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diff --git a/2304.txt b/2304.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..11dbc8c --- /dev/null +++ b/2304.txt @@ -0,0 +1,5184 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Legends and Lyrics: Second Series, by +Adelaide Anne Procter + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Legends and Lyrics: Second Series + +Author: Adelaide Anne Procter + +Release Date: October 20, 2004 [eBook #2304] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEGENDS AND LYRICS: SECOND SERIES*** + + + + + +This etext was prepared by David Price, email ccx074@coventry.ac.uk from +the 1890 George Bell and Sons edition. + + + + + +LEGENDS AND LYRICS--SECOND SERIES +by Adelaide Anne Procter + + +Contents: + +A Legend of Provence +Envy +Over the Mountain +Beyond +A Warning +Maximus +Optimus +A Lost Chord +Too Late +The Requital +Returned--"Missing" +In the Wood +Two Worlds +A New Mother +Give Place +My Will +King and Slave +A Chant +Dream-Life +Rest +The Tyrant and the Captive +The Carver's Lesson +Three Roses +My Picture Gallery +Sent to Heaven +Never Again +Listening Angels +Golden Days +Philip and Mildred +Borrowed Thoughts +Light and Shade +A Changeling +Discouraged +If Thou couldst know +The Warrior to his Dead Bride +A Letter +A Comforter +Unseen +A Remembrance of Autumn +Three Evenings in a Life +The Wind +Expectation +An Ideal +Our Dead +A Woman's Answer +The Story of the Faithful Soul +A Contrast +The Bride's Dream +The Angel's Bidding +Spring +Evening Hymn +The Inner Chamber +Hearts +Two Loves +A Woman's Last Word +Past and Present +For the Future + + + + +VERSE: A LEGEND OF PROVENCE + + +The lights extinguished, by the hearth I leant, +Half weary with a listless discontent. +The flickering giant-shadows, gathering near, +Closed round me with a dim and silent fear. +All dull, all dark; save when the leaping flame, +Glancing, lit up a Picture's ancient frame. +Above the hearth it hung. Perhaps the night, +My foolish tremors, or the gleaming light, +Lent power to that Portrait dark and quaint-- +A Portrait such as Rembrandt loved to paint-- +The likeness of a Nun. I seemed to trace +A world of sorrow in the patient face, +In the thin hands folded across her breast-- +Its own and the room's shadow hid the rest. +I gazed and dreamed, and the dull embers stirred, +Till an old legend that I once had heard +Came back to me; linked to the mystic gloom +Of that dark Picture in the ghostly room. +In the far south, where clustering vines are hung; +Where first the old chivalric lays were sung, +Where earliest smiled that gracious child of France, +Angel and knight and fairy, called Romance, +I stood one day. The warm blue June was spread +Upon the earth; blue summer overhead, +Without a cloud to fleck its radiant glare, +Without a breath to stir its sultry air. +All still, all silent, save the sobbing rush +Of rippling waves, that lapsed in silver hush +Upon the beach; where, glittering towards the strand, +The purple Mediterranean kissed the land. + +All still, all peaceful; when a convent chime +Broke on the mid-day silence for a time, +Then trembling into quiet, seemed to cease, +In deeper silence and more utter peace. +So as I turned to gaze, where gleaming white, +Half hid by shadowy trees from passers' sight, +The Convent lay, one who had dwelt for long +In that fair home of ancient tale and song, +Who knew the story of each cave and hill, +And every haunting fancy lingering still +Within the land, spake thus to me, and told +The Convent's treasured Legend, quaint and old: + +Long years ago, a dense and flowering wood, +Still more concealed where the white convent stood, +Borne on its perfumed wings the title came: +"Our Lady of the Hawthorns" is its name. +Then did that bell, which still rings out to-day, +Bid all the country rise, or eat, or pray. +Before that convent shrine, the haughty knight +Passed the lone vigil of his perilous fight; +For humbler cottage strife or village brawl, +The Abbess listened, prayed, and settled all. +Young hearts that came, weighed down by love or wrong, +Left her kind presence comforted and strong. +Each passing pilgrim, and each beggar's right +Was food, and rest, and shelter for the night. +But, more than this, the Nuns could well impart +The deepest mysteries of the healing art; +Their store of herbs and simples was renowned, +And held in wondering faith for miles around. +Thus strife, love, sorrow, good and evil fate, +Found help and blessing at the convent gate. + +Of all the nuns, no heart was half so light, +No eyelids veiling glances half as bright, +No step that glided with such noiseless feet, +No face that looked so tender or so sweet, +No voice that rose in choir so pure, so clear, +No heart to all the others half so dear, +So surely touched by others' pain or woe, +(Guessing the grief her young life could not know,) +No soul in childlike faith so undefiled, +As Sister Angela's, the "Convent Child." +For thus they loved to call her. She had known +No home, no love, no kindred, save their own. +An orphan, to their tender nursing given, +Child, plaything, pupil, now the Bride of Heaven. +And she it was who trimmed the lamp's red light +That swung before the altar, day and night; +Her hands it was whose patient skill could trace +The finest broidery, weave the costliest lace; +But most of all, her first and dearest care, +The office she would never miss or share, +Was every day to weave fresh garlands sweet, +To place before the shrine at Mary's feet. +Nature is bounteous in that region fair, +For even winter has her blossoms there. +Thus Angela loved to count each feast the best, +By telling with what flowers the shrine was dressed. +In pomp supreme the countless Roses passed, +Battalion on battalion thronging fast, +Each with a different banner, flaming bright, +Damask, or striped, or crimson, pink, or white, +Until they bowed before a newborn queen, +And the pure virgin Lily rose serene. +Though Angela always thought the Mother blest +Must love the time of her own hawthorn best, +Each evening through the year, with equal, care, +She placed her flowers; then kneeling down in prayer, +As their faint perfume rose before the shrine, +So rose her thoughts, as pure and as divine. +She knelt until the shades grew dim without, +Till one by one the altar lights shone out, +Till one by one the Nuns, like shadows dim, +Gathered around to chant their vesper hymn; +Her voice then led the music's winged flight, +And "Ave, Maris Stella" filled the night. +But wherefore linger on those days of peace? +When storms draw near, then quiet hours must cease. +War, cruel war, defaced the land, and came +So near the convent with its breath of flame, +That, seeking shelter, frightened peasants fled, +Sobbing out tales of coming fear and dread, +Till after a fierce skirmish, down the road, +One night came straggling soldiers, with their load +Of wounded, dying comrades; and the band, +Half pleading yet as if they could command, +Summoned the trembling Sisters, craved their care, +Then rode away, and left the wounded there. +But soon compassion bade all fear depart. +And bidding every Sister do her part, +Some prepare simples, healing salves, or bands, +The Abbess chose the more experienced hands, +To dress the wounds needing most skilful care; +Yet even the youngest Novice took her share. +To Angela, who had but ready will +And tender pity, yet no special skill, +Was given the charge of a young foreign knight, +Whose wounds were painful, but whose danger slight. +Day after day she watched beside his bed, +And first in hushed repose the hours fled: +His feverish moans alone the silence stirred, +Or her soft voice, uttering some pious word. +At last the fever left him; day by day +The hours, no longer silent, passed away. +What could she speak of? First, to still his plaints, +She told him legends of the martyred Saints; +Described the pangs, which, through God's plenteous grace, +Had gained their souls so high and bright a place. +This pious artifice soon found success-- +Or so she fancied--for he murmured less. +So she described the glorious pomp sublime, +In which the chapel shone at Easter time, +The Banners, Vestments, gold, and colours bright, +Counted how many tapers gave their light; +Then, in minute detail went on to say, +How the High Altar looked on Christmas-day: +The kings and shepherds, all in green and red, +And a bright star of jewels overhead. +Then told the sign by which they all had seen, +How even nature loved to greet her Queen, +For, when Our Lady's last procession went +Down the long garden, every head was bent, +And, rosary in hand, each Sister prayed; +As the long floating banners were displayed, +They struck the hawthorn boughs, and showers and showers +Of buds and blossoms strewed her way with flowers. +The Knight unwearied listened; till at last, +He too described the glories of his past; +Tourney, and joust, and pageant bright and fair, +And all the lovely ladies who were there. +But half incredulous she heard. Could this-- +This be the world? this place of love and bliss! +Where then was hid the strange and hideous charm, +That never failed to bring the gazer harm? +She crossed herself, yet asked, and listened still, +And still the knight described with all his skill +The glorious world of joy, all joys above, +Transfigured in the golden mist of love. +Spread, spread your wings, ye angel guardians bright, +And shield these dazzling phantoms from her sight! +But no; days passed, matins and vespers rang, +And still the quiet Nuns toiled, prayed, and sang, +And never guessed the fatal, coiling net +Which every day drew near, and nearer yet, +Around their darling; for she went and came +About her duties, outwardly the same. +The same? ah, no! even when she knelt to pray, +Some charmed dream kept all her heart away. +So days went on, until the convent gate +Opened one night. Who durst go forth so late? +Across the moonlit grass, with stealthy tread, +Two silent, shrouded figures passed and fled. +And all was silent, save the moaning seas, +That sobbed and pleaded, and a wailing breeze +That sighed among the perfumed hawthorn trees. + +What need to tell that dream so bright and brief, +Of joy unchequered by a dread of grief? +What need to tell how all such dreams must fade, +Before the slow, foreboding, dreaded shade, +That floated nearer, until pomp and pride, +Pleasure and wealth, were summoned to her side. +To bid, at least, the noisy hours forget, +And clamour down the whispers of regret. +Still Angela strove to dream, and strove in vain; +Awakened once, she could not sleep again. +She saw, each day and hour, more worthless grown +The heart for which she cast away her own; +And her soul learnt, through bitterest inward strife, +The slight, frail love for which she wrecked her life, +The phantom for which all her hope was given, +The cold bleak earth for which she bartered heaven! +But all in vain; would even the tenderest heart +Now stoop to take so poor an outcast's part? + +Years fled, and she grew reckless more and more, +Until the humblest peasant closed his door, +And where she passed, fair dames, in scorn and pride, +Shuddered, and drew their rustling robes aside. +At last a yearning seemed to fill her soul, +A longing that was stronger than control: +Once more, just once again, to see the place +That knew her young and innocent; to retrace +The long and weary southern path; to gaze +Upon the haven of her childish days; +Once more beneath the convent roof to lie; +Once more to look upon her home--and die! +Weary and worn--her comrades, chill remorse +And black despair, yet a strange silent force +Within her heart, that drew her more and more-- +Onward she crawled, and begged from door to door. +Weighed down with weary days, her failing strength +Grew less each hour, till one day's dawn at length, +As first its rays flooded the world with light, +Showed the broad waters, glittering blue and bright, +And where, amid the leafy hawthorn wood, +Just as of old the quiet cloister stood. +Would any know her? Nay, no fear. Her face +Had lost all trace of youth, of joy, of grace, +Of the pure happy soul they used to know-- +The novice Angela--so long ago. +She rang the convent bell. The well-known sound +Smote on her heart, and bowed her to the ground, +And she, who had not wept for long dry years, +Felt the strange rush of unaccustomed tears; +Terror and anguish seemed to check her breath, +And stop her heart. Oh God! could this be death? +Crouching against the iron gate, she laid +Her weary head against the bars, and prayed: +But nearer footsteps drew, then seemed to wait: +And then she heard the opening of the grate, +And saw the withered face, on which awoke +Pity and sorrow, as the portress spoke, +And asked the stranger's bidding: "Take me in," +She faltered, "Sister Monica, from sin, +And sorrow, and despair, that will not cease; +Oh, take me in, and let me die in peace!" +With soothing words the Sister bade her wait, +Until she brought the key to unbar the gate. +The beggar tried to thank her as she lay, +And heard the echoing footsteps die away. +But what soft voice was that which sounded near, +And stirred strange trouble in her heart to hear? +She raised her head; she saw--she seemed to know-- +A face that came from long, long years ago: +Herself; yet not as when she fled away, +The young and blooming novice, fair and gay, +But a grave woman, gentle and serene: +The outcast knew it--what she might have been. +But, as she gazed and gazed, a radiance bright +Filled all the place with strange and sudden light; +The Nun was there no longer, but instead, +A figure with a circle round its head, +A ring of glory; and a face, so meek, +So soft, so tender . . . Angela strove to speak, +And stretched her hands out, crying, "Mary mild, +Mother of mercy, help me!--help your child!" +And Mary answered, "From thy bitter past, +Welcome, my child! oh, welcome home at last! +I filled thy place. Thy flight is known to none, +For all thy daily duties I have done; +Gathered thy flowers, and prayed, and sung, and slept; +Didst thou not know, poor child, thy place was kept? +Kind hearts are here; yet would the tenderest one +Have limits to its mercy: God has none. +And man's forgiveness may be true and sweet, +But yet he stoops to give it. More complete +Is Love that lays forgiveness at thy feet, +And pleads with thee to raise it. Only Heaven +Means crowned, not vanquished, when it says 'Forgiven!'" +Back hurried Sister Monica; but where +Was the poor beggar she left lying there? +Gone; and she searched in vain, and sought the place +For that wan woman with the piteous face: +But only Angela at the gateway stood, +Laden with hawthorn blossoms from the wood. +And never did a day pass by again, +But the old portress, with a sigh of pain, +Would sorrow for her loitering: with a prayer +That the poor beggar, in her wild despair, +Might not have come to any ill; and when +She ended, "God forgive her!" humbly then +Did Angela bow her head, and say "Amen!" +How pitiful her heart was! all could trace +Something that dimmed the brightness of her face +After that day, which none had seen before; +Not trouble--but a shadow--nothing more. + +Years passed away. Then, one dark day of dread +Saw all the sisters kneeling round a bed, +Where Angela lay dying; every breath +Struggling beneath the heavy hand of death. +But suddenly a flush lit up her cheek, +She raised her wan right hand, and strove to speak. +In sorrowing love they listened; not a sound +Or sigh disturbed the utter silence round. +The very tapers' flames were scarcely stirred, +In such hushed awe the sisters knelt and heard. +And through that silence Angela told her life: +Her sin, her flight; the sorrow and the strife, +And the return; and then clear, low and calm, +"Praise God for me, my sisters;" and the psalm +Rang up to heaven, far and clear and wide, +Again and yet again, then sank and died; +While her white face had such a smile of peace, +They saw she never heard the music cease; +And weeping sisters laid her in her tomb, +Crowned with a wreath of perfumed hawthorn bloom. + +And thus the Legend ended. It may be +Something is hidden in the mystery, +Besides the lesson of God's pardon shown, +Never enough believed, or asked, or known. +Have we not all, amid life's petty strife, +Some pure ideal of a noble life +That once seemed possible? Did we not hear +The flutter of its wings, and feel it near, +And just within our reach? It was. And yet +We lost it in this daily jar and fret, +And now live idle in a vague regret. +But still our place is kept, and it will wait, +Ready for us to fill it, soon or late: +No star is ever lost we once have seen, +We always may be what we might have been. +Since Good, though only thought, has life and breath, +God's life--can always be redeemed from death; +And evil, in its nature, is decay, +And any hour can blot it all away; +The hopes that lost in some far distance seem, +May be the truer life, and this the dream. + + + + +VERSE: ENVY + + +He was the first always: Fortune +Shone bright in his face. +I fought for years; with no effort +He conquered the place: +We ran; my feet were all bleeding, +But he won the race. + +Spite of his many successes +Men loved him the same; +My one pale ray of good fortune +Met scoffing and blame. +When we erred, they gave him pity, +But me--only shame. + +My home was still in the shadow, +His lay in the sun: +I longed in vain: what he asked for +It straightway was done. +Once I staked all my heart's treasure, +We played--and he won. + +Yes; and just now I have seen him, +Cold, smiling, and blest, +Laid in his coffin. God help me! +While he is at rest, +I am cursed still to live:- even +Death loved him the best. + + + + +VERSE: OVER THE MOUNTAIN + + +Like dreary prison walls +The stern grey mountains rise, +Until their topmost crags +Touch the far gloomy skies: +One steep and narrow path +Winds up the mountain's crest, +And from our valley leads +Out to the golden West. + +I dwell here in content, +Thankful for tranquil days; +And yet, my eyes grow dim, +As still I gaze and gaze +Upon that mountain pass, +That leads--or so it seems-- +To some far happy land, +Known in a world of dreams. + +And as I watch that path +Over the distant hill, +A foolish longing comes +My heart and soul to fill, +A painful, strange desire +To break some weary bond, +A vague unuttered wish +For what might lie beyond! + +In that far world unknown, +Over that distant hill, +May dwell the loved and lost, +Lost--yet beloved still; +I have a yearning hope, +Half longing, and half pain, +That by that mountain pass +They may return again. + +Space may keep friends apart, +Death has a mighty thrall; +There is another gulf +Harder to cross than all; +Yet watching that far road, +My heart beats full and fast-- +If they should come once more, +If they should come at last! + +See, down the mountain side +The silver vapours creep; +They hide the rocky cliffs. +They hide the craggy steep, +They hide the narrow path +That comes across the hill-- +Oh, foolish longing, cease, +Oh, beating Heart, be still! + + + + +VERSE: BEYOND + + +We must not doubt, or fear, or dread, that love for life is only given, +And that the calm and sainted dead will meet estranged and cold in heaven:- +Oh, Love were poor and vain indeed, based on so harsh and stern a creed. + +True that this earth must pass away, with all the starry worlds of light, +With all the glory of the day, and calmer tenderness of night; +For, in that radiant home can shine alone the immortal and divine. + +Earth's lower things--her pride, her fame, her science, learning, wealth +and power-- +Slow growths that through long ages came, or fruits of some convulsive hour, +Whose very memory must decay--Heaven is too pure for such as they. + +They are complete: their work is done. So let them sleep in endless rest. +Love's life is only here begun, nor is, nor can be, fully blest; +It has no room to spread its wings, amid this crowd of meaner things. + +Just for the very shadow thrown upon its sweetness here below, +The cross that it must bear alone, and bloody baptism of woe, +Crowned and completed through its pain, we know that it shall rise again. + +So if its flame burn pure and bright, here, where our air is dark and dense, +And nothing in this world of night lives with a living so intense; +When it shall reach its home at length--how bright its light! how strong its +strength! + +And while the vain weak loves of earth (for such base counterfeits abound) +Shall perish with what gave them birth--their graves are green and fresh around, +No funeral song shall need to rise, for the true Love that never dies. + +If in my heart I now could fear that, risen again, we should not know +What was our Life of Life when here--the hearts we loved so much below; +I would arise this very day, and cast so poor a thing away. + +But Love is no such soulless clod: living, perfected it shall rise +Transfigured in the light of God, and giving glory to the skies: +And that which makes this life so sweet, shall render Heaven's joy complete. + + + + +VERSE: A WARNING + + +Place your hands in mine, dear, +With their rose-leaf touch: +If you heed my warning, +It will spare you much. + +Ah! with just such smiling +Unbelieving eyes, +Years ago I heard it:- +You shall be more wise. + +You have one great treasure +Joy for all your life; +Do not let it perish +In one reckless strife. + +Do not venture all, child, +In one frail, weak heart; +So, through any shipwreck, +You may save a part. + +Where your soul is tempted +Most to trust your fate, +There, with double caution, +Linger, fear, and wait. + +Measure all you give--still +Counting what you take; +Love for love: so placing +Each an equal stake. + +Treasure love; though ready +Still to live without. +In your fondest trust, keep +Just one thread of doubt. + +Build on no to-morrow; +Love has but to-day: +If the links seem slackening, +Cut the bond away. + +Trust no prayer nor promise; +Words are grains of sand; +To keep your heart unbroken, +Hold it in your hand. + +That your love may finish +Calm as it begun, +Learn this lesson better, +Dear, than I have done. + +Years hence, perhaps, this warning +You shall give again, +In just the self-same words, dear, +And--just as much--in vain. + + + + +VERSE: MAXIMUS + + +Many, if God should make them kings, +Might not disgrace the throne He gave; +How few who could as well fulfil +The holier office of a slave. + +I hold him great who, for Love's sake +Can give, with generous, earnest will,-- +Yet he who takes for Love's sweet sake, +I think I hold more generous still. + +I prize the instinct that can turn +From vain pretence with proud disdain; +Yet more I prize a simple heart; +Paying credulity with pain. + +I bow before the noble mind +That freely some great wrong forgives; +Yet nobler is the one forgiven, +Who bears that burden well, and lives. + +It may be hard to gain, and still +To keep a lowly steadfast heart +Yet he who loses has to fill +A harder and a truer part. + +Glorious it is to wear the crown +Of a deserved and pure success;-- +He who knows how to fail has won +A Crown whose lustre is not less. + +Great may he be who can command +And rule with just and tender sway; +Yet is diviner wisdom taught +Better by him who can obey. + +Blessed are those who die for God, +And earn the Martyr's crown of light-- +Yet he who lives for God may be +A greater Conqueror in His sight. + + + + +VERSE: OPTIMUS + + +There is a deep and subtle snare +Whose sure temptation hardly fails, +Which, just because it looks so fair, +Only a noble heart assails. + +So all the more we need be strong +Against this false and seeming Right; +Which none the less is deadly wrong, +Because it glitters clothed in light. + +When duties unfulfilled remain, +Or noble works are left unplanned, +Or when great deeds cry out in vain +On coward heart and trembling hand,-- + +Then will a seeming Angel speak:-- +"The hours are fleeting--great the need-- +If thou art strong and others weak, +Thine be the effort and the deed. + +"Deaf are their ears who ought to hear; +Idle their hands, and dull their soul; +While sloth, or ignorance, or fear, +Fetters them with a blind control. + +"Sort thou the tangled web aright; +Take thou the toil--take thou the pain: +For fear the hour begin its flight, +While Right and Duty plead in vain." + +And now it is I bid thee pause, +Nor let this Tempter bend thy will: +There are diviner, truer laws +That teach a nobler lesson still. + +Learn that each duty makes its claim +Upon one soul: not each on all. +How, if God speaks thy Brother's name, +Dare thou make answer to the call? + +The greater peril in the strife, +The less this evil should be done; +For as in battle, so in life, +Danger and honour still are one. + +Arouse him then:- this is thy part: +Show him the claim; point out the need; +And nerve his arm, and cheer his heart; +Then stand aside, and say "God speed!" + +Smooth thou his path ere it is trod; +Burnish the arms that he must wield; +And pray, with all thy strength, that God +May crown him Victor of the field. + +And then, I think, thy soul shall feel +A nobler thrill of true content, +Than if presumptuous, eager zeal +Had seized a crown for others meant. + +And even that very deed shall shine +In mystic sense, divine and true, +More wholly and more purely thine-- +Because it is another's too. + + + + +VERSE: A LOST CHORD + + +Seated one day at the Organ, +I was weary and ill at ease, +And my fingers wandered idly +Over the noisy keys. + +I do not know what I was playing, +Or what I was dreaming then; +But I struck one chord of music, +Like the sound of a great Amen. + +It flooded the crimson twilight +Like the close of an Angel's Psalm, +And it lay on my fevered spirit +With a touch of infinite calm. + +It quieted pain and sorrow, +Like love overcoming strife; +It seemed the harmonious echo +From our discordant life. + +It linked all perplexed meanings +Into one perfect peace, +And trembled away into silence +As if it were loth to cease. + +I have sought, but I seek it vainly, +That one lost chord divine, +Which came from the soul of the Organ, +And entered into mine. + +It may be that Death's bright angel +Will speak in that chord again,-- +It may be that only in Heaven +I shall hear that grand Amen. + + + + +VERSE: TOO LATE + + +Hush! speak low; tread softly; +Draw the sheet aside;-- +Yes, she does look peaceful; +With that smile she died. + +Yet stern want and sorrow +Even now you trace +On the wan, worn features +Of the still white face. + +Restless, helpless, hopeless, +Was her bitter part;-- +Now--how still the Violets +Lie upon her Heart! + +She who toiled and laboured +For her daily bread; +See the velvet hangings +Of this stately bed. + +Yes, they did forgive her; +Brought her home at last; +Strove to cover over +Their relentless past. + +Ah, they would have given +Wealth, and home, and pride, +To see her just look happy +Once before she died! + +They strove hard to please her, +But, when death is near +All you know is deadened, +Hope, and joy, and fear. + +And besides, one sorrow +Deeper still--one pain +Was beyond them: healing +Came to-day--in vain! + +If she had but lingered +Just a few hours more; +Or had this letter reached her +Just one day before! + +I can almost pity +Even him to-day; +Though he let this anguish +Eat her heart away. + +Yet she never blamed him:- +One day you shall know +How this sorrow happened; +It was long ago. + +I have read the letter: +Many a weary year, +For one word she hungered-- +There are thousands here. + +If she could but hear it, +Could but understand; +See--I put the letter +In her cold white hand. + +Even these words, so longed for, +Do not stir her rest; +Well--I should not murmur, +For God judges best. + +She needs no more pity,-- +But I mourn his fate, +When he hears his letter +Came a day too late. + + + + +VERSE: THE REQUITAL + + +Loud roared the Tempest, +Fast fell the sleet; +A little Child Angel +Passed down the street, +With trailing pinions, +And weary feet. + +The moon was hidden; +No stars were bright; +So she could not shelter +In heaven that night, +For the Angels' ladders +Are rays of light. + +She beat her wings +At each window pane, +And pleaded for shelter, +But all in vain:-- +"Listen," they said, +"To the pelting rain!" + +She sobbed, as the laughter +And mirth grew higher, +"Give me rest and shelter +Beside your fire, +And I will give you +Your heart's desire." + +The dreamer sat watching +His embers gleam, +While his heart was floating +Down hope's bright stream; +. . . So he wove her wailing +Into his dream. + +The worker toiled on, +For his time was brief; +The mourner was nursing +Her own pale grief: +They heard not the promise +That brought relief. + +But fiercer the Tempest +Rose than before, +When the Angel paused +At a humble door, +And asked for shelter +And help once more. + +A weary woman, +Pale, worn, and thin, +With the brand upon her +Of want and sin, +Heard the Child Angel +And took her in. + +Took her in gently, +And did her best +To dry her pinions; +And made her rest +With tender pity +Upon her breast. + +When the eastern morning +Grew bright and red, +Up the first sunbeam +The Angel fled; +Having kissed the woman +And left her--dead. + + + + +VERSE: RETURNED--"MISSING" (FIVE YEARS AFTER) + + +Yes, I was sad and anxious, +But now, dear, I am gay; +I know that it is wisest +To put all hope away:- +Thank God that I have done so +And can be calm to-day. + +For hope deferred--you know it, +Once made my heart so sick: +Now, I expect no longer; +It is but the old trick +Of hope, that makes me tremble, +And makes my heart beat quick. + +All day I sit here calmly; +Not as I did before, +Watching for one whose footstep +Comes never, never more . . . +Hush! was that someone passing, +Who paused beside the door? + +For years I hung on chances, +Longing for just one word; +At last I feel it:- silence +Will never more be stirred . . . +Tell me once more that rumour, +You fancied you had heard. + +Life has more things to dwell on +Than just one useless pain, +Useless and past for ever; +But noble things remain, +And wait us all: . . . you too, dear, +Do you think hope quite vain? + +All others have forgotten, +'Tis right I should forget, +Nor live on a keen longing +Which shadows forth regret: . . . +Are not the letters coming? +The sun is almost set. + +Now that my restless legion +Of hopes and fears is fled, +Reading is joy and comfort . . . +. . . This very day I read, +Oh, such a strange returning +Of one whom all thought dead! + +Not that I dream or fancy, +You know all that is past; +Earth has no hope to give me, +And yet:- Time flies so fast +That all but the impossible +Might be brought back at last. + + + + +VERSE: IN THE WOOD + + +In the wood where shadows are deepest +From the branches overhead, +Where the wild wood-strawberries cluster +And the softest moss is spread, +I met to-day with a fairy, +And I followed her where she led. + +Some magical words she uttered, +I alone could understand, +For the sky grew bluer and brighter; +While there rose on either hand +The cloudy walls of a palace +That was built in Fairy-land. + +And I stood in a strange enchantment; +I had known it all before: +In my heart of hearts was the magic +Of days that will come no more, +The manic of joy departed, +That Time can never restore. + +That never, ah, never, never, +Never again can be:- +Shall I tell you what powerful fairy +Built up this palace for me? +It was only a little white Violet +I found at the root of a tree. + + + + +VERSE: TWO WORLDS + + +God's world is bathed in beauty, +God's world is steeped in light; +It is the self-same glory +That makes the day so bright, +Which thrills the earth with music, +Or hangs the stars in night. + +Hid in earth's mines of silver, +Floating on clouds above,-- +Ringing in Autumn's tempest, +Murmured by every dove; +One thought fills God's creation-- +His own great name of Love! + +In God's world Strength is lovely, +And so is Beauty strong, +And Light--God's glorious shadow-- +To both great gifts belong; +And they all melt into sweetness, +And fill the earth with Song. + +Above God's world bends Heaven, +With day's kiss pure and bright, +Or folds her still more fondly +In the tender shade of night; +And she casts back Heaven's sweetness, +In fragrant love and light. + +God's world has one great echo; +Whether calm blue mists are curled, +Or lingering dew-drops quiver, +Or red storms are unfurled; +The same deep love is throbbing +Through the great heart of God's world. + +Man's world is black and blighted, +Steeped through with self and sin; +And should his feeble purpose +Some feeble good begin, +The work is marred and tainted +By Leprosy within. + +Man's world is bleak and bitter; +Wherever he has trod +He spoils the tender beauty +That blossoms on the sod, +And blasts the loving Heaven +Of the great, good world of God. + +There Strength on coward weakness +In cruel might will roll; +Beauty and Joy are cankers +That eat away the soul; +And Love--Oh God, avenge it-- +The plague-spot of the whole. + +Man's world is Pain and Terror; +He found it pure and fair, +And wove in nets of sorrow +The golden summer air. +Black, hideous, cold, and dreary, +Man's curse, not God's, is there. + +And yet God's world is speaking: +Man will not hear it call; +But listens where the echoes +Of his own discords fall, +Then clamours back to Heaven +That God has done it all. + +Oh God, man's heart is darkened, +He will not understand! +Show him Thy cloud and fire; +And, with Thine own right hand +Then lead him through his desert, +Back to Thy Holy Land! + + + + +VERSE: A NEW MOTHER + + +I was with my lady when she died: +I it was who guided her weak hand +For a blessing on each little head, +Laid her baby by her on the bed, +Heard the words they could not understand. + +And I drew them round my knee that night, +Hushed their childish glee, and made them say +They would keep her words with loving tears, +They would not forget her dying fears +Lest the thought of her should fade away. + +I, who guessed what her last dread had been, +Made a promise to that still, cold face, +That her children's hearts, at any cost, +Should be with the mother they had lost, +When a stranger came to take her place. + +And I knew so much! for I had lived +With my lady since her childhood: known +What her young and happy days had been, +And the grief no other eyes had seen +I had watched and sorrowed for alone. + +Ah! she once had such a happy smile! +I had known how sorely she was tried: +Six short years before, her eyes were bright +As her little blue-eyed May's that night, +When she stood by her dead mother's side. + +No--I will not say he was unkind; +But she had been used to love and praise. +He was somewhat grave--perhaps, in truth, +Could not weave her joyous, smiling youth, +Into all his stern and serious ways. + +She, who should have reigned a blooming flower, +First in pride and honour, as in grace,-- +She, whose will had once ruled all around, +Queen and darling of us all--she found +Change indeed in that cold, stately place. + +Yet she would not blame him, even to me, +Though she often sat and wept alone; +But she could not hide it near her death, +When she said with her last struggling breath, +"Let my babies still remain my own!" + +I it was who drew the sheet aside, +When he saw his dead wife's face. That test +Seemed to strike right to his heart. He said, +In a strange, low whisper, to the dead, +"God knows, love, I did it for the best!" + +And he wept--Oh yes, I will be just-- +When I brought the children to him there-- +Wondering sorrow in their baby eyes; +And he soothed them with his fond replies, +Bidding me give double love and care. + +Ah, I loved them well for her dear sake: +Little Arthur, with his serious air; +May, with all her mother's pretty ways, +Blushing, and at any word of praise +Shaking out her sunny golden hair. + +And the little one of all--poor child! +She had cost that dear and precious life. +Once Sir Arthur spoke my lady's name, +When the baby's gloomy christening came, +And he called her "Olga--like my wife!" + +Save that time, he never spoke of her; +He grew graver, sterner, every day; +And the children felt it, for they dropped +Low their voices, and their laughter stopped +While he stood and watched them at their play. + +No, he never named their mother's name. +But I told them of her: told them all +She had been; so gentle, good, and bright; +And I always took them every night +Where her picture hung in the great hall. + +There she stood: white daisies in her hand, +And her red lips parted as to speak +With a smile; the blue and sunny air +Seemed to stir her floating golden hair, +And to bring a faint blush on her cheek. + +Well, so time passed on; a year was gone, +And Sir Arthur had been much away. +Then the news came! I shed many tears +When I saw the truth of all my fears +Rise before me on that bitter day. + +Any one but her I could have borne! +But my lady loved her as her friend. +Through their childhood and their early youth, +How she used to count upon the truth +Of this friendship that would never end! + +Older, graver than my lady was, +Whose young, gentle heart on her relied, +She would give advice, and praise, and blame, +And my lady leant on Margaret's name, +As her dearest comfort, help, and guide. + +I had never liked her, and I think +That my lady grew to doubt her too, +Since her marriage; for she named her less, +Never saw her, and I used to guess +At some secret wrong I never knew. + +That might be or not. But now, to hear +She would come and reign here in her stead, +With the pomp and splendour of a bride: +Would no thought reproach her in her pride +With the silent memory of the dead? + +So, the day came, and the bells rang out, +And I laid the children's black aside; +And I held each little trembling hand, +As I strove to make them understand +They must greet their father's new-made bride. + +Ah, Sir Arthur might look grave and stern, +And his lady's eyes might well grow dim, +When the children shrank in fear away,-- +Little Arthur hid his face, and May +Would not raise her eyes, or speak to him. + +When Sir Arthur bade them greet their "mother," +I was forced to chide, yet proud to hear +How my little loving May replied, +With her mother's pretty air of pride,-- +"Our dear mother has been dead a year!" + +Ah, the lady's tears might well fall fast, +As she kissed them, and then turned away. +She might strive to smile or to forget, +But I think some shadow of regret +Must have risen to blight her wedding-day. + +She had some strange touch of self-reproach; +For she used to linger day by day, +By the nursery door, or garden gate, +With a sad, calm, wistful look, and wait +Watching the three children at their play. + +But they always shrank away from her +When she strove to comfort their alarms, +And their grave, cold silence to beguile: +Even little Olga's baby-smile +Quivered into tears when in her arms. + +I could never chide them: for I saw +How their mother's memory grew more deep +In their hearts. Each night I had to tell +Stories of her whom I loved so well +When a child, to send them off to sleep. + +But Sir Arthur--Oh, this was too hard!-- +He, who had been always stern and sad +In my lady's time, seemed to rejoice +Each day more; and I could hear his voice +Even, sounding younger and more glad. + +He might perhaps have blamed them, but his wife +Never failed to take the children's part: +She would stay him with her pleading tone, +Saying she would strive, and strive alone, +Till she gained each little wayward heart. + +And she strove indeed, and seemed to be +Always waiting for their love, in vain; +Yet, when May had most her mother's look, +Then the lady's calm, cold accents shook +With some memory of reproachful pain. + +Little May would never call her Mother: +So, one day, the lady, bending low, +Kissed her golden curls, and softly said, +"Sweet one, call me Margaret, instead,-- +Your dear mother used to call me so." + +She was gentle, kind, and patient too, +Yet in vain: the children held apart. +Ah, their mother's gentle memory dwelt +Near them, and her little orphans felt +She had the first claim upon their heart. + +So three years passed; then the war broke out; +And a rumour seemed to spread and rise; +First we guessed what sorrow must befall, +Then all doubt fled, for we read it all +In the depths of her despairing eyes. + +Yes; Sir Arthur had been called away +To that scene of slaughter, fear, and strife,-- +Now he seemed to know with double pain, +The cold, bitter gulf that must remain +To divide his children from his wife. + +Nearer came the day he was to sail, +Deeper grew the coming woe and fear, +When, one night, the children at my knee +Knelt to say their evening prayer to me, +I looked up and saw Sir Arthur near. + +There they knelt with folded hands, and said +Low, soft words in stammering accents sweet; +In the firelight shone their golden hair +And white robes: my darlings looked so fair, +With their little bare and rosy feet! + +There he waited till their low "Amen;" +Stopped the rosy lips raised for "Good night!"-- +Drew them with a fond clasp, close and near, +As he bade them stay with him, and hear +Something that would make his heart more light. + +Little Olga crept into his arms; +Arthur leant upon his shoulder; May +Knelt beside him, with her earnest eyes +Lifted up in patient, calm surprise-- +I can almost hear his words to-day. + +"Years ago, my children, years ago, +When your mother was a child, she came +From her northern home, and here she met +Love for love, and comfort for regret, +In one early friend,--you know her name. + +"And this friend--a few years older--gave +Such fond care, such love, that day by day +The new home grew happy, joy complete, +Studies easier, and play more sweet, +While all childish sorrows passed away. + +"And your mother--fragile, like my May-- +Leant on this deep love,--nor leant in vain. +For this friend (strong, generous, noble heart!) +Gave the sweet, and took the bitter part,-- +Brought her all the joy, and kept the pain. + +"Years passed on, and then I saw them first: +It was hard to say which was most fair, +Your sweet mother's bright and blushing face, +Or the graver Margaret's stately grace; +Golden locks, or braided raven hair. + +"Then it happened, by a strange, sad fate, +One thought entered into each young soul: +Joy for one--if for the other pain; +Loss for one--if for the other gain: +One must lose, and one possess the whole. + +"And so this--this--what they cared for--came +And belonged to Margaret: was her own. +But she laid the gift aside, to take +Pain and sorrow for your mother's sake, +And none knew it but herself alone. + +"Then she travelled far away, and none +The strange mystery of her absence knew. +Margaret's secret thought was never told: +Even your mother thought her changed and cold, +And for many years I thought so too. + +"She was gone; and then your mother took +That poor gift which Margaret laid aside: +Flower, or toy, or trinket, matters not: +What it was had better be forgot . . . +It was just then she became my bride. + +"Now, I think May knows the hope I have. +Arthur, darling, can you guess the rest? +Even my little Olga understands +Great gifts can be given by little hands, +Since of all gifts Love is still the best. + +"Margaret is my dear and honoured wife, +And I hold her so. But she can claim +From your hearts, dear ones, a loving debt +I can neither pay, nor yet forget: +You can give it in your mother's name. + +"Earth spoils even Love, and here a shade +On the purest, noblest heart may fall: +Now your mother dwells in perfect light, +She will bless us, I believe, to-night,-- +She is happy now, and she knows all." + +Next day was farewell--a day of tears; +Yet Sir Arthur, as he rode away, +And turned back to see his lady stand +With the children clinging to her hand, +Looked as if it were a happy day. + +Ah, they loved her soon! The little one +Crept into her arms as to a nest; +Arthur always with her now; and May +Growing nearer to her every day:-- +--Well, I loved my own dear lady best. + + + + +VERSE: GIVE PLACE + + +Starry Crowns of Heaven +Set in azure night! +Linger yet a little +Ere you hide your light:- +--Nay; let Starlight fade away +Heralding the day! + +Snowflakes pure and spotless, +Still, oh, still remain, +Binding dreary winter, +In your silver chain:- +--Nay; but melt at once and bring +Radiant sunny Spring! + +Blossoms, gentle blossoms, +Do not wither yet; +Still for you the sun shines, +Still the dews are wet:-- +--Nay; but fade and wither last, +Fruit must come at last! + +Joy, so true and tender, +Dare you not abide? +Will you spread your pinions, +Must you leave our side? +--Nay; an Angel's shining grace +Waits to fill your place! + + + + +VERSE: MY WILL + + +Since I have no lands or houses, +And no hoarded golden store, +What can I leave those who love me +When they see my face no more? +Do not smile; I am not jesting, +Though my words sound gay and light, +Listen to me, dearest Alice, +I will make my Will to-night. + +First for Mabel--who will never +Let the dust of future years +Dim the thought of me, but keep it +Brighter still: perhaps with tears. +In whose eyes, whate'er I glance at, +Touch, or praise, will always shine, +Through a strange and sacred radiance, +By Love's Charter, wholly mine; +She will never lend to others +Slenderest link of thought I claim, +I will, therefore, to her keeping +Leave my memory and my name. + +Bertha will do truer service +To her kind than I have done, +So I leave to her young spirit +The long Work I have begun. +Well! the threads are tangled, broken, +And the colours do not blend, +She will bend her earnest striving +Both to finish and amend: +And, when it is all completed, +Strong with care and rich with skill, +Just because my hands began it, +She will love it better still. + +Ruth shall have my dearest token, +The one link I dread to break, +The one duty that I live for, +She, when I am gone, will take. +Sacred is the trust I leave her, +Needing patience, prayer, and tears; +I have striven to fulfil it, +As she knows--these many years. +Sometimes hopeless, faint, and weary +Yet a blessing shall remain +With the task, and Ruth will prize it +For my many hours of pain. + +What must I leave you, my Alice? +Nothing, Love, to do or bear, +Nothing that can dim your blue eyes +With the slightest cloud of care. +I will leave my heart to love you, +With the tender faith of old; +Still to comfort, warm, and light you, +Should your life grow dark or cold. +No one else, my child, can claim it; +Though you find old scars of pain, +They were only wounds, my darling, +There is not, I trust, one stain. + +Are my gifts indeed so worthless +Now the slender sum is told? +Well, I know not: years may bless them +With a nobler price than gold. +Am I poor? ah no, most wealthy, +Not in these poor gifts you take, +But in the true hearts that tell me +You will keep them for my sake. + + + + +VERSE: KING AND SLAVE + + +If in my soul, dear, +An omen should dwell, +Bidding me pause, ere +I love thee too well; +If the whole circle, +Of noble and wise, +With stern forebodings, +Between us should rise. + +I will tell them, dear, +That Love reigns--a King, +Where storms cannot reach him, +And words cannot sting; +He counts it dishonour +His faith to recall; +He trusts;--and for ever +He gives--and gives all! + +I will tell thee, dear, +That Love is--a Slave, +Who dreads thought of freedom, +As life dreads the grave; +And if doubt or peril +Of change there may be, +Such fear would but drive him +Still nearer to thee! + + + + +VERSE: A CHANT + + +"Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini." + +I. + +Who is the Angel that cometh? +Life! +Let us not question what he brings, +Peace or Strife, +Under the shade of his mighty wings, +One by one, +Are his secrets told; +One by one, +Lit by the rays of each morning sun, +Shall a new flower its petals unfold, +With the mystery hid in its heart of gold. +We will arise and go forth to greet him, +Singly, gladly, with one accord;-- +"Blessed is he that cometh +In the name of the Lord!" + +II. + +Who is the Angel that cometh? +Joy! +Look at his glittering rainbow wings-- +No alloy +Lies in the radiant gifts he brings; +Tender and sweet, +He is come to-day, +Tender and sweet: +While chains of love on his silver feet +Will hold him in lingering fond delay. +But greet him quickly, he will not stay, +Soon he will leave us; but though for others +All his brightest treasures are stored;-- +"Blessed is he that cometh +In the name of the Lord!" + +III. + +Who is the Angel that cometh? +Pain! +Let us arise and go forth to greet him; +Not in vain +Is the summons come for us to meet him; +He will stay, +And darken our sun; +He will stay +A desolate night, a weary day. +Since in that shadow our work is done, +And in that shadow our crowns are won, +Let us say still, while his bitter chalice +Slowly into our hearts is poured,-- +"Blessed is he that cometh +In the name of the Lord!" + +IV. + +Who is the Angel that cometh? +Death! +But do not shudder and do not fear; +Hold your breath, +For a kingly presence is drawing near. +Cold and bright +Is his flashing steel, +Cold and bright +The smile that comes like a starry light +To calm the terror and grief we feel; +He comes to help and to save and heal: +Then let us, baring our hearts and kneeling, +Sing, while we wait this Angel's sword,-- +"Blessed is he that cometh +In the name of the Lord!" + + + + +VERSE: DREAM-LIFE + + +Listen, friend, and I will tell you +Why I sometimes seem so glad, +Then, without a reason changing, +Soon become so grave and sad. + +Half my life I live a beggar, +Ragged, helpless, and alone; +But the other half a monarch, +With my courtiers round my throne. + +Half my life is full of sorrow, +Half of joy, still fresh and new; +One of these lives is a fancy, +But the other one is true. + +While I live and feast on gladness, +Still I feel the thought remain, +This must soon end,--nearer, nearer +Comes the life of grief and pain. + +While I live a wretched beggar, +One bright hope my lot can cheer; +Soon, soon, thou shalt have thy kingdom, +Brighter hours are drawing near. + +So you see my life is twofold, +Half a pleasure, half a grief; +Thus all joy is somewhat tempered, +And all sorrow finds relief. + +Which, you ask me, is the real life, +Which the Dream--the joy, or woe? +Hush, friend! it is little matter, +And, indeed--I never know. + + + + +VERSE: REST + + +Spread, spread thy silver wings, oh Dove! +And seek for rest by land and sea, +And bring the tidings back to me +For thee and me and those I love. +Look how my Dove soars far away; +Go with her, heart of mine, I pray; +Go where her fluttering silver pinions +Follow the track of the crimson day. + +Is rest where cloudlets slowly creep, +And sobbing winds forget to grieve, +And quiet waters gently heave, +As if they rocked the ship to sleep? +Ah no! that southern vapour white +Will bring a tempest ere the night, +And thunder through the quiet Heaven, +Lashing the sea in its angry might. + +The battle-field lies still and cold, +While stars that watch in silent light +Gleam here and there on weapons bright, +In weary sleepers' slackened hold; +Nay, though they dream of no alarm, +One bugle sound will stir that calm, +And all the strength of two great nations, +Eager for battle, will rise and arm. + +Pause where the Pilgrim's day is done, +Where scrip and staff aside are laid, +And, resting in the silent shade, +They watch the slowly sinking sun. +Ah no! that worn and weary band +Must journey long before they stand, +With bleeding feet, and hearts rejoicing, +Kissing the dust of the Holy Land. + +Then find a soul who meets at last +A noble prize but hard to gain, +Or joy long pleaded for in vain, +Now sweeter for a bitter past. +Ah no! for Time can rob her yet, +And even should cruel Time forget, +Then Death will come, and, unrelenting, +Brand her with sorrowful long regret. + +Seek farther, farther yet, oh Dove! +Beyond the Land, beyond the Sea, +There shall be rest for thee and me, +For thee and me and those I love. +I heard a promise gently fall, +I heard a far-off Shepherd call +The weary and the broken-hearted, +Promising rest unto each and all. + +It is not marred by outward strife, +It is not lost in calm repose, +It heedeth neither joys nor woes, +Is not disturbed by death or life; +Through, and beyond them, lies our Rest: +Then cease, oh Heart, thy longing quest! +And thou, my Dove, with silver pinions +Flutter again to thy quiet nest! + + + + +VERSE: THE TYRANT AND THE CAPTIVE + + +It was midnight when I listened, +And I heard two Voices speak; +One was harsh, and stern, and cruel, +And the other soft and weak: +Yet I saw no Vision enter, +And I heard no steps depart, +Of this Tyrant and his Captive, . . . +Fate it might be and a Heart. + +Thus the stern Voice spake in triumph:- +"I have shut your life away +From the radiant world of nature, +And the perfumed light of day. +You, who loved to steep your spirit +In the charm of Earth's delight, +See no glory of the daytime, +And no sweetness of the night." + +But the soft Voice answered calmly: +"Nay, for when the March winds bring +Just a whisper to my window, +I can dream the rest of Spring; +And to-day I saw a Swallow +Flitting past my prison bars, +And my cell has just one corner +Whence at night I see the stars." + +But its bitter taunt repeating, +Cried the harsh Voice:--"Where are they-- +All the friends of former hours, +Who forget your name to-day? +All the links of love are shattered, +Which you thought so strong before; +And your very heart is lonely, +And alone since loved no more." + +But the low Voice spoke still lower:-- +"Nay, I know the golden chain +Of my love is purer, stronger, +For the cruel fire of pain: +They remember me no longer, +But I, grieving here alone, +Bind their souls to me for ever +By the love within their own." + +But the Voice cried:- "Once remember +You devoted soul and mind +To the welfare of your brethren, +And the service of your kind. +Now, what sorrow can you comfort? +You, who lie in helpless pain, +With an impotent compassion +Fretting out your life in vain." + +"Nay;" and then the gentle answer +Rose more loud, and full, and clear: +"For the sake of all my brethren +I thank God that I am here! +Poor had been my Life's best efforts, +Now I waste no thought or breath-- +For the prayer of those who suffer +Has the strength of Love and Death." + + + + +VERSE: THE CARVER'S LESSON + + +Trust me, no mere skill of subtle tracery, +No mere practice of a dexterous hand, +Will suffice, without a hidden spirit, +That we may, or may not, understand. + +And those quaint old fragments that are left us +Have their power in this,--the Carver brought +Earnest care, and reverent patience, only +Worthily to clothe some noble thought. + +Shut then in the petals of the flowers, +Round the stems of all the lilies twine, +Hide beneath each bird's or angel's pinion, +Some wise meaning or some thought divine. + +Place in stony hands that pray for ever +Tender words of peace, and strive to wind +Round the leafy scrolls and fretted niches +Some true, loving message to your kind. + +Some will praise, some blame, and, soon forgetting, +Come and go, nor even pause to gaze; +Only now and then a passing stranger +Just may loiter with a word of praise. + +But I think, when years have floated onward, +And the stone is grey, and dim, and old, +And the hand forgotten that has carved it, +And the heart that dreamt it still and cold; + +There may come some weary soul, o'erladen +With perplexed struggle in his brain, +Or, it may be, fretted with life's turmoil, +Or made sore with some perpetual pain. + +Then, I think those stony hands will open, +And the gentle lilies overflow, +With the blessing and the loving token +That you hid there many years ago. + +And the tendrils will unroll, and teach him +How to solve the problem of his pain; +And the birds' and angels' wings shake downward +On his heart a sweet and tender rain. + +While he marvels at his fancy, reading +Meaning in that quaint and ancient scroll, +Little guessing that the loving Carver +Left a message for his weary soul. + + + + +VERSE: THREE ROSES + + +Just when the red June Roses blow +She gave me one,--a year ago. +A Rose whose crimson breath revealed +The secret that its heart concealed, +And whose half shy, half tender grace +Blushed back upon the giver's face. +A year ago--a year ago-- +To hope was not to know. + +Just when the red June Roses blow +I plucked her one,--a month ago: +Its half-blown crimson to eclipse, +I laid it on her smiling lips; +The balmy fragrance of the south +Drew sweetness from her sweeter mouth. +Swiftly do golden hours creep,-- +To hold is not to keep. + +The red June Roses now are past, +This very day I broke the last-- +And now its perfumed breath is hid, +With her, beneath a coffin-lid; +There will its petals fall apart, +And wither on her icy heart:- +At three red Roses' cost +My world was gained and lost. + + + + +VERSE: MY PICTURE GALLERY + + +I. + +You write and think of me, my friend, with pity; +While you are basking in the light of Rome, +Shut up within the heart of this great city, +Too busy and too poor to leave my home. + +II. + +You think my life debarred all rest or pleasure, +Chained all day to my ledger and my pen; +Too sickly even to use my little leisure +To bear me from the strife and din of men. + +III. + +Well, it is true; yet, now the days are longer, +At sunset I can lay my writing down, +And slowly crawl (summer has made me stronger) +Just to the nearest outskirt of the town. + +IV. + +There a wide Common, blackened though and dreary +With factory smoke, spreads outward to the West; +I lie down on the parched-up grass, if weary, +Or lean against a broken wall to rest. + +V. + +So might a King, turning to Art's rich treasure, +At evening, when the cares of state were done, +Enter his royal gallery, drinking pleasure +Slowly from each great picture, one by one. + +VI. + +Towards the West I turn my weary spirit, +And watch my pictures: one each night is mine. +Earth and my soul, sick of day's toil, inherit +A portion of that luminous peace divine. + +VII. + +There I have seen a sunset's crimson glory, +Burn as if earth were one great Altar's blaze; +Or, like the closing of a piteous story, +Light up the misty world with dying rays. + +VIII. + +There I have seen the Clouds, in pomp and splendour, +Their gold and purple banners all unfurl; +There I have watched colours, more faint and tender +Than pure and delicate tints upon a pearl. + +IX. + +Skies strewn with roses fading, fading slowly, +While one star trembling watched the daylight die; +Or deep in gloom a sunset, hidden wholly, +Save through gold rents torn in a violet sky. + +X. + +Or parted clouds, as if asunder riven +By some great angel--and beyond a space +Of far-off tranquil light; the gates of Heaven +Will lead us grandly to as calm a place. + +XI. + +Or stern dark walls of cloudy mountain ranges +Hid all the wonders that we knew must be; +While, far on high, some little white clouds changes' +Revealed the glory they alone could see. + +XII. + +Or in wild wrath the affrighted clouds lay shattered, +Like treasures of the lost Hesperides, +All in a wealth of ruined splendour scattered, +Save one strange light on distant silver seas. + +XIII. + +What land or time can claim the Master Painter, +Whose art could teach him half such gorgeous dyes? +Or skill so rare, but purer hues and fainter +Melt every evening in my western skies. + +XIV. + +So there I wait, until the shade has lengthened, +And night's blue misty curtain floated down; +Then, with my heart calmed, and my spirit strengthened, +I crawl once more back to the sultry town. + +XV. + +What Monarch, then, has nobler recreations +Than mine? Or where the great and classic Land +Whose wealth of Art delights the gathered nations +That owns a Picture Gallery half as grand? + + + + +VERSE: SENT TO HEAVEN + + +I had a Message to send her, +To her whom my soul loved best; +But I had my task to finish. +And she was gone home to rest. + +To rest in the far bright heaven: +Oh, so far away from here, +It was vain to speak to my darling, +For I knew she could not hear! + +I had a message to send her. +So tender, and true, and sweet, +I longed for an Angel to bear it, +And lay it down at her feet. + +I placed it, one summer evening, +On a Cloudlet's fleecy breast; +But it faded in golden splendour, +And died in the crimson west. + +I gave it the Lark next morning, +And I watched it soar and soar; +But its pinions grew faint and weary, +And it fluttered to earth once more. + +To the heart of a Rose I told it; +And the perfume, sweet and rare, +Growing faint on the blue bright ether, +Was lost in the balmy air. + +I laid it upon a Censer, +And I saw the incense rise; +But its clouds of rolling silver +Could not reach the far blue skies. + +I cried, in my passionate longing:- +"Has the earth no Angel-friend +Who will carry my love the message +That my heart desires to send?" + +Then I heard a strain of music, +So mighty, so pure, so clear, +That my very sorrow was silent, +And my heart stood still to hear. + +And I felt, in my soul's deep yearning, +At last the sure answer stir:- +"The music will go up to Heaven, +And carry my thought to her." + +It rose in harmonious rushing +Of mingled voices and strings. +And I tenderly laid my message +On the Music's outspread wings. + +I heard it float farther and farther, +In sound more perfect than speech; +Farther than sight can follow. +Farther than soul can reach. + +And I know that at last my message +Has passed through the golden gate: +So my heart is no longer restless, +And I am content to wait. + + + + +VERSE: NEVER AGAIN + + +"Never again!" vow hearts when reunited, +"Never again shall Love be cast aside; +For ever now the shadow has departed; +Nor bitter sorrow, veiled in scornful pride, +Shall feign indifference, or affect disdain,-- +Never, oh Love, again, never again!" + +"Never again!" so sobs, in broken accents, +A soul laid prostrate at a holy shrine,-- +"Once more, once more forgive, oh Lord, and pardon, +My wayward life shall bend to love divine; +And never more shall sin its whiteness stain,-- +Never, oh God, again, never again!" + +"Never again!" so speaketh one forsaken, +In the blank desolate passion of despair,-- +"Never again shall the bright dream I cherished +Delude my heart, for bitter truth is there,-- +The angel, Hope, shall still thy cruel pain +Never again, my heart, never again!" + +"Never again!" so speaks the sudden silence, +When round the hearth gathers each well-known face,-- +But one is missing, and no future presence, +However dear, can fill that vacant place; +For ever shall the burning thought remain,-- +"Never, beloved, again! never again!" + +"Never again!" so--but beyond our hearing-- +Ring out far voices fading up the sky; +Never again shall earthly care and sorrow +Weigh down the wings that bear those souls on high; +Listen, oh earth, and hear that glorious strain,-- +"Never, never again! never again!" + + + + +VERSE: LISTENING ANGELS + + +Blue against the bluer Heavens +Stood the mountain, calm and still, +Two white Angels, bending earthward, +Leant upon the hill. + +Listening leant those silent Angels, +And I also longed to hear +What sweet strain of earthly music +Thus could charm their ear. + +I heard the sound of many trumpets +In a warlike march draw nigh; +Solemnly a mighty army +Passed in order by. + +But the clang had ceased; the echoes +Soon had faded from the hill; +While the Angels, calm and earnest, +Leant and listened still. + +Then I heard a fainter clamour, +Forge and wheel were clashing near +And the Reapers in the meadow +Singing loud and clear. + +When the sunset came in glory, +And the toil of day was o'er, +Still the Angels leant in silence, +Listening as before. + +Then, as daylight slowly vanished, +And the evening mists grew dim, +Solemnly from distant voices +Rose a vesper hymn. + +When the chant was done, and lingering +Died upon the evening air, +From the hill the radiant Angels +Still were listening there. + +Silent came the gathering darkness, +Bringing with it sleep and rest; +Save a little bird was singing +Near her leafy nest. + +Through the sounds of war and labour +She had warbled all day long, +While the Angels leant and listened +Only to her song. + +But the starry night was coming; +When she ceased her little lay +From the mountain top the Angels +Slowly passed away. + + + + +VERSE: GOLDEN DAYS + + +Golden days--where are they? +Pilgrims east and west +Cry; if we could find them +We would pause and rest: +We would pause and rest a little +From our long and weary ways:- +Where are they, then, where are they-- +Golden days? + +Golden days--where are they? +Ask of childhood's years, +Still untouched by sorrow, +Still undimmed by tears: +Ah, they seek a phantom Future, +Crowned with brighter, starry rays;-- +Where are they, then, where are they-- +Golden days? + +Golden days--where are they? +Has Love learnt the spell +That will charm them hither, +Near our hearth to dwell? +Insecure are all her treasures, +Restless is her anxious gaze:- +Where are they, then, where are they-- +Golden days? + +Golden days--where are they? +Farther up the hill +I can hear the echo +Faintly calling still: +Faintly calling, faintly dying, +In a far-off misty haze:- +Where are they, then, where are they-- +Golden days? + + + + +VERSE: PHILIP AND MILDRED + + +Lingering fade the rays of daylight, and the listening air is chilly; +Voice of bird and forest murmur, insect hum and quivering spray +Stir not in that quiet hour: through the valley, calm and stilly, +All in hushed and loving silence watch the slow departing Day. + +Till the last faint western cloudlet, faint and rosy, ceases blushing, +And the blue grows deep and deeper where one trembling planet shines, +And the day has gone for ever--then, like some great ocean rushing, +The sad night wind wails lamenting, sobbing through the moaning pines. + +Such, of all day's changing hours, is the fittest and the meetest +For a farewell hour--and parting looks less bitter and more blest; +Earth seems like a shrine for sorrow, Nature's mother voice is sweetest, +And her hand seems laid in chiding on the unquiet throbbing breast. + +Words are lower, for the twilight seems rebuking sad repining, +And wild murmur and rebellion, as all childish and in vain; +Breaking through dark future hours clustering starry hopes seem shining, +Then the calm and tender midnight folds her shadow round the pain. + +So they paced the shady lime-walk in that twilight dim and holy, +Still the last farewell deferring, she could hear or he should say; +Every word, weighed down by sorrow, fell more tenderly and slowly-- +This, which now beheld their parting, should have been their wedding-day. + +Should have been: her dreams of childhood, never straying, never faltering, +Still had needed Philip's image to make future life complete; +Philip's young hopes of ambition, ever changing, ever altering, +Needed Mildred's gentle presence even to make successes sweet. + +This day should have seen their marriage; the calm crowning and assurance +Of two hearts, fulfilling rather, and not changing, either life: +Now they must be rent asunder, and her heart must learn endurance, +For he leaves their home, and enters on a world of work and strife. + +But her gentle spirit long had learnt, unquestioning, submitting, +To revere his youthful longings, and to marvel at the fate +That gave such a humble office, all unworthy and unfitting, +To the genius of the village, who was born for something great. + +When the learned Traveller came there who had gained renown at college, +Whose abstruse research had won him even European fame, +Questioned Philip, praised his genius, marvelled at his self-taught knowledge, +Could she murmur if he called him up to London and to fame? + +Could she waver when he bade her take the burden of decision, +Since his troth to her was plighted, and his life was now her own? +Could she doom him to inaction? could she, when a newborn vision +Rose in glory for his future, check it for her sake alone? + +So her little trembling fingers, that had toiled with such fond pleasure, +Paused, and laid aside, and folded the unfinished wedding gown; +Faltering earnestly assurance, that she too could, in her measure, +Prize for him the present honour, and the future's sure renown. + +Now they pace the shady lime-walk, now the last words must be spoken, +Words of trust, for neither dreaded more than waiting and delay; +Was not love still called eternal--could a plighted vow be broken?-- +See the crimson light of sunset fades in purple mist away. + +"Yes, my Mildred," Philip told her, "one calm thought of joy and blessing, +Like a guardian spirit by me, through the world's tumultuous stir, +Still will spread its wings above me, and now urging, now repressing, +With my Mildred's voice will murmur thoughts of home, and love, and her. + +"It will charm my peaceful leisure, sanctify my daily toiling, +With a right none else possesses, touching my heart's inmost string; +And to keep its pure wings spotless I shall fly the world's touch, soiling +Even in thought this Angel Guardian of my Mildred's Wedding Ring. + +"Take it, dear; this little circlet is the first link, strong and holy, +Of a life-long chain, and holds me from all other love apart; +Till the day when you may wear it as my wife--my own--mine wholly-- +Let me know it rests for ever near the beating of your heart." + +Dawn of day saw Philip speeding on his road to the Great City, +Thinking how the stars gazed downward just with Mildred's patient eyes; +Dreams of work, and fame, and honour struggling with a tender pity, +Till the loving Past receding saw the conquering Future rise. + +Daybreak still found Mildred watching, with the wonder of first sorrow, +How the outward world unaltered shone the same this very day; +How unpitying and relentless busy life met this new morrow, +Earth, and sky, and man unheeding that her joy had passed away. + +Then the round of weary duties, cold and formal, came to meet her, +With the life within departed that had given them each a soul; +And her sick heart even slighted gentle words that came to greet her; +For Grief spread its shadowy pinions, like a blight, upon the whole. + +Jar one chord, the harp is silent; move one stone, the arch is shattered; +One small clarion-cry of sorrow bids an armed host awake; +One dark cloud can hide the sunlight; loose one string, the pearls are +scattered; +Think one thought, a soul may perish; say one word, a heart may break! + +Life went on, the two lives running side by side; the outward seeming, +And the truer and diviner hidden in the heart and brain; +Dreams grow holy, put in action; work grows fair through starry dreaming; +But where each flows on unmingling, both are fruitless and in vain. + +Such was Mildred's life; her dreaming lay in some far-distant region, +All the fairer, all the brighter, that its glories were but guessed; +And the daily round of duties seemed an unreal, airy legion-- +Nothing true save Philip's letters and the ring upon her breast. + +Letters telling how he struggled, for some plan or vision aiming, +And at last how he just grasped it as a fresh one spread its wings; +How the honour or the learning, once the climax, now were claiming, +Only more and more, becoming merely steps to higher things. + +Telling her of foreign countries: little store had she of learning, +So her earnest, simple spirit answered as he touched the string; +Day by day, to these bright fancies all her silent thoughts were turning, +Seeing every radiant picture framed within her golden Ring. + +Oh, poor heart--love, if thou willest; but, thine own soul still possessing, +Live thy life: not a reflection or a shadow of his own: +Lean as fondly, as completely, as thou willest--but confessing +That thy strength is God's, and therefore can, if need be, stand alone. + +Little means were there around her to make farther, wider ranges, +Where her loving gentle spirit could try any stronger flight; +And she turned aside, half fearing that fresh thoughts were fickle changes-- +That she must stay as he left her on that farewell summer night. + +Love should still be guide and leader, like a herald should have risen, +Lighting up the long dark vistas, conquering all opposing fates; +But new claims, new thoughts, new duties found her heart a silent prison, +And found Love, with folded pinions, like a jailer by the gates. + +Yet why blame her? it had needed greater strength than she was given +To have gone against the current that so calmly flowed along; +Nothing fresh came near the village save the rain and dew of heaven, +And her nature was too passive, and her love perhaps too strong. + +The great world of thought, that rushes down the years, and onward sweeping +Bears upon its mighty billows in its progress each and all, +Flowed so far away, its murmur did not rouse them from their sleeping; +Life and Time and Truth were speaking, but they did not hear their call. + +Years flowed on; and every morning heard her prayer grow lower, deeper, +As she called all blessings on him, and bade every ill depart, +And each night when the cold moonlight shone upon that quiet sleeper, +It would show her ring that glittered with each throbbing of her heart. + +Years passed on. Fame came for Philip in a full, o'erflowing measure; +He was spoken of and honoured through the breadth of many lands, +And he wrote it all to Mildred, as if praise were only pleasure, +As if fame were only honour, when he laid them in her hands. + +Mildred heard it without wonder, as a sure result expected, +For how could it fail, since merit and renown go side by side: +And the neighbours who first fancied genius ought to be suspected, +Might at last give up their caution, and could own him now with pride. + +Years flowed on. These empty honours led to others they called better, +He had saved some slender fortune, and might claim his bride at last: +Mildred, grown so used to waiting, felt half startled by the letter +That now made her future certain, and would consecrate her past. + +And he came: grown sterner, older--changed indeed: a grave reliance +Had replaced his eager manner, and the quick short speech of old: +He had gone forth with a spirit half of hope and half defiance; +He returned with proud assurance half disdainful and half cold. + +Yet his old self seemed returning while he stood sometimes, and listened +To her calm soft voice, relating all the thoughts of these long years; +And if Mildred's heart was heavy, and at times her blue eyes glistened, +Still in thought she would not whisper aught of sorrow or of fears. + +Autumn with its golden corn-fields, autumn with its storms and showers, +Had been there to greet his coming with its forests gold and brown; +And the last leaves still were falling, fading still the year's last +flowers, +When he left the quiet village, and took back his bride to town. + +Home--the home that she had pictured many a time in twilight, dwelling +On that tender gentle fancy, folded round with loving care; +Here was home--the end, the haven; and what spirit voice seemed telling, +That she only held the casket, with the gem no longer there? + +Sad it may be to be longing, with a patience faint and weary, +For a hope deferred--and sadder still to see it fade and fall; +Yet to grasp the thing we long for, and, with sorrow sick and dreary, +Then to find how it can fail us, is the saddest pain of all. + +What was wanting? He was gentle, kind, and generous still, deferring +To her wishes always; nothing seemed to mar their tranquil life: +There are skies so calm and leaden that we long for storm-winds stirring, +There is peace so cold and bitter, that we almost welcome strife. + +Darker grew the clouds above her, and the slow conviction clearer, +That he gave her home and pity, but that heart, and soul, and mind +Were beyond her now; he loved her, and in youth he had been near her, +But he now had gone far onward, and had left her there behind. + +Yes, beyond her: yes, quick-hearted, her Love helped her in revealing +It was worthless, while so mighty; was too weak, although so strong; +There were courts she could not enter; depths she could not sound; yet +feeling +It was vain to strive or struggle, vainer still to mourn or long. + +He would give her words of kindness, he would talk of home, but seeming +With an absent look, forgetting if he held or dropped her hand; +And then turn with eager pleasure to his writing, reading, dreaming, +Or to speak of things with others that she could not understand. + +He had paid, and paid most nobly, all he owed; no need of blaming; +It had cost him something, may be, that no future could restore: +In her heart of hearts she knew it; Love and Sorrow, not complaining, +Only suffered all the deeper, only loved him all the more. + +Sometimes then a stronger anguish, and more cruel, weighed upon her, +That through all those years of waiting, he had slowly learnt the truth; +He had known himself mistaken, but that, bound to her in honour, +He renounced his life, to pay her for the patience of her youth. + +But a star was slowly rising from that mist of grief, and brighter +Grew her eyes, for each slow hour surer comfort seemed to bring; +And she watched with strange sad smiling, how her trembling hands grew slighter, +And how thin her slender finger, and how large her wedding-ring. + +And the tears dropped slowly on it, as she kissed that golden token +With a deeper love, it may be, than was in the far-off past; +And remembering Philip's fancy, that so long ago was spoken, +Thought her Ring's bright angel guardian had stayed near her to the last. + +Grieving sorely, grieving truly, with a tender care and sorrow, +Philip watched the slow, sure fading of his gentle, patient wife; +Could he guess with what a yearning she was longing for the morrow, +Could he guess the bitter knowledge that had wearied her of life? + +Now with violets strewn upon her, Mildred lies in peaceful sleeping; +All unbound her long, bright tresses, and her throbbing heart at rest, +And the cold, blue rays of moonlight, through the open casement creeping, +Show the ring upon her finger, and her hands crossed on her breast. + +Peace at last. Of peace eternal is her calm sweet smile a token. +Has some angel lingering near her let a radiant promise fall? +Has he told her Heaven unites again the links that Earth has broken? +For on Earth so much is needed, but in Heaven Love is all! + + + + +VERSE: BORROWED THOUGHTS + + +I. FROM "LAVATER." + +Trust him little who doth raise +To one height both great and small, +And sets the sacred crown of praise, +Smiling, on the head of all. + +Trust him less who looks around +To censure all with scornful eyes, +And in everything has found +Something that he dare despise. + +But for one who stands apart, +Stirred by nought that can befall, +With a cold indifferent heart,-- +Trust him least and last of all. + +II. FROM "PHANTASTES." + +I have a bitter Thought, a Snake +That used to sting my life to pain. +I strove to cast it far away, +But every night and every day +It crawled back to my heart again. + +It was in vain to live or strive, +To think or sleep, to work or pray; +At last I bade this thine accursed +Gnaw at my heart, and do its worst, +And so I let it have its way. + +Thus said I, "I shall never fall +Into a false and dreaming peace, +And then awake, with sudden start, +To feel it biting at my heart, +For now the pain can never cease." + +But I gained more; for I have found +That such a snake's envenomed charm +Must always, always find a part, +Deep in the centre of my heart, +Which it can never wound or harm. + +It is coiled round my heart to-day. +It sleeps at times, this cruel snake, +And while it sleeps it never stings:- +Hush! let us talk of other things, +Lest it should hear me and awake. + +III. FROM "LOST ALICE." + +Yes, dear, our Love is slain; +In the cold grave for evermore it lies, +Never to wake again, +Or light our sorrow with its starry eyes; +And so--regret is vain. + +One hour of pain and dread, +We killed our Love, we took its life away +With the false words we said; +And so we watch it, since that cruel day, +Silent, and cold, and dead. + +We should have seen it shine +Long years beside us. Time and Death might try +To touch that life divine, +Whose strength could every other stroke defy +Save only thine and mine. + +No longing can restore +Our dead again. Vain are the tears we weep, +And vainly we deplore +Our buried Love: its grave lies dark and deep +Between us evermore. + +IV. FROM * * * + +Within the kingdom of my Soul +I bid you enter, Love, to-day; +Submit my life to your control, +And give my Heart up to your sway. + +My Past, whose light and life is flown, +Shall live through memory for you still; +Take all my Present for your own, +And mould my Future to your will. + +One only thought remains apart, +And will for ever so remain; +There is one Chamber in my heart +Where even you might knock in vain. + +A haunted Chamber:- long ago +I closed it, and I cast the key +Where deep and bitter waters flow, +Into a vast and silent sea. + +Dear, it is haunted. All the rest +Is yours; but I have shut that door +For ever now. 'Tis even best +That I should enter it no more. + +No more. It is not well to stay +With ghosts; their very look would scare +Your joyous, loving smile away-- +So never try to enter there. + +Check, if you love me, all regret +That this one thought remains apart:- +Now let us smile, dear, and forget +The haunted Chamber in my Heart. + + + + +VERSE: LIGHT AND SHADE + + +Thou hast done well to kneel and say, +"Since He who gave can take away, +And bid me suffer, I obey." + +And also well to tell thy heart +That good lies in the bitterest part, +And thou wilt profit by her smart. + +But bitter hours come to all: +When even truths like these will pall, +Sick hearts for humbler comfort call. + +Then I would have thee strive to see +That good and evil come to thee, +As one of a great family. + +And as material life is planned, +That even the loneliest one must stand +Dependent on his brother's hand; + +So links more subtle and more fine +Bind every other soul to thine +In one great brotherhood divine. + +Nor with thy share of work be vexed; +Though incomplete, and even perplex, +It fits exactly to the next. + +What seems so dark to thy dim sight +May be a shadow, seen aright, +Making some brightness doubly bright. + +The flash that struck thy tree,--no more +To shelter thee,--lets Heaven's blue floor +Shine where it never shone before. + +Thy life that has been dropped aside +Into Time's stream, may stir the tide, +In rippled circles spreading wide. + +The cry wrung from thy spirit's pain +May echo on some far-off plain, +And guide a wanderer home again. + +Fail--yet rejoice; because no less +The failure that makes thy distress +May teach another full success. + +It may be that in some great need +Thy life's poor fragments are decreed +To help build up a lofty deed. + +Thy heart should throb in vast content, +Thus knowing that it was but meant +As chord in one great instrument; + +That even the discord in thy soul +May make completer music roll +From out the great harmonious whole. + +It may be, that when all is light, +Deep set within that deep delight +Will be to know why all was right; + +To hear life's perfect music rise, +And while it floods the happy skies, +Thy feeble voice to recognise. + +Then strive more gladly to fulfil +Thy little part. This darkness still +Is light to every loving will. + +And trust,--as if already plain, +How just thy share of loss and pain +Is for another fuller gain. + +I dare not limit time or place +Touched by thy life: nor dare I trace +Its far vibrations into space. + +One only knows. Yet if the fret +Of thy weak heart, in weak regret +Needs a more tender comfort yet: + +Then thou mayst take thy loneliest fears, +The bitterest drops of all thy tears, +The dreariest hours of all thy years; + +And through thy anguish there outspread, +May ask that God's great love would shed +Blessings on one beloved head. + +And thus thy soul shall learn to draw +Sweetness from out that loving law +That sees no failure and no flaw, + +Where all is good. And life is good, +Were the one lesson understood +Of its most sacred brotherhood. + + + + +VERSE: A CHANGELING + + +A little changeling spirit +Crept to my arms one day: +I had no heart or courage +To drive the child away. + +So all day long I soothed her, +And hushed her on my breast; +And all night long her wailing +Would never let me rest. + +I dug a grave to hold her, +A grave both dark and deep; +I covered her with violets, +And laid her there to sleep. + +I used to go and watch there, +Both night and morning too:- +It was my tears, I fancy, +That kept the violets blue. + +I took her up: and once more +I felt the clinging hold, +And heard the ceaseless wailing +That wearied me of old. + +I wandered, and I wandered, +With my burden on my breast, +Till I saw a church-door open, +And entered in to rest. + +In the dim, dying daylight, +Set in a flowery shrine, +I saw the Virgin Mother +Holding her Child divine. + +I knelt down there in silence, +And on the Altar-stone +I laid my wailing burden, +And came away--alone. + +And now that little spirit, +That sobbed so all day long, +Is grown a shining Angel, +With wines both wide and strong. + +She watches me from Heaven, +With loving, tender care, +And one day she has promised +That I shall find her there. + + + + +VERSE: DISCOURAGED + + +Where the little babbling streamlet +First springs forth to light, +Trickling through soft velvet mosses, +Almost hid from sight; +Vowed I with delight,-- +"River, I will follow thee, +Through thy wanderings to the Sea!" + +Gleaming 'mid the purple heather, +Downward then it sped, +Glancing through the mountain gorges, +Like a silver thread, +As it quicker fled, +Louder music in its flow, +Dashing to the Vale below. + +Then its voice grew lower, gentler, +And its pace less fleet, +Just as though it loved to linger +Round the rushes' feet, +As they stooped to meet +Their clear images below, +Broken by the ripples' flow. + +Purple Willow-herb bent over +To her shadow fair; +Meadow-sweet, in feathery clusters, +Perfumed all the air; +Silver-weed was there, +And in one calm, grassy spot, +Starry, blue Forget-me-not. + +Tangled weeds, below the waters, +Still seemed drawn away; +Yet the current, floating onward, +Was less strong than they;-- +Sunbeams watched their play, +With a flickering light and shade, +Through the screen the Alders made. + +Broader grew the flowing River; +To its grassy brink +Slowly, in the slanting sun-rays, +Cattle trooped to drink: +The blue sky, I think, +Was no bluer than that stream, +Slipping onward, like a dream. + +Quicker, deeper then it hurried, +Rushing fierce and free; +But I said, "It should grow calmer +Ere it meets the Sea, +The wide purple Sea, +Which I weary for in vain, +Wasting all my toil and pain." + +But it rushed still quicker, fiercer, +In its rocky bed, +Hard and stony was the pathway +To my tired tread; +"I despair," I said, +"Of that wide and glorious Sea +That was promised unto me." + +So I turned aside, and wandered +Through green meadows near, +Far away, among the daisies, +Far away, for fear +Lest I still should hear +The loud murmur of its song, +As the River flowed along. + +Now I hear it not:- I loiter +Gaily as before; +Yet I sometimes think,--and thinking +Makes my heart so sore,-- +Just a few steps more, +And there might have shone for me, +Blue and infinite, the Sea. + + + + +VERSE: IF THOU COULDST KNOW + + +I think if thou couldst know, +Oh soul that will complain, +What lies concealed below +Our burden and our pain; +How just our anguish brings +Nearer those longed-for things +We seek for now in vain,-- +I think thou wouldst rejoice, and not complain. + +I think if thou couldst see, +With thy dim mortal sight, +How meanings, dark to thee, +Are shadows hiding light; +Truth's efforts crossed and vexed, +Life's purpose all perplexed,-- +If thou couldst see them right, +I think that they would seem all clear, and wise, and bright. + +And yet thou canst not know, +And yet thou canst not see; +Wisdom and sight are slow +In poor humanity. +If thou couldst trust, poor soul, +In Him who rules the whole, +Thou wouldst find peace and rest: +Wisdom and sight are well, but Trust is best. + + + + +VERSE: THE WARRIOR TO HIS DEAD BRIDE + + +If in the fight my arm was strong, +And forced my foes to yield, +If conquering and unhurt I came +Back from the battle-field-- +It is because thy prayers have been +My safeguard and my shield. + +My comrades smile to see my arm +Spare or protect a foe, +They think thy gentle pleading voice +Was silenced long ago; +But pity and compassion, love, +Were taught me first by woe. + +Thy heart, my own, still beats in Heaven +With the same love divine +That made thee stoop to such a soul, +So hard, so stern, as mine-- +My eyes have learnt to weep, beloved, +Since last they looked on thine. + +I hear thee murmur words of peace +Through the dim midnight air, +And a calm falls from the angel stars +And soothes my great despair-- +The Heavens themselves look brighter, love, +Since thy sweet soul is there. + +And if my heart is once more calm, +My step is once more free, +It is because each hour I feel +Thou prayest still for me; +Because no fate or change can come +Between my soul and thee. + +It is because my heart is stilled. +Not broken by despair, +Because I see the grave is bright, +And death itself is fair-- +I dread no more the wrath of Heaven-- +I have an angel there! + + + + +VERSE: A LETTER + + +Dear, I tried to write you such a letter +As would tell you all my heart to-day. +Written Love is poor; one word were better; +Easier, too, a thousand times, to say. + +I can tell you all: fears, doubts unheeding, +While I can be near you, hold your hand, +Looking right into your eyes, and reading +Reassurance that you understand. + +Yet I wrote it through, then lingered, thinking +Of its reaching you,--what hour, what day; +Till I felt my heart and courage sinking +With a strange, new, wondering dismay. + +"Will my letter fall," I wondered sadly, +"On her mood like some discordant tone, +Or be welcomed tenderly and gladly? +Will she be with others, or alone? + +"It may find her too absorbed to read it, +Save with hurried glance and careless air: +Sad and weary, she may scarcely heed it; +Gay and happy, she may hardly care. + +"Shall I--dare I--risk the chances?" slowly +Something,--was it shyness, love, or pride?-- +Chilled my heart, and checked my courage wholly; +So I laid it wistfully aside. + +Then I leant against the casement, turning +Tearful eyes towards the far-off west, +Where the golden evening light was burning, +Till my heart throbbed back again to rest. + +And I thought: "Love's soul is not in fetters, +Neither space nor time keep souls apart; +Since I cannot--dare not--send my letters, +Through the silence I will send my heart. + +"If, perhaps now, while my tears are falling, +She is dreaming quietly alone, +She will hear my Love's far echo calling, +Feel my spirit drawing near her own. + +"She will hear, while twilight shades enfold her, +All the gathered Love she knows so well-- +Deepest Love my words have ever told her, +Deeper still--all I could never tell. + +"Wondering at the strange mysterious power +That has touched her heart, then she will say:- +'Some one whom I love, this very hour, +Thinks of me, and loves me, far away.' + +"If, as well may be, to-night has found her +Full of other thoughts, with others by, +Through the words and claims that gather round her +She will hear just one, half-smothered sigh; + +"Or will marvel why, without her seeking, +Suddenly the thought of me recurs; +Or, while listening to another speaking, +Fancy that my hand is holding hers." + +So I dreamed, and watched the stars' far splendour +Glimmering on the azure darkness, start,-- +While the star of trust rose bright and tender, +Through the twilight shadows of my heart. + + + + +VERSE: A COMFORTER + + +I. + +Will she come to me, little Effie, +Will she come in my arms to rest, +And nestle her head on my shoulder, +While the sun goes down in the west? + +II. + +"I and Effie will sit together, +All alone, in this great arm-chair:- +Is it silly to mind it, darling, +When Life is so hard to bear? + +III. + +"No one comforts me like my Effie, +Just I think that she does not try,-- +Only looks with a wistful wonder +Why grown people should ever cry; + +IV. + +"While her little soft arms close tighter +Round my neck in their clinging hold:- +Well, I must not cry on your hair, dear, +For my tears might tarnish the gold. + +V. + +"I am tired of trying to read, dear; +It is worse to talk and seem gay: +There are some kinds of sorrow, Effie, +It is useless to thrust away. + +VI. + +"Ah, advice may be wise, my darling, +But one always knows it before; +And the reasoning down one's sorrow +Seems to make one suffer the more. + +VII. + +"But my Effie won't reason, will she? +Or endeavour to understand; +Only holds up her mouth to kiss me, +As she strokes my face with her hand. + +VIII. + +"If you break your plaything yourself, dear, +Don't you cry for it all the same? +I don't think it is such a comfort, +One has only oneself to blame. + +IX. + +"People say things cannot be helped, dear, +But then that is the reason why; +For if things could be helped or altered, +One would never sit down to cry: + +X. + +"They say, too, that tears are quite useless +To undo, amend, or restore,-- +When I think how useless, my Effie, +Then my tears only fall the more. + +XI. + +"All to-day I struggled against it; +But that does not make sorrow cease; +And now, dear, it is such a comfort +To be able to cry in peace. + +XII. + +"Though wise people would call that folly, +And remonstrate with grave surprise; +We won't mind what they say, my Effie;-- +We never professed to be wise. + +"But my comforter knows a lesson +Wiser, truer than all the rest:- +That to help and to heal a sorrow, +Love and silence are always best. + +XIV. + +"Well, who is my comforter--tell me? +Effie smiles, but she will not speak; +Or look up through the long curled lashes +That are shading her rosy cheek. + +XV. + +"Is she thinking of talking fishes, +The blue bird, or magical tree? +Perhaps I am thinking, my darling, +Of something that never can be. + +XVI. + +"You long--don't you, dear?--for the Genii, +Who were slaves of lamps and of rings; +And I--I am sometimes afraid, dear,-- +I want as impossible things. + +XVII. + +"But hark! there is Nurse calling Effie! +It is bedtime, so run away; +And I must go back, or the others +Will be wondering why I stay. + +XVIII. + +"So good-night to my darling Effie; +Keep happy, sweetheart, and grow wise:- +There's one kiss for her golden tresses, +And two for her sleepy eyes." + + + + +VERSE: UNSEEN + + +There are more things in Heaven and Earth, than we +Can dream of, or than nature understands; +We learn not through our poor philosophy +What hidden chords are touched by unseen hands. + +The present hour repeats upon its strings +Echoes of some vague dream we have forgot; +Dim voices whisper half-remembered things, +And when we pause to listen,--answer not. + +Forebodings come: we know not how, or whence, +Shadowing a nameless fear upon the soul, +And stir within our hearts a subtler sense, +Than light may read, or wisdom may control. + +And who can tell what secret links of thought +Bind heart to heart? Unspoken things are heard, +As if within our deepest selves was brought +The soul, perhaps, of some unuttered word. + +But, though a veil of shadow hangs between +That hidden life, and what we see and hear, +Let us revere the power of the Unseen, +And know a world of mystery is near. + + + + +VERSE: A REMEMBRANCE OF AUTUMN + + +Nothing stirs the sunny silence,-- +Save the drowsy humming of the bees +Round the rich, ripe peaches on the wall, +And the south wind sighing in the trees, +And the dead leaves rustling as they fall: +While the swallows, one by one, are gathering, +All impatient to be on the wing, +And to wander from us, seeking +Their beloved Spring! + +Cloudless rise the azure heavens! +Only vaporous wreaths of snowy white +Nestle in the grey hill's rugged side; +And the golden woods are bathed in light, +Dying, if they must, with kingly pride: +While the swallows in the blue air wheeling, +Circle now an eager fluttering band, +Ready to depart and leave us +For a brighter land! + +But a voice is sounding sadly, +Telling of a glory that has been; +Of a day that faded all too fast-- +See afar through the blue air serene, +Where the swallows wing their way at last, +And our hearts perchance, as sadly wandering, +Vainly seeking for a long-lost day, +While we watch the far-off swallows, +Flee with them away! + + + + +VERSE: THREE EVENINGS IN A LIFE + + +I. + +Yes, it looked dark and dreary, +That long and narrow street: +Only the sound of the rain, +And the tramp of passing feet, +The duller glow of the fire, +And gathering mists of night +To mark how slow and weary +The long day's cheerless flight! + +II. + +Watching the sullen fire, +Hearing the dismal rain, +Drop after drop, run down +On the darkening window-pane: +Chill was the heart of Alice, +Chill as that winter day,-- +For the star of her life had risen +Only to fade away. + +III. + +The voice that had been so strong +To bid the snare depart, +The true and earnest will, +The calm and steadfast heart, +Were now weighed down by sorrow, +Were quivering now with pain; +The clear path now seemed clouded, +And all her grief in vain. + +IV. + +Duty, Right, Truth, who promised +To help and save their own, +Seemed spreading wide their pinions +To leave her there alone. +So, turning from the Present +To well-known days of yore, +She called on them to strengthen +And guard her soul once more. + +V. + +She thought how in her girlhood +Her life was given away, +The solemn promise spoken +She kept so well to-day; +How to her brother Herbert +She had been help and guide, +And how his artist nature +On her calm strength relied. + +VI. + +How through life's fret and turmoil +The passion and fire of art +In him was soothed and quickened +By her true sister heart; +How future hopes had always +Been for his sake alone; +And now,--what strange new feeling +Possessed her as its own? + +VII. + +Her home--each flower that breathed there, +The wind's sigh, soft and low, +Each trembling spray of ivy, +The river's murmuring flow, +The shadow of the forest, +Sunset, or twilight dim-- +Dear as they were, were dearer +By leaving them for him. + +VIII. + +And each year as it found her +In the dull, feverish town, +Saw self still more forgotten, +And selfish care kept down +By the calm joy of evening +That brought him to her side, +To warn him with wise counsel, +Or praise with tender pride. + +IX. + +Her heart, her life, her future, +Her genius, only meant +Another thing to give him, +And be therewith content. +To-day, what words had stirred her, +Her soul could not forget? +What dream had filled her spirit +With strange and wild regret? + +X. + +To leave him for another,-- +Could it indeed be so? +Could it have cost such anguish +To bid this vision go? +Was this her faith? Was Herbert +The second in her heart? +Did it need all this struggle +To bid a dream depart? + +XI. + +And yet, within her spirit +A far-off land was seen, +A home, which might have held her, +A love, which might have been. +And Life--not the mere being +Of daily ebb and flow, +But Life itself had claimed her, +And she had let it go! + +XII. + +Within her heart there echoed +Again the well-known tone +That promised this bright future, +And asked her for her own: +Then words of sorrow, broken +By half-reproachful pain; +And then a farewell spoken +In words of cold disdain. + +XIII. + +Where now was the stern purpose +That nerved her soul so long? +Whence came the words she uttered, +So hard, so cold, so strong? +What right had she to banish +A hope that God had given? +Why must she choose earth's portion, +And turn aside from Heaven? + +XIV. + +To-day! Was it this morning? +If this long, fearful strife +Was but the work of hours, +What would be years of life? +Why did a cruel Heaven +For such great suffering call? +And why--Oh, still more cruel!-- +Must her own words do all? + +XV. + +Did she repent? Oh Sorrow! +Why do we linger still +To take thy loving message, +And do thy gentle will? +See, her tears fall more slowly, +The passionate murmurs cease, +And back upon her spirit +Flow strength, and love, and peace. + +XVI. + +The fire burns more brightly, +The rain has passed away, +Herbert will see no shadow +Upon his home to-day; +Only that Alice greets him +With doubly tender care, +Kissing a fonder blessing +Down on his golden hair. + +II. + +I. + +The studio is deserted, +Palette and brush laid by, +The sketch rests on the easel, +The paint is scarcely dry; +And Silence--who seems always +Within her depths to bear +The next sound that will utter-- +Now holds a dumb despair. + +II. + +So Alice feels it: listening +With breathless, stony fear, +Waiting the dreadful summons +Each minute brings more near: +When the young life, now ebbing, +Shall fail, and pass away +Into that mighty shadow +Who shrouds the house to-day. + +III. + +But why--when the sick chamber +Is on the upper floor-- +Why dares not Alice enter +Within the close--shut door? +If he--her all--her Brother, +Lies dying in that gloom, +What strange mysterious power +Has sent her from the room? + +IV. + +It is not one week's anguish +That can have changed her so; +Joy has not died here lately, +Struck down by one quick blow; +But cruel months have needed +Their long relentless chain, +To teach that shrinking manner +Of helpless, hopeless pain. + +V. + +The struggle was scarce over +Last Christmas Eve had brought: +The fibres still were quivering +Of the one wounded thought, +When Herbert--who, unconscious, +Had guessed no inward strife-- +Bade her, in pride and pleasure, +Welcome his fair young wife. + +VI. + +Bade her rejoice, and smiling, +Although his eyes were dim, +Thanked God he thus could pay her +The care she gave to him. +This fresh bright life would bring her +A new and joyous fate-- +Oh, Alice, check the murmur +That cries, "Too late! too late!" + +VII. + +Too late! Could she have known it +A few short weeks before, +That his life was completed, +And needing hers no more, +She might--Oh sad repining! +What "might have been," forget; +"It was not," should suffice us +To stifle vain regret. + +VIII. + +He needed her no longer, +Each day it grew more plain; +First with a startled wonder, +Then with a wondering pain. +Love: why, his wife best gave it; +Comfort: durst Alice speak, +Or counsel, when resentment +Flushed on the young wife's cheek? + +IX. + +No more long talks by firelight +Of childish times long past, +And dreams of future greatness +Which he must reach at last; +Dreams, where her purer instinct +With truth unerring told, +Where was the worthless gilding, +And where refined gold. + +X. + +Slowly, but surely ever, +Dora's poor jealous pride, +Which she called love for Herbert, +Drove Alice from his side; +And, spite of nervous effort +To share their altered life, +She felt a check to Herbert, +A burden to his wife. + +XI. + +This was the least; for Alice +Feared, dreaded, knew at length +How much his nature owed her +Of truth, and power, and strength; +And watched the daily failing +Of all his nobler part: +Low aims, weak purpose, telling +In lower, weaker art. + +XII. + +And now, when he is dying, +The last words she could hear +Must not be hers, but given +The bride of one short year. +The last care is another's; +The last prayer must not be +The one they learnt together +Beside their mother's knee. + +XIII. + +Summoned at last: she kisses +The clay-cold stiffening hand; +And, reading pleading efforts +To make her understand, +Answers, with solemn promise, +In clear but trembling tone, +To Dora's life henceforward +She will devote her own. + +XIV. + +Now all is over. Alice +Dares not remain to weep, +But soothes the frightened Dora +Into a sobbing sleep. +The poor weak child will need her: . . . +Oh, who can dare complain, +When God sends a new Duty +To comfort each new Pain! + +III. + +I. + +The House is all deserted, +In the dim evening gloom, +Only one figure passes +Slowly from room to room; +And, pausing at each doorway, +Seems gathering up again +Within her heart the relics +Of bygone joy and pain. + +II. + +There is an earnest longing +In those who onward gaze, +Looking with weary patience +Towards the coming days. +There is a deeper longing, +More sad, more strong, more keen: +Those know it who look backward, +And yearn for what has been. + +III. + +At every hearth she pauses, +Touches each well-known chair; +Gazes from every window, +Lingers on every stair. +What have these months brought Alice +Now one more year is past? +This Christmas Eve shall tell us, +The third one and the last. + +IV. + +The wilful, wayward Dora, +In those first weeks of grief, +Could seek and find in Alice +Strength, soothing, and relief; +And Alice--last sad comfort +True woman-heart can take-- +Had something still to suffer +And bear for Herbert's sake. + +V. + +Spring, with her western breezes, +From Indian islands bore +To Alice news that Leonard +Would seek his home once more. +What was it--joy, or sorrow? +What were they--hopes, or fears? +That flushed her cheeks with crimson, +And filled her eyes with tears? + +VI. + +He came. And who so kindly +Could ask and hear her tell +Herbert's last hours; for Leonard +Had known and loved him well. +Daily he came; and Alice, +Poor weary heart, at length, +Weighed down by others' weakness, +Could lean upon his strength. + +VII. + +Yet not the voice of Leonard +Could her true care beguile, +That turned to watch, rejoicing +Dora's reviving smile. +So, from that little household +The worst gloom passed away, +The one bright hour of evening +Lit up the livelong day. + +VIII. + +Days passed. The golden summer +In sudden heat bore down +Its blue, bright, glowing sweetness +Upon the scorching town. +And sighs and sounds of country +Came in the warm soft tune +Sung by the honeyed breezes +Borne on the wings of June. + +IX. + +One twilight hour, but earlier +Than usual, Alice thought +She knew the fresh sweet fragrance +Of flowers that Leonard brought; +Through opened doors and windows +It stole up through the gloom, +And with appealing sweetness +Drew Alice from her room. + +X. + +Yes, he was there; and pausing +Just near the opened door, +To check her heart's quick beating, +She heard--and paused still more-- +His low voice--Dora's answers-- +His pleading--Yes, she knew +The tone--the words--the accents: +She once had heard them too. + +XI. + +"Would Alice blame her?" Leonard's +Low, tender answer came;-- +"Alice was far too noble +To think or dream of blame." +"And was he sure he loved her?" +"Yes, with the one love given +Once in a lifetime only, +With one soul and one heaven!" + +XII. + +Then came a plaintive murmur,-- +"Dora had once been told +That he and Alice"--"Dearest, +Alice is far too cold +To love; and I, my Dora, +If once I fancied so, +It was a brief delusion, +And over,--long ago." + +XIII. + +Between the Past and Present, +On that bleak moment's height, +She stood. As some lost traveller +By a quick flash of light +Seeing a gulf before him, +With dizzy, sick despair, +Reels backward, but to find it +A deeper chasm there. + +XIV. + +The twilight grew still darker, +The fragrant flowers more sweet, +The stars shone out in heaven, +The lamps gleamed down the street; +And hours passed in dreaming +Over their new-found fate, +Ere they could think of wondering +Why Alice was so late. + +XV. + +She came, and calmly listened; +In vain they strove to trace +If Herbert's memory shadowed +In grief upon her face. +No blame, no wonder showed there, +No feeling could be told; +Her voice was not less steady, +Her manner not more cold. + +XVI. + +They could not hear the anguish +That broke in words of pain +Through the calm summer midnight,-- +"My Herbert--mine again!" +Yes, they have once been parted, +But this day shall restore +The long lost one: she claims him: +"My Herbert--mine once more!" + +XVII. + +Now Christmas Eve returning, +Saw Alice stand beside +The altar, greeting Dora, +Again a smiling bride; +And now the gloomy evening +Sees Alice pale and worn, +Leaving the house for ever, +To wander out forlorn. + +XVIII. + +Forlorn--nay, not so. Anguish +Shall do its work at length; +Her soul, passed through the fire, +Shall gain still purer strength. +Somewhere there waits for Alice +An earnest noble part; +And, meanwhile God is with her,-- +God, and her own true heart! + + + + +VERSE: THE WIND + + +The wind went forth o'er land and sea +Loud and free; +Foaming waves leapt up to meet it, +Stately pines bowed down to greet it; +While the wailing sea +And the forest's murmured sigh +Joined the cry +Of the wind that swept o'er land and sea. + +The wind that blew upon the sea +Fierce and free, +Cast the bark upon the shore, +Whence it sailed the night before +Full of hope and glee; +And the cry of pain and death +Was but a breath, +Through the wind that roared upon the sea. + +The wind was whispering on the lea +Tenderly; +But the white rose felt it pass, +And the fragile stalks of grass +Shook with fear to see +All her trembling petals shed, +As it fled, +So gently by,--the wind upon the lea. + +Blow, thou wind, upon the sea +Fierce and free, +And a gentler message send, +Where frail flowers and grasses bend, +On the sunny lea; +For thy bidding still is one, +Be it done +In tenderness or wrath, on land or sea! + + + + +VERSE: EXPECTATION + + +The King's three daughters stood on the terrace, +The hanging terrace, so broad and green, +Which keeps the sea from the marble Palace, +There was Princess May, and Princess Alice, +And the youngest Princess, Gwendoline. + +Sighed Princess May, "Will it last much longer, +Time throbs so slow and my Heart so quick; +And oh, how long is the day in dying; +Weary am I of waiting and sighing, +For Hope deferred makes the spirit sick." + +But Princess Gwendoline smiled and kissed her:- +"Am I not sadder than you, my Sister? +Expecting joy is a happy pain. +The Future's fathomless mine of treasures, +All countless hordes of possible pleasures, +Might bring their store to my feet in vain." + +Sighed Princess Alice as night grew nearer:- +"So soon, so soon, is the daylight fled! +And oh, how fast comes the dark to-morrow, +Who hides, perhaps in her veil of sorrow, +The terrible hour I wait and dread!" + +But Princess Gwendoline kissed her, sighing,-- +"It is only Life that can fear dying; +Possible loss means possible gain. +Those who still dread, are not quite forsaken; +But not to fear, because all is taken, +Is the loneliest depth of human pain." + + + + +VERSE: AN IDEAL + + +While the grey mists of early dawn +Were lingering round the hill, +And the dew was still upon the flowers, +And the earth lay calm and still, +A winged Spirit came to me +Noble, and radiant, and free. + +Folding his blue and shining wings, +He laid his hand on mine. +I know not if I felt, or heard +The mystic word divine, +Which woke the trembling air to sighs, +And shone from out his starry eyes. + +The word he spoke, within my heart +Stirred life unknown before, +And cast a spell upon my soul +To chain it evermore; +Making the cold dull earth look bright, +And skies flame out in sapphire light. + +When noon ruled from the heavens, and man +Through busy day toiled on, +My Spirit drooped his shining wings; +His radiant smile was gone; +His voice had ceased, his grace had flown, +His hand grew cold within my own. + +Bitter, oh bitter tears, I wept, +Yet still I held his hand, +Hoping with vague unreasoning hope: +I would not understand +That this pale Spirit never more +Could be what he had been before. + +Could it be so? My heart stood still. +Yet he was by my side. +I strove; but my despair was vain; +Vain, too, was love and pride. +Could he have changed to me so soon? +My day was only at its noon. + +Now stars are rising one by one, +Through the dim evening air; +Near me a household Spirit waits, +With tender loving care; +He speaks and smiles, but never sings, +Long since he lost his shining wings. + +With thankful, true content, I know +This is the better way; +Is not a faithful spirit mine-- +Mine still--at close of day? . . . +Yet will my foolish heart repine +For that bright morning dream of mine. + + + + +VERSE: OUR DEAD + + +Nothing is our own: we hold our pleasures +Just a little while, ere they are fled: +One by one life robs us of our treasures; +Nothing is our own except our Dead. + +They are ours, and hold in faithful keeping +Safe for ever, all they took away. +Cruel life can never stir that sleeping, +Cruel time can never seize that prey. + +Justice pales; truth fades; stars fall from Heaven; +Human are the great whom we revere: +No true crown of honour can be given, +Till we place it on a funeral bier. + +How the Children leave us: and no traces +Linger of that smiling angel band; +Gone, for ever gone; and in their places, +Weary men and anxious women stand. + +Yet we have some little ones, still ours; +They have kept the baby smile we know, +Which we kissed one day and hid with flowers, +On their dead white faces, long ago. + +When our Joy is lost--and life will take it-- +Then no memory of the past remains; +Save with some strange, cruel sting, to make it +Bitterness beyond all present pains. + +Death, more tender-hearted, leaves to sorrow +Still the radiant shadow, fond regret: +We shall find, in some far, bright to-morrow, +Joy that he has taken, living yet. + +Is Love ours, and do we dream we know it, +Bound with all our heart-strings, all our own? +Any cold and cruel dawn may show it, +Shattered, desecrated, overthrown. + +Only the dead Hearts forsake us never; +Death's last kiss has been the mystic sign +Consecrating Love our own for ever, +Crowning it eternal and divine. + +So when Fate would fain besiege our city, +Dim our gold, or make our flowers fall, +Death the Angel, comes in love and pity, +And to save our treasures, claims them all. + + + + +VERSE: A WOMAN'S ANSWER + + +I will not let you say a Woman's part +Must be to give exclusive love alone; +Dearest, although I love you so, my heart +Answers a thousand claims beside your own. + +I love--what do I not love? earth and air +Find space within my heart, and myriad things +You would not deign to heed, are cherished there, +And vibrate on its very inmost strings. + +I love the summer with her ebb and flow +Of light, and warmth, and music that have nurst +Her tender buds to blossoms . . . and you know +It was in summer that I saw you first. + +I love the winter dearly too, . . . but then +I owe it so much; on a winter's day, +Bleak, cold, and stormy, you returned again, +When you had been those weary months away. + +I love the Stars like friends; so many nights +I gazed at them, when you were far from me, +Till I grew blind with tears . . . those far-off lights +Could watch you, whom I longed in vain to see. + +I love the Flowers; happy hours lie +Shut up within their petals close and fast: +You have forgotten, dear: but they and I +Keep every fragment of the golden Past. + +I love, too, to be loved; all loving praise +Seems like a crown upon my Life,--to make +It better worth the giving, and to raise +Still nearer to your own the heart you take. + +I love all good and noble souls;--I heard +One speak of you but lately, and for days +Only to think of it, my soul was stirred +In tender memory of such generous praise. + +I love all those who love you; all who owe +Comfort to you: and I can find regret +Even for those poorer hearts who once could know, +And once could love you, and can now forget. + +Well, is my heart so narrow--I, who spare +Love for all these? Do I not even hold +My favourite books in special tender care, +And prize them as a miser does his gold? + +The Poets that you used to read to me +While summer twilights faded in the sky; +But most of all I think Aurora Leigh, +Because--because--do you remember why? + +Will you be jealous? Did you guess before +I loved so many things?--Still you the best:- +Dearest, remember that I love you more, +Oh, more a thousand times than all the rest! + + + + +VERSE: THE STORY OF THE FAITHFUL SOUL + + +FOUNDED ON AN OLD FRENCH LEGEND + +The fettered Spirits linger +In purgatorial pain, +With penal fires effacing +Their last faint earthly stain, +Which Life's imperfect sorrow +Had tried to cleanse in vain. + +Yet on each feast of Mary +Their sorrow finds release, +For the Great Archangel Michael +Comes down and bids it cease; +And the name of these brief respites +Is called "Our Lady's Peace." + +Yet once--so runs the Legend-- +When the Archangel came +And all these holy spirits +Rejoiced at Mary's name; +One voice alone was wailing, +Still wailing on the same. + +And though a great Te Deum +The happy echoes woke, +This one discordant wailing +Through the sweet voices broke; +So when St. Michael questioned, +Thus the poor spirit spoke:- + +"I am not cold or thankless, +Although I still complain; +I prize our Lady's blessing +Although it comes in vain +To still my bitter anguish, +Or quench my ceaseless pain. + +"On earth a heart that loved me, +Still lives and mourns me there, +And the shadow of his anguish +Is more than I can bear; +All the torment that I suffer +Is the thought of his despair. + +"The evening of my bridal +Death took my Life away; +Not all Love's passionate pleading +Could gain an hour's delay. +And he I left has suffered +A whole year since that day. + +"If I could only see him,-- +If I could only go +And speak one word of comfort +And solace,--then, I know +He would endure with patience, +And strive against his woe." + +Thus the Archangel answered:- +"Your time of pain is brief, +And soon the peace of Heaven +Will give you full relief; +Yet if his earthly comfort +So much outweighs your grief, + +"Then, through a special mercy +I offer you this grace,-- +You may seek him who mourns you +And look upon his face, +And speak to him of comfort +For one short minute's space. + +"But when that time is ended, +Return here, and remain +A thousand years in torment, +A thousand years in pain: +Thus dearly must you purchase +The comfort he will gain." + +* * * + +The Lime-trees' shade at evening +Is spreading broad and wide; +Beneath their fragrant arches, +Pace slowly, side by side, +In low and tender converse, +A Bridegroom and his Bride. + +The night is calm and stilly, +No other sound is there +Except their happy voices: +What is that cold bleak air +That passes through the Lime-trees +And stirs the Bridegroom's hair? + +While one low cry of anguish, +Like the last dying wail +Of some dumb, hunted creature, +Is borne upon the gale:- +Why does the Bridegroom shudder +And turn so deathly pale? + +* * * + +Near Purgatory's entrance +The radiant Angels wait; +It was the great St. Michael +Who closed that gloomy gate, +When the poor wandering spirit +Came back to meet her fate. + +* * * + +"Pass on," thus spoke the Angel: +"Heaven's joy is deep and vast; +Pass on, pass on, poor Spirit, +For Heaven is yours at last; +In that one minute's anguish +Your thousand years have passed." + + + + +VERSE: A CONTRAST + + +Can you open that ebony Casket? +Look, this is the key: but stay, +Those are only a few old letters +Which I keep,--to burn some day. + +Yes, that Locket is quaint and ancient; +But leave it, dear, with the ring, +And give me the little Portrait +Which hangs by a crimson string. + +I have never opened that Casket +Since, many long years ago, +It was sent me back in anger +By one whom I used to know. + +But I want you to see the Portrait: +I wonder if you can trace +A look of that smiling creature +Left now in my faded face. + +It was like me once; but remember +The weary relentless years, +And Life, with its fierce, brief Tempests, +And its long, long rain of tears. + +Is it strange to call it my Portrait? +Nay, smile, dear, for well you may, +To think of that radiant Vision +And of what I am to-day. + +With restless, yet confident longing +How those blue eyes seem to gaze +Into deep and exhaustless Treasures, +All hid in the coming days. + +With that trust which leans on the Future, +And counts on her promised store, +Until she has taught us to tremble +And hope,--but to trust no more. + +How that young, light heart would have pitied +Me now--if her dreams had shown +A quiet and weary woman +With all her illusions flown. + +Yet I--who shall soon be resting, +And have passed the hardest part, +Can look back with a deeper pity +On that young unconscious heart. + +It is strange; but Life's currents drift us +So surely and swiftly on, +That we scarcely notice the changes, +And how many things are gone: + +And forget, while to-day absorbs us, +How old mysteries are unsealed; +How the old, old ties are loosened, +And the old, old wounds are healed. + +And we say that our Life is fleeting +Like a story that Time has told; +But we fancy that we--we only +Are just what we were of old. + +So now and then it is wisdom +To gaze, as I do to-day, +At a half-forgotten relic +Of a Time that is passed away. + +The very look of that Portrait, +The Perfume that seems to cling +To those fragile and faded letters, +And the Locket, and the Ring, + +If they only stirred in my spirit +Forgotten pleasure and pain,-- +Why, memory is often bitter, +And almost always in vain; + +But the contrast of bygone hours +Comes to rend a veil away,-- +And I marvel to see the stranger +Who is living in me to-day. + + + + +VERSE: THE BRIDE'S DREAM + + +The stars are gleaming; +The maiden sleeps-- +What is she dreaming? +For see--she weeps. +By her side is an Angel +With folded wings; +While the Maiden slumbers +The Angel sings: +He sings of a Bridal, +Of Love, of Pain, +Of a heart to be given,-- +And all in vain; +(See, her cheek is flushing, +As if with pain;) +He telleth of sorrow, +Regrets and fears, +And the few vain pleasures +We buy with tears; +And the bitter lesson +We learn from years. + +The stars are gleaming +Upon her brow: +What is she dreaming +So calmly now? +By her side is the Angel +With folded wings; +She smiles in her slumber +The while he sings. +He sings of a Bridal, +Of Love divine; +Of a heart to be laid +On a sacred shrine; +Of a crown of glory, +Where seraphs shine; +Of the deep, long rapture +The chosen know +Who forsake for Heaven +Vain joys below, +Who desire no pleasure, +And fear no woe. + +The Bells are ringing, +The sun shines clear, +The Choir is singing, +The guests are here. +Before the High Altar +Behold the Bride; +And a mournful Angel +Is by her side. +She smiles, all content +With her chosen lot,-- +(Is her last night's dreaming +So soon forgot?) +And oh, may the Angel +Forsake her not! +For on her small hand +There glitters plain +The first sad link +Of a life-long chain;-- +And she needs his guiding +Through paths of pain. + + + + +VERSE: THE ANGEL'S BIDDING + + +Not a sound is heard in the Convent; +The Vesper Chant is sung, +The sick have all been tended, +The poor nun's toils are ended +Till the Matin bell has rung. +All is still, save the Clock, that is ticking +So loud in the frosty air, +And the soft snow, falling as gently +As an answer to a prayer. +But an Angel whispers, "Oh, Sister, +You must rise from your bed to pray; +In the silent, deserted chapel, +You must kneel till the dawn of day; +For, far on the desolate moorland, +So dreary, and bleak, and white, +There is one, all alone and helpless, +In peril of death to-night. + +"No sound on the moorland to guide him, +No star in the murky air; +And he thinks of his home and his loved ones +With the tenderness of despair; +He has wandered for hours in the snow-drift, +And he strives to stand in vain, +And so lies down to dream of his children +And never to rise again. +Then kneel in the silent chapel +Till the dawn of to-morrow's sun, +And ask of the Lord you worship +For the life of that desolate one; +And the smiling eyes of his children +Will gladden his heart again, +And the grateful tears of God's poor ones +Will fall on your soul like rain!-- + +"Yet, leave him alone to perish, +And the grace of your God implore, +With all the strength of your spirit, +For one who needs it more. +Far away, in the gleaming city, +Amid perfume, and song, and light, +A soul that Jesus has ransomed +Is in peril of sin to-night. + +"The Tempter is close beside him, +And his danger is all forgot, +And the far-off voices of childhood +Call aloud, but he hears them not; +He sayeth no prayer, and his mother-- +He thinks not of her to-day, +And he will not look up to Heaven, +And his Angel is turning away. + +"Then pray for a soul in peril, +A soul for which Jesus died; +Ask, by the cross that bore Him, +And by her who stood beside; +And the Angels of God will thank you, +And bend from their thrones of light, +To tell you that Heaven rejoices +At the deed you have done to-night." + + + + +VERSE: SPRING + + +Hark! the Hours are softly calling, +Bidding Spring arise, +To listen to the raindrops falling +From the cloudy skies, +To listen to Earth's weary voices, +Louder every day, +Bidding her no longer linger +On her charmed way; +But hasten to her task of beauty +Scarcely yet begun; +By the first bright day of summer +It should all be done. +She has yet to loose the fountain +From its iron chain; +And to make the barren mountain +Green and bright again; +She must clear the snow that lingers +Round the stalks away +And let the snowdrop's trembling whiteness +See the light of day. +She must watch, and warm, and cherish +Every blade of green; +Till the tender grass appearing +From the earth is seen; +She must bring the golden crocus +From her hidden store; +She must spread broad showers of daisies +Each day more and more. +In each hedgerow she must hasten +Cowslips sweet to set; +Primroses in rich profusion, +With bright dewdrops wet, +And under every leaf, in shadow +Hide a Violet! +Every tree within the forest +Must be decked anew +And the tender buds of promise +Should be peeping through, +Folded deep, and almost hidden, +Leaf by leaf beside, +What will make the Summer's glory, +And the Autumn's pride. +She must weave the loveliest carpets, +Chequered sun and shade, +Every wood must have such pathways +Laid in every glade; +She must hang laburnum branches +On each arched bough;-- +And the white and purple lilac +Should be waving now; +She must breathe, and cold winds vanish +At her breath away; +And then load the air around her +With the scent of May! +Listen then, Oh Spring! nor linger +On thy charmed way; +Have pity on thy prisoned flowers +Wearying for the day. +Listen to the raindrops falling +From the cloudy skies; +Listen to the hours calling +Bidding thee arise. + + + + +VERSE: EVENING HYMN + + +The shadows of the evening hours +Fall from the darkening sky; +Upon the fragrance of the flowers +The dews of evening lie: +Before Thy throne, O Lord of Heaven, +We kneel at close of day; +Look on Thy children from on high, +And hear us while we pray. + +The sorrows of Thy Servants, Lord, +Oh, do not Thou despise; +But let the incense of our prayers +Before Thy mercy rise; +The brightness of the coming night +Upon the darkness rolls: +With hopes of future glory chase +The shadows on our souls. + +Slowly the rays of daylight fade; +So fade within our heart, +The hopes in earthly love and joy, +That one by one depart: +Slowly the bright stars, one by one, +Within the Heavens shine;-- +Give us, Oh, Lord, fresh hopes in Heaven, +And trust in things divine. + +Let peace, Oh Lord, Thy peace, Oh God, +Upon our souls descend; +From midnight fears and perils, Thou +Our trembling hearts defend; +Give us a respite from our toil, +Calm and subdue our woes; +Through the long day we suffer, Lord, +Oh, give us now repose! + + + + +VERSE: THE INNER CHAMBER + + +In the outer Court I was singing, +Was singing the whole day long; +From the inner chamber were ringing +Echoes repeating my song. + +And I sang till it grew immortal; +For that very song of mine, +When re-echoed behind the Portal, +Was filled with a life divine. + +Was the Chamber a silver round +Of arches, whose magical art +Drew in coils of musical sound, +And cast them back on my heart? + +Was there hidden within a lyre +Which, as air breathed over its strings, +Filled my song with a soul of fire, +And sent back my words with wings? + +Was some seraph imprisoned there, +Whose voice made my song complete, +And whose lingering, soft despair, +Made the echo so faint and sweet? + +Long I trembled and paused--then parted +The curtains with heavy fringe; +And, half fearing, yet eager-hearted +Turned the door on its golden hinge. + +Now I sing in the court once more, +I sing and I weep all day, +As I kneel by the close-shut door, +For I know what the echoes say. + +Yet I sing not the song of old, +Ere I knew whence the echo came, +Ere I opened the door of gold; +But the music sounds just the same. + +Then take warning, and turn away +Do not ask of that hidden thing, +Do not guess what the echoes say, +Or the meaning of what I sing. + + + + +VERSE: HEARTS + + +I. + +A trinket made like a Heart, dear, +Of red gold, bright and fine, +Was given to me for a keepsake, +Given to me for mine. + +And another heart, warm and tender, +As true as a heart could be; +And every throb that stirred it +Was always and all for me. + +Sailing over the waters, +Watching the far blue land, +I dropped my golden heart, dear, +Dropped it out of my hand! + +It lies in the cold blue waters, +Fathoms and fathoms deep, +The golden heart which I promised, +Promised to prize and keep. + +Gazing at Life's bright visions, +So false, and fair, and new, +I forgot the other heart, dear, +Forgot it and lost it too! + +I might seek that heart for ever, +I might seek and seek in vain;-- +And for one short, careless hour, +I pay with a life of pain. + +II. + +The Heart?--Yes I wore it +As sign and as token +Of a love that once gave it, +A vow that was spoken; +But a love, and a vow, and a heart +Can be broken. + +The Love?--Life and Death +Are crushed into a day, +So what wonder that Love +Should as soon pass away-- +What wonder I saw it +Fade, fail, and decay. + +The Vow?--why what was it, +It snapped like a thread: +Who cares for the corpse +When the spirit is fled? +Then I said, "Let the Dead rise +And bury its dead, + +"While the true, living future +Grows pure, wise, and strong" +So I cast the gold heart, +I had worn for so long, +In the Lake, and bound on it +A Stone--and a Wrong! + +III. + +Look, this little golden Heart +Was a true-love shrine +For a tress of hair; I held them, +Heart and tress, as mine, +Like the Love which gave the token +See to-day the Heart is broken! + +Broken is the golden heart, +Lost the tress of hair; +Ah, the shrine is empty, vacant, +Desolate, and bare! +So the token should depart, +When Love dies within the heart. + +Fast and deep the river floweth, +Floweth to the west; +I will cast the golden trinket +In its cold dark breast,-- +Flow, oh river, deep and fast, +Over all the buried past! + + + + +VERSE: TWO LOVES + + +Deep within my heart of hearts, dear, +Bound with all its strings, +Two Loves are together reigning +Both are crowned like Kings; +While my life, still uncomplaining, +Rests beneath their wings. + +So they both will rule my heart, dear, +Till it cease to beat; +No sway can be deeper, stronger, +Truer, more complete; +Growing, as it lasts the longer, +Sweeter, and more sweet. + +One all life and time transfigures, +Piercing through and through +Meaner things with magic splendour, +Old, yet ever new: +This,--so strong and yet so tender,-- +Is . . . my Love for you. + +Should it fail,--forgive my doubting +In this world of pain,-- +Yet my other Love would ever +Steadfastly remain; +And I know that I could never +Turn to that in vain. + +Though its radiance may be fainter, +Yet its task is wide; +For it lives to comfort sorrows, +Strengthen, calm, and guide, +And from Trust and Honour borrows +All its peace and pride. + +Will you blame my dreaming even +If the first were flown? +Ah, I would not live without it, +It is all your own: +And the other--can you doubt it?-- +Yours, and yours alone. + + + + +VERSE: A WOMAN'S LAST WORD + + +Well--the links are broken, +All is past; +This farewell, when spoken, +Is the last. +I have tried and striven +All in vain; +Such bonds must be riven, +Spite of pain, +And never, never, never +Knit again. + +So I tell you plainly, +It must be: +I shall try, not vainly, +To be free; +Truer, happier chances +Wait me yet, +While you, through fresh fancies, +Can forget;-- +And life has nobler uses +Than Regret. + +All past words retracing, +One by one, +Does not help effacing +What is done. +Let it be. Oh, stronger +Links can break! +Had we dreamed still longer +We could wake,-- +Yet let us part in kindness +For Love's sake. + +Bitterness and sorrow +Will at last, +In some bright to-morrow, +Heal their past; +But future hearts will never +Be as true +As mine was--is ever, +Dear, for you . . . +. . . Then must we part, when loving +As we do? + + + + +VERSE: PAST AND PRESENT + + +"Linger," I cried, "oh radiant Time! thy power +Has nothing more to give; life is complete: +Let but the perfect Present, hour by hour, +Itself remember and itself repeat. + +"And Love,--the future can but mar its splendour, +Change can but dim the glory of its youth; +Time has no star more faithful or more tender, +To crown its constancy or light its truth." + +But Time passed on in spite of prayer or pleading, +Through storm and peril; but that life might gain +A Peace through strife all other peace exceeding, +Fresh joy from sorrow, and new hope from pain. + +And since Love lived when all save Love was dying, +And, passed through fire, grew stronger than before:- +Dear, you know why, in double faith relying, +I prize the Past much, but the Present more. + + + + +VERSE: FOR THE FUTURE + + +I wonder did you ever count +The value of one human fate; +Or sum the infinite amount +Of one heart's treasures, and the weight +Of Life's one venture, and the whole concentrate purpose of a soul. + +And if you ever paused to think +That all this in your hands I laid +Without a fear:- did you not shrink +From such a burthen? half afraid, +Half wishing that you could divide the risk, or cast it all aside. + +While Love has daily perils, such +As none foresee and none control; +And hearts are strung so that one touch, +Careless or rough, may jar the whole, +You well might feel afraid to reign with absolute power of joy and pain. + +You well might fear--if Love's sole claim +Were to be happy: but true Love +Takes joy as solace, not as aim, +And looks beyond, and looks above; +And sometimes through the bitterest strife first learns to live her +highest life. + +Earth forges joy into a chain +Till fettered Love forgets its strength, +Its purpose, and its end;--but Pain +Restores its heritage at length, +And bids Love rise again and be eternal, mighty, pure, and free. + +If then your future life should need +A strength my Love can only gain +Through suffering, or my heart be freed +Only by sorrow, from some stain-- +Then you shall give, and I will take, this Crown of fire for Love's dear sake. + +Sept. 8th, 1860. + + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LEGENDS AND LYRICS: SECOND SERIES*** + + +******* This file should be named 2304.txt or 2304.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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