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diff --git a/2304-h/2304-h.htm b/2304-h/2304-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..585a538 --- /dev/null +++ b/2304-h/2304-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,4258 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=US-ASCII" /> +<title>Legends and Lyrics: Second Series</title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1, H2 { + text-align: center; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + } + H3, H4 { + text-align: left; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> +</head> +<body> +<h2> +<a href="#startoftext">Legends and Lyrics: Second Series, by Adelaide Anne Procter</a> +</h2> +<pre> +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*** +</pre> +<p><a name="startoftext"></a></p> +<p>This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk +from the 1890 George Bell and Sons edition.</p> +<h1>LEGENDS AND LYRICS—SECOND SERIES<br /> +by Adelaide Anne Procter</h1> +<p>Contents:</p> +<p>A Legend of Provence<br /> +Envy<br /> +Over the Mountain<br /> +Beyond<br /> +A Warning<br /> +Maximus<br /> +Optimus<br /> +A Lost Chord<br /> +Too Late<br /> +The Requital<br /> +Returned—“Missing”<br /> +In the Wood<br /> +Two Worlds<br /> +A New Mother<br /> +Give Place<br /> +My Will<br /> +King and Slave<br /> +A Chant<br /> +Dream-Life<br /> +Rest<br /> +The Tyrant and the Captive<br /> +The Carver’s Lesson<br /> +Three Roses<br /> +My Picture Gallery<br /> +Sent to Heaven<br /> +Never Again<br /> +Listening Angels<br /> +Golden Days<br /> +Philip and Mildred<br /> +Borrowed Thoughts<br /> +Light and Shade<br /> +A Changeling<br /> +Discouraged<br /> +If Thou couldst know<br /> +The Warrior to his Dead Bride<br /> +A Letter<br /> +A Comforter<br /> +Unseen<br /> +A Remembrance of Autumn<br /> +Three Evenings in a Life<br /> +The Wind<br /> +Expectation<br /> +An Ideal<br /> +Our Dead<br /> +A Woman’s Answer<br /> +The Story of the Faithful Soul<br /> +A Contrast<br /> +The Bride’s Dream<br /> +The Angel’s Bidding<br /> +Spring<br /> +Evening Hymn<br /> +The Inner Chamber<br /> +Hearts<br /> +Two Loves<br /> +A Woman’s Last Word<br /> +Past and Present<br /> +For the Future</p> +<h2>VERSE: A LEGEND OF PROVENCE</h2> +<p>The lights extinguished, by the hearth I leant,<br /> +Half weary with a listless discontent.<br /> +The flickering giant-shadows, gathering near,<br /> +Closed round me with a dim and silent fear.<br /> +All dull, all dark; save when the leaping flame,<br /> +Glancing, lit up a Picture’s ancient frame.<br /> +Above the hearth it hung. Perhaps the night,<br /> +My foolish tremors, or the gleaming light,<br /> +Lent power to that Portrait dark and quaint—<br /> +A Portrait such as Rembrandt loved to paint—<br /> +The likeness of a Nun. I seemed to trace<br /> +A world of sorrow in the patient face,<br /> +In the thin hands folded across her breast—<br /> +Its own and the room’s shadow hid the rest.<br /> +I gazed and dreamed, and the dull embers stirred,<br /> +Till an old legend that I once had heard<br /> +Came back to me; linked to the mystic gloom<br /> +Of that dark Picture in the ghostly room.<br /> +In the far south, where clustering vines are hung;<br /> +Where first the old chivalric lays were sung,<br /> +Where earliest smiled that gracious child of France,<br /> +Angel and knight and fairy, called Romance,<br /> +I stood one day. The warm blue June was spread<br /> +Upon the earth; blue summer overhead,<br /> +Without a cloud to fleck its radiant glare,<br /> +Without a breath to stir its sultry air.<br /> +All still, all silent, save the sobbing rush<br /> +Of rippling waves, that lapsed in silver hush<br /> +Upon the beach; where, glittering towards the strand,<br /> +The purple Mediterranean kissed the land.</p> +<p>All still, all peaceful; when a convent chime<br /> +Broke on the mid-day silence for a time,<br /> +Then trembling into quiet, seemed to cease,<br /> +In deeper silence and more utter peace.<br /> +So as I turned to gaze, where gleaming white,<br /> +Half hid by shadowy trees from passers’ sight,<br /> +The Convent lay, one who had dwelt for long<br /> +In that fair home of ancient tale and song,<br /> +Who knew the story of each cave and hill,<br /> +And every haunting fancy lingering still<br /> +Within the land, spake thus to me, and told<br /> +The Convent’s treasured Legend, quaint and old:</p> +<p>Long years ago, a dense and flowering wood,<br /> +Still more concealed where the white convent stood,<br /> +Borne on its perfumed wings the title came:<br /> +“Our Lady of the Hawthorns” is its name.<br /> +Then did that bell, which still rings out to-day,<br /> +Bid all the country rise, or eat, or pray.<br /> +Before that convent shrine, the haughty knight<br /> +Passed the lone vigil of his perilous fight;<br /> +For humbler cottage strife or village brawl,<br /> +The Abbess listened, prayed, and settled all.<br /> +Young hearts that came, weighed down by love or wrong,<br /> +Left her kind presence comforted and strong.<br /> +Each passing pilgrim, and each beggar’s right<br /> +Was food, and rest, and shelter for the night.<br /> +But, more than this, the Nuns could well impart<br /> +The deepest mysteries of the healing art;<br /> +Their store of herbs and simples was renowned,<br /> +And held in wondering faith for miles around.<br /> +Thus strife, love, sorrow, good and evil fate,<br /> +Found help and blessing at the convent gate.</p> +<p>Of all the nuns, no heart was half so light,<br /> +No eyelids veiling glances half as bright,<br /> +No step that glided with such noiseless feet,<br /> +No face that looked so tender or so sweet,<br /> +No voice that rose in choir so pure, so clear,<br /> +No heart to all the others half so dear,<br /> +So surely touched by others’ pain or woe,<br /> +(Guessing the grief her young life could not know,)<br /> +No soul in childlike faith so undefiled,<br /> +As Sister Angela’s, the “Convent Child.”<br /> +For thus they loved to call her. She had known<br /> +No home, no love, no kindred, save their own.<br /> +An orphan, to their tender nursing given,<br /> +Child, plaything, pupil, now the Bride of Heaven.<br /> +And she it was who trimmed the lamp’s red light<br /> +That swung before the altar, day and night;<br /> +Her hands it was whose patient skill could trace<br /> +The finest broidery, weave the costliest lace;<br /> +But most of all, her first and dearest care,<br /> +The office she would never miss or share,<br /> +Was every day to weave fresh garlands sweet,<br /> +To place before the shrine at Mary’s feet.<br /> +Nature is bounteous in that region fair,<br /> +For even winter has her blossoms there.<br /> +Thus Angela loved to count each feast the best,<br /> +By telling with what flowers the shrine was dressed.<br /> +In pomp supreme the countless Roses passed,<br /> +Battalion on battalion thronging fast,<br /> +Each with a different banner, flaming bright,<br /> +Damask, or striped, or crimson, pink, or white,<br /> +Until they bowed before a newborn queen,<br /> +And the pure virgin Lily rose serene.<br /> +Though Angela always thought the Mother blest<br /> +Must love the time of her own hawthorn best,<br /> +Each evening through the year, with equal, care,<br /> +She placed her flowers; then kneeling down in prayer,<br /> +As their faint perfume rose before the shrine,<br /> +So rose her thoughts, as pure and as divine.<br /> +She knelt until the shades grew dim without,<br /> +Till one by one the altar lights shone out,<br /> +Till one by one the Nuns, like shadows dim,<br /> +Gathered around to chant their vesper hymn;<br /> +Her voice then led the music’s wingèd flight,<br /> +And “Ave, Maris Stella” filled the night.<br /> +But wherefore linger on those days of peace?<br /> +When storms draw near, then quiet hours must cease.<br /> +War, cruel war, defaced the land, and came<br /> +So near the convent with its breath of flame,<br /> +That, seeking shelter, frightened peasants fled,<br /> +Sobbing out tales of coming fear and dread,<br /> +Till after a fierce skirmish, down the road,<br /> +One night came straggling soldiers, with their load<br /> +Of wounded, dying comrades; and the band,<br /> +Half pleading yet as if they could command,<br /> +Summoned the trembling Sisters, craved their care,<br /> +Then rode away, and left the wounded there.<br /> +But soon compassion bade all fear depart.<br /> +And bidding every Sister do her part,<br /> +Some prepare simples, healing salves, or bands,<br /> +The Abbess chose the more experienced hands,<br /> +To dress the wounds needing most skilful care;<br /> +Yet even the youngest Novice took her share.<br /> +To Angela, who had but ready will<br /> +And tender pity, yet no special skill,<br /> +Was given the charge of a young foreign knight,<br /> +Whose wounds were painful, but whose danger slight.<br /> +Day after day she watched beside his bed,<br /> +And first in hushed repose the hours fled:<br /> +His feverish moans alone the silence stirred,<br /> +Or her soft voice, uttering some pious word.<br /> +At last the fever left him; day by day<br /> +The hours, no longer silent, passed away.<br /> +What could she speak of? First, to still his plaints,<br /> +She told him legends of the martyred Saints;<br /> +Described the pangs, which, through God’s plenteous grace,<br /> +Had gained their souls so high and bright a place.<br /> +This pious artifice soon found success—<br /> +Or so she fancied—for he murmured less.<br /> +So she described the glorious pomp sublime,<br /> +In which the chapel shone at Easter time,<br /> +The Banners, Vestments, gold, and colours bright,<br /> +Counted how many tapers gave their light;<br /> +Then, in minute detail went on to say,<br /> +How the High Altar looked on Christmas-day:<br /> +The kings and shepherds, all in green and red,<br /> +And a bright star of jewels overhead.<br /> +Then told the sign by which they all had seen,<br /> +How even nature loved to greet her Queen,<br /> +For, when Our Lady’s last procession went<br /> +Down the long garden, every head was bent,<br /> +And, rosary in hand, each Sister prayed;<br /> +As the long floating banners were displayed,<br /> +They struck the hawthorn boughs, and showers and showers<br /> +Of buds and blossoms strewed her way with flowers.<br /> +The Knight unwearied listened; till at last,<br /> +He too described the glories of his past;<br /> +Tourney, and joust, and pageant bright and fair,<br /> +And all the lovely ladies who were there.<br /> +But half incredulous she heard. Could this—<br /> +This be the world? this place of love and bliss!<br /> +Where then was hid the strange and hideous charm,<br /> +That never failed to bring the gazer harm?<br /> +She crossed herself, yet asked, and listened still,<br /> +And still the knight described with all his skill<br /> +The glorious world of joy, all joys above,<br /> +Transfigured in the golden mist of love.<br /> +Spread, spread your wings, ye angel guardians bright,<br /> +And shield these dazzling phantoms from her sight!<br /> +But no; days passed, matins and vespers rang,<br /> +And still the quiet Nuns toiled, prayed, and sang,<br /> +And never guessed the fatal, coiling net<br /> +Which every day drew near, and nearer yet,<br /> +Around their darling; for she went and came<br /> +About her duties, outwardly the same.<br /> +The same? ah, no! even when she knelt to pray,<br /> +Some charmèd dream kept all her heart away.<br /> +So days went on, until the convent gate<br /> +Opened one night. Who durst go forth so late?<br /> +Across the moonlit grass, with stealthy tread,<br /> +Two silent, shrouded figures passed and fled.<br /> +And all was silent, save the moaning seas,<br /> +That sobbed and pleaded, and a wailing breeze<br /> +That sighed among the perfumed hawthorn trees.</p> +<p>What need to tell that dream so bright and brief,<br /> +Of joy unchequered by a dread of grief?<br /> +What need to tell how all such dreams must fade,<br /> +Before the slow, foreboding, dreaded shade,<br /> +That floated nearer, until pomp and pride,<br /> +Pleasure and wealth, were summoned to her side.<br /> +To bid, at least, the noisy hours forget,<br /> +And clamour down the whispers of regret.<br /> +Still Angela strove to dream, and strove in vain;<br /> +Awakened once, she could not sleep again.<br /> +She saw, each day and hour, more worthless grown<br /> +The heart for which she cast away her own;<br /> +And her soul learnt, through bitterest inward strife,<br /> +The slight, frail love for which she wrecked her life,<br /> +The phantom for which all her hope was given,<br /> +The cold bleak earth for which she bartered heaven!<br /> +But all in vain; would even the tenderest heart<br /> +Now stoop to take so poor an outcast’s part?</p> +<p>Years fled, and she grew reckless more and more,<br /> +Until the humblest peasant closed his door,<br /> +And where she passed, fair dames, in scorn and pride,<br /> +Shuddered, and drew their rustling robes aside.<br /> +At last a yearning seemed to fill her soul,<br /> +A longing that was stronger than control:<br /> +Once more, just once again, to see the place<br /> +That knew her young and innocent; to retrace<br /> +The long and weary southern path; to gaze<br /> +Upon the haven of her childish days;<br /> +Once more beneath the convent roof to lie;<br /> +Once more to look upon her home—and die!<br /> +Weary and worn—her comrades, chill remorse<br /> +And black despair, yet a strange silent force<br /> +Within her heart, that drew her more and more—<br /> +Onward she crawled, and begged from door to door.<br /> +Weighed down with weary days, her failing strength<br /> +Grew less each hour, till one day’s dawn at length,<br /> +As first its rays flooded the world with light,<br /> +Showed the broad waters, glittering blue and bright,<br /> +And where, amid the leafy hawthorn wood,<br /> +Just as of old the quiet cloister stood.<br /> +Would any know her? Nay, no fear. Her face<br /> +Had lost all trace of youth, of joy, of grace,<br /> +Of the pure happy soul they used to know—<br /> +The novice Angela—so long ago.<br /> +She rang the convent bell. The well-known sound<br /> +Smote on her heart, and bowed her to the ground,<br /> +And she, who had not wept for long dry years,<br /> +Felt the strange rush of unaccustomed tears;<br /> +Terror and anguish seemed to check her breath,<br /> +And stop her heart. Oh God! could this be death?<br /> +Crouching against the iron gate, she laid<br /> +Her weary head against the bars, and prayed:<br /> +But nearer footsteps drew, then seemed to wait:<br /> +And then she heard the opening of the grate,<br /> +And saw the withered face, on which awoke<br /> +Pity and sorrow, as the portress spoke,<br /> +And asked the stranger’s bidding: “Take me in,”<br /> +She faltered, “Sister Monica, from sin,<br /> +And sorrow, and despair, that will not cease;<br /> +Oh, take me in, and let me die in peace!”<br /> +With soothing words the Sister bade her wait,<br /> +Until she brought the key to unbar the gate.<br /> +The beggar tried to thank her as she lay,<br /> +And heard the echoing footsteps die away.<br /> +But what soft voice was that which sounded near,<br /> +And stirred strange trouble in her heart to hear?<br /> +She raised her head; she saw—she seemed to know—<br /> +A face that came from long, long years ago:<br /> +Herself; yet not as when she fled away,<br /> +The young and blooming novice, fair and gay,<br /> +But a grave woman, gentle and serene:<br /> +The outcast knew it—<i>what she might have been</i>.<br /> +But, as she gazed and gazed, a radiance bright<br /> +Filled all the place with strange and sudden light;<br /> +The Nun was there no longer, but instead,<br /> +A figure with a circle round its head,<br /> +A ring of glory; and a face, so meek,<br /> +So soft, so tender . . . Angela strove to speak,<br /> +And stretched her hands out, crying, “Mary mild,<br /> +Mother of mercy, help me!—help your child!”<br /> +And Mary answered, “From thy bitter past,<br /> +Welcome, my child! oh, welcome home at last!<br /> +I filled thy place. Thy flight is known to none,<br /> +For all thy daily duties I have done;<br /> +Gathered thy flowers, and prayed, and sung, and slept;<br /> +Didst thou not know, poor child, <i>thy place was kept</i>?<br /> +Kind hearts are here; yet would the tenderest one<br /> +Have limits to its mercy: God has none.<br /> +And man’s forgiveness may be true and sweet,<br /> +But yet he stoops to give it. More complete<br /> +Is Love that lays forgiveness at thy feet,<br /> +And pleads with thee to raise it. Only Heaven<br /> +Means <i>crowned</i>, not <i>vanquished</i>, when it says ‘Forgiven!’”<br /> +Back hurried Sister Monica; but where<br /> +Was the poor beggar she left lying there?<br /> +Gone; and she searched in vain, and sought the place<br /> +For that wan woman with the piteous face:<br /> +But only Angela at the gateway stood,<br /> +Laden with hawthorn blossoms from the wood.<br /> +And never did a day pass by again,<br /> +But the old portress, with a sigh of pain,<br /> +Would sorrow for her loitering: with a prayer<br /> +That the poor beggar, in her wild despair,<br /> +Might not have come to any ill; and when<br /> +She ended, “God forgive her!” humbly then<br /> +Did Angela bow her head, and say “Amen!”<br /> +How pitiful her heart was! all could trace<br /> +Something that dimmed the brightness of her face<br /> +After that day, which none had seen before;<br /> +Not trouble—but a shadow—nothing more.</p> +<p>Years passed away. Then, one dark day of dread<br /> +Saw all the sisters kneeling round a bed,<br /> +Where Angela lay dying; every breath<br /> +Struggling beneath the heavy hand of death.<br /> +But suddenly a flush lit up her cheek,<br /> +She raised her wan right hand, and strove to speak.<br /> +In sorrowing love they listened; not a sound<br /> +Or sigh disturbed the utter silence round.<br /> +The very tapers’ flames were scarcely stirred,<br /> +In such hushed awe the sisters knelt and heard.<br /> +And through that silence Angela told her life:<br /> +Her sin, her flight; the sorrow and the strife,<br /> +And the return; and then clear, low and calm,<br /> +“Praise God for me, my sisters;” and the psalm<br /> +Rang up to heaven, far and clear and wide,<br /> +Again and yet again, then sank and died;<br /> +While her white face had such a smile of peace,<br /> +They saw she never heard the music cease;<br /> +And weeping sisters laid her in her tomb,<br /> +Crowned with a wreath of perfumed hawthorn bloom.</p> +<p>And thus the Legend ended. It may be<br /> +Something is hidden in the mystery,<br /> +Besides the lesson of God’s pardon shown,<br /> +Never enough believed, or asked, or known.<br /> +Have we not all, amid life’s petty strife,<br /> +Some pure ideal of a noble life<br /> +That once seemed possible? Did we not hear<br /> +The flutter of its wings, and feel it near,<br /> +And just within our reach? It was. And yet<br /> +We lost it in this daily jar and fret,<br /> +And now live idle in a vague regret.<br /> +But still <i>our place is kept</i>, and it will wait,<br /> +Ready for us to fill it, soon or late:<br /> +No star is ever lost we once have seen,<br /> +We always may be what we might have been.<br /> +Since Good, though only thought, has life and breath,<br /> +God’s life—can always be redeemed from death;<br /> +And evil, in its nature, is decay,<br /> +And any hour can blot it all away;<br /> +The hopes that lost in some far distance seem,<br /> +May be the truer life, and this the dream.</p> +<h2>VERSE: ENVY</h2> +<p>He was the first always: Fortune<br /> +Shone bright in his face.<br /> +I fought for years; with no effort<br /> +He conquered the place:<br /> +We ran; my feet were all bleeding,<br /> +But he won the race.</p> +<p>Spite of his many successes<br /> +Men loved him the same;<br /> +My one pale ray of good fortune<br /> +Met scoffing and blame.<br /> +When we erred, they gave him pity,<br /> +But me—only shame.</p> +<p>My home was still in the shadow,<br /> +His lay in the sun:<br /> +I longed in vain: what he asked for<br /> +It straightway was done.<br /> +Once I staked all my heart’s treasure,<br /> +We played—and he won.</p> +<p>Yes; and just now I have seen him,<br /> +Cold, smiling, and blest,<br /> +Laid in his coffin. God help me!<br /> +While he is at rest,<br /> +I am cursed still to live:- even<br /> +Death loved him the best.</p> +<h2>VERSE: OVER THE MOUNTAIN</h2> +<p>Like dreary prison walls<br /> +The stern grey mountains rise,<br /> +Until their topmost crags<br /> +Touch the far gloomy skies:<br /> +One steep and narrow path<br /> +Winds up the mountain’s crest,<br /> +And from our valley leads<br /> +Out to the golden West.</p> +<p>I dwell here in content,<br /> +Thankful for tranquil days;<br /> +And yet, my eyes grow dim,<br /> +As still I gaze and gaze<br /> +Upon that mountain pass,<br /> +That leads—or so it seems—<br /> +To some far happy land,<br /> +Known in a world of dreams.</p> +<p>And as I watch that path<br /> +Over the distant hill,<br /> +A foolish longing comes<br /> +My heart and soul to fill,<br /> +A painful, strange desire<br /> +To break some weary bond,<br /> +A vague unuttered wish<br /> +For what might lie beyond!</p> +<p>In that far world unknown,<br /> +Over that distant hill,<br /> +May dwell the loved and lost,<br /> +Lost—yet belovèd still;<br /> +I have a yearning hope,<br /> +Half longing, and half pain,<br /> +That by that mountain pass<br /> +They may return again.</p> +<p>Space may keep friends apart,<br /> +Death has a mighty thrall;<br /> +There is another gulf<br /> +Harder to cross than all;<br /> +Yet watching that far road,<br /> +My heart beats full and fast—<br /> +If they should come once more,<br /> +If they should come at last!</p> +<p>See, down the mountain side<br /> +The silver vapours creep;<br /> +They hide the rocky cliffs.<br /> +They hide the craggy steep,<br /> +They hide the narrow path<br /> +That comes across the hill—<br /> +Oh, foolish longing, cease,<br /> +Oh, beating Heart, be still!</p> +<h2>VERSE: BEYOND</h2> +<p>We must not doubt, or fear, or dread, that love for life is only +given,<br /> +And that the calm and sainted dead will meet estranged and cold in heaven:-<br /> +Oh, Love were poor and vain indeed, based on so harsh and stern a creed.</p> +<p>True that this earth must pass away, with all the starry worlds of +light,<br /> +With all the glory of the day, and calmer tenderness of night;<br /> +For, in that radiant home can shine alone the immortal and divine.</p> +<p>Earth’s lower things—her pride, her fame, her science, +learning, wealth and power—<br /> +Slow growths that through long ages came, or fruits of some convulsive +hour,<br /> +Whose very memory must decay—Heaven is too pure for such as they.</p> +<p>They are complete: their work is done. So let them sleep in +endless rest.<br /> +Love’s life is only here begun, nor is, nor can be, fully blest;<br /> +It has no room to spread its wings, amid this crowd of meaner things.</p> +<p>Just for the very shadow thrown upon its sweetness here below,<br /> +The cross that it must bear alone, and bloody baptism of woe,<br /> +Crowned and completed through its pain, we know that it shall rise again.</p> +<p>So if its flame burn pure and bright, here, where our air is dark +and dense,<br /> +And nothing in this world of night lives with a living so intense;<br /> +When it shall reach its home at length—how bright its light! how +strong its strength!</p> +<p>And while the vain weak loves of earth (for such base counterfeits +abound)<br /> +Shall perish with what gave them birth—their graves are green +and fresh around,<br /> +No funeral song shall need to rise, for the true Love that never dies.</p> +<p>If in my heart I now could fear that, risen again, we should not +know<br /> +What was our Life of Life when here—the hearts we loved so much +below;<br /> +I would arise this very day, and cast so poor a thing away.</p> +<p>But Love is no such soulless clod: living, perfected it shall rise<br /> +Transfigured in the light of God, and giving glory to the skies:<br /> +And that which makes this life so sweet, shall render Heaven’s +joy complete.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A WARNING</h2> +<p>Place your hands in mine, dear,<br /> +With their rose-leaf touch:<br /> +If you heed my warning,<br /> +It will spare you much.</p> +<p>Ah! with just such smiling<br /> +Unbelieving eyes,<br /> +Years ago I heard it:-<br /> +You shall be more wise.</p> +<p>You have one great treasure<br /> +Joy for all your life;<br /> +Do not let it perish<br /> +In one reckless strife.</p> +<p>Do not venture all, child,<br /> +In one frail, weak heart;<br /> +So, through any shipwreck,<br /> +You may save a part.</p> +<p>Where your soul is tempted<br /> +Most to trust your fate,<br /> +There, with double caution,<br /> +Linger, fear, and wait.</p> +<p>Measure all you give—still<br /> +Counting what you take;<br /> +Love for love: so placing<br /> +Each an equal stake.</p> +<p>Treasure love; though ready<br /> +Still to live without.<br /> +In your fondest trust, keep<br /> +Just one thread of doubt.</p> +<p>Build on no to-morrow;<br /> +Love has but to-day:<br /> +If the links seem slackening,<br /> +Cut the bond away.</p> +<p>Trust no prayer nor promise;<br /> +Words are grains of sand;<br /> +To keep your heart unbroken,<br /> +Hold it in your hand.</p> +<p>That your love may finish<br /> +Calm as it begun,<br /> +Learn this lesson better,<br /> +Dear, than I have done.</p> +<p>Years hence, perhaps, this warning<br /> +You shall give again,<br /> +In just the self-same words, dear,<br /> +And—just as much—in vain.</p> +<h2>VERSE: MAXIMUS</h2> +<p>Many, if God should make them kings,<br /> +Might not disgrace the throne He gave;<br /> +How few who could as well fulfil<br /> +The holier office of a slave.</p> +<p>I hold him great who, for Love’s sake<br /> +Can give, with generous, earnest will,—<br /> +Yet he who takes for Love’s sweet sake,<br /> +I think I hold more generous still.</p> +<p>I prize the instinct that can turn<br /> +From vain pretence with proud disdain;<br /> +Yet more I prize a simple heart;<br /> +Paying credulity with pain.</p> +<p>I bow before the noble mind<br /> +That freely some great wrong forgives;<br /> +Yet nobler is the one forgiven,<br /> +Who bears that burden well, and lives.</p> +<p>It may be hard to gain, and still<br /> +To keep a lowly steadfast heart<br /> +Yet he who loses has to fill<br /> +A harder and a truer part.</p> +<p>Glorious it is to wear the crown<br /> +Of a deserved and pure success;—<br /> +He who knows how to fail has won<br /> +A Crown whose lustre is not less.</p> +<p>Great may he be who can command<br /> +And rule with just and tender sway;<br /> +Yet is diviner wisdom taught<br /> +Better by him who can obey.</p> +<p>Blessèd are those who die for God,<br /> +And earn the Martyr’s crown of light—<br /> +Yet he who lives for God may be<br /> +A greater Conqueror in His sight.</p> +<h2>VERSE: OPTIMUS</h2> +<p>There is a deep and subtle snare<br /> +Whose sure temptation hardly fails,<br /> +Which, just because it looks so fair,<br /> +Only a noble heart assails.</p> +<p>So all the more we need be strong<br /> +Against this false and seeming Right;<br /> +Which none the less is deadly wrong,<br /> +Because it glitters clothed in light.</p> +<p>When duties unfulfilled remain,<br /> +Or noble works are left unplanned,<br /> +Or when great deeds cry out in vain<br /> +On coward heart and trembling hand,—</p> +<p>Then will a seeming Angel speak:—<br /> +“The hours are fleeting—great the need—<br /> +If thou art strong and others weak,<br /> +Thine be the effort and the deed.</p> +<p>“Deaf are their ears who ought to hear;<br /> +Idle their hands, and dull their soul;<br /> +While sloth, or ignorance, or fear,<br /> +Fetters them with a blind control.</p> +<p>“Sort thou the tangled web aright;<br /> +Take thou the toil—take thou the pain:<br /> +For fear the hour begin its flight,<br /> +While Right and Duty plead in vain.”</p> +<p>And now it is I bid thee pause,<br /> +Nor let this Tempter bend thy will:<br /> +There are diviner, truer laws<br /> +That teach a nobler lesson still.</p> +<p>Learn that each duty makes its claim<br /> +Upon one soul: not each on all.<br /> +How, if God speaks thy Brother’s name,<br /> +Dare thou make answer to the call?</p> +<p>The greater peril in the strife,<br /> +The less this evil should be done;<br /> +For as in battle, so in life,<br /> +Danger and honour still are one.</p> +<p>Arouse him then:- this is thy part:<br /> +Show him the claim; point out the need;<br /> +And nerve his arm, and cheer his heart;<br /> +Then stand aside, and say “God speed!”</p> +<p>Smooth thou his path ere it is trod;<br /> +Burnish the arms that he must wield;<br /> +And pray, with all thy strength, that God<br /> +May crown him Victor of the field.</p> +<p>And then, I think, thy soul shall feel<br /> +A nobler thrill of true content,<br /> +Than if presumptuous, eager zeal<br /> +Had seized a crown for others meant.</p> +<p>And even that very deed shall shine<br /> +In mystic sense, divine and true,<br /> +More wholly and more purely thine—<br /> +Because it is another’s too.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A LOST CHORD</h2> +<p>Seated one day at the Organ,<br /> +I was weary and ill at ease,<br /> +And my fingers wandered idly<br /> +Over the noisy keys.</p> +<p>I do not know what I was playing,<br /> +Or what I was dreaming then;<br /> +But I struck one chord of music,<br /> +Like the sound of a great Amen.</p> +<p>It flooded the crimson twilight<br /> +Like the close of an Angel’s Psalm,<br /> +And it lay on my fevered spirit<br /> +With a touch of infinite calm.</p> +<p>It quieted pain and sorrow,<br /> +Like love overcoming strife;<br /> +It seemed the harmonious echo<br /> +From our discordant life.</p> +<p>It linked all perplexèd meanings<br /> +Into one perfect peace,<br /> +And trembled away into silence<br /> +As if it were loth to cease.</p> +<p>I have sought, but I seek it vainly,<br /> +That one lost chord divine,<br /> +Which came from the soul of the Organ,<br /> +And entered into mine.</p> +<p>It may be that Death’s bright angel<br /> +Will speak in that chord again,—<br /> +It may be that only in Heaven<br /> +I shall hear that grand Amen.</p> +<h2>VERSE: TOO LATE</h2> +<p>Hush! speak low; tread softly;<br /> +Draw the sheet aside;—<br /> +Yes, she does look peaceful;<br /> +With that smile she died.</p> +<p>Yet stern want and sorrow<br /> +Even now you trace<br /> +On the wan, worn features<br /> +Of the still white face.</p> +<p>Restless, helpless, hopeless,<br /> +Was her bitter part;—<br /> +Now—how still the Violets<br /> +Lie upon her Heart!</p> +<p>She who toiled and laboured<br /> +For her daily bread;<br /> +See the velvet hangings<br /> +Of this stately bed.</p> +<p>Yes, they did forgive her;<br /> +Brought her home at last;<br /> +Strove to cover over<br /> +Their relentless past.</p> +<p>Ah, they would have given<br /> +Wealth, and home, and pride,<br /> +To see her just look happy<br /> +Once before she died!</p> +<p>They strove hard to please her,<br /> +But, when death is near<br /> +All you know is deadened,<br /> +Hope, and joy, and fear.</p> +<p>And besides, one sorrow<br /> +Deeper still—one pain<br /> +Was beyond them: healing<br /> +Came to-day—in vain!</p> +<p>If she had but lingered<br /> +Just a few hours more;<br /> +Or had this letter reached her<br /> +Just one day before!</p> +<p>I can almost pity<br /> +Even him to-day;<br /> +Though he let this anguish<br /> +Eat her heart away.</p> +<p>Yet she never blamed him:-<br /> +One day you shall know<br /> +How this sorrow happened;<br /> +It was long ago.</p> +<p>I have read the letter:<br /> +Many a weary year,<br /> +For one word she hungered—<br /> +There are thousands here.</p> +<p>If she could but hear it,<br /> +Could but understand;<br /> +See—I put the letter<br /> +In her cold white hand.</p> +<p>Even these words, so longed for,<br /> +Do not stir her rest;<br /> +Well—I should not murmur,<br /> +For God judges best.</p> +<p>She needs no more pity,—<br /> +But I mourn his fate,<br /> +When he hears his letter<br /> +Came a day too late.</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE REQUITAL</h2> +<p>Loud roared the Tempest,<br /> +Fast fell the sleet;<br /> +A little Child Angel<br /> +Passed down the street,<br /> +With trailing pinions,<br /> +And weary feet.</p> +<p>The moon was hidden;<br /> +No stars were bright;<br /> +So she could not shelter<br /> +In heaven that night,<br /> +For the Angels’ ladders<br /> +Are rays of light.</p> +<p>She beat her wings<br /> +At each window pane,<br /> +And pleaded for shelter,<br /> +But all in vain:—<br /> +“Listen,” they said,<br /> +“To the pelting rain!”</p> +<p>She sobbed, as the laughter<br /> +And mirth grew higher,<br /> +“Give me rest and shelter<br /> +Beside your fire,<br /> +And I will give you<br /> +Your heart’s desire.”</p> +<p>The dreamer sat watching<br /> +His embers gleam,<br /> +While his heart was floating<br /> +Down hope’s bright stream;<br /> +. . . So he wove her wailing<br /> +Into his dream.</p> +<p>The worker toiled on,<br /> +For his time was brief;<br /> +The mourner was nursing<br /> +Her own pale grief:<br /> +They heard not the promise<br /> +That brought relief.</p> +<p>But fiercer the Tempest<br /> +Rose than before,<br /> +When the Angel paused<br /> +At a humble door,<br /> +And asked for shelter<br /> +And help once more.</p> +<p>A weary woman,<br /> +Pale, worn, and thin,<br /> +With the brand upon her<br /> +Of want and sin,<br /> +Heard the Child Angel<br /> +And took her in.</p> +<p>Took her in gently,<br /> +And did her best<br /> +To dry her pinions;<br /> +And made her rest<br /> +With tender pity<br /> +Upon her breast.</p> +<p>When the eastern morning<br /> +Grew bright and red,<br /> +Up the first sunbeam<br /> +The Angel fled;<br /> +Having kissed the woman<br /> +And left her—dead.</p> +<h2>VERSE: RETURNED—“MISSING” (FIVE YEARS AFTER)</h2> +<p>Yes, I was sad and anxious,<br /> +But now, dear, I am gay;<br /> +I know that it is wisest<br /> +To put all hope away:-<br /> +Thank God that I have done so<br /> +And can be calm to-day.</p> +<p>For hope deferred—you know it,<br /> +Once made my heart so sick:<br /> +Now, I expect no longer;<br /> +It is but the old trick<br /> +Of hope, that makes me tremble,<br /> +And makes my heart beat quick.</p> +<p>All day I sit here calmly;<br /> +Not as I did before,<br /> +Watching for one whose footstep<br /> +Comes never, never more . . .<br /> +Hush! was that someone passing,<br /> +Who paused beside the door?</p> +<p>For years I hung on chances,<br /> +Longing for just one word;<br /> +At last I feel it:- silence<br /> +Will never more be stirred . . .<br /> +Tell me once more that rumour,<br /> +You fancied you had heard.</p> +<p>Life has more things to dwell on<br /> +Than just one useless pain,<br /> +Useless and past for ever;<br /> +But noble things remain,<br /> +And wait us all: . . . you too, dear,<br /> +Do you think hope quite vain?</p> +<p>All others have forgotten,<br /> +’Tis right I should forget,<br /> +Nor live on a keen longing<br /> +Which shadows forth regret: . . .<br /> +Are not the letters coming?<br /> +The sun is almost set.</p> +<p>Now that my restless legion<br /> +Of hopes and fears is fled,<br /> +Reading is joy and comfort . . .<br /> +. . . This very day I read,<br /> +Oh, such a strange returning<br /> +Of one whom all thought dead!</p> +<p>Not that <i>I</i> dream or fancy,<br /> +You know all that is past;<br /> +Earth has no hope to give me,<br /> +And yet:- Time flies so fast<br /> +That all but the impossible<br /> +Might be brought back at last.</p> +<h2>VERSE: IN THE WOOD</h2> +<p>In the wood where shadows are deepest<br /> +From the branches overhead,<br /> +Where the wild wood-strawberries cluster<br /> +And the softest moss is spread,<br /> +I met to-day with a fairy,<br /> +And I followed her where she led.</p> +<p>Some magical words she uttered,<br /> +I alone could understand,<br /> +For the sky grew bluer and brighter;<br /> +While there rose on either hand<br /> +The cloudy walls of a palace<br /> +That was built in Fairy-land.</p> +<p>And I stood in a strange enchantment;<br /> +I had known it all before:<br /> +In my heart of hearts was the magic<br /> +Of days that will come no more,<br /> +The manic of joy departed,<br /> +That Time can never restore.</p> +<p>That never, ah, never, never,<br /> +Never again can be:-<br /> +Shall I tell you what powerful fairy<br /> +Built up this palace for me?<br /> +It was only a little white Violet<br /> +I found at the root of a tree.</p> +<h2>VERSE: TWO WORLDS</h2> +<p>God’s world is bathed in beauty,<br /> +God’s world is steeped in light;<br /> +It is the self-same glory<br /> +That makes the day so bright,<br /> +Which thrills the earth with music,<br /> +Or hangs the stars in night.</p> +<p>Hid in earth’s mines of silver,<br /> +Floating on clouds above,—<br /> +Ringing in Autumn’s tempest,<br /> +Murmured by every dove;<br /> +One thought fills God’s creation—<br /> +His own great name of Love!</p> +<p>In God’s world Strength is lovely,<br /> +And so is Beauty strong,<br /> +And Light—God’s glorious shadow—<br /> +To both great gifts belong;<br /> +And they all melt into sweetness,<br /> +And fill the earth with Song.</p> +<p>Above God’s world bends Heaven,<br /> +With day’s kiss pure and bright,<br /> +Or folds her still more fondly<br /> +In the tender shade of night;<br /> +And she casts back Heaven’s sweetness,<br /> +In fragrant love and light.</p> +<p>God’s world has one great echo;<br /> +Whether calm blue mists are curled,<br /> +Or lingering dew-drops quiver,<br /> +Or red storms are unfurled;<br /> +The same deep love is throbbing<br /> +Through the great heart of God’s world.</p> +<p>Man’s world is black and blighted,<br /> +Steeped through with self and sin;<br /> +And should his feeble purpose<br /> +Some feeble good begin,<br /> +The work is marred and tainted<br /> +By Leprosy within.</p> +<p>Man’s world is bleak and bitter;<br /> +Wherever he has trod<br /> +He spoils the tender beauty<br /> +That blossoms on the sod,<br /> +And blasts the loving Heaven<br /> +Of the great, good world of God.</p> +<p>There Strength on coward weakness<br /> +In cruel might will roll;<br /> +Beauty and Joy are cankers<br /> +That eat away the soul;<br /> +And Love—Oh God, avenge it—<br /> +The plague-spot of the whole.</p> +<p>Man’s world is Pain and Terror;<br /> +He found it pure and fair,<br /> +And wove in nets of sorrow<br /> +The golden summer air.<br /> +Black, hideous, cold, and dreary,<br /> +Man’s curse, not God’s, is there.</p> +<p>And yet God’s world is speaking:<br /> +Man will not hear it call;<br /> +But listens where the echoes<br /> +Of his own discords fall,<br /> +Then clamours back to Heaven<br /> +That God has done it all.</p> +<p>Oh God, man’s heart is darkened,<br /> +He will not understand!<br /> +Show him Thy cloud and fire;<br /> +And, with Thine own right hand<br /> +Then lead him through his desert,<br /> +Back to Thy Holy Land!</p> +<h2>VERSE: A NEW MOTHER</h2> +<p>I was with my lady when she died:<br /> +I it was who guided her weak hand<br /> +For a blessing on each little head,<br /> +Laid her baby by her on the bed,<br /> +Heard the words they could not understand.</p> +<p>And I drew them round my knee that night,<br /> +Hushed their childish glee, and made them say<br /> +They would keep her words with loving tears,<br /> +They would not forget her dying fears<br /> +Lest the thought of her should fade away.</p> +<p>I, who guessed what her last dread had been,<br /> +Made a promise to that still, cold face,<br /> +That her children’s hearts, at any cost,<br /> +Should be with the mother they had lost,<br /> +When a stranger came to take her place.</p> +<p>And I knew so much! for I had lived<br /> +With my lady since her childhood: known<br /> +What her young and happy days had been,<br /> +And the grief no other eyes had seen<br /> +I had watched and sorrowed for alone.</p> +<p>Ah! she once had such a happy smile!<br /> +I had known how sorely she was tried:<br /> +Six short years before, her eyes were bright<br /> +As her little blue-eyed May’s that night,<br /> +When she stood by her dead mother’s side.</p> +<p>No—I will not say he was unkind;<br /> +But she had been used to love and praise.<br /> +He was somewhat grave—perhaps, in truth,<br /> +Could not weave her joyous, smiling youth,<br /> +Into all his stern and serious ways.</p> +<p>She, who should have reigned a blooming flower,<br /> +First in pride and honour, as in grace,—<br /> +She, whose will had once ruled all around,<br /> +Queen and darling of us all—she found<br /> +Change indeed in that cold, stately place.</p> +<p>Yet she would not blame him, even to me,<br /> +Though she often sat and wept alone;<br /> +But she could not hide it near her death,<br /> +When she said with her last struggling breath,<br /> +“Let my babies still remain my own!”</p> +<p>I it was who drew the sheet aside,<br /> +When he saw his dead wife’s face. That test<br /> +Seemed to strike right to his heart. He said,<br /> +In a strange, low whisper, to the dead,<br /> +“God knows, love, I did it for the best!”</p> +<p>And he wept—Oh yes, I will be just—<br /> +When I brought the children to him there—<br /> +Wondering sorrow in their baby eyes;<br /> +And he soothed them with his fond replies,<br /> +Bidding me give double love and care.</p> +<p>Ah, I loved them well for her dear sake:<br /> +Little Arthur, with his serious air;<br /> +May, with all her mother’s pretty ways,<br /> +Blushing, and at any word of praise<br /> +Shaking out her sunny golden hair.</p> +<p>And the little one of all—poor child!<br /> +She had cost that dear and precious life.<br /> +Once Sir Arthur spoke my lady’s name,<br /> +When the baby’s gloomy christening came,<br /> +And he called her “Olga—like my wife!”</p> +<p>Save that time, he never spoke of her;<br /> +He grew graver, sterner, every day;<br /> +And the children felt it, for they dropped<br /> +Low their voices, and their laughter stopped<br /> +While he stood and watched them at their play.</p> +<p>No, he never named their mother’s name.<br /> +But I told them of her: told them all<br /> +She had been; so gentle, good, and bright;<br /> +And I always took them every night<br /> +Where her picture hung in the great hall.</p> +<p>There she stood: white daisies in her hand,<br /> +And her red lips parted as to speak<br /> +With a smile; the blue and sunny air<br /> +Seemed to stir her floating golden hair,<br /> +And to bring a faint blush on her cheek.</p> +<p>Well, so time passed on; a year was gone,<br /> +And Sir Arthur had been much away.<br /> +Then the news came! I shed many tears<br /> +When I saw the truth of all my fears<br /> +Rise before me on that bitter day.</p> +<p>Any one but her I could have borne!<br /> +But my lady loved her as her friend.<br /> +Through their childhood and their early youth,<br /> +How she used to count upon the truth<br /> +Of this friendship that would never end!</p> +<p>Older, graver than my lady was,<br /> +Whose young, gentle heart on her relied,<br /> +She would give advice, and praise, and blame,<br /> +And my lady leant on Margaret’s name,<br /> +As her dearest comfort, help, and guide.</p> +<p>I had never liked her, and I think<br /> +That my lady grew to doubt her too,<br /> +Since her marriage; for she named her less,<br /> +Never saw her, and I used to guess<br /> +At some secret wrong I never knew.</p> +<p>That might be or not. But now, to hear<br /> +She would come and reign here in her stead,<br /> +With the pomp and splendour of a bride:<br /> +Would no thought reproach her in her pride<br /> +With the silent memory of the dead?</p> +<p>So, the day came, and the bells rang out,<br /> +And I laid the children’s black aside;<br /> +And I held each little trembling hand,<br /> +As I strove to make them understand<br /> +They must greet their father’s new-made bride.</p> +<p>Ah, Sir Arthur might look grave and stern,<br /> +And his lady’s eyes might well grow dim,<br /> +When the children shrank in fear away,—<br /> +Little Arthur hid his face, and May<br /> +Would not raise her eyes, or speak to him.</p> +<p>When Sir Arthur bade them greet their “mother,”<br /> +I was forced to chide, yet proud to hear<br /> +How my little loving May replied,<br /> +With her mother’s pretty air of pride,—<br /> +“Our dear mother has been dead a year!”</p> +<p>Ah, the lady’s tears might well fall fast,<br /> +As she kissed them, and then turned away.<br /> +She might strive to smile or to forget,<br /> +But I think some shadow of regret<br /> +Must have risen to blight her wedding-day.</p> +<p>She had some strange touch of self-reproach;<br /> +For she used to linger day by day,<br /> +By the nursery door, or garden gate,<br /> +With a sad, calm, wistful look, and wait<br /> +Watching the three children at their play.</p> +<p>But they always shrank away from her<br /> +When she strove to comfort their alarms,<br /> +And their grave, cold silence to beguile:<br /> +Even little Olga’s baby-smile<br /> +Quivered into tears when in her arms.</p> +<p>I could never chide them: for I saw<br /> +How their mother’s memory grew more deep<br /> +In their hearts. Each night I had to tell<br /> +Stories of her whom I loved so well<br /> +When a child, to send them off to sleep.</p> +<p>But Sir Arthur—Oh, this was too hard!—<br /> +He, who had been always stern and sad<br /> +In my lady’s time, seemed to rejoice<br /> +Each day more; and I could hear his voice<br /> +Even, sounding younger and more glad.</p> +<p>He might perhaps have blamed them, but his wife<br /> +Never failed to take the children’s part:<br /> +She would stay him with her pleading tone,<br /> +Saying she would strive, and strive alone,<br /> +Till she gained each little wayward heart.</p> +<p>And she strove indeed, and seemed to be<br /> +Always waiting for their love, in vain;<br /> +Yet, when May had most her mother’s look,<br /> +Then the lady’s calm, cold accents shook<br /> +With some memory of reproachful pain.</p> +<p>Little May would never call her Mother:<br /> +So, one day, the lady, bending low,<br /> +Kissed her golden curls, and softly said,<br /> +“Sweet one, call me Margaret, instead,—<br /> +Your dear mother used to call me so.”</p> +<p>She was gentle, kind, and patient too,<br /> +Yet in vain: the children held apart.<br /> +Ah, their mother’s gentle memory dwelt<br /> +Near them, and her little orphans felt<br /> +She had the first claim upon their heart.</p> +<p>So three years passed; then the war broke out;<br /> +And a rumour seemed to spread and rise;<br /> +First we guessed what sorrow must befall,<br /> +Then all doubt fled, for we read it all<br /> +In the depths of her despairing eyes.</p> +<p>Yes; Sir Arthur had been called away<br /> +To that scene of slaughter, fear, and strife,—<br /> +Now he seemed to know with double pain,<br /> +The cold, bitter gulf that must remain<br /> +To divide his children from his wife.</p> +<p>Nearer came the day he was to sail,<br /> +Deeper grew the coming woe and fear,<br /> +When, one night, the children at my knee<br /> +Knelt to say their evening prayer to me,<br /> +I looked up and saw Sir Arthur near.</p> +<p>There they knelt with folded hands, and said<br /> +Low, soft words in stammering accents sweet;<br /> +In the firelight shone their golden hair<br /> +And white robes: my darlings looked so fair,<br /> +With their little bare and rosy feet!</p> +<p>There he waited till their low “Amen;”<br /> +Stopped the rosy lips raised for “Good night!”—<br /> +Drew them with a fond clasp, close and near,<br /> +As he bade them stay with him, and hear<br /> +Something that would make his heart more light.</p> +<p>Little Olga crept into his arms;<br /> +Arthur leant upon his shoulder; May<br /> +Knelt beside him, with her earnest eyes<br /> +Lifted up in patient, calm surprise—<br /> +I can almost hear his words to-day.</p> +<p>“Years ago, my children, years ago,<br /> +When your mother was a child, she came<br /> +From her northern home, and here she met<br /> +Love for love, and comfort for regret,<br /> +In one early friend,—you know her name.</p> +<p>“And this friend—a few years older—gave<br /> +Such fond care, such love, that day by day<br /> +The new home grew happy, joy complete,<br /> +Studies easier, and play more sweet,<br /> +While all childish sorrows passed away.</p> +<p>“And your mother—fragile, like my May—<br /> +Leant on this deep love,—nor leant in vain.<br /> +For this friend (strong, generous, noble heart!)<br /> +Gave the sweet, and took the bitter part,—<br /> +Brought her all the joy, and kept the pain.</p> +<p>“Years passed on, and then I saw them first:<br /> +It was hard to say which was most fair,<br /> +Your sweet mother’s bright and blushing face,<br /> +Or the graver Margaret’s stately grace;<br /> +Golden locks, or braided raven hair.</p> +<p>“Then it happened, by a strange, sad fate,<br /> +One thought entered into each young soul:<br /> +Joy for one—if for the other pain;<br /> +Loss for one—if for the other gain:<br /> +One must lose, and one possess the whole.</p> +<p>“And so this—this—what they cared for—came<br /> +And belonged to Margaret: was her own.<br /> +But she laid the gift aside, to take<br /> +Pain and sorrow for your mother’s sake,<br /> +And none knew it but herself alone.</p> +<p>“Then she travelled far away, and none<br /> +The strange mystery of her absence knew.<br /> +Margaret’s secret thought was never told:<br /> +Even your mother thought her changed and cold,<br /> +And for many years I thought so too.</p> +<p>“She was gone; and then your mother took<br /> +That poor gift which Margaret laid aside:<br /> +Flower, or toy, or trinket, matters not:<br /> +What it was had better be forgot . . .<br /> +It was just then she became my bride.</p> +<p>“Now, I think May knows the hope I have.<br /> +Arthur, darling, can you guess the rest?<br /> +Even my little Olga understands<br /> +Great gifts can be given by little hands,<br /> +Since of all gifts Love is still the best.</p> +<p>“Margaret is my dear and honoured wife,<br /> +And I hold her so. But she can claim<br /> +From your hearts, dear ones, a loving debt<br /> +I can neither pay, nor yet forget:<br /> +You can give it in your mother’s name.</p> +<p>“Earth spoils even Love, and here a shade<br /> +On the purest, noblest heart may fall:<br /> +Now your mother dwells in perfect light,<br /> +She will bless us, I believe, to-night,—<br /> +She is happy now, and she knows all.”</p> +<p>Next day was farewell—a day of tears;<br /> +Yet Sir Arthur, as he rode away,<br /> +And turned back to see his lady stand<br /> +With the children clinging to her hand,<br /> +Looked as if it were a happy day.</p> +<p>Ah, they loved her soon! The little one<br /> +Crept into her arms as to a nest;<br /> +Arthur always with her now; and May<br /> +Growing nearer to her every day:—<br /> +—Well, I loved my own dear lady best.</p> +<h2>VERSE: GIVE PLACE</h2> +<p>Starry Crowns of Heaven<br /> +Set in azure night!<br /> +Linger yet a little<br /> +Ere you hide your light:-<br /> +—Nay; let Starlight fade away<br /> +Heralding the day!</p> +<p>Snowflakes pure and spotless,<br /> +Still, oh, still remain,<br /> +Binding dreary winter,<br /> +In your silver chain:-<br /> +—Nay; but melt at once and bring<br /> +Radiant sunny Spring!</p> +<p>Blossoms, gentle blossoms,<br /> +Do not wither yet;<br /> +Still for you the sun shines,<br /> +Still the dews are wet:—<br /> +—Nay; but fade and wither last,<br /> +Fruit must come at last!</p> +<p>Joy, so true and tender,<br /> +Dare you not abide?<br /> +Will you spread your pinions,<br /> +Must you leave our side?<br /> +—Nay; an Angel’s shining grace<br /> +Waits to fill your place!</p> +<h2>VERSE: MY WILL</h2> +<p>Since I have no lands or houses,<br /> +And no hoarded golden store,<br /> +What can I leave those who love me<br /> +When they see my face no more?<br /> +Do not smile; I am not jesting,<br /> +Though my words sound gay and light,<br /> +Listen to me, dearest Alice,<br /> +I will make my Will to-night.</p> +<p>First for Mabel—who will never<br /> +Let the dust of future years<br /> +Dim the thought of me, but keep it<br /> +Brighter still: perhaps with tears.<br /> +In whose eyes, whate’er I glance at,<br /> +Touch, or praise, will always shine,<br /> +Through a strange and sacred radiance,<br /> +By Love’s Charter, wholly mine;<br /> +She will never lend to others<br /> +Slenderest link of thought I claim,<br /> +I will, therefore, to her keeping<br /> +Leave my memory and my name.</p> +<p>Bertha will do truer service<br /> +To her kind than I have done,<br /> +So I leave to her young spirit<br /> +The long Work I have begun.<br /> +Well! the threads are tangled, broken,<br /> +And the colours do not blend,<br /> +She will bend her earnest striving<br /> +Both to finish and amend:<br /> +And, when it is all completed,<br /> +Strong with care and rich with skill,<br /> +Just because my hands began it,<br /> +She will love it better still.</p> +<p>Ruth shall have my dearest token,<br /> +The one link I dread to break,<br /> +The one duty that I live for,<br /> +She, when I am gone, will take.<br /> +Sacred is the trust I leave her,<br /> +Needing patience, prayer, and tears;<br /> +I have striven to fulfil it,<br /> +As she knows—these many years.<br /> +Sometimes hopeless, faint, and weary<br /> +Yet a blessing shall remain<br /> +With the task, and Ruth will prize it<br /> +For my many hours of pain.</p> +<p>What must I leave you, my Alice?<br /> +Nothing, Love, to do or bear,<br /> +Nothing that can dim your blue eyes<br /> +With the slightest cloud of care.<br /> +I will leave my heart to love you,<br /> +With the tender faith of old;<br /> +Still to comfort, warm, and light you,<br /> +Should your life grow dark or cold.<br /> +No one else, my child, can claim it;<br /> +Though you find old scars of pain,<br /> +They were only wounds, my darling,<br /> +There is not, I trust, one stain.</p> +<p>Are my gifts indeed so worthless<br /> +Now the slender sum is told?<br /> +Well, I know not: years may bless them<br /> +With a nobler price than gold.<br /> +Am I poor? ah no, most wealthy,<br /> +Not in these poor gifts you take,<br /> +But in the true hearts that tell me<br /> +You will keep them for my sake.</p> +<h2>VERSE: KING AND SLAVE</h2> +<p>If in my soul, dear,<br /> +An omen should dwell,<br /> +Bidding me pause, ere<br /> +I love thee too well;<br /> +If the whole circle,<br /> +Of noble and wise,<br /> +With stern forebodings,<br /> +Between us should rise.</p> +<p>I will tell <i>them</i>, dear,<br /> +That Love reigns—a King,<br /> +Where storms cannot reach him,<br /> +And words cannot sting;<br /> +He counts it dishonour<br /> +His faith to recall;<br /> +He trusts;—and for ever<br /> +He gives—and gives all!</p> +<p>I will tell <i>thee</i>, dear,<br /> +That Love is—a Slave,<br /> +Who dreads thought of freedom,<br /> +As life dreads the grave;<br /> +And if doubt or peril<br /> +Of change there may be,<br /> +Such fear would but drive him<br /> +Still nearer to thee!</p> +<h2>VERSE: A CHANT</h2> +<p>“Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini.”</p> +<p>I.</p> +<p>Who is the Angel that cometh?<br /> +Life!<br /> +Let us not question what he brings,<br /> +Peace or Strife,<br /> +Under the shade of his mighty wings,<br /> +One by one,<br /> +Are his secrets told;<br /> +One by one,<br /> +Lit by the rays of each morning sun,<br /> +Shall a new flower its petals unfold,<br /> +With the mystery hid in its heart of gold.<br /> +We will arise and go forth to greet him,<br /> +Singly, gladly, with one accord;—<br /> +“Blessed is he that cometh<br /> +In the name of the Lord!”</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>Who is the Angel that cometh?<br /> +Joy!<br /> +Look at his glittering rainbow wings—<br /> +No alloy<br /> +Lies in the radiant gifts he brings;<br /> +Tender and sweet,<br /> +He is come to-day,<br /> +Tender and sweet:<br /> +While chains of love on his silver feet<br /> +Will hold him in lingering fond delay.<br /> +But greet him quickly, he will not stay,<br /> +Soon he will leave us; but though for others<br /> +All his brightest treasures are stored;—<br /> +“Blessed is he that cometh<br /> +In the name of the Lord!”</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>Who is the Angel that cometh?<br /> +Pain!<br /> +Let us arise and go forth to greet him;<br /> +Not in vain<br /> +Is the summons come for us to meet him;<br /> +He will stay,<br /> +And darken our sun;<br /> +He will stay<br /> +A desolate night, a weary day.<br /> +Since in that shadow our work is done,<br /> +And in that shadow our crowns are won,<br /> +Let us say still, while his bitter chalice<br /> +Slowly into our hearts is poured,—<br /> +“Blessed is he that cometh<br /> +In the name of the Lord!”</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>Who is the Angel that cometh?<br /> +Death!<br /> +But do not shudder and do not fear;<br /> +Hold your breath,<br /> +For a kingly presence is drawing near.<br /> +Cold and bright<br /> +Is his flashing steel,<br /> +Cold and bright<br /> +The smile that comes like a starry light<br /> +To calm the terror and grief we feel;<br /> +He comes to help and to save and heal:<br /> +Then let us, baring our hearts and kneeling,<br /> +Sing, while we wait this Angel’s sword,—<br /> +“Blessed is he that cometh<br /> +In the name of the Lord!”</p> +<h2>VERSE: DREAM-LIFE</h2> +<p>Listen, friend, and I will tell you<br /> +Why I sometimes seem so glad,<br /> +Then, without a reason changing,<br /> +Soon become so grave and sad.</p> +<p>Half my life I live a beggar,<br /> +Ragged, helpless, and alone;<br /> +But the other half a monarch,<br /> +With my courtiers round my throne.</p> +<p>Half my life is full of sorrow,<br /> +Half of joy, still fresh and new;<br /> +One of these lives is a fancy,<br /> +But the other one is true.</p> +<p>While I live and feast on gladness,<br /> +Still I feel the thought remain,<br /> +This must soon end,—nearer, nearer<br /> +Comes the life of grief and pain.</p> +<p>While I live a wretched beggar,<br /> +One bright hope my lot can cheer;<br /> +Soon, soon, thou shalt have thy kingdom,<br /> +Brighter hours are drawing near.</p> +<p>So you see my life is twofold,<br /> +Half a pleasure, half a grief;<br /> +Thus all joy is somewhat tempered,<br /> +And all sorrow finds relief.</p> +<p>Which, you ask me, is the real life,<br /> +Which the Dream—the joy, or woe?<br /> +Hush, friend! it is little matter,<br /> +And, indeed—I never know.</p> +<h2>VERSE: REST</h2> +<p>Spread, spread thy silver wings, oh Dove!<br /> +And seek for rest by land and sea,<br /> +And bring the tidings back to me<br /> +For thee and me and those I love.<br /> +Look how my Dove soars far away;<br /> +Go with her, heart of mine, I pray;<br /> +Go where her fluttering silver pinions<br /> +Follow the track of the crimson day.</p> +<p>Is rest where cloudlets slowly creep,<br /> +And sobbing winds forget to grieve,<br /> +And quiet waters gently heave,<br /> +As if they rocked the ship to sleep?<br /> +Ah no! that southern vapour white<br /> +Will bring a tempest ere the night,<br /> +And thunder through the quiet Heaven,<br /> +Lashing the sea in its angry might.</p> +<p>The battle-field lies still and cold,<br /> +While stars that watch in silent light<br /> +Gleam here and there on weapons bright,<br /> +In weary sleepers’ slackened hold;<br /> +Nay, though they dream of no alarm,<br /> +One bugle sound will stir that calm,<br /> +And all the strength of two great nations,<br /> +Eager for battle, will rise and arm.</p> +<p>Pause where the Pilgrim’s day is done,<br /> +Where scrip and staff aside are laid,<br /> +And, resting in the silent shade,<br /> +They watch the slowly sinking sun.<br /> +Ah no! that worn and weary band<br /> +Must journey long before they stand,<br /> +With bleeding feet, and hearts rejoicing,<br /> +Kissing the dust of the Holy Land.</p> +<p>Then find a soul who meets at last<br /> +A noble prize but hard to gain,<br /> +Or joy long pleaded for in vain,<br /> +Now sweeter for a bitter past.<br /> +Ah no! for Time can rob her yet,<br /> +And even should cruel Time forget,<br /> +Then Death will come, and, unrelenting,<br /> +Brand her with sorrowful long regret.</p> +<p>Seek farther, farther yet, oh Dove!<br /> +Beyond the Land, beyond the Sea,<br /> +There shall be rest for thee and me,<br /> +For thee and me and those I love.<br /> +I heard a promise gently fall,<br /> +I heard a far-off Shepherd call<br /> +The weary and the broken-hearted,<br /> +Promising rest unto each and all.</p> +<p>It is not marred by outward strife,<br /> +It is not lost in calm repose,<br /> +It heedeth neither joys nor woes,<br /> +Is not disturbed by death or life;<br /> +Through, and beyond them, lies our Rest:<br /> +Then cease, oh Heart, thy longing quest!<br /> +And thou, my Dove, with silver pinions<br /> +Flutter again to thy quiet nest!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE TYRANT AND THE CAPTIVE</h2> +<p>It was midnight when I listened,<br /> +And I heard two Voices speak;<br /> +One was harsh, and stern, and cruel,<br /> +And the other soft and weak:<br /> +Yet I saw no Vision enter,<br /> +And I heard no steps depart,<br /> +Of this Tyrant and his Captive, . . .<br /> +<i>Fate</i> it might be and a <i>Heart</i>.</p> +<p>Thus the stern Voice spake in triumph:-<br /> +“I have shut your life away<br /> +From the radiant world of nature,<br /> +And the perfumed light of day.<br /> +You, who loved to steep your spirit<br /> +In the charm of Earth’s delight,<br /> +See no glory of the daytime,<br /> +And no sweetness of the night.”</p> +<p>But the soft Voice answered calmly:<br /> +“Nay, for when the March winds bring<br /> +Just a whisper to my window,<br /> +I can dream the rest of Spring;<br /> +And to-day I saw a Swallow<br /> +Flitting past my prison bars,<br /> +And my cell has just one corner<br /> +Whence at night I see the stars.”</p> +<p>But its bitter taunt repeating,<br /> +Cried the harsh Voice:—“Where are they—<br /> +All the friends of former hours,<br /> +Who forget your name to-day?<br /> +All the links of love are shattered,<br /> +Which you thought so strong before;<br /> +And your very heart is lonely,<br /> +And alone since loved no more.”</p> +<p>But the low Voice spoke still lower:—<br /> +“Nay, I know the golden chain<br /> +Of my love is purer, stronger,<br /> +For the cruel fire of pain:<br /> +They remember me no longer,<br /> +But I, grieving here alone,<br /> +Bind their souls to me for ever<br /> +By the love within their own.”</p> +<p>But the Voice cried:- “Once remember<br /> +You devoted soul and mind<br /> +To the welfare of your brethren,<br /> +And the service of your kind.<br /> +Now, what sorrow can you comfort?<br /> +You, who lie in helpless pain,<br /> +With an impotent compassion<br /> +Fretting out your life in vain.”</p> +<p>“Nay;” and then the gentle answer<br /> +Rose more loud, and full, and clear:<br /> +“For the sake of all my brethren<br /> +I thank God that I am here!<br /> +Poor had been my Life’s best efforts,<br /> +Now I waste no thought or breath—<br /> +For the prayer of those who suffer<br /> +Has the strength of Love and Death.”</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE CARVER’S LESSON</h2> +<p>Trust me, no mere skill of subtle tracery,<br /> +No mere practice of a dexterous hand,<br /> +Will suffice, without a hidden spirit,<br /> +That we may, or may not, understand.</p> +<p>And those quaint old fragments that are left us<br /> +Have their power in this,—the Carver brought<br /> +Earnest care, and reverent patience, only<br /> +Worthily to clothe some noble thought.</p> +<p>Shut then in the petals of the flowers,<br /> +Round the stems of all the lilies twine,<br /> +Hide beneath each bird’s or angel’s pinion,<br /> +Some wise meaning or some thought divine.</p> +<p>Place in stony hands that pray for ever<br /> +Tender words of peace, and strive to wind<br /> +Round the leafy scrolls and fretted niches<br /> +Some true, loving message to your kind.</p> +<p>Some will praise, some blame, and, soon forgetting,<br /> +Come and go, nor even pause to gaze;<br /> +Only now and then a passing stranger<br /> +Just may loiter with a word of praise.</p> +<p>But I think, when years have floated onward,<br /> +And the stone is grey, and dim, and old,<br /> +And the hand forgotten that has carved it,<br /> +And the heart that dreamt it still and cold;</p> +<p>There may come some weary soul, o’erladen<br /> +With perplexèd struggle in his brain,<br /> +Or, it may be, fretted with life’s turmoil,<br /> +Or made sore with some perpetual pain.</p> +<p>Then, I think those stony hands will open,<br /> +And the gentle lilies overflow,<br /> +With the blessing and the loving token<br /> +That you hid there many years ago.</p> +<p>And the tendrils will unroll, and teach him<br /> +How to solve the problem of his pain;<br /> +And the birds’ and angels’ wings shake downward<br /> +On his heart a sweet and tender rain.</p> +<p>While he marvels at his fancy, reading<br /> +Meaning in that quaint and ancient scroll,<br /> +Little guessing that the loving Carver<br /> +Left a message for his weary soul.</p> +<h2>VERSE: THREE ROSES</h2> +<p>Just when the red June Roses blow<br /> +She gave me one,—a year ago.<br /> +A Rose whose crimson breath revealed<br /> +The secret that its heart concealed,<br /> +And whose half shy, half tender grace<br /> +Blushed back upon the giver’s face.<br /> +A year ago—a year ago—<br /> +To hope was not to know.</p> +<p>Just when the red June Roses blow<br /> +I plucked her one,—a month ago:<br /> +Its half-blown crimson to eclipse,<br /> +I laid it on her smiling lips;<br /> +The balmy fragrance of the south<br /> +Drew sweetness from her sweeter mouth.<br /> +Swiftly do golden hours creep,—<br /> +To hold is not to keep.</p> +<p>The red June Roses now are past,<br /> +This very day I broke the last—<br /> +And now its perfumed breath is hid,<br /> +With her, beneath a coffin-lid;<br /> +There will its petals fall apart,<br /> +And wither on her icy heart:-<br /> +At three red Roses’ cost<br /> +My world was gained and lost.</p> +<h2>VERSE: MY PICTURE GALLERY</h2> +<p>I.</p> +<p>You write and think of me, my friend, with pity;<br /> +While you are basking in the light of Rome,<br /> +Shut up within the heart of this great city,<br /> +Too busy and too poor to leave my home.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>You think my life debarred all rest or pleasure,<br /> +Chained all day to my ledger and my pen;<br /> +Too sickly even to use my little leisure<br /> +To bear me from the strife and din of men.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>Well, it is true; yet, now the days are longer,<br /> +At sunset I can lay my writing down,<br /> +And slowly crawl (summer has made me stronger)<br /> +Just to the nearest outskirt of the town.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>There a wide Common, blackened though and dreary<br /> +With factory smoke, spreads outward to the West;<br /> +I lie down on the parched-up grass, if weary,<br /> +Or lean against a broken wall to rest.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>So might a King, turning to Art’s rich treasure,<br /> +At evening, when the cares of state were done,<br /> +Enter his royal gallery, drinking pleasure<br /> +Slowly from each great picture, one by one.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>Towards the West I turn my weary spirit,<br /> +And watch my pictures: one each night is mine.<br /> +Earth and my soul, sick of day’s toil, inherit<br /> +A portion of that luminous peace divine.</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>There I have seen a sunset’s crimson glory,<br /> +Burn as if earth were one great Altar’s blaze;<br /> +Or, like the closing of a piteous story,<br /> +Light up the misty world with dying rays.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>There I have seen the Clouds, in pomp and splendour,<br /> +Their gold and purple banners all unfurl;<br /> +There I have watched colours, more faint and tender<br /> +Than pure and delicate tints upon a pearl.</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>Skies strewn with roses fading, fading slowly,<br /> +While one star trembling watched the daylight die;<br /> +Or deep in gloom a sunset, hidden wholly,<br /> +Save through gold rents torn in a violet sky.</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>Or parted clouds, as if asunder riven<br /> +By some great angel—and beyond a space<br /> +Of far-off tranquil light; the gates of Heaven<br /> +Will lead us grandly to as calm a place.</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>Or stern dark walls of cloudy mountain ranges<br /> +Hid all the wonders that we knew must be;<br /> +While, far on high, some little white clouds changes’<br /> +Revealed the glory they alone could see.</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>Or in wild wrath the affrighted clouds lay shattered,<br /> +Like treasures of the lost Hesperides,<br /> +All in a wealth of ruined splendour scattered,<br /> +Save one strange light on distant silver seas.</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>What land or time can claim the Master Painter,<br /> +Whose art could teach him half such gorgeous dyes?<br /> +Or skill so rare, but purer hues and fainter<br /> +Melt every evening in my western skies.</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>So there I wait, until the shade has lengthened,<br /> +And night’s blue misty curtain floated down;<br /> +Then, with my heart calmed, and my spirit strengthened,<br /> +I crawl once more back to the sultry town.</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>What Monarch, then, has nobler recreations<br /> +Than mine? Or where the great and classic Land<br /> +Whose wealth of Art delights the gathered nations<br /> +That owns a Picture Gallery half as grand?</p> +<h2>VERSE: SENT TO HEAVEN</h2> +<p>I had a Message to send her,<br /> +To her whom my soul loved best;<br /> +But I had my task to finish.<br /> +And she was gone home to rest.</p> +<p>To rest in the far bright heaven:<br /> +Oh, so far away from here,<br /> +It was vain to speak to my darling,<br /> +For I knew she could not hear!</p> +<p>I had a message to send her.<br /> +So tender, and true, and sweet,<br /> +I longed for an Angel to bear it,<br /> +And lay it down at her feet.</p> +<p>I placed it, one summer evening,<br /> +On a Cloudlet’s fleecy breast;<br /> +But it faded in golden splendour,<br /> +And died in the crimson west.</p> +<p>I gave it the Lark next morning,<br /> +And I watched it soar and soar;<br /> +But its pinions grew faint and weary,<br /> +And it fluttered to earth once more.</p> +<p>To the heart of a Rose I told it;<br /> +And the perfume, sweet and rare,<br /> +Growing faint on the blue bright ether,<br /> +Was lost in the balmy air.</p> +<p>I laid it upon a Censer,<br /> +And I saw the incense rise;<br /> +But its clouds of rolling silver<br /> +Could not reach the far blue skies.</p> +<p>I cried, in my passionate longing:-<br /> +“Has the earth no Angel-friend<br /> +Who will carry my love the message<br /> +That my heart desires to send?”</p> +<p>Then I heard a strain of music,<br /> +So mighty, so pure, so clear,<br /> +That my very sorrow was silent,<br /> +And my heart stood still to hear.</p> +<p>And I felt, in my soul’s deep yearning,<br /> +At last the sure answer stir:-<br /> +“The music will go up to Heaven,<br /> +And carry my thought to her.”</p> +<p>It rose in harmonious rushing<br /> +Of mingled voices and strings.<br /> +And I tenderly laid my message<br /> +On the Music’s outspread wings.</p> +<p>I heard it float farther and farther,<br /> +In sound more perfect than speech;<br /> +Farther than sight can follow.<br /> +Farther than soul can reach.</p> +<p>And I know that at last my message<br /> +Has passed through the golden gate:<br /> +So my heart is no longer restless,<br /> +And I am content to wait.</p> +<h2>VERSE: NEVER AGAIN</h2> +<p>“Never again!” vow hearts when reunited,<br /> +“Never again shall Love be cast aside;<br /> +For ever now the shadow has departed;<br /> +Nor bitter sorrow, veiled in scornful pride,<br /> +Shall feign indifference, or affect disdain,—<br /> +Never, oh Love, again, never again!”</p> +<p>“Never again!” so sobs, in broken accents,<br /> +A soul laid prostrate at a holy shrine,—<br /> +“Once more, once more forgive, oh Lord, and pardon,<br /> +My wayward life shall bend to love divine;<br /> +And never more shall sin its whiteness stain,—<br /> +Never, oh God, again, never again!”</p> +<p>“Never again!” so speaketh one forsaken,<br /> +In the blank desolate passion of despair,—<br /> +“Never again shall the bright dream I cherished<br /> +Delude my heart, for bitter truth is there,—<br /> +The angel, Hope, shall still thy cruel pain<br /> +Never again, my heart, never again!”</p> +<p>“Never again!” so speaks the sudden silence,<br /> +When round the hearth gathers each well-known face,—<br /> +But one is missing, and no future presence,<br /> +However dear, can fill that vacant place;<br /> +For ever shall the burning thought remain,—<br /> +“Never, beloved, again! never again!”</p> +<p>“Never again!” so—but beyond our hearing—<br /> +Ring out far voices fading up the sky;<br /> +Never again shall earthly care and sorrow<br /> +Weigh down the wings that bear those souls on high;<br /> +Listen, oh earth, and hear that glorious strain,—<br /> +“Never, never again! never again!”</p> +<h2>VERSE: LISTENING ANGELS</h2> +<p>Blue against the bluer Heavens<br /> +Stood the mountain, calm and still,<br /> +Two white Angels, bending earthward,<br /> +Leant upon the hill.</p> +<p>Listening leant those silent Angels,<br /> +And I also longed to hear<br /> +What sweet strain of earthly music<br /> +Thus could charm their ear.</p> +<p>I heard the sound of many trumpets<br /> +In a warlike march draw nigh;<br /> +Solemnly a mighty army<br /> +Passed in order by.</p> +<p>But the clang had ceased; the echoes<br /> +Soon had faded from the hill;<br /> +While the Angels, calm and earnest,<br /> +Leant and listened still.</p> +<p>Then I heard a fainter clamour,<br /> +Forge and wheel were clashing near<br /> +And the Reapers in the meadow<br /> +Singing loud and clear.</p> +<p>When the sunset came in glory,<br /> +And the toil of day was o’er,<br /> +Still the Angels leant in silence,<br /> +Listening as before.</p> +<p>Then, as daylight slowly vanished,<br /> +And the evening mists grew dim,<br /> +Solemnly from distant voices<br /> +Rose a vesper hymn.</p> +<p>When the chant was done, and lingering<br /> +Died upon the evening air,<br /> +From the hill the radiant Angels<br /> +Still were listening there.</p> +<p>Silent came the gathering darkness,<br /> +Bringing with it sleep and rest;<br /> +Save a little bird was singing<br /> +Near her leafy nest.</p> +<p>Through the sounds of war and labour<br /> +She had warbled all day long,<br /> +While the Angels leant and listened<br /> +Only to her song.</p> +<p>But the starry night was coming;<br /> +When she ceased her little lay<br /> +From the mountain top the Angels<br /> +Slowly passed away.</p> +<h2>VERSE: GOLDEN DAYS</h2> +<p>Golden days—where are they?<br /> +Pilgrims east and west<br /> +Cry; if we could find them<br /> +We would pause and rest:<br /> +We would pause and rest a little<br /> +From our long and weary ways:-<br /> +Where are they, then, where are they—<br /> +Golden days?</p> +<p>Golden days—where are they?<br /> +Ask of childhood’s years,<br /> +Still untouched by sorrow,<br /> +Still undimmed by tears:<br /> +Ah, they seek a phantom Future,<br /> +Crowned with brighter, starry rays;—<br /> +Where are they, then, where are they—<br /> +Golden days?</p> +<p>Golden days—where are they?<br /> +Has Love learnt the spell<br /> +That will charm them hither,<br /> +Near our hearth to dwell?<br /> +Insecure are all her treasures,<br /> +Restless is her anxious gaze:-<br /> +Where are they, then, where are they—<br /> +Golden days?</p> +<p>Golden days—where are they?<br /> +Farther up the hill<br /> +I can hear the echo<br /> +Faintly calling still:<br /> +Faintly calling, faintly dying,<br /> +In a far-off misty haze:-<br /> +Where are they, then, where are they—<br /> +Golden days?</p> +<h2>VERSE: PHILIP AND MILDRED</h2> +<p>Lingering fade the rays of daylight, and the listening air is chilly;<br /> +Voice of bird and forest murmur, insect hum and quivering spray<br /> +Stir not in that quiet hour: through the valley, calm and stilly,<br /> +All in hushed and loving silence watch the slow departing Day.</p> +<p>Till the last faint western cloudlet, faint and rosy, ceases blushing,<br /> +And the blue grows deep and deeper where one trembling planet shines,<br /> +And the day has gone for ever—then, like some great ocean rushing,<br /> +The sad night wind wails lamenting, sobbing through the moaning pines.</p> +<p>Such, of all day’s changing hours, is the fittest and the meetest<br /> +For a farewell hour—and parting looks less bitter and more blest;<br /> +Earth seems like a shrine for sorrow, Nature’s mother voice is +sweetest,<br /> +And her hand seems laid in chiding on the unquiet throbbing breast.</p> +<p>Words are lower, for the twilight seems rebuking sad repining,<br /> +And wild murmur and rebellion, as all childish and in vain;<br /> +Breaking through dark future hours clustering starry hopes seem shining,<br /> +Then the calm and tender midnight folds her shadow round the pain.</p> +<p>So they paced the shady lime-walk in that twilight dim and holy,<br /> +Still the last farewell deferring, she could hear or he should say;<br /> +Every word, weighed down by sorrow, fell more tenderly and slowly—<br /> +This, which now beheld their parting, should have been their wedding-day.</p> +<p>Should have been: her dreams of childhood, never straying, never +faltering,<br /> +Still had needed Philip’s image to make future life complete;<br /> +Philip’s young hopes of ambition, ever changing, ever altering,<br /> +Needed Mildred’s gentle presence even to make successes sweet.</p> +<p>This day should have seen their marriage; the calm crowning and assurance<br /> +Of two hearts, fulfilling rather, and not changing, either life:<br /> +Now they must be rent asunder, and her heart must learn endurance,<br /> +For he leaves their home, and enters on a world of work and strife.</p> +<p>But her gentle spirit long had learnt, unquestioning, submitting,<br /> +To revere his youthful longings, and to marvel at the fate<br /> +That gave such a humble office, all unworthy and unfitting,<br /> +To the genius of the village, who was born for something great.</p> +<p>When the learnèd Traveller came there who had gained renown +at college,<br /> +Whose abstruse research had won him even European fame,<br /> +Questioned Philip, praised his genius, marvelled at his self-taught +knowledge,<br /> +Could she murmur if he called him up to London and to fame?</p> +<p>Could she waver when he bade her take the burden of decision,<br /> +Since his troth to her was plighted, and his life was now her own?<br /> +Could she doom him to inaction? could she, when a newborn vision<br /> +Rose in glory for his future, check it for her sake alone?</p> +<p>So her little trembling fingers, that had toiled with such fond pleasure,<br /> +Paused, and laid aside, and folded the unfinished wedding gown;<br /> +Faltering earnestly assurance, that she too could, in her measure,<br /> +Prize for him the present honour, and the future’s sure renown.</p> +<p>Now they pace the shady lime-walk, now the last words must be spoken,<br /> +Words of trust, for neither dreaded more than waiting and delay;<br /> +Was not love still called eternal—could a plighted vow be broken?—<br /> +See the crimson light of sunset fades in purple mist away.</p> +<p>“Yes, my Mildred,” Philip told her, “one calm thought +of joy and blessing,<br /> +Like a guardian spirit by me, through the world’s tumultuous stir,<br /> +Still will spread its wings above me, and now urging, now repressing,<br /> +With my Mildred’s voice will murmur thoughts of home, and love, +and her.</p> +<p>“It will charm my peaceful leisure, sanctify my daily toiling,<br /> +With a right none else possesses, touching my heart’s inmost string;<br /> +And to keep its pure wings spotless I shall fly the world’s touch, +soiling<br /> +Even in thought this Angel Guardian of my Mildred’s Wedding Ring.</p> +<p>“Take it, dear; this little circlet is the first link, strong +and holy,<br /> +Of a life-long chain, and holds me from all other love apart;<br /> +Till the day when you may wear it as my wife—my own—mine +wholly—<br /> +Let me know it rests for ever near the beating of your heart.”</p> +<p>Dawn of day saw Philip speeding on his road to the Great City,<br /> +Thinking how the stars gazed downward just with Mildred’s patient +eyes;<br /> +Dreams of work, and fame, and honour struggling with a tender pity,<br /> +Till the loving Past receding saw the conquering Future rise.</p> +<p>Daybreak still found Mildred watching, with the wonder of first sorrow,<br /> +How the outward world unaltered shone the same this very day;<br /> +How unpitying and relentless busy life met this new morrow,<br /> +Earth, and sky, and man unheeding that her joy had passed away.</p> +<p>Then the round of weary duties, cold and formal, came to meet her,<br /> +With the life within departed that had given them each a soul;<br /> +And her sick heart even slighted gentle words that came to greet her;<br /> +For Grief spread its shadowy pinions, like a blight, upon the whole.</p> +<p>Jar one chord, the harp is silent; move one stone, the arch is shattered;<br /> +One small clarion-cry of sorrow bids an armèd host awake;<br /> +One dark cloud can hide the sunlight; loose one string, the pearls are +scattered;<br /> +Think one thought, a soul may perish; say one word, a heart may break!</p> +<p>Life went on, the two lives running side by side; the outward seeming,<br /> +And the truer and diviner hidden in the heart and brain;<br /> +Dreams grow holy, put in action; work grows fair through starry dreaming;<br /> +But where each flows on unmingling, both are fruitless and in vain.</p> +<p>Such was Mildred’s life; her dreaming lay in some far-distant +region,<br /> +All the fairer, all the brighter, that its glories were but guessed;<br /> +And the daily round of duties seemed an unreal, airy legion—<br /> +Nothing true save Philip’s letters and the ring upon her breast.</p> +<p>Letters telling how he struggled, for some plan or vision aiming,<br /> +And at last how he just grasped it as a fresh one spread its wings;<br /> +How the honour or the learning, once the climax, now were claiming,<br /> +Only more and more, becoming merely steps to higher things.</p> +<p>Telling her of foreign countries: little store had she of learning,<br /> +So her earnest, simple spirit answered as he touched the string;<br /> +Day by day, to these bright fancies all her silent thoughts were turning,<br /> +Seeing every radiant picture framed within her golden Ring.</p> +<p>Oh, poor heart—love, if thou willest; but, thine own soul still +possessing,<br /> +Live thy life: not a reflection or a shadow of his own:<br /> +Lean as fondly, as completely, as thou willest—but confessing<br /> +That thy strength is God’s, and therefore can, if need be, stand +alone.</p> +<p>Little means were there around her to make farther, wider ranges,<br /> +Where her loving gentle spirit could try any stronger flight;<br /> +And she turned aside, half fearing that fresh thoughts were fickle changes—<br /> +That she <i>must</i> stay as he left her on that farewell summer night.</p> +<p>Love should still be guide and leader, like a herald should have +risen,<br /> +Lighting up the long dark vistas, conquering all opposing fates;<br /> +But new claims, new thoughts, new duties found her heart a silent prison,<br /> +And found Love, with folded pinions, like a jailer by the gates.</p> +<p>Yet why blame her? it had needed greater strength than she was given<br /> +To have gone against the current that so calmly flowed along;<br /> +Nothing fresh came near the village save the rain and dew of heaven,<br /> +And her nature was too passive, and her love perhaps too strong.</p> +<p>The great world of thought, that rushes down the years, and onward +sweeping<br /> +Bears upon its mighty billows in its progress each and all,<br /> +Flowed so far away, its murmur did not rouse them from their sleeping;<br /> +Life and Time and Truth were speaking, but they did not hear their call.</p> +<p>Years flowed on; and every morning heard her prayer grow lower, deeper,<br /> +As she called all blessings on him, and bade every ill depart,<br /> +And each night when the cold moonlight shone upon that quiet sleeper,<br /> +It would show her ring that glittered with each throbbing of her heart.</p> +<p>Years passed on. Fame came for Philip in a full, o’erflowing +measure;<br /> +He was spoken of and honoured through the breadth of many lands,<br /> +And he wrote it all to Mildred, as if praise were only pleasure,<br /> +As if fame were only honour, when he laid them in her hands.</p> +<p>Mildred heard it without wonder, as a sure result expected,<br /> +For how could it fail, since merit and renown go side by side:<br /> +And the neighbours who first fancied genius ought to be suspected,<br /> +Might at last give up their caution, and could own him now with pride.</p> +<p>Years flowed on. These empty honours led to others they called +better,<br /> +He had saved some slender fortune, and might claim his bride at last:<br /> +Mildred, grown so used to waiting, felt half startled by the letter<br /> +That now made her future certain, and would consecrate her past.</p> +<p>And he came: grown sterner, older—changed indeed: a grave reliance<br /> +Had replaced his eager manner, and the quick short speech of old:<br /> +He had gone forth with a spirit half of hope and half defiance;<br /> +He returned with proud assurance half disdainful and half cold.</p> +<p>Yet his old self seemed returning while he stood sometimes, and listened<br /> +To her calm soft voice, relating all the thoughts of these long years;<br /> +And if Mildred’s heart was heavy, and at times her blue eyes glistened,<br /> +Still in thought she would not whisper aught of sorrow or of fears.</p> +<p>Autumn with its golden corn-fields, autumn with its storms and showers,<br /> +Had been there to greet his coming with its forests gold and brown;<br /> +And the last leaves still were falling, fading still the year’s +last flowers,<br /> +When he left the quiet village, and took back his bride to town.</p> +<p>Home—the home that she had pictured many a time in twilight, +dwelling<br /> +On that tender gentle fancy, folded round with loving care;<br /> +Here was home—the end, the haven; and what spirit voice seemed +telling,<br /> +That she only held the casket, with the gem no longer there?</p> +<p>Sad it may be to be longing, with a patience faint and weary,<br /> +For a hope deferred—and sadder still to see it fade and fall;<br /> +Yet to grasp the thing we long for, and, with sorrow sick and dreary,<br /> +<i>Then</i> to find how it can fail us, is the saddest pain of all.</p> +<p>What was wanting? He was gentle, kind, and generous still, +deferring<br /> +To her wishes always; nothing seemed to mar their tranquil life:<br /> +There are skies so calm and leaden that we long for storm-winds stirring,<br /> +There is peace so cold and bitter, that we almost welcome strife.</p> +<p>Darker grew the clouds above her, and the slow conviction clearer,<br /> +That he gave her home and pity, but that heart, and soul, and mind<br /> +Were beyond her now; he loved her, and in youth he had been near her,<br /> +But he now had gone far onward, and had left her there behind.</p> +<p>Yes, beyond her: yes, quick-hearted, her Love helped her in revealing<br /> +It was worthless, while so mighty; was too weak, although so strong;<br /> +There were courts she could not enter; depths she could not sound; yet +feeling<br /> +It was vain to strive or struggle, vainer still to mourn or long.</p> +<p>He would give her words of kindness, he would talk of home, but seeming<br /> +With an absent look, forgetting if he held or dropped her hand;<br /> +And then turn with eager pleasure to his writing, reading, dreaming,<br /> +Or to speak of things with others that she could not understand.</p> +<p>He had paid, and paid most nobly, all he owed; no need of blaming;<br /> +It had cost him something, may be, that no future could restore:<br /> +In her heart of hearts she knew it; Love and Sorrow, not complaining,<br /> +Only suffered all the deeper, only loved him all the more.</p> +<p>Sometimes then a stronger anguish, and more cruel, weighed upon her,<br /> +That through all those years of waiting, he had slowly learnt the truth;<br /> +He had known himself mistaken, but that, bound to her in honour,<br /> +He renounced his life, to pay her for the patience of her youth.</p> +<p>But a star was slowly rising from that mist of grief, and brighter<br /> +Grew her eyes, for each slow hour surer comfort seemed to bring;<br /> +And she watched with strange sad smiling, how her trembling hands grew +slighter,<br /> +And how thin her slender finger, and how large her wedding-ring.</p> +<p>And the tears dropped slowly on it, as she kissed that golden token<br /> +With a deeper love, it may be, than was in the far-off past;<br /> +And remembering Philip’s fancy, that so long ago was spoken,<br /> +Thought her Ring’s bright angel guardian had stayed near her to +the last.</p> +<p>Grieving sorely, grieving truly, with a tender care and sorrow,<br /> +Philip watched the slow, sure fading of his gentle, patient wife;<br /> +Could he guess with what a yearning she was longing for the morrow,<br /> +Could he guess the bitter knowledge that had wearied her of life?</p> +<p>Now with violets strewn upon her, Mildred lies in peaceful sleeping;<br /> +All unbound her long, bright tresses, and her throbbing heart at rest,<br /> +And the cold, blue rays of moonlight, through the open casement creeping,<br /> +Show the ring upon her finger, and her hands crossed on her breast.</p> +<p>Peace at last. Of peace eternal is her calm sweet smile a token.<br /> +Has some angel lingering near her let a radiant promise fall?<br /> +Has he told her Heaven unites again the links that Earth has broken?<br /> +For on Earth so much is needed, but in Heaven Love is all!</p> +<h2>VERSE: BORROWED THOUGHTS</h2> +<p>I. FROM “LAVATER.”</p> +<p>Trust him little who doth raise<br /> +To one height both great and small,<br /> +And sets the sacred crown of praise,<br /> +Smiling, on the head of all.</p> +<p>Trust him less who looks around<br /> +To censure all with scornful eyes,<br /> +And in everything has found<br /> +Something that he dare despise.</p> +<p>But for one who stands apart,<br /> +Stirred by nought that can befall,<br /> +With a cold indifferent heart,—<br /> +Trust him least and last of all.</p> +<p>II. FROM “PHANTASTES.”</p> +<p>I have a bitter Thought, a Snake<br /> +That used to sting my life to pain.<br /> +I strove to cast it far away,<br /> +But every night and every day<br /> +It crawled back to my heart again.</p> +<p>It was in vain to live or strive,<br /> +To think or sleep, to work or pray;<br /> +At last I bade this thine accursed<br /> +Gnaw at my heart, and do its worst,<br /> +And so I let it have its way.</p> +<p>Thus said I, “I shall never fall<br /> +Into a false and dreaming peace,<br /> +And then awake, with sudden start,<br /> +To feel it biting at my heart,<br /> +For now the pain can never cease.”</p> +<p>But I gained more; for I have found<br /> +That such a snake’s envenomed charm<br /> +Must always, always find a part,<br /> +Deep in the centre of my heart,<br /> +Which it can never wound or harm.</p> +<p>It is coiled round my heart to-day.<br /> +It sleeps at times, this cruel snake,<br /> +And while it sleeps it never stings:-<br /> +Hush! let us talk of other things,<br /> +Lest it should hear me and awake.</p> +<p>III. FROM “LOST ALICE.”</p> +<p>Yes, dear, our Love is slain;<br /> +In the cold grave for evermore it lies,<br /> +Never to wake again,<br /> +Or light our sorrow with its starry eyes;<br /> +And so—regret is vain.</p> +<p>One hour of pain and dread,<br /> +We killed our Love, we took its life away<br /> +With the false words we said;<br /> +And so we watch it, since that cruel day,<br /> +Silent, and cold, and dead.</p> +<p>We should have seen it shine<br /> +Long years beside us. Time and Death might try<br /> +To touch that life divine,<br /> +Whose strength could every other stroke defy<br /> +Save only thine and mine.</p> +<p>No longing can restore<br /> +Our dead again. Vain are the tears we weep,<br /> +And vainly we deplore<br /> +Our buried Love: its grave lies dark and deep<br /> +Between us evermore.</p> +<p>IV. FROM * * *</p> +<p>Within the kingdom of my Soul<br /> +I bid you enter, Love, to-day;<br /> +Submit my life to your control,<br /> +And give my Heart up to your sway.</p> +<p>My Past, whose light and life is flown,<br /> +Shall live through memory for you still;<br /> +Take all my Present for your own,<br /> +And mould my Future to your will.</p> +<p>One only thought remains apart,<br /> +And will for ever so remain;<br /> +There is one Chamber in my heart<br /> +Where even you might knock in vain.</p> +<p>A haunted Chamber:- long ago<br /> +I closed it, and I cast the key<br /> +Where deep and bitter waters flow,<br /> +Into a vast and silent sea.</p> +<p>Dear, it is haunted. All the rest<br /> +Is yours; but I have shut that door<br /> +For ever now. ’Tis even best<br /> +That I should enter it no more.</p> +<p>No more. It is not well to stay<br /> +With ghosts; their very look would scare<br /> +Your joyous, loving smile away—<br /> +So never try to enter there.</p> +<p>Check, if you love me, all regret<br /> +That this one thought remains apart:-<br /> +Now let us smile, dear, and forget<br /> +The haunted Chamber in my Heart.</p> +<h2>VERSE: LIGHT AND SHADE</h2> +<p>Thou hast done well to kneel and say,<br /> +“Since He who gave can take away,<br /> +And bid me suffer, I obey.”</p> +<p>And also well to tell thy heart<br /> +That good lies in the bitterest part,<br /> +And thou wilt profit by her smart.</p> +<p>But bitter hours come to all:<br /> +When even truths like these will pall,<br /> +Sick hearts for humbler comfort call.</p> +<p>Then I would have thee strive to see<br /> +That good and evil come to thee,<br /> +As one of a great family.</p> +<p>And as material life is planned,<br /> +That even the loneliest one must stand<br /> +Dependent on his brother’s hand;</p> +<p>So links more subtle and more fine<br /> +Bind every other soul to thine<br /> +In one great brotherhood divine.</p> +<p>Nor with thy share of work be vexed;<br /> +Though incomplete, and even perplex,<br /> +It fits exactly to the next.</p> +<p>What seems so dark to thy dim sight<br /> +May be a shadow, seen aright,<br /> +Making some brightness doubly bright.</p> +<p>The flash that struck thy tree,—no more<br /> +To shelter thee,—lets Heaven’s blue floor<br /> +Shine where it never shone before.</p> +<p>Thy life that has been dropped aside<br /> +Into Time’s stream, may stir the tide,<br /> +In rippled circles spreading wide.</p> +<p>The cry wrung from thy spirit’s pain<br /> +May echo on some far-off plain,<br /> +And guide a wanderer home again.</p> +<p>Fail—yet rejoice; because no less<br /> +The failure that makes thy distress<br /> +May teach another full success.</p> +<p>It may be that in some great need<br /> +Thy life’s poor fragments are decreed<br /> +To help build up a lofty deed.</p> +<p>Thy heart should throb in vast content,<br /> +Thus knowing that it was but meant<br /> +As chord in one great instrument;</p> +<p>That even the discord in thy soul<br /> +May make completer music roll<br /> +From out the great harmonious whole.</p> +<p>It may be, that when all is light,<br /> +Deep set within that deep delight<br /> +Will be to know <i>why</i> all was right;</p> +<p>To hear life’s perfect music rise,<br /> +And while it floods the happy skies,<br /> +Thy feeble voice to recognise.</p> +<p>Then strive more gladly to fulfil<br /> +Thy little part. This darkness still<br /> +Is light to every loving will.</p> +<p>And trust,—as if already plain,<br /> +How just thy share of loss and pain<br /> +Is for another fuller gain.</p> +<p>I dare not limit time or place<br /> +Touched by thy life: nor dare I trace<br /> +Its far vibrations into space.</p> +<p><i>One</i> only knows. Yet if the fret<br /> +Of thy weak heart, in weak regret<br /> +Needs a more tender comfort yet:</p> +<p>Then thou mayst take thy loneliest fears,<br /> +The bitterest drops of all thy tears,<br /> +The dreariest hours of all thy years;</p> +<p>And through thy anguish there outspread,<br /> +May ask that God’s great love would shed<br /> +Blessings on one belovèd head.</p> +<p>And thus thy soul shall learn to draw<br /> +Sweetness from out that loving law<br /> +That sees no failure and no flaw,</p> +<p>Where all is good. And life is good,<br /> +Were the one lesson understood<br /> +Of its most sacred brotherhood.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A CHANGELING</h2> +<p>A little changeling spirit<br /> +Crept to my arms one day:<br /> +I had no heart or courage<br /> +To drive the child away.</p> +<p>So all day long I soothed her,<br /> +And hushed her on my breast;<br /> +And all night long her wailing<br /> +Would never let me rest.</p> +<p>I dug a grave to hold her,<br /> +A grave both dark and deep;<br /> +I covered her with violets,<br /> +And laid her there to sleep.</p> +<p>I used to go and watch there,<br /> +Both night and morning too:-<br /> +It was my tears, I fancy,<br /> +That kept the violets blue.</p> +<p>I took her up: and once more<br /> +I felt the clinging hold,<br /> +And heard the ceaseless wailing<br /> +That wearied me of old.</p> +<p>I wandered, and I wandered,<br /> +With my burden on my breast,<br /> +Till I saw a church-door open,<br /> +And entered in to rest.</p> +<p>In the dim, dying daylight,<br /> +Set in a flowery shrine,<br /> +I saw the Virgin Mother<br /> +Holding her Child divine.</p> +<p>I knelt down there in silence,<br /> +And on the Altar-stone<br /> +I laid my wailing burden,<br /> +And came away—alone.</p> +<p>And now that little spirit,<br /> +That sobbed so all day long,<br /> +Is grown a shining Angel,<br /> +With wines both wide and strong.</p> +<p>She watches me from Heaven,<br /> +With loving, tender care,<br /> +And one day she has promised<br /> +That I shall find her there.</p> +<h2>VERSE: DISCOURAGED</h2> +<p>Where the little babbling streamlet<br /> +First springs forth to light,<br /> +Trickling through soft velvet mosses,<br /> +Almost hid from sight;<br /> +Vowed I with delight,—<br /> +“River, I will follow thee,<br /> +Through thy wanderings to the Sea!”</p> +<p>Gleaming ’mid the purple heather,<br /> +Downward then it sped,<br /> +Glancing through the mountain gorges,<br /> +Like a silver thread,<br /> +As it quicker fled,<br /> +Louder music in its flow,<br /> +Dashing to the Vale below.</p> +<p>Then its voice grew lower, gentler,<br /> +And its pace less fleet,<br /> +Just as though it loved to linger<br /> +Round the rushes’ feet,<br /> +As they stooped to meet<br /> +Their clear images below,<br /> +Broken by the ripples’ flow.</p> +<p>Purple Willow-herb bent over<br /> +To her shadow fair;<br /> +Meadow-sweet, in feathery clusters,<br /> +Perfumed all the air;<br /> +Silver-weed was there,<br /> +And in one calm, grassy spot,<br /> +Starry, blue Forget-me-not.</p> +<p>Tangled weeds, below the waters,<br /> +Still seemed drawn away;<br /> +Yet the current, floating onward,<br /> +Was less strong than they;—<br /> +Sunbeams watched their play,<br /> +With a flickering light and shade,<br /> +Through the screen the Alders made.</p> +<p>Broader grew the flowing River;<br /> +To its grassy brink<br /> +Slowly, in the slanting sun-rays,<br /> +Cattle trooped to drink:<br /> +The blue sky, I think,<br /> +Was no bluer than that stream,<br /> +Slipping onward, like a dream.</p> +<p>Quicker, deeper then it hurried,<br /> +Rushing fierce and free;<br /> +But I said, “It should grow calmer<br /> +Ere it meets the Sea,<br /> +The wide purple Sea,<br /> +Which I weary for in vain,<br /> +Wasting all my toil and pain.”</p> +<p>But it rushed still quicker, fiercer,<br /> +In its rocky bed,<br /> +Hard and stony was the pathway<br /> +To my tired tread;<br /> +“I despair,” I said,<br /> +“Of that wide and glorious Sea<br /> +That was promised unto me.”</p> +<p>So I turned aside, and wandered<br /> +Through green meadows near,<br /> +Far away, among the daisies,<br /> +Far away, for fear<br /> +Lest I still should hear<br /> +The loud murmur of its song,<br /> +As the River flowed along.</p> +<p>Now I hear it not:- I loiter<br /> +Gaily as before;<br /> +Yet I sometimes think,—and thinking<br /> +Makes my heart so sore,—<br /> +Just a few steps more,<br /> +And there might have shone for me,<br /> +Blue and infinite, the Sea.</p> +<h2>VERSE: IF THOU COULDST KNOW</h2> +<p>I think if thou couldst know,<br /> +Oh soul that will complain,<br /> +What lies concealed below<br /> +Our burden and our pain;<br /> +How just our anguish brings<br /> +Nearer those longed-for things<br /> +We seek for now in vain,—<br /> +I think thou wouldst rejoice, and not complain.</p> +<p>I think if thou couldst see,<br /> +With thy dim mortal sight,<br /> +How meanings, dark to thee,<br /> +Are shadows hiding light;<br /> +Truth’s efforts crossed and vexed,<br /> +Life’s purpose all perplexed,—<br /> +If thou couldst see them right,<br /> +I think that they would seem all clear, and wise, and bright.</p> +<p>And yet thou canst not know,<br /> +And yet thou canst not see;<br /> +Wisdom and sight are slow<br /> +In poor humanity.<br /> +If thou couldst <i>trust</i>, poor soul,<br /> +In Him who rules the whole,<br /> +Thou wouldst find peace and rest:<br /> +Wisdom and sight are well, but Trust is best.</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE WARRIOR TO HIS DEAD BRIDE</h2> +<p>If in the fight my arm was strong,<br /> +And forced my foes to yield,<br /> +If conquering and unhurt I came<br /> +Back from the battle-field—<br /> +It is because thy prayers have been<br /> +My safeguard and my shield.</p> +<p>My comrades smile to see my arm<br /> +Spare or protect a foe,<br /> +They think thy gentle pleading voice<br /> +Was silenced long ago;<br /> +But pity and compassion, love,<br /> +Were taught me first by woe.</p> +<p>Thy heart, my own, still beats in Heaven<br /> +With the same love divine<br /> +That made thee stoop to such a soul,<br /> +So hard, so stern, as mine—<br /> +My eyes have learnt to weep, beloved,<br /> +Since last they looked on thine.</p> +<p>I hear thee murmur words of peace<br /> +Through the dim midnight air,<br /> +And a calm falls from the angel stars<br /> +And soothes my great despair—<br /> +The Heavens themselves look brighter, love,<br /> +Since thy sweet soul is there.</p> +<p>And if my heart is once more calm,<br /> +My step is once more free,<br /> +It is because each hour I feel<br /> +Thou prayest still for me;<br /> +Because no fate or change can come<br /> +Between my soul and thee.</p> +<p>It is because my heart is stilled.<br /> +Not broken by despair,<br /> +Because I see the grave is bright,<br /> +And death itself is fair—<br /> +I dread no more the wrath of Heaven—<br /> +I have an angel there!</p> +<h2>VERSE: A LETTER</h2> +<p>Dear, I tried to write you such a letter<br /> +As would tell you all my heart to-day.<br /> +Written Love is poor; one word were better;<br /> +Easier, too, a thousand times, to say.</p> +<p>I can tell you all: fears, doubts unheeding,<br /> +While I can be near you, hold your hand,<br /> +Looking right into your eyes, and reading<br /> +Reassurance that you understand.</p> +<p>Yet I wrote it through, then lingered, thinking<br /> +Of its reaching you,—what hour, what day;<br /> +Till I felt my heart and courage sinking<br /> +With a strange, new, wondering dismay.</p> +<p>“Will my letter fall,” I wondered sadly,<br /> +“On her mood like some discordant tone,<br /> +Or be welcomed tenderly and gladly?<br /> +Will she be with others, or alone?</p> +<p>“It may find her too absorbed to read it,<br /> +Save with hurried glance and careless air:<br /> +Sad and weary, she may scarcely heed it;<br /> +Gay and happy, she may hardly care.</p> +<p>“Shall I—dare I—risk the chances?” slowly<br /> +Something,—was it shyness, love, or pride?—<br /> +Chilled my heart, and checked my courage wholly;<br /> +So I laid it wistfully aside.</p> +<p>Then I leant against the casement, turning<br /> +Tearful eyes towards the far-off west,<br /> +Where the golden evening light was burning,<br /> +Till my heart throbbed back again to rest.</p> +<p>And I thought: “Love’s soul is not in fetters,<br /> +Neither space nor time keep souls apart;<br /> +Since I cannot—dare not—send my letters,<br /> +Through the silence I will send my heart.</p> +<p>“If, perhaps now, while my tears are falling,<br /> +She is dreaming quietly alone,<br /> +She will hear my Love’s far echo calling,<br /> +Feel my spirit drawing near her own.</p> +<p>“She will hear, while twilight shades enfold her,<br /> +All the gathered Love she knows so well—<br /> +Deepest Love my words have ever told her,<br /> +Deeper still—all I could never tell.</p> +<p>“Wondering at the strange mysterious power<br /> +That has touched her heart, then she will say:-<br /> +‘Some one whom I love, this very hour,<br /> +Thinks of me, and loves me, far away.’</p> +<p>“If, as well may be, to-night has found her<br /> +Full of other thoughts, with others by,<br /> +Through the words and claims that gather round her<br /> +She will hear just one, half-smothered sigh;</p> +<p>“Or will marvel why, without her seeking,<br /> +Suddenly the thought of me recurs;<br /> +Or, while listening to another speaking,<br /> +Fancy that my hand is holding hers.”</p> +<p>So I dreamed, and watched the stars’ far splendour<br /> +Glimmering on the azure darkness, start,—<br /> +While the star of trust rose bright and tender,<br /> +Through the twilight shadows of my heart.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A COMFORTER</h2> +<p>I.</p> +<p>Will she come to me, little Effie,<br /> +Will she come in my arms to rest,<br /> +And nestle her head on my shoulder,<br /> +While the sun goes down in the west?</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>“I and Effie will sit together,<br /> +All alone, in this great arm-chair:-<br /> +Is it silly to mind it, darling,<br /> +When Life is so hard to bear?</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>“No one comforts me like my Effie,<br /> +Just I think that she does not try,—<br /> +Only looks with a wistful wonder<br /> +Why grown people should ever cry;</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>“While her little soft arms close tighter<br /> +Round my neck in their clinging hold:-<br /> +Well, I must not cry on your hair, dear,<br /> +For my tears might tarnish the gold.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>“I am tired of trying to read, dear;<br /> +It is worse to talk and seem gay:<br /> +There are some kinds of sorrow, Effie,<br /> +It is useless to thrust away.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>“Ah, advice may be wise, my darling,<br /> +But one always knows it before;<br /> +And the reasoning down one’s sorrow<br /> +Seems to make one suffer the more.</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>“But my Effie won’t reason, will she?<br /> +Or endeavour to understand;<br /> +Only holds up her mouth to kiss me,<br /> +As she strokes my face with her hand.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>“If you break your plaything yourself, dear,<br /> +Don’t you cry for it all the same?<br /> +I don’t think it is such a comfort,<br /> +One has only oneself to blame.</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>“People say things cannot be helped, dear,<br /> +But then that is the reason why;<br /> +For if things could be helped or altered,<br /> +One would never sit down to cry:</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>“They say, too, that tears are quite useless<br /> +To undo, amend, or restore,—<br /> +When I think <i>how</i> useless, my Effie,<br /> +Then my tears only fall the more.</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>“All to-day I struggled against it;<br /> +But that does not make sorrow cease;<br /> +And now, dear, it is such a comfort<br /> +To be able to cry in peace.</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>“Though wise people would call that folly,<br /> +And remonstrate with grave surprise;<br /> +We won’t mind what they say, my Effie;—<br /> +We never professed to be wise.</p> +<p>“But my comforter knows a lesson<br /> +Wiser, truer than all the rest:-<br /> +That to help and to heal a sorrow,<br /> +Love and silence are always best.</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>“Well, who is my comforter—tell me?<br /> +Effie smiles, but she will not speak;<br /> +Or look up through the long curled lashes<br /> +That are shading her rosy cheek.</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>“Is she thinking of talking fishes,<br /> +The blue bird, or magical tree?<br /> +Perhaps I am thinking, my darling,<br /> +Of something that never can be.</p> +<p>XVI.</p> +<p>“You long—don’t you, dear?—for the Genii,<br /> +Who were slaves of lamps and of rings;<br /> +And I—I am sometimes afraid, dear,—<br /> +I want as impossible things.</p> +<p>XVII.</p> +<p>“But hark! there is Nurse calling Effie!<br /> +It is bedtime, so run away;<br /> +And I must go back, or the others<br /> +Will be wondering why I stay.</p> +<p>XVIII.</p> +<p>“So good-night to my darling Effie;<br /> +Keep happy, sweetheart, and grow wise:-<br /> +There’s one kiss for her golden tresses,<br /> +And two for her sleepy eyes.”</p> +<h2>VERSE: UNSEEN</h2> +<p>There are more things in Heaven and Earth, than we<br /> +Can dream of, or than nature understands;<br /> +We learn not through our poor philosophy<br /> +What hidden chords are touched by unseen hands.</p> +<p>The present hour repeats upon its strings<br /> +Echoes of some vague dream we have forgot;<br /> +Dim voices whisper half-remembered things,<br /> +And when we pause to listen,—answer not.</p> +<p>Forebodings come: we know not how, or whence,<br /> +Shadowing a nameless fear upon the soul,<br /> +And stir within our hearts a subtler sense,<br /> +Than light may read, or wisdom may control.</p> +<p>And who can tell what secret links of thought<br /> +Bind heart to heart? Unspoken things are heard,<br /> +As if within our deepest selves was brought<br /> +The soul, perhaps, of some unuttered word.</p> +<p>But, though a veil of shadow hangs between<br /> +That hidden life, and what we see and hear,<br /> +Let us revere the power of the Unseen,<br /> +And know a world of mystery is near.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A REMEMBRANCE OF AUTUMN</h2> +<p>Nothing stirs the sunny silence,—<br /> +Save the drowsy humming of the bees<br /> +Round the rich, ripe peaches on the wall,<br /> +And the south wind sighing in the trees,<br /> +And the dead leaves rustling as they fall:<br /> +While the swallows, one by one, are gathering,<br /> +All impatient to be on the wing,<br /> +And to wander from us, seeking<br /> +Their belovèd Spring!</p> +<p>Cloudless rise the azure heavens!<br /> +Only vaporous wreaths of snowy white<br /> +Nestle in the grey hill’s rugged side;<br /> +And the golden woods are bathed in light,<br /> +Dying, if they must, with kingly pride:<br /> +While the swallows in the blue air wheeling,<br /> +Circle now an eager fluttering band,<br /> +Ready to depart and leave us<br /> +For a brighter land!</p> +<p>But a voice is sounding sadly,<br /> +Telling of a glory that has been;<br /> +Of a day that faded all too fast—<br /> +See afar through the blue air serene,<br /> +Where the swallows wing their way at last,<br /> +And our hearts perchance, as sadly wandering,<br /> +Vainly seeking for a long-lost day,<br /> +While we watch the far-off swallows,<br /> +Flee with them away!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE</h2> +<p>I.</p> +<p>Yes, it looked dark and dreary,<br /> +That long and narrow street:<br /> +Only the sound of the rain,<br /> +And the tramp of passing feet,<br /> +The duller glow of the fire,<br /> +And gathering mists of night<br /> +To mark how slow and weary<br /> +The long day’s cheerless flight!</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>Watching the sullen fire,<br /> +Hearing the dismal rain,<br /> +Drop after drop, run down<br /> +On the darkening window-pane:<br /> +Chill was the heart of Alice,<br /> +Chill as that winter day,—<br /> +For the star of her life had risen<br /> +Only to fade away.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>The voice that had been so strong<br /> +To bid the snare depart,<br /> +The true and earnest will,<br /> +The calm and steadfast heart,<br /> +Were now weighed down by sorrow,<br /> +Were quivering now with pain;<br /> +The clear path now seemed clouded,<br /> +And all her grief in vain.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>Duty, Right, Truth, who promised<br /> +To help and save their own,<br /> +Seemed spreading wide their pinions<br /> +To leave her there alone.<br /> +So, turning from the Present<br /> +To well-known days of yore,<br /> +She called on them to strengthen<br /> +And guard her soul once more.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>She thought how in her girlhood<br /> +Her life was given away,<br /> +The solemn promise spoken<br /> +She kept so well to-day;<br /> +How to her brother Herbert<br /> +She had been help and guide,<br /> +And how his artist nature<br /> +On her calm strength relied.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>How through life’s fret and turmoil<br /> +The passion and fire of art<br /> +In him was soothed and quickened<br /> +By her true sister heart;<br /> +How future hopes had always<br /> +Been for his sake alone;<br /> +And now,—what strange new feeling<br /> +Possessed her as its own?</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>Her home—each flower that breathed there,<br /> +The wind’s sigh, soft and low,<br /> +Each trembling spray of ivy,<br /> +The river’s murmuring flow,<br /> +The shadow of the forest,<br /> +Sunset, or twilight dim—<br /> +Dear as they were, were dearer<br /> +By leaving them for him.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>And each year as it found her<br /> +In the dull, feverish town,<br /> +Saw self still more forgotten,<br /> +And selfish care kept down<br /> +By the calm joy of evening<br /> +That brought him to her side,<br /> +To warn him with wise counsel,<br /> +Or praise with tender pride.</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>Her heart, her life, her future,<br /> +Her genius, only meant<br /> +Another thing to give him,<br /> +And be therewith content.<br /> +To-day, what words had stirred her,<br /> +Her soul could not forget?<br /> +What dream had filled her spirit<br /> +With strange and wild regret?</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>To leave him for another,—<br /> +Could it indeed be so?<br /> +Could it have cost such anguish<br /> +To bid this vision go?<br /> +Was this her faith? Was Herbert<br /> +The second in her heart?<br /> +Did it need all this struggle<br /> +To bid a dream depart?</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>And yet, within her spirit<br /> +A far-off land was seen,<br /> +A home, which might have held her,<br /> +A love, which might have been.<br /> +And Life—not the mere being<br /> +Of daily ebb and flow,<br /> +But Life itself had claimed her,<br /> +And she had let it go!</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>Within her heart there echoed<br /> +Again the well-known tone<br /> +That promised this bright future,<br /> +And asked her for her own:<br /> +Then words of sorrow, broken<br /> +By half-reproachful pain;<br /> +And then a farewell spoken<br /> +In words of cold disdain.</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>Where now was the stern purpose<br /> +That nerved her soul so long?<br /> +Whence came the words she uttered,<br /> +So hard, so cold, so strong?<br /> +What right had she to banish<br /> +A hope that God had given?<br /> +Why must she choose earth’s portion,<br /> +And turn aside from Heaven?</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>To-day! Was it this morning?<br /> +If this long, fearful strife<br /> +Was but the work of hours,<br /> +What would be years of life?<br /> +Why did a cruel Heaven<br /> +For such great suffering call?<br /> +And why—Oh, still more cruel!—<br /> +Must her own words do all?</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>Did she repent? Oh Sorrow!<br /> +Why do we linger still<br /> +To take thy loving message,<br /> +And do thy gentle will?<br /> +See, her tears fall more slowly,<br /> +The passionate murmurs cease,<br /> +And back upon her spirit<br /> +Flow strength, and love, and peace.</p> +<p>XVI.</p> +<p>The fire burns more brightly,<br /> +The rain has passed away,<br /> +Herbert will see no shadow<br /> +Upon his home to-day;<br /> +Only that Alice greets him<br /> +With doubly tender care,<br /> +Kissing a fonder blessing<br /> +Down on his golden hair.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>I.</p> +<p>The studio is deserted,<br /> +Palette and brush laid by,<br /> +The sketch rests on the easel,<br /> +The paint is scarcely dry;<br /> +And Silence—who seems always<br /> +Within her depths to bear<br /> +The next sound that will utter—<br /> +Now holds a dumb despair.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>So Alice feels it: listening<br /> +With breathless, stony fear,<br /> +Waiting the dreadful summons<br /> +Each minute brings more near:<br /> +When the young life, now ebbing,<br /> +Shall fail, and pass away<br /> +Into that mighty shadow<br /> +Who shrouds the house to-day.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>But why—when the sick chamber<br /> +Is on the upper floor—<br /> +Why dares not Alice enter<br /> +Within the close—shut door?<br /> +If he—her all—her Brother,<br /> +Lies dying in that gloom,<br /> +What strange mysterious power<br /> +Has sent her from the room?</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>It is not one week’s anguish<br /> +That can have changed her so;<br /> +Joy has not died here lately,<br /> +Struck down by one quick blow;<br /> +But cruel months have needed<br /> +Their long relentless chain,<br /> +To teach that shrinking manner<br /> +Of helpless, hopeless pain.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>The struggle was scarce over<br /> +Last Christmas Eve had brought:<br /> +The fibres still were quivering<br /> +Of the one wounded thought,<br /> +When Herbert—who, unconscious,<br /> +Had guessed no inward strife—<br /> +Bade her, in pride and pleasure,<br /> +Welcome his fair young wife.</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>Bade her rejoice, and smiling,<br /> +Although his eyes were dim,<br /> +Thanked God he thus could pay her<br /> +The care she gave to him.<br /> +This fresh bright life would bring her<br /> +A new and joyous fate—<br /> +Oh, Alice, check the murmur<br /> +That cries, “Too late! too late!”</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>Too late! Could she have known it<br /> +A few short weeks before,<br /> +That his life was completed,<br /> +And needing hers no more,<br /> +She might—Oh sad repining!<br /> +What “might have been,” forget;<br /> +“It was not,” should suffice us<br /> +To stifle vain regret.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>He needed her no longer,<br /> +Each day it grew more plain;<br /> +First with a startled wonder,<br /> +Then with a wondering pain.<br /> +Love: why, his wife best gave it;<br /> +Comfort: durst Alice speak,<br /> +Or counsel, when resentment<br /> +Flushed on the young wife’s cheek?</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>No more long talks by firelight<br /> +Of childish times long past,<br /> +And dreams of future greatness<br /> +Which he must reach at last;<br /> +Dreams, where her purer instinct<br /> +With truth unerring told,<br /> +Where was the worthless gilding,<br /> +And where refinèd gold.</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>Slowly, but surely ever,<br /> +Dora’s poor jealous pride,<br /> +Which she called love for Herbert,<br /> +Drove Alice from his side;<br /> +And, spite of nervous effort<br /> +To share their altered life,<br /> +She felt a check to Herbert,<br /> +A burden to his wife.</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>This was the least; for Alice<br /> +Feared, dreaded, <i>knew</i> at length<br /> +How much his nature owed her<br /> +Of truth, and power, and strength;<br /> +And watched the daily failing<br /> +Of all his nobler part:<br /> +Low aims, weak purpose, telling<br /> +In lower, weaker art.</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>And now, when he is dying,<br /> +The last words she could hear<br /> +Must not be hers, but given<br /> +The bride of one short year.<br /> +The last care is another’s;<br /> +The last prayer must not be<br /> +The one they learnt together<br /> +Beside their mother’s knee.</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>Summoned at last: she kisses<br /> +The clay-cold stiffening hand;<br /> +And, reading pleading efforts<br /> +To make her understand,<br /> +Answers, with solemn promise,<br /> +In clear but trembling tone,<br /> +To Dora’s life henceforward<br /> +She will devote her own.</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>Now all is over. Alice<br /> +Dares not remain to weep,<br /> +But soothes the frightened Dora<br /> +Into a sobbing sleep.<br /> +The poor weak child will need her: . . .<br /> +Oh, who can dare complain,<br /> +When God sends a new Duty<br /> +To comfort each new Pain!</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>I.</p> +<p>The House is all deserted,<br /> +In the dim evening gloom,<br /> +Only one figure passes<br /> +Slowly from room to room;<br /> +And, pausing at each doorway,<br /> +Seems gathering up again<br /> +Within her heart the relics<br /> +Of bygone joy and pain.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>There is an earnest longing<br /> +In those who onward gaze,<br /> +Looking with weary patience<br /> +Towards the coming days.<br /> +There is a deeper longing,<br /> +More sad, more strong, more keen:<br /> +Those know it who look backward,<br /> +And yearn for what has been.</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>At every hearth she pauses,<br /> +Touches each well-known chair;<br /> +Gazes from every window,<br /> +Lingers on every stair.<br /> +What have these months brought Alice<br /> +Now one more year is past?<br /> +This Christmas Eve shall tell us,<br /> +The third one and the last.</p> +<p>IV.</p> +<p>The wilful, wayward Dora,<br /> +In those first weeks of grief,<br /> +Could seek and find in Alice<br /> +Strength, soothing, and relief;<br /> +And Alice—last sad comfort<br /> +True woman-heart can take—<br /> +Had something still to suffer<br /> +And bear for Herbert’s sake.</p> +<p>V.</p> +<p>Spring, with her western breezes,<br /> +From Indian islands bore<br /> +To Alice news that Leonard<br /> +Would seek his home once more.<br /> +What was it—joy, or sorrow?<br /> +What were they—hopes, or fears?<br /> +That flushed her cheeks with crimson,<br /> +And filled her eyes with tears?</p> +<p>VI.</p> +<p>He came. And who so kindly<br /> +Could ask and hear her tell<br /> +Herbert’s last hours; for Leonard<br /> +Had known and loved him well.<br /> +Daily he came; and Alice,<br /> +Poor weary heart, at length,<br /> +Weighed down by others’ weakness,<br /> +Could lean upon his strength.</p> +<p>VII.</p> +<p>Yet not the voice of Leonard<br /> +Could her true care beguile,<br /> +That turned to watch, rejoicing<br /> +Dora’s reviving smile.<br /> +So, from that little household<br /> +The worst gloom passed away,<br /> +The one bright hour of evening<br /> +Lit up the livelong day.</p> +<p>VIII.</p> +<p>Days passed. The golden summer<br /> +In sudden heat bore down<br /> +Its blue, bright, glowing sweetness<br /> +Upon the scorching town.<br /> +And sighs and sounds of country<br /> +Came in the warm soft tune<br /> +Sung by the honeyed breezes<br /> +Borne on the wings of June.</p> +<p>IX.</p> +<p>One twilight hour, but earlier<br /> +Than usual, Alice thought<br /> +She knew the fresh sweet fragrance<br /> +Of flowers that Leonard brought;<br /> +Through opened doors and windows<br /> +It stole up through the gloom,<br /> +And with appealing sweetness<br /> +Drew Alice from her room.</p> +<p>X.</p> +<p>Yes, he was there; and pausing<br /> +Just near the opened door,<br /> +To check her heart’s quick beating,<br /> +She heard—and paused still more—<br /> +His low voice—Dora’s answers—<br /> +His pleading—Yes, she knew<br /> +The tone—the words—the accents:<br /> +She once had heard them too.</p> +<p>XI.</p> +<p>“Would Alice blame her?” Leonard’s<br /> +Low, tender answer came;—<br /> +“Alice was far too noble<br /> +To think or dream of blame.”<br /> +“And was he sure he loved her?”<br /> +“Yes, with the one love given<br /> +Once in a lifetime only,<br /> +With one soul and one heaven!”</p> +<p>XII.</p> +<p>Then came a plaintive murmur,—<br /> +“Dora had once been told<br /> +That he and Alice”—“Dearest,<br /> +Alice is far too cold<br /> +To love; and I, my Dora,<br /> +If once I fancied so,<br /> +It was a brief delusion,<br /> +And over,—long ago.”</p> +<p>XIII.</p> +<p>Between the Past and Present,<br /> +On that bleak moment’s height,<br /> +She stood. As some lost traveller<br /> +By a quick flash of light<br /> +Seeing a gulf before him,<br /> +With dizzy, sick despair,<br /> +Reels backward, but to find it<br /> +A deeper chasm there.</p> +<p>XIV.</p> +<p>The twilight grew still darker,<br /> +The fragrant flowers more sweet,<br /> +The stars shone out in heaven,<br /> +The lamps gleamed down the street;<br /> +And hours passed in dreaming<br /> +Over their new-found fate,<br /> +Ere they could think of wondering<br /> +Why Alice was so late.</p> +<p>XV.</p> +<p>She came, and calmly listened;<br /> +In vain they strove to trace<br /> +If Herbert’s memory shadowed<br /> +In grief upon her face.<br /> +No blame, no wonder showed there,<br /> +No feeling could be told;<br /> +Her voice was not less steady,<br /> +Her manner not more cold.</p> +<p>XVI.</p> +<p>They could not hear the anguish<br /> +That broke in words of pain<br /> +Through the calm summer midnight,—<br /> +“My Herbert—mine again!”<br /> +Yes, they have once been parted,<br /> +But this day shall restore<br /> +The long lost one: she claims him:<br /> +“My Herbert—mine once more!”</p> +<p>XVII.</p> +<p>Now Christmas Eve returning,<br /> +Saw Alice stand beside<br /> +The altar, greeting Dora,<br /> +Again a smiling bride;<br /> +And now the gloomy evening<br /> +Sees Alice pale and worn,<br /> +Leaving the house for ever,<br /> +To wander out forlorn.</p> +<p>XVIII.</p> +<p>Forlorn—nay, not so. Anguish<br /> +Shall do its work at length;<br /> +Her soul, passed through the fire,<br /> +Shall gain still purer strength.<br /> +Somewhere there waits for Alice<br /> +An earnest noble part;<br /> +And, meanwhile God is with her,—<br /> +God, and her own true heart!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE WIND</h2> +<p>The wind went forth o’er land and sea<br /> +Loud and free;<br /> +Foaming waves leapt up to meet it,<br /> +Stately pines bowed down to greet it;<br /> +While the wailing sea<br /> +And the forest’s murmured sigh<br /> +Joined the cry<br /> +Of the wind that swept o’er land and sea.</p> +<p>The wind that blew upon the sea<br /> +Fierce and free,<br /> +Cast the bark upon the shore,<br /> +Whence it sailed the night before<br /> +Full of hope and glee;<br /> +And the cry of pain and death<br /> +Was but a breath,<br /> +Through the wind that roared upon the sea.</p> +<p>The wind was whispering on the lea<br /> +Tenderly;<br /> +But the white rose felt it pass,<br /> +And the fragile stalks of grass<br /> +Shook with fear to see<br /> +All her trembling petals shed,<br /> +As it fled,<br /> +So gently by,—the wind upon the lea.</p> +<p>Blow, thou wind, upon the sea<br /> +Fierce and free,<br /> +And a gentler message send,<br /> +Where frail flowers and grasses bend,<br /> +On the sunny lea;<br /> +For thy bidding still is one,<br /> +Be it done<br /> +In tenderness or wrath, on land or sea!</p> +<h2>VERSE: EXPECTATION</h2> +<p>The King’s three daughters stood on the terrace,<br /> +The hanging terrace, so broad and green,<br /> +Which keeps the sea from the marble Palace,<br /> +There was Princess May, and Princess Alice,<br /> +And the youngest Princess, Gwendoline.</p> +<p>Sighed Princess May, “Will it last much longer,<br /> +Time throbs so slow and my Heart so quick;<br /> +And oh, how long is the day in dying;<br /> +Weary am I of waiting and sighing,<br /> +For Hope deferred makes the spirit sick.”</p> +<p>But Princess Gwendoline smiled and kissed her:-<br /> +“Am I not sadder than you, my Sister?<br /> +Expecting joy is a happy pain.<br /> +The Future’s fathomless mine of treasures,<br /> +All countless hordes of possible pleasures,<br /> +Might bring their store to my feet in vain.”</p> +<p>Sighed Princess Alice as night grew nearer:-<br /> +“So soon, so soon, is the daylight fled!<br /> +And oh, how fast comes the dark to-morrow,<br /> +Who hides, perhaps in her veil of sorrow,<br /> +The terrible hour I wait and dread!”</p> +<p>But Princess Gwendoline kissed her, sighing,—<br /> +“It is only Life that can fear dying;<br /> +Possible loss means possible gain.<br /> +Those who still dread, are not quite forsaken;<br /> +But not to fear, because all is taken,<br /> +Is the loneliest depth of human pain.”</p> +<h2>VERSE: AN IDEAL</h2> +<p>While the grey mists of early dawn<br /> +Were lingering round the hill,<br /> +And the dew was still upon the flowers,<br /> +And the earth lay calm and still,<br /> +A wingèd Spirit came to me<br /> +Noble, and radiant, and free.</p> +<p>Folding his blue and shining wings,<br /> +He laid his hand on mine.<br /> +I know not if I felt, or heard<br /> +The mystic word divine,<br /> +Which woke the trembling air to sighs,<br /> +And shone from out his starry eyes.</p> +<p>The word he spoke, within my heart<br /> +Stirred life unknown before,<br /> +And cast a spell upon my soul<br /> +To chain it evermore;<br /> +Making the cold dull earth look bright,<br /> +And skies flame out in sapphire light.</p> +<p>When noon ruled from the heavens, and man<br /> +Through busy day toiled on,<br /> +My Spirit drooped his shining wings;<br /> +His radiant smile was gone;<br /> +His voice had ceased, his grace had flown,<br /> +His hand grew cold within my own.</p> +<p>Bitter, oh bitter tears, I wept,<br /> +Yet still I held his hand,<br /> +Hoping with vague unreasoning hope:<br /> +I would not understand<br /> +That this pale Spirit never more<br /> +Could be what he had been before.</p> +<p>Could it be so? My heart stood still.<br /> +Yet he was by my side.<br /> +I strove; but my despair was vain;<br /> +Vain, too, was love and pride.<br /> +Could he have changed to me so soon?<br /> +My day was only at its noon.</p> +<p>Now stars are rising one by one,<br /> +Through the dim evening air;<br /> +Near me a household Spirit waits,<br /> +With tender loving care;<br /> +He speaks and smiles, but never sings,<br /> +Long since he lost his shining wings.</p> +<p>With thankful, true content, I know<br /> +This is the better way;<br /> +Is not a faithful spirit mine—<br /> +Mine still—at close of day? . . .<br /> +Yet will my foolish heart repine<br /> +For that bright morning dream of mine.</p> +<h2>VERSE: OUR DEAD</h2> +<p>Nothing is our own: we hold our pleasures<br /> +Just a little while, ere they are fled:<br /> +One by one life robs us of our treasures;<br /> +Nothing is our own except our Dead.</p> +<p>They are ours, and hold in faithful keeping<br /> +Safe for ever, all they took away.<br /> +Cruel life can never stir that sleeping,<br /> +Cruel time can never seize that prey.</p> +<p>Justice pales; truth fades; stars fall from Heaven;<br /> +Human are the great whom we revere:<br /> +No true crown of honour can be given,<br /> +Till we place it on a funeral bier.</p> +<p>How the Children leave us: and no traces<br /> +Linger of that smiling angel band;<br /> +Gone, for ever gone; and in their places,<br /> +Weary men and anxious women stand.</p> +<p>Yet we have some little ones, still ours;<br /> +They have kept the baby smile we know,<br /> +Which we kissed one day and hid with flowers,<br /> +On their dead white faces, long ago.</p> +<p>When our Joy is lost—and life will take it—<br /> +Then no memory of the past remains;<br /> +Save with some strange, cruel sting, to make it<br /> +Bitterness beyond all present pains.</p> +<p>Death, more tender-hearted, leaves to sorrow<br /> +Still the radiant shadow, fond regret:<br /> +We shall find, in some far, bright to-morrow,<br /> +Joy that he has taken, living yet.</p> +<p>Is Love ours, and do we dream we know it,<br /> +Bound with all our heart-strings, all our own?<br /> +Any cold and cruel dawn may show it,<br /> +Shattered, desecrated, overthrown.</p> +<p>Only the dead Hearts forsake us never;<br /> +Death’s last kiss has been the mystic sign<br /> +Consecrating Love our own for ever,<br /> +Crowning it eternal and divine.</p> +<p>So when Fate would fain besiege our city,<br /> +Dim our gold, or make our flowers fall,<br /> +Death the Angel, comes in love and pity,<br /> +And to save our treasures, claims them all.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A WOMAN’S ANSWER</h2> +<p>I will not let you say a Woman’s part<br /> +Must be to give exclusive love alone;<br /> +Dearest, although I love you so, my heart<br /> +Answers a thousand claims beside your own.</p> +<p>I love—what do I not love? earth and air<br /> +Find space within my heart, and myriad things<br /> +You would not deign to heed, are cherished there,<br /> +And vibrate on its very inmost strings.</p> +<p>I love the summer with her ebb and flow<br /> +Of light, and warmth, and music that have nurst<br /> +Her tender buds to blossoms . . . and you know<br /> +It was in summer that I saw you first.</p> +<p>I love the winter dearly too, . . . but then<br /> +I owe it so much; on a winter’s day,<br /> +Bleak, cold, and stormy, you returned again,<br /> +When you had been those weary months away.</p> +<p>I love the Stars like friends; so many nights<br /> +I gazed at them, when you were far from me,<br /> +Till I grew blind with tears . . . those far-off lights<br /> +Could watch you, whom I longed in vain to see.</p> +<p>I love the Flowers; happy hours lie<br /> +Shut up within their petals close and fast:<br /> +You have forgotten, dear: but they and I<br /> +Keep every fragment of the golden Past.</p> +<p>I love, too, to be loved; all loving praise<br /> +Seems like a crown upon my Life,—to make<br /> +It better worth the giving, and to raise<br /> +Still nearer to your own the heart you take.</p> +<p>I love all good and noble souls;—I heard<br /> +One speak of you but lately, and for days<br /> +Only to think of it, my soul was stirred<br /> +In tender memory of such generous praise.</p> +<p>I love all those who love you; all who owe<br /> +Comfort to you: and I can find regret<br /> +Even for those poorer hearts who once could know,<br /> +And once could love you, and can now forget.</p> +<p>Well, is my heart so narrow—I, who spare<br /> +Love for all these? Do I not even hold<br /> +My favourite books in special tender care,<br /> +And prize them as a miser does his gold?</p> +<p>The Poets that you used to read to me<br /> +While summer twilights faded in the sky;<br /> +But most of all I think Aurora Leigh,<br /> +Because—because—do you remember why?</p> +<p>Will you be jealous? Did you guess before<br /> +I loved so many things?—Still you the best:-<br /> +Dearest, remember that I love you more,<br /> +Oh, more a thousand times than all the rest!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE STORY OF THE FAITHFUL SOUL</h2> +<p>FOUNDED ON AN OLD FRENCH LEGEND</p> +<p>The fettered Spirits linger<br /> +In purgatorial pain,<br /> +With penal fires effacing<br /> +Their last faint earthly stain,<br /> +Which Life’s imperfect sorrow<br /> +Had tried to cleanse in vain.</p> +<p>Yet on each feast of Mary<br /> +Their sorrow finds release,<br /> +For the Great Archangel Michael<br /> +Comes down and bids it cease;<br /> +And the name of these brief respites<br /> +Is called “Our Lady’s Peace.”</p> +<p>Yet once—so runs the Legend—<br /> +When the Archangel came<br /> +And all these holy spirits<br /> +Rejoiced at Mary’s name;<br /> +One voice alone was wailing,<br /> +Still wailing on the same.</p> +<p>And though a great Te Deum<br /> +The happy echoes woke,<br /> +This one discordant wailing<br /> +Through the sweet voices broke;<br /> +So when St. Michael questioned,<br /> +Thus the poor spirit spoke:-</p> +<p>“I am not cold or thankless,<br /> +Although I still complain;<br /> +I prize our Lady’s blessing<br /> +Although it comes in vain<br /> +To still my bitter anguish,<br /> +Or quench my ceaseless pain.</p> +<p>“On earth a heart that loved me,<br /> +Still lives and mourns me there,<br /> +And the shadow of his anguish<br /> +Is more than I can bear;<br /> +All the torment that I suffer<br /> +Is the thought of his despair.</p> +<p>“The evening of my bridal<br /> +Death took my Life away;<br /> +Not all Love’s passionate pleading<br /> +Could gain an hour’s delay.<br /> +And he I left has suffered<br /> +A whole year since that day.</p> +<p>“If I could only see him,—<br /> +If I could only go<br /> +And speak one word of comfort<br /> +And solace,—then, I know<br /> +He would endure with patience,<br /> +And strive against his woe.”</p> +<p>Thus the Archangel answered:-<br /> +“Your time of pain is brief,<br /> +And soon the peace of Heaven<br /> +Will give you full relief;<br /> +Yet if his earthly comfort<br /> +So much outweighs your grief,</p> +<p>“Then, through a special mercy<br /> +I offer you this grace,—<br /> +You may seek him who mourns you<br /> +And look upon his face,<br /> +And speak to him of comfort<br /> +For one short minute’s space.</p> +<p>“But when that time is ended,<br /> +Return here, and remain<br /> +A thousand years in torment,<br /> +A thousand years in pain:<br /> +Thus dearly must you purchase<br /> +The comfort he will gain.”</p> +<p>* * *</p> +<p>The Lime-trees’ shade at evening<br /> +Is spreading broad and wide;<br /> +Beneath their fragrant arches,<br /> +Pace slowly, side by side,<br /> +In low and tender converse,<br /> +A Bridegroom and his Bride.</p> +<p>The night is calm and stilly,<br /> +No other sound is there<br /> +Except their happy voices:<br /> +What is that cold bleak air<br /> +That passes through the Lime-trees<br /> +And stirs the Bridegroom’s hair?</p> +<p>While one low cry of anguish,<br /> +Like the last dying wail<br /> +Of some dumb, hunted creature,<br /> +Is borne upon the gale:-<br /> +Why does the Bridegroom shudder<br /> +And turn so deathly pale?</p> +<p>* * *</p> +<p>Near Purgatory’s entrance<br /> +The radiant Angels wait;<br /> +It was the great St. Michael<br /> +Who closed that gloomy gate,<br /> +When the poor wandering spirit<br /> +Came back to meet her fate.</p> +<p>* * *</p> +<p>“Pass on,” thus spoke the Angel:<br /> +”Heaven’s joy is deep and vast;<br /> +Pass on, pass on, poor Spirit,<br /> +For Heaven is yours at last;<br /> +In that one minute’s anguish<br /> +Your thousand years have passed.”</p> +<h2>VERSE: A CONTRAST</h2> +<p>Can you open that ebony Casket?<br /> +Look, this is the key: but stay,<br /> +Those are only a few old letters<br /> +Which I keep,—to burn some day.</p> +<p>Yes, that Locket is quaint and ancient;<br /> +But leave it, dear, with the ring,<br /> +And give me the little Portrait<br /> +Which hangs by a crimson string.</p> +<p>I have never opened that Casket<br /> +Since, many long years ago,<br /> +It was sent me back in anger<br /> +By one whom I used to know.</p> +<p>But I want you to see the Portrait:<br /> +I wonder if you can trace<br /> +A look of that smiling creature<br /> +Left now in my faded face.</p> +<p>It was like me once; but remember<br /> +The weary relentless years,<br /> +And Life, with its fierce, brief Tempests,<br /> +And its long, long rain of tears.</p> +<p>Is it strange to call it my Portrait?<br /> +Nay, smile, dear, for well you may,<br /> +To think of that radiant Vision<br /> +And of what I am to-day.</p> +<p>With restless, yet confident longing<br /> +How those blue eyes seem to gaze<br /> +Into deep and exhaustless Treasures,<br /> +All hid in the coming days.</p> +<p>With that trust which leans on the Future,<br /> +And counts on her promised store,<br /> +Until she has taught us to tremble<br /> +And hope,—but to trust no more.</p> +<p>How that young, light heart would have pitied<br /> +Me now—if her dreams had shown<br /> +A quiet and weary woman<br /> +With all her illusions flown.</p> +<p>Yet I—who shall soon be resting,<br /> +And have passed the hardest part,<br /> +Can look back with a deeper pity<br /> +On that young unconscious heart.</p> +<p>It is strange; but Life’s currents drift us<br /> +So surely and swiftly on,<br /> +That we scarcely notice the changes,<br /> +And how many things are gone:</p> +<p>And forget, while to-day absorbs us,<br /> +How old mysteries are unsealed;<br /> +How the old, old ties are loosened,<br /> +And the old, old wounds are healed.</p> +<p>And we say that our Life is fleeting<br /> +Like a story that Time has told;<br /> +But we fancy that we—we only<br /> +Are just what we were of old.</p> +<p>So now and then it is wisdom<br /> +To gaze, as I do to-day,<br /> +At a half-forgotten relic<br /> +Of a Time that is passed away.</p> +<p>The very look of that Portrait,<br /> +The Perfume that seems to cling<br /> +To those fragile and faded letters,<br /> +And the Locket, and the Ring,</p> +<p>If they only stirred in my spirit<br /> +Forgotten pleasure and pain,—<br /> +Why, memory is often bitter,<br /> +And almost always in vain;</p> +<p>But the contrast of bygone hours<br /> +Comes to rend a veil away,—<br /> +And I marvel to see the stranger<br /> +Who is living in me to-day.</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE BRIDE’S DREAM</h2> +<p>The stars are gleaming;<br /> +The maiden sleeps—<br /> +What is she dreaming?<br /> +For see—she weeps.<br /> +By her side is an Angel<br /> +With folded wings;<br /> +While the Maiden slumbers<br /> +The Angel sings:<br /> +He sings of a Bridal,<br /> +Of Love, of Pain,<br /> +Of a heart to be given,—<br /> +And all in vain;<br /> +(See, her cheek is flushing,<br /> +As if with pain;)<br /> +He telleth of sorrow,<br /> +Regrets and fears,<br /> +And the few vain pleasures<br /> +We buy with tears;<br /> +And the bitter lesson<br /> +We learn from years.</p> +<p>The stars are gleaming<br /> +Upon her brow:<br /> +What is she dreaming<br /> +So calmly now?<br /> +By her side is the Angel<br /> +With folded wings;<br /> +She smiles in her slumber<br /> +The while he sings.<br /> +He sings of a Bridal,<br /> +Of Love divine;<br /> +Of a heart to be laid<br /> +On a sacred shrine;<br /> +Of a crown of glory,<br /> +Where seraphs shine;<br /> +Of the deep, long rapture<br /> +The chosen know<br /> +Who forsake for Heaven<br /> +Vain joys below,<br /> +Who desire no pleasure,<br /> +And fear no woe.</p> +<p>The Bells are ringing,<br /> +The sun shines clear,<br /> +The Choir is singing,<br /> +The guests are here.<br /> +Before the High Altar<br /> +Behold the Bride;<br /> +And a mournful Angel<br /> +Is by her side.<br /> +She smiles, all content<br /> +With her chosen lot,—<br /> +(Is her last night’s dreaming<br /> +So soon forgot?)<br /> +And oh, may the Angel<br /> +Forsake her not!<br /> +For on her small hand<br /> +There glitters plain<br /> +The first sad link<br /> +Of a life-long chain;—<br /> +And she needs his guiding<br /> +Through paths of pain.</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE ANGEL’S BIDDING</h2> +<p>Not a sound is heard in the Convent;<br /> +The Vesper Chant is sung,<br /> +The sick have all been tended,<br /> +The poor nun’s toils are ended<br /> +Till the Matin bell has rung.<br /> +All is still, save the Clock, that is ticking<br /> +So loud in the frosty air,<br /> +And the soft snow, falling as gently<br /> +As an answer to a prayer.<br /> +But an Angel whispers, “Oh, Sister,<br /> +You must rise from your bed to pray;<br /> +In the silent, deserted chapel,<br /> +You must kneel till the dawn of day;<br /> +For, far on the desolate moorland,<br /> +So dreary, and bleak, and white,<br /> +There is one, all alone and helpless,<br /> +In peril of death to-night.</p> +<p>“No sound on the moorland to guide him,<br /> +No star in the murky air;<br /> +And he thinks of his home and his loved ones<br /> +With the tenderness of despair;<br /> +He has wandered for hours in the snow-drift,<br /> +And he strives to stand in vain,<br /> +And so lies down to dream of his children<br /> +And never to rise again.<br /> +Then kneel in the silent chapel<br /> +Till the dawn of to-morrow’s sun,<br /> +And ask of the Lord you worship<br /> +For the life of that desolate one;<br /> +And the smiling eyes of his children<br /> +Will gladden his heart again,<br /> +And the grateful tears of God’s poor ones<br /> +Will fall on your soul like rain!—</p> +<p>“Yet, leave him alone to perish,<br /> +And the grace of your God implore,<br /> +With all the strength of your spirit,<br /> +For one who needs it more.<br /> +Far away, in the gleaming city,<br /> +Amid perfume, and song, and light,<br /> +A soul that Jesus has ransomed<br /> +Is in peril of sin to-night.</p> +<p>“The Tempter is close beside him,<br /> +And his danger is all forgot,<br /> +And the far-off voices of childhood<br /> +Call aloud, but he hears them not;<br /> +He sayeth no prayer, and his mother—<br /> +He thinks not of her to-day,<br /> +And he will not look up to Heaven,<br /> +And his Angel is turning away.</p> +<p>“Then pray for a soul in peril,<br /> +A soul for which Jesus died;<br /> +Ask, by the cross that bore Him,<br /> +And by her who stood beside;<br /> +And the Angels of God will thank you,<br /> +And bend from their thrones of light,<br /> +To tell you that Heaven rejoices<br /> +At the deed you have done to-night.”</p> +<h2>VERSE: SPRING</h2> +<p>Hark! the Hours are softly calling,<br /> +Bidding Spring arise,<br /> +To listen to the raindrops falling<br /> +From the cloudy skies,<br /> +To listen to Earth’s weary voices,<br /> +Louder every day,<br /> +Bidding her no longer linger<br /> +On her charmèd way;<br /> +But hasten to her task of beauty<br /> +Scarcely yet begun;<br /> +By the first bright day of summer<br /> +It should all be done.<br /> +She has yet to loose the fountain<br /> +From its iron chain;<br /> +And to make the barren mountain<br /> +Green and bright again;<br /> +She must clear the snow that lingers<br /> +Round the stalks away<br /> +And let the snowdrop’s trembling whiteness<br /> +See the light of day.<br /> +She must watch, and warm, and cherish<br /> +Every blade of green;<br /> +Till the tender grass appearing<br /> +From the earth is seen;<br /> +She must bring the golden crocus<br /> +From her hidden store;<br /> +She must spread broad showers of daisies<br /> +Each day more and more.<br /> +In each hedgerow she must hasten<br /> +Cowslips sweet to set;<br /> +Primroses in rich profusion,<br /> +With bright dewdrops wet,<br /> +And under every leaf, in shadow<br /> +Hide a Violet!<br /> +Every tree within the forest<br /> +Must be decked anew<br /> +And the tender buds of promise<br /> +Should be peeping through,<br /> +Folded deep, and almost hidden,<br /> +Leaf by leaf beside,<br /> +What will make the Summer’s glory,<br /> +And the Autumn’s pride.<br /> +She must weave the loveliest carpets,<br /> +Chequered sun and shade,<br /> +Every wood must have such pathways<br /> +Laid in every glade;<br /> +She must hang laburnum branches<br /> +On each archèd bough;—<br /> +And the white and purple lilac<br /> +Should be waving now;<br /> +She must breathe, and cold winds vanish<br /> +At her breath away;<br /> +And then load the air around her<br /> +With the scent of May!<br /> +Listen then, Oh Spring! nor linger<br /> +On thy charmèd way;<br /> +Have pity on thy prisoned flowers<br /> +Wearying for the day.<br /> +Listen to the raindrops falling<br /> +From the cloudy skies;<br /> +Listen to the hours calling<br /> +Bidding thee arise.</p> +<h2>VERSE: EVENING HYMN</h2> +<p>The shadows of the evening hours<br /> +Fall from the darkening sky;<br /> +Upon the fragrance of the flowers<br /> +The dews of evening lie:<br /> +Before Thy throne, O Lord of Heaven,<br /> +We kneel at close of day;<br /> +Look on Thy children from on high,<br /> +And hear us while we pray.</p> +<p>The sorrows of Thy Servants, Lord,<br /> +Oh, do not Thou despise;<br /> +But let the incense of our prayers<br /> +Before Thy mercy rise;<br /> +The brightness of the coming night<br /> +Upon the darkness rolls:<br /> +With hopes of future glory chase<br /> +The shadows on our souls.</p> +<p>Slowly the rays of daylight fade;<br /> +So fade within our heart,<br /> +The hopes in earthly love and joy,<br /> +That one by one depart:<br /> +Slowly the bright stars, one by one,<br /> +Within the Heavens shine;—<br /> +Give us, Oh, Lord, fresh hopes in Heaven,<br /> +And trust in things divine.</p> +<p>Let peace, Oh Lord, Thy peace, Oh God,<br /> +Upon our souls descend;<br /> +From midnight fears and perils, Thou<br /> +Our trembling hearts defend;<br /> +Give us a respite from our toil,<br /> +Calm and subdue our woes;<br /> +Through the long day we suffer, Lord,<br /> +Oh, give us now repose!</p> +<h2>VERSE: THE INNER CHAMBER</h2> +<p>In the outer Court I was singing,<br /> +Was singing the whole day long;<br /> +From the inner chamber were ringing<br /> +Echoes repeating my song.</p> +<p>And I sang till it grew immortal;<br /> +For that very song of mine,<br /> +When re-echoed behind the Portal,<br /> +Was filled with a life divine.</p> +<p>Was the Chamber a silver round<br /> +Of arches, whose magical art<br /> +Drew in coils of musical sound,<br /> +And cast them back on my heart?</p> +<p>Was there hidden within a lyre<br /> +Which, as air breathed over its strings,<br /> +Filled my song with a soul of fire,<br /> +And sent back my words with wings?</p> +<p>Was some seraph imprisoned there,<br /> +Whose voice made my song complete,<br /> +And whose lingering, soft despair,<br /> +Made the echo so faint and sweet?</p> +<p>Long I trembled and paused—then parted<br /> +The curtains with heavy fringe;<br /> +And, half fearing, yet eager-hearted<br /> +Turned the door on its golden hinge.</p> +<p>Now I sing in the court once more,<br /> +I sing and I weep all day,<br /> +As I kneel by the close-shut door,<br /> +For I know what the echoes say.</p> +<p>Yet I sing not the song of old,<br /> +Ere I knew whence the echo came,<br /> +Ere I opened the door of gold;<br /> +But the music sounds just the same.</p> +<p>Then take warning, and turn away<br /> +Do not ask of that hidden thing,<br /> +Do not guess what the echoes say,<br /> +Or the meaning of what I sing.</p> +<h2>VERSE: HEARTS</h2> +<p>I.</p> +<p>A trinket made like a Heart, dear,<br /> +Of red gold, bright and fine,<br /> +Was given to me for a keepsake,<br /> +Given to me for mine.</p> +<p>And another heart, warm and tender,<br /> +As true as a heart could be;<br /> +And every throb that stirred it<br /> +Was always and all for me.</p> +<p>Sailing over the waters,<br /> +Watching the far blue land,<br /> +I dropped my golden heart, dear,<br /> +Dropped it out of my hand!</p> +<p>It lies in the cold blue waters,<br /> +Fathoms and fathoms deep,<br /> +The golden heart which I promised,<br /> +Promised to prize and keep.</p> +<p>Gazing at Life’s bright visions,<br /> +So false, and fair, and new,<br /> +I forgot the other heart, dear,<br /> +Forgot it and lost it too!</p> +<p>I might seek that heart for ever,<br /> +I might seek and seek in vain;—<br /> +And for one short, careless hour,<br /> +I pay with a life of pain.</p> +<p>II.</p> +<p>The Heart?—Yes I wore it<br /> +As sign and as token<br /> +Of a love that once gave it,<br /> +A vow that was spoken;<br /> +But a love, and a vow, and a heart<br /> +Can be broken.</p> +<p>The Love?—Life and Death<br /> +Are crushed into a day,<br /> +So what wonder that Love<br /> +Should as soon pass away—<br /> +What wonder I saw it<br /> +Fade, fail, and decay.</p> +<p>The Vow?—why what was it,<br /> +It snapped like a thread:<br /> +Who cares for the corpse<br /> +When the spirit is fled?<br /> +Then I said, “Let the Dead rise<br /> +And bury its dead,</p> +<p>“While the true, living future<br /> +Grows pure, wise, and strong”<br /> +So I cast the gold heart,<br /> +I had worn for so long,<br /> +In the Lake, and bound on it<br /> +A Stone—and a Wrong!</p> +<p>III.</p> +<p>Look, this little golden Heart<br /> +Was a true-love shrine<br /> +For a tress of hair; I held them,<br /> +Heart and tress, as mine,<br /> +Like the Love which gave the token<br /> +See to-day the Heart is broken!</p> +<p>Broken is the golden heart,<br /> +Lost the tress of hair;<br /> +Ah, the shrine is empty, vacant,<br /> +Desolate, and bare!<br /> +So the token should depart,<br /> +When Love dies within the heart.</p> +<p>Fast and deep the river floweth,<br /> +Floweth to the west;<br /> +I will cast the golden trinket<br /> +In its cold dark breast,—<br /> +Flow, oh river, deep and fast,<br /> +Over all the buried past!</p> +<h2>VERSE: TWO LOVES</h2> +<p>Deep within my heart of hearts, dear,<br /> +Bound with all its strings,<br /> +Two Loves are together reigning<br /> +Both are crowned like Kings;<br /> +While my life, still uncomplaining,<br /> +Rests beneath their wings.</p> +<p>So they both will rule my heart, dear,<br /> +Till it cease to beat;<br /> +No sway can be deeper, stronger,<br /> +Truer, more complete;<br /> +Growing, as it lasts the longer,<br /> +Sweeter, and more sweet.</p> +<p>One all life and time transfigures,<br /> +Piercing through and through<br /> +Meaner things with magic splendour,<br /> +Old, yet ever new:<br /> +This,—so strong and yet so tender,—<br /> +Is . . . my Love for you.</p> +<p>Should it fail,—forgive my doubting<br /> +In this world of pain,—<br /> +Yet my other Love would ever<br /> +Steadfastly remain;<br /> +And I know that I could never<br /> +Turn to that in vain.</p> +<p>Though its radiance may be fainter,<br /> +Yet its task is wide;<br /> +For it lives to comfort sorrows,<br /> +Strengthen, calm, and guide,<br /> +And from Trust and Honour borrows<br /> +All its peace and pride.</p> +<p>Will you blame my dreaming even<br /> +If the first were flown?<br /> +Ah, I would not live without it,<br /> +It is all your own:<br /> +And the other—can you doubt it?—<br /> +Yours, and yours alone.</p> +<h2>VERSE: A WOMAN’S LAST WORD</h2> +<p>Well—the links are broken,<br /> +All is past;<br /> +This farewell, when spoken,<br /> +Is the last.<br /> +I have tried and striven<br /> +All in vain;<br /> +Such bonds must be riven,<br /> +Spite of pain,<br /> +And never, never, never<br /> +Knit again.</p> +<p>So I tell you plainly,<br /> +It must be:<br /> +I shall try, not vainly,<br /> +To be free;<br /> +Truer, happier chances<br /> +Wait me yet,<br /> +While you, through fresh fancies,<br /> +Can forget;—<br /> +And life has nobler uses<br /> +Than Regret.</p> +<p>All past words retracing,<br /> +One by one,<br /> +Does not help effacing<br /> +What is done.<br /> +Let it be. Oh, stronger<br /> +Links can break!<br /> +Had we dreamed still longer<br /> +We could wake,—<br /> +Yet let us part in kindness<br /> +For Love’s sake.</p> +<p>Bitterness and sorrow<br /> +Will at last,<br /> +In some bright to-morrow,<br /> +Heal their past;<br /> +But future hearts will never<br /> +Be as true<br /> +As mine was—is ever,<br /> +Dear, for you . . .<br /> +. . . Then must we part, when loving<br /> +As we do?</p> +<h2>VERSE: PAST AND PRESENT</h2> +<p>“Linger,” I cried, “oh radiant Time! thy power<br /> +Has nothing more to give; life is complete:<br /> +Let but the perfect Present, hour by hour,<br /> +Itself remember and itself repeat.</p> +<p>“And Love,—the future can but mar its splendour,<br /> +Change can but dim the glory of its youth;<br /> +Time has no star more faithful or more tender,<br /> +To crown its constancy or light its truth.”</p> +<p>But Time passed on in spite of prayer or pleading,<br /> +Through storm and peril; but that life might gain<br /> +A Peace through strife all other peace exceeding,<br /> +Fresh joy from sorrow, and new hope from pain.</p> +<p>And since Love lived when all save Love was dying,<br /> +And, passed through fire, grew stronger than before:-<br /> +Dear, you know why, in double faith relying,<br /> +I prize the Past much, but the Present more.</p> +<h2>VERSE: FOR THE FUTURE</h2> +<p>I wonder did you ever count<br /> +The value of one human fate;<br /> +Or sum the infinite amount<br /> +Of one heart’s treasures, and the weight<br /> +Of Life’s one venture, and the whole concentrate purpose of a +soul.</p> +<p>And if you ever paused to think<br /> +That all this in your hands I laid<br /> +Without a fear:- did you not shrink<br /> +From such a burthen? half afraid,<br /> +Half wishing that you could divide the risk, or cast it all aside.</p> +<p>While Love has daily perils, such<br /> +As none foresee and none control;<br /> +And hearts are strung so that one touch,<br /> +Careless or rough, may jar the whole,<br /> +You well might feel afraid to reign with absolute power of joy and pain.</p> +<p>You well might fear—if Love’s sole claim<br /> +Were to be happy: but true Love<br /> +Takes joy as solace, not as aim,<br /> +And looks beyond, and looks above;<br /> +And sometimes through the bitterest strife first learns to live her +highest life.</p> +<p>Earth forges joy into a chain<br /> +Till fettered Love forgets its strength,<br /> +Its purpose, and its end;—but Pain<br /> +Restores its heritage at length,<br /> +And bids Love rise again and be eternal, mighty, pure, and free.</p> +<p>If then your future life should need<br /> +A strength my Love can only gain<br /> +Through suffering, or my heart be freed<br /> +Only by sorrow, from some stain—<br /> +Then you shall give, and I will take, this Crown of fire for Love’s +dear sake.</p> +<p>Sept. 8th, 1860.</p> +<p> </p> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEGENDS AND LYRICS: SECOND SERIES***</p> +<pre> + + +***** This file should be named 2304-h.htm or 2304-h.zip****** + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +https://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/3/0/2304 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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