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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/2303-h.zip b/2303-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6a15fcb --- /dev/null +++ b/2303-h.zip diff --git a/2303-h/2303-h.htm b/2303-h/2303-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2d77f6c --- /dev/null +++ b/2303-h/2303-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5789 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Legends and Lyrics: First Series</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Legends and Lyrics: First Series, by Adelaide Anne Procter</a> +</h2> +<pre> +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Legends and Lyrics: First Series, by Adelaide +Anne Procter, et al + + +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: Legends and Lyrics: First Series + +Author: Adelaide Anne Procter + +Release Date: October 20, 2004 [eBook #2303] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEGENDS AND LYRICS: FIRST SERIES*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk +from the 1890 George Bell and Sons edition.</p> +<h1>LEGENDS AND LYRICS—FIRST SERIES<br /> +by Adelaide Ann Procter</h1> +<p>Contents:</p> +<p>Dedication<br /> +An Introduction by Charles Dickens<br /> +The Angel’s Story<br /> +Echoes<br /> +A False Genius<br /> +My Picture<br /> +Judge Not<br /> +Friend Sorrow<br /> +One by One<br /> +True Honours<br /> +A Woman’s Question<br /> +The Three Rulers<br /> +A Dead Past<br /> +A Doubting Heart<br /> +A Student<br /> +A Knight Errant<br /> +Linger, oh, gentle Time<br /> +Homeward Bound<br /> +Life and Death<br /> +Now<br /> +Cleansing Fires<br /> +The Voice of the Wind<br /> +Treasures<br /> +Shining Stars<br /> +Waiting<br /> +The Cradle Song of the Poor<br /> +Be strong<br /> +God’s Gifts<br /> +A Tomb in Ghent<br /> +The Angel of Death<br /> +A Dream<br /> +The Present<br /> +Changes<br /> +Strive, Wait, and Pray<br /> +A Lament for the Summer<br /> +The Unknown Grave<br /> +Give me thy Heart<br /> +The Wayside Inn<br /> +Voices of the Past<br /> +The Dark Side<br /> +A First Sorrow<br /> +Murmurs<br /> +Give<br /> +My Journal<br /> +A Chain<br /> +The Pilgrims<br /> +Incompleteness<br /> +A Legend of Bregenz<br /> +A Farewell<br /> +Sowing and Reaping<br /> +The Storm<br /> +Words<br /> +A Love Token<br /> +A Tryst with Death<br /> +Fidelis<br /> +A Shadow<br /> +The Sailor Boy<br /> +A Crown of Sorrow<br /> +The Lesson of the War<br /> +The Two Spirits<br /> +A Little Longer<br /> +Grief<br /> +The Triumph of Time<br /> +A Parting<br /> +The Golden Gate<br /> +Phantoms<br /> +Thankfulness<br /> +Home-sickness<br /> +Wishes<br /> +The Peace of God<br /> +Life in Death and Death in Life<br /> +Recollections<br /> +Illusion<br /> +A Vision<br /> +Pictures in the Fire<br /> +The Settlers<br /> +Hush!<br /> +Hours<br /> +The Two Interpreters<br /> +Comfort<br /> +Home at last<br /> +Unexpressed<br /> +Because<br /> +Rest at Evening<br /> +A Retrospect<br /> +True or False<br /> +Golden Words</p> +<h2>DEDICATION</h2> +<p>TO MATILDA M. HAYS.</p> +<p>“Our tokens of love are for the most part barbarous. +Cold and lifeless, because they do not represent our life. The +only gift is a portion of thyself. Therefore let the farmer give +his corn; the miner, a gem; the sailor, coral and shells; the painter, +his picture; and the poet, his poem.”—Emerson’s Essays.</p> +<p>A. A. P.</p> +<p>May, 1858</p> +<h2>AN INTRODUCTION BY CHARLES DICKENS</h2> +<p>In the spring of the year 1853, I observed, as conductor of the weekly +journal <i>Household Words</i>, a short poem among the proffered contributions, +very different, as I thought, from the shoal of verses perpetually setting +through the office of such a periodical, and possessing much more merit. +Its authoress was quite unknown to me. She was one Miss Mary Berwick, +whom I had never heard of; and she was to be addressed by letter, if +addressed at all, at a circulating library in the western district of +London. Through this channel, Miss Berwick was informed that her +poem was accepted, and was invited to send another. She complied, +and became a regular and frequent contributor. Many letters passed +between the journal and Miss Berwick, but Miss Berwick herself was never +seen.</p> +<p>How we came gradually to establish, at the office of <i>Household</i> +<i>Words</i>, that we knew all about Miss Berwick, I have never discovered. +But we settled somehow, to our complete satisfaction, that she was governess +in a family; that she went to Italy in that capacity, and returned; +and that she had long been in the same family. We really knew +nothing whatever of her, except that she was remarkably business-like, +punctual, self-reliant, and reliable: so I suppose we insensibly invented +the rest. For myself, my mother was not a more real personage +to me, than Miss Berwick the governess became.</p> +<p>This went on until December, 1854, when the Christmas number, entitled +<i>The Seven Poor Travellers</i>, was sent to press. Happening +to be going to dine that day with an old and dear friend, distinguished +in literature as Barry Cornwall, I took with me an early proof of that +number, and remarked, as I laid it on the drawing-room table, that it +contained a very pretty poem, written by a certain Miss Berwick. +Next day brought me the disclosure that I had so spoken of the poem +to the mother of its writer, in its writer’s presence; that I +had no such correspondent in existence as Miss Berwick; and that the +name had been assumed by Barry Cornwall’s eldest daughter, Miss +Adelaide Anne Procter.</p> +<p>The anecdote I have here noted down, besides serving to explain why +the parents of the late Miss Procter have looked to me for these poor +words of remembrance of their lamented child, strikingly illustrates +the honesty, independence, and quiet dignity, of the lady’s character. +I had known her when she was very young; I had been honoured with her +father’s friendship when I was myself a young aspirant; and she +had said at home, “If I send him, in my own name, verses that +he does not honestly like, either it will be very painful to him to +return them, or he will print them for papa’s sake, and not for +their own. So I have made up my mind to take my chance fairly +with the unknown volunteers.”</p> +<p>Perhaps it requires an editor’s experience of the profoundly +unreasonable grounds on which he is often urged to accept unsuitable +articles—such as having been to school with the writer’s +husband’s brother-in-law, or having lent an alpenstock in Switzerland +to the writer’s wife’s nephew, when that interesting stranger +had broken his own—fully to appreciate the delicacy and the self-respect +of this resolution.</p> +<p>Some verses by Miss Procter had been published in the <i>Book of +Beauty</i>, ten years before she became Miss Berwick. With the +exception of two poems in the <i>Cornhill Magazine</i>, two in <i>Good +Words</i>, and others in a little book called <i>A Chaplet of Verses</i> +(issued in 1862 for the benefit of a Night Refuge), her published writings +first appeared in <i>Household Words</i>, or <i>All the Year Round</i>. +The present edition contains the whole of her <i>Legends and Lyrics</i>, +and originates in the great favour with which they have been received +by the public.</p> +<p>Miss Procter was born in Bedford Square, London, on the 30th of October, +1825. Her love of poetry was conspicuous at so early an age, that +I have before me a tiny album made of small note-paper, into which her +favourite passages were copied for her by her mother’s hand before +she herself could write. It looks as if she had carried it about, +as another little girl might have carried a doll. She soon displayed +a remarkable memory, and great quickness of apprehension. When +she was quite a young child, she learned with facility several of the +problems of Euclid. As she grew older, she acquired the French, +Italian, and German languages; became a clever pianoforte player; and +showed a true taste and sentiment in drawing. But, as soon as +she had completely vanquished the difficulties of any one branch of +study, it was her way to lose interest in it, and pass to another. +While her mental resources were being trained, it was not at all suspected +in her family that she had any gift of authorship, or any ambition to +become a writer. Her father had no idea of her having ever attempted +to turn a rhyme, until her first little poem saw the light in print.</p> +<p>When she attained to womanhood, she had read an extraordinary number +of books, and throughout her life she was always largely adding to the +number. In 1853 she went to Turin and its neighbourhood, on a +visit to her aunt, a Roman Catholic lady. As Miss Procter had +herself professed the Roman Catholic Faith two years before, she entered +with the greater ardour on the study of the Piedmontese dialect, and +the observation of the habits and manners of the peasantry. In +the former, she soon became a proficient. On the latter head, +I extract from her familiar letters written home to England at the time, +two pleasant pieces of description.</p> +<h3>A BETROTHAL</h3> +<p>“We have been to a ball, of which I must give you a description. +Last Tuesday we had just done dinner at about seven, and stepped out +into the balcony to look at the remains of the sunset behind the mountains, +when we heard very distinctly a band of music, which rather excited +my astonishment, as a solitary organ is the utmost that toils up here. +I went out of the room for a few minutes, and, on my returning, Emily +said, ‘Oh! That band is playing at the farmer’s near +here. The daughter is <i>fiancée</i> to-day, and they have +a ball.’ I said, ‘I wish I was going!’ +‘Well,’ replied she, ‘the farmer’s wife did +call to invite us.’ ‘Then I shall certainly go,’ +I exclaimed. I applied to Madame B., who said she would like it +very much, and we had better go, children and all. Some of the +servants were already gone. We rushed away to put on some shawls, +and put off any shred of black we might have about us (as the people +would have been quite annoyed if we had appeared on such an occasion +with any black), and we started. When we reached the farmer’s, +which is a stone’s throw above our house, we were received with +great enthusiasm; the only drawback being, that no one spoke French, +and we did not yet speak Piedmontese. We were placed on a bench +against the wall, and the people went on dancing. The room was +a large whitewashed kitchen (I suppose), with several large pictures +in black frames, and very smoky. I distinguished the Martyrdom +of Saint Sebastian, and the others appeared equally lively and appropriate +subjects. Whether they were Old Masters or not, and if so, by +whom, I could not ascertain. The band were seated opposite us. +Five men, with wind instruments, part of the band of the National Guard, +to which the farmer’s sons belong. They played really admirably, +and I began to be afraid that some idea of our dignity would prevent +me getting a partner; so, by Madame B.’s advice, I went up to +the bride, and offered to dance with her. Such a handsome young +woman! Like one of Uwins’s pictures. Very dark, with +a quantity of black hair, and on an immense scale. The children +were already dancing, as well as the maids. After we came to an +end of our dance, which was what they called a Polka-Mazourka, I saw +the bride trying to screw up the courage of her <i>fiancé</i> +to ask me to dance, which after a little hesitation he did. And +admirably he danced, as indeed they all did—in excellent time, +and with a little more spirit than one sees in a ball-room. In +fact, they were very like one’s ordinary partners, except that +they wore earrings and were in their shirt-sleeves, and truth compels +me to state that they decidedly smelt of garlic. Some of them +had been smoking, but threw away their cigars when we came in. +The only thing that did not look cheerful was, that the room was only +lighted by two or three oil-lamps, and that there seemed to be no preparation +for refreshments. Madame B., seeing this, whispered to her maid, +who disengaged herself from her partner, and ran off to the house; she +and the kitchenmaid presently returning with a large tray covered with +all kinds of cakes (of which we are great consumers and always have +a stock), and a large hamper full of bottles of wine, with coffee and +sugar. This seemed all very acceptable. The <i>fiancée</i> +was requested to distribute the eatables, and a bucket of water being +produced to wash the glasses in, the wine disappeared very quickly—as +fast as they could open the bottles. But, elated, I suppose, by +this, the floor was sprinkled with water, and the musicians played a +Monferrino, which is a Piedmontese dance. Madame B. danced with +the farmer’s son, and Emily with another distinguished member +of the company. It was very fatiguing—something like a Scotch +reel. My partner was a little man, like Perrot, and very proud +of his dancing. He cut in the air and twisted about, until I was +out of breath, though my attempts to imitate him were feeble in the +extreme. At last, after seven or eight dances, I was obliged to +sit down. We stayed till nine, and I was so dead beat with the +heat that I could hardly crawl about the house, and in an agony with +the cramp, it is so long since I have danced.”</p> +<h3>A MARRIAGE</h3> +<p>The wedding of the farmer’s daughter has taken place. +We had hoped it would have been in the little chapel of our house, but +it seems some special permission was necessary, and they applied for +it too late. They all said, “This is the Constitution. +There would have been no difficulty before!” the lower classes +making the poor Constitution the scapegoat for everything they don’t +like. So as it was impossible for us to climb up to the church +where the wedding was to be, we contented ourselves with seeing the +procession pass. It was not a very large one, for, it requiring +some activity to go up, all the old people remained at home. It +is not etiquette for the bride’s mother to go, and no unmarried +woman can go to a wedding—I suppose for fear of its making her +discontented with her own position. The procession stopped at +our door, for the bride to receive our congratulations. She was +dressed in a shot silk, with a yellow handkerchief, and rows of a large +gold chain. In the afternoon they sent to request us to go there. +On our arrival we found them dancing out of doors, and a most melancholy +affair it was. All the bride’s sisters were not to be recognised, +they had cried so. The mother sat in the house, and could not +appear. And the bride was sobbing so, she could hardly stand! +The most melancholy spectacle of all to my mind was, that the bridegroom +was decidedly tipsy. He seemed rather affronted at all the distress. +We danced a Monferrino; I with the bridegroom; and the bride crying +the whole time. The company did their utmost to enliven her by +firing pistols, but without success, and at last they began a series +of yells, which reminded me of a set of savages. But even this +delicate method of consolation failed, and the wishing good-bye began. +It was altogether so melancholy an affair that Madame B. dropped a few +tears, and I was very near it, particularly when the poor mother came +out to see the last of her daughter, who was finally dragged off between +her brother and uncle, with a last explosion of pistols. As she +lives quite near, makes an excellent match, and is one of nine children, +it really was a most desirable marriage, in spite of all the show of +distress. Albert was so discomfited by it, that he forgot to kiss +the bride as he had intended to do, and therefore went to call upon +her yesterday, and found her very smiling in her new house, and supplied +the omission. The cook came home from the wedding, declaring she +was cured of any wish to marry—but I would not recommend any man +to act upon that threat and make her an offer. In a couple of +days we had some rolls of the bride’s first baking, which they +call Madonnas. The musicians, it seems, were in the same state +as the bridegroom, for, in escorting her home, they all fell down in +the mud. My wrath against the bridegroom is somewhat calmed by +finding that it is considered bad luck if he does not get tipsy at his +wedding.”</p> +<p>* * * * *</p> +<p>Those readers of Miss Procter’s poems who should suppose from +their tone that her mind was of a gloomy or despondent cast, would be +curiously mistaken. She was exceedingly humorous, and had a great +delight in humour. Cheerfulness was habitual with her, she was +very ready at a sally or a reply, and in her laugh (as I remember well) +there was an unusual vivacity, enjoyment, and sense of drollery. +She was perfectly unconstrained and unaffected: as modestly silent about +her productions, as she was generous with their pecuniary results. +She was a friend who inspired the strongest attachments; she was a finely +sympathetic woman, with a great accordant heart and a sterling noble +nature. No claim can be set up for her, thank God, to the possession +of any of the conventional poetical qualities. She never by any +means held the opinion that she was among the greatest of human beings; +she never suspected the existence of a conspiracy on the part of mankind +against her; she never recognised in her best friends, her worst enemies; +she never cultivated the luxury of being misunderstood and unappreciated; +she would far rather have died without seeing a line of her composition +in print, than that I should have maundered about her, here, as “the +Poet”, or “the Poetess”.</p> +<p>With the recollection of Miss Procter as a mere child and as a woman, +fresh upon me, it is natural that I should linger on my way to the close +of this brief record, avoiding its end. But, even as the close +came upon her, so must it come here.</p> +<p>Always impelled by an intense conviction that her life must not be +dreamed away, and that her indulgence in her favourite pursuits must +be balanced by action in the real world around her, she was indefatigable +in her endeavours to do some good. Naturally enthusiastic, and +conscientiously impressed with a deep sense of her Christian duty to +her neighbour, she devoted herself to a variety of benevolent objects. +Now, it was the visitation of the sick, that had possession of her; +now, it was the sheltering of the houseless; now, it was the elementary +teaching of the densely ignorant; now, it was the raising up of those +who had wandered and got trodden under foot; now, it was the wider employment +of her own sex in the general business of life; now, it was all these +things at once. Perfectly unselfish, swift to sympathise and eager +to relieve, she wrought at such designs with a flushed earnestness that +disregarded season, weather, time of day or night, food, rest. +Under such a hurry of the spirits, and such incessant occupation, the +strongest constitution will commonly go down. Hers, neither of +the strongest nor the weakest, yielded to the burden, and began to sink.</p> +<p>To have saved her life, then, by taking action on the warning that +shone in her eyes and sounded in her voice, would have been impossible, +without changing her nature. As long as the power of moving about +in the old way was left to her, she must exercise it, or be killed by +the restraint. And so the time came when she could move about +no longer, and took to her bed.</p> +<p>All the restlessness gone then, and all the sweet patience of her +natural disposition purified by the resignation of her soul, she lay +upon her bed through the whole round of changes of the seasons. +She lay upon her bed through fifteen months. In all that time, +her old cheerfulness never quitted her. In all that time, not +an impatient or a querulous minute can be remembered.</p> +<p>At length, at midnight on the second of February, 1864, she turned +down a leaf of a little book she was reading, and shut it up.</p> +<p>The ministering hand that had copied the verses into the tiny album +was soon around her neck, and she quietly asked, as the clock was on +the stroke of one:</p> +<p>“Do you think I am dying, mamma?”</p> +<p>“I think you are very, very ill to-night, my dear!”</p> +<p>“Send for my sister. My feet are so cold. Lift +me up?”</p> +<p>Her sister entering as they raised her, she said: “It has come +at last!” And with a bright and happy smile, looked upward, +and departed.</p> +<p>Well had she written:</p> +<blockquote><p>Why shouldst thou fear the beautiful angel, Death,<br /> +Who waits thee at the portals of the skies,<br /> +Ready to kiss away thy struggling breath,<br /> +Ready with gentle hand to close thine eyes?</p> +<p>Oh what were life, if life were all? Thine eyes<br /> +Are blinded by their tears, or thou wouldst see<br /> +Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off skies,<br /> +And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee.</p> +</blockquote> +<h2>VERSE: THE ANGEL’S STORY</h2> +<p>Through the blue and frosty heavens<br /> +Christmas stars were shining bright;<br /> +Glistening lamps throughout the City<br /> +Almost matched their gleaming light;<br /> +While the winter snow was lying,<br /> +And the winter winds were sighing,<br /> +Long ago, one Christmas night.</p> +<p>While, from every tower and steeple,<br /> +Pealing bells were sounding clear,<br /> +(Never with such tones of gladness,<br /> +Save when Christmas time is near,)<br /> +Many a one that night was merry<br /> +Who had toiled through all the year.</p> +<p>That night saw old wrongs forgiven,<br /> +Friends, long parted, reconciled;<br /> +Voices all unused to laughter,<br /> +Mournful eyes that rarely smiled,<br /> +Trembling hearts that feared the morrow,<br /> +From their anxious thoughts beguiled.</p> +<p>Rich and poor felt love and blessing<br /> +From the gracious season fall;<br /> +Joy and plenty in the cottage,<br /> +Peace and feasting in the hall;<br /> +And the voices of the children<br /> +Ringing clear above it all!</p> +<p>Yet one house was dim and darkened;<br /> +Gloom, and sickness, and despair,<br /> +Dwelling in the gilded chambers.<br /> +Creeping up the marble stair,<br /> +Even stilled the voice of mourning—<br /> +For a child lay dying there.</p> +<p>Silken curtains fell around him,<br /> +Velvet carpets hushed the tread.<br /> +Many costly toys were lying,<br /> +All unheeded, by his bed;<br /> +And his tangled golden ringlets<br /> +Were on downy pillows spread.</p> +<p>The skill of all that mighty City<br /> +To save one little life was vain;<br /> +One little thread from being broken,<br /> +One fatal word from being spoken;<br /> +Nay, his very mother’s pain,<br /> +And the mighty love within her,<br /> +Could not give him health again.</p> +<p>So she knelt there still beside him,<br /> +She alone with strength to smile,<br /> +Promising that he should suffer<br /> +No more in a little while,<br /> +Murmuring tender song and story<br /> +Weary hours to beguile.</p> +<p>Suddenly an unseen Presence<br /> +Checked those constant moaning cries,<br /> +Stilled the little heart’s quick fluttering,<br /> +Raised those blue and wondering eyes,<br /> +Fixed on some mysterious vision,<br /> +With a startled sweet surprise.</p> +<p>For a radiant angel hovered,<br /> +Smiling, o’er the little bed;<br /> +White his raiment, from his shoulders<br /> +Snowy dove-like pinions spread,<br /> +And a starlike light was shining<br /> +In a Glory round his head.</p> +<p>While, with tender love, the angel,<br /> +Leaning o’er the little nest,<br /> +In his arms the sick child folding,<br /> +Laid him gently on his breast,<br /> +Sobs and wailings told the mother<br /> +That her darling was at rest.</p> +<p>So the angel, slowing rising,<br /> +Spread his wings; and, through the air,<br /> +Bore the child, and while he held him<br /> +To his heart with loving care,<br /> +Placed a branch of crimson roses<br /> +Tenderly beside him there.</p> +<p>While the child, thus clinging, floated<br /> +Towards the mansions of the Blest,<br /> +Gazing from his shining guardian<br /> +To the flowers upon his breast,<br /> +Thus the angel spake, still smiling<br /> +On the little heavenly guest:</p> +<p>“Know, dear little one, that Heaven<br /> +Does no earthly thing disdain,<br /> +Man’s poor joys find there an echo<br /> +Just as surely as his pain;<br /> +Love, on earth so feebly striving,<br /> +Lives divine in Heaven again!</p> +<p>“Once in that great town below us,<br /> +In a poor and narrow street,<br /> +Dwelt a little sickly orphan;<br /> +Gentle aid, or pity sweet,<br /> +Never in life’s rugged pathway<br /> +Guided his poor tottering feet.</p> +<p>“All the striving anxious forethought<br /> +That should only come with age,<br /> +Weighed upon his baby spirit,<br /> +Showed him soon life’s sternest page;<br /> +Grim Want was his nurse, and Sorrow<br /> +Was his only heritage.</p> +<p>“All too weak for childish pastimes,<br /> +Drearily the hours sped;<br /> +On his hands so small and trembling<br /> +Leaning his poor aching head,<br /> +Or, through dark and painful hours,<br /> +Lying sleepless on his bed.</p> +<p>“Dreaming strange and longing fancies<br /> +Of cool forests far away;<br /> +And of rosy, happy children,<br /> +Laughing merrily at play,<br /> +Coming home through green lanes, bearing<br /> +Trailing boughs of blooming May.</p> +<p>“Scarce a glimpse of azure heaven<br /> +Gleamed above that narrow street,<br /> +And the sultry air of Summer<br /> +(That you call so warm and sweet)<br /> +Fevered the poor Orphan, dwelling<br /> +In the crowded alley’s heat.</p> +<p>“One bright day, with feeble footsteps<br /> +Slowly forth he tried to crawl,<br /> +Through the crowded city’s pathways,<br /> +Till he reached a garden-wall;<br /> +Where ’mid princely halls and mansions<br /> +Stood the lordliest of all.</p> +<p>“There were trees with giant branches,<br /> +Velvet glades where shadows hide;<br /> +There were sparkling fountains glancing,<br /> +Flowers, which in luxuriant pride<br /> +Even wafted breaths of perfume<br /> +To the child who stood outside.</p> +<p>“He against the gate of iron<br /> +Pressed his wan and wistful face,<br /> +Gazing with an awe-struck pleasure<br /> +At the glories of the place;<br /> +Never had his brightest day-dream<br /> +Shone with half such wondrous grace.</p> +<p>“You were playing in that garden,<br /> +Throwing blossoms in the air,<br /> +Laughing when the petals floated<br /> +Downwards on your golden hair;<br /> +And the fond eyes watching o’er you,<br /> +And the splendour spread before you,<br /> +Told a House’s Hope was there.</p> +<p>“When your servants, tired of seeing<br /> +Such a face of want and woe,<br /> +Turning to the ragged Orphan,<br /> +Gave him coin, and bade him go,<br /> +Down his cheeks so thin and wasted,<br /> +Bitter tears began to flow.</p> +<p>“But that look of childish sorrow<br /> +On your tender child-heart fell,<br /> +And you plucked the reddest roses<br /> +From the tree you loved so well,<br /> +Passed them through the stern cold grating,<br /> +Gently bidding him ‘Farewell!’</p> +<p>“Dazzled by the fragrant treasure<br /> +And the gentle voice he heard,<br /> +In the poor forlorn boy’s spirit,<br /> +Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirred;<br /> +In his hand he took the flowers,<br /> +In his heart the loving word.</p> +<p>“So he crept to his poor garret;<br /> +Poor no more, but rich and bright,<br /> +For the holy dreams of childhood—<br /> +Love, and Rest, and Hope, and Light—<br /> +Floated round the Orphan’s pillow<br /> +Through the starry summer night.</p> +<p>“Day dawned, yet the visions lasted;<br /> +All too weak to rise he lay;<br /> +Did he dream that none spake harshly—<br /> +All were strangely kind that day?<br /> +Surely then his treasured roses<br /> +Must have charmed all ills away.</p> +<p>“And he smiled, though they were fading;<br /> +One by one their leaves were shed;<br /> +‘Such bright things could never perish,<br /> +They would bloom again,’ he said.<br /> +When the next day’s sun had risen<br /> +Child and flowers both were dead.</p> +<p>“Know, dear little one! our Father<br /> +Will no gentle deed disdain;<br /> +Love on the cold earth beginning<br /> +Lives divine in Heaven again,<br /> +While the angel hearts that beat there<br /> +Still all tender thoughts retain.”</p> +<p>So the angel ceased, and gently<br /> +O’er his little burthen leant;<br /> +While the child gazed from the shining,<br /> +Loving eyes that o’er him bent,<br /> +To the blooming roses by him,<br /> +Wondering what that mystery meant.</p> +<p>Thus the radiant angel answered,<br /> +And with tender meaning smiled:<br /> +“Ere your childlike, loving spirit,<br /> +Sin and the hard world defiled,<br /> +God has given me leave to seek you—<br /> +I was once that little child!”</p> +<p>* * *</p> +<p>In the churchyard of that city<br /> +Rose a tomb of marble rare,<br /> +Decked, as soon as Spring awakened,<br /> +With her buds and blossoms fair—<br /> +And a humble grave beside it—<br /> +No one knew who rested there.</p> +<h2>VERSE: ECHOES</h2> +<p>Still the angel stars are shining,<br /> +Still the rippling waters flow,<br /> +But the angel-voice is silent<br /> +That I heard so long ago.<br /> +Hark! the echoes murmur low,<br /> +Long ago!</p> +<p>Still the wood is dim and lonely,<br /> +Still the plashing fountains play,<br /> +But the past and all its beauty,<br /> +Whither has it fled away?<br /> +Hark! the mournful echoes say,<br /> +Fled away!</p> +<p>Still the bird of night complaineth,<br /> +(Now, indeed, her song is pain,)<br /> +Visions of my happy hours,<br /> +Do I call and call in vain?<br /> +Hark! the echoes cry again,<br /> +All in vain!</p> +<p>Cease, oh echoes, mournful echoes!<br /> +Once I loved your voices well;<br /> +Now my heart is sick and weary—<br /> +Days of old, a long farewell!<br /> +Hark! the echoes sad and dreary<br /> +Cry farewell, farewell!</p> +<h2>VERSE: A FALSE GENIUS</h2> +<p>I see a Spirit by thy side,<br /> +Purple-winged and eagle-eyed,<br /> +Looking like a Heavenly guide.</p> +<p>Though he seem so bright and fair,<br /> +Ere thou trust his proffered care,<br /> +Pause a little, and beware!</p> +<p>If he bid thee dwell apart,<br /> +Tending some ideal smart<br /> +In a sick and coward heart;</p> +<p>In self-worship wrapped alone,<br /> +Dreaming thy poor griefs are grown<br /> +More than other men have known;</p> +<p>Dwelling in some cloudy sphere,<br /> +Though God’s work is waiting here,<br /> +And God deigneth to be near;</p> +<p>If his torch’s crimson glare<br /> +Show thee evil everywhere,<br /> +Tainting all the wholesome air;</p> +<p>While with strange distorted choice,<br /> +Still disdaining to rejoice,<br /> +Thou <i>wilt</i> hear a wailing voice;</p> +<p>If a simple, humble heart,<br /> +Seem to thee a meaner part,<br /> +Than thy noblest aim and art;</p> +<p>If he bid thee bow before<br /> +Crownèd Mind and nothing more,<br /> +The great idol men adore;</p> +<p>And with starry veil enfold<br /> +Sin, the trailing serpent old,<br /> +Till his scales shine out like gold;</p> +<p>Though his words seem true and wise,<br /> +Soul, I say to thee—Arise.<br /> +He is a Demon in disguise!</p> +<h2>VERSE: MY PICTURE</h2> +<p>Stand this way—more near the window—<br /> +By my desk—you see the light<br /> +Falling on my picture better—<br /> +Thus I see it while I write!</p> +<p>Who the head may be I know not,<br /> +But it has a student air;<br /> +With a look half sad, half stately,<br /> +Grave sweet eyes and flowing hair.</p> +<p>Little care I who the painter,<br /> +How obscure a name he bore;<br /> +Nor, when some have named Velasquez,<br /> +Did I value it the more.</p> +<p>As it is, I would not give it<br /> +For the rarest piece of art;<br /> +It has dwelt with me, and listened<br /> +To the secrets of my heart.</p> +<p>Many a time, when to my garret,<br /> +Weary, I returned at night,<br /> +It has seemed to look a welcome<br /> +That has made my poor room bright.</p> +<p>Many a time, when ill and sleepless,<br /> +I have watched the quivering gleam<br /> +Of my lamp upon that picture,<br /> +Till it faded in my dream.</p> +<p>When dark days have come, and friendship<br /> +Worthless seemed, and life in vain,<br /> +That bright friendly smile has sent me<br /> +Boldly to my task again.</p> +<p>Sometimes when hard need has pressed me<br /> +To bow down where I despise,<br /> +I have read stern words of counsel<br /> +In those sad reproachful eyes.</p> +<p>Nothing that my brain imagined,<br /> +Or my weary hand has wrought,<br /> +But it watched the dim Idea<br /> +Spring forth into armèd Thought.</p> +<p>It has smiled on my successes,<br /> +Raised me when my hopes were low,<br /> +And by turns has looked upon me<br /> +With all the loving eyes I know.</p> +<p>Do you wonder that my picture<br /> +Has become so like a friend?—<br /> +It has seen my life’s beginnings,<br /> +It shall stay and cheer the end!</p> +<h2>VERSE: JUDGE NOT</h2> +<p>Judge not; the workings of his brain<br /> +And of his heart thou canst not see;<br /> +What looks to thy dim eyes a stain,<br /> +In God’s pure light may only be<br /> +A scar, brought from some well-won field,<br /> +Where thou wouldst only faint and yield.</p> +<p>The look, the air, that frets thy sight,<br /> +May be a token, that below<br /> +The soul has closed in deadly fight<br /> +With some infernal fiery foe,<br /> +Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace,<br /> +And cast thee shuddering on thy face!</p> +<p>The fall thou darest to despise—<br /> +May be the angel’s slackened hand<br /> +Has suffered it, that he may rise<br /> +And take a firmer, surer stand;<br /> +Or, trusting less to earthly things,<br /> +May henceforth learn to use his wings.</p> +<p>And judge none lost; but wait, and see,<br /> +With hopeful pity, not disdain;<br /> +The depth of the abyss may be<br /> +The measure of the height of pain<br /> +And love and glory that may raise<br /> +This soul to God in after days!</p> +<h2>VERSE: FRIEND SORROW</h2> +<p>Do not cheat thy Heart and tell her,<br /> +“Grief will pass away,<br /> +Hope for fairer times in future,<br /> +And forget to-day.”—<br /> +Tell her, if you will, that sorrow<br /> +Need not come in vain;<br /> +Tell her that the lesson taught her<br /> +Far outweighs the pain.</p> +<p>Cheat her not with the old comfort,<br /> +“Soon she will forget”—<br /> +Bitter truth, alas—but matter<br /> +Rather for regret;<br /> +Bid her not “Seek other pleasures,<br /> +Turn to other things:”—<br /> +Rather nurse her cagèd sorrow<br /> +’Till the captive sings.</p> +<p>Rather bid her go forth bravely.<br /> +And the stranger greet;<br /> +Not as foe, with spear and buckler,<br /> +But as dear friends meet;<br /> +Bid her with a strong clasp hold her,<br /> +By her dusky wings—<br /> +Listening for the murmured blessing<br /> +Sorrow always brings.</p> +<h2>VERSE: ONE BY ONE</h2> +<p>One by one the sands are flowing,<br /> +One by one the moments fall;<br /> +Some are coming, some are going;<br /> +Do not strive to grasp them all.</p> +<p>One by one thy duties wait thee,<br /> +Let thy whole strength go to each,<br /> +Let no future dreams elate thee,<br /> +Learn thou first what these can teach.</p> +<p>One by one (bright gifts from Heaven)<br /> +Joys are sent thee here below;<br /> +Take them readily when given,<br /> +Ready too to let them go.</p> +<p>One by one thy griefs shall meet thee,<br /> +Do not fear an armèd band;<br /> +One will fade as others greet thee;<br /> +Shadows passing through the land.</p> +<p>Do not look at life’s long sorrow;<br /> +See how small each moment’s pain;<br /> +God will help thee for to-morrow,<br /> +So each day begin again.</p> +<p>Every hour that fleets so slowly<br /> +Has its task to do or bear;<br /> +Luminous the crown, and holy,<br /> +When each gem is set with care.</p> +<p>Do not linger with regretting,<br /> +Or for passing hours despond;<br /> +Nor, the daily toil forgetting,<br /> +Look too eagerly beyond.</p> +<p>Hours are golden links, God’s token,<br /> +Reaching Heaven; but one by one<br /> +Take them, lest the chain be broken<br /> +Ere the pilgrimage be done.</p> +<h2>VERSE: TRUE HONOURS</h2> +<p>Is my darling tired already,<br /> +Tired of her day of play?<br /> +Draw your little stool beside me,<br /> +Smooth this tangled hair away.<br /> +Can she put the logs together,<br /> +Till they make a cheerful blaze?<br /> +Shall her blind old Uncle tell her<br /> +Something of his youthful days?</p> +<p>Hark! The wind among the cedars<br /> +Waves their white arms to and fro;<br /> +I remember how I watched them<br /> +Sixty Christmas Days ago:<br /> +Then I dreamt a glorious vision<br /> +Of great deeds to crown each year—<br /> +Sixty Christmas Days have found me<br /> +Useless, helpless, blind—and here!</p> +<p>Yes, I feel my darling stealing<br /> +Warm soft fingers into mine—<br /> +Shall I tell her what I fancied<br /> +In that strange old dream of mine?<br /> +I was kneeling by the window,<br /> +Reading how a noble band,<br /> +With the red cross on their breast-plates,<br /> +Went to gain the Holy Land.</p> +<p>While with eager eyes of wonder<br /> +Over the dark page I bent,<br /> +Slowly twilight shadows gathered<br /> +Till the letters came and went;<br /> +Slowly, till the night was round me;<br /> +Then my heart beat loud and fast,<br /> +For I felt before I saw it<br /> +That a spirit near me passed.</p> +<p>Then I raised my eyes, and shining<br /> +Where the moon’s first ray was bright<br /> +Stood a wingèd Angel-warrior<br /> +Clothed and panoplied in light:<br /> +So, with Heaven’s love upon him,<br /> +Stern in calm and resolute will,<br /> +Looked St. Michael—does the picture<br /> +Hang in the old cloister still?</p> +<p>Threefold were the dreams of honour<br /> +That absorbed my heart and brain;<br /> +Threefold crowns the Angel promised,<br /> +Each one to be bought by pain:<br /> +While he spoke, a threefold blessing<br /> +Fell upon my soul like rain.<br /> +HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING;<br /> +VICTOR IN A GLORIOUS STRIFE;<br /> +SINGER OF A NOBLE POEM:<br /> +Such the honours of my life.</p> +<p>Ah, that dream! Long years that gave me<br /> +Joy and grief as real things<br /> +Never touched the tender memory<br /> +Sweet and solemn that it brings—<br /> +Never quite effaced the feeling<br /> +Of those white and shadowing wings.</p> +<p>Do those blue eyes open wider?<br /> +Does my faith too foolish seem?<br /> +Yes, my darling, years have taught me<br /> +It was nothing but a dream.<br /> +Soon, too soon, the bitter knowledge<br /> +Of a fearful trial rose,<br /> +Rose to crush my heart, and sternly<br /> +Bade my young ambition close.</p> +<p>More and more my eyes were clouded,<br /> +Till at last God’s glorious light<br /> +Passed away from me for ever,<br /> +And I lived and live in night.<br /> +Dear, I will not dim your pleasure,<br /> +Christmas should be only gay—<br /> +In my night the stars have risen,<br /> +And I wait the dawn of day.</p> +<p>Spite of all I could be happy;<br /> +For my brothers’ tender care<br /> +In their boyish pastimes ever<br /> +Made me take, or feel a share.<br /> +Philip, even then so thoughtful,<br /> +Max so noble, brave and tall,<br /> +And your father, little Godfrey,<br /> +The most loving of them all.</p> +<p>Philip reasoned down my sorrow,<br /> +Max would laugh my gloom away,<br /> +Godfrey’s little arms put round me,<br /> +Helped me through my dreariest day;<br /> +While the promise of my Angel,<br /> +Like a star, now bright, now pale,<br /> +Hung in blackest night above me,<br /> +And I felt it could not fail.</p> +<p>Years passed on, my brothers left me,<br /> +Each went out to take his share<br /> +In the struggle of life; my portion<br /> +Was a humble one—to bear.<br /> +Here I dwelt, and learnt to wander<br /> +Through the woods and fields alone,<br /> +Every cottage in the village<br /> +Had a corner called my own.</p> +<p>Old and young, all brought their troubles,<br /> +Great or small, for me to hear;<br /> +I have often blessed my sorrow<br /> +That drew others’ grief so near.<br /> +Ah, the people needed helping—<br /> +Needed love—(for Love and Heaven<br /> +Are the only gifts not bartered,<br /> +They alone are freely given)—</p> +<p>And I gave it. Philip’s bounty,<br /> +(We were orphans, dear,) made toil<br /> +Prosper, and want never fastened<br /> +On the tenants of the soil.<br /> +Philip’s name (Oh, how I gloried,<br /> +He so young, to see it rise!)<br /> +Soon grew noted among statesmen<br /> +As a patriot true and wise.</p> +<p>And his people all felt honoured<br /> +To be ruled by such a name;<br /> +I was proud too that they loved me;<br /> +Through their pride in him it came.<br /> +He had gained what I had longed for,<br /> +I meanwhile grew glad and gay,<br /> +’Mid his people, to be serving<br /> +Him and them, in some poor way.</p> +<p>How his noble earnest speeches,<br /> +With untiring fervour came;<br /> +HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING;<br /> +Truly he deserved the name!<br /> +Had my Angel’s promise failed me?<br /> +Had that word of hope grown dim?<br /> +Why, my Philip had fulfilled it,<br /> +And I loved it best in him!</p> +<p>Max meanwhile—ah, you, my darling,<br /> +Can his loving words recall—<br /> +’Mid the bravest and the noblest,<br /> +Braver, nobler, than them all.<br /> +How I loved him! how my heart thrilled<br /> +When his sword clanked by his side.<br /> +When I touched his gold embroidery,<br /> +Almost <i>saw</i> him in his pride!</p> +<p>So we parted; he all eager<br /> +To uphold the name he bore,<br /> +Leaving in my charge—he loved me—<br /> +Some one whom he loved still more:<br /> +I must tend this gentle flower,<br /> +I must speak to her of him,<br /> +For he feared—Love still is fearful—<br /> +That his memory might grow dim.</p> +<p>I must guard her from all sorrow,<br /> +I must play a brother’s part,<br /> +Shield all grief and trial from her,<br /> +If it need be, with my heart.<br /> +Years passed, and his name grew famous;<br /> +We were proud, both she and I;<br /> +And we lived upon his letters,<br /> +While the slow days fleeted by.</p> +<p>Then at last—you know the story,<br /> +How a fearful rumour spread,<br /> +Till all hope had slowly faded,<br /> +And we heard that he was dead.<br /> +Dead! Oh, those were bitter hours;<br /> +Yet within my soul there dwelt<br /> +A warning, and while others mourned him,<br /> +Something like a hope I felt.</p> +<p>His was no weak life as mine was,<br /> +But a life, so full and strong—<br /> +No, I could not think he perished<br /> +Nameless, ’mid a conquered throng.<br /> +How she drooped! Years passed; no tidings<br /> +Came, and yet that little flame<br /> +Of strange hope within my spirit<br /> +Still burnt on, and lived the same.</p> +<p>Ah! my child, our hearts will fail us,<br /> +When to us they strongest seem;<br /> +I can look back on those hours<br /> +As a fearful, evil dream.<br /> +She had long despaired; what wonder<br /> +That her heart had turned to mine?<br /> +Earthly loves are deep and tender,<br /> +Not eternal and divine!</p> +<p>Can I say how bright a future<br /> +Rose before my soul that day?<br /> +Oh, so strange, so sweet, so tender—<br /> +And I had to turn away.<br /> +Hard and terrible the struggle,<br /> +For the pain not mine alone;<br /> +I called back my Brother’s spirit,<br /> +And I bade him claim his own.</p> +<p>Told her—now I dared to do it—<br /> +That I felt the day would rise<br /> +When he would return to gladden<br /> +My weak heart and her bright eyes.<br /> +And I pleaded—pleaded sternly—<br /> +In his name, and for his sake:<br /> +Now, I can speak calmly of it,<br /> +Then, I thought my heart would break.</p> +<p>Soon—ah, Love had not deceived me,<br /> +(Love’s true instincts never err,)<br /> +Wounded, weak, escaped from prison,<br /> +He returned to me; to her.<br /> +I could thank God that bright morning,<br /> +When I felt my Brother’s gaze,<br /> +That my heart was true and loyal,<br /> +As in our old boyish days.</p> +<p>Bought by wounds and deeds of daring,<br /> +Honours he had brought away;<br /> +Glory crowned his name—my Brother’s;<br /> +Mine too!—we were one that day.<br /> +Since the crown on him had fallen,<br /> +“VICTOR IN A NOBLE STRIFE,”<br /> +I could live and die contented<br /> +With my poor ignoble life.</p> +<p>Well, my darling, almost weary<br /> +Of my story? Wait awhile;<br /> +For the rest is only joyful;<br /> +I can tell it with a smile.<br /> +One bright promise still was left me,<br /> +Wound so close about my soul,<br /> +That, as one by one had failed me,<br /> +This dream now absorbed the whole.</p> +<p>“SINGER OF A NOBLE POEM,”—<br /> +Ah, my darling, few and rare<br /> +Burn the glorious names of Poets,<br /> +Like stars in the purple air.<br /> +That too, and I glory in it,<br /> +That great gift my Godfrey won;<br /> +I have my dear share of honour,<br /> +Gained by that belovèd one.</p> +<p>One day shall my darling read it;<br /> +Now she cannot understand<br /> +All the noble thoughts, that lighten<br /> +Through the genius of the land.<br /> +I am proud to be his brother,<br /> +Proud to think that hope was true;<br /> +Though I longed and strove so vainly,<br /> +What I failed in, he could do.</p> +<p>I was long before I knew it,<br /> +Longer ere I felt it so;<br /> +Then I strung my rhymes together<br /> +Only for the poor and low.<br /> +And, it pleases me to know it,<br /> +(For I love them well indeed,)<br /> +They care for my humble verses,<br /> +Fitted for their humble need.</p> +<p>And, it cheers my heart to bear it,<br /> +Where the far-off settlers roam,<br /> +My poor words are sung and cherished,<br /> +Just because they speak of Home.<br /> +And the little children sing them,<br /> +(That, I think, has pleased me best,)<br /> +Often, too, the dying love them,<br /> +For they tell of Heaven and rest.</p> +<p>So my last vain dream has faded;<br /> +(Such as I to think of fame!)<br /> +Yet I will not say it failed me,<br /> +For it crowned my Godfrey’s name.<br /> +No; my Angel did not cheat me,<br /> +For my long life <i>has</i> been blest;<br /> +He did give me Love and Sorrow,<br /> +He will bring me Light and Rest.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A WOMAN’S QUESTION</h2> +<p>Before I trust my Fate to thee,<br /> +Or place my hand in thine,<br /> +Before I let thy Future give<br /> +Colour and form to mine,<br /> +Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night for me.</p> +<p>I break all slighter bonds, nor feel<br /> +A shadow of regret:<br /> +Is there one link within the Past,<br /> +That holds thy spirit yet?<br /> +Or is thy Faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge to thee?</p> +<p>Does there within thy dimmest dreams<br /> +A possible future shine,<br /> +Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe,<br /> +Untouched, unshared by mine?<br /> +If so, at any pain or cost, oh, tell me before all is lost.</p> +<p>Look deeper still. If thou canst feel<br /> +Within thy inmost soul,<br /> +That thou hast kept a portion back,<br /> +While I have staked the whole;<br /> +Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me so.</p> +<p>Is there within thy heart a need<br /> +That mine cannot fulfil?<br /> +One chord that any other hand<br /> +Could better wake or still?<br /> +Speak now—lest at some future day my whole life wither and decay.</p> +<p>Lives there within thy nature bid<br /> +The demon-spirit Change,<br /> +Shedding a passing glory still<br /> +On all things new and strange?—<br /> +It may not be thy fault alone—but shield my heart against thy +own.</p> +<p>Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day<br /> +And answer to my claim,<br /> +That Fate, and that to-day’s mistake,<br /> +Not thou—had been to blame?<br /> +Some soothe their conscience thus: but thou, wilt surely warn and save +me now.</p> +<p>Nay, answer <i>not</i>—I dare not hear,<br /> +The words would come too late;<br /> +Yet I would spare thee all remorse,<br /> +So, comfort thee, my Fate—<br /> +Whatever on my heart may fall—remember I <i>would</i> risk it +all!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE THREE RULERS</h2> +<p>I saw a Ruler take his stand<br /> +And trample on a mighty land;<br /> +The People crouched before his beck,<br /> +His iron heel was on their neck,<br /> +His name shone bright through blood and pain,<br /> +His sword flashed back their praise again.</p> +<p>I saw another Ruler rise—<br /> +His words were noble, good, and wise;<br /> +With the calm sceptre of his pen<br /> +He ruled the minds and thoughts of men;<br /> +Some scoffed, some praised—while many heard,<br /> +Only a few obeyed his word.</p> +<p>Another Ruler then I saw—<br /> +Love and sweet Pity were his law:<br /> +The greatest and the least had part<br /> +(Yet most the unhappy) in his heart—<br /> +The People, in a mighty band,<br /> +Rose up, and drove him from the land!</p> +<h2>VERSE: A DEAD PAST</h2> +<p>Spare her at least: look, you have taken from me<br /> +The Present, and I murmur not, nor moan;<br /> +The Future too, with all her glorious promise;<br /> +But do not leave me utterly alone.</p> +<p>Spare me the Past—for, see, she cannot harm you,<br /> +She lies so white and cold, wrapped in her shroud;<br /> +All, all my own! and, trust me, I will hide her<br /> +Within my soul, nor speak to her aloud.</p> +<p>I folded her soft hands upon her bosom,<br /> +And strewed my flowers upon her—<i>they</i> still live—<br /> +Sometimes I like to kiss her closed white eye-lids,<br /> +And think of all the joy she used to give.</p> +<p>Cruel indeed it were to take her from me;<br /> +She sleeps, she will not wake—no fear—again:<br /> +And so I laid her, such a gentle burthen,<br /> +Quietly on my heart to still its pain.</p> +<p>I do not think that any smiling Present,<br /> +Any vague Future, spite of all her charms,<br /> +Could ever rival her. You know you laid her,<br /> +Long years ago, then living, in my arms.</p> +<p>Leave her at least—while my tears fall upon her,<br /> +I dream she smiles, just as she did of yore;<br /> +As dear as ever to me—nay, it may be,<br /> +Even dearer still—since I have nothing more.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A DOUBTING HEART</h2> +<p>Where are the swallows fled?<br /> +Frozen and dead,<br /> +Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore.<br /> +Oh doubting heart!<br /> +Far over purple seas,<br /> +They wait, in sunny ease,<br /> +The balmy southern breeze,<br /> +To bring them to their northern homes once more.</p> +<p>Why must the flowers die?<br /> +Prisoned they lie<br /> +In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain.<br /> +Oh doubting heart!<br /> +They only sleep below<br /> +The soft white ermine snow,<br /> +While winter winds shall blow,<br /> +To breathe and smile upon you soon again.</p> +<p>The sun has hid its rays<br /> +These many days;<br /> +Will dreary hours never leave the earth?<br /> +Oh doubting heart!<br /> +The stormy clouds on high<br /> +Veil the same sunny sky,<br /> +That soon (for spring is nigh)<br /> +Shall wake the summer into golden mirth.</p> +<p>Fair hope is dead, and light<br /> +Is quenched in night.<br /> +What sound can break the silence of despair?<br /> +Oh doubting heart!<br /> +Thy sky is overcast,<br /> +Yet stars shall rise at last,<br /> +Brighter for darkness past,<br /> +And angels’ silver voices stir the air.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A STUDENT</h2> +<p>Over an ancient scroll I bent,<br /> +Steeping my soul in wise content,<br /> +Nor paused a moment, save to chide<br /> +A low voice whispering at my side.</p> +<p>I wove beneath the stars’ pale shine<br /> +A dream, half human, half divine;<br /> +And shook off (not to break the charm)<br /> +A little hand laid on my arm.</p> +<p>I read; until my heart would glow<br /> +With the great deeds of long ago;<br /> +Nor heard, while with those mighty dead,<br /> +Pass to and fro a faltering tread.</p> +<p>On the old theme I pondered long—<br /> +The struggle between right and wrong;<br /> +I could not check such visions high,<br /> +To soothe a little quivering sigh.</p> +<p>I tried to solve the problem—Life;<br /> +Dreaming of that mysterious strife,<br /> +How could I leave such reasonings wise,<br /> +To answer two blue pleading eyes?</p> +<p>I strove how best to give, and when,<br /> +My blood to save my fellow-men—<br /> +How could I turn aside, to look<br /> +At snowdrops laid upon my book?</p> +<p>Now Time has fled—the world is strange,<br /> +Something there is of pain and change;<br /> +My books lie closed upon the shelf;<br /> +I miss the old heart in myself.</p> +<p>I miss the sunbeams in my room—<br /> +It was not always wrapped in gloom:<br /> +I miss my dreams—they fade so fast,<br /> +Or flit into some trivial past.</p> +<p>The great stream of the world goes by;<br /> +None care, or heed, or question, why<br /> +I, the lone student, cannot raise<br /> +My voice or hand as in old days.</p> +<p>No echo seems to wake again<br /> +My heart to anything but pain,<br /> +Save when a dream of twilight brings<br /> +The fluttering of an angel’s wings!</p> +<h2>VERSE: A KNIGHT ERRANT</h2> +<p>Though he lived and died among us,<br /> +Yet his name may be enrolled<br /> +With the knights whose deeds of daring<br /> +Ancient chronicles have told.</p> +<p>Still a stripling, he encountered<br /> +Poverty, and struggled long,<br /> +Gathering force from every effort,<br /> +Till he knew his arm was strong.</p> +<p>Then his heart and life he offered<br /> +To his radiant mistress—Truth;<br /> +Never thought, or dream, or faltering,<br /> +Marred the promise of his youth.</p> +<p>So he rode forth to defend her,<br /> +And her peerless worth proclaim;<br /> +Challenging each recreant doubter<br /> +Who aspersed her spotless name.</p> +<p>First upon his path stood Ignorance,<br /> +Hideous in his brutal might;<br /> +Hard the blows and long the battle<br /> +Ere the monster took to flight.</p> +<p>Then, with light and fearless spirit,<br /> +Prejudice he dared to brave;<br /> +Hunting back the lying craven<br /> +To her black sulphureous cave.</p> +<p>Followed by his servile minions,<br /> +Custom, the old Giant, rose;<br /> +Yet he, too, at last was conquered<br /> +By the good Knight’s weighty blows.</p> +<p>Then he turned, and, flushed with victory<br /> +Struck upon the brazen shield<br /> +Of the world’s great king, Opinion<br /> +And defied him to the field.</p> +<p>Once again he rose a conqueror,<br /> +And, though wounded in the fight,<br /> +With a dying smile of triumph<br /> +Saw that Truth had gained her right.</p> +<p>On his failing ear re-echoing<br /> +Came the shouting round her throne;<br /> +Little cared he that no future<br /> +With her name would link his own.</p> +<p>Spent with many a hard-fought battle,<br /> +Slowly ebbed his life away,<br /> +And the crowd that flocked to greet her<br /> +Trampled on him where he lay.</p> +<p>Gathering all his strength, he saw her<br /> +Crowned and reigning in her pride!<br /> +Looked his last upon her beauty,<br /> +Raised his eyes to God, and died.</p> +<h2>VERSE: LINGER, OH, GENTLE TIME</h2> +<p>Linger, oh, gentle Time,<br /> +Linger, oh, radiant grace of bright To-day!<br /> +Let not the hours’ chime<br /> +Call thee away,<br /> +But linger near me still with fond delay.</p> +<p>Linger, for thou art mine!<br /> +What dearer treasures can the future hold?<br /> +What sweeter flowers than thine<br /> +Can she unfold?<br /> +What secrets tell my heart thou hast not told?</p> +<p>Oh, linger in thy flight!<br /> +For shadows gather round, and should we part,<br /> +A dreary starless night<br /> +May fill my heart,—<br /> +Then pause and linger yet ere thou depart.</p> +<p>Linger, I ask no more,—<br /> +Thou art enough for ever—thou alone;<br /> +What future can restore,<br /> +When thou art flown,<br /> +All that I hold from thee and call my own?</p> +<h2>VERSE: HOMEWARD BOUND</h2> +<p>I have seen a fiercer tempest,<br /> +Known a louder whirlwind blow;<br /> +I was wrecked off red Algiers,<br /> +Six-and-thirty years ago.<br /> +Young I was, and yet old seamen<br /> +Were not strong or calm as I;<br /> +While life held such treasures for me,<br /> +I felt sure I could not die.</p> +<p>Life I struggled for—and saved it;<br /> +Life alone—and nothing more;<br /> +Bruised, half dead, alone and helpless,<br /> +I was cast upon the shore.<br /> +I feared the pitiless rocks of Ocean;<br /> +So the great sea rose—and then<br /> +Cast me from her friendly bosom,<br /> +On the pitiless hearts of men.</p> +<p>Gaunt and dreary ran the mountains,<br /> +With black gorges, up the land;<br /> +Up to where the lonely Desert<br /> +Spreads her burning, dreary sand:<br /> +In the gorges of the mountains,<br /> +On the plain beside the sea,<br /> +Dwelt my stern and cruel masters,<br /> +The black Moors of Barbary.</p> +<p>Ten long years I toiled among them,<br /> +Hopeless—as I used to say;<br /> +Now I know Hope burnt within me<br /> +Fiercer, stronger, day by day:<br /> +Those dim years of toil and sorrow<br /> +Like one long dark dream appear;<br /> +One long day of weary waiting—<br /> +Then each day was like a year.</p> +<p>How I cursed the land—my prison;<br /> +How I cursed the serpent sea—<br /> +And the Demon Fate that showered<br /> +All her curses upon me;<br /> +I was mad, I think—God pardon<br /> +Words so terrible and wild—<br /> +This voyage would have been my last one,<br /> +For I left a wife and child.</p> +<p>Never did one tender vision<br /> +Fade away before my sight,<br /> +Never once through all my slavery,<br /> +Burning day or dreary night;<br /> +In my soul it lived, and kept me,<br /> +Now I feel, from black despair,<br /> +And my heart was not quite broken,<br /> +While they lived and blest me there.</p> +<p>When at night my task was over,<br /> +I would hasten to the shore;<br /> +(All was strange and foreign inland,<br /> +Nothing I had known before;)<br /> +Strange looked the bleak mountain passes,<br /> +Strange the red glare and black shade,<br /> +And the Oleanders, waving<br /> +To the sound the fountains made.</p> +<p>Then I gazed at the great Ocean,<br /> +Till she grew a friend again;<br /> +And because she knew old England,<br /> +I forgave her all my pain:<br /> +So the blue still sky above me,<br /> +With its white clouds’ fleecy fold,<br /> +And the glimmering stars, (though brighter,)<br /> +Looked like home and days of old.</p> +<p>And a calm would fall upon me,<br /> +Worn perhaps with work and pain,<br /> +The wild hungry longing left me,<br /> +And I was myself again:<br /> +Looking at the silver waters,<br /> +Looking up at the far sky,<br /> +Dreams of home and all I left there<br /> +Floated sorrowfully by.</p> +<p>A fair face, but pale with sorrow,<br /> +With blue eyes, brimful of tears,<br /> +And the little red mouth, quivering<br /> +With a smile, to hide its fears;<br /> +Holding out her baby towards me,<br /> +From the sky she looked on me;<br /> +So it was that last I saw her,<br /> +As the ship put out to sea.</p> +<p>Sometimes, (and a pang would seize me<br /> +That the years were floating on,)<br /> +I would strive to paint her, altered,<br /> +And the little baby gone:<br /> +She no longer young and girlish,<br /> +The child, standing by her knee,<br /> +And her face, more pale and saddened<br /> +With the weariness for me.</p> +<p>Then I saw, as night grew darker.<br /> +How she taught my child to pray,<br /> +Holding its small hands together,<br /> +For its father, far away;<br /> +And I felt her sorrow, weighing<br /> +Heavier on me than my own;<br /> +Pitying her blighted spring-time,<br /> +And her joy so early flown.</p> +<p>Till upon my hands (now hardened<br /> +With the rough, harsh toil of years)<br /> +Bitter drops of anguish falling,<br /> +Woke me from my dream, to tears;<br /> +Woke me as a slave, an outcast.<br /> +Leagues from home, across the deep;<br /> +So—though you may call it childish—<br /> +So I sobbed myself to sleep.</p> +<p>Well, the years sped on—my Sorrow,<br /> +Calmer, and yet stronger grown,<br /> +Was my shield against all suffering,<br /> +Poorer, meaner, than her own.<br /> +Thus my cruel master’s harshness<br /> +Fell upon me all in vain,<br /> +Yet the tale of what we suffered<br /> +Echoed back from main to main.</p> +<p>You have heard in a far country<br /> +Of a self-devoted band,<br /> +Vowed to rescue Christian captives<br /> +Pining in a foreign land.<br /> +And these gentle-hearted strangers<br /> +Year by year go forth from Rome,<br /> +In their hands the hard-earned ransom,<br /> +To restore some exiles home.</p> +<p>I was freed: they broke the tidings<br /> +Gently to me: but indeed<br /> +Hour by hour sped on, I knew not<br /> +What the words meant—I was freed!<br /> +Better so, perhaps; while sorrow<br /> +(More akin to earthly things)<br /> +Only strains the sad heart’s fibres—<br /> +Joy, bright stranger, breaks the strings.</p> +<p>Yet at last it rushed upon me,<br /> +And my heart beat full and fast;<br /> +What were now my years of waiting,<br /> +What was all the dreary past?<br /> +Nothing—to the impatient throbbing<br /> +I must bear across the sea:<br /> +Nothing—to the eternal hours<br /> +Still between my home and me!</p> +<p>How the voyage passed, I know not;<br /> +Strange it was once more to stand<br /> +With my countrymen around me,<br /> +And to clasp an English hand.<br /> +But, through all, my heart was dreaming<br /> +Of the first words I should hear,<br /> +In the gentle voice that echoed,<br /> +Fresh as ever, on my ear.</p> +<p>Should I see her start of wonder,<br /> +And the sudden truth arise,<br /> +Flushing all her face and lightening<br /> +The dimmed splendour of her eyes?<br /> +Oh! to watch the fear and doubting<br /> +Stir the silent depths of pain,<br /> +And the rush of joy—then melting<br /> +Into perfect peace again.</p> +<p>And the child!—but why remember<br /> +Foolish fancies that I thought?<br /> +Every tree and every hedge-row<br /> +From the well-known past I brought:<br /> +I would picture my dear cottage,<br /> +See the crackling wood-fire burn,<br /> +And the two beside it seated,<br /> +Watching, waiting, my return.</p> +<p>So, at last we reached the harbour.<br /> +I remember nothing more<br /> +Till I stood, my sick heart throbbing,<br /> +With my hand upon the door.<br /> +There I paused—I heard her speaking;<br /> +Low, soft, murmuring words she said;<br /> +Then I first knew the dumb terror<br /> +I had had, lest she were dead.</p> +<p>It was evening in late autumn,<br /> +And the gusty wind blew chill;<br /> +Autumn leaves were falling round me,<br /> +And the red sun lit the hill.<br /> +Six-and-twenty years are vanished<br /> +Since then—I am old and grey,<br /> +But I never told to mortal<br /> +What I saw, until this day.</p> +<p>She was seated by the fire,<br /> +In her arms she held a child,<br /> +Whispering baby-words caressing,<br /> +And then, looking up, she smiled:<br /> +Smiled on him who stood beside her—<br /> +Oh! the bitter truth was told,<br /> +In her look of trusting fondness—<br /> +I had seen the look of old!</p> +<p>But she rose and turned towards me<br /> +(Cold and dumb I waited there)<br /> +With a shriek of fear and terror,<br /> +And a white face of despair.<br /> +He had been an ancient comrade—<br /> +Not a single word we said,<br /> +While we gazed upon each other,<br /> +He the living: I the dead!</p> +<p>I drew nearer, nearer to her,<br /> +And I took her trembling hand,<br /> +Looking on her white face, looking<br /> +That her heart might understand<br /> +All the love and all the pity<br /> +That my lips refused to say—<br /> +I thank God no thought save sorrow<br /> +Rose in our crushed hearts that day.</p> +<p>Bitter tears that desolate moment,<br /> +Bitter, bitter tears we wept,<br /> +We three broken hearts together,<br /> +While the baby smiled and slept.<br /> +Tears alone—no words were spoken,<br /> +Till he—till her husband said<br /> +That my boy, (I had forgotten<br /> +The poor child,) that he was dead.</p> +<p>Then at last I rose, and, turning,<br /> +Wrung his hand, but made no sign;<br /> +And I stooped and kissed her forehead<br /> +Once more, as if she were mine.<br /> +Nothing of farewell I uttered,<br /> +Save in broken words to pray<br /> +That God would ever guard and bless her—<br /> +Then in silence passed away.</p> +<p>Over the great restless ocean<br /> +Six-and-twenty years I roam;<br /> +All my comrades, old and weary,<br /> +Have gone back to die at home.—<br /> +Home! yes, I shall reach a haven,<br /> +I, too, shall reach home and rest;<br /> +I shall find her waiting for me<br /> +With our baby on her breast.</p> +<h2>VERSE: LIFE AND DEATH</h2> +<p>“What is Life, Father?”<br /> +“A Battle, my child,<br /> +Where the strongest lance may fail,<br /> +Where the wariest eyes may be beguiled,<br /> +And the stoutest heart may quail.<br /> +Where the foes are gathered on every hand,<br /> +And rest not day or night,<br /> +And the feeble little ones must stand<br /> +In the thickest of the fight.”</p> +<p>“What is Death, Father?”<br /> +“The rest, my child,<br /> +When the strife and the toil are o’er;<br /> +The Angel of God, who, calm and mild,<br /> +Says we need fight no more;<br /> +Who, driving away the demon band,<br /> +Bids the din of the battle cease;<br /> +Takes banner and spear from our failing hand,<br /> +And proclaims an eternal Peace.”</p> +<p>“Let me die, Father! I tremble and fear<br /> +To yield in that terrible strife!”</p> +<p>“The crown must be won for Heaven, dear,<br /> +In the battle-field of life:<br /> +My child, though thy foes are strong and tried,<br /> +He loveth the weak and small;<br /> +The Angels of Heaven are on thy side,<br /> +And God is over all!”</p> +<h2>VERSE: NOW</h2> +<p>Rise! for the day is passing,<br /> +And you lie dreaming on;<br /> +The others have buckled their armour,<br /> +And forth to the fight are gone:<br /> +A place in the ranks awaits you,<br /> +Each man has some part to play;<br /> +The Past and the Future are nothing,<br /> +In the face of the stern To-day.</p> +<p>Rise from your dreams of the Future—<br /> +Of gaining some hard-fought field;<br /> +Of storming some airy fortress,<br /> +Or bidding some giant yield;<br /> +Your Future has deeds of glory,<br /> +Of honour (God grant it may!)<br /> +But your arm will never be stronger,<br /> +Or the need so great as To-day.</p> +<p>Rise! if the Past detains you,<br /> +Her sunshine and storms forget;<br /> +No chains so unworthy to hold you<br /> +As those of a vain regret:<br /> +Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever,<br /> +Cast her phantom arms away,<br /> +Nor look back, save to learn the lesson<br /> +Of a nobler strife To-day.</p> +<p>Rise! for the day is passing:<br /> +The sound that you scarcely hear<br /> +Is the enemy marching to battle—<br /> +Arise! for the foe is here!<br /> +Stay not to sharpen your weapons,<br /> +Or the hour will strike at last,<br /> +When, from dreams of a coming battle,<br /> +You may wake to find it past!</p> +<h2>VERSE: CLEANSING FIRES</h2> +<p>Let thy gold be cast in the furnace,<br /> +Thy red gold, precious and bright,<br /> +Do not fear the hungry fire,<br /> +With its caverns of burning light:<br /> +And thy gold shall return more precious,<br /> +Free from every spot and stain;<br /> +For gold must be tried by fire,<br /> +As a heart must be tried by pain!</p> +<p>In the cruel fire of Sorrow<br /> +Cast thy heart, do not faint or wail;<br /> +Let thy hand be firm and steady,<br /> +Do not let thy spirit quail:<br /> +But wait till the trial is over,<br /> +And take thy heart again;<br /> +For as gold is tried by fire,<br /> +So a heart must be tried by pain!</p> +<p>I shall know by the gleam and glitter<br /> +Of the golden chain you wear,<br /> +By your heart’s calm strength in loving,<br /> +Of the fire they have had to bear.<br /> +Beat on, true heart, for ever;<br /> +Shine bright, strong golden chain;<br /> +And bless the cleansing fire,<br /> +And the furnace of living pain!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE VOICE OF THE WIND</h2> +<p>Let us throw more logs on the fire!<br /> +We have need of a cheerful light,<br /> +And close round the hearth to gather,<br /> +For the wind has risen to-night.<br /> +With the mournful sound of its wailing<br /> +It has checked the children’s glee,<br /> +And it calls with a louder clamour<br /> +Than the clamour of the sea.<br /> +Hark to the voice of the wind!</p> +<p>Let us listen to what it is saying,<br /> +Let us hearken to where it has been;<br /> +For it tells, in its terrible crying,<br /> +The fearful sights it has seen.<br /> +It clatters loud at the casements,<br /> +Round the house it hurries on,<br /> +And shrieks with redoubled fury,<br /> +When we say “The blast is gone!”<br /> +Hark to the voice of the wind!</p> +<p>It has been on the field of battle,<br /> +Where the dying and wounded lie;<br /> +And it brings the last groan they uttered,<br /> +And the ravenous vulture’s cry.<br /> +It has been where the icebergs were meeting,<br /> +And closed with a fearful crash;<br /> +On shores where no foot has wandered,<br /> +It has heard the waters dash.<br /> +Hark to the voice of the wind!</p> +<p>It has been on the desolate ocean,<br /> +When the lightning struck the mast;<br /> +It has heard the cry of the drowning,<br /> +Who sank as it hurried past;<br /> +The words of despair and anguish,<br /> +That were heard by no living ear;<br /> +The gun that no signal answered:<br /> +It brings them all to us here.<br /> +Hark to the voice of the wind!</p> +<p>It has been on the lonely moorland,<br /> +Where the treacherous snow-drift lies,<br /> +Where the traveller, spent and weary,<br /> +Gasped fainter and fainter cries;<br /> +It has heard the bay of the bloodhounds,<br /> +On the track of the hunted slave,<br /> +The lash and the curse of the master,<br /> +And the groan that the captive gave.<br /> +Hark to the voice of the wind!</p> +<p>It has swept through the gloomy forest,<br /> +Where the sledge was urged to its speed,<br /> +Where the howling wolves were rushing<br /> +On the track of the panting steed.<br /> +Where the pool was black and lonely,<br /> +It caught up a splash and a cry—<br /> +Only the bleak sky heard it,<br /> +And the wind as it hurried by.<br /> +Hark to the voice of the wind!</p> +<p>Then throw more logs on the fire,<br /> +Since the air is bleak and cold,<br /> +And the children are drawing nigher,<br /> +For the tales that the wind has told.<br /> +So closer and closer gather<br /> +Round the red and crackling light;<br /> +And rejoice (while the wind is blowing)<br /> +We are safe and warm to-night.<br /> +Hark to the voice of the wind!</p> +<h2>VERSE: TREASURES</h2> +<p>Let me count my treasures,<br /> +All my soul holds dear,<br /> +Given me by dark spirits<br /> +Whom I used to fear.</p> +<p>Through long days of anguish,<br /> +And sad nights, did Pain<br /> +Forge my shield, Endurance,<br /> +Bright and free from stain!</p> +<p>Doubt, in misty caverns,<br /> +’Mid dark horrors sought,<br /> +Till my peerless jewel,<br /> +Faith to me she brought.</p> +<p>Sorrow, that I wearied<br /> +Should remain so long,<br /> +Wreathed my starry glory,<br /> +The bright Crown of Song.</p> +<p>Strife, that racked my spirit,<br /> +Without hope or rest,<br /> +Left the blooming flower,<br /> +Patience, on my breast.</p> +<p>Suffering, that I dreaded,<br /> +Ignorant of her charms,<br /> +Laid the fair child, Pity,<br /> +Smiling, in my arms.</p> +<p>So I count my treasures,<br /> +Stored in days long past—<br /> +And I thank the givers,<br /> +Whom I know at last!</p> +<h2>VERSE: SHINING STARS</h2> +<p>Shine, ye stars of heaven,<br /> +On a world of pain!<br /> +See old Time destroying<br /> +All our hoarded gain;<br /> +All our sweetest flowers,<br /> +Every stately shrine,<br /> +All our hard-earned glory,<br /> +Every dream divine!</p> +<p>Shine, ye stars of heaven,<br /> +On the rolling years!<br /> +See how Time, consoling,<br /> +Dries the saddest tears,<br /> +Bids the darkest storm-clouds<br /> +Pass in gentle rain;<br /> +While upspring in glory,<br /> +Flowers and dreams again!</p> +<p>Shine, ye stars of heaven,<br /> +On a world of fear!<br /> +See how Time, avenging,<br /> +Bringeth judgment here;<br /> +Weaving ill-won honours<br /> +To a fiery crown;<br /> +Bidding hard hearts perish;<br /> +Casting proud hearts down.</p> +<p>Shine, ye stars of heaven,<br /> +On the hours’ slow flight!<br /> +See how Time, rewarding,<br /> +Gilds good deeds with light;<br /> +Pays with kingly measure;<br /> +Brings earth’s dearest prize;<br /> +Or, crowned with rays diviner,<br /> +Bids the end arise!</p> +<h2>VERSE: WAITING</h2> +<p>“Wherefore dwell so sad and lonely,<br /> +By the desolate sea-shore,<br /> +With the melancholy surges<br /> +Beating at your cottage door?</p> +<p>“You shall dwell beside the castle<br /> +Shadowed by our ancient trees;<br /> +And your life shall pass on gently,<br /> +Cared for, and in rest and ease.”</p> +<p>“Lady, one who loved me dearly<br /> +Sailed for distant lands away;<br /> +And I wait here his returning<br /> +Hopefully from day to day.</p> +<p>“To my door I bring my spinning,<br /> +Watching every ship I see;<br /> +Waiting, hoping, till the sunset<br /> +Fades into the western sea.</p> +<p>“After sunset, at my casement,<br /> +Still I place a signal light;<br /> +He will see its well-known shining<br /> +Should his ship return at night.</p> +<p>“Lady, see your infant smiling,<br /> +With its flaxen curling hair—<br /> +I remember when your mother<br /> +Was a baby just as fair.</p> +<p>“I was watching then, and hoping:<br /> +Years have brought great change to all;<br /> +To my neighbours in their cottage,<br /> +To you nobles at the hall.</p> +<p>“Not to me—for I am waiting,<br /> +And the years have fled so fast,<br /> +I must look at you to tell me<br /> +That a weary time has past!</p> +<p>“When I hear a footstep coming<br /> +On the shingle—years have fled—<br /> +Yet amid a thousand others,<br /> +I shall know his quick, light tread.</p> +<p>“When I hear (to-night it may be)<br /> +Some one pausing at my door,<br /> +I shall know the gay soft accents,<br /> +Heard and welcomed oft before!</p> +<p>“So each day I am more hopeful,<br /> +He may come before the night:<br /> +Every sunset I feel surer<br /> +He must come ere morning light.</p> +<p>“Then I thank you, noble lady,<br /> +But I cannot do your will:<br /> +Where he left me, he must find me.<br /> +Waiting, watching, hoping, still!”</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE CRADLE SONG OF THE POOR</h2> +<p>Hush! I cannot bear to see thee<br /> +Stretch thy tiny hands in vain;<br /> +Dear, I have no bread to give thee,<br /> +Nothing, child, to ease thy pain!<br /> +When God sent thee first to bless me,<br /> +Proud, and thankful too, was I;<br /> +Now, my darling I, thy mother,<br /> +Almost long to see thee die.<br /> +Sleep, my darling, thou art weary;<br /> +God is good, but life is dreary.</p> +<p>I have watched thy beauty fading,<br /> +And thy strength sink day by day;<br /> +Soon, I know, will Want and Fever<br /> +Take thy little life away.<br /> +Famine makes thy father reckless,<br /> +Hope has left both him and me;<br /> +We could suffer all, my baby,<br /> +Had we but a crust for thee.<br /> +Sleep, my darling, thou art weary;<br /> +God is good, but life is dreary.</p> +<p>Better thou shouldst perish early,<br /> +Starve so soon, my darling one,<br /> +Than in helpless sin and sorrow<br /> +Vainly live, as I have done.<br /> +Better that thy angel spirit<br /> +With my joy, my peace, were flown,<br /> +Than thy heart grew cold and careless,<br /> +Reckless, hopeless, like my own.<br /> +Sleep, my darling, thou art weary;<br /> +God is good, but life is dreary.</p> +<p>I am wasted, dear, with hunger,<br /> +And my brain is all opprest,<br /> +I have scarcely strength to press thee,<br /> +Wan and feeble, to my breast.<br /> +Patience, baby, God will help us,<br /> +Death will come to thee and me,<br /> +He will take us to his Heaven,<br /> +Where no want or pain can be.<br /> +Sleep, my darling, thou art weary;<br /> +God is good, but life is dreary.</p> +<p>Such the plaint that, late and early,<br /> +Did we listen, we might hear<br /> +Close beside us,—but the thunder<br /> +Of a city dulls our ear.<br /> +Every heart, as God’s bright Angel,<br /> +Can bid one such sorrow cease;<br /> +God has glory when his children<br /> +Bring his poor ones joy and peace!<br /> +Listen, nearer while she sings<br /> +Sounds the fluttering of wings!</p> +<h2>VERSE: BE STRONG</h2> +<p>Be strong to <i>hope</i>, oh Heart!<br /> +Though day is bright,<br /> +The stars can only shine<br /> +In the dark night.<br /> +Be strong, oh Heart of mine,<br /> +Look towards the light!</p> +<p>Be strong to <i>bear</i>, oh Heart!<br /> +Nothing is vain:<br /> +Strive not, for life is care,<br /> +And God sends pain,<br /> +Heaven is above, and there<br /> +Rest will remain!</p> +<p>Be strong to <i>love</i>, oh Heart!<br /> +Love knows not wrong,<br /> +Didst thou love—creatures even,<br /> +Life were not long;<br /> +Didst thou love God in Heaven,<br /> +Thou wouldst be strong!</p> +<h2>VERSE: GOD’S GIFTS</h2> +<p>God gave a gift to Earth:- a child,<br /> +Weak, innocent, and undefiled,<br /> +Opened its ignorant eyes and smiled.</p> +<p>It lay so helpless, so forlorn,<br /> +Earth took it coldly and in scorn,<br /> +Cursing the day when it was born.</p> +<p>She gave it first a tarnished name,<br /> +For heritage, a tainted fame,<br /> +Then cradled it in want and shame.</p> +<p>All influence of Good or Right,<br /> +All ray of God’s most holy light,<br /> +She curtained closely from its sight.</p> +<p>Then turned her heart, her eyes away,<br /> +Ready to look again, the day<br /> +Its little feet began to stray.</p> +<p>In dens of guilt the baby played,<br /> +Where sin, and sin alone, was made<br /> +The law that all around obeyed.</p> +<p>With ready and obedient care,<br /> +He learnt the tasks they taught him there;<br /> +Black sin for lesson—oaths for prayer.</p> +<p>Then Earth arose, and, in her might,<br /> +To vindicate her injured right,<br /> +Thrust him in deeper depths of night.</p> +<p>Branding him with a deeper brand<br /> +Of shame, he could not understand,<br /> +The felon outcast of the land.</p> +<p>* * *</p> +<p>God gave a gift to Earth:- a child,<br /> +Weak, innocent, and undefiled,<br /> +Opened its ignorant eyes and smiled.</p> +<p>And Earth received the gift, and cried<br /> +Her joy and triumph far and wide,<br /> +Till echo answered to her pride.</p> +<p>She blest the hour when first he came<br /> +To take the crown of pride and fame,<br /> +Wreathed through long ages for his name.</p> +<p>Then bent her utmost art and skill<br /> +To train the supple mind and will,<br /> +And guard it from a breath of ill.</p> +<p>She strewed his morning path with flowers,<br /> +And Love, in tender dropping showers,<br /> +Nourished the blue and dawning hours.</p> +<p>She shed, in rainbow hues of light,<br /> +A halo round the Good and Right,<br /> +To tempt and charm the baby’s sight.</p> +<p>And every step, of work or play.<br /> +Was lit by some such dazzling ray,<br /> +Till morning brightened into day.</p> +<p>And then the World arose, and said—<br /> +Let added honours now be shed<br /> +On such a noble heart and head!</p> +<p>O World, both gifts were pure and bright,<br /> +Holy and sacred in God’s sight:-<br /> +God will judge them and thee aright!</p> +<h2>VERSE: A TOMB IN GHENT</h2> +<p>A smiling look she had, a figure slight,<br /> +With cheerful air, and step both quick and light;<br /> +A strange and foreign look the maiden bore,<br /> +That suited the quaint Belgian dress she wore<br /> +Yet the blue fearless eyes in her fair face,<br /> +And her soft voice told her of English race;<br /> +And ever, as she flitted to and fro,<br /> +She sang, (or murmured, rather,) soft and low,<br /> +Snatches of song, as if she did not know<br /> +That she was singing, but the happy load<br /> +Of dream and thought thus from her heart o’erflowed:<br /> +And while on household cares she passed along,<br /> +The air would bear me fragments of her song;<br /> +Not such as village maidens sing, and few<br /> +The framers of her changing music knew;<br /> +Chants such as heaven and earth first heard of when<br /> +The master Palestrina held the pen.<br /> +But I with awe had often turned the page,<br /> +Yellow with time, and half defaced by age,<br /> +And listened, with an ear not quite unskilled,<br /> +While heart and soul to the grand echo thrilled;<br /> +And much I marvelled, as her cadence fell<br /> +From the Laudate, that I knew so well,<br /> +Into Scarlatti’s minor fugue, how she<br /> +Had learned such deep and solemn harmony.<br /> +But what she told I set in rhyme, as meet<br /> +To chronicle the influence, dim and sweet,<br /> +’Neath which her young and innocent life had grown:<br /> +Would that my words were simple as her own.</p> +<p>Many years since, an English workman went<br /> +Over the seas, to seek a home in Ghent,<br /> +Where English skill was prized; nor toiled in vain;<br /> +Small, yet enough, his hard-earned daily gain.<br /> +He dwelt alone—in sorrow, or in pride.<br /> +He mixed not with the workers by his side;<br /> +He seemed to care but for one present joy—<br /> +To tend, to watch, to teach his sickly boy.<br /> +Severe to all beside, yet for the child<br /> +He softened his rough speech to soothings mild;<br /> +For him he smiled, with him each day he walked<br /> +Through the dark gloomy streets; to him he talked<br /> +Of home, of England, and strange stories told<br /> +Of English heroes in the days of old;<br /> +And, (when the sunset gilded roof and spire,)<br /> +The marvellous tale which never seemed to tire:<br /> +How the gilt dragon, glaring fiercely down<br /> +From the great belfry, watching all the town,<br /> +Was brought, a trophy of the wars divine,<br /> +By a Crusader from far Palestine,<br /> +And given to Bruges; and how Ghent arose,<br /> +And how they struggled long as deadly foes,<br /> +Till Ghent, one night, by a brave soldier’s skill,<br /> +Stole the great dragon; and she keeps it still.<br /> +One day the dragon—so ’tis said—will rise,<br /> +Spread his bright wines, and glitter in the skies.<br /> +And over desert lands and azure seas,<br /> +Will seek his home ’mid palm and cedar trees.<br /> +So, as he passed the belfry every day,<br /> +The boy would look if it were flown away;<br /> +Each day surprised to find it watching there,<br /> +Above him, as he crossed the ancient square,<br /> +To seek the great cathedral, that had grown<br /> +A home for him—mysterious and his own.</p> +<p>Dim with dark shadows of the ages past,<br /> +St. Bavon stands, solemn and rich and vast;<br /> +The slender pillars, in long vistas spread,<br /> +Like forest arches meet and close o’erhead;<br /> +So high that, like a weak and doubting prayer,<br /> +Ere it can float to the carved angels there,<br /> +The silver clouded incense faints in air:<br /> +Only the organ’s voice, with peal on peal,<br /> +Can mount to where those far-off angels kneel.<br /> +Here the pale boy, beneath a low side-arch,<br /> +Would listen to its solemn chant or march;<br /> +Folding his little hands, his simple prayer<br /> +Melted in childish dreams, and both in air:<br /> +While the great organ over all would roll,<br /> +Speaking strange secrets to his innocent soul,<br /> +Bearing on eagle-wings the great desire<br /> +Of all the kneeling throng, and piercing higher<br /> +Than aught but love and prayer can reach, until<br /> +Only the silence seemed to listen still;<br /> +Or gathering like a sea still more and more,<br /> +Break in melodious waves at heaven’s door,<br /> +And then fall, slow and soft, in tender rain,<br /> +Upon the pleading longing hearts again.</p> +<p>Then he would watch the rosy sunlight glow,<br /> +That crept along the marble floor below,<br /> +Passing, as life does, with the passing hours,<br /> +Now by a shrine all rich with gems and flowers,<br /> +Now on the brazen letters of a tomb,<br /> +Then, leaving it again to shade and gloom,<br /> +And creeping on, to show, distinct and quaint,<br /> +The kneeling figure of some marble saint:<br /> +Or lighting up the carvings strange and rare,<br /> +That told of patient toil, and reverent care;<br /> +Ivy that trembled on the spray, and ears,<br /> +Of heavy corn, and slender bulrush spears,<br /> +And all the thousand tangled weeds that grow<br /> +In summer, where the silver rivers flow;<br /> +And demon-heads grotesque, that seemed to glare<br /> +In impotent wrath on all the beauty there:<br /> +Then the gold rays up pillared shaft would climb,<br /> +And so be drawn to heaven, at evening time.<br /> +And deeper silence, darker shadows flowed<br /> +On all around, only the windows glowed<br /> +With blazoned glory, like the shields of light<br /> +Archangels bear, who, armed with love and might,<br /> +Watch upon heaven’s battlements at night.<br /> +Then all was shade; the silver lamps that gleamed,<br /> +Lost in the daylight, in the darkness seemed<br /> +Like sparks of fire in the dim aisles to shine,<br /> +Or trembling stars before each separate shrine.<br /> +Grown half afraid, the child would leave them there,<br /> +And come out, blinded by the noisy glare<br /> +That burst upon him from the busy square.</p> +<p>The church was thus his home for rest or play,<br /> +And as he came and went again each day,<br /> +The pictured faces that he knew so well,<br /> +Seemed to smile on him welcome and farewell.<br /> +But holier, and dearer far than all,<br /> +One sacred spot his own he loved to call;<br /> +Save at mid-day, half-hidden by the gloom;<br /> +The people call it The White Maiden’s Tomb:<br /> +For there she stands; her folded hands are pressed<br /> +Together, and laid softly on her breast,<br /> +As if she waited but a word to rise<br /> +From the dull earth, and pass to the blue skies;<br /> +Her lips expectant part, she holds her breath,<br /> +As listening for the angel voice of death.<br /> +None know how many years have seen her so,<br /> +Or what the name of her who sleeps below.<br /> +And here the child would come, and strive to trace,<br /> +Through the dim twilight, the pure gentle face<br /> +He loved so well, and here he oft would bring<br /> +Some violet blossom of the early spring;<br /> +And climbing softly by the fretted stand,<br /> +Not to disturb her, lay it in her hand;<br /> +Or, whispering a soft loving message sweet,<br /> +Would stoop and kiss the little marble feet.<br /> +So, when the organ’s pealing music rang,<br /> +He thought amid the gloom the Maiden sang;<br /> +With reverent simple faith by her he knelt,<br /> +And fancied what she thought, and what she felt.<br /> +“Glory to God,” re-echoed from her voice,<br /> +And then his little spirit would rejoice;<br /> +Or when the Requiem sobbed upon the air,<br /> +His baby tears dropped with her mournful prayer.</p> +<p>So years fled on, while childish fancies past,<br /> +The childish love and simple faith could last.<br /> +The artist-soul awoke in him, the flame<br /> +Of genius, like the light of Heaven, came<br /> +Upon his brain, and (as it will, if true)<br /> +It touched his heart and lit his spirit, too<br /> +His father saw, and with a proud content<br /> +Let him forsake the toil where he had spent<br /> +His youth’s first years, and on one happy day<br /> +Of pride, before the old man passed away,<br /> +He stood with quivering lips, and the big tears<br /> +Upon his cheek, and heard the dream of years<br /> +Living and speaking to his very heart—<br /> +The low hushed murmur at the wondrous art<br /> +Of him, who with young trembling fingers made<br /> +The great church-organ answer as he played;<br /> +And, as the uncertain sound grew full and strong,<br /> +Rush with harmonious spirit-wings along,<br /> +And thrill with master-power the breathless throng.</p> +<p>The old man died, and years passed on, and still<br /> +The young musician bent his heart and will<br /> +To his dear toil. St. Bavon now had grown<br /> +More dear to him, and even more his own;<br /> +And as he left it every night he prayed<br /> +A moment by the archway in the shade,<br /> +Kneeling once more within the sacred gloom<br /> +Where the White Maiden watched upon her tomb.<br /> +His hopes of travel and a world-wide fame,<br /> +Cold Time had sobered, and his fragile frame;<br /> +Content at last only in dreams to roam,<br /> +Away from the tranquillity of home;<br /> +Content that the poor dwellers by his side<br /> +Saw in him but the gentle friend and guide,<br /> +The patient counsellor in the poor strife<br /> +And petty details of their common life,<br /> +Who comforted where woe and grief might fall,<br /> +Nor slighted any pain or want as small,<br /> +But whose great heart took in and felt for all.</p> +<p>Still he grew famous—many came to be<br /> +His pupils in the art of harmony.<br /> +One day a voice floated so pure and free<br /> +Above his music, that he turned to see<br /> +What angel sang, and saw before his eyes,<br /> +What made his heart leap with a strange surprise,<br /> +His own White Maiden, calm, and pure, and mild,<br /> +As in his childish dreams she sang and smiled;<br /> +Her eyes raised up to Heaven, her lips apart,<br /> +And music overflowing from her heart.<br /> +But the faint blush that tinged her cheek betrayed<br /> +No marble statue, but a living maid;<br /> +Perplexed and startled at his wondering look,<br /> +Her rustling score of Mozart’s Sanctus shook;<br /> +The uncertain notes, like birds within a snare,<br /> +Fluttered and died upon the trembling air.</p> +<p>Days passed; each morning saw the maiden stand,<br /> +Her eyes cast down, her lesson in her hand,<br /> +Eager to study, never weary, while<br /> +Repaid by the approving word or smile<br /> +Of her kind master; days and months fled on;<br /> +One day the pupil from the choir was gone;<br /> +Gone to take light, and joy, and youth once more,<br /> +Within the poor musician’s humble door;<br /> +And to repay, with gentle happy art,<br /> +The debt so many owed his generous heart.<br /> +And now, indeed, was one who knew and felt<br /> +That a great gift of God within him dwelt;<br /> +One who could listen, who could understand,<br /> +Whose idle work dropped from her slackened hand,<br /> +While with wet eyes entranced she stood, nor knew<br /> +How the melodious wingèd hours flew;<br /> +Who loved his art as none had loved before,<br /> +Yet prized the noble tender spirit more.<br /> +While the great organ brought from far and near<br /> +Lovers of harmony to praise and hear,<br /> +Unmarked by aught save what filled every day,<br /> +Duty, and toil, and rest, years passed away:<br /> +And now by the low archway in the shade<br /> +Beside her mother knelt a little maid,<br /> +Who, through the great cathedral learned to roam,<br /> +Climb to the choir, and bring her father home;<br /> +And stand, demure and solemn by his side,<br /> +Patient till the last echo softly died;<br /> +Then place her little hand in his, and go<br /> +Down the dark winding stair to where below<br /> +The mother knelt, within the gathering gloom<br /> +Waiting and praying by the Maiden’s Tomb.</p> +<p>So their life went, until, one winter’s day,<br /> +Father and child came there alone to pray—<br /> +The mother, gentle soul, had fled away!<br /> +Their life was altered now, and yet the child<br /> +Forgot her passionate grief in time, and smiled,<br /> +Half wondering why, when spring’s fresh breezes came,<br /> +To see her father was no more the same.<br /> +Half guessing at the shadow of his pain,<br /> +And then contented if he smiled again,<br /> +A sad cold smile, that passed in tears away,<br /> +As re-assured she ran once more to play.<br /> +And now each year that added grace to grace,<br /> +Fresh bloom and sunshine to the young girl’s face,<br /> +Brought a strange light in the musician’s eyes,<br /> +As if he saw some starry hope arise,<br /> +Breaking upon the midnight of sad skies.<br /> +It might be so: more feeble year by year,<br /> +The wanderer to his resting-place drew near.<br /> +One day the Gloria he could play no more,<br /> +Echoed its grand rejoicing as of yore;<br /> +His hands were clasped, his weary head was laid,<br /> +Upon the tomb where the White Maiden prayed:<br /> +Where the child’s love first dawned, his soul first spoke,<br /> +The old man’s heart there throbbed its last and broke.<br /> +The grave cathedral that had nursed his youth,<br /> +Had helped his dreaming, and had taught him truth,<br /> +Had seen his boyish grief and baby tears,<br /> +And watched the sorrows and the joys of years,<br /> +Had lit his fame and hope with sacred rays,<br /> +And consecrated sad and happy days—<br /> +Had blessed his happiness, and soothed his pain,<br /> +Now took her faithful servant home again.</p> +<p>He rests in peace: some travellers mention yet<br /> +An organist whose name they all forget.<br /> +He has a holier and a nobler fame<br /> +By poor men’s hearths, who love and bless the name<br /> +Of a kind friend; and in low tones to-day,<br /> +Speak tenderly of him who passed away.<br /> +Too poor to help the daughter of their friend,<br /> +They grieved to see the little pittance end;<br /> +To see her toil and strive with cheerful heart,<br /> +To bear the lonely orphan’s struggling part;<br /> +They grieved to see her go at last alone<br /> +To English kinsmen she had never known:<br /> +And here she came; the foreign girl soon found<br /> +Welcome, and love, and plenty all around,<br /> +And here she pays it back with earnest will,<br /> +By well-taught housewife watchfulness and skill;<br /> +Deep in her heart she holds her father’s name,<br /> +And tenderly and proudly keeps his fame;<br /> +And while she works with thrifty Belgian care,<br /> +Past dreams of childhood float upon the air;<br /> +Some strange old chant, or solemn Latin hymn,<br /> +That echoed through the old cathedral dim,<br /> +When as a little child each day she went<br /> +To kneel and pray by an old tomb in Ghent.</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE ANGEL OF DEATH</h2> +<p>Why shouldst thou fear the beautiful angel, Death,<br /> +Who waits thee at the portals of the skies,<br /> +Ready to kiss away thy struggling breath,<br /> +Ready with gentle hand to close thine eyes?</p> +<p>How many a tranquil soul has passed away,<br /> +Fled gladly from fierce pain and pleasures dim,<br /> +To the eternal splendour of the day;<br /> +And many a troubled heart still calls for him.</p> +<p>Spirits too tender for the battle here<br /> +Have turned from life, its hopes, its fears, its charms;<br /> +And children, shuddering at a world so drear,<br /> +Have smiling passed away into his arms.</p> +<p>He whom thou fearest will, to ease its pain,<br /> +Lay his cold hand upon thy aching heart:<br /> +Will soothe the terrors of thy troubled brain,<br /> +And bid the shadow of earth’s grief depart.</p> +<p>He will give back what neither time, nor might,<br /> +Nor passionate prayer, nor longing hope restore.<br /> +(Dear as to long blind eyes recovered sight,)<br /> +He will give back those who are gone before.</p> +<p>Oh, what were life, if life were all? Thine eyes<br /> +Are blinded by their tears, or thou wouldst see<br /> +Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off skies,<br /> +And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A DREAM</h2> +<p>All yesterday I was spinning,<br /> +Sitting alone in the sun;<br /> +And the dream that I spun was so lengthy,<br /> +It lasted till day was done.</p> +<p>I heeded not cloud or shadow<br /> +That flitted over the hill,<br /> +Or the humming-bees, or the swallows,<br /> +Or the trickling of the rill.</p> +<p>I took the threads for my spinning,<br /> +All of blue summer air,<br /> +And a flickering ray of sunlight<br /> +Was woven in here and there.</p> +<p>The shadows grew longer and longer,<br /> +The evening wind passed by,<br /> +And the purple splendour of sunset<br /> +Was flooding the western sky.</p> +<p>But I could not leave my spinning,<br /> +For so fair my dream had grown.<br /> +I heeded not, hour by hour,<br /> +How the silent day had flown.</p> +<p>At last the grey shadows fell round me,<br /> +And the night came dark and chill,<br /> +And I rose and ran down the valley,<br /> +And left it all on the hill.</p> +<p>I went up the hill this morning<br /> +To the place where my spinning lay—<br /> +There was nothing but glistening dewdrops<br /> +Remained of my dream to-day.</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE PRESENT</h2> +<p>Do not crouch to-day, and worship<br /> +The old Past, whose life is fled,<br /> +Hush your voice to tender reverence;<br /> +Crowned he lies, but cold and dead:<br /> +For the Present reigns our monarch,<br /> +With an added weight of hours;<br /> +Honour her, for she is mighty!<br /> +Honour her, for she is ours!</p> +<p>See the shadows of his heroes<br /> +Girt around her cloudy throne;<br /> +Every day the ranks are strengthened<br /> +By great hearts to him unknown;<br /> +Noble things the great Past promised,<br /> +Holy dreams, both strange and new;<br /> +But the Present shall fulfil them,<br /> +What he promised, she shall do.</p> +<p>She inherits all his treasures,<br /> +She is heir to all his fame,<br /> +And the light that lightens round her<br /> +Is the lustre of his name;<br /> +She is wise with all his wisdom,<br /> +Living on his grave she stands,<br /> +On her brow she bears his laurels,<br /> +And his harvest in her hands.</p> +<p>Coward, can she reign and conquer<br /> +If we thus her glory dim?<br /> +Let us fight for her as nobly<br /> +As our fathers fought for him.<br /> +God, who crowns the dying ages,<br /> +Bids her rule, and us obey—<br /> +Bids us cast our lives before her,<br /> +Bids us serve the great To-day.</p> +<h2>VERSE: CHANGES</h2> +<p>Mourn, O rejoicing heart!<br /> +The hours are flying;<br /> +Each one some treasure takes,<br /> +Each one some blossom breaks,<br /> +And leaves it dying;<br /> +The chill dark night draws near,<br /> +Thy sun will soon depart,<br /> +And leave thee sighing;<br /> +Then mourn, rejoicing heart,<br /> +The hours are flying!</p> +<p>Rejoice, O grieving heart!<br /> +The hours fly fast;<br /> +With each some sorrow dies,<br /> +With each some shadow flies,<br /> +Until at last<br /> +The red dawn in the east<br /> +Bids weary night depart,<br /> +And pain is past.<br /> +Rejoice then, grieving heart,<br /> +The hours fly fast!</p> +<h2>VERSE: STRIVE, WAIT, AND PRAY</h2> +<p>Strive; yet I do not promise<br /> +The prize you dream of to-day<br /> +Will not fade when you think to grasp it,<br /> +And melt in your hand away;<br /> +But another and holier treasure,<br /> +You would now perchance disdain,<br /> +Will come when your toil is over,<br /> +And pay you for all your pain.</p> +<p>Wait; yet I do not tell you<br /> +The hour you long for now,<br /> +Will not come with its radiance vanished,<br /> +And a shadow upon its brow;<br /> +Yet far through the misty future,<br /> +With a crown of starry light,<br /> +An hour of joy you know not<br /> +Is winging her silent flight.</p> +<p>Pray; though the gift you ask for<br /> +May never comfort your fears,<br /> +May never repay your pleading,<br /> +Yet pray, and with hopeful tears;<br /> +An answer, not that you long for,<br /> +But diviner, will come one day,<br /> +Your eyes are too dim to see it,<br /> +Yet strive, and wait, and pray.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A LAMENT FOR THE SUMMER</h2> +<p>Moan, oh ye Autumn Winds!<br /> +Summer has fled,<br /> +The flowers have closed their tender leaves and die;<br /> +The Lily’s gracious head<br /> +All low must lie,<br /> +Because the gentle Summer now is dead.</p> +<p>Grieve, oh ye Autumn Winds!<br /> +Summer lies low;<br /> +The rose’s trembling leaves will soon be shed,<br /> +For she that loved her so,<br /> +Alas, is dead!<br /> +And one by one her loving children go.</p> +<p>Wail, oh ye Autumn Winds!<br /> +She lives no more,<br /> +The gentle Summer, with her balmy breath,<br /> +Still sweeter than before<br /> +When nearer death,<br /> +And brighter every day the smile she wore!</p> +<p>Mourn, mourn, oh Autumn Winds,<br /> +Lament and mourn;<br /> +How many half-blown buds must close and die;<br /> +Hopes with the Summer born<br /> +All faded lie,<br /> +And leave us desolate and Earth forlorn!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE UNKNOWN GRAVE</h2> +<p>No name to bid us know<br /> +Who rests below,<br /> +No word of death or birth,<br /> +Only the grass’s wave,<br /> +Over a mound of earth,<br /> +Over a nameless grave.</p> +<p>Did this poor wandering heart<br /> +In pain depart?<br /> +Longing, but all too late,<br /> +For the calm home again,<br /> +Where patient watchers wait,<br /> +And still will wait in vain.</p> +<p>Did mourners come in scorn,<br /> +And thus forlorn,<br /> +Leave him, with grief and shame.<br /> +To silence and decay,<br /> +And hide the tarnished name<br /> +Of the unconscious clay?</p> +<p>It may be from his side<br /> +His loved ones died,<br /> +And last of some bright band,<br /> +(Together now once more,)<br /> +He sought his home, the land<br /> +Where they had gone before.</p> +<p>No matter—limes have made<br /> +As cool a shade,<br /> +And lingering breezes pass<br /> +As tenderly and slow,<br /> +As if beneath the grass<br /> +A monarch slept below.</p> +<p>No grief, though loud and deep,<br /> +Could stir that sleep;<br /> +And earth and heaven tell<br /> +Of rest that shall not cease,<br /> +Where the cold world’s farewell<br /> +Fades into endless peace.</p> +<h2>VERSE: GIVE ME THY HEART</h2> +<p>With echoing steps the worshippers<br /> +Departed one by one;<br /> +The organ’s pealing voice was stilled,<br /> +The vesper hymn was done;<br /> +The shadows fell from roof and arch,<br /> +Dim was the incensed air,<br /> +One lamp alone with trembling ray,<br /> +Told of the Presence there!</p> +<p>In the dark church she knelt alone;<br /> +Her tears were falling fast;<br /> +“Help, Lord,” she cried, “the shades of death<br /> +Upon my soul are cast!<br /> +Have I not shunned the path of sin,<br /> +And chosen the better part?”<br /> +What voice came through the sacred air?—<br /> +“My child, give me thy Heart!”</p> +<p>“Have I not laid before Thy shrine<br /> +My wealth, oh Lord?” she cried;<br /> +“Have I kept aught of gems or gold,<br /> +To minister to pride?<br /> +Have I not bade youth’s joys retire,<br /> +And vain delights depart?”—<br /> +But sad and tender was the voice—<br /> +“My child, give me thy Heart!”</p> +<p>“Have I not, Lord, gone day by day<br /> +Where Thy poor children dwell;<br /> +And carried help, and gold, and food?<br /> +Oh Lord, Thou knowest it well!<br /> +From many a house, from many a soul,<br /> +My hand bids care depart:”—<br /> +More sad, more tender, was the voice—<br /> +“My child, give me thy Heart!”</p> +<p>“Have I not worn my strength away<br /> +With fast and penance sore?<br /> +Have I not watched and wept?” she cried;<br /> +“Did Thy dear Saints do more?<br /> +Have I not gained Thy grace, oh Lord,<br /> +And won in Heaven my part?”—<br /> +It echoed louder in her soul—<br /> +“My child, give me thy Heart!”</p> +<p>“For I have loved thee with a love<br /> +No mortal heart can show;<br /> +A love so deep, my Saints in heaven<br /> +Its depths can never know:<br /> +When pierced and wounded on the Cross,<br /> +Man’s sin and doom were mine,<br /> +I loved thee with undying love,<br /> +Immortal and divine!</p> +<p>“I love thee ere the skies were spread;<br /> +My soul bears all thy pains;<br /> +To gain thy love my sacred Heart<br /> +In earthly shrines remains:<br /> +Vain are thy offerings, vain thy sighs,<br /> +Without one gift divine,<br /> +Give it, my child, thy Heart to me,<br /> +And it shall rest in mine!”</p> +<p>In awe she listened, and the shade<br /> +Passed from her soul away;<br /> +In low and trembling voice she cried—<br /> +“Lord, help me to obey!<br /> +Break Thou the chains of earth, oh Lord,<br /> +That bind and hold my heart;<br /> +Let it be Thine, and Thine alone,<br /> +Let none with Thee have part.</p> +<p>“Send down, oh Lord, Thy sacred fire!<br /> +Consume and cleanse the sin<br /> +That lingers still within its depths:<br /> +Let heavenly love begin.<br /> +That sacred flame Thy Saints have known,<br /> +Kindle, oh Lord, in me,<br /> +Thou above all the rest for ever,<br /> +And all the rest in Thee.”</p> +<p>The blessing fell upon her soul;<br /> +Her angel by her side<br /> +Knew that the hour of peace was come;<br /> +Her soul was purified:<br /> +The shadows fell from roof and arch,<br /> +Dim was the incensed air—<br /> +But Peace went with her as she left<br /> +The sacred Presence there!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE WAYSIDE INN</h2> +<p>A little past the village<br /> +The Inn stood, low and white;<br /> +Green shady trees behind it,<br /> +And an orchard on the right;<br /> +Where over the green paling<br /> +The red-cheeked apples hung,<br /> +As if to watch how wearily<br /> +The sign-board creaked and swung.</p> +<p>The heavy-laden branches,<br /> +Over the road hung low,<br /> +Reflected fruit or blossom<br /> +From the wayside well below;<br /> +Where children, drawing water,<br /> +Looked up and paused to see,<br /> +Amid the apple-branches,<br /> +A purple Judas Tree.</p> +<p>The road stretched winding onward<br /> +For many a weary mile—<br /> +So dusty foot-sore wanderers<br /> +Would pause and rest awhile;<br /> +And panting horses halted,<br /> +And travellers loved to tell<br /> +The quiet of the wayside inn,<br /> +The orchard, and the well.</p> +<p>Here Maurice dwelt; and often<br /> +The sunburnt boy would stand<br /> +Gazing upon the distance,<br /> +And shading with his hand<br /> +His eyes, while watching vainly<br /> +For travellers, who might need<br /> +His aid to loose the bridle,<br /> +And tend the weary steed.</p> +<p>And once (the boy remembered<br /> +That morning, many a day—<br /> +The dew lay on the hawthorn,<br /> +The bird sang on the spray)<br /> +A train of horsemen, nobler<br /> +Than he had seen before,<br /> +Up from the distance galloped,<br /> +And halted at the door.</p> +<p>Upon a milk-white pony,<br /> +Fit for a faery queen,<br /> +Was the loveliest little damsel<br /> +His eyes had ever seen:<br /> +A serving-man was holding<br /> +The leading rein, to guide<br /> +The pony and its mistress,<br /> +Who cantered by his side.</p> +<p>Her sunny ringlets round her<br /> +A golden cloud had made,<br /> +While her large hat was keeping<br /> +Her calm blue eyes in shade;<br /> +One hand held fast the silken reins<br /> +To keep her steed in check,<br /> +The other pulled his tangled mane,<br /> +Or stroked his glossy neck.</p> +<p>And as the boy brought water,<br /> +And loosed the rein, he heard<br /> +The sweetest voice that thanked him<br /> +In one low gentle word;<br /> +She turned her blue eyes from him,<br /> +Looked up, and smiled to see<br /> +The hanging purple blossoms<br /> +Upon the Judas Tree;</p> +<p>And showed it with a gesture,<br /> +Half pleading, half command,<br /> +Till he broke the fairest blossom,<br /> +And laid it in her hand;<br /> +And she tied it to her saddle<br /> +With a ribbon from her hair,<br /> +While her happy laugh rang gaily,<br /> +Like silver on the air.</p> +<p>But the champing steeds were rested—<br /> +The horsemen now spurred on,<br /> +And down the dusty highway<br /> +They vanished and were gone.<br /> +Years passed, and many a traveller<br /> +Paused at the old inn-door,<br /> +But the little milk-white pony<br /> +And the child returned no more.</p> +<p>Years passed, the apple-branches<br /> +A deeper shadow shed;<br /> +And many a time the Judas Tree,<br /> +Blossom and leaf, lay dead;<br /> +When on the loitering western breeze<br /> +Came the bells’ merry sound,<br /> +And flowery arches rose, and flags<br /> +And banners waved around.</p> +<p>Maurice stood there expectant:<br /> +The bridal train would stay<br /> +Some moments at the inn-door,<br /> +The eager watchers say;<br /> +They come—the cloud of dust draws near—<br /> +’Mid all the state and pride,<br /> +He only sees the golden hair<br /> +And blue eyes of the bride.</p> +<p>The same, yet, ah, still fairer;<br /> +He knew the face once more<br /> +That bent above the pony’s neck<br /> +Years past at that inn-door:<br /> +Her shy and smiling eyes looked round,<br /> +Unconscious of the place,<br /> +Unconscious of the eager gaze<br /> +He fixed upon her face.</p> +<p>He plucked a blossom from the tree—<br /> +The Judas Tree—and cast<br /> +Its purple fragrance towards the Bride,<br /> +A message from the Past.<br /> +The signal came, the horses plunged—<br /> +Once more she smiled around:<br /> +The purple blossom in the dust<br /> +Lay trampled on the ground.</p> +<p>Again the slow years fleeted,<br /> +Their passage only known<br /> +By the height the Passion-flower<br /> +Around the porch had grown;<br /> +And many a passing traveller<br /> +Paused at the old inn-door,<br /> +But the bride, so fair and blooming,<br /> +The bride returned no more.</p> +<p>One winter morning, Maurice,<br /> +Watching the branches bare,<br /> +Rustling and waving dimly<br /> +In the grey and misty air,<br /> +Saw blazoned on a carriage<br /> +Once more the well-known shield,<br /> +The stars and azure fleurs-de-lis<br /> +Upon a silver field.</p> +<p>He looked—was that pale woman,<br /> +So grave, so worn, so sad,<br /> +The child, once young and smiling,<br /> +The bride, once fair and glad?<br /> +What grief had dimmed that glory,<br /> +And brought that dark eclipse<br /> +Upon her blue eyes’ radiance,<br /> +And paled those trembling lips?</p> +<p>What memory of past sorrow,<br /> +What stab of present pain,<br /> +Brought that deep look of anguish,<br /> +That watched the dismal rain,<br /> +That watched (with the absent spirit<br /> +That looks, yet does not see)<br /> +The dead and leafless branches<br /> +Upon the Judas Tree.</p> +<p>The slow dark months crept onward<br /> +Upon their icy way,<br /> +’Till April broke in showers<br /> +And Spring smiled forth in May;<br /> +Upon the apple-blossoms<br /> +The sun shone bright again,<br /> +When slowly up the highway<br /> +Came a long funeral train.</p> +<p>The bells toiled slowly, sadly,<br /> +For a noble spirit fled;<br /> +Slowly, in pomp and honour,<br /> +They bore the quiet dead.<br /> +Upon a black-plumed charger<br /> +One rode, who held a shield,<br /> +Where stars and azure fleurs-de-lis<br /> +Shone on a silver field.</p> +<p>’Mid all that homage given<br /> +To a fluttering heart at rest,<br /> +Perhaps an honest sorrow<br /> +Dwelt only in one breast.<br /> +One by the inn-door standing<br /> +Watched with fast-dropping tears<br /> +The long procession passing,<br /> +And thought of bygone years,</p> +<p>The boyish, silent homage<br /> +To child and bride unknown,<br /> +The pitying tender sorrow<br /> +Kept in his heart alone,<br /> +Now laid upon the coffin<br /> +With a purple flower, might be<br /> +Told to the cold dead sleeper;<br /> +The rest could only see<br /> +A fragrant purple blossom,<br /> +Plucked from a Judas Tree.</p> +<h2>VERSE: VOICES OF THE PAST</h2> +<p>You wonder that my tears should flow<br /> +In listening to that simple strain;<br /> +That those unskilful sounds should fill<br /> +My soul with joy and pain—<br /> +How can you tell what thoughts it stirs<br /> +Within my heart again?</p> +<p>You wonder why that common phrase,<br /> +So all unmeaning to your ear,<br /> +Should stay me in my merriest mood,<br /> +And thrill my soul to hear—<br /> +How can you tell what ancient charm<br /> +Has made me hold it dear?</p> +<p>You marvel that I turn away<br /> +From all those flowers so fair and bright,<br /> +And gaze at this poor herb, till tears<br /> +Arise and dim my sight—<br /> +You cannot tell how every leaf<br /> +Breathes of a past delight.</p> +<p>You smile to see me turn and speak<br /> +With one whose converse you despise;<br /> +You do not see the dreams of old<br /> +That with his voice arise—<br /> +How can you tell what links have made<br /> +Him sacred in my eyes?</p> +<p>Oh, these are Voices of the Past,<br /> +Links of a broken chain,<br /> +Wings that can bear me back to Times<br /> +Which cannot come again—<br /> +Yet God forbid that I should lose<br /> +The echoes that remain!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE DARK SIDE</h2> +<p>Thou hast done well, perhaps,<br /> +To lift the bright disguise,<br /> +And lay the bitter truth<br /> +Before our shrinking eyes;<br /> +When evil crawls below<br /> +What seems so pure and fair,<br /> +Thine eyes are keen and true<br /> +To find the serpent there:<br /> +And yet—I turn away;<br /> +Thy task is not divine—<br /> +The evil angels look<br /> +On earth with eyes like thine.</p> +<p>Thou hast done well, perhaps,<br /> +To show how closely wound<br /> +Dark threads of sin and self<br /> +With our best deeds are found.<br /> +How great and noble hearts,<br /> +Striving for lofty aims,<br /> +Have still some earthly cord<br /> +A meaner spirit claims;<br /> +And yet—although thy task<br /> +Is well and fairly done,<br /> +Methinks for such as thou<br /> +There is a holier one.</p> +<p>Shadows there are, who dwell<br /> +Among us, yet apart,<br /> +Deaf to the claim of God,<br /> +Or kindly human heart;<br /> +Voices of earth and heaven<br /> +Call, but they turn away,<br /> +And Love, through such black night,<br /> +Can see no hope of day;<br /> +And yet—our eyes are dim,<br /> +And thine are keener far—<br /> +Then gaze till thou canst see<br /> +The glimmer of some star.</p> +<p>The black stream flows along,<br /> +Whose waters we despise—<br /> +Show us reflected there<br /> +Some fragment of the skies;<br /> +’Neath tangled thorns and briars,<br /> +(The task is fit for thee,)<br /> +Seek for the hidden flowers,<br /> +We are too blind to see;<br /> +Then will I thy great gift<br /> +A crown and blessing call;<br /> +Angels look thus on men,<br /> +And God sees good in all!</p> +<h2>VERSE: A FIRST SORROW</h2> +<p>Arise! this day shall shine,<br /> +For evermore,<br /> +To thee a star divine,<br /> +On Time’s dark shore.</p> +<p>Till now thy soul has been<br /> +All glad and gay:<br /> +Bid it awake, and look<br /> +At grief to-day!</p> +<p>No shade has come between<br /> +Thee and the sun;<br /> +Like some long childish dream<br /> +Thy life has run:</p> +<p>But now the stream has reached<br /> +A dark, deep sea,<br /> +And Sorrow, dim and crowned,<br /> +Is waiting thee.</p> +<p>Each of God’s soldiers bears<br /> +A sword divine:<br /> +Stretch out thy trembling hands<br /> +To-day for thine!</p> +<p>To each anointed Priest<br /> +God’s summons came:<br /> +Oh, Soul, he speaks to-day<br /> +And calls thy name.</p> +<p>Then, with slow reverent step,<br /> +And beating heart,<br /> +From out thy joyous days,<br /> +Thou must depart.</p> +<p>And, leaving all behind,<br /> +Come forth, alone,<br /> +To join the chosen band<br /> +Around the throne.</p> +<p>Raise up thine eyes—be strong,<br /> +Nor cast away<br /> +The crown, that God has given<br /> +Thy soul to-day!</p> +<h2>VERSE: MURMURS</h2> +<p>Why wilt thou make bright music<br /> +Give forth a sound of pain?<br /> +Why wilt thou weave fair flowers<br /> +Into a weary chain?</p> +<p>Why turn each cool grey shadow<br /> +Into a world of fears?<br /> +Why say the winds are wailing?<br /> +Why call the dewdrops tears?</p> +<p>The voices of happy nature,<br /> +And the Heaven’s sunny gleam,<br /> +Reprove thy sick heart’s fancies,<br /> +Upbraid thy foolish dream.</p> +<p>Listen, and I will tell thee<br /> +The song Creation sings,<br /> +From the humming of bees in the heather,<br /> +To the flutter of angels’ wings.</p> +<p>An echo rings for ever,<br /> +The sound can never cease;<br /> +It speaks to God of glory,<br /> +It speaks to Earth of peace.</p> +<p>Not alone did angels sing it<br /> +To the poor shepherds’ ear;<br /> +But the spherèd Heavens chant it,<br /> +While listening ages hear.</p> +<p>Above thy peevish wailing<br /> +Rises that holy song;<br /> +Above Earth’s foolish clamour,<br /> +Above the voice of wrong.</p> +<p>No creature of God’s too lowly<br /> +To murmur peace and praise:<br /> +When the starry nights grow silent,<br /> +Then speak the sunny days.</p> +<p>So leave thy sick heart’s fancies,<br /> +And lend thy little voice<br /> +To the silver song of glory<br /> +That bids the world rejoice.</p> +<h2>VERSE: GIVE</h2> +<p>See the rivers flowing<br /> +Downwards to the sea,<br /> +Pouring all their treasures<br /> +Bountiful and free—<br /> +Yet to help their giving<br /> +Hidden springs arise;<br /> +Or, if need be, showers<br /> +Feed them from the skies!</p> +<p>Watch the princely flowers<br /> +Their rich fragrance spread,<br /> +Load the air with perfumes,<br /> +From their beauty shed—<br /> +Yet their lavish spending<br /> +Leaves them not in dearth,<br /> +With fresh life replenished<br /> +By their mother earth!</p> +<p>Give thy heart’s best treasures—<br /> +From fair Nature learn;<br /> +Give thy love—and ask not,<br /> +Wait not a return!<br /> +And the more thou spendest<br /> +From thy little store,<br /> +With a double bounty,<br /> +God will give thee more.</p> +<h2>VERSE: MY JOURNAL</h2> +<p>It is a dreary evening;<br /> +The shadows rise and fall:<br /> +With strange and ghostly changes,<br /> +They flicker on the wall.</p> +<p>Make the charred logs burn brighter;<br /> +I will show you, by their blaze,<br /> +The half-forgotten record<br /> +Of bygone things and days.</p> +<p>Bring here the ancient volume;<br /> +The clasp is old and worn,<br /> +The gold is dim and tarnished,<br /> +And the faded leaves are torn.</p> +<p>The dust has gathered on it—<br /> +There are so few who care<br /> +To read what Time has written<br /> +Of joy and sorrow there.</p> +<p>Look at the first fair pages;<br /> +Yes—I remember all:<br /> +The joys now seem so trivial,<br /> +The griefs so poor and small.</p> +<p>Let us read the dreams of glory<br /> +That childish fancy made;<br /> +Turn to the next few pages,<br /> +And see how soon they fade.</p> +<p>Here, where still waiting, dreaming,<br /> +For some ideal Life,<br /> +The young heart all unconscious<br /> +Had entered on the strife.</p> +<p>See how this page is blotted:<br /> +What—could those tears be mine?<br /> +How coolly I can read you,<br /> +Each blurred and trembling line.</p> +<p>Now I can reason calmly,<br /> +And, looking back again,<br /> +Can see divinest meaning<br /> +Threading each separate pain.</p> +<p>Here strong resolve—how broken;<br /> +Rash hope, and foolish fear,<br /> +And prayers, which God in pity<br /> +Refused to grant or hear.</p> +<p>Nay—I will turn the pages<br /> +To where the tale is told<br /> +Of how a dawn diviner<br /> +Flushed the dark clouds with gold.</p> +<p>And see, that light has gilded<br /> +The story—nor shall set;<br /> +And, though in mist and shadow,<br /> +You know I see it yet.</p> +<p>Here—well, it does not matter,<br /> +I promised to read all;<br /> +I know not why I falter,<br /> +Or why my tears should fall;</p> +<p>You see each grief is noted;<br /> +Yet it was better so—<br /> +I can rejoice to-day—the pain<br /> +Was over, long ago.</p> +<p>I read—my voice is failing,<br /> +But you can understand<br /> +How the heart beat that guided<br /> +This weak and trembling hand.</p> +<p>Pass over that long struggle,<br /> +Read where the comfort came,<br /> +Where the first time is written<br /> +Within the book your name.</p> +<p>Again it comes, and oftener,<br /> +Linked, as it now must be,<br /> +With all the joy or sorrow<br /> +That Life may bring to me.</p> +<p>So all the rest—you know it:<br /> +Now shut the clasp again,<br /> +And put aside the record<br /> +Of bygone hours of pain.</p> +<p>The dust shall gather on it,<br /> +I will not read it more:<br /> +Give me your hand—what was it<br /> +We were talking of before?</p> +<p>I know not why—but tell me<br /> +Of something gay and bright.<br /> +It is strange—my heart is heavy,<br /> +And my eyes are dim to-night.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A CHAIN</h2> +<p>The bond that links our souls together;<br /> +Will it last through stormy weather?<br /> +Will it moulder and decay<br /> +As the long hours pass away?<br /> +Will it stretch if Fate divide us,<br /> +When dark and weary hours have tried us?<br /> +Oh, if it look too poor and slight<br /> +Let us break the links to-night!</p> +<p>It was not forged by mortal hands,<br /> +Or clasped with golden bars and bands;<br /> +Save thine and mine, no other eyes<br /> +The slender link can recognise:<br /> +In the bright light it seems to fade—<br /> +And it is hidden in the shade;<br /> +While Heaven nor Earth have never heard,<br /> +Or solemn vow, or plighted word.</p> +<p>Yet what no mortal hand could make,<br /> +No mortal power can ever break:<br /> +What words or vows could never do,<br /> +No words or vows can make untrue;<br /> +And if to other hearts unknown<br /> +The dearer and the more our own,<br /> +Because too sacred and divine<br /> +For other eyes, save thine and mine.</p> +<p>And see, though slender, it is made<br /> +Of Love and Trust, and can they fade?<br /> +While, if too slight it seem, to bear<br /> +The breathings of the summer air,<br /> +We know that it could bear the weight<br /> +Of a most heavy heart of late,<br /> +And as each day and hour flew<br /> +The stronger for its burthen grew.</p> +<p>And, too, we know and feel again<br /> +It has been sanctified by pain,<br /> +For what God deigns to try with sorrow<br /> +He means not to decay to-morrow;<br /> +But through that fiery trial last<br /> +When earthly ties and bonds are past;<br /> +What slighter things dare not endure<br /> +Will make our Love more safe and pure.</p> +<p>Love shall be purified by Pain,<br /> +And Pain be soothed by Love again:<br /> +So let us now take heart and go<br /> +Cheerfully on, through joy and woe;<br /> +No change the summer sun can bring,<br /> +Or the inconstant skies of spring,<br /> +Or the bleak winter’s stormy weather,<br /> +For we shall meet them, Love, together!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE PILGRIMS</h2> +<p>The way is long and dreary,<br /> +The path is bleak and bare;<br /> +Our feet are worn and weary,<br /> +But we will not despair.<br /> +More heavy was Thy burthen,<br /> +More desolate Thy way;—<br /> +Oh Lamb of God who takest<br /> +The sin of the world away,<br /> +Have mercy on us.</p> +<p>The snows lie thick around us<br /> +In the dark and gloomy night;<br /> +And the tempest wails above us,<br /> +And the stars have hid their light;<br /> +But blacker was the darkness<br /> +Round Calvary’s Cross that day;—<br /> +Oh Lamb of God who takest<br /> +The sin of the world away,<br /> +Have mercy on us.</p> +<p>Our hearts are faint with sorrow,<br /> +Heavy and hard to bear;<br /> +For we dread the bitter morrow,<br /> +But we will not despair:<br /> +Thou knowest all our anguish,<br /> +And Thou wilt bid it cease,—<br /> +Oh Lamb of God who takest<br /> +The sin of the world away,<br /> +Give us Thy Peace!</p> +<h2>VERSE: INCOMPLETENESS</h2> +<p>Nothing resting in its own completeness<br /> +Can have worth or beauty: but alone<br /> +Because it leads and tends to farther sweetness,<br /> +Fuller, higher, deeper than its own.</p> +<p>Spring’s real glory dwells not in the meaning,<br /> +Gracious though it be, of her blue hours;<br /> +But is hidden in her tender leaning<br /> +To the Summer’s richer wealth of flowers.</p> +<p>Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowly<br /> +Into Day, which floods the world with light;<br /> +Twilight’s mystery is so sweet and holy<br /> +Just because it ends in starry Night.</p> +<p>Childhood’s smiles unconscious graces borrow<br /> +From Strife, that in a far-off future lies;<br /> +And angel glances (veiled now by Life’s sorrow)<br /> +Draw our hearts to some belovèd eyes.</p> +<p>Life is only bright when it proceedeth<br /> +Towards a truer, deeper Life above;<br /> +Human Love is sweetest when it leadeth<br /> +To a more divine and perfect Love.</p> +<p>Learn the mystery of Progression duly:<br /> +Do not call each glorious change, Decay;<br /> +But know we only hold our treasures truly,<br /> +When it seems as if they passed away.</p> +<p>Nor dare to blame God’s gifts for incompleteness;<br /> +In that want their beauty lies: they roll<br /> +Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetness,<br /> +Bearing onward man’s reluctant soul.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A LEGEND OF BREGENZ</h2> +<p>Girt round with rugged mountains<br /> +The fair Lake Constance lies;<br /> +In her blue heart reflected<br /> +Shine back the starry skies;<br /> +And, watching each white cloudlet<br /> +Float silently and slow,<br /> +You think a piece of Heaven<br /> +Lies on our earth below!</p> +<p>Midnight is there: and Silence,<br /> +Enthroned in Heaven, looks down<br /> +Upon her own calm mirror,<br /> +Upon a sleeping town:<br /> +For Bregenz, that quaint city<br /> +Upon the Tyrol shore,<br /> +Has stood above Lake Constance,<br /> +A thousand years and more.</p> +<p>Her battlements and towers,<br /> +From off their rocky steep,<br /> +Have cast their trembling shadow<br /> +For ages on the deep:<br /> +Mountain, and lake, and valley,<br /> +A sacred legend know,<br /> +Of how the town was saved, one night,<br /> +Three hundred years ago.</p> +<p>Far from her home and kindred,<br /> +A Tyrol maid had fled,<br /> +To serve in the Swiss valleys,<br /> +And toil for daily bread;<br /> +And every year that fleeted<br /> +So silently and fast,<br /> +Seemed to bear farther from her<br /> +The memory of the Past.</p> +<p>She served kind, gentle masters,<br /> +Nor asked for rest or change;<br /> +Her friends seemed no more new ones,<br /> +Their speech seemed no more strange;<br /> +And when she led her cattle<br /> +To pasture every day,<br /> +She ceased to look and wonder<br /> +On which side Bregenz lay.</p> +<p>She spoke no more of Bregenz,<br /> +With longing and with tears:<br /> +Her Tyrol home seemed faded<br /> +In a deep mist of years;<br /> +She heeded not the rumours<br /> +Of Austrian war and strife;<br /> +Each day she rose contented,<br /> +To the calm toils of life.</p> +<p>Yet, when her master’s children<br /> +Would clustering round her stand,<br /> +She sang them ancient ballads<br /> +Of her own native land;<br /> +And when at morn and evening<br /> +She knelt before God’s throne,<br /> +The accents of her childhood<br /> +Rose to her lips alone.</p> +<p>And so she dwelt: the valley<br /> +More peaceful year by year;<br /> +When suddenly strange portents,<br /> +Of some great deed seemed near.<br /> +The golden corn was bending<br /> +Upon its fragile stalk,<br /> +While farmers, heedless of their fields,<br /> +Paced up and down in talk.</p> +<p>The men seemed stern and altered,<br /> +With looks cast on the ground;<br /> +With anxious faces, one by one,<br /> +The women gathered round;<br /> +All talk of flax, or spinning,<br /> +Or work, was put away;<br /> +The very children seemed afraid<br /> +To go alone to play.</p> +<p>One day, out in the meadow<br /> +With strangers from the town,<br /> +Some secret plan discussing,<br /> +The men walked up and down.<br /> +Yet, now and then seemed watching,<br /> +A strange uncertain gleam,<br /> +That looked like lances ’mid the trees,<br /> +That stood below the stream.</p> +<p>At eve they all assembled,<br /> +Then care and doubt were fled;<br /> +With jovial laugh they feasted;<br /> +The board was nobly spread.<br /> +The elder of the village<br /> +Rose up, his glass in hand,<br /> +And cried, “We drink the downfall<br /> +“Of an accursed land!</p> +<p>“The night is growing darker,<br /> +“Ere one more day is flown,<br /> +“Bregenz, our foemen’s stronghold,<br /> +“Bregenz shall be our own!”<br /> +The women shrank in terror,<br /> +(Yet Pride, too, had her part,)<br /> +But one poor Tyrol maiden<br /> +Felt death within her heart.</p> +<p>Before her, stood fair Bregenz;<br /> +Once more her towers arose;<br /> +What were the friends beside her?<br /> +Only her country’s foes!<br /> +The faces of her kinsfolk,<br /> +The days of childhood flown,<br /> +The echoes of her mountains,<br /> +Reclaimed her as their own!</p> +<p>Nothing she heard around her,<br /> +(Though shouts rang forth again,)<br /> +Gone were the green Swiss valleys,<br /> +The pasture, and the plain;<br /> +Before her eyes one vision,<br /> +And in her heart one cry,<br /> +That said, “Go forth, save Bregenz,<br /> +And then, if need be, die!”</p> +<p>With trembling haste and breathless,<br /> +With noiseless step she sped;<br /> +Horses and weary cattle<br /> +Were standing in the shed;<br /> +She loosed the strong white charger,<br /> +That fed from out her hand,<br /> +She mounted, and she turned his head<br /> +Towards her native land.</p> +<p>Out—out into the darkness—<br /> +Faster, and still more fast;<br /> +The smooth grass flies behind her,<br /> +The chestnut wood is past;<br /> +She looks up; clouds are heavy:<br /> +Why is her steed so slow?—<br /> +Scarcely the wind beside them,<br /> +Can pass them as they go.</p> +<p>“Faster!” she cries, “Oh faster!”<br /> +Eleven the church-bells chime:<br /> +“Oh God,” she cries, “help Bregenz,<br /> +And bring me there in time!”<br /> +But louder than bells’ ringing,<br /> +Or lowing of the kine,<br /> +Grows nearer in the midnight<br /> +The rushing of the Rhine.</p> +<p>Shall not the roaring waters<br /> +Their headlong gallop check?<br /> +The steed draws back in terror,<br /> +She leans upon his neck<br /> +To watch the flowing darkness;<br /> +The bank is high and steep;<br /> +One pause—he staggers forward,<br /> +And plunges in the deep.</p> +<p>She strives to pierce the blackness,<br /> +And looser throws the rein;<br /> +Her steed must breast the waters<br /> +That dash above his mane.<br /> +How gallantly, how nobly,<br /> +He struggles through the foam,<br /> +And see—in the far distance,<br /> +Shine out the lights of home!</p> +<p>Up the steep banks he bears her,<br /> +And now, they rush again<br /> +Towards the heights of Bregenz,<br /> +That tower above the plain.<br /> +They reach the gate of Bregenz,<br /> +Just as the midnight rings,<br /> +And out come serf and soldier<br /> +To meet the news she brings.</p> +<p>Bregenz is saved! Ere daylight<br /> +Her battlements are manned;<br /> +Defiance greets the army<br /> +That marches on the land.<br /> +And if to deeds heroic<br /> +Should endless fame be paid,<br /> +Bregenz does well to honour<br /> +The noble Tyrol maid.</p> +<p>Three hundred years are vanished,<br /> +And yet upon the hill<br /> +An old stone gateway rises,<br /> +To do her honour still.<br /> +And there, when Bregenz women<br /> +Sit spinning in the shade,<br /> +They see in quaint old carving<br /> +The Charger and the Maid.</p> +<p>And when, to guard old Bregenz,<br /> +By gateway, street, and tower,<br /> +The warder paces all night long,<br /> +And calls each passing hour;<br /> +“Nine,” “ten,” “eleven,” he cries +aloud,<br /> +And then (Oh crown of Fame!)<br /> +When midnight pauses in the skies,<br /> +He calls the maiden’s name!</p> +<h2>VERSE: A FAREWELL</h2> +<p>Farewell, oh dream of mine!<br /> +I dare not stay;<br /> +The hour is come, and time<br /> +Will not delay:<br /> +Pleasant and dear to me<br /> +Wilt thou remain;<br /> +No future hour<br /> +Brings thee again.</p> +<p>She stands, the Future dim,<br /> +And draws me on,<br /> +And shows me dearer joys—<br /> +But thou art gone!<br /> +Treasures and Hopes more fair,<br /> +Bears she for me,<br /> +And yet I linger,<br /> +Oh dream, with thee!</p> +<p>Other and brighter days,<br /> +Perhaps she brings;<br /> +Deeper and holier songs,<br /> +Perchance she sings;<br /> +But thou and I, fair time,<br /> +We too must sever—<br /> +Oh dream of mine,<br /> +Farewell for ever!</p> +<h2>VERSE: SOWING AND REAPING</h2> +<p>Sow with a generous hand;<br /> +Pause not for toil or pain;<br /> +Weary not through the heat of summer,<br /> +Weary not through the cold spring rain;<br /> +But wait till the autumn comes<br /> +For the sheaves of golden grain.</p> +<p>Scatter the seed, and fear not,<br /> +A table will be spread;<br /> +What matter if you are too weary<br /> +To eat your hard-earned bread:<br /> +Sow, while the earth is broken,<br /> +For the hungry must be fed.</p> +<p>Sow;—while the seeds are lying<br /> +In the warm earth’s bosom deep,<br /> +And your warm tears fall upon it—<br /> +They will stir in their quiet sleep;<br /> +And the green blades rise the quicker,<br /> +Perchance, for the tears you weep.</p> +<p>Then sow;—for the hours are fleeting,<br /> +And the seed must fall to-day;<br /> +And care not what hands shall reap it,<br /> +Or if you shall have passed away<br /> +Before the waving corn-fields<br /> +Shall gladden the sunny day.</p> +<p>Sow; and look onward, upward,<br /> +Where the starry light appears—<br /> +Where, in spite of the coward’s doubting,<br /> +Or your own heart’s trembling fears,<br /> +You shall reap in joy the harvest<br /> +You have sown to-day in tears.</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE STORM</h2> +<p>The tempest rages wild and high,<br /> +The waves lift up their voice and cry<br /> +Fierce answers to the angry sky,—<br /> +Miserere Domine.</p> +<p>Through the black night and driving rain,<br /> +A ship is struggling, all in vain<br /> +To live upon the stormy main;—<br /> +Miserere Domine.</p> +<p>The thunders roar, the lightnings glare,<br /> +Vain is it now to strive or dare;<br /> +A cry goes up of great despair,—<br /> +Miserere Domine.</p> +<p>The stormy voices of the main,<br /> +The moaning wind, and pelting rain<br /> +Beat on the nursery window pane:-<br /> +Miserere Domine.</p> +<p>Warm curtained was the little bed,<br /> +Soft pillowed was the little head;<br /> +“The storm will wake the child,” they said:-<br /> +Miserere Domine.</p> +<p>Cowering among his pillows white<br /> +He prays, his blue eyes dim with fright,<br /> +“Father, save those at sea to-night!”<br /> +Miserere Domine.</p> +<p>The morning shone all clear and gay,<br /> +On a ship at anchor in the bay,<br /> +And on a little child at play,—<br /> +Gloria tibi Domine!</p> +<h2>VERSE: WORDS</h2> +<p>Words are lighter than the cloud-foam<br /> +Of the restless ocean spray;<br /> +Vainer than the trembling shadow<br /> +That the next hour steals away.<br /> +By the fall of summer raindrops<br /> +Is the air as deeply stirred;<br /> +And the rose-leaf that we tread on<br /> +Will outlive a word.</p> +<p>Yet, on the dull silence breaking<br /> +With a lightning flash, a Word,<br /> +Bearing endless desolation<br /> +On its blighting wings, I heard:<br /> +Earth can forge no keener weapon,<br /> +Dealing surer death and pain,<br /> +And the cruel echo answered<br /> +Through long years again.</p> +<p>I have known one word hang starlike<br /> +O’er a dreary waste of years,<br /> +And it only shone the brighter<br /> +Looked at through a mist of tears;<br /> +While a weary wanderer gathered<br /> +Hope and heart on Life’s dark way,<br /> +By its faithful promise, shining<br /> +Clearer day by day.</p> +<p>I have known a spirit, calmer<br /> +Than the calmest lake, and clear<br /> +As the heavens that gazed upon it,<br /> +With no wave of hope or fear;<br /> +But a storm had swept across it,<br /> +And its deepest depths were stirred,<br /> +(Never, never more to slumber,)<br /> +Only by a word.</p> +<p>I have known a word more gentle<br /> +Than the breath of summer air;<br /> +In a listening heart it nestled,<br /> +And it lived for ever there.<br /> +Not the beating of its prison<br /> +Stirred it ever, night or day;<br /> +Only with the heart’s last throbbing<br /> +Could it fade away.</p> +<p>Words are mighty, words are living:<br /> +Serpents with their venomous stings,<br /> +Or bright angels, crowding round us,<br /> +With heaven’s light upon their wings:<br /> +Every word has its own spirit,<br /> +True or false, that never dies;<br /> +Every word man’s lips have uttered<br /> +Echoes in God’s skies.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A LOVE TOKEN</h2> +<p>Do you grieve no costly offering<br /> +To the Lady you can make?<br /> +One there is, and gifts less worthy<br /> +Queens have stooped to take.</p> +<p>Take a Heart of virgin silver,<br /> +Fashion it with heavy blows,<br /> +Cast it into Love’s hot furnace<br /> +When it fiercest glows.</p> +<p>With Pain’s sharpest point transfix it,<br /> +And then carve in letters fair,<br /> +Tender dreams and quaint devices,<br /> +Fancies sweet and rare.</p> +<p>Set within it Hope’s blue sapphire,<br /> +Many-changing opal fears,<br /> +Blood-red ruby-stones of daring,<br /> +Mixed with pearly tears.</p> +<p>And when you have wrought and laboured<br /> +Till the gift is all complete,<br /> +You may humbly lay your offering<br /> +At the Lady’s feet.</p> +<p>Should her mood perchance be gracious—<br /> +With disdainful smiling pride,<br /> +She will place it with the trinkets<br /> +Glittering at her side.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A TRYST WITH DEATH</h2> +<p>I am footsore and very weary,<br /> +But I travel to meet a Friend:<br /> +The way is long and dreary,<br /> +But I know that it soon must end.</p> +<p>He is travelling fast like the whirlwind,<br /> +And though I creep slowly on,<br /> +We are drawing nearer, nearer,<br /> +And the journey is almost done.</p> +<p>Through the heat of many summers,<br /> +Through many a springtime rain,<br /> +Through long autumns and weary winters,<br /> +I have hoped to meet him, in vain.</p> +<p>I know that he will not fail me,<br /> +So I count every hour chime,<br /> +Every throb of my own heart’s beating,<br /> +That tells of the flight of Time.</p> +<p>On the day of my birth he plighted<br /> +His kingly word to me:-<br /> +I have seen him in dreams so often,<br /> +That I know what his smile must be.</p> +<p>I have toiled through the sunny woodland,<br /> +Through fields that basked in the light;<br /> +And through the lone paths in the forest<br /> +I crept in the dead of night.</p> +<p>I will not fear at his coming,<br /> +Although I must meet him alone;<br /> +He will look in my eyes so gently,<br /> +And take my hand in his own.</p> +<p>Like a dream all my toil will vanish,<br /> +When I lay my head on his breast—<br /> +But the journey is very weary,<br /> +And he only can give me rest!</p> +<h2>VERSE: FIDELIS</h2> +<p>You have taken back the promise<br /> +That you spoke so long ago;<br /> +Taken back the heart you gave me—<br /> +I must even let it go.<br /> +Where Love once has breathed, Pride dieth:<br /> +So I struggled, but in vain,<br /> +First to keep the links together,<br /> +Then to piece the broken chain.</p> +<p>But it might not be—so freely<br /> +All your friendship I restore,<br /> +And the heart that I had taken<br /> +As my own for evermore.<br /> +No shade of reproach shall touch you,<br /> +Dread no more a claim from me—<br /> +But I will not have you fancy<br /> +That I count myself as free.</p> +<p>I am bound by the old promise;<br /> +What can break that golden chain?<br /> +Not even the words that you have spoken,<br /> +Or the sharpness of my pain:<br /> +Do you think, because you fail me<br /> +And draw back your hand to-day,<br /> +That from out the heart I gave you<br /> +My strong love can fade away?</p> +<p>It will live. No eyes may see it;<br /> +In my soul it will lie deep,<br /> +Hidden from all; but I shall feel it<br /> +Often stirring in its sleep.<br /> +So remember, that the friendship<br /> +Which you now think poor and vain,<br /> +Will endure in hope and patience,<br /> +Till you ask for it again.</p> +<p>Perhaps in some long twilight hour,<br /> +Like those we have known of old,<br /> +When past shadows gather round you,<br /> +And your present friends grow cold,<br /> +You may stretch your hands out towards me,—<br /> +Ah! you will—I know not when—<br /> +I shall nurse my love and keep it<br /> +Faithfully, for you, till then.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A SHADOW</h2> +<p>What lack the valleys and mountains<br /> +That once were green and gay?<br /> +What lack the babbling fountains?<br /> +Their voice is sad to-day.<br /> +Only the sound of a voice,<br /> +Tender and sweet and low,<br /> +That made the earth rejoice,<br /> +A year ago!</p> +<p>What lack the tender flowers?<br /> +A shadow is on the sun:<br /> +What lack the merry hours,<br /> +That I long that they were done?<br /> +Only two smiling eyes,<br /> +That told of joy and mirth:<br /> +They are shining in the skies,<br /> +I mourn on earth!</p> +<p>What lacks my heart, that makes it<br /> +So weary and full of pain,<br /> +That trembling Hope forsakes it,<br /> +Never to come again?<br /> +Only another heart,<br /> +Tender and all mine own,<br /> +In the still grave it lies;<br /> +I weep alone!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE SAILOR BOY</h2> +<p>My Life you ask of? why, you know<br /> +Full soon my little Life is told;<br /> +It has had no great joy or woe,<br /> +For I am only twelve years old.<br /> +Ere long I hope I shall have been<br /> +On my first voyage, and wonders seen.<br /> +Some princess I may help to free<br /> +From pirates, on a far-off sea;<br /> +Or, on some desert isle be left,<br /> +Of friends and shipmates all bereft.</p> +<p>For the first time I venture forth,<br /> +From our blue mountains of the north.<br /> +My kinsman kept the lodge that stood<br /> +Guarding the entrance near the wood,<br /> +By the stone gateway grey and old,<br /> +With quaint devices carved about,<br /> +And broken shields; while dragons bold<br /> +Glared on the common world without;<br /> +And the long trembling ivy spray<br /> +Half hid the centuries’ decay.<br /> +In solitude and silence grand<br /> +The castle towered above the land:<br /> +The castle of the Earl, whose name<br /> +(Wrapped in old bloody legends) came<br /> +Down through the times when Truth and Right<br /> +Bent down to armèd Pride and Might.<br /> +He owned the country far and near;<br /> +And, for some weeks in every year,<br /> +(When the brown leaves were falling fast<br /> +And the long, lingering autumn passed,)<br /> +He would come down to hunt the deer,<br /> +With hound and horse in splendid pride.<br /> +The story lasts the live-long year,<br /> +The peasant’s winter evening fills,<br /> +When he is gone and they abide<br /> +In the lone quiet of their hills.</p> +<p>I longed, too, for the happy night,<br /> +When, all with torches flaring bright,<br /> +The crowding villagers would stand,<br /> +A patient, eager, waiting band,<br /> +Until the signal ran like flame—<br /> +“They come!” and, slackening speed, they came.<br /> +Outriders first, in pomp and state,<br /> +Pranced on their horses through the gate;<br /> +Then the four steeds as black as night,<br /> +All decked with trappings blue and white,<br /> +Drew through the crowd that opened wide,<br /> +The Earl and Countess side by side.<br /> +The stern grave Earl, with formal smile<br /> +And glistening eyes and stately pride,<br /> +Could ne’er my childish gaze beguile<br /> +From the fair presence by his side.<br /> +The lady’s soft sad glance, her eyes,<br /> +(Like stars that shone in summer skies,)<br /> +Her pure white face so calmly bent,<br /> +With gentle greetings round her sent<br /> +Her look, that always seemed to gaze<br /> +Where the blue past had closed again<br /> +Over some happy shipwrecked days,<br /> +With all their freight of love and pain:<br /> +She did not even seem to see<br /> +The little lord upon her knee.<br /> +And yet he was like angel fair,<br /> +With rosy cheeks and golden hair,<br /> +That fell on shoulders white as snow:<br /> +But the blue eyes that shone below<br /> +His clustering rings of auburn curls,<br /> +Were not his mother’s, but the Earl’s.</p> +<p>I feared the Earl, so cold and grim,<br /> +I never dared be seen by him.<br /> +When through our gate he used to ride,<br /> +My kinsman Walter bade me hide;<br /> +He said he was so stern.<br /> +So, when the hunt came past our way,<br /> +I always hastened to obey,<br /> +Until I heard the bugles play<br /> +The notes of their return.<br /> +But she—my very heart-strings stir<br /> +Whene’er I speak or think of her—<br /> +The whole wide world could never see<br /> +A noble lady such as she,<br /> +So full of angel charity.</p> +<p>Strange things of her our neighbours told<br /> +In the long winter evenings cold,<br /> +Around the fire. They would draw near<br /> +And speak half-whispering, as in fear;<br /> +As if they thought the Earl could hear<br /> +Their treason ’gainst his name.<br /> +They thought the story that his pride<br /> +Had stooped to wed a low-born bride,<br /> +A stain upon his fame.<br /> +Some said ’twas false; there could not be<br /> +Such blot on his nobility:<br /> +But others vowed that they had heard<br /> +The actual story word for word,<br /> +From one who well my lady knew,<br /> +And had declared the story true.</p> +<p>In a far village, little known,<br /> +She dwelt—so ran the tale—alone.<br /> +A widowed bride, yet, oh! so bright,<br /> +Shone through the mist of grief, her charms;<br /> +They said it was the loveliest sight—<br /> +She with her baby in her arms.<br /> +The Earl, one summer morning, rode<br /> +By the sea-shore where she abode;<br /> +Again he came—that vision sweet<br /> +Drew him reluctant to her feet.<br /> +Fierce must the struggle in his heart<br /> +Have been, between his love and pride,<br /> +Until he chose that wondrous part,<br /> +To ask her to become his bride.<br /> +Yet, ere his noble name she bore,<br /> +He made her vow that nevermore<br /> +She would behold her child again,<br /> +But hide his name and hers from men.<br /> +The trembling promise duly spoken,<br /> +All links of the low past were broken;<br /> +And she arose to take her stand<br /> +Amid the nobles of the land.<br /> +Then all would wonder—could it be<br /> +That one so lowly born as she,<br /> +Raised to such height of bliss, should seem<br /> +Still living in some weary dream?<br /> +’Tis true she bore with calmest grace<br /> +The honours of her lofty place,<br /> +Yet never smiled, in peace or joy,<br /> +Not even to greet her princely boy.<br /> +She heard, with face of white despair,<br /> +The cannon thunder through the air,<br /> +That she had given the Earl an heir.<br /> +Nay, even more, (they whispered low,<br /> +As if they scarce durst fancy so,)<br /> +That, through her lofty wedded life,<br /> +No word, no tone, betrayed the wife.<br /> +Her look seemed ever in the past;<br /> +Never to him it grew more sweet;<br /> +The self-same weary glance she cast<br /> +Upon the grey-hound at her feet,<br /> +As upon him, who bade her claim<br /> +The crowning honour of his name.</p> +<p>This gossip, if old Walter heard,<br /> +He checked it with a scornful word:<br /> +I never durst such tales repeat;<br /> +He was too serious and discreet<br /> +To speak of what his lord might do;<br /> +Besides, he loved my lady too.<br /> +And many a time, I recollect,<br /> +They were together in the wood;<br /> +He, with an air of grave respect,<br /> +And earnest look, uncovered stood.<br /> +And though their speech I never heard,<br /> +(Save now and then a louder word,)<br /> +I saw he spake as none but one<br /> +She loved and trusted, durst have done;<br /> +For oft I watched them in the shade<br /> +That the close forest branches made,<br /> +Till slanting golden sunbeams came<br /> +And smote the fir-trees into flame,<br /> +A radiant glory round her lit,<br /> +Then down her white robes seemed to flit,<br /> +Gilding the brown leaves on the ground,<br /> +And all the waving ferns around.<br /> +While by some gloomy pine she leant<br /> +And he in earnest talk would stand,<br /> +I saw the tear-drops, as she bent,<br /> +Fall on the flowers in her hand.—<br /> +Strange as it seemed and seems to be,<br /> +That one so sad, so cold as she,<br /> +Could love a little child like me—<br /> +Yet so it was. I never heard<br /> +Such tender words as she would say,<br /> +And murmurs, sweeter than a word,<br /> +Would breathe upon me as I lay.<br /> +While I, in smiling joy, would rest,<br /> +For hours, my head upon her breast.<br /> +Our neighbours said that none could see<br /> +In me the common childish charms,<br /> +(So grave and still I used to be,)<br /> +And yet she held me in her arms,<br /> +In a fond clasp, so close, so tight—<br /> +I often dream of it at night.<br /> +She bade me tell her all—no other<br /> +My childish thoughts e’er cared to know:<br /> +For I—I never knew my mother;<br /> +I was an orphan long ago.<br /> +And I could all my fancies pour,<br /> +That gentle loving face before.<br /> +She liked to hear me tell her all;<br /> +How that day I had climbed the tree,<br /> +To make the largest fir-cones fall;<br /> +And how one day I hoped to be<br /> +A sailor on the deep blue sea—<br /> +She loved to hear it all!</p> +<p>Then wondrous things she used to tell,<br /> +Of the strange dreams that she had known.<br /> +I used to love to hear them well,<br /> +If only for her sweet low tone,<br /> +Sometimes so sad, although I knew<br /> +That such things never could be true.<br /> +One day she told me such a tale<br /> +It made me grow all cold and pale,<br /> +The fearful thing she told!<br /> +Of a poor woman mad and wild<br /> +Who coined the life-blood of her child,<br /> +And tempted by a fiend, had sold<br /> +The heart out of her breast for gold.<br /> +But, when she saw me frightened seem,<br /> +She smiled, and said it was a dream.<br /> +When I look back and think of her,<br /> +My very heart-strings seem to stir;<br /> +How kind, how fair she was, how good<br /> +I cannot tell you. If I could<br /> +You, too, would love her. The mere thought<br /> +Of her great love for me has brought<br /> +Tears in my eyes: though far away,<br /> +It seems as it were yesterday.<br /> +And just as when I look on high<br /> +Through the blue silence of the sky,<br /> +Fresh stars shine out, and more and more,<br /> +Where I could see so few before;<br /> +So, the more steadily I gaze<br /> +Upon those far-off misty days,<br /> +Fresh words, fresh tones, fresh memories start<br /> +Before my eyes and in my heart.<br /> +I can remember how one day<br /> +(Talking in silly childish way)<br /> +I said how happy I should be<br /> +If I were like her son—as fair,<br /> +With just such bright blue eyes as he,<br /> +And such long locks of golden hair.<br /> +A strange smile on her pale face broke,<br /> +And in strange solemn words she spoke:<br /> +“My own, my darling one—no, no!<br /> +I love you, far, far better so.<br /> +I would not change the look you bear,<br /> +Or one wave of your dark brown hair.<br /> +The mere glance of your sunny eyes,<br /> +Deep in my deepest soul I prize<br /> +Above that baby fair!<br /> +Not one of all the Earl’s proud line<br /> +In beauty ever matched with thine;<br /> +And, ’tis by thy dark locks thou art<br /> +Bound even faster round my heart,<br /> +And made more wholly mine!”<br /> +And then she paused, and weeping said,<br /> +“You are like one who now is dead—<br /> +Who sleeps in a far-distant grave.<br /> +Oh may God grant that you may be<br /> +As noble and as good as he,<br /> +As gentle and as brave!”<br /> +Then in my childish way I cried,<br /> +“The one you tell me of who died,<br /> +Was he as noble as the Earl?”<br /> +I see her red lips scornful curl,<br /> +I feel her hold my hand again<br /> +So tightly, that I shrink in pain—<br /> +I seem to hear her say,<br /> +“He whom I tell you of, who died,<br /> +He was so noble and so gay,<br /> +So generous and so brave,<br /> +That the proud Earl by his dear side<br /> +Would look a craven slave.”<br /> +She paused; then, with a quivering sigh,<br /> +She laid her hand upon my brow:<br /> +“Live like him, darling, and so die.<br /> +Remember that he tells you now,<br /> +True peace, real honour, and content,<br /> +In cheerful pious toil abide;<br /> +That gold and splendour are but sent<br /> +To curse our vanity and pride.”<br /> +One day some childish fever pain<br /> +Burnt in my veins and fired my brain.<br /> +Moaning, I turned from side to side;<br /> +And, sobbing in my bed, I cried,<br /> +Till night in calm and darkness crept<br /> +Around me, and at last I slept.<br /> +When suddenly I woke to see<br /> +The Lady bending over me.<br /> +The drops of cold November rain<br /> +Were falling from her long, damp hair;<br /> +Her anxious eyes were dim with pain;<br /> +Yet she looked wondrous fair.<br /> +Arrayed for some great feast she came,<br /> +With stones that shone and burnt like flame;<br /> +Wound round her neck, like some bright snake,<br /> +And set like stars within her hair,<br /> +They sparkled so, they seemed to make<br /> +A glory everywhere.<br /> +I felt her tears upon my face,<br /> +Her kisses on my eyes;<br /> +And a strange thought I could not trace<br /> +I felt within my heart arise;<br /> +And, half in feverish pain, I said:<br /> +“Oh if my mother were not dead!”<br /> +And Walter bade me sleep; but she<br /> +Said, “Is it not the same to thee<br /> +That <i>I</i> watch by thy bed?”<br /> +I answered her, “I love you, too;<br /> +But it can never be the same;<br /> +She was no Countess like to you,<br /> +Nor wore such sparkling stones of flame.”<br /> +Oh the wild look of fear and dread!<br /> +The cry she gave of bitter woe!<br /> +I often wonder what I said<br /> +To make her moan and shudder so.<br /> +Through the long night she tended me<br /> +With such sweet care and charity.<br /> +But should weary you to tell<br /> +All that I know and love so well:<br /> +Yet one night more stands out alone<br /> +With a sad sweetness all its own.</p> +<p>The wind blew loud that dreary night:<br /> +Its wailing voice I well remember:<br /> +The stars shone out so large and bright<br /> +Upon the frosty fir-boughs white,<br /> +That dreary night of cold December.<br /> +I saw old Walter silent stand,<br /> +Watching the soft white flakes of snow<br /> +With looks I could not understand,<br /> +Of strange perplexity and woe.<br /> +At last he turned and took my hand,<br /> +And said the Countess just had sent<br /> +To bid us come; for she would fain<br /> +See me once more, before she went<br /> +Away—never to come again.<br /> +We came in silence through the wood<br /> +(Our footfall was the only sound)<br /> +To where the great white castle stood,<br /> +With darkness shadowing it around.<br /> +Breathless, we trod with cautious care<br /> +Up the great echoing marble stair;<br /> +Trembling, by Walter’s hand I held,<br /> +Scared by the splendours I beheld:<br /> +Now thinking, “Should the Earl appear!”<br /> +Now looking up with giddy fear<br /> +To the dim vaulted roof, that spread<br /> +Its gloomy arches overhead.<br /> +Long corridors we softly past,<br /> +(My heart was beating loud and fast)<br /> +And reached the Lady’s room at last:<br /> +A strange faint odour seemed to weigh<br /> +Upon the dim and darkened air;<br /> +One shaded lamp, with softened ray,<br /> +Scarce showed the gloomy splendour there.<br /> +The dull red brands were burning low,<br /> +And yet a fitful gleam of light,<br /> +Would now and then, with sudden glow,<br /> +Start forth, then sink again in night.<br /> +I gazed around, yet half in fear,<br /> +Till Walter told me to draw near:<br /> +And in the strange and flickering light,<br /> +Towards the Lady’s bed I crept;<br /> +All folded round with snowy white,<br /> +She lay; (one would have said she slept;)<br /> +So still the look of that white face,<br /> +It seemed as it were carved in stone,<br /> +I paused before I dared to place<br /> +Within her cold white hand my own.<br /> +But, with a smile of sweet surprise,<br /> +She turned to me her dreamy eyes;<br /> +And slowly, as if life were pain,<br /> +She drew me in her arms to lie:<br /> +She strove to speak, and strove in vain;<br /> +Each breath was like a long-drawn sigh.<br /> +The throbs that seemed to shake her breast,<br /> +The trembling clasp, so loose and weak,<br /> +At last grew calmer, and at rest;<br /> +And then she strove once more to speak:<br /> +“My God, I thank thee, that my pain<br /> +Of day by day and year by year,<br /> +Has not been suffered all in vain,<br /> +And I may die while he is near.<br /> +I will not fear but that Thy grace<br /> +Has swept away my sin and woe,<br /> +And sent this little angel face,<br /> +In my last hour to tell me so.”<br /> +(And here her voice grew faint and low,)<br /> +“My child, where’er thy life may go,<br /> +To know that thou art brave and true,<br /> +Will pierce the highest heavens through,<br /> +And even there my soul shall be<br /> +More joyful for this thought of thee.”<br /> +She folded her white hands, and stayed;<br /> +All cold and silently she lay:<br /> +I knelt beside the bed, and prayed<br /> +The prayer she used to make me say.<br /> +I said it many times, and then<br /> +She did not move, but seemed to be<br /> +In a deep sleep, nor stirred again.<br /> +No sound woke in the silent room,<br /> +Or broke the dim and solemn gloom,<br /> +Save when the brands that burnt so low,<br /> +With noisy fitful gleam of light,<br /> +Would spread around a sudden glow,<br /> +Then sink in silence and in night.<br /> +How long I stood I do not know:<br /> +At last poor Walter came, and said<br /> +(So sadly) that we now must go,<br /> +And whispered, she we loved was dead.<br /> +He bade me kiss her face once more,<br /> +Then led me sobbing to the door.<br /> +I scarcely knew what dying meant,<br /> +Yet a strange grief, before unknown,<br /> +Weighed on my spirit as we went<br /> +And left her lying all alone.</p> +<p>We went to the far North once more,<br /> +To seek the well-remembered home,<br /> +Where my poor kinsman dwelt before,<br /> +Whence now he was too old to roam;<br /> +And there six happy years we past,<br /> +Happy and peaceful till the last;<br /> +When poor old Walter died, and he<br /> +Blessed me and said I now might be<br /> +A sailor on the deep blue sea.<br /> +And so I go; and yet in spite<br /> +Of all the joys I long to know,<br /> +Though I look onward with delight,<br /> +With something of regret I go;<br /> +And young or old, on land or sea,<br /> +One guiding memory I shall take—<br /> +Of what She prayed that I might be,<br /> +And what I will be for her sake!</p> +<h2>VERSE: A CROWN OF SORROW</h2> +<p>A Sorrow, wet with early tears<br /> +Yet bitter, had been long with me;<br /> +I wearied of this weight of years,<br /> +And would be free.</p> +<p>I tore my Sorrow from my heart,<br /> +I cast it far away in scorn;<br /> +Right joyful that we two could part—<br /> +Yet most forlorn.</p> +<p>I sought, (to take my Sorrow’s place,)<br /> +Over the world for flower or gem—<br /> +But she had had an ancient grace<br /> +Unknown to them.</p> +<p>I took once more with strange delight<br /> +My slighted Sorrow; proudly now,<br /> +I wear it, set with stars of light,<br /> +Upon my brow.</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE LESSON OF THE WAR (1855)</h2> +<p>The feast is spread through England<br /> +For rich and poor to-day;<br /> +Greetings and laughter may be there,<br /> +But thoughts are far away;<br /> +Over the stormy ocean,<br /> +Over the dreary track,<br /> +Where some are gone, whom England<br /> +Will never welcome back.</p> +<p>Breathless she waits, and listens<br /> +For every eastern breeze<br /> +That bears upon its bloody wings<br /> +News from beyond the seas.<br /> +The leafless branches stirring<br /> +Make many a watcher start;<br /> +The distant tramp of steed may send<br /> +A throb from heart to heart.</p> +<p>The rulers of the nation,<br /> +The poor ones at their gate,<br /> +With the same eager wonder<br /> +The same great news await.<br /> +The poor man’s stay and comfort,<br /> +The rich man’s joy and pride,<br /> +Upon the bleak Crimean shore<br /> +Are fighting side by side.</p> +<p>The bullet comes—and either<br /> +A desolate hearth may see;<br /> +And God alone to-night knows where<br /> +The vacant place may be!<br /> +The dread that stirs the peasant<br /> +Thrills nobles’ hearts with fear—<br /> +Yet above selfish sorrow<br /> +Both hold their country dear.</p> +<p>The rich man who reposes<br /> +In his ancestral shade,<br /> +The peasant at his ploughshare,<br /> +The worker at his trade,<br /> +Each one his all his perilled,<br /> +Each has the same great stake,<br /> +Each soul can but have patience,<br /> +Each heart can only break!</p> +<p>Hushed is all party clamour;<br /> +One thought in every heart,<br /> +One dread in every household,<br /> +Has bid such strife depart.<br /> +England has called her children;<br /> +Long silent—the word came<br /> +That lit the smouldering ashes<br /> +Through all the land to flame.</p> +<p>Oh you who toil and suffer,<br /> +You gladly heard the call;<br /> +But those you sometimes envy<br /> +Have they not given their all?<br /> +Oh you who rule the nation,<br /> +Take now the toil-worn hand—<br /> +Brothers you are in sorrow,<br /> +In duty to your land.<br /> +Learn but this noble lesson<br /> +Ere Peace returns again,<br /> +And the life-blood of Old England<br /> +Will not be shed in vain.</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE TWO SPIRITS (1855)</h2> +<p>Last night, when weary silence fell on all,<br /> +And starless skies arose so dim and vast,<br /> +I heard the Spirit of the Present call<br /> +Upon the sleeping Spirit of the Past.<br /> +Far off and near, I saw their radiance shine,<br /> +And listened while they spoke of deeds divine.</p> +<p>The Spirit of the Past.</p> +<p>My deeds are writ in iron;<br /> +My glory stands alone;<br /> +A veil of shadowy honour<br /> +Upon my tombs is thrown;<br /> +The great names of my heroes<br /> +Like gems in history lie;<br /> +To live they deemed ignoble,<br /> +Had they the chance to die!</p> +<p>The Spirit of the Present.</p> +<p>My children, too, are honoured;<br /> +Dear shall their memory be<br /> +To the proud lands that own them;<br /> +Dearer than thine to thee;<br /> +For, though they hold that sacred<br /> +Is God’s great gift of life,<br /> +At the first call of duty<br /> +They rush into the strife!</p> +<p>The Spirit of the Past.</p> +<p>Then, with all valiant precepts<br /> +Woman’s soft heart was fraught;<br /> +“Death, not dishonour,” echoed<br /> +The war-cry she had taught.<br /> +Fearless and glad, those mothers,<br /> +At bloody deaths elate,<br /> +Cried out they bore their children<br /> +Only for such a fate!</p> +<p>The Spirit of the Present.</p> +<p>Though such stern laws of honour<br /> +Are faded now away,<br /> +Yet many a mourning mother,<br /> +With nobler grief than they,<br /> +Bows down in sad submission:<br /> +The heroes of the fight<br /> +Learnt at her knee the lesson,<br /> +“For God and for the Right!”</p> +<p>The Spirit of the Past.</p> +<p>No voice there spake of sorrow:<br /> +They saw the noblest fall<br /> +With no repining murmur;<br /> +Stern Fate was lord of all.<br /> +And when the loved ones perished,<br /> +One cry alone arose,<br /> +Waking the startled echoes,<br /> +“Vengeance upon our foes!”</p> +<p>The Spirit of the Present.</p> +<p>Grief dwells in France and England<br /> +For many a noble son;<br /> +Yet louder than the sorrow,<br /> +“Thy will, Oh God, be done!”<br /> +From desolate homes is rising<br /> +One prayer, “Let carnage cease!<br /> +On friends and foes have mercy,<br /> +Oh Lord, and give us peace!”</p> +<p>The Spirit of the Past.</p> +<p>Then, every hearth was honoured<br /> +That sent its children forth,<br /> +To spread their country’s glory,<br /> +And gain her south or north.<br /> +Then, little recked they numbers,<br /> +No band would ever fly,<br /> +But stern and resolute they stood<br /> +To conquer or to die.</p> +<p>The Spirit of the Present.</p> +<p>And now from France and England<br /> +Their dearest and their best<br /> +Go forth to succour freedom,<br /> +To help the much oppressed;<br /> +Now, let the far-off Future<br /> +And Past bow down to-day,<br /> +Before the few young hearts that hold<br /> +Whole armaments at bay.</p> +<p>The Spirit of the Past.</p> +<p>Then, each one strove for honour,<br /> +Each for a deathless name;<br /> +Love, home, rest, joy, were offered<br /> +As sacrifice to Fame.<br /> +They longed that in far ages<br /> +Their deeds might still be told,<br /> +And distant times and nations<br /> +Their names in honour hold.</p> +<p>The Spirit of the Present.</p> +<p>Though nursed by such old legends,<br /> +Our heroes of to-day<br /> +Go cheerfully to battle<br /> +As children go to play;<br /> +They gaze with awe and wonder<br /> +On your great names of pride,<br /> +Unconscious that their own will shine<br /> +In glory side by side!</p> +<p>Day dawned; and as the Spirits passed away,<br /> +Methought I saw, in the dim morning grey,<br /> +The Past’s bright diadem had paled before<br /> +The starry crown the glorious Present wore.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A LITTLE LONGER</h2> +<p>A little longer yet—a little longer,<br /> +Shall violets bloom for thee, and sweet birds sing;<br /> +And the lime branches where soft winds are blowing,<br /> +Shall murmur the sweet promise of the Spring!</p> +<p>A little longer yet—a little longer,<br /> +Thou shalt behold the quiet of the morn;<br /> +While tender grasses and awakening flowers<br /> +Send up a golden mist to greet the dawn!</p> +<p>A little longer yet—a little longer,<br /> +The tenderness of twilight shall be thine,<br /> +The rosy clouds that float o’er dying daylight,<br /> +Nor fade till trembling stars begin to shine.</p> +<p>A little longer yet—a little longer,<br /> +Shall starry night be beautiful for thee;<br /> +And the cold moon shall look through the blue silence,<br /> +Flooding her silver path upon the sea.</p> +<p>A little longer yet—a little longer,<br /> +Life shall be thine; life with its power to will;<br /> +Life with its strength to bear, to love, to conquer,<br /> +Bringing its thousand joys thy heart to fill.</p> +<p>A little longer yet—a little longer,<br /> +The voices thou hast loved shall charm thine ear;<br /> +And thy true heart, that now beats quick to hear them,<br /> +A little longer yet shall hold them dear.</p> +<p>A little longer yet—joy while thou mayest;<br /> +Love and rejoice! for time has nought in store;<br /> +And soon the darkness of the grave shall bid thee<br /> +Love and rejoice and feel and know no more.</p> +<p>* * *</p> +<p>A little longer still—Patience, Belovèd:<br /> +A little longer still, ere Heaven unroll<br /> +The Glory, and the Brightness, and the Wonder,<br /> +Eternal, and divine, that waits thy Soul!</p> +<p>A little longer ere Life true, immortal,<br /> +(Not this our shadowy Life,) will be thine own;<br /> +And thou shalt stand where winged Archangels worship,<br /> +And trembling bow before the Great White Throne.</p> +<p>A little longer still, and Heaven awaits thee,<br /> +And fills thy spirit with a great delight;<br /> +Then our pale joys will seem a dream forgotten,<br /> +Our Sun a darkness, and our Day a Night.</p> +<p>A little longer, and thy Heart, Belovèd,<br /> +Shall beat for ever with a Love divine;<br /> +And joy so pure, so mighty, so eternal,<br /> +No creature knows and lives, will then be thine.</p> +<p>A little longer yet—and angel voices<br /> +Shall ring in heavenly chant upon thine ear;<br /> +Angels and Saints await thee, and God needs thee:<br /> +Belovèd, can we bid thee linger here!</p> +<h2>VERSE: GRIEF</h2> +<p>An ancient enemy have I,<br /> +And either he or I must die;<br /> +For he never leaveth me,<br /> +Never gives my soul relief,<br /> +Never lets my sorrow cease,<br /> +Never gives my spirit peace—<br /> +For mine enemy is Grief!</p> +<p>Pale he is, and sad and stern;<br /> +And whene’er he cometh nigh,<br /> +Blue and dim the torches burn,<br /> +Pale and shrunk the roses turn;<br /> +While my heart that he has pierced<br /> +Many a time with fiery lance,<br /> +Beats and trembles at his glance:<br /> +Clad in burning steel is he,<br /> +All my strength he can defy;<br /> +For he never leaveth me—<br /> +And one of us must die!</p> +<p>I have said, “Let ancient sages<br /> +Charm me from my thoughts of pain!”<br /> +So I read their deepest pages,<br /> +And I strove to think—in vain!<br /> +Wisdom’s cold calm words I tried,<br /> +But he was seated by my side:-<br /> +Learning I have won in vain;<br /> +She cannot rid me of my pain.</p> +<p>When at last soft sleep comes o’er me,<br /> +A cold hand is on my heart;<br /> +Stern sad eyes are there before me;<br /> +Not in dreams will he depart:<br /> +And when the same dreary vision<br /> +From my weary brain has fled,<br /> +Daylight brings the living phantom,<br /> +He is seated by my bed,<br /> +Bending o’er me all the while,<br /> +With his cruel, bitter smile,<br /> +Ever with me, ever nigh;—<br /> +And either he or I must die!</p> +<p>Then I said, long time ago,<br /> +“I will flee to other climes,<br /> +I will leave mine ancient foe!”<br /> +Though I wandered far and wide—<br /> +Still he followed at my side.</p> +<p>And I fled where the blue waters<br /> +Bathe the sunny isles of Greece;<br /> +Where Thessalian mountains rise<br /> +Up against the purple skies;<br /> +Where a haunting memory liveth<br /> +In each wood and cave and rill;<br /> +But no dream of gods could help me—<br /> +He went with me still!</p> +<p>I have been where Nile’s broad river<br /> +Flows upon the burning sand;<br /> +Where the desert monster broodeth,<br /> +Where the Eastern palm-trees stand;<br /> +I have been where pathless forests<br /> +Spread a black eternal shade;<br /> +Where the lurking panther hiding<br /> +Glares from every tangled glade;<br /> +But in vain I wandered wide,<br /> +He was always by my side!<br /> +Then I fled where snows eternal<br /> +Cold and dreary ever lie;<br /> +Where the rosy lightnings gleam,<br /> +Flashing through the northern sky;<br /> +Where the red sun turns again<br /> +Back upon his path of pain;—<br /> +But a shadowy form was with me—<br /> +I had fled in vain!</p> +<p>I have thought, “If I can gaze<br /> +Sternly on him he will fade,<br /> +For I know that he is nothing<br /> +But a dim ideal shade.”<br /> +As I gazed at him the more,<br /> +He grew stronger than before!</p> +<p>Then I said, “Mine arm is strong,<br /> +I will make him turn and flee:”<br /> +I have struggled with him long—<br /> +But that could never be!</p> +<p>Once I battled with him so<br /> +That I thought I laid him low;<br /> +Then in trembling joy I fled,<br /> +While again and still again<br /> +Murmuring to myself I said,<br /> +“Mine old enemy is dead!”<br /> +And I stood beneath the stars,<br /> +When a chill came on my frame,<br /> +And a fear I could not name,<br /> +And a sense of quick despair,<br /> +And, lo! mine enemy was there!</p> +<p>Listen, for my soul is weary,<br /> +Weary of its endless woe;<br /> +I have called on one to aid me<br /> +Mightier even than my foe.<br /> +Strength and hope fail day by day;<br /> +I shall cheat him of his prey;<br /> +Some day soon, I know not when,<br /> +He will stab me through and through;<br /> +He has wounded me before,<br /> +But my heart can bear no more;<br /> +Pray that hour may come to me,<br /> +Only then shall I be free;<br /> +Death alone has strength to take me<br /> +Where my foe can never be;<br /> +Death, and Death alone, has power<br /> +To conquer mine old enemy!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE TRIUMPH OF TIME</h2> +<p>The tender delicate Flowers,<br /> +I saw them fanned by a warm western wind,<br /> +Fed by soft summer showers,<br /> +Shielded by care, and yet, (oh Fate unkind!)<br /> +Fade in a few short hours.</p> +<p>The gentle and the gay,<br /> +Rich in a glorious Future of bright deeds,<br /> +Rejoicing in the day,<br /> +Are met by Death, who sternly, sadly leads<br /> +Them far away.</p> +<p>And Hopes, perfumed and bright,<br /> +So lately shining, wet with dew and tears,<br /> +Trembling in morning light;<br /> +I saw them change to dark and anxious fears<br /> +Before the night!</p> +<p>I wept that all must die—<br /> +“Yet Love,” I cried, “doth live, and conquer death—”<br /> +And Time passed by,<br /> +And breathed on Love, and killed it with his breath<br /> +Ere Death was nigh.</p> +<p>More bitter far than all<br /> +It was to know that Love could change and die—<br /> +Hush! for the ages call<br /> +“The Love of God lives through eternity,<br /> +And conquers all!”</p> +<h2>VERSE: A PARTING</h2> +<p>Without one bitter feeling let us part—<br /> +And for the years in which your love has shed<br /> +A radiance like a glory round my head,<br /> +I thank you, yes, I thank you from my heart.</p> +<p>I thank you for the cherished hope of years,<br /> +A starry future, dim and yet divine,<br /> +Winging its way from Heaven to be mine,<br /> +Laden with joy, and ignorant of tears.</p> +<p>I thank you, yes, I thank you even more<br /> +That my heart learnt not without love to live,<br /> +But gave and gave, and still had more to give,<br /> +From an abundant and exhaustless store.</p> +<p>I thank you, and no grief is in these tears;<br /> +I thank you, not in bitterness but truth,<br /> +For the fair vision that adorned my youth<br /> +And glorified so many happy years.</p> +<p>Yet how much more I thank you that you tore<br /> +At length the veil your hand had woven away,<br /> +Which hid my idol was a thing of clay,<br /> +And false the altar I had knelt before.</p> +<p>I thank you that you taught me the stern truth,<br /> +(None other could have told and I believed,)<br /> +That vain had been my life, and I deceived,<br /> +And wasted all the purpose of my youth.</p> +<p>I thank you that your hand dashed down the shrine,<br /> +Wherein my idol worship I had paid;<br /> +Else had I never known a soul was made<br /> +To serve and worship only the Divine.</p> +<p>I thank you that the heart I cast away<br /> +On such as you, though broken, bruised and crushed,<br /> +Now that its fiery throbbing is all hushed,<br /> +Upon a worthier altar I can lay.</p> +<p>I thank you for the lesson that such love<br /> +Is a perverting of God’s royal right,<br /> +That it is made but for the Infinite,<br /> +And all too great to live except above.</p> +<p>I thank you for a terrible awaking,<br /> +And if reproach seemed hidden in my pain,<br /> +And sorrow seemed to cry on your disdain,<br /> +Know that my blessing lay in your forsaking.</p> +<p>Farewell for ever now:- in peace we part;<br /> +And should an idle vision of my tears<br /> +Arise before your soul in after years—<br /> +Remember that I thank you from my heart!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE GOLDEN GATE</h2> +<p>Dim shadows gather thickly round, and up the misty stair they climb,<br /> +The cloudy stair that upward leads to where the closèd portals +shine,<br /> +Round which the kneeling spirits wait the opening of the Golden Gate.</p> +<p>And some with eager longing go, still pressing forward, hand in hand,<br /> +And some with weary step and slow, look back where their Belovèd +stand—<br /> +Yet up the misty stair they climb, led onward by the Angel Time.</p> +<p>As unseen hands roll back the doors, the light that floods the very +air<br /> +Is but the shadow from within, of the great glory hidden there—<br /> +And morn and eve, and soon and late, the shadows pass within the gate.</p> +<p>As one by one they enter in, and the stern portals close once more,<br /> +The halo seems to linger round those kneeling closest to the door:<br /> +The joy that lightened from that place shines still upon the watcher’s +face.</p> +<p>The faint low echo that we hear of far-off music seems to fill<br /> +The silent air with love and fear, and the world’s clamours all +grow still,<br /> +Until the portals close again, and leave us toiling on in pain.</p> +<p>Complain not that the way is long—what road is weary that leads +there?<br /> +But let the Angel take thy hand, and lead thee up the misty stair,<br /> +And then with beating heart await, the opening of the Golden Gate.</p> +<h2>VERSE: PHANTOMS</h2> +<p>Back, ye Phantoms of the Past;<br /> +In your dreary caves remain:<br /> +What have I to do with memories<br /> +Of a long-forgotten pain?</p> +<p>For my Present is all peaceful,<br /> +And my Future nobly planned:<br /> +Long ago Time’s mighty billows<br /> +Swept your footsteps from the sand.</p> +<p>Back into your caves; nor haunt me<br /> +With your voices full of woe;<br /> +I have buried grief and sorrow<br /> +In the depths of Long-ago.</p> +<p>See the glorious clouds of morning<br /> +Roll away, and clear and bright<br /> +Shine the rays of cloudless daylight—<br /> +Wherefore will ye moan of night?</p> +<p>Never shall my heart be burthened<br /> +With its ancient woe and fears;<br /> +I can drive them from my presence,<br /> +I can check these foolish tears.</p> +<p>Back, ye Phantoms; leave, oh leave me<br /> +To a new and happy lot;<br /> +Speak no more of things departed;<br /> +Leave me—for I know ye not.</p> +<p>Can it be that ’mid my gladness<br /> +I must ever hear you wail,<br /> +Of the grief that wrung my spirit,<br /> +And that made my cheek so pale?</p> +<p>Joy is mine; but your sad voices<br /> +Murmur ever in mine ear:<br /> +Vain is all the Future’s promise,<br /> +While the dreary Past is here.</p> +<p>Vain, oh worse than vain, the Visions<br /> +That my heart, my life would fill,<br /> +If the Past’s relentless phantoms<br /> +Call upon me still!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THANKFULNESS</h2> +<p>My God, I thank Thee who hast made<br /> +The Earth so bright;<br /> +So full of splendour and of joy,<br /> +Beauty and light;<br /> +So many glorious things are here,<br /> +Noble and right!</p> +<p>I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made<br /> +Joy to abound;<br /> +So many gentle thoughts and deeds<br /> +Circling us round,<br /> +That in the darkest spot of Earth<br /> +Some love is found.</p> +<p>I thank Thee <i>more</i> that all our joy<br /> +Is touched with pain;<br /> +That shadows fall on brightest hours;<br /> +That thorns remain;<br /> +So that Earth’s bliss may be our guide,<br /> +And not our chain.</p> +<p>For Thou who knowest, Lord, how soon<br /> +Our weak heart clings,<br /> +Hast given us joys, tender and true,<br /> +Yet all with wings,<br /> +So that we see, gleaming on high,<br /> +Diviner things!</p> +<p>I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept<br /> +The best in store;<br /> +We have enough, yet not too much<br /> +To long for more:<br /> +A yearning for a deeper peace,<br /> +Not known before.</p> +<p>I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls,<br /> +Though amply blest,<br /> +Can never find, although they seek,<br /> +A perfect rest—<br /> +Nor ever shall, until they lean<br /> +On Jesus’ breast!</p> +<h2>VERSE: HOME-SICKNESS</h2> +<p>Where I am, the halls are gilded,<br /> +Stored with pictures bright and rare;<br /> +Strains of deep melodious music<br /> +Float upon the perfumed air:-<br /> +Nothing stirs the dreary silence<br /> +Save the melancholy sea,<br /> +Near the poor and humble cottage,<br /> +Where I fain would be!</p> +<p>Where I am, the sun is shining,<br /> +And the purple windows glow,<br /> +Till their rich armorial shadows<br /> +Stain the marble floor below:-<br /> +Faded Autumn leaves are trembling,<br /> +On the withered jasmine tree,<br /> +Creeping round the little casement,<br /> +Where I fain would be!</p> +<p>Where I am, the days are passing<br /> +O’er a pathway strewn with flowers;<br /> +Song and joy and starry pleasures<br /> +Crown the happy smiling hours:-<br /> +Slowly, heavily, and sadly,<br /> +Time with weary wings must flee,<br /> +Marked by pain, and toil, and sorrow,<br /> +Where I fain would be!</p> +<p>Where I am, the great and noble<br /> +Tell me of renown and fame,<br /> +And the red wine sparkles highest,<br /> +To do honour to my name:-<br /> +Far away a place is vacant,<br /> +By a humble hearth, for me,<br /> +Dying embers dimly show it,<br /> +Where I fain would be!</p> +<p>Where I am, are glorious dreaminess,<br /> +Science, genius, art divine;<br /> +And the great minds whom all honour<br /> +Interchange their thoughts with mine:-<br /> +A few simple hearts are waiting,<br /> +Longing, wearying, for me,<br /> +Far away where tears are falling,<br /> +Where I fain would be!</p> +<p>Where I am, all think me happy,<br /> +For so well I play my part,<br /> +None can guess, who smile around me,<br /> +How far distant is my heart—<br /> +Far away, in a poor cottage,<br /> +Listening to the dreary sea,<br /> +Where the treasures of my life are,<br /> +Where I fain would be!</p> +<h2>VERSE: WISHES</h2> +<p>All the fluttering wishes<br /> +Caged within thy heart<br /> +Beat their wings against it,<br /> +Longing to depart,<br /> +Till they shake their prison<br /> +With their wounded cry;<br /> +Open wide thy heart to-day,<br /> +And let the captives fly.</p> +<p>Let them first fly upward<br /> +Through the starry air,<br /> +Till you almost lose them,<br /> +For their home is there;<br /> +Then, with outspread pinions,<br /> +Circling round and round,<br /> +Wing their way, wherever<br /> +Want and woe are found.</p> +<p>Where the weary stitcher<br /> +Toils for daily bread;<br /> +Where the lonely watcher<br /> +Watches by her dead;<br /> +Where with thin weak fingers,<br /> +Toiling at the loom,<br /> +Stand the little children,<br /> +Blighted ere they bloom.</p> +<p>Where, by darkness blinded,<br /> +Groping for the light,<br /> +With distorted conscience<br /> +Men do wrong for right;<br /> +Where, in the cold shadow,<br /> +By smooth pleasure thrown,<br /> +Human hearts by hundreds<br /> +Harden into stone.</p> +<p>Where on dusty highways,<br /> +With faint heart and slow,<br /> +Cursing the glad sunlight,<br /> +Hungry outcasts go:<br /> +Where all mirth is silenced,<br /> +And the hearth is chill,<br /> +For one place is empty,<br /> +And one voice is still.</p> +<p>Some hearts will be lighter<br /> +While your captives roam<br /> +For their tender singing,<br /> +Then recal them home;<br /> +When the sunny hours<br /> +Into night depart,<br /> +Softly they will nestle<br /> +In a quiet heart.</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE PEACE OF GOD</h2> +<p>We ask for Peace, oh Lord!<br /> +Thy children ask Thy Peace;<br /> +Not what the world calls rest,<br /> +That toil and care should cease,<br /> +That through bright sunny hours<br /> +Calm Life should fleet away,<br /> +And tranquil night should fade<br /> +In smiling day;—<br /> +It is not for such Peace that we would pray.</p> +<p>We ask for Peace, oh Lord!<br /> +Yet not to stand secure,<br /> +Girt round with iron Pride,<br /> +Contented to endure:<br /> +Crushing the gentle strings<br /> +That human hearts should know,<br /> +Untouched by others’ joy<br /> +Or others’ woe;—<br /> +Thou, oh dear Lord, wilt never teach us so.</p> +<p>We ask Thy Peace, oh Lord!<br /> +Through storm, and fear, and strife,<br /> +To light and guide us on,<br /> +Through a long struggling life:<br /> +While no success or gain<br /> +Shall cheer the desperate fight,<br /> +Or nerve, what the world calls,<br /> +Our wasted might:-<br /> +Yet pressing through the darkness to the light.</p> +<p>It is Thine own, oh Lord,<br /> +Who toil while others sleep;<br /> +Who sow with loving care<br /> +What other hands shall reap:<br /> +They lean on Thee entranced,<br /> +In calm and perfect rest:<br /> +Give us that Peace, oh Lord,<br /> +Divine and blest,<br /> +Thou keepest for those hearts who love Thee best.</p> +<h2>VERSE: LIFE IN DEATH AND DEATH IN LIFE</h2> +<p>I.</p> +<p>If the dread day that calls thee hence,<br /> +Through a red mist of fear should loom,<br /> +(Closing in deadliest night and gloom<br /> +Long hours of aching dumb suspense,)<br /> +And leave me to my lonely doom.</p> +<p>I think, belovèd, I could see<br /> +In thy dear eyes the loving light<br /> +Glaze into vacancy and night,<br /> +And still say, “God is good to me,<br /> +And all that He decrees is right.”</p> +<p>That, watching thy slow struggling breath,<br /> +And answering each imperfect sign,<br /> +I still could pray thy prayer and mine,<br /> +And tell thee, dear, though this was death,<br /> +That God was love, and love divine.</p> +<p>Could hold thee in my arms, and lay<br /> +Upon my heart thy weary head,<br /> +And meet thy last smile ere it fled;<br /> +Then hear, as in a dream, one say,<br /> +“Now all is over,—she is dead.”</p> +<p>Could smooth thy garments with fond care,<br /> +And cross thy hands upon thy breast,<br /> +And kiss thine eyelids down to rest,<br /> +And yet say no word of despair,<br /> +But, through my sobbing, “It is best.”</p> +<p>Could stifle down the gnawing pain,<br /> +And say, “We still divide our life,<br /> +She has the rest, and I the strife,<br /> +And mine the loss, and hers the gain:<br /> +My ill with bliss for her is rife.”</p> +<p>Then turn, and the old duties take—<br /> +Alone now—yet with earnest will<br /> +Gathering sweet sacred traces still<br /> +To help me on, and, for thy sake,<br /> +My heart and life and soul to fill.</p> +<p>I think I could check vain weak tears,<br /> +And toil,—although the world’s great space<br /> +Held nothing but one vacant place,<br /> +And see the dark and weary years<br /> +Lit only by a vanished grace.</p> +<p>And sometimes, when the day was o’er,<br /> +Call up the tender past again:<br /> +Its painful joy, its happy pain,<br /> +And live it over yet once more,<br /> +And say, “But few more years remain.”</p> +<p>And then, when I had striven my best,<br /> +And all around would smiling say,<br /> +“See how Time makes all grief decay,”<br /> +Would lie down thankfully to rest,<br /> +And seek thee in eternal day.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>But if the day should ever rise—<br /> +It could not and it cannot be—<br /> +Yet, if the sun should ever see,<br /> +Looking upon us from his skies,<br /> +A day that took thy heart from me;</p> +<p>If loving thee still more and more,<br /> +And still so willing to be blind,<br /> +I should the bitter knowledge find,<br /> +That Time had eaten out the core<br /> +Of love, and left the empty rind;</p> +<p>If the poor lifeless words, at last,<br /> +(The soul gone, that was once so sweet,)<br /> +Should cease my eager heart to cheat,<br /> +And crumble back into the past,<br /> +And show the whole a vain deceit;</p> +<p>If I should see thee turn away,<br /> +And know that prayer, and time, and pain,<br /> +Could no more thy lost love regain,<br /> +Than bid the hours of dying day<br /> +Gleam in their mid-day noon again;</p> +<p>If I should loose thy hand, and know<br /> +That henceforth we must dwell apart,<br /> +Since I had seen thy love depart,<br /> +And only count the hours flow<br /> +By the dull throbbing of my heart;</p> +<p>If I should gaze and gaze in vain<br /> +Into thine eyes so deep and clear,<br /> +And read the truth of all my fear<br /> +Half mixed with pity for my pain,<br /> +And sorrow for the vanished year;</p> +<p>If not to grieve thee overmuch,<br /> +I strove to counterfeit disdain,<br /> +And weave me a new life again,<br /> +Which thy life could not mar, or touch,<br /> +And so smile down my bitter pain;</p> +<p>The ghost of my dead Past would rise<br /> +And mock me, and I could not dare<br /> +Look to a future of despair,<br /> +Or even to the eternal skies,<br /> +For I should still be lonely there.</p> +<p>All Truth, all Honour, then would seem<br /> +Vain clouds, which the first wind blew by;<br /> +All Trust, a folly doomed to die;<br /> +All Life, a useless empty dream;<br /> +All Love—since thine had failed—a lie.</p> +<p>But see, thy tender smile has cast<br /> +My fear away: this thought of mine<br /> +Is treason to my Love and thine;<br /> +For Love is Life, and Death at last<br /> +Crowns it eternal and divine!</p> +<h2>VERSE: RECOLLECTIONS</h2> +<p>As strangers, you and I are here;<br /> +We both as aliens stand,<br /> +Where once, in years gone by, I dwelt<br /> +No stranger in the land.<br /> +Then while you gaze on park and stream,<br /> +Let me remain apart,<br /> +And listen to the awakened sound<br /> +Of voices in my heart.</p> +<p>Here, where upon the velvet lawn<br /> +The cedar spreads its shade,<br /> +And by the flower-beds all around,<br /> +Bright roses bloom and fade;<br /> +Shrill merry childish laughter rings,<br /> +And baby voices sweet,<br /> +And by me, on the path, I hear<br /> +The tread of little feet.</p> +<p>Down the dark avenue of limes,<br /> +Whose perfume loads the air,<br /> +Whose boughs are rustling overhead,<br /> +(For the west wind is there,)<br /> +I hear the sound of earnest talk,<br /> +Warnings and counsels wise,<br /> +And the quick questioning that brought<br /> +Such gentle calm replies.</p> +<p>Still the light bridge hangs o’er the lake,<br /> +Where broad-leaved lilies lie,<br /> +And the cool water shows again<br /> +The cloud that moves on high;—<br /> +And one voice speaks, in tones I thought<br /> +The past for ever kept;<br /> +But now I know, deep in my heart<br /> +Its echoes only slept.</p> +<p>I hear, within the shady porch,<br /> +Once more, the measured sound<br /> +Of the old ballads that were read,<br /> +While we sat listening round;<br /> +The starry passion-flower still<br /> +Up the green trellice climbs;<br /> +The tendrils waving seem to keep<br /> +The cadence of the rhymes.</p> +<p>I might have striven, and striven in vain,<br /> +Such visions to recall,<br /> +Well known and yet forgotten; now<br /> +I see, I hear, them all!<br /> +The Present pales before the Past,<br /> +Who comes with angel wings;<br /> +As in a dream I stand, amidst<br /> +Strange yet familiar things!</p> +<p>Enough; so let us go, mine eyes<br /> +Are blinded by their tears;<br /> +A voice speaks to my soul to-day<br /> +Of long forgotten years.<br /> +And yet the vision in my heart,<br /> +In a few hours more,<br /> +Will fade into the silent past,<br /> +Silently as before.</p> +<h2>VERSE: ILLUSION</h2> +<p>Where the golden corn is bending,<br /> +And the singing reapers pass,<br /> +Where the chestnut woods are sending<br /> +Leafy showers upon the grass,</p> +<p>The blue river onward flowing<br /> +Mingles with its noisy strife,<br /> +The murmur of the flowers growing,<br /> +And the hum of insect life.</p> +<p>I, from that rich plain was gazing<br /> +Towards the snowy mountains high,<br /> +Who their gleaming peaks were raising<br /> +Up against the purple sky.</p> +<p>And the glory of their shining,<br /> +Bathed in clouds of rosy light,<br /> +Set my weary spirit pining<br /> +For a home so pure and bright!</p> +<p>So I left the plain, and weary,<br /> +Fainting, yet with hope sustained,<br /> +Toiled through pathways long and dreary<br /> +Till the mountain top was gained.</p> +<p>Lo! the height that I had taken,<br /> +As so shining from below,<br /> +Was a desolate, forsaken<br /> +Region of perpetual snow.</p> +<p>I am faint, my feet are bleeding,<br /> +All my feeble strength is worn,<br /> +In the plain no soul is heeding,<br /> +I am here alone, forlorn.</p> +<p>Lights are shining, bells are tolling,<br /> +In the busy vale below;<br /> +Near me night’s black clouds are rolling,<br /> +Gathering o’er a waste of snow.</p> +<p>So I watch the river winding<br /> +Through the misty fading plain,<br /> +Bitter are the tear-drops blinding,<br /> +Bitter useless toil and pain—<br /> +Bitterest of all the finding<br /> +That my dream was false and vain!</p> +<h2>VERSE: A VISION</h2> +<p>Gloomy and black are the cypress trees,<br /> +Drearily waileth the chill night breeze.<br /> +The long grass waveth, the tombs are white,<br /> +And the black clouds flit o’er the chill moonlight.<br /> +Silent is all save the dropping rain,<br /> +When slowly there cometh a mourning train,<br /> +The lone churchyard is dark and dim,<br /> +And the mourners raise a funeral hymn:</p> +<p>“Open, dark grave, and take her;<br /> +Though we have loved her so,<br /> +Yet we must now forsake her,<br /> +Love will no more awake her:<br /> +(Oh, bitter woe!)<br /> +Open thine arms and take her<br /> +To rest below!</p> +<p>“Vain is our mournful weeping,<br /> +Her gentle life is o’er;<br /> +Only the worm is creeping,<br /> +Where she will soon be sleeping,<br /> +For evermore—<br /> +Nor joy nor love is keeping<br /> +For her in store!”</p> +<p>Gloomy and black are the cypress trees,<br /> +And drearily wave in the chill night breeze.<br /> +The dark clouds part and the heavens are blue,<br /> +Where the trembling stars are shining through.<br /> +Slowly across the gleaming sky,<br /> +A crowd of white angels are passing by.<br /> +Like a fleet of swans they float along,<br /> +Or the silver notes of a dying song.<br /> +Like a cloud of incense their pinions rise,<br /> +Fading away up the purple skies.<br /> +But hush! for the silent glory is stirred,<br /> +By a strain such as earth has never heard:</p> +<p>“Open, oh Heaven! we bear her,<br /> +This gentle maiden mild,<br /> +Earth’s griefs we gladly spare her,<br /> +From earthly joys we tear her,<br /> +Still undefiled;<br /> +And to thine arms we bear her,<br /> +Thine own, thy child.</p> +<p>“Open, oh Heaven! no morrow<br /> +Will see this joy o’ercast,<br /> +No pain, no tears, no sorrow,<br /> +Her gentle heart will borrow;<br /> +Sad life is past;<br /> +Shielded and safe from sorrow,<br /> +At home at last.”</p> +<p>But the vision faded and all was still,<br /> +On the purple valley and distant hill.<br /> +No sound was there save the wailing breeze,<br /> +The rain, and the rustling cypress trees.</p> +<h2>VERSE: PICTURES IN THE FIRE</h2> +<p>What is it you ask me, darling?<br /> +All my stories, child, you know;<br /> +I have no strange dreams to tell you,<br /> +Pictures I have none to show.</p> +<p>Tell you glorious scenes of travel?<br /> +Nay, my child, that cannot be,<br /> +I have seen no foreign countries,<br /> +Marvels none on land or sea.</p> +<p>Yet strange sights in truth I witness,<br /> +And I gaze until I tire,<br /> +Wondrous pictures, changing ever,<br /> +As I look into the fire.</p> +<p>There, last night, I saw a cavern,<br /> +Black as pitch; within it lay<br /> +Coiled in many folds a dragon,<br /> +Glaring as if turned at bay.</p> +<p>And a knight in dismal armour<br /> +On a wingèd eagle came,<br /> +To do battle with this dragon;<br /> +And his crest was all of flame.</p> +<p>As I gazed the dragon faded,<br /> +And, instead, sate Pluto crowned,<br /> +By a lake of burning fire;<br /> +Spirits dark were crouching round.</p> +<p>That was gone, and lo! before me,<br /> +A cathedral vast and grim;<br /> +I could almost hear the organ<br /> +Peal alone the arches dim.</p> +<p>As I watched the wreathèd pillars,<br /> +Groves of stately palms arose,<br /> +And a group of swarthy Indians<br /> +Stealing on some sleeping foes.</p> +<p>Stay; a cataract glancing brightly,<br /> +Dashed and sparkled; and beside<br /> +Lay a broken marble monster,<br /> +Mouth and eyes were staring wide.</p> +<p>Then I saw a maiden wreathing<br /> +Starry flowers in garlands sweet;<br /> +Did she see the fiery serpent<br /> +That was wrapped about her feet?</p> +<p>That fell crashing all and vanished;<br /> +And I saw two armies close—<br /> +I could almost hear the clarions,<br /> +And the shouting of the foes.</p> +<p>They were gone; and lo! bright angels,<br /> +On a barren mountain wild,<br /> +Raised appealing arms to Heaven,<br /> +Bearing up a little child.</p> +<p>And I gazed, and gazed, and slowly<br /> +Gathered in my eyes sad tears,<br /> +And the fiery pictures bore me<br /> +Back through distant dreams of years.</p> +<p>Once again I tasted sorrow,<br /> +With past joy was once more gay,<br /> +Till the shade had gathered round me—<br /> +And the fire had died away.</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE SETTLERS</h2> +<p>Two stranger youths in the Far West,<br /> +Beneath the ancient forest trees,<br /> +Pausing, amid their toil to rest,<br /> +Spake of their home beyond the seas;<br /> +Spake of the hearts that beat so warmly,<br /> +Of the hearts they loved so well.<br /> +In their chilly northern country.<br /> +“Would,” they cried, “some voice could tell<br /> +Where they are, our own beloved ones!”<br /> +They looked up to the evening sky<br /> +Half hidden by the giant branches,<br /> +But heard no angel-voice reply.<br /> +All silent was the quiet evening;<br /> +Silent were the ancient trees;<br /> +They only heard the murmuring song<br /> +Of the summer breeze,<br /> +That gently played among<br /> +The acacia trees.<br /> +And did no warning spirit answer,<br /> +Amid the silence all around;<br /> +“Before the lowly village altar<br /> +She thou lovest may be found,<br /> +Thou, who trustest still so blindly,<br /> +Know she stands a smiling bride!<br /> +Forgetting thee, she turneth kindly<br /> +To the stranger at her side.<br /> +Yes, this day thou art forgotten,<br /> +Forgotten, too, thy last farewell,<br /> +All the vows that she has spoken,<br /> +And thy heart has kept so well.<br /> +Dream no more of a starry future,<br /> +In thy home beyond the seas!”<br /> +But he only heard the gentle sigh<br /> +Of the summer breeze,<br /> +So softly passing by<br /> +The acacia trees.</p> +<p>And vainly, too, the other, looking<br /> +Smiling up through hopeful tears,<br /> +Asked in his heart of hearts, “Where is she,<br /> +She I love these many years?”<br /> +He heard no echo calling faintly:<br /> +“Lo, she lieth cold and pale,<br /> +And her smile so calm and saintly<br /> +Heeds not grieving sob or wail—<br /> +Heeds not the lilies strewn upon her,<br /> +Pure as she is, and as white,<br /> +Or the solemn chanting voices,<br /> +Or the taper’s ghastly light.”<br /> +But silent still was the ancient forest,<br /> +Silent were the gloomy trees,<br /> +He only heard the wailing sound<br /> +Of the summer breeze,<br /> +That sadly played around<br /> +The acacia trees</p> +<h2>VERSE: HUSH</h2> +<p>“I can scarcely hear,” she murmured,<br /> +“For my heart beats loud and fast,<br /> +But surely, in the far, far distance,<br /> +I can hear a sound at last.”<br /> +“It is only the reapers singing,<br /> +As they carry home their sheaves,<br /> +And the evening breeze has risen,<br /> +And rustles the dying leaves.”</p> +<p>“Listen! there are voices talking.”<br /> +Calmly still she strove to speak,<br /> +Yet her voice grew faint and trembling,<br /> +And the red flushed in her cheek.<br /> +“It is only the children playing<br /> +Below, now their work is done,<br /> +And they laugh that their eyes are dazzled<br /> +By the rays of the setting sun.”</p> +<p>Fainter grew her voice, and weaker<br /> +As with anxious eyes she cried,<br /> +“Down the avenue of chestnuts,<br /> +I can hear a horseman ride.”<br /> +“It was only the deer that were feeding<br /> +In a herd on the clover grass,<br /> +They were startled, and fled to the thicket,<br /> +As they saw the reapers pass.”</p> +<p>Now the night arose in silence,<br /> +Birds lay in their leafy nest,<br /> +And the deer couched in the forest,<br /> +And the children were at rest:<br /> +There was only a sound of weeping<br /> +From watchers around a bed,<br /> +But Rest to the weary spirit,<br /> +Peace to the quiet Dead!</p> +<h2>VERSE: HOURS</h2> +<p>When the bright stars came out last night,<br /> +And the dew lay on the flowers,<br /> +I had a vision of delight—<br /> +A dream of by-gone hours.</p> +<p>Those hours that came and fled so fast,<br /> +Of pleasure or of pain,<br /> +As phantoms rose from out the past<br /> +Before my eyes again.</p> +<p>With beating heart did I behold<br /> +A train of joyous hours,<br /> +Lit with the radiant light of old,<br /> +And, smiling, crowned with flowers.</p> +<p>And some were hours of childish sorrow,<br /> +A mimicry of pain,<br /> +That through their tears looked for a morrow<br /> +They knew must smile again.</p> +<p>Those hours of hope that longed for life,<br /> +And wished their part begun,<br /> +And ere the summons to the strife,<br /> +Dreamed that the field was won.</p> +<p>I knew the echo of their voice,<br /> +The starry crowns they wore;<br /> +The vision made my soul rejoice<br /> +With the old thrill of yore.</p> +<p>I knew the perfume of their flowers;<br /> +The glorious shining rays<br /> +Around these happy smiling hours<br /> +Were lit in by-gone days.</p> +<p>Oh stay, I cried—bright visions, stay,<br /> +And leave me not forlorn!<br /> +But, smiling still, they passed away,<br /> +Like shadows of the morn.</p> +<p>One spirit still remained, and cried,<br /> +“Thy soul shall ne’er forget!”<br /> +He standeth ever by my side—<br /> +The phantom called Regret!</p> +<p>But still the spirits rose, and there<br /> +Were weary hours of pain,<br /> +And anxious hours of fear and care<br /> +Bound by an iron chain.</p> +<p>Dim shadows came of lonely hours,<br /> +That shunned the light of day,<br /> +And in the opening smile of flowers<br /> +Saw only quick decay.</p> +<p>Calm hours that sought the starry skies<br /> +For heavenly lore were there;<br /> +With folded hands and earnest eyes,<br /> +I knew the hours of prayer.</p> +<p>Stern hours that darkened the sun’s light,<br /> +Heralds of coming woes,<br /> +With trailing wings, before my sight<br /> +From the dim past arose.</p> +<p>As each dark vision passed and spoke<br /> +I prayed it to depart:<br /> +At each some buried sorrow woke<br /> +And stirred within my heart.</p> +<p>Until these hours of pain and care<br /> +Lifted their tearful eyes,<br /> +Spread their dark pinions in the air<br /> +And passed into the skies.</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE TWO INTERPRETERS</h2> +<p>“The clouds are fleeting by, father,<br /> +Look in the shining west,<br /> +The great white clouds sail onward<br /> +Upon the sky’s blue breast.<br /> +Look at a snowy eagle,<br /> +His wings are tinged with red,<br /> +And a giant dolphin follows him,<br /> +With a crown upon his head!”</p> +<p>The father spake no word, but watched<br /> +The drifting clouds roll by;<br /> +He traced a misty vision too<br /> +Upon the shining sky:<br /> +A shadowy form, with well-known grace<br /> +Of weary love and care,<br /> +Above the smiling child she held,<br /> +Shook down her floating hair.</p> +<p>“The clouds are changing now, father,<br /> +Mountains rise higher and higher!<br /> +And see where red and purple ships<br /> +Sail in a sea of fire!”<br /> +The father pressed the little hand<br /> +More closely in his own,<br /> +And watched a cloud-dream in the sky<br /> +That he could see alone:<br /> +Bright angels carrying far away<br /> +A white form, cold and dead,<br /> +Two held the feet, and two bore up<br /> +The flower-crowned, drooping head.</p> +<p>“See, father, see! a glory floods<br /> +The sky, and all is bright,<br /> +And clouds of every hue and shade<br /> +Burn in the golden light.<br /> +And now, above an azure lake,<br /> +Rise battlements and towers,<br /> +Where knights and ladies climb the heights,<br /> +All bearing purple flowers.”</p> +<p>The father looked, and, with a pang<br /> +Of love and strange alarm,<br /> +Drew close the little eager child<br /> +Within his sheltering arm;<br /> +From out the clouds the mother looks<br /> +With wistful glance below,<br /> +She seems to seek the treasure left<br /> +On earth so long ago;<br /> +She holds her arms out to her child,<br /> +His cradle-song she sings:<br /> +The last rays of the sunset gleam<br /> +Upon her outspread wings.</p> +<p>Calm twilight veils the summer sky,<br /> +The shining clouds are gone;<br /> +In vain the merry laughing child<br /> +Still gaily prattles on;<br /> +In vain the bright stars, one by one,<br /> +On the blue silence start,<br /> +A dreary shadow rests to-night<br /> +Upon the father’s heart</p> +<h2>VERSE: COMFORT</h2> +<p>Hast thou o’er the clear heaven of thy soul<br /> +Seen tempests roll?<br /> +Hast thou watched all the hopes thou wouldst have won<br /> +Fade, one by one?<br /> +Wait till the clouds are past, then raise thine eyes<br /> +To bitter skies.</p> +<p>Hast thou gone sadly through a dreary night,<br /> +And found no light,<br /> +No guide, no star, to cheer thee through the plain—<br /> +No friend, save pain?<br /> +Wait, and thy soul shall see, when most forlorn,<br /> +Rise a new morn.</p> +<p>Hast thou beneath another’s stern control<br /> +Bent thy sad soul,<br /> +And wasted sacred hopes and precious tears?<br /> +Yet calm thy fears,<br /> +For thou canst gain, even from the bitterest part,<br /> +A stronger heart.</p> +<p>Has Fate overwhelmed thee with some sudden blow?<br /> +Let thy tears flow;<br /> +But know when storms are past, the heavens appear<br /> +More pure, more clear;<br /> +And hope, when farthest from their shining rays,<br /> +For brighter days.</p> +<p>Hast thou found life a cheat, and worn in vain<br /> +Its iron chain?<br /> +Has thy soul bent beneath earth’s heavy bond?<br /> +Look thou beyond;<br /> +If life is bitter—<i>there</i> for ever shine<br /> +Hopes more divine.</p> +<p>Art thou alone, and does thy soul complain<br /> +It lives in vain?<br /> +Not vainly does he live who can endure<br /> +Oh be thou sure,<br /> +That he who hopes and suffers here, can earn<br /> +A sure return.</p> +<p>Hast thou found nought within thy troubled life<br /> +Save inward strife?<br /> +Hast thou found all she promised thee, Deceit,<br /> +And Hope a cheat?<br /> +Endure, and there shall dawn within thy breast<br /> +Eternal rest!</p> +<h2>VERSE: HOME AT LAST</h2> +<p>Child, do not fear;<br /> +We shall reach our home to-night,<br /> +For the sky is clear,<br /> +And the waters bright;<br /> +And the breezes have scarcely strength<br /> +To unfold that little cloud,<br /> +That like a shroud<br /> +Spreads out its fleecy length<br /> +Then have no fear,<br /> +As we cleave our silver way<br /> +Through the waters clear.</p> +<p>Fear not, my child!<br /> +Though the waves are white and high,<br /> +And the storm blows wild<br /> +Through the gloomy sky;<br /> +On the edge of the western sea,<br /> +See that line of golden light,<br /> +Is the haven bright<br /> +Where home is awaiting thee;<br /> +Where, this peril past,<br /> +We shall rest from our stormy voyage<br /> +In peace at last.</p> +<p>Be not afraid;<br /> +But give me thy hand, and see<br /> +How the waves have made<br /> +A cradle for thee.<br /> +Night is come, dear, and we shall rest;<br /> +So turn from the angry skies,<br /> +And close thine eyes,<br /> +And lay thy head on my breast:<br /> +Child, do not weep;<br /> +In the calm, cold, purple depths<br /> +There we shall sleep.</p> +<h2>VERSE: UNEXPRESSED</h2> +<p>Dwells within the soul of every Artist<br /> +More than all his effort can express;<br /> +And he knows the best remains unuttered;<br /> +Sighing at what <i>we</i> call his success.</p> +<p>Vainly he may strive; he dare not tell us<br /> +All the sacred mysteries of the skies:<br /> +Vainly he may strive; the deepest beauty<br /> +Cannot be unveiled to mortal eyes.</p> +<p>And the more devoutly that he listens,<br /> +And the holier message that is sent,<br /> +Still the more his soul must struggle vainly,<br /> +Bowed beneath a noble discontent.</p> +<p>No great Thinker ever lived and taught you<br /> +All the wonder that his soul received;<br /> +No true Painter ever set on canvas<br /> +All the glorious vision he conceived.</p> +<p>No Musician ever held your spirit<br /> +Charmed and bound in his melodious chains,<br /> +But be sure he heard, and strove to render,<br /> +Feeble echoes of celestial strains.</p> +<p>No real Poet ever wove in numbers<br /> +All his dream; but the diviner part,<br /> +Hidden from all the world, spake to him only<br /> +In the voiceless silence of his heart.</p> +<p>So with Love: for Love and Art united<br /> +Are twin mysteries; different, yet the same:<br /> +Poor indeed would be the love of any<br /> +Who could find its full and perfect name.</p> +<p>Love may strive, but vain is the endeavour<br /> +All its boundless riches to enfold;<br /> +Still its tenderest, truest secret lingers<br /> +Ever in its deepest depths untold.</p> +<p>Things of Time have voices: speak and perish.<br /> +Art and Love speak—but their words must be<br /> +Like sighings of illimitable forests,<br /> +And waves of an unfathomable sea.</p> +<h2>VERSE: BECAUSE</h2> +<p>It is not because your heart is mine—mine only—<br /> +Mine alone;<br /> +It is not because you chose me, weak and lonely,<br /> +For your own;<br /> +Not because the earth is fairer, and the skies<br /> +Spread above you<br /> +Are more radiant for the shining of your eyes—<br /> +That I love you!</p> +<p>It is not because the world’s perplexèd meaning<br /> +Grows more clear;<br /> +And the Parapets of Heaven, with angels leaning,<br /> +Seem more near;<br /> +And Nature sings of praise with all her voices<br /> +Since yours spoke,<br /> +Since within my silent heart, that now rejoices,<br /> +Love awoke!</p> +<p>Nay, not even because your hand holds heart and life;<br /> +At your will<br /> +Soothing, hushing all its discord, making strife<br /> +Calm and still;<br /> +Teaching Trust to fold her wings, nor ever roam<br /> +From her nest;<br /> +Teaching Love that her securest, safest home<br /> +Must be Rest.</p> +<p>But because this human Love, though true and sweet—<br /> +Yours and mine—<br /> +Has been sent by Love more tender, more complete,<br /> +More divine;<br /> +That it leads our hearts to rest at last in Heaven,<br /> +Far above you;<br /> +Do I take you as a gift that God has given—<br /> +—And I love you!</p> +<h2>VERSE: REST AT EVENING</h2> +<p>When the weariness of Life is ended,<br /> +And the task of our long day is done,<br /> +And the props, on which our hearts depended,<br /> +All have failed or broken, one by one;<br /> +Evening and our Sorrow’s shadow blended<br /> +Telling us that peace is now begun.</p> +<p>How far back will seem the sun’s first dawning,<br /> +And those early mists so cold and grey!<br /> +Half forgotten even the toil of morning,<br /> +And the heat and burthen of the day:<br /> +Flowers that we were tending, and weeds scorning,<br /> +All alike withered and cast away.</p> +<p>Vain will seem the impatient heart, which waited<br /> +Toils that gathered but too quickly round;<br /> +And the childish joy, so soon elated<br /> +At the path we thought none else had found;<br /> +And the foolish ardour, soon abated<br /> +By the storm which cast us to the ground.</p> +<p>Vain those pauses on the road, each seeming<br /> +As our final home and resting-place;<br /> +And the leaving them, while tears were streaming<br /> +Of eternal sorrow down our face;<br /> +And the hands we held, fond folly dreaming<br /> +That no future could their touch efface.</p> +<p>All will then be faded:- night will borrow<br /> +Stars of light to crown our perfect rest;<br /> +And the dim vague memory of faint sorrow<br /> +Just remain to show us all was best,<br /> +Then melt into a divine to-morrow:-<br /> +Oh, how poor a day to be so blest!</p> +<h2>VERSE: A RETROSPECT</h2> +<p>From this fair point of present bliss,<br /> +Where we together stand,<br /> +Let me look back once more, and trace<br /> +That long and desert land,<br /> +Wherein till now was cast my lot, and I could live, and thou wert not.</p> +<p>Strange that my heart could beat, and know<br /> +Alternate joy and pain,<br /> +That suns could roll from east to west,<br /> +And clouds could pass in rain,<br /> +And the slow hours without thee fleet, nor stay their noiseless silver +feet.</p> +<p>What had I then? a hope, that grew<br /> +Each hour more bright and dear,<br /> +The flush upon the eastern skies<br /> +That showed the sun was near:-<br /> +Now night has faded far away, my sun has risen, and it is day.</p> +<p>A dim Ideal of tender grace<br /> +In my soul reigned supreme;<br /> +Too noble and too sweet I thought<br /> +To live, save in a dream—<br /> +Within thy heart to-day it lies, and looks on me from thy dear eyes.</p> +<p>Some gentle spirit—Love I thought—<br /> +Built many a shrine of pain;<br /> +Though each false Idol fell to dust,<br /> +The worship was not vain,<br /> +But a faint radiant shadow cast back from our Love upon the Past.</p> +<p>And Grief, too, held her vigil there;<br /> +With unrelenting sway<br /> +Breaking my cloudy visions down,<br /> +Throwing my flowers away:-<br /> +I owe to her fond care alone that I may now be all thine own.</p> +<p>Fair Joy was there—her fluttering wings<br /> +At times she strove to raise;<br /> +Watching through long and patient nights,<br /> +Listening long eager days:<br /> +I know now that her heart and mine were waiting, Love, to welcome thine.</p> +<p>Thus I can read thy name throughout,<br /> +And, now her task is done,<br /> +Can see that even that faded Past<br /> +Was thine, belovèd one,<br /> +And so rejoice my Life may be all consecrated, dear, to thee.</p> +<h2>VERSE: TRUE OR FALSE</h2> +<p>So you think you love me, do you?<br /> +Well, it may be so;<br /> +But there are many ways of loving<br /> +I have learnt to know.<br /> +Many ways, and but one true way,<br /> +Which is very rare;<br /> +And the counterfeits look brightest,<br /> +Though they will not wear.</p> +<p>Yet they ring, almost, quite truly,<br /> +Last (with care) for long;<br /> +But in time must break, may shiver<br /> +At a touch of wrong:<br /> +Having seen what looked most real<br /> +Crumble into dust;<br /> +Now I chose that test and trial<br /> +Should precede my trust.</p> +<p>I have seen a love demanding<br /> +Time and hope and tears,<br /> +Chaining all the past, exacting<br /> +Bonds from future years;<br /> +Mind and heart, and joy and sorrow,<br /> +Claiming as its fee:<br /> +That was Love of Self, and never,<br /> +Never Love of me!</p> +<p>I have seen a love forgetting<br /> +All above, beyond,<br /> +Linking every dream and fancy<br /> +In a sweeter bond;<br /> +Counting every hour worthless,<br /> +Which was cold or free:-<br /> +That, perhaps, was—Love of Pleasure,<br /> +But not Love of me!</p> +<p>I have seen a love whose patience<br /> +Never turned aside,<br /> +Full of tender, fond devices;<br /> +Constant, even when tried;<br /> +Smallest boons were held as victories,<br /> +Drops that swelled the sea:<br /> +That I think was—Love of Power,<br /> +But not Love of me!</p> +<p>I have seen a love disdaining<br /> +Ease and pride and fame,<br /> +Burning even its own white pinions<br /> +Just to feed its flame;<br /> +Reigning thus, supreme, triumphant,<br /> +By the soul’s decree;<br /> +That was—Love of Love, I fancy,<br /> +But not Love of me!</p> +<p>I have heard—or dreamt, it may be—<br /> +What Love is when true;<br /> +How to test and how to try it,<br /> +Is the gift of few:<br /> +These few say (or did I dream it?)<br /> +That true Love abides<br /> +In these very things, but always<br /> +Has a soul besides.</p> +<p>Lives among the false loves, knowing<br /> +Just their peace and strife:<br /> +Bears the self-same look, but always<br /> +Has an inner life.<br /> +Only a true heart can find it,<br /> +True as it is true,<br /> +Only eyes as clear and tender<br /> +Look it through and through.</p> +<p>If it dies, it will not perish<br /> +By Time’s slow decay,<br /> +True Love only grows (they tell me)<br /> +Stronger, day by day:<br /> +Pain—has been its friend and comrade;<br /> +Fate—it can defy;<br /> +Only by its own sword, sometimes<br /> +Love can choose to die.</p> +<p>And its grave shall be more noble<br /> +And more sacred still,<br /> +Than a throne, where one less worthy<br /> +Reigns and rules at will.<br /> +Tell me then, do you dare offer<br /> +This true Love to me? . . .<br /> +Neither you nor I can answer;<br /> +We will—wait and see!</p> +<h2>VERSE: GOLDEN WORDS</h2> +<p>Some words are played on golden strings,<br /> +Which I so highly rate,<br /> +I cannot bear for meaner things<br /> +Their sound to desecrate.</p> +<p>For every day they are not meet,<br /> +Or for a careless tone;<br /> +They are for rarest, and most sweet,<br /> +And noblest use alone.</p> +<p>One word is POET: which is flung<br /> +So carelessly away,<br /> +When such as you and I have sung,<br /> +We hear it, day by day.</p> +<p>Men pay it for a tender phrase<br /> +Set in a cadenced rhyme:<br /> +I keep it as a crown of praise<br /> +To crown the kings of time.</p> +<p>And LOVE: the slightest feelings, stirred<br /> +By trivial fancy, seek<br /> +Expression in that golden word<br /> +They tarnish while they speak.</p> +<p>Nay, let the heart’s slow, rare decree,<br /> +That word in reverence keep<br /> +Silence herself should only be<br /> +More sacred and more deep.</p> +<p>FOR EVER: men have grown at length<br /> +To use that word, to raise<br /> +Some feeble protest into strength,<br /> +Or turn some tender phrase.</p> +<p>It should be said in awe and fear<br /> +By true heart and strong will,<br /> +And burn more brightly year by year,<br /> +A starry witness still.</p> +<p>HONOUR: all trifling hearts are fond<br /> +Of that divine appeal,<br /> +And men, upon the slightest bond,<br /> +Set it as slighter seal.</p> +<p>That word should meet a noble foe<br /> +Upon a noble field,<br /> +And echo—like a deadly blow<br /> +Turned by a silver shield.</p> +<p>Trust me, the worth of words is such<br /> +They guard all noble things,<br /> +And that this rash irreverent touch<br /> +Has jarred some golden strings.</p> +<p>For what the lips have lightly said<br /> +The heart will lightly hold,<br /> +And things on which we daily tread<br /> +Are lightly bought and sold.</p> +<p>The sun of every day will bleach<br /> +The costliest purple hue.<br /> +And so our common daily speech<br /> +Discolours what was true.</p> +<p>But as you keep some thoughts apart<br /> +In sacred honoured care,<br /> +If in the silence of your heart,<br /> +Their utterance too be rare;</p> +<p>Then, while a thousand words repeat<br /> +Unmeaning clamours all,<br /> +Melodious golden echoes sweet<br /> +Shall answer when you call.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEGENDS AND LYRICS: FIRST SERIES***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 2303-h.htm or 2303-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/0/2303 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from 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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: Legends and Lyrics: First Series + +Author: Adelaide Anne Procter + +Release Date: October 20, 2004 [eBook #2303] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEGENDS AND LYRICS: FIRST SERIES*** + + + + +This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk from +the 1890 George Bell and Sons edition. + + + + + +LEGENDS AND LYRICS--FIRST SERIES +by Adelaide Ann Procter + + +Contents: + +Dedication +An Introduction by Charles Dickens +The Angel's Story +Echoes +A False Genius +My Picture +Judge Not +Friend Sorrow +One by One +True Honours +A Woman's Question +The Three Rulers +A Dead Past +A Doubting Heart +A Student +A Knight Errant +Linger, oh, gentle Time +Homeward Bound +Life and Death +Now +Cleansing Fires +The Voice of the Wind +Treasures +Shining Stars +Waiting +The Cradle Song of the Poor +Be strong +God's Gifts +A Tomb in Ghent +The Angel of Death +A Dream +The Present +Changes +Strive, Wait, and Pray +A Lament for the Summer +The Unknown Grave +Give me thy Heart +The Wayside Inn +Voices of the Past +The Dark Side +A First Sorrow +Murmurs +Give +My Journal +A Chain +The Pilgrims +Incompleteness +A Legend of Bregenz +A Farewell +Sowing and Reaping +The Storm +Words +A Love Token +A Tryst with Death +Fidelis +A Shadow +The Sailor Boy +A Crown of Sorrow +The Lesson of the War +The Two Spirits +A Little Longer +Grief +The Triumph of Time +A Parting +The Golden Gate +Phantoms +Thankfulness +Home-sickness +Wishes +The Peace of God +Life in Death and Death in Life +Recollections +Illusion +A Vision +Pictures in the Fire +The Settlers +Hush! +Hours +The Two Interpreters +Comfort +Home at last +Unexpressed +Because +Rest at Evening +A Retrospect +True or False +Golden Words + + + + +DEDICATION + + +TO MATILDA M. HAYS. + +"Our tokens of love are for the most part barbarous. Cold and lifeless, +because they do not represent our life. The only gift is a portion of +thyself. Therefore let the farmer give his corn; the miner, a gem; the +sailor, coral and shells; the painter, his picture; and the poet, his +poem."--Emerson's Essays. + +A. A. P. + +May, 1858 + + + + +AN INTRODUCTION BY CHARLES DICKENS + + +In the spring of the year 1853, I observed, as conductor of the weekly +journal Household Words, a short poem among the proffered contributions, +very different, as I thought, from the shoal of verses perpetually +setting through the office of such a periodical, and possessing much more +merit. Its authoress was quite unknown to me. She was one Miss Mary +Berwick, whom I had never heard of; and she was to be addressed by +letter, if addressed at all, at a circulating library in the western +district of London. Through this channel, Miss Berwick was informed that +her poem was accepted, and was invited to send another. She complied, +and became a regular and frequent contributor. Many letters passed +between the journal and Miss Berwick, but Miss Berwick herself was never +seen. + +How we came gradually to establish, at the office of Household Words, +that we knew all about Miss Berwick, I have never discovered. But we +settled somehow, to our complete satisfaction, that she was governess in +a family; that she went to Italy in that capacity, and returned; and that +she had long been in the same family. We really knew nothing whatever of +her, except that she was remarkably business-like, punctual, +self-reliant, and reliable: so I suppose we insensibly invented the rest. +For myself, my mother was not a more real personage to me, than Miss +Berwick the governess became. + +This went on until December, 1854, when the Christmas number, entitled +The Seven Poor Travellers, was sent to press. Happening to be going to +dine that day with an old and dear friend, distinguished in literature as +Barry Cornwall, I took with me an early proof of that number, and +remarked, as I laid it on the drawing-room table, that it contained a +very pretty poem, written by a certain Miss Berwick. Next day brought me +the disclosure that I had so spoken of the poem to the mother of its +writer, in its writer's presence; that I had no such correspondent in +existence as Miss Berwick; and that the name had been assumed by Barry +Cornwall's eldest daughter, Miss Adelaide Anne Procter. + +The anecdote I have here noted down, besides serving to explain why the +parents of the late Miss Procter have looked to me for these poor words +of remembrance of their lamented child, strikingly illustrates the +honesty, independence, and quiet dignity, of the lady's character. I had +known her when she was very young; I had been honoured with her father's +friendship when I was myself a young aspirant; and she had said at home, +"If I send him, in my own name, verses that he does not honestly like, +either it will be very painful to him to return them, or he will print +them for papa's sake, and not for their own. So I have made up my mind +to take my chance fairly with the unknown volunteers." + +Perhaps it requires an editor's experience of the profoundly unreasonable +grounds on which he is often urged to accept unsuitable articles--such as +having been to school with the writer's husband's brother-in-law, or +having lent an alpenstock in Switzerland to the writer's wife's nephew, +when that interesting stranger had broken his own--fully to appreciate +the delicacy and the self-respect of this resolution. + +Some verses by Miss Procter had been published in the Book of Beauty, ten +years before she became Miss Berwick. With the exception of two poems in +the Cornhill Magazine, two in Good Words, and others in a little book +called A Chaplet of Verses (issued in 1862 for the benefit of a Night +Refuge), her published writings first appeared in Household Words, or All +the Year Round. The present edition contains the whole of her Legends +and Lyrics, and originates in the great favour with which they have been +received by the public. + +Miss Procter was born in Bedford Square, London, on the 30th of October, +1825. Her love of poetry was conspicuous at so early an age, that I have +before me a tiny album made of small note-paper, into which her favourite +passages were copied for her by her mother's hand before she herself +could write. It looks as if she had carried it about, as another little +girl might have carried a doll. She soon displayed a remarkable memory, +and great quickness of apprehension. When she was quite a young child, +she learned with facility several of the problems of Euclid. As she grew +older, she acquired the French, Italian, and German languages; became a +clever pianoforte player; and showed a true taste and sentiment in +drawing. But, as soon as she had completely vanquished the difficulties +of any one branch of study, it was her way to lose interest in it, and +pass to another. While her mental resources were being trained, it was +not at all suspected in her family that she had any gift of authorship, +or any ambition to become a writer. Her father had no idea of her having +ever attempted to turn a rhyme, until her first little poem saw the light +in print. + +When she attained to womanhood, she had read an extraordinary number of +books, and throughout her life she was always largely adding to the +number. In 1853 she went to Turin and its neighbourhood, on a visit to +her aunt, a Roman Catholic lady. As Miss Procter had herself professed +the Roman Catholic Faith two years before, she entered with the greater +ardour on the study of the Piedmontese dialect, and the observation of +the habits and manners of the peasantry. In the former, she soon became +a proficient. On the latter head, I extract from her familiar letters +written home to England at the time, two pleasant pieces of description. + + + +A BETROTHAL + + +"We have been to a ball, of which I must give you a description. Last +Tuesday we had just done dinner at about seven, and stepped out into the +balcony to look at the remains of the sunset behind the mountains, when +we heard very distinctly a band of music, which rather excited my +astonishment, as a solitary organ is the utmost that toils up here. I +went out of the room for a few minutes, and, on my returning, Emily said, +'Oh! That band is playing at the farmer's near here. The daughter is +fiancee to-day, and they have a ball.' I said, 'I wish I was going!' +'Well,' replied she, 'the farmer's wife did call to invite us.' 'Then I +shall certainly go,' I exclaimed. I applied to Madame B., who said she +would like it very much, and we had better go, children and all. Some of +the servants were already gone. We rushed away to put on some shawls, +and put off any shred of black we might have about us (as the people +would have been quite annoyed if we had appeared on such an occasion with +any black), and we started. When we reached the farmer's, which is a +stone's throw above our house, we were received with great enthusiasm; +the only drawback being, that no one spoke French, and we did not yet +speak Piedmontese. We were placed on a bench against the wall, and the +people went on dancing. The room was a large whitewashed kitchen (I +suppose), with several large pictures in black frames, and very smoky. I +distinguished the Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, and the others appeared +equally lively and appropriate subjects. Whether they were Old Masters +or not, and if so, by whom, I could not ascertain. The band were seated +opposite us. Five men, with wind instruments, part of the band of the +National Guard, to which the farmer's sons belong. They played really +admirably, and I began to be afraid that some idea of our dignity would +prevent me getting a partner; so, by Madame B.'s advice, I went up to the +bride, and offered to dance with her. Such a handsome young woman! Like +one of Uwins's pictures. Very dark, with a quantity of black hair, and +on an immense scale. The children were already dancing, as well as the +maids. After we came to an end of our dance, which was what they called +a Polka-Mazourka, I saw the bride trying to screw up the courage of her +fiance to ask me to dance, which after a little hesitation he did. And +admirably he danced, as indeed they all did--in excellent time, and with +a little more spirit than one sees in a ball-room. In fact, they were +very like one's ordinary partners, except that they wore earrings and +were in their shirt-sleeves, and truth compels me to state that they +decidedly smelt of garlic. Some of them had been smoking, but threw away +their cigars when we came in. The only thing that did not look cheerful +was, that the room was only lighted by two or three oil-lamps, and that +there seemed to be no preparation for refreshments. Madame B., seeing +this, whispered to her maid, who disengaged herself from her partner, and +ran off to the house; she and the kitchenmaid presently returning with a +large tray covered with all kinds of cakes (of which we are great +consumers and always have a stock), and a large hamper full of bottles of +wine, with coffee and sugar. This seemed all very acceptable. The +fiancee was requested to distribute the eatables, and a bucket of water +being produced to wash the glasses in, the wine disappeared very +quickly--as fast as they could open the bottles. But, elated, I suppose, +by this, the floor was sprinkled with water, and the musicians played a +Monferrino, which is a Piedmontese dance. Madame B. danced with the +farmer's son, and Emily with another distinguished member of the company. +It was very fatiguing--something like a Scotch reel. My partner was a +little man, like Perrot, and very proud of his dancing. He cut in the +air and twisted about, until I was out of breath, though my attempts to +imitate him were feeble in the extreme. At last, after seven or eight +dances, I was obliged to sit down. We stayed till nine, and I was so +dead beat with the heat that I could hardly crawl about the house, and in +an agony with the cramp, it is so long since I have danced." + + + +A MARRIAGE + + +The wedding of the farmer's daughter has taken place. We had hoped it +would have been in the little chapel of our house, but it seems some +special permission was necessary, and they applied for it too late. They +all said, "This is the Constitution. There would have been no difficulty +before!" the lower classes making the poor Constitution the scapegoat for +everything they don't like. So as it was impossible for us to climb up +to the church where the wedding was to be, we contented ourselves with +seeing the procession pass. It was not a very large one, for, it +requiring some activity to go up, all the old people remained at home. It +is not etiquette for the bride's mother to go, and no unmarried woman can +go to a wedding--I suppose for fear of its making her discontented with +her own position. The procession stopped at our door, for the bride to +receive our congratulations. She was dressed in a shot silk, with a +yellow handkerchief, and rows of a large gold chain. In the afternoon +they sent to request us to go there. On our arrival we found them +dancing out of doors, and a most melancholy affair it was. All the +bride's sisters were not to be recognised, they had cried so. The mother +sat in the house, and could not appear. And the bride was sobbing so, +she could hardly stand! The most melancholy spectacle of all to my mind +was, that the bridegroom was decidedly tipsy. He seemed rather affronted +at all the distress. We danced a Monferrino; I with the bridegroom; and +the bride crying the whole time. The company did their utmost to enliven +her by firing pistols, but without success, and at last they began a +series of yells, which reminded me of a set of savages. But even this +delicate method of consolation failed, and the wishing good-bye began. It +was altogether so melancholy an affair that Madame B. dropped a few +tears, and I was very near it, particularly when the poor mother came out +to see the last of her daughter, who was finally dragged off between her +brother and uncle, with a last explosion of pistols. As she lives quite +near, makes an excellent match, and is one of nine children, it really +was a most desirable marriage, in spite of all the show of distress. +Albert was so discomfited by it, that he forgot to kiss the bride as he +had intended to do, and therefore went to call upon her yesterday, and +found her very smiling in her new house, and supplied the omission. The +cook came home from the wedding, declaring she was cured of any wish to +marry--but I would not recommend any man to act upon that threat and make +her an offer. In a couple of days we had some rolls of the bride's first +baking, which they call Madonnas. The musicians, it seems, were in the +same state as the bridegroom, for, in escorting her home, they all fell +down in the mud. My wrath against the bridegroom is somewhat calmed by +finding that it is considered bad luck if he does not get tipsy at his +wedding." + +* * * * * + +Those readers of Miss Procter's poems who should suppose from their tone +that her mind was of a gloomy or despondent cast, would be curiously +mistaken. She was exceedingly humorous, and had a great delight in +humour. Cheerfulness was habitual with her, she was very ready at a +sally or a reply, and in her laugh (as I remember well) there was an +unusual vivacity, enjoyment, and sense of drollery. She was perfectly +unconstrained and unaffected: as modestly silent about her productions, +as she was generous with their pecuniary results. She was a friend who +inspired the strongest attachments; she was a finely sympathetic woman, +with a great accordant heart and a sterling noble nature. No claim can +be set up for her, thank God, to the possession of any of the +conventional poetical qualities. She never by any means held the opinion +that she was among the greatest of human beings; she never suspected the +existence of a conspiracy on the part of mankind against her; she never +recognised in her best friends, her worst enemies; she never cultivated +the luxury of being misunderstood and unappreciated; she would far rather +have died without seeing a line of her composition in print, than that I +should have maundered about her, here, as "the Poet", or "the Poetess". + +With the recollection of Miss Procter as a mere child and as a woman, +fresh upon me, it is natural that I should linger on my way to the close +of this brief record, avoiding its end. But, even as the close came upon +her, so must it come here. + +Always impelled by an intense conviction that her life must not be +dreamed away, and that her indulgence in her favourite pursuits must be +balanced by action in the real world around her, she was indefatigable in +her endeavours to do some good. Naturally enthusiastic, and +conscientiously impressed with a deep sense of her Christian duty to her +neighbour, she devoted herself to a variety of benevolent objects. Now, +it was the visitation of the sick, that had possession of her; now, it +was the sheltering of the houseless; now, it was the elementary teaching +of the densely ignorant; now, it was the raising up of those who had +wandered and got trodden under foot; now, it was the wider employment of +her own sex in the general business of life; now, it was all these things +at once. Perfectly unselfish, swift to sympathise and eager to relieve, +she wrought at such designs with a flushed earnestness that disregarded +season, weather, time of day or night, food, rest. Under such a hurry of +the spirits, and such incessant occupation, the strongest constitution +will commonly go down. Hers, neither of the strongest nor the weakest, +yielded to the burden, and began to sink. + +To have saved her life, then, by taking action on the warning that shone +in her eyes and sounded in her voice, would have been impossible, without +changing her nature. As long as the power of moving about in the old way +was left to her, she must exercise it, or be killed by the restraint. And +so the time came when she could move about no longer, and took to her +bed. + +All the restlessness gone then, and all the sweet patience of her natural +disposition purified by the resignation of her soul, she lay upon her bed +through the whole round of changes of the seasons. She lay upon her bed +through fifteen months. In all that time, her old cheerfulness never +quitted her. In all that time, not an impatient or a querulous minute +can be remembered. + +At length, at midnight on the second of February, 1864, she turned down a +leaf of a little book she was reading, and shut it up. + +The ministering hand that had copied the verses into the tiny album was +soon around her neck, and she quietly asked, as the clock was on the +stroke of one: + +"Do you think I am dying, mamma?" + +"I think you are very, very ill to-night, my dear!" + +"Send for my sister. My feet are so cold. Lift me up?" + +Her sister entering as they raised her, she said: "It has come at last!" +And with a bright and happy smile, looked upward, and departed. + +Well had she written: + + Why shouldst thou fear the beautiful angel, Death, + Who waits thee at the portals of the skies, + Ready to kiss away thy struggling breath, + Ready with gentle hand to close thine eyes? + + Oh what were life, if life were all? Thine eyes + Are blinded by their tears, or thou wouldst see + Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off skies, + And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee. + + + + +VERSE: THE ANGEL'S STORY + + +Through the blue and frosty heavens +Christmas stars were shining bright; +Glistening lamps throughout the City +Almost matched their gleaming light; +While the winter snow was lying, +And the winter winds were sighing, +Long ago, one Christmas night. + +While, from every tower and steeple, +Pealing bells were sounding clear, +(Never with such tones of gladness, +Save when Christmas time is near,) +Many a one that night was merry +Who had toiled through all the year. + +That night saw old wrongs forgiven, +Friends, long parted, reconciled; +Voices all unused to laughter, +Mournful eyes that rarely smiled, +Trembling hearts that feared the morrow, +From their anxious thoughts beguiled. + +Rich and poor felt love and blessing +From the gracious season fall; +Joy and plenty in the cottage, +Peace and feasting in the hall; +And the voices of the children +Ringing clear above it all! + +Yet one house was dim and darkened; +Gloom, and sickness, and despair, +Dwelling in the gilded chambers. +Creeping up the marble stair, +Even stilled the voice of mourning-- +For a child lay dying there. + +Silken curtains fell around him, +Velvet carpets hushed the tread. +Many costly toys were lying, +All unheeded, by his bed; +And his tangled golden ringlets +Were on downy pillows spread. + +The skill of all that mighty City +To save one little life was vain; +One little thread from being broken, +One fatal word from being spoken; +Nay, his very mother's pain, +And the mighty love within her, +Could not give him health again. + +So she knelt there still beside him, +She alone with strength to smile, +Promising that he should suffer +No more in a little while, +Murmuring tender song and story +Weary hours to beguile. + +Suddenly an unseen Presence +Checked those constant moaning cries, +Stilled the little heart's quick fluttering, +Raised those blue and wondering eyes, +Fixed on some mysterious vision, +With a startled sweet surprise. + +For a radiant angel hovered, +Smiling, o'er the little bed; +White his raiment, from his shoulders +Snowy dove-like pinions spread, +And a starlike light was shining +In a Glory round his head. + +While, with tender love, the angel, +Leaning o'er the little nest, +In his arms the sick child folding, +Laid him gently on his breast, +Sobs and wailings told the mother +That her darling was at rest. + +So the angel, slowing rising, +Spread his wings; and, through the air, +Bore the child, and while he held him +To his heart with loving care, +Placed a branch of crimson roses +Tenderly beside him there. + +While the child, thus clinging, floated +Towards the mansions of the Blest, +Gazing from his shining guardian +To the flowers upon his breast, +Thus the angel spake, still smiling +On the little heavenly guest: + +"Know, dear little one, that Heaven +Does no earthly thing disdain, +Man's poor joys find there an echo +Just as surely as his pain; +Love, on earth so feebly striving, +Lives divine in Heaven again! + +"Once in that great town below us, +In a poor and narrow street, +Dwelt a little sickly orphan; +Gentle aid, or pity sweet, +Never in life's rugged pathway +Guided his poor tottering feet. + +"All the striving anxious forethought +That should only come with age, +Weighed upon his baby spirit, +Showed him soon life's sternest page; +Grim Want was his nurse, and Sorrow +Was his only heritage. + +"All too weak for childish pastimes, +Drearily the hours sped; +On his hands so small and trembling +Leaning his poor aching head, +Or, through dark and painful hours, +Lying sleepless on his bed. + +"Dreaming strange and longing fancies +Of cool forests far away; +And of rosy, happy children, +Laughing merrily at play, +Coming home through green lanes, bearing +Trailing boughs of blooming May. + +"Scarce a glimpse of azure heaven +Gleamed above that narrow street, +And the sultry air of Summer +(That you call so warm and sweet) +Fevered the poor Orphan, dwelling +In the crowded alley's heat. + +"One bright day, with feeble footsteps +Slowly forth he tried to crawl, +Through the crowded city's pathways, +Till he reached a garden-wall; +Where 'mid princely halls and mansions +Stood the lordliest of all. + +"There were trees with giant branches, +Velvet glades where shadows hide; +There were sparkling fountains glancing, +Flowers, which in luxuriant pride +Even wafted breaths of perfume +To the child who stood outside. + +"He against the gate of iron +Pressed his wan and wistful face, +Gazing with an awe-struck pleasure +At the glories of the place; +Never had his brightest day-dream +Shone with half such wondrous grace. + +"You were playing in that garden, +Throwing blossoms in the air, +Laughing when the petals floated +Downwards on your golden hair; +And the fond eyes watching o'er you, +And the splendour spread before you, +Told a House's Hope was there. + +"When your servants, tired of seeing +Such a face of want and woe, +Turning to the ragged Orphan, +Gave him coin, and bade him go, +Down his cheeks so thin and wasted, +Bitter tears began to flow. + +"But that look of childish sorrow +On your tender child-heart fell, +And you plucked the reddest roses +From the tree you loved so well, +Passed them through the stern cold grating, +Gently bidding him 'Farewell!' + +"Dazzled by the fragrant treasure +And the gentle voice he heard, +In the poor forlorn boy's spirit, +Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirred; +In his hand he took the flowers, +In his heart the loving word. + +"So he crept to his poor garret; +Poor no more, but rich and bright, +For the holy dreams of childhood-- +Love, and Rest, and Hope, and Light-- +Floated round the Orphan's pillow +Through the starry summer night. + +"Day dawned, yet the visions lasted; +All too weak to rise he lay; +Did he dream that none spake harshly-- +All were strangely kind that day? +Surely then his treasured roses +Must have charmed all ills away. + +"And he smiled, though they were fading; +One by one their leaves were shed; +'Such bright things could never perish, +They would bloom again,' he said. +When the next day's sun had risen +Child and flowers both were dead. + +"Know, dear little one! our Father +Will no gentle deed disdain; +Love on the cold earth beginning +Lives divine in Heaven again, +While the angel hearts that beat there +Still all tender thoughts retain." + +So the angel ceased, and gently +O'er his little burthen leant; +While the child gazed from the shining, +Loving eyes that o'er him bent, +To the blooming roses by him, +Wondering what that mystery meant. + +Thus the radiant angel answered, +And with tender meaning smiled: +"Ere your childlike, loving spirit, +Sin and the hard world defiled, +God has given me leave to seek you-- +I was once that little child!" + +* * * + +In the churchyard of that city +Rose a tomb of marble rare, +Decked, as soon as Spring awakened, +With her buds and blossoms fair-- +And a humble grave beside it-- +No one knew who rested there. + + + + +VERSE: ECHOES + + +Still the angel stars are shining, +Still the rippling waters flow, +But the angel-voice is silent +That I heard so long ago. +Hark! the echoes murmur low, +Long ago! + +Still the wood is dim and lonely, +Still the plashing fountains play, +But the past and all its beauty, +Whither has it fled away? +Hark! the mournful echoes say, +Fled away! + +Still the bird of night complaineth, +(Now, indeed, her song is pain,) +Visions of my happy hours, +Do I call and call in vain? +Hark! the echoes cry again, +All in vain! + +Cease, oh echoes, mournful echoes! +Once I loved your voices well; +Now my heart is sick and weary-- +Days of old, a long farewell! +Hark! the echoes sad and dreary +Cry farewell, farewell! + + + + +VERSE: A FALSE GENIUS + + +I see a Spirit by thy side, +Purple-winged and eagle-eyed, +Looking like a Heavenly guide. + +Though he seem so bright and fair, +Ere thou trust his proffered care, +Pause a little, and beware! + +If he bid thee dwell apart, +Tending some ideal smart +In a sick and coward heart; + +In self-worship wrapped alone, +Dreaming thy poor griefs are grown +More than other men have known; + +Dwelling in some cloudy sphere, +Though God's work is waiting here, +And God deigneth to be near; + +If his torch's crimson glare +Show thee evil everywhere, +Tainting all the wholesome air; + +While with strange distorted choice, +Still disdaining to rejoice, +Thou wilt hear a wailing voice; + +If a simple, humble heart, +Seem to thee a meaner part, +Than thy noblest aim and art; + +If he bid thee bow before +Crowned Mind and nothing more, +The great idol men adore; + +And with starry veil enfold +Sin, the trailing serpent old, +Till his scales shine out like gold; + +Though his words seem true and wise, +Soul, I say to thee--Arise. +He is a Demon in disguise! + + + + +VERSE: MY PICTURE + + +Stand this way--more near the window-- +By my desk--you see the light +Falling on my picture better-- +Thus I see it while I write! + +Who the head may be I know not, +But it has a student air; +With a look half sad, half stately, +Grave sweet eyes and flowing hair. + +Little care I who the painter, +How obscure a name he bore; +Nor, when some have named Velasquez, +Did I value it the more. + +As it is, I would not give it +For the rarest piece of art; +It has dwelt with me, and listened +To the secrets of my heart. + +Many a time, when to my garret, +Weary, I returned at night, +It has seemed to look a welcome +That has made my poor room bright. + +Many a time, when ill and sleepless, +I have watched the quivering gleam +Of my lamp upon that picture, +Till it faded in my dream. + +When dark days have come, and friendship +Worthless seemed, and life in vain, +That bright friendly smile has sent me +Boldly to my task again. + +Sometimes when hard need has pressed me +To bow down where I despise, +I have read stern words of counsel +In those sad reproachful eyes. + +Nothing that my brain imagined, +Or my weary hand has wrought, +But it watched the dim Idea +Spring forth into armed Thought. + +It has smiled on my successes, +Raised me when my hopes were low, +And by turns has looked upon me +With all the loving eyes I know. + +Do you wonder that my picture +Has become so like a friend?-- +It has seen my life's beginnings, +It shall stay and cheer the end! + + + + +VERSE: JUDGE NOT + + +Judge not; the workings of his brain +And of his heart thou canst not see; +What looks to thy dim eyes a stain, +In God's pure light may only be +A scar, brought from some well-won field, +Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. + +The look, the air, that frets thy sight, +May be a token, that below +The soul has closed in deadly fight +With some infernal fiery foe, +Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace, +And cast thee shuddering on thy face! + +The fall thou darest to despise-- +May be the angel's slackened hand +Has suffered it, that he may rise +And take a firmer, surer stand; +Or, trusting less to earthly things, +May henceforth learn to use his wings. + +And judge none lost; but wait, and see, +With hopeful pity, not disdain; +The depth of the abyss may be +The measure of the height of pain +And love and glory that may raise +This soul to God in after days! + + + + +VERSE: FRIEND SORROW + + +Do not cheat thy Heart and tell her, +"Grief will pass away, +Hope for fairer times in future, +And forget to-day."-- +Tell her, if you will, that sorrow +Need not come in vain; +Tell her that the lesson taught her +Far outweighs the pain. + +Cheat her not with the old comfort, +"Soon she will forget"-- +Bitter truth, alas--but matter +Rather for regret; +Bid her not "Seek other pleasures, +Turn to other things:"-- +Rather nurse her caged sorrow +'Till the captive sings. + +Rather bid her go forth bravely. +And the stranger greet; +Not as foe, with spear and buckler, +But as dear friends meet; +Bid her with a strong clasp hold her, +By her dusky wings-- +Listening for the murmured blessing +Sorrow always brings. + + + + +VERSE: ONE BY ONE + + +One by one the sands are flowing, +One by one the moments fall; +Some are coming, some are going; +Do not strive to grasp them all. + +One by one thy duties wait thee, +Let thy whole strength go to each, +Let no future dreams elate thee, +Learn thou first what these can teach. + +One by one (bright gifts from Heaven) +Joys are sent thee here below; +Take them readily when given, +Ready too to let them go. + +One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, +Do not fear an armed band; +One will fade as others greet thee; +Shadows passing through the land. + +Do not look at life's long sorrow; +See how small each moment's pain; +God will help thee for to-morrow, +So each day begin again. + +Every hour that fleets so slowly +Has its task to do or bear; +Luminous the crown, and holy, +When each gem is set with care. + +Do not linger with regretting, +Or for passing hours despond; +Nor, the daily toil forgetting, +Look too eagerly beyond. + +Hours are golden links, God's token, +Reaching Heaven; but one by one +Take them, lest the chain be broken +Ere the pilgrimage be done. + + + + +VERSE: TRUE HONOURS + + +Is my darling tired already, +Tired of her day of play? +Draw your little stool beside me, +Smooth this tangled hair away. +Can she put the logs together, +Till they make a cheerful blaze? +Shall her blind old Uncle tell her +Something of his youthful days? + +Hark! The wind among the cedars +Waves their white arms to and fro; +I remember how I watched them +Sixty Christmas Days ago: +Then I dreamt a glorious vision +Of great deeds to crown each year-- +Sixty Christmas Days have found me +Useless, helpless, blind--and here! + +Yes, I feel my darling stealing +Warm soft fingers into mine-- +Shall I tell her what I fancied +In that strange old dream of mine? +I was kneeling by the window, +Reading how a noble band, +With the red cross on their breast-plates, +Went to gain the Holy Land. + +While with eager eyes of wonder +Over the dark page I bent, +Slowly twilight shadows gathered +Till the letters came and went; +Slowly, till the night was round me; +Then my heart beat loud and fast, +For I felt before I saw it +That a spirit near me passed. + +Then I raised my eyes, and shining +Where the moon's first ray was bright +Stood a winged Angel-warrior +Clothed and panoplied in light: +So, with Heaven's love upon him, +Stern in calm and resolute will, +Looked St. Michael--does the picture +Hang in the old cloister still? + +Threefold were the dreams of honour +That absorbed my heart and brain; +Threefold crowns the Angel promised, +Each one to be bought by pain: +While he spoke, a threefold blessing +Fell upon my soul like rain. +HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING; +VICTOR IN A GLORIOUS STRIFE; +SINGER OF A NOBLE POEM: +Such the honours of my life. + +Ah, that dream! Long years that gave me +Joy and grief as real things +Never touched the tender memory +Sweet and solemn that it brings-- +Never quite effaced the feeling +Of those white and shadowing wings. + +Do those blue eyes open wider? +Does my faith too foolish seem? +Yes, my darling, years have taught me +It was nothing but a dream. +Soon, too soon, the bitter knowledge +Of a fearful trial rose, +Rose to crush my heart, and sternly +Bade my young ambition close. + +More and more my eyes were clouded, +Till at last God's glorious light +Passed away from me for ever, +And I lived and live in night. +Dear, I will not dim your pleasure, +Christmas should be only gay-- +In my night the stars have risen, +And I wait the dawn of day. + +Spite of all I could be happy; +For my brothers' tender care +In their boyish pastimes ever +Made me take, or feel a share. +Philip, even then so thoughtful, +Max so noble, brave and tall, +And your father, little Godfrey, +The most loving of them all. + +Philip reasoned down my sorrow, +Max would laugh my gloom away, +Godfrey's little arms put round me, +Helped me through my dreariest day; +While the promise of my Angel, +Like a star, now bright, now pale, +Hung in blackest night above me, +And I felt it could not fail. + +Years passed on, my brothers left me, +Each went out to take his share +In the struggle of life; my portion +Was a humble one--to bear. +Here I dwelt, and learnt to wander +Through the woods and fields alone, +Every cottage in the village +Had a corner called my own. + +Old and young, all brought their troubles, +Great or small, for me to hear; +I have often blessed my sorrow +That drew others' grief so near. +Ah, the people needed helping-- +Needed love--(for Love and Heaven +Are the only gifts not bartered, +They alone are freely given)-- + +And I gave it. Philip's bounty, +(We were orphans, dear,) made toil +Prosper, and want never fastened +On the tenants of the soil. +Philip's name (Oh, how I gloried, +He so young, to see it rise!) +Soon grew noted among statesmen +As a patriot true and wise. + +And his people all felt honoured +To be ruled by such a name; +I was proud too that they loved me; +Through their pride in him it came. +He had gained what I had longed for, +I meanwhile grew glad and gay, +'Mid his people, to be serving +Him and them, in some poor way. + +How his noble earnest speeches, +With untiring fervour came; +HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING; +Truly he deserved the name! +Had my Angel's promise failed me? +Had that word of hope grown dim? +Why, my Philip had fulfilled it, +And I loved it best in him! + +Max meanwhile--ah, you, my darling, +Can his loving words recall-- +'Mid the bravest and the noblest, +Braver, nobler, than them all. +How I loved him! how my heart thrilled +When his sword clanked by his side. +When I touched his gold embroidery, +Almost saw him in his pride! + +So we parted; he all eager +To uphold the name he bore, +Leaving in my charge--he loved me-- +Some one whom he loved still more: +I must tend this gentle flower, +I must speak to her of him, +For he feared--Love still is fearful-- +That his memory might grow dim. + +I must guard her from all sorrow, +I must play a brother's part, +Shield all grief and trial from her, +If it need be, with my heart. +Years passed, and his name grew famous; +We were proud, both she and I; +And we lived upon his letters, +While the slow days fleeted by. + +Then at last--you know the story, +How a fearful rumour spread, +Till all hope had slowly faded, +And we heard that he was dead. +Dead! Oh, those were bitter hours; +Yet within my soul there dwelt +A warning, and while others mourned him, +Something like a hope I felt. + +His was no weak life as mine was, +But a life, so full and strong-- +No, I could not think he perished +Nameless, 'mid a conquered throng. +How she drooped! Years passed; no tidings +Came, and yet that little flame +Of strange hope within my spirit +Still burnt on, and lived the same. + +Ah! my child, our hearts will fail us, +When to us they strongest seem; +I can look back on those hours +As a fearful, evil dream. +She had long despaired; what wonder +That her heart had turned to mine? +Earthly loves are deep and tender, +Not eternal and divine! + +Can I say how bright a future +Rose before my soul that day? +Oh, so strange, so sweet, so tender-- +And I had to turn away. +Hard and terrible the struggle, +For the pain not mine alone; +I called back my Brother's spirit, +And I bade him claim his own. + +Told her--now I dared to do it-- +That I felt the day would rise +When he would return to gladden +My weak heart and her bright eyes. +And I pleaded--pleaded sternly-- +In his name, and for his sake: +Now, I can speak calmly of it, +Then, I thought my heart would break. + +Soon--ah, Love had not deceived me, +(Love's true instincts never err,) +Wounded, weak, escaped from prison, +He returned to me; to her. +I could thank God that bright morning, +When I felt my Brother's gaze, +That my heart was true and loyal, +As in our old boyish days. + +Bought by wounds and deeds of daring, +Honours he had brought away; +Glory crowned his name--my Brother's; +Mine too!--we were one that day. +Since the crown on him had fallen, +"VICTOR IN A NOBLE STRIFE," +I could live and die contented +With my poor ignoble life. + +Well, my darling, almost weary +Of my story? Wait awhile; +For the rest is only joyful; +I can tell it with a smile. +One bright promise still was left me, +Wound so close about my soul, +That, as one by one had failed me, +This dream now absorbed the whole. + +"SINGER OF A NOBLE POEM,"-- +Ah, my darling, few and rare +Burn the glorious names of Poets, +Like stars in the purple air. +That too, and I glory in it, +That great gift my Godfrey won; +I have my dear share of honour, +Gained by that beloved one. + +One day shall my darling read it; +Now she cannot understand +All the noble thoughts, that lighten +Through the genius of the land. +I am proud to be his brother, +Proud to think that hope was true; +Though I longed and strove so vainly, +What I failed in, he could do. + +I was long before I knew it, +Longer ere I felt it so; +Then I strung my rhymes together +Only for the poor and low. +And, it pleases me to know it, +(For I love them well indeed,) +They care for my humble verses, +Fitted for their humble need. + +And, it cheers my heart to bear it, +Where the far-off settlers roam, +My poor words are sung and cherished, +Just because they speak of Home. +And the little children sing them, +(That, I think, has pleased me best,) +Often, too, the dying love them, +For they tell of Heaven and rest. + +So my last vain dream has faded; +(Such as I to think of fame!) +Yet I will not say it failed me, +For it crowned my Godfrey's name. +No; my Angel did not cheat me, +For my long life has been blest; +He did give me Love and Sorrow, +He will bring me Light and Rest. + + + + +VERSE: A WOMAN'S QUESTION + + +Before I trust my Fate to thee, +Or place my hand in thine, +Before I let thy Future give +Colour and form to mine, +Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night for me. + +I break all slighter bonds, nor feel +A shadow of regret: +Is there one link within the Past, +That holds thy spirit yet? +Or is thy Faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge to thee? + +Does there within thy dimmest dreams +A possible future shine, +Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe, +Untouched, unshared by mine? +If so, at any pain or cost, oh, tell me before all is lost. + +Look deeper still. If thou canst feel +Within thy inmost soul, +That thou hast kept a portion back, +While I have staked the whole; +Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me so. + +Is there within thy heart a need +That mine cannot fulfil? +One chord that any other hand +Could better wake or still? +Speak now--lest at some future day my whole life wither and decay. + +Lives there within thy nature bid +The demon-spirit Change, +Shedding a passing glory still +On all things new and strange?-- +It may not be thy fault alone--but shield my heart against thy own. + +Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day +And answer to my claim, +That Fate, and that to-day's mistake, +Not thou--had been to blame? +Some soothe their conscience thus: but thou, wilt surely warn and save me +now. + +Nay, answer not--I dare not hear, +The words would come too late; +Yet I would spare thee all remorse, +So, comfort thee, my Fate-- +Whatever on my heart may fall--remember I would risk it all! + + + + +VERSE: THE THREE RULERS + + +I saw a Ruler take his stand +And trample on a mighty land; +The People crouched before his beck, +His iron heel was on their neck, +His name shone bright through blood and pain, +His sword flashed back their praise again. + +I saw another Ruler rise-- +His words were noble, good, and wise; +With the calm sceptre of his pen +He ruled the minds and thoughts of men; +Some scoffed, some praised--while many heard, +Only a few obeyed his word. + +Another Ruler then I saw-- +Love and sweet Pity were his law: +The greatest and the least had part +(Yet most the unhappy) in his heart-- +The People, in a mighty band, +Rose up, and drove him from the land! + + + + +VERSE: A DEAD PAST + + +Spare her at least: look, you have taken from me +The Present, and I murmur not, nor moan; +The Future too, with all her glorious promise; +But do not leave me utterly alone. + +Spare me the Past--for, see, she cannot harm you, +She lies so white and cold, wrapped in her shroud; +All, all my own! and, trust me, I will hide her +Within my soul, nor speak to her aloud. + +I folded her soft hands upon her bosom, +And strewed my flowers upon her--they still live-- +Sometimes I like to kiss her closed white eye-lids, +And think of all the joy she used to give. + +Cruel indeed it were to take her from me; +She sleeps, she will not wake--no fear--again: +And so I laid her, such a gentle burthen, +Quietly on my heart to still its pain. + +I do not think that any smiling Present, +Any vague Future, spite of all her charms, +Could ever rival her. You know you laid her, +Long years ago, then living, in my arms. + +Leave her at least--while my tears fall upon her, +I dream she smiles, just as she did of yore; +As dear as ever to me--nay, it may be, +Even dearer still--since I have nothing more. + + + + +VERSE: A DOUBTING HEART + + +Where are the swallows fled? +Frozen and dead, +Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore. +Oh doubting heart! +Far over purple seas, +They wait, in sunny ease, +The balmy southern breeze, +To bring them to their northern homes once more. + +Why must the flowers die? +Prisoned they lie +In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain. +Oh doubting heart! +They only sleep below +The soft white ermine snow, +While winter winds shall blow, +To breathe and smile upon you soon again. + +The sun has hid its rays +These many days; +Will dreary hours never leave the earth? +Oh doubting heart! +The stormy clouds on high +Veil the same sunny sky, +That soon (for spring is nigh) +Shall wake the summer into golden mirth. + +Fair hope is dead, and light +Is quenched in night. +What sound can break the silence of despair? +Oh doubting heart! +Thy sky is overcast, +Yet stars shall rise at last, +Brighter for darkness past, +And angels' silver voices stir the air. + + + + +VERSE: A STUDENT + + +Over an ancient scroll I bent, +Steeping my soul in wise content, +Nor paused a moment, save to chide +A low voice whispering at my side. + +I wove beneath the stars' pale shine +A dream, half human, half divine; +And shook off (not to break the charm) +A little hand laid on my arm. + +I read; until my heart would glow +With the great deeds of long ago; +Nor heard, while with those mighty dead, +Pass to and fro a faltering tread. + +On the old theme I pondered long-- +The struggle between right and wrong; +I could not check such visions high, +To soothe a little quivering sigh. + +I tried to solve the problem--Life; +Dreaming of that mysterious strife, +How could I leave such reasonings wise, +To answer two blue pleading eyes? + +I strove how best to give, and when, +My blood to save my fellow-men-- +How could I turn aside, to look +At snowdrops laid upon my book? + +Now Time has fled--the world is strange, +Something there is of pain and change; +My books lie closed upon the shelf; +I miss the old heart in myself. + +I miss the sunbeams in my room-- +It was not always wrapped in gloom: +I miss my dreams--they fade so fast, +Or flit into some trivial past. + +The great stream of the world goes by; +None care, or heed, or question, why +I, the lone student, cannot raise +My voice or hand as in old days. + +No echo seems to wake again +My heart to anything but pain, +Save when a dream of twilight brings +The fluttering of an angel's wings! + + + + +VERSE: A KNIGHT ERRANT + + +Though he lived and died among us, +Yet his name may be enrolled +With the knights whose deeds of daring +Ancient chronicles have told. + +Still a stripling, he encountered +Poverty, and struggled long, +Gathering force from every effort, +Till he knew his arm was strong. + +Then his heart and life he offered +To his radiant mistress--Truth; +Never thought, or dream, or faltering, +Marred the promise of his youth. + +So he rode forth to defend her, +And her peerless worth proclaim; +Challenging each recreant doubter +Who aspersed her spotless name. + +First upon his path stood Ignorance, +Hideous in his brutal might; +Hard the blows and long the battle +Ere the monster took to flight. + +Then, with light and fearless spirit, +Prejudice he dared to brave; +Hunting back the lying craven +To her black sulphureous cave. + +Followed by his servile minions, +Custom, the old Giant, rose; +Yet he, too, at last was conquered +By the good Knight's weighty blows. + +Then he turned, and, flushed with victory +Struck upon the brazen shield +Of the world's great king, Opinion +And defied him to the field. + +Once again he rose a conqueror, +And, though wounded in the fight, +With a dying smile of triumph +Saw that Truth had gained her right. + +On his failing ear re-echoing +Came the shouting round her throne; +Little cared he that no future +With her name would link his own. + +Spent with many a hard-fought battle, +Slowly ebbed his life away, +And the crowd that flocked to greet her +Trampled on him where he lay. + +Gathering all his strength, he saw her +Crowned and reigning in her pride! +Looked his last upon her beauty, +Raised his eyes to God, and died. + + + + +VERSE: LINGER, OH, GENTLE TIME + + +Linger, oh, gentle Time, +Linger, oh, radiant grace of bright To-day! +Let not the hours' chime +Call thee away, +But linger near me still with fond delay. + +Linger, for thou art mine! +What dearer treasures can the future hold? +What sweeter flowers than thine +Can she unfold? +What secrets tell my heart thou hast not told? + +Oh, linger in thy flight! +For shadows gather round, and should we part, +A dreary starless night +May fill my heart,-- +Then pause and linger yet ere thou depart. + +Linger, I ask no more,-- +Thou art enough for ever--thou alone; +What future can restore, +When thou art flown, +All that I hold from thee and call my own? + + + + +VERSE: HOMEWARD BOUND + + +I have seen a fiercer tempest, +Known a louder whirlwind blow; +I was wrecked off red Algiers, +Six-and-thirty years ago. +Young I was, and yet old seamen +Were not strong or calm as I; +While life held such treasures for me, +I felt sure I could not die. + +Life I struggled for--and saved it; +Life alone--and nothing more; +Bruised, half dead, alone and helpless, +I was cast upon the shore. +I feared the pitiless rocks of Ocean; +So the great sea rose--and then +Cast me from her friendly bosom, +On the pitiless hearts of men. + +Gaunt and dreary ran the mountains, +With black gorges, up the land; +Up to where the lonely Desert +Spreads her burning, dreary sand: +In the gorges of the mountains, +On the plain beside the sea, +Dwelt my stern and cruel masters, +The black Moors of Barbary. + +Ten long years I toiled among them, +Hopeless--as I used to say; +Now I know Hope burnt within me +Fiercer, stronger, day by day: +Those dim years of toil and sorrow +Like one long dark dream appear; +One long day of weary waiting-- +Then each day was like a year. + +How I cursed the land--my prison; +How I cursed the serpent sea-- +And the Demon Fate that showered +All her curses upon me; +I was mad, I think--God pardon +Words so terrible and wild-- +This voyage would have been my last one, +For I left a wife and child. + +Never did one tender vision +Fade away before my sight, +Never once through all my slavery, +Burning day or dreary night; +In my soul it lived, and kept me, +Now I feel, from black despair, +And my heart was not quite broken, +While they lived and blest me there. + +When at night my task was over, +I would hasten to the shore; +(All was strange and foreign inland, +Nothing I had known before;) +Strange looked the bleak mountain passes, +Strange the red glare and black shade, +And the Oleanders, waving +To the sound the fountains made. + +Then I gazed at the great Ocean, +Till she grew a friend again; +And because she knew old England, +I forgave her all my pain: +So the blue still sky above me, +With its white clouds' fleecy fold, +And the glimmering stars, (though brighter,) +Looked like home and days of old. + +And a calm would fall upon me, +Worn perhaps with work and pain, +The wild hungry longing left me, +And I was myself again: +Looking at the silver waters, +Looking up at the far sky, +Dreams of home and all I left there +Floated sorrowfully by. + +A fair face, but pale with sorrow, +With blue eyes, brimful of tears, +And the little red mouth, quivering +With a smile, to hide its fears; +Holding out her baby towards me, +From the sky she looked on me; +So it was that last I saw her, +As the ship put out to sea. + +Sometimes, (and a pang would seize me +That the years were floating on,) +I would strive to paint her, altered, +And the little baby gone: +She no longer young and girlish, +The child, standing by her knee, +And her face, more pale and saddened +With the weariness for me. + +Then I saw, as night grew darker. +How she taught my child to pray, +Holding its small hands together, +For its father, far away; +And I felt her sorrow, weighing +Heavier on me than my own; +Pitying her blighted spring-time, +And her joy so early flown. + +Till upon my hands (now hardened +With the rough, harsh toil of years) +Bitter drops of anguish falling, +Woke me from my dream, to tears; +Woke me as a slave, an outcast. +Leagues from home, across the deep; +So--though you may call it childish-- +So I sobbed myself to sleep. + +Well, the years sped on--my Sorrow, +Calmer, and yet stronger grown, +Was my shield against all suffering, +Poorer, meaner, than her own. +Thus my cruel master's harshness +Fell upon me all in vain, +Yet the tale of what we suffered +Echoed back from main to main. + +You have heard in a far country +Of a self-devoted band, +Vowed to rescue Christian captives +Pining in a foreign land. +And these gentle-hearted strangers +Year by year go forth from Rome, +In their hands the hard-earned ransom, +To restore some exiles home. + +I was freed: they broke the tidings +Gently to me: but indeed +Hour by hour sped on, I knew not +What the words meant--I was freed! +Better so, perhaps; while sorrow +(More akin to earthly things) +Only strains the sad heart's fibres-- +Joy, bright stranger, breaks the strings. + +Yet at last it rushed upon me, +And my heart beat full and fast; +What were now my years of waiting, +What was all the dreary past? +Nothing--to the impatient throbbing +I must bear across the sea: +Nothing--to the eternal hours +Still between my home and me! + +How the voyage passed, I know not; +Strange it was once more to stand +With my countrymen around me, +And to clasp an English hand. +But, through all, my heart was dreaming +Of the first words I should hear, +In the gentle voice that echoed, +Fresh as ever, on my ear. + +Should I see her start of wonder, +And the sudden truth arise, +Flushing all her face and lightening +The dimmed splendour of her eyes? +Oh! to watch the fear and doubting +Stir the silent depths of pain, +And the rush of joy--then melting +Into perfect peace again. + +And the child!--but why remember +Foolish fancies that I thought? +Every tree and every hedge-row +From the well-known past I brought: +I would picture my dear cottage, +See the crackling wood-fire burn, +And the two beside it seated, +Watching, waiting, my return. + +So, at last we reached the harbour. +I remember nothing more +Till I stood, my sick heart throbbing, +With my hand upon the door. +There I paused--I heard her speaking; +Low, soft, murmuring words she said; +Then I first knew the dumb terror +I had had, lest she were dead. + +It was evening in late autumn, +And the gusty wind blew chill; +Autumn leaves were falling round me, +And the red sun lit the hill. +Six-and-twenty years are vanished +Since then--I am old and grey, +But I never told to mortal +What I saw, until this day. + +She was seated by the fire, +In her arms she held a child, +Whispering baby-words caressing, +And then, looking up, she smiled: +Smiled on him who stood beside her-- +Oh! the bitter truth was told, +In her look of trusting fondness-- +I had seen the look of old! + +But she rose and turned towards me +(Cold and dumb I waited there) +With a shriek of fear and terror, +And a white face of despair. +He had been an ancient comrade-- +Not a single word we said, +While we gazed upon each other, +He the living: I the dead! + +I drew nearer, nearer to her, +And I took her trembling hand, +Looking on her white face, looking +That her heart might understand +All the love and all the pity +That my lips refused to say-- +I thank God no thought save sorrow +Rose in our crushed hearts that day. + +Bitter tears that desolate moment, +Bitter, bitter tears we wept, +We three broken hearts together, +While the baby smiled and slept. +Tears alone--no words were spoken, +Till he--till her husband said +That my boy, (I had forgotten +The poor child,) that he was dead. + +Then at last I rose, and, turning, +Wrung his hand, but made no sign; +And I stooped and kissed her forehead +Once more, as if she were mine. +Nothing of farewell I uttered, +Save in broken words to pray +That God would ever guard and bless her-- +Then in silence passed away. + +Over the great restless ocean +Six-and-twenty years I roam; +All my comrades, old and weary, +Have gone back to die at home.-- +Home! yes, I shall reach a haven, +I, too, shall reach home and rest; +I shall find her waiting for me +With our baby on her breast. + + + + +VERSE: LIFE AND DEATH + + +"What is Life, Father?" +"A Battle, my child, +Where the strongest lance may fail, +Where the wariest eyes may be beguiled, +And the stoutest heart may quail. +Where the foes are gathered on every hand, +And rest not day or night, +And the feeble little ones must stand +In the thickest of the fight." + +"What is Death, Father?" +"The rest, my child, +When the strife and the toil are o'er; +The Angel of God, who, calm and mild, +Says we need fight no more; +Who, driving away the demon band, +Bids the din of the battle cease; +Takes banner and spear from our failing hand, +And proclaims an eternal Peace." + +"Let me die, Father! I tremble and fear +To yield in that terrible strife!" + +"The crown must be won for Heaven, dear, +In the battle-field of life: +My child, though thy foes are strong and tried, +He loveth the weak and small; +The Angels of Heaven are on thy side, +And God is over all!" + + + + +VERSE: NOW + + +Rise! for the day is passing, +And you lie dreaming on; +The others have buckled their armour, +And forth to the fight are gone: +A place in the ranks awaits you, +Each man has some part to play; +The Past and the Future are nothing, +In the face of the stern To-day. + +Rise from your dreams of the Future-- +Of gaining some hard-fought field; +Of storming some airy fortress, +Or bidding some giant yield; +Your Future has deeds of glory, +Of honour (God grant it may!) +But your arm will never be stronger, +Or the need so great as To-day. + +Rise! if the Past detains you, +Her sunshine and storms forget; +No chains so unworthy to hold you +As those of a vain regret: +Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever, +Cast her phantom arms away, +Nor look back, save to learn the lesson +Of a nobler strife To-day. + +Rise! for the day is passing: +The sound that you scarcely hear +Is the enemy marching to battle-- +Arise! for the foe is here! +Stay not to sharpen your weapons, +Or the hour will strike at last, +When, from dreams of a coming battle, +You may wake to find it past! + + + + +VERSE: CLEANSING FIRES + + +Let thy gold be cast in the furnace, +Thy red gold, precious and bright, +Do not fear the hungry fire, +With its caverns of burning light: +And thy gold shall return more precious, +Free from every spot and stain; +For gold must be tried by fire, +As a heart must be tried by pain! + +In the cruel fire of Sorrow +Cast thy heart, do not faint or wail; +Let thy hand be firm and steady, +Do not let thy spirit quail: +But wait till the trial is over, +And take thy heart again; +For as gold is tried by fire, +So a heart must be tried by pain! + +I shall know by the gleam and glitter +Of the golden chain you wear, +By your heart's calm strength in loving, +Of the fire they have had to bear. +Beat on, true heart, for ever; +Shine bright, strong golden chain; +And bless the cleansing fire, +And the furnace of living pain! + + + + +VERSE: THE VOICE OF THE WIND + + +Let us throw more logs on the fire! +We have need of a cheerful light, +And close round the hearth to gather, +For the wind has risen to-night. +With the mournful sound of its wailing +It has checked the children's glee, +And it calls with a louder clamour +Than the clamour of the sea. +Hark to the voice of the wind! + +Let us listen to what it is saying, +Let us hearken to where it has been; +For it tells, in its terrible crying, +The fearful sights it has seen. +It clatters loud at the casements, +Round the house it hurries on, +And shrieks with redoubled fury, +When we say "The blast is gone!" +Hark to the voice of the wind! + +It has been on the field of battle, +Where the dying and wounded lie; +And it brings the last groan they uttered, +And the ravenous vulture's cry. +It has been where the icebergs were meeting, +And closed with a fearful crash; +On shores where no foot has wandered, +It has heard the waters dash. +Hark to the voice of the wind! + +It has been on the desolate ocean, +When the lightning struck the mast; +It has heard the cry of the drowning, +Who sank as it hurried past; +The words of despair and anguish, +That were heard by no living ear; +The gun that no signal answered: +It brings them all to us here. +Hark to the voice of the wind! + +It has been on the lonely moorland, +Where the treacherous snow-drift lies, +Where the traveller, spent and weary, +Gasped fainter and fainter cries; +It has heard the bay of the bloodhounds, +On the track of the hunted slave, +The lash and the curse of the master, +And the groan that the captive gave. +Hark to the voice of the wind! + +It has swept through the gloomy forest, +Where the sledge was urged to its speed, +Where the howling wolves were rushing +On the track of the panting steed. +Where the pool was black and lonely, +It caught up a splash and a cry-- +Only the bleak sky heard it, +And the wind as it hurried by. +Hark to the voice of the wind! + +Then throw more logs on the fire, +Since the air is bleak and cold, +And the children are drawing nigher, +For the tales that the wind has told. +So closer and closer gather +Round the red and crackling light; +And rejoice (while the wind is blowing) +We are safe and warm to-night. +Hark to the voice of the wind! + + + + +VERSE: TREASURES + + +Let me count my treasures, +All my soul holds dear, +Given me by dark spirits +Whom I used to fear. + +Through long days of anguish, +And sad nights, did Pain +Forge my shield, Endurance, +Bright and free from stain! + +Doubt, in misty caverns, +'Mid dark horrors sought, +Till my peerless jewel, +Faith to me she brought. + +Sorrow, that I wearied +Should remain so long, +Wreathed my starry glory, +The bright Crown of Song. + +Strife, that racked my spirit, +Without hope or rest, +Left the blooming flower, +Patience, on my breast. + +Suffering, that I dreaded, +Ignorant of her charms, +Laid the fair child, Pity, +Smiling, in my arms. + +So I count my treasures, +Stored in days long past-- +And I thank the givers, +Whom I know at last! + + + + +VERSE: SHINING STARS + + +Shine, ye stars of heaven, +On a world of pain! +See old Time destroying +All our hoarded gain; +All our sweetest flowers, +Every stately shrine, +All our hard-earned glory, +Every dream divine! + +Shine, ye stars of heaven, +On the rolling years! +See how Time, consoling, +Dries the saddest tears, +Bids the darkest storm-clouds +Pass in gentle rain; +While upspring in glory, +Flowers and dreams again! + +Shine, ye stars of heaven, +On a world of fear! +See how Time, avenging, +Bringeth judgment here; +Weaving ill-won honours +To a fiery crown; +Bidding hard hearts perish; +Casting proud hearts down. + +Shine, ye stars of heaven, +On the hours' slow flight! +See how Time, rewarding, +Gilds good deeds with light; +Pays with kingly measure; +Brings earth's dearest prize; +Or, crowned with rays diviner, +Bids the end arise! + + + + +VERSE: WAITING + + +"Wherefore dwell so sad and lonely, +By the desolate sea-shore, +With the melancholy surges +Beating at your cottage door? + +"You shall dwell beside the castle +Shadowed by our ancient trees; +And your life shall pass on gently, +Cared for, and in rest and ease." + +"Lady, one who loved me dearly +Sailed for distant lands away; +And I wait here his returning +Hopefully from day to day. + +"To my door I bring my spinning, +Watching every ship I see; +Waiting, hoping, till the sunset +Fades into the western sea. + +"After sunset, at my casement, +Still I place a signal light; +He will see its well-known shining +Should his ship return at night. + +"Lady, see your infant smiling, +With its flaxen curling hair-- +I remember when your mother +Was a baby just as fair. + +"I was watching then, and hoping: +Years have brought great change to all; +To my neighbours in their cottage, +To you nobles at the hall. + +"Not to me--for I am waiting, +And the years have fled so fast, +I must look at you to tell me +That a weary time has past! + +"When I hear a footstep coming +On the shingle--years have fled-- +Yet amid a thousand others, +I shall know his quick, light tread. + +"When I hear (to-night it may be) +Some one pausing at my door, +I shall know the gay soft accents, +Heard and welcomed oft before! + +"So each day I am more hopeful, +He may come before the night: +Every sunset I feel surer +He must come ere morning light. + +"Then I thank you, noble lady, +But I cannot do your will: +Where he left me, he must find me. +Waiting, watching, hoping, still!" + + + + +VERSE: THE CRADLE SONG OF THE POOR + + +Hush! I cannot bear to see thee +Stretch thy tiny hands in vain; +Dear, I have no bread to give thee, +Nothing, child, to ease thy pain! +When God sent thee first to bless me, +Proud, and thankful too, was I; +Now, my darling I, thy mother, +Almost long to see thee die. +Sleep, my darling, thou art weary; +God is good, but life is dreary. + +I have watched thy beauty fading, +And thy strength sink day by day; +Soon, I know, will Want and Fever +Take thy little life away. +Famine makes thy father reckless, +Hope has left both him and me; +We could suffer all, my baby, +Had we but a crust for thee. +Sleep, my darling, thou art weary; +God is good, but life is dreary. + +Better thou shouldst perish early, +Starve so soon, my darling one, +Than in helpless sin and sorrow +Vainly live, as I have done. +Better that thy angel spirit +With my joy, my peace, were flown, +Than thy heart grew cold and careless, +Reckless, hopeless, like my own. +Sleep, my darling, thou art weary; +God is good, but life is dreary. + +I am wasted, dear, with hunger, +And my brain is all opprest, +I have scarcely strength to press thee, +Wan and feeble, to my breast. +Patience, baby, God will help us, +Death will come to thee and me, +He will take us to his Heaven, +Where no want or pain can be. +Sleep, my darling, thou art weary; +God is good, but life is dreary. + +Such the plaint that, late and early, +Did we listen, we might hear +Close beside us,--but the thunder +Of a city dulls our ear. +Every heart, as God's bright Angel, +Can bid one such sorrow cease; +God has glory when his children +Bring his poor ones joy and peace! +Listen, nearer while she sings +Sounds the fluttering of wings! + + + + +VERSE: BE STRONG + + +Be strong to hope, oh Heart! +Though day is bright, +The stars can only shine +In the dark night. +Be strong, oh Heart of mine, +Look towards the light! + +Be strong to bear, oh Heart! +Nothing is vain: +Strive not, for life is care, +And God sends pain, +Heaven is above, and there +Rest will remain! + +Be strong to love, oh Heart! +Love knows not wrong, +Didst thou love--creatures even, +Life were not long; +Didst thou love God in Heaven, +Thou wouldst be strong! + + + + +VERSE: GOD'S GIFTS + + +God gave a gift to Earth:- a child, +Weak, innocent, and undefiled, +Opened its ignorant eyes and smiled. + +It lay so helpless, so forlorn, +Earth took it coldly and in scorn, +Cursing the day when it was born. + +She gave it first a tarnished name, +For heritage, a tainted fame, +Then cradled it in want and shame. + +All influence of Good or Right, +All ray of God's most holy light, +She curtained closely from its sight. + +Then turned her heart, her eyes away, +Ready to look again, the day +Its little feet began to stray. + +In dens of guilt the baby played, +Where sin, and sin alone, was made +The law that all around obeyed. + +With ready and obedient care, +He learnt the tasks they taught him there; +Black sin for lesson--oaths for prayer. + +Then Earth arose, and, in her might, +To vindicate her injured right, +Thrust him in deeper depths of night. + +Branding him with a deeper brand +Of shame, he could not understand, +The felon outcast of the land. + +* * * + +God gave a gift to Earth:- a child, +Weak, innocent, and undefiled, +Opened its ignorant eyes and smiled. + +And Earth received the gift, and cried +Her joy and triumph far and wide, +Till echo answered to her pride. + +She blest the hour when first he came +To take the crown of pride and fame, +Wreathed through long ages for his name. + +Then bent her utmost art and skill +To train the supple mind and will, +And guard it from a breath of ill. + +She strewed his morning path with flowers, +And Love, in tender dropping showers, +Nourished the blue and dawning hours. + +She shed, in rainbow hues of light, +A halo round the Good and Right, +To tempt and charm the baby's sight. + +And every step, of work or play. +Was lit by some such dazzling ray, +Till morning brightened into day. + +And then the World arose, and said-- +Let added honours now be shed +On such a noble heart and head! + +O World, both gifts were pure and bright, +Holy and sacred in God's sight:- +God will judge them and thee aright! + + + + +VERSE: A TOMB IN GHENT + + +A smiling look she had, a figure slight, +With cheerful air, and step both quick and light; +A strange and foreign look the maiden bore, +That suited the quaint Belgian dress she wore +Yet the blue fearless eyes in her fair face, +And her soft voice told her of English race; +And ever, as she flitted to and fro, +She sang, (or murmured, rather,) soft and low, +Snatches of song, as if she did not know +That she was singing, but the happy load +Of dream and thought thus from her heart o'erflowed: +And while on household cares she passed along, +The air would bear me fragments of her song; +Not such as village maidens sing, and few +The framers of her changing music knew; +Chants such as heaven and earth first heard of when +The master Palestrina held the pen. +But I with awe had often turned the page, +Yellow with time, and half defaced by age, +And listened, with an ear not quite unskilled, +While heart and soul to the grand echo thrilled; +And much I marvelled, as her cadence fell +From the Laudate, that I knew so well, +Into Scarlatti's minor fugue, how she +Had learned such deep and solemn harmony. +But what she told I set in rhyme, as meet +To chronicle the influence, dim and sweet, +'Neath which her young and innocent life had grown: +Would that my words were simple as her own. + +Many years since, an English workman went +Over the seas, to seek a home in Ghent, +Where English skill was prized; nor toiled in vain; +Small, yet enough, his hard-earned daily gain. +He dwelt alone--in sorrow, or in pride. +He mixed not with the workers by his side; +He seemed to care but for one present joy-- +To tend, to watch, to teach his sickly boy. +Severe to all beside, yet for the child +He softened his rough speech to soothings mild; +For him he smiled, with him each day he walked +Through the dark gloomy streets; to him he talked +Of home, of England, and strange stories told +Of English heroes in the days of old; +And, (when the sunset gilded roof and spire,) +The marvellous tale which never seemed to tire: +How the gilt dragon, glaring fiercely down +From the great belfry, watching all the town, +Was brought, a trophy of the wars divine, +By a Crusader from far Palestine, +And given to Bruges; and how Ghent arose, +And how they struggled long as deadly foes, +Till Ghent, one night, by a brave soldier's skill, +Stole the great dragon; and she keeps it still. +One day the dragon--so 'tis said--will rise, +Spread his bright wines, and glitter in the skies. +And over desert lands and azure seas, +Will seek his home 'mid palm and cedar trees. +So, as he passed the belfry every day, +The boy would look if it were flown away; +Each day surprised to find it watching there, +Above him, as he crossed the ancient square, +To seek the great cathedral, that had grown +A home for him--mysterious and his own. + +Dim with dark shadows of the ages past, +St. Bavon stands, solemn and rich and vast; +The slender pillars, in long vistas spread, +Like forest arches meet and close o'erhead; +So high that, like a weak and doubting prayer, +Ere it can float to the carved angels there, +The silver clouded incense faints in air: +Only the organ's voice, with peal on peal, +Can mount to where those far-off angels kneel. +Here the pale boy, beneath a low side-arch, +Would listen to its solemn chant or march; +Folding his little hands, his simple prayer +Melted in childish dreams, and both in air: +While the great organ over all would roll, +Speaking strange secrets to his innocent soul, +Bearing on eagle-wings the great desire +Of all the kneeling throng, and piercing higher +Than aught but love and prayer can reach, until +Only the silence seemed to listen still; +Or gathering like a sea still more and more, +Break in melodious waves at heaven's door, +And then fall, slow and soft, in tender rain, +Upon the pleading longing hearts again. + +Then he would watch the rosy sunlight glow, +That crept along the marble floor below, +Passing, as life does, with the passing hours, +Now by a shrine all rich with gems and flowers, +Now on the brazen letters of a tomb, +Then, leaving it again to shade and gloom, +And creeping on, to show, distinct and quaint, +The kneeling figure of some marble saint: +Or lighting up the carvings strange and rare, +That told of patient toil, and reverent care; +Ivy that trembled on the spray, and ears, +Of heavy corn, and slender bulrush spears, +And all the thousand tangled weeds that grow +In summer, where the silver rivers flow; +And demon-heads grotesque, that seemed to glare +In impotent wrath on all the beauty there: +Then the gold rays up pillared shaft would climb, +And so be drawn to heaven, at evening time. +And deeper silence, darker shadows flowed +On all around, only the windows glowed +With blazoned glory, like the shields of light +Archangels bear, who, armed with love and might, +Watch upon heaven's battlements at night. +Then all was shade; the silver lamps that gleamed, +Lost in the daylight, in the darkness seemed +Like sparks of fire in the dim aisles to shine, +Or trembling stars before each separate shrine. +Grown half afraid, the child would leave them there, +And come out, blinded by the noisy glare +That burst upon him from the busy square. + +The church was thus his home for rest or play, +And as he came and went again each day, +The pictured faces that he knew so well, +Seemed to smile on him welcome and farewell. +But holier, and dearer far than all, +One sacred spot his own he loved to call; +Save at mid-day, half-hidden by the gloom; +The people call it The White Maiden's Tomb: +For there she stands; her folded hands are pressed +Together, and laid softly on her breast, +As if she waited but a word to rise +From the dull earth, and pass to the blue skies; +Her lips expectant part, she holds her breath, +As listening for the angel voice of death. +None know how many years have seen her so, +Or what the name of her who sleeps below. +And here the child would come, and strive to trace, +Through the dim twilight, the pure gentle face +He loved so well, and here he oft would bring +Some violet blossom of the early spring; +And climbing softly by the fretted stand, +Not to disturb her, lay it in her hand; +Or, whispering a soft loving message sweet, +Would stoop and kiss the little marble feet. +So, when the organ's pealing music rang, +He thought amid the gloom the Maiden sang; +With reverent simple faith by her he knelt, +And fancied what she thought, and what she felt. +"Glory to God," re-echoed from her voice, +And then his little spirit would rejoice; +Or when the Requiem sobbed upon the air, +His baby tears dropped with her mournful prayer. + +So years fled on, while childish fancies past, +The childish love and simple faith could last. +The artist-soul awoke in him, the flame +Of genius, like the light of Heaven, came +Upon his brain, and (as it will, if true) +It touched his heart and lit his spirit, too +His father saw, and with a proud content +Let him forsake the toil where he had spent +His youth's first years, and on one happy day +Of pride, before the old man passed away, +He stood with quivering lips, and the big tears +Upon his cheek, and heard the dream of years +Living and speaking to his very heart-- +The low hushed murmur at the wondrous art +Of him, who with young trembling fingers made +The great church-organ answer as he played; +And, as the uncertain sound grew full and strong, +Rush with harmonious spirit-wings along, +And thrill with master-power the breathless throng. + +The old man died, and years passed on, and still +The young musician bent his heart and will +To his dear toil. St. Bavon now had grown +More dear to him, and even more his own; +And as he left it every night he prayed +A moment by the archway in the shade, +Kneeling once more within the sacred gloom +Where the White Maiden watched upon her tomb. +His hopes of travel and a world-wide fame, +Cold Time had sobered, and his fragile frame; +Content at last only in dreams to roam, +Away from the tranquillity of home; +Content that the poor dwellers by his side +Saw in him but the gentle friend and guide, +The patient counsellor in the poor strife +And petty details of their common life, +Who comforted where woe and grief might fall, +Nor slighted any pain or want as small, +But whose great heart took in and felt for all. + +Still he grew famous--many came to be +His pupils in the art of harmony. +One day a voice floated so pure and free +Above his music, that he turned to see +What angel sang, and saw before his eyes, +What made his heart leap with a strange surprise, +His own White Maiden, calm, and pure, and mild, +As in his childish dreams she sang and smiled; +Her eyes raised up to Heaven, her lips apart, +And music overflowing from her heart. +But the faint blush that tinged her cheek betrayed +No marble statue, but a living maid; +Perplexed and startled at his wondering look, +Her rustling score of Mozart's Sanctus shook; +The uncertain notes, like birds within a snare, +Fluttered and died upon the trembling air. + +Days passed; each morning saw the maiden stand, +Her eyes cast down, her lesson in her hand, +Eager to study, never weary, while +Repaid by the approving word or smile +Of her kind master; days and months fled on; +One day the pupil from the choir was gone; +Gone to take light, and joy, and youth once more, +Within the poor musician's humble door; +And to repay, with gentle happy art, +The debt so many owed his generous heart. +And now, indeed, was one who knew and felt +That a great gift of God within him dwelt; +One who could listen, who could understand, +Whose idle work dropped from her slackened hand, +While with wet eyes entranced she stood, nor knew +How the melodious winged hours flew; +Who loved his art as none had loved before, +Yet prized the noble tender spirit more. +While the great organ brought from far and near +Lovers of harmony to praise and hear, +Unmarked by aught save what filled every day, +Duty, and toil, and rest, years passed away: +And now by the low archway in the shade +Beside her mother knelt a little maid, +Who, through the great cathedral learned to roam, +Climb to the choir, and bring her father home; +And stand, demure and solemn by his side, +Patient till the last echo softly died; +Then place her little hand in his, and go +Down the dark winding stair to where below +The mother knelt, within the gathering gloom +Waiting and praying by the Maiden's Tomb. + +So their life went, until, one winter's day, +Father and child came there alone to pray-- +The mother, gentle soul, had fled away! +Their life was altered now, and yet the child +Forgot her passionate grief in time, and smiled, +Half wondering why, when spring's fresh breezes came, +To see her father was no more the same. +Half guessing at the shadow of his pain, +And then contented if he smiled again, +A sad cold smile, that passed in tears away, +As re-assured she ran once more to play. +And now each year that added grace to grace, +Fresh bloom and sunshine to the young girl's face, +Brought a strange light in the musician's eyes, +As if he saw some starry hope arise, +Breaking upon the midnight of sad skies. +It might be so: more feeble year by year, +The wanderer to his resting-place drew near. +One day the Gloria he could play no more, +Echoed its grand rejoicing as of yore; +His hands were clasped, his weary head was laid, +Upon the tomb where the White Maiden prayed: +Where the child's love first dawned, his soul first spoke, +The old man's heart there throbbed its last and broke. +The grave cathedral that had nursed his youth, +Had helped his dreaming, and had taught him truth, +Had seen his boyish grief and baby tears, +And watched the sorrows and the joys of years, +Had lit his fame and hope with sacred rays, +And consecrated sad and happy days-- +Had blessed his happiness, and soothed his pain, +Now took her faithful servant home again. + +He rests in peace: some travellers mention yet +An organist whose name they all forget. +He has a holier and a nobler fame +By poor men's hearths, who love and bless the name +Of a kind friend; and in low tones to-day, +Speak tenderly of him who passed away. +Too poor to help the daughter of their friend, +They grieved to see the little pittance end; +To see her toil and strive with cheerful heart, +To bear the lonely orphan's struggling part; +They grieved to see her go at last alone +To English kinsmen she had never known: +And here she came; the foreign girl soon found +Welcome, and love, and plenty all around, +And here she pays it back with earnest will, +By well-taught housewife watchfulness and skill; +Deep in her heart she holds her father's name, +And tenderly and proudly keeps his fame; +And while she works with thrifty Belgian care, +Past dreams of childhood float upon the air; +Some strange old chant, or solemn Latin hymn, +That echoed through the old cathedral dim, +When as a little child each day she went +To kneel and pray by an old tomb in Ghent. + + + + +VERSE: THE ANGEL OF DEATH + + +Why shouldst thou fear the beautiful angel, Death, +Who waits thee at the portals of the skies, +Ready to kiss away thy struggling breath, +Ready with gentle hand to close thine eyes? + +How many a tranquil soul has passed away, +Fled gladly from fierce pain and pleasures dim, +To the eternal splendour of the day; +And many a troubled heart still calls for him. + +Spirits too tender for the battle here +Have turned from life, its hopes, its fears, its charms; +And children, shuddering at a world so drear, +Have smiling passed away into his arms. + +He whom thou fearest will, to ease its pain, +Lay his cold hand upon thy aching heart: +Will soothe the terrors of thy troubled brain, +And bid the shadow of earth's grief depart. + +He will give back what neither time, nor might, +Nor passionate prayer, nor longing hope restore. +(Dear as to long blind eyes recovered sight,) +He will give back those who are gone before. + +Oh, what were life, if life were all? Thine eyes +Are blinded by their tears, or thou wouldst see +Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off skies, +And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee. + + + + +VERSE: A DREAM + + +All yesterday I was spinning, +Sitting alone in the sun; +And the dream that I spun was so lengthy, +It lasted till day was done. + +I heeded not cloud or shadow +That flitted over the hill, +Or the humming-bees, or the swallows, +Or the trickling of the rill. + +I took the threads for my spinning, +All of blue summer air, +And a flickering ray of sunlight +Was woven in here and there. + +The shadows grew longer and longer, +The evening wind passed by, +And the purple splendour of sunset +Was flooding the western sky. + +But I could not leave my spinning, +For so fair my dream had grown. +I heeded not, hour by hour, +How the silent day had flown. + +At last the grey shadows fell round me, +And the night came dark and chill, +And I rose and ran down the valley, +And left it all on the hill. + +I went up the hill this morning +To the place where my spinning lay-- +There was nothing but glistening dewdrops +Remained of my dream to-day. + + + + +VERSE: THE PRESENT + + +Do not crouch to-day, and worship +The old Past, whose life is fled, +Hush your voice to tender reverence; +Crowned he lies, but cold and dead: +For the Present reigns our monarch, +With an added weight of hours; +Honour her, for she is mighty! +Honour her, for she is ours! + +See the shadows of his heroes +Girt around her cloudy throne; +Every day the ranks are strengthened +By great hearts to him unknown; +Noble things the great Past promised, +Holy dreams, both strange and new; +But the Present shall fulfil them, +What he promised, she shall do. + +She inherits all his treasures, +She is heir to all his fame, +And the light that lightens round her +Is the lustre of his name; +She is wise with all his wisdom, +Living on his grave she stands, +On her brow she bears his laurels, +And his harvest in her hands. + +Coward, can she reign and conquer +If we thus her glory dim? +Let us fight for her as nobly +As our fathers fought for him. +God, who crowns the dying ages, +Bids her rule, and us obey-- +Bids us cast our lives before her, +Bids us serve the great To-day. + + + + +VERSE: CHANGES + + +Mourn, O rejoicing heart! +The hours are flying; +Each one some treasure takes, +Each one some blossom breaks, +And leaves it dying; +The chill dark night draws near, +Thy sun will soon depart, +And leave thee sighing; +Then mourn, rejoicing heart, +The hours are flying! + +Rejoice, O grieving heart! +The hours fly fast; +With each some sorrow dies, +With each some shadow flies, +Until at last +The red dawn in the east +Bids weary night depart, +And pain is past. +Rejoice then, grieving heart, +The hours fly fast! + + + + +VERSE: STRIVE, WAIT, AND PRAY + + +Strive; yet I do not promise +The prize you dream of to-day +Will not fade when you think to grasp it, +And melt in your hand away; +But another and holier treasure, +You would now perchance disdain, +Will come when your toil is over, +And pay you for all your pain. + +Wait; yet I do not tell you +The hour you long for now, +Will not come with its radiance vanished, +And a shadow upon its brow; +Yet far through the misty future, +With a crown of starry light, +An hour of joy you know not +Is winging her silent flight. + +Pray; though the gift you ask for +May never comfort your fears, +May never repay your pleading, +Yet pray, and with hopeful tears; +An answer, not that you long for, +But diviner, will come one day, +Your eyes are too dim to see it, +Yet strive, and wait, and pray. + + + + +VERSE: A LAMENT FOR THE SUMMER + + +Moan, oh ye Autumn Winds! +Summer has fled, +The flowers have closed their tender leaves and die; +The Lily's gracious head +All low must lie, +Because the gentle Summer now is dead. + +Grieve, oh ye Autumn Winds! +Summer lies low; +The rose's trembling leaves will soon be shed, +For she that loved her so, +Alas, is dead! +And one by one her loving children go. + +Wail, oh ye Autumn Winds! +She lives no more, +The gentle Summer, with her balmy breath, +Still sweeter than before +When nearer death, +And brighter every day the smile she wore! + +Mourn, mourn, oh Autumn Winds, +Lament and mourn; +How many half-blown buds must close and die; +Hopes with the Summer born +All faded lie, +And leave us desolate and Earth forlorn! + + + + +VERSE: THE UNKNOWN GRAVE + + +No name to bid us know +Who rests below, +No word of death or birth, +Only the grass's wave, +Over a mound of earth, +Over a nameless grave. + +Did this poor wandering heart +In pain depart? +Longing, but all too late, +For the calm home again, +Where patient watchers wait, +And still will wait in vain. + +Did mourners come in scorn, +And thus forlorn, +Leave him, with grief and shame. +To silence and decay, +And hide the tarnished name +Of the unconscious clay? + +It may be from his side +His loved ones died, +And last of some bright band, +(Together now once more,) +He sought his home, the land +Where they had gone before. + +No matter--limes have made +As cool a shade, +And lingering breezes pass +As tenderly and slow, +As if beneath the grass +A monarch slept below. + +No grief, though loud and deep, +Could stir that sleep; +And earth and heaven tell +Of rest that shall not cease, +Where the cold world's farewell +Fades into endless peace. + + + + +VERSE: GIVE ME THY HEART + + +With echoing steps the worshippers +Departed one by one; +The organ's pealing voice was stilled, +The vesper hymn was done; +The shadows fell from roof and arch, +Dim was the incensed air, +One lamp alone with trembling ray, +Told of the Presence there! + +In the dark church she knelt alone; +Her tears were falling fast; +"Help, Lord," she cried, "the shades of death +Upon my soul are cast! +Have I not shunned the path of sin, +And chosen the better part?" +What voice came through the sacred air?-- +"My child, give me thy Heart!" + +"Have I not laid before Thy shrine +My wealth, oh Lord?" she cried; +"Have I kept aught of gems or gold, +To minister to pride? +Have I not bade youth's joys retire, +And vain delights depart?"-- +But sad and tender was the voice-- +"My child, give me thy Heart!" + +"Have I not, Lord, gone day by day +Where Thy poor children dwell; +And carried help, and gold, and food? +Oh Lord, Thou knowest it well! +From many a house, from many a soul, +My hand bids care depart:"-- +More sad, more tender, was the voice-- +"My child, give me thy Heart!" + +"Have I not worn my strength away +With fast and penance sore? +Have I not watched and wept?" she cried; +"Did Thy dear Saints do more? +Have I not gained Thy grace, oh Lord, +And won in Heaven my part?"-- +It echoed louder in her soul-- +"My child, give me thy Heart!" + +"For I have loved thee with a love +No mortal heart can show; +A love so deep, my Saints in heaven +Its depths can never know: +When pierced and wounded on the Cross, +Man's sin and doom were mine, +I loved thee with undying love, +Immortal and divine! + +"I love thee ere the skies were spread; +My soul bears all thy pains; +To gain thy love my sacred Heart +In earthly shrines remains: +Vain are thy offerings, vain thy sighs, +Without one gift divine, +Give it, my child, thy Heart to me, +And it shall rest in mine!" + +In awe she listened, and the shade +Passed from her soul away; +In low and trembling voice she cried-- +"Lord, help me to obey! +Break Thou the chains of earth, oh Lord, +That bind and hold my heart; +Let it be Thine, and Thine alone, +Let none with Thee have part. + +"Send down, oh Lord, Thy sacred fire! +Consume and cleanse the sin +That lingers still within its depths: +Let heavenly love begin. +That sacred flame Thy Saints have known, +Kindle, oh Lord, in me, +Thou above all the rest for ever, +And all the rest in Thee." + +The blessing fell upon her soul; +Her angel by her side +Knew that the hour of peace was come; +Her soul was purified: +The shadows fell from roof and arch, +Dim was the incensed air-- +But Peace went with her as she left +The sacred Presence there! + + + + +VERSE: THE WAYSIDE INN + + +A little past the village +The Inn stood, low and white; +Green shady trees behind it, +And an orchard on the right; +Where over the green paling +The red-cheeked apples hung, +As if to watch how wearily +The sign-board creaked and swung. + +The heavy-laden branches, +Over the road hung low, +Reflected fruit or blossom +From the wayside well below; +Where children, drawing water, +Looked up and paused to see, +Amid the apple-branches, +A purple Judas Tree. + +The road stretched winding onward +For many a weary mile-- +So dusty foot-sore wanderers +Would pause and rest awhile; +And panting horses halted, +And travellers loved to tell +The quiet of the wayside inn, +The orchard, and the well. + +Here Maurice dwelt; and often +The sunburnt boy would stand +Gazing upon the distance, +And shading with his hand +His eyes, while watching vainly +For travellers, who might need +His aid to loose the bridle, +And tend the weary steed. + +And once (the boy remembered +That morning, many a day-- +The dew lay on the hawthorn, +The bird sang on the spray) +A train of horsemen, nobler +Than he had seen before, +Up from the distance galloped, +And halted at the door. + +Upon a milk-white pony, +Fit for a faery queen, +Was the loveliest little damsel +His eyes had ever seen: +A serving-man was holding +The leading rein, to guide +The pony and its mistress, +Who cantered by his side. + +Her sunny ringlets round her +A golden cloud had made, +While her large hat was keeping +Her calm blue eyes in shade; +One hand held fast the silken reins +To keep her steed in check, +The other pulled his tangled mane, +Or stroked his glossy neck. + +And as the boy brought water, +And loosed the rein, he heard +The sweetest voice that thanked him +In one low gentle word; +She turned her blue eyes from him, +Looked up, and smiled to see +The hanging purple blossoms +Upon the Judas Tree; + +And showed it with a gesture, +Half pleading, half command, +Till he broke the fairest blossom, +And laid it in her hand; +And she tied it to her saddle +With a ribbon from her hair, +While her happy laugh rang gaily, +Like silver on the air. + +But the champing steeds were rested-- +The horsemen now spurred on, +And down the dusty highway +They vanished and were gone. +Years passed, and many a traveller +Paused at the old inn-door, +But the little milk-white pony +And the child returned no more. + +Years passed, the apple-branches +A deeper shadow shed; +And many a time the Judas Tree, +Blossom and leaf, lay dead; +When on the loitering western breeze +Came the bells' merry sound, +And flowery arches rose, and flags +And banners waved around. + +Maurice stood there expectant: +The bridal train would stay +Some moments at the inn-door, +The eager watchers say; +They come--the cloud of dust draws near-- +'Mid all the state and pride, +He only sees the golden hair +And blue eyes of the bride. + +The same, yet, ah, still fairer; +He knew the face once more +That bent above the pony's neck +Years past at that inn-door: +Her shy and smiling eyes looked round, +Unconscious of the place, +Unconscious of the eager gaze +He fixed upon her face. + +He plucked a blossom from the tree-- +The Judas Tree--and cast +Its purple fragrance towards the Bride, +A message from the Past. +The signal came, the horses plunged-- +Once more she smiled around: +The purple blossom in the dust +Lay trampled on the ground. + +Again the slow years fleeted, +Their passage only known +By the height the Passion-flower +Around the porch had grown; +And many a passing traveller +Paused at the old inn-door, +But the bride, so fair and blooming, +The bride returned no more. + +One winter morning, Maurice, +Watching the branches bare, +Rustling and waving dimly +In the grey and misty air, +Saw blazoned on a carriage +Once more the well-known shield, +The stars and azure fleurs-de-lis +Upon a silver field. + +He looked--was that pale woman, +So grave, so worn, so sad, +The child, once young and smiling, +The bride, once fair and glad? +What grief had dimmed that glory, +And brought that dark eclipse +Upon her blue eyes' radiance, +And paled those trembling lips? + +What memory of past sorrow, +What stab of present pain, +Brought that deep look of anguish, +That watched the dismal rain, +That watched (with the absent spirit +That looks, yet does not see) +The dead and leafless branches +Upon the Judas Tree. + +The slow dark months crept onward +Upon their icy way, +'Till April broke in showers +And Spring smiled forth in May; +Upon the apple-blossoms +The sun shone bright again, +When slowly up the highway +Came a long funeral train. + +The bells toiled slowly, sadly, +For a noble spirit fled; +Slowly, in pomp and honour, +They bore the quiet dead. +Upon a black-plumed charger +One rode, who held a shield, +Where stars and azure fleurs-de-lis +Shone on a silver field. + +'Mid all that homage given +To a fluttering heart at rest, +Perhaps an honest sorrow +Dwelt only in one breast. +One by the inn-door standing +Watched with fast-dropping tears +The long procession passing, +And thought of bygone years, + +The boyish, silent homage +To child and bride unknown, +The pitying tender sorrow +Kept in his heart alone, +Now laid upon the coffin +With a purple flower, might be +Told to the cold dead sleeper; +The rest could only see +A fragrant purple blossom, +Plucked from a Judas Tree. + + + + +VERSE: VOICES OF THE PAST + + +You wonder that my tears should flow +In listening to that simple strain; +That those unskilful sounds should fill +My soul with joy and pain-- +How can you tell what thoughts it stirs +Within my heart again? + +You wonder why that common phrase, +So all unmeaning to your ear, +Should stay me in my merriest mood, +And thrill my soul to hear-- +How can you tell what ancient charm +Has made me hold it dear? + +You marvel that I turn away +From all those flowers so fair and bright, +And gaze at this poor herb, till tears +Arise and dim my sight-- +You cannot tell how every leaf +Breathes of a past delight. + +You smile to see me turn and speak +With one whose converse you despise; +You do not see the dreams of old +That with his voice arise-- +How can you tell what links have made +Him sacred in my eyes? + +Oh, these are Voices of the Past, +Links of a broken chain, +Wings that can bear me back to Times +Which cannot come again-- +Yet God forbid that I should lose +The echoes that remain! + + + + +VERSE: THE DARK SIDE + + +Thou hast done well, perhaps, +To lift the bright disguise, +And lay the bitter truth +Before our shrinking eyes; +When evil crawls below +What seems so pure and fair, +Thine eyes are keen and true +To find the serpent there: +And yet--I turn away; +Thy task is not divine-- +The evil angels look +On earth with eyes like thine. + +Thou hast done well, perhaps, +To show how closely wound +Dark threads of sin and self +With our best deeds are found. +How great and noble hearts, +Striving for lofty aims, +Have still some earthly cord +A meaner spirit claims; +And yet--although thy task +Is well and fairly done, +Methinks for such as thou +There is a holier one. + +Shadows there are, who dwell +Among us, yet apart, +Deaf to the claim of God, +Or kindly human heart; +Voices of earth and heaven +Call, but they turn away, +And Love, through such black night, +Can see no hope of day; +And yet--our eyes are dim, +And thine are keener far-- +Then gaze till thou canst see +The glimmer of some star. + +The black stream flows along, +Whose waters we despise-- +Show us reflected there +Some fragment of the skies; +'Neath tangled thorns and briars, +(The task is fit for thee,) +Seek for the hidden flowers, +We are too blind to see; +Then will I thy great gift +A crown and blessing call; +Angels look thus on men, +And God sees good in all! + + + + +VERSE: A FIRST SORROW + + +Arise! this day shall shine, +For evermore, +To thee a star divine, +On Time's dark shore. + +Till now thy soul has been +All glad and gay: +Bid it awake, and look +At grief to-day! + +No shade has come between +Thee and the sun; +Like some long childish dream +Thy life has run: + +But now the stream has reached +A dark, deep sea, +And Sorrow, dim and crowned, +Is waiting thee. + +Each of God's soldiers bears +A sword divine: +Stretch out thy trembling hands +To-day for thine! + +To each anointed Priest +God's summons came: +Oh, Soul, he speaks to-day +And calls thy name. + +Then, with slow reverent step, +And beating heart, +From out thy joyous days, +Thou must depart. + +And, leaving all behind, +Come forth, alone, +To join the chosen band +Around the throne. + +Raise up thine eyes--be strong, +Nor cast away +The crown, that God has given +Thy soul to-day! + + + + +VERSE: MURMURS + + +Why wilt thou make bright music +Give forth a sound of pain? +Why wilt thou weave fair flowers +Into a weary chain? + +Why turn each cool grey shadow +Into a world of fears? +Why say the winds are wailing? +Why call the dewdrops tears? + +The voices of happy nature, +And the Heaven's sunny gleam, +Reprove thy sick heart's fancies, +Upbraid thy foolish dream. + +Listen, and I will tell thee +The song Creation sings, +From the humming of bees in the heather, +To the flutter of angels' wings. + +An echo rings for ever, +The sound can never cease; +It speaks to God of glory, +It speaks to Earth of peace. + +Not alone did angels sing it +To the poor shepherds' ear; +But the sphered Heavens chant it, +While listening ages hear. + +Above thy peevish wailing +Rises that holy song; +Above Earth's foolish clamour, +Above the voice of wrong. + +No creature of God's too lowly +To murmur peace and praise: +When the starry nights grow silent, +Then speak the sunny days. + +So leave thy sick heart's fancies, +And lend thy little voice +To the silver song of glory +That bids the world rejoice. + + + + +VERSE: GIVE + + +See the rivers flowing +Downwards to the sea, +Pouring all their treasures +Bountiful and free-- +Yet to help their giving +Hidden springs arise; +Or, if need be, showers +Feed them from the skies! + +Watch the princely flowers +Their rich fragrance spread, +Load the air with perfumes, +From their beauty shed-- +Yet their lavish spending +Leaves them not in dearth, +With fresh life replenished +By their mother earth! + +Give thy heart's best treasures-- +From fair Nature learn; +Give thy love--and ask not, +Wait not a return! +And the more thou spendest +From thy little store, +With a double bounty, +God will give thee more. + + + + +VERSE: MY JOURNAL + + +It is a dreary evening; +The shadows rise and fall: +With strange and ghostly changes, +They flicker on the wall. + +Make the charred logs burn brighter; +I will show you, by their blaze, +The half-forgotten record +Of bygone things and days. + +Bring here the ancient volume; +The clasp is old and worn, +The gold is dim and tarnished, +And the faded leaves are torn. + +The dust has gathered on it-- +There are so few who care +To read what Time has written +Of joy and sorrow there. + +Look at the first fair pages; +Yes--I remember all: +The joys now seem so trivial, +The griefs so poor and small. + +Let us read the dreams of glory +That childish fancy made; +Turn to the next few pages, +And see how soon they fade. + +Here, where still waiting, dreaming, +For some ideal Life, +The young heart all unconscious +Had entered on the strife. + +See how this page is blotted: +What--could those tears be mine? +How coolly I can read you, +Each blurred and trembling line. + +Now I can reason calmly, +And, looking back again, +Can see divinest meaning +Threading each separate pain. + +Here strong resolve--how broken; +Rash hope, and foolish fear, +And prayers, which God in pity +Refused to grant or hear. + +Nay--I will turn the pages +To where the tale is told +Of how a dawn diviner +Flushed the dark clouds with gold. + +And see, that light has gilded +The story--nor shall set; +And, though in mist and shadow, +You know I see it yet. + +Here--well, it does not matter, +I promised to read all; +I know not why I falter, +Or why my tears should fall; + +You see each grief is noted; +Yet it was better so-- +I can rejoice to-day--the pain +Was over, long ago. + +I read--my voice is failing, +But you can understand +How the heart beat that guided +This weak and trembling hand. + +Pass over that long struggle, +Read where the comfort came, +Where the first time is written +Within the book your name. + +Again it comes, and oftener, +Linked, as it now must be, +With all the joy or sorrow +That Life may bring to me. + +So all the rest--you know it: +Now shut the clasp again, +And put aside the record +Of bygone hours of pain. + +The dust shall gather on it, +I will not read it more: +Give me your hand--what was it +We were talking of before? + +I know not why--but tell me +Of something gay and bright. +It is strange--my heart is heavy, +And my eyes are dim to-night. + + + + +VERSE: A CHAIN + + +The bond that links our souls together; +Will it last through stormy weather? +Will it moulder and decay +As the long hours pass away? +Will it stretch if Fate divide us, +When dark and weary hours have tried us? +Oh, if it look too poor and slight +Let us break the links to-night! + +It was not forged by mortal hands, +Or clasped with golden bars and bands; +Save thine and mine, no other eyes +The slender link can recognise: +In the bright light it seems to fade-- +And it is hidden in the shade; +While Heaven nor Earth have never heard, +Or solemn vow, or plighted word. + +Yet what no mortal hand could make, +No mortal power can ever break: +What words or vows could never do, +No words or vows can make untrue; +And if to other hearts unknown +The dearer and the more our own, +Because too sacred and divine +For other eyes, save thine and mine. + +And see, though slender, it is made +Of Love and Trust, and can they fade? +While, if too slight it seem, to bear +The breathings of the summer air, +We know that it could bear the weight +Of a most heavy heart of late, +And as each day and hour flew +The stronger for its burthen grew. + +And, too, we know and feel again +It has been sanctified by pain, +For what God deigns to try with sorrow +He means not to decay to-morrow; +But through that fiery trial last +When earthly ties and bonds are past; +What slighter things dare not endure +Will make our Love more safe and pure. + +Love shall be purified by Pain, +And Pain be soothed by Love again: +So let us now take heart and go +Cheerfully on, through joy and woe; +No change the summer sun can bring, +Or the inconstant skies of spring, +Or the bleak winter's stormy weather, +For we shall meet them, Love, together! + + + + +VERSE: THE PILGRIMS + + +The way is long and dreary, +The path is bleak and bare; +Our feet are worn and weary, +But we will not despair. +More heavy was Thy burthen, +More desolate Thy way;-- +Oh Lamb of God who takest +The sin of the world away, +Have mercy on us. + +The snows lie thick around us +In the dark and gloomy night; +And the tempest wails above us, +And the stars have hid their light; +But blacker was the darkness +Round Calvary's Cross that day;-- +Oh Lamb of God who takest +The sin of the world away, +Have mercy on us. + +Our hearts are faint with sorrow, +Heavy and hard to bear; +For we dread the bitter morrow, +But we will not despair: +Thou knowest all our anguish, +And Thou wilt bid it cease,-- +Oh Lamb of God who takest +The sin of the world away, +Give us Thy Peace! + + + + +VERSE: INCOMPLETENESS + + +Nothing resting in its own completeness +Can have worth or beauty: but alone +Because it leads and tends to farther sweetness, +Fuller, higher, deeper than its own. + +Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning, +Gracious though it be, of her blue hours; +But is hidden in her tender leaning +To the Summer's richer wealth of flowers. + +Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowly +Into Day, which floods the world with light; +Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy +Just because it ends in starry Night. + +Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow +From Strife, that in a far-off future lies; +And angel glances (veiled now by Life's sorrow) +Draw our hearts to some beloved eyes. + +Life is only bright when it proceedeth +Towards a truer, deeper Life above; +Human Love is sweetest when it leadeth +To a more divine and perfect Love. + +Learn the mystery of Progression duly: +Do not call each glorious change, Decay; +But know we only hold our treasures truly, +When it seems as if they passed away. + +Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness; +In that want their beauty lies: they roll +Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetness, +Bearing onward man's reluctant soul. + + + + +VERSE: A LEGEND OF BREGENZ + + +Girt round with rugged mountains +The fair Lake Constance lies; +In her blue heart reflected +Shine back the starry skies; +And, watching each white cloudlet +Float silently and slow, +You think a piece of Heaven +Lies on our earth below! + +Midnight is there: and Silence, +Enthroned in Heaven, looks down +Upon her own calm mirror, +Upon a sleeping town: +For Bregenz, that quaint city +Upon the Tyrol shore, +Has stood above Lake Constance, +A thousand years and more. + +Her battlements and towers, +From off their rocky steep, +Have cast their trembling shadow +For ages on the deep: +Mountain, and lake, and valley, +A sacred legend know, +Of how the town was saved, one night, +Three hundred years ago. + +Far from her home and kindred, +A Tyrol maid had fled, +To serve in the Swiss valleys, +And toil for daily bread; +And every year that fleeted +So silently and fast, +Seemed to bear farther from her +The memory of the Past. + +She served kind, gentle masters, +Nor asked for rest or change; +Her friends seemed no more new ones, +Their speech seemed no more strange; +And when she led her cattle +To pasture every day, +She ceased to look and wonder +On which side Bregenz lay. + +She spoke no more of Bregenz, +With longing and with tears: +Her Tyrol home seemed faded +In a deep mist of years; +She heeded not the rumours +Of Austrian war and strife; +Each day she rose contented, +To the calm toils of life. + +Yet, when her master's children +Would clustering round her stand, +She sang them ancient ballads +Of her own native land; +And when at morn and evening +She knelt before God's throne, +The accents of her childhood +Rose to her lips alone. + +And so she dwelt: the valley +More peaceful year by year; +When suddenly strange portents, +Of some great deed seemed near. +The golden corn was bending +Upon its fragile stalk, +While farmers, heedless of their fields, +Paced up and down in talk. + +The men seemed stern and altered, +With looks cast on the ground; +With anxious faces, one by one, +The women gathered round; +All talk of flax, or spinning, +Or work, was put away; +The very children seemed afraid +To go alone to play. + +One day, out in the meadow +With strangers from the town, +Some secret plan discussing, +The men walked up and down. +Yet, now and then seemed watching, +A strange uncertain gleam, +That looked like lances 'mid the trees, +That stood below the stream. + +At eve they all assembled, +Then care and doubt were fled; +With jovial laugh they feasted; +The board was nobly spread. +The elder of the village +Rose up, his glass in hand, +And cried, "We drink the downfall +"Of an accursed land! + +"The night is growing darker, +"Ere one more day is flown, +"Bregenz, our foemen's stronghold, +"Bregenz shall be our own!" +The women shrank in terror, +(Yet Pride, too, had her part,) +But one poor Tyrol maiden +Felt death within her heart. + +Before her, stood fair Bregenz; +Once more her towers arose; +What were the friends beside her? +Only her country's foes! +The faces of her kinsfolk, +The days of childhood flown, +The echoes of her mountains, +Reclaimed her as their own! + +Nothing she heard around her, +(Though shouts rang forth again,) +Gone were the green Swiss valleys, +The pasture, and the plain; +Before her eyes one vision, +And in her heart one cry, +That said, "Go forth, save Bregenz, +And then, if need be, die!" + +With trembling haste and breathless, +With noiseless step she sped; +Horses and weary cattle +Were standing in the shed; +She loosed the strong white charger, +That fed from out her hand, +She mounted, and she turned his head +Towards her native land. + +Out--out into the darkness-- +Faster, and still more fast; +The smooth grass flies behind her, +The chestnut wood is past; +She looks up; clouds are heavy: +Why is her steed so slow?-- +Scarcely the wind beside them, +Can pass them as they go. + +"Faster!" she cries, "Oh faster!" +Eleven the church-bells chime: +"Oh God," she cries, "help Bregenz, +And bring me there in time!" +But louder than bells' ringing, +Or lowing of the kine, +Grows nearer in the midnight +The rushing of the Rhine. + +Shall not the roaring waters +Their headlong gallop check? +The steed draws back in terror, +She leans upon his neck +To watch the flowing darkness; +The bank is high and steep; +One pause--he staggers forward, +And plunges in the deep. + +She strives to pierce the blackness, +And looser throws the rein; +Her steed must breast the waters +That dash above his mane. +How gallantly, how nobly, +He struggles through the foam, +And see--in the far distance, +Shine out the lights of home! + +Up the steep banks he bears her, +And now, they rush again +Towards the heights of Bregenz, +That tower above the plain. +They reach the gate of Bregenz, +Just as the midnight rings, +And out come serf and soldier +To meet the news she brings. + +Bregenz is saved! Ere daylight +Her battlements are manned; +Defiance greets the army +That marches on the land. +And if to deeds heroic +Should endless fame be paid, +Bregenz does well to honour +The noble Tyrol maid. + +Three hundred years are vanished, +And yet upon the hill +An old stone gateway rises, +To do her honour still. +And there, when Bregenz women +Sit spinning in the shade, +They see in quaint old carving +The Charger and the Maid. + +And when, to guard old Bregenz, +By gateway, street, and tower, +The warder paces all night long, +And calls each passing hour; +"Nine," "ten," "eleven," he cries aloud, +And then (Oh crown of Fame!) +When midnight pauses in the skies, +He calls the maiden's name! + + + + +VERSE: A FAREWELL + + +Farewell, oh dream of mine! +I dare not stay; +The hour is come, and time +Will not delay: +Pleasant and dear to me +Wilt thou remain; +No future hour +Brings thee again. + +She stands, the Future dim, +And draws me on, +And shows me dearer joys-- +But thou art gone! +Treasures and Hopes more fair, +Bears she for me, +And yet I linger, +Oh dream, with thee! + +Other and brighter days, +Perhaps she brings; +Deeper and holier songs, +Perchance she sings; +But thou and I, fair time, +We too must sever-- +Oh dream of mine, +Farewell for ever! + + + + +VERSE: SOWING AND REAPING + + +Sow with a generous hand; +Pause not for toil or pain; +Weary not through the heat of summer, +Weary not through the cold spring rain; +But wait till the autumn comes +For the sheaves of golden grain. + +Scatter the seed, and fear not, +A table will be spread; +What matter if you are too weary +To eat your hard-earned bread: +Sow, while the earth is broken, +For the hungry must be fed. + +Sow;--while the seeds are lying +In the warm earth's bosom deep, +And your warm tears fall upon it-- +They will stir in their quiet sleep; +And the green blades rise the quicker, +Perchance, for the tears you weep. + +Then sow;--for the hours are fleeting, +And the seed must fall to-day; +And care not what hands shall reap it, +Or if you shall have passed away +Before the waving corn-fields +Shall gladden the sunny day. + +Sow; and look onward, upward, +Where the starry light appears-- +Where, in spite of the coward's doubting, +Or your own heart's trembling fears, +You shall reap in joy the harvest +You have sown to-day in tears. + + + + +VERSE: THE STORM + + +The tempest rages wild and high, +The waves lift up their voice and cry +Fierce answers to the angry sky,-- +Miserere Domine. + +Through the black night and driving rain, +A ship is struggling, all in vain +To live upon the stormy main;-- +Miserere Domine. + +The thunders roar, the lightnings glare, +Vain is it now to strive or dare; +A cry goes up of great despair,-- +Miserere Domine. + +The stormy voices of the main, +The moaning wind, and pelting rain +Beat on the nursery window pane:- +Miserere Domine. + +Warm curtained was the little bed, +Soft pillowed was the little head; +"The storm will wake the child," they said:- +Miserere Domine. + +Cowering among his pillows white +He prays, his blue eyes dim with fright, +"Father, save those at sea to-night!" +Miserere Domine. + +The morning shone all clear and gay, +On a ship at anchor in the bay, +And on a little child at play,-- +Gloria tibi Domine! + + + + +VERSE: WORDS + + +Words are lighter than the cloud-foam +Of the restless ocean spray; +Vainer than the trembling shadow +That the next hour steals away. +By the fall of summer raindrops +Is the air as deeply stirred; +And the rose-leaf that we tread on +Will outlive a word. + +Yet, on the dull silence breaking +With a lightning flash, a Word, +Bearing endless desolation +On its blighting wings, I heard: +Earth can forge no keener weapon, +Dealing surer death and pain, +And the cruel echo answered +Through long years again. + +I have known one word hang starlike +O'er a dreary waste of years, +And it only shone the brighter +Looked at through a mist of tears; +While a weary wanderer gathered +Hope and heart on Life's dark way, +By its faithful promise, shining +Clearer day by day. + +I have known a spirit, calmer +Than the calmest lake, and clear +As the heavens that gazed upon it, +With no wave of hope or fear; +But a storm had swept across it, +And its deepest depths were stirred, +(Never, never more to slumber,) +Only by a word. + +I have known a word more gentle +Than the breath of summer air; +In a listening heart it nestled, +And it lived for ever there. +Not the beating of its prison +Stirred it ever, night or day; +Only with the heart's last throbbing +Could it fade away. + +Words are mighty, words are living: +Serpents with their venomous stings, +Or bright angels, crowding round us, +With heaven's light upon their wings: +Every word has its own spirit, +True or false, that never dies; +Every word man's lips have uttered +Echoes in God's skies. + + + + +VERSE: A LOVE TOKEN + + +Do you grieve no costly offering +To the Lady you can make? +One there is, and gifts less worthy +Queens have stooped to take. + +Take a Heart of virgin silver, +Fashion it with heavy blows, +Cast it into Love's hot furnace +When it fiercest glows. + +With Pain's sharpest point transfix it, +And then carve in letters fair, +Tender dreams and quaint devices, +Fancies sweet and rare. + +Set within it Hope's blue sapphire, +Many-changing opal fears, +Blood-red ruby-stones of daring, +Mixed with pearly tears. + +And when you have wrought and laboured +Till the gift is all complete, +You may humbly lay your offering +At the Lady's feet. + +Should her mood perchance be gracious-- +With disdainful smiling pride, +She will place it with the trinkets +Glittering at her side. + + + + +VERSE: A TRYST WITH DEATH + + +I am footsore and very weary, +But I travel to meet a Friend: +The way is long and dreary, +But I know that it soon must end. + +He is travelling fast like the whirlwind, +And though I creep slowly on, +We are drawing nearer, nearer, +And the journey is almost done. + +Through the heat of many summers, +Through many a springtime rain, +Through long autumns and weary winters, +I have hoped to meet him, in vain. + +I know that he will not fail me, +So I count every hour chime, +Every throb of my own heart's beating, +That tells of the flight of Time. + +On the day of my birth he plighted +His kingly word to me:- +I have seen him in dreams so often, +That I know what his smile must be. + +I have toiled through the sunny woodland, +Through fields that basked in the light; +And through the lone paths in the forest +I crept in the dead of night. + +I will not fear at his coming, +Although I must meet him alone; +He will look in my eyes so gently, +And take my hand in his own. + +Like a dream all my toil will vanish, +When I lay my head on his breast-- +But the journey is very weary, +And he only can give me rest! + + + + +VERSE: FIDELIS + + +You have taken back the promise +That you spoke so long ago; +Taken back the heart you gave me-- +I must even let it go. +Where Love once has breathed, Pride dieth: +So I struggled, but in vain, +First to keep the links together, +Then to piece the broken chain. + +But it might not be--so freely +All your friendship I restore, +And the heart that I had taken +As my own for evermore. +No shade of reproach shall touch you, +Dread no more a claim from me-- +But I will not have you fancy +That I count myself as free. + +I am bound by the old promise; +What can break that golden chain? +Not even the words that you have spoken, +Or the sharpness of my pain: +Do you think, because you fail me +And draw back your hand to-day, +That from out the heart I gave you +My strong love can fade away? + +It will live. No eyes may see it; +In my soul it will lie deep, +Hidden from all; but I shall feel it +Often stirring in its sleep. +So remember, that the friendship +Which you now think poor and vain, +Will endure in hope and patience, +Till you ask for it again. + +Perhaps in some long twilight hour, +Like those we have known of old, +When past shadows gather round you, +And your present friends grow cold, +You may stretch your hands out towards me,-- +Ah! you will--I know not when-- +I shall nurse my love and keep it +Faithfully, for you, till then. + + + + +VERSE: A SHADOW + + +What lack the valleys and mountains +That once were green and gay? +What lack the babbling fountains? +Their voice is sad to-day. +Only the sound of a voice, +Tender and sweet and low, +That made the earth rejoice, +A year ago! + +What lack the tender flowers? +A shadow is on the sun: +What lack the merry hours, +That I long that they were done? +Only two smiling eyes, +That told of joy and mirth: +They are shining in the skies, +I mourn on earth! + +What lacks my heart, that makes it +So weary and full of pain, +That trembling Hope forsakes it, +Never to come again? +Only another heart, +Tender and all mine own, +In the still grave it lies; +I weep alone! + + + + +VERSE: THE SAILOR BOY + + +My Life you ask of? why, you know +Full soon my little Life is told; +It has had no great joy or woe, +For I am only twelve years old. +Ere long I hope I shall have been +On my first voyage, and wonders seen. +Some princess I may help to free +From pirates, on a far-off sea; +Or, on some desert isle be left, +Of friends and shipmates all bereft. + +For the first time I venture forth, +From our blue mountains of the north. +My kinsman kept the lodge that stood +Guarding the entrance near the wood, +By the stone gateway grey and old, +With quaint devices carved about, +And broken shields; while dragons bold +Glared on the common world without; +And the long trembling ivy spray +Half hid the centuries' decay. +In solitude and silence grand +The castle towered above the land: +The castle of the Earl, whose name +(Wrapped in old bloody legends) came +Down through the times when Truth and Right +Bent down to armed Pride and Might. +He owned the country far and near; +And, for some weeks in every year, +(When the brown leaves were falling fast +And the long, lingering autumn passed,) +He would come down to hunt the deer, +With hound and horse in splendid pride. +The story lasts the live-long year, +The peasant's winter evening fills, +When he is gone and they abide +In the lone quiet of their hills. + +I longed, too, for the happy night, +When, all with torches flaring bright, +The crowding villagers would stand, +A patient, eager, waiting band, +Until the signal ran like flame-- +"They come!" and, slackening speed, they came. +Outriders first, in pomp and state, +Pranced on their horses through the gate; +Then the four steeds as black as night, +All decked with trappings blue and white, +Drew through the crowd that opened wide, +The Earl and Countess side by side. +The stern grave Earl, with formal smile +And glistening eyes and stately pride, +Could ne'er my childish gaze beguile +From the fair presence by his side. +The lady's soft sad glance, her eyes, +(Like stars that shone in summer skies,) +Her pure white face so calmly bent, +With gentle greetings round her sent +Her look, that always seemed to gaze +Where the blue past had closed again +Over some happy shipwrecked days, +With all their freight of love and pain: +She did not even seem to see +The little lord upon her knee. +And yet he was like angel fair, +With rosy cheeks and golden hair, +That fell on shoulders white as snow: +But the blue eyes that shone below +His clustering rings of auburn curls, +Were not his mother's, but the Earl's. + +I feared the Earl, so cold and grim, +I never dared be seen by him. +When through our gate he used to ride, +My kinsman Walter bade me hide; +He said he was so stern. +So, when the hunt came past our way, +I always hastened to obey, +Until I heard the bugles play +The notes of their return. +But she--my very heart-strings stir +Whene'er I speak or think of her-- +The whole wide world could never see +A noble lady such as she, +So full of angel charity. + +Strange things of her our neighbours told +In the long winter evenings cold, +Around the fire. They would draw near +And speak half-whispering, as in fear; +As if they thought the Earl could hear +Their treason 'gainst his name. +They thought the story that his pride +Had stooped to wed a low-born bride, +A stain upon his fame. +Some said 'twas false; there could not be +Such blot on his nobility: +But others vowed that they had heard +The actual story word for word, +From one who well my lady knew, +And had declared the story true. + +In a far village, little known, +She dwelt--so ran the tale--alone. +A widowed bride, yet, oh! so bright, +Shone through the mist of grief, her charms; +They said it was the loveliest sight-- +She with her baby in her arms. +The Earl, one summer morning, rode +By the sea-shore where she abode; +Again he came--that vision sweet +Drew him reluctant to her feet. +Fierce must the struggle in his heart +Have been, between his love and pride, +Until he chose that wondrous part, +To ask her to become his bride. +Yet, ere his noble name she bore, +He made her vow that nevermore +She would behold her child again, +But hide his name and hers from men. +The trembling promise duly spoken, +All links of the low past were broken; +And she arose to take her stand +Amid the nobles of the land. +Then all would wonder--could it be +That one so lowly born as she, +Raised to such height of bliss, should seem +Still living in some weary dream? +'Tis true she bore with calmest grace +The honours of her lofty place, +Yet never smiled, in peace or joy, +Not even to greet her princely boy. +She heard, with face of white despair, +The cannon thunder through the air, +That she had given the Earl an heir. +Nay, even more, (they whispered low, +As if they scarce durst fancy so,) +That, through her lofty wedded life, +No word, no tone, betrayed the wife. +Her look seemed ever in the past; +Never to him it grew more sweet; +The self-same weary glance she cast +Upon the grey-hound at her feet, +As upon him, who bade her claim +The crowning honour of his name. + +This gossip, if old Walter heard, +He checked it with a scornful word: +I never durst such tales repeat; +He was too serious and discreet +To speak of what his lord might do; +Besides, he loved my lady too. +And many a time, I recollect, +They were together in the wood; +He, with an air of grave respect, +And earnest look, uncovered stood. +And though their speech I never heard, +(Save now and then a louder word,) +I saw he spake as none but one +She loved and trusted, durst have done; +For oft I watched them in the shade +That the close forest branches made, +Till slanting golden sunbeams came +And smote the fir-trees into flame, +A radiant glory round her lit, +Then down her white robes seemed to flit, +Gilding the brown leaves on the ground, +And all the waving ferns around. +While by some gloomy pine she leant +And he in earnest talk would stand, +I saw the tear-drops, as she bent, +Fall on the flowers in her hand.-- +Strange as it seemed and seems to be, +That one so sad, so cold as she, +Could love a little child like me-- +Yet so it was. I never heard +Such tender words as she would say, +And murmurs, sweeter than a word, +Would breathe upon me as I lay. +While I, in smiling joy, would rest, +For hours, my head upon her breast. +Our neighbours said that none could see +In me the common childish charms, +(So grave and still I used to be,) +And yet she held me in her arms, +In a fond clasp, so close, so tight-- +I often dream of it at night. +She bade me tell her all--no other +My childish thoughts e'er cared to know: +For I--I never knew my mother; +I was an orphan long ago. +And I could all my fancies pour, +That gentle loving face before. +She liked to hear me tell her all; +How that day I had climbed the tree, +To make the largest fir-cones fall; +And how one day I hoped to be +A sailor on the deep blue sea-- +She loved to hear it all! + +Then wondrous things she used to tell, +Of the strange dreams that she had known. +I used to love to hear them well, +If only for her sweet low tone, +Sometimes so sad, although I knew +That such things never could be true. +One day she told me such a tale +It made me grow all cold and pale, +The fearful thing she told! +Of a poor woman mad and wild +Who coined the life-blood of her child, +And tempted by a fiend, had sold +The heart out of her breast for gold. +But, when she saw me frightened seem, +She smiled, and said it was a dream. +When I look back and think of her, +My very heart-strings seem to stir; +How kind, how fair she was, how good +I cannot tell you. If I could +You, too, would love her. The mere thought +Of her great love for me has brought +Tears in my eyes: though far away, +It seems as it were yesterday. +And just as when I look on high +Through the blue silence of the sky, +Fresh stars shine out, and more and more, +Where I could see so few before; +So, the more steadily I gaze +Upon those far-off misty days, +Fresh words, fresh tones, fresh memories start +Before my eyes and in my heart. +I can remember how one day +(Talking in silly childish way) +I said how happy I should be +If I were like her son--as fair, +With just such bright blue eyes as he, +And such long locks of golden hair. +A strange smile on her pale face broke, +And in strange solemn words she spoke: +"My own, my darling one--no, no! +I love you, far, far better so. +I would not change the look you bear, +Or one wave of your dark brown hair. +The mere glance of your sunny eyes, +Deep in my deepest soul I prize +Above that baby fair! +Not one of all the Earl's proud line +In beauty ever matched with thine; +And, 'tis by thy dark locks thou art +Bound even faster round my heart, +And made more wholly mine!" +And then she paused, and weeping said, +"You are like one who now is dead-- +Who sleeps in a far-distant grave. +Oh may God grant that you may be +As noble and as good as he, +As gentle and as brave!" +Then in my childish way I cried, +"The one you tell me of who died, +Was he as noble as the Earl?" +I see her red lips scornful curl, +I feel her hold my hand again +So tightly, that I shrink in pain-- +I seem to hear her say, +"He whom I tell you of, who died, +He was so noble and so gay, +So generous and so brave, +That the proud Earl by his dear side +Would look a craven slave." +She paused; then, with a quivering sigh, +She laid her hand upon my brow: +"Live like him, darling, and so die. +Remember that he tells you now, +True peace, real honour, and content, +In cheerful pious toil abide; +That gold and splendour are but sent +To curse our vanity and pride." +One day some childish fever pain +Burnt in my veins and fired my brain. +Moaning, I turned from side to side; +And, sobbing in my bed, I cried, +Till night in calm and darkness crept +Around me, and at last I slept. +When suddenly I woke to see +The Lady bending over me. +The drops of cold November rain +Were falling from her long, damp hair; +Her anxious eyes were dim with pain; +Yet she looked wondrous fair. +Arrayed for some great feast she came, +With stones that shone and burnt like flame; +Wound round her neck, like some bright snake, +And set like stars within her hair, +They sparkled so, they seemed to make +A glory everywhere. +I felt her tears upon my face, +Her kisses on my eyes; +And a strange thought I could not trace +I felt within my heart arise; +And, half in feverish pain, I said: +"Oh if my mother were not dead!" +And Walter bade me sleep; but she +Said, "Is it not the same to thee +That I watch by thy bed?" +I answered her, "I love you, too; +But it can never be the same; +She was no Countess like to you, +Nor wore such sparkling stones of flame." +Oh the wild look of fear and dread! +The cry she gave of bitter woe! +I often wonder what I said +To make her moan and shudder so. +Through the long night she tended me +With such sweet care and charity. +But should weary you to tell +All that I know and love so well: +Yet one night more stands out alone +With a sad sweetness all its own. + +The wind blew loud that dreary night: +Its wailing voice I well remember: +The stars shone out so large and bright +Upon the frosty fir-boughs white, +That dreary night of cold December. +I saw old Walter silent stand, +Watching the soft white flakes of snow +With looks I could not understand, +Of strange perplexity and woe. +At last he turned and took my hand, +And said the Countess just had sent +To bid us come; for she would fain +See me once more, before she went +Away--never to come again. +We came in silence through the wood +(Our footfall was the only sound) +To where the great white castle stood, +With darkness shadowing it around. +Breathless, we trod with cautious care +Up the great echoing marble stair; +Trembling, by Walter's hand I held, +Scared by the splendours I beheld: +Now thinking, "Should the Earl appear!" +Now looking up with giddy fear +To the dim vaulted roof, that spread +Its gloomy arches overhead. +Long corridors we softly past, +(My heart was beating loud and fast) +And reached the Lady's room at last: +A strange faint odour seemed to weigh +Upon the dim and darkened air; +One shaded lamp, with softened ray, +Scarce showed the gloomy splendour there. +The dull red brands were burning low, +And yet a fitful gleam of light, +Would now and then, with sudden glow, +Start forth, then sink again in night. +I gazed around, yet half in fear, +Till Walter told me to draw near: +And in the strange and flickering light, +Towards the Lady's bed I crept; +All folded round with snowy white, +She lay; (one would have said she slept;) +So still the look of that white face, +It seemed as it were carved in stone, +I paused before I dared to place +Within her cold white hand my own. +But, with a smile of sweet surprise, +She turned to me her dreamy eyes; +And slowly, as if life were pain, +She drew me in her arms to lie: +She strove to speak, and strove in vain; +Each breath was like a long-drawn sigh. +The throbs that seemed to shake her breast, +The trembling clasp, so loose and weak, +At last grew calmer, and at rest; +And then she strove once more to speak: +"My God, I thank thee, that my pain +Of day by day and year by year, +Has not been suffered all in vain, +And I may die while he is near. +I will not fear but that Thy grace +Has swept away my sin and woe, +And sent this little angel face, +In my last hour to tell me so." +(And here her voice grew faint and low,) +"My child, where'er thy life may go, +To know that thou art brave and true, +Will pierce the highest heavens through, +And even there my soul shall be +More joyful for this thought of thee." +She folded her white hands, and stayed; +All cold and silently she lay: +I knelt beside the bed, and prayed +The prayer she used to make me say. +I said it many times, and then +She did not move, but seemed to be +In a deep sleep, nor stirred again. +No sound woke in the silent room, +Or broke the dim and solemn gloom, +Save when the brands that burnt so low, +With noisy fitful gleam of light, +Would spread around a sudden glow, +Then sink in silence and in night. +How long I stood I do not know: +At last poor Walter came, and said +(So sadly) that we now must go, +And whispered, she we loved was dead. +He bade me kiss her face once more, +Then led me sobbing to the door. +I scarcely knew what dying meant, +Yet a strange grief, before unknown, +Weighed on my spirit as we went +And left her lying all alone. + +We went to the far North once more, +To seek the well-remembered home, +Where my poor kinsman dwelt before, +Whence now he was too old to roam; +And there six happy years we past, +Happy and peaceful till the last; +When poor old Walter died, and he +Blessed me and said I now might be +A sailor on the deep blue sea. +And so I go; and yet in spite +Of all the joys I long to know, +Though I look onward with delight, +With something of regret I go; +And young or old, on land or sea, +One guiding memory I shall take-- +Of what She prayed that I might be, +And what I will be for her sake! + + + + +VERSE: A CROWN OF SORROW + + +A Sorrow, wet with early tears +Yet bitter, had been long with me; +I wearied of this weight of years, +And would be free. + +I tore my Sorrow from my heart, +I cast it far away in scorn; +Right joyful that we two could part-- +Yet most forlorn. + +I sought, (to take my Sorrow's place,) +Over the world for flower or gem-- +But she had had an ancient grace +Unknown to them. + +I took once more with strange delight +My slighted Sorrow; proudly now, +I wear it, set with stars of light, +Upon my brow. + + + + +VERSE: THE LESSON OF THE WAR (1855) + + +The feast is spread through England +For rich and poor to-day; +Greetings and laughter may be there, +But thoughts are far away; +Over the stormy ocean, +Over the dreary track, +Where some are gone, whom England +Will never welcome back. + +Breathless she waits, and listens +For every eastern breeze +That bears upon its bloody wings +News from beyond the seas. +The leafless branches stirring +Make many a watcher start; +The distant tramp of steed may send +A throb from heart to heart. + +The rulers of the nation, +The poor ones at their gate, +With the same eager wonder +The same great news await. +The poor man's stay and comfort, +The rich man's joy and pride, +Upon the bleak Crimean shore +Are fighting side by side. + +The bullet comes--and either +A desolate hearth may see; +And God alone to-night knows where +The vacant place may be! +The dread that stirs the peasant +Thrills nobles' hearts with fear-- +Yet above selfish sorrow +Both hold their country dear. + +The rich man who reposes +In his ancestral shade, +The peasant at his ploughshare, +The worker at his trade, +Each one his all his perilled, +Each has the same great stake, +Each soul can but have patience, +Each heart can only break! + +Hushed is all party clamour; +One thought in every heart, +One dread in every household, +Has bid such strife depart. +England has called her children; +Long silent--the word came +That lit the smouldering ashes +Through all the land to flame. + +Oh you who toil and suffer, +You gladly heard the call; +But those you sometimes envy +Have they not given their all? +Oh you who rule the nation, +Take now the toil-worn hand-- +Brothers you are in sorrow, +In duty to your land. +Learn but this noble lesson +Ere Peace returns again, +And the life-blood of Old England +Will not be shed in vain. + + + + +VERSE: THE TWO SPIRITS (1855) + + +Last night, when weary silence fell on all, +And starless skies arose so dim and vast, +I heard the Spirit of the Present call +Upon the sleeping Spirit of the Past. +Far off and near, I saw their radiance shine, +And listened while they spoke of deeds divine. + +The Spirit of the Past. + +My deeds are writ in iron; +My glory stands alone; +A veil of shadowy honour +Upon my tombs is thrown; +The great names of my heroes +Like gems in history lie; +To live they deemed ignoble, +Had they the chance to die! + +The Spirit of the Present. + +My children, too, are honoured; +Dear shall their memory be +To the proud lands that own them; +Dearer than thine to thee; +For, though they hold that sacred +Is God's great gift of life, +At the first call of duty +They rush into the strife! + +The Spirit of the Past. + +Then, with all valiant precepts +Woman's soft heart was fraught; +"Death, not dishonour," echoed +The war-cry she had taught. +Fearless and glad, those mothers, +At bloody deaths elate, +Cried out they bore their children +Only for such a fate! + +The Spirit of the Present. + +Though such stern laws of honour +Are faded now away, +Yet many a mourning mother, +With nobler grief than they, +Bows down in sad submission: +The heroes of the fight +Learnt at her knee the lesson, +"For God and for the Right!" + +The Spirit of the Past. + +No voice there spake of sorrow: +They saw the noblest fall +With no repining murmur; +Stern Fate was lord of all. +And when the loved ones perished, +One cry alone arose, +Waking the startled echoes, +"Vengeance upon our foes!" + +The Spirit of the Present. + +Grief dwells in France and England +For many a noble son; +Yet louder than the sorrow, +"Thy will, Oh God, be done!" +From desolate homes is rising +One prayer, "Let carnage cease! +On friends and foes have mercy, +Oh Lord, and give us peace!" + +The Spirit of the Past. + +Then, every hearth was honoured +That sent its children forth, +To spread their country's glory, +And gain her south or north. +Then, little recked they numbers, +No band would ever fly, +But stern and resolute they stood +To conquer or to die. + +The Spirit of the Present. + +And now from France and England +Their dearest and their best +Go forth to succour freedom, +To help the much oppressed; +Now, let the far-off Future +And Past bow down to-day, +Before the few young hearts that hold +Whole armaments at bay. + +The Spirit of the Past. + +Then, each one strove for honour, +Each for a deathless name; +Love, home, rest, joy, were offered +As sacrifice to Fame. +They longed that in far ages +Their deeds might still be told, +And distant times and nations +Their names in honour hold. + +The Spirit of the Present. + +Though nursed by such old legends, +Our heroes of to-day +Go cheerfully to battle +As children go to play; +They gaze with awe and wonder +On your great names of pride, +Unconscious that their own will shine +In glory side by side! + +Day dawned; and as the Spirits passed away, +Methought I saw, in the dim morning grey, +The Past's bright diadem had paled before +The starry crown the glorious Present wore. + + + + +VERSE: A LITTLE LONGER + + +A little longer yet--a little longer, +Shall violets bloom for thee, and sweet birds sing; +And the lime branches where soft winds are blowing, +Shall murmur the sweet promise of the Spring! + +A little longer yet--a little longer, +Thou shalt behold the quiet of the morn; +While tender grasses and awakening flowers +Send up a golden mist to greet the dawn! + +A little longer yet--a little longer, +The tenderness of twilight shall be thine, +The rosy clouds that float o'er dying daylight, +Nor fade till trembling stars begin to shine. + +A little longer yet--a little longer, +Shall starry night be beautiful for thee; +And the cold moon shall look through the blue silence, +Flooding her silver path upon the sea. + +A little longer yet--a little longer, +Life shall be thine; life with its power to will; +Life with its strength to bear, to love, to conquer, +Bringing its thousand joys thy heart to fill. + +A little longer yet--a little longer, +The voices thou hast loved shall charm thine ear; +And thy true heart, that now beats quick to hear them, +A little longer yet shall hold them dear. + +A little longer yet--joy while thou mayest; +Love and rejoice! for time has nought in store; +And soon the darkness of the grave shall bid thee +Love and rejoice and feel and know no more. + +* * * + +A little longer still--Patience, Beloved: +A little longer still, ere Heaven unroll +The Glory, and the Brightness, and the Wonder, +Eternal, and divine, that waits thy Soul! + +A little longer ere Life true, immortal, +(Not this our shadowy Life,) will be thine own; +And thou shalt stand where winged Archangels worship, +And trembling bow before the Great White Throne. + +A little longer still, and Heaven awaits thee, +And fills thy spirit with a great delight; +Then our pale joys will seem a dream forgotten, +Our Sun a darkness, and our Day a Night. + +A little longer, and thy Heart, Beloved, +Shall beat for ever with a Love divine; +And joy so pure, so mighty, so eternal, +No creature knows and lives, will then be thine. + +A little longer yet--and angel voices +Shall ring in heavenly chant upon thine ear; +Angels and Saints await thee, and God needs thee: +Beloved, can we bid thee linger here! + + + + +VERSE: GRIEF + + +An ancient enemy have I, +And either he or I must die; +For he never leaveth me, +Never gives my soul relief, +Never lets my sorrow cease, +Never gives my spirit peace-- +For mine enemy is Grief! + +Pale he is, and sad and stern; +And whene'er he cometh nigh, +Blue and dim the torches burn, +Pale and shrunk the roses turn; +While my heart that he has pierced +Many a time with fiery lance, +Beats and trembles at his glance: +Clad in burning steel is he, +All my strength he can defy; +For he never leaveth me-- +And one of us must die! + +I have said, "Let ancient sages +Charm me from my thoughts of pain!" +So I read their deepest pages, +And I strove to think--in vain! +Wisdom's cold calm words I tried, +But he was seated by my side:- +Learning I have won in vain; +She cannot rid me of my pain. + +When at last soft sleep comes o'er me, +A cold hand is on my heart; +Stern sad eyes are there before me; +Not in dreams will he depart: +And when the same dreary vision +From my weary brain has fled, +Daylight brings the living phantom, +He is seated by my bed, +Bending o'er me all the while, +With his cruel, bitter smile, +Ever with me, ever nigh;-- +And either he or I must die! + +Then I said, long time ago, +"I will flee to other climes, +I will leave mine ancient foe!" +Though I wandered far and wide-- +Still he followed at my side. + +And I fled where the blue waters +Bathe the sunny isles of Greece; +Where Thessalian mountains rise +Up against the purple skies; +Where a haunting memory liveth +In each wood and cave and rill; +But no dream of gods could help me-- +He went with me still! + +I have been where Nile's broad river +Flows upon the burning sand; +Where the desert monster broodeth, +Where the Eastern palm-trees stand; +I have been where pathless forests +Spread a black eternal shade; +Where the lurking panther hiding +Glares from every tangled glade; +But in vain I wandered wide, +He was always by my side! +Then I fled where snows eternal +Cold and dreary ever lie; +Where the rosy lightnings gleam, +Flashing through the northern sky; +Where the red sun turns again +Back upon his path of pain;-- +But a shadowy form was with me-- +I had fled in vain! + +I have thought, "If I can gaze +Sternly on him he will fade, +For I know that he is nothing +But a dim ideal shade." +As I gazed at him the more, +He grew stronger than before! + +Then I said, "Mine arm is strong, +I will make him turn and flee:" +I have struggled with him long-- +But that could never be! + +Once I battled with him so +That I thought I laid him low; +Then in trembling joy I fled, +While again and still again +Murmuring to myself I said, +"Mine old enemy is dead!" +And I stood beneath the stars, +When a chill came on my frame, +And a fear I could not name, +And a sense of quick despair, +And, lo! mine enemy was there! + +Listen, for my soul is weary, +Weary of its endless woe; +I have called on one to aid me +Mightier even than my foe. +Strength and hope fail day by day; +I shall cheat him of his prey; +Some day soon, I know not when, +He will stab me through and through; +He has wounded me before, +But my heart can bear no more; +Pray that hour may come to me, +Only then shall I be free; +Death alone has strength to take me +Where my foe can never be; +Death, and Death alone, has power +To conquer mine old enemy! + + + + +VERSE: THE TRIUMPH OF TIME + + +The tender delicate Flowers, +I saw them fanned by a warm western wind, +Fed by soft summer showers, +Shielded by care, and yet, (oh Fate unkind!) +Fade in a few short hours. + +The gentle and the gay, +Rich in a glorious Future of bright deeds, +Rejoicing in the day, +Are met by Death, who sternly, sadly leads +Them far away. + +And Hopes, perfumed and bright, +So lately shining, wet with dew and tears, +Trembling in morning light; +I saw them change to dark and anxious fears +Before the night! + +I wept that all must die-- +"Yet Love," I cried, "doth live, and conquer death--" +And Time passed by, +And breathed on Love, and killed it with his breath +Ere Death was nigh. + +More bitter far than all +It was to know that Love could change and die-- +Hush! for the ages call +"The Love of God lives through eternity, +And conquers all!" + + + + +VERSE: A PARTING + + +Without one bitter feeling let us part-- +And for the years in which your love has shed +A radiance like a glory round my head, +I thank you, yes, I thank you from my heart. + +I thank you for the cherished hope of years, +A starry future, dim and yet divine, +Winging its way from Heaven to be mine, +Laden with joy, and ignorant of tears. + +I thank you, yes, I thank you even more +That my heart learnt not without love to live, +But gave and gave, and still had more to give, +From an abundant and exhaustless store. + +I thank you, and no grief is in these tears; +I thank you, not in bitterness but truth, +For the fair vision that adorned my youth +And glorified so many happy years. + +Yet how much more I thank you that you tore +At length the veil your hand had woven away, +Which hid my idol was a thing of clay, +And false the altar I had knelt before. + +I thank you that you taught me the stern truth, +(None other could have told and I believed,) +That vain had been my life, and I deceived, +And wasted all the purpose of my youth. + +I thank you that your hand dashed down the shrine, +Wherein my idol worship I had paid; +Else had I never known a soul was made +To serve and worship only the Divine. + +I thank you that the heart I cast away +On such as you, though broken, bruised and crushed, +Now that its fiery throbbing is all hushed, +Upon a worthier altar I can lay. + +I thank you for the lesson that such love +Is a perverting of God's royal right, +That it is made but for the Infinite, +And all too great to live except above. + +I thank you for a terrible awaking, +And if reproach seemed hidden in my pain, +And sorrow seemed to cry on your disdain, +Know that my blessing lay in your forsaking. + +Farewell for ever now:- in peace we part; +And should an idle vision of my tears +Arise before your soul in after years-- +Remember that I thank you from my heart! + + + + +VERSE: THE GOLDEN GATE + + +Dim shadows gather thickly round, and up the misty stair they climb, +The cloudy stair that upward leads to where the closed portals shine, +Round which the kneeling spirits wait the opening of the Golden Gate. + +And some with eager longing go, still pressing forward, hand in hand, +And some with weary step and slow, look back where their Beloved stand-- +Yet up the misty stair they climb, led onward by the Angel Time. + +As unseen hands roll back the doors, the light that floods the very air +Is but the shadow from within, of the great glory hidden there-- +And morn and eve, and soon and late, the shadows pass within the gate. + +As one by one they enter in, and the stern portals close once more, +The halo seems to linger round those kneeling closest to the door: +The joy that lightened from that place shines still upon the watcher's +face. + +The faint low echo that we hear of far-off music seems to fill +The silent air with love and fear, and the world's clamours all grow +still, +Until the portals close again, and leave us toiling on in pain. + +Complain not that the way is long--what road is weary that leads there? +But let the Angel take thy hand, and lead thee up the misty stair, +And then with beating heart await, the opening of the Golden Gate. + + + + +VERSE: PHANTOMS + + +Back, ye Phantoms of the Past; +In your dreary caves remain: +What have I to do with memories +Of a long-forgotten pain? + +For my Present is all peaceful, +And my Future nobly planned: +Long ago Time's mighty billows +Swept your footsteps from the sand. + +Back into your caves; nor haunt me +With your voices full of woe; +I have buried grief and sorrow +In the depths of Long-ago. + +See the glorious clouds of morning +Roll away, and clear and bright +Shine the rays of cloudless daylight-- +Wherefore will ye moan of night? + +Never shall my heart be burthened +With its ancient woe and fears; +I can drive them from my presence, +I can check these foolish tears. + +Back, ye Phantoms; leave, oh leave me +To a new and happy lot; +Speak no more of things departed; +Leave me--for I know ye not. + +Can it be that 'mid my gladness +I must ever hear you wail, +Of the grief that wrung my spirit, +And that made my cheek so pale? + +Joy is mine; but your sad voices +Murmur ever in mine ear: +Vain is all the Future's promise, +While the dreary Past is here. + +Vain, oh worse than vain, the Visions +That my heart, my life would fill, +If the Past's relentless phantoms +Call upon me still! + + + + +VERSE: THANKFULNESS + + +My God, I thank Thee who hast made +The Earth so bright; +So full of splendour and of joy, +Beauty and light; +So many glorious things are here, +Noble and right! + +I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made +Joy to abound; +So many gentle thoughts and deeds +Circling us round, +That in the darkest spot of Earth +Some love is found. + +I thank Thee more that all our joy +Is touched with pain; +That shadows fall on brightest hours; +That thorns remain; +So that Earth's bliss may be our guide, +And not our chain. + +For Thou who knowest, Lord, how soon +Our weak heart clings, +Hast given us joys, tender and true, +Yet all with wings, +So that we see, gleaming on high, +Diviner things! + +I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept +The best in store; +We have enough, yet not too much +To long for more: +A yearning for a deeper peace, +Not known before. + +I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls, +Though amply blest, +Can never find, although they seek, +A perfect rest-- +Nor ever shall, until they lean +On Jesus' breast! + + + + +VERSE: HOME-SICKNESS + + +Where I am, the halls are gilded, +Stored with pictures bright and rare; +Strains of deep melodious music +Float upon the perfumed air:- +Nothing stirs the dreary silence +Save the melancholy sea, +Near the poor and humble cottage, +Where I fain would be! + +Where I am, the sun is shining, +And the purple windows glow, +Till their rich armorial shadows +Stain the marble floor below:- +Faded Autumn leaves are trembling, +On the withered jasmine tree, +Creeping round the little casement, +Where I fain would be! + +Where I am, the days are passing +O'er a pathway strewn with flowers; +Song and joy and starry pleasures +Crown the happy smiling hours:- +Slowly, heavily, and sadly, +Time with weary wings must flee, +Marked by pain, and toil, and sorrow, +Where I fain would be! + +Where I am, the great and noble +Tell me of renown and fame, +And the red wine sparkles highest, +To do honour to my name:- +Far away a place is vacant, +By a humble hearth, for me, +Dying embers dimly show it, +Where I fain would be! + +Where I am, are glorious dreaminess, +Science, genius, art divine; +And the great minds whom all honour +Interchange their thoughts with mine:- +A few simple hearts are waiting, +Longing, wearying, for me, +Far away where tears are falling, +Where I fain would be! + +Where I am, all think me happy, +For so well I play my part, +None can guess, who smile around me, +How far distant is my heart-- +Far away, in a poor cottage, +Listening to the dreary sea, +Where the treasures of my life are, +Where I fain would be! + + + + +VERSE: WISHES + + +All the fluttering wishes +Caged within thy heart +Beat their wings against it, +Longing to depart, +Till they shake their prison +With their wounded cry; +Open wide thy heart to-day, +And let the captives fly. + +Let them first fly upward +Through the starry air, +Till you almost lose them, +For their home is there; +Then, with outspread pinions, +Circling round and round, +Wing their way, wherever +Want and woe are found. + +Where the weary stitcher +Toils for daily bread; +Where the lonely watcher +Watches by her dead; +Where with thin weak fingers, +Toiling at the loom, +Stand the little children, +Blighted ere they bloom. + +Where, by darkness blinded, +Groping for the light, +With distorted conscience +Men do wrong for right; +Where, in the cold shadow, +By smooth pleasure thrown, +Human hearts by hundreds +Harden into stone. + +Where on dusty highways, +With faint heart and slow, +Cursing the glad sunlight, +Hungry outcasts go: +Where all mirth is silenced, +And the hearth is chill, +For one place is empty, +And one voice is still. + +Some hearts will be lighter +While your captives roam +For their tender singing, +Then recal them home; +When the sunny hours +Into night depart, +Softly they will nestle +In a quiet heart. + + + + +VERSE: THE PEACE OF GOD + + +We ask for Peace, oh Lord! +Thy children ask Thy Peace; +Not what the world calls rest, +That toil and care should cease, +That through bright sunny hours +Calm Life should fleet away, +And tranquil night should fade +In smiling day;-- +It is not for such Peace that we would pray. + +We ask for Peace, oh Lord! +Yet not to stand secure, +Girt round with iron Pride, +Contented to endure: +Crushing the gentle strings +That human hearts should know, +Untouched by others' joy +Or others' woe;-- +Thou, oh dear Lord, wilt never teach us so. + +We ask Thy Peace, oh Lord! +Through storm, and fear, and strife, +To light and guide us on, +Through a long struggling life: +While no success or gain +Shall cheer the desperate fight, +Or nerve, what the world calls, +Our wasted might:- +Yet pressing through the darkness to the light. + +It is Thine own, oh Lord, +Who toil while others sleep; +Who sow with loving care +What other hands shall reap: +They lean on Thee entranced, +In calm and perfect rest: +Give us that Peace, oh Lord, +Divine and blest, +Thou keepest for those hearts who love Thee best. + + + + +VERSE: LIFE IN DEATH AND DEATH IN LIFE + + +I. + +If the dread day that calls thee hence, +Through a red mist of fear should loom, +(Closing in deadliest night and gloom +Long hours of aching dumb suspense,) +And leave me to my lonely doom. + +I think, beloved, I could see +In thy dear eyes the loving light +Glaze into vacancy and night, +And still say, "God is good to me, +And all that He decrees is right." + +That, watching thy slow struggling breath, +And answering each imperfect sign, +I still could pray thy prayer and mine, +And tell thee, dear, though this was death, +That God was love, and love divine. + +Could hold thee in my arms, and lay +Upon my heart thy weary head, +And meet thy last smile ere it fled; +Then hear, as in a dream, one say, +"Now all is over,--she is dead." + +Could smooth thy garments with fond care, +And cross thy hands upon thy breast, +And kiss thine eyelids down to rest, +And yet say no word of despair, +But, through my sobbing, "It is best." + +Could stifle down the gnawing pain, +And say, "We still divide our life, +She has the rest, and I the strife, +And mine the loss, and hers the gain: +My ill with bliss for her is rife." + +Then turn, and the old duties take-- +Alone now--yet with earnest will +Gathering sweet sacred traces still +To help me on, and, for thy sake, +My heart and life and soul to fill. + +I think I could check vain weak tears, +And toil,--although the world's great space +Held nothing but one vacant place, +And see the dark and weary years +Lit only by a vanished grace. + +And sometimes, when the day was o'er, +Call up the tender past again: +Its painful joy, its happy pain, +And live it over yet once more, +And say, "But few more years remain." + +And then, when I had striven my best, +And all around would smiling say, +"See how Time makes all grief decay," +Would lie down thankfully to rest, +And seek thee in eternal day. + +II. + +But if the day should ever rise-- +It could not and it cannot be-- +Yet, if the sun should ever see, +Looking upon us from his skies, +A day that took thy heart from me; + +If loving thee still more and more, +And still so willing to be blind, +I should the bitter knowledge find, +That Time had eaten out the core +Of love, and left the empty rind; + +If the poor lifeless words, at last, +(The soul gone, that was once so sweet,) +Should cease my eager heart to cheat, +And crumble back into the past, +And show the whole a vain deceit; + +If I should see thee turn away, +And know that prayer, and time, and pain, +Could no more thy lost love regain, +Than bid the hours of dying day +Gleam in their mid-day noon again; + +If I should loose thy hand, and know +That henceforth we must dwell apart, +Since I had seen thy love depart, +And only count the hours flow +By the dull throbbing of my heart; + +If I should gaze and gaze in vain +Into thine eyes so deep and clear, +And read the truth of all my fear +Half mixed with pity for my pain, +And sorrow for the vanished year; + +If not to grieve thee overmuch, +I strove to counterfeit disdain, +And weave me a new life again, +Which thy life could not mar, or touch, +And so smile down my bitter pain; + +The ghost of my dead Past would rise +And mock me, and I could not dare +Look to a future of despair, +Or even to the eternal skies, +For I should still be lonely there. + +All Truth, all Honour, then would seem +Vain clouds, which the first wind blew by; +All Trust, a folly doomed to die; +All Life, a useless empty dream; +All Love--since thine had failed--a lie. + +But see, thy tender smile has cast +My fear away: this thought of mine +Is treason to my Love and thine; +For Love is Life, and Death at last +Crowns it eternal and divine! + + + + +VERSE: RECOLLECTIONS + + +As strangers, you and I are here; +We both as aliens stand, +Where once, in years gone by, I dwelt +No stranger in the land. +Then while you gaze on park and stream, +Let me remain apart, +And listen to the awakened sound +Of voices in my heart. + +Here, where upon the velvet lawn +The cedar spreads its shade, +And by the flower-beds all around, +Bright roses bloom and fade; +Shrill merry childish laughter rings, +And baby voices sweet, +And by me, on the path, I hear +The tread of little feet. + +Down the dark avenue of limes, +Whose perfume loads the air, +Whose boughs are rustling overhead, +(For the west wind is there,) +I hear the sound of earnest talk, +Warnings and counsels wise, +And the quick questioning that brought +Such gentle calm replies. + +Still the light bridge hangs o'er the lake, +Where broad-leaved lilies lie, +And the cool water shows again +The cloud that moves on high;-- +And one voice speaks, in tones I thought +The past for ever kept; +But now I know, deep in my heart +Its echoes only slept. + +I hear, within the shady porch, +Once more, the measured sound +Of the old ballads that were read, +While we sat listening round; +The starry passion-flower still +Up the green trellice climbs; +The tendrils waving seem to keep +The cadence of the rhymes. + +I might have striven, and striven in vain, +Such visions to recall, +Well known and yet forgotten; now +I see, I hear, them all! +The Present pales before the Past, +Who comes with angel wings; +As in a dream I stand, amidst +Strange yet familiar things! + +Enough; so let us go, mine eyes +Are blinded by their tears; +A voice speaks to my soul to-day +Of long forgotten years. +And yet the vision in my heart, +In a few hours more, +Will fade into the silent past, +Silently as before. + + + + +VERSE: ILLUSION + + +Where the golden corn is bending, +And the singing reapers pass, +Where the chestnut woods are sending +Leafy showers upon the grass, + +The blue river onward flowing +Mingles with its noisy strife, +The murmur of the flowers growing, +And the hum of insect life. + +I, from that rich plain was gazing +Towards the snowy mountains high, +Who their gleaming peaks were raising +Up against the purple sky. + +And the glory of their shining, +Bathed in clouds of rosy light, +Set my weary spirit pining +For a home so pure and bright! + +So I left the plain, and weary, +Fainting, yet with hope sustained, +Toiled through pathways long and dreary +Till the mountain top was gained. + +Lo! the height that I had taken, +As so shining from below, +Was a desolate, forsaken +Region of perpetual snow. + +I am faint, my feet are bleeding, +All my feeble strength is worn, +In the plain no soul is heeding, +I am here alone, forlorn. + +Lights are shining, bells are tolling, +In the busy vale below; +Near me night's black clouds are rolling, +Gathering o'er a waste of snow. + +So I watch the river winding +Through the misty fading plain, +Bitter are the tear-drops blinding, +Bitter useless toil and pain-- +Bitterest of all the finding +That my dream was false and vain! + + + + +VERSE: A VISION + + +Gloomy and black are the cypress trees, +Drearily waileth the chill night breeze. +The long grass waveth, the tombs are white, +And the black clouds flit o'er the chill moonlight. +Silent is all save the dropping rain, +When slowly there cometh a mourning train, +The lone churchyard is dark and dim, +And the mourners raise a funeral hymn: + +"Open, dark grave, and take her; +Though we have loved her so, +Yet we must now forsake her, +Love will no more awake her: +(Oh, bitter woe!) +Open thine arms and take her +To rest below! + +"Vain is our mournful weeping, +Her gentle life is o'er; +Only the worm is creeping, +Where she will soon be sleeping, +For evermore-- +Nor joy nor love is keeping +For her in store!" + +Gloomy and black are the cypress trees, +And drearily wave in the chill night breeze. +The dark clouds part and the heavens are blue, +Where the trembling stars are shining through. +Slowly across the gleaming sky, +A crowd of white angels are passing by. +Like a fleet of swans they float along, +Or the silver notes of a dying song. +Like a cloud of incense their pinions rise, +Fading away up the purple skies. +But hush! for the silent glory is stirred, +By a strain such as earth has never heard: + +"Open, oh Heaven! we bear her, +This gentle maiden mild, +Earth's griefs we gladly spare her, +From earthly joys we tear her, +Still undefiled; +And to thine arms we bear her, +Thine own, thy child. + +"Open, oh Heaven! no morrow +Will see this joy o'ercast, +No pain, no tears, no sorrow, +Her gentle heart will borrow; +Sad life is past; +Shielded and safe from sorrow, +At home at last." + +But the vision faded and all was still, +On the purple valley and distant hill. +No sound was there save the wailing breeze, +The rain, and the rustling cypress trees. + + + + +VERSE: PICTURES IN THE FIRE + + +What is it you ask me, darling? +All my stories, child, you know; +I have no strange dreams to tell you, +Pictures I have none to show. + +Tell you glorious scenes of travel? +Nay, my child, that cannot be, +I have seen no foreign countries, +Marvels none on land or sea. + +Yet strange sights in truth I witness, +And I gaze until I tire, +Wondrous pictures, changing ever, +As I look into the fire. + +There, last night, I saw a cavern, +Black as pitch; within it lay +Coiled in many folds a dragon, +Glaring as if turned at bay. + +And a knight in dismal armour +On a winged eagle came, +To do battle with this dragon; +And his crest was all of flame. + +As I gazed the dragon faded, +And, instead, sate Pluto crowned, +By a lake of burning fire; +Spirits dark were crouching round. + +That was gone, and lo! before me, +A cathedral vast and grim; +I could almost hear the organ +Peal alone the arches dim. + +As I watched the wreathed pillars, +Groves of stately palms arose, +And a group of swarthy Indians +Stealing on some sleeping foes. + +Stay; a cataract glancing brightly, +Dashed and sparkled; and beside +Lay a broken marble monster, +Mouth and eyes were staring wide. + +Then I saw a maiden wreathing +Starry flowers in garlands sweet; +Did she see the fiery serpent +That was wrapped about her feet? + +That fell crashing all and vanished; +And I saw two armies close-- +I could almost hear the clarions, +And the shouting of the foes. + +They were gone; and lo! bright angels, +On a barren mountain wild, +Raised appealing arms to Heaven, +Bearing up a little child. + +And I gazed, and gazed, and slowly +Gathered in my eyes sad tears, +And the fiery pictures bore me +Back through distant dreams of years. + +Once again I tasted sorrow, +With past joy was once more gay, +Till the shade had gathered round me-- +And the fire had died away. + + + + +VERSE: THE SETTLERS + + +Two stranger youths in the Far West, +Beneath the ancient forest trees, +Pausing, amid their toil to rest, +Spake of their home beyond the seas; +Spake of the hearts that beat so warmly, +Of the hearts they loved so well. +In their chilly northern country. +"Would," they cried, "some voice could tell +Where they are, our own beloved ones!" +They looked up to the evening sky +Half hidden by the giant branches, +But heard no angel-voice reply. +All silent was the quiet evening; +Silent were the ancient trees; +They only heard the murmuring song +Of the summer breeze, +That gently played among +The acacia trees. +And did no warning spirit answer, +Amid the silence all around; +"Before the lowly village altar +She thou lovest may be found, +Thou, who trustest still so blindly, +Know she stands a smiling bride! +Forgetting thee, she turneth kindly +To the stranger at her side. +Yes, this day thou art forgotten, +Forgotten, too, thy last farewell, +All the vows that she has spoken, +And thy heart has kept so well. +Dream no more of a starry future, +In thy home beyond the seas!" +But he only heard the gentle sigh +Of the summer breeze, +So softly passing by +The acacia trees. + +And vainly, too, the other, looking +Smiling up through hopeful tears, +Asked in his heart of hearts, "Where is she, +She I love these many years?" +He heard no echo calling faintly: +"Lo, she lieth cold and pale, +And her smile so calm and saintly +Heeds not grieving sob or wail-- +Heeds not the lilies strewn upon her, +Pure as she is, and as white, +Or the solemn chanting voices, +Or the taper's ghastly light." +But silent still was the ancient forest, +Silent were the gloomy trees, +He only heard the wailing sound +Of the summer breeze, +That sadly played around +The acacia trees + + + + +VERSE: HUSH + + +"I can scarcely hear," she murmured, +"For my heart beats loud and fast, +But surely, in the far, far distance, +I can hear a sound at last." +"It is only the reapers singing, +As they carry home their sheaves, +And the evening breeze has risen, +And rustles the dying leaves." + +"Listen! there are voices talking." +Calmly still she strove to speak, +Yet her voice grew faint and trembling, +And the red flushed in her cheek. +"It is only the children playing +Below, now their work is done, +And they laugh that their eyes are dazzled +By the rays of the setting sun." + +Fainter grew her voice, and weaker +As with anxious eyes she cried, +"Down the avenue of chestnuts, +I can hear a horseman ride." +"It was only the deer that were feeding +In a herd on the clover grass, +They were startled, and fled to the thicket, +As they saw the reapers pass." + +Now the night arose in silence, +Birds lay in their leafy nest, +And the deer couched in the forest, +And the children were at rest: +There was only a sound of weeping +From watchers around a bed, +But Rest to the weary spirit, +Peace to the quiet Dead! + + + + +VERSE: HOURS + + +When the bright stars came out last night, +And the dew lay on the flowers, +I had a vision of delight-- +A dream of by-gone hours. + +Those hours that came and fled so fast, +Of pleasure or of pain, +As phantoms rose from out the past +Before my eyes again. + +With beating heart did I behold +A train of joyous hours, +Lit with the radiant light of old, +And, smiling, crowned with flowers. + +And some were hours of childish sorrow, +A mimicry of pain, +That through their tears looked for a morrow +They knew must smile again. + +Those hours of hope that longed for life, +And wished their part begun, +And ere the summons to the strife, +Dreamed that the field was won. + +I knew the echo of their voice, +The starry crowns they wore; +The vision made my soul rejoice +With the old thrill of yore. + +I knew the perfume of their flowers; +The glorious shining rays +Around these happy smiling hours +Were lit in by-gone days. + +Oh stay, I cried--bright visions, stay, +And leave me not forlorn! +But, smiling still, they passed away, +Like shadows of the morn. + +One spirit still remained, and cried, +"Thy soul shall ne'er forget!" +He standeth ever by my side-- +The phantom called Regret! + +But still the spirits rose, and there +Were weary hours of pain, +And anxious hours of fear and care +Bound by an iron chain. + +Dim shadows came of lonely hours, +That shunned the light of day, +And in the opening smile of flowers +Saw only quick decay. + +Calm hours that sought the starry skies +For heavenly lore were there; +With folded hands and earnest eyes, +I knew the hours of prayer. + +Stern hours that darkened the sun's light, +Heralds of coming woes, +With trailing wings, before my sight +From the dim past arose. + +As each dark vision passed and spoke +I prayed it to depart: +At each some buried sorrow woke +And stirred within my heart. + +Until these hours of pain and care +Lifted their tearful eyes, +Spread their dark pinions in the air +And passed into the skies. + + + + +VERSE: THE TWO INTERPRETERS + + +"The clouds are fleeting by, father, +Look in the shining west, +The great white clouds sail onward +Upon the sky's blue breast. +Look at a snowy eagle, +His wings are tinged with red, +And a giant dolphin follows him, +With a crown upon his head!" + +The father spake no word, but watched +The drifting clouds roll by; +He traced a misty vision too +Upon the shining sky: +A shadowy form, with well-known grace +Of weary love and care, +Above the smiling child she held, +Shook down her floating hair. + +"The clouds are changing now, father, +Mountains rise higher and higher! +And see where red and purple ships +Sail in a sea of fire!" +The father pressed the little hand +More closely in his own, +And watched a cloud-dream in the sky +That he could see alone: +Bright angels carrying far away +A white form, cold and dead, +Two held the feet, and two bore up +The flower-crowned, drooping head. + +"See, father, see! a glory floods +The sky, and all is bright, +And clouds of every hue and shade +Burn in the golden light. +And now, above an azure lake, +Rise battlements and towers, +Where knights and ladies climb the heights, +All bearing purple flowers." + +The father looked, and, with a pang +Of love and strange alarm, +Drew close the little eager child +Within his sheltering arm; +From out the clouds the mother looks +With wistful glance below, +She seems to seek the treasure left +On earth so long ago; +She holds her arms out to her child, +His cradle-song she sings: +The last rays of the sunset gleam +Upon her outspread wings. + +Calm twilight veils the summer sky, +The shining clouds are gone; +In vain the merry laughing child +Still gaily prattles on; +In vain the bright stars, one by one, +On the blue silence start, +A dreary shadow rests to-night +Upon the father's heart + + + + +VERSE: COMFORT + + +Hast thou o'er the clear heaven of thy soul +Seen tempests roll? +Hast thou watched all the hopes thou wouldst have won +Fade, one by one? +Wait till the clouds are past, then raise thine eyes +To bitter skies. + +Hast thou gone sadly through a dreary night, +And found no light, +No guide, no star, to cheer thee through the plain-- +No friend, save pain? +Wait, and thy soul shall see, when most forlorn, +Rise a new morn. + +Hast thou beneath another's stern control +Bent thy sad soul, +And wasted sacred hopes and precious tears? +Yet calm thy fears, +For thou canst gain, even from the bitterest part, +A stronger heart. + +Has Fate overwhelmed thee with some sudden blow? +Let thy tears flow; +But know when storms are past, the heavens appear +More pure, more clear; +And hope, when farthest from their shining rays, +For brighter days. + +Hast thou found life a cheat, and worn in vain +Its iron chain? +Has thy soul bent beneath earth's heavy bond? +Look thou beyond; +If life is bitter--there for ever shine +Hopes more divine. + +Art thou alone, and does thy soul complain +It lives in vain? +Not vainly does he live who can endure +Oh be thou sure, +That he who hopes and suffers here, can earn +A sure return. + +Hast thou found nought within thy troubled life +Save inward strife? +Hast thou found all she promised thee, Deceit, +And Hope a cheat? +Endure, and there shall dawn within thy breast +Eternal rest! + + + + +VERSE: HOME AT LAST + + +Child, do not fear; +We shall reach our home to-night, +For the sky is clear, +And the waters bright; +And the breezes have scarcely strength +To unfold that little cloud, +That like a shroud +Spreads out its fleecy length +Then have no fear, +As we cleave our silver way +Through the waters clear. + +Fear not, my child! +Though the waves are white and high, +And the storm blows wild +Through the gloomy sky; +On the edge of the western sea, +See that line of golden light, +Is the haven bright +Where home is awaiting thee; +Where, this peril past, +We shall rest from our stormy voyage +In peace at last. + +Be not afraid; +But give me thy hand, and see +How the waves have made +A cradle for thee. +Night is come, dear, and we shall rest; +So turn from the angry skies, +And close thine eyes, +And lay thy head on my breast: +Child, do not weep; +In the calm, cold, purple depths +There we shall sleep. + + + + +VERSE: UNEXPRESSED + + +Dwells within the soul of every Artist +More than all his effort can express; +And he knows the best remains unuttered; +Sighing at what we call his success. + +Vainly he may strive; he dare not tell us +All the sacred mysteries of the skies: +Vainly he may strive; the deepest beauty +Cannot be unveiled to mortal eyes. + +And the more devoutly that he listens, +And the holier message that is sent, +Still the more his soul must struggle vainly, +Bowed beneath a noble discontent. + +No great Thinker ever lived and taught you +All the wonder that his soul received; +No true Painter ever set on canvas +All the glorious vision he conceived. + +No Musician ever held your spirit +Charmed and bound in his melodious chains, +But be sure he heard, and strove to render, +Feeble echoes of celestial strains. + +No real Poet ever wove in numbers +All his dream; but the diviner part, +Hidden from all the world, spake to him only +In the voiceless silence of his heart. + +So with Love: for Love and Art united +Are twin mysteries; different, yet the same: +Poor indeed would be the love of any +Who could find its full and perfect name. + +Love may strive, but vain is the endeavour +All its boundless riches to enfold; +Still its tenderest, truest secret lingers +Ever in its deepest depths untold. + +Things of Time have voices: speak and perish. +Art and Love speak--but their words must be +Like sighings of illimitable forests, +And waves of an unfathomable sea. + + + + +VERSE: BECAUSE + + +It is not because your heart is mine--mine only-- +Mine alone; +It is not because you chose me, weak and lonely, +For your own; +Not because the earth is fairer, and the skies +Spread above you +Are more radiant for the shining of your eyes-- +That I love you! + +It is not because the world's perplexed meaning +Grows more clear; +And the Parapets of Heaven, with angels leaning, +Seem more near; +And Nature sings of praise with all her voices +Since yours spoke, +Since within my silent heart, that now rejoices, +Love awoke! + +Nay, not even because your hand holds heart and life; +At your will +Soothing, hushing all its discord, making strife +Calm and still; +Teaching Trust to fold her wings, nor ever roam +From her nest; +Teaching Love that her securest, safest home +Must be Rest. + +But because this human Love, though true and sweet-- +Yours and mine-- +Has been sent by Love more tender, more complete, +More divine; +That it leads our hearts to rest at last in Heaven, +Far above you; +Do I take you as a gift that God has given-- +--And I love you! + + + + +VERSE: REST AT EVENING + + +When the weariness of Life is ended, +And the task of our long day is done, +And the props, on which our hearts depended, +All have failed or broken, one by one; +Evening and our Sorrow's shadow blended +Telling us that peace is now begun. + +How far back will seem the sun's first dawning, +And those early mists so cold and grey! +Half forgotten even the toil of morning, +And the heat and burthen of the day: +Flowers that we were tending, and weeds scorning, +All alike withered and cast away. + +Vain will seem the impatient heart, which waited +Toils that gathered but too quickly round; +And the childish joy, so soon elated +At the path we thought none else had found; +And the foolish ardour, soon abated +By the storm which cast us to the ground. + +Vain those pauses on the road, each seeming +As our final home and resting-place; +And the leaving them, while tears were streaming +Of eternal sorrow down our face; +And the hands we held, fond folly dreaming +That no future could their touch efface. + +All will then be faded:- night will borrow +Stars of light to crown our perfect rest; +And the dim vague memory of faint sorrow +Just remain to show us all was best, +Then melt into a divine to-morrow:- +Oh, how poor a day to be so blest! + + + + +VERSE: A RETROSPECT + + +From this fair point of present bliss, +Where we together stand, +Let me look back once more, and trace +That long and desert land, +Wherein till now was cast my lot, and I could live, and thou wert not. + +Strange that my heart could beat, and know +Alternate joy and pain, +That suns could roll from east to west, +And clouds could pass in rain, +And the slow hours without thee fleet, nor stay their noiseless silver +feet. + +What had I then? a hope, that grew +Each hour more bright and dear, +The flush upon the eastern skies +That showed the sun was near:- +Now night has faded far away, my sun has risen, and it is day. + +A dim Ideal of tender grace +In my soul reigned supreme; +Too noble and too sweet I thought +To live, save in a dream-- +Within thy heart to-day it lies, and looks on me from thy dear eyes. + +Some gentle spirit--Love I thought-- +Built many a shrine of pain; +Though each false Idol fell to dust, +The worship was not vain, +But a faint radiant shadow cast back from our Love upon the Past. + +And Grief, too, held her vigil there; +With unrelenting sway +Breaking my cloudy visions down, +Throwing my flowers away:- +I owe to her fond care alone that I may now be all thine own. + +Fair Joy was there--her fluttering wings +At times she strove to raise; +Watching through long and patient nights, +Listening long eager days: +I know now that her heart and mine were waiting, Love, to welcome thine. + +Thus I can read thy name throughout, +And, now her task is done, +Can see that even that faded Past +Was thine, beloved one, +And so rejoice my Life may be all consecrated, dear, to thee. + + + + +VERSE: TRUE OR FALSE + + +So you think you love me, do you? +Well, it may be so; +But there are many ways of loving +I have learnt to know. +Many ways, and but one true way, +Which is very rare; +And the counterfeits look brightest, +Though they will not wear. + +Yet they ring, almost, quite truly, +Last (with care) for long; +But in time must break, may shiver +At a touch of wrong: +Having seen what looked most real +Crumble into dust; +Now I chose that test and trial +Should precede my trust. + +I have seen a love demanding +Time and hope and tears, +Chaining all the past, exacting +Bonds from future years; +Mind and heart, and joy and sorrow, +Claiming as its fee: +That was Love of Self, and never, +Never Love of me! + +I have seen a love forgetting +All above, beyond, +Linking every dream and fancy +In a sweeter bond; +Counting every hour worthless, +Which was cold or free:- +That, perhaps, was--Love of Pleasure, +But not Love of me! + +I have seen a love whose patience +Never turned aside, +Full of tender, fond devices; +Constant, even when tried; +Smallest boons were held as victories, +Drops that swelled the sea: +That I think was--Love of Power, +But not Love of me! + +I have seen a love disdaining +Ease and pride and fame, +Burning even its own white pinions +Just to feed its flame; +Reigning thus, supreme, triumphant, +By the soul's decree; +That was--Love of Love, I fancy, +But not Love of me! + +I have heard--or dreamt, it may be-- +What Love is when true; +How to test and how to try it, +Is the gift of few: +These few say (or did I dream it?) +That true Love abides +In these very things, but always +Has a soul besides. + +Lives among the false loves, knowing +Just their peace and strife: +Bears the self-same look, but always +Has an inner life. +Only a true heart can find it, +True as it is true, +Only eyes as clear and tender +Look it through and through. + +If it dies, it will not perish +By Time's slow decay, +True Love only grows (they tell me) +Stronger, day by day: +Pain--has been its friend and comrade; +Fate--it can defy; +Only by its own sword, sometimes +Love can choose to die. + +And its grave shall be more noble +And more sacred still, +Than a throne, where one less worthy +Reigns and rules at will. +Tell me then, do you dare offer +This true Love to me? . . . +Neither you nor I can answer; +We will--wait and see! + + + + +VERSE: GOLDEN WORDS + + +Some words are played on golden strings, +Which I so highly rate, +I cannot bear for meaner things +Their sound to desecrate. + +For every day they are not meet, +Or for a careless tone; +They are for rarest, and most sweet, +And noblest use alone. + +One word is POET: which is flung +So carelessly away, +When such as you and I have sung, +We hear it, day by day. + +Men pay it for a tender phrase +Set in a cadenced rhyme: +I keep it as a crown of praise +To crown the kings of time. + +And LOVE: the slightest feelings, stirred +By trivial fancy, seek +Expression in that golden word +They tarnish while they speak. + +Nay, let the heart's slow, rare decree, +That word in reverence keep +Silence herself should only be +More sacred and more deep. + +FOR EVER: men have grown at length +To use that word, to raise +Some feeble protest into strength, +Or turn some tender phrase. + +It should be said in awe and fear +By true heart and strong will, +And burn more brightly year by year, +A starry witness still. + +HONOUR: all trifling hearts are fond +Of that divine appeal, +And men, upon the slightest bond, +Set it as slighter seal. + +That word should meet a noble foe +Upon a noble field, +And echo--like a deadly blow +Turned by a silver shield. + +Trust me, the worth of words is such +They guard all noble things, +And that this rash irreverent touch +Has jarred some golden strings. + +For what the lips have lightly said +The heart will lightly hold, +And things on which we daily tread +Are lightly bought and sold. + +The sun of every day will bleach +The costliest purple hue. +And so our common daily speech +Discolours what was true. + +But as you keep some thoughts apart +In sacred honoured care, +If in the silence of your heart, +Their utterance too be rare; + +Then, while a thousand words repeat +Unmeaning clamours all, +Melodious golden echoes sweet +Shall answer when you call. + + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEGENDS AND LYRICS: FIRST SERIES*** + + +******* This file should be named 2303.txt or 2303.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/0/2303 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk +from the 1890 George Bell and Sons edition edition. + + + + + +LEGENDS AND LYRICS--FIRST SERIES + +by Adelaide Ann Proctor + + + + +Contents: + + +Dedication +An Introduction by Charles Dickens +The Angel's Story +Echoes +A False Genius +My Picture +Judge Not +Friend Sorrow +One by One +True Honours +A Woman's Question +The Three Rulers +A Dead Past +A Doubting Heart +A Student +A Knight Errant +Linger, oh, gentle Time +Homeward Bound +Life and Death +Now +Cleansing Fires +The Voice of the Wind +Treasures +Shining Stars +Waiting +The Cradle Song of the Poor +Be strong +God's Gifts +A Tomb in Ghent +The Angel of Death +A Dream +The Present +Changes +Strive, Wait, and Pray +A Lament for the Summer +The Unknown Grave +Give me thy Heart +The Wayside Inn +Voices of the Past +The Dark Side +A First Sorrow +Murmurs +Give +My Journal +A Chain +The Pilgrims +Incompleteness +A Legend of Bregenz +A Farewell +Sowing and Reaping +The Storm +Words +A Love Token +A Tryst with Death +Fidelis +A Shadow +The Sailor Boy +A Crown of Sorrow +The Lesson of the War +The Two Spirits +A Little Longer +Grief +The Triumph of Time +A Parting +The Golden Gate +Phantoms +Thankfulness +Home-sickness +Wishes +The Peace of God +Life in Death and Death in Life +Recollections +Illusion +A Vision +Pictures in the Fire +The Settlers +Hush! +Hours +The Two Interpreters +Comfort +Home at last +Unexpressed +Because +Rest at Evening +A Retrospect +True or False +Golden Words + + + + +DEDICATION + + + +TO MATILDA M. HAYS. + +"Our tokens of love are for the most part barbarous. Cold and +lifeless, because they do not represent our life. The only gift is +a portion of thyself. Therefore let the farmer give his corn; the +miner, a gem; the sailor, coral and shells; the painter, his +picture; and the poet, his poem."--Emerson's Essays. + +A. A. P. + +May, 1858 + + + + +AN INTRODUCTION BY CHARLES DICKENS + + + +In the spring of the year 1853, I observed, as conductor of the +weekly journal Household Words, a short poem among the proffered +contributions, very different, as I thought, from the shoal of +verses perpetually setting through the office of such a periodical, +and possessing much more merit. Its authoress was quite unknown to +me. She was one Miss Mary Berwick, whom I had never heard of; and +she was to be addressed by letter, if addressed at all, at a +circulating library in the western district of London. Through +this channel, Miss Berwick was informed that her poem was accepted, +and was invited to send another. She complied, and became a +regular and frequent contributor. Many letters passed between the +journal and Miss Berwick, but Miss Berwick herself was never seen. + +How we came gradually to establish, at the office of Household +Words, that we knew all about Miss Berwick, I have never +discovered. But we settled somehow, to our complete satisfaction, +that she was governess in a family; that she went to Italy in that +capacity, and returned; and that she had long been in the same +family. We really knew nothing whatever of her, except that she +was remarkably business-like, punctual, self-reliant, and reliable: +so I suppose we insensibly invented the rest. For myself, my +mother was not a more real personage to me, than Miss Berwick the +governess became. + +This went on until December, 1854, when the Christmas number, +entitled The Seven Poor Travellers, was sent to press. Happening +to be going to dine that day with an old and dear friend, +distinguished in literature as Barry Cornwall, I took with me an +early proof of that number, and remarked, as I laid it on the +drawing-room table, that it contained a very pretty poem, written +by a certain Miss Berwick. Next day brought me the disclosure that +I had so spoken of the poem to the mother of its writer, in its +writer's presence; that I had no such correspondent in existence as +Miss Berwick; and that the name had been assumed by Barry +Cornwall's eldest daughter, Miss Adelaide Anne Procter. + +The anecdote I have here noted down, besides serving to explain why +the parents of the late Miss Procter have looked to me for these +poor words of remembrance of their lamented child, strikingly +illustrates the honesty, independence, and quiet dignity, of the +lady's character. I had known her when she was very young; I had +been honoured with her father's friendship when I was myself a +young aspirant; and she had said at home, "If I send him, in my own +name, verses that he does not honestly like, either it will be very +painful to him to return them, or he will print them for papa's +sake, and not for their own. So I have made up my mind to take my +chance fairly with the unknown volunteers." + +Perhaps it requires an editor's experience of the profoundly +unreasonable grounds on which he is often urged to accept +unsuitable articles--such as having been to school with the +writer's husband's brother-in-law, or having lent an alpenstock in +Switzerland to the writer's wife's nephew, when that interesting +stranger had broken his own--fully to appreciate the delicacy and +the self-respect of this resolution. + +Some verses by Miss Procter had been published in the Book of +Beauty, ten years before she became Miss Berwick. With the +exception of two poems in the Cornhill Magazine, two in Good Words, +and others in a little book called A Chaplet of Verses (issued in +1862 for the benefit of a Night Refuge), her published writings +first appeared in Household Words, or All the Year Round. The +present edition contains the whole of her Legends and Lyrics, and +originates in the great favour with which they have been received +by the public. + +Miss Procter was born in Bedford Square, London, on the 30th of +October, 1825. Her love of poetry was conspicuous at so early an +age, that I have before me a tiny album made of small note-paper, +into which her favourite passages were copied for her by her +mother's hand before she herself could write. It looks as if she +had carried it about, as another little girl might have carried a +doll. She soon displayed a remarkable memory, and great quickness +of apprehension. When she was quite a young child, she learned +with facility several of the problems of Euclid. As she grew +older, she acquired the French, Italian, and German languages; +became a clever pianoforte player; and showed a true taste and +sentiment in drawing. But, as soon as she had completely +vanquished the difficulties of any one branch of study, it was her +way to lose interest in it, and pass to another. While her mental +resources were being trained, it was not at all suspected in her +family that she had any gift of authorship, or any ambition to +become a writer. Her father had no idea of her having ever +attempted to turn a rhyme, until her first little poem saw the +light in print. + +When she attained to womanhood, she had read an extraordinary +number of books, and throughout her life she was always largely +adding to the number. In 1853 she went to Turin and its +neighbourhood, on a visit to her aunt, a Roman Catholic lady. As +Miss Procter had herself professed the Roman Catholic Faith two +years before, she entered with the greater ardour on the study of +the Piedmontese dialect, and the observation of the habits and +manners of the peasantry. In the former, she soon became a +proficient. On the latter head, I extract from her familiar +letters written home to England at the time, two pleasant pieces of +description. + + +A BETROTHAL + + +"We have been to a ball, of which I must give you a description. +Last Tuesday we had just done dinner at about seven, and stepped +out into the balcony to look at the remains of the sunset behind +the mountains, when we heard very distinctly a band of music, which +rather excited my astonishment, as a solitary organ is the utmost +that toils up here. I went out of the room for a few minutes, and, +on my returning, Emily said, 'Oh! That band is playing at the +farmer's near here. The daughter is fiancee to-day, and they have +a ball.' I said, 'I wish I was going!' 'Well,' replied she, 'the +farmer's wife did call to invite us.' 'Then I shall certainly go,' +I exclaimed. I applied to Madame B., who said she would like it +very much, and we had better go, children and all. Some of the +servants were already gone. We rushed away to put on some shawls, +and put off any shred of black we might have about us (as the +people would have been quite annoyed if we had appeared on such an +occasion with any black), and we started. When we reached the +farmer's, which is a stone's throw above our house, we were +received with great enthusiasm; the only drawback being, that no +one spoke French, and we did not yet speak Piedmontese. We were +placed on a bench against the wall, and the people went on dancing. +The room was a large whitewashed kitchen (I suppose), with several +large pictures in black frames, and very smoky. I distinguished +the Martyrdom of Saint Sebastian, and the others appeared equally +lively and appropriate subjects. Whether they were Old Masters or +not, and if so, by whom, I could not ascertain. The band were +seated opposite us. Five men, with wind instruments, part of the +band of the National Guard, to which the farmer's sons belong. +They played really admirably, and I began to be afraid that some +idea of our dignity would prevent me getting a partner; so, by +Madame B.'s advice, I went up to the bride, and offered to dance +with her. Such a handsome young woman! Like one of Uwins's +pictures. Very dark, with a quantity of black hair, and on an +immense scale. The children were already dancing, as well as the +maids. After we came to an end of our dance, which was what they +called a Polka-Mazourka, I saw the bride trying to screw up the +courage of her fiance to ask me to dance, which after a little +hesitation he did. And admirably he danced, as indeed they all +did--in excellent time, and with a little more spirit than one sees +in a ball-room. In fact, they were very like one's ordinary +partners, except that they wore earrings and were in their shirt- +sleeves, and truth compels me to state that they decidedly smelt of +garlic. Some of them had been smoking, but threw away their cigars +when we came in. The only thing that did not look cheerful was, +that the room was only lighted by two or three oil-lamps, and that +there seemed to be no preparation for refreshments. Madame B., +seeing this, whispered to her maid, who disengaged herself from her +partner, and ran off to the house; she and the kitchenmaid +presently returning with a large tray covered with all kinds of +cakes (of which we are great consumers and always have a stock), +and a large hamper full of bottles of wine, with coffee and sugar. +This seemed all very acceptable. The fiancee was requested to +distribute the eatables, and a bucket of water being produced to +wash the glasses in, the wine disappeared very quickly--as fast as +they could open the bottles. But, elated, I suppose, by this, the +floor was sprinkled with water, and the musicians played a +Monferrino, which is a Piedmontese dance. Madame B. danced with +the farmer's son, and Emily with another distinguished member of +the company. It was very fatiguing--something like a Scotch reel. +My partner was a little man, like Perrot, and very proud of his +dancing. He cut in the air and twisted about, until I was out of +breath, though my attempts to imitate him were feeble in the +extreme. At last, after seven or eight dances, I was obliged to +sit down. We stayed till nine, and I was so dead beat with the +heat that I could hardly crawl about the house, and in an agony +with the cramp, it is so long since I have danced." + + +A MARRIAGE + + +The wedding of the farmer's daughter has taken place. We had hoped +it would have been in the little chapel of our house, but it seems +some special permission was necessary, and they applied for it too +late. They all said, "This is the Constitution. There would have +been no difficulty before!" the lower classes making the poor +Constitution the scapegoat for everything they don't like. So as +it was impossible for us to climb up to the church where the +wedding was to be, we contented ourselves with seeing the +procession pass. It was not a very large one, for, it requiring +some activity to go up, all the old people remained at home. It is +not etiquette for the bride's mother to go, and no unmarried woman +can go to a wedding--I suppose for fear of its making her +discontented with her own position. The procession stopped at our +door, for the bride to receive our congratulations. She was +dressed in a shot silk, with a yellow handkerchief, and rows of a +large gold chain. In the afternoon they sent to request us to go +there. On our arrival we found them dancing out of doors, and a +most melancholy affair it was. All the bride's sisters were not to +be recognised, they had cried so. The mother sat in the house, and +could not appear. And the bride was sobbing so, she could hardly +stand! The most melancholy spectacle of all to my mind was, that +the bridegroom was decidedly tipsy. He seemed rather affronted at +all the distress. We danced a Monferrino; I with the bridegroom; +and the bride crying the whole time. The company did their utmost +to enliven her by firing pistols, but without success, and at last +they began a series of yells, which reminded me of a set of +savages. But even this delicate method of consolation failed, and +the wishing good-bye began. It was altogether so melancholy an +affair that Madame B. dropped a few tears, and I was very near it, +particularly when the poor mother came out to see the last of her +daughter, who was finally dragged off between her brother and +uncle, with a last explosion of pistols. As she lives quite near, +makes an excellent match, and is one of nine children, it really +was a most desirable marriage, in spite of all the show of +distress. Albert was so discomfited by it, that he forgot to kiss +the bride as he had intended to do, and therefore went to call upon +her yesterday, and found her very smiling in her new house, and +supplied the omission. The cook came home from the wedding, +declaring she was cured of any wish to marry--but I would not +recommend any man to act upon that threat and make her an offer. +In a couple of days we had some rolls of the bride's first baking, +which they call Madonnas. The musicians, it seems, were in the +same state as the bridegroom, for, in escorting her home, they all +fell down in the mud. My wrath against the bridegroom is somewhat +calmed by finding that it is considered bad luck if he does not get +tipsy at his wedding." + + +Those readers of Miss Procter's poems who should suppose from their +tone that her mind was of a gloomy or despondent cast, would be +curiously mistaken. She was exceedingly humorous, and had a great +delight in humour. Cheerfulness was habitual with her, she was +very ready at a sally or a reply, and in her laugh (as I remember +well) there was an unusual vivacity, enjoyment, and sense of +drollery. She was perfectly unconstrained and unaffected: as +modestly silent about her productions, as she was generous with +their pecuniary results. She was a friend who inspired the +strongest attachments; she was a finely sympathetic woman, with a +great accordant heart and a sterling noble nature. No claim can be +set up for her, thank God, to the possession of any of the +conventional poetical qualities. She never by any means held the +opinion that she was among the greatest of human beings; she never +suspected the existence of a conspiracy on the part of mankind +against her; she never recognised in her best friends, her worst +enemies; she never cultivated the luxury of being misunderstood and +unappreciated; she would far rather have died without seeing a line +of her composition in print, than that I should have maundered +about her, here, as "the Poet", or "the Poetess". + +With the recollection of Miss Procter as a mere child and as a +woman, fresh upon me, it is natural that I should linger on my way +to the close of this brief record, avoiding its end. But, even as +the close came upon her, so must it come here. + +Always impelled by an intense conviction that her life must not be +dreamed away, and that her indulgence in her favourite pursuits +must be balanced by action in the real world around her, she was +indefatigable in her endeavours to do some good. Naturally +enthusiastic, and conscientiously impressed with a deep sense of +her Christian duty to her neighbour, she devoted herself to a +variety of benevolent objects. Now, it was the visitation of the +sick, that had possession of her; now, it was the sheltering of the +houseless; now, it was the elementary teaching of the densely +ignorant; now, it was the raising up of those who had wandered and +got trodden under foot; now, it was the wider employment of her own +sex in the general business of life; now, it was all these things +at once. Perfectly unselfish, swift to sympathise and eager to +relieve, she wrought at such designs with a flushed earnestness +that disregarded season, weather, time of day or night, food, rest. +Under such a hurry of the spirits, and such incessant occupation, +the strongest constitution will commonly go down. Hers, neither of +the strongest nor the weakest, yielded to the burden, and began to +sink. + +To have saved her life, then, by taking action on the warning that +shone in her eyes and sounded in her voice, would have been +impossible, without changing her nature. As long as the power of +moving about in the old way was left to her, she must exercise it, +or be killed by the restraint. And so the time came when she could +move about no longer, and took to her bed. + +All the restlessness gone then, and all the sweet patience of her +natural disposition purified by the resignation of her soul, she +lay upon her bed through the whole round of changes of the seasons. +She lay upon her bed through fifteen months. In all that time, her +old cheerfulness never quitted her. In all that time, not an +impatient or a querulous minute can be remembered. + +At length, at midnight on the second of February, 1864, she turned +down a leaf of a little book she was reading, and shut it up. + +The ministering hand that had copied the verses into the tiny album +was soon around her neck, and she quietly asked, as the clock was +on the stroke of one: + +"Do you think I am dying, mamma?" + +"I think you are very, very ill to-night, my dear!" + +"Send for my sister. My feet are so cold. Lift me up?" + +Her sister entering as they raised her, she said: "It has come at +last!" And with a bright and happy smile, looked upward, and +departed. + +Well had she written: + + +Why shouldst thou fear the beautiful angel, Death, +Who waits thee at the portals of the skies, +Ready to kiss away thy struggling breath, +Ready with gentle hand to close thine eyes? + +Oh what were life, if life were all? Thine eyes +Are blinded by their tears, or thou wouldst see +Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off skies, +And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee. + + + +VERSE: THE ANGEL'S STORY + + + +Through the blue and frosty heavens +Christmas stars were shining bright; +Glistening lamps throughout the City +Almost matched their gleaming light; +While the winter snow was lying, +And the winter winds were sighing, +Long ago, one Christmas night. + +While, from every tower and steeple, +Pealing bells were sounding clear, +(Never with such tones of gladness, +Save when Christmas time is near,) +Many a one that night was merry +Who had toiled through all the year. + +That night saw old wrongs forgiven, +Friends, long parted, reconciled; +Voices all unused to laughter, +Mournful eyes that rarely smiled, +Trembling hearts that feared the morrow, +From their anxious thoughts beguiled. + +Rich and poor felt love and blessing +From the gracious season fall; +Joy and plenty in the cottage, +Peace and feasting in the hall; +And the voices of the children +Ringing clear above it all! + +Yet one house was dim and darkened; +Gloom, and sickness, and despair, +Dwelling in the gilded chambers. +Creeping up the marble stair, +Even stilled the voice of mourning - +For a child lay dying there. + +Silken curtains fell around him, +Velvet carpets hushed the tread. +Many costly toys were lying, +All unheeded, by his bed; +And his tangled golden ringlets +Were on downy pillows spread. + +The skill of all that mighty City +To save one little life was vain; +One little thread from being broken, +One fatal word from being spoken; +Nay, his very mother's pain, +And the mighty love within her, +Could not give him health again. + +So she knelt there still beside him, +She alone with strength to smile, +Promising that he should suffer +No more in a little while, +Murmuring tender song and story +Weary hours to beguile. + +Suddenly an unseen Presence +Checked those constant moaning cries, +Stilled the little heart's quick fluttering, +Raised those blue and wondering eyes, +Fixed on some mysterious vision, +With a startled sweet surprise. + +For a radiant angel hovered, +Smiling, o'er the little bed; +White his raiment, from his shoulders +Snowy dove-like pinions spread, +And a starlike light was shining +In a Glory round his head. + +While, with tender love, the angel, +Leaning o'er the little nest, +In his arms the sick child folding, +Laid him gently on his breast, +Sobs and wailings told the mother +That her darling was at rest. + +So the angel, slowing rising, +Spread his wings; and, through the air, +Bore the child, and while he held him +To his heart with loving care, +Placed a branch of crimson roses +Tenderly beside him there. + +While the child, thus clinging, floated +Towards the mansions of the Blest, +Gazing from his shining guardian +To the flowers upon his breast, +Thus the angel spake, still smiling +On the little heavenly guest: + +"Know, dear little one, that Heaven +Does no earthly thing disdain, +Man's poor joys find there an echo +Just as surely as his pain; +Love, on earth so feebly striving, +Lives divine in Heaven again! + +"Once in that great town below us, +In a poor and narrow street, +Dwelt a little sickly orphan; +Gentle aid, or pity sweet, +Never in life's rugged pathway +Guided his poor tottering feet. + +"All the striving anxious forethought +That should only come with age, +Weighed upon his baby spirit, +Showed him soon life's sternest page; +Grim Want was his nurse, and Sorrow +Was his only heritage. + +"All too weak for childish pastimes, +Drearily the hours sped; +On his hands so small and trembling +Leaning his poor aching head, +Or, through dark and painful hours, +Lying sleepless on his bed. + +"Dreaming strange and longing fancies +Of cool forests far away; +And of rosy, happy children, +Laughing merrily at play, +Coming home through green lanes, bearing +Trailing boughs of blooming May. + +"Scarce a glimpse of azure heaven +Gleamed above that narrow street, +And the sultry air of Summer +(That you call so warm and sweet) +Fevered the poor Orphan, dwelling +In the crowded alley's heat. + +"One bright day, with feeble footsteps +Slowly forth he tried to crawl, +Through the crowded city's pathways, +Till he reached a garden-wall; +Where 'mid princely halls and mansions +Stood the lordliest of all. + +"There were trees with giant branches, +Velvet glades where shadows hide; +There were sparkling fountains glancing, +Flowers, which in luxuriant pride +Even wafted breaths of perfume +To the child who stood outside. + +"He against the gate of iron +Pressed his wan and wistful face, +Gazing with an awe-struck pleasure +At the glories of the place; +Never had his brightest day-dream +Shone with half such wondrous grace. + +"You were playing in that garden, +Throwing blossoms in the air, +Laughing when the petals floated +Downwards on your golden hair; +And the fond eyes watching o'er you, +And the splendour spread before you, +Told a House's Hope was there. + +"When your servants, tired of seeing +Such a face of want and woe, +Turning to the ragged Orphan, +Gave him coin, and bade him go, +Down his cheeks so thin and wasted, +Bitter tears began to flow. + +"But that look of childish sorrow +On your tender child-heart fell, +And you plucked the reddest roses +From the tree you loved so well, +Passed them through the stern cold grating, +Gently bidding him 'Farewell!' + +"Dazzled by the fragrant treasure +And the gentle voice he heard, +In the poor forlorn boy's spirit, +Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirred; +In his hand he took the flowers, +In his heart the loving word. + +"So he crept to his poor garret; +Poor no more, but rich and bright, +For the holy dreams of childhood - +Love, and Rest, and Hope, and Light - +Floated round the Orphan's pillow +Through the starry summer night. + +"Day dawned, yet the visions lasted; +All too weak to rise he lay; +Did he dream that none spake harshly - +All were strangely kind that day? +Surely then his treasured roses +Must have charmed all ills away. + +"And he smiled, though they were fading; +One by one their leaves were shed; +'Such bright things could never perish, +They would bloom again,' he said. +When the next day's sun had risen +Child and flowers both were dead. + +"Know, dear little one! our Father +Will no gentle deed disdain; +Love on the cold earth beginning +Lives divine in Heaven again, +While the angel hearts that beat there +Still all tender thoughts retain." + +So the angel ceased, and gently +O'er his little burthen leant; +While the child gazed from the shining, +Loving eyes that o'er him bent, +To the blooming roses by him, +Wondering what that mystery meant. + +Thus the radiant angel answered, +And with tender meaning smiled: +"Ere your childlike, loving spirit, +Sin and the hard world defiled, +God has given me leave to seek you - +I was once that little child!" + +* * * + +In the churchyard of that city +Rose a tomb of marble rare, +Decked, as soon as Spring awakened, +With her buds and blossoms fair - +And a humble grave beside it - +No one knew who rested there. + + + +VERSE: ECHOES + + + +Still the angel stars are shining, +Still the rippling waters flow, +But the angel-voice is silent +That I heard so long ago. +Hark! the echoes murmur low, +Long ago! + +Still the wood is dim and lonely, +Still the plashing fountains play, +But the past and all its beauty, +Whither has it fled away? +Hark! the mournful echoes say, +Fled away! + +Still the bird of night complaineth, +(Now, indeed, her song is pain,) +Visions of my happy hours, +Do I call and call in vain? +Hark! the echoes cry again, +All in vain! + +Cease, oh echoes, mournful echoes! +Once I loved your voices well; +Now my heart is sick and weary - +Days of old, a long farewell! +Hark! the echoes sad and dreary +Cry farewell, farewell! + + + +VERSE: A FALSE GENIUS + + + +I see a Spirit by thy side, +Purple-winged and eagle-eyed, +Looking like a Heavenly guide. + +Though he seem so bright and fair, +Ere thou trust his proffered care, +Pause a little, and beware! + +If he bid thee dwell apart, +Tending some ideal smart +In a sick and coward heart; + +In self-worship wrapped alone, +Dreaming thy poor griefs are grown +More than other men have known; + +Dwelling in some cloudy sphere, +Though God's work is waiting here, +And God deigneth to be near; + +If his torch's crimson glare +Show thee evil everywhere, +Tainting all the wholesome air; + +While with strange distorted choice, +Still disdaining to rejoice, +Thou WILT hear a wailing voice; + +If a simple, humble heart, +Seem to thee a meaner part, +Than thy noblest aim and art; + +If he bid thee bow before +Crowned Mind and nothing more, +The great idol men adore; + +And with starry veil enfold +Sin, the trailing serpent old, +Till his scales shine out like gold; + +Though his words seem true and wise, +Soul, I say to thee--Arise. +He is a Demon in disguise! + + + +VERSE: MY PICTURE + + + +Stand this way--more near the window - +By my desk--you see the light +Falling on my picture better - +Thus I see it while I write! + +Who the head may be I know not, +But it has a student air; +With a look half sad, half stately, +Grave sweet eyes and flowing hair. + +Little care I who the painter, +How obscure a name he bore; +Nor, when some have named Velasquez, +Did I value it the more. + +As it is, I would not give it +For the rarest piece of art; +It has dwelt with me, and listened +To the secrets of my heart. + +Many a time, when to my garret, +Weary, I returned at night, +It has seemed to look a welcome +That has made my poor room bright. + +Many a time, when ill and sleepless, +I have watched the quivering gleam +Of my lamp upon that picture, +Till it faded in my dream. + +When dark days have come, and friendship +Worthless seemed, and life in vain, +That bright friendly smile has sent me +Boldly to my task again. + +Sometimes when hard need has pressed me +To bow down where I despise, +I have read stern words of counsel +In those sad reproachful eyes. + +Nothing that my brain imagined, +Or my weary hand has wrought, +But it watched the dim Idea +Spring forth into armed Thought. + +It has smiled on my successes, +Raised me when my hopes were low, +And by turns has looked upon me +With all the loving eyes I know. + +Do you wonder that my picture +Has become so like a friend? - +It has seen my life's beginnings, +It shall stay and cheer the end! + + + +VERSE: JUDGE NOT + + + +Judge not; the workings of his brain +And of his heart thou canst not see; +What looks to thy dim eyes a stain, +In God's pure light may only be +A scar, brought from some well-won field, +Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. + +The look, the air, that frets thy sight, +May be a token, that below +The soul has closed in deadly fight +With some infernal fiery foe, +Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace, +And cast thee shuddering on thy face! + +The fall thou darest to despise - +May be the angel's slackened hand +Has suffered it, that he may rise +And take a firmer, surer stand; +Or, trusting less to earthly things, +May henceforth learn to use his wings. + +And judge none lost; but wait, and see, +With hopeful pity, not disdain; +The depth of the abyss may be +The measure of the height of pain +And love and glory that may raise +This soul to God in after days! + + + +VERSE: FRIEND SORROW + + + +Do not cheat thy Heart and tell her, +"Grief will pass away, +Hope for fairer times in future, +And forget to-day." - +Tell her, if you will, that sorrow +Need not come in vain; +Tell her that the lesson taught her +Far outweighs the pain. + +Cheat her not with the old comfort, +"Soon she will forget" - +Bitter truth, alas--but matter +Rather for regret; +Bid her not "Seek other pleasures, +Turn to other things:" - +Rather nurse her caged sorrow +'Till the captive sings. + +Rather bid her go forth bravely. +And the stranger greet; +Not as foe, with spear and buckler, +But as dear friends meet; +Bid her with a strong clasp hold her, +By her dusky wings - +Listening for the murmured blessing +Sorrow always brings. + + + +VERSE: ONE BY ONE + + + +One by one the sands are flowing, +One by one the moments fall; +Some are coming, some are going; +Do not strive to grasp them all. + +One by one thy duties wait thee, +Let thy whole strength go to each, +Let no future dreams elate thee, +Learn thou first what these can teach. + +One by one (bright gifts from Heaven) +Joys are sent thee here below; +Take them readily when given, +Ready too to let them go. + +One by one thy griefs shall meet thee, +Do not fear an armed band; +One will fade as others greet thee; +Shadows passing through the land. + +Do not look at life's long sorrow; +See how small each moment's pain; +God will help thee for to-morrow, +So each day begin again. + +Every hour that fleets so slowly +Has its task to do or bear; +Luminous the crown, and holy, +When each gem is set with care. + +Do not linger with regretting, +Or for passing hours despond; +Nor, the daily toil forgetting, +Look too eagerly beyond. + +Hours are golden links, God's token, +Reaching Heaven; but one by one +Take them, lest the chain be broken +Ere the pilgrimage be done. + + + +VERSE: TRUE HONOURS + + + +Is my darling tired already, +Tired of her day of play? +Draw your little stool beside me, +Smooth this tangled hair away. +Can she put the logs together, +Till they make a cheerful blaze? +Shall her blind old Uncle tell her +Something of his youthful days? + +Hark! The wind among the cedars +Waves their white arms to and fro; +I remember how I watched them +Sixty Christmas Days ago: +Then I dreamt a glorious vision +Of great deeds to crown each year - +Sixty Christmas Days have found me +Useless, helpless, blind--and here! + +Yes, I feel my darling stealing +Warm soft fingers into mine - +Shall I tell her what I fancied +In that strange old dream of mine? +I was kneeling by the window, +Reading how a noble band, +With the red cross on their breast-plates, +Went to gain the Holy Land. + +While with eager eyes of wonder +Over the dark page I bent, +Slowly twilight shadows gathered +Till the letters came and went; +Slowly, till the night was round me; +Then my heart beat loud and fast, +For I felt before I saw it +That a spirit near me passed. + +Then I raised my eyes, and shining +Where the moon's first ray was bright +Stood a winged Angel-warrior +Clothed and panoplied in light: +So, with Heaven's love upon him, +Stern in calm and resolute will, +Looked St. Michael--does the picture +Hang in the old cloister still? + +Threefold were the dreams of honour +That absorbed my heart and brain; +Threefold crowns the Angel promised, +Each one to be bought by pain: +While he spoke, a threefold blessing +Fell upon my soul like rain. +HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING; +VICTOR IN A GLORIOUS STRIFE; +SINGER OF A NOBLE POEM: +Such the honours of my life. + +Ah, that dream! Long years that gave me +Joy and grief as real things +Never touched the tender memory +Sweet and solemn that it brings - +Never quite effaced the feeling +Of those white and shadowing wings. + +Do those blue eyes open wider? +Does my faith too foolish seem? +Yes, my darling, years have taught me +It was nothing but a dream. +Soon, too soon, the bitter knowledge +Of a fearful trial rose, +Rose to crush my heart, and sternly +Bade my young ambition close. + +More and more my eyes were clouded, +Till at last God's glorious light +Passed away from me for ever, +And I lived and live in night. +Dear, I will not dim your pleasure, +Christmas should be only gay - +In my night the stars have risen, +And I wait the dawn of day. + +Spite of all I could be happy; +For my brothers' tender care +In their boyish pastimes ever +Made me take, or feel a share. +Philip, even then so thoughtful, +Max so noble, brave and tall, +And your father, little Godfrey, +The most loving of them all. + +Philip reasoned down my sorrow, +Max would laugh my gloom away, +Godfrey's little arms put round me, +Helped me through my dreariest day; +While the promise of my Angel, +Like a star, now bright, now pale, +Hung in blackest night above me, +And I felt it could not fail. + +Years passed on, my brothers left me, +Each went out to take his share +In the struggle of life; my portion +Was a humble one--to bear. +Here I dwelt, and learnt to wander +Through the woods and fields alone, +Every cottage in the village +Had a corner called my own. + +Old and young, all brought their troubles, +Great or small, for me to hear; +I have often blessed my sorrow +That drew others' grief so near. +Ah, the people needed helping - +Needed love--(for Love and Heaven +Are the only gifts not bartered, +They alone are freely given) - + +And I gave it. Philip's bounty, +(We were orphans, dear,) made toil +Prosper, and want never fastened +On the tenants of the soil. +Philip's name (Oh, how I gloried, +He so young, to see it rise!) +Soon grew noted among statesmen +As a patriot true and wise. + +And his people all felt honoured +To be ruled by such a name; +I was proud too that they loved me; +Through their pride in him it came. +He had gained what I had longed for, +I meanwhile grew glad and gay, +'Mid his people, to be serving +Him and them, in some poor way. + +How his noble earnest speeches, +With untiring fervour came; +HELPER OF THE POOR AND SUFFERING; +Truly he deserved the name! +Had my Angel's promise failed me? +Had that word of hope grown dim? +Why, my Philip had fulfilled it, +And I loved it best in him! + +Max meanwhile--ah, you, my darling, +Can his loving words recall - +'Mid the bravest and the noblest, +Braver, nobler, than them all. +How I loved him! how my heart thrilled +When his sword clanked by his side. +When I touched his gold embroidery, +Almost SAW him in his pride! + +So we parted; he all eager +To uphold the name he bore, +Leaving in my charge--he loved me - +Some one whom he loved still more: +I must tend this gentle flower, +I must speak to her of him, +For he feared--Love still is fearful - +That his memory might grow dim. + +I must guard her from all sorrow, +I must play a brother's part, +Shield all grief and trial from her, +If it need be, with my heart. +Years passed, and his name grew famous; +We were proud, both she and I; +And we lived upon his letters, +While the slow days fleeted by. + +Then at last--you know the story, +How a fearful rumour spread, +Till all hope had slowly faded, +And we heard that he was dead. +Dead! Oh, those were bitter hours; +Yet within my soul there dwelt +A warning, and while others mourned him, +Something like a hope I felt. + +His was no weak life as mine was, +But a life, so full and strong - +No, I could not think he perished +Nameless, 'mid a conquered throng. +How she drooped! Years passed; no tidings +Came, and yet that little flame +Of strange hope within my spirit +Still burnt on, and lived the same. + +Ah! my child, our hearts will fail us, +When to us they strongest seem; +I can look back on those hours +As a fearful, evil dream. +She had long despaired; what wonder +That her heart had turned to mine? +Earthly loves are deep and tender, +Not eternal and divine! + +Can I say how bright a future +Rose before my soul that day? +Oh, so strange, so sweet, so tender - +And I had to turn away. +Hard and terrible the struggle, +For the pain not mine alone; +I called back my Brother's spirit, +And I bade him claim his own. + +Told her--now I dared to do it - +That I felt the day would rise +When he would return to gladden +My weak heart and her bright eyes. +And I pleaded--pleaded sternly - +In his name, and for his sake: +Now, I can speak calmly of it, +Then, I thought my heart would break. + +Soon--ah, Love had not deceived me, +(Love's true instincts never err,) +Wounded, weak, escaped from prison, +He returned to me; to her. +I could thank God that bright morning, +When I felt my Brother's gaze, +That my heart was true and loyal, +As in our old boyish days. + +Bought by wounds and deeds of daring, +Honours he had brought away; +Glory crowned his name--my Brother's; +Mine too!--we were one that day. +Since the crown on him had fallen, +"VICTOR IN A NOBLE STRIFE," +I could live and die contented +With my poor ignoble life. + +Well, my darling, almost weary +Of my story? Wait awhile; +For the rest is only joyful; +I can tell it with a smile. +One bright promise still was left me, +Wound so close about my soul, +That, as one by one had failed me, +This dream now absorbed the whole. + +"SINGER OF A NOBLE POEM," - +Ah, my darling, few and rare +Burn the glorious names of Poets, +Like stars in the purple air. +That too, and I glory in it, +That great gift my Godfrey won; +I have my dear share of honour, +Gained by that beloved one. + +One day shall my darling read it; +Now she cannot understand +All the noble thoughts, that lighten +Through the genius of the land. +I am proud to be his brother, +Proud to think that hope was true; +Though I longed and strove so vainly, +What I failed in, he could do. + +I was long before I knew it, +Longer ere I felt it so; +Then I strung my rhymes together +Only for the poor and low. +And, it pleases me to know it, +(For I love them well indeed,) +They care for my humble verses, +Fitted for their humble need. + +And, it cheers my heart to bear it, +Where the far-off settlers roam, +My poor words are sung and cherished, +Just because they speak of Home. +And the little children sing them, +(That, I think, has pleased me best,) +Often, too, the dying love them, +For they tell of Heaven and rest. + +So my last vain dream has faded; +(Such as I to think of fame!) +Yet I will not say it failed me, +For it crowned my Godfrey's name. +No; my Angel did not cheat me, +For my long life HAS been blest; +He did give me Love and Sorrow, +He will bring me Light and Rest. + + + +VERSE: A WOMAN'S QUESTION + + + +Before I trust my Fate to thee, +Or place my hand in thine, +Before I let thy Future give +Colour and form to mine, +Before I peril all for thee, question thy soul to-night for me. + +I break all slighter bonds, nor feel +A shadow of regret: +Is there one link within the Past, +That holds thy spirit yet? +Or is thy Faith as clear and free as that which I can pledge to +thee? + +Does there within thy dimmest dreams +A possible future shine, +Wherein thy life could henceforth breathe, +Untouched, unshared by mine? +If so, at any pain or cost, oh, tell me before all is lost. + +Look deeper still. If thou canst feel +Within thy inmost soul, +That thou hast kept a portion back, +While I have staked the whole; +Let no false pity spare the blow, but in true mercy tell me so. + +Is there within thy heart a need +That mine cannot fulfil? +One chord that any other hand +Could better wake or still? +Speak now--lest at some future day my whole life wither and decay. + +Lives there within thy nature bid +The demon-spirit Change, +Shedding a passing glory still +On all things new and strange? - +It may not be thy fault alone--but shield my heart against thy own. + +Couldst thou withdraw thy hand one day +And answer to my claim, +That Fate, and that to-day's mistake, +Not thou--had been to blame? +Some soothe their conscience thus: but thou, wilt surely warn and +save me now. + +Nay, answer NOT--I dare not hear, +The words would come too late; +Yet I would spare thee all remorse, +So, comfort thee, my Fate - +Whatever on my heart may fall--remember I WOULD risk it all! + + + +VERSE: THE THREE RULERS + + + +I saw a Ruler take his stand +And trample on a mighty land; +The People crouched before his beck, +His iron heel was on their neck, +His name shone bright through blood and pain, +His sword flashed back their praise again. + +I saw another Ruler rise - +His words were noble, good, and wise; +With the calm sceptre of his pen +He ruled the minds and thoughts of men; +Some scoffed, some praised--while many heard, +Only a few obeyed his word. + +Another Ruler then I saw - +Love and sweet Pity were his law: +The greatest and the least had part +(Yet most the unhappy) in his heart - +The People, in a mighty band, +Rose up, and drove him from the land! + + + +VERSE: A DEAD PAST + + + +Spare her at least: look, you have taken from me +The Present, and I murmur not, nor moan; +The Future too, with all her glorious promise; +But do not leave me utterly alone. + +Spare me the Past--for, see, she cannot harm you, +She lies so white and cold, wrapped in her shroud; +All, all my own! and, trust me, I will hide her +Within my soul, nor speak to her aloud. + +I folded her soft hands upon her bosom, +And strewed my flowers upon her--THEY still live - +Sometimes I like to kiss her closed white eye-lids, +And think of all the joy she used to give. + +Cruel indeed it were to take her from me; +She sleeps, she will not wake--no fear--again: +And so I laid her, such a gentle burthen, +Quietly on my heart to still its pain. + +I do not think that any smiling Present, +Any vague Future, spite of all her charms, +Could ever rival her. You know you laid her, +Long years ago, then living, in my arms. + +Leave her at least--while my tears fall upon her, +I dream she smiles, just as she did of yore; +As dear as ever to me--nay, it may be, +Even dearer still--since I have nothing more. + + + +VERSE: A DOUBTING HEART + + + +Where are the swallows fled? +Frozen and dead, +Perchance upon some bleak and stormy shore. +Oh doubting heart! +Far over purple seas, +They wait, in sunny ease, +The balmy southern breeze, +To bring them to their northern homes once more. + +Why must the flowers die? +Prisoned they lie +In the cold tomb, heedless of tears or rain. +Oh doubting heart! +They only sleep below +The soft white ermine snow, +While winter winds shall blow, +To breathe and smile upon you soon again. + +The sun has hid its rays +These many days; +Will dreary hours never leave the earth? +Oh doubting heart! +The stormy clouds on high +Veil the same sunny sky, +That soon (for spring is nigh) +Shall wake the summer into golden mirth. + +Fair hope is dead, and light +Is quenched in night. +What sound can break the silence of despair? +Oh doubting heart! +Thy sky is overcast, +Yet stars shall rise at last, +Brighter for darkness past, +And angels' silver voices stir the air. + + + +VERSE: A STUDENT + + + +Over an ancient scroll I bent, +Steeping my soul in wise content, +Nor paused a moment, save to chide +A low voice whispering at my side. + +I wove beneath the stars' pale shine +A dream, half human, half divine; +And shook off (not to break the charm) +A little hand laid on my arm. + +I read; until my heart would glow +With the great deeds of long ago; +Nor heard, while with those mighty dead, +Pass to and fro a faltering tread. + +On the old theme I pondered long - +The struggle between right and wrong; +I could not check such visions high, +To soothe a little quivering sigh. + +I tried to solve the problem--Life; +Dreaming of that mysterious strife, +How could I leave such reasonings wise, +To answer two blue pleading eyes? + +I strove how best to give, and when, +My blood to save my fellow-men - +How could I turn aside, to look +At snowdrops laid upon my book? + +Now Time has fled--the world is strange, +Something there is of pain and change; +My books lie closed upon the shelf; +I miss the old heart in myself. + +I miss the sunbeams in my room - +It was not always wrapped in gloom: +I miss my dreams--they fade so fast, +Or flit into some trivial past. + +The great stream of the world goes by; +None care, or heed, or question, why +I, the lone student, cannot raise +My voice or hand as in old days. + +No echo seems to wake again +My heart to anything but pain, +Save when a dream of twilight brings +The fluttering of an angel's wings! + + + +VERSE: A KNIGHT ERRANT + + + +Though he lived and died among us, +Yet his name may be enrolled +With the knights whose deeds of daring +Ancient chronicles have told. + +Still a stripling, he encountered +Poverty, and struggled long, +Gathering force from every effort, +Till he knew his arm was strong. + +Then his heart and life he offered +To his radiant mistress--Truth; +Never thought, or dream, or faltering, +Marred the promise of his youth. + +So he rode forth to defend her, +And her peerless worth proclaim; +Challenging each recreant doubter +Who aspersed her spotless name. + +First upon his path stood Ignorance, +Hideous in his brutal might; +Hard the blows and long the battle +Ere the monster took to flight. + +Then, with light and fearless spirit, +Prejudice he dared to brave; +Hunting back the lying craven +To her black sulphureous cave. + +Followed by his servile minions, +Custom, the old Giant, rose; +Yet he, too, at last was conquered +By the good Knight's weighty blows. + +Then he turned, and, flushed with victory +Struck upon the brazen shield +Of the world's great king, Opinion +And defied him to the field. + +Once again he rose a conqueror, +And, though wounded in the fight, +With a dying smile of triumph +Saw that Truth had gained her right. + +On his failing ear re-echoing +Came the shouting round her throne; +Little cared he that no future +With her name would link his own. + +Spent with many a hard-fought battle, +Slowly ebbed his life away, +And the crowd that flocked to greet her +Trampled on him where he lay. + +Gathering all his strength, he saw her +Crowned and reigning in her pride! +Looked his last upon her beauty, +Raised his eyes to God, and died. + + + +VERSE: LINGER, OH, GENTLE TIME + + + +Linger, oh, gentle Time, +Linger, oh, radiant grace of bright To-day! +Let not the hours' chime +Call thee away, +But linger near me still with fond delay. + +Linger, for thou art mine! +What dearer treasures can the future hold? +What sweeter flowers than thine +Can she unfold? +What secrets tell my heart thou hast not told? + +Oh, linger in thy flight! +For shadows gather round, and should we part, +A dreary starless night +May fill my heart, - +Then pause and linger yet ere thou depart. + +Linger, I ask no more, - +Thou art enough for ever--thou alone; +What future can restore, +When thou art flown, +All that I hold from thee and call my own? + + + +VERSE: HOMEWARD BOUND + + + +I have seen a fiercer tempest, +Known a louder whirlwind blow; +I was wrecked off red Algiers, +Six-and-thirty years ago. +Young I was, and yet old seamen +Were not strong or calm as I; +While life held such treasures for me, +I felt sure I could not die. + +Life I struggled for--and saved it; +Life alone--and nothing more; +Bruised, half dead, alone and helpless, +I was cast upon the shore. +I feared the pitiless rocks of Ocean; +So the great sea rose--and then +Cast me from her friendly bosom, +On the pitiless hearts of men. + +Gaunt and dreary ran the mountains, +With black gorges, up the land; +Up to where the lonely Desert +Spreads her burning, dreary sand: +In the gorges of the mountains, +On the plain beside the sea, +Dwelt my stern and cruel masters, +The black Moors of Barbary. + +Ten long years I toiled among them, +Hopeless--as I used to say; +Now I know Hope burnt within me +Fiercer, stronger, day by day: +Those dim years of toil and sorrow +Like one long dark dream appear; +One long day of weary waiting - +Then each day was like a year. + +How I cursed the land--my prison; +How I cursed the serpent sea - +And the Demon Fate that showered +All her curses upon me; +I was mad, I think--God pardon +Words so terrible and wild - +This voyage would have been my last one, +For I left a wife and child. + +Never did one tender vision +Fade away before my sight, +Never once through all my slavery, +Burning day or dreary night; +In my soul it lived, and kept me, +Now I feel, from black despair, +And my heart was not quite broken, +While they lived and blest me there. + +When at night my task was over, +I would hasten to the shore; +(All was strange and foreign inland, +Nothing I had known before;) +Strange looked the bleak mountain passes, +Strange the red glare and black shade, +And the Oleanders, waving +To the sound the fountains made. + +Then I gazed at the great Ocean, +Till she grew a friend again; +And because she knew old England, +I forgave her all my pain: +So the blue still sky above me, +With its white clouds' fleecy fold, +And the glimmering stars, (though brighter,) +Looked like home and days of old. + +And a calm would fall upon me, +Worn perhaps with work and pain, +The wild hungry longing left me, +And I was myself again: +Looking at the silver waters, +Looking up at the far sky, +Dreams of home and all I left there +Floated sorrowfully by. + +A fair face, but pale with sorrow, +With blue eyes, brimful of tears, +And the little red mouth, quivering +With a smile, to hide its fears; +Holding out her baby towards me, +From the sky she looked on me; +So it was that last I saw her, +As the ship put out to sea. + +Sometimes, (and a pang would seize me +That the years were floating on,) +I would strive to paint her, altered, +And the little baby gone: +She no longer young and girlish, +The child, standing by her knee, +And her face, more pale and saddened +With the weariness for me. + +Then I saw, as night grew darker. +How she taught my child to pray, +Holding its small hands together, +For its father, far away; +And I felt her sorrow, weighing +Heavier on me than my own; +Pitying her blighted spring-time, +And her joy so early flown. + +Till upon my hands (now hardened +With the rough, harsh toil of years) +Bitter drops of anguish falling, +Woke me from my dream, to tears; +Woke me as a slave, an outcast. +Leagues from home, across the deep; +So--though you may call it childish - +So I sobbed myself to sleep. + +Well, the years sped on--my Sorrow, +Calmer, and yet stronger grown, +Was my shield against all suffering, +Poorer, meaner, than her own. +Thus my cruel master's harshness +Fell upon me all in vain, +Yet the tale of what we suffered +Echoed back from main to main. + +You have heard in a far country +Of a self-devoted band, +Vowed to rescue Christian captives +Pining in a foreign land. +And these gentle-hearted strangers +Year by year go forth from Rome, +In their hands the hard-earned ransom, +To restore some exiles home. + +I was freed: they broke the tidings +Gently to me: but indeed +Hour by hour sped on, I knew not +What the words meant--I was freed! +Better so, perhaps; while sorrow +(More akin to earthly things) +Only strains the sad heart's fibres - +Joy, bright stranger, breaks the strings. + +Yet at last it rushed upon me, +And my heart beat full and fast; +What were now my years of waiting, +What was all the dreary past? +Nothing--to the impatient throbbing +I must bear across the sea: +Nothing--to the eternal hours +Still between my home and me! + +How the voyage passed, I know not; +Strange it was once more to stand +With my countrymen around me, +And to clasp an English hand. +But, through all, my heart was dreaming +Of the first words I should hear, +In the gentle voice that echoed, +Fresh as ever, on my ear. + +Should I see her start of wonder, +And the sudden truth arise, +Flushing all her face and lightening +The dimmed splendour of her eyes? +Oh! to watch the fear and doubting +Stir the silent depths of pain, +And the rush of joy--then melting +Into perfect peace again. + +And the child!--but why remember +Foolish fancies that I thought? +Every tree and every hedge-row +From the well-known past I brought: +I would picture my dear cottage, +See the crackling wood-fire burn, +And the two beside it seated, +Watching, waiting, my return. + +So, at last we reached the harbour. +I remember nothing more +Till I stood, my sick heart throbbing, +With my hand upon the door. +There I paused--I heard her speaking; +Low, soft, murmuring words she said; +Then I first knew the dumb terror +I had had, lest she were dead. + +It was evening in late autumn, +And the gusty wind blew chill; +Autumn leaves were falling round me, +And the red sun lit the hill. +Six-and-twenty years are vanished +Since then--I am old and grey, +But I never told to mortal +What I saw, until this day. + +She was seated by the fire, +In her arms she held a child, +Whispering baby-words caressing, +And then, looking up, she smiled: +Smiled on him who stood beside her - +Oh! the bitter truth was told, +In her look of trusting fondness - +I had seen the look of old! + +But she rose and turned towards me +(Cold and dumb I waited there) +With a shriek of fear and terror, +And a white face of despair. +He had been an ancient comrade - +Not a single word we said, +While we gazed upon each other, +He the living: I the dead! + +I drew nearer, nearer to her, +And I took her trembling hand, +Looking on her white face, looking +That her heart might understand +All the love and all the pity +That my lips refused to say - +I thank God no thought save sorrow +Rose in our crushed hearts that day. + +Bitter tears that desolate moment, +Bitter, bitter tears we wept, +We three broken hearts together, +While the baby smiled and slept. +Tears alone--no words were spoken, +Till he--till her husband said +That my boy, (I had forgotten +The poor child,) that he was dead. + +Then at last I rose, and, turning, +Wrung his hand, but made no sign; +And I stooped and kissed her forehead +Once more, as if she were mine. +Nothing of farewell I uttered, +Save in broken words to pray +That God would ever guard and bless her - +Then in silence passed away. + +Over the great restless ocean +Six-and-twenty years I roam; +All my comrades, old and weary, +Have gone back to die at home. - +Home! yes, I shall reach a haven, +I, too, shall reach home and rest; +I shall find her waiting for me +With our baby on her breast. + + + +VERSE: LIFE AND DEATH + + + +"What is Life, Father?" +"A Battle, my child, +Where the strongest lance may fail, +Where the wariest eyes may be beguiled, +And the stoutest heart may quail. +Where the foes are gathered on every hand, +And rest not day or night, +And the feeble little ones must stand +In the thickest of the fight." + +"What is Death, Father?" +"The rest, my child, +When the strife and the toil are o'er; +The Angel of God, who, calm and mild, +Says we need fight no more; +Who, driving away the demon band, +Bids the din of the battle cease; +Takes banner and spear from our failing hand, +And proclaims an eternal Peace." + +"Let me die, Father! I tremble and fear +To yield in that terrible strife!" + +"The crown must be won for Heaven, dear, +In the battle-field of life: +My child, though thy foes are strong and tried, +He loveth the weak and small; +The Angels of Heaven are on thy side, +And God is over all!" + + + +VERSE: NOW + + + +Rise! for the day is passing, +And you lie dreaming on; +The others have buckled their armour, +And forth to the fight are gone: +A place in the ranks awaits you, +Each man has some part to play; +The Past and the Future are nothing, +In the face of the stern To-day. + +Rise from your dreams of the Future - +Of gaining some hard-fought field; +Of storming some airy fortress, +Or bidding some giant yield; +Your Future has deeds of glory, +Of honour (God grant it may!) +But your arm will never be stronger, +Or the need so great as To-day. + +Rise! if the Past detains you, +Her sunshine and storms forget; +No chains so unworthy to hold you +As those of a vain regret: +Sad or bright, she is lifeless ever, +Cast her phantom arms away, +Nor look back, save to learn the lesson +Of a nobler strife To-day. + +Rise! for the day is passing: +The sound that you scarcely hear +Is the enemy marching to battle - +Arise! for the foe is here! +Stay not to sharpen your weapons, +Or the hour will strike at last, +When, from dreams of a coming battle, +You may wake to find it past! + + + +VERSE: CLEANSING FIRES + + + +Let thy gold be cast in the furnace, +Thy red gold, precious and bright, +Do not fear the hungry fire, +With its caverns of burning light: +And thy gold shall return more precious, +Free from every spot and stain; +For gold must be tried by fire, +As a heart must be tried by pain! + +In the cruel fire of Sorrow +Cast thy heart, do not faint or wail; +Let thy hand be firm and steady, +Do not let thy spirit quail: +But wait till the trial is over, +And take thy heart again; +For as gold is tried by fire, +So a heart must be tried by pain! + +I shall know by the gleam and glitter +Of the golden chain you wear, +By your heart's calm strength in loving, +Of the fire they have had to bear. +Beat on, true heart, for ever; +Shine bright, strong golden chain; +And bless the cleansing fire, +And the furnace of living pain! + + + +VERSE: THE VOICE OF THE WIND + + + +Let us throw more logs on the fire! +We have need of a cheerful light, +And close round the hearth to gather, +For the wind has risen to-night. +With the mournful sound of its wailing +It has checked the children's glee, +And it calls with a louder clamour +Than the clamour of the sea. +Hark to the voice of the wind! + +Let us listen to what it is saying, +Let us hearken to where it has been; +For it tells, in its terrible crying, +The fearful sights it has seen. +It clatters loud at the casements, +Round the house it hurries on, +And shrieks with redoubled fury, +When we say "The blast is gone!" +Hark to the voice of the wind! + +It has been on the field of battle, +Where the dying and wounded lie; +And it brings the last groan they uttered, +And the ravenous vulture's cry. +It has been where the icebergs were meeting, +And closed with a fearful crash; +On shores where no foot has wandered, +It has heard the waters dash. +Hark to the voice of the wind! + +It has been on the desolate ocean, +When the lightning struck the mast; +It has heard the cry of the drowning, +Who sank as it hurried past; +The words of despair and anguish, +That were heard by no living ear; +The gun that no signal answered: +It brings them all to us here. +Hark to the voice of the wind! + +It has been on the lonely moorland, +Where the treacherous snow-drift lies, +Where the traveller, spent and weary, +Gasped fainter and fainter cries; +It has heard the bay of the bloodhounds, +On the track of the hunted slave, +The lash and the curse of the master, +And the groan that the captive gave. +Hark to the voice of the wind! + +It has swept through the gloomy forest, +Where the sledge was urged to its speed, +Where the howling wolves were rushing +On the track of the panting steed. +Where the pool was black and lonely, +It caught up a splash and a cry - +Only the bleak sky heard it, +And the wind as it hurried by. +Hark to the voice of the wind! + +Then throw more logs on the fire, +Since the air is bleak and cold, +And the children are drawing nigher, +For the tales that the wind has told. +So closer and closer gather +Round the red and crackling light; +And rejoice (while the wind is blowing) +We are safe and warm to-night. +Hark to the voice of the wind! + + + +VERSE: TREASURES + + + +Let me count my treasures, +All my soul holds dear, +Given me by dark spirits +Whom I used to fear. + +Through long days of anguish, +And sad nights, did Pain +Forge my shield, Endurance, +Bright and free from stain! + +Doubt, in misty caverns, +'Mid dark horrors sought, +Till my peerless jewel, +Faith to me she brought. + +Sorrow, that I wearied +Should remain so long, +Wreathed my starry glory, +The bright Crown of Song. + +Strife, that racked my spirit, +Without hope or rest, +Left the blooming flower, +Patience, on my breast. + +Suffering, that I dreaded, +Ignorant of her charms, +Laid the fair child, Pity, +Smiling, in my arms. + +So I count my treasures, +Stored in days long past - +And I thank the givers, +Whom I know at last! + + + +VERSE: SHINING STARS + + + +Shine, ye stars of heaven, +On a world of pain! +See old Time destroying +All our hoarded gain; +All our sweetest flowers, +Every stately shrine, +All our hard-earned glory, +Every dream divine! + +Shine, ye stars of heaven, +On the rolling years! +See how Time, consoling, +Dries the saddest tears, +Bids the darkest storm-clouds +Pass in gentle rain; +While upspring in glory, +Flowers and dreams again! + +Shine, ye stars of heaven, +On a world of fear! +See how Time, avenging, +Bringeth judgment here; +Weaving ill-won honours +To a fiery crown; +Bidding hard hearts perish; +Casting proud hearts down. + +Shine, ye stars of heaven, +On the hours' slow flight! +See how Time, rewarding, +Gilds good deeds with light; +Pays with kingly measure; +Brings earth's dearest prize; +Or, crowned with rays diviner, +Bids the end arise! + + + +VERSE: WAITING + + + +"Wherefore dwell so sad and lonely, +By the desolate sea-shore, +With the melancholy surges +Beating at your cottage door? + +"You shall dwell beside the castle +Shadowed by our ancient trees; +And your life shall pass on gently, +Cared for, and in rest and ease." + +"Lady, one who loved me dearly +Sailed for distant lands away; +And I wait here his returning +Hopefully from day to day. + +"To my door I bring my spinning, +Watching every ship I see; +Waiting, hoping, till the sunset +Fades into the western sea. + +"After sunset, at my casement, +Still I place a signal light; +He will see its well-known shining +Should his ship return at night. + +"Lady, see your infant smiling, +With its flaxen curling hair - +I remember when your mother +Was a baby just as fair. + +"I was watching then, and hoping: +Years have brought great change to all; +To my neighbours in their cottage, +To you nobles at the hall. + +"Not to me--for I am waiting, +And the years have fled so fast, +I must look at you to tell me +That a weary time has past! + +"When I hear a footstep coming +On the shingle--years have fled - +Yet amid a thousand others, +I shall know his quick, light tread. + +"When I hear (to-night it may be) +Some one pausing at my door, +I shall know the gay soft accents, +Heard and welcomed oft before! + +"So each day I am more hopeful, +He may come before the night: +Every sunset I feel surer +He must come ere morning light. + +"Then I thank you, noble lady, +But I cannot do your will: +Where he left me, he must find me. +Waiting, watching, hoping, still!" + + + +VERSE: THE CRADLE SONG OF THE POOR + + + +Hush! I cannot bear to see thee +Stretch thy tiny hands in vain; +Dear, I have no bread to give thee, +Nothing, child, to ease thy pain! +When God sent thee first to bless me, +Proud, and thankful too, was I; +Now, my darling I, thy mother, +Almost long to see thee die. +Sleep, my darling, thou art weary; +God is good, but life is dreary. + +I have watched thy beauty fading, +And thy strength sink day by day; +Soon, I know, will Want and Fever +Take thy little life away. +Famine makes thy father reckless, +Hope has left both him and me; +We could suffer all, my baby, +Had we but a crust for thee. +Sleep, my darling, thou art weary; +God is good, but life is dreary. + +Better thou shouldst perish early, +Starve so soon, my darling one, +Than in helpless sin and sorrow +Vainly live, as I have done. +Better that thy angel spirit +With my joy, my peace, were flown, +Than thy heart grew cold and careless, +Reckless, hopeless, like my own. +Sleep, my darling, thou art weary; +God is good, but life is dreary. + +I am wasted, dear, with hunger, +And my brain is all opprest, +I have scarcely strength to press thee, +Wan and feeble, to my breast. +Patience, baby, God will help us, +Death will come to thee and me, +He will take us to his Heaven, +Where no want or pain can be. +Sleep, my darling, thou art weary; +God is good, but life is dreary. + +Such the plaint that, late and early, +Did we listen, we might hear +Close beside us,--but the thunder +Of a city dulls our ear. +Every heart, as God's bright Angel, +Can bid one such sorrow cease; +God has glory when his children +Bring his poor ones joy and peace! +Listen, nearer while she sings +Sounds the fluttering of wings! + + + +VERSE: BE STRONG + + + +Be strong to HOPE, oh Heart! +Though day is bright, +The stars can only shine +In the dark night. +Be strong, oh Heart of mine, +Look towards the light! + +Be strong to BEAR, oh Heart! +Nothing is vain: +Strive not, for life is care, +And God sends pain, +Heaven is above, and there +Rest will remain! + +Be strong to LOVE, oh Heart! +Love knows not wrong, +Didst thou love--creatures even, +Life were not long; +Didst thou love God in Heaven, +Thou wouldst be strong! + + + +VERSE: GOD'S GIFTS + + + +God gave a gift to Earth:- a child, +Weak, innocent, and undefiled, +Opened its ignorant eyes and smiled. + +It lay so helpless, so forlorn, +Earth took it coldly and in scorn, +Cursing the day when it was born. + +She gave it first a tarnished name, +For heritage, a tainted fame, +Then cradled it in want and shame. + +All influence of Good or Right, +All ray of God's most holy light, +She curtained closely from its sight. + +Then turned her heart, her eyes away, +Ready to look again, the day +Its little feet began to stray. + +In dens of guilt the baby played, +Where sin, and sin alone, was made +The law that all around obeyed. + +With ready and obedient care, +He learnt the tasks they taught him there; +Black sin for lesson--oaths for prayer. + +Then Earth arose, and, in her might, +To vindicate her injured right, +Thrust him in deeper depths of night. + +Branding him with a deeper brand +Of shame, he could not understand, +The felon outcast of the land. + +* * * + +God gave a gift to Earth:- a child, +Weak, innocent, and undefiled, +Opened its ignorant eyes and smiled. + +And Earth received the gift, and cried +Her joy and triumph far and wide, +Till echo answered to her pride. + +She blest the hour when first he came +To take the crown of pride and fame, +Wreathed through long ages for his name. + +Then bent her utmost art and skill +To train the supple mind and will, +And guard it from a breath of ill. + +She strewed his morning path with flowers, +And Love, in tender dropping showers, +Nourished the blue and dawning hours. + +She shed, in rainbow hues of light, +A halo round the Good and Right, +To tempt and charm the baby's sight. + +And every step, of work or play. +Was lit by some such dazzling ray, +Till morning brightened into day. + +And then the World arose, and said - +Let added honours now be shed +On such a noble heart and head! + +O World, both gifts were pure and bright, +Holy and sacred in God's sight:- +God will judge them and thee aright! + + + +VERSE: A TOMB IN GHENT + + + +A smiling look she had, a figure slight, +With cheerful air, and step both quick and light; +A strange and foreign look the maiden bore, +That suited the quaint Belgian dress she wore +Yet the blue fearless eyes in her fair face, +And her soft voice told her of English race; +And ever, as she flitted to and fro, +She sang, (or murmured, rather,) soft and low, +Snatches of song, as if she did not know +That she was singing, but the happy load +Of dream and thought thus from her heart o'erflowed: +And while on household cares she passed along, +The air would bear me fragments of her song; +Not such as village maidens sing, and few +The framers of her changing music knew; +Chants such as heaven and earth first heard of when +The master Palestrina held the pen. +But I with awe had often turned the page, +Yellow with time, and half defaced by age, +And listened, with an ear not quite unskilled, +While heart and soul to the grand echo thrilled; +And much I marvelled, as her cadence fell +From the Laudate, that I knew so well, +Into Scarlatti's minor fugue, how she +Had learned such deep and solemn harmony. +But what she told I set in rhyme, as meet +To chronicle the influence, dim and sweet, +'Neath which her young and innocent life had grown: +Would that my words were simple as her own. + +Many years since, an English workman went +Over the seas, to seek a home in Ghent, +Where English skill was prized; nor toiled in vain; +Small, yet enough, his hard-earned daily gain. +He dwelt alone--in sorrow, or in pride. +He mixed not with the workers by his side; +He seemed to care but for one present joy - +To tend, to watch, to teach his sickly boy. +Severe to all beside, yet for the child +He softened his rough speech to soothings mild; +For him he smiled, with him each day he walked +Through the dark gloomy streets; to him he talked +Of home, of England, and strange stories told +Of English heroes in the days of old; +And, (when the sunset gilded roof and spire,) +The marvellous tale which never seemed to tire: +How the gilt dragon, glaring fiercely down +From the great belfry, watching all the town, +Was brought, a trophy of the wars divine, +By a Crusader from far Palestine, +And given to Bruges; and how Ghent arose, +And how they struggled long as deadly foes, +Till Ghent, one night, by a brave soldier's skill, +Stole the great dragon; and she keeps it still. +One day the dragon--so 'tis said--will rise, +Spread his bright wines, and glitter in the skies. +And over desert lands and azure seas, +Will seek his home 'mid palm and cedar trees. +So, as he passed the belfry every day, +The boy would look if it were flown away; +Each day surprised to find it watching there, +Above him, as he crossed the ancient square, +To seek the great cathedral, that had grown +A home for him--mysterious and his own. + +Dim with dark shadows of the ages past, +St. Bavon stands, solemn and rich and vast; +The slender pillars, in long vistas spread, +Like forest arches meet and close o'erhead; +So high that, like a weak and doubting prayer, +Ere it can float to the carved angels there, +The silver clouded incense faints in air: +Only the organ's voice, with peal on peal, +Can mount to where those far-off angels kneel. +Here the pale boy, beneath a low side-arch, +Would listen to its solemn chant or march; +Folding his little hands, his simple prayer +Melted in childish dreams, and both in air: +While the great organ over all would roll, +Speaking strange secrets to his innocent soul, +Bearing on eagle-wings the great desire +Of all the kneeling throng, and piercing higher +Than aught but love and prayer can reach, until +Only the silence seemed to listen still; +Or gathering like a sea still more and more, +Break in melodious waves at heaven's door, +And then fall, slow and soft, in tender rain, +Upon the pleading longing hearts again. + +Then he would watch the rosy sunlight glow, +That crept along the marble floor below, +Passing, as life does, with the passing hours, +Now by a shrine all rich with gems and flowers, +Now on the brazen letters of a tomb, +Then, leaving it again to shade and gloom, +And creeping on, to show, distinct and quaint, +The kneeling figure of some marble saint: +Or lighting up the carvings strange and rare, +That told of patient toil, and reverent care; +Ivy that trembled on the spray, and ears, +Of heavy corn, and slender bulrush spears, +And all the thousand tangled weeds that grow +In summer, where the silver rivers flow; +And demon-heads grotesque, that seemed to glare +In impotent wrath on all the beauty there: +Then the gold rays up pillared shaft would climb, +And so be drawn to heaven, at evening time. +And deeper silence, darker shadows flowed +On all around, only the windows glowed +With blazoned glory, like the shields of light +Archangels bear, who, armed with love and might, +Watch upon heaven's battlements at night. +Then all was shade; the silver lamps that gleamed, +Lost in the daylight, in the darkness seemed +Like sparks of fire in the dim aisles to shine, +Or trembling stars before each separate shrine. +Grown half afraid, the child would leave them there, +And come out, blinded by the noisy glare +That burst upon him from the busy square. + +The church was thus his home for rest or play, +And as he came and went again each day, +The pictured faces that he knew so well, +Seemed to smile on him welcome and farewell. +But holier, and dearer far than all, +One sacred spot his own he loved to call; +Save at mid-day, half-hidden by the gloom; +The people call it The White Maiden's Tomb: +For there she stands; her folded hands are pressed +Together, and laid softly on her breast, +As if she waited but a word to rise +From the dull earth, and pass to the blue skies; +Her lips expectant part, she holds her breath, +As listening for the angel voice of death. +None know how many years have seen her so, +Or what the name of her who sleeps below. +And here the child would come, and strive to trace, +Through the dim twilight, the pure gentle face +He loved so well, and here he oft would bring +Some violet blossom of the early spring; +And climbing softly by the fretted stand, +Not to disturb her, lay it in her hand; +Or, whispering a soft loving message sweet, +Would stoop and kiss the little marble feet. +So, when the organ's pealing music rang, +He thought amid the gloom the Maiden sang; +With reverent simple faith by her he knelt, +And fancied what she thought, and what she felt. +"Glory to God," re-echoed from her voice, +And then his little spirit would rejoice; +Or when the Requiem sobbed upon the air, +His baby tears dropped with her mournful prayer. + +So years fled on, while childish fancies past, +The childish love and simple faith could last. +The artist-soul awoke in him, the flame +Of genius, like the light of Heaven, came +Upon his brain, and (as it will, if true) +It touched his heart and lit his spirit, too +His father saw, and with a proud content +Let him forsake the toil where he had spent +His youth's first years, and on one happy day +Of pride, before the old man passed away, +He stood with quivering lips, and the big tears +Upon his cheek, and heard the dream of years +Living and speaking to his very heart - +The low hushed murmur at the wondrous art +Of him, who with young trembling fingers made +The great church-organ answer as he played; +And, as the uncertain sound grew full and strong, +Rush with harmonious spirit-wings along, +And thrill with master-power the breathless throng. + +The old man died, and years passed on, and still +The young musician bent his heart and will +To his dear toil. St. Bavon now had grown +More dear to him, and even more his own; +And as he left it every night he prayed +A moment by the archway in the shade, +Kneeling once more within the sacred gloom +Where the White Maiden watched upon her tomb. +His hopes of travel and a world-wide fame, +Cold Time had sobered, and his fragile frame; +Content at last only in dreams to roam, +Away from the tranquillity of home; +Content that the poor dwellers by his side +Saw in him but the gentle friend and guide, +The patient counsellor in the poor strife +And petty details of their common life, +Who comforted where woe and grief might fall, +Nor slighted any pain or want as small, +But whose great heart took in and felt for all. + +Still he grew famous--many came to be +His pupils in the art of harmony. +One day a voice floated so pure and free +Above his music, that he turned to see +What angel sang, and saw before his eyes, +What made his heart leap with a strange surprise, +His own White Maiden, calm, and pure, and mild, +As in his childish dreams she sang and smiled; +Her eyes raised up to Heaven, her lips apart, +And music overflowing from her heart. +But the faint blush that tinged her cheek betrayed +No marble statue, but a living maid; +Perplexed and startled at his wondering look, +Her rustling score of Mozart's Sanctus shook; +The uncertain notes, like birds within a snare, +Fluttered and died upon the trembling air. + +Days passed; each morning saw the maiden stand, +Her eyes cast down, her lesson in her hand, +Eager to study, never weary, while +Repaid by the approving word or smile +Of her kind master; days and months fled on; +One day the pupil from the choir was gone; +Gone to take light, and joy, and youth once more, +Within the poor musician's humble door; +And to repay, with gentle happy art, +The debt so many owed his generous heart. +And now, indeed, was one who knew and felt +That a great gift of God within him dwelt; +One who could listen, who could understand, +Whose idle work dropped from her slackened hand, +While with wet eyes entranced she stood, nor knew +How the melodious winged hours flew; +Who loved his art as none had loved before, +Yet prized the noble tender spirit more. +While the great organ brought from far and near +Lovers of harmony to praise and hear, +Unmarked by aught save what filled every day, +Duty, and toil, and rest, years passed away: +And now by the low archway in the shade +Beside her mother knelt a little maid, +Who, through the great cathedral learned to roam, +Climb to the choir, and bring her father home; +And stand, demure and solemn by his side, +Patient till the last echo softly died; +Then place her little hand in his, and go +Down the dark winding stair to where below +The mother knelt, within the gathering gloom +Waiting and praying by the Maiden's Tomb. + +So their life went, until, one winter's day, +Father and child came there alone to pray - +The mother, gentle soul, had fled away! +Their life was altered now, and yet the child +Forgot her passionate grief in time, and smiled, +Half wondering why, when spring's fresh breezes came, +To see her father was no more the same. +Half guessing at the shadow of his pain, +And then contented if he smiled again, +A sad cold smile, that passed in tears away, +As re-assured she ran once more to play. +And now each year that added grace to grace, +Fresh bloom and sunshine to the young girl's face, +Brought a strange light in the musician's eyes, +As if he saw some starry hope arise, +Breaking upon the midnight of sad skies. +It might be so: more feeble year by year, +The wanderer to his resting-place drew near. +One day the Gloria he could play no more, +Echoed its grand rejoicing as of yore; +His hands were clasped, his weary head was laid, +Upon the tomb where the White Maiden prayed: +Where the child's love first dawned, his soul first spoke, +The old man's heart there throbbed its last and broke. +The grave cathedral that had nursed his youth, +Had helped his dreaming, and had taught him truth, +Had seen his boyish grief and baby tears, +And watched the sorrows and the joys of years, +Had lit his fame and hope with sacred rays, +And consecrated sad and happy days - +Had blessed his happiness, and soothed his pain, +Now took her faithful servant home again. + +He rests in peace: some travellers mention yet +An organist whose name they all forget. +He has a holier and a nobler fame +By poor men's hearths, who love and bless the name +Of a kind friend; and in low tones to-day, +Speak tenderly of him who passed away. +Too poor to help the daughter of their friend, +They grieved to see the little pittance end; +To see her toil and strive with cheerful heart, +To bear the lonely orphan's struggling part; +They grieved to see her go at last alone +To English kinsmen she had never known: +And here she came; the foreign girl soon found +Welcome, and love, and plenty all around, +And here she pays it back with earnest will, +By well-taught housewife watchfulness and skill; +Deep in her heart she holds her father's name, +And tenderly and proudly keeps his fame; +And while she works with thrifty Belgian care, +Past dreams of childhood float upon the air; +Some strange old chant, or solemn Latin hymn, +That echoed through the old cathedral dim, +When as a little child each day she went +To kneel and pray by an old tomb in Ghent. + + + +VERSE: THE ANGEL OF DEATH + + + +Why shouldst thou fear the beautiful angel, Death, +Who waits thee at the portals of the skies, +Ready to kiss away thy struggling breath, +Ready with gentle hand to close thine eyes? + +How many a tranquil soul has passed away, +Fled gladly from fierce pain and pleasures dim, +To the eternal splendour of the day; +And many a troubled heart still calls for him. + +Spirits too tender for the battle here +Have turned from life, its hopes, its fears, its charms; +And children, shuddering at a world so drear, +Have smiling passed away into his arms. + +He whom thou fearest will, to ease its pain, +Lay his cold hand upon thy aching heart: +Will soothe the terrors of thy troubled brain, +And bid the shadow of earth's grief depart. + +He will give back what neither time, nor might, +Nor passionate prayer, nor longing hope restore. +(Dear as to long blind eyes recovered sight,) +He will give back those who are gone before. + +Oh, what were life, if life were all? Thine eyes +Are blinded by their tears, or thou wouldst see +Thy treasures wait thee in the far-off skies, +And Death, thy friend, will give them all to thee. + + + +VERSE: A DREAM + + + +All yesterday I was spinning, +Sitting alone in the sun; +And the dream that I spun was so lengthy, +It lasted till day was done. + +I heeded not cloud or shadow +That flitted over the hill, +Or the humming-bees, or the swallows, +Or the trickling of the rill. + +I took the threads for my spinning, +All of blue summer air, +And a flickering ray of sunlight +Was woven in here and there. + +The shadows grew longer and longer, +The evening wind passed by, +And the purple splendour of sunset +Was flooding the western sky. + +But I could not leave my spinning, +For so fair my dream had grown. +I heeded not, hour by hour, +How the silent day had flown. + +At last the grey shadows fell round me, +And the night came dark and chill, +And I rose and ran down the valley, +And left it all on the hill. + +I went up the hill this morning +To the place where my spinning lay - +There was nothing but glistening dewdrops +Remained of my dream to-day. + + + +VERSE: THE PRESENT + + + +Do not crouch to-day, and worship +The old Past, whose life is fled, +Hush your voice to tender reverence; +Crowned he lies, but cold and dead: +For the Present reigns our monarch, +With an added weight of hours; +Honour her, for she is mighty! +Honour her, for she is ours! + +See the shadows of his heroes +Girt around her cloudy throne; +Every day the ranks are strengthened +By great hearts to him unknown; +Noble things the great Past promised, +Holy dreams, both strange and new; +But the Present shall fulfil them, +What he promised, she shall do. + +She inherits all his treasures, +She is heir to all his fame, +And the light that lightens round her +Is the lustre of his name; +She is wise with all his wisdom, +Living on his grave she stands, +On her brow she bears his laurels, +And his harvest in her hands. + +Coward, can she reign and conquer +If we thus her glory dim? +Let us fight for her as nobly +As our fathers fought for him. +God, who crowns the dying ages, +Bids her rule, and us obey - +Bids us cast our lives before her, +Bids us serve the great To-day. + + + +VERSE: CHANGES + + + +Mourn, O rejoicing heart! +The hours are flying; +Each one some treasure takes, +Each one some blossom breaks, +And leaves it dying; +The chill dark night draws near, +Thy sun will soon depart, +And leave thee sighing; +Then mourn, rejoicing heart, +The hours are flying! + +Rejoice, O grieving heart! +The hours fly fast; +With each some sorrow dies, +With each some shadow flies, +Until at last +The red dawn in the east +Bids weary night depart, +And pain is past. +Rejoice then, grieving heart, +The hours fly fast! + + + +VERSE: STRIVE, WAIT, AND PRAY + + + +Strive; yet I do not promise +The prize you dream of to-day +Will not fade when you think to grasp it, +And melt in your hand away; +But another and holier treasure, +You would now perchance disdain, +Will come when your toil is over, +And pay you for all your pain. + +Wait; yet I do not tell you +The hour you long for now, +Will not come with its radiance vanished, +And a shadow upon its brow; +Yet far through the misty future, +With a crown of starry light, +An hour of joy you know not +Is winging her silent flight. + +Pray; though the gift you ask for +May never comfort your fears, +May never repay your pleading, +Yet pray, and with hopeful tears; +An answer, not that you long for, +But diviner, will come one day, +Your eyes are too dim to see it, +Yet strive, and wait, and pray. + + + +VERSE: A LAMENT FOR THE SUMMER + + + +Moan, oh ye Autumn Winds! +Summer has fled, +The flowers have closed their tender leaves and die; +The Lily's gracious head +All low must lie, +Because the gentle Summer now is dead. + +Grieve, oh ye Autumn Winds! +Summer lies low; +The rose's trembling leaves will soon be shed, +For she that loved her so, +Alas, is dead! +And one by one her loving children go. + +Wail, oh ye Autumn Winds! +She lives no more, +The gentle Summer, with her balmy breath, +Still sweeter than before +When nearer death, +And brighter every day the smile she wore! + +Mourn, mourn, oh Autumn Winds, +Lament and mourn; +How many half-blown buds must close and die; +Hopes with the Summer born +All faded lie, +And leave us desolate and Earth forlorn! + + + +VERSE: THE UNKNOWN GRAVE + + + +No name to bid us know +Who rests below, +No word of death or birth, +Only the grass's wave, +Over a mound of earth, +Over a nameless grave. + +Did this poor wandering heart +In pain depart? +Longing, but all too late, +For the calm home again, +Where patient watchers wait, +And still will wait in vain. + +Did mourners come in scorn, +And thus forlorn, +Leave him, with grief and shame. +To silence and decay, +And hide the tarnished name +Of the unconscious clay? + +It may be from his side +His loved ones died, +And last of some bright band, +(Together now once more,) +He sought his home, the land +Where they had gone before. + +No matter--limes have made +As cool a shade, +And lingering breezes pass +As tenderly and slow, +As if beneath the grass +A monarch slept below. + +No grief, though loud and deep, +Could stir that sleep; +And earth and heaven tell +Of rest that shall not cease, +Where the cold world's farewell +Fades into endless peace. + + + +VERSE: GIVE ME THY HEART + + + +With echoing steps the worshippers +Departed one by one; +The organ's pealing voice was stilled, +The vesper hymn was done; +The shadows fell from roof and arch, +Dim was the incensed air, +One lamp alone with trembling ray, +Told of the Presence there! + +In the dark church she knelt alone; +Her tears were falling fast; +"Help, Lord," she cried, "the shades of death +Upon my soul are cast! +Have I not shunned the path of sin, +And chosen the better part?" +What voice came through the sacred air? - +"My child, give me thy Heart!" + +"Have I not laid before Thy shrine +My wealth, oh Lord?" she cried; +"Have I kept aught of gems or gold, +To minister to pride? +Have I not bade youth's joys retire, +And vain delights depart?" - +But sad and tender was the voice - +"My child, give me thy Heart!" + +"Have I not, Lord, gone day by day +Where Thy poor children dwell; +And carried help, and gold, and food? +Oh Lord, Thou knowest it well! +From many a house, from many a soul, +My hand bids care depart:" - +More sad, more tender, was the voice - +"My child, give me thy Heart!" + +"Have I not worn my strength away +With fast and penance sore? +Have I not watched and wept?" she cried; +"Did Thy dear Saints do more? +Have I not gained Thy grace, oh Lord, +And won in Heaven my part?" - +It echoed louder in her soul - +"My child, give me thy Heart!" + +"For I have loved thee with a love +No mortal heart can show; +A love so deep, my Saints in heaven +Its depths can never know: +When pierced and wounded on the Cross, +Man's sin and doom were mine, +I loved thee with undying love, +Immortal and divine! + +"I love thee ere the skies were spread; +My soul bears all thy pains; +To gain thy love my sacred Heart +In earthly shrines remains: +Vain are thy offerings, vain thy sighs, +Without one gift divine, +Give it, my child, thy Heart to me, +And it shall rest in mine!" + +In awe she listened, and the shade +Passed from her soul away; +In low and trembling voice she cried - +"Lord, help me to obey! +Break Thou the chains of earth, oh Lord, +That bind and hold my heart; +Let it be Thine, and Thine alone, +Let none with Thee have part. + +"Send down, oh Lord, Thy sacred fire! +Consume and cleanse the sin +That lingers still within its depths: +Let heavenly love begin. +That sacred flame Thy Saints have known, +Kindle, oh Lord, in me, +Thou above all the rest for ever, +And all the rest in Thee." + +The blessing fell upon her soul; +Her angel by her side +Knew that the hour of peace was come; +Her soul was purified: +The shadows fell from roof and arch, +Dim was the incensed air - +But Peace went with her as she left +The sacred Presence there! + + + +VERSE: THE WAYSIDE INN + + + +A little past the village +The Inn stood, low and white; +Green shady trees behind it, +And an orchard on the right; +Where over the green paling +The red-cheeked apples hung, +As if to watch how wearily +The sign-board creaked and swung. + +The heavy-laden branches, +Over the road hung low, +Reflected fruit or blossom +From the wayside well below; +Where children, drawing water, +Looked up and paused to see, +Amid the apple-branches, +A purple Judas Tree. + +The road stretched winding onward +For many a weary mile - +So dusty foot-sore wanderers +Would pause and rest awhile; +And panting horses halted, +And travellers loved to tell +The quiet of the wayside inn, +The orchard, and the well. + +Here Maurice dwelt; and often +The sunburnt boy would stand +Gazing upon the distance, +And shading with his hand +His eyes, while watching vainly +For travellers, who might need +His aid to loose the bridle, +And tend the weary steed. + +And once (the boy remembered +That morning, many a day - +The dew lay on the hawthorn, +The bird sang on the spray) +A train of horsemen, nobler +Than he had seen before, +Up from the distance galloped, +And halted at the door. + +Upon a milk-white pony, +Fit for a faery queen, +Was the loveliest little damsel +His eyes had ever seen: +A serving-man was holding +The leading rein, to guide +The pony and its mistress, +Who cantered by his side. + +Her sunny ringlets round her +A golden cloud had made, +While her large hat was keeping +Her calm blue eyes in shade; +One hand held fast the silken reins +To keep her steed in check, +The other pulled his tangled mane, +Or stroked his glossy neck. + +And as the boy brought water, +And loosed the rein, he heard +The sweetest voice that thanked him +In one low gentle word; +She turned her blue eyes from him, +Looked up, and smiled to see +The hanging purple blossoms +Upon the Judas Tree; + +And showed it with a gesture, +Half pleading, half command, +Till he broke the fairest blossom, +And laid it in her hand; +And she tied it to her saddle +With a ribbon from her hair, +While her happy laugh rang gaily, +Like silver on the air. + +But the champing steeds were rested - +The horsemen now spurred on, +And down the dusty highway +They vanished and were gone. +Years passed, and many a traveller +Paused at the old inn-door, +But the little milk-white pony +And the child returned no more. + +Years passed, the apple-branches +A deeper shadow shed; +And many a time the Judas Tree, +Blossom and leaf, lay dead; +When on the loitering western breeze +Came the bells' merry sound, +And flowery arches rose, and flags +And banners waved around. + +Maurice stood there expectant: +The bridal train would stay +Some moments at the inn-door, +The eager watchers say; +They come--the cloud of dust draws near - +'Mid all the state and pride, +He only sees the golden hair +And blue eyes of the bride. + +The same, yet, ah, still fairer; +He knew the face once more +That bent above the pony's neck +Years past at that inn-door: +Her shy and smiling eyes looked round, +Unconscious of the place, +Unconscious of the eager gaze +He fixed upon her face. + +He plucked a blossom from the tree - +The Judas Tree--and cast +Its purple fragrance towards the Bride, +A message from the Past. +The signal came, the horses plunged - +Once more she smiled around: +The purple blossom in the dust +Lay trampled on the ground. + +Again the slow years fleeted, +Their passage only known +By the height the Passion-flower +Around the porch had grown; +And many a passing traveller +Paused at the old inn-door, +But the bride, so fair and blooming, +The bride returned no more. + +One winter morning, Maurice, +Watching the branches bare, +Rustling and waving dimly +In the grey and misty air, +Saw blazoned on a carriage +Once more the well-known shield, +The stars and azure fleurs-de-lis +Upon a silver field. + +He looked--was that pale woman, +So grave, so worn, so sad, +The child, once young and smiling, +The bride, once fair and glad? +What grief had dimmed that glory, +And brought that dark eclipse +Upon her blue eyes' radiance, +And paled those trembling lips? + +What memory of past sorrow, +What stab of present pain, +Brought that deep look of anguish, +That watched the dismal rain, +That watched (with the absent spirit +That looks, yet does not see) +The dead and leafless branches +Upon the Judas Tree. + +The slow dark months crept onward +Upon their icy way, +'Till April broke in showers +And Spring smiled forth in May; +Upon the apple-blossoms +The sun shone bright again, +When slowly up the highway +Came a long funeral train. + +The bells toiled slowly, sadly, +For a noble spirit fled; +Slowly, in pomp and honour, +They bore the quiet dead. +Upon a black-plumed charger +One rode, who held a shield, +Where stars and azure fleurs-de-lis +Shone on a silver field. + +'Mid all that homage given +To a fluttering heart at rest, +Perhaps an honest sorrow +Dwelt only in one breast. +One by the inn-door standing +Watched with fast-dropping tears +The long procession passing, +And thought of bygone years, + +The boyish, silent homage +To child and bride unknown, +The pitying tender sorrow +Kept in his heart alone, +Now laid upon the coffin +With a purple flower, might be +Told to the cold dead sleeper; +The rest could only see +A fragrant purple blossom, +Plucked from a Judas Tree. + + + +VERSE: VOICES OF THE PAST + + + +You wonder that my tears should flow +In listening to that simple strain; +That those unskilful sounds should fill +My soul with joy and pain - +How can you tell what thoughts it stirs +Within my heart again? + +You wonder why that common phrase, +So all unmeaning to your ear, +Should stay me in my merriest mood, +And thrill my soul to hear - +How can you tell what ancient charm +Has made me hold it dear? + +You marvel that I turn away +From all those flowers so fair and bright, +And gaze at this poor herb, till tears +Arise and dim my sight - +You cannot tell how every leaf +Breathes of a past delight. + +You smile to see me turn and speak +With one whose converse you despise; +You do not see the dreams of old +That with his voice arise - +How can you tell what links have made +Him sacred in my eyes? + +Oh, these are Voices of the Past, +Links of a broken chain, +Wings that can bear me back to Times +Which cannot come again - +Yet God forbid that I should lose +The echoes that remain! + + + +VERSE: THE DARK SIDE + + + +Thou hast done well, perhaps, +To lift the bright disguise, +And lay the bitter truth +Before our shrinking eyes; +When evil crawls below +What seems so pure and fair, +Thine eyes are keen and true +To find the serpent there: +And yet--I turn away; +Thy task is not divine - +The evil angels look +On earth with eyes like thine. + +Thou hast done well, perhaps, +To show how closely wound +Dark threads of sin and self +With our best deeds are found. +How great and noble hearts, +Striving for lofty aims, +Have still some earthly cord +A meaner spirit claims; +And yet--although thy task +Is well and fairly done, +Methinks for such as thou +There is a holier one. + +Shadows there are, who dwell +Among us, yet apart, +Deaf to the claim of God, +Or kindly human heart; +Voices of earth and heaven +Call, but they turn away, +And Love, through such black night, +Can see no hope of day; +And yet--our eyes are dim, +And thine are keener far - +Then gaze till thou canst see +The glimmer of some star. + +The black stream flows along, +Whose waters we despise - +Show us reflected there +Some fragment of the skies; +'Neath tangled thorns and briars, +(The task is fit for thee,) +Seek for the hidden flowers, +We are too blind to see; +Then will I thy great gift +A crown and blessing call; +Angels look thus on men, +And God sees good in all! + + + +VERSE: A FIRST SORROW + + + +Arise! this day shall shine, +For evermore, +To thee a star divine, +On Time's dark shore. + +Till now thy soul has been +All glad and gay: +Bid it awake, and look +At grief to-day! + +No shade has come between +Thee and the sun; +Like some long childish dream +Thy life has run: + +But now the stream has reached +A dark, deep sea, +And Sorrow, dim and crowned, +Is waiting thee. + +Each of God's soldiers bears +A sword divine: +Stretch out thy trembling hands +To-day for thine! + +To each anointed Priest +God's summons came: +Oh, Soul, he speaks to-day +And calls thy name. + +Then, with slow reverent step, +And beating heart, +From out thy joyous days, +Thou must depart. + +And, leaving all behind, +Come forth, alone, +To join the chosen band +Around the throne. + +Raise up thine eyes--be strong, +Nor cast away +The crown, that God has given +Thy soul to-day! + + + +VERSE: MURMURS + + + +Why wilt thou make bright music +Give forth a sound of pain? +Why wilt thou weave fair flowers +Into a weary chain? + +Why turn each cool grey shadow +Into a world of fears? +Why say the winds are wailing? +Why call the dewdrops tears? + +The voices of happy nature, +And the Heaven's sunny gleam, +Reprove thy sick heart's fancies, +Upbraid thy foolish dream. + +Listen, and I will tell thee +The song Creation sings, +From the humming of bees in the heather, +To the flutter of angels' wings. + +An echo rings for ever, +The sound can never cease; +It speaks to God of glory, +It speaks to Earth of peace. + +Not alone did angels sing it +To the poor shepherds' ear; +But the sphered Heavens chant it, +While listening ages hear. + +Above thy peevish wailing +Rises that holy song; +Above Earth's foolish clamour, +Above the voice of wrong. + +No creature of God's too lowly +To murmur peace and praise: +When the starry nights grow silent, +Then speak the sunny days. + +So leave thy sick heart's fancies, +And lend thy little voice +To the silver song of glory +That bids the world rejoice. + + + +VERSE: GIVE + + + +See the rivers flowing +Downwards to the sea, +Pouring all their treasures +Bountiful and free - +Yet to help their giving +Hidden springs arise; +Or, if need be, showers +Feed them from the skies! + +Watch the princely flowers +Their rich fragrance spread, +Load the air with perfumes, +From their beauty shed - +Yet their lavish spending +Leaves them not in dearth, +With fresh life replenished +By their mother earth! + +Give thy heart's best treasures - +From fair Nature learn; +Give thy love--and ask not, +Wait not a return! +And the more thou spendest +From thy little store, +With a double bounty, +God will give thee more. + + + +VERSE: MY JOURNAL + + + +It is a dreary evening; +The shadows rise and fall: +With strange and ghostly changes, +They flicker on the wall. + +Make the charred logs burn brighter; +I will show you, by their blaze, +The half-forgotten record +Of bygone things and days. + +Bring here the ancient volume; +The clasp is old and worn, +The gold is dim and tarnished, +And the faded leaves are torn. + +The dust has gathered on it - +There are so few who care +To read what Time has written +Of joy and sorrow there. + +Look at the first fair pages; +Yes--I remember all: +The joys now seem so trivial, +The griefs so poor and small. + +Let us read the dreams of glory +That childish fancy made; +Turn to the next few pages, +And see how soon they fade. + +Here, where still waiting, dreaming, +For some ideal Life, +The young heart all unconscious +Had entered on the strife. + +See how this page is blotted: +What--could those tears be mine? +How coolly I can read you, +Each blurred and trembling line. + +Now I can reason calmly, +And, looking back again, +Can see divinest meaning +Threading each separate pain. + +Here strong resolve--how broken; +Rash hope, and foolish fear, +And prayers, which God in pity +Refused to grant or hear. + +Nay--I will turn the pages +To where the tale is told +Of how a dawn diviner +Flushed the dark clouds with gold. + +And see, that light has gilded +The story--nor shall set; +And, though in mist and shadow, +You know I see it yet. + +Here--well, it does not matter, +I promised to read all; +I know not why I falter, +Or why my tears should fall; + +You see each grief is noted; +Yet it was better so - +I can rejoice to-day--the pain +Was over, long ago. + +I read--my voice is failing, +But you can understand +How the heart beat that guided +This weak and trembling hand. + +Pass over that long struggle, +Read where the comfort came, +Where the first time is written +Within the book your name. + +Again it comes, and oftener, +Linked, as it now must be, +With all the joy or sorrow +That Life may bring to me. + +So all the rest--you know it: +Now shut the clasp again, +And put aside the record +Of bygone hours of pain. + +The dust shall gather on it, +I will not read it more: +Give me your hand--what was it +We were talking of before? + +I know not why--but tell me +Of something gay and bright. +It is strange--my heart is heavy, +And my eyes are dim to-night. + + + +VERSE: A CHAIN + + + +The bond that links our souls together; +Will it last through stormy weather? +Will it moulder and decay +As the long hours pass away? +Will it stretch if Fate divide us, +When dark and weary hours have tried us? +Oh, if it look too poor and slight +Let us break the links to-night! + +It was not forged by mortal hands, +Or clasped with golden bars and bands; +Save thine and mine, no other eyes +The slender link can recognise: +In the bright light it seems to fade - +And it is hidden in the shade; +While Heaven nor Earth have never heard, +Or solemn vow, or plighted word. + +Yet what no mortal hand could make, +No mortal power can ever break: +What words or vows could never do, +No words or vows can make untrue; +And if to other hearts unknown +The dearer and the more our own, +Because too sacred and divine +For other eyes, save thine and mine. + +And see, though slender, it is made +Of Love and Trust, and can they fade? +While, if too slight it seem, to bear +The breathings of the summer air, +We know that it could bear the weight +Of a most heavy heart of late, +And as each day and hour flew +The stronger for its burthen grew. + +And, too, we know and feel again +It has been sanctified by pain, +For what God deigns to try with sorrow +He means not to decay to-morrow; +But through that fiery trial last +When earthly ties and bonds are past; +What slighter things dare not endure +Will make our Love more safe and pure. + +Love shall be purified by Pain, +And Pain be soothed by Love again: +So let us now take heart and go +Cheerfully on, through joy and woe; +No change the summer sun can bring, +Or the inconstant skies of spring, +Or the bleak winter's stormy weather, +For we shall meet them, Love, together! + + + +VERSE: THE PILGRIMS + + + +The way is long and dreary, +The path is bleak and bare; +Our feet are worn and weary, +But we will not despair. +More heavy was Thy burthen, +More desolate Thy way; - +Oh Lamb of God who takest +The sin of the world away, +Have mercy on us. + +The snows lie thick around us +In the dark and gloomy night; +And the tempest wails above us, +And the stars have hid their light; +But blacker was the darkness +Round Calvary's Cross that day; - +Oh Lamb of God who takest +The sin of the world away, +Have mercy on us. + +Our hearts are faint with sorrow, +Heavy and hard to bear; +For we dread the bitter morrow, +But we will not despair: +Thou knowest all our anguish, +And Thou wilt bid it cease, - +Oh Lamb of God who takest +The sin of the world away, +Give us Thy Peace! + + + +VERSE: INCOMPLETENESS + + + +Nothing resting in its own completeness +Can have worth or beauty: but alone +Because it leads and tends to farther sweetness, +Fuller, higher, deeper than its own. + +Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning, +Gracious though it be, of her blue hours; +But is hidden in her tender leaning +To the Summer's richer wealth of flowers. + +Dawn is fair, because the mists fade slowly +Into Day, which floods the world with light; +Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy +Just because it ends in starry Night. + +Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow +From Strife, that in a far-off future lies; +And angel glances (veiled now by Life's sorrow) +Draw our hearts to some beloved eyes. + +Life is only bright when it proceedeth +Towards a truer, deeper Life above; +Human Love is sweetest when it leadeth +To a more divine and perfect Love. + +Learn the mystery of Progression duly: +Do not call each glorious change, Decay; +But know we only hold our treasures truly, +When it seems as if they passed away. + +Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness; +In that want their beauty lies: they roll +Towards some infinite depth of love and sweetness, +Bearing onward man's reluctant soul. + + + +VERSE: A LEGEND OF BREGENZ + + + +Girt round with rugged mountains +The fair Lake Constance lies; +In her blue heart reflected +Shine back the starry skies; +And, watching each white cloudlet +Float silently and slow, +You think a piece of Heaven +Lies on our earth below! + +Midnight is there: and Silence, +Enthroned in Heaven, looks down +Upon her own calm mirror, +Upon a sleeping town: +For Bregenz, that quaint city +Upon the Tyrol shore, +Has stood above Lake Constance, +A thousand years and more. + +Her battlements and towers, +From off their rocky steep, +Have cast their trembling shadow +For ages on the deep: +Mountain, and lake, and valley, +A sacred legend know, +Of how the town was saved, one night, +Three hundred years ago. + +Far from her home and kindred, +A Tyrol maid had fled, +To serve in the Swiss valleys, +And toil for daily bread; +And every year that fleeted +So silently and fast, +Seemed to bear farther from her +The memory of the Past. + +She served kind, gentle masters, +Nor asked for rest or change; +Her friends seemed no more new ones, +Their speech seemed no more strange; +And when she led her cattle +To pasture every day, +She ceased to look and wonder +On which side Bregenz lay. + +She spoke no more of Bregenz, +With longing and with tears: +Her Tyrol home seemed faded +In a deep mist of years; +She heeded not the rumours +Of Austrian war and strife; +Each day she rose contented, +To the calm toils of life. + +Yet, when her master's children +Would clustering round her stand, +She sang them ancient ballads +Of her own native land; +And when at morn and evening +She knelt before God's throne, +The accents of her childhood +Rose to her lips alone. + +And so she dwelt: the valley +More peaceful year by year; +When suddenly strange portents, +Of some great deed seemed near. +The golden corn was bending +Upon its fragile stalk, +While farmers, heedless of their fields, +Paced up and down in talk. + +The men seemed stern and altered, +With looks cast on the ground; +With anxious faces, one by one, +The women gathered round; +All talk of flax, or spinning, +Or work, was put away; +The very children seemed afraid +To go alone to play. + +One day, out in the meadow +With strangers from the town, +Some secret plan discussing, +The men walked up and down. +Yet, now and then seemed watching, +A strange uncertain gleam, +That looked like lances 'mid the trees, +That stood below the stream. + +At eve they all assembled, +Then care and doubt were fled; +With jovial laugh they feasted; +The board was nobly spread. +The elder of the village +Rose up, his glass in hand, +And cried, "We drink the downfall +"Of an accursed land! + +"The night is growing darker, +"Ere one more day is flown, +"Bregenz, our foemen's stronghold, +"Bregenz shall be our own!" +The women shrank in terror, +(Yet Pride, too, had her part,) +But one poor Tyrol maiden +Felt death within her heart. + +Before her, stood fair Bregenz; +Once more her towers arose; +What were the friends beside her? +Only her country's foes! +The faces of her kinsfolk, +The days of childhood flown, +The echoes of her mountains, +Reclaimed her as their own! + +Nothing she heard around her, +(Though shouts rang forth again,) +Gone were the green Swiss valleys, +The pasture, and the plain; +Before her eyes one vision, +And in her heart one cry, +That said, "Go forth, save Bregenz, +And then, if need be, die!" + +With trembling haste and breathless, +With noiseless step she sped; +Horses and weary cattle +Were standing in the shed; +She loosed the strong white charger, +That fed from out her hand, +She mounted, and she turned his head +Towards her native land. + +Out--out into the darkness - +Faster, and still more fast; +The smooth grass flies behind her, +The chestnut wood is past; +She looks up; clouds are heavy: +Why is her steed so slow? - +Scarcely the wind beside them, +Can pass them as they go. + +"Faster!" she cries, "Oh faster!" +Eleven the church-bells chime: +"Oh God," she cries, "help Bregenz, +And bring me there in time!" +But louder than bells' ringing, +Or lowing of the kine, +Grows nearer in the midnight +The rushing of the Rhine. + +Shall not the roaring waters +Their headlong gallop check? +The steed draws back in terror, +She leans upon his neck +To watch the flowing darkness; +The bank is high and steep; +One pause--he staggers forward, +And plunges in the deep. + +She strives to pierce the blackness, +And looser throws the rein; +Her steed must breast the waters +That dash above his mane. +How gallantly, how nobly, +He struggles through the foam, +And see--in the far distance, +Shine out the lights of home! + +Up the steep banks he bears her, +And now, they rush again +Towards the heights of Bregenz, +That tower above the plain. +They reach the gate of Bregenz, +Just as the midnight rings, +And out come serf and soldier +To meet the news she brings. + +Bregenz is saved! Ere daylight +Her battlements are manned; +Defiance greets the army +That marches on the land. +And if to deeds heroic +Should endless fame be paid, +Bregenz does well to honour +The noble Tyrol maid. + +Three hundred years are vanished, +And yet upon the hill +An old stone gateway rises, +To do her honour still. +And there, when Bregenz women +Sit spinning in the shade, +They see in quaint old carving +The Charger and the Maid. + +And when, to guard old Bregenz, +By gateway, street, and tower, +The warder paces all night long, +And calls each passing hour; +"Nine," "ten," "eleven," he cries aloud, +And then (Oh crown of Fame!) +When midnight pauses in the skies, +He calls the maiden's name! + + + +VERSE: A FAREWELL + + + +Farewell, oh dream of mine! +I dare not stay; +The hour is come, and time +Will not delay: +Pleasant and dear to me +Wilt thou remain; +No future hour +Brings thee again. + +She stands, the Future dim, +And draws me on, +And shows me dearer joys - +But thou art gone! +Treasures and Hopes more fair, +Bears she for me, +And yet I linger, +Oh dream, with thee! + +Other and brighter days, +Perhaps she brings; +Deeper and holier songs, +Perchance she sings; +But thou and I, fair time, +We too must sever - +Oh dream of mine, +Farewell for ever! + + + +VERSE: SOWING AND REAPING + + + +Sow with a generous hand; +Pause not for toil or pain; +Weary not through the heat of summer, +Weary not through the cold spring rain; +But wait till the autumn comes +For the sheaves of golden grain. + +Scatter the seed, and fear not, +A table will be spread; +What matter if you are too weary +To eat your hard-earned bread: +Sow, while the earth is broken, +For the hungry must be fed. + +Sow;--while the seeds are lying +In the warm earth's bosom deep, +And your warm tears fall upon it - +They will stir in their quiet sleep; +And the green blades rise the quicker, +Perchance, for the tears you weep. + +Then sow;--for the hours are fleeting, +And the seed must fall to-day; +And care not what hands shall reap it, +Or if you shall have passed away +Before the waving corn-fields +Shall gladden the sunny day. + +Sow; and look onward, upward, +Where the starry light appears - +Where, in spite of the coward's doubting, +Or your own heart's trembling fears, +You shall reap in joy the harvest +You have sown to-day in tears. + + + +VERSE: THE STORM + + + +The tempest rages wild and high, +The waves lift up their voice and cry +Fierce answers to the angry sky, - +Miserere Domine. + +Through the black night and driving rain, +A ship is struggling, all in vain +To live upon the stormy main; - +Miserere Domine. + +The thunders roar, the lightnings glare, +Vain is it now to strive or dare; +A cry goes up of great despair, - +Miserere Domine. + +The stormy voices of the main, +The moaning wind, and pelting rain +Beat on the nursery window pane:- +Miserere Domine. + +Warm curtained was the little bed, +Soft pillowed was the little head; +"The storm will wake the child," they said:- +Miserere Domine. + +Cowering among his pillows white +He prays, his blue eyes dim with fright, +"Father, save those at sea to-night!" +Miserere Domine. + +The morning shone all clear and gay, +On a ship at anchor in the bay, +And on a little child at play, - +Gloria tibi Domine! + + + +VERSE: WORDS + + + +Words are lighter than the cloud-foam +Of the restless ocean spray; +Vainer than the trembling shadow +That the next hour steals away. +By the fall of summer raindrops +Is the air as deeply stirred; +And the rose-leaf that we tread on +Will outlive a word. + +Yet, on the dull silence breaking +With a lightning flash, a Word, +Bearing endless desolation +On its blighting wings, I heard: +Earth can forge no keener weapon, +Dealing surer death and pain, +And the cruel echo answered +Through long years again. + +I have known one word hang starlike +O'er a dreary waste of years, +And it only shone the brighter +Looked at through a mist of tears; +While a weary wanderer gathered +Hope and heart on Life's dark way, +By its faithful promise, shining +Clearer day by day. + +I have known a spirit, calmer +Than the calmest lake, and clear +As the heavens that gazed upon it, +With no wave of hope or fear; +But a storm had swept across it, +And its deepest depths were stirred, +(Never, never more to slumber,) +Only by a word. + +I have known a word more gentle +Than the breath of summer air; +In a listening heart it nestled, +And it lived for ever there. +Not the beating of its prison +Stirred it ever, night or day; +Only with the heart's last throbbing +Could it fade away. + +Words are mighty, words are living: +Serpents with their venomous stings, +Or bright angels, crowding round us, +With heaven's light upon their wings: +Every word has its own spirit, +True or false, that never dies; +Every word man's lips have uttered +Echoes in God's skies. + + + +VERSE: A LOVE TOKEN + + + +Do you grieve no costly offering +To the Lady you can make? +One there is, and gifts less worthy +Queens have stooped to take. + +Take a Heart of virgin silver, +Fashion it with heavy blows, +Cast it into Love's hot furnace +When it fiercest glows. + +With Pain's sharpest point transfix it, +And then carve in letters fair, +Tender dreams and quaint devices, +Fancies sweet and rare. + +Set within it Hope's blue sapphire, +Many-changing opal fears, +Blood-red ruby-stones of daring, +Mixed with pearly tears. + +And when you have wrought and laboured +Till the gift is all complete, +You may humbly lay your offering +At the Lady's feet. + +Should her mood perchance be gracious - +With disdainful smiling pride, +She will place it with the trinkets +Glittering at her side. + + + +VERSE: A TRYST WITH DEATH + + + +I am footsore and very weary, +But I travel to meet a Friend: +The way is long and dreary, +But I know that it soon must end. + +He is travelling fast like the whirlwind, +And though I creep slowly on, +We are drawing nearer, nearer, +And the journey is almost done. + +Through the heat of many summers, +Through many a springtime rain, +Through long autumns and weary winters, +I have hoped to meet him, in vain. + +I know that he will not fail me, +So I count every hour chime, +Every throb of my own heart's beating, +That tells of the flight of Time. + +On the day of my birth he plighted +His kingly word to me:- +I have seen him in dreams so often, +That I know what his smile must be. + +I have toiled through the sunny woodland, +Through fields that basked in the light; +And through the lone paths in the forest +I crept in the dead of night. + +I will not fear at his coming, +Although I must meet him alone; +He will look in my eyes so gently, +And take my hand in his own. + +Like a dream all my toil will vanish, +When I lay my head on his breast - +But the journey is very weary, +And he only can give me rest! + + + +VERSE: FIDELIS + + + +You have taken back the promise +That you spoke so long ago; +Taken back the heart you gave me - +I must even let it go. +Where Love once has breathed, Pride dieth: +So I struggled, but in vain, +First to keep the links together, +Then to piece the broken chain. + +But it might not be--so freely +All your friendship I restore, +And the heart that I had taken +As my own for evermore. +No shade of reproach shall touch you, +Dread no more a claim from me - +But I will not have you fancy +That I count myself as free. + +I am bound by the old promise; +What can break that golden chain? +Not even the words that you have spoken, +Or the sharpness of my pain: +Do you think, because you fail me +And draw back your hand to-day, +That from out the heart I gave you +My strong love can fade away? + +It will live. No eyes may see it; +In my soul it will lie deep, +Hidden from all; but I shall feel it +Often stirring in its sleep. +So remember, that the friendship +Which you now think poor and vain, +Will endure in hope and patience, +Till you ask for it again. + +Perhaps in some long twilight hour, +Like those we have known of old, +When past shadows gather round you, +And your present friends grow cold, +You may stretch your hands out towards me, - +Ah! you will--I know not when - +I shall nurse my love and keep it +Faithfully, for you, till then. + + + +VERSE: A SHADOW + + + +What lack the valleys and mountains +That once were green and gay? +What lack the babbling fountains? +Their voice is sad to-day. +Only the sound of a voice, +Tender and sweet and low, +That made the earth rejoice, +A year ago! + +What lack the tender flowers? +A shadow is on the sun: +What lack the merry hours, +That I long that they were done? +Only two smiling eyes, +That told of joy and mirth: +They are shining in the skies, +I mourn on earth! + +What lacks my heart, that makes it +So weary and full of pain, +That trembling Hope forsakes it, +Never to come again? +Only another heart, +Tender and all mine own, +In the still grave it lies; +I weep alone! + + + +VERSE: THE SAILOR BOY + + + +My Life you ask of? why, you know +Full soon my little Life is told; +It has had no great joy or woe, +For I am only twelve years old. +Ere long I hope I shall have been +On my first voyage, and wonders seen. +Some princess I may help to free +From pirates, on a far-off sea; +Or, on some desert isle be left, +Of friends and shipmates all bereft. + +For the first time I venture forth, +From our blue mountains of the north. +My kinsman kept the lodge that stood +Guarding the entrance near the wood, +By the stone gateway grey and old, +With quaint devices carved about, +And broken shields; while dragons bold +Glared on the common world without; +And the long trembling ivy spray +Half hid the centuries' decay. +In solitude and silence grand +The castle towered above the land: +The castle of the Earl, whose name +(Wrapped in old bloody legends) came +Down through the times when Truth and Right +Bent down to armed Pride and Might. +He owned the country far and near; +And, for some weeks in every year, +(When the brown leaves were falling fast +And the long, lingering autumn passed,) +He would come down to hunt the deer, +With hound and horse in splendid pride. +The story lasts the live-long year, +The peasant's winter evening fills, +When he is gone and they abide +In the lone quiet of their hills. + +I longed, too, for the happy night, +When, all with torches flaring bright, +The crowding villagers would stand, +A patient, eager, waiting band, +Until the signal ran like flame - +"They come!" and, slackening speed, they came. +Outriders first, in pomp and state, +Pranced on their horses through the gate; +Then the four steeds as black as night, +All decked with trappings blue and white, +Drew through the crowd that opened wide, +The Earl and Countess side by side. +The stern grave Earl, with formal smile +And glistening eyes and stately pride, +Could ne'er my childish gaze beguile +From the fair presence by his side. +The lady's soft sad glance, her eyes, +(Like stars that shone in summer skies,) +Her pure white face so calmly bent, +With gentle greetings round her sent +Her look, that always seemed to gaze +Where the blue past had closed again +Over some happy shipwrecked days, +With all their freight of love and pain: +She did not even seem to see +The little lord upon her knee. +And yet he was like angel fair, +With rosy cheeks and golden hair, +That fell on shoulders white as snow: +But the blue eyes that shone below +His clustering rings of auburn curls, +Were not his mother's, but the Earl's. + +I feared the Earl, so cold and grim, +I never dared be seen by him. +When through our gate he used to ride, +My kinsman Walter bade me hide; +He said he was so stern. +So, when the hunt came past our way, +I always hastened to obey, +Until I heard the bugles play +The notes of their return. +But she--my very heart-strings stir +Whene'er I speak or think of her - +The whole wide world could never see +A noble lady such as she, +So full of angel charity. + +Strange things of her our neighbours told +In the long winter evenings cold, +Around the fire. They would draw near +And speak half-whispering, as in fear; +As if they thought the Earl could hear +Their treason 'gainst his name. +They thought the story that his pride +Had stooped to wed a low-born bride, +A stain upon his fame. +Some said 'twas false; there could not be +Such blot on his nobility: +But others vowed that they had heard +The actual story word for word, +From one who well my lady knew, +And had declared the story true. + +In a far village, little known, +She dwelt--so ran the tale--alone. +A widowed bride, yet, oh! so bright, +Shone through the mist of grief, her charms; +They said it was the loveliest sight - +She with her baby in her arms. +The Earl, one summer morning, rode +By the sea-shore where she abode; +Again he came--that vision sweet +Drew him reluctant to her feet. +Fierce must the struggle in his heart +Have been, between his love and pride, +Until he chose that wondrous part, +To ask her to become his bride. +Yet, ere his noble name she bore, +He made her vow that nevermore +She would behold her child again, +But hide his name and hers from men. +The trembling promise duly spoken, +All links of the low past were broken; +And she arose to take her stand +Amid the nobles of the land. +Then all would wonder--could it be +That one so lowly born as she, +Raised to such height of bliss, should seem +Still living in some weary dream? +'Tis true she bore with calmest grace +The honours of her lofty place, +Yet never smiled, in peace or joy, +Not even to greet her princely boy. +She heard, with face of white despair, +The cannon thunder through the air, +That she had given the Earl an heir. +Nay, even more, (they whispered low, +As if they scarce durst fancy so,) +That, through her lofty wedded life, +No word, no tone, betrayed the wife. +Her look seemed ever in the past; +Never to him it grew more sweet; +The self-same weary glance she cast +Upon the grey-hound at her feet, +As upon him, who bade her claim +The crowning honour of his name. + +This gossip, if old Walter heard, +He checked it with a scornful word: +I never durst such tales repeat; +He was too serious and discreet +To speak of what his lord might do; +Besides, he loved my lady too. +And many a time, I recollect, +They were together in the wood; +He, with an air of grave respect, +And earnest look, uncovered stood. +And though their speech I never heard, +(Save now and then a louder word,) +I saw he spake as none but one +She loved and trusted, durst have done; +For oft I watched them in the shade +That the close forest branches made, +Till slanting golden sunbeams came +And smote the fir-trees into flame, +A radiant glory round her lit, +Then down her white robes seemed to flit, +Gilding the brown leaves on the ground, +And all the waving ferns around. +While by some gloomy pine she leant +And he in earnest talk would stand, +I saw the tear-drops, as she bent, +Fall on the flowers in her hand. - +Strange as it seemed and seems to be, +That one so sad, so cold as she, +Could love a little child like me - +Yet so it was. I never heard +Such tender words as she would say, +And murmurs, sweeter than a word, +Would breathe upon me as I lay. +While I, in smiling joy, would rest, +For hours, my head upon her breast. +Our neighbours said that none could see +In me the common childish charms, +(So grave and still I used to be,) +And yet she held me in her arms, +In a fond clasp, so close, so tight - +I often dream of it at night. +She bade me tell her all--no other +My childish thoughts e'er cared to know: +For I--I never knew my mother; +I was an orphan long ago. +And I could all my fancies pour, +That gentle loving face before. +She liked to hear me tell her all; +How that day I had climbed the tree, +To make the largest fir-cones fall; +And how one day I hoped to be +A sailor on the deep blue sea - +She loved to hear it all! + +Then wondrous things she used to tell, +Of the strange dreams that she had known. +I used to love to hear them well, +If only for her sweet low tone, +Sometimes so sad, although I knew +That such things never could be true. +One day she told me such a tale +It made me grow all cold and pale, +The fearful thing she told! +Of a poor woman mad and wild +Who coined the life-blood of her child, +And tempted by a fiend, had sold +The heart out of her breast for gold. +But, when she saw me frightened seem, +She smiled, and said it was a dream. +When I look back and think of her, +My very heart-strings seem to stir; +How kind, how fair she was, how good +I cannot tell you. If I could +You, too, would love her. The mere thought +Of her great love for me has brought +Tears in my eyes: though far away, +It seems as it were yesterday. +And just as when I look on high +Through the blue silence of the sky, +Fresh stars shine out, and more and more, +Where I could see so few before; +So, the more steadily I gaze +Upon those far-off misty days, +Fresh words, fresh tones, fresh memories start +Before my eyes and in my heart. +I can remember how one day +(Talking in silly childish way) +I said how happy I should be +If I were like her son--as fair, +With just such bright blue eyes as he, +And such long locks of golden hair. +A strange smile on her pale face broke, +And in strange solemn words she spoke: +"My own, my darling one--no, no! +I love you, far, far better so. +I would not change the look you bear, +Or one wave of your dark brown hair. +The mere glance of your sunny eyes, +Deep in my deepest soul I prize +Above that baby fair! +Not one of all the Earl's proud line +In beauty ever matched with thine; +And, 'tis by thy dark locks thou art +Bound even faster round my heart, +And made more wholly mine!" +And then she paused, and weeping said, +"You are like one who now is dead - +Who sleeps in a far-distant grave. +Oh may God grant that you may be +As noble and as good as he, +As gentle and as brave!" +Then in my childish way I cried, +"The one you tell me of who died, +Was he as noble as the Earl?" +I see her red lips scornful curl, +I feel her hold my hand again +So tightly, that I shrink in pain - +I seem to hear her say, +"He whom I tell you of, who died, +He was so noble and so gay, +So generous and so brave, +That the proud Earl by his dear side +Would look a craven slave." +She paused; then, with a quivering sigh, +She laid her hand upon my brow: +"Live like him, darling, and so die. +Remember that he tells you now, +True peace, real honour, and content, +In cheerful pious toil abide; +That gold and splendour are but sent +To curse our vanity and pride." +One day some childish fever pain +Burnt in my veins and fired my brain. +Moaning, I turned from side to side; +And, sobbing in my bed, I cried, +Till night in calm and darkness crept +Around me, and at last I slept. +When suddenly I woke to see +The Lady bending over me. +The drops of cold November rain +Were falling from her long, damp hair; +Her anxious eyes were dim with pain; +Yet she looked wondrous fair. +Arrayed for some great feast she came, +With stones that shone and burnt like flame; +Wound round her neck, like some bright snake, +And set like stars within her hair, +They sparkled so, they seemed to make +A glory everywhere. +I felt her tears upon my face, +Her kisses on my eyes; +And a strange thought I could not trace +I felt within my heart arise; +And, half in feverish pain, I said: +"Oh if my mother were not dead!" +And Walter bade me sleep; but she +Said, "Is it not the same to thee +That _I_ watch by thy bed?" +I answered her, "I love you, too; +But it can never be the same; +She was no Countess like to you, +Nor wore such sparkling stones of flame." +Oh the wild look of fear and dread! +The cry she gave of bitter woe! +I often wonder what I said +To make her moan and shudder so. +Through the long night she tended me +With such sweet care and charity. +But should weary you to tell +All that I know and love so well: +Yet one night more stands out alone +With a sad sweetness all its own. + +The wind blew loud that dreary night: +Its wailing voice I well remember: +The stars shone out so large and bright +Upon the frosty fir-boughs white, +That dreary night of cold December. +I saw old Walter silent stand, +Watching the soft white flakes of snow +With looks I could not understand, +Of strange perplexity and woe. +At last he turned and took my hand, +And said the Countess just had sent +To bid us come; for she would fain +See me once more, before she went +Away--never to come again. +We came in silence through the wood +(Our footfall was the only sound) +To where the great white castle stood, +With darkness shadowing it around. +Breathless, we trod with cautious care +Up the great echoing marble stair; +Trembling, by Walter's hand I held, +Scared by the splendours I beheld: +Now thinking, "Should the Earl appear!" +Now looking up with giddy fear +To the dim vaulted roof, that spread +Its gloomy arches overhead. +Long corridors we softly past, +(My heart was beating loud and fast) +And reached the Lady's room at last: +A strange faint odour seemed to weigh +Upon the dim and darkened air; +One shaded lamp, with softened ray, +Scarce showed the gloomy splendour there. +The dull red brands were burning low, +And yet a fitful gleam of light, +Would now and then, with sudden glow, +Start forth, then sink again in night. +I gazed around, yet half in fear, +Till Walter told me to draw near: +And in the strange and flickering light, +Towards the Lady's bed I crept; +All folded round with snowy white, +She lay; (one would have said she slept;) +So still the look of that white face, +It seemed as it were carved in stone, +I paused before I dared to place +Within her cold white hand my own. +But, with a smile of sweet surprise, +She turned to me her dreamy eyes; +And slowly, as if life were pain, +She drew me in her arms to lie: +She strove to speak, and strove in vain; +Each breath was like a long-drawn sigh. +The throbs that seemed to shake her breast, +The trembling clasp, so loose and weak, +At last grew calmer, and at rest; +And then she strove once more to speak: +"My God, I thank thee, that my pain +Of day by day and year by year, +Has not been suffered all in vain, +And I may die while he is near. +I will not fear but that Thy grace +Has swept away my sin and woe, +And sent this little angel face, +In my last hour to tell me so." +(And here her voice grew faint and low,) +"My child, where'er thy life may go, +To know that thou art brave and true, +Will pierce the highest heavens through, +And even there my soul shall be +More joyful for this thought of thee." +She folded her white hands, and stayed; +All cold and silently she lay: +I knelt beside the bed, and prayed +The prayer she used to make me say. +I said it many times, and then +She did not move, but seemed to be +In a deep sleep, nor stirred again. +No sound woke in the silent room, +Or broke the dim and solemn gloom, +Save when the brands that burnt so low, +With noisy fitful gleam of light, +Would spread around a sudden glow, +Then sink in silence and in night. +How long I stood I do not know: +At last poor Walter came, and said +(So sadly) that we now must go, +And whispered, she we loved was dead. +He bade me kiss her face once more, +Then led me sobbing to the door. +I scarcely knew what dying meant, +Yet a strange grief, before unknown, +Weighed on my spirit as we went +And left her lying all alone. + +We went to the far North once more, +To seek the well-remembered home, +Where my poor kinsman dwelt before, +Whence now he was too old to roam; +And there six happy years we past, +Happy and peaceful till the last; +When poor old Walter died, and he +Blessed me and said I now might be +A sailor on the deep blue sea. +And so I go; and yet in spite +Of all the joys I long to know, +Though I look onward with delight, +With something of regret I go; +And young or old, on land or sea, +One guiding memory I shall take - +Of what She prayed that I might be, +And what I will be for her sake! + + + +VERSE: A CROWN OF SORROW + + + +A Sorrow, wet with early tears +Yet bitter, had been long with me; +I wearied of this weight of years, +And would be free. + +I tore my Sorrow from my heart, +I cast it far away in scorn; +Right joyful that we two could part - +Yet most forlorn. + +I sought, (to take my Sorrow's place,) +Over the world for flower or gem - +But she had had an ancient grace +Unknown to them. + +I took once more with strange delight +My slighted Sorrow; proudly now, +I wear it, set with stars of light, +Upon my brow. + + + +VERSE: THE LESSON OF THE WAR (1855) + + + +The feast is spread through England +For rich and poor to-day; +Greetings and laughter may be there, +But thoughts are far away; +Over the stormy ocean, +Over the dreary track, +Where some are gone, whom England +Will never welcome back. + +Breathless she waits, and listens +For every eastern breeze +That bears upon its bloody wings +News from beyond the seas. +The leafless branches stirring +Make many a watcher start; +The distant tramp of steed may send +A throb from heart to heart. + +The rulers of the nation, +The poor ones at their gate, +With the same eager wonder +The same great news await. +The poor man's stay and comfort, +The rich man's joy and pride, +Upon the bleak Crimean shore +Are fighting side by side. + +The bullet comes--and either +A desolate hearth may see; +And God alone to-night knows where +The vacant place may be! +The dread that stirs the peasant +Thrills nobles' hearts with fear - +Yet above selfish sorrow +Both hold their country dear. + +The rich man who reposes +In his ancestral shade, +The peasant at his ploughshare, +The worker at his trade, +Each one his all his perilled, +Each has the same great stake, +Each soul can but have patience, +Each heart can only break! + +Hushed is all party clamour; +One thought in every heart, +One dread in every household, +Has bid such strife depart. +England has called her children; +Long silent--the word came +That lit the smouldering ashes +Through all the land to flame. + +Oh you who toil and suffer, +You gladly heard the call; +But those you sometimes envy +Have they not given their all? +Oh you who rule the nation, +Take now the toil-worn hand - +Brothers you are in sorrow, +In duty to your land. +Learn but this noble lesson +Ere Peace returns again, +And the life-blood of Old England +Will not be shed in vain. + + + +VERSE: THE TWO SPIRITS (1855) + + + +Last night, when weary silence fell on all, +And starless skies arose so dim and vast, +I heard the Spirit of the Present call +Upon the sleeping Spirit of the Past. +Far off and near, I saw their radiance shine, +And listened while they spoke of deeds divine. + +The Spirit of the Past. + +My deeds are writ in iron; +My glory stands alone; +A veil of shadowy honour +Upon my tombs is thrown; +The great names of my heroes +Like gems in history lie; +To live they deemed ignoble, +Had they the chance to die! + +The Spirit of the Present. + +My children, too, are honoured; +Dear shall their memory be +To the proud lands that own them; +Dearer than thine to thee; +For, though they hold that sacred +Is God's great gift of life, +At the first call of duty +They rush into the strife! + +The Spirit of the Past. + +Then, with all valiant precepts +Woman's soft heart was fraught; +"Death, not dishonour," echoed +The war-cry she had taught. +Fearless and glad, those mothers, +At bloody deaths elate, +Cried out they bore their children +Only for such a fate! + +The Spirit of the Present. + +Though such stern laws of honour +Are faded now away, +Yet many a mourning mother, +With nobler grief than they, +Bows down in sad submission: +The heroes of the fight +Learnt at her knee the lesson, +"For God and for the Right!" + +The Spirit of the Past. + +No voice there spake of sorrow: +They saw the noblest fall +With no repining murmur; +Stern Fate was lord of all. +And when the loved ones perished, +One cry alone arose, +Waking the startled echoes, +"Vengeance upon our foes!" + +The Spirit of the Present. + +Grief dwells in France and England +For many a noble son; +Yet louder than the sorrow, +"Thy will, Oh God, be done!" +From desolate homes is rising +One prayer, "Let carnage cease! +On friends and foes have mercy, +Oh Lord, and give us peace!" + +The Spirit of the Past. + +Then, every hearth was honoured +That sent its children forth, +To spread their country's glory, +And gain her south or north. +Then, little recked they numbers, +No band would ever fly, +But stern and resolute they stood +To conquer or to die. + +The Spirit of the Present. + +And now from France and England +Their dearest and their best +Go forth to succour freedom, +To help the much oppressed; +Now, let the far-off Future +And Past bow down to-day, +Before the few young hearts that hold +Whole armaments at bay. + +The Spirit of the Past. + +Then, each one strove for honour, +Each for a deathless name; +Love, home, rest, joy, were offered +As sacrifice to Fame. +They longed that in far ages +Their deeds might still be told, +And distant times and nations +Their names in honour hold. + +The Spirit of the Present. + +Though nursed by such old legends, +Our heroes of to-day +Go cheerfully to battle +As children go to play; +They gaze with awe and wonder +On your great names of pride, +Unconscious that their own will shine +In glory side by side! + +Day dawned; and as the Spirits passed away, +Methought I saw, in the dim morning grey, +The Past's bright diadem had paled before +The starry crown the glorious Present wore. + + + +VERSE: A LITTLE LONGER + + + +A little longer yet--a little longer, +Shall violets bloom for thee, and sweet birds sing; +And the lime branches where soft winds are blowing, +Shall murmur the sweet promise of the Spring! + +A little longer yet--a little longer, +Thou shalt behold the quiet of the morn; +While tender grasses and awakening flowers +Send up a golden mist to greet the dawn! + +A little longer yet--a little longer, +The tenderness of twilight shall be thine, +The rosy clouds that float o'er dying daylight, +Nor fade till trembling stars begin to shine. + +A little longer yet--a little longer, +Shall starry night be beautiful for thee; +And the cold moon shall look through the blue silence, +Flooding her silver path upon the sea. + +A little longer yet--a little longer, +Life shall be thine; life with its power to will; +Life with its strength to bear, to love, to conquer, +Bringing its thousand joys thy heart to fill. + +A little longer yet--a little longer, +The voices thou hast loved shall charm thine ear; +And thy true heart, that now beats quick to hear them, +A little longer yet shall hold them dear. + +A little longer yet--joy while thou mayest; +Love and rejoice! for time has nought in store; +And soon the darkness of the grave shall bid thee +Love and rejoice and feel and know no more. + +* * * + +A little longer still--Patience, Beloved: +A little longer still, ere Heaven unroll +The Glory, and the Brightness, and the Wonder, +Eternal, and divine, that waits thy Soul! + +A little longer ere Life true, immortal, +(Not this our shadowy Life,) will be thine own; +And thou shalt stand where winged Archangels worship, +And trembling bow before the Great White Throne. + +A little longer still, and Heaven awaits thee, +And fills thy spirit with a great delight; +Then our pale joys will seem a dream forgotten, +Our Sun a darkness, and our Day a Night. + +A little longer, and thy Heart, Beloved, +Shall beat for ever with a Love divine; +And joy so pure, so mighty, so eternal, +No creature knows and lives, will then be thine. + +A little longer yet--and angel voices +Shall ring in heavenly chant upon thine ear; +Angels and Saints await thee, and God needs thee: +Beloved, can we bid thee linger here! + + + +VERSE: GRIEF + + + +An ancient enemy have I, +And either he or I must die; +For he never leaveth me, +Never gives my soul relief, +Never lets my sorrow cease, +Never gives my spirit peace - +For mine enemy is Grief! + +Pale he is, and sad and stern; +And whene'er he cometh nigh, +Blue and dim the torches burn, +Pale and shrunk the roses turn; +While my heart that he has pierced +Many a time with fiery lance, +Beats and trembles at his glance: +Clad in burning steel is he, +All my strength he can defy; +For he never leaveth me - +And one of us must die! + +I have said, "Let ancient sages +Charm me from my thoughts of pain!" +So I read their deepest pages, +And I strove to think--in vain! +Wisdom's cold calm words I tried, +But he was seated by my side:- +Learning I have won in vain; +She cannot rid me of my pain. + +When at last soft sleep comes o'er me, +A cold hand is on my heart; +Stern sad eyes are there before me; +Not in dreams will he depart: +And when the same dreary vision +From my weary brain has fled, +Daylight brings the living phantom, +He is seated by my bed, +Bending o'er me all the while, +With his cruel, bitter smile, +Ever with me, ever nigh; - +And either he or I must die! + +Then I said, long time ago, +"I will flee to other climes, +I will leave mine ancient foe!" +Though I wandered far and wide - +Still he followed at my side. + +And I fled where the blue waters +Bathe the sunny isles of Greece; +Where Thessalian mountains rise +Up against the purple skies; +Where a haunting memory liveth +In each wood and cave and rill; +But no dream of gods could help me - +He went with me still! + +I have been where Nile's broad river +Flows upon the burning sand; +Where the desert monster broodeth, +Where the Eastern palm-trees stand; +I have been where pathless forests +Spread a black eternal shade; +Where the lurking panther hiding +Glares from every tangled glade; +But in vain I wandered wide, +He was always by my side! +Then I fled where snows eternal +Cold and dreary ever lie; +Where the rosy lightnings gleam, +Flashing through the northern sky; +Where the red sun turns again +Back upon his path of pain; - +But a shadowy form was with me - +I had fled in vain! + +I have thought, "If I can gaze +Sternly on him he will fade, +For I know that he is nothing +But a dim ideal shade." +As I gazed at him the more, +He grew stronger than before! + +Then I said, "Mine arm is strong, +I will make him turn and flee:" +I have struggled with him long - +But that could never be! + +Once I battled with him so +That I thought I laid him low; +Then in trembling joy I fled, +While again and still again +Murmuring to myself I said, +"Mine old enemy is dead!" +And I stood beneath the stars, +When a chill came on my frame, +And a fear I could not name, +And a sense of quick despair, +And, lo! mine enemy was there! + +Listen, for my soul is weary, +Weary of its endless woe; +I have called on one to aid me +Mightier even than my foe. +Strength and hope fail day by day; +I shall cheat him of his prey; +Some day soon, I know not when, +He will stab me through and through; +He has wounded me before, +But my heart can bear no more; +Pray that hour may come to me, +Only then shall I be free; +Death alone has strength to take me +Where my foe can never be; +Death, and Death alone, has power +To conquer mine old enemy! + + + +VERSE: THE TRIUMPH OF TIME + + + +The tender delicate Flowers, +I saw them fanned by a warm western wind, +Fed by soft summer showers, +Shielded by care, and yet, (oh Fate unkind!) +Fade in a few short hours. + +The gentle and the gay, +Rich in a glorious Future of bright deeds, +Rejoicing in the day, +Are met by Death, who sternly, sadly leads +Them far away. + +And Hopes, perfumed and bright, +So lately shining, wet with dew and tears, +Trembling in morning light; +I saw them change to dark and anxious fears +Before the night! + +I wept that all must die - +"Yet Love," I cried, "doth live, and conquer death--" +And Time passed by, +And breathed on Love, and killed it with his breath +Ere Death was nigh. + +More bitter far than all +It was to know that Love could change and die - +Hush! for the ages call +"The Love of God lives through eternity, +And conquers all!" + + + +VERSE: A PARTING + + + +Without one bitter feeling let us part - +And for the years in which your love has shed +A radiance like a glory round my head, +I thank you, yes, I thank you from my heart. + +I thank you for the cherished hope of years, +A starry future, dim and yet divine, +Winging its way from Heaven to be mine, +Laden with joy, and ignorant of tears. + +I thank you, yes, I thank you even more +That my heart learnt not without love to live, +But gave and gave, and still had more to give, +From an abundant and exhaustless store. + +I thank you, and no grief is in these tears; +I thank you, not in bitterness but truth, +For the fair vision that adorned my youth +And glorified so many happy years. + +Yet how much more I thank you that you tore +At length the veil your hand had woven away, +Which hid my idol was a thing of clay, +And false the altar I had knelt before. + +I thank you that you taught me the stern truth, +(None other could have told and I believed,) +That vain had been my life, and I deceived, +And wasted all the purpose of my youth. + +I thank you that your hand dashed down the shrine, +Wherein my idol worship I had paid; +Else had I never known a soul was made +To serve and worship only the Divine. + +I thank you that the heart I cast away +On such as you, though broken, bruised and crushed, +Now that its fiery throbbing is all hushed, +Upon a worthier altar I can lay. + +I thank you for the lesson that such love +Is a perverting of God's royal right, +That it is made but for the Infinite, +And all too great to live except above. + +I thank you for a terrible awaking, +And if reproach seemed hidden in my pain, +And sorrow seemed to cry on your disdain, +Know that my blessing lay in your forsaking. + +Farewell for ever now:- in peace we part; +And should an idle vision of my tears +Arise before your soul in after years - +Remember that I thank you from my heart! + + + +VERSE: THE GOLDEN GATE + + + +Dim shadows gather thickly round, and up the misty stair they +climb, +The cloudy stair that upward leads to where the closed portals +shine, +Round which the kneeling spirits wait the opening of the Golden +Gate. + +And some with eager longing go, still pressing forward, hand in +hand, +And some with weary step and slow, look back where their Beloved +stand - +Yet up the misty stair they climb, led onward by the Angel Time. + +As unseen hands roll back the doors, the light that floods the very +air +Is but the shadow from within, of the great glory hidden there - +And morn and eve, and soon and late, the shadows pass within the +gate. + +As one by one they enter in, and the stern portals close once more, +The halo seems to linger round those kneeling closest to the door: +The joy that lightened from that place shines still upon the +watcher's face. + +The faint low echo that we hear of far-off music seems to fill +The silent air with love and fear, and the world's clamours all +grow still, +Until the portals close again, and leave us toiling on in pain. + +Complain not that the way is long--what road is weary that leads +there? +But let the Angel take thy hand, and lead thee up the misty stair, +And then with beating heart await, the opening of the Golden Gate. + + + +VERSE: PHANTOMS + + + +Back, ye Phantoms of the Past; +In your dreary caves remain: +What have I to do with memories +Of a long-forgotten pain? + +For my Present is all peaceful, +And my Future nobly planned: +Long ago Time's mighty billows +Swept your footsteps from the sand. + +Back into your caves; nor haunt me +With your voices full of woe; +I have buried grief and sorrow +In the depths of Long-ago. + +See the glorious clouds of morning +Roll away, and clear and bright +Shine the rays of cloudless daylight - +Wherefore will ye moan of night? + +Never shall my heart be burthened +With its ancient woe and fears; +I can drive them from my presence, +I can check these foolish tears. + +Back, ye Phantoms; leave, oh leave me +To a new and happy lot; +Speak no more of things departed; +Leave me--for I know ye not. + +Can it be that 'mid my gladness +I must ever hear you wail, +Of the grief that wrung my spirit, +And that made my cheek so pale? + +Joy is mine; but your sad voices +Murmur ever in mine ear: +Vain is all the Future's promise, +While the dreary Past is here. + +Vain, oh worse than vain, the Visions +That my heart, my life would fill, +If the Past's relentless phantoms +Call upon me still! + + + +VERSE: THANKFULNESS + + + +My God, I thank Thee who hast made +The Earth so bright; +So full of splendour and of joy, +Beauty and light; +So many glorious things are here, +Noble and right! + +I thank Thee, too, that Thou hast made +Joy to abound; +So many gentle thoughts and deeds +Circling us round, +That in the darkest spot of Earth +Some love is found. + +I thank Thee MORE that all our joy +Is touched with pain; +That shadows fall on brightest hours; +That thorns remain; +So that Earth's bliss may be our guide, +And not our chain. + +For Thou who knowest, Lord, how soon +Our weak heart clings, +Hast given us joys, tender and true, +Yet all with wings, +So that we see, gleaming on high, +Diviner things! + +I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept +The best in store; +We have enough, yet not too much +To long for more: +A yearning for a deeper peace, +Not known before. + +I thank Thee, Lord, that here our souls, +Though amply blest, +Can never find, although they seek, +A perfect rest - +Nor ever shall, until they lean +On Jesus' breast! + + + +VERSE: HOME-SICKNESS + + + +Where I am, the halls are gilded, +Stored with pictures bright and rare; +Strains of deep melodious music +Float upon the perfumed air:- +Nothing stirs the dreary silence +Save the melancholy sea, +Near the poor and humble cottage, +Where I fain would be! + +Where I am, the sun is shining, +And the purple windows glow, +Till their rich armorial shadows +Stain the marble floor below:- +Faded Autumn leaves are trembling, +On the withered jasmine tree, +Creeping round the little casement, +Where I fain would be! + +Where I am, the days are passing +O'er a pathway strewn with flowers; +Song and joy and starry pleasures +Crown the happy smiling hours:- +Slowly, heavily, and sadly, +Time with weary wings must flee, +Marked by pain, and toil, and sorrow, +Where I fain would be! + +Where I am, the great and noble +Tell me of renown and fame, +And the red wine sparkles highest, +To do honour to my name:- +Far away a place is vacant, +By a humble hearth, for me, +Dying embers dimly show it, +Where I fain would be! + +Where I am, are glorious dreaminess, +Science, genius, art divine; +And the great minds whom all honour +Interchange their thoughts with mine:- +A few simple hearts are waiting, +Longing, wearying, for me, +Far away where tears are falling, +Where I fain would be! + +Where I am, all think me happy, +For so well I play my part, +None can guess, who smile around me, +How far distant is my heart - +Far away, in a poor cottage, +Listening to the dreary sea, +Where the treasures of my life are, +Where I fain would be! + + + +VERSE: WISHES + + + +All the fluttering wishes +Caged within thy heart +Beat their wings against it, +Longing to depart, +Till they shake their prison +With their wounded cry; +Open wide thy heart to-day, +And let the captives fly. + +Let them first fly upward +Through the starry air, +Till you almost lose them, +For their home is there; +Then, with outspread pinions, +Circling round and round, +Wing their way, wherever +Want and woe are found. + +Where the weary stitcher +Toils for daily bread; +Where the lonely watcher +Watches by her dead; +Where with thin weak fingers, +Toiling at the loom, +Stand the little children, +Blighted ere they bloom. + +Where, by darkness blinded, +Groping for the light, +With distorted conscience +Men do wrong for right; +Where, in the cold shadow, +By smooth pleasure thrown, +Human hearts by hundreds +Harden into stone. + +Where on dusty highways, +With faint heart and slow, +Cursing the glad sunlight, +Hungry outcasts go: +Where all mirth is silenced, +And the hearth is chill, +For one place is empty, +And one voice is still. + +Some hearts will be lighter +While your captives roam +For their tender singing, +Then recal them home; +When the sunny hours +Into night depart, +Softly they will nestle +In a quiet heart. + + + +VERSE: THE PEACE OF GOD + + + +We ask for Peace, oh Lord! +Thy children ask Thy Peace; +Not what the world calls rest, +That toil and care should cease, +That through bright sunny hours +Calm Life should fleet away, +And tranquil night should fade +In smiling day; - +It is not for such Peace that we would pray. + +We ask for Peace, oh Lord! +Yet not to stand secure, +Girt round with iron Pride, +Contented to endure: +Crushing the gentle strings +That human hearts should know, +Untouched by others' joy +Or others' woe; - +Thou, oh dear Lord, wilt never teach us so. + +We ask Thy Peace, oh Lord! +Through storm, and fear, and strife, +To light and guide us on, +Through a long struggling life: +While no success or gain +Shall cheer the desperate fight, +Or nerve, what the world calls, +Our wasted might:- +Yet pressing through the darkness to the light. + +It is Thine own, oh Lord, +Who toil while others sleep; +Who sow with loving care +What other hands shall reap: +They lean on Thee entranced, +In calm and perfect rest: +Give us that Peace, oh Lord, +Divine and blest, +Thou keepest for those hearts who love Thee best. + + + +VERSE: LIFE IN DEATH AND DEATH IN LIFE + + + +I. + +If the dread day that calls thee hence, +Through a red mist of fear should loom, +(Closing in deadliest night and gloom +Long hours of aching dumb suspense,) +And leave me to my lonely doom. + +I think, beloved, I could see +In thy dear eyes the loving light +Glaze into vacancy and night, +And still say, "God is good to me, +And all that He decrees is right." + +That, watching thy slow struggling breath, +And answering each imperfect sign, +I still could pray thy prayer and mine, +And tell thee, dear, though this was death, +That God was love, and love divine. + +Could hold thee in my arms, and lay +Upon my heart thy weary head, +And meet thy last smile ere it fled; +Then hear, as in a dream, one say, +"Now all is over,--she is dead." + +Could smooth thy garments with fond care, +And cross thy hands upon thy breast, +And kiss thine eyelids down to rest, +And yet say no word of despair, +But, through my sobbing, "It is best." + +Could stifle down the gnawing pain, +And say, "We still divide our life, +She has the rest, and I the strife, +And mine the loss, and hers the gain: +My ill with bliss for her is rife." + +Then turn, and the old duties take - +Alone now--yet with earnest will +Gathering sweet sacred traces still +To help me on, and, for thy sake, +My heart and life and soul to fill. + +I think I could check vain weak tears, +And toil,--although the world's great space +Held nothing but one vacant place, +And see the dark and weary years +Lit only by a vanished grace. + +And sometimes, when the day was o'er, +Call up the tender past again: +Its painful joy, its happy pain, +And live it over yet once more, +And say, "But few more years remain." + +And then, when I had striven my best, +And all around would smiling say, +"See how Time makes all grief decay," +Would lie down thankfully to rest, +And seek thee in eternal day. + +II. + +But if the day should ever rise - +It could not and it cannot be - +Yet, if the sun should ever see, +Looking upon us from his skies, +A day that took thy heart from me; + +If loving thee still more and more, +And still so willing to be blind, +I should the bitter knowledge find, +That Time had eaten out the core +Of love, and left the empty rind; + +If the poor lifeless words, at last, +(The soul gone, that was once so sweet,) +Should cease my eager heart to cheat, +And crumble back into the past, +And show the whole a vain deceit; + +If I should see thee turn away, +And know that prayer, and time, and pain, +Could no more thy lost love regain, +Than bid the hours of dying day +Gleam in their mid-day noon again; + +If I should loose thy hand, and know +That henceforth we must dwell apart, +Since I had seen thy love depart, +And only count the hours flow +By the dull throbbing of my heart; + +If I should gaze and gaze in vain +Into thine eyes so deep and clear, +And read the truth of all my fear +Half mixed with pity for my pain, +And sorrow for the vanished year; + +If not to grieve thee overmuch, +I strove to counterfeit disdain, +And weave me a new life again, +Which thy life could not mar, or touch, +And so smile down my bitter pain; + +The ghost of my dead Past would rise +And mock me, and I could not dare +Look to a future of despair, +Or even to the eternal skies, +For I should still be lonely there. + +All Truth, all Honour, then would seem +Vain clouds, which the first wind blew by; +All Trust, a folly doomed to die; +All Life, a useless empty dream; +All Love--since thine had failed--a lie. + +But see, thy tender smile has cast +My fear away: this thought of mine +Is treason to my Love and thine; +For Love is Life, and Death at last +Crowns it eternal and divine! + + + +VERSE: RECOLLECTIONS + + + +As strangers, you and I are here; +We both as aliens stand, +Where once, in years gone by, I dwelt +No stranger in the land. +Then while you gaze on park and stream, +Let me remain apart, +And listen to the awakened sound +Of voices in my heart. + +Here, where upon the velvet lawn +The cedar spreads its shade, +And by the flower-beds all around, +Bright roses bloom and fade; +Shrill merry childish laughter rings, +And baby voices sweet, +And by me, on the path, I hear +The tread of little feet. + +Down the dark avenue of limes, +Whose perfume loads the air, +Whose boughs are rustling overhead, +(For the west wind is there,) +I hear the sound of earnest talk, +Warnings and counsels wise, +And the quick questioning that brought +Such gentle calm replies. + +Still the light bridge hangs o'er the lake, +Where broad-leaved lilies lie, +And the cool water shows again +The cloud that moves on high; - +And one voice speaks, in tones I thought +The past for ever kept; +But now I know, deep in my heart +Its echoes only slept. + +I hear, within the shady porch, +Once more, the measured sound +Of the old ballads that were read, +While we sat listening round; +The starry passion-flower still +Up the green trellice climbs; +The tendrils waving seem to keep +The cadence of the rhymes. + +I might have striven, and striven in vain, +Such visions to recall, +Well known and yet forgotten; now +I see, I hear, them all! +The Present pales before the Past, +Who comes with angel wings; +As in a dream I stand, amidst +Strange yet familiar things! + +Enough; so let us go, mine eyes +Are blinded by their tears; +A voice speaks to my soul to-day +Of long forgotten years. +And yet the vision in my heart, +In a few hours more, +Will fade into the silent past, +Silently as before. + + + +VERSE: ILLUSION + + + +Where the golden corn is bending, +And the singing reapers pass, +Where the chestnut woods are sending +Leafy showers upon the grass, + +The blue river onward flowing +Mingles with its noisy strife, +The murmur of the flowers growing, +And the hum of insect life. + +I, from that rich plain was gazing +Towards the snowy mountains high, +Who their gleaming peaks were raising +Up against the purple sky. + +And the glory of their shining, +Bathed in clouds of rosy light, +Set my weary spirit pining +For a home so pure and bright! + +So I left the plain, and weary, +Fainting, yet with hope sustained, +Toiled through pathways long and dreary +Till the mountain top was gained. + +Lo! the height that I had taken, +As so shining from below, +Was a desolate, forsaken +Region of perpetual snow. + +I am faint, my feet are bleeding, +All my feeble strength is worn, +In the plain no soul is heeding, +I am here alone, forlorn. + +Lights are shining, bells are tolling, +In the busy vale below; +Near me night's black clouds are rolling, +Gathering o'er a waste of snow. + +So I watch the river winding +Through the misty fading plain, +Bitter are the tear-drops blinding, +Bitter useless toil and pain - +Bitterest of all the finding +That my dream was false and vain! + + + +VERSE: A VISION + + + +Gloomy and black are the cypress trees, +Drearily waileth the chill night breeze. +The long grass waveth, the tombs are white, +And the black clouds flit o'er the chill moonlight. +Silent is all save the dropping rain, +When slowly there cometh a mourning train, +The lone churchyard is dark and dim, +And the mourners raise a funeral hymn: + +"Open, dark grave, and take her; +Though we have loved her so, +Yet we must now forsake her, +Love will no more awake her: +(Oh, bitter woe!) +Open thine arms and take her +To rest below! + +"Vain is our mournful weeping, +Her gentle life is o'er; +Only the worm is creeping, +Where she will soon be sleeping, +For evermore - +Nor joy nor love is keeping +For her in store!" + +Gloomy and black are the cypress trees, +And drearily wave in the chill night breeze. +The dark clouds part and the heavens are blue, +Where the trembling stars are shining through. +Slowly across the gleaming sky, +A crowd of white angels are passing by. +Like a fleet of swans they float along, +Or the silver notes of a dying song. +Like a cloud of incense their pinions rise, +Fading away up the purple skies. +But hush! for the silent glory is stirred, +By a strain such as earth has never heard: + +"Open, oh Heaven! we bear her, +This gentle maiden mild, +Earth's griefs we gladly spare her, +From earthly joys we tear her, +Still undefiled; +And to thine arms we bear her, +Thine own, thy child. + +"Open, oh Heaven! no morrow +Will see this joy o'ercast, +No pain, no tears, no sorrow, +Her gentle heart will borrow; +Sad life is past; +Shielded and safe from sorrow, +At home at last." + +But the vision faded and all was still, +On the purple valley and distant hill. +No sound was there save the wailing breeze, +The rain, and the rustling cypress trees. + + + +VERSE: PICTURES IN THE FIRE + + + +What is it you ask me, darling? +All my stories, child, you know; +I have no strange dreams to tell you, +Pictures I have none to show. + +Tell you glorious scenes of travel? +Nay, my child, that cannot be, +I have seen no foreign countries, +Marvels none on land or sea. + +Yet strange sights in truth I witness, +And I gaze until I tire, +Wondrous pictures, changing ever, +As I look into the fire. + +There, last night, I saw a cavern, +Black as pitch; within it lay +Coiled in many folds a dragon, +Glaring as if turned at bay. + +And a knight in dismal armour +On a winged eagle came, +To do battle with this dragon; +And his crest was all of flame. + +As I gazed the dragon faded, +And, instead, sate Pluto crowned, +By a lake of burning fire; +Spirits dark were crouching round. + +That was gone, and lo! before me, +A cathedral vast and grim; +I could almost hear the organ +Peal alone the arches dim. + +As I watched the wreathed pillars, +Groves of stately palms arose, +And a group of swarthy Indians +Stealing on some sleeping foes. + +Stay; a cataract glancing brightly, +Dashed and sparkled; and beside +Lay a broken marble monster, +Mouth and eyes were staring wide. + +Then I saw a maiden wreathing +Starry flowers in garlands sweet; +Did she see the fiery serpent +That was wrapped about her feet? + +That fell crashing all and vanished; +And I saw two armies close - +I could almost hear the clarions, +And the shouting of the foes. + +They were gone; and lo! bright angels, +On a barren mountain wild, +Raised appealing arms to Heaven, +Bearing up a little child. + +And I gazed, and gazed, and slowly +Gathered in my eyes sad tears, +And the fiery pictures bore me +Back through distant dreams of years. + +Once again I tasted sorrow, +With past joy was once more gay, +Till the shade had gathered round me - +And the fire had died away. + + + +VERSE: THE SETTLERS + + + +Two stranger youths in the Far West, +Beneath the ancient forest trees, +Pausing, amid their toil to rest, +Spake of their home beyond the seas; +Spake of the hearts that beat so warmly, +Of the hearts they loved so well. +In their chilly northern country. +"Would," they cried, "some voice could tell +Where they are, our own beloved ones!" +They looked up to the evening sky +Half hidden by the giant branches, +But heard no angel-voice reply. +All silent was the quiet evening; +Silent were the ancient trees; +They only heard the murmuring song +Of the summer breeze, +That gently played among +The acacia trees. +And did no warning spirit answer, +Amid the silence all around; +"Before the lowly village altar +She thou lovest may be found, +Thou, who trustest still so blindly, +Know she stands a smiling bride! +Forgetting thee, she turneth kindly +To the stranger at her side. +Yes, this day thou art forgotten, +Forgotten, too, thy last farewell, +All the vows that she has spoken, +And thy heart has kept so well. +Dream no more of a starry future, +In thy home beyond the seas!" +But he only heard the gentle sigh +Of the summer breeze, +So softly passing by +The acacia trees. + +And vainly, too, the other, looking +Smiling up through hopeful tears, +Asked in his heart of hearts, "Where is she, +She I love these many years?" +He heard no echo calling faintly: +"Lo, she lieth cold and pale, +And her smile so calm and saintly +Heeds not grieving sob or wail - +Heeds not the lilies strewn upon her, +Pure as she is, and as white, +Or the solemn chanting voices, +Or the taper's ghastly light." +But silent still was the ancient forest, +Silent were the gloomy trees, +He only heard the wailing sound +Of the summer breeze, +That sadly played around +The acacia trees + + + +VERSE: HUSH + + + +"I can scarcely hear," she murmured, +"For my heart beats loud and fast, +But surely, in the far, far distance, +I can hear a sound at last." +"It is only the reapers singing, +As they carry home their sheaves, +And the evening breeze has risen, +And rustles the dying leaves." + +"Listen! there are voices talking." +Calmly still she strove to speak, +Yet her voice grew faint and trembling, +And the red flushed in her cheek. +"It is only the children playing +Below, now their work is done, +And they laugh that their eyes are dazzled +By the rays of the setting sun." + +Fainter grew her voice, and weaker +As with anxious eyes she cried, +"Down the avenue of chestnuts, +I can hear a horseman ride." +"It was only the deer that were feeding +In a herd on the clover grass, +They were startled, and fled to the thicket, +As they saw the reapers pass." + +Now the night arose in silence, +Birds lay in their leafy nest, +And the deer couched in the forest, +And the children were at rest: +There was only a sound of weeping +From watchers around a bed, +But Rest to the weary spirit, +Peace to the quiet Dead! + + + +VERSE: HOURS + + + +When the bright stars came out last night, +And the dew lay on the flowers, +I had a vision of delight - +A dream of by-gone hours. + +Those hours that came and fled so fast, +Of pleasure or of pain, +As phantoms rose from out the past +Before my eyes again. + +With beating heart did I behold +A train of joyous hours, +Lit with the radiant light of old, +And, smiling, crowned with flowers. + +And some were hours of childish sorrow, +A mimicry of pain, +That through their tears looked for a morrow +They knew must smile again. + +Those hours of hope that longed for life, +And wished their part begun, +And ere the summons to the strife, +Dreamed that the field was won. + +I knew the echo of their voice, +The starry crowns they wore; +The vision made my soul rejoice +With the old thrill of yore. + +I knew the perfume of their flowers; +The glorious shining rays +Around these happy smiling hours +Were lit in by-gone days. + +Oh stay, I cried--bright visions, stay, +And leave me not forlorn! +But, smiling still, they passed away, +Like shadows of the morn. + +One spirit still remained, and cried, +"Thy soul shall ne'er forget!" +He standeth ever by my side - +The phantom called Regret! + +But still the spirits rose, and there +Were weary hours of pain, +And anxious hours of fear and care +Bound by an iron chain. + +Dim shadows came of lonely hours, +That shunned the light of day, +And in the opening smile of flowers +Saw only quick decay. + +Calm hours that sought the starry skies +For heavenly lore were there; +With folded hands and earnest eyes, +I knew the hours of prayer. + +Stern hours that darkened the sun's light, +Heralds of coming woes, +With trailing wings, before my sight +From the dim past arose. + +As each dark vision passed and spoke +I prayed it to depart: +At each some buried sorrow woke +And stirred within my heart. + +Until these hours of pain and care +Lifted their tearful eyes, +Spread their dark pinions in the air +And passed into the skies. + + + +VERSE: THE TWO INTERPRETERS + + + +"The clouds are fleeting by, father, +Look in the shining west, +The great white clouds sail onward +Upon the sky's blue breast. +Look at a snowy eagle, +His wings are tinged with red, +And a giant dolphin follows him, +With a crown upon his head!" + +The father spake no word, but watched +The drifting clouds roll by; +He traced a misty vision too +Upon the shining sky: +A shadowy form, with well-known grace +Of weary love and care, +Above the smiling child she held, +Shook down her floating hair. + +"The clouds are changing now, father, +Mountains rise higher and higher! +And see where red and purple ships +Sail in a sea of fire!" +The father pressed the little hand +More closely in his own, +And watched a cloud-dream in the sky +That he could see alone: +Bright angels carrying far away +A white form, cold and dead, +Two held the feet, and two bore up +The flower-crowned, drooping head. + +"See, father, see! a glory floods +The sky, and all is bright, +And clouds of every hue and shade +Burn in the golden light. +And now, above an azure lake, +Rise battlements and towers, +Where knights and ladies climb the heights, +All bearing purple flowers." + +The father looked, and, with a pang +Of love and strange alarm, +Drew close the little eager child +Within his sheltering arm; +From out the clouds the mother looks +With wistful glance below, +She seems to seek the treasure left +On earth so long ago; +She holds her arms out to her child, +His cradle-song she sings: +The last rays of the sunset gleam +Upon her outspread wings. + +Calm twilight veils the summer sky, +The shining clouds are gone; +In vain the merry laughing child +Still gaily prattles on; +In vain the bright stars, one by one, +On the blue silence start, +A dreary shadow rests to-night +Upon the father's heart + + + +VERSE: COMFORT + + + +Hast thou o'er the clear heaven of thy soul +Seen tempests roll? +Hast thou watched all the hopes thou wouldst have won +Fade, one by one? +Wait till the clouds are past, then raise thine eyes +To bitter skies. + +Hast thou gone sadly through a dreary night, +And found no light, +No guide, no star, to cheer thee through the plain - +No friend, save pain? +Wait, and thy soul shall see, when most forlorn, +Rise a new morn. + +Hast thou beneath another's stern control +Bent thy sad soul, +And wasted sacred hopes and precious tears? +Yet calm thy fears, +For thou canst gain, even from the bitterest part, +A stronger heart. + +Has Fate overwhelmed thee with some sudden blow? +Let thy tears flow; +But know when storms are past, the heavens appear +More pure, more clear; +And hope, when farthest from their shining rays, +For brighter days. + +Hast thou found life a cheat, and worn in vain +Its iron chain? +Has thy soul bent beneath earth's heavy bond? +Look thou beyond; +If life is bitter--THERE for ever shine +Hopes more divine. + +Art thou alone, and does thy soul complain +It lives in vain? +Not vainly does he live who can endure +Oh be thou sure, +That he who hopes and suffers here, can earn +A sure return. + +Hast thou found nought within thy troubled life +Save inward strife? +Hast thou found all she promised thee, Deceit, +And Hope a cheat? +Endure, and there shall dawn within thy breast +Eternal rest! + + + +VERSE: HOME AT LAST + + + +Child, do not fear; +We shall reach our home to-night, +For the sky is clear, +And the waters bright; +And the breezes have scarcely strength +To unfold that little cloud, +That like a shroud +Spreads out its fleecy length +Then have no fear, +As we cleave our silver way +Through the waters clear. + +Fear not, my child! +Though the waves are white and high, +And the storm blows wild +Through the gloomy sky; +On the edge of the western sea, +See that line of golden light, +Is the haven bright +Where home is awaiting thee; +Where, this peril past, +We shall rest from our stormy voyage +In peace at last. + +Be not afraid; +But give me thy hand, and see +How the waves have made +A cradle for thee. +Night is come, dear, and we shall rest; +So turn from the angry skies, +And close thine eyes, +And lay thy head on my breast: +Child, do not weep; +In the calm, cold, purple depths +There we shall sleep. + + + +VERSE: UNEXPRESSED + + + +Dwells within the soul of every Artist +More than all his effort can express; +And he knows the best remains unuttered; +Sighing at what WE call his success. + +Vainly he may strive; he dare not tell us +All the sacred mysteries of the skies: +Vainly he may strive; the deepest beauty +Cannot be unveiled to mortal eyes. + +And the more devoutly that he listens, +And the holier message that is sent, +Still the more his soul must struggle vainly, +Bowed beneath a noble discontent. + +No great Thinker ever lived and taught you +All the wonder that his soul received; +No true Painter ever set on canvas +All the glorious vision he conceived. + +No Musician ever held your spirit +Charmed and bound in his melodious chains, +But be sure he heard, and strove to render, +Feeble echoes of celestial strains. + +No real Poet ever wove in numbers +All his dream; but the diviner part, +Hidden from all the world, spake to him only +In the voiceless silence of his heart. + +So with Love: for Love and Art united +Are twin mysteries; different, yet the same: +Poor indeed would be the love of any +Who could find its full and perfect name. + +Love may strive, but vain is the endeavour +All its boundless riches to enfold; +Still its tenderest, truest secret lingers +Ever in its deepest depths untold. + +Things of Time have voices: speak and perish. +Art and Love speak--but their words must be +Like sighings of illimitable forests, +And waves of an unfathomable sea. + + + +VERSE: BECAUSE + + + +It is not because your heart is mine--mine only - +Mine alone; +It is not because you chose me, weak and lonely, +For your own; +Not because the earth is fairer, and the skies +Spread above you +Are more radiant for the shining of your eyes - +That I love you! + +It is not because the world's perplexed meaning +Grows more clear; +And the Parapets of Heaven, with angels leaning, +Seem more near; +And Nature sings of praise with all her voices +Since yours spoke, +Since within my silent heart, that now rejoices, +Love awoke! + +Nay, not even because your hand holds heart and life; +At your will +Soothing, hushing all its discord, making strife +Calm and still; +Teaching Trust to fold her wings, nor ever roam +From her nest; +Teaching Love that her securest, safest home +Must be Rest. + +But because this human Love, though true and sweet - +Yours and mine - +Has been sent by Love more tender, more complete, +More divine; +That it leads our hearts to rest at last in Heaven, +Far above you; +Do I take you as a gift that God has given - +- And I love you! + + + +VERSE: REST AT EVENING + + + +When the weariness of Life is ended, +And the task of our long day is done, +And the props, on which our hearts depended, +All have failed or broken, one by one; +Evening and our Sorrow's shadow blended +Telling us that peace is now begun. + +How far back will seem the sun's first dawning, +And those early mists so cold and grey! +Half forgotten even the toil of morning, +And the heat and burthen of the day: +Flowers that we were tending, and weeds scorning, +All alike withered and cast away. + +Vain will seem the impatient heart, which waited +Toils that gathered but too quickly round; +And the childish joy, so soon elated +At the path we thought none else had found; +And the foolish ardour, soon abated +By the storm which cast us to the ground. + +Vain those pauses on the road, each seeming +As our final home and resting-place; +And the leaving them, while tears were streaming +Of eternal sorrow down our face; +And the hands we held, fond folly dreaming +That no future could their touch efface. + +All will then be faded:- night will borrow +Stars of light to crown our perfect rest; +And the dim vague memory of faint sorrow +Just remain to show us all was best, +Then melt into a divine to-morrow:- +Oh, how poor a day to be so blest! + + + +VERSE: A RETROSPECT + + + +From this fair point of present bliss, +Where we together stand, +Let me look back once more, and trace +That long and desert land, +Wherein till now was cast my lot, and I could live, and thou wert +not. + +Strange that my heart could beat, and know +Alternate joy and pain, +That suns could roll from east to west, +And clouds could pass in rain, +And the slow hours without thee fleet, nor stay their noiseless +silver feet. + +What had I then? a hope, that grew +Each hour more bright and dear, +The flush upon the eastern skies +That showed the sun was near:- +Now night has faded far away, my sun has risen, and it is day. + +A dim Ideal of tender grace +In my soul reigned supreme; +Too noble and too sweet I thought +To live, save in a dream - +Within thy heart to-day it lies, and looks on me from thy dear +eyes. + +Some gentle spirit--Love I thought - +Built many a shrine of pain; +Though each false Idol fell to dust, +The worship was not vain, +But a faint radiant shadow cast back from our Love upon the Past. + +And Grief, too, held her vigil there; +With unrelenting sway +Breaking my cloudy visions down, +Throwing my flowers away:- +I owe to her fond care alone that I may now be all thine own. + +Fair Joy was there--her fluttering wings +At times she strove to raise; +Watching through long and patient nights, +Listening long eager days: +I know now that her heart and mine were waiting, Love, to welcome +thine. + +Thus I can read thy name throughout, +And, now her task is done, +Can see that even that faded Past +Was thine, beloved one, +And so rejoice my Life may be all consecrated, dear, to thee. + + + +VERSE: TRUE OR FALSE + + + +So you think you love me, do you? +Well, it may be so; +But there are many ways of loving +I have learnt to know. +Many ways, and but one true way, +Which is very rare; +And the counterfeits look brightest, +Though they will not wear. + +Yet they ring, almost, quite truly, +Last (with care) for long; +But in time must break, may shiver +At a touch of wrong: +Having seen what looked most real +Crumble into dust; +Now I chose that test and trial +Should precede my trust. + +I have seen a love demanding +Time and hope and tears, +Chaining all the past, exacting +Bonds from future years; +Mind and heart, and joy and sorrow, +Claiming as its fee: +That was Love of Self, and never, +Never Love of me! + +I have seen a love forgetting +All above, beyond, +Linking every dream and fancy +In a sweeter bond; +Counting every hour worthless, +Which was cold or free:- +That, perhaps, was--Love of Pleasure, +But not Love of me! + +I have seen a love whose patience +Never turned aside, +Full of tender, fond devices; +Constant, even when tried; +Smallest boons were held as victories, +Drops that swelled the sea: +That I think was--Love of Power, +But not Love of me! + +I have seen a love disdaining +Ease and pride and fame, +Burning even its own white pinions +Just to feed its flame; +Reigning thus, supreme, triumphant, +By the soul's decree; +That was--Love of Love, I fancy, +But not Love of me! + +I have heard--or dreamt, it may be - +What Love is when true; +How to test and how to try it, +Is the gift of few: +These few say (or did I dream it?) +That true Love abides +In these very things, but always +Has a soul besides. + +Lives among the false loves, knowing +Just their peace and strife: +Bears the self-same look, but always +Has an inner life. +Only a true heart can find it, +True as it is true, +Only eyes as clear and tender +Look it through and through. + +If it dies, it will not perish +By Time's slow decay, +True Love only grows (they tell me) +Stronger, day by day: +Pain--has been its friend and comrade; +Fate--it can defy; +Only by its own sword, sometimes +Love can choose to die. + +And its grave shall be more noble +And more sacred still, +Than a throne, where one less worthy +Reigns and rules at will. +Tell me then, do you dare offer +This true Love to me? . . . +Neither you nor I can answer; +We will--wait and see! + + + +VERSE: GOLDEN WORDS + + + +Some words are played on golden strings, +Which I so highly rate, +I cannot bear for meaner things +Their sound to desecrate. + +For every day they are not meet, +Or for a careless tone; +They are for rarest, and most sweet, +And noblest use alone. + +One word is POET: which is flung +So carelessly away, +When such as you and I have sung, +We hear it, day by day. + +Men pay it for a tender phrase +Set in a cadenced rhyme: +I keep it as a crown of praise +To crown the kings of time. + +And LOVE: the slightest feelings, stirred +By trivial fancy, seek +Expression in that golden word +They tarnish while they speak. + +Nay, let the heart's slow, rare decree, +That word in reverence keep +Silence herself should only be +More sacred and more deep. + +FOR EVER: men have grown at length +To use that word, to raise +Some feeble protest into strength, +Or turn some tender phrase. + +It should be said in awe and fear +By true heart and strong will, +And burn more brightly year by year, +A starry witness still. + +HONOUR: all trifling hearts are fond +Of that divine appeal, +And men, upon the slightest bond, +Set it as slighter seal. + +That word should meet a noble foe +Upon a noble field, +And echo--like a deadly blow +Turned by a silver shield. + +Trust me, the worth of words is such +They guard all noble things, +And that this rash irreverent touch +Has jarred some golden strings. + +For what the lips have lightly said +The heart will lightly hold, +And things on which we daily tread +Are lightly bought and sold. + +The sun of every day will bleach +The costliest purple hue. +And so our common daily speech +Discolours what was true. + +But as you keep some thoughts apart +In sacred honoured care, +If in the silence of your heart, +Their utterance too be rare; + +Then, while a thousand words repeat +Unmeaning clamours all, +Melodious golden echoes sweet +Shall answer when you call. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext Legends and Lyrics 1st Series, by Proctor + diff --git a/old/lgly110.zip b/old/lgly110.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a8fc3a7 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/lgly110.zip |