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+The Project Gutenberg eBook, Legends and Lyrics: Second Series, by
+Adelaide Anne Procter
+
+
+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: Second Series
+
+Author: Adelaide Anne Procter
+
+Release Date: October 20, 2004  [eBook #2304]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII)
+
+
+***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEGENDS AND LYRICS: SECOND SERIES***
+
+
+
+
+
+This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk from
+the 1890 George Bell and Sons edition.
+
+
+
+
+
+LEGENDS AND LYRICS--SECOND SERIES
+by Adelaide Anne Procter
+
+
+Contents:
+
+A Legend of Provence
+Envy
+Over the Mountain
+Beyond
+A Warning
+Maximus
+Optimus
+A Lost Chord
+Too Late
+The Requital
+Returned--"Missing"
+In the Wood
+Two Worlds
+A New Mother
+Give Place
+My Will
+King and Slave
+A Chant
+Dream-Life
+Rest
+The Tyrant and the Captive
+The Carver's Lesson
+Three Roses
+My Picture Gallery
+Sent to Heaven
+Never Again
+Listening Angels
+Golden Days
+Philip and Mildred
+Borrowed Thoughts
+Light and Shade
+A Changeling
+Discouraged
+If Thou couldst know
+The Warrior to his Dead Bride
+A Letter
+A Comforter
+Unseen
+A Remembrance of Autumn
+Three Evenings in a Life
+The Wind
+Expectation
+An Ideal
+Our Dead
+A Woman's Answer
+The Story of the Faithful Soul
+A Contrast
+The Bride's Dream
+The Angel's Bidding
+Spring
+Evening Hymn
+The Inner Chamber
+Hearts
+Two Loves
+A Woman's Last Word
+Past and Present
+For the Future
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: A LEGEND OF PROVENCE
+
+
+The lights extinguished, by the hearth I leant,
+Half weary with a listless discontent.
+The flickering giant-shadows, gathering near,
+Closed round me with a dim and silent fear.
+All dull, all dark; save when the leaping flame,
+Glancing, lit up a Picture's ancient frame.
+Above the hearth it hung.  Perhaps the night,
+My foolish tremors, or the gleaming light,
+Lent power to that Portrait dark and quaint--
+A Portrait such as Rembrandt loved to paint--
+The likeness of a Nun.  I seemed to trace
+A world of sorrow in the patient face,
+In the thin hands folded across her breast--
+Its own and the room's shadow hid the rest.
+I gazed and dreamed, and the dull embers stirred,
+Till an old legend that I once had heard
+Came back to me; linked to the mystic gloom
+Of that dark Picture in the ghostly room.
+In the far south, where clustering vines are hung;
+Where first the old chivalric lays were sung,
+Where earliest smiled that gracious child of France,
+Angel and knight and fairy, called Romance,
+I stood one day.  The warm blue June was spread
+Upon the earth; blue summer overhead,
+Without a cloud to fleck its radiant glare,
+Without a breath to stir its sultry air.
+All still, all silent, save the sobbing rush
+Of rippling waves, that lapsed in silver hush
+Upon the beach; where, glittering towards the strand,
+The purple Mediterranean kissed the land.
+
+All still, all peaceful; when a convent chime
+Broke on the mid-day silence for a time,
+Then trembling into quiet, seemed to cease,
+In deeper silence and more utter peace.
+So as I turned to gaze, where gleaming white,
+Half hid by shadowy trees from passers' sight,
+The Convent lay, one who had dwelt for long
+In that fair home of ancient tale and song,
+Who knew the story of each cave and hill,
+And every haunting fancy lingering still
+Within the land, spake thus to me, and told
+The Convent's treasured Legend, quaint and old:
+
+Long years ago, a dense and flowering wood,
+Still more concealed where the white convent stood,
+Borne on its perfumed wings the title came:
+"Our Lady of the Hawthorns" is its name.
+Then did that bell, which still rings out to-day,
+Bid all the country rise, or eat, or pray.
+Before that convent shrine, the haughty knight
+Passed the lone vigil of his perilous fight;
+For humbler cottage strife or village brawl,
+The Abbess listened, prayed, and settled all.
+Young hearts that came, weighed down by love or wrong,
+Left her kind presence comforted and strong.
+Each passing pilgrim, and each beggar's right
+Was food, and rest, and shelter for the night.
+But, more than this, the Nuns could well impart
+The deepest mysteries of the healing art;
+Their store of herbs and simples was renowned,
+And held in wondering faith for miles around.
+Thus strife, love, sorrow, good and evil fate,
+Found help and blessing at the convent gate.
+
+Of all the nuns, no heart was half so light,
+No eyelids veiling glances half as bright,
+No step that glided with such noiseless feet,
+No face that looked so tender or so sweet,
+No voice that rose in choir so pure, so clear,
+No heart to all the others half so dear,
+So surely touched by others' pain or woe,
+(Guessing the grief her young life could not know,)
+No soul in childlike faith so undefiled,
+As Sister Angela's, the "Convent Child."
+For thus they loved to call her.  She had known
+No home, no love, no kindred, save their own.
+An orphan, to their tender nursing given,
+Child, plaything, pupil, now the Bride of Heaven.
+And she it was who trimmed the lamp's red light
+That swung before the altar, day and night;
+Her hands it was whose patient skill could trace
+The finest broidery, weave the costliest lace;
+But most of all, her first and dearest care,
+The office she would never miss or share,
+Was every day to weave fresh garlands sweet,
+To place before the shrine at Mary's feet.
+Nature is bounteous in that region fair,
+For even winter has her blossoms there.
+Thus Angela loved to count each feast the best,
+By telling with what flowers the shrine was dressed.
+In pomp supreme the countless Roses passed,
+Battalion on battalion thronging fast,
+Each with a different banner, flaming bright,
+Damask, or striped, or crimson, pink, or white,
+Until they bowed before a newborn queen,
+And the pure virgin Lily rose serene.
+Though Angela always thought the Mother blest
+Must love the time of her own hawthorn best,
+Each evening through the year, with equal, care,
+She placed her flowers; then kneeling down in prayer,
+As their faint perfume rose before the shrine,
+So rose her thoughts, as pure and as divine.
+She knelt until the shades grew dim without,
+Till one by one the altar lights shone out,
+Till one by one the Nuns, like shadows dim,
+Gathered around to chant their vesper hymn;
+Her voice then led the music's winged flight,
+And "Ave, Maris Stella" filled the night.
+But wherefore linger on those days of peace?
+When storms draw near, then quiet hours must cease.
+War, cruel war, defaced the land, and came
+So near the convent with its breath of flame,
+That, seeking shelter, frightened peasants fled,
+Sobbing out tales of coming fear and dread,
+Till after a fierce skirmish, down the road,
+One night came straggling soldiers, with their load
+Of wounded, dying comrades; and the band,
+Half pleading yet as if they could command,
+Summoned the trembling Sisters, craved their care,
+Then rode away, and left the wounded there.
+But soon compassion bade all fear depart.
+And bidding every Sister do her part,
+Some prepare simples, healing salves, or bands,
+The Abbess chose the more experienced hands,
+To dress the wounds needing most skilful care;
+Yet even the youngest Novice took her share.
+To Angela, who had but ready will
+And tender pity, yet no special skill,
+Was given the charge of a young foreign knight,
+Whose wounds were painful, but whose danger slight.
+Day after day she watched beside his bed,
+And first in hushed repose the hours fled:
+His feverish moans alone the silence stirred,
+Or her soft voice, uttering some pious word.
+At last the fever left him; day by day
+The hours, no longer silent, passed away.
+What could she speak of?  First, to still his plaints,
+She told him legends of the martyred Saints;
+Described the pangs, which, through God's plenteous grace,
+Had gained their souls so high and bright a place.
+This pious artifice soon found success--
+Or so she fancied--for he murmured less.
+So she described the glorious pomp sublime,
+In which the chapel shone at Easter time,
+The Banners, Vestments, gold, and colours bright,
+Counted how many tapers gave their light;
+Then, in minute detail went on to say,
+How the High Altar looked on Christmas-day:
+The kings and shepherds, all in green and red,
+And a bright star of jewels overhead.
+Then told the sign by which they all had seen,
+How even nature loved to greet her Queen,
+For, when Our Lady's last procession went
+Down the long garden, every head was bent,
+And, rosary in hand, each Sister prayed;
+As the long floating banners were displayed,
+They struck the hawthorn boughs, and showers and showers
+Of buds and blossoms strewed her way with flowers.
+The Knight unwearied listened; till at last,
+He too described the glories of his past;
+Tourney, and joust, and pageant bright and fair,
+And all the lovely ladies who were there.
+But half incredulous she heard.  Could this--
+This be the world? this place of love and bliss!
+Where then was hid the strange and hideous charm,
+That never failed to bring the gazer harm?
+She crossed herself, yet asked, and listened still,
+And still the knight described with all his skill
+The glorious world of joy, all joys above,
+Transfigured in the golden mist of love.
+Spread, spread your wings, ye angel guardians bright,
+And shield these dazzling phantoms from her sight!
+But no; days passed, matins and vespers rang,
+And still the quiet Nuns toiled, prayed, and sang,
+And never guessed the fatal, coiling net
+Which every day drew near, and nearer yet,
+Around their darling; for she went and came
+About her duties, outwardly the same.
+The same? ah, no! even when she knelt to pray,
+Some charmed dream kept all her heart away.
+So days went on, until the convent gate
+Opened one night.  Who durst go forth so late?
+Across the moonlit grass, with stealthy tread,
+Two silent, shrouded figures passed and fled.
+And all was silent, save the moaning seas,
+That sobbed and pleaded, and a wailing breeze
+That sighed among the perfumed hawthorn trees.
+
+What need to tell that dream so bright and brief,
+Of joy unchequered by a dread of grief?
+What need to tell how all such dreams must fade,
+Before the slow, foreboding, dreaded shade,
+That floated nearer, until pomp and pride,
+Pleasure and wealth, were summoned to her side.
+To bid, at least, the noisy hours forget,
+And clamour down the whispers of regret.
+Still Angela strove to dream, and strove in vain;
+Awakened once, she could not sleep again.
+She saw, each day and hour, more worthless grown
+The heart for which she cast away her own;
+And her soul learnt, through bitterest inward strife,
+The slight, frail love for which she wrecked her life,
+The phantom for which all her hope was given,
+The cold bleak earth for which she bartered heaven!
+But all in vain; would even the tenderest heart
+Now stoop to take so poor an outcast's part?
+
+Years fled, and she grew reckless more and more,
+Until the humblest peasant closed his door,
+And where she passed, fair dames, in scorn and pride,
+Shuddered, and drew their rustling robes aside.
+At last a yearning seemed to fill her soul,
+A longing that was stronger than control:
+Once more, just once again, to see the place
+That knew her young and innocent; to retrace
+The long and weary southern path; to gaze
+Upon the haven of her childish days;
+Once more beneath the convent roof to lie;
+Once more to look upon her home--and die!
+Weary and worn--her comrades, chill remorse
+And black despair, yet a strange silent force
+Within her heart, that drew her more and more--
+Onward she crawled, and begged from door to door.
+Weighed down with weary days, her failing strength
+Grew less each hour, till one day's dawn at length,
+As first its rays flooded the world with light,
+Showed the broad waters, glittering blue and bright,
+And where, amid the leafy hawthorn wood,
+Just as of old the quiet cloister stood.
+Would any know her?  Nay, no fear.  Her face
+Had lost all trace of youth, of joy, of grace,
+Of the pure happy soul they used to know--
+The novice Angela--so long ago.
+She rang the convent bell.  The well-known sound
+Smote on her heart, and bowed her to the ground,
+And she, who had not wept for long dry years,
+Felt the strange rush of unaccustomed tears;
+Terror and anguish seemed to check her breath,
+And stop her heart.  Oh God! could this be death?
+Crouching against the iron gate, she laid
+Her weary head against the bars, and prayed:
+But nearer footsteps drew, then seemed to wait:
+And then she heard the opening of the grate,
+And saw the withered face, on which awoke
+Pity and sorrow, as the portress spoke,
+And asked the stranger's bidding: "Take me in,"
+She faltered, "Sister Monica, from sin,
+And sorrow, and despair, that will not cease;
+Oh, take me in, and let me die in peace!"
+With soothing words the Sister bade her wait,
+Until she brought the key to unbar the gate.
+The beggar tried to thank her as she lay,
+And heard the echoing footsteps die away.
+But what soft voice was that which sounded near,
+And stirred strange trouble in her heart to hear?
+She raised her head; she saw--she seemed to know--
+A face that came from long, long years ago:
+Herself; yet not as when she fled away,
+The young and blooming novice, fair and gay,
+But a grave woman, gentle and serene:
+The outcast knew it--what she might have been.
+But, as she gazed and gazed, a radiance bright
+Filled all the place with strange and sudden light;
+The Nun was there no longer, but instead,
+A figure with a circle round its head,
+A ring of glory; and a face, so meek,
+So soft, so tender . . . Angela strove to speak,
+And stretched her hands out, crying, "Mary mild,
+Mother of mercy, help me!--help your child!"
+And Mary answered, "From thy bitter past,
+Welcome, my child! oh, welcome home at last!
+I filled thy place.  Thy flight is known to none,
+For all thy daily duties I have done;
+Gathered thy flowers, and prayed, and sung, and slept;
+Didst thou not know, poor child, thy place was kept?
+Kind hearts are here; yet would the tenderest one
+Have limits to its mercy: God has none.
+And man's forgiveness may be true and sweet,
+But yet he stoops to give it.  More complete
+Is Love that lays forgiveness at thy feet,
+And pleads with thee to raise it.  Only Heaven
+Means crowned, not vanquished, when it says 'Forgiven!'"
+Back hurried Sister Monica; but where
+Was the poor beggar she left lying there?
+Gone; and she searched in vain, and sought the place
+For that wan woman with the piteous face:
+But only Angela at the gateway stood,
+Laden with hawthorn blossoms from the wood.
+And never did a day pass by again,
+But the old portress, with a sigh of pain,
+Would sorrow for her loitering: with a prayer
+That the poor beggar, in her wild despair,
+Might not have come to any ill; and when
+She ended, "God forgive her!" humbly then
+Did Angela bow her head, and say "Amen!"
+How pitiful her heart was! all could trace
+Something that dimmed the brightness of her face
+After that day, which none had seen before;
+Not trouble--but a shadow--nothing more.
+
+Years passed away.  Then, one dark day of dread
+Saw all the sisters kneeling round a bed,
+Where Angela lay dying; every breath
+Struggling beneath the heavy hand of death.
+But suddenly a flush lit up her cheek,
+She raised her wan right hand, and strove to speak.
+In sorrowing love they listened; not a sound
+Or sigh disturbed the utter silence round.
+The very tapers' flames were scarcely stirred,
+In such hushed awe the sisters knelt and heard.
+And through that silence Angela told her life:
+Her sin, her flight; the sorrow and the strife,
+And the return; and then clear, low and calm,
+"Praise God for me, my sisters;" and the psalm
+Rang up to heaven, far and clear and wide,
+Again and yet again, then sank and died;
+While her white face had such a smile of peace,
+They saw she never heard the music cease;
+And weeping sisters laid her in her tomb,
+Crowned with a wreath of perfumed hawthorn bloom.
+
+And thus the Legend ended.  It may be
+Something is hidden in the mystery,
+Besides the lesson of God's pardon shown,
+Never enough believed, or asked, or known.
+Have we not all, amid life's petty strife,
+Some pure ideal of a noble life
+That once seemed possible?  Did we not hear
+The flutter of its wings, and feel it near,
+And just within our reach?  It was.  And yet
+We lost it in this daily jar and fret,
+And now live idle in a vague regret.
+But still our place is kept, and it will wait,
+Ready for us to fill it, soon or late:
+No star is ever lost we once have seen,
+We always may be what we might have been.
+Since Good, though only thought, has life and breath,
+God's life--can always be redeemed from death;
+And evil, in its nature, is decay,
+And any hour can blot it all away;
+The hopes that lost in some far distance seem,
+May be the truer life, and this the dream.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: ENVY
+
+
+He was the first always: Fortune
+Shone bright in his face.
+I fought for years; with no effort
+He conquered the place:
+We ran; my feet were all bleeding,
+But he won the race.
+
+Spite of his many successes
+Men loved him the same;
+My one pale ray of good fortune
+Met scoffing and blame.
+When we erred, they gave him pity,
+But me--only shame.
+
+My home was still in the shadow,
+His lay in the sun:
+I longed in vain: what he asked for
+It straightway was done.
+Once I staked all my heart's treasure,
+We played--and he won.
+
+Yes; and just now I have seen him,
+Cold, smiling, and blest,
+Laid in his coffin.  God help me!
+While he is at rest,
+I am cursed still to live:- even
+Death loved him the best.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: OVER THE MOUNTAIN
+
+
+Like dreary prison walls
+The stern grey mountains rise,
+Until their topmost crags
+Touch the far gloomy skies:
+One steep and narrow path
+Winds up the mountain's crest,
+And from our valley leads
+Out to the golden West.
+
+I dwell here in content,
+Thankful for tranquil days;
+And yet, my eyes grow dim,
+As still I gaze and gaze
+Upon that mountain pass,
+That leads--or so it seems--
+To some far happy land,
+Known in a world of dreams.
+
+And as I watch that path
+Over the distant hill,
+A foolish longing comes
+My heart and soul to fill,
+A painful, strange desire
+To break some weary bond,
+A vague unuttered wish
+For what might lie beyond!
+
+In that far world unknown,
+Over that distant hill,
+May dwell the loved and lost,
+Lost--yet beloved still;
+I have a yearning hope,
+Half longing, and half pain,
+That by that mountain pass
+They may return again.
+
+Space may keep friends apart,
+Death has a mighty thrall;
+There is another gulf
+Harder to cross than all;
+Yet watching that far road,
+My heart beats full and fast--
+If they should come once more,
+If they should come at last!
+
+See, down the mountain side
+The silver vapours creep;
+They hide the rocky cliffs.
+They hide the craggy steep,
+They hide the narrow path
+That comes across the hill--
+Oh, foolish longing, cease,
+Oh, beating Heart, be still!
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: BEYOND
+
+
+We must not doubt, or fear, or dread, that love for life is only given,
+And that the calm and sainted dead will meet estranged and cold in heaven:-
+Oh, Love were poor and vain indeed, based on so harsh and stern a creed.
+
+True that this earth must pass away, with all the starry worlds of light,
+With all the glory of the day, and calmer tenderness of night;
+For, in that radiant home can shine alone the immortal and divine.
+
+Earth's lower things--her pride, her fame, her science, learning, wealth
+and power--
+Slow growths that through long ages came, or fruits of some convulsive hour,
+Whose very memory must decay--Heaven is too pure for such as they.
+
+They are complete: their work is done.  So let them sleep in endless rest.
+Love's life is only here begun, nor is, nor can be, fully blest;
+It has no room to spread its wings, amid this crowd of meaner things.
+
+Just for the very shadow thrown upon its sweetness here below,
+The cross that it must bear alone, and bloody baptism of woe,
+Crowned and completed through its pain, we know that it shall rise again.
+
+So if its flame burn pure and bright, here, where our air is dark and dense,
+And nothing in this world of night lives with a living so intense;
+When it shall reach its home at length--how bright its light! how strong its
+strength!
+
+And while the vain weak loves of earth (for such base counterfeits abound)
+Shall perish with what gave them birth--their graves are green and fresh around,
+No funeral song shall need to rise, for the true Love that never dies.
+
+If in my heart I now could fear that, risen again, we should not know
+What was our Life of Life when here--the hearts we loved so much below;
+I would arise this very day, and cast so poor a thing away.
+
+But Love is no such soulless clod: living, perfected it shall rise
+Transfigured in the light of God, and giving glory to the skies:
+And that which makes this life so sweet, shall render Heaven's joy complete.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: A WARNING
+
+
+Place your hands in mine, dear,
+With their rose-leaf touch:
+If you heed my warning,
+It will spare you much.
+
+Ah! with just such smiling
+Unbelieving eyes,
+Years ago I heard it:-
+You shall be more wise.
+
+You have one great treasure
+Joy for all your life;
+Do not let it perish
+In one reckless strife.
+
+Do not venture all, child,
+In one frail, weak heart;
+So, through any shipwreck,
+You may save a part.
+
+Where your soul is tempted
+Most to trust your fate,
+There, with double caution,
+Linger, fear, and wait.
+
+Measure all you give--still
+Counting what you take;
+Love for love: so placing
+Each an equal stake.
+
+Treasure love; though ready
+Still to live without.
+In your fondest trust, keep
+Just one thread of doubt.
+
+Build on no to-morrow;
+Love has but to-day:
+If the links seem slackening,
+Cut the bond away.
+
+Trust no prayer nor promise;
+Words are grains of sand;
+To keep your heart unbroken,
+Hold it in your hand.
+
+That your love may finish
+Calm as it begun,
+Learn this lesson better,
+Dear, than I have done.
+
+Years hence, perhaps, this warning
+You shall give again,
+In just the self-same words, dear,
+And--just as much--in vain.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: MAXIMUS
+
+
+Many, if God should make them kings,
+Might not disgrace the throne He gave;
+How few who could as well fulfil
+The holier office of a slave.
+
+I hold him great who, for Love's sake
+Can give, with generous, earnest will,--
+Yet he who takes for Love's sweet sake,
+I think I hold more generous still.
+
+I prize the instinct that can turn
+From vain pretence with proud disdain;
+Yet more I prize a simple heart;
+Paying credulity with pain.
+
+I bow before the noble mind
+That freely some great wrong forgives;
+Yet nobler is the one forgiven,
+Who bears that burden well, and lives.
+
+It may be hard to gain, and still
+To keep a lowly steadfast heart
+Yet he who loses has to fill
+A harder and a truer part.
+
+Glorious it is to wear the crown
+Of a deserved and pure success;--
+He who knows how to fail has won
+A Crown whose lustre is not less.
+
+Great may he be who can command
+And rule with just and tender sway;
+Yet is diviner wisdom taught
+Better by him who can obey.
+
+Blessed are those who die for God,
+And earn the Martyr's crown of light--
+Yet he who lives for God may be
+A greater Conqueror in His sight.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: OPTIMUS
+
+
+There is a deep and subtle snare
+Whose sure temptation hardly fails,
+Which, just because it looks so fair,
+Only a noble heart assails.
+
+So all the more we need be strong
+Against this false and seeming Right;
+Which none the less is deadly wrong,
+Because it glitters clothed in light.
+
+When duties unfulfilled remain,
+Or noble works are left unplanned,
+Or when great deeds cry out in vain
+On coward heart and trembling hand,--
+
+Then will a seeming Angel speak:--
+"The hours are fleeting--great the need--
+If thou art strong and others weak,
+Thine be the effort and the deed.
+
+"Deaf are their ears who ought to hear;
+Idle their hands, and dull their soul;
+While sloth, or ignorance, or fear,
+Fetters them with a blind control.
+
+"Sort thou the tangled web aright;
+Take thou the toil--take thou the pain:
+For fear the hour begin its flight,
+While Right and Duty plead in vain."
+
+And now it is I bid thee pause,
+Nor let this Tempter bend thy will:
+There are diviner, truer laws
+That teach a nobler lesson still.
+
+Learn that each duty makes its claim
+Upon one soul: not each on all.
+How, if God speaks thy Brother's name,
+Dare thou make answer to the call?
+
+The greater peril in the strife,
+The less this evil should be done;
+For as in battle, so in life,
+Danger and honour still are one.
+
+Arouse him then:- this is thy part:
+Show him the claim; point out the need;
+And nerve his arm, and cheer his heart;
+Then stand aside, and say "God speed!"
+
+Smooth thou his path ere it is trod;
+Burnish the arms that he must wield;
+And pray, with all thy strength, that God
+May crown him Victor of the field.
+
+And then, I think, thy soul shall feel
+A nobler thrill of true content,
+Than if presumptuous, eager zeal
+Had seized a crown for others meant.
+
+And even that very deed shall shine
+In mystic sense, divine and true,
+More wholly and more purely thine--
+Because it is another's too.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: A LOST CHORD
+
+
+Seated one day at the Organ,
+I was weary and ill at ease,
+And my fingers wandered idly
+Over the noisy keys.
+
+I do not know what I was playing,
+Or what I was dreaming then;
+But I struck one chord of music,
+Like the sound of a great Amen.
+
+It flooded the crimson twilight
+Like the close of an Angel's Psalm,
+And it lay on my fevered spirit
+With a touch of infinite calm.
+
+It quieted pain and sorrow,
+Like love overcoming strife;
+It seemed the harmonious echo
+From our discordant life.
+
+It linked all perplexed meanings
+Into one perfect peace,
+And trembled away into silence
+As if it were loth to cease.
+
+I have sought, but I seek it vainly,
+That one lost chord divine,
+Which came from the soul of the Organ,
+And entered into mine.
+
+It may be that Death's bright angel
+Will speak in that chord again,--
+It may be that only in Heaven
+I shall hear that grand Amen.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: TOO LATE
+
+
+Hush! speak low; tread softly;
+Draw the sheet aside;--
+Yes, she does look peaceful;
+With that smile she died.
+
+Yet stern want and sorrow
+Even now you trace
+On the wan, worn features
+Of the still white face.
+
+Restless, helpless, hopeless,
+Was her bitter part;--
+Now--how still the Violets
+Lie upon her Heart!
+
+She who toiled and laboured
+For her daily bread;
+See the velvet hangings
+Of this stately bed.
+
+Yes, they did forgive her;
+Brought her home at last;
+Strove to cover over
+Their relentless past.
+
+Ah, they would have given
+Wealth, and home, and pride,
+To see her just look happy
+Once before she died!
+
+They strove hard to please her,
+But, when death is near
+All you know is deadened,
+Hope, and joy, and fear.
+
+And besides, one sorrow
+Deeper still--one pain
+Was beyond them: healing
+Came to-day--in vain!
+
+If she had but lingered
+Just a few hours more;
+Or had this letter reached her
+Just one day before!
+
+I can almost pity
+Even him to-day;
+Though he let this anguish
+Eat her heart away.
+
+Yet she never blamed him:-
+One day you shall know
+How this sorrow happened;
+It was long ago.
+
+I have read the letter:
+Many a weary year,
+For one word she hungered--
+There are thousands here.
+
+If she could but hear it,
+Could but understand;
+See--I put the letter
+In her cold white hand.
+
+Even these words, so longed for,
+Do not stir her rest;
+Well--I should not murmur,
+For God judges best.
+
+She needs no more pity,--
+But I mourn his fate,
+When he hears his letter
+Came a day too late.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: THE REQUITAL
+
+
+Loud roared the Tempest,
+Fast fell the sleet;
+A little Child Angel
+Passed down the street,
+With trailing pinions,
+And weary feet.
+
+The moon was hidden;
+No stars were bright;
+So she could not shelter
+In heaven that night,
+For the Angels' ladders
+Are rays of light.
+
+She beat her wings
+At each window pane,
+And pleaded for shelter,
+But all in vain:--
+"Listen," they said,
+"To the pelting rain!"
+
+She sobbed, as the laughter
+And mirth grew higher,
+"Give me rest and shelter
+Beside your fire,
+And I will give you
+Your heart's desire."
+
+The dreamer sat watching
+His embers gleam,
+While his heart was floating
+Down hope's bright stream;
+. . . So he wove her wailing
+Into his dream.
+
+The worker toiled on,
+For his time was brief;
+The mourner was nursing
+Her own pale grief:
+They heard not the promise
+That brought relief.
+
+But fiercer the Tempest
+Rose than before,
+When the Angel paused
+At a humble door,
+And asked for shelter
+And help once more.
+
+A weary woman,
+Pale, worn, and thin,
+With the brand upon her
+Of want and sin,
+Heard the Child Angel
+And took her in.
+
+Took her in gently,
+And did her best
+To dry her pinions;
+And made her rest
+With tender pity
+Upon her breast.
+
+When the eastern morning
+Grew bright and red,
+Up the first sunbeam
+The Angel fled;
+Having kissed the woman
+And left her--dead.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: RETURNED--"MISSING" (FIVE YEARS AFTER)
+
+
+Yes, I was sad and anxious,
+But now, dear, I am gay;
+I know that it is wisest
+To put all hope away:-
+Thank God that I have done so
+And can be calm to-day.
+
+For hope deferred--you know it,
+Once made my heart so sick:
+Now, I expect no longer;
+It is but the old trick
+Of hope, that makes me tremble,
+And makes my heart beat quick.
+
+All day I sit here calmly;
+Not as I did before,
+Watching for one whose footstep
+Comes never, never more . . .
+Hush! was that someone passing,
+Who paused beside the door?
+
+For years I hung on chances,
+Longing for just one word;
+At last I feel it:- silence
+Will never more be stirred . . .
+Tell me once more that rumour,
+You fancied you had heard.
+
+Life has more things to dwell on
+Than just one useless pain,
+Useless and past for ever;
+But noble things remain,
+And wait us all: . . . you too, dear,
+Do you think hope quite vain?
+
+All others have forgotten,
+'Tis right I should forget,
+Nor live on a keen longing
+Which shadows forth regret: . . .
+Are not the letters coming?
+The sun is almost set.
+
+Now that my restless legion
+Of hopes and fears is fled,
+Reading is joy and comfort . . .
+. . . This very day I read,
+Oh, such a strange returning
+Of one whom all thought dead!
+
+Not that I dream or fancy,
+You know all that is past;
+Earth has no hope to give me,
+And yet:- Time flies so fast
+That all but the impossible
+Might be brought back at last.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: IN THE WOOD
+
+
+In the wood where shadows are deepest
+From the branches overhead,
+Where the wild wood-strawberries cluster
+And the softest moss is spread,
+I met to-day with a fairy,
+And I followed her where she led.
+
+Some magical words she uttered,
+I alone could understand,
+For the sky grew bluer and brighter;
+While there rose on either hand
+The cloudy walls of a palace
+That was built in Fairy-land.
+
+And I stood in a strange enchantment;
+I had known it all before:
+In my heart of hearts was the magic
+Of days that will come no more,
+The manic of joy departed,
+That Time can never restore.
+
+That never, ah, never, never,
+Never again can be:-
+Shall I tell you what powerful fairy
+Built up this palace for me?
+It was only a little white Violet
+I found at the root of a tree.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: TWO WORLDS
+
+
+God's world is bathed in beauty,
+God's world is steeped in light;
+It is the self-same glory
+That makes the day so bright,
+Which thrills the earth with music,
+Or hangs the stars in night.
+
+Hid in earth's mines of silver,
+Floating on clouds above,--
+Ringing in Autumn's tempest,
+Murmured by every dove;
+One thought fills God's creation--
+His own great name of Love!
+
+In God's world Strength is lovely,
+And so is Beauty strong,
+And Light--God's glorious shadow--
+To both great gifts belong;
+And they all melt into sweetness,
+And fill the earth with Song.
+
+Above God's world bends Heaven,
+With day's kiss pure and bright,
+Or folds her still more fondly
+In the tender shade of night;
+And she casts back Heaven's sweetness,
+In fragrant love and light.
+
+God's world has one great echo;
+Whether calm blue mists are curled,
+Or lingering dew-drops quiver,
+Or red storms are unfurled;
+The same deep love is throbbing
+Through the great heart of God's world.
+
+Man's world is black and blighted,
+Steeped through with self and sin;
+And should his feeble purpose
+Some feeble good begin,
+The work is marred and tainted
+By Leprosy within.
+
+Man's world is bleak and bitter;
+Wherever he has trod
+He spoils the tender beauty
+That blossoms on the sod,
+And blasts the loving Heaven
+Of the great, good world of God.
+
+There Strength on coward weakness
+In cruel might will roll;
+Beauty and Joy are cankers
+That eat away the soul;
+And Love--Oh God, avenge it--
+The plague-spot of the whole.
+
+Man's world is Pain and Terror;
+He found it pure and fair,
+And wove in nets of sorrow
+The golden summer air.
+Black, hideous, cold, and dreary,
+Man's curse, not God's, is there.
+
+And yet God's world is speaking:
+Man will not hear it call;
+But listens where the echoes
+Of his own discords fall,
+Then clamours back to Heaven
+That God has done it all.
+
+Oh God, man's heart is darkened,
+He will not understand!
+Show him Thy cloud and fire;
+And, with Thine own right hand
+Then lead him through his desert,
+Back to Thy Holy Land!
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: A NEW MOTHER
+
+
+I was with my lady when she died:
+I it was who guided her weak hand
+For a blessing on each little head,
+Laid her baby by her on the bed,
+Heard the words they could not understand.
+
+And I drew them round my knee that night,
+Hushed their childish glee, and made them say
+They would keep her words with loving tears,
+They would not forget her dying fears
+Lest the thought of her should fade away.
+
+I, who guessed what her last dread had been,
+Made a promise to that still, cold face,
+That her children's hearts, at any cost,
+Should be with the mother they had lost,
+When a stranger came to take her place.
+
+And I knew so much! for I had lived
+With my lady since her childhood: known
+What her young and happy days had been,
+And the grief no other eyes had seen
+I had watched and sorrowed for alone.
+
+Ah! she once had such a happy smile!
+I had known how sorely she was tried:
+Six short years before, her eyes were bright
+As her little blue-eyed May's that night,
+When she stood by her dead mother's side.
+
+No--I will not say he was unkind;
+But she had been used to love and praise.
+He was somewhat grave--perhaps, in truth,
+Could not weave her joyous, smiling youth,
+Into all his stern and serious ways.
+
+She, who should have reigned a blooming flower,
+First in pride and honour, as in grace,--
+She, whose will had once ruled all around,
+Queen and darling of us all--she found
+Change indeed in that cold, stately place.
+
+Yet she would not blame him, even to me,
+Though she often sat and wept alone;
+But she could not hide it near her death,
+When she said with her last struggling breath,
+"Let my babies still remain my own!"
+
+I it was who drew the sheet aside,
+When he saw his dead wife's face.  That test
+Seemed to strike right to his heart.  He said,
+In a strange, low whisper, to the dead,
+"God knows, love, I did it for the best!"
+
+And he wept--Oh yes, I will be just--
+When I brought the children to him there--
+Wondering sorrow in their baby eyes;
+And he soothed them with his fond replies,
+Bidding me give double love and care.
+
+Ah, I loved them well for her dear sake:
+Little Arthur, with his serious air;
+May, with all her mother's pretty ways,
+Blushing, and at any word of praise
+Shaking out her sunny golden hair.
+
+And the little one of all--poor child!
+She had cost that dear and precious life.
+Once Sir Arthur spoke my lady's name,
+When the baby's gloomy christening came,
+And he called her "Olga--like my wife!"
+
+Save that time, he never spoke of her;
+He grew graver, sterner, every day;
+And the children felt it, for they dropped
+Low their voices, and their laughter stopped
+While he stood and watched them at their play.
+
+No, he never named their mother's name.
+But I told them of her: told them all
+She had been; so gentle, good, and bright;
+And I always took them every night
+Where her picture hung in the great hall.
+
+There she stood: white daisies in her hand,
+And her red lips parted as to speak
+With a smile; the blue and sunny air
+Seemed to stir her floating golden hair,
+And to bring a faint blush on her cheek.
+
+Well, so time passed on; a year was gone,
+And Sir Arthur had been much away.
+Then the news came!  I shed many tears
+When I saw the truth of all my fears
+Rise before me on that bitter day.
+
+Any one but her I could have borne!
+But my lady loved her as her friend.
+Through their childhood and their early youth,
+How she used to count upon the truth
+Of this friendship that would never end!
+
+Older, graver than my lady was,
+Whose young, gentle heart on her relied,
+She would give advice, and praise, and blame,
+And my lady leant on Margaret's name,
+As her dearest comfort, help, and guide.
+
+I had never liked her, and I think
+That my lady grew to doubt her too,
+Since her marriage; for she named her less,
+Never saw her, and I used to guess
+At some secret wrong I never knew.
+
+That might be or not.  But now, to hear
+She would come and reign here in her stead,
+With the pomp and splendour of a bride:
+Would no thought reproach her in her pride
+With the silent memory of the dead?
+
+So, the day came, and the bells rang out,
+And I laid the children's black aside;
+And I held each little trembling hand,
+As I strove to make them understand
+They must greet their father's new-made bride.
+
+Ah, Sir Arthur might look grave and stern,
+And his lady's eyes might well grow dim,
+When the children shrank in fear away,--
+Little Arthur hid his face, and May
+Would not raise her eyes, or speak to him.
+
+When Sir Arthur bade them greet their "mother,"
+I was forced to chide, yet proud to hear
+How my little loving May replied,
+With her mother's pretty air of pride,--
+"Our dear mother has been dead a year!"
+
+Ah, the lady's tears might well fall fast,
+As she kissed them, and then turned away.
+She might strive to smile or to forget,
+But I think some shadow of regret
+Must have risen to blight her wedding-day.
+
+She had some strange touch of self-reproach;
+For she used to linger day by day,
+By the nursery door, or garden gate,
+With a sad, calm, wistful look, and wait
+Watching the three children at their play.
+
+But they always shrank away from her
+When she strove to comfort their alarms,
+And their grave, cold silence to beguile:
+Even little Olga's baby-smile
+Quivered into tears when in her arms.
+
+I could never chide them: for I saw
+How their mother's memory grew more deep
+In their hearts.  Each night I had to tell
+Stories of her whom I loved so well
+When a child, to send them off to sleep.
+
+But Sir Arthur--Oh, this was too hard!--
+He, who had been always stern and sad
+In my lady's time, seemed to rejoice
+Each day more; and I could hear his voice
+Even, sounding younger and more glad.
+
+He might perhaps have blamed them, but his wife
+Never failed to take the children's part:
+She would stay him with her pleading tone,
+Saying she would strive, and strive alone,
+Till she gained each little wayward heart.
+
+And she strove indeed, and seemed to be
+Always waiting for their love, in vain;
+Yet, when May had most her mother's look,
+Then the lady's calm, cold accents shook
+With some memory of reproachful pain.
+
+Little May would never call her Mother:
+So, one day, the lady, bending low,
+Kissed her golden curls, and softly said,
+"Sweet one, call me Margaret, instead,--
+Your dear mother used to call me so."
+
+She was gentle, kind, and patient too,
+Yet in vain: the children held apart.
+Ah, their mother's gentle memory dwelt
+Near them, and her little orphans felt
+She had the first claim upon their heart.
+
+So three years passed; then the war broke out;
+And a rumour seemed to spread and rise;
+First we guessed what sorrow must befall,
+Then all doubt fled, for we read it all
+In the depths of her despairing eyes.
+
+Yes; Sir Arthur had been called away
+To that scene of slaughter, fear, and strife,--
+Now he seemed to know with double pain,
+The cold, bitter gulf that must remain
+To divide his children from his wife.
+
+Nearer came the day he was to sail,
+Deeper grew the coming woe and fear,
+When, one night, the children at my knee
+Knelt to say their evening prayer to me,
+I looked up and saw Sir Arthur near.
+
+There they knelt with folded hands, and said
+Low, soft words in stammering accents sweet;
+In the firelight shone their golden hair
+And white robes: my darlings looked so fair,
+With their little bare and rosy feet!
+
+There he waited till their low "Amen;"
+Stopped the rosy lips raised for "Good night!"--
+Drew them with a fond clasp, close and near,
+As he bade them stay with him, and hear
+Something that would make his heart more light.
+
+Little Olga crept into his arms;
+Arthur leant upon his shoulder; May
+Knelt beside him, with her earnest eyes
+Lifted up in patient, calm surprise--
+I can almost hear his words to-day.
+
+"Years ago, my children, years ago,
+When your mother was a child, she came
+From her northern home, and here she met
+Love for love, and comfort for regret,
+In one early friend,--you know her name.
+
+"And this friend--a few years older--gave
+Such fond care, such love, that day by day
+The new home grew happy, joy complete,
+Studies easier, and play more sweet,
+While all childish sorrows passed away.
+
+"And your mother--fragile, like my May--
+Leant on this deep love,--nor leant in vain.
+For this friend (strong, generous, noble heart!)
+Gave the sweet, and took the bitter part,--
+Brought her all the joy, and kept the pain.
+
+"Years passed on, and then I saw them first:
+It was hard to say which was most fair,
+Your sweet mother's bright and blushing face,
+Or the graver Margaret's stately grace;
+Golden locks, or braided raven hair.
+
+"Then it happened, by a strange, sad fate,
+One thought entered into each young soul:
+Joy for one--if for the other pain;
+Loss for one--if for the other gain:
+One must lose, and one possess the whole.
+
+"And so this--this--what they cared for--came
+And belonged to Margaret: was her own.
+But she laid the gift aside, to take
+Pain and sorrow for your mother's sake,
+And none knew it but herself alone.
+
+"Then she travelled far away, and none
+The strange mystery of her absence knew.
+Margaret's secret thought was never told:
+Even your mother thought her changed and cold,
+And for many years I thought so too.
+
+"She was gone; and then your mother took
+That poor gift which Margaret laid aside:
+Flower, or toy, or trinket, matters not:
+What it was had better be forgot . . .
+It was just then she became my bride.
+
+"Now, I think May knows the hope I have.
+Arthur, darling, can you guess the rest?
+Even my little Olga understands
+Great gifts can be given by little hands,
+Since of all gifts Love is still the best.
+
+"Margaret is my dear and honoured wife,
+And I hold her so.  But she can claim
+From your hearts, dear ones, a loving debt
+I can neither pay, nor yet forget:
+You can give it in your mother's name.
+
+"Earth spoils even Love, and here a shade
+On the purest, noblest heart may fall:
+Now your mother dwells in perfect light,
+She will bless us, I believe, to-night,--
+She is happy now, and she knows all."
+
+Next day was farewell--a day of tears;
+Yet Sir Arthur, as he rode away,
+And turned back to see his lady stand
+With the children clinging to her hand,
+Looked as if it were a happy day.
+
+Ah, they loved her soon!  The little one
+Crept into her arms as to a nest;
+Arthur always with her now; and May
+Growing nearer to her every day:--
+--Well, I loved my own dear lady best.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: GIVE PLACE
+
+
+Starry Crowns of Heaven
+Set in azure night!
+Linger yet a little
+Ere you hide your light:-
+--Nay; let Starlight fade away
+Heralding the day!
+
+Snowflakes pure and spotless,
+Still, oh, still remain,
+Binding dreary winter,
+In your silver chain:-
+--Nay; but melt at once and bring
+Radiant sunny Spring!
+
+Blossoms, gentle blossoms,
+Do not wither yet;
+Still for you the sun shines,
+Still the dews are wet:--
+--Nay; but fade and wither last,
+Fruit must come at last!
+
+Joy, so true and tender,
+Dare you not abide?
+Will you spread your pinions,
+Must you leave our side?
+--Nay; an Angel's shining grace
+Waits to fill your place!
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: MY WILL
+
+
+Since I have no lands or houses,
+And no hoarded golden store,
+What can I leave those who love me
+When they see my face no more?
+Do not smile; I am not jesting,
+Though my words sound gay and light,
+Listen to me, dearest Alice,
+I will make my Will to-night.
+
+First for Mabel--who will never
+Let the dust of future years
+Dim the thought of me, but keep it
+Brighter still: perhaps with tears.
+In whose eyes, whate'er I glance at,
+Touch, or praise, will always shine,
+Through a strange and sacred radiance,
+By Love's Charter, wholly mine;
+She will never lend to others
+Slenderest link of thought I claim,
+I will, therefore, to her keeping
+Leave my memory and my name.
+
+Bertha will do truer service
+To her kind than I have done,
+So I leave to her young spirit
+The long Work I have begun.
+Well! the threads are tangled, broken,
+And the colours do not blend,
+She will bend her earnest striving
+Both to finish and amend:
+And, when it is all completed,
+Strong with care and rich with skill,
+Just because my hands began it,
+She will love it better still.
+
+Ruth shall have my dearest token,
+The one link I dread to break,
+The one duty that I live for,
+She, when I am gone, will take.
+Sacred is the trust I leave her,
+Needing patience, prayer, and tears;
+I have striven to fulfil it,
+As she knows--these many years.
+Sometimes hopeless, faint, and weary
+Yet a blessing shall remain
+With the task, and Ruth will prize it
+For my many hours of pain.
+
+What must I leave you, my Alice?
+Nothing, Love, to do or bear,
+Nothing that can dim your blue eyes
+With the slightest cloud of care.
+I will leave my heart to love you,
+With the tender faith of old;
+Still to comfort, warm, and light you,
+Should your life grow dark or cold.
+No one else, my child, can claim it;
+Though you find old scars of pain,
+They were only wounds, my darling,
+There is not, I trust, one stain.
+
+Are my gifts indeed so worthless
+Now the slender sum is told?
+Well, I know not: years may bless them
+With a nobler price than gold.
+Am I poor? ah no, most wealthy,
+Not in these poor gifts you take,
+But in the true hearts that tell me
+You will keep them for my sake.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: KING AND SLAVE
+
+
+If in my soul, dear,
+An omen should dwell,
+Bidding me pause, ere
+I love thee too well;
+If the whole circle,
+Of noble and wise,
+With stern forebodings,
+Between us should rise.
+
+I will tell them, dear,
+That Love reigns--a King,
+Where storms cannot reach him,
+And words cannot sting;
+He counts it dishonour
+His faith to recall;
+He trusts;--and for ever
+He gives--and gives all!
+
+I will tell thee, dear,
+That Love is--a Slave,
+Who dreads thought of freedom,
+As life dreads the grave;
+And if doubt or peril
+Of change there may be,
+Such fear would but drive him
+Still nearer to thee!
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: A CHANT
+
+
+"Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini."
+
+I.
+
+Who is the Angel that cometh?
+Life!
+Let us not question what he brings,
+Peace or Strife,
+Under the shade of his mighty wings,
+One by one,
+Are his secrets told;
+One by one,
+Lit by the rays of each morning sun,
+Shall a new flower its petals unfold,
+With the mystery hid in its heart of gold.
+We will arise and go forth to greet him,
+Singly, gladly, with one accord;--
+"Blessed is he that cometh
+In the name of the Lord!"
+
+II.
+
+Who is the Angel that cometh?
+Joy!
+Look at his glittering rainbow wings--
+No alloy
+Lies in the radiant gifts he brings;
+Tender and sweet,
+He is come to-day,
+Tender and sweet:
+While chains of love on his silver feet
+Will hold him in lingering fond delay.
+But greet him quickly, he will not stay,
+Soon he will leave us; but though for others
+All his brightest treasures are stored;--
+"Blessed is he that cometh
+In the name of the Lord!"
+
+III.
+
+Who is the Angel that cometh?
+Pain!
+Let us arise and go forth to greet him;
+Not in vain
+Is the summons come for us to meet him;
+He will stay,
+And darken our sun;
+He will stay
+A desolate night, a weary day.
+Since in that shadow our work is done,
+And in that shadow our crowns are won,
+Let us say still, while his bitter chalice
+Slowly into our hearts is poured,--
+"Blessed is he that cometh
+In the name of the Lord!"
+
+IV.
+
+Who is the Angel that cometh?
+Death!
+But do not shudder and do not fear;
+Hold your breath,
+For a kingly presence is drawing near.
+Cold and bright
+Is his flashing steel,
+Cold and bright
+The smile that comes like a starry light
+To calm the terror and grief we feel;
+He comes to help and to save and heal:
+Then let us, baring our hearts and kneeling,
+Sing, while we wait this Angel's sword,--
+"Blessed is he that cometh
+In the name of the Lord!"
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: DREAM-LIFE
+
+
+Listen, friend, and I will tell you
+Why I sometimes seem so glad,
+Then, without a reason changing,
+Soon become so grave and sad.
+
+Half my life I live a beggar,
+Ragged, helpless, and alone;
+But the other half a monarch,
+With my courtiers round my throne.
+
+Half my life is full of sorrow,
+Half of joy, still fresh and new;
+One of these lives is a fancy,
+But the other one is true.
+
+While I live and feast on gladness,
+Still I feel the thought remain,
+This must soon end,--nearer, nearer
+Comes the life of grief and pain.
+
+While I live a wretched beggar,
+One bright hope my lot can cheer;
+Soon, soon, thou shalt have thy kingdom,
+Brighter hours are drawing near.
+
+So you see my life is twofold,
+Half a pleasure, half a grief;
+Thus all joy is somewhat tempered,
+And all sorrow finds relief.
+
+Which, you ask me, is the real life,
+Which the Dream--the joy, or woe?
+Hush, friend! it is little matter,
+And, indeed--I never know.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: REST
+
+
+Spread, spread thy silver wings, oh Dove!
+And seek for rest by land and sea,
+And bring the tidings back to me
+For thee and me and those I love.
+Look how my Dove soars far away;
+Go with her, heart of mine, I pray;
+Go where her fluttering silver pinions
+Follow the track of the crimson day.
+
+Is rest where cloudlets slowly creep,
+And sobbing winds forget to grieve,
+And quiet waters gently heave,
+As if they rocked the ship to sleep?
+Ah no! that southern vapour white
+Will bring a tempest ere the night,
+And thunder through the quiet Heaven,
+Lashing the sea in its angry might.
+
+The battle-field lies still and cold,
+While stars that watch in silent light
+Gleam here and there on weapons bright,
+In weary sleepers' slackened hold;
+Nay, though they dream of no alarm,
+One bugle sound will stir that calm,
+And all the strength of two great nations,
+Eager for battle, will rise and arm.
+
+Pause where the Pilgrim's day is done,
+Where scrip and staff aside are laid,
+And, resting in the silent shade,
+They watch the slowly sinking sun.
+Ah no! that worn and weary band
+Must journey long before they stand,
+With bleeding feet, and hearts rejoicing,
+Kissing the dust of the Holy Land.
+
+Then find a soul who meets at last
+A noble prize but hard to gain,
+Or joy long pleaded for in vain,
+Now sweeter for a bitter past.
+Ah no! for Time can rob her yet,
+And even should cruel Time forget,
+Then Death will come, and, unrelenting,
+Brand her with sorrowful long regret.
+
+Seek farther, farther yet, oh Dove!
+Beyond the Land, beyond the Sea,
+There shall be rest for thee and me,
+For thee and me and those I love.
+I heard a promise gently fall,
+I heard a far-off Shepherd call
+The weary and the broken-hearted,
+Promising rest unto each and all.
+
+It is not marred by outward strife,
+It is not lost in calm repose,
+It heedeth neither joys nor woes,
+Is not disturbed by death or life;
+Through, and beyond them, lies our Rest:
+Then cease, oh Heart, thy longing quest!
+And thou, my Dove, with silver pinions
+Flutter again to thy quiet nest!
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: THE TYRANT AND THE CAPTIVE
+
+
+It was midnight when I listened,
+And I heard two Voices speak;
+One was harsh, and stern, and cruel,
+And the other soft and weak:
+Yet I saw no Vision enter,
+And I heard no steps depart,
+Of this Tyrant and his Captive, . . .
+Fate it might be and a Heart.
+
+Thus the stern Voice spake in triumph:-
+"I have shut your life away
+From the radiant world of nature,
+And the perfumed light of day.
+You, who loved to steep your spirit
+In the charm of Earth's delight,
+See no glory of the daytime,
+And no sweetness of the night."
+
+But the soft Voice answered calmly:
+"Nay, for when the March winds bring
+Just a whisper to my window,
+I can dream the rest of Spring;
+And to-day I saw a Swallow
+Flitting past my prison bars,
+And my cell has just one corner
+Whence at night I see the stars."
+
+But its bitter taunt repeating,
+Cried the harsh Voice:--"Where are they--
+All the friends of former hours,
+Who forget your name to-day?
+All the links of love are shattered,
+Which you thought so strong before;
+And your very heart is lonely,
+And alone since loved no more."
+
+But the low Voice spoke still lower:--
+"Nay, I know the golden chain
+Of my love is purer, stronger,
+For the cruel fire of pain:
+They remember me no longer,
+But I, grieving here alone,
+Bind their souls to me for ever
+By the love within their own."
+
+But the Voice cried:- "Once remember
+You devoted soul and mind
+To the welfare of your brethren,
+And the service of your kind.
+Now, what sorrow can you comfort?
+You, who lie in helpless pain,
+With an impotent compassion
+Fretting out your life in vain."
+
+"Nay;" and then the gentle answer
+Rose more loud, and full, and clear:
+"For the sake of all my brethren
+I thank God that I am here!
+Poor had been my Life's best efforts,
+Now I waste no thought or breath--
+For the prayer of those who suffer
+Has the strength of Love and Death."
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: THE CARVER'S LESSON
+
+
+Trust me, no mere skill of subtle tracery,
+No mere practice of a dexterous hand,
+Will suffice, without a hidden spirit,
+That we may, or may not, understand.
+
+And those quaint old fragments that are left us
+Have their power in this,--the Carver brought
+Earnest care, and reverent patience, only
+Worthily to clothe some noble thought.
+
+Shut then in the petals of the flowers,
+Round the stems of all the lilies twine,
+Hide beneath each bird's or angel's pinion,
+Some wise meaning or some thought divine.
+
+Place in stony hands that pray for ever
+Tender words of peace, and strive to wind
+Round the leafy scrolls and fretted niches
+Some true, loving message to your kind.
+
+Some will praise, some blame, and, soon forgetting,
+Come and go, nor even pause to gaze;
+Only now and then a passing stranger
+Just may loiter with a word of praise.
+
+But I think, when years have floated onward,
+And the stone is grey, and dim, and old,
+And the hand forgotten that has carved it,
+And the heart that dreamt it still and cold;
+
+There may come some weary soul, o'erladen
+With perplexed struggle in his brain,
+Or, it may be, fretted with life's turmoil,
+Or made sore with some perpetual pain.
+
+Then, I think those stony hands will open,
+And the gentle lilies overflow,
+With the blessing and the loving token
+That you hid there many years ago.
+
+And the tendrils will unroll, and teach him
+How to solve the problem of his pain;
+And the birds' and angels' wings shake downward
+On his heart a sweet and tender rain.
+
+While he marvels at his fancy, reading
+Meaning in that quaint and ancient scroll,
+Little guessing that the loving Carver
+Left a message for his weary soul.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: THREE ROSES
+
+
+Just when the red June Roses blow
+She gave me one,--a year ago.
+A Rose whose crimson breath revealed
+The secret that its heart concealed,
+And whose half shy, half tender grace
+Blushed back upon the giver's face.
+A year ago--a year ago--
+To hope was not to know.
+
+Just when the red June Roses blow
+I plucked her one,--a month ago:
+Its half-blown crimson to eclipse,
+I laid it on her smiling lips;
+The balmy fragrance of the south
+Drew sweetness from her sweeter mouth.
+Swiftly do golden hours creep,--
+To hold is not to keep.
+
+The red June Roses now are past,
+This very day I broke the last--
+And now its perfumed breath is hid,
+With her, beneath a coffin-lid;
+There will its petals fall apart,
+And wither on her icy heart:-
+At three red Roses' cost
+My world was gained and lost.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: MY PICTURE GALLERY
+
+
+I.
+
+You write and think of me, my friend, with pity;
+While you are basking in the light of Rome,
+Shut up within the heart of this great city,
+Too busy and too poor to leave my home.
+
+II.
+
+You think my life debarred all rest or pleasure,
+Chained all day to my ledger and my pen;
+Too sickly even to use my little leisure
+To bear me from the strife and din of men.
+
+III.
+
+Well, it is true; yet, now the days are longer,
+At sunset I can lay my writing down,
+And slowly crawl (summer has made me stronger)
+Just to the nearest outskirt of the town.
+
+IV.
+
+There a wide Common, blackened though and dreary
+With factory smoke, spreads outward to the West;
+I lie down on the parched-up grass, if weary,
+Or lean against a broken wall to rest.
+
+V.
+
+So might a King, turning to Art's rich treasure,
+At evening, when the cares of state were done,
+Enter his royal gallery, drinking pleasure
+Slowly from each great picture, one by one.
+
+VI.
+
+Towards the West I turn my weary spirit,
+And watch my pictures: one each night is mine.
+Earth and my soul, sick of day's toil, inherit
+A portion of that luminous peace divine.
+
+VII.
+
+There I have seen a sunset's crimson glory,
+Burn as if earth were one great Altar's blaze;
+Or, like the closing of a piteous story,
+Light up the misty world with dying rays.
+
+VIII.
+
+There I have seen the Clouds, in pomp and splendour,
+Their gold and purple banners all unfurl;
+There I have watched colours, more faint and tender
+Than pure and delicate tints upon a pearl.
+
+IX.
+
+Skies strewn with roses fading, fading slowly,
+While one star trembling watched the daylight die;
+Or deep in gloom a sunset, hidden wholly,
+Save through gold rents torn in a violet sky.
+
+X.
+
+Or parted clouds, as if asunder riven
+By some great angel--and beyond a space
+Of far-off tranquil light; the gates of Heaven
+Will lead us grandly to as calm a place.
+
+XI.
+
+Or stern dark walls of cloudy mountain ranges
+Hid all the wonders that we knew must be;
+While, far on high, some little white clouds changes'
+Revealed the glory they alone could see.
+
+XII.
+
+Or in wild wrath the affrighted clouds lay shattered,
+Like treasures of the lost Hesperides,
+All in a wealth of ruined splendour scattered,
+Save one strange light on distant silver seas.
+
+XIII.
+
+What land or time can claim the Master Painter,
+Whose art could teach him half such gorgeous dyes?
+Or skill so rare, but purer hues and fainter
+Melt every evening in my western skies.
+
+XIV.
+
+So there I wait, until the shade has lengthened,
+And night's blue misty curtain floated down;
+Then, with my heart calmed, and my spirit strengthened,
+I crawl once more back to the sultry town.
+
+XV.
+
+What Monarch, then, has nobler recreations
+Than mine?  Or where the great and classic Land
+Whose wealth of Art delights the gathered nations
+That owns a Picture Gallery half as grand?
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: SENT TO HEAVEN
+
+
+I had a Message to send her,
+To her whom my soul loved best;
+But I had my task to finish.
+And she was gone home to rest.
+
+To rest in the far bright heaven:
+Oh, so far away from here,
+It was vain to speak to my darling,
+For I knew she could not hear!
+
+I had a message to send her.
+So tender, and true, and sweet,
+I longed for an Angel to bear it,
+And lay it down at her feet.
+
+I placed it, one summer evening,
+On a Cloudlet's fleecy breast;
+But it faded in golden splendour,
+And died in the crimson west.
+
+I gave it the Lark next morning,
+And I watched it soar and soar;
+But its pinions grew faint and weary,
+And it fluttered to earth once more.
+
+To the heart of a Rose I told it;
+And the perfume, sweet and rare,
+Growing faint on the blue bright ether,
+Was lost in the balmy air.
+
+I laid it upon a Censer,
+And I saw the incense rise;
+But its clouds of rolling silver
+Could not reach the far blue skies.
+
+I cried, in my passionate longing:-
+"Has the earth no Angel-friend
+Who will carry my love the message
+That my heart desires to send?"
+
+Then I heard a strain of music,
+So mighty, so pure, so clear,
+That my very sorrow was silent,
+And my heart stood still to hear.
+
+And I felt, in my soul's deep yearning,
+At last the sure answer stir:-
+"The music will go up to Heaven,
+And carry my thought to her."
+
+It rose in harmonious rushing
+Of mingled voices and strings.
+And I tenderly laid my message
+On the Music's outspread wings.
+
+I heard it float farther and farther,
+In sound more perfect than speech;
+Farther than sight can follow.
+Farther than soul can reach.
+
+And I know that at last my message
+Has passed through the golden gate:
+So my heart is no longer restless,
+And I am content to wait.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: NEVER AGAIN
+
+
+"Never again!" vow hearts when reunited,
+"Never again shall Love be cast aside;
+For ever now the shadow has departed;
+Nor bitter sorrow, veiled in scornful pride,
+Shall feign indifference, or affect disdain,--
+Never, oh Love, again, never again!"
+
+"Never again!" so sobs, in broken accents,
+A soul laid prostrate at a holy shrine,--
+"Once more, once more forgive, oh Lord, and pardon,
+My wayward life shall bend to love divine;
+And never more shall sin its whiteness stain,--
+Never, oh God, again, never again!"
+
+"Never again!" so speaketh one forsaken,
+In the blank desolate passion of despair,--
+"Never again shall the bright dream I cherished
+Delude my heart, for bitter truth is there,--
+The angel, Hope, shall still thy cruel pain
+Never again, my heart, never again!"
+
+"Never again!" so speaks the sudden silence,
+When round the hearth gathers each well-known face,--
+But one is missing, and no future presence,
+However dear, can fill that vacant place;
+For ever shall the burning thought remain,--
+"Never, beloved, again! never again!"
+
+"Never again!" so--but beyond our hearing--
+Ring out far voices fading up the sky;
+Never again shall earthly care and sorrow
+Weigh down the wings that bear those souls on high;
+Listen, oh earth, and hear that glorious strain,--
+"Never, never again! never again!"
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: LISTENING ANGELS
+
+
+Blue against the bluer Heavens
+Stood the mountain, calm and still,
+Two white Angels, bending earthward,
+Leant upon the hill.
+
+Listening leant those silent Angels,
+And I also longed to hear
+What sweet strain of earthly music
+Thus could charm their ear.
+
+I heard the sound of many trumpets
+In a warlike march draw nigh;
+Solemnly a mighty army
+Passed in order by.
+
+But the clang had ceased; the echoes
+Soon had faded from the hill;
+While the Angels, calm and earnest,
+Leant and listened still.
+
+Then I heard a fainter clamour,
+Forge and wheel were clashing near
+And the Reapers in the meadow
+Singing loud and clear.
+
+When the sunset came in glory,
+And the toil of day was o'er,
+Still the Angels leant in silence,
+Listening as before.
+
+Then, as daylight slowly vanished,
+And the evening mists grew dim,
+Solemnly from distant voices
+Rose a vesper hymn.
+
+When the chant was done, and lingering
+Died upon the evening air,
+From the hill the radiant Angels
+Still were listening there.
+
+Silent came the gathering darkness,
+Bringing with it sleep and rest;
+Save a little bird was singing
+Near her leafy nest.
+
+Through the sounds of war and labour
+She had warbled all day long,
+While the Angels leant and listened
+Only to her song.
+
+But the starry night was coming;
+When she ceased her little lay
+From the mountain top the Angels
+Slowly passed away.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: GOLDEN DAYS
+
+
+Golden days--where are they?
+Pilgrims east and west
+Cry; if we could find them
+We would pause and rest:
+We would pause and rest a little
+From our long and weary ways:-
+Where are they, then, where are they--
+Golden days?
+
+Golden days--where are they?
+Ask of childhood's years,
+Still untouched by sorrow,
+Still undimmed by tears:
+Ah, they seek a phantom Future,
+Crowned with brighter, starry rays;--
+Where are they, then, where are they--
+Golden days?
+
+Golden days--where are they?
+Has Love learnt the spell
+That will charm them hither,
+Near our hearth to dwell?
+Insecure are all her treasures,
+Restless is her anxious gaze:-
+Where are they, then, where are they--
+Golden days?
+
+Golden days--where are they?
+Farther up the hill
+I can hear the echo
+Faintly calling still:
+Faintly calling, faintly dying,
+In a far-off misty haze:-
+Where are they, then, where are they--
+Golden days?
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: PHILIP AND MILDRED
+
+
+Lingering fade the rays of daylight, and the listening air is chilly;
+Voice of bird and forest murmur, insect hum and quivering spray
+Stir not in that quiet hour: through the valley, calm and stilly,
+All in hushed and loving silence watch the slow departing Day.
+
+Till the last faint western cloudlet, faint and rosy, ceases blushing,
+And the blue grows deep and deeper where one trembling planet shines,
+And the day has gone for ever--then, like some great ocean rushing,
+The sad night wind wails lamenting, sobbing through the moaning pines.
+
+Such, of all day's changing hours, is the fittest and the meetest
+For a farewell hour--and parting looks less bitter and more blest;
+Earth seems like a shrine for sorrow, Nature's mother voice is sweetest,
+And her hand seems laid in chiding on the unquiet throbbing breast.
+
+Words are lower, for the twilight seems rebuking sad repining,
+And wild murmur and rebellion, as all childish and in vain;
+Breaking through dark future hours clustering starry hopes seem shining,
+Then the calm and tender midnight folds her shadow round the pain.
+
+So they paced the shady lime-walk in that twilight dim and holy,
+Still the last farewell deferring, she could hear or he should say;
+Every word, weighed down by sorrow, fell more tenderly and slowly--
+This, which now beheld their parting, should have been their wedding-day.
+
+Should have been: her dreams of childhood, never straying, never faltering,
+Still had needed Philip's image to make future life complete;
+Philip's young hopes of ambition, ever changing, ever altering,
+Needed Mildred's gentle presence even to make successes sweet.
+
+This day should have seen their marriage; the calm crowning and assurance
+Of two hearts, fulfilling rather, and not changing, either life:
+Now they must be rent asunder, and her heart must learn endurance,
+For he leaves their home, and enters on a world of work and strife.
+
+But her gentle spirit long had learnt, unquestioning, submitting,
+To revere his youthful longings, and to marvel at the fate
+That gave such a humble office, all unworthy and unfitting,
+To the genius of the village, who was born for something great.
+
+When the learned Traveller came there who had gained renown at college,
+Whose abstruse research had won him even European fame,
+Questioned Philip, praised his genius, marvelled at his self-taught knowledge,
+Could she murmur if he called him up to London and to fame?
+
+Could she waver when he bade her take the burden of decision,
+Since his troth to her was plighted, and his life was now her own?
+Could she doom him to inaction? could she, when a newborn vision
+Rose in glory for his future, check it for her sake alone?
+
+So her little trembling fingers, that had toiled with such fond pleasure,
+Paused, and laid aside, and folded the unfinished wedding gown;
+Faltering earnestly assurance, that she too could, in her measure,
+Prize for him the present honour, and the future's sure renown.
+
+Now they pace the shady lime-walk, now the last words must be spoken,
+Words of trust, for neither dreaded more than waiting and delay;
+Was not love still called eternal--could a plighted vow be broken?--
+See the crimson light of sunset fades in purple mist away.
+
+"Yes, my Mildred," Philip told her, "one calm thought of joy and blessing,
+Like a guardian spirit by me, through the world's tumultuous stir,
+Still will spread its wings above me, and now urging, now repressing,
+With my Mildred's voice will murmur thoughts of home, and love, and her.
+
+"It will charm my peaceful leisure, sanctify my daily toiling,
+With a right none else possesses, touching my heart's inmost string;
+And to keep its pure wings spotless I shall fly the world's touch, soiling
+Even in thought this Angel Guardian of my Mildred's Wedding Ring.
+
+"Take it, dear; this little circlet is the first link, strong and holy,
+Of a life-long chain, and holds me from all other love apart;
+Till the day when you may wear it as my wife--my own--mine wholly--
+Let me know it rests for ever near the beating of your heart."
+
+Dawn of day saw Philip speeding on his road to the Great City,
+Thinking how the stars gazed downward just with Mildred's patient eyes;
+Dreams of work, and fame, and honour struggling with a tender pity,
+Till the loving Past receding saw the conquering Future rise.
+
+Daybreak still found Mildred watching, with the wonder of first sorrow,
+How the outward world unaltered shone the same this very day;
+How unpitying and relentless busy life met this new morrow,
+Earth, and sky, and man unheeding that her joy had passed away.
+
+Then the round of weary duties, cold and formal, came to meet her,
+With the life within departed that had given them each a soul;
+And her sick heart even slighted gentle words that came to greet her;
+For Grief spread its shadowy pinions, like a blight, upon the whole.
+
+Jar one chord, the harp is silent; move one stone, the arch is shattered;
+One small clarion-cry of sorrow bids an armed host awake;
+One dark cloud can hide the sunlight; loose one string, the pearls are
+scattered;
+Think one thought, a soul may perish; say one word, a heart may break!
+
+Life went on, the two lives running side by side; the outward seeming,
+And the truer and diviner hidden in the heart and brain;
+Dreams grow holy, put in action; work grows fair through starry dreaming;
+But where each flows on unmingling, both are fruitless and in vain.
+
+Such was Mildred's life; her dreaming lay in some far-distant region,
+All the fairer, all the brighter, that its glories were but guessed;
+And the daily round of duties seemed an unreal, airy legion--
+Nothing true save Philip's letters and the ring upon her breast.
+
+Letters telling how he struggled, for some plan or vision aiming,
+And at last how he just grasped it as a fresh one spread its wings;
+How the honour or the learning, once the climax, now were claiming,
+Only more and more, becoming merely steps to higher things.
+
+Telling her of foreign countries: little store had she of learning,
+So her earnest, simple spirit answered as he touched the string;
+Day by day, to these bright fancies all her silent thoughts were turning,
+Seeing every radiant picture framed within her golden Ring.
+
+Oh, poor heart--love, if thou willest; but, thine own soul still possessing,
+Live thy life: not a reflection or a shadow of his own:
+Lean as fondly, as completely, as thou willest--but confessing
+That thy strength is God's, and therefore can, if need be, stand alone.
+
+Little means were there around her to make farther, wider ranges,
+Where her loving gentle spirit could try any stronger flight;
+And she turned aside, half fearing that fresh thoughts were fickle changes--
+That she must stay as he left her on that farewell summer night.
+
+Love should still be guide and leader, like a herald should have risen,
+Lighting up the long dark vistas, conquering all opposing fates;
+But new claims, new thoughts, new duties found her heart a silent prison,
+And found Love, with folded pinions, like a jailer by the gates.
+
+Yet why blame her? it had needed greater strength than she was given
+To have gone against the current that so calmly flowed along;
+Nothing fresh came near the village save the rain and dew of heaven,
+And her nature was too passive, and her love perhaps too strong.
+
+The great world of thought, that rushes down the years, and onward sweeping
+Bears upon its mighty billows in its progress each and all,
+Flowed so far away, its murmur did not rouse them from their sleeping;
+Life and Time and Truth were speaking, but they did not hear their call.
+
+Years flowed on; and every morning heard her prayer grow lower, deeper,
+As she called all blessings on him, and bade every ill depart,
+And each night when the cold moonlight shone upon that quiet sleeper,
+It would show her ring that glittered with each throbbing of her heart.
+
+Years passed on.  Fame came for Philip in a full, o'erflowing measure;
+He was spoken of and honoured through the breadth of many lands,
+And he wrote it all to Mildred, as if praise were only pleasure,
+As if fame were only honour, when he laid them in her hands.
+
+Mildred heard it without wonder, as a sure result expected,
+For how could it fail, since merit and renown go side by side:
+And the neighbours who first fancied genius ought to be suspected,
+Might at last give up their caution, and could own him now with pride.
+
+Years flowed on.  These empty honours led to others they called better,
+He had saved some slender fortune, and might claim his bride at last:
+Mildred, grown so used to waiting, felt half startled by the letter
+That now made her future certain, and would consecrate her past.
+
+And he came: grown sterner, older--changed indeed: a grave reliance
+Had replaced his eager manner, and the quick short speech of old:
+He had gone forth with a spirit half of hope and half defiance;
+He returned with proud assurance half disdainful and half cold.
+
+Yet his old self seemed returning while he stood sometimes, and listened
+To her calm soft voice, relating all the thoughts of these long years;
+And if Mildred's heart was heavy, and at times her blue eyes glistened,
+Still in thought she would not whisper aught of sorrow or of fears.
+
+Autumn with its golden corn-fields, autumn with its storms and showers,
+Had been there to greet his coming with its forests gold and brown;
+And the last leaves still were falling, fading still the year's last
+flowers,
+When he left the quiet village, and took back his bride to town.
+
+Home--the home that she had pictured many a time in twilight, dwelling
+On that tender gentle fancy, folded round with loving care;
+Here was home--the end, the haven; and what spirit voice seemed telling,
+That she only held the casket, with the gem no longer there?
+
+Sad it may be to be longing, with a patience faint and weary,
+For a hope deferred--and sadder still to see it fade and fall;
+Yet to grasp the thing we long for, and, with sorrow sick and dreary,
+Then to find how it can fail us, is the saddest pain of all.
+
+What was wanting?  He was gentle, kind, and generous still, deferring
+To her wishes always; nothing seemed to mar their tranquil life:
+There are skies so calm and leaden that we long for storm-winds stirring,
+There is peace so cold and bitter, that we almost welcome strife.
+
+Darker grew the clouds above her, and the slow conviction clearer,
+That he gave her home and pity, but that heart, and soul, and mind
+Were beyond her now; he loved her, and in youth he had been near her,
+But he now had gone far onward, and had left her there behind.
+
+Yes, beyond her: yes, quick-hearted, her Love helped her in revealing
+It was worthless, while so mighty; was too weak, although so strong;
+There were courts she could not enter; depths she could not sound; yet
+feeling
+It was vain to strive or struggle, vainer still to mourn or long.
+
+He would give her words of kindness, he would talk of home, but seeming
+With an absent look, forgetting if he held or dropped her hand;
+And then turn with eager pleasure to his writing, reading, dreaming,
+Or to speak of things with others that she could not understand.
+
+He had paid, and paid most nobly, all he owed; no need of blaming;
+It had cost him something, may be, that no future could restore:
+In her heart of hearts she knew it; Love and Sorrow, not complaining,
+Only suffered all the deeper, only loved him all the more.
+
+Sometimes then a stronger anguish, and more cruel, weighed upon her,
+That through all those years of waiting, he had slowly learnt the truth;
+He had known himself mistaken, but that, bound to her in honour,
+He renounced his life, to pay her for the patience of her youth.
+
+But a star was slowly rising from that mist of grief, and brighter
+Grew her eyes, for each slow hour surer comfort seemed to bring;
+And she watched with strange sad smiling, how her trembling hands grew slighter,
+And how thin her slender finger, and how large her wedding-ring.
+
+And the tears dropped slowly on it, as she kissed that golden token
+With a deeper love, it may be, than was in the far-off past;
+And remembering Philip's fancy, that so long ago was spoken,
+Thought her Ring's bright angel guardian had stayed near her to the last.
+
+Grieving sorely, grieving truly, with a tender care and sorrow,
+Philip watched the slow, sure fading of his gentle, patient wife;
+Could he guess with what a yearning she was longing for the morrow,
+Could he guess the bitter knowledge that had wearied her of life?
+
+Now with violets strewn upon her, Mildred lies in peaceful sleeping;
+All unbound her long, bright tresses, and her throbbing heart at rest,
+And the cold, blue rays of moonlight, through the open casement creeping,
+Show the ring upon her finger, and her hands crossed on her breast.
+
+Peace at last.  Of peace eternal is her calm sweet smile a token.
+Has some angel lingering near her let a radiant promise fall?
+Has he told her Heaven unites again the links that Earth has broken?
+For on Earth so much is needed, but in Heaven Love is all!
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: BORROWED THOUGHTS
+
+
+I.  FROM "LAVATER."
+
+Trust him little who doth raise
+To one height both great and small,
+And sets the sacred crown of praise,
+Smiling, on the head of all.
+
+Trust him less who looks around
+To censure all with scornful eyes,
+And in everything has found
+Something that he dare despise.
+
+But for one who stands apart,
+Stirred by nought that can befall,
+With a cold indifferent heart,--
+Trust him least and last of all.
+
+II.  FROM "PHANTASTES."
+
+I have a bitter Thought, a Snake
+That used to sting my life to pain.
+I strove to cast it far away,
+But every night and every day
+It crawled back to my heart again.
+
+It was in vain to live or strive,
+To think or sleep, to work or pray;
+At last I bade this thine accursed
+Gnaw at my heart, and do its worst,
+And so I let it have its way.
+
+Thus said I, "I shall never fall
+Into a false and dreaming peace,
+And then awake, with sudden start,
+To feel it biting at my heart,
+For now the pain can never cease."
+
+But I gained more; for I have found
+That such a snake's envenomed charm
+Must always, always find a part,
+Deep in the centre of my heart,
+Which it can never wound or harm.
+
+It is coiled round my heart to-day.
+It sleeps at times, this cruel snake,
+And while it sleeps it never stings:-
+Hush! let us talk of other things,
+Lest it should hear me and awake.
+
+III.  FROM "LOST ALICE."
+
+Yes, dear, our Love is slain;
+In the cold grave for evermore it lies,
+Never to wake again,
+Or light our sorrow with its starry eyes;
+And so--regret is vain.
+
+One hour of pain and dread,
+We killed our Love, we took its life away
+With the false words we said;
+And so we watch it, since that cruel day,
+Silent, and cold, and dead.
+
+We should have seen it shine
+Long years beside us.  Time and Death might try
+To touch that life divine,
+Whose strength could every other stroke defy
+Save only thine and mine.
+
+No longing can restore
+Our dead again.  Vain are the tears we weep,
+And vainly we deplore
+Our buried Love: its grave lies dark and deep
+Between us evermore.
+
+IV.  FROM * * *
+
+Within the kingdom of my Soul
+I bid you enter, Love, to-day;
+Submit my life to your control,
+And give my Heart up to your sway.
+
+My Past, whose light and life is flown,
+Shall live through memory for you still;
+Take all my Present for your own,
+And mould my Future to your will.
+
+One only thought remains apart,
+And will for ever so remain;
+There is one Chamber in my heart
+Where even you might knock in vain.
+
+A haunted Chamber:- long ago
+I closed it, and I cast the key
+Where deep and bitter waters flow,
+Into a vast and silent sea.
+
+Dear, it is haunted.  All the rest
+Is yours; but I have shut that door
+For ever now.  'Tis even best
+That I should enter it no more.
+
+No more.  It is not well to stay
+With ghosts; their very look would scare
+Your joyous, loving smile away--
+So never try to enter there.
+
+Check, if you love me, all regret
+That this one thought remains apart:-
+Now let us smile, dear, and forget
+The haunted Chamber in my Heart.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: LIGHT AND SHADE
+
+
+Thou hast done well to kneel and say,
+"Since He who gave can take away,
+And bid me suffer, I obey."
+
+And also well to tell thy heart
+That good lies in the bitterest part,
+And thou wilt profit by her smart.
+
+But bitter hours come to all:
+When even truths like these will pall,
+Sick hearts for humbler comfort call.
+
+Then I would have thee strive to see
+That good and evil come to thee,
+As one of a great family.
+
+And as material life is planned,
+That even the loneliest one must stand
+Dependent on his brother's hand;
+
+So links more subtle and more fine
+Bind every other soul to thine
+In one great brotherhood divine.
+
+Nor with thy share of work be vexed;
+Though incomplete, and even perplex,
+It fits exactly to the next.
+
+What seems so dark to thy dim sight
+May be a shadow, seen aright,
+Making some brightness doubly bright.
+
+The flash that struck thy tree,--no more
+To shelter thee,--lets Heaven's blue floor
+Shine where it never shone before.
+
+Thy life that has been dropped aside
+Into Time's stream, may stir the tide,
+In rippled circles spreading wide.
+
+The cry wrung from thy spirit's pain
+May echo on some far-off plain,
+And guide a wanderer home again.
+
+Fail--yet rejoice; because no less
+The failure that makes thy distress
+May teach another full success.
+
+It may be that in some great need
+Thy life's poor fragments are decreed
+To help build up a lofty deed.
+
+Thy heart should throb in vast content,
+Thus knowing that it was but meant
+As chord in one great instrument;
+
+That even the discord in thy soul
+May make completer music roll
+From out the great harmonious whole.
+
+It may be, that when all is light,
+Deep set within that deep delight
+Will be to know why all was right;
+
+To hear life's perfect music rise,
+And while it floods the happy skies,
+Thy feeble voice to recognise.
+
+Then strive more gladly to fulfil
+Thy little part.  This darkness still
+Is light to every loving will.
+
+And trust,--as if already plain,
+How just thy share of loss and pain
+Is for another fuller gain.
+
+I dare not limit time or place
+Touched by thy life: nor dare I trace
+Its far vibrations into space.
+
+One only knows.  Yet if the fret
+Of thy weak heart, in weak regret
+Needs a more tender comfort yet:
+
+Then thou mayst take thy loneliest fears,
+The bitterest drops of all thy tears,
+The dreariest hours of all thy years;
+
+And through thy anguish there outspread,
+May ask that God's great love would shed
+Blessings on one beloved head.
+
+And thus thy soul shall learn to draw
+Sweetness from out that loving law
+That sees no failure and no flaw,
+
+Where all is good.  And life is good,
+Were the one lesson understood
+Of its most sacred brotherhood.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: A CHANGELING
+
+
+A little changeling spirit
+Crept to my arms one day:
+I had no heart or courage
+To drive the child away.
+
+So all day long I soothed her,
+And hushed her on my breast;
+And all night long her wailing
+Would never let me rest.
+
+I dug a grave to hold her,
+A grave both dark and deep;
+I covered her with violets,
+And laid her there to sleep.
+
+I used to go and watch there,
+Both night and morning too:-
+It was my tears, I fancy,
+That kept the violets blue.
+
+I took her up: and once more
+I felt the clinging hold,
+And heard the ceaseless wailing
+That wearied me of old.
+
+I wandered, and I wandered,
+With my burden on my breast,
+Till I saw a church-door open,
+And entered in to rest.
+
+In the dim, dying daylight,
+Set in a flowery shrine,
+I saw the Virgin Mother
+Holding her Child divine.
+
+I knelt down there in silence,
+And on the Altar-stone
+I laid my wailing burden,
+And came away--alone.
+
+And now that little spirit,
+That sobbed so all day long,
+Is grown a shining Angel,
+With wines both wide and strong.
+
+She watches me from Heaven,
+With loving, tender care,
+And one day she has promised
+That I shall find her there.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: DISCOURAGED
+
+
+Where the little babbling streamlet
+First springs forth to light,
+Trickling through soft velvet mosses,
+Almost hid from sight;
+Vowed I with delight,--
+"River, I will follow thee,
+Through thy wanderings to the Sea!"
+
+Gleaming 'mid the purple heather,
+Downward then it sped,
+Glancing through the mountain gorges,
+Like a silver thread,
+As it quicker fled,
+Louder music in its flow,
+Dashing to the Vale below.
+
+Then its voice grew lower, gentler,
+And its pace less fleet,
+Just as though it loved to linger
+Round the rushes' feet,
+As they stooped to meet
+Their clear images below,
+Broken by the ripples' flow.
+
+Purple Willow-herb bent over
+To her shadow fair;
+Meadow-sweet, in feathery clusters,
+Perfumed all the air;
+Silver-weed was there,
+And in one calm, grassy spot,
+Starry, blue Forget-me-not.
+
+Tangled weeds, below the waters,
+Still seemed drawn away;
+Yet the current, floating onward,
+Was less strong than they;--
+Sunbeams watched their play,
+With a flickering light and shade,
+Through the screen the Alders made.
+
+Broader grew the flowing River;
+To its grassy brink
+Slowly, in the slanting sun-rays,
+Cattle trooped to drink:
+The blue sky, I think,
+Was no bluer than that stream,
+Slipping onward, like a dream.
+
+Quicker, deeper then it hurried,
+Rushing fierce and free;
+But I said, "It should grow calmer
+Ere it meets the Sea,
+The wide purple Sea,
+Which I weary for in vain,
+Wasting all my toil and pain."
+
+But it rushed still quicker, fiercer,
+In its rocky bed,
+Hard and stony was the pathway
+To my tired tread;
+"I despair," I said,
+"Of that wide and glorious Sea
+That was promised unto me."
+
+So I turned aside, and wandered
+Through green meadows near,
+Far away, among the daisies,
+Far away, for fear
+Lest I still should hear
+The loud murmur of its song,
+As the River flowed along.
+
+Now I hear it not:- I loiter
+Gaily as before;
+Yet I sometimes think,--and thinking
+Makes my heart so sore,--
+Just a few steps more,
+And there might have shone for me,
+Blue and infinite, the Sea.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: IF THOU COULDST KNOW
+
+
+I think if thou couldst know,
+Oh soul that will complain,
+What lies concealed below
+Our burden and our pain;
+How just our anguish brings
+Nearer those longed-for things
+We seek for now in vain,--
+I think thou wouldst rejoice, and not complain.
+
+I think if thou couldst see,
+With thy dim mortal sight,
+How meanings, dark to thee,
+Are shadows hiding light;
+Truth's efforts crossed and vexed,
+Life's purpose all perplexed,--
+If thou couldst see them right,
+I think that they would seem all clear, and wise, and bright.
+
+And yet thou canst not know,
+And yet thou canst not see;
+Wisdom and sight are slow
+In poor humanity.
+If thou couldst trust, poor soul,
+In Him who rules the whole,
+Thou wouldst find peace and rest:
+Wisdom and sight are well, but Trust is best.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: THE WARRIOR TO HIS DEAD BRIDE
+
+
+If in the fight my arm was strong,
+And forced my foes to yield,
+If conquering and unhurt I came
+Back from the battle-field--
+It is because thy prayers have been
+My safeguard and my shield.
+
+My comrades smile to see my arm
+Spare or protect a foe,
+They think thy gentle pleading voice
+Was silenced long ago;
+But pity and compassion, love,
+Were taught me first by woe.
+
+Thy heart, my own, still beats in Heaven
+With the same love divine
+That made thee stoop to such a soul,
+So hard, so stern, as mine--
+My eyes have learnt to weep, beloved,
+Since last they looked on thine.
+
+I hear thee murmur words of peace
+Through the dim midnight air,
+And a calm falls from the angel stars
+And soothes my great despair--
+The Heavens themselves look brighter, love,
+Since thy sweet soul is there.
+
+And if my heart is once more calm,
+My step is once more free,
+It is because each hour I feel
+Thou prayest still for me;
+Because no fate or change can come
+Between my soul and thee.
+
+It is because my heart is stilled.
+Not broken by despair,
+Because I see the grave is bright,
+And death itself is fair--
+I dread no more the wrath of Heaven--
+I have an angel there!
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: A LETTER
+
+
+Dear, I tried to write you such a letter
+As would tell you all my heart to-day.
+Written Love is poor; one word were better;
+Easier, too, a thousand times, to say.
+
+I can tell you all: fears, doubts unheeding,
+While I can be near you, hold your hand,
+Looking right into your eyes, and reading
+Reassurance that you understand.
+
+Yet I wrote it through, then lingered, thinking
+Of its reaching you,--what hour, what day;
+Till I felt my heart and courage sinking
+With a strange, new, wondering dismay.
+
+"Will my letter fall," I wondered sadly,
+"On her mood like some discordant tone,
+Or be welcomed tenderly and gladly?
+Will she be with others, or alone?
+
+"It may find her too absorbed to read it,
+Save with hurried glance and careless air:
+Sad and weary, she may scarcely heed it;
+Gay and happy, she may hardly care.
+
+"Shall I--dare I--risk the chances?" slowly
+Something,--was it shyness, love, or pride?--
+Chilled my heart, and checked my courage wholly;
+So I laid it wistfully aside.
+
+Then I leant against the casement, turning
+Tearful eyes towards the far-off west,
+Where the golden evening light was burning,
+Till my heart throbbed back again to rest.
+
+And I thought: "Love's soul is not in fetters,
+Neither space nor time keep souls apart;
+Since I cannot--dare not--send my letters,
+Through the silence I will send my heart.
+
+"If, perhaps now, while my tears are falling,
+She is dreaming quietly alone,
+She will hear my Love's far echo calling,
+Feel my spirit drawing near her own.
+
+"She will hear, while twilight shades enfold her,
+All the gathered Love she knows so well--
+Deepest Love my words have ever told her,
+Deeper still--all I could never tell.
+
+"Wondering at the strange mysterious power
+That has touched her heart, then she will say:-
+'Some one whom I love, this very hour,
+Thinks of me, and loves me, far away.'
+
+"If, as well may be, to-night has found her
+Full of other thoughts, with others by,
+Through the words and claims that gather round her
+She will hear just one, half-smothered sigh;
+
+"Or will marvel why, without her seeking,
+Suddenly the thought of me recurs;
+Or, while listening to another speaking,
+Fancy that my hand is holding hers."
+
+So I dreamed, and watched the stars' far splendour
+Glimmering on the azure darkness, start,--
+While the star of trust rose bright and tender,
+Through the twilight shadows of my heart.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: A COMFORTER
+
+
+I.
+
+Will she come to me, little Effie,
+Will she come in my arms to rest,
+And nestle her head on my shoulder,
+While the sun goes down in the west?
+
+II.
+
+"I and Effie will sit together,
+All alone, in this great arm-chair:-
+Is it silly to mind it, darling,
+When Life is so hard to bear?
+
+III.
+
+"No one comforts me like my Effie,
+Just I think that she does not try,--
+Only looks with a wistful wonder
+Why grown people should ever cry;
+
+IV.
+
+"While her little soft arms close tighter
+Round my neck in their clinging hold:-
+Well, I must not cry on your hair, dear,
+For my tears might tarnish the gold.
+
+V.
+
+"I am tired of trying to read, dear;
+It is worse to talk and seem gay:
+There are some kinds of sorrow, Effie,
+It is useless to thrust away.
+
+VI.
+
+"Ah, advice may be wise, my darling,
+But one always knows it before;
+And the reasoning down one's sorrow
+Seems to make one suffer the more.
+
+VII.
+
+"But my Effie won't reason, will she?
+Or endeavour to understand;
+Only holds up her mouth to kiss me,
+As she strokes my face with her hand.
+
+VIII.
+
+"If you break your plaything yourself, dear,
+Don't you cry for it all the same?
+I don't think it is such a comfort,
+One has only oneself to blame.
+
+IX.
+
+"People say things cannot be helped, dear,
+But then that is the reason why;
+For if things could be helped or altered,
+One would never sit down to cry:
+
+X.
+
+"They say, too, that tears are quite useless
+To undo, amend, or restore,--
+When I think how useless, my Effie,
+Then my tears only fall the more.
+
+XI.
+
+"All to-day I struggled against it;
+But that does not make sorrow cease;
+And now, dear, it is such a comfort
+To be able to cry in peace.
+
+XII.
+
+"Though wise people would call that folly,
+And remonstrate with grave surprise;
+We won't mind what they say, my Effie;--
+We never professed to be wise.
+
+"But my comforter knows a lesson
+Wiser, truer than all the rest:-
+That to help and to heal a sorrow,
+Love and silence are always best.
+
+XIV.
+
+"Well, who is my comforter--tell me?
+Effie smiles, but she will not speak;
+Or look up through the long curled lashes
+That are shading her rosy cheek.
+
+XV.
+
+"Is she thinking of talking fishes,
+The blue bird, or magical tree?
+Perhaps I am thinking, my darling,
+Of something that never can be.
+
+XVI.
+
+"You long--don't you, dear?--for the Genii,
+Who were slaves of lamps and of rings;
+And I--I am sometimes afraid, dear,--
+I want as impossible things.
+
+XVII.
+
+"But hark! there is Nurse calling Effie!
+It is bedtime, so run away;
+And I must go back, or the others
+Will be wondering why I stay.
+
+XVIII.
+
+"So good-night to my darling Effie;
+Keep happy, sweetheart, and grow wise:-
+There's one kiss for her golden tresses,
+And two for her sleepy eyes."
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: UNSEEN
+
+
+There are more things in Heaven and Earth, than we
+Can dream of, or than nature understands;
+We learn not through our poor philosophy
+What hidden chords are touched by unseen hands.
+
+The present hour repeats upon its strings
+Echoes of some vague dream we have forgot;
+Dim voices whisper half-remembered things,
+And when we pause to listen,--answer not.
+
+Forebodings come: we know not how, or whence,
+Shadowing a nameless fear upon the soul,
+And stir within our hearts a subtler sense,
+Than light may read, or wisdom may control.
+
+And who can tell what secret links of thought
+Bind heart to heart?  Unspoken things are heard,
+As if within our deepest selves was brought
+The soul, perhaps, of some unuttered word.
+
+But, though a veil of shadow hangs between
+That hidden life, and what we see and hear,
+Let us revere the power of the Unseen,
+And know a world of mystery is near.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: A REMEMBRANCE OF AUTUMN
+
+
+Nothing stirs the sunny silence,--
+Save the drowsy humming of the bees
+Round the rich, ripe peaches on the wall,
+And the south wind sighing in the trees,
+And the dead leaves rustling as they fall:
+While the swallows, one by one, are gathering,
+All impatient to be on the wing,
+And to wander from us, seeking
+Their beloved Spring!
+
+Cloudless rise the azure heavens!
+Only vaporous wreaths of snowy white
+Nestle in the grey hill's rugged side;
+And the golden woods are bathed in light,
+Dying, if they must, with kingly pride:
+While the swallows in the blue air wheeling,
+Circle now an eager fluttering band,
+Ready to depart and leave us
+For a brighter land!
+
+But a voice is sounding sadly,
+Telling of a glory that has been;
+Of a day that faded all too fast--
+See afar through the blue air serene,
+Where the swallows wing their way at last,
+And our hearts perchance, as sadly wandering,
+Vainly seeking for a long-lost day,
+While we watch the far-off swallows,
+Flee with them away!
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE
+
+
+I.
+
+Yes, it looked dark and dreary,
+That long and narrow street:
+Only the sound of the rain,
+And the tramp of passing feet,
+The duller glow of the fire,
+And gathering mists of night
+To mark how slow and weary
+The long day's cheerless flight!
+
+II.
+
+Watching the sullen fire,
+Hearing the dismal rain,
+Drop after drop, run down
+On the darkening window-pane:
+Chill was the heart of Alice,
+Chill as that winter day,--
+For the star of her life had risen
+Only to fade away.
+
+III.
+
+The voice that had been so strong
+To bid the snare depart,
+The true and earnest will,
+The calm and steadfast heart,
+Were now weighed down by sorrow,
+Were quivering now with pain;
+The clear path now seemed clouded,
+And all her grief in vain.
+
+IV.
+
+Duty, Right, Truth, who promised
+To help and save their own,
+Seemed spreading wide their pinions
+To leave her there alone.
+So, turning from the Present
+To well-known days of yore,
+She called on them to strengthen
+And guard her soul once more.
+
+V.
+
+She thought how in her girlhood
+Her life was given away,
+The solemn promise spoken
+She kept so well to-day;
+How to her brother Herbert
+She had been help and guide,
+And how his artist nature
+On her calm strength relied.
+
+VI.
+
+How through life's fret and turmoil
+The passion and fire of art
+In him was soothed and quickened
+By her true sister heart;
+How future hopes had always
+Been for his sake alone;
+And now,--what strange new feeling
+Possessed her as its own?
+
+VII.
+
+Her home--each flower that breathed there,
+The wind's sigh, soft and low,
+Each trembling spray of ivy,
+The river's murmuring flow,
+The shadow of the forest,
+Sunset, or twilight dim--
+Dear as they were, were dearer
+By leaving them for him.
+
+VIII.
+
+And each year as it found her
+In the dull, feverish town,
+Saw self still more forgotten,
+And selfish care kept down
+By the calm joy of evening
+That brought him to her side,
+To warn him with wise counsel,
+Or praise with tender pride.
+
+IX.
+
+Her heart, her life, her future,
+Her genius, only meant
+Another thing to give him,
+And be therewith content.
+To-day, what words had stirred her,
+Her soul could not forget?
+What dream had filled her spirit
+With strange and wild regret?
+
+X.
+
+To leave him for another,--
+Could it indeed be so?
+Could it have cost such anguish
+To bid this vision go?
+Was this her faith?  Was Herbert
+The second in her heart?
+Did it need all this struggle
+To bid a dream depart?
+
+XI.
+
+And yet, within her spirit
+A far-off land was seen,
+A home, which might have held her,
+A love, which might have been.
+And Life--not the mere being
+Of daily ebb and flow,
+But Life itself had claimed her,
+And she had let it go!
+
+XII.
+
+Within her heart there echoed
+Again the well-known tone
+That promised this bright future,
+And asked her for her own:
+Then words of sorrow, broken
+By half-reproachful pain;
+And then a farewell spoken
+In words of cold disdain.
+
+XIII.
+
+Where now was the stern purpose
+That nerved her soul so long?
+Whence came the words she uttered,
+So hard, so cold, so strong?
+What right had she to banish
+A hope that God had given?
+Why must she choose earth's portion,
+And turn aside from Heaven?
+
+XIV.
+
+To-day!  Was it this morning?
+If this long, fearful strife
+Was but the work of hours,
+What would be years of life?
+Why did a cruel Heaven
+For such great suffering call?
+And why--Oh, still more cruel!--
+Must her own words do all?
+
+XV.
+
+Did she repent?  Oh Sorrow!
+Why do we linger still
+To take thy loving message,
+And do thy gentle will?
+See, her tears fall more slowly,
+The passionate murmurs cease,
+And back upon her spirit
+Flow strength, and love, and peace.
+
+XVI.
+
+The fire burns more brightly,
+The rain has passed away,
+Herbert will see no shadow
+Upon his home to-day;
+Only that Alice greets him
+With doubly tender care,
+Kissing a fonder blessing
+Down on his golden hair.
+
+II.
+
+I.
+
+The studio is deserted,
+Palette and brush laid by,
+The sketch rests on the easel,
+The paint is scarcely dry;
+And Silence--who seems always
+Within her depths to bear
+The next sound that will utter--
+Now holds a dumb despair.
+
+II.
+
+So Alice feels it: listening
+With breathless, stony fear,
+Waiting the dreadful summons
+Each minute brings more near:
+When the young life, now ebbing,
+Shall fail, and pass away
+Into that mighty shadow
+Who shrouds the house to-day.
+
+III.
+
+But why--when the sick chamber
+Is on the upper floor--
+Why dares not Alice enter
+Within the close--shut door?
+If he--her all--her Brother,
+Lies dying in that gloom,
+What strange mysterious power
+Has sent her from the room?
+
+IV.
+
+It is not one week's anguish
+That can have changed her so;
+Joy has not died here lately,
+Struck down by one quick blow;
+But cruel months have needed
+Their long relentless chain,
+To teach that shrinking manner
+Of helpless, hopeless pain.
+
+V.
+
+The struggle was scarce over
+Last Christmas Eve had brought:
+The fibres still were quivering
+Of the one wounded thought,
+When Herbert--who, unconscious,
+Had guessed no inward strife--
+Bade her, in pride and pleasure,
+Welcome his fair young wife.
+
+VI.
+
+Bade her rejoice, and smiling,
+Although his eyes were dim,
+Thanked God he thus could pay her
+The care she gave to him.
+This fresh bright life would bring her
+A new and joyous fate--
+Oh, Alice, check the murmur
+That cries, "Too late! too late!"
+
+VII.
+
+Too late!  Could she have known it
+A few short weeks before,
+That his life was completed,
+And needing hers no more,
+She might--Oh sad repining!
+What "might have been," forget;
+"It was not," should suffice us
+To stifle vain regret.
+
+VIII.
+
+He needed her no longer,
+Each day it grew more plain;
+First with a startled wonder,
+Then with a wondering pain.
+Love: why, his wife best gave it;
+Comfort: durst Alice speak,
+Or counsel, when resentment
+Flushed on the young wife's cheek?
+
+IX.
+
+No more long talks by firelight
+Of childish times long past,
+And dreams of future greatness
+Which he must reach at last;
+Dreams, where her purer instinct
+With truth unerring told,
+Where was the worthless gilding,
+And where refined gold.
+
+X.
+
+Slowly, but surely ever,
+Dora's poor jealous pride,
+Which she called love for Herbert,
+Drove Alice from his side;
+And, spite of nervous effort
+To share their altered life,
+She felt a check to Herbert,
+A burden to his wife.
+
+XI.
+
+This was the least; for Alice
+Feared, dreaded, knew at length
+How much his nature owed her
+Of truth, and power, and strength;
+And watched the daily failing
+Of all his nobler part:
+Low aims, weak purpose, telling
+In lower, weaker art.
+
+XII.
+
+And now, when he is dying,
+The last words she could hear
+Must not be hers, but given
+The bride of one short year.
+The last care is another's;
+The last prayer must not be
+The one they learnt together
+Beside their mother's knee.
+
+XIII.
+
+Summoned at last: she kisses
+The clay-cold stiffening hand;
+And, reading pleading efforts
+To make her understand,
+Answers, with solemn promise,
+In clear but trembling tone,
+To Dora's life henceforward
+She will devote her own.
+
+XIV.
+
+Now all is over.  Alice
+Dares not remain to weep,
+But soothes the frightened Dora
+Into a sobbing sleep.
+The poor weak child will need her: . . .
+Oh, who can dare complain,
+When God sends a new Duty
+To comfort each new Pain!
+
+III.
+
+I.
+
+The House is all deserted,
+In the dim evening gloom,
+Only one figure passes
+Slowly from room to room;
+And, pausing at each doorway,
+Seems gathering up again
+Within her heart the relics
+Of bygone joy and pain.
+
+II.
+
+There is an earnest longing
+In those who onward gaze,
+Looking with weary patience
+Towards the coming days.
+There is a deeper longing,
+More sad, more strong, more keen:
+Those know it who look backward,
+And yearn for what has been.
+
+III.
+
+At every hearth she pauses,
+Touches each well-known chair;
+Gazes from every window,
+Lingers on every stair.
+What have these months brought Alice
+Now one more year is past?
+This Christmas Eve shall tell us,
+The third one and the last.
+
+IV.
+
+The wilful, wayward Dora,
+In those first weeks of grief,
+Could seek and find in Alice
+Strength, soothing, and relief;
+And Alice--last sad comfort
+True woman-heart can take--
+Had something still to suffer
+And bear for Herbert's sake.
+
+V.
+
+Spring, with her western breezes,
+From Indian islands bore
+To Alice news that Leonard
+Would seek his home once more.
+What was it--joy, or sorrow?
+What were they--hopes, or fears?
+That flushed her cheeks with crimson,
+And filled her eyes with tears?
+
+VI.
+
+He came.  And who so kindly
+Could ask and hear her tell
+Herbert's last hours; for Leonard
+Had known and loved him well.
+Daily he came; and Alice,
+Poor weary heart, at length,
+Weighed down by others' weakness,
+Could lean upon his strength.
+
+VII.
+
+Yet not the voice of Leonard
+Could her true care beguile,
+That turned to watch, rejoicing
+Dora's reviving smile.
+So, from that little household
+The worst gloom passed away,
+The one bright hour of evening
+Lit up the livelong day.
+
+VIII.
+
+Days passed.  The golden summer
+In sudden heat bore down
+Its blue, bright, glowing sweetness
+Upon the scorching town.
+And sighs and sounds of country
+Came in the warm soft tune
+Sung by the honeyed breezes
+Borne on the wings of June.
+
+IX.
+
+One twilight hour, but earlier
+Than usual, Alice thought
+She knew the fresh sweet fragrance
+Of flowers that Leonard brought;
+Through opened doors and windows
+It stole up through the gloom,
+And with appealing sweetness
+Drew Alice from her room.
+
+X.
+
+Yes, he was there; and pausing
+Just near the opened door,
+To check her heart's quick beating,
+She heard--and paused still more--
+His low voice--Dora's answers--
+His pleading--Yes, she knew
+The tone--the words--the accents:
+She once had heard them too.
+
+XI.
+
+"Would Alice blame her?"  Leonard's
+Low, tender answer came;--
+"Alice was far too noble
+To think or dream of blame."
+"And was he sure he loved her?"
+"Yes, with the one love given
+Once in a lifetime only,
+With one soul and one heaven!"
+
+XII.
+
+Then came a plaintive murmur,--
+"Dora had once been told
+That he and Alice"--"Dearest,
+Alice is far too cold
+To love; and I, my Dora,
+If once I fancied so,
+It was a brief delusion,
+And over,--long ago."
+
+XIII.
+
+Between the Past and Present,
+On that bleak moment's height,
+She stood.  As some lost traveller
+By a quick flash of light
+Seeing a gulf before him,
+With dizzy, sick despair,
+Reels backward, but to find it
+A deeper chasm there.
+
+XIV.
+
+The twilight grew still darker,
+The fragrant flowers more sweet,
+The stars shone out in heaven,
+The lamps gleamed down the street;
+And hours passed in dreaming
+Over their new-found fate,
+Ere they could think of wondering
+Why Alice was so late.
+
+XV.
+
+She came, and calmly listened;
+In vain they strove to trace
+If Herbert's memory shadowed
+In grief upon her face.
+No blame, no wonder showed there,
+No feeling could be told;
+Her voice was not less steady,
+Her manner not more cold.
+
+XVI.
+
+They could not hear the anguish
+That broke in words of pain
+Through the calm summer midnight,--
+"My Herbert--mine again!"
+Yes, they have once been parted,
+But this day shall restore
+The long lost one: she claims him:
+"My Herbert--mine once more!"
+
+XVII.
+
+Now Christmas Eve returning,
+Saw Alice stand beside
+The altar, greeting Dora,
+Again a smiling bride;
+And now the gloomy evening
+Sees Alice pale and worn,
+Leaving the house for ever,
+To wander out forlorn.
+
+XVIII.
+
+Forlorn--nay, not so.  Anguish
+Shall do its work at length;
+Her soul, passed through the fire,
+Shall gain still purer strength.
+Somewhere there waits for Alice
+An earnest noble part;
+And, meanwhile God is with her,--
+God, and her own true heart!
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: THE WIND
+
+
+The wind went forth o'er land and sea
+Loud and free;
+Foaming waves leapt up to meet it,
+Stately pines bowed down to greet it;
+While the wailing sea
+And the forest's murmured sigh
+Joined the cry
+Of the wind that swept o'er land and sea.
+
+The wind that blew upon the sea
+Fierce and free,
+Cast the bark upon the shore,
+Whence it sailed the night before
+Full of hope and glee;
+And the cry of pain and death
+Was but a breath,
+Through the wind that roared upon the sea.
+
+The wind was whispering on the lea
+Tenderly;
+But the white rose felt it pass,
+And the fragile stalks of grass
+Shook with fear to see
+All her trembling petals shed,
+As it fled,
+So gently by,--the wind upon the lea.
+
+Blow, thou wind, upon the sea
+Fierce and free,
+And a gentler message send,
+Where frail flowers and grasses bend,
+On the sunny lea;
+For thy bidding still is one,
+Be it done
+In tenderness or wrath, on land or sea!
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: EXPECTATION
+
+
+The King's three daughters stood on the terrace,
+The hanging terrace, so broad and green,
+Which keeps the sea from the marble Palace,
+There was Princess May, and Princess Alice,
+And the youngest Princess, Gwendoline.
+
+Sighed Princess May, "Will it last much longer,
+Time throbs so slow and my Heart so quick;
+And oh, how long is the day in dying;
+Weary am I of waiting and sighing,
+For Hope deferred makes the spirit sick."
+
+But Princess Gwendoline smiled and kissed her:-
+"Am I not sadder than you, my Sister?
+Expecting joy is a happy pain.
+The Future's fathomless mine of treasures,
+All countless hordes of possible pleasures,
+Might bring their store to my feet in vain."
+
+Sighed Princess Alice as night grew nearer:-
+"So soon, so soon, is the daylight fled!
+And oh, how fast comes the dark to-morrow,
+Who hides, perhaps in her veil of sorrow,
+The terrible hour I wait and dread!"
+
+But Princess Gwendoline kissed her, sighing,--
+"It is only Life that can fear dying;
+Possible loss means possible gain.
+Those who still dread, are not quite forsaken;
+But not to fear, because all is taken,
+Is the loneliest depth of human pain."
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: AN IDEAL
+
+
+While the grey mists of early dawn
+Were lingering round the hill,
+And the dew was still upon the flowers,
+And the earth lay calm and still,
+A winged Spirit came to me
+Noble, and radiant, and free.
+
+Folding his blue and shining wings,
+He laid his hand on mine.
+I know not if I felt, or heard
+The mystic word divine,
+Which woke the trembling air to sighs,
+And shone from out his starry eyes.
+
+The word he spoke, within my heart
+Stirred life unknown before,
+And cast a spell upon my soul
+To chain it evermore;
+Making the cold dull earth look bright,
+And skies flame out in sapphire light.
+
+When noon ruled from the heavens, and man
+Through busy day toiled on,
+My Spirit drooped his shining wings;
+His radiant smile was gone;
+His voice had ceased, his grace had flown,
+His hand grew cold within my own.
+
+Bitter, oh bitter tears, I wept,
+Yet still I held his hand,
+Hoping with vague unreasoning hope:
+I would not understand
+That this pale Spirit never more
+Could be what he had been before.
+
+Could it be so?  My heart stood still.
+Yet he was by my side.
+I strove; but my despair was vain;
+Vain, too, was love and pride.
+Could he have changed to me so soon?
+My day was only at its noon.
+
+Now stars are rising one by one,
+Through the dim evening air;
+Near me a household Spirit waits,
+With tender loving care;
+He speaks and smiles, but never sings,
+Long since he lost his shining wings.
+
+With thankful, true content, I know
+This is the better way;
+Is not a faithful spirit mine--
+Mine still--at close of day? . . .
+Yet will my foolish heart repine
+For that bright morning dream of mine.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: OUR DEAD
+
+
+Nothing is our own: we hold our pleasures
+Just a little while, ere they are fled:
+One by one life robs us of our treasures;
+Nothing is our own except our Dead.
+
+They are ours, and hold in faithful keeping
+Safe for ever, all they took away.
+Cruel life can never stir that sleeping,
+Cruel time can never seize that prey.
+
+Justice pales; truth fades; stars fall from Heaven;
+Human are the great whom we revere:
+No true crown of honour can be given,
+Till we place it on a funeral bier.
+
+How the Children leave us: and no traces
+Linger of that smiling angel band;
+Gone, for ever gone; and in their places,
+Weary men and anxious women stand.
+
+Yet we have some little ones, still ours;
+They have kept the baby smile we know,
+Which we kissed one day and hid with flowers,
+On their dead white faces, long ago.
+
+When our Joy is lost--and life will take it--
+Then no memory of the past remains;
+Save with some strange, cruel sting, to make it
+Bitterness beyond all present pains.
+
+Death, more tender-hearted, leaves to sorrow
+Still the radiant shadow, fond regret:
+We shall find, in some far, bright to-morrow,
+Joy that he has taken, living yet.
+
+Is Love ours, and do we dream we know it,
+Bound with all our heart-strings, all our own?
+Any cold and cruel dawn may show it,
+Shattered, desecrated, overthrown.
+
+Only the dead Hearts forsake us never;
+Death's last kiss has been the mystic sign
+Consecrating Love our own for ever,
+Crowning it eternal and divine.
+
+So when Fate would fain besiege our city,
+Dim our gold, or make our flowers fall,
+Death the Angel, comes in love and pity,
+And to save our treasures, claims them all.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: A WOMAN'S ANSWER
+
+
+I will not let you say a Woman's part
+Must be to give exclusive love alone;
+Dearest, although I love you so, my heart
+Answers a thousand claims beside your own.
+
+I love--what do I not love? earth and air
+Find space within my heart, and myriad things
+You would not deign to heed, are cherished there,
+And vibrate on its very inmost strings.
+
+I love the summer with her ebb and flow
+Of light, and warmth, and music that have nurst
+Her tender buds to blossoms . . . and you know
+It was in summer that I saw you first.
+
+I love the winter dearly too, . . . but then
+I owe it so much; on a winter's day,
+Bleak, cold, and stormy, you returned again,
+When you had been those weary months away.
+
+I love the Stars like friends; so many nights
+I gazed at them, when you were far from me,
+Till I grew blind with tears . . . those far-off lights
+Could watch you, whom I longed in vain to see.
+
+I love the Flowers; happy hours lie
+Shut up within their petals close and fast:
+You have forgotten, dear: but they and I
+Keep every fragment of the golden Past.
+
+I love, too, to be loved; all loving praise
+Seems like a crown upon my Life,--to make
+It better worth the giving, and to raise
+Still nearer to your own the heart you take.
+
+I love all good and noble souls;--I heard
+One speak of you but lately, and for days
+Only to think of it, my soul was stirred
+In tender memory of such generous praise.
+
+I love all those who love you; all who owe
+Comfort to you: and I can find regret
+Even for those poorer hearts who once could know,
+And once could love you, and can now forget.
+
+Well, is my heart so narrow--I, who spare
+Love for all these?  Do I not even hold
+My favourite books in special tender care,
+And prize them as a miser does his gold?
+
+The Poets that you used to read to me
+While summer twilights faded in the sky;
+But most of all I think Aurora Leigh,
+Because--because--do you remember why?
+
+Will you be jealous?  Did you guess before
+I loved so many things?--Still you the best:-
+Dearest, remember that I love you more,
+Oh, more a thousand times than all the rest!
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: THE STORY OF THE FAITHFUL SOUL
+
+
+FOUNDED ON AN OLD FRENCH LEGEND
+
+The fettered Spirits linger
+In purgatorial pain,
+With penal fires effacing
+Their last faint earthly stain,
+Which Life's imperfect sorrow
+Had tried to cleanse in vain.
+
+Yet on each feast of Mary
+Their sorrow finds release,
+For the Great Archangel Michael
+Comes down and bids it cease;
+And the name of these brief respites
+Is called "Our Lady's Peace."
+
+Yet once--so runs the Legend--
+When the Archangel came
+And all these holy spirits
+Rejoiced at Mary's name;
+One voice alone was wailing,
+Still wailing on the same.
+
+And though a great Te Deum
+The happy echoes woke,
+This one discordant wailing
+Through the sweet voices broke;
+So when St. Michael questioned,
+Thus the poor spirit spoke:-
+
+"I am not cold or thankless,
+Although I still complain;
+I prize our Lady's blessing
+Although it comes in vain
+To still my bitter anguish,
+Or quench my ceaseless pain.
+
+"On earth a heart that loved me,
+Still lives and mourns me there,
+And the shadow of his anguish
+Is more than I can bear;
+All the torment that I suffer
+Is the thought of his despair.
+
+"The evening of my bridal
+Death took my Life away;
+Not all Love's passionate pleading
+Could gain an hour's delay.
+And he I left has suffered
+A whole year since that day.
+
+"If I could only see him,--
+If I could only go
+And speak one word of comfort
+And solace,--then, I know
+He would endure with patience,
+And strive against his woe."
+
+Thus the Archangel answered:-
+"Your time of pain is brief,
+And soon the peace of Heaven
+Will give you full relief;
+Yet if his earthly comfort
+So much outweighs your grief,
+
+"Then, through a special mercy
+I offer you this grace,--
+You may seek him who mourns you
+And look upon his face,
+And speak to him of comfort
+For one short minute's space.
+
+"But when that time is ended,
+Return here, and remain
+A thousand years in torment,
+A thousand years in pain:
+Thus dearly must you purchase
+The comfort he will gain."
+
+* * *
+
+The Lime-trees' shade at evening
+Is spreading broad and wide;
+Beneath their fragrant arches,
+Pace slowly, side by side,
+In low and tender converse,
+A Bridegroom and his Bride.
+
+The night is calm and stilly,
+No other sound is there
+Except their happy voices:
+What is that cold bleak air
+That passes through the Lime-trees
+And stirs the Bridegroom's hair?
+
+While one low cry of anguish,
+Like the last dying wail
+Of some dumb, hunted creature,
+Is borne upon the gale:-
+Why does the Bridegroom shudder
+And turn so deathly pale?
+
+* * *
+
+Near Purgatory's entrance
+The radiant Angels wait;
+It was the great St. Michael
+Who closed that gloomy gate,
+When the poor wandering spirit
+Came back to meet her fate.
+
+* * *
+
+"Pass on," thus spoke the Angel:
+"Heaven's joy is deep and vast;
+Pass on, pass on, poor Spirit,
+For Heaven is yours at last;
+In that one minute's anguish
+Your thousand years have passed."
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: A CONTRAST
+
+
+Can you open that ebony Casket?
+Look, this is the key: but stay,
+Those are only a few old letters
+Which I keep,--to burn some day.
+
+Yes, that Locket is quaint and ancient;
+But leave it, dear, with the ring,
+And give me the little Portrait
+Which hangs by a crimson string.
+
+I have never opened that Casket
+Since, many long years ago,
+It was sent me back in anger
+By one whom I used to know.
+
+But I want you to see the Portrait:
+I wonder if you can trace
+A look of that smiling creature
+Left now in my faded face.
+
+It was like me once; but remember
+The weary relentless years,
+And Life, with its fierce, brief Tempests,
+And its long, long rain of tears.
+
+Is it strange to call it my Portrait?
+Nay, smile, dear, for well you may,
+To think of that radiant Vision
+And of what I am to-day.
+
+With restless, yet confident longing
+How those blue eyes seem to gaze
+Into deep and exhaustless Treasures,
+All hid in the coming days.
+
+With that trust which leans on the Future,
+And counts on her promised store,
+Until she has taught us to tremble
+And hope,--but to trust no more.
+
+How that young, light heart would have pitied
+Me now--if her dreams had shown
+A quiet and weary woman
+With all her illusions flown.
+
+Yet I--who shall soon be resting,
+And have passed the hardest part,
+Can look back with a deeper pity
+On that young unconscious heart.
+
+It is strange; but Life's currents drift us
+So surely and swiftly on,
+That we scarcely notice the changes,
+And how many things are gone:
+
+And forget, while to-day absorbs us,
+How old mysteries are unsealed;
+How the old, old ties are loosened,
+And the old, old wounds are healed.
+
+And we say that our Life is fleeting
+Like a story that Time has told;
+But we fancy that we--we only
+Are just what we were of old.
+
+So now and then it is wisdom
+To gaze, as I do to-day,
+At a half-forgotten relic
+Of a Time that is passed away.
+
+The very look of that Portrait,
+The Perfume that seems to cling
+To those fragile and faded letters,
+And the Locket, and the Ring,
+
+If they only stirred in my spirit
+Forgotten pleasure and pain,--
+Why, memory is often bitter,
+And almost always in vain;
+
+But the contrast of bygone hours
+Comes to rend a veil away,--
+And I marvel to see the stranger
+Who is living in me to-day.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: THE BRIDE'S DREAM
+
+
+The stars are gleaming;
+The maiden sleeps--
+What is she dreaming?
+For see--she weeps.
+By her side is an Angel
+With folded wings;
+While the Maiden slumbers
+The Angel sings:
+He sings of a Bridal,
+Of Love, of Pain,
+Of a heart to be given,--
+And all in vain;
+(See, her cheek is flushing,
+As if with pain;)
+He telleth of sorrow,
+Regrets and fears,
+And the few vain pleasures
+We buy with tears;
+And the bitter lesson
+We learn from years.
+
+The stars are gleaming
+Upon her brow:
+What is she dreaming
+So calmly now?
+By her side is the Angel
+With folded wings;
+She smiles in her slumber
+The while he sings.
+He sings of a Bridal,
+Of Love divine;
+Of a heart to be laid
+On a sacred shrine;
+Of a crown of glory,
+Where seraphs shine;
+Of the deep, long rapture
+The chosen know
+Who forsake for Heaven
+Vain joys below,
+Who desire no pleasure,
+And fear no woe.
+
+The Bells are ringing,
+The sun shines clear,
+The Choir is singing,
+The guests are here.
+Before the High Altar
+Behold the Bride;
+And a mournful Angel
+Is by her side.
+She smiles, all content
+With her chosen lot,--
+(Is her last night's dreaming
+So soon forgot?)
+And oh, may the Angel
+Forsake her not!
+For on her small hand
+There glitters plain
+The first sad link
+Of a life-long chain;--
+And she needs his guiding
+Through paths of pain.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: THE ANGEL'S BIDDING
+
+
+Not a sound is heard in the Convent;
+The Vesper Chant is sung,
+The sick have all been tended,
+The poor nun's toils are ended
+Till the Matin bell has rung.
+All is still, save the Clock, that is ticking
+So loud in the frosty air,
+And the soft snow, falling as gently
+As an answer to a prayer.
+But an Angel whispers, "Oh, Sister,
+You must rise from your bed to pray;
+In the silent, deserted chapel,
+You must kneel till the dawn of day;
+For, far on the desolate moorland,
+So dreary, and bleak, and white,
+There is one, all alone and helpless,
+In peril of death to-night.
+
+"No sound on the moorland to guide him,
+No star in the murky air;
+And he thinks of his home and his loved ones
+With the tenderness of despair;
+He has wandered for hours in the snow-drift,
+And he strives to stand in vain,
+And so lies down to dream of his children
+And never to rise again.
+Then kneel in the silent chapel
+Till the dawn of to-morrow's sun,
+And ask of the Lord you worship
+For the life of that desolate one;
+And the smiling eyes of his children
+Will gladden his heart again,
+And the grateful tears of God's poor ones
+Will fall on your soul like rain!--
+
+"Yet, leave him alone to perish,
+And the grace of your God implore,
+With all the strength of your spirit,
+For one who needs it more.
+Far away, in the gleaming city,
+Amid perfume, and song, and light,
+A soul that Jesus has ransomed
+Is in peril of sin to-night.
+
+"The Tempter is close beside him,
+And his danger is all forgot,
+And the far-off voices of childhood
+Call aloud, but he hears them not;
+He sayeth no prayer, and his mother--
+He thinks not of her to-day,
+And he will not look up to Heaven,
+And his Angel is turning away.
+
+"Then pray for a soul in peril,
+A soul for which Jesus died;
+Ask, by the cross that bore Him,
+And by her who stood beside;
+And the Angels of God will thank you,
+And bend from their thrones of light,
+To tell you that Heaven rejoices
+At the deed you have done to-night."
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: SPRING
+
+
+Hark! the Hours are softly calling,
+Bidding Spring arise,
+To listen to the raindrops falling
+From the cloudy skies,
+To listen to Earth's weary voices,
+Louder every day,
+Bidding her no longer linger
+On her charmed way;
+But hasten to her task of beauty
+Scarcely yet begun;
+By the first bright day of summer
+It should all be done.
+She has yet to loose the fountain
+From its iron chain;
+And to make the barren mountain
+Green and bright again;
+She must clear the snow that lingers
+Round the stalks away
+And let the snowdrop's trembling whiteness
+See the light of day.
+She must watch, and warm, and cherish
+Every blade of green;
+Till the tender grass appearing
+From the earth is seen;
+She must bring the golden crocus
+From her hidden store;
+She must spread broad showers of daisies
+Each day more and more.
+In each hedgerow she must hasten
+Cowslips sweet to set;
+Primroses in rich profusion,
+With bright dewdrops wet,
+And under every leaf, in shadow
+Hide a Violet!
+Every tree within the forest
+Must be decked anew
+And the tender buds of promise
+Should be peeping through,
+Folded deep, and almost hidden,
+Leaf by leaf beside,
+What will make the Summer's glory,
+And the Autumn's pride.
+She must weave the loveliest carpets,
+Chequered sun and shade,
+Every wood must have such pathways
+Laid in every glade;
+She must hang laburnum branches
+On each arched bough;--
+And the white and purple lilac
+Should be waving now;
+She must breathe, and cold winds vanish
+At her breath away;
+And then load the air around her
+With the scent of May!
+Listen then, Oh Spring! nor linger
+On thy charmed way;
+Have pity on thy prisoned flowers
+Wearying for the day.
+Listen to the raindrops falling
+From the cloudy skies;
+Listen to the hours calling
+Bidding thee arise.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: EVENING HYMN
+
+
+The shadows of the evening hours
+Fall from the darkening sky;
+Upon the fragrance of the flowers
+The dews of evening lie:
+Before Thy throne, O Lord of Heaven,
+We kneel at close of day;
+Look on Thy children from on high,
+And hear us while we pray.
+
+The sorrows of Thy Servants, Lord,
+Oh, do not Thou despise;
+But let the incense of our prayers
+Before Thy mercy rise;
+The brightness of the coming night
+Upon the darkness rolls:
+With hopes of future glory chase
+The shadows on our souls.
+
+Slowly the rays of daylight fade;
+So fade within our heart,
+The hopes in earthly love and joy,
+That one by one depart:
+Slowly the bright stars, one by one,
+Within the Heavens shine;--
+Give us, Oh, Lord, fresh hopes in Heaven,
+And trust in things divine.
+
+Let peace, Oh Lord, Thy peace, Oh God,
+Upon our souls descend;
+From midnight fears and perils, Thou
+Our trembling hearts defend;
+Give us a respite from our toil,
+Calm and subdue our woes;
+Through the long day we suffer, Lord,
+Oh, give us now repose!
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: THE INNER CHAMBER
+
+
+In the outer Court I was singing,
+Was singing the whole day long;
+From the inner chamber were ringing
+Echoes repeating my song.
+
+And I sang till it grew immortal;
+For that very song of mine,
+When re-echoed behind the Portal,
+Was filled with a life divine.
+
+Was the Chamber a silver round
+Of arches, whose magical art
+Drew in coils of musical sound,
+And cast them back on my heart?
+
+Was there hidden within a lyre
+Which, as air breathed over its strings,
+Filled my song with a soul of fire,
+And sent back my words with wings?
+
+Was some seraph imprisoned there,
+Whose voice made my song complete,
+And whose lingering, soft despair,
+Made the echo so faint and sweet?
+
+Long I trembled and paused--then parted
+The curtains with heavy fringe;
+And, half fearing, yet eager-hearted
+Turned the door on its golden hinge.
+
+Now I sing in the court once more,
+I sing and I weep all day,
+As I kneel by the close-shut door,
+For I know what the echoes say.
+
+Yet I sing not the song of old,
+Ere I knew whence the echo came,
+Ere I opened the door of gold;
+But the music sounds just the same.
+
+Then take warning, and turn away
+Do not ask of that hidden thing,
+Do not guess what the echoes say,
+Or the meaning of what I sing.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: HEARTS
+
+
+I.
+
+A trinket made like a Heart, dear,
+Of red gold, bright and fine,
+Was given to me for a keepsake,
+Given to me for mine.
+
+And another heart, warm and tender,
+As true as a heart could be;
+And every throb that stirred it
+Was always and all for me.
+
+Sailing over the waters,
+Watching the far blue land,
+I dropped my golden heart, dear,
+Dropped it out of my hand!
+
+It lies in the cold blue waters,
+Fathoms and fathoms deep,
+The golden heart which I promised,
+Promised to prize and keep.
+
+Gazing at Life's bright visions,
+So false, and fair, and new,
+I forgot the other heart, dear,
+Forgot it and lost it too!
+
+I might seek that heart for ever,
+I might seek and seek in vain;--
+And for one short, careless hour,
+I pay with a life of pain.
+
+II.
+
+The Heart?--Yes I wore it
+As sign and as token
+Of a love that once gave it,
+A vow that was spoken;
+But a love, and a vow, and a heart
+Can be broken.
+
+The Love?--Life and Death
+Are crushed into a day,
+So what wonder that Love
+Should as soon pass away--
+What wonder I saw it
+Fade, fail, and decay.
+
+The Vow?--why what was it,
+It snapped like a thread:
+Who cares for the corpse
+When the spirit is fled?
+Then I said, "Let the Dead rise
+And bury its dead,
+
+"While the true, living future
+Grows pure, wise, and strong"
+So I cast the gold heart,
+I had worn for so long,
+In the Lake, and bound on it
+A Stone--and a Wrong!
+
+III.
+
+Look, this little golden Heart
+Was a true-love shrine
+For a tress of hair; I held them,
+Heart and tress, as mine,
+Like the Love which gave the token
+See to-day the Heart is broken!
+
+Broken is the golden heart,
+Lost the tress of hair;
+Ah, the shrine is empty, vacant,
+Desolate, and bare!
+So the token should depart,
+When Love dies within the heart.
+
+Fast and deep the river floweth,
+Floweth to the west;
+I will cast the golden trinket
+In its cold dark breast,--
+Flow, oh river, deep and fast,
+Over all the buried past!
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: TWO LOVES
+
+
+Deep within my heart of hearts, dear,
+Bound with all its strings,
+Two Loves are together reigning
+Both are crowned like Kings;
+While my life, still uncomplaining,
+Rests beneath their wings.
+
+So they both will rule my heart, dear,
+Till it cease to beat;
+No sway can be deeper, stronger,
+Truer, more complete;
+Growing, as it lasts the longer,
+Sweeter, and more sweet.
+
+One all life and time transfigures,
+Piercing through and through
+Meaner things with magic splendour,
+Old, yet ever new:
+This,--so strong and yet so tender,--
+Is . . . my Love for you.
+
+Should it fail,--forgive my doubting
+In this world of pain,--
+Yet my other Love would ever
+Steadfastly remain;
+And I know that I could never
+Turn to that in vain.
+
+Though its radiance may be fainter,
+Yet its task is wide;
+For it lives to comfort sorrows,
+Strengthen, calm, and guide,
+And from Trust and Honour borrows
+All its peace and pride.
+
+Will you blame my dreaming even
+If the first were flown?
+Ah, I would not live without it,
+It is all your own:
+And the other--can you doubt it?--
+Yours, and yours alone.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: A WOMAN'S LAST WORD
+
+
+Well--the links are broken,
+All is past;
+This farewell, when spoken,
+Is the last.
+I have tried and striven
+All in vain;
+Such bonds must be riven,
+Spite of pain,
+And never, never, never
+Knit again.
+
+So I tell you plainly,
+It must be:
+I shall try, not vainly,
+To be free;
+Truer, happier chances
+Wait me yet,
+While you, through fresh fancies,
+Can forget;--
+And life has nobler uses
+Than Regret.
+
+All past words retracing,
+One by one,
+Does not help effacing
+What is done.
+Let it be.  Oh, stronger
+Links can break!
+Had we dreamed still longer
+We could wake,--
+Yet let us part in kindness
+For Love's sake.
+
+Bitterness and sorrow
+Will at last,
+In some bright to-morrow,
+Heal their past;
+But future hearts will never
+Be as true
+As mine was--is ever,
+Dear, for you . . .
+. . . Then must we part, when loving
+As we do?
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: PAST AND PRESENT
+
+
+"Linger," I cried, "oh radiant Time! thy power
+Has nothing more to give; life is complete:
+Let but the perfect Present, hour by hour,
+Itself remember and itself repeat.
+
+"And Love,--the future can but mar its splendour,
+Change can but dim the glory of its youth;
+Time has no star more faithful or more tender,
+To crown its constancy or light its truth."
+
+But Time passed on in spite of prayer or pleading,
+Through storm and peril; but that life might gain
+A Peace through strife all other peace exceeding,
+Fresh joy from sorrow, and new hope from pain.
+
+And since Love lived when all save Love was dying,
+And, passed through fire, grew stronger than before:-
+Dear, you know why, in double faith relying,
+I prize the Past much, but the Present more.
+
+
+
+
+VERSE: FOR THE FUTURE
+
+
+I wonder did you ever count
+The value of one human fate;
+Or sum the infinite amount
+Of one heart's treasures, and the weight
+Of Life's one venture, and the whole concentrate purpose of a soul.
+
+And if you ever paused to think
+That all this in your hands I laid
+Without a fear:- did you not shrink
+From such a burthen? half afraid,
+Half wishing that you could divide the risk, or cast it all aside.
+
+While Love has daily perils, such
+As none foresee and none control;
+And hearts are strung so that one touch,
+Careless or rough, may jar the whole,
+You well might feel afraid to reign with absolute power of joy and pain.
+
+You well might fear--if Love's sole claim
+Were to be happy: but true Love
+Takes joy as solace, not as aim,
+And looks beyond, and looks above;
+And sometimes through the bitterest strife first learns to live her
+highest life.
+
+Earth forges joy into a chain
+Till fettered Love forgets its strength,
+Its purpose, and its end;--but Pain
+Restores its heritage at length,
+And bids Love rise again and be eternal, mighty, pure, and free.
+
+If then your future life should need
+A strength my Love can only gain
+Through suffering, or my heart be freed
+Only by sorrow, from some stain--
+Then you shall give, and I will take, this Crown of fire for Love's dear sake.
+
+Sept. 8th, 1860.
+
+
+
+
+
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