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diff --git a/2303.txt b/2303.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..45259e4 --- /dev/null +++ b/2303.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6935 @@ +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*** + + + + +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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