great because he was much too great + To care about greatness at all. + +Ever and only he sought + The will of his Father good; +Never of what was high he thought, + But of what his Father would. + +You long to be great; you try; + You feel yourself smaller still: +In the name of God let ambition die; + Let him make you what he will. + +Who does the truth, is one + With the living Truth above: +Be God's obedient little son, + Let ambition die in love. + + + +_KING COLE_. + +King Cole he reigned in Aureoland, +But the sceptre was seldom in his hand + +Far oftener was there his golden cup-- +He ate too much, but he drank all up! + +To be called a king and to be a king, +That is one thing and another thing! + +So his majesty's head began to shake, +And his hands and his feet to swell and ache, + +The doctors were called, but they dared not say +Your majesty drinks too much Tokay; + +So out of the king's heart died all mirth, +And he thought there was nothing good on earth. + +Then up rose the fool, whose every word +Was three parts wise and one part absurd. + +Nuncle, he said, never mind the gout; +I will make you laugh till you laugh it out. + +King Cole pushed away his full gold plate: +The jester he opened the palace gate, + +Brought in a cold man, with hunger grim, +And on the dais-edge seated him; + +Then caught up the king's own golden plate, +And set it beside him: oh, how he ate! + +And the king took note, with a pleased surprise, +That he ate with his mouth and his cheeks and his eyes, + +With his arms and his legs and his body whole, +And laughed aloud from his heart and soul. + +Then from his lordly chair got up, +And carried the man his own gold cup; + +The goblet was deep and wide and full, +The poor man drank like a cow at a pool. + +Said the king to the jester--I call it well done +To drink with two mouths instead of one! + +Said the king to himself, as he took his seat, +It is quite as good to feed as to eat! + +It is better, I do begin to think, +To give to the thirsty than to drink! + +And now I have thought of it, said the king, +There might be more of this kind of thing! + +The fool heard. The king had not long to wait: +The fool cried aloud at the palace-gate; + +The ragged and wretched, the hungry and thin, +Loose in their clothes and tight in their skin, + +Gathered in shoals till they filled the hall, +And the king and the fool they fed them all; + +And as with good things their plates they piled +The king grew merry as a little child. + +On the morrow, early, he went abroad +And sought poor folk in their own abode-- + +Sought them till evening foggy and dim, +Did not wait till they came to him; + +And every day after did what he could, +Gave them work and gave them food. + +Thus he made war on the wintry weather, +And his health and the spring came back together. + +But, lo, a change had passed on the king, +Like the change of the world in that same spring! + +His face had grown noble and good to see, +And the crown sat well on his majesty. + +Now he ate enough, and ate no more, +He drank about half what he drank before, + +He reigned a real king in Aureoland, +Reigned with his head and his heart and his hand. + +All this through the fool did come to pass. +And every Christmas-eve that was, + +The palace-gates stood open wide +And the poor came in from every side, + +And the king rose up and served them duly, +And his people loved him very truly. + + + +_SAID_ AND _DID_. + +Said the boy as he read, "I too will be bold, + I will fight for the truth and its glory!" +He went to the playground, and soon had told + A very cowardly story! + +Said the girl as she read, "That was grand, I declare! + What a true, what a lovely, sweet soul!" +In half-an-hour she went up the stair, + Looking as black as a coal! + +"The mean little wretch, I wish I could fling + This book at his head!" said another; +Then he went and did the same ugly thing + To his own little trusting brother! + +Alas for him who sees a thing grand + And does not fit himself to it! +But the meanest act, on sea or on land, + Is to find a fault, and then do it! + + + +_DR. DODDRIDGE'S DOG_. + +"What! you Dr. Doddridge's dog, and not know who made you?" + +My little dog, who blessed you + With such white toothy-pegs? +And who was it that dressed you + In such a lot of legs? + +Perhaps he never told you! + Perhaps you know quite well, +And beg me not to scold you + For you can't speak to tell! + +I'll tell you, little brother, + In case you do not know:-- +One only, not another, + Could make us two just so. + +You love me?--Quiet!--I'm proving!-- + It must be God above +That filled those eyes with loving: + He was the first to love! + +One day he'll stop all sadness-- + Hark to the nightingale! +Oh blessed God of gladness!-- + Come, doggie, wag your tail! + +That's--Thank you, God!--He gave you + Of life this little taste; +And with more life he'll save you, + Not let you go to waste! + +He says now, Live together, + And share your bite and sup; +And then he'll say, Come hither-- + And lift us both high up. + + + +_THE GIRL THAT LOST THINGS_. + +There was a girl that lost things-- + Nor only from her hand; +She lost, indeed--why, most things, + As if they had been sand! + +She said, "But I must use them, + And can't look after all! +Indeed I did not lose them, + I only let them fall!" + +That's how she lost her thimble, + It fell upon the floor: +Her eyes were very nimble + But she never saw it more. + +And then she lost her dolly, + Her very doll of all! +That loss was far from jolly, + But worse things did befall. + +She lost a ring of pearls + With a ruby in them set; +But the dearest girl of girls + Cried only, did not fret. + +And then she lost her robin; + Ah, that was sorrow dire! +He hopped along, and--bob in-- + Hopped bob into the fire! + +And once she lost a kiss + As she came down the stair; +But that she did not miss, + For sure it was somewhere! + +Just then she lost her heart too, + But did so well without it +She took that in good part too, + And said--not much about it. + +But when she lost her health + She did feel rather poor, +Till in came loads of wealth + By quite another door! + +And soon she lost a dimple + That was upon her cheek, +But that was very simple-- + She was so thin and weak! + +And then she lost her mother, + And thought that she was dead; +Sure there was not another + On whom to lay her head! + +And then she lost her self-- + But that she threw away; +And God upon his shelf + It carefully did lay. + +And then she lost her sight, + And lost all hope to find it; +But a fountain-well of light + Came flashing up behind it. + +At last she lost the world: + In a black and stormy wind +Away from her it whirled-- + But the loss how could she mind? + +For with it she lost her losses, + Her aching and her weeping, +Her pains and griefs and crosses, + And all things not worth keeping; + +It left her with the lost things + Her heart had still been craving; +'Mong them she found--why, most things, + And all things worth the saving. + +She found her precious mother, + Who not the least had died; +And then she found that other + Whose heart had hers inside. + +And next she found the kiss + She lost upon the stair; +'Twas sweeter far, I guess, + For ripening in that air. + +She found her self, all mended, + New-drest, and strong, and white; +She found her health, new-blended + With a radiant delight. + +She found her little robin: + He made his wings go flap, +Came fluttering, and went bob in, + Went bob into her lap. + +So, girls that cannot keep things, + Be patient till to-morrow; +And mind you don't beweep things + That are not worth such sorrow; + +For the Father great of fathers, + Of mothers, girls, and boys, +In his arms his children gathers, + And sees to all their toys. + + + +_A MAKE-BELIEVE_. + +I will think as thinks the rabbit:-- + + Oh, delight + In the night + When the moon + Sets the tune + To the woods! + And the broods + All run out, + Frisk about, + Go and come, + Beat the drum-- + Here in groups, + There in troops! + Now there's one! + Now it's gone! + There are none! +And now they are dancing like chaff! +I look, and I laugh, +But sit by my door, and keep to my habit-- +A wise, respectable, clean-furred old rabbit! + + Now I'm going, + Business calls me out-- + Going, going, + Very knowing, + Slow, long-heeled, and stout, + Loping, lumbering, + Nipping, numbering, + Head on this side and on that, + Along the pathway footed flat, + Through the meadow, through the heather, + Through the rich dusky weather-- + Big stars and little moon! + + Dews are lighting down in crowds, + Odours rising in thin clouds, + Night has all her chords in tune-- + The very night for us, God's rabbits, + Suiting all our little habits! +Wind not loud, but playful with our fur, +Just a cool, a sweet, a gentle stir! +And all the way not one rough bur, +But the dewiest, freshest grasses, +That whisper thanks to every foot that passes! + + I, the king the rest call Mappy, + Canter on, composed and happy, + Till I come where there is plenty + For a varied meal and dainty. + Is it cabbage, I grab it; + Is it parsley, I nab it; + Is it carrot, I mar it; + The turnip I turn up + And hollow and swallow; + A lettuce? Let us eat it! + A beetroot? Let's beat it! + If you are juicy, + Sweet sir, I will use you! + For all kinds of corn-crop + I have a born crop! + Are you a green top? + You shall be gleaned up! + Sucking and feazing, + Crushing and squeezing + All that is feathery, + Crisp, not leathery, + Juicy and bruisy-- + All comes proper + To my little hopper + Still on the dance, + Driven by hunger and drouth! + +All is welcome to my crunching, +Finding, grinding, +Milling, munching, +Gobbling, lunching, +Fore-toothed, three-lipped mouth-- +Eating side way, round way, flat way, +Eating this way, eating that way, +Every way at once! + +Hark to the rain!-- +Pattering, clattering, +The cabbage leaves battering, +Down it comes amain!-- +Home we hurry +Hop and scurry, +And in with a flurry! +Hustling, jostling +Out of the airy land +Into the dry warm sand; +Our family white tails, +The last of our vitals, +Following hard with a whisk to them, +And with a great sense of risk to them! + +Hear to it pouring! +Hear the thunder roaring +Far off and up high, +While we all lie +So warm and so dry +In the mellow dark, +Where never a spark, +White or rosy or blue, +Of the sheeting, fleeting, +Forking, frightening, +Lashing lightning +Ever can come through! + +Let the wind chafe +In the trees overhead, +We are quite safe +In our dark, yellow bed! +Let the rain pour! +It never can bore +A hole in our roof-- +It is waterproof! +So is the cloak +We always carry, +We furry folk, +In sandhole or quarry! +It is perfect bliss +To lie in a nest +So soft as this, +All so warmly drest! +No one to flurry you! +No one to hurry you! +No one to scurry you! +Holes plenty to creep in! +All day to sleep in! +All night to roam in! +Gray dawn to run home in! +And all the days and nights to come after-- +All the to-morrows for hind-legs and laughter! + +Now the rain is over, +We are out again, +Every merry, leaping rover, +On his right leg and his wrong leg, +On his doubled, shortened long leg, +Floundering amain! +Oh, it is merry +And jolly--yes, very! + +But what--what is that? +What can he be at? +Is it a cat? +Ah, my poor little brother, +He's caught in the trap +That goes-to with a snap! +Ah me! there was never, +Nor will be for ever-- +There was never such another, +Such a funny, funny bunny, +Such a frisking, such a whisking, +Such a frolicking brother! +He's screeching, beseeching! +They're going to-- + +Ah, my poor foot, +It is caught in a root! +No, no! 'tis a trap +That goes-to with a snap! +Ah me, I'm forsaken! +Ah me, I am taken! +I am screeching, beseeching! +They are going to-- + +No more! no more! I must stop this play, +Be a boy again, and kneel down and pray +To the God of sparrows and rabbits and men, +Who never lets any one out of his ken-- +It must be so, though it be bewild'ring-- +To save his dear beasts from his cruel children! + + + +_THE CHRISTMAS CHILD_. + +"Little one, who straight hast come +Down the heavenly stair, +Tell us all about your home, +And the father there." + +"He is such a one as I, +Like as like can be. +Do his will, and, by and by, +Home and him you'll see." + + + +_A CHRISTMAS PRAYER_. + +Loving looks the large-eyed cow, +Loving stares the long-eared ass +At Heaven's glory in the grass! +Child, with added human birth +Come to bring the child of earth +Glad repentance, tearful mirth, +And a seat beside the hearth +At the Father's knee-- +Make us peaceful as thy cow; +Make us patient as thine ass; +Make us quiet as thou art now; +Make us strong as thou wilt be. +Make us always know and see +We are his as well as thou. + + + +_NO END OF NO-STORY_. + +There is a river +whose waters run asleep +run run ever +singing in the shallows +dumb in the hollows +sleeping so deep +and all the swallows +that dip their feathers +in the hollows +or in the shallows +are the merriest swallows +and the nests they make +with the clay they cake +with the water they shake +from their wings that rake +the water out of the shallows +or out of the hollows +will hold together +in any weather +and the swallows +are the merriest fellows +and have the merriest children +and are built very narrow +like the head of an arrow +to cut the air +and go just where +the nicest water is flowing +and the nicest dust is blowing +and each so narrow +like the head of an arrow +is a wonderful barrow +to carry the mud he makes +for his children's sakes +from the wet water flowing +and the dry dust blowing +to build his nest +for her he loves best +and the wind cakes it +the sun bakes it +into a nest +for the rest +of her he loves best +and all their merry children +each little fellow +with a beak as yellow +as the buttercups growing +beside the flowing +of the singing river +always and ever +growing and blowing +as fast as the sheep +awake or asleep +crop them and crop +and cannot stop +their yellowness blowing +nor yet the growing +of the obstinate daisies +the little white praises +they grow and they blow +they spread out their crown +and they praise the sun +and when he goes down +their praising is done +they fold up their crown +and sleep every one +till over the plain +he is shining amain +and they're at it again +praising and praising +such low songs raising +that no one can hear them +but the sun so near them +and the sheep that bite them +but do not fright them +are the quietest sheep +awake or asleep +with the merriest bleat +and the little lambs +are the merriest lambs +forgetting to eat +for the frolic in their feet +and the lambs and their dams +are the whitest sheep +with the woolliest wool +for the swallow to pull +when he makes his nest +for her he loves best +and they shine like snow +in the grasses that grow +by the singing river +that sings for ever +and the sheep and the lambs +are merry for ever +because the river +sings and they drink it +and the lambs and their dams +would any one think it +are bright and white +because of their diet +which gladdens them quiet +for what they bite +is buttercups yellow +and daisies white +and grass as green +as the river can make it +with wind as mellow +to kiss it and shake it +as never was known +but here in the hollows +beside the river +where all the swallows +are the merriest fellows +and the nests they make +with the clay they cake +in the sunshine bake +till they are like bone +and as dry in the wind +as a marble stone +dried in the wind +the sweetest wind +that blows by the river +flowing for ever +and who shall find +whence comes the wind +that blows on the hollows +and over the shallows +where dip the swallows +and comes and goes +and the sweet life blows +into the river +that sings as it flows +and the sweet life blows +into the sheep +awake or asleep +with the woolliest wool +and the trailingest tails +and never fails +gentle and cool +to wave the wool +and to toss the grass +as the lambs and the sheep +over it pass +and tug and bite +with their teeth so white +and then with the sweep +of their trailing tails +smooth it again +and it grows amain +and amain it grows +and the wind that blows +tosses the swallows +over the hollows +and over the shallows +and blows the sweet life +and the joy so rife +into the swallows +that skim the shallows +and have the yellowest children +and the wind that blows +is the life of the river +that flows for ever +and washes the grasses +still as it passes +and feeds the daisies +the little white praises +and buttercups sunny +with butter and honey +that whiten the sheep +awake or asleep +that nibble and bite +and grow whiter than white +and merry and quiet +on such good diet +watered by the river +and tossed for ever +by the wind that tosses +the wool and the grasses +and the swallow that crosses +with all the swallows +over the shallows +dipping their wings +to gather the water +and bake the cake +for the wind to make +as hard as a bone +and as dry as a stone +and who shall find +whence comes the wind +that blows from behind +and ripples the river +that flows for ever +and still as it passes +waves the grasses +and cools the daisies +the white sun praises +that feed the sheep +awake or asleep +and give them their wool +for the swallows to pull +a little away +to mix with the clay +that cakes to a nest +for those they love best +and all the yellow children +soon to go trying +their wings at the flying +over the hollows +and over the shallows +with all the swallows +that do not know +whence the wind doth blow +that comes from behind +a blowing wind. + + + + + A THREEFOLD CORD: + + Poems by Three Friends. + + +TO + +GREVILLE MATHESON MACDONALD. + +First, most, to thee, my son, I give this book + In which a friend's and brother's verses blend + With mine; for not son only--brother, friend, +Art thou, through sonship which no veil can brook +Between the eyes that in each other look, + Or any shadow 'twixt the hearts that tend + Still nearer, with divine approach, to end +In love eternal that cannot be shook + When all the shakable shall cease to be. + With growing hope I greet the coming day +When from thy journey done I welcome thee +Who sharest in the names of all the three, + And take thee to the two, and humbly say, + _Let this man be the fourth with us, I pray._ + +CASA CORAGGIO: +_May, 1883._ + + + + + A THREEFOLD CHORD. + + + +_THE HAUNTED HOUSE_: + +_Suggested by a drawing of Thomas Moran, the American painter._ + +This must be the very night! +The moon knows it!--and the trees! +They stand straight upright, +Each a sentinel drawn up, +As if they dared not know +Which way the wind might blow! +The very pool, with dead gray eye, +Dully expectant, feels it nigh, +And begins to curdle and freeze! +And the dark night, +With its fringe of light, +Holds the secret in its cup! + +II. What can it be, to make +The poplars cease to shiver and shake, +And up in the dismal air +Stand straight and stiff as the human hair +When the human soul is dizzy with dread-- +All but those two that strain +Aside in a frenzy of speechless pain, +Though never a wind sends out a breath +To tunnel the foggy rheum of death? +What can it be has power to scare +The full-grown moon to the idiot stare +Of a blasted eye in the midnight air? +Something has gone wrong; +A scream will come tearing out ere long! + +III. Still as death, +Although I listen with bated breath! +Yet something is coming, I know--is coming! +With an inward soundless humming +Somewhere in me, or if in the air +I cannot tell, but it is there! +Marching on to an unheard drumming +Something is coming--coming-- +Growing and coming! +And the moon is aware, +Aghast in the air +At the thing that is only coming +With an inward soundless humming +And an unheard spectral drumming! + +IV. Nothing to see and nothing to hear! +Only across the inner sky +The wing of a shadowy thought flits by, +Vague and featureless, faceless, drear-- +Only a thinness to catch the eye: +Is it a dim foreboding unborn, +Or a buried memory, wasted and worn +As the fading frost of a wintry sigh? +Anon I shall have it!--anon!--it draws nigh! +A night when--a something it was took place +That drove the blood from that scared moon-face! +Hark! was that the cry of a goat, +Or the gurgle of water in a throat? +Hush! there is nothing to see or hear, +Only a silent something is near; +No knock, no footsteps three or four, +Only a presence outside the door! +See! the moon is remembering!--what? +The wail of a mother-left, lie-alone brat? +Or a raven sharpening its beak to peck? +Or a cold blue knife and a warm white neck? +Or only a heart that burst and ceased +For a man that went away released? +I know not--know not, but something is coming +Somehow back with an inward humming! + +V. Ha! look there! look at that house, +Forsaken of all things, beetle and mouse! +Mark how it looks! It must have a soul! +It looks, it looks, though it cannot stir! +See the ribs of it, how they stare! +Its blind eyes yet have a seeing air! +It _knows_ it has a soul! +Haggard it hangs o'er the slimy pool, +And gapes wide open as corpses gape: +It is the very murderer! +The ghost has modelled himself to the shape +Of this drear house all sodden with woe +Where the deed was done, long, long ago, +And filled with himself his new body full-- +To haunt for ever his ghastly crime, +And see it come and go-- +Brooding around it like motionless time, +With a mouth that gapes, and eyes that yawn +Blear and blintering and full of the moon, +Like one aghast at a hellish dawn!-- +The deed! the deed! it is coming soon! + +VI. For, ever and always, when round the tune +Grinds on the barrel of organ-Time, +The deed is done. And it comes anon: +True to the roll of the clock-faced moon, +True to the ring of the spheric chime, +True to the cosmic rhythm and rime, +Every point, as it first fell out, +Will come and go in the fearsome bout. +See! palsied with horror from garret to core, +The house cannot shut its gaping door; +Its burst eye stares as if trying to see, +And it leans as if settling heavily, +Settling heavy with sickness dull: +_It_ also is hearing the soundless humming +Of the wheel that is turning--the thing that is coming! +On the naked rafters of its brain, +Gaunt and wintred, see the train +Of gossiping, scandal-mongering crows +That watch, all silent, with necks a-strain, +Wickedly knowing, with heads awry +And the sharpened gleam of a cunning eye-- +Watch, through the cracks of the ruined skull, +How the evil business goes!-- +Beyond the eyes of the cherubim, +Beyond the ears of the seraphim, +Outside, forsaken, in the dim +Phantom-haunted chaos grim +He stands, with the deed going on in him! + +VII. O winds, winds, that lurk and peep +Under the edge of the moony fringe! +O winds, winds, up and sweep, +Up and blow and billow the air, +Billow the air with blow and swinge, +Rend me this ghastly house of groans! +Rend and scatter the skeleton's bones +Over the deserts and mountains bare! +Blast and hurl and shiver aside +Nailed sticks and mortared stones! +Clear the phantom, with torrent and tide, +Out of the moon and out of my brain, +That the light may fall shadowless in again! + +VIII. But, alas, then the ghost +O'er mountain and coast +Would go roaming, roaming! and never was swine +That, grubbing and talking with snork and whine +On Gadarene mountains, had taken him in +But would rush to the lake to unhouse the sin! +For any charnel +This ghost is too carnal; +There is no volcano, burnt out and cold, +Whose very ashes are gray and old, +But would cast him forth in reviving flame +To blister the sky with a smudge of shame! + +IX. Is there no help? none anywhere +Under the earth or above the air?-- +Come, sad woman, whose tender throat +Has a red-lipped mouth that can sing no note! +Child, whose midwife, the third grim Fate, +Shears in hand, thy coming did wait! +Father, with blood-bedabbled hair! +Mother, all withered with love's despair! +Come, broken heart, whatever thou be, +Hasten to help this misery! +Thou wast only murdered, or left forlorn: +He is a horror, a hate, a scorn! +Come, if out of the holiest blue +That the sapphire throne shines through; +For pity come, though thy fair feet stand +Next to the elder-band; +Fling thy harp on the hyaline, +Hurry thee down the spheres divine; +Come, and drive those ravens away; +Cover his eyes from the pitiless moon, +Shadow his brain from her stinging spray; +Droop around him, a tent of love, +An odour of grace, a fanning dove; +Walk through the house with the healing tune +Of gentle footsteps; banish the shape +Remorse calls up thyself to ape; +Comfort him, dear, with pardon sweet; +Cool his heart from its burning heat +With the water of life that laves the feet +Of the throne of God, and the holy street! + +X. O God, he is but a living blot, +Yet he lives by thee--for if thou wast not, +They would vanish together, self-forgot, +He and his crime:--one breathing blown +From thy spirit on his would all atone, +Scatter the horror, and bring relief +In an amber dawn of holy grief! +God, give him sorrow; arise from within, +His primal being, deeper than sin! + +XI. Why do I tremble, a creature at bay? +'Tis but a dream--I drive it away. +Back comes my breath, and my heart again +Pumps the red blood to my fainting brain +Released from the nightmare's nine-fold train: +God is in heaven--yes, everywhere, +And Love, the all-shining, will kill Despair!-- +To the wall's blank eyeless space +I turn the picture's face. + +XII. But why is the moon so bare, up there? +And why is she so white? +And why does the moon so stare, up there-- +Strangely stare, out of the night? +Why stand up the poplars +That still way? +And why do those two of them +Start astray? +And out of the black why hangs the gray? +Why does it hang down so, I say, +Over that house, like a fringed pall +Where the dead goes by in a funeral?-- +Soul of mine, +Thou the reason canst divine: +Into _thee_ the moon doth stare +With pallid, terror-smitten air! +Thou, and the Horror lonely-stark, +Outcast of eternal dark, +Are in nature same and one, +And _thy_ story is not done! +So let the picture face thee from the wall, +And let its white moon stare! + + + +_IN THE WINTER_. + +In the winter, flowers are springing; +In the winter, woods are green, +Where our banished birds are singing, +Where our summer sun is seen! +Our cold midnights are coeval +With an evening and a morn +Where the forest-gods hold revel, +And the spring is newly born! + +While the earth is full of fighting, +While men rise and curse their day, +While the foolish strong are smiting, +And the foolish weak betray-- +The true hearts beyond are growing, +The brave spirits work alone, +Where Love's summer-wind is blowing +In a truth-irradiate zone! + +While we cannot shape our living +To the beauty of our skies, +While man wants and earth is giving-- +Nature calls and man denies-- +How the old worlds round Him gather +Where their Maker is their sun! +How the children know the Father +Where the will of God is done! + +Daily woven with our story, +Sounding far above our strife, +Is a time-enclosing glory, +Is a space-absorbing life. +We can dream no dream Elysian, +There is no good thing might be, +But some angel has the vision, +But some human soul shall see! + +Is thy strait horizon dreary? +Is thy foolish fancy chill? +Change the feet that have grown weary +For the wings that never will. +Burst the flesh, and live the spirit; +Haunt the beautiful and far; +Thou hast all things to inherit, +And a soul for every star. + + + +_CHRISTMAS-DAY, 1878_. + +I think I might be weary of this day +That comes inevitably every year, +The same when I was young and strong and gay, +The same when I am old and growing sere-- +I should grow weary of it every year +But that thou comest to me every day. + +I shall grow weary if thou every day +But come to me, Lord of eternal life; +I shall grow weary thus to watch and pray, +For ever out of labour into strife; +Take everlasting house with me, my life, +And I shall be new-born this Christmas-day. + +Thou art the Eternal Son, and born no day, +But ever he the Father, thou the Son; +I am his child, but being born alway-- +How long, O Lord, how long till it be done? +Be thou from endless years to years the Son-- +And I thy brother, new-born every day. + + + +_THE NEW YEAR_. + +Be welcome, year! with corn and sickle come; + Make poor the body, but make rich the heart: +What man that bears his sheaves, gold-nodding, home, + Will heed the paint rubbed from his groaning cart! + +Nor leave behind thy fears and holy shames, + Thy sorrows on the horizon hanging low-- +Gray gathered fuel for the sunset-flames + When joyous in death's harvest-home we go. + + + +_TWO RONDELS_. + +I. + +When, in the mid-sea of the night, + I waken at thy call, O Lord, + The first that troop my bark aboard +Are darksome imps that hate the light, +Whose tongues are arrows, eyes a blight-- + Of wraths and cares a pirate horde-- +Though on the mid-sea of the night + It was thy call that waked me, Lord. + +Then I must to my arms and fight-- + Catch up my shield and two-edged sword, + The words of him who is thy word-- +Nor cease till they are put to flight; +Then in the mid-sea of the night + I turn and listen for thee, Lord. + +II. + +There comes no voice from thee, O Lord, + Across the mid-sea of the night! + I lift my voice and cry with might: +If thou keep silent, soon a horde +Of imps again will swarm aboard, + And I shall be in sorry plight +If no voice come from thee, my Lord, +Across the mid-sea of the night. + +There comes no voice; I hear no word! + But in my soul dawns something bright:-- + There is no sea, no foe to fight! +Thy heart and mine beat one accord: +I need no voice from thee, O Lord, + Across the mid-sea of the night. + + + +_RONDEL_. + +Heart, thou must learn to do without-- + That is the riches of the poor, + Their liberty is to endure; +Wrap thou thine old cloak thee about, +And carol loud and carol stout; + Let thy rags fly, nor wish them fewer; +Thou too must learn to do without, + Must earn the riches of the poor! + +Why should'st thou only wear no clout? + Thou only walk in love-robes pure? + Why should thy step alone be sure? +Thou only free of fortune's flout? +Nay, nay! but learn to go without, + And so be humbly, richly poor. + + + +_SONG_. + +Lighter and sweeter + Let your song be; +And for sorrow--oh cheat her + With melody! + + + +_SMOKE_. + +Lord, I have laid my heart upon thy altar + But cannot get the wood to burn; +It hardly flares ere it begins to falter + And to the dark return. + +Old sap, or night-fallen dew, makes damp the fuel; + In vain my breath would flame provoke; +Yet see--at every poor attempt's renewal + To thee ascends the smoke! + +'Tis all I have--smoke, failure, foiled endeavour, + Coldness and doubt and palsied lack: +Such as I have I send thee!--perfect Giver, + Send thou thy lightning back. + + + +_TO A CERTAIN CRITIC_. + +Such guests as you, sir, were not in my mind +When I my homely dish with care designed; +'Twas certain humble souls I would have fed +Who do not turn from wholesome milk and bread: +You came, slow-trotting on the narrow way, +O'erturned the food, and trod it in the clay; +Then low with discoid nostrils sniffing curt, +Cried, "Sorry cook! why, what a mess of dirt!" + + + +_SONG_. + +She loves thee, loves thee not! +That, that is all, my heart. +Why should she take a part +In every selfish blot, +In every greedy spot +That now doth ache and smart +Because she loves thee not-- +Not, not at all, poor heart! + +Thou art no such dove-cot +Of virtues--no such chart +Of highways, though the dart +Of love be through thee shot! +Why should she not love not +Thee, poor, pinched, selfish heart? + + + +_A CRY_. + +Lord, hear my discontent: all blank I stand, +A mirror polished by thy hand; +Thy sun's beams flash and flame from me-- +I cannot help it: here I stand, there he! +To one of them I cannot say, +Go, and on yonder water play; +Nor one poor ragged daisy can I fashion-- +I do not make the words of this my limping passion! +If I should say, Now I will think a thought, +Lo, I must wait, unknowing +What thought in me is growing, +Until the thing to birth be brought! +Nor know I then what next will come +From out the gulf of silence dumb: +I am the door the thing will find +To pass into the general mind! +I cannot say _I think_-- +I only stand upon the thought-well's brink: +From darkness to the sun the water bubbles up-- +lift it in my cup. +Thou only thinkest--I am thought; +Me and my thought thou thinkest. Nought +Am I but as a fountain spout +From which thy water welleth out. +Thou art the only one, the all in all.-- +Yet when my soul on thee doth call +And thou dost answer out of everywhere, +I in thy allness have my perfect share. + + + +_FROM HOME_. + +Some men there are who cannot spare + A single tear until they feel + The last cold pressure, and the heel +Is stamped upon the outmost layer. + +And, waking, some will sigh to think + The clouds have borrowed winter's wing, + Sad winter, when the grasses spring +No more about the fountain's brink. + +And some would call me coward fool: + I lay a claim to better blood, + But yet a heap of idle mud +Hath power to make me sorrowful. + + + +_TO MY MOTHER EARTH_. + +0 Earth, Earth, Earth, + I am dying for love of thee, +For thou hast given me birth, + And thy hands have tended me. + +I would fall asleep on thy breast + When its swelling folds are bare, +When the thrush dreams of its nest + And the life of its joy in the air; + +When thy life is a vanished ghost, + And the glory hath left thy waves, +When thine eye is blind with frost, + And the fog sits on the graves; + +When the blasts are shivering about, + And the rain thy branches beats, +When the damps of death are out, + And the mourners are in the streets. + +Oh my sleep should be deep + In the arms of thy swiftening motion, +And my dirge the mystic sweep + Of the winds that nurse the ocean. + +And my eye would slowly ope + With the voice that awakens thee, +And runs like a glance of hope + Up through the quickening tree; + +When the roots of the lonely fir + Are dipt in thy veining heat, +And thy countless atoms stir + With the gather of mossy feet; + +When the sun's great censer swings + In the hands that always be, +And the mists from thy watery rings + Go up like dust from the sea; + +When the midnight airs are assembling + With a gush in thy whispering halls, +And the leafy air is trembling + Like a stream before it falls. + +Thy shadowy hand hath found me + On the drifts of the Godhead's will, +And thy dust hath risen around me + With a life that guards me still. + +O Earth! I have caught from thine + The pulse of a mystic chase; +O Earth! I have drunk like wine + The life of thy swiftening race. + +Wilt miss me, mother sweet, + A life in thy milky veins? +Wilt miss the sound of my feet + In the tramp that shakes thy plains + +When the jaws of darkness rend, + And the vapours fold away, +And the sounds of life ascend + Like dust in the blinding day? + +I would know thy silver strain + In the shouts of the starry crowd +When the souls of thy changing men + Rise up like an incense cloud. + +I would know thy brightening lobes + And the lap of thy watery bars +Though space were choked with globes + And the night were blind with stars! + +From the folds of my unknown place, + When my soul is glad and free, +I will slide by my God's sweet grace + And hang like a cloud on thee. + +When the pale moon sits at night + By the brink of her shining well, +Laving the rings of her widening light + On the slopes of the weltering swell, + +I will fall like a wind from the west + On the locks of thy prancing streams, +And sow the fields of thy rest + With handfuls of sweet young dreams. + +When the sound of thy children's cry + Hath stricken thy gladness dumb, +I will kindle thine upward eye + With a laugh from the years that come. + +Far above where the loud wind raves, + On a wing as still as snow +I will watch the grind of the curly waves + As they bite the coasts below; + +When the shining ranks of the frost + Draw down on the glistening wold +In the mail of a fairy host, + And the earth is mossed with cold, + +Till the plates that shine about + Close up with a filmy din, +Till the air is frozen out, + And the stars are frozen in. + +I will often stoop to range + On the fields where my youth was spent, +And my feet shall smite the cliffs of change + With the rush of a steep descent; + +And my glowing soul shall burn + With a love that knows no pall, +And my eye of worship turn + Upon him that fashioned all-- + +When the sounding waves of strife + Have died on the Godhead's sea, +And thy life is a purer life + That nurses a life in me. + + + +_THY HEART_. + +Make not of thy heart a casket, +Opening seldom, quick to close; +But of bread a wide-mouthed basket, +Or a cup that overflows. + + + +_0 LORD, HOW HAPPY!_ + +_From the German of Dessler._ + +O Lord, how happy is the time + When in thy love I rest! +When from my weariness I climb + Even to thy tender breast! +The night of sorrow endeth there-- + Thou art brighter than the sun; +And in thy pardon and thy care + The heaven of heaven is won. + +Let the world call herself my foe, + Or let the world allure-- +I care not for the world; I go + To this dear friend and sure. +And when life's fiercest storms are sent + Upon life's wildest sea, +My little bark is confident + Because it holds by thee. + +When the law threatens endless death + Upon the dreadful hill, +Straightway from her consuming breath + My soul goeth higher still-- +Goeth to Jesus, wounded, slain, + And maketh him her home, +Whence she will not go out again, + And where death cannot come. + +I do not fear the wilderness + Where thou hast been before; +Nay rather will I daily press + After thee, near thee, more! +Thou art my food; on thee I lean, + Thou makest my heart sing; +And to thy heavenly pastures green + All thy dear flock dost bring. + +And if the gate that opens there + Be dark to other men, +It is not dark to those who share + The heart of Jesus then: +That is not losing much of life + Which is not losing thee, +Who art as present in the strife + As in the victory. + +Therefore how happy is the time + When in thy love I rest! +When from my weariness I climb + Even to thy tender breast! +The night of sorrow endeth there-- + Thou art brighter than the sun! +And in thy pardon and thy care + The heaven of heaven is won! + + + +_NO SIGN_. + +O Lord, if on the wind, at cool of day, + I heard one whispered word of mighty grace; +If through the darkness, as in bed I lay, + But once had come a hand upon my face; + +If but one sign that might not be mistook + Had ever been, since first thy face I sought, +I should not now be doubting o'er a book, + But serving thee with burning heart and thought. + +So dreams that heart. But to my heart I say, + Turning my face to front the dark and wind: +Such signs had only barred anew his way + Into thee, longing heart, thee, wildered mind. + +They asked the very Way, where lies the way? + The very Son, where is the Father's face? +How he could show himself, if not in clay, + Who was the lord of spirit, form, and space! + +My being, Lord, will nevermore be whole + Until thou come behind mine ears and eyes, +Enter and fill the temple of my soul + With perfect contact--such a sweet surprise, + +Such presence as, before it met the view, + The prophet-fancy could not once foresee, +Though every corner of the temple knew + By very emptiness its need of thee. + +When I keep _all_ thy words, no favoured some, + Heedless of worldly winds or judgment's tide, +Then, Jesus, thou wilt with thy father come-- + Oh, ended prayers!--and in my soul abide. + +Ah, long delay! ah, cunning, creeping sin! + I shall but fail, and cease at length to try: +O Jesus, though thou wilt not yet come in, + Knock at my window as thou passest by! + + + +_NOVEMBER, 1851_. + + What dost thou here, O soul, +Beyond thy own control, +Under the strange wild sky? +0 stars, reach down your hands, +And clasp me in your silver bands, +I tremble with this mystery!-- +Flung hither by a chance +Of restless circumstance, +Thou art but here, and wast not sent; +Yet once more mayest thou draw +By thy own mystic law +To the centre of thy wonderment. + + Why wilt thou stop and start? +Draw nearer, oh my heart, +And I will question thee most wistfully; +Gather thy last clear resolution +To look upon thy dissolution. + + The great God's life throbs far and free, +And thou art but a spark +Known only in thy dark, +Or a foam-fleck upon the awful ocean, +Thyself thy slender dignity, +Thy own thy vexing mystery, +In the vast change that is not change but motion. + + 'Tis not so hard as it would seem; +Thy life is but a dream-- +And yet thou hast some thoughts about the past; +Let go, let go thy memories, +They are not things but wandering cries-- +Wave them each one a long farewell at last: +I hear thee say--"Take them, O tide, +And I will turn aside, +Gazing with heedlessness, nay, even with laughter! +Bind me, ye winds and storms, +Among the things that once had forms, +And carry me clean out of sight thereafter!" + + Thou hast lived long enough +To know thy own weak stuff, +Laughing thy fondest joys to utter scorn; +Give up the idle strife-- +It is but mockery of life; +The fates had need of thee and thou wast born! +They are, in sooth, but thou shalt die. +O wandering spark! O homeless cry! +O empty will, still lacking self-intent! +Look up among the autumn trees: +The ripened fruits fall through the breeze, +And they will shake thee even like these +Into the lap of an Accomplishment! + + Thou hadst a faith, and voices said:-- +"Doubt not _that_ truth, but bend thy head +Unto the God who drew thee from the night:" +Thou liftedst up thy eyes--and, lo! +A host of voices answered--"No; +A thousand things as good have seen the light!" +Look how the swarms arise +From every clod before thy eyes! +Are thine the only hopes that fade and fall +When to the centre of its action +One purpose draws each separate fraction, +And nothing but effects are left at all? +Aha, thy faith! what is thy faith? +The sleep that waits on coming death-- +A blind delirious swoon that follows pain. +"True to thy nature!"--well! right well! +But what that nature is thou canst not tell-- +It has a thousand voices in thy brain. +Danced all the leaflets to and fro? +--Thy feet have trod them long ago! +Sprung the glad music up the blue? +--The hawk hath cut the song in two. +All the mountains crumble, +All the forests fall, +All thy brethren stumble, +And rise no more at all! +In the dim woods there is a sound +When the winds begin to moan; +It is not of joy or yet of mirth, +But the mournful cry of our mother Earth, +As she calleth back her own. +Through the rosy air to-night +The living creatures play +Up and down through the rich faint light-- +None so happy as they! +But the blast is here, and noises fall +Like the sound of steps in a ruined hall, +An icy touch is upon them all, +And they sicken and fade away. + + The child awoke with an eye of gladness, +With a light on his head and a matchless grace, +And laughed at the passing shades of sadness +That chased the smiles on his mother's face; +And life with its lightsome load of youth +Swam like a boat on a shining lake-- +Freighted with hopes enough, in sooth, +But he lived to trample on joy and truth, +And change his crown for a murder-stake! + + Oh, a ruddy light went through the room, +Till the dark ran out to his mother Night! +And that little chamber showed through the gloom +Like a Noah's ark with its nest of light! +Right glad was the maiden there, I wis, +With the youth that held her hand in his! +Oh, sweet were the words that went and came +Through the light and shade of the leaping flame +That glowed on the cheerful faces! +So human the speech, so sunny and kind, +That the darkness danced on the wall behind, +And even the wail of the winter wind +Sang sweet through the window-cases! + + But a mournful wail crept round and round, +And a voice cried:--"Come!" with a dreary sound, +And the circle wider grew; +The light flame sank, and sorrow fell +On the faces of those that loved so well; +Darker and wilder grew the tone; +Fainter and fainter the faces shone; +The wild night clasped them, and they were gone-- +And thou art passing too! + + Lo, the morning slowly springs +Like a meek white babe from the womb of night! +One golden planet sits and stings +The shifting gloom with his point of light! +Lo, the sun on its throne of flame! +--Wouldst thou climb and win a crown? +Oh, many a heart that pants for the same +Falls to the earth ere he goes down! +Thy heart is a flower with an open cup-- +Sit and watch, if it pleaseth thee, +Till the melting twilight fill it up +With a crystal of tender sympathy; +So, gently will it tremble +The silent midnight through, +And flocks of stars assemble +By turns in its depths of dew;-- +But look! oh, look again! +After the driving wind and rain! +When the day is up and the sun is strong, +And the voices of men are loud and long, +When the flower hath slunk to its rest again, +And love is lost in the strife of men! + + Let the morning break with thoughts of love, +And the evening fall with dreams of bliss-- +So vainly panteth the prisoned dove +For the depths of her sweet wilderness; +So stoops the eagle in his pride +From his rocky nest ere the bow is bent; +So sleeps the deer on the mountain-side +Ere the howling pack hath caught the scent! + + The fire climbs high till its work is done; +The stalk falls down when the flower is gone; +And the stars of heaven when their course is run +Melt silently away! +There was a footfall on the snow, +A line of light on the ocean-flow, +And a billow's dash on the rocks below +That stand by the wintry bay:-- +The snow was gone on the coming night; +Another wave arose in his might, +Uplifted his foaming breast of white, +And died like the rest for aye! + + Oh, the stars were bright! and thyself in thee +Yearned for an immortality! +And the thoughts that drew from thy busy brain +Clasped the worlds like an endless chain-- +When a moon arose, and her moving chime +Smote on thy soul, like a word in time, +Or a breathless wish, or a thought in rime, +And the truth that looked so gloomy and high +Leapt to thy arms with a joyful cry! +But what wert thou when a soulless Cause +Opened the book of its barren laws, +And thy spirit that was so glad and free +Was caught in the gin of necessity, +And a howl arose from the strife of things +Vexing each other with scorpion stings? +What wert thou but an orphan child +Thrust from the door when the night was wild? +Or a sailor on the toiling main +Looking blindly up through the wind and rain +As the hull of the vessel fell in twain! + + Seals are on the book of fate, +Hands may not unbind it; +Eyes may search for truth till late, +But will never find it--! +Rising on the brow of night +Like a portent of dismay, +As the worlds in wild affright +Track it on its direful way; +Resting like a rainbow bar +Where the curve and level meet, +As the children chase it far +O'er the sands with blistered feet; +Sadly through the mist of ages +Gazing on this life of fear, +Doubtful shining on its pages, +Only seen to disappear! +Sit thee by the sounding shore +--Winds and waves of human breath!-- +Learn a lesson from their roar, +Swelling, bursting evermore: +Live thy life and die thy death! +Die not like the writhing worm, +Rise and win thy highest stake; +Better perish in the storm +Than sit rotting on the lake! +Triumph in thy present youth, +Pulse of fire and heart of glee; +Leap at once into the truth, +If there is a truth for thee. + + Shapeless thoughts and dull opinions, +Slow distinctions and degrees,-- +Vex not thou thy weary pinions +With such leaden weights as these-- +Through this mystic jurisdiction +Reaching out a hand by chance, +Resting on a dull conviction +Whetted but by ignorance; +Living ever to behold +Mournful eyes that watch and weep; +Spirit suns that flashed in gold +Failing from the vasty deep; +Starry lights that glowed like Truth +Gazing with unnumbered eyes, +Melting from the skies of youth, +Swallowed up of mysteries; +Cords of love that sweetly bound thee; +Faded writing on thy brow; +Presences that came around thee; +Hands of faith that fail thee now! + + Groping hands will ever find thee +In the night with loads of chains! +Lift thy fetters and unbind thee, +Cast thee on the midnight plains: +Shapes of vision all-providing-- +Famished cheeks and hungry cries! +Sound of crystal waters sliding-- +Thirsty lips and bloodshot eyes! +Empty forms that send no gleaming +Through the mystery of this strife!-- +Oh, in such a life of seeming, +Death were worth an endless life! + + Hark the trumpet of the ocean +Where glad lands were wont to be! +Many voices of commotion +Break in tumult over thee! +Lo, they climb the frowning ages, +Marching o'er their level lands! +Far behind the strife that rages +Silence sits with clasped hands; +Undivided Purpose, freeing +His own steps from hindrances, +Sending out great floods of being, +Bathes thy steps in silentness. +Sit thee down in mirth and laughter-- +One there is that waits for thee; +If there is a true hereafter +He will lend thee eyes to see. + + Like a snowflake gently falling +On a quiet fountain, +Or a weary echo calling +From a distant mountain, +Drop thy hands in peace,-- +Fail--falter--cease. + + + +_OF ONE WHO DIED IN SPRING_. + +Loosener of springs, he died by thee! +Softness, not hardness, sent him home; +He loved thee--and thou mad'st him free +Of all the place thou comest from! + + + +_AN AUTUMN SONG_. + +Are the leaves falling round about + The churchyard on the hill? +Is the glow of autumn going out? + Is that the winter chill? +And yet through winter's noise, no doubt + The graves are very still! + +Are the woods empty, voiceless, bare? + On sodden leaves do you tread? +Is nothing left of all those fair? + Is the whole summer fled? +Well, so from this unwholesome air + Have gone away these dead! + +The seasons pierce me; like a leaf + I feel the autumn blow, +And tremble between nature's grief + And the silent death below. +O Summer, thou art very brief! + Where do these exiles go? + +_Gilesgate, Durham._ + + + +_TRIOLET_. + +Few in joy's sweet riot +Able are to listen: +Thou, to make me quiet, +Quenchest the sweet riot, +Tak'st away my diet, +Puttest me in prison-- +Quenchest joy's sweet riot +That the heart may listen. + + + +_I SEE THEE NOT_. + +Yes, Master, when thou comest thou shalt find + A little faith on earth, if I am here! +Thou know'st how oft I turn to thee my mind. + How sad I wait until thy face appear! + +Hast thou not ploughed my thorny ground full sore, + And from it gathered many stones and sherds? +Plough, plough and harrow till it needs no more-- + Then sow thy mustard-seed, and send thy birds. + +I love thee, Lord; and if I yield to fears, + Nor trust with triumph that pale doubt defies, +Remember, Lord, 'tis nigh two thousand years, + And I have never seen thee with mine eyes! + +And when I lift them from the wondrous tale, + See, all about me hath so strange a show! +Is that thy river running down the vale? + Is that thy wind that through the pines doth blow? + +Could'st thou right verily appear again, + The same who walked the paths of Palestine, +And here in England teach thy trusting men + In church and field and house, with word and sign? + +Here are but lilies, sparrows, and the rest! + My hands on some dear proof would light and stay! +But my heart sees John leaning on thy breast, + And sends them forth to do what thou dost say. + + + +_A BROKEN PRAYER_. + +0 Lord, my God, how long +Shall my poor heart pant for a boundless joy? +How long, O mighty Spirit, shall I hear +The murmur of Truth's crystal waters slide +From the deep caverns of their endless being, +But my lips taste not, and the grosser air +Choke each pure inspiration of thy will? + +I am a denseness 'twixt me and the light; +1 cannot round myself; my purest thought, +Ere it is thought, hath caught the taint of earth, +And mocked me with hard thoughts beyond my will. + +I would be a wind +Whose smallest atom is a viewless wing, +All busy with the pulsing life that throbs +To do thy bidding; yea, or the meanest thing +That has relation to a changeless truth, +Could I but be instinct with thee--each thought +The lightning of a pure intelligence, +And every act as the loud thunder-clap +Of currents warring for a vacuum. + +Lord, clothe me with thy truth as with a robe; +Purge me with sorrow; I will bend my head +And let the nations of thy waves pass over, +Bathing me in thy consecrated strength; +And let thy many-voiced and silver winds +Pass through my frame with their clear influence, +O save me; I am blind; lo, thwarting shapes +Wall up the void before, and thrusting out +Lean arms of unshaped expectation, beckon +Down to the night of all unholy thoughts. + +Oh, when at midnight one of thy strong angels +Stems back the waves of earthly influence +That shape unsteady continents around me, +And they draw off with the devouring gush +Of exile billows that have found a home, +Leaving me islanded on unseen points, +Hanging 'twixt thee and chaos--I have seen +Unholy shapes lop off my shining thoughts, +And they have lent me leathern wings of fear, +Of baffled pride and harrowing distrust; +And Godhead, with its crown of many stars, +Its pinnacles of flaming holiness, +And voice of leaves in the green summer-time, +Has seemed the shadowed image of a self! +Then my soul blackened; and I rose to find +And grasp my doom, and cleave the arching deeps +Of desolation. + +O Lord, my soul is a forgotten well +Clad round with its own rank luxuriance; +A fountain a kind sunbeam searches for, +Sinking the lustre of its arrowy finger +Through the long grass its own strange virtue +Hath blinded up its crystal eye withal: +Make me a broad strong river coming down +With shouts from its high hills, whose rocky hearts +Throb forth the joy of their stability +In watery pulses from their inmost deeps; +And I shall be a vein upon thy world, +Circling perpetual from the parent deep. + +Most mighty One, +Confirm and multiply my thoughts of good; +Help me to wall each sacred treasure round +With the firm battlements of special action. +Alas, my holy happy thoughts of thee +Make not perpetual nest within my soul, +But like strange birds of dazzling colours stoop +The trailing glories of their sunward speed +For one glad moment, filling my blasted boughs +With the sunshine of their wings. Make me a forest +Of gladdest life wherein perpetual spring +Lifts up her leafy tresses in the wind. +Lo, now I see +Thy trembling starlight sit among my pines, +And thy young moon slide down my arching boughs +With a soft sound of restless eloquence! +And I can feel a joy as when thy hosts +Of trampling winds, gathering in maddened bands, +Roar upward through the blue and flashing day +Round my still depths of uncleft solitude. + +Hear me, O Lord, +When the black night draws down upon my soul, +And voices of temptation darken down +The misty wind, slamming thy starry doors +With bitter jests:--"Thou fool!" they seem to say, +"Thou hast no seed of goodness in thee; all +Thy nature hath been stung right through and through; +Thy sin hath blasted thee and made thee old; +Thou hadst a will, but thou hast killed it dead, +And with the fulsome garniture of life +Built out the loathsome corpse; thou art a child +Of night and death, even lower than a worm; +Gather the skirts up of thy shadowy self, +And with what resolution thou hast left +Fall on the damned spikes of doom!" + +Oh, take me like a child, +If thou hast made me for thyself, my God, +And lead me up thy hills. I shall not fear, +So thou wilt make me pure, and beat back sin +With the terrors of thine eye: it fears me not +As once it might have feared thine own good image, +But lays bold siege at my heart's doors. + +Oh, I have seen a thing of beauty stand +In the young moonlight of its upward thoughts, +And the old earth came round it with its gifts +Of gladness, whispering leaves, and odorous plants, +Until its large and spiritual eye +Burned with intensest love: my God, I could +Have watched it evermore with Argus-eyes, +Lest when the noontide of the summer's sun +Let down the tented sunlight on the plain, +His flaming beams should scorch my darling flower; +And through the fruitless nights of leaden gloom, +Of plashing rains, and knotted winds of cold, +Yea, when thy lightnings ran across the sky, +And the loud stumbling blasts fell from the hills +Upon the mounds of death, I could have watched +Guarding such beauty like another life! +But, O my God, it changed!-- +Yet methinks I know not if it was not I! +Its beauty turned to ghastly loathsomeness! +Then a hand spurned me backwards from the clouds, +And with the gather of a mighty whirlwind, +Drew in the glittering gifts of life. + +How long, O Lord, how long? +I am a man lost in a rocky place! +Lo, all thy echoes smite me with confusion +Of varied speech,--the cry of vanished Life +Rolled upon nations' sighs--of hearts uplifted +Against despair--the stifled sounds of Woe +Sitting perpetual by its grey cold well-- +Or wasted Toil climbing its endless hills +With quickening gasps--or the thin winds of Joy +That beat about the voices of the crowd! + +Lord, hast thou sent +Thy moons to mock us with perpetual hope? +Lighted within our breasts the love of love +To make us ripen for despair, my God? + +Oh, dost thou hold each individual soul +Strung clear upon thy flaming rods of purpose? +Or does thine inextinguishable will +Stand on the steeps of night with lifted hand +Filling the yawning wells of monstrous space +With mixing thought--drinking up single life +As in a cup? and from the rending folds +Of glimmering purpose, do all thy navied stars +Slide through the gloom with mystic melody, +Like wishes on a brow? Oh, is my soul, +Hung like a dewdrop in thy grassy ways, +Drawn up again into the rack of change +Even through the lustre which created it? +--O mighty one, thou wilt not smite me through +With scorching wrath, because my spirit stands +Bewildered in thy circling mysteries! + +Oh lift the burdened gloom that chokes my soul +With dews of darkness; smite the lean winds of death +That run with howls around the ruined temples, +Blowing the souls of men about like leaves. + +Lo, the broad life-lands widen overhead, +Star-galaxies arise like drifting snow, +And happy life goes whitening down the stream +Of boundless action, whilst my fettered soul +Sits, as a captive in a noisome dungeon +Watches the pulses of his withered heart +Lave out the sparkling minutes of his life +On the idle flags! + +Come in the glory of thine excellence, +Rive the dense gloom with wedges of clear light, +And let the shimmer of thy chariot wheels +Burn through the cracks of night! So slowly, Lord, +To lift myself to thee with hands of toil, +Climbing the slippery cliffs of unheard prayer! +Lift up a hand among my idle days-- +One beckoning finger: I will cast aside +The clogs of earthly circumstance and run +Up the broad highways where the countless worlds +Sit ripening in the summer of thy love. +Send a clear meaning sparkling through the years; +Burst all the prison-doors, and make men's hearts +Gush up like fountains with thy melody; +Brighten the hollow eyes; fill with life's fruits +The hands that grope and scramble down the wastes; +And let the ghastly troops of withered ones +Come shining o'er the mountains of thy love. + +Lord, thy strange mysteries come thickening down +Upon my head like snowflakes, shutting out +The happy upper fields with chilly vapour. +Shall I content my soul with a weak sense +Of safety? or feed my ravenous hunger with +Sore purged hopes, that are not hopes but fears +Clad in white raiment? + +The creeds lie in the hollow of men's hearts +Like festering pools glassing their own corruption; +The slimy eyes stare up with dull approval, +And answer not when thy bright starry feet +Move on the watery floors: oh, shake men's souls +Together like the gathering of all oceans +Rent from their hidden chambers, till the waves +Lift up their million voices of high joy +Along the echoing cliffs! come thus, O Lord, +With nightly gifts of stars, and lay a hand +Of mighty peace upon the quivering flood. + +O wilt thou hear me when I cry to thee? +I am a child lost in a mighty forest; +The air is thick with voices, and strange hands +Reach through the dusk, and pluck me by the skirts. +There is a voice which sounds like words from home, +But, as I stumble on to reach it, seems +To leap from rock to rock: oh, if it is +Willing obliquity of sense, descend, +Heal all my wanderings, take me by the hand, +And lead me homeward through the shadows. +Let me not by my wilful acts of pride +Block up the windows of thy truth, and grow +A wasted, withered thing, that stumbles on +Down to the grave with folded hands of sloth +And leaden confidence. + + + +_COME DOWN_. + +Still am I haunting + Thy door with my prayers; +Still they are panting + Up thy steep stairs! +Wouldst thou not rather + Come down to my heart, +And there, O my Father, + Be what thou art? + + + +_A MOOD_. + +My thoughts are like fire-flies, pulsing in moonlight; + My heart like a silver cup, filled with red wine; +My soul a pale gleaming horizon, whence soon light + Will flood the gold earth with a torrent divine. + + + +_THE CARPENTER_. + +0 Lord, at Joseph's humble bench +Thy hands did handle saw and plane; +Thy hammer nails did drive and clench, +Avoiding knot and humouring grain. + +That thou didst seem, thou wast indeed, +In sport thy tools thou didst not use; +Nor, helping hind's or fisher's need, +The labourer's hire, too nice, refuse. + +Lord, might I be but as a saw, +A plane, a chisel, in thy hand!-- +No, Lord! I take it back in awe, +Such prayer for me is far too grand. + +I pray, O Master, let me lie, +As on thy bench the favoured wood; +Thy saw, thy plane, thy chisel ply, +And work me into something good. + +No, no; ambition, holy-high, +Urges for more than both to pray: +Come in, O gracious Force, I cry-- +O workman, share my shed of clay. + +Then I, at bench, or desk, or oar, +With knife or needle, voice or pen, +As thou in Nazareth of yore, +Shall do the Father's will again. + +Thus fashioning a workman rare, +O Master, this shall be thy fee: +Home to thy father thou shall bear +Another child made like to thee. + + + +_THE OLD GARDEN_. + +I. + +I stood in an ancient garden +With high red walls around; +Over them grey and green lichens +In shadowy arabesque wound. + +The topmost climbing blossoms +On fields kine-haunted looked out; +But within were shelter and shadow, +With daintiest odours about. + +There were alleys and lurking arbours, +Deep glooms into which to dive. +The lawns were as soft as fleeces, +Of daisies I counted but five. + +The sun-dial was so aged +It had gathered a thoughtful grace; +'Twas the round-about of the shadow +That so had furrowed its face. + +The flowers were all of the oldest +That ever in garden sprung; +Red, and blood-red, and dark purple +The rose-lamps flaming hung. + +Along the borders fringed +With broad thick edges of box +Stood foxgloves and gorgeous poppies +And great-eyed hollyhocks. + +There were junipers trimmed into castles, +And ash-trees bowed into tents; +For the garden, though ancient and pensive, +Still wore quaint ornaments. + +It was all so stately fantastic +Its old wind hardly would stir; +Young Spring, when she merrily entered, +Scarce felt it a place for her. + +II. + +I stood in the summer morning +Under a cavernous yew; +The sun was gently climbing, +And the scents rose after the dew. + +I saw the wise old mansion, +Like a cow in the noon-day heat, +Stand in a lake of shadows +That rippled about its feet. + +Its windows were oriel and latticed, +Lowly and wide and fair; +And its chimneys like clustered pillars +Stood up in the thin blue air. + +White doves, like the thoughts of a lady, +Haunted it all about; +With a train of green and blue comets +The peacock went marching stout. + +The birds in the trees were singing +A song as old as the world, +Of love and green leaves and sunshine, +And winter folded and furled. + +They sang that never was sadness +But it melted and passed away; +They sang that never was darkness +But in came the conquering day. + +And I knew that a maiden somewhere, +In a low oak-panelled room, +In a nimbus of shining garments, +An aureole of white-browed bloom, + +Looked out on the garden dreamy, +And knew not it was old; +Looked past the gray and the sombre, +Saw but the green and the gold, + +III. + +I stood in the gathering twilight, +In a gently blowing wind; +Then the house looked half uneasy, +Like one that was left behind. + +The roses had lost their redness, +And cold the grass had grown; +At roost were the pigeons and peacock, +The sun-dial seemed a head-stone. + +The world by the gathering twilight +In a gauzy dusk was clad; +Something went into my spirit +And made me a little sad. + +Grew and gathered the twilight, +It filled my heart and brain; +The sadness grew more than sadness, +It turned to a gentle pain. + +Browned and brooded the twilight, +Pervaded, absorbed the calm, +Till it seemed for some human sorrows +There could not be any balm. + +IV. + +Then I knew that, up a staircase +Which untrod will yet creak and shake, +Deep in a distant chamber +A ghost was coming awake-- + +In the growing darkness growing, +Growing till her eyes appear +Like spots of a deeper twilight, +But more transparent clear: + +Thin as hot air up-trembling, +Thin as sun-molten crape, +An ethereal shadow of something +Is taking a certain shape; + +A shape whose hands hang listless, +Let hang its disordered hair; +A shape whose bosom is heaving +But draws not in the air. + +And I know, what time the moonlight +On her nest of shadows will sit, +Out on the dim lawn gliding +That shadowy shadow will flit. + +V. + +The moon is dreaming upward +From a sea of cloud and gleam; +She looks as if she had seen me +Never but in a dream. + +Down the stair I know she is coming, +Bare-footed, lifting her train; +It creaks not--she hears it creaking +Where once there was a brain. + +Out at yon side-door she's coming, +With a timid glance right and left; +Her look is hopeless yet eager, +The look of a heart bereft. + +Across the lawn she is flitting, +Her thin gown feels the wind; +Are her white feet bending the grasses? +Her hair is lifted behind! + +VI. + +Shall I stay to look on her nearer? +Would she start and vanish away? +Oh, no, she will never see me, +Stand I near as I may! + +It is not this wind she is feeling, +Not this cool grass below; +'Tis the wind and the grass of an evening +A hundred years ago. + +She sees no roses darkling, +No stately hollyhocks dim; +She is only thinking and dreaming +The garden, the night, and him, + +The unlit windows behind her, +The timeless dial-stone, +The trees, and the moon, and the shadows +A hundred years agone! + +'Tis a night for a ghostly lover +To haunt the best-loved spot: +Is he come in his dreams to this garden? +I gaze, but I see him not. + +VII. + +I will not look on her nearer, +My heart would be torn in twain; +From my eyes the garden would vanish +In the falling of their rain. + +I will not look on a sorrow +That darkens into despair, +On the surge of a heart that cannot +Yet cannot cease to bear. + +My soul to hers would be calling: +She would hear no word it said! +If I cried aloud in the stillness +She would never turn her head! + +She is dreaming the sky above her, +She is dreaming the earth below:-- +This night she lost her lover +A hundred years ago. + + + +_A NOONDAY MELODY_. + +Everything goes to its rest; + The hills are asleep in the noon; +And life is as still in its nest + As the moon when she looks on a moon +In the depth of a calm river's breast + As it steals through a midnight in June. + +The streams have forgotten the sea + In the dream of their musical sound; +The sunlight is thick on the tree, + And the shadows lie warm on the ground,-- +So still, you may watch them and see + Every breath that awakens around. + +The churchyard lies still in the heat, + With its handful of mouldering bone, +As still as the long stalk of wheat + In the shadow that sits by the stone, +As still as the grass at my feet + When I walk in the meadows alone. + +The waves are asleep on the main, + And the ships are asleep on the wave; +And the thoughts are as still in my brain + As the echo that sleeps in the cave; +All rest from their labour and pain-- + Then why should not I in my grave? + + + +_WHO LIGHTS THE FIRE_? + +Who lights the fire--that forth so gracefully + And freely frolicketh the fairy smoke? + Some pretty one who never felt the yoke-- +Glad girl, or maiden more sedate than she. + +Pedant it cannot, villain cannot be! + Some genius, may-be, his own symbol woke; + But puritan, nor rogue in virtue's cloke, +Nor kitchen-maid has done it certainly! + +Ha, ha! you cannot find the lighter out + For all the blue smoke's pantomimic gesture-- + His name or nature, sex or age or vesture! +The fire was lit by human care, no doubt-- + But now the smoke is Nature's tributary, + Dancing 'twixt man and nothing like a fairy. + + + +_WHO WOULD HAVE THOUGHT_? + +Who would have thought that even an idle song + Were such a holy and celestial thing + That wickedness and envy cannot sing-- +That music for no moment lives with wrong? +I know this, for a very grievous throng, + Dark thoughts, low wishes, round my bosom cling, + And, underneath, the hidden holy spring +Stagnates because of their enchantment strong. + +Blow, breath of heaven, on all this poison blow! + And, heart, glow upward to this gracious breath! + Between them, vanish, mist of sin and death, +And let the life of life within me flow! + Love is the green earth, the celestial air, + And music runs like dews and rivers there! + + + +_ON A DECEMBER DAY_. + +I. + +This is the sweetness of an April day; + The softness of the spring is on the face + Of the old year. She has no natural grace, +But something comes to her from far away + +Out of the Past, and on her old decay + The beauty of her childhood you can trace.-- + And yet she moveth with a stormy pace, +And goeth quickly.--Stay, old year, oh, stay! + +We do not like new friends, we love the old; + With young, fierce, hopeful hearts we ill agree; +But thou art patient, stagnant, calm, and cold, + And not like that new year that is to be;-- + Life, promise, love, her eyes may fill, fair child! + We know the past, and will not be beguiled. + +II. + +Yet the free heart will not be captive long; + And if she changes often, she is free. + But if she changes: One has mastery +Who makes the joy the last in every song. +And so to-day I blessed the breezes strong + That swept the blue; I blessed the breezes free + That rolled wet leaves like rivers shiningly; +I blessed the purple woods I stood among. + +"And yet the spring is better!" Bitterness + Came with the words, but did not stay with them. + "Accomplishment and promise! field and stem +New green fresh growing in a fragrant dress! + And we behind with death and memory!" + --Nay, prophet-spring! but I will follow thee. + + + +_CHRISTMAS DAY, 1850_. + +Beautiful stories wed with lovely days + Like words and music:--what shall be the tale + Of love and nobleness that might avail +To express in action what this sweetness says-- + +The sweetness of a day of airs and rays + That are strange glories on the winter pale? + Alas, O beauty, all my fancies fail! +I cannot tell a story in thy praise! + +Thou hast, thou hast one--set, and sure to chime + With thee, as with the days of "winter wild;" + For Joy like Sorrow loves his blessed feet +Who shone from Heaven on Earth this Christmas-time + A Brother and a Saviour, Mary's child!-- + And so, fair day, thou _hast_ thy story sweet. + + + +_TO A FEBRUARY PRIMROSE_. + +I know not what among the grass thou art, + Thy nature, nor thy substance, fairest flower, + Nor what to other eyes thou hast of power +To send thine image through them to the heart; +But when I push the frosty leaves apart + And see thee hiding in thy wintry bower + Thou growest up within me from that hour, +And through the snow I with the spring depart. + +I have no words. But fragrant is the breath, + Pale beauty, of thy second life within. +There is a wind that cometh for thy death, + But thou a life immortal dost begin, +Where in one soul, which is thy heaven, shall dwell +Thy spirit, beautiful Unspeakable! + + + +_IN FEBRUARY_. + +Now in the dark of February rains, + Poor lovers of the sunshine, spring is born, + The earthy fields are full of hidden corn, +And March's violets bud along the lanes; + +Therefore with joy believe in what remains. + And thou who dost not feel them, do not scorn + Our early songs for winter overworn, +And faith in God's handwriting on the plains. + +"Hope" writes he, "Love" in the first violet, + "Joy," even from Heaven, in songs and winds and trees; + And having caught the happy words in these +While Nature labours with the letters yet, + Spring cannot cheat us, though her _hopes_ be broken, + Nor leave us, for we know what God hath spoken. + + + +_THE TRUE_. + +I envy the tree-tops that shake so high + In winds that fill them full of heavenly airs; + I envy every little cloud that shares +With unseen angels evening in the sky; +I envy most the youngest stars that lie + Sky-nested, and the loving heaven that bears, + And night that makes strong worlds of them unawares; +And all God's other beautiful and nigh! + +Nay, nay, I envy not! And these are dreams, + Fancies and images of real heaven! + My longings, all my longing prayers are given +For that which is, and not for that which seems. + Draw me, O Lord, to thy true heaven above, + The Heaven of thy Thought, thy Rest, thy Love. + + + +_THE DWELLERS THEREIN_. + +Down a warm alley, early in the year, + Among the woods, with all the sunshine in + And all the winds outside it, I begin +To think that something gracious will appear, +If anything of grace inhabit here, + Or there be friendship in the woods to win. + Might one but find companions more akin +To trees and grass and happy daylight clear, +And in this wood spend one long hour at home! + The fairies do not love so bright a place, +And angels to the forest never come, + But I have dreamed of some harmonious race, +The kindred of the shapes that haunt the shore +Of Music's flow and flow for evermore. + + + +_AUTUMN'S GOLD_. + +Along the tops of all the yellow trees, + The golden-yellow trees, the sunshine lies; + And where the leaves are gone, long rays surprise +Lone depths of thicket with their brightnesses; +And through the woods, all waste of many a breeze, + Cometh more joy of light for Poet's eyes-- + Green fields lying yellow underneath the skies, +And shining houses and blue distances. + +By the roadside, like rocks of golden ore + That make the western river-beds so bright, + The briar and the furze are all alight! +Perhaps the year will be so fair no more, + But now the fallen, falling leaves are gay, + And autumn old has shone into a Day! + + + +_PUNISHMENT_. + +Mourner, that dost deserve thy mournfulness, + Call thyself punished, call the earth thy hell; + Say, "God is angry, and I earned it well-- +I would not have him smile on wickedness:" + +Say this, and straightway all thy grief grows less:-- + "God rules at least, I find as prophets tell, + And proves it in this prison!"--then thy cell +Smiles with an unsuspected loveliness. + +--"A prison--and yet from door and window-bar + I catch a thousand breaths of his sweet air! + Even to me his days and nights are fair! +He shows me many a flower and many a star! +And though I mourn and he is very far, + He does not kill the hope that reaches there!" + + + +_SHEW US THE FATHER_. + +"Shew us the Father." Chiming stars of space, + And lives that fit the worlds, and means and powers, + A Thought that holds them up reveal to ours-- +A Wisdom we have been made wise to trace. +And, looking out from sweetest Nature's face, + From sunsets, moonlights, rivers, hills, and flowers, + Infinite love and beauty, all the hours, +Woo men that love them with divinest grace; +And to the depths of all the answering soul + High Justice speaks, and calls the world her own; + And yet we long, and yet we have not known +The very Father's face who means the whole! + Shew us the Father! Nature, conscience, love + Revealed in beauty, is there One above? + + + +_THE PINAFORE_. + +When peevish flaws his soul have stirred + To fretful tears for crossed desires, +Obedient to his mother's word + My child to banishment retires. + +As disappears the moon, when wind + Heaps miles of mist her visage o'er, +So vanisheth his face behind + The cloud of his white pinafore. + +I cannot then come near my child-- + A gulf between of gainful loss; +He to the infinite exiled-- + I waiting, for I cannot cross. + +Ah then, what wonder, passing show, + The Isis-veil behind it brings-- +Like that self-coffined creatures know, + Remembering legs, foreseeing wings! + +Mysterious moment! When or how + Is the bewildering change begun? +Hid in far deeps the awful now + When turns his being to the sun! + +A light goes up behind his eyes, + A still small voice behind his ears; +A listing wind about him sighs, + And lo the inner landscape clears! + +Hid by that screen, a wondrous shine + Is gathering for a sweet surprise; +As Moses grew, in dark divine, + Too radiant for his people's eyes. + +For when the garment sinks again, + Outbeams a brow of heavenly wile, +Clear as a morning after rain, + And sunny with a perfect smile. + +Oh, would that I the secret knew + Of hiding from my evil part, +And turning to the lovely true + The open windows of my heart! + +Lord, in thy skirt, love's tender gaol, + Hide thou my selfish heart's disgrace; +Fill me with light, and then unveil + To friend and foe a friendly face. + + + +_THE PRISM_. + +I. + +A pool of broken sunbeams lay + Upon the passage-floor, +Radiant and rich, profound and gay + As ever diamond bore. + +Small, flitting hands a handkerchief + Spread like a cunning trap: +Prone lay the gorgeous jewel-sheaf + In the glory-gleaner's lap! + +Deftly she folded up the prize, + With lovely avarice; +Like one whom having had made wise, + She bore it off in bliss. + +But ah, when for her prisoned gems + She peeped, to prove them there, +No glories broken from their stems + Lay in the kerchief bare! + +For still, outside the nursery door, + The bright persistency, +A molten diadem on the floor, + Lay burning wondrously. + +II. + +How oft have I laid fold from fold + And peered into my mind-- +To see of all the purple and gold + Not one gleam left behind! + +The best of gifts will not be stored: + The manna of yesterday +Has filled no sacred miser-hoard + To keep new need away. + +Thy grace, O Lord, it is thyself; + Thy presence is thy light; +I cannot lay it on my shelf, + Or take it from thy sight. + +For daily bread we daily pray-- + The want still breeds the cry; +And so we meet, day after day, + Thou, Father in heaven, and I. + +Is my house dreary, wall and floor, + Will not the darkness flit, +I go outside my shadowy door + And in thy rainbow sit. + + + +_SLEEP_. + +Oh! is it Death that comes +To have a foretaste of the whole? + To-night the planets and the stars + Will glimmer through my window-bars +But will not shine upon my soul! + +For I shall lie as dead +Though yet I am above the ground; + All passionless, with scarce a breath, + With hands of rest and eyes of death, +I shall be carried swiftly round. + +Or if my life should break +The idle night with doubtful gleams, + Through mossy arches will I go, + Through arches ruinous and low, +And chase the true and false in dreams. + +Why should I fall asleep? +When I am still upon my bed + The moon will shine, the winds will rise + And all around and through the skies +The light clouds travel o'er my head! + +O busy, busy things, +Ye mock me with your ceaseless life! + For all the hidden springs will flow + And all the blades of grass will grow +When I have neither peace nor strife. + +And all the long night through +The restless streams will hurry by; + And round the lands, with endless roar, + The white waves fall upon the shore, +And bit by bit devour the dry. + +Even thus, but silently, +Eternity, thy tide shall flow, + And side by side with every star + Thy long-drawn swell shall bear me far, +An idle boat with none to row. + +My senses fail with sleep; +My heart beats thick; the night is noon; + And faintly through its misty folds + I hear a drowsy clock that holds +Its converse with the waning moon. + +Oh, solemn mystery +That I should be so closely bound + With neither terror nor constraint, + Without a murmur of complaint, +And lose myself upon such ground! + + + +_SHARING_. + +On the far horizon there +Heaps of cloudy darkness rest; +Though the wind is in the air +There is stupor east and west. + +For the sky no change is making, +Scarce we know it from the plain; +Droop its eyelids never waking, +Blinded by the misty rain; + +Save on high one little spot, +Round the baffled moon a space +Where the tumult ceaseth not: +Wildly goes the midnight race! + +And a joy doth rise in me +Upward gazing on the sight, +When I think that others see +In yon clouds a like delight; + +How perchance an aged man +Struggling with the wind and rain, +In the moonlight cold and wan +Feels his heart grow young again; + +As the cloudy rack goes by, +How the life-blood mantles up +Till the fountain deep and dry +Yields once more a sparkling cup. + +Or upon the gazing child +Cometh down a thought of glory +Which will keep him undefiled +Till his head is old and hoary. + +For it may be he hath woke +And hath raised his fair young form; +Strangely on his eyes have broke +All the splendours of the storm; + +And his young soul forth doth leap +With the storm-clouds in the moon; +And his heart the light will keep +Though the vision passeth soon. + +Thus a joy hath often laughed +On my soul from other skies, +Bearing on its wings a draught +From the wells of Paradise, + +For that not to me alone +Comes a splendour out of fear; +Where the light of heaven hath shone +There is glory far and near. + + + +_IN BONDS_. + +Of the poor bird that cannot fly +Kindly you think and mournfully; +For prisoners and for exiles all +You let the tears of pity fall; +And very true the grief should be +That mourns the bondage of the free. + +The soul--_she_ has a fatherland; +Binds _her_ not many a tyrant's hand? +And the winged spirit has a home, +But can she always homeward come? +Poor souls, with all their wounds and foes, +Will you not also pity those? + + + +_HUNGER_. + +Father, I cry to thee for bread + With hungred longing, eager prayer; +Thou hear'st, and givest me instead + More hunger and a half-despair. + +0 Lord, how long? My days decline, + My youth is lapped in memories old; +I need not bread alone, but wine-- + See, cup and hand to thee I hold! + +And yet thou givest: thanks, O Lord, + That still my heart with hunger faints! +The day will come when at thy board + I sit, forgetting all my plaints. + +If rain must come and winds must blow, + And I pore long o'er dim-seen chart, +Yet, Lord, let not the hunger go, + And keep the faintness at my heart. + + + +_NEW YEAR'S EVE: A WAKING DREAM_. + +I have not any fearful tale to tell +Of fabled giant or of dragon-claw, +Or bloody deed to pilfer and to sell +To those who feed, with such, a gaping maw; +But what in yonder hamlet there befell, +Or rather what in it my fancy saw, +I will declare, albeit it may seem +Too simple and too common for a dream. + +Two brothers were they, and they sat alone +Without a word, beside the winter's glow; +For it was many years since they had known +The love that bindeth brothers, till the snow +Of age had frozen it, and it had grown +An icy-withered stream that would not flow; +And so they sat with warmth about their feet +And ice about their hearts that would not beat. + +And yet it was a night for quiet hope:-- +A night the very last of all the year +To many a youthful heart did seem to ope +An eye within the future, round and clear; +And age itself, that travels down the slope, +Sat glad and waiting as the hour drew near, +The dreamy hour that hath the heaviest chime, +Jerking our souls into the coming time. + +But they!--alas for age when it is old! +The silly calendar they did not heed; +Alas for age when in its bosom cold +There is not warmth to nurse a bladed weed! +They thought not of the morrow, but did hold +A quiet sitting as their hearts did feed +Inwardly on themselves, as still and mute +As if they were a-cold from head to foot. + +O solemn kindly night, she looketh still +With all her moon upon us now and then! +And though she dwelleth most in craggy hill, +She hath an eye unto the hearts of men! +So past a corner of the window-sill +She thrust a long bright finger just as ten +Had struck, and on the dial-plate it came, +Healing each hour's raw edge with tender flame. + +There is a something in the winds of heaven +That stirreth purposely and maketh men; +And unto every little wind is given +A thing to do ere it is still again; +So when the little clock had struck eleven, +The edging moon had drawn her silver pen +Across a mirror, making them aware +Of something ghostlier than their own grey hair. + +Therefore they drew aside the window-blind +And looked upon the sleeping town below, +And on the little church which sat behind +As keeping watch upon the scanty row +Of steady tombstones--some of which inclined +And others upright, in the moon did show +Like to a village down below the waves-- +It was so still and cool among the graves. + +But not a word from either mouth did fall, +Except it were some very plain remark. +Ah! why should such as they be glad at all? +For years they had not listened to the lark! +The child was dead in them!--yet did there crawl +A wish about their hearts; and as the bark +Of distant sheep-dog came, they were aware +Of a strange longing for the open air. + +Ah! many an earthy-weaving year had spun +A web of heavy cloud about their brain! +And many a sun and moon had come and gone +Since they walked arm in arm, these brothers twain! +But now with timéd pace their feet did stun +The village echoes into quiet pain: +The street appearéd very short and white, +And they like ghosts unquiet for the light. + +"Right through the churchyard," one of them did say +--I knew not which was elder of the two-- +"Right through the churchyard is our better way." +"Ay," said the other, "past the scrubby yew. +I have not seen her grave for many a day; +And it is in me that with moonlight too +It might be pleasant thinking of old faces, +And yet I seldom go into such places." + +Strange, strange indeed to me the moonlight wan +Sitting about a solitary stone! +Stranger than many tales it is to scan +The earthy fragment of a human bone; +But stranger still to see a grey old man +Apart from all his fellows, and alone +With the pale night and all its giant quiet; +Therefore that stone was strange and those two by it. + +It was their mother's grave, and here were hid +The priceless pulses of a mother's soul. +Full sixty years it was since she had slid +Into the other world through that deep hole. +But as they stood it seemed the coffin-lid +Grew deaf with sudden hammers!--'twas the mole +Niddering about its roots.--Be still, old men, +Be very still and ye will hear again. + +Ay, ye will hear it! Ye may go away, +But it will stay with you till ye are dead! +It is but earthy mould and quiet clay, +But it hath power to turn the oldest head. +Their eyes met in the moon, and they did say +More than a hundred tongues had ever said. +So they passed onwards through the rapping wicket +Into the centre of a firry thicket. + +It was a solemn meeting of Earth's life, +An inquest held upon the death of things; +And in the naked north full thick and rife +The snow-clouds too were meeting as on wings +Shorn round the edges by the frost's keen knife; +And the trees seemed to gather into rings, +Waiting to be made blind, as they did quail +Among their own wan shadows thin and pale. + +Many strange noises are there among trees, +And most within the quiet moony light, +Therefore those aged men are on their knees +As if they listened somewhat:--Ye are right-- +Upwards it bubbles like the hum of bees! +Although ye never heard it till to-night, +The mighty mother calleth ever so +To all her pale-eyed children from below. + +Ay, ye have walked upon her paven ways, +And heard her voices in the market-place, +But ye have never listened what she says +When the snow-moon is pressing on her face! +One night like this is more than many days +To him who hears the music and the bass +Of deep immortal lullabies which calm +His troubled soul as with a hushing psalm. + +I know not whether there is power in sleep +To dim the eyelids of the shining moon, +But so it seemed then, for still more deep +She grew into a heavy cloud, which, soon +Hiding her outmost edges, seemed to keep +A pressure on her; so there came a swoon +Among the shadows, which still lay together +But in their slumber knew not one another. + +But while the midnight gropéd for the chime +As she were heavy with excess of dreams, +She from the cloud's thick web a second time +Made many shadows, though with minished beams; +And as she lookéd eastward through the rime +Of a thin vapour got of frosty steams, +There fell a little snow upon the crown +Of a near hillock very bald and brown. + +And on its top they found a little spring, +A very helpful little spring indeed, +Which evermore unwound a tiny string +Of earnest water with continual speed-- +And so the brothers stood and heard it sing; +For all was snowy-still, and not a seed +Had struck, and nothing came but noises light +Of the continual whitening of the night. + +There is a kindness in the falling snow-- +It is a grey head to the spring time mild; +So as the creamy vapour bowéd low +Crowning the earth with honour undefiled, +Within each withered man arose a glow +As if he fain would turn into a child: +There was a gladness somewhere in the ground +Which in his bosom nowhere could be found! + +Not through the purple summer or the blush +Of red voluptuous roses did it come +That silent speaking voice, but through the slush +And snowy quiet of the winter numb! +It was a barren mound that heard the gush +Of living water from two fountains dumb-- +Two rocky human hearts which long had striven +To make a pleasant noise beneath high heaven! + +Now from the village came the onward shout +Of lightsome voices and of merry cheer; +It was a youthful group that wandered out +To do obeisance to the glad new year; +And as they passed they sang with voices stout +A song which I was very fain to hear, +But as they darkened on, away it died, +And the two men walked homewards side by side. + + + +_FROM NORTH WALES: TO THE MOTHER_. + +When the summer gave us a longer day, +And the leaves were thickest, I went away: +Like an isle, through dark clouds, of the infinite blue, +Was that summer-ramble from London and you. + +It was but one burst into life and air, +One backward glance on the skirts of care, +A height on the hills with the smoke below-- +And the joy that came quickly was quick to go. + +But I know and I cannot forget so soon +How the Earth is shone on by Sun and Moon; +How the clouds hide the mountains, and how they move +When the morning sunshine lies warm above. + +I know how the waters fall and run +In the rocks and the heather, away from the sun; +How they hang like garlands on all hill-sides, +And are the land's music, those crystal tides. + +I know how they gather in valleys fair, +Meet valleys those beautiful waves to bear; +How they dance through the rocks, how they rest in the pool, +How they darken, how sparkle, and how they are cool. + +I know how the rocks from their kisses climb +To keep the storms off with a front sublime; +And how on their platforms and sloping walls +The shadow of oak-tree and fir-tree falls. + +I know how the valleys are bright from far, +Rocks, meadows, and waters, the wood and the scaur; +And how the roadside and the nearest hill +The foxglove and heather and harebell fill. + +I know--but the joy that was quick to go +Gave more knowledge to me than words can shew; +And _you_ know the story, and how they fare +Who love the green earth and the heavenly air. + + + +_COME TO ME_. + +Come to me, come to me, O my God; + Come to me everywhere! +Let the trees mean thee, and the grassy sod, + And the water and the air! + +For thou art so far that I often doubt, + As on every side I stare, +Searching within, and looking without, + If thou canst be anywhere. + +How did men find thee in days of old? + How did they grow so sure? +They fought in thy name, they were glad and bold, + They suffered, and kept themselves pure! + +But now they say--neither above the sphere + Nor down in the heart of man, +But solely in fancy, ambition, and fear + The thought of thee began. + +If only that perfect tale were true + Which ages have not made old, +Which of endless many makes one anew, + And simplicity manifold! + +But _he_ taught that they who did his word + The truth of it sure would know: +I will try to do it: if he be lord + Again the old faith will glow; + +Again the old spirit-wind will blow + That he promised to their prayer; +And obeying the Son, I too shall know + His father everywhere! + + + +_A FEAR_. + +O Mother Earth, I have a fear +Which I would tell to thee-- +Softly and gently in thine ear +When the moon and we are three. + +Thy grass and flowers are beautiful; +Among thy trees I hide; +And underneath the moonlight cool +Thy sea looks broad and wide; + +But this I fear--lest thou shouldst grow +To me so small and strange, +So distant I should never know +On thee a shade of change, + +Although great earthquakes should uplift +Deep mountains from their base, +And thy continual motion shift +The lands upon thy face;-- + +The grass, the flowers, the dews that lie +Upon them as before-- +Driven upwards evermore, lest I +Should love these things no more. + +Even now thou dimly hast a place +In deep star galaxies! +And I, driven ever on through space, +Have lost thee in the skies! + + + +_THE LOST HOUSE_. + +Out of thy door I run to do the thing + That calls upon me. Straight the wind of words +Whoops from mine ears the sounds of them that sing +About their work, "My God, my father-king!" + +I turn in haste to see thy blessed door, + But, lo, a cloud of flies and bats and birds, + And stalking vapours, and vague monster-herds + Have risen and lighted, rushed and swollen between! + +Ah me! the house of peace is there no more. +Was it a dream then?--Walls, fireside, and floor, + And sweet obedience, loving, calm, and free, + Are vanished--gone as they had never been! + + I labour groaning. Comes a sudden sheen!-- +And I am kneeling at my father's knee, +Sighing with joy, and hoping utterly. + + + +_THE TALK OF THE ECHOES_. + +A FRAGMENT. + +When the cock crows loud from the glen, +And the moor-cock chirrs from the heather, +What hear ye and see ye then, +Ye children of air and ether? + +1_st Echo_. + A thunder as of waves at the rising of the moon, + And a darkness on the graves though the day is at its noon. + +_2nd Echo_. A springing as of grass though the air is damp and chill, + And a glimmer from the river that winds about the hill. + +_1st Echo_. A lapse of crags that leant from the mountain's earthen +sheath, + And a shock of ruin sent on the river underneath. + +_2nd Echo_. A sound as of a building that groweth fair and good, + And a piping of the thrushes from the hollow of the wood. + +_1st Echo_. A wailing as of lambs that have wandered from the flock, + And a bleating of their dams that was answered from the rock. + +_2nd Echo_. A breathing as of cattle in the shadow where they dream, + And a sound of children playing with the pebbles in the stream. + +_1st Echo_. A driving as of clouds in the kingdom of the air, + And a tumult as of crowds that mingle everywhere. + +_2nd Echo_. A waving of the grass, and a passing o'er the lakes, + And a shred of tempest-cloud in the glory when it breaks. + + + +_THE GOAL_ + +In God alone, the perfect end, +Wilt thou find thyself or friend. + + + +_THE HEALER_. + +They come to thee, the halt, the maimed, the blind, + The devil-torn, the sick, the sore; +Thy heart their well of life they find, + Thine ear their open door. + +Ah, who can tell the joy in Palestine-- + What smiles and tears of rescued throngs! +Their lees of life were turned to wine, + Their prayers to shouts and songs! + +The story dear our wise men fable call, + Give paltry facts the mighty range; +To me it seems just what should fall, + And nothing very strange. + +But were I deaf and lame and blind and sore, + I scarce would care for cure to ask; +Another prayer should haunt thy door-- + Set thee a harder task. + +If thou art Christ, see here this heart of mine, + Torn, empty, moaning, and unblest! +Had ever heart more need of thine, + If thine indeed hath rest? + +Thy word, thy hand right soon did scare the bane + That in their bodies death did breed; +If thou canst cure my deeper pain + Then art thou lord indeed. + + + +_OH THAT A WIND_. + +Oh that a wind would call + From the depths of the leafless wood! +Oh that a voice would fall + On the ear of my solitude! + +Far away is the sea, + With its sound and its spirit tone; +Over it white clouds flee; + But I am alone, alone. + +Straight and steady and tall + The trees stand on their feet; +Fast by the old stone wall + The moss grows green and sweet; +But my heart is full of fears, + For the sun shines far away; +And they look in my face through tears, + And the light of a dying day. + +My heart was glad last night + As I pressed it with my palm; +Its throb was airy and light + As it sang some spirit psalm; +But it died away in my breast + As I wandered forth to-day,-- +As a bird sat dead on its nest, + While others sang on the spray. + +O weary heart of mine, + Is there ever a Truth for thee? +Will ever a sun outshine + But the sun that shines on me? +Away, away through the air + The clouds and the leaves are blown; +And my heart hath need of prayer, + For it sitteth alone, alone. + + + +_A VISION OF ST. ELIGIUS_. + +I. + +I see thy house, but I am blown about, + A wind-mocked kite, between the earth and sky, +All out of doors--alas! of thy doors out, + And drenched in dews no summer suns can dry. + +For every blast is passion of my own; + The dews cold sweats of selfish agony; +Dank vapour steams from memories lying prone; + And all my soul is but a stifled cry. + +II. + +Lord, thou dost hold my string, else were I driven + Down to some gulf where I were tossed no more, +No turmoil telling I was not in heaven, + No billows raving on a blessed shore. + +Thou standest on thy door-sill, calm as day, + And all my throbs and pangs are pulls from thee; +Hold fast the string, lest I should break away + And outer dark and silence swallow me. + +III. + +No longer fly thy kite, Lord; draw me home. + Thou pull'st the string through all the distance bleak; +Lord, I am nearing thee; O Lord, I come; + Thy pulls grow stronger and the wind grows weak. + +In thy remodelling hands thou tak'st thy kite; + A moment to thy bosom hold'st me fast. +Thou flingest me abroad:--lo, in thy might + A strong-winged bird I soar on every blast! + + + +_OF THE SON OF MAN_. + +I. I honour Nature, holding it unjust +To look with jealousy on her designs; +With every passing year more fast she twines +About my heart; with her mysterious dust +Claim I a fellowship not less august +Although she works before me and combines +Her changing forms, wherever the sun shines +Spreading a leafy volume on the crust +Of the old world; and man himself likewise +Is of her making: wherefore then divorce +What God hath joined thus, and rend by force +Spirit away from substance, bursting ties +By which in one great bond of unity +God hath together bound all things that be? + +II. And in these lines my purpose is to show +That He who left the Father, though he came +Not with art-splendour or the earthly flame +Of genius, yet in that he did bestow +His own true loving heart, did cause to grow, +Unseen and buried deep, whate'er we name +The best in human art, without the shame +Of idle sitting in most real woe; +And that whate'er of Beautiful and Grand +The Earth contains, by him was not despised, +But rather was so deeply realized +In word and deed, though not with artist hand, +That it was either hid or all disguised +From those who were not wise to understand. + +III. Art is the bond of weakness, and we find +Therein acknowledgment of failing power: +A man would worship, gazing on a flower-- +Onward he passeth, lo his eyes are blind! +The unenlivened form he left behind +Grew up within him only for an hour! +And he will grapple with Nature till the dower +Of strength shall be retreasured in his mind. +And each form-record is a high protest +Of treason done unto the soul of man, +Which, striving upwards, ever is oppress'd +By the old bondage, underneath whose ban +He, failing in his struggle for the best, +Must live in pain upon what food he can. + +IV. Moreover, were there perfect harmony +'Twixt soul and Nature, we should never waste +The precious hours in gazing, but should haste +To assimilate her offerings, and we +From high life-elements, as doth the tree, +Should grow to higher; so what we call Taste +Is a slow living as of roots encased +In the grim chinks of some sterility +Both cramping and withholding. Art is Truth, +But Truth dammed up and frozen, gagged and bound +As is a streamlet icy and uncouth +Which pebbles hath and channel but no sound: +Give it again its summer heart of youth +And it will be a life upon the ground. + +V. And Love had not been prisoned in cold stone, +Nor Beauty smeared on the dead canvas so, +Had not their worshipper been forced to go +Questful and restless through the world alone, +Searching but finding not, till on him shone +Back from his own deep heart a chilly glow +As of a frost-nipped sunbeam, or of snow +Under a storm-dodged crescent which hath grown +Wasted to mockery; and beneath such gleam +His wan conceits have found an utterance, +Which, had they found a true and sunny beam, +Had ripened into real touch and glance-- +Nay more, to real deed, the Truth of all, +To some perfection high and personal. + +VI. "But yet the great of soul have ever been +The first to glory in all works of art; +For from the genius-form would ever dart +A light of inspiration, and a sheen +As of new comings; and ourselves have seen +Men of stern purpose to whose eyes would start +Sorrow at sight of sorrow though no heart +Did riot underneath that chilly, screen; +And hence we judge such utterance native to +The human soul--expression highest--best." +--Nay, it is by such sign they will pursue, +Albeit unknowing, Beauty, without rest; +And failing in the search, themselves will fling +Speechless before its shadow, worshipping. + +VII. And how shall he whose mission is to bring +The soul to worship at its rightful shrine, +Seeing in Beauty what is most divine, +Give out the mightiest impulse, and thus fling +His soul into the future, scattering +The living seed of wisdom? Shall there shine +From underneath his hand a matchless line +Of high earth-beauties, till the wide world ring +With the far clang that tells a missioned soul, +Kneeling to homage all about his feet? +Alas for such a gift were this the whole, +The only bread of life men had to eat! +Lo, I behold them dead about him now, +And him the heart of death, for all that brow! + +VIII. If _Thou_ didst pass by Art, thou didst not scorn +The souls that by such symbol yearned in vain +From Truth and Love true nourishment to gain: +On thy warm breast, so chilly and forlorn +Fell these thy nurslings little more than born +That thou wast anguished, and there fell a rain +From thy blest eyelids, and in grief and pain +Thou partedst from them yet one night and morn +To find them wholesome food and nourishment +Instead of what their blindness took for such, +Laying thyself a seed in earthen rent +From which, outspringing to the willing touch, +Riseth for all thy children harvest great, +For which they will all learn to bless thee yet. + +IV. Thou sawest Beauty in the streaking cloud +When grief lift up those eyelids; nor in scorn +Broke ever on thine eyes the purple morn +Along the cedar tops; to thee aloud +Spake the night-solitude, when hushed and bowed +The earth lay at thy feet stony and worn; +Loving thou markedst when the lamb unshorn +Was glad before thee, and amongst the crowd +Famished and pent in cities did thine eye +Read strangest glory--though in human art +No record lives to tell us that thy heart +Bowed to its own deep beauty: deeper did lie +The burden of thy mission, even whereby +We know that Beauty liveth where Thou art. + +X. Doubtless thine eyes have watched the sun aspire +From that same Olivet, when back on thee +Flushed upwards after some night-agony +Thy proper Godhead, with a purer fire +Purpling thy Infinite, and in strong desire +Thou sattest in the dawn that was to be +Uplifted on our dark perplexity. +Yea in thee lay thy soul, a living lyre, +And each wild beauty smote it, though the sound +Rung to the night-winds oft and desert air; +Beneath thine eyes the lily paled more fair, +And each still shadow slanting on the ground +Lay sweetly on thee as commissioned there, +So full wast thou of eyes all round and round. + +XI. And so thou neededst not our human skill +To fix what thus were transient--there it grew +Wedded to thy perfection; and anew +With every coming vision rose there still +Some living principle which did fulfil +Thy most legitimate manhood; and unto +Thy soul all Nature rendered up its due +With not a contradiction; and each hill +And mountain torrent and each wandering light +Grew out divinely on thy countenance, +Whereon, as we are told, by word and glance +Thy hearers read an ever strange delight--So +strange to them thy Truth, they could not tell +What made thy message so unspeakable. + +XII. And by such living witness didst thou preach: +Not with blind hands of groping forward thrust +Into the darkness, gathering only dust, +But by this real sign--that thou didst reach, +In natural order, rising each from each, +Thy own ideals of the True and Just; +And that as thou didst live, even so he must +Who would aspire his fellow-men to teach, +Looking perpetual from new heights of Thought +On his old self. Of art no scorner thou! +Instead of leafy chaplet, on thy brow +Wearing the light of manhood, thou hast brought +Death unto Life! Above all statues now, +Immortal Artist, hail! thy work is wrought! + +XIII. Solemn and icy stand ye in my eyes, +Far up into the niches of the Past, +Ye marble statues, dim and holden fast +Within your stony homes! nor human cries +Had shook you from your frozen phantasies +Or sent the life-blood through you, till there passed +Through all your chilly bulks a new life-blast +From the Eternal Living, and ye rise +From out your stiffened postures rosy-warm, +Walking abroad a goodly company +Of living virtues at that wondrous charm, +As he with human heart and hand and eye +Walked sorrowing upon our highways then, +The Eternal Father's living gift to men! + +XIV. As the pent torrent in uneasy rest +Under the griping rocks, doth ever keep +A monstrous working as it lies asleep +In the round hollow of some mountain's breast, +Till where it hideth in its sweltering nest +Some earthquake finds it, and its waters leap +Forth to the sunshine down the mighty steep, +So in thee once was anguished forth the quest +Whereby man sought for life-power as he lay +Under his own proud heart and black despair +Wedged fast and stifled up with loads of care, +Yet at dumb struggle with the tyrant clay; +Thou wentest down below the roots of prayer, +And he hath cried aloud since that same day! + +XV. As he that parts in hatred from a friend +Mixing with other men forgets the woe +Which anguished him when he beheld and lo +Two souls had fled asunder which did bend +Under the same blue heaven! yet ere the end, +When the loud world hath tossed him to and fro, +Will often strangely reappear that glow +At simplest memory which some chance may send, +Although much stronger bonds have lost their power: +So thou God-sent didst come in lowly guise, +Striking on simple chords,--not with surprise +Or mightiest recollectings in that hour, +But like remembered fragrance of a flower +A man with human heart and loving eyes. + +_March_, 1852. + + + +_A SONG-SERMON:_ + +Job xiv. 13-15. + +RONDEL. + +Would that thou hid me in the grave +And kept me with death's gaoler-care; +Until thy wrath away should wear +A sentence fixed thy prisoner gave! +I would endure with patience brave +So thou remembered I was there! +Would that thou hid me in the grave, +And kept me with death's gaoler-care! + +To see thy creature thou wouldst crave-- +Desire thy handiwork so fair; +Then wouldst thou call through death's dank air +And I would answer from the cave! +Would that thou hid me in the grave, +And kept me with death's gaoler-care! + + + +_WORDS IN THE NIGHT_. + +I woke at midnight, and my heart, +My beating heart, said this to me: +Thou seest the moon, how calm and bright! +The world is fair by day and night, +But what is that to thee? +One touch to me, down dips the light +Over the land and sea. +All is mine, all is my own! +Toss the purple fountain high! +The breast of man is a vat of stone; +I am alive, I, only I! + +One little touch and all is dark-- +The winter with its sparkling moons, +The spring with all her violets, +The crimson dawns and rich sunsets, +The autumn's yellowing noons! +I only toss my purple jets, +And thou art one that swoons +Upon a night of gust and roar, +Shipwrecked among the waves, and seems +Across the purple hills to roam: +Sweet odours touch him from the foam, +And downward sinking still he dreams +He walks the clover fields at home +And hears the rattling teams. +All is mine, all is my own! +Toss the purple fountain high! +The breast of man is a vat of stone; +I am alive, I, only I! + +Thou hast beheld a throated fountain spout +Full in the air, and in the downward spray +A hovering Iris span the marble tank, +Which, as the wind came, ever rose and sank, +Violet and red; so my continual play +Makes beauty for the Gods with many a prank +Of human excellence, while they, +Weary of all the noon, in shadows sweet, +Supine and heavy-eyed rest in the boundless heat. +Let the world's fountain play! +Beauty is pleasant in the eyes of Jove; +Betwixt the wavering shadows where he lies +He marks the dancing column with his eyes +Celestial, and amid his inmost grove +Upgathers all his limbs, serenely blest, +Lulled by the mellow noise of the great world's unrest. + +One heart beats in all nature, differing +But in the work it works; its doubts and clamours +Are but the waste and brunt of instruments +Wherewith a work is done, or as the hammers +On forge Cyclopean plied beneath the rents +Of lowest Etna, conquering into shape +The hard and scattered ore; +Choose thou narcotics, and the dizzy grape +Outworking passion, lest with horrid crash +Thy life go from thee in a night of pain; +So tutoring thy vision, shall the flash +Of dove white-breasted be to thee no more +Than a white stone heavy upon the plain. + +Hark, the cock crows loud! +And without, all ghastly and ill, +Like a man uplift in his shroud, +The white, white morn is propped on the hill; +And adown from the eaves, pointed and chill +The icicles 'gin to glitter +And the birds with a warble short and shrill +Pass by the chamber-window still-- +With a quick, uneasy twitter! +Let me pump warm blood, for the cold is bitter; +And wearily, wearily, one by one, +Men awake with the weary sun! +Life is a phantom shut in thee: +I am the master and keep the key; +So let me toss thee the days of old +Crimson and orange and green and gold; +So let me fill thee yet again +With a rush of dreams from my spout amain; +For all is mine, all is my own: +Toss the purple fountain high! +The breast of man is a vat of stone, +And I am alive, I only, I! + + + +_CONSIDER THE RAVENS_ + +Lord, according to thy words, +I have considered thy birds; +And I find their life good, +And better the better understood: +Sowing neither corn nor wheat +They have all that they can eat; +Reaping no more than they sow +They have more than they could stow; +Having neither barn nor store, +Hungry again, they eat more. + +Considering, I see too that they +Have a busy life, and plenty of play; +In the earth they dig their bills deep +And work well though they do not heap; +Then to play in the air they are not loath, +And their nests between are better than both. +But this is when there blow no storms, +When berries are plenty in winter, and worms, +When feathers are rife, with oil enough-- +To keep the cold out and send the rain off; +If there come, indeed, a long hard frost +Then it looks as thy birds were lost. + +But I consider further, and find +A hungry bird has a free mind; +He is hungry to-day, not to-morrow, +Steals no comfort, no grief doth borrow; +This moment is his, thy will hath said it, +The next is nothing till thou hast made it. + +Thy bird has pain, but has no fear +Which is the worst of any gear; +When cold and hunger and harm betide him, +He does not take them and stuff inside him; +Content with the day's ill he has got, +He waits just, nor haggles with his lot: +Neither jumbles God's will +With driblets from his own still. + +But next I see, in my endeavour, +Thy birds here do not live for ever; +That cold or hunger, sickness or age +Finishes their earthly stage; +The rooks drop in cold nights, +Leaving all their wrongs and rights; +Birds lie here and birds lie there +With their feathers all astare; +And in thy own sermon, thou +That the sparrow falls dost allow. + +It shall not cause me any alarm, +For neither so comes the bird to harm +Seeing our father, thou hast said, +Is by the sparrow's dying bed; +Therefore it is a blessed place, +And the sparrow in high grace. + +It cometh therefore to this, Lord: +I have considered thy word, +And henceforth will be thy bird. + + + +_THE WIND OF THE WORLD_. + +Chained is the Spring. The Night-wind bold + Blows over the hard earth; +Time is not more confused and cold, + Nor keeps more wintry mirth. + +Yet blow, and roll the world about-- + Blow, Time, blow, winter's Wind! +Through chinks of time heaven peepeth out, + And Spring the frost behind. + + + +_SABBATH BELLS_. + +Oh holy Sabbath bells, +Ye have a pleasant voice! +Through all the land your music swells, +And man with one commandment tells +To rest and to rejoice. + +As birds rejoice to flee +From dark and stormy skies +To brighter lands beyond the sea +Where skies are calm, and wings are free +To wander and to rise; + +As thirsty travellers sing, +Through desert paths that pass, +To hear the welcome waters spring, +And see, beyond the spray they fling +Tall trees and waving grass; + +So we rejoice to know +Your melody begun; +For when our paths are parched below +Ye tell us where green pastures glow +And living waters run. + +LONDON, _December_ 15, 1840. + + + +_FIGHTING_. + +Here is a temple strangely wrought: + Within it I can see +Two spirits of a diverse thought + Contend for mastery. + +One is an angel fair and bright, + Adown the aisle comes he, +Adown the aisle in raiment white, + A creature fair to see. + +The other wears an evil mien, + And he hath doubtless slipt, +A fearful being dark and lean, + Up from the mouldy crypt. + + * * * * * + +Is that the roof that grows so black? + Did some one call my name? +Was it the bursting thunder crack + That filled this place with flame? + +I move--I wake from out my sleep: + Some one hath victor been! +I see two radiant pinions sweep, + And I am borne between. + +Beneath the clouds that under roll + An upturned face I see-- +A dead man's face, but, ah, the soul + Was right well known to me! + +A man's dead face! Away I haste + Through regions calm and fair: +Go vanquish sin, and thou shall taste + The same celestial air. + + + +_AFTER THE FASHION OF AN OLD EMBLEM._ + +I have long enough been working down in my cellar, + Working spade and pick, boring-chisel and drill; +I long for wider spaces, airy, clear-dark, and stellar: + Successless labour never the love of it did fill. + +More profit surely lies in a holy, pure quiescence, + In a setting forth of cups to catch the heavenly rain, +In a yielding of the being to the ever waiting presence, + In a lifting of the eyes upward, homeward again! + +Up to my garret, its storm-windows and skylights! + There I'll lay me on the floor, and patient let the sun, +The moon and the stars, the blueness and the twilights + Do what their pleasure is, and wait till they have done. + +But, lo, I hear a waving on the roof of great pinions! + 'Tis the labour of a windmill, broad-spreading to the wind! +Lo, down there goes a. shaft through all the house-dominions! + I trace it to a cellar, whose door I cannot find. + +But there I hear ever a keen diamond-drill in motion, + Now fast and now slow as the wind sits in the sails, +Drilling and boring to the far eternal ocean, + The living well of all wells whose water never fails. + +So now I go no more to the cellar to my labour, + But up to my garret where those arms are ever going; +There the sky is ever o'er me, and the wind my blessed neighbour, + And the prayer-handle ready turns the sails to its blowing. + +Blow, blow, my blessed wind; oh, keep ever blowing! + Keep the great windmill going full and free; +So shall the diamond-drill down below keep going + Till in burst the waters of God's eternal sea. + + + +_A PRAYER IN SICKNESS._ + +Thou foldest me in sickness; + Thou callest through the cloud; +I batter with the thickness + Of the swathing, blinding shroud: +Oh, let me see thy face, +The only perfect grace + That thou canst show thy child. + +0 father, being-giver, + Take off the sickness-cloud; +Saviour, my life deliver + From this dull body-shroud: +Till I can see thy face +I am not full of grace, + I am not reconciled. + + + +_QUIET DEAD!_ + +Quiet, quiet dead, +Have ye aught to say +From your hidden bed +In the earthy clay? + +Fathers, children, mothers, +Ye are very quiet; +Can ye shout, my brothers? +I would know you by it! + +Have ye any words +That are like to ours? +Have ye any birds? +Have ye any flowers? + +Could ye rise a minute +When the sun is warm? +I would know you in it, +I would take no harm. + +I am half afraid +In the ghostly night; +If ye all obeyed +I should fear you quite. + +But when day is breaking +In the purple east +I would meet you waking-- +One of you at least-- + +When the sun is tipping +Every stony block, +And the sun is slipping +Down the weathercock. + +Quiet, quiet dead, +I will not perplex you; +What my tongue hath said +Haply it may vex you! + +Yet I hear you speaking +With a quiet speech, +As if ye were seeking +Better things to teach: + +"Wait a little longer, +Suffer and endure +Till your heart is stronger +And your eyes are pure-- + +A little longer, brother, +With your fellow-men: +We will meet each other +Otherwhere again." + + + +_LET YOUR LIGHT SO SHINE._ + +Sometimes, O Lord, thou lightest in my head + A lamp that well might pharos all the lands; +Anon the light will neither rise nor spread: + Shrouded in danger gray the beacon stands! + +A pharos? Oh dull brain! poor dying lamp + Under a bushel with an earthy smell! +Mouldering it stands, in rust and eating damp, + While the slow oil keeps oozing from its cell! + +For me it were enough to be a flower + Knowing its root in thee, the Living, hid, +Ordained to blossom at the appointed hour, + And wake or sleep as thou, my Nature, bid; + +But hear my brethren in their darkling fright! + Hearten my lamp that it may shine abroad +Then will they cry--Lo, there is something bright! + Who kindled it if not the shining God? + + + +_TRIOLET._ + +When the heart is a cup + In the body low lying, +And wine, drop by drop + Falls into that cup + +From somewhere high up, + It is good to be dying +With the heart for a cup + In the body low lying. + + + +_THE SOULS' RISING._ + + See how the storm of life ascends +Up through the shadow of the world! +Beyond our gaze the line extends, +Like wreaths of vapour tempest-hurled! +Grasp tighter, brother, lest the storm +Should sweep us down from where we stand, +And we may catch some human form +We know, amongst the straining band. + + See! see in yonder misty cloud +One whirlwind sweep, and we shall hear +The voice that waxes yet more loud +And louder still approaching near! + + Tremble not, brother, fear not thou, +For yonder wild and mystic strain +Will bring before us strangely now +The visions of our youth again! + + Listen! oh listen! +See how its eyeballs roll and glisten +With a wild and fearful stare +Upwards through the shining air, +Or backwards with averted look, +As a child were gazing at a book +Full of tales of fear and dread, +When the thick night-wind came hollow and dead. + + Round about it, wavering and light. +As the moths flock round a candle at night, +A crowd of phantoms sheeted and dumb +Strain to its words as they shrilly come: +Brother, my brother, dost thou hear? +They pierce through the tumult sharp and clear! + + "The rush of speed is on my soul, +My eyes are blind with things I see; +I cannot grasp the awful whole, +I cannot gird the mystery! +The mountains sweep like mist away; +The great sea shakes like flakes of fire; +The rush of things I cannot see +Is mounting upward higher and higher! +Oh! life was still and full of calm +In yonder spot of earthly ground, +But now it rolls a thunder-psalm, +Its voices drown my ear in sound! +Would God I were a child again +To nurse the seeds of faith and power; +I might have clasped in wisdom then +A wing to beat this awful hour! +The dullest things would take my marks-- +_They_ took my marks like drifted snow-- +God! how the footsteps rise in sparks, +Rise like myself and onward go! +Have pity, O ye driving things +That once like me had human form! +For I am driven for lack of wings +A shreddy cloud before the storm!" + + How its words went through me then, +Like a long forgotten pang, +Till the storm's embrace again +Swept it far with sudden clang!-- +Ah, methinks I see it still! +Let us follow it, my brother, +Keeping close to one another, +Blessing God for might of will! +Closer, closer, side by side! +Ours are wings that deftly glide +Upwards, downwards, and crosswise +Flashing past our ears and eyes, +Splitting up the comet-tracks +With a whirlwind at our backs! + + How the sky is blackening! +Yet the race is never slackening; +Swift, continual, and strong, +Streams the torrent slope along, +Like a tidal surge of faces +Molten into one despair; +Each the other now displaces, +A continual whirl of spaces; +Ah, my fainting eyesight reels +As I strive in vain to stare +On a thousand turning wheels +Dimly in the gloom descending, +Faces with each other blending!-- +Let us beat the vapours back, +We are yet upon his track. + + Didst thou see a spirit halt +Upright on a cloudy peak, +As the lightning's horrid fault +Smote a gash into the cheek +Of the grinning thunder-cloud +Which doth still besiege and crowd +Upward from the nether pits +Where the monster Chaos sits, +Building o'er the fleeing rack +Roofs of thunder long and black? +Yes, I see it! I will shout +Till I stop the horrid rout. +Ho, ho! spirit-phantom, tell +Is thy path to heaven or hell? +We would hear thee yet again, +What thy standing amongst men, +What thy former history, +And thy hope of things to be! +Wisdom still we gain from hearing: +We would know, we would know +Whither thou art steering-- +Unto weal or woe! + + + Ah, I cannot hear it speaking! +Yet it seems as it were seeking +Through our eyes our souls to reach +With a quaint mysterious speech, +As with stretched and crossing palms +One were tracing diagrams +On the ebbing of the beach, +Till with wild unmeasured dance +All the tiptoe waves advance, +Seize him by the shoulder, cover, +Turn him up and toss him over: +He is vanished from our sight, +Nothing mars the quiet night +Save a speck of gloom afar +Like the ruin of a star! + + Brother, streams it ever so, +Such a torrent tide of woe? +Ah, I know not; let us haste +Upwards from this dreary waste, +Up to where like music flowing +Gentler feet are ever going, +Streams of life encircling run +Round about the spirit-sun! +Up beyond the storm and rush +With our lesson let us rise! +Lo, the morning's golden flush +Meets us midway in the skies! +Perished all the dream and strife! +Death is swallowed up of Life! + + + +_AWAKE!_ + + The stars are all watching; + God's angel is catching +At thy skirts in the darkness deep! + Gold hinges grating, + The mighty dead waiting, +Why dost thou sleep? + + Years without number, + Ages of slumber, +Stiff in the track of the infinite One! + Dead, can I think it? + Dropt like a trinket, +A thing whose uses are done! + + White wings are crossing, + Glad waves are tossing, +The earth flames out in crimson and green + Spring is appearing, + Summer is nearing-- +Where hast thou been? + + Down in some cavern, + Death's sleepy tavern, +Housing, carousing with spectres of night? + There is my right hand! + Grasp it full tight and +Spring to the light. + + Wonder, oh, wonder! + How the life-thunder +Bursts on his ear in horror and dread! + Happy shapes meet him; + Heaven and earth greet him: +Life from the dead! + + + +_TO AN AUTOGRAPH-HUNTER_. + +Seek not my name--it doth no virtue bear; + Seek, seek thine own primeval name to find-- +The name God called when thy ideal fair + Arose in deeps of the eternal mind. + +When that thou findest, thou art straight a lord + Of time and space--art heir of all things grown; +And not my name, poor, earthly label-word, + But I myself thenceforward am thine own. + +Thou hearest not? Or hearest as a man + Who hears the muttering of a foolish spell? +My very shadow would feel strange and wan + In thy abode:--I say _No_, and _Farewell_. + +Thou understandest? Then it is enough; + No shadow-deputy shall mock my friend; +We walk the same path, over smooth and rough, + To meet ere long at the unending end. + + + +_WITH A COPY OF "IN MEMORIAM."_ + + TO E.M. II. + +Dear friend, you love the poet's song, + And here is one for your regard. + You know the "melancholy bard," +Whose grief is wise as well as strong; + +Already something understand + For whom he mourns and what he sings, + And how he wakes with golden strings +The echoes of "the silent land;" + +How, restless, faint, and worn with grief, + Yet loving all and hoping all, + He gazes where the shadows fall, +And finds in darkness some relief; + +And how he sends his cries across, + His cries for him that comes no more, + Till one might think that silent shore +Full of the burden of his loss; + +And how there comes sublimer cheer-- + Not darkness solacing sad eyes, + Not the wild joy of mournful cries, +But light that makes his spirit clear; + +How, while he gazes, something high, + Something of Heaven has fallen on him, + His distance and his future dim +Broken into a dawning sky! + +Something of this, dear friend, you know; + And will you take the book from me + That holds this mournful melody, +And softens grief to sadness so? + +Perhaps it scarcely suits the day + Of joyful hopes and memories clear, + When love should have no thought of fear, +And only smiles be round your way; + +Yet from the mystery and the gloom, + From tempted faith and conquering trust, + From spirit stronger than the dust, +And love that looks beyond the tomb, + +What can there be but good to win, + But hope for life, but love for all, + But strength whatever may befall?-- +So for the year that you begin, + +For all the years that follow this + While a long happy life endures, + This hope, this love, this strength be yours, +And afterwards a larger bliss! + +May nothing in this mournful song + Too much take off your thoughts from time, + For joy should fill your vernal prime, +And peace your summer mild and long. + +And may his love who can restore + All losses, give all new good things, + Like loving eyes and sheltering wings +Be round us all for evermore! + + + +_THEY ARE BLIND_. + +They are blind, and they are dead: + We will wake them as we go; +There are words have not been said, + There are sounds they do not know: + We will pipe and we will sing-- + With the Music and the Spring + Set their hearts a wondering! + +They are tired of what is old, + We will give it voices new; +For the half hath not been told + Of the Beautiful and True. + Drowsy eyelids shut and sleeping! + Heavy eyes oppressed with weeping! + Flashes through the lashes leaping! + +Ye that have a pleasant voice, + Hither come without delay; +Ye will never have a choice + Like to that ye have to-day: + Round the wide world we will go, + Singing through the frost and snow + Till the daisies are in blow. + +Ye that cannot pipe or sing, + Ye must also come with speed; +Ye must come, and with you bring + Weighty word and weightier deed-- + Helping hands and loving eyes! + These will make them truly wise-- + Then will be our Paradise. + +_March 27, 1852._ + + + +_WHEN THE STORM WAS PROUDEST_. + + When the storm was proudest, + And the wind was loudest, +I heard the hollow caverns drinking down below; + When the stars were bright, + And the ground was white, +I heard the grasses springing underneath the snow. + + Many voices spake-- + The river to the lake, +And the iron-ribbed sky was talking to the sea; + And every starry spark + Made music with the dark, +And said how bright and beautiful everything must be. + + When the sun was setting, + All the clouds were getting +Beautiful and silvery in the rising moon; + Beneath the leafless trees + Wrangling in the breeze, +I could hardly see them for the leaves of June. + + When the day had ended, + And the night descended, +I heard the sound of streams that I heard not through the day, + And every peak afar + Was ready for a star, +And they climbed and rolled around until the morning gray. + + Then slumber soft and holy + Came down upon me slowly, +And I went I know not whither, and I lived I know not how; + My glory had been banished, + For when I woke it vanished; +But I waited on its coming, and I am waiting now. + + + +_THE DIVER._ + + FROM SCHILLER. + +"Which of you, knight or squire, will dare + Plunge into yonder gulf? +A golden beaker I fling in it--there! + The black mouth swallows it like a wolf! +Who brings me the cup again, whoever, +It is his own--he may keep it for ever!" + +'Tis the king who speaks. He flings from the brow + Of the cliff, that, rugged and steep, +Hangs out o'er the endless sea below, + The cup in the whirlpool's howling heap:-- +"Again I ask, what hero will follow, +What hero plunge into yon dark hollow?" + +The knights and the squires the king about + Hear, and dumbly stare +Into the wild sea's tumbling rout; + To win the beaker they hardly care! +The king, for the third time, round him glaring-- +"Not one soul of you has the daring?" + +Speechless all, as before, they stand. + Then a squire, young, gentle, gay, +Steps from his comrades' shrinking band, + Flinging his girdle and cloak away; +And all the women and men that surrounded +Gazed on the noble youth, astounded. + +And when he stepped to the rock's rough brow + And looked down on the gulf so black, +The waters which it had swallowed, now +Charybdis bellowing rendered back; +And, with a roar as of distant thunder, +Foaming they burst from the dark lap under. + +It wallows, seethes, hisses in raging rout, + As when water wrestles with fire, +Till to heaven the yeasty tongues they spout; + And flood upon flood keeps mounting higher: +It will never its endless coil unravel, +As the sea with another sea were in travail! + +But, at last, slow sinks the writhing spasm, + And, black through the foaming white, +Downward gapes a yawning chasm-- + Bottomless, cloven to hell's wide night; +And, sucked up, see the billows roaring +Down through the whirling funnel pouring! + +Then in haste, ere the out-rage return again, + The youth to his God doth pray, +And--ascends a cry of horror and pain!-- + Already the vortex hath swept him away, +And o'er the bold swimmer, in darkness eternal, +Close the great jaws of the gulf infernal! + +Then the water above grows smooth as glass, + While, below, dull roarings ply; +And trembling they hear the murmur pass-- + "High-hearted youth, farewell, good-bye!" +And hollower still comes the howl affraying, +Till their hearts are sick with the frightful delaying. + +If the crown itself thou in should fling, + And say, "Who back with it hies +Himself shall wear it, and shall be king," + I would not covet the precious prize! +What Ocean hides in that howling hell of it +Live soul will never come back to tell of it! + +Ships many, caught in that whirling surge, + Shot sheer to their dismal doom: +Keel and mast only did ever emerge, + Shattered, from out the all-gulping tomb!-- +Like the bluster of tempest, clearer and clearer, +Comes its roaring nearer and ever nearer! + +It wallows, seethes, hisses, in raging rout, + As when water wrestles with fire, +Till to heaven the yeasty tongues they spout, + Wave upon wave's back mounting higher; +And as with the grumble of distant thunder, +Bellowing it bursts from the dark lap under. + +And, see, from its bosom, flowing dark, + Something heave up, swan-white! +An arm and a shining neck they mark, + And it rows with never relaxing might! +It is he! and high his golden capture +His left hand waves in success's rapture! + +With long deep breaths his path he ploughed, + And he hailed the heavenly day; +Jubilant shouted the gazing crowd, + "He lives! he is there! he broke away! +Out of the grave, the whirlpool uproarious, +The hero hath rescued his life victorious!" + +He comes; they surround him with shouts of glee; + At the king's feet he sinks on the sod, +And hands him the beaker upon his knee; + To his lovely daughter the king gives a nod: +She fills it brim-full of wine sparkling and playing, +And then to the king the youth turned him saying: + +"Long live the king!--Well doth he fare + Who breathes in this rosy light, +But, ah, it is horrible down there! + And man must not tempt the heavenly Might, +Or ever seek, with prying unwholesome, +What he graciously covers with darkness dolesome! + +"It tore me down with a headlong swing; + Then a shaft in a rock outpours, +Wild-rushing against me, a torrent spring; + It seized me, the double stream's raging force, +And like a top, with giddy twisting, +It spun me round--there was no resisting! + +"Then God did show me, sore beseeching + In deepest, frightfullest need, +Up from the bottom a rock-ledge reaching-- + At it I caught, and from death was freed! +And, behold, on spiked corals the beaker suspended, +Which had else to the very abyss descended! + +"For below me it lay yet mountain-deep + The purply darksome maw; +And though to the ear it was dead asleep, + The ghasted eye, down staring, saw +How with dragons, lizards, salamanders crawling, +The hell-jaws horrible were sprawling. + +"Black swarming in medley miscreate, + In masses lumped hideously, +Wallowed the conger, the thorny skate, + The lobster's grisly deformity; +And bared its teeth with cruel sheen a +Terrible shark, the sea's hyena. + +"And there I hung, and shuddering knew + That human help was none; +One thinking soul mid the horrid crew, + In the ghastly solitude I was alone-- +Deeper than man's speech ever sounded, +By the waste sea's dismal monsters surrounded. + +"I thought and shivered. Then something crept near, + Moved at once a hundred joints! +Now it will have me!--Frantic with fear + I lost my grasp of the coral points! +Away the whirl in its raging tore me, +But it was my salvation, and upward bore me!" + +The king at the tale is filled with amaze:-- + "The beaker, well won, is thine; +And this ring I will give thee too," he says, + "Precious with gems that are more than fine, +If thou dive yet once, and bring me the story-- +What thou sawst in the sea's lowest repertory." + +His daughter she hears with a tender dismay, + And her words sweet-suasive plead: +"Father, enough of this cruel play! + For you he has done an unheard-of deed! +And can you not master your soul's desire, +'Tis the knights' turn now to disgrace the squire!" + +The king he snatches and hurls the cup + Into the swirling pool:-- +"If thou bring me once more that beaker up, + My best knight I hold thee, most worshipful; +And this very day to thy home thou shall lead her +Who there for thee stands such a pitying pleader." + +A heavenly passion his being invades, + His eyes dart a lightning ray; +He sees on her beauty the flushing shades, + He sees her grow pallid and sink away! +Determination thorough him flashes, +And downward for life or for death he dashes! + +They hear the dull roar!--it is turning again, + Its herald the thunderous brawl! +Downward they bend with loving strain: + They come! they are coming, the waters all!-- +They rush up!--they rush down!--up, down, for ever! +The youth again bring they never. + + + +_TO THE CLOUDS._ + +Through the unchanging heaven, as ye have sped, +Speed onward still, a strange wild company, +Fleet children of the waters! Glorious ye, +Whether the sun lift up his shining head, +High throned at noontide and established +Among the shifting pillars, or we see +The sable ghosts of air sleep mournfully +Against the sunlight, passionless and dead! +Take thus a glory, oh thou higher Sun, +From all the cloudy labour of man's hand-- +Whether the quickening nations rise and run, +Or in the market-place we idly stand +Casting huge shadows over these thy plains-- +Even thence, O God, draw thy rich gifts of rains. + + + +_SECOND SIGHT._ + +Rich is the fancy which can double back +All seeming forms, and from cold icicles +Build up high glittering palaces where dwells +Summer perfection, moulding all this wrack +To spirit symmetry, and doth not lack +The power to hear amidst the funeral bells +The eternal heart's wind-melody which swells +In whirlwind flashes all along its track! +So hath the sun made all the winter mine +With gardens springing round me fresh and fair; +On hidden leaves uncounted jewels shine; +I live with forms of beauty everywhere, +Peopling the crumbling waste and icy pool +With sights and sounds of life most beautiful. + + + +_NOT UNDERSTOOD._ + +Tumultuous rushing o'er the outstretched plains; +A wildered maze of comets and of suns; +The blood of changeless God that ever runs +With quick diastole up the immortal veins; +A phantom host that moves and works in chains; +A monstrous fiction, which, collapsing, stuns +The mind to stupor and amaze at once; +A tragedy which that man best explains +Who rushes blindly on his wild career +With trampling hoofs and sound of mailed war, +Who will not nurse a life to win a tear, +But is extinguished like a falling star;-- +Such will at times this life appear to me +Until I learn to read more perfectly. + + + +_HOM. IL. v. 403._ + +If thou art tempted by a thought of ill, +Crave not too soon for victory, nor deem +Thou art a coward if thy safety seem +To spring too little from a righteous will; +For there is nightmare on thee, nor until +Thy soul hath caught the morning's early gleam +Seek thou to analyze the monstrous dream +By painful introversion; rather fill +Thine eye with forms thou knowest to be truth; +But see thou cherish higher hope than this,-- +hope hereafter that thou shall be fit +Calm-eyed to face distortion, and to sit +Transparent among other forms of youth +Who own no impulse save to God and bliss. + + + +_THE DAWN_. + +And must I ever wake, gray dawn, to know +Thee standing sadly by me like a ghost? +I am perplexed with thee that thou shouldst cost +This earth another turning! All aglow +Thou shouldst have reached me, with a purple show +Along far mountain-tops! and I would post +Over the breadth of seas, though I were lost +In the hot phantom-chase for life, if so +Thou earnest ever with this numbing sense +Of chilly distance and unlovely light, +Waking this gnawing soul anew to fight +With its perpetual load: I drive thee hence! +I have another mountain-range from whence +Bursteth a sun unutterably bright! + + + +_GALILEO_. + +"And yet it moves!" Ah, Truth, where wert thou then +When all for thee they racked each piteous limb? +Wert thou in heaven, and busy with thy hymn +When those poor hands convulsed that held thy pen? +Art thou a phantom that deceives! men +To their undoing? or dost thou watch him +Pale, cold, and silent in his dungeon dim? +And wilt thou ever speak to him again? +"It moves, it moves! Alas, my flesh was weak! +That was a hideous dream! I'll cry aloud +How the green bulk wheels sunward day by day! +Ah me! ah me! perchance my heart was proud +That I alone should know that word to speak! +And now, sweet Truth, shine upon these, I pray." + + + +_SUBSIDY_. + +If thou wouldst live the Truth in very deed, +Thou hast thy joy, but thou hast more of pain. +Others will live in peace, and thou be fain +To bargain with despair, and in thy need +To make thy meal upon the scantiest weed. +These palaces, for thee they stand in vain; +Thine is a ruinous hut, and oft the rain +Shall drench thee in the midnight; yea, the speed +Of earth outstrip thee, pilgrim, while thy feet +Move slowly up the heights. Yet will there come +Through the time-rents about thy moving cell, +_Shot from the Truth's own bow, and flaming sweet,_ +An arrow for despair, and oft the hum +Of far-off populous realms where spirits dwell. + + + +_THE PROPHET_. + +Speak, Prophet of the Lord! We may not start +To find thee with us in thine ancient dress, +Haggard and pale from some bleak wilderness, +Empty of all save God and thy loud heart, +Nor with like rugged message quick to dart +Into the hideous fiction mean and base; +But yet, O prophet man, we need not less +But more of earnest, though it is thy part +To deal in other words, if thou wouldst smite +The living Mammon, seated, not as then +In bestial quiescence grimly dight, +But _robed as priest, and honoured of good men +Yet_ thrice as much an idol-god as when +He stared at his own feet from morn to night. + + + +_THE WATCHER_. + +From out a windy cleft there comes a gaze +Of eyes unearthly, which go to and fro +Upon the people's tumult, for below +The nations smite each other: no amaze +Troubles their liquid rolling, or affrays +Their deep-set contemplation; steadily glow +Those ever holier eyeballs, for they grow +Liker unto the eyes of one that prays. +And if those clasped hands tremble, comes a power +As of the might of worlds, and they are holden +Blessing above us in the sunrise golden; +And they will be uplifted till that hour +Of terrible rolling which shall rise and shake +This conscious nightmare from us, and we wake. + + + +_THE BELOVED DISCIPLE_. + +I. + +One do I see and twelve; but second there +Methinks I know thee, thou beloved one; +Not from thy nobler port, for there are none +More quiet-featured: some there are who bear +Their message on their brows, while others wear +A look of large commission, nor will shun +The fiery trial, so their work is done; +But thou hast parted with thine eyes in prayer-- +Unearthly are they both; and so thy lips +Seem like the porches of the spirit land; +For thou hast laid a mighty treasure by +Unlocked by Him in Nature, and thine eye +Burns with a vision and apocalypse +Thy own sweet soul can hardly understand. + +II. + +A Boanerges too! Upon my heart +It lay a heavy hour: features like thine +Should glow with other message than the shine +Of the earth-burrowing levin, and the start +That cleaveth horrid gulfs! Awful and swart +A moment stoodest thou, but less divine-- +Brawny and clad in ruin--till with mine +Thy heart made answering signals, and apart +Beamed forth thy two rapt eyeballs doubly clear +And twice as strong because thou didst thy duty, +And, though affianced to immortal Beauty, +Hiddest not weakly underneath her veil +The pest of Sin and Death which maketh pale: +Henceforward be thy spirit doubly dear! + + + +_THE LILY OF THE VALLEY_. + +There is not any weed but hath its shower, +There is not any pool but hath its star; +And black and muddy though the waters are +We may not miss the glory of a flower, +And winter moons will give them magic power +To spin in cylinders of diamond spar; +And everything hath beauty near and far, +And keepeth close and waiteth on its hour! +And I, when I encounter on my road +A human soul that looketh black and grim, +Shall I more ceremonious be than God? +Shall I refuse to watch one hour with him +Who once beside our deepest woe did bud +A patient watching flower about the brim? + + + +_EVIL INFLUENCE_. + +'Tis not the violent hands alone that bring +The curse, the ravage, and the downward doom, +Although to these full oft the yawning tomb +Owes deadly surfeit; but a keener sting, +A more immortal agony will cling +To the half fashioned sin which would assume +Fair Virtue's garb; the eye that sows the gloom +With quiet seeds of Death henceforth to spring +What time the sun of passion burning fierce +Breaks through the kindly cloud of circumstance; +The bitter word, and the unkindly glance, +The crust and canker coming with the years, +Are liker Death than arrows and the lance +Which through the living heart at once doth pierce. + + + +_SPOKEN OF SEVERAL PHILOSOPHERS_. + +I pray you, all ye men who put your trust +In moulds and systems and well-tackled gear, +Holding that Nature lives from year to year +In one continual round because she must-- +Set me not down, I pray you, in the dust +Of all these centuries, like a pot of beer-- +A pewter-pot disconsolately clear, +Which holds a potful, as is right and just! +I will grow clamorous--by the rood, I will, +If thus ye use me like a pewter pot! +Good friend, thou art a toper and a sot-- +will not be the lead to hold thy swill, +Nor any lead: I will arise and spill +Thy silly beverage--spill it piping hot! + + + +_NATURE A MORAL POWER_. + +Nature, to him no message dost thou bear +Who in thy beauty findeth not the power +To gird himself more strongly for the hour +Of night and darkness. Oh, what colours rare +The woods, the valleys, and the mountains wear +To him who knows thy secret, and, in shower, +And fog, and ice-cloud, hath a secret bower +Where he may rest until the heavens are fair! +Not with the rest of slumber, but the trance +Of onward movement steady and serene, +Where oft, in struggle and in contest keen, +His eyes will opened be, and all the dance +Of life break on him, and a wide expanse +Roll upward through the void, sunny and green. + + + +_TO JUNE_. + +Ah, truant, thou art here again, I see! +For in a season of such wretched weather +I thought that thou hadst left us altogether, +Although I could not choose but fancy thee +Skulking about the hill-tops, whence the glee +Of thy blue laughter peeped at times, or rather +Thy bashful awkwardness, as doubtful whether +Thou shouldst be seen in such a company +Of ugly runaways, unshapely heaps +Of ruffian vapour, broken from restraint +Of their slim prison in the ocean deeps. +But yet I may not chide: fall to thy books-- +Fall to immediately without complaint-- +There they are lying, hills and vales and brooks. + + + +_SUMMER_. + +Summer, sweet Summer, many-fingered Summer! +We hold thee very dear, as well we may: +It is the kernel of the year to-day-- +All hail to thee! thou art a welcome comer! +If every insect were a fairy drummer, +And I a fifer that could deftly play, +We'd give the old Earth such a roundelay +That she would cast all thought of labour from her.-- +Ah! what is this upon my window-pane? +Some sulky, drooping cloud comes pouting up, +Stamping its glittering feet along the plain!-- +Well, I will let that idle fancy drop! +Oh, how the spouts are bubbling with the rain! +And all the earth shines like a silver cup! + + + +_ON A MIDGE_. + +Whence do ye come, ye creatures? Each of you +Is perfect as an angel! wings and eyes +Stupendous in their beauty--gorgeous dyes +In feathery fields of purple and of blue! +Would God I saw a moment as ye do! +I would become a molecule in size, +Rest with you, hum with you, or slanting rise +Along your one dear sunbeam, could I view +The pearly secret which each tiny fly-- +Each tiny fly that hums and bobs and stirs +Hides in its little breast eternally +From you, ye prickly, grim philosophers +With all your theories that sound so high: +Hark to the buz a moment, my good sirs! + + + +_STEADFAST_. + +Here stands a giant stone from whose far top +Comes down the sounding water: let me gaze +Till every sense of man and human ways +Is wrecked and quenched for ever, and I drop +Into the whirl of time, and without stop +Pass downward thus! Again my eyes I raise +To thee, dark rock; and through the mist and haze +My strength returns when I behold thy prop +Gleam stern and steady through the wavering wrack. +Surely thy strength is human, and like me +Thou bearest loads of thunder on thy back! +And, lo, a smile upon thy visage black-- +A breezy tuft of grass which I can see +Waving serenely from a sunlit crack! + + + +_PROVISION_. + +Above my head the great pine-branches tower; +Backwards and forwards each to the other bends, +Beckoning the tempest-cloud which hither wends +Like a slow-laboured thought, heavy with power: +Hark to the patter of the coming shower! +Let me be silent while the Almighty sends +His thunder-word along--but when it ends +I will arise and fashion from the hour +Words of stupendous import, fit to guard +High thoughts and purposes, which I may wave, +When the temptation cometh close and hard, +Like fiery brands betwixt me and the grave +Of meaner things--to which I am a slave, +If evermore I keep not watch and ward. + + + +_FIRST SIGHT OF THE SEA_. + +I do remember how, when very young, +I saw the great sea first, and heard its swell +As I drew nearer, caught within the spell +Of its vast size and its mysterious tongue. +How the floor trembled, and the dark boat swung +With a man in it, and a great wave fell +Within a stone's cast! Words may never tell +The passion of the moment, when I flung +All childish records by, and felt arise +A thing that died no more! An awful power +I claimed with trembling hands and eager eyes, +Mine, mine for ever, an immortal dower.-- +The noise of waters soundeth to this hour +When I look seaward through the quiet skies. + + + +_ON THE SOURCE OF THE ARVE_. + +Hears't thou the dash of water, loud and hoarse, +With its perpetual tidings upward climb, +Struggling against the wind? Oh, how sublime! +For not in vain from its portentous source +Thy heart, wild stream, hath yearned for its full force, +But from thine ice-toothed caverns, dark as time, +At last thou issuest, dancing to the rime +Of thy outvolleying freedom! Lo, thy course +Lies straight before thee as the arrow flies! +Right to the ocean-plains away, away! +Thy parent waits thee, and her sunset dyes +Are ruffled for thy coming, and the gray +Of all her glittering borders flashes high +Against the glittering rocks!--oh, haste, and fly! + + + +_CONFIDENCE_. + +Lie down upon the ground, thou hopeless one! +Press thy face in the grass, and do not speak. +Dost feel the green globe whirl? Seven times a week +Climbeth she out of darkness to the sun, +Which is her God; seven times she doth not shun +Awful eclipse, laying her patient cheek +Upon a pillow ghost-beset with shriek +Of voices utterless, which rave and run +Through all the star-penumbra, craving light +And tidings of the dawn from East and West. +Calmly she sleepeth, and her sleep is blest +With heavenly visions, and the joy of Night +Treading aloft with moons; nor hath she fright +Though cloudy tempests beat upon her breast. + + + +_FATE_. + +Oft, as I rest in quiet peace, am I +Thrust out at sudden doors, and madly driven +Through desert solitudes, and thunder-riven +Black passages which have not any sky: +The scourge is on me now, with all the cry +Of ancient life that hath with murder striven. +How many an anguish hath gone up to heaven, +How many a hand in prayer been lifted high +When the black fate came onward with the rush +Of whirlwind, avalanche, or fiery spume! +Even at my feet is cleft a shivering tomb +Beneath the waves; or else, with solemn hush +The graveyard opens, and I feel a crush +As if we were all huddled in one doom! + + + +_UNREST_. + +Comes there, O Earth, no breathing time for thee, +No pause upon thy many-chequered lands? +Now resting on my bed with listless hands +I mourn thee resting not. Continually +Hear I the plashing borders of the sea +Answer each other from the rocks and sands! +Troop all the rivers seawards; nothing stands, +But with strange noises hasteth terribly! +Loam-eared hyenas go a moaning by; +Howls to each other all the bloody crew +Of Afric's tigers! but, O men, from you +Comes this perpetual sound more loud and high +Than aught that vexes air! I hear the cry +Of infant generations rising too! + + + +_ONE WITH NATURE_. + +I have a fellowship with every shade +Of changing nature: with the tempest hour +My soul goes forth to claim her early dower +Of living princedom; and her wings have staid +Amidst the wildest uproar undismayed! +Yet she hath often owned a better power, +And blessed the gentle coming of the shower, +The speechless majesty of love arrayed +In lowly virtue, under which disguise +Full many a princely thing hath passed her by; +And she from homely intercourse of eyes +Hath gathered visions wider than the sky, +And seen the withered heart of man arise +Peaceful as God, and full of majesty. + + + +_MY TWO GENIUSES_. + +I. + +One is a slow and melancholy maid; +I know riot if she cometh from the skies +Or from the sleepy gulfs, but she will rise +Often before me in the twilight shade, +Holding a bunch of poppies and a blade +Of springing wheat: prostrate my body lies +Before her on the turf, the while she ties +A fillet of the weed about my head; +And in the gaps of sleep I seem to hear +A gentle rustle like the stir of corn, +And words like odours thronging to my ear: +"Lie still, beloved--still until the morn; +Lie still with me upon this rolling sphere-- +Still till the judgment; thou art faint and worn." + +II. + +The other meets me in the public throng; +Her hair streams backward from her loose attire; +She hath a trumpet and an eye of fire; +She points me downward, steadily and long:-- +"There is thy grave--arise, my son, be strong! +Hands are upon thy crown--awake, aspire +To immortality; heed not the lyre +Of the Enchantress, nor her poppy-song, +But in the stillness of the summer calm +Tremble for what is Godlike in thy being. +Listen a while, and thou shall hear the psalm +Of victory sung by creatures past thy seeing; +And from far battle-fields there comes the neighing +Of dreadful onset, though the air is balm." + +III. + +Maid with the poppies, must I let thee go? +Alas, I may not; thou art likewise dear! +I am but human, and thou hast a tear +When she hath nought but splendour, and the glow +Of a wild energy that mocks the flow +Of the poor sympathies which keep us here: +Lay past thy poppies, and come twice as near, +And I will teach thee, and thou too shalt grow; +And thou shalt walk with me in open day +Through the rough thoroughfares with quiet grace; +And the wild-visaged maid shall lead the way, +Timing her footsteps to a gentler pace +As her great orbs turn ever on thy face, +Drinking in draughts of loving help alway. + + + +_SUDDEN CALM_. + +There is a bellowing in me, as of might +Unfleshed and visionless, mangling the air +With horrible convulse, as if it bare +The cruel weight of worlds, but could not fight +With the thick-dropping clods, and could but bite +A vapour-cloud! Oh, I will climb the stair +Of the great universe, and lay me there +Even at the threshold of his gate, despite +The tempest, and the weakness, and the rush +Of this quick crowding on me!--Oh, I dream! +Now I am sailing swiftly, as we seem +To do in sleep! and I can hear the gush +Of a melodious wave that carries me +On, on for ever to eternity! + + + +_THOU ALSO_. + +Cry out upon the crime, and then let slip +The dogs of hate, whose hanging muzzles track +The bloody secret; let the welkin crack +Reverberating, while ye dance and skip +About the horrid blaze! or else ye strip, +More secretly, for the avenging rack, +Him who hath done the deed, till, oozing black +Ye watch the anguish from his nostrils drip, +And all the knotted limbs lie quivering! +Or, if your hearts disdain such banqueting, +With wide and tearless eyes go staring through +The murder cells! but think--that, if your knees +Bow not to holiness, then even in you +Lie deeper gulfs and blacker crimes than these. + + + +_THE AURORA BOREALIS_. + +Now have I grown a sharpness and an edge +Unto my future nights, and I will cut +Sheer through the ebon gates that yet will shut +On every set of day; or as a sledge +Drawn over snowy plains; where not a hedge +Breaks this Aurora's dancing, nothing but +The one cold Esquimaux' unlikely hut +That swims in the broad moonlight! Lo, a wedge +Of the clean meteor hath been brightly driven +Right home into the fastness of the north! +Anon it quickeneth up into the heaven! +And I with it have clomb and spreaded forth +Upon the crisp and cooling atmosphere! +My soul is all abroad: I cannot find it here! + + + +_THE HUMAN._ + +Within each living man there doth reside, +In some unrifled chamber of the heart, +A hidden treasure: wayward as thou art +I love thee, man, and bind thee to my side! +By that sweet act I purify my pride +And hasten onward--willing even to part +With pleasant graces: though thy hue is swart, +I bear thee company, thou art my guide! +Even in thy sinning wise beyond thy ken +To thee a subtle debt my soul is owing! +I take an impulse from the worst of men +That lends a wing unto my onward going; +Then let me pay them gladly back again +With prayer and love from Faith and Duty flowing! + + + +_WRITTEN ON A STORMY NIGHT._ + +O wild and dark! a night hath found me now +Wherein I mingle with that element +Sent madly loose through the wide staring rent +In yon tormented branches! I will bow +A while unto the storm, and thenceforth grow +Into a mighty patience strongly bent +Before the unconquering Power which hither sent +These winds to fight their battles on my brow!-- +Again the loud boughs thunder! and the din +Licks up my footfall from the hissing earth! +But I have found a mighty peace within, +And I have risen into a home of mirth! +Wildly I climb above the shaking spires, +Above the sobbing clouds, up through the steady fires! + + + +_REVERENCE WAKING HOPE_. + +A power is on me, and my soul must speak +To thee, thou grey, grey man, whom I behold +With those white-headed children. I am bold +To commune with thy setting, and to wreak +My doubts on thy grey hair; for I would seek +Thee in that other world, but I am told +Thou goest elsewhere and wilt never hold +Thy head so high as now. Oh I were weak, +Weak even to despair, could I forego +The tender vision which will give somehow +Thee standing brightly one day even as now! +Thou art a very grey old man, and so +I may not pass thee darkly, but bestow +A look of reverence on thy wrinkled brow. + + + +_BORN OF WATER_. + +Methought I stood among the stars alone, +Watching a grey parched orb which onward flew +Half blinded by the dusty winds that blew, +Empty as Death and barren as a stone, +The pleasant sound of water all unknown! +When, as I looked in wonderment, there grew, +High in the air above, a drop of dew, +Which, gathering slowly through long cycles, shone +Like a great tear; and then at last it fell +Clasping the orb, which drank it greedily, +With a delicious noise and upward swell +Of sweet cool joy that tossed me like a sea; +And then the thick life sprang as from a grave, +With trees, flowers, boats upon the bounding wave! + + + +_TO A THUNDER-CLOUD._ + +Oh, melancholy fragment of the night +Drawing thy lazy web against the sun, +Thou shouldst have waited till the day was done +With kindred glooms to build thy fane aright, +Sublime amid the ruins of the light! +But thus to shape our glories one by one +With fearful hands, ere we had well begun +To look for shadows--even in the bright! +Yet may we charm a lesson from thy breast, +A secret wisdom from thy folds of thunder: +There is a wind that cometh from the west +Will rend thy tottering piles of gloom asunder, +And fling thee ruinous along the grass, +To sparkle on us as our footsteps pass! + + + +_SUN AND MOON._ + +First came the red-eyed sun as I did wake; +He smote me on the temples and I rose, +Casting the night aside and all its woes; +And I would spurn my idleness, and take +My own wild journey even like him, and shake +The pillars of all doubt with lusty blows, +Even like himself when his rich glory goes +Right through the stalwart fogs that part and break. +But ere my soul was ready for the fight, +His solemn setting mocked me in the west; +And as I trembled in the lifting night, +The white moon met me, and my heart confess'd +A mellow wisdom in her silent youth, +Which fed my hope with fear, and made my strength a truth. + + + +_DOUBT HERALDING VISION._ + +An angel saw me sitting by a brook, +Pleased with the silence, and the melodies +Of wind and water which did fall and rise: +He gently stirred his plumes and from them shook +An outworn doubt, which fell on me and took +The shape of darkness, hiding all the skies, +Blinding the sun, but giving to my eyes +An inextinguishable wish to look; +When, lo! thick as the buds of spring there came, +Crowd upon crowd, informing all the sky, +A host of splendours watching silently, +With lustrous eyes that wept as if in blame, +And waving hands that crossed in lines of flame, +And signalled things I hope to hold although I die! + + + +_LIFE OR DEATH?_ + +Is there a secret Joy, that may not weep, +For every flower that ends its little span, +For every child that groweth up to man, +For every captive bird a cage doth keep, +For every aching eye that went to sleep +Long ages back, when other eyes began +To see and know and love as now they can, +Unravelling God's wonders heap by heap? +Or doth the Past lie 'mid Eternity +In charnel dens that rot and reek alway, +A dismal light for those that go astray, +A pit of foul deformity--to be, +Beauty, a dreadful source of growth for thee +When thou wouldst lift thine eyes to greet the day? + + + +_LOST AND FOUND._ + +I missed him when the sun began to bend; +I found him not when I had lost his rim; +With many tears I went in search of him, +Climbing high mountains which did still ascend, +And gave me echoes when I called my friend; +Through cities vast and charnel-houses grim, +And high cathedrals where the light was dim, +Through books and arts and works without an end, +But found him not--the friend whom I had lost. +And yet I found him--as I found the lark, +A sound in fields I heard but could not mark; +I found him nearest when I missed him most; +I found him in my heart, a life in frost, +A light I knew not till my soul was dark. + + + +_THE MOON._ + +She comes! again she comes, the bright-eyed moon! +Under a ragged cloud I found her out, +Clasping her own dark orb like hope in doubt! +That ragged cloud hath waited her since noon, +And he hath found and he will hide her soon! +Come, all ye little winds that sit without, +And blow the shining leaves her edge about, +And hold her fast--ye have a pleasant tune! +She will forget us in her walks at night +Among the other worlds that are so fair! +She will forget to look on our despair! +She will forget to be so young and bright! +Nay, gentle moon, thou hast the keys of light-- +I saw them hanging by thy girdle there! + + + +_TRUTH, NOT FORM!_ + +I came upon a fountain on my way +When it was hot, and sat me down to drink +Its sparkling stream, when all around the brink +I spied full many vessels made of clay, +Whereon were written, not without display, +In deep engraving or with merely ink, +The blessings which each owner seemed to think +Would light on him who drank with each alway. +I looked so hard my eyes were looking double +Into them all, but when I came to see +That they were filthy, each in his degree, +I bent my head, though not without some trouble, +To where the little waves did leap and bubble, +And so I journeyed on most pleasantly. + + + +_GOD IN GROWTH._ + +I said, I will arise and work some thing, +Nor be content with growth, but cause to grow +A life around me, clear as yes from no, +That to my restless hand some rest may bring, +And give a vital power to Action's spring: +Thus, I must cease to be! I cried; when, lo! +An angel stood beside me on the snow, +With folded wings that came of pondering. +"God's glory flashes on the silence here +Beneath the moon," he cried, and upward threw +His glorious eyes that swept the utmost blue, +"Ere yet his bounding brooks run forth with cheer +To bear his message to the hidden year +Who cometh up in haste to make his glory new." + + + +_IN A CHURCHYARD._ + +There may be seeming calm above, but no!-- +There is a pulse below which ceases not, +A subterranean working, fiery hot, +Deep in the million-hearted bosom, though +Earthquakes unlock not the prodigious show +Of elemental conflict; and this spot +Nurses most quiet bones which lie and rot, +And here the humblest weeds take root and grow. +There is a calm upon the mighty sea, +Yet are its depths alive and full of being, +Enormous bulks that move unwieldily; +Yet, pore we on it, they are past our seeing!-- +From the deep sea-weed fields, though wide and ample, +Comes there no rushing sound: _these_ do not trample! + + + +_POWER._ + +Power that is not of God, however great, +Is but the downward rushing and the glare +Of a swift meteor that hath lost its share +In the one impulse which doth animate +The parent mass: emblem to me of fate! +Which through vast nightly wastes doth onward fare, +Wild-eyed and headlong, rent away from prayer-- +A moment brilliant, then most desolate! +And, O my brothers, shall we ever learn +From all the things we see continually +That pride is but the empty mockery +Of what is strong in man! Not so the stern +And sweet repose of soul which we can earn +Only through reverence and humility! + + + +_DEATH._ + +Yes, there is one who makes us all lay down +Our mushroom vanities, our speculations, +Our well-set theories and calculations, +Our workman's jacket or our monarch's crown! +To him alike the country and the town, +Barbaric hordes or civilized nations, +Men of all names and ranks and occupations, +Squire, parson, lawyer, Jones, or Smith, or Brown! +He stops the carter: the uplifted whip +Falls dreamily among the horses' straw; +He stops the helmsman, and the gallant ship +Holdeth to westward by another law; +No one will see him, no one ever saw, +But he sees all and lets not any slip. + + + +_THAT HOLY THING._ + +They all were looking for a king + To slay their foes, and lift them high: +Thou cam'st a little baby thing + That made a woman cry. + +O son of man, to right my lot + Nought but thy presence can avail; +Yet on the road thy wheels are not, + Nor on the sea thy sail! + +My fancied ways why shouldst thou heed? + Thou com'st down thine own secret stair: +Com'st down to answer all my need, + Yea, every bygone prayer! + + + +_FROM NOVALIS_. + +Uplifted is the stone + And all mankind arisen! +We are thy very own, + We are no more in prison! +What bitterest grief can stay + Beside thy golden cup, +When earth and life give way + And with our Lord we sup! + +To the marriage Death doth call, + The lamps are burning clear, +The virgins, ready all, + Have for their oil no fear. +Would that even now were ringing + The distance with thy throng! +And that the stars were singing + To us a human song! + +Courage! for life is hasting + To endless life away; +The inward fire, unwasting, + Transfigures our dull clay! +See the stars melting, sinking + In life-wine golden-bright! +We, of the splendour drinking, + Shall grow to stars of light. + +Lost, lost are all our losses! + Love is for ever free! +The full life heaves and tosses + Like an unbounded sea! +One live, eternal story! + One poem high and broad! +And sun of all our glory + The countenance of God! + + + +_WHAT MAN IS THERE OF YOU?_ + +The homely words how often read! + How seldom fully known! +"Which father of you, asked for bread, + Would give his son a stone?" + +How oft has bitter tear been shed, + And heaved how many a groan, +Because thou wouldst not give for bread + The thing that was a stone! + +How oft the child thou wouldst have fed, + Thy gift away has thrown! +He prayed, thou heard'st, and gav'st the bread: + He cried, "It is a stone!" + +Lord, if I ask in doubt and dread + Lest I be left to moan, +Am I not he who, asked for bread, + Would give his son a stone? + + + +_O WIND OF GOD._ + +O wind of God, that blowest in the mind, + Blow, blow and wake the gentle spring in me; +Blow, swifter blow, a strong warm summer wind, + Till all the flowers with eyes come out to see; + Blow till the fruit hangs red on every tree, +And our high-soaring song-larks meet thy dove-- +High the imperfect soars, descends the perfect love! + +Blow not the less though winter cometh then; + Blow, wind of God, blow hither changes keen; +Let the spring creep into the ground again, + The flowers close all their eyes and not be seen: + All lives in thee that ever once hath been! +Blow, fill my upper air with icy storms; +Breathe cold, O wind of God, and kill my cankerworms. + + + +_SHALL THE DEAD PRAISE THEE?_ + +I cannot praise thee. By his instrument + The master sits, and moves nor foot nor hand; +For see the organ-pipes this, that way bent, + Leaning, o'erthrown, like wheat-stalks tempest-fanned! + +I well could praise thee for a flower, a dove, + But not for life that is not life in me; +Not for a being that is less than love-- + A barren shoal half lifted from a sea! + +Unto a land where no wind bloweth ships + Thy wind one day will blow me to my own: +Rather I'd kiss no more their loving lips + Than carry them a heart so poor and prone! + +I bless thee, Father, thou art what thou art, + That thou dost know thyself what thou dost know-- +A perfect, simple, tender, rhythmic heart, + Beating its blood to all in bounteous flow. + +And I can bless thee too for every smart, + For every disappointment, ache, and fear; +For every hook thou fixest in my heart, + For every burning cord that draws me near. + +But prayer these wake, not song. Thyself I crave. + Come thou, or all thy gifts away I fling. +Thou silent, I am but an empty grave: + Think to me, Father, and I am a king! + +My organ-pipes will then stand up awake, + Their life soar, as from smouldering wood the blaze; +And swift contending harmonies shall shake + Thy windows with a storm of jubilant praise. + + + +_A YEAR SONG._ + +Sighing above, + Rustling below, +Thorough the woods + The winds go. +Beneath, dead crowds; + Above, life bare; +And the besom tempest + Sweeps the air: +_Heart, leave thy woe: +Let the dead things go._ + +Through the brown + Gold doth push; +Misty green + Veils the bush. +Here a twitter, + There a croak! +They are coming-- + The spring-folk! +_Heart, be not numb; +Let the live things come._ + +Through the beech + The winds go, +With gentle speech, + Long and slow. +The grass is fine, + And soft to lie in: +The sun doth shine + The blue sky in: +_Heart, be alive; +Let the new things thrive._ + +Round again! + Here art thou, +A rimy fruit + On a bare bough! +Winter comes, + Winter and snow; +And a weary sighing + To fall and go! +_Heart, thy hour shall be; +Thy dead will comfort thee._ + + + +_SONG_. + +Why do the houses stand + When they that built them are gone; + When remaineth even of one +That lived there and loved and planned +Not a face, not an eye, not a hand, + Only here and there a bone? +Why do the houses stand + When they who built them are gone? + +Oft in the moonlighted land + When the day is overblown, + With happy memorial moan +Sweet ghosts in a loving band +Roam through the houses that stand-- + For the builders are not gone. + + + +_FOR WHERE YOUR TREASURE IS, THERE WILL YOUR HEART BE ALSO._ + + The miser lay on his lonely bed; + Life's candle was burning dim. +His heart in an iron chest was hid +Under heaps of gold and an iron lid; + And whether it were alive or dead + It never troubled him. + + Slowly out of his body he crept. + He said, "I am just the same! +Only I want my heart in my breast; +I will go and fetch it out of my chest!" + Through the dark a darker shadow he leapt, + Saying "Hell is a fabled flame!" + + He opened the lid. Oh, Hell's own night! + His ghost-eyes saw no gold!-- +Empty and swept! Not a gleam was there! +In goes his hand, but the chest is bare! + Ghost-fingers, aha! have only might + To close, not to clasp and hold! + + But his heart he saw, and he made a clutch + At the fungous puff-ball of sin: +Eaten with moths, and fretted with rust, +He grasped a handful of rotten dust, + And shrieked, as ghosts may, at the crumbling touch, + But hid it his breast within. + + And some there are who see him sit + Under the church, apart, +Counting out coins and coins of gold +Heap by heap on the dank death-mould: + Alas poor ghost and his sore lack of wit-- + They breed in the dust of his heart! + + Another miser has now his chest, + And it hoards wealth more and more; +Like ferrets his hands go in and out, +Burrowing, tossing the gold about-- + Nor heed the heart that, gone from his breast, + Is the cold heap's bloodless core. + + Now wherein differ old ghosts that sit + Counting ghost-coins all day +From the man who clings with spirit prone +To whatever can never be his own? + Who will leave the world with not one whit + But a heart all eaten away? + + + +_THE ASTHMATIC MAN TO THE SATAN THAT BINDS HIM_. + +Satan, avaunt! + Nay, take thine hour, +Thou canst not daunt, + Thou hast no power; +Be welcome to thy nest, +Though it be in my breast. + +Burrow amain; + Dig like a mole; +Fill every vein + With half-burnt coal; +Puff the keen dust about, +And all to choke me out. + +Fill music's ways + With creaking cries, +That no loud praise + May climb the skies; +And on my labouring chest +Lay mountains of unrest. + +My slumber steep + In dreams of haste, +That only sleep, + No rest, I taste-- +With stiflings, rimes of rote, +And fingers on my throat. + +Satan, thy might + I do defy; +Live core of night + I patient lie: +A wind comes up the gray +Will blow thee clean away. + +Christ's angel, Death, + All radiant white, +With one cold breath + Will scare thee quite, +And give my lungs an air +As fresh as answered prayer. + +So, Satan, do + Thy worst with me +Until the True + Shall set me free, +And end what he began, +By making me a man. + + + +_SONG-SERMON._ + +Lord, what is man +That thou art mindful of him! +Though in creation's van, +Lord, what is man! +He wills less than he can, +Lets his ideal scoff him! +Lord, what is man +That thou art mindful of him! + + + +_SHADOWS._ + +All things are shadows of thee, Lord; + The sun himself is but thy shade; +My spirit is the shadow of thy word, + A thing that thou hast said. + +Diamonds are shadows of the sun, + They gleam as after him they hark: +My soul some arrows of thy light hath won. + And feebly fights the dark! + +All knowledges are broken shades, + In gulfs of dark a scattered horde: +Together rush the parted glory-grades-- + Then, lo, thy garment, Lord! + +My soul, the shadow, still is light + Because the shadow falls from thee; +I turn, dull candle, to the centre bright, + And home flit shadowy. + +Shine, Lord; shine me thy shadow still; + The brighter I, the more thy shade! +My motion be thy lovely moveless will! + My darkness, light delayed! + + + +_A WINTER PRAYER._ + +Come through the gloom of clouded skies, + The slow dim rain and fog athwart; +Through east winds keen with wrong and lies + Come and lift up my hopeless heart. + +Come through the sickness and the pain, + The sore unrest that tosses still; +Through aching dark that hides the gain + Come and arouse my fainting will. + +Come through the prate of foolish words, + The science with no God behind; +Through all the pangs of untuned chords + Speak wisdom to my shaken mind. + +Through all the fears that spirits bow + Of what hath been, or may befall, +Come down and talk with me, for thou + Canst tell me all about them all. + +Hear, hear my sad lone heart entreat, + Heart of all joy, below, above! +Come near and let me kiss thy feet, + And name the names of those I love! + + + +_SONG OF A POOR PILGRIM_. + +Roses all the rosy way! + Roses to the rosier west +Where the roses of the day + Cling to night's unrosy breast! + +Thou who mak'st the roses, why + Give to every leaf a thorn? +On thy rosy highway I + Still am by thy roses torn! + +Pardon! I will not mistake + These good thorns that make me fret! +Goads to urge me, stings to wake, + For my freedom they are set. + +Yea, on one steep mountain-side, + Climbing to a fancied fold, +Roses grasped had let me slide + But the thorns did keep their hold. + +Out of darkness light is born, + Out of weakness make me strong: +One glad day will every thorn + Break into a rose of song. + +Though like sparrow sit thy bird + Lonely on the house-top dark, +By the rosy dawning stirred + Up will soar thy praising lark; + +Roses, roses all his song! + Roses in a gorgeous feast! +Roses in a royal throng, + Surging, rosing from the east! + + + +_AN EVENING PRAYER_. + +I am a bubble + Upon thy ever-moving, resting sea: +Oh, rest me now from tossing, trespass, trouble! + Take me down into thee. + +Give me thy peace. + My heart is aching with unquietness: +Oh, make its inharmonious beating cease! + Thy hand upon it press. + +My Night! my Day! + Swift night and day betwixt, my world doth reel: +Potter, take not thy hand from off the clay + That whirls upon thy wheel. + +O Heart, I cry + For love and life, pardon and hope and strength! +O Father, I am thine; I shall not die, + But I shall sleep at length! + + + +_SONG-SERMON_. + +Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs, +For as his work thou giv'st the man. +From us, not thee, come all our wrongs; +Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs: +With small-cord whips and scorpion thongs +Thou lay'st on every ill thy ban. +Mercy to thee, O Lord, belongs, +For as his work thou giv'st the man. + + + +_A DREAM-SONG_. + +The stars are spinning their threads, + And the clouds are the dust that flies, +And the suns are weaving them up + For the day when the sleepers arise. + +The ocean in music rolls, + The gems are turning to eyes, +And the trees are gathering souls + For the day when the sleepers arise. + +The weepers are learning to smile, + And laughter to glean the sighs, +And hearts to bury their care and guile + For the day when the sleepers arise. + +Oh, the dews and the moths and the daisy-red, + The larks and the glimmers and flows! +The lilies and sparrows and daily bread, + And the something that nobody knows! + + + +_CHRISTMAS, 1880._ + +Great-hearted child, thy very being _The Son_, + Who know'st the hearts of all us prodigals;-- +For who is prodigal but he who has gone + Far from the true to heart it with the false?-- + Who, who but thou, that, from the animals', + Know'st all the hearts, up to the Father's own, + Can tell what it would be to be alone! + +Alone! No father!--At the very thought + Thou, the eternal light, wast once aghast; +A death in death for thee it almost wrought! + But thou didst haste, about to breathe thy last, + And call'dst out _Father_ ere thy spirit passed, + Exhausted in fulfilling not any vow, + But doing his will who greater is than thou. + +That we might know him, thou didst come and live; + That we might find him, thou didst come and die; +The son-heart, brother, thy son-being give-- + We too would love the father perfectly, + And to his bosom go back with the cry, + Father, into thy hands I give the heart + Which left thee but to learn how good thou art! + +There are but two in all the universe-- + The father and his children--not a third; +Nor, all the weary time, fell any curse! + Not once dropped from its nest an unfledged bird + But thou wast with it! Never sorrow stirred + But a love-pull it was upon the chain + That draws the children to the father again! + +O Jesus Christ, babe, man, eternal son, + Take pity! we are poor where thou art rich: +Our hearts are small; and yet there is not one + In all thy father's noisy nursery which, + Merry, or mourning in its narrow niche, + Needs not thy father's heart, this very now, + With all his being's being, even as thou! + + + +_RONDEL_. + +I do not know thy final will, + It is too good for me to know: + Thou willest that I mercy show, +That I take heed and do no ill, +That I the needy warm and fill, + Nor stones at any sinner throw; +But I know not thy final will-- + It is too good for me to know. + +I know thy love unspeakable-- + For love's sake able to send woe! + To find thine own thou lost didst go, +And wouldst for men thy blood yet spill!-- +How should I know thy final will, + Godwise too good for me to know! + + + +_THE SPARROW_. + +O Lord, I cannot but believe +The birds do sing thy praises then, when they sing to one another, +And they are lying seed-sown land when the winter makes them grieve, +Their little bosoms breeding songs for the summer to unsmother! + +If thou hadst finished me, O Lord, +Nor left out of me part of that great gift that goes to singing, +I sure had known the meaning high of the songster's praising word, +Had known upon what thoughts of thee his pearly talk he was stringing! + +I should have read the wisdom hid +In the storm-inspired melody of thy thrush's bosom solemn: +I should not then have understood what thy free spirit did +To make the lark-soprano mount like to a geyser-column! + +I think I almost understand +Thy owl, his muffled swiftness, moon-round eyes, and intoned hooting; +I think I could take up the part of a night-owl in the land, +With yellow moon and starry things day-dreamers all confuting. + +But 'mong thy creatures that do sing +Perhaps of all I likest am to the housetop-haunting sparrow, +That flies brief, sudden flights upon a dumpy, fluttering wing, +And chirps thy praises from a throat that's very short and narrow. + +But if thy sparrow praise thee well +By singing well thy song, nor letting noisy traffic quell it, +It may be that, in some remote and leafy heavenly dell, +He may with a trumpet-throat awake, and a trumpet-song to swell it! + + + +_DECEMBER 23, 1879._ + +I. + +A thousand houses of poesy stand around me everywhere; +They fill the earth and they fill my thought, they are in and above the +air; +But to-night they have shut their doors, they have shut their shining +windows fair, +And I am left in a desert world, with an aching as if of care. + +II. + +Cannot I break some little nut and get at the poetry in it? +Cannot I break the shining egg of some all but hatched heavenly linnet? +Cannot I find some beauty-worm, and its moony cocoon-silk spin it? +Cannot I find my all but lost day in the rich content of a minute? + +III. + +I will sit me down, all aching and tired, in the midst of this +never-unclosing +Of door or window that makes it look as if truth herself were dozing; +I will sit me down and make me a tent, call it poetizing or prosing, +Of what may be lying within my reach, things at my poor disposing! + +IV. + +Now what is nearest?--My conscious self. Here I sit quiet and say: +"Lo, I myself am already a house of poetry solemn and gay! +But, alas, the windows are shut, all shut: 'tis a cold and foggy day, +And I have not now the light to see what is in me the same alway!" + +V. + +Nay, rather I'll say: "I am a nut in the hard and frozen ground; +Above is the damp and frozen air, the cold blue sky all round; +And the power of a leafy and branchy tree is in me crushed and bound +Till the summer come and set it free from the grave-clothes + in which it is wound!" + +VI. + +But I bethink me of something better!--something better, yea best! +"I am lying a voiceless, featherless thing in God's own perfect nest; +And the voice and the song are growing within me, slowly lifting my +breast; +And his wide night-wings are closed about me, for his sun is down in the +west!" + +VII. + +Doors and windows, tents and grave-clothes, winters and eggs and seeds, +Ye shall all be opened and broken and torn; ye are but to serve my needs! +On the will of the Father all lovely things are strung like a string of +beads +For his heart to give the obedient child that the will of the father +heeds. + + + +_SONG-PRAYER_: AFTER KING DAVID. + +I shall be satisfied +With the seeing of thy face. +When I awake, wide-eyed, +I shall be satisfied +With what this life did hide, +The one supernal grace! +I shall be satisfied +With the seeing of thy face. + + + +_DECEMBER 27, 1879_ + +Every time would have its song + If the heart were right, +Seeing Love all tender-strong + Fills the day and night. + +Weary drop the hands of Prayer + Calling out for peace; +Love always and everywhere + Sings and does not cease. + +Fear, the caitiff, through the night + Silent peers about; +Love comes singing with a light + And doth cast him out. + +Hate and Guile and Wrath and Doubt + Never try to sing; +If they did, oh, what a rout + Anguished ears would sting! + +Pride indeed will sometimes aim + At the finer speech, +But the best that he can frame + Is a peacock-screech. + +Greed will also sometimes try: + Happiness he hunts! +But his dwelling is a sty, + And his tones are grunts. + +Faith will sometimes raise a song + Soaring up to heaven, +Then she will be silent long, + And will weep at even. + +Hope has many a gladsome note + Now and then to pipe; +But, alas, he has the throat + Of a bird unripe. + +Often Joy a stave will start + Which the welkin rends, +But it always breaks athwart, + And untimely ends. + +Grief, who still for death doth long, + Always self-abhorred, +Has but one low, troubled song, +_I am sorry, Lord_. + +But Love singeth in the vault. + Singeth on the stair; +Even for Sorrow will not halt, + Singeth everywhere. + +For the great Love everywhere + Over all doth glow; +Draws his birds up trough the air, + Tends his birds below. + +And with songs ascending sheer + Love-born Love replies, +Singing _Father_ in his ear + Where she bleeding lies. + +Therefore, if my heart were right + I should sing out clear, +Sing aloud both day and night + Every month in the year! + + + +_SUNDAY_, + +DECEMBER 28, 1879. + +A dim, vague shrinking haunts my soul, + My spirit bodeth ill-- +As some far-off restraining bank +Had burst, and waters, many a rank, + Were marching on my hill; + +As if I had no fire within + For thoughts to sit about; +As if I had no flax to spin, +No lamp to lure the good things in + And keep the bad things out. + +The wind, south-west, raves in the pines + That guard my cottage round; +The sea-waves fall in stormy lines +Below the sandy cliffs and chines, + And swell the roaring sound. + +The misty air, the bellowing wind + Not often trouble me; +The storm that's outside of the mind +Doth oftener wake my heart to find + More peace and liberty. + +Why is not such my fate to-night? + Chance is not lord of things! +Man were indeed a hapless wight +Things, thoughts occurring as they might-- + Chaotic wallowings! + +The man of moods might merely say + As by the fire he sat, +"I am low spirited to-day; +I must do something, work or play, + Lest care should kill the cat!" + +Not such my saw: I was not meant + To be the sport of things! +The mood has meaning and intent, +And my dull heart is humbly bent + To have the truth it brings. + +This sense of needed shelter round, + This frequent mental start +Show what a poor life mine were found, +To what a dead self I were bound, + How feeble were my heart, + +If I who think did stand alone + Centre to what I thought, +A brain within a box of bone, +A king on a deserted throne, + A something that was nought! + +A being without power to be, + Or any power to cease; +Whom objects but compelled to see, +Whose trouble was a windblown sea, + A windless sea his peace! + +This very sadness makes me think + How readily I might +Be driven to reason's farthest brink, +Then over it, and sudden sink + In ghastly waves of night. + +It makes me know when I am glad + 'Tis thy strength makes me strong; +But for thy bliss I should be sad, +But for thy reason should be mad, + But for thy right be wrong. + +Around me spreads no empty waste, + No lordless host of things; +My restlessness but seeks thy rest; +My little good doth seek thy best, + My needs thy ministerings. + +'Tis this, this only makes me safe-- + I am, immediate, +Of one that lives; I am no waif +That haggard waters toss and chafe, + But of a royal fate, + +The born-child of a Power that lives + Because it will and can, +A Love whose slightest motion gives, +A Freedom that forever strives + To liberate his Man. + +I live not on the circling air, + Live not by daily food; +I live not even by thinkings fair, +I hold my very being there + Where God is pondering good. + +Because God lives I live; because + He thinks, I also think; +I am dependent on no laws +But on himself, and without pause; + Between us hangs no link. + +The man that lives he knows not how + May well fear any mouse! +I should be trembling this same now +If I did think, my Father, thou + Wast nowhere in the house! + +O Father, lift me on thine arm, + And hold me close to thee; +Lift me into thy breathing warm, +Then cast me, and I fear no harm, + Into creation's sea! + + + +_SONG-SERMON_. + +In his arms thy silly lamb, +Lo, he gathers to his breast! +See, thou sadly bleating dam, +See him lift thy silly lamb! +Hear it cry, "How blest I am! +Here is love, and love is rest!" +In his arms thy silly lamb +See him gather to his breast! + + + +_THE DONKEY IN THE CART TO THE HORSE IN THE CARRIAGE_. + +I. + +I say! hey! cousin there! I mustn't call you brother! +Yet you have a tail behind, and I have another! +You pull, and I pull, though we don't pull together: +You have less hardship, and I have more weather! + +II. + +Your legs are long, mine are short; I am lean, you are fatter; +Your step is bold and free, mine goes pitter-patter; +Your head is in the air, and mine hangs down like lead-- +But then my two great ears are so heavy on my head! + +III. + +You need not whisk your stump, nor turn away your nose; +Poor donkeys ain't so stupid as rich horses may suppose! +I could feed in any manger just as well as you, +Though I don't despise a thistle--with sauce of dust and dew! + +IV. + +T'other day a bishop's cob stopped before me in a lane, +With a tail as broad as oil-cake, and a close-clipped hoggy mane; +I stood sideways to the hedge, but he did not want to pass, +And he was so full of corn he didn't care about the grass. + +V. + +Quoth the cob, "You are a donkey of a most peculiar breed! +You've just eaten up a thistle that was going fast to seed! +If you had but let it be, you might have raised a crop! +To many a coming dinner you have put a sad stop!" + +VI. + +I told him I was hungry, and to leave one of ten +Would have spoiled my best dinner, the one I wanted then. +Said the cob, "_I_ ought to know the truth about dinners, +_I_ don't eat on roadsides like poor tramping sinners!" + +VII. + +"Why don't you take it easy? You are working much too hard! +In the shafts you'll die one day, if you're not upon your guard! +Have pity on your friends: work seems to you delectable, +But believe me such a cart--excuse me--'s not respectable!" + +VIII. + +I told him I must trot in the shafts where I was put, +Nor look round at the cart, but set foremost my best foot; +It _was_ rather rickety, and the axle wanted oil, +But I always slept at night with the deep sleep of toil! + +IX. + +"All very fine," he said, "to wag your ears and parley, +And pretend you quite despise my bellyfuls of barley! +But with blows and with starving, and with labour over-hard, +By spurs! a week will see you in the knacker's yard." + +X. + +I thanked him for his counsel, and said I thought I'd take it, really, +If he'd spare me half a feed out of four feeds daily. +He tossed his head at that: "Now don't be cheeky!" said he; +"When I find I'm getting fat, I'll think of you: keep steady." + +XI. + +"Good-bye!" I said--and say, for you are such another! +Why, now I look at you, I see you are his brother! +Yes, thank you for your kick: 'twas all that you could spare, +For, sure, they clip and singe you very, very bare! + +XII. + +My cart it is upsets you! but in that cart behind +There's no dirt or rubbish, no bags of gold or wind! +There's potatoes there, and wine, and corn, and mustard-seed, +And a good can of milk, and some honey too, indeed! + +XIII. + +Few blows I get, some hay, and of water many a draught: +I tell you he's no coster that sits upon my shaft! +And for the knacker's yard--that's not my destined bed: +No donkey ever yet saw himself there lying dead. + + + +_ROOM TO ROAM_. + +Strait is the path? He means we must not roam? +Yes; but the strait path leads into a boundless home. + + + +_COTTAGE SONGS_. + +I.--BY THE CRADLE. + +Close her eyes: she must not peep! +Let her little puds go slack; +Slide away far into sleep: +Sis will watch till she comes back! + +Mother's knitting at the door, +Waiting till the kettle sings; +When the kettle's song is o'er +She will set the bright tea-things. + +Father's busy making hay +In the meadow by the brook, +Not so very far away-- +Close its peeps, it needn't look! + +God is round us everywhere-- +Sees the scythe glitter and rip; +Watches baby gone somewhere; +Sees how mother's fingers skip! + +Sleep, dear baby; sleep outright: + Mother's sitting just behind: +Father's only out of sight; + God is round us like the wind. + +II.--SWEEPING THE FLOOR. + +Sweep and sweep and sweep the floor, + Sweep the dust, pick up the pin; +Make it clean from fire to door, + Clean for father to come in! + +Mother said that God goes sweeping, + Looking, sweeping with a broom, +All the time that we are sleeping, + For a shilling in the room: + +Did he drop it out of glory, + Walking far above the birds? +Or did parson make the story + For the thinking afterwards? + +If I were the swept-for shilling + I would hearken through the gloom; +Roll out fast, and fall down willing + Right before the sweeping broom! + +III.--WASHING THE CLOTHES. + +This is the way we wash the clo'es + Free from dirt and smoke and clay! +Through and through the water flows, + Carries Ugly right away! + +This is the way we bleach the clo'es: + Lay them out upon the green; +Through and through the sunshine goes, + Makes them white as well as clean! + +This is the way we dry the clo'es: + Hang them on the bushes about; +Through and through the soft wind blows, + Draws and drives the wetness out! + +Water, sun, and windy air + Make the clothes clean, white, and sweet +Lay them now in lavender + For the Sunday, folded neat! + +IV.--DRAWING WATER. + +Dark, as if it would not tell, + Lies the water, still and cool: +Dip the bucket in the well, + Lift it from the precious pool! + +Up it comes all brown and dim, + Telling of the twilight sweet: +As it rises to the brim + See the sun and water meet! + +See the friends each other hail! + "Here you are!" cries Master Sun; +Mistress Water from the pail + Flashes back, alive with fun! + +Have you not a tale to tell, + Water, as I take you home? +Tell me of the hidden well + Whence you, first of all, did come. + +Of it you have kept some flavour + Through long paths of darkling strife: +Water all has still a savour + Of the primal well of life! + +Could you show the lovely way + Back and up through sea and sky +To that well? Oh, happy day, + I would drink, and never die! + +Jesus sits there on its brink + All the world's great thirst to slake, +Offering every one to drink + Who will only come and take! + +Lord of wells and waters all, + Lord of rains and dewy beads, +Unto thee my thirst doth call + For the thing thou know'st it needs! + +Come home, water sweet and cool, + Gift of God thou always art! +Spring up, Well more beautiful, + Rise in mine straight from his heart. + +V.--CLEANING THE WINDOWS. + +Wash the window; rub it dry; + Make the ray-door clean and bright: +He who lords it in the sky + Loves on cottage floors to light! + +Looking over sea and beck, + Mountain-forest, orchard-bloom, +He can spy the smallest speck + Anywhere about the room! + +See how bright his torch is blazing + In the heart of mother's store! +Strange! I never saw him gazing + So into that press before! + +Ah, I see!--the wooden pane + In the window, dull and dead, +Father called its loss a gain, + And a glass one put instead! + +What a difference it makes! + How it melts the filmy gloom! +What a little more it takes + Much to brighten up a room! + +There I spy a dusty streak! + There a corner not quite clean! +There a cobweb! There the sneak + Of a spider, watching keen! + +Lord of suns, and eyes that see, + Shine into me, see and show; +Leave no darksome spot in me + Where thou dost not shining go. + +Fill my spirit full of eyes, + Doors of light in every part; +Open windows to the skies + That no moth corrupt my heart. + + + +_THE WIND AND THE MOON_. + +Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out! + You stare + In the air + As if crying _Beware_, +Always looking what I am about: +I hate to be watched; I will blow you out!" + +The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon. + So, deep + On a heap + Of clouds, to sleep +Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon, +Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon!" + +He turned in his bed: she was there again! + On high + In the sky + With her one ghost-eye +The Moon shone white and alive and plain: +Said the Wind, "I will blow you out again!" + +The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew slim. + "With my sledge + And my wedge + I have knocked off her edge! +I will blow," said the Wind, "right fierce and grim, +And the creature will soon be slimmer than slim!" + +He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread. + "One puff + More's enough + To blow her to snuff! +One good puff more where the last was bred, +And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go that thread!" + +He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone. + In the air + Nowhere + Was a moonbeam bare; +Larger and nearer the shy stars shone: +Sure and certain the Moon was gone! + +The Wind he took to his revels once more; + On down + And in town, + A merry-mad clown, +He leaped and holloed with whistle and roar-- +When there was that glimmering thread once more! + +He flew in a rage--he danced and blew; + But in vain + Was the pain + Of his bursting brain, +For still the Moon-scrap the broader grew +The more that he swelled his big cheeks and blew. + +Slowly she grew--till she filled the night, + And shone + On her throne + In the sky alone +A matchless, wonderful, silvery light, +Radiant and lovely, the queen of the night. + +Said the Wind, "What a marvel of power am I! + With my breath, + In good faith, + I blew her to death!-- +First blew her away right out of the sky, +Then blew her in: what a strength am I!" + +But the Moon she knew nought of the silly affair; + For, high + In the sky + With her one white eye, +Motionless miles above the air, +She never had heard the great Wind blare. + + + +_THE FOOLISH HAREBELL_. + +A harebell hung her wilful head: +"I am tired, so tired! I wish I was dead." + +She hung her head in the mossy dell: +"If all were over, then all were well!" + +The Wind he heard, and was pitiful, +And waved her about to make her cool. + +"Wind, you are rough!" said the dainty Bell; +"Leave me alone--I am not well." + +The Wind, at the word of the drooping dame, +Sighed to himself and ceased in shame. + +"I am hot, so hot!" she moaned and said; +"I am withering up; I wish I was dead!" + +Then the Sun he pitied her woeful case, +And drew a thick veil over his face. + +"Cloud go away, and don't be rude," +She said; "I do not see why you should!" + +The Cloud withdrew. Then the Harebell cried, +"I am faint, so faint!--and no water beside!" + +The Dew came down its millionfold path: +She murmured, "I did not want a bath!" + +The Dew went up; the Wind softly crept; +The Night came down, and the Harebell slept. + +A boy ran past in the morning gray, +Plucked the Harebell, and threw her away. + +The Harebell shivered, and sighed, "Oh! oh! +I am faint indeed! Come, dear Wind, blow." + +The Wind blew gently, and did not speak. +She thanked him kindly, but grew more weak. + +"Sun, dear Sun, I am cold!" she said. +He shone; but lower she drooped her head. + +"O Rain, I am withering! all the blue +Is fading out of me!--come, please do!" + +The Rain came down as fast as he could, +But for all his good will he could do her no good. + +She shuddered and shrivelled, and moaning said, +"Thank you all kindly!" and then she was dead. + +Let us hope, let us hope when she comes next year +She'll be simple and sweet! But I fear, I fear! + + + +_SONG_. + +I was very cold + In the summer weather; +The sun shone all his gold, +But I was very cold-- +Alas, we were grown old, + Love and I together! +Oh, but I was cold + In the summer weather! + +Sudden I grew warmer + Though the brooks were frozen: +"Truly, scorn did harm her!" +I said, and I grew warmer; +"Better men the charmer + Knows at least a dozen!" +I said, and I grew warmer + Though the brooks were frozen. + +Spring sits on her nest, + Daisies and white clover; +And my heart at rest +Lies in the spring's young nest: +My love she loves me best, + And the frost is over! +Spring sits on her nest, + Daisies and white clover! + + + +_AN IMPROVISATION_. + +The stars cleave the sky. + Yet for us they rest, +And their race-course high + Is a shining nest! + +The hours hurry on. + But where is thy flight, +Soft pavilion + Of motionless night? + +Earth gives up her trees + To the holy air; +They live in the breeze; + They are saints at prayer! + +Summer night, come from God, + On your beauty, I see, +A still wave has flowed + Of eternity! + + + +_EQUITY_. + +No bird can sing in tune but that the Lord +Sits throned in equity above the heaven, +And holds the righteous balance always even; +No heart can true response to love afford +Wherein from one to eight not every chord +Is yet attuned by the spirits seven: +For tuneful no bird sings but that the Lord +Is throned in equity above high heaven. + +Oh heart, by wrong unfilial scathed and scored, +And from thy humble throne with mazedness driven, +Take courage: when thy wrongs thou hast forgiven, +Thy rights in love thy God will see restored: +No bird could sing in tune but that the Lord +Sits throned in equity above the heaven. + + + +_CONTRITION_. + +Out of the gulf into the glory, + Father, my soul cries out to be lifted. +Dark is the woof of my dismal story, + Thorough thy sun-warp stormily drifted!-- +Out of the gulf into the glory, +Lift me, and save my story. + +I have done many things merely shameful; + I am a man ashamed, my father! +My life is ashamed and broken and blameful-- + The broken and blameful, oh, cleanse and gather! +Heartily shame me, Lord, of the shameful! +To my judge I flee with my blameful. + +Saviour, at peace in thy perfect purity, + Think what it is, not to be pure! +Strong in thy love's essential security, + Think upon those who are never secure. +Full fill my soul with the light of thy purity: +Fold me in love's security. + +O Father, O Brother, my heart is sore aching! + Help it to ache as much as is needful; +Is it you cleansing me, mending, remaking, + Dear potter-hands, so tender and heedful? +Sick of my past, of my own self aching-- +Hurt on, dear hands, with your making. + +Proud of the form thou hadst given thy vessel, + Proud of myself, I forgot my donor; +Down in the dust I began to nestle, + Poured thee no wine, and drank deep of dishonour! +Lord, thou hast broken, thou mendest thy vessel! +In the dust of thy glory I nestle. + + + + +_THE CONSOLER_: +ON AN ENGRAVING OF SCHEFFER'S _Christus Consolator_. + +I. + +What human form is this? what form divine? +And who are these that gaze upon his face +Mild, beautiful, and full of heavenly grace, +With whose reflected light the gazers shine? +Saviour, who does not know it to be thine? +Who does not long to fill a gazer's place? +And yet there is no time, there is no space +To keep away thy servants from thy shrine! +Here if we kneel, and watch with faithful eyes, +Thou art not too far for faithful eyes to see, +Thou art not too far to turn and look on me, +To speak to me, and to receive my sighs. +Therefore for ever I forget the skies, +And find an everlasting Sun in thee. + +II. + +Oh let us never leave that happy throng! +From that low attitude of love not cease! +In all the world there is no other peace, +In all the world no other shield from wrong. +But chiefly, Saviour, for thy feet we long-- +For no vain quiet, for no pride's increase-- +But that, being weak, and Thou divinely strong, +Us from our hateful selves thou mayst release. +We wander from thy fold's free holy air, +Forget thy looks, and take our fill of sin! +But if thou keep us evermore within, +We never surely can forget thee there-- +Breathing thy breath, thy white robe given to wear, +And loving thee for all thou diedst to win! + +III. + +To speak of him in language of our own, +Is not for us too daringly to try; +But, Saviour, we can read thy history +Upon the faces round thy humble throne; +And as the flower among the grass makes known +What summer suns have warmed it from the sky, +As every human smile and human sigh +Is witness that we do not live alone, +So in that company--in those sweet tears, +The first-born of a rugged melted heart, +In those gaunt chains for ever torn apart, +And in the words that weeping mother hears, +We read the story of two thousand years, +And know thee somewhat, Saviour, as thou art. + + + +_TO_ ---- + +I cannot write old verses here, + Dead things a thousand years away, +When all the life of the young year + Is in the summer day. + +The roses make the world so sweet, + The bees, the birds have such a tune, +There's such a light and such a heat + And such a joy this June, + +One must expand one's heart with praise, + And make the memory secure +Of sunshine and the woodland days + And summer twilights pure. + +Oh listen rather! Nature's song + Comes from the waters, beating tides, +Green-margined rivers, and the throng + Of streams on mountain-sides. + +So fair those water-spirits are, + Such happy strength their music fills, +Our joy shall be to wander far + And find them on the hills. + + + +_TO A SISTER_. + +A fresh young voice that sings to me +So often many a simple thing, +Should surely not unanswered be +By all that I can sing. + +Dear voice, be happy every way +A thousand changing tones among, +From little child's unfinished lay +To angel's perfect song. + +In dewy woods--fair, soft, and green +Like morning woods are childhood's bower-- +Be like the voice of brook unseen +Among the stones and flowers; + +A joyful voice though born so low, +And making all its neighbours glad; +Sweet, hidden, constant in its flow +Even when the winds are sad. + +So, strengthen in a peaceful home, +And daily deeper meanings bear; +And when life's wildernesses come +Be brave and faithful there. + +Try all the glorious magic range, +Worship, forgive, console, rejoice, +Until the last and sweetest change-- +So live and grow, dear voice. + + + +_THE SHORTEST AND SWEETEST OF SONGS_. + +Come +Home. + + + + + SCOTS SONGS AND BALLADS. + + + +_ANNIE SHE'S DOWIE_. + +Annie she's dowie, and Willie he's wae: +What can be the matter wi' siccan a twae, +For Annie she's fair as the first o' the day, +And Willie he's honest and stalwart and gay? + +Oh, the tane has a daddy is poor and is proud, +And the tither a minnie that cleiks at the goud '. +They lo'ed are anither, and said their say, +But the daddy and minnie hae partit the twae! + + + +_O LASSIE AYONT THE HILL_! + +O lassie ayont the hill, +Come ower the tap o' the hill, +Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill, +Bidena ayont the hill! + I'm needin ye sair the nicht, +For I'm tired and sick o' mysel. + A body's sel 's the sairest weicht: +O lassie, come ower the hill! + +Gien a body could be a thoucht o' grace, + And no a sel ava! +I'm sick o' my heid and my ban's and my face, + O' my thouchts and mysel and a'; + + I'm sick o' the warl' and a'; +The win' gangs by wi' a hiss; + Throu my starin een the sunbeams fa' +But my weary hert they miss! + O lassie ayont the hill, + Come ower the tap o' the hill, + Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill, + Bidena ayont the hill! &c. + +For gien I but saw yer bonnie heid, + And the sunlicht o' yer hair, +The ghaist o' mysel wud fa' doun deid, + I wud be mysel nae mair. + I wud be mysel nae mair, +Filled o' the sole remeid, + Slain by the arrows o' licht frae yer hair, +Killed by yer body and heid! + O lassie ayont the hill, &c. + +My sel micht wauk up at the saft fitfa' + O' my bonnie departin dame; +But gien she lo'ed me ever sae sma' + I micht bide it--the weary same! + Noo, sick o' my body and name +Whan it lifts its upsettin heid, + I turn frae the cla'es that cover my frame +As gien they war roun the deid. + O lassie ayont the hill, &c. + +But gien ye lo'ed me as I lo'e you + I wud ring my ain deid knell; +The spectre wud melt, shot through and through + Wi' the shine o' your sunny sel! + By the shine o' yer sunny sel, +By the licht aneth yer broo + I wud dee to mysel, ring my ain deid-bell, +And live again in you! + +O lassie ayont the hill, +Come ower the tap o' the hill, +Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill, + For I want ye sair the nicht! + I'm needin ye sair the nicht, +For I'm tired and sick o' mysel. + A body's sel 's the sairest weicht: +O lassie, come ower the hill! + + + +_THE BONNY, BONNY DELL_. + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the yorlin sings, +Wi' a clip o' the sunshine atween his wings; +Whaur the birks are a' straikit wi' fair munelicht, +And the brume hings its lamps by day and by nicht; +Whaur the burnie comes trottin ower shingle and stane +Liltin bonny havers til 'tsel its lane; +And the sliddery troot wi' ae soop o' its tail +Is ahint the green weed's dark swingin veil! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang as I saw +The yorlin, the brume, and the burnie, and a'! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the primroses won, +Luikin oot o' their leaves like wee sons o' the sun; +Whaur the wild roses hing like flickers o' flame, +And fa' at the touch wi' a dainty shame; +Whaur the bee swings ower the white-clovery sod, +And the butterfly flits like a stray thoucht o' God; +Whaur, like arrow shot frae life's unseen bow, +The dragon-fly burns the sunlicht throu! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur I sang to see +The rose and the primrose, the draigon and bee! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the mune luiks doon +As gien she war hearin a soughless tune, +Whan the flooers and the birdies are a' asleep, +And the verra burnie gangs creepy-creep; +Whaur the corn-craik craiks i' the lang-heidit rye, +And the nicht is the safter for his rouch cry; +Whaur the win' wud fain lie doon on the slope, +And the gloamin waukens the high-reachin hope! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur, silent, I felt +The mune and the darkness baith into me melt! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luiks in +Sayin, "Here awa, there awa, hand awa, Sin!" +Sayin darkness and sorrow a' work for the licht, +And the will o' God was the hert o' the nicht; +Whaur the laverock hings hie, on his ain sang borne, +Wi' bird-shout and tirralee hailin the morn; +Whaur my hert ran ower wi' the lusome bliss +That, come winter, come weather, nocht gaed amiss! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the sun luikit in +Sayin, "Here awa, there awa, hand awa, Sin!" + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur aft I wud lie, +Wi' Jeanie aside me sae sweet and sae shy; +Whaur the starry gowans wi' rose-dippit tips +War as white as her cheek and as reid as her lips; +Whaur she spread her gowd hert till she saw that I saw, +Syne fauldit it up and gied me it a'; +Whaur o' sunlicht and munelicht she was the queen, +For baith war but middlin withoot my Jean! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur aft I wud lie, +Wi' Jeanie aside me sae sweet and sae shy! + +Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the kirkyard lies +A' day and a' nicht luikin up to the skies; +Whaur the sheep wauken up i' the simmer nicht, +Tak a bite and lie doon, and await the licht; +Whaur the psalms roll ower the grassy heaps; +Whaur the win' comes and moans, and the rain comes and weeps; +Whaur my Jeanie's no lyin in a' the lair, +For she's up and awa up the angels' stair! +Oh, the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the kirkyard lies, +Whaur the stars luik doon, and the nicht-wind sighs! + + + +_NANNIE BRAW_. + +I like ye weel upo Sundays, Nannie, + I' yer goon and yer ribbons and a'; +But I like ye better on Mondays, Nannie, + Whan ye're no sae buskit and braw. + +For whan we're sittin sae douce, Nannie, + Wi' the lave o' the worshippin fowk, +That aneth the haly hoose, Nannie, + Ye micht hear a moudiwarp howk, + +It _will_ come into my heid, Nannie, + O' yer braws ye are thinkin a wee; +No alane o' the Bible-seed, Nannie, + Nor the minister nor me! + +Syne hame athort the green, Nannie, + Ye gang wi' a toss o' yer chin; +And there walks a shadow atween 's, Nannie, + A dark ane though it be thin! + +But noo, whan I see ye gang, Nannie, + Eident at what's to be dune, +Liltin a haiveless sang, Nannie, + I wud kiss yer verra shune! + +Wi' yer silken net on yer hair, Nannie, + I' yer bonnie blue petticoat, +Wi' yer kin'ly arms a' bare, Nannie, + On yer ilka motion I doat. + +For, oh, but ye're canty and free, Nannie, + Airy o' hert and o' fit! +A star-beam glents frae yer ee, Nannie-- + O' yersel ye're no thinkin a bit! + +Fillin the cogue frae the coo, Nannie, + Skimmin the yallow ream, +Pourin awa the het broo, Nannie, + Lichtin the lampie's leme, + +Turnin or steppin alang, Nannie, + Liftin and layin doon, +Settin richt what's aye gaein wrang, Nannie, + Yer motion's baith dance and tune! + +I' the hoose ye're a licht and a law, Nannie, + A servan like him 'at's abune: +Oh, a woman's bonniest o' a', Nannie, + Doin what _maun_ be dune! + +Cled i' yer Sunday claes, Nannie, + Fair kythe ye to mony an ee; +But cled i' yer ilka-day's, Nannie, + Ye draw the hert frae me! + + + +_OWER THE HEDGE_. + +I. + +"Bonny lassie, rosy lassie, + Ken ye what is care? +Had ye ever a thought, lassie, + Made yer hertie sair?" + +Johnnie said it, Johnnie seekin + Sicht o' Mally's face, +Keekin i' the hedge o' holly + For a thinner place. + +"Na," said Mally, pawky smilin, + "Nought o' care ken I; +Gien I meet the gruesome carline, + I s' hand weel ootby!" + +"Lang be licht o' hert, Mally, + As o' fut and ban'! +Lang be ready wi' sic answer + To ony speirin man!" + +"Ay, the men 'll aye be speirin! + Troth, it's naething new! +There's yersel wi' queston, queston-- + And there's mair like you!" + +"Deed ye wadna mock me, Mally, + Wi' yer lauchin ee, +Gien ye saw the thing aye muvin + I' the hert o' me!" + +"Troth, I'm no sae pryin, laddie, + Yon's no my concern! +Jist as sune I wud gang speirin + What's intil yon cairn!" + +"Still and on, there's ae thing, Mally, + Yont yer help, my doo-- +That's to haud my hert frae lo'in + At the hert o' you!" + +II. + +Johnnie turned and left her, + Listit for the war; +In a year cam limpin + Hame wi' mony a scar. + +Wha was that was sittin + On the brae, sae still? +Worn and wan and altert, + Could it be hersel? + +Cled in black, her eelids + Reid wi' greitin sair-- +Was she wife and widow + In a towmond bare? + +Mally's hert played wallop, + Kenned him or he spak: +"Are ye no deid, Johnnie? + Is't yersel come back?" + +"Are ye wife or widow? + Tell me in a breath; +Lanely life is fearsome, + Waur nor ony death!" + +"Wha cud be a widow + Wife was never nane? +Noo, gien ye will hae me, + Noo I will be ane!" + +Crutch awa he flang it, + Clean forgot his hairms, +Cudna stan' withoot it, + Fell in Mally's airms. + + + +_GAEIN AND COMIN_. + +Whan Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed + The lift was lowerin dreary, +The sun he wadna raise his heid, + The win' blew laich and eerie. +In's pooch he had a plack or twa-- + I vow he hadna mony, +Yet Andrew like a linty sang, + For Lizzie was sae bonny! + O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny lassie! + Bonny, saucy hizzy! + What richt had ye to luik at me + And drive me daft and dizzy? + +Whan Andrew to Strathbogie cam + The sun was shinin rarely; +He rade a horse that pranced and sprang-- + I vow he sat him fairly! +And he had gowd to spen' and spare, + And a hert as true as ony; +But his luik was doon, his sigh was sair, + For Lizzie was sae bonny! + O Lizzie, Lizzie, bonny hizzy! + Aih, the sunlicht weary! + Ye're straucht and rare--ye're fause though fair!-- + Hech, auld John Armstrong's deary! + + + +_A SANG O' ZION_. + +Ane by ane they gang awa; +The getherer gethers grit and sma': +Ane by ane maks ane and a'! + +Aye whan ane sets doon the cup +Ane ahint maun tak it up: +A' thegither they will sup! + +Golden-heidit, ripe, and strang, +Shorn will be the hairst or lang: +Syne begins a better sang! + + + +_TIME AND TIDE_. + + As I was walkin on the strand, + I spied ane auld man sit + On ane auld black rock; and aye the waves + Cam washin up its fit. + His lips they gaed as gien they wad lilt, + But o' liltin, wae's me, was nane! + He spak but an owercome, dreary and dreigh, + A burden wha's sang was gane: +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns; + They playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush." + + "What can the auld man mean," quod I, + "Sittin o' the auld black rock? + The tide creeps up wi' a moan and a cry, + And a hiss 'maist like a mock! + The words he mutters maun be the en' + O' some weary auld-warl' sang-- + A deid thing floatin aboot in his brain, + 'At the tide 'ill no lat gang!" +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns; + They playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush." + + "Hoo pairtit it them, auld man?" I said; + "Was't the sea cam up ower strang? + Oh, gien thegither the twa o' them gaed + Their pairtin wasna lang! + Or was are ta'en, and the ither left-- + Ane to sing, are to greit? + It's sair, I ken, to be sae bereft-- + But there's the tide at yer feet!" +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, + And they playt thegither i' the gloamin's hush: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa wi' a glint and a gush." + + "Was't the sea o' space wi' its storm o' time + That wadna lat things bide? + But Death's a diver frae heavenly clime + Seekin ye neth its tide, + And ye'll gaze again in ither's ee, + Far abune space and time!" + Never ae word he answered me, + But changed a wee his rime: +"Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, + And they playt thegither upo' the shore; +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And pairtit the twa for evermore." + + "May be, auld man, 'twas the tide o' change + That crap atween the twa? + Hech! that's a droonin fearsome strange, + Waur, waur nor are and a'!" + He said nae mair. I luikit, and saw + His lips they couldna gang: + Death, the diver, had ta'en him awa, + To gie him a new auld sang. +Robbie and Jeanie war twa bonnie bairns, + And they playt thegither upo' the shore: +Up cam the tide and the mune and the sterns, + And souft them awa throu a mirksome door! + + + +_THE WAESOME CARL_. + +There cam a man to oor toon-en', + And a waesome carl was he, +Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou'd, + And gleyt o' a blinterin ee. +Muckle he spied, and muckle he spak, + But the owercome o' his sang, +Whatever it said, was aye the same:-- + There's nane o' ye a' but's wrang! + Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang: + There's no a man aboot the toon + But's a'thegither a' wrang. + +That's no the gait to fire the breid, + Nor yet to brew the yill; +That's no the gait to haud the pleuch, + Nor yet to ca the mill; +That's no the gait to milk the coo, + Nor yet to spean the calf, +Nor yet to tramp the girnel-meal-- + Ye kenna yer wark by half! + Ye're a' wrang, &c. + +The minister wasna fit to pray + And lat alane to preach; +He nowther had the gift o' grace + Nor yet the gift o' speech! +He mind't him o' Balaäm's ass, + Wi' a differ we micht ken: +The Lord he opened the ass's mou, + The minister opened's ain! + He was a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There wasna a man aboot the toon + But was a'thegither a' wrang! + +The puir precentor couldna sing, + He gruntit like a swine; +The verra elders couldna pass + The ladles til his min'. +And for the rulin' elder's grace + It wasna worth a horn; +He didna half uncurse the meat, + Nor pray for mair the morn! + He was a' wrang, &c. + +And aye he gied his nose a thraw, + And aye he crook't his mou; +And aye he cockit up his ee + And said, Tak tent the noo! +We snichert hint oor loof, my man, + But never said him nay; +As gien he had been a prophet, man, + We loot him say his say: + Ye're a' wrang, &c. + +Quo oor gudeman: The crater's daft! + Heard ye ever sic a claik? +Lat's see gien he can turn a ban', + Or only luik and craik! +It's true we maunna lippin til him-- + He's fairly crack wi' pride, +But he maun live--we canna kill him! + Gien he can work, he s' bide. + He was a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There, troth, the gudeman o' the toon + Was a'thegither a' wrang! + +Quo he, It's but a laddie's turn, + But best the first be a sma' thing: +There's a' thae weyds to gether and burn, + And he's the man for a' thing!-- +We yokit for the far hill-moss, + There was peats to cast and ca; +O' 's company we thoucht na loss, + 'Twas peace till gloamin-fa'! + We war a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There wasna man aboot the toon + But was a'thegither a' wrang! + +For, losh, or it was denner-time + The toon was in a low! +The reek rase up as it had been + Frae Sodom-flames, I vow. +We lowst and rade like mad, for byre + And ruck bleezt a' thegither, +As gien the deil had broucht the fire + Frae's hell to mak anither! + 'Twas a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang, + Stick and strae aboot the place + Was a'thegither a' wrang! + +And luikin on, ban's neth his tails, + The waesome carl stude; +To see him wagglin at thae tails + 'Maist drave 's a' fairly wud. +Ain wite! he cried; I tauld ye sae! + Ye're a' wrang to the last: +What gart ye burn thae deevilich weyds + Whan the win' blew frae the wast! + Ye're a' wrang, and a' wrang, + And a'thegither a' wrang; + There's no a man i' this fule warl + But's a'thegither a' wrang! + + + +_THE MERMAID_. + +Up cam the tide wi' a burst and a whush, + And back gaed the stanes wi' a whurr; +The king's son walkit i' the evenin hush, + To hear the sea murmur and murr. + +Straucht ower the water slade frae the mune + A glimmer o' cauld weet licht; +Ane o' her horns rase the water abune, + And lampit across the nicht. + +Quhat's that, and that, far oot i' the gray, + The laich mune bobbin afore? +It's the bonny sea-maidens at their play-- + Haud awa, king's son, frae the shore. + +Ae rock stude up like an auld aik-root, + The king's son he steppit ahin'; +The bonny sea-maidens cam gambolin oot, + Kaimin their hair to the win'. + +O merry their lauch whan they fan the warm san', + For the lichtsome reel sae meet! +Ilk are flang her kaim frae her pearly ban', + And tuik til her pearly feet. + +But are, wha's beauty was dream and spell, + Her kaim on the rock she cuist; +Her back was scarce turnt whan the munelicht shell + Was lyin i' the prince's breist! + +The cluds grew grim as he watched their game, + Th' win' blew up an angry tune; +Ane efter are tuik up her kaim, + And seaward gaed dancin doon. + +But are, wi' hair like the mune in a clud, + Was left by the rock her lane; +Wi' flittin ban's, like a priest's, she stude, + 'Maist veiled in a rush o' rain. + +She spied the prince, she sank at his feet, + And lay like a wreath o' snaw +Meltin awa i' the win' and weet + O' a wastin wastlin thaw. + +He liftit her, trimlin wi' houp and dreid, + And hame wi' his prize he gaed, +And laid her doon, like a witherin weed, + Saft on a gowden bed. + +A' that nicht, and a' day the neist, + She never liftit heid; +Quaiet lay the sea, and quaiet lay her breist, + And quaiet lay the kirkyard-deid. + +But quhan at the gloamin a sea-breeze keen + Blew intil the glimsome room, +Like twa settin stars she opened her een, + And the sea-flooer began to bloom. + +And she saw the prince kneelin at her bed, + And afore the mune was new, +Careless and cauld she was wooed and wed-- + But a winsome wife she grew. + +And a' gaed weel till their bairn was born, + And syne she cudna sleep; +She wud rise at midnicht, and wan'er till morn, + Hark-harkin the sough o' the deep. + +Ae nicht whan the win' gaed ravin aboot, + And the winnocks war speckled wi' faem, +Frae room to room she strayt in and oot, + And she spied her pearly kaim. + +She twined up her hair wi' eager ban's, + And in wi' the rainbow kaim! +She's oot, and she's aff ower the shinin san's + And awa til her moanin hame! + +The prince he startit whaur he lay, + He waukit, and was himlane! +He soucht far intil the mornin gray, + But his bonny sea-wife was gane! + +And ever and aye, i' the mirk or the mune, + Whan the win' blew saft frae the sea, +The sad shore up and the sad shore doon + By the lanely rock paced he. + +But never again on the sands to play + Cam the maids o' the merry, cauld sea; +He heard them lauch far oot i' the bay, + But hert-alane gaed he. + + + +_THE YERL O' WATERYDECK_. + +The wind it blew, and the ship it flew, + And it was "Hey for hame!" +But up an' cried the skipper til his crew, + "Haud her oot ower the saut sea faem." + +Syne up an' spak the angry king: + "Haud on for Dumferline!" +Quo' the skipper, "My lord, this maunna be-- + _I_'m king on this boat o' mine!" + +He tuik the helm intil his han', + He left the shore un'er the lee; +Syne croodit sail, an', east an' south, + Stude awa richt oot to sea. + +Quo' the king, "Leise-majesty, I trow! + Here lies some ill-set plan! +'Bout ship!" Quo' the skipper, "Yer grace forgets + Ye are king but o' the lan'!" + +Oot he heild to the open sea + Quhill the north wind flaughtered an' fell; +Syne the east had a bitter word to say + That waukent a watery hell. + +He turnt her heid intil the north: + Quo' the nobles, "He s' droon, by the mass!" +Quo' the skipper, "Haud afif yer lady-ban's + Or ye'll never see the Bass." + +The king creepit down the cabin-stair + To drink the gude French wine; +An' up cam his dochter, the princess fair, + An' luikit ower the brine. + +She turnt her face to the drivin snaw, + To the snaw but and the weet; +It claucht her snood, an' awa like a dud + Her hair drave oot i' the sleet. + +She turnt her face frae the drivin win'-- + "Quhat's that aheid?" quo' she. +The skipper he threw himsel frae the win' + An' he brayt the helm alee. + +"Put to yer han', my lady fair! + Haud up her heid!" quo' he; +"Gien she dinna face the win' a wee mair + It's faurweel to you an' me!" + +To the tiller the lady she laid her han', + An' the ship brayt her cheek to the blast; +They joukit the berg, but her quarter scraped, + An' they luikit at ither aghast. + +Quo' the skipper, "Ye are a lady fair, + An' a princess gran' to see, +But war ye a beggar, a man wud sail + To the hell i' yer company!" + +She liftit a pale an' a queenly face, + Her een flashed, an' syne they swam: +"An' what for no to the hevin?" she says, + An' she turnt awa frae him. + +Bot she tuik na her han' frae the gude ship's helm + Till the day begouth to daw; +An' the skipper he spak, but what was said + It was said atween them twa. + +An' syne the gude ship she lay to, + Wi' Scotlan' hyne un'er the lee; +An' the king cam up the cabin-stair + Wi' wan face an' bluidshot ee. + +Laigh loutit the skipper upo' the deck; + "Stan' up, stan' up," quo' the king; +"Ye're an honest loun--an' beg me a boon + Quhan ye gie me back this ring." + +Lowne blew the win'; the stars cam oot; + The ship turnt frae the north; +An' or ever the sun was up an' aboot + They war intil the firth o' Forth. + +Quhan the gude ship lay at the pier-heid, + And the king stude steady o' the lan',-- +"Doon wi' ye, skipper--doon!" he said, + "Hoo daur ye afore me stan'!" + +The skipper he loutit on his knee; + The king his blade he drew: +Quo' the king, "Noo mynt ye to centre me! + I'm aboord _my_ vessel noo! + +"Gien I hadna been yer verra gude lord + I wud hae thrawn yer neck! +Bot--ye wha loutit Skipper o' Doon, + Rise up Yerl o' Waterydeck." + +The skipper he rasena: "Yer Grace is great, + Yer wull it can heize or ding: +Wi' ae wee word ye hae made me a yerl-- + Wi' anither mak me a king." + +"I canna mak ye a king," quo' he, + "The Lord alane can do that! +I snowk leise-majesty, my man! + Quhat the Sathan wad ye be at?" + +Glowert at the skipper the doutsum king + Jalousin aneth his croon; +Quo' the skipper, "Here is yer Grace's ring-- + An' yer dochter is my boon!" + +The black blude shot intil the king's face + He wasna bonny to see: +"The rascal skipper! he lichtlies oor grace!-- + Gar hang him heigh on yon tree." + +Up sprang the skipper an' aboord his ship, + Cleikit up a bytin blade +An' hackit at the cable that held her to the pier, + An' thoucht it 'maist ower weel made. + +The king he blew shill in a siller whustle; + An' tramp, tramp, doon the pier +Cam twenty men on twenty horses, + Clankin wi' spur an' spear. + +At the king's fute fell his dochter fair: + "His life ye wadna spill!" +"Ye daur stan' twixt my hert an' my hate?" + "I daur, wi' a richt gude will!" + +"Ye was aye to yer faither a thrawart bairn, + But, my lady, here stan's the king! +Luikna _him_ i' the angry face-- + A monarch's anither thing!" + +"I lout to my father for his grace + Low on my bendit knee; +But I stan' an' luik the king i' the face, + For the skipper is king o' me!" + +She turnt, she sprang upo' the deck, + The cable splashed i' the Forth, +Her wings sae braid the gude ship spread + And flew east, an' syne flew north. + +Now was not this a king's dochter-- + A lady that feared no skaith? +A woman wi' quhilk a man micht sail + Prood intil the Port o' Death? + + + +_THE TWA GORDONS_. + +I. + +There was John Gordon an' Archibold, +An' a yerl's twin sons war they; +Quhan they war are an' twenty year auld +They fell oot on their ae birthday. + +"Turn ye, John Gordon, nae brither to me! +Turn ye, fause an' fell! +Or doon ye s' gang, as black as a lee, +To the muckle deevil o' hell." + +"An' quhat for that, Archie Gordon, I pray? +Quhat ill hae I dune to thee?" +"Twa-faced loon, ye sail rue this day +The answer I'm gauin to gie! + +"For it'll be roucher nor lady Janet's, +An' loud i' the braid daylicht; +An' the wa' to speil is my iron mail, +No her castle-wa' by nicht!" + +"I speilt the wa' o' her castle braw +I' the roarin win' yestreen; +An' I sat in her bower till the gloamin sta' +Licht-fittit ahint the mune." + +"Turn ye, John Gordon--the twasum we s' twin! +Turn ye, an' haud yer ain; +For ane sall lie on a cauld weet bed-- +An' I downa curse again!" + +"O Archie, Janet is my true love-- +notna speir leave o' thee!" +"Gien that be true, the deevil's a sanct, +An' ye are no tellin a lee!" + +Their suerds they drew, an' the fire-flauchts flew, + An' they shiftit wi' fendin feet; +An' the blude ran doon, till the grun a' roun + Like a verra bog was weet. + +"O Archie, I hae gotten a cauld supper-- + O' steel, but shortest grace! +Ae grip o' yer han' afore ye gang! + An' turn me upo' my face." + +But he's turnit himsel upon his heel, + An' wordless awa he's gane; +An' the corbie-craw i' the aik abune + Is roupin for his ain. + +II. + +Lady Margaret, her hert richt gret, + Luiks ower the castle wa'; +Lord Archibold rides oot at the yett, + Ahint him his merry men a'. + +Wi' a' his band, to the Holy Land + He's boune wi' merry din, +His shouther's doss a Christ's cross, + In his breist an ugsome sin. + +But the cross it brunt him like the fire. + Its burnin never ceast; +It brunt in an' in, to win at the sin + Lay cowerin in his breist. + +A mile frae the shore o' the Deid Sea + The army haltit ae nicht; +Lord Archie was waukrife, an' oot gaed he + A walkin i' the munelicht. + +Dour-like he gaed, wi' doon-hingin heid, + Quhill he cam, by the licht o' the mune, +Quhaur michty stanes lay scattert like sheep, + An' ance they worshipt Mahoun. + +The scruff an' scum o' the deid shore gleamt + An' glintit a sauty gray; +The banes o' the deid stack oot o' its bed, + The sea lickit them as they lay. + +He sat him doon on a sunken stane, + An' he sighit sae dreary an' deep: +"I can thole ohn grutten, lyin awauk, + But he comes whan I'm asleep! + +"I wud gie my soul for ever an' aye + Intil en'less dule an' smert, +To sleep a' nicht like a bairn again, + An' cule my burnin hert!" + +Oot frae ahint a muckle stane + Cam a voice like a huddy craw's: +"Behaud there, Archibold Gordon!" it said, + "Behaud--ye hae ower gude cause!" + +"I'll say quhat I like," quod Archibold, + "Be ye ghaist or deevil or quhat!" +"Tak tent, lord Archie, gien ye be wise-- + The tit winna even the tat!" + +Lord Archibold leuch wi' a loud ha, ha, + Eerisome, grousum to hear: +"A bonny bargain auld Cloots wad hae, + It has ilka faut but fear!" + +"Dune, lord Archibold?" craikit the voice; + "Dune, Belzie!" cried he again.-- +The gray banes glimmert, the white saut shimmert-- + Lord Archie was him lane. + +Back he gaed straught, by the glowerin mune, + An' doun in his plaid he lay, +An' soun' he sleepit.--A ghaist-like man + Sat by his heid quhill the day. + +An' quhanever he moanit or turnit him roun, + Or his broo gae token o' plycht, +The waukin man i' the sleepin man's lug + Wud rown a murgeon o' micht. + +An' the glint o' a smile wud quaver athort + The sleepin cheek sae broun, +An' a tear atween the ee-lids wud stert, + An' whiles rin fairly doun. + +An' aye by his lair sat the ghaist-like man, + He watchit his sleep a' nicht; +An' in mail rust-broun, wi' his visorne doun, + Rade at his knee i' the fecht. + +Nor anis nor twyis the horn-helmit chiel + Saved him frae deidly dad; +An' Archie said, "Gien this be the deil + He's no sac black as he's ca'd." + +But wat ye fu' weel it wasna the deil + That tuik lord Archie's pairt, +But his twin-brother John he thoucht deid an' gone, + Wi' luve like a lowe in his hert. + +III. + +Hame cam lord Archibold, weary wicht, + Hame til his ain countree; +An' he cried, quhan his castle rase in sicht, + "Noo Christ me sain an' see!" + +He turnit him roun: the man in rust-broun + Was gane, he saw nocht quhair! +At the ha' door he lichtit him doun, + Lady Margaret met him there. + +Reid, reid war her een, but hie was her mien, + An' her words war sharp an' sair: +"Welcome, Archie, to dule an' tene, + An' welcome ye s' get nae mair! + +Quhaur is yer twin, lord Archibold, + That lay i' my body wi' thee? +I miss my mark gien he liesna stark + Quhaur the daylicht comesna to see!" + +Lord Archibold dochtna speik a word + For his hert was like a stane; +He turnt him awa--an' the huddy craw + Was roupin for his ain. + +"Quhaur are ye gaein, lord Archie," she said, + "Wi' yer lips sae white an' thin?" +"Mother, gude-bye! I'm gaein to lie + Ance mair wi' my body-twin." + +Up she brade, but awa he gaed + Straucht for the corbie-tree; +For quhaur he had slain he thoucht to slay, + An' cast him doon an' dee. + +"God guide us!" he cried wi' gastit rair, + "Has he lien there ever sin' syne?" +An' he thoucht he saw the banes, pykit an' bare, + Throu the cracks o' his harness shine. + +"Oh Johnnie! my brither!" quo' Archibold + Wi' a hert-upheavin mane, +"I wad pit my soul i' yer wastit corp + To see ye alive again!" + +"Haud ye there!" quod a voice frae oot the helm, + "A man suld heed quhat he says!" +An' the closin joints grippit an' tore the gerse +As up the armour rase:-- + +"Soul ye hae nane to ca' yer ain + An' its time to hand yer jaw! +The sleep it was thine, an' the soul it is mine: + Deil Archie, come awa!" + +"Auld Hornie," quo' Archie, "twa words to that: + My burnin hert burns on; +An' the sleep, weel I wat, was nae reek frae thy pat, + For aye I was dreamin o' John! + +"But I carena a plack for a soul sae black-- + Wae's me 'at my mither bore me! +Put fire i' my breist an' fire at my back, + But ae minute set Johnnie afore me!" + +The gantlets grippit the helm sae stoot + An' liftit frae chin an' broo: +An' Johnnie himsel keekit smilin oot:-- + "O Archie, I hae ye noo! + +"O' yer wee bit brod I was little the waur, + I crap awa my lane; +An' never a deevil cam ye nar, + 'Cep ye coont yer Johnnie ane!" + +Quhare quhylum his brither Johnnie lay, + Fell Archie upon his knees; +The words he said I dinna say, + But I'm sure they warna lees. + + + +_THE LAST WOOIN_. + +"O lat me in, my bonny lass! + It's a lang road ower the hill, +And the flauchterin snaw begud to fa' + On the brig ayont the mill!" + +"Here's nae change-hoose, John Munro!" + "I'll ken that to my cost +Gien ye gar me tak the hill the nicht, + Wi' snaw o' the back o' frost! + +But tell me, lass, what's my offence." + "Weel ken ye! At the fair +Ye lichtlied me! Ay, twasna ance!-- + Ye needna come nae mair!" + +"I lichtlied ye?"--"Ay, ower the glass!" + "Foul-fa' the ill-faured mou +'At made the leein word to pass + By rowin 't i' the true! + +The trouth is this: I dochtna bide + To hear yer bonnie name +Whaur lawless mous war openit wide + Wi' ill-tongued scoff and blame; + +And what I said was: 'Hoot, lat sit! + She's but a bairn, the lass!' +It turnt the spait o' words a bit, + And loot yer fair name pass." + +"Thank ye for naething, John Munro! + My name it needna hide; +It's no a drucken sough wud gar + Me turn my heid aside!" + +"O Elsie, lassie, be yersel! + The snaw-stour's driftin thrang! +O tak me in, the win' 's sae snell, + And in an hour I'll gang." + +"I downa pay ye guid for ill, + Ye heedna fause and true! +Gang back to Katie at the mill-- + She loos sic like as you!" + +He turnt his fit; she heardna mair. + The lift was like to fa'; +And Elsie's hert grew grit and sair + At sicht o' the drivin snaw. + +She laid her doon, but no to sleep, + Her verra hert was cauld; +And the sheets war like a frozen heap + O' drift aboot her faul'd. + +She rase fu' air; the warl lay fair + And still in its windin-sheet; +At door-cheek, or at winnock-lug, + Was never a mark o' feet! + +She crap for days aboot the hoose, + Dull-futtit and hert-sair, +Aye keekin oot like a hungert moose-- + But Johnnie was na there! + +Lang or the spring begoud to thow + The waesome, sick-faced snaw, +Her hert was saft a' throu and throu, + Her pride had ta'en a fa'. + +And whan the wreaths war halflins gane, + And the sun was blinkin bonnie, +Oot ower the hill she wud gang her lane + To speir aboot her Johnnie. + +Half ower, she cam intil a lair + O' snaw and slush and weet: +The Lord hae mercy! what's that there? + It was Johnnie at her feet. + +Aneth the snaw his heid was smorit, + But his breist was maistly bare, +And twixt his richt ban' and his hert + Lay a lock o' gouden hair. + +The warm win' blew, the blackcock flew, + The lerrick muntit the skies; +The burnie ran, and a baein began, + But Johnnie wudna rise. + +The sun was clear, the lift was blue, + The winter was awa; +Up cam the green gerse plentifu, + The better for the snaw; + +And warm it happit Johnnie's grave + Whaur the ae lock gouden lay; +But on Elsie's hingin heid the lave + Was afore the barley gray. + + + +_HALLOWEEN_. + +Sweep up the flure, Janet; + Put on anither peat. +It's a lown and a starry nicht, Janet, + And nowther cauld nor weet. + +It's the nicht atween the Sancts and Souls + Whan the bodiless gang aboot; +And it's open hoose we keep the nicht + For ony that may be oot. + +Set the cheirs back to the wa', Janet; + Mak ready for quaiet fowk. +Hae a'thing as clean as a windin-sheet: + They comena ilka ook. + +There's a spale upo' the flure, Janet, + And there's a rowan-berry! +Sweep them intil the fire, Janet, + Or they'll neither come nor tarry. + +Syne set open the outer dure-- + Wide open for wha kens wha? +As ye come ben to your bed, Janet, + Set baith dures to the wa'. + +She set the cheirs back to the wa', + But ane that was o' the birk; +She sweepit the flure, but left the spale-- + A lang spale o' the aik. + +The nicht was lown; the stars sae still + War glintin doon the sky; +The souls crap oot o' their mooly graves, + A' dank wi' lyin by. + +They faund the dure wide to the wa', + And the peats blawn rosy reid: +They war shuneless feet gaed in and oot, + Nor clampit as they gaed. + +The mither she keekit but the hoose, + Saw what she ill could say; +Quakin she slidit doon by Janet, + And gaspin a whilie she lay. + +There's are o' them sittin afore the fire! + Ye wudna hearken to me! +Janet, ye left a cheir by the fire, + Whaur I tauld ye nae cheir suld be! + +Janet she smilit in her minnie's face: + She had brunt the roden reid, +But she left aneth the birken cheir + The spale frae a coffin-lid! + +Saft she rase and gaed but the hoose, + And ilka dure did steik. +Three hours gaed by, and her minnie heard + Sound o' the deid nor quick. + +Whan the gray cock crew, she heard on the flure + The fa' o' shuneless feet; +Whan the rud cock crew, she heard the dure, + And a sough o' win' and weet. + +Whan the goud cock crew, Janet cam back; + Her face it was gray o' ble; +Wi' starin een, at her mither's side + She lay doon like a bairn to dee. + +Her white lips hadna a word to lat fa' + Mair nor the soulless deid; +Seven lang days and nights she lay, + And never a word she said. + +Syne suddent, as oot o' a sleep, she brade, + Smilin richt winsumly; +And she spak, but her word it was far and strayit, + Like a whisper come ower the sea. + +And never again did they hear her lauch, + Nor ever a tear doun ran; +But a smile aye flittit aboot her face + Like the mune on a water wan. + +And ilka nicht atween Sancts and Souls + She laid the dures to the wa', +Blew up the fire, and set the cheir, + And loot the spale doon fa'. + +And at midnicht she gaed but the hoose + Aye steekin dure and dure. +Whan the goud cock crew, quaiet as a moose + She cam creepin ower the flure. + +Mair wan grew her face, and her smile mair sweet + Quhill the seventh Halloweve: +Her mother she heard the shuneless feet, + Said--She'll be ben belyve! + +She camna ben. Her minnie rase-- + For fear she 'maist cudna stan; +She grippit the wa', and but she gaed, + For the goud cock lang had crawn. + +There sat Janet upo' the birk cheir, + White as the day did daw; +But her smile was a sunglint left on the sea + Whan the sun himsel is awa. + + + +_THE LAVEROCK_. + +_The Man says:_ + +Laverock i' the lift, +Hae ye nae sang-thrift, +'At ye scatter 't sae heigh, and lat it a' drift? + Wasterfu laverock! + +Dinna ye ken +'At ye hing ower men +Wha haena a sang or a penny to spen? + Hertless laverock! + +But up there you, +I' the bow o' the blue, +Haud skirlin on as gien a' war new! + Toom-heidit laverock! + +Haith, ye're ower blythe! +I see a great scythe +Swing whaur yer nestie lies, doon i' the lythe, + Liltin laverock! + +Eh, sic a soun! +Birdie, come doun, +Ye're fey to sing sic a merry tune! + Gowkit laverock! + +Come to yer nest; +Yer wife's sair prest, +She's clean worn oot wi' duin her best! + Rovin laverock! + +Winna ye haud? +Ye're surely mad! +Is there naebody there to gie ye a dad, + Menseless laverock? + +Come doon and conform, +Pyke an honest worm, +And hap yer bairns frae the comin storm, + Spendrife laverock! + +_The Bird sings:_ + + My nestie it lieth + I' the how o' a ban'; + The swing o' the scythe + 'Ill miss 't by a span. + + The lift it's sae cheery! + The win' it's sae free! + I hing ower my dearie, + And sing 'cause I see. + + My wifie's wee breistie + Grows warm wi' my sang, + And ilk crumpled-up beastie + Kens no to think lang. + + Up here the sun sings, but + He only shines there! + Ye haena nae wings, but + Come up on a prayer. + +_The man sings:_ + + Ye wee daurin cratur, + Ye rant and ye sing + Like an oye o' auld Natur + Ta'en hame by the king! + + Ye wee feathert priestie, + Yer bells i' yer thro't, + Yer altar yer breistie, + Yer mitre forgot-- + + Offerin and Aaron, + Ye burn hert and brain; + And dertin and daurin, + Flee back to yer ain! + + Ye wee minor prophet, + It's 'maist my belief + 'At I'm doon in Tophet, + And you abune grief! + + Ye've deavt me and daudit + And ca'd me a fule: + I'm nearhan' persuaudit + To gang to your schule! + + For, birdie, I'm thinkin + Ye ken mair nor me-- + Gien ye haena been drinkin, + And sing as ye see. + + Ye maun hae a sicht 'at + Sees gay and far ben, + And a hert, for the micht o' 't, + Wad sair for nine men! + +There's somebody's been til +Roun saft to ye wha +Said birdies are seen til, +And e'en whan they fa'! + + + +_GODLY BALLANTS_. + +I.--THIS SIDE AN' THAT. + +The rich man sat in his father's seat-- + Purple an' linen, an' a'thing fine! +The puir man lay at his yett i' the street-- + Sairs an' tatters, an' weary pine! + +To the rich man's table ilk dainty comes, + Mony a morsel gaed frae't, or fell; +The puir man fain wud hae dined on the crumbs, + But whether he got them I canna tell. + +Servants prood, saft-fittit, an' stoot, + Stan by the rich man's curtained doors; +Maisterless dogs 'at rin aboot + Cam to the puir man an' lickit his sores. + +The rich man deeit, an' they buried him gran', + In linen fine his body they wrap; +But the angels tuik up the beggar man, + An' layit him doun in Abraham's lap. + +The guid upo' this side, the ill upo' that-- + Sic was the rich man's waesome fa'! +But his brithers they eat, an' they drink, an' they chat, + An' carena a strae for their Father's ha'! + +The trowth's the trowth, think what ye will; + An' some they kenna what they wad be at; +But the beggar man thoucht he did no that ill, + Wi' the dogs o' this side, the angels o' that! + +II.--THE TWA BAUBEES. + +Stately, lang-robit, an' steppin at ease, + The rich men gaed up the temple ha'; +Hasty, an' grippin her twa baubees, +The widow cam efter, booit an' sma'. + +Their goud rang lood as it fell, an' lay + Yallow an' glintin, bonnie an' braw; +But the fowk roun the Maister h'ard him say + The puir body's baubees was mair nor it a'. + +III.--WHA'S MY NEIBOUR? + +Doon frae Jerus'lem a traveller took + The laigh road to Jericho; +It had an ill name an' mony a crook, + It was lang an' unco how. + +Oot cam the robbers, an' fell o' the man, + An' knockit him o' the heid, +Took a' whauron they couth lay their han', + An' left him nakit for deid. + +By cam a minister o' the kirk: + "A sair mishanter!" he cried; +"Wha kens whaur the villains may lirk! + I s' haud to the ither side!" + +By cam an elder o' the kirk; + Like a young horse he shied: +"Fie! here's a bonnie mornin's wark!" + An' he spangt to the ither side. + +By cam ane gaed to the wrang kirk; + Douce he trottit alang. +"Puir body!" he cried, an' wi' a yerk + Aff o' his cuddy he sprang. + +He ran to the body, an' turnt it ower: + "There's life i' the man!" he cried. +_He_ wasna ane to stan an' glower, + Nor hand to the ither side! + +He doctort his oons, an' heised him then + To the back o' the beastie douce; +An' he heild him on till, twa weary men, + They wan to the half-way hoose. + +He ten'd him a' nicht, an' o' the morn did say, + "Lan'lord, latna him lack; +Here's auchteen pence!--an' ony mair ootlay + I'll sattle 't as I come back." + +Sae tak til ye, neibours; read aricht the word; + It's a portion o' God's ain spell! +"Wha is my neibour?" speirna the Lord, + But, "Am I a neibour?" yersel. + +IV.--HIM WI' THE BAG. + +Ance was a woman wha's hert was gret; + Her love was sae dumb it was 'maist a grief; +She brak the box--it's tellt o' her yet-- + The bonny box for her hert's relief. + +Ane was there wha's tale's but brief, + Yet was ower lang, the gait he cawed; +He luikit a man, and was but a thief, + Michty the gear to grip and hand. + +"What guid," he cried, "sic a boxfu to blaud? + Wilfu waste I couth never beir! +It micht hae been sellt for ten poun, I wad-- + Sellt for ten poun, and gien to the puir!" + +Savin he was, but for love o' the gear; + Carefu he was, but a' for himsel; +He carried the bag to his hert sae near + What fell i' the ane i' the ither fell. + +And the strings o' his hert hingit doun to hell, + They war pu'd sae ticht aboot the mou; +And hence it comes that I hae to tell + The warst ill tale that ever was true. + +The hert that's greedy maun mischief brew, + And the deils pu'd the strings doon yon'er in hell; +And he sauld, or the agein mune was new, + For thirty shillins the Maister himsel! + +Gear i' the hert it's a canker fell: + Brithers, latna the siller ben! +Troth, gien ye du, I warn ye ye'll sell + The verra Maister or ever ye ken! + +V.--THE COORSE CRATUR. + + The Lord gaed wi' a crood o' men + Throu Jericho the bonny; + 'Twas ill the Son o' Man to ken + Mang sons o' men sae mony: + + The wee bit son o' man Zacchay + To see the Maister seekit; + He speilt a fig-tree, bauld an' shy, + An' sae his shortness ekit. + + But as he thoucht to see his back, + Roun turnt the haill face til 'im, + Up luikit straucht, an' til 'im spak-- + His hert gaed like to kill 'im. + + "Come doun, Zacchay; bestir yersel; + This nicht I want a lodgin." + Like a ripe aipple 'maist he fell, + Nor needit ony nudgin. + + But up amang the unco guid + There rase a murmurin won'er: + "This is a deemis want o' heed, + The man's a special sinner!" + + Up spak Zacchay, his hert ableeze: + "Half mine, the puir, Lord, hae it; + Gien oucht I've taen by ony lees, + Fourfauld again I pay it!" + + Then Jesus said, "This is a man! + His hoose I'm here to save it; + He's are o' Abraham's ain clan, + An' siclike has behavit! + + I cam the lost to seek an' win."-- + Zacchay was are he wantit: + To ony man that left his sin + His grace he never scantit. + + + +_THE DEIL'S FORHOOIT HIS AIN_. + + _The Deil's forhooit his ain, his ain! + The Deil's forhooit his ain! + His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk, + For the Deil's forhooit his ain._ + +The Deil he tuik his stick and his hat, + And his yallow gluves on he drew: +"The coal's sae dear, and the preachin sae flat. + And I canna be aye wi' you!" + + _The Deil's, &c._ + +"But I'll gie ye my blessin afore I gang, + Wi' jist ae word o' advice; +And gien onything efter that gaes wrang + It'll be yer ain wull and ch'ice! + +"Noo hark: There's diseases gaein aboot, + Whiles are, and whiles a' thegither! +Ane's ca'd Repentance--haith, hand it oot! + It comes wi' a change o' weather. + +"For that, see aye 'at ye're gude at the spune + And tak yer fair share o' the drink; +Gien ye dinna, I wadna won'er but sune + Ye micht 'maist begin to think! + +"Neist, luik efter yer liver; that's the place + Whaur Conscience gars ye fin'! +Some fowk has mair o' 't, and some has less-- + It comes o' breedin in. + +"But there's waur nor diseases gaein aboot, + There's a heap o' fair-spoken lees; +And there's naething i' natur, in or oot, + 'At waur with the health agrees. + +"There's what they ca' Faith, 'at wad aye be fain; + And Houp that glowers, and tynes a'; +And Love, that never yet faund its ain, + But aye turnt its face to the wa'. + +"And Trouth--the sough o' a sickly win'; + And Richt--what needna be; +And Beauty--nae deeper nor the skin; + And Blude--that's naething but bree. + +"But there's ae gran' doctor for a' and mair-- + For diseases and lees in a breath:-- +My bairns, I lea' ye wi'oot a care + To yer best freen, Doctor Death. + +"He'll no distress ye: as quaiet's a cat + He grips ye, and a'thing's ower; +There's naething mair 'at ye wad be at, + There's never a sweet nor sour! + +"They ca' 't a sleep, but it's better bliss, + For ye wauken up no more; +They ca' 't a mansion--and sae it is, + And the coffin-lid's the door! + +"Jist ae word mair---and it's _verbum sat_-- + I hae preacht it mony's the year: +Whaur there's naething ava to be frictit at + There's naething ava to fear. + +"I dinna say 'at there isna a hell-- + To lee wad be a disgrace! +I bide there whan I'm at hame mysel, + And it's no sic a byous ill place! + +"Ye see yon blue thing they ca' the lift? + It's but hell turnt upside doun, +A whummilt bossie, whiles fou o' drift, + And whiles o' a rumlin soun! + +"Lat auld wives tell their tales i' the reek, + Men hae to du wi' fac's: +There's naebody there to watch, and keek + Intil yer wee mistaks. + +"But nor ben there's naebody there + Frae the yird to the farthest spark; +Ye'll rub the knees o' yer breeks to the bare + Afore ye'll pray ye a sark! + +"Sae fare ye weel, my bonny men, + And weel may ye thrive and the! +Gien I dinna see ye some time again + It'll be 'at ye're no to see." + +He cockit his hat ower ane o' his cheeks, + And awa wi' a halt and a spang-- +For his tail was doun ae leg o' his breeks, + And his butes war a half ower lang. + + _The Deil's forhooit his ain, his ain! + The Deil's forhooit his ain! + His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk, + For the Deil's forhooit his ain._ + + + +_THE AULD FISHER_. + +There was an auld fisher, he sat by the wa', + An' luikit oot ower the sea; +The bairnies war playin, he smil't on them a', + But the tear stude in his e'e. + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! + An' it's, oh to win awa +Whaur the bairns come hame, an' the wives they bide, + An' God is the father o' a'!_ + +Jocky an' Jeamy an' Tammy oot there + A' i' the boatie gaed doon; +An' I'm ower auld to fish ony mair, + Sae I hinna the chance to droon! + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! &c._ + +An' Jeannie she grat to ease her hert, + An' she easit hersel awa; +But I'm ower auld for the tears to stert, + An' sae the sighs maun blaw. + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! &c._ + +Lord, steer me hame whaur my Lord has steerit, + For I'm tired o' life's rockin sea; +An' dinna be lang, for I'm growin that fearit + 'At I'm ablins ower auld to dee! + + _An' it's--oh to win awa, awa! + An' it's, oh to win awa +Whaur the bairns come hame, an' the wives they bide, + An' God is the father o' a'!_ + + + +_THE HERD AND THE MAVIS_. + +"What gars ye sing," said the herd-laddie, + "What gars ye sing sae lood?" +"To tice them oot o' the yerd, laddie, + The worms for my daily food." + + _An' aye he sang, an' better he sang, + An' the worms creepit in an' oot; + An' ane he tuik, an' twa he loot gang, + An' still he carolled stoot._ + +"It's no for the worms, sir," said the herd; + "They comena for your sang!" +"Think ye sae, sir?" answered the bird, + "Maybe ye're no i' the wrang!" + + _But aye &c._ + +"Sing ye young Sorrow to beguile, + Or to gie auld Fear the flegs?" +"Na," quo' the mavis, "I sing to wile + My wee things oot o' her eggs." + + _An' aye &c._ + +"The mistress is plenty for that same gear + Though ye sangna air nor late!" +"I wud draw the deid frae the moul sae drear. + An' open the kirkyard-gate." + + _An' aye &c._ + +"Better ye sing nor a burn i' the mune, + Nor a wave ower san' that flows, +Nor a win' wi' the glintin stars abune, + An' aneth the roses in rows; + + _An' aye &c._ + +But a better sang it wud tak nor yer ain, + Though ye hae o' notes a feck, +To mak the auld Barebanes there sae fain + As to lift the muckle sneck! + + _An' aye &c._ + +An' ye wudna draw ae bairnie back + Frae the arms o' the bonny man +Though its minnie was greitin alas an' alack, + An' her cries to the bairnie wan! + + _An' aye &c._ + +An' I'll speir ye nae mair, sir," said the herd, + "I fear what ye micht say neist!" +"I doobt ye wud won'er, sir," said the bird, + "To see the thouchts i' my breist!" + + _An' aye he sang, an' better he sang, + An' the worms creepit in an' oot; + An' ane he tuik, an' twa he loot gang, + An' still he carolled stoot._ + + + +_A LOWN NICHT_. + +Rose o' my hert, + Open yer leaves to the lampin mune; +Into the curls lat her keek an' dert, + She'll tak the colour but gie ye tune. + +Buik o' my brain, + Open yer faulds to the starry signs; +Lat the e'en o' the holy luik an' strain, + Lat them glimmer an' score atween the lines. + +Cup o' my soul, + Goud an' diamond an' ruby cup, +Ye're noucht ava but a toom dry bowl + Till the wine o' the kingdom fill ye up. + +Conscience-glass, + Mirror the en'less All in thee; +Melt the boundered and make it pass + Into the tideless, shoreless sea. + +Warl o' my life, + Swing thee roun thy sunny track; +Fire an' win' an' water an' strife, + Carry them a' to the glory back. + + + +_THE HOME OF DEATH_. + +"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" +"I bide in ilka breath," +Quo' Death; +"No i' the pyramids, +No whaur the wormie rids +'Neth coffin-lids; +I bidena whaur life has been, +An' whaur's nae mair to be dune." + +"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" +"Wi' the leevin, to dee 'at are laith," +Quo' Death; +"Wi' the man an' the wife +'At loo like life, +Bot strife; +Wi' the bairns 'at hing to their mither, +Wi' a' 'at loo ane anither." + +"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" +"Abune an' aboot an' aneth," +Quo' Death; +"But o' a' the airts +An' o' a' the pairts, +In herts-- +Whan the tane to the tither says, Na, +An' the north win' begins to blaw." + + + +_TRIOLET_. + +I'm a puir man I grant, +But I am weel neiboured; +And nane shall me daunt +Though a puir man, I grant; +For I shall not want-- +The Lord is my Shepherd! +I'm a puir man I grant, +But I am weel neiboured! + + + +_WIN' THAT 'BLAWS_. + +Win' that blaws the simmer plaid +Ower the hie hill's shoothers laid, +Green wi' gerse, an' reid wi' heather-- +Welcome wi' yer sowl-like weather! +Mony a win' there has been sent +Oot aneth the firmament-- +Ilka ane its story has; +Ilka ane began an' was; +Ilka ane fell quaiet an' mute +Whan its angel wark was oot: +First gaed are oot throu the mirk +Whan the maker gan to work; +Ower it gaed an' ower the sea, +An' the warl begud to be. +Mony are has come an' gane +Sin' the time there was but ane: +Ane was grit an' strong, an' rent +Rocks an' muntains as it went +Afore the Lord, his trumpeter, +Waukin up the prophet's ear; +Ane was like a stepping soun +I' the mulberry taps abune-- +Them the Lord's ain steps did swing, +Walkin on afore his king; +Ane lay dune like scoldit pup +At his feet, an' gatna up-- +Whan the word the Maister spak +Drave the wull-cat billows back; +Ane gaed frae his lips, an' dang +To the yird the sodger thrang; +Ane comes frae his hert to mine +Ilka day to mak it fine. +Breath o' God, eh! come an' blaw +Frae my hert ilk fog awa; +Wauk me up an' mak me strang, +Fill my hert wi' mony a sang, +Frae my lips again to stert +Fillin sails o' mony a hert, +Blawin them ower seas dividin +To the only place to bide in. + + + +_A SONG OF HOPE_. + +I dinna ken what's come ower me! + There's a how whaur ance was a hert! +I never luik oot afore me, + An' a cry winna gar me stert; +There's naething nae mair to come ower me, + Blaw the win' frae ony airt! + +For i' yon kirkyard there's a hillock, + A hert whaur ance was a how; +An' o' joy there's no left a mealock-- + Deid aiss whaur ance was a low! +For i' yon kirkyard, i' the hillock, + Lies a seed 'at winna grow. + +It's my hert 'at hauds up the wee hillie-- + That's hoo there's a how i' my breist; +It's awa doon there wi' my Willie-- + Gaed wi' him whan he was releast; +It's doon i' the green-grown hillie, + But I s' be efter it neist! + +Come awa, nicht an' mornin, + Come ooks, years, a' Time's clan: +Ye're welcome: I'm no a bit scornin! + Tak me til him as fest as ye can. +Come awa, nicht an' mornin, + Ye are wings o' a michty span! + +For I ken he's luikin an' waitin, + Luikin aye doon as I clim; +An' I'll no hae him see me sit greitin + I'stead o' gaein to him! +I'll step oot like ane sure o' a meetin, + I'll travel an' rin to him. + + + +_THE BURNIE_. + +The water ran doon frae the heich hope-heid, + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_; +It wimpled, an' waggled, an' sang a screed + O' nonsense, an' wadna blin + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_. + +Frae the hert o' the warl, wi' a swirl an' a sway, + _An' a Rin, burnie, rin_, +That water lap clear frae the dark til the day, + An' singin awa did spin, + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_. + +Ae wee bit mile frae the heich hope-heid + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_, +Mang her yows an' her lammies the herd-lassie stude, + An' she loot a tear fa' in, + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_. + +Frae the hert o' the maiden that tear-drap rase + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_; +Wear'ly clim'in up weary ways + There was but a drap to fa' in, + Sae laith did that burnie rin. + +Twa wee bit miles frae the heich hope-heid + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_, +Doon creepit a cowerin streakie o' reid, + An' it meltit awa within + The burnie 'at aye did rin. + +Frae the hert o' a youth cam the tricklin reid, + _Wi' its Rin, burnie, rin_; +It ran an' ran till it left him deid, + An' syne it dried up i' the win': + That burnie nae mair did rin. + +Whan the wimplin burn that frae three herts gaed + _Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin_, +Cam to the lip o' the sea sae braid, + It curled an' groued wi' pain o' sin-- + But it tuik that burnie in. + + + +_HAME_. + +The warl it's dottit wi' hames + As thick as gowans o' the green, +Aye bonnier ilk ane nor the lave + To him wha there opent his een. + +An' mony an' bonny's the hame + That lies neth auld Scotlan's crests, +Her hills an' her mountains they are the sides + O' a muckle nest o' nests. + +His lies i' the dip o' a muir + Wi' a twa three elder trees, +A lanely cot wi' a sough o' win', + An' a simmer bum o' bees; + +An' mine in a bloomin strath, + Wi' a river rowin by, +Wi' the green corn glintin i' the sun, + An' a lowin o' the kye; + +An' yours whaur the chimleys auld + Stan up i' the gloamin pale +Wi' the line o' a gran' sierra drawn + On the lift as sharp's wi' a nail. + +But whether by ingle-neuk + On a creepie ye sookit yer thumb, +Dreamin, an' watchin the blue peat-reek + Wamle oot up the muckle lum, + +Or yer wee feet sank i' the fur + Afore a bleezin hearth, +Wi' the curtains drawn, shuttin oot the toon-- + Aberdeen, Auld Reekie, or Perth, + +It's a naething, nor here nor there; + Leal Scots are a'ane thegither! +Ilk ane has a hame, an' it's a' the same + Whether in clover or heather! + +An' the hert aye turns to the hame-- + That's whaur oor ain folk wons; +An' gien hame binna hame, the hert bauds ayont + Abune the stars an' the suns. + +For o' a' the hames there's a hame + Herty an' warm an' wide, +Whaur a' that maks hame ower the big roun earth + Gangs til its hame to bide. + + + +_THE SANG O' THE AULD FOWK._ + +Doon cam the sunbeams, and up gaed the stour, +As we spangt ower the road at ten mile the hoor, +The horse wasna timmer, the cart wasna strae, +And little cared we for the burn or the brae. + +We war young, and the hert in's was strang i' the loup, +And deeper in yet was the courage and houp; +The sun was gey aft in a clood, but the heat +Cam throu, and dried saftly the doon fa'en weet. + +Noo, the horsie's some tired, but the road's nae sae lang; +The sun comes na oot, but he's no in a fang: +The nicht's comin on, but hame's no far awa; +We hae come a far road, but hae payit for a'. + +For ane has been wi' us--and sometimes 'maist seen, +Wha's cared for us better nor a' oor four e'en; +He's cared for the horsie, the man, and the wife, +And we're gaein hame to him for the rest o' oor life. + +Doon comes the water, and up gangs nae stour; +We creep ower the road at twa mile the hoor; +But oor herts they are canty, for ane's to the fore +Wha was and wha is and will be evermore. + + + +_THE AULD MAN'S PRAYER_ + +Lord, I'm an auld man, + An' I'm deein! +An' do what I can + I canna help bein +Some feart at the thoucht! +I'm no what I oucht! +An' thou art sae gran', +Me but an auld man! + +I haena gotten muckle + Guid o' the warld; +Though siller a puckle + Thegither I hae harlt, +Noo I maun be rid o' 't, +The ill an' the guid o' 't! +An' I wud--I s' no back frae 't-- +Rather put til 't nor tak frae 't! + +It's a pity a body + Coudna haud on here, +Puttin cloddy to cloddy + Till he had a bit lan' here!-- +But eh I'm forgettin +Whaur the tide's settin! +It'll pusion my prayer +Till it's no worth a hair! + +It's awfu, it's awfu + To think 'at I'm gaein +Whaur a' 's ower wi' the lawfu, + Whaur's an en' til a' haein! +It's gruesome to en' +The thing 'at ye ken, +An' gang to begin til +What ye canna see intil! + +Thou may weel turn awa, + Lord, an' say it's a shame +'At noo I suld ca' + On thy licht-giein name +Wha my lang life-time +Wud no see a stime! +An' the fac' there's no fleein-- +But hae pity--I'm deein! + +I'm thine ain efter a'-- + The waur shame I'm nae better! +Dinna sen' me awa, + Dinna curse a puir cratur! +I never jist cheatit-- +I own I defeatit, +Gart his poverty tell +On him 'at maun sell! + +Oh that my probation + Had lain i' some region +Whaur was less consideration + For gear mixt wi' religion! +It's the mixin the twa +'At jist ruins a'! +That kirk's the deil's place +Whaur gear glorifees grace! + +I hae learnt nought but ae thing + 'At life's but a span! +I hae warslet for naething! + I hae noucht i' my han'! +At the fut o' the stairs +I'm sayin my prayers:-- +Lord, lat the auld loon +Confess an' lie doon. + +I hae been an ill man-- + Micht hae made a guid dog! +I could rin though no stan-- + Micht hae won throu a bog! +But 't was ower easy gaein, +An' I set me to playin! +Dinna sen' me awa +Whaur's no licht ava! + +Forgie me an' hap me! + I hae been a sharp thorn. +But, oh, dinna drap me! + I'll be coothie the morn! +To my brither John +Oh, lat me atone-- +An' to mair I cud name +Gien I'd time to tak blame! + +I hae wullt a' my gear + To my cousin Lippit: +She needs 't no a hair, + An' wud haud it grippit! +But I'm thinkin 't 'll be better +To gie 't a bit scatter +Whaur it winna canker +But mak a bit anchor! + +Noo I s'try to sit loose + To the warld an' its thrang! +Lord, come intil my hoose, + For Sathan sall gang! +Awa here I sen' him-- +Oh, haud the hoose agane him, +Or thou kens what he'll daur-- +He'll be back wi' seven waur! + +Lord, I knock at thy yett! + I hear the dog yowlin! +Lang latna me wait-- + My conscience is growlin! +Whaur but to thee +Wha was broken for me, +But to thee, Lord, sae gran', +Can flee an auld man! + + + +_GRANNY CANTY._ + +"What maks ye sae canty, granny dear? +Has some kin' body been for ye to speir? +Ye luik as smilin an' fain an' willin +As gien ye had fun a bonny shillin!" + +"Ye think I luik canty, my bonny man, +Sittin watchin the last o' the sun sae gran'? +Weel, an' I'm thinkin ye're no that wrang, +For 'deed i' my hert there's a wordless sang! + +"Ken ye the meanin o' _canty_, my dow? +It's bein i' the humour o' singin, I trow! +An' though nae sang ever crosses my lips +I'm aye like to sing whan anither sun dips. + +"For the time, wee laddie, the time grows lang +Sin' I saw the man wha's sicht was my sang-- +Yer gran'father, that's--an' the sun's last glim +Says aye to me, 'Lass, ye're a mile nearer him! + +"For he's hame afore me, an' lang's the road! +He fain at my side wud hae timed his plod, +But, eh, he was sent for, an' hurried awa! +Noo, I'm thinkin he's harkin to hear my fit-fa'." + +"But, grannie, yer face is sae lirkit an' thin, +Wi' a doun-luikin nose an' an up-luikin chin, +An' a mou clumpit up oot o' sicht atween, +Like the witherin half o' an auld weary mune!" + +"Hoot, laddie, ye needna glower yersel blin'! +The body 'at loos, sees far throu the skin; +An', believe me or no, the hoor's comin amain +Whan ugly auld fowk 'ill be bonny again. + +"For there is _ane_--an' it's no my dear man, +Though I loo him as nane but a wife's hert can-- +The joy o' beholdin wha's gran' lovely face +Til mak me like him in a' 'at's ca'd grace. + +"But what I am like I carena a strae +Sae lang as I'm _his_, an' what _he_ wud hae! +Be ye a guid man, John, an' ae day ye'll ken +What maks granny canty yont four score an' ten." + + + +_TIME_. + +A lang-backit, spilgie, fuistit auld carl +Gangs a' nicht rakin athort the warl +Wi' a pock on his back, luikin hungry an' lean, +His crook-fingert han' aye followin his e'en: +He gathers up a'thing that canna but fa'-- +Intil his bag wi' 't, an' on, an' awa! +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw!-- +Intil his bag wi' 't, an' on, an' awa! + +But whan he comes to the wa' o' the warl, +Spangs up it, like lang-leggit spidder, the carl; +Up gangs his pock wi' him, humpit ahin, +For naething fa's oot 'at ance he pat in; +Syne he warstles doon ootside the flamin wa', +His bag 'maist the deith o' him, pangt like a ba'; +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw! +His bag 'maist throttlin him, pangt like a ba'! + +Doon he draps weary upon a laigh rock, +Flingin aside him his muckle-mou'd pock: +An' there he sits, his heid in his han', +Like a broken-hertit, despairin man; +Him air his pock no bonny, na, na! +Him an' his pock an ugsome twa! +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw! +Him an' his pock an ugsome twa! + +But sune 's the first ray o' the sunshine bare +Lichts on the carl, what see ye there? +An angel set on eternity's brink, +Wi' e'en to gar the sun himsel blink; +By his side a glintin, glimmerin urn, +Furth frae wha's mou rins a liltin burn:-- +Soot an' snaw! soot an' snaw! +The dirt o' the warl rins in glory awa! + + + +_WHAT THE AULD FOWK ARE THINKIN_. + +The bairns i' their beds, worn oot wi' nae wark, + Are sleepin, nor ever an eelid winkin; +The auld fowk lie still wi' their een starin stark, + An' the mirk pang-fou o' the things they are thinkin. + +Whan oot o' ilk corner the bairnies they keek, + Lauchin an' daffin, airms loosin an' linkin, +The auld fowk they watch frae the warm ingle-cheek, + But the bairns little think what the auld fowk are thinkin. + +Whan the auld fowk sit quaiet at the reet o' a stook, + I' the sunlicht their washt een blinterin an' blinkin, +Fowk scythin, or bin'in, or shearin wi' heuk + Carena a strae what the auld fowk are thinkin. + +At the kirk, whan the minister's dreich an' dry, + His fardens as gien they war gowd guineas chinkin, +An' the young fowk are noddin, or fidgetin sly, + Naebody kens what the auld fowk are thinkin. + +Whan the young fowk are greitin aboot the bed + Whaur like water throu san' the auld life is sinkin, +An' some wud say the last word was said, + The auld fowk smile, an' ken what they're thinkin. + + + +_GREITNA, FATHER_. + +Greitna, father, that I'm gauin, + For fu' well ye ken the gaet; +I' the winter, corn ye're sawin, + I' the hairst again ye hae't. + +I'm gauin hame to see my mither; + She'll be weel acquant or this! +Sair we'll muse at ane anither + 'Tween the auld word an' new kiss! + +Love I'm doobtin may be scanty + Roun ye efter I'm awa: +Yon kirkyard has happin plenty + Close aside me, green an' braw! + +An' abune there's room for mony; + 'Twasna made for ane or twa, +But was aye for a' an' ony + Countin love the best ava. + +There nane less ye'll be my father; + Auld names we'll nor tyne nor spare! +A' my sonship I maun gather + For the Son is king up there. + +Greitna, father, that I'm gauin, + For ye ken fu' well the gaet! +Here, in winter, cast yer sawin, + There, in hairst, again ye hae't! + + + +_I KEN SOMETHING._ + +What gars ye sing sae, birdie, + As gien ye war lord o' the lift? +On breid ye're an unco sma' lairdie, + But in hicht ye've a kingly gift! + +A' ye hae to coont yersel rich in + 'S a wee mawn o' glory-motes! +The whilk to the throne ye're aye hitchin + Wi a lang tow o' sapphire notes! + +Ay, yer sang's the sang o' an angel + For a sinfu' thrapple no meet, +Like the pipes til a heavenly braingel + Whaur they dance their herts intil their feet! + +But though ye canna behaud, birdie, + Ye needna gar a'thing wheesht! +I'm noucht but a hirplin herdie, + But I hae a sang i' my breist! + +Len' me yer throat to sing throu, + Len' me yer wings to gang hie, +And I'll sing ye a sang a laverock to cow, + And for bliss to gar him dee! + + + +_MIRLS_. + +The stars are steady abune; + I' the water they flichter and flee; +But, steady aye, luikin doon + They ken theirsels i' the sea. + +A' licht, and clear, and free, + God, thou shinest abune; +Yet luik, and see thysel in me, + Aye on me luikin doon. + + * * * * * + +Throu the heather an' how gaed the creepin thing, +But abune was the waff o' an angel's wing. + + * * * * * + +Hither an' thither, here an' awa, +Into the dub ye maunna fa'; +Oot o' the dub wad ye come wi' speed, +Ye maun lift yer han's abune yer heid. + + * * * * * + +Whaur's nor sun nor mune, +Laigh things come abune. + + * * * * * + +My thouchts are like worms in a starless gloamin + My hert's like a sponge that's fillit wi' gall; +My soul's like a bodiless ghaist sent a roamin + I' the haar an' the mirk till the trumpet call. + +Lord, turn ilk worm til a butterflee, + Wring oot my hert, an' fill 't frae thy ain; +My soul syne in patience its weird will dree, + An' luik for the mornin throu the rain. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poetical Works of George MacDonald, +Vol. 2, by George MacDonald + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WORKS OF GEORGE MACDONALD, VOL. 2 *** + +This file should be named 8pgm210.txt or 8pgm210.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, 8pgm211.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, 8pgm210a.txt + +Produced by Jonathan Ingram, Jonathan Ingram, Charles M. 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