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diff --git a/30687.txt b/30687.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..70ebe12 --- /dev/null +++ b/30687.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4061 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Lord of Misrule, by Alfred Noyes, +Illustrated by Spencer Baird Nichols + + +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: The Lord of Misrule + And Other Poems + + +Author: Alfred Noyes + + + +Release Date: December 16, 2009 [eBook #30687] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LORD OF MISRULE*** + + +E-text prepared by Marius Masi, Juliet Sutherland, and the Project +Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustrations. + See 30687-h.htm or 30687-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30687/30687-h/30687-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/30687/30687-h.zip) + + + + + +THE LORD OF MISRULE + +And Other Poems + + * * * * * + +BY THE SAME AUTHOR + + DRAKE: AN ENGLISH EPIC + THE ENCHANTED ISLAND AND OTHER POEMS + SHERWOOD + TALES OF THE MERMAID TAVERN + THE WINE-PRESS + COLLECTED POEMS. 2 VOLS. + A BELGIAN CHRISTMAS EVE (RADA) + + * * * * * + + [Illustration: + + Come up, come in with streamers! + Come in with boughs of May! + _Page 1._] + + + +THE LORD OF MISRULE + +And Other Poems + +by + +ALFRED NOYES + +With Frontispiece in Colours by Spencer Baird Nichols + + + + + + + +[Illustration] + +New York +Frederick A. Stokes Company +Publishers + +Copyright, 1915, by +Frederick A. Stokes Company + +All rights reserved, including that of translation +into foreign languages + +October, 1915 + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + + THE LORD OF MISRULE 1 + + THE REPEAL 7 + + THE SEARCH-LIGHTS 9 + + FORWARD 11 + + A SPELL 13 + + CRIMSON SAILS 18 + + BLIND MOONE OF LONDON 22 + + OLD GREY SQUIRREL 28 + + THE GREAT NORTH ROAD 31 + + THE RIVER OF STARS 34 + + A KNIGHT OF OLD JAPAN 43 + + BEYOND DEATH 44 + + THE STRANGE GUEST 46 + + GHOSTS 49 + + THE DAY OF REMEMBRANCE 51 + + ON THE EMBANKMENT 53 + + THE IRON CROWN 58 + + THE OLD DEBATE 59 + + A SONG OF HOPE 60 + + THE HEDGE-ROSE OPENS 62 + + THE MAY-TREE 63 + + OLD LETTERS 64 + + LAMPS 66 + + AT EDEN GATES 68 + + THE PSYCHE OF OUR DAY 70 + + PARACLETE 73 + + AFTER RAIN 75 + + THE DEATH OF A GREAT MAN 76 + + THE ROMAN WAY 78 + + THE INNER PASSION 80 + + A COUNTRY LANE IN HEAVEN 82 + + TO THE DESTROYERS 84 + + THE TRUMPET-CALL 85 + + THE HEART OF CANADA 89 + + THE RETURN OF THE HOME-BORN 91 + + A SALUTE FROM THE FLEET 93 + + IN MEMORY OF A BRITISH AVIATOR 103 + + THE WAGGON 105 + + THE SACRED OAK 107 + + THE WORLD'S WEDDING 120 + + IN MEMORIAM: SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR 123 + + INSCRIPTION 126 + + VALUES 127 + + THE HEROIC DEAD 128 + + THE CRY IN THE NIGHT 130 + + ASTRID 133 + + THE INIMITABLE LOVERS 136 + + THE CRAGS 143 + + THE GHOST OF SHAKESPEARE, 1914 147 + + THE WHITE CLIFFS 152 + + ON THE SOUTH COAST 154 + + OLDER THAN THE HILLS 156 + + THE TORCH 158 + + THE OUTLAW 161 + + THE YOUNG FRIAR 163 + + A FOREST SONG 167 + + THE TRUMPET OF THE LAW 169 + + THRICE-ARMED 180 + + THE SONG-TREE 182 + + + + +THE LORD OF MISRULE + +"On May days the wild heads of the parish would choose a Lord of Misrule, +whom they would follow even into the church, though the minister were at +prayer or preaching, dancing and swinging their may-boughs about like +devils incarnate."--_Old Puritan Writer._ + + + All on a fresh May morning, I took my love to church, + To see if Parson Primrose were safely on his perch. + He scarce had got to _Thirdly_, or squire begun to snore, + When, like a sun-lit sea-wave, + A green and crimson sea-wave, + A frolic of madcap May-folk came whooping through the door:-- + + Come up, come in with streamers! + Come in, with boughs of may! + Come up and thump the sexton, + And carry the clerk away. + + Now skip like rams, ye mountains, + Ye little hills, like sheep! + Come up and wake the people + That parson puts to sleep. + + They tickled their nut-brown tabors. Their garlands flew in showers, + And lasses and lads came after them, with feet like dancing flowers. + Their queen had torn her green gown, and bared a shoulder as white, + O, white as the may that crowned her, + While all the minstrels round her + Tilted back their crimson hats and sang for sheer delight: + + Come up, come in with streamers! + Come in, with boughs of may! + Now by the gold upon your toe + You walked the primrose way. + Come up, with white and crimson! + O, shake your bells and sing; + Let the porch bend, the pillars bow, + Before our Lord, the Spring! + + The dusty velvet hassocks were dabbled with fragrant dew. + The font grew white with hawthorn. It frothed in every pew. + Three petals clung to the sexton's beard as he mopped and mowed at the + clerk, + And "Take that sexton away," they cried; + "Did Nebuchadnezzar eat may?" they cried. + "Nay, that was a prize from Betty," they cried, "for kissing her in the + dark." + + Come up, come in with streamers! + Come in, with boughs of may! + Who knows but old Methuselah + May hobble the green-wood way? + If Betty could kiss the sexton, + If Kitty could kiss the clerk, + Who knows how Parson Primrose + Might blossom in the dark? + + The congregation spluttered. The squire grew purple and all, + And every little chorister bestrode his carven stall. + The parson flapped like a magpie, but none could hear his prayers; + For Tom Fool flourished his tabor, + Flourished his nut-brown tabor, + Bashed the head of the sexton, and stormed the pulpit stairs. + + High in the old oak pulpit + This Lord of all misrule-- + I think it was Will Summers + That once was Shakespeare's fool-- + Held up his hand for silence, + And all the church grew still: + "And are you snoring yet," he said, + "Or have you slept your fill? + + "Your God still walks in Eden, between the ancient trees, + Where Youth and Love go wading through pools of primroses. + And this is the sign we bring you, before the darkness fall, + That Spring is risen, is risen again, + That Life is risen, is risen again, + That Love is risen, is risen again, and Love is Lord of all. + + "At Paske began our morrice + And, ere Pentecost, our May; + Because, albeit your words be true, + You know not what you say. + You chatter in church like jackdaws, + Words that would wake the dead, + Were there one breath of life in you, + One drop of blood," he said. + + "_He died and He went down to hell!_ You know not what you mean. + Our rafters were of green fir. Also our beds were green. + But out of the mouth of a fool, a fool, before the darkness fall, + We tell you He is risen again, + The Lord of Life is risen again, + The boughs put forth their tender buds, and Love is Lord of all!" + + He bowed his head. He stood so still, + They bowed their heads as well. + And softly from the organ-loft + The song began to swell. + _Come up with blood-red streamers_, + The reeds began the strain. + The _vox humana_ pealed on high, + _The Spring is risen again!_ + + The _vox angelica_ replied--_The shadows flee away! + Our house-beams were of cedar. Come in, with boughs of may!_ + The _diapason_ deepened it--_Before the darkness fall_, + _We tell you He is risen again! + Our God hath burst His prison again! + Christ is risen, is risen again; and Love is Lord of all._ + + + + +THE REPEAL + + + I dreamed the Eternal had repealed + His cosmic code of law last night. + Our prayers had made the Unchanging yield. + Caprice was king from depth to height. + + On Beachy Head a shouting throng + Had fired a beacon to proclaim + Their licence. With unmeasured song + They proved it, dancing in the flame. + + They quarrelled. One desired the sun, + And one desired the stars to shine. + They closed and wrestled and burned as one, + And the white chalk grew red as wine. + + The furnace licked and purred and rolled, + A laughing child held up its hands + Like dreadful torches, dropping gold; + For pain was dead at their commands. + + Painless and wild as clouds they burned, + Till the restricted Rose of Day + With all its glorious laws returned, + And the wind blew their ashes away. + + + + +THE SEARCH-LIGHTS + +"Political morality differs from individual morality because there is no +power above the state." + + + Shadow by shadow, stripped for fight, + The lean black cruisers search the sea. + Night-long their level shafts of light + Revolve, and find no enemy. + Only they know each leaping wave + May hide the lightning, and their grave. + + And in the land they guard so well + Is there no silent watch to keep? + An age is dying, and the bell + Rings midnight on a vaster deep. + But over all its waves, once more, + The search-lights move, from shore to shore. + + And captains that we thought were dead, + And dreamers that we thought were dumb, + And voices that we thought were fled, + Arise, and call us, and we come; + And "search in thine own soul," they cry; + "For there, too, lurks thine enemy." + + Search for the foe in thine own soul, + The sloth, the intellectual pride; + The trivial jest that veils the goal + For which our fathers lived and died; + The lawless dreams, the cynic Art, + That rend thy nobler self apart. + + Not far, not far into the night, + These level swords of light can pierce; + Yet for her faith does England fight, + Her faith in this our universe; + Believing Truth and Justice draw + From founts of everlasting law; + + Therefore a Power above the State, + The unconquerable Power returns. + The fire, the fire that made her great + Once more upon her altar burns. + Once more, redeemed and healed and whole, + She moves to the Eternal Goal. + + + + +FORWARD + + + _A thousand creeds and battle-cries, + A thousand warring social schemes, + A thousand new moralities, + And twenty thousand thousand dreams!_ + + _Each on his own anarchic way, + From the old order breaking free,-- + Our ruined world desires_, you say, + _Licence, once more, not Liberty._ + + But ah, beneath the struggling foam, + When storm and change are on the deep, + How quietly the tides come home, + And how the depths of sea-shine sleep; + + And we who march towards a goal, + Destroying only to fulfil + The law, the law of that great soul + Which moves beneath your alien will; + + We, that like foemen meet the past + Because we bring the future, know + We only fight to achieve at last + A great re-union with our foe; + + Re-union in the truths that stand + When all our wars are rolled away; + Re-union of the heart and hand + And of the prayers wherewith we pray; + + Re-union in the common needs, + The common strivings of mankind; + Re-union of our warring creeds + In the one God that dwells behind. + + Then--in that day--we shall not meet + Wrong with new wrong, but right with right; + Our faith shall make your faith complete + When our battalions re-unite. + + Forward!--what use in idle words?-- + Forward, O warriors of the soul! + There will be breaking up of swords + When that new morning makes us whole. + + + + +A SPELL + +(_An Excellent Way to get a Fairy_) + + + Gather, first, in your left hand + (This must be at fall of day) + Forty grains of wild sea-sand + Where you think a mermaid lay. + I have heard that it is best + If you gather it, warm and sweet, + Out of the dint of her left breast + Where you see her heart has beat. + + _Out of the dint in that sweet sand + Gather forty grains, I say; + Yet--if it fail you--understand, + There remains a better way._ + + Out of this you melt your glass + While the veils of night are drawn, + Whispering, till the shadows pass, + "_Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!_" + Then you blow your magic vial, + Shape it like a crescent moon, + Set it up and make your trial, + Singing, "_Elaby, ah, come soon!_" + + _Round the cloudy crescent go, + On the hill-top, in the dawn, + Singing softly, on tip-toe, + "Elaby Gathon! Elaby Gathon! + Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!"_ + + Bring the blood of a white hen + Slaughtered at the break of day, + While the cock, in the fairy glen, + Thrusts his gold neck every way, + Over the brambles, peering, calling, + Under the ferns, with a sudden fear, + Far and wide--as the dews are falling-- + Clamouring, calling, everywhere. + + _Round the crimson vial go, + On the hill-top, in the dawn, + Singing softly, on tip-toe, + "Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!" + If this fail, at break of day, + I can show you a better way._ + + Bring the buds of the hazel-copse, + Where two lovers kissed at noon; + Bring the crushed red wild-thyme tops + Where they murmured under the moon. + Bring the four-leaved clover also, + One of the white, and one of the red, + Bring the flakes of the may that fall so + Lightly over their bridal bed. + + _Drop them into the vial--so-- + On the hill-top, in the dawn, + Singing softly, on tip-toe, + "Nixie--pixie--leprechaun!" + And, if once will not suffice, + Do it thrice! + If this fail, at break of day, + There remains a better way._ + + Bring an old and crippled child + --_Ah, tread softly, on tip-toe!_-- + Tattered, tearless, wonder-wild, + From that under-world below, + Bring a wizened child of seven + Reeking from the City slime, + Out of hell into your heaven, + Set her knee-deep in the thyme. + + _Feed her--clothe her--even so! + Set her on a fairy-throne. + When her eyes begin to glow + Leave her for an hour--alone._ + + You shall need no spells or charms, + On that hill-top, in that dawn. + When she lifts her wasted arms, + You shall see a veil withdrawn. + There shall be no veil between them, + Though her head be old and wise! + You shall know that she has seen them + By the glory in her eyes. + + _Round her irons on that hill + Earth has tossed a fairy fire: + Watch, and listen, and be still, + Lest you baulk your own desire._ + + When she sees four azure wings + Light upon her claw-like hand; + When she lifts her head and sings, + You shall hear and understand: + You shall hear a bugle calling + Wildly over the dew-dashed down; + And a sound as of the falling + Ramparts of a conquered town. + + _You shall hear a sound like thunder; + And a veil shall be withdrawn, + When her eyes grow wide with wonder + On that hill-top, in that dawn._ + + + + +CRIMSON SAILS + + + _When Salomon sailed from Ophir_ ... + The clouds of Sussex thyme + That crown the cliffs in mid-July + Were all we needed--you and I-- + _But Salomon sailed from Ophir_, + And broken bits of rhyme + Blew to us on the white chalk coast + From O, what elfin clime? + + A peacock butterfly flaunted + Its four great crimson wings, + As over the edge of the chalk it flew + Black as a ship on the Channel blue ... + _When Salomon sailed from Ophir_,-- + He brought, as the high sun brings, + Honey and spice to the Queen of the South, + Sussex or Saba, a song for her mouth, + Sweet as the dawn-wind over the downs + And the tall white cliffs that the wild thyme crowns + A song that the whole sky sings:-- + + When Salomon sailed from Ophir, + With Olliphants and gold, + The kings went up, the kings went down, + Trying to match King Salomon's crown, + But Salomon sacked the sunset, + Wherever his black ships rolled. + He rolled it up like a crimson cloth, + And crammed it into his hold. + + _Chorus_: Salomon sacked the sunset! + Salomon sacked the sunset! + He rolled it up like a crimson cloth, + And crammed it into his hold. + + His masts were Lebanon cedars, + His sheets were singing blue, + But that was never the reason why + He stuffed his hold with the sunset sky! + The kings could cut their cedars, + And sail from Ophir, too; + But Salomon packed his heart with dreams + And all the dreams were true. + + _Chorus_: The kings could cut their cedars, + Cut their Lebanon cedars; + But Salomon packed his heart with dreams, + And all the dreams were true. + + When Salomon sailed from Ophir, + He sailed not as a king. + The kings--they weltered to and fro, + Tossed wherever the winds could blow; + But Salomon's tawny seamen + Could lift their heads and sing, + Till all their crowded clouds of sail + Grew sweeter than the Spring. + + _Chorus_: Their singing sheets grew sweeter, + Their crowded clouds grew sweeter, + For Salomon's tawny seamen, sirs, + Could lift their heads and sing: + + When Salomon sailed from Ophir + With crimson sails so tall, + The kings went up, the kings went down, + Trying to match King Salomon's crown; + But Salomon brought the sunset + To hang on his Temple wall; + He rolled it up like a crimson cloth, + So his was better than all. + + _Chorus_: Salomon gat the sunset, + Salomon gat the sunset; + He carried it like a crimson cloth + To hang on his Temple wall. + + + + +BLIND MOONE OF LONDON + + + Blind Moone of London + He fiddled up and down, + Thrice for an angel, + And twice for a crown. + He fiddled at the _Green Man_, + He fiddled at the _Rose_; + And where they have buried him + Not a soul knows. + + All his tunes are dead and gone, dead as yesterday. + And his lanthorn flits no more + Round the _Devil Tavern_ door, + Waiting till the gallants come, singing from the play; + Waiting in the wet and cold! + All his Whitsun tales are told. + He is dead and gone, sirs, very far away. + + He would not give a silver groat + For good or evil weather. + He carried in his white cap + A long red feather. + He wore a long coat + Of the Reading-tawny kind, + And darned white hosen + With a blue patch behind. + + So--one night--he shuffled past, in his buckled shoon. + We shall never see his face, + Twisted to that queer grimace, + Waiting in the wind and rain, till we called his tune; + Very whimsical and white, + Waiting on a blue Twelfth Night! + He is grown too proud at last--old blind Moone. + + Yet, when May was at the door, + And Moone was wont to sing, + Many a maid and bachelor + Whirled into the ring: + Standing on a tilted wain + He played so sweet and loud + The Mayor forgot his golden chain + And jigged it with the crowd. + + Old blind Moone, his fiddle scattered flowers along the street; + Into the dust of Brookfield Fair + Carried a shining primrose air, + Crooning like a poor mad maid, O, very low and sweet, + Drew us close, and held us bound, + Then--to the tune of _Pedlar's Pound_, + Caught us up, and whirled us round, a thousand frolic feet. + + Master Shakespeare was his host. + The tribe of Benjamin + Used to call him Merlin's Ghost + At the _Mermaid Inn_. + He was only a crowder, + Fiddling at the door. + Death has made him prouder. + We shall not see him more. + + Only--if you listen, please--through the master's themes, + You shall hear a wizard strain, + Blind and bright as wind and rain + Shaken out of willow-trees, and shot with elfin gleams. + _How should I your true love know?_ + Scraps and snatches--even so! + That is old blind Moone again, fiddling in your dreams. + + Once, when Will had called for sack + And bidden him up and play, + Old blind Moone, he turned his back, + Growled, and walked away, + Sailed into a thunder-cloud, + Snapped his fiddle-string, + And hobbled from _The Mermaid_ + Sulky as a king. + + Only from the darkness now, steals the strain we knew: + No one even knows his grave! + Only here and there a stave, + Out of all his hedge-row flock, be-drips the may with dew. + And I know not what wild bird + Carried us his parting word:-- + _Master Shakespeare needn't take the crowder's fiddle, too._ + + Will has wealth and wealth to spare. + Give him back his own. + _At his head a grass-green turf, + At his heels a stone._ + See his little lanthorn-spark. + Hear his ghostly tune, + Glimmering past you, in the dark, + Old blind Moone! + + All the little crazy brooks, where love and sorrow run + Crowned with sedge and singing wild, + Like a sky-lark--or a child!-- + Old blind Moone, he knew their springs, and played 'em every one; + Stood there, in the darkness, blind, + And sang them into Shakespeare's mind.... + Old blind Moone of London, O now his songs are done, + The light upon his lost white face, they say it was the sun! + + The light upon his poor old face, they say it was the sun! + + + + +OLD GREY SQUIRREL + + + A great while ago, there was a school-boy. + He lived in a cottage by the sea. + And the very first thing he could remember + Was the rigging of the schooners by the quay. + + He could watch them, when he woke, from his window, + With the tall cranes hoisting out the freight. + And he used to think of shipping as a sea-cook, + And sailing to the Golden Gate. + + For he used to buy the yellow penny dreadfuls, + And read them where he fished for conger eels, + And listened to the lapping of the water, + The green and oily water round the keels. + + There were trawlers with their shark-mouthed flat-fish, + And red nets hanging out to dry, + And the skate the skipper kept because he liked 'em, + And landsmen never knew the fish to fry. + + There were brigantines with timber out of Norroway, + Oozing with the syrups of the pine. + There were rusty dusty schooners out of Sunderland, + And ships of the Blue Cross line. + + And to tumble down a hatch into the cabin + Was better than the best of broken rules; + For the smell of 'em was like a Christmas dinner, + And the feel of 'em was like a box of tools. + + And, before he went to sleep in the evening, + The very last thing that he could see + Was the sailor-men a-dancing in the moonlight + By the capstan that stood upon the quay. + + _He is perched upon a high stool in London. + The Golden Gate is very far away. + They caught him, and they caged him, like a squirrel. + He is totting up accounts, and going grey._ + + _He will never, never, never sail to 'Frisco. + But the very last thing that he will see + Will be sailor-men a-dancing in the sunrise + By the capstan that stands upon the quay...._ + + _To the tune of an old concertina, + By the capstan that stands upon the quay._ + + + + +THE GREAT NORTH ROAD + + + Just as the moon was rising, I met a ghostly pedlar + Singing for company beneath his ghostly load,-- + Once, there were velvet lads with vizards on their faces, + Riding up to rob me on the great North Road. + + Now, my pack is heavy, and my pocket full of guineas + Chimes like a wedding-peal, but little I enjoy + Roads that never echo to the chirrup of their canter,-- + The gay Golden Farmer and the Hereford Boy. + + Rogues were they all, but their raid was from Elf-land! + Shod with elfin silver were the steeds they bestrode. + Merlin buckled on the spurs that wheeled thro' the wet fern + Bright as Jack-o'-Lanthorns off the great North Road. + + Tales were told in country inns when Turpin rode to Rippleside! + Puck tuned the fiddle-strings, and country maids grew coy, + Tavern doors grew magical when Colonel Jack might tap at them, + The gay Golden Farmer and the Hereford Boy. + + What are you seeking then? I asked this honest pedlar. + --O, Mulled Sack or Natty Hawes might ease me of my load!-- + Where are they flown then?--Flown where I follow; + They are all gone for ever up the great North Road. + + Rogues were they all; but the white dust assoils 'em! + Paradise without a spice of deviltry would cloy. + Heavy is my pack till I meet with Jerry Abershaw, + The gay Golden Farmer and the Hereford Boy. + + + + +THE RIVER OF STARS + +(_A tale of Niagara_) + + + _The lights of a hundred cities are fed by its midnight power. + Their wheels are moved by its thunder. But they, too, have their hour. + The tale of the Indian lovers, a cry from the years that are flown, + While the river of stars is rolling, + Rolling away to the darkness, + Abides with the power in the midnight, where love may find its own._ + + She watched from the Huron tents, till the first star shook in the air. + The sweet pine scented her fawn-skins, and breathed from her braided + hair. + Her crown was of milk-white blood-root, because of the tryst she would + keep, + Beyond the river of beauty + That drifted away in the darkness + Drawing the sunset thro' lilies, with eyes like stars, to the deep. + + He watched, like a tall young wood-god, from the red pine that she + named; + But not for the peril behind him, where the eyes of the Mohawks flamed. + Eagle-plumed he stood. But his heart was hunting afar, + Where the river of longing whispered ... + And one swift shaft from the darkness + Felled him, her name in his death-cry, his eyes on the sunset star. + + * * * * * + + She stole from the river and listened. The moon on her wet skin shone. + As a silver birch in a pine-wood, her beauty flashed and was gone. + There was no wave in the forest. The dark arms closed her round. + But the river of life went flowing, + Flowing away to the darkness, + For her breast grew red with his heart's blood, in a night where the + stars are drowned. + + _Teach me, O my lover, as you taught me of love in a day, + Teach me of death, and for ever, and set my feet on the way, + To the land of the happy shadows, the land where you are flown._ + --And the river of death went weeping, + Weeping away to the darkness.-- + _Is the hunting good, my lover, so good that you hunt alone?_ + + She rose to her feet like a shadow. She sent a cry thro' the night, + _Sa-sa-kuon_, the death-whoop, that tells of triumph in fight. + It broke from the bell of her mouth like the cry of a wounded bird, + But the river of agony swelled it + And swept it along to the darkness, + And the Mohawks, couched in the darkness, leapt to their feet as they + heard. + + Close as the ring of the clouds that menace the moon with death, + At once they circled her round. Her bright breast panted for breath. + With only her own wild glory keeping the wolves at bay, + While the river of parting whispered, + Whispered away to the darkness, + She looked in their eyes for a moment, and strove for a word to say. + + _Teach me, O my lover!_--She set her foot on the dead. + She laughed on the painted faces with their rings of yellow and red,-- + _I thank you, wolves of the Mohawk, for a woman's hands might fail._-- + --And the river of vengeance chuckled, + Chuckled away to the darkness,-- + _But ye have killed where I hunted. I have come to the end of my trail._ + + _I thank you, braves of the Mohawk, who laid this thief at my feet. + He tore my heart out living, and tossed it his dogs to eat. + Ye have taught him of death in a moment, as he taught me of love in a + day._ + --And the river of passion deepened, + Deepened and rushed to the darkness.-- + _And yet may a woman requite you, and set your feet on the way._ + + _For the woman that spits in my face, and the shaven heads that gibe, + This night shall a woman show you the tents of the Huron tribe. + They are lodged in a deep valley. With all things good it abounds. + Where the red-eyed, green-mooned river + Glides like a snake to the darkness, + I will show you a valley, Mohawks, like the Happy Hunting Grounds._ + + _Follow!_ They chuckled, and followed like wolves to the glittering + stream. + Shadows obeying a shadow, they launched their canoes in a dream. + Alone, in the first, with the blood on her breast, and her milk-white + crown, + She stood. She smiled at them, _Follow_, + Then urged her canoe to the darkness, + And, silently flashing their paddles, the Mohawks followed her down. + + * * * * * + + And now--as they slid thro' the pine-woods with their peaks of midnight + blue, + She heard, in the broadening distance, the deep sound that she knew, + A mutter of steady thunder that grew as they glanced along; + But ever she glanced before them + And glanced away to the darkness, + And or ever they heard it rightly, she raised her voice in a song:-- + + _The wind from the Isles of the Blessed, it blows across the foam. + It sings in the flowing maples of the land that was my home. + Where the moose is a morning's hunt, and the buffalo feeds from the + hand._-- + And the river of mockery broadened, + Broadened and rolled to the darkness-- + _And the green maize lifts its feathers, and laughs the snow from the + land._ + + The river broadened and quickened. There was nought but river and sky. + The shores were lost in the darkness. She laughed and lifted a cry: + _Follow me! Sa-sa-kuon!_ Swifter and swifter they swirled-- + And the flood of their doom went flying, + Flying away to the darkness, + _Follow me, follow me, Mohawks, ye are shooting the edge of the world._ + + They struggled like snakes to return. Like straws they were whirled on + her track. + For the whole flood swooped to that edge where the unplumbed night dropt + black, + The whole flood dropt to a thunder in an unplumbed hell beneath, + And over the gulf of the thunder + A mountain of spray from the darkness + Rose and stood in the heavens, like a shrouded image of death. + + She rushed like a star before them. The moon on her glorying shone. + _Teach me, O my lover_,--her cry flashed out and was gone. + A moment they battled behind her. They lashed with their paddles and + lunged; + Then the Mohawks, turning their faces + Like a blood-stained cloud to the darkness, + Over the edge of Niagara swept together and plunged. + + _And the lights of a hundred cities are fed by the ancient power; + But a cry returns with the midnight; for they, too, have their hour. + Teach me, O my lover, as you taught me of love in a day, + --While the river of stars is rolling, + Rolling away to the darkness,-- + Teach me of death, and for ever, and set my feet on the way!_ + + + + +A KNIGHT OF OLD JAPAN + + + Make me a stave of song, the Master said, + On yonder cherry-bough, whose white and red + Hangs in the sunset over those green seas. + The young knight looked upon his untried blade, + Then shrugged his wings of gold and blue brocade: + _How should a warrior play with thoughts like these?_ + + Fresh from the battle, in that self-same hour, + A mail-clad warrior watched each delicate flower + Close in that cloud of beauty against the West. + Drinking the last deep light, he watched it long. + He raised his face as if to pray. _The strong_, + The Master whispered, _are the tenderest_. + + + + +BEYOND DEATH + + + I + + In lonely bays + Where Love runs wild, + All among the flowering grasses, + Where light, light, light, as a sea-bird's wing + The chuckle of the child-god passes, + O, to awake, to shake away the night + And find you dreaming there, + On the other side of death, with the sea-wind blowing round you, + And the scent of the thyme in your hair. + + + II + + Tho' beauty perish, + Perish like a flower, + And song be an idle breath, + Tho' heaven be a dream, and youth for but an hour, + And life much less than death, + And the Maker less than that He made, + And hope less than despair, + If Death have shores where Love runs wild + I think you might be there. + + + III + + Re-born, re-born + From the splendid sea, + There should you awake and sing, + With every supple sweet from the head to the feet + Modelled like a wood-dove's wing,-- + O, to awake, to shake away the night, + And find you happy there, + On the other side of death, with the sea-wind blowing round you, + And the scent of the thyme in your hair. + + + + +THE STRANGE GUEST + + + You cannot leave a new house + With any open door, + But a strange guest will enter it + And never leave it more. + + Build it on a waste land, + Dreary as a sin. + Leave her but a broken gate, + And Beauty will come in. + + Build it all of scarlet brick. + Work your wicked will. + Dump it on an ash-heap + Then--O then, be still. + + Sit and watch your new house. + Leave an open door. + A strange guest will enter it + And never leave it more. + + She will make your raw wood + Mellower than gold. + She will take your new lamps + And sell them for old. + + She will crumble all your pride, + Break your folly down. + Much that you rejected + She will bless and crown. + + She will rust your naked roof, + Split your pavement through, + Dip her brush in sun and moon + And colour it anew. + + Leave her but a window + Wide to wind and rain, + You shall find her footsteps + When you come again. + + Though she keep you waiting + Many months or years, + She shall stain and make it + Beautiful with tears. + + She shall hurt and heal it, + Soften it and save, + Blessing it, until it stand + Stronger than the grave. + + _You cannot leave a new house + With any open door, + But a strange guest will enter it + And never leave it more._ + + + + +GHOSTS + + + O to creep in by candle-light, + When all the world is fast asleep, + Out of the cold winds, out of the night, + Where the nettles wave and the rains weep! + O, to creep in, lifting the latch + So quietly that no soul could hear, + And, at those embers in the gloom, + Quietly light one careful match-- + You should not hear it, have no fear-- + And light the candle and look round + The old familiar room; + To see the old books upon the wall + And lovingly take one down again, + And hear--O, strange to those that lay + So patiently underground-- + The ticking of the clock, the sound + Of clicking embers ... + watch the play + Of shadows ... + till the implacable call + Of morning turn our faces grey; + And, or ever we go, we lift and kiss + Some idle thing that your hands may touch, + Some paper or book that your hands let fall, + And we never--when living--had cared so much + As to glance upon twice ... + But now, O bliss + To kiss and to cherish it, moaning our pain, + Ere we creep to the silence again. + + + + +THE DAY OF REMEMBRANCE + + + Dazzle of the sea, azure of the sky, glitter of the dew on the grass, + Pass to Oblivion + In the darkness + With all that ever is or ever was. + + Yet, O flocks of cloud with your violet shadows, O white may crowding + o'er the lane, + The Shepherd that drives you + To the darkness + Shall lead you thro' the crimson dawn again. + + Bear your load of beauty to the sunset, and the golden gates of death. + The Eternal shall remember + In the darkness + And recall you at a word, at a breath. + + Even as the mind of a man may remember his lost and linkless hours, + This world that is scattered + To the darkness + Dismembered and dis-petalled, clouds and flowers, + + Cities, suns, and systems, as He said of old, they sleep! Not a bird, + not a leaf shall pass by, + But on the day of remembrance + In the darkness, + In a moment, in the twinkling of an eye, + + They shall flash to their places in the music of the whole, even as our + fathers said! + For a Power shall remember + In the darkness, + And the universal sea give up her dead. + + + + +ON THE EMBANKMENT + + + Within, it was colour and laughter, warmth and wine. + Without, it was darkness, hunger and bitter cold, + Where those white globes on the wet Embankment shine, + Greasing the Thames with gold. + + And was it a bundle of fog in the dark drew nigh? + A bundle of rags and bones it crept to the light,-- + A monstrous thing that coughed as it shuffled by, + A shape of the shapeless night, + + Spawned as brown things that mimic their mothering earth, + Green creeping things that the grass lifts to the sun, + Out of its wrongs the City had brought to the birth + The shape of those wrongs, in one. + + A woman, a woman whose lips had once been kissed, + (It was Christmas Eve, and the bells began their chime!) + She sank to a seat like a coughing bundle of mist + Exhaled from the river-slime. + + _Bells for the birth of Christ!_ She heard, and she thought-- + Vacantly--of her man, that was long since dead, + The smell of the Christmas food, and the drink they had bought + Together, the year they were wed. + + She thought of their one-room home, and the night-long sigh + Recalled, as he slept, of his breath in her loosened hair. + _He slept._ She opened her haggard eyes with a cry. + But only the night was there. + + Nay, out of the formless night, at her furtive glance, + Crouched at the end of her cold wet bench, there grew + A bundle of fog, a bundle of rags that, perchance, + Once was a woman, too. + + A huddled shape, a fungus of foul grey mist + Spawned of the river, in peace and much good-will, + And even the woman whose lips had once been kissed + Wondered, it crouched so still. + + No breath, no shadow of breath in the lamp-light smoked, + It crouched so still--that bunch at the bench's end. + She stretched her neck like a crow, then leaned and croaked, + "_A Merry Christmas, friend!_" + + She rose, and peered, peered at its vacant eyes. + Touched its cold claws. Its arms of knotted bone + Were wands of ice; like iron rods the thighs; + The left breast--like a stone. + + _Far, far along the rows of warmth and light + The Christmas waits, with cornet and bassoon, + Carolled "While shepherds watched their flocks by night." + The bells pealed to the moon._ + + A bundle of rags and bones, a bundle of mist, + And never a hell or heaven to hear or see, + The woman, the woman whose lips had once been kissed, + Knelt down feverishly. + + She plucked the shawl out of that frozen clutch. + The dead are dead. Why should the living freeze? + She touched the cold flesh that she feared to touch + Kneeling upon her knees. + + Her palsied hands unlaced the shoes--good shoes!-- + She tore them quick from the crooked yellow feet. + If Death be generous, why should Life refuse + To take, and pawn, and eat? + + A heavy step drew nearer thro' the mist. + She bundled them into the shawl. Her eyes were bright. + The woman, the woman whose lips had once been kissed, + Slunk, chuckling, thro' the night. + + + + +THE IRON CROWN + + + Not memory of a vanished bliss, + But suddenly to know, + I had forgotten! This, O this + With iron crowned my woe: + + To know that on some midnight sea + Whence none could lift the pall + A drowning hand was waved to me, + Then--swept beyond recall. + + + + +THE OLD DEBATE + + + His angels fell, and myriads grope + In doubt, for this dark cause alone,-- + That God hath given them room for hope, + And made their struggling wills their own. + + In the same breath, they plead for chains + And freedom; pray for ordered spheres, + Then murmur that the sun retains + Its course, unchecked by smiles or tears. + + "The Omnipotent would grant us this, + Or else He is not good," they say; + But O, the Power withholds their bliss + Till they agree what prayer to pray. + + + + +A SONG OF HOPE + + + Not in those eyes, too kind for truth, + Which dare not note how beauties wane; + Nor in that crueller joy of youth + Which turns from sorrow with disdain; + No--no--not there, + Abides the hope that answers our despair. + + Lie where they hid thy dead away. + Knock on that unrelenting door; + Then break, O desolate heart, and say + Farewell, farewell, for evermore ... + There, only there, + Abides the hope that conquers all despair. + + The silence that refused to bless + Till grief had turned the heart to stone ... + What soul compact of nothingness + Could hear so fierce a trumpet blown? + Then hear, O hear, + The dreadful hope that equals all despair. + + There, till the deep atoning Might + Shall answer all that each can pray, + The very boundlessness of night + Proclaims--and waits--an equal day. + There, only there, + --_But O, sing low, sweet strings, lest hope take wing!_-- + Abides the hope that answers all despair. + + + + +THE HEDGE-ROSE OPENS + + + How passionately it opens after rain, + And O, how like a prayer + To those great shining skies! Do they disdain + A bride so small and fair? + See the imploring petals, how they part + And utterly lay bare + The perishing treasures of that piteous heart + In wild surrender there. + What? Would'st _thou_, too, drink up the Eternal bliss, + Ecstatically dare, + O, little bride of God, to invoke _His_ kiss?-- + But O, how like a prayer! + + + + +THE MAY-TREE + + + The May-tree on the hill + Stands in the night + So fragrant and so still, + So dusky white. + + That, stealing from the wood + In that sweet air, + You'd think Diana stood + Before you there. + + If it be so, her bloom + Trembles with bliss. + She waits across the gloom + Her shepherd's kiss. + + Touch her. A bird will start + From those pure snows,-- + The dark and fluttering heart + Endymion knows. + + + + +OLD LETTERS + + + Read them? Strangle that sick cry? + Christ God, no! + Shut the box. Lock the lid. + You'll be safer--so. + Could you read one crooked word + Scrawled so long ago, + Love would rise before your face + And blind you, like a blow. + + _Close it! Quickly! For I caught, + In a childish hand, + Something that she never thought + I should understand._ + + So I crouch. And shall our God + Prove Him baser yet, + He who filled her eyes with light + Quite renounce His debt, + + Give her worlds to love, and then-- + Ere the sun be set, + Strike her down and coffin all? + Christ, shall _He_ forget? + + _Close it! Quickly! For I caught, + In a childish hand, + Something that she never thought + I should understand._ + + + + +LAMPS + + + Immense and silent night, + Over the lonely downs I go; + And the deep gloom is pricked with points of light + Above me and below. + + I cannot break the bars + Of Time and Fate; and if I scan the sky, + There comes to me, questioning those cold stars, + No signal, no reply. + + Yet are they less than these-- + These village-lights, which I do scan + Below me, or far out on darkling seas + Those messages from man? + + Round me the darkness rolls. + Out of the depth, each lance of light + Shoots from lost lanthorns, thrills from living souls, + And shall I doubt the height? + + No signal? No reply? + As through the deepening night I roam, + Hope opens all her casements in the sky + And lights the lamps of home. + + + + +AT EDEN GATES + + + _To Eden Garden_--so the sign-post said; + I could not see the road; + But, where the Sussex clover blossomed red + Its runaway blisses flowed. + + I traced them back for many a night and day, + --The way she, too, had gone!-- + Till lo, the terrible Angel in the way + Inexorably shone. + + Up to the Gates, a fearless fool I came; + Between the lily and rose + Fluttering these evil rags of sordid shame, + A thing to scare the crows. + + "And hath the Master given thee, then, no word?" + The scornful Angel smiled: + Only two souls may pass my Flaming Sword,-- + The Lover and the Child. + + I raised my head,--"Now let all hell make mirth, + Where Love went, I go, too!" + His eyes met mine. The sword sank to the earth, + And let her lover through. + + + + +THE PSYCHE OF OUR DAY + + + As constant lovers may rejoice + With seas between, with worlds between, + Because a fragrance and a voice + Are round them everywhere: + So let me travel to the grave, + Believing still--for I have seen-- + That Love's triumphant banners wave + Beyond my own despair. + + I have no trust in my own worth; + Yet have I faith, O love, for you, + That every beauty in bloom or leaf, + That even age and wrong + May touch, may hurt you, on this earth, + But only, only as kisses do; + Or as the fretted string of grief + Completes the bliss of song; + + That you shall see, on any grave + The snow fall, like that unseen hand + Which O, so often, pressed your hair + To cherish and console: + That seas may roar and winds rave + But you shall feel and understand + What vast caresses everywhere + Convey you to the goal. + + So was it always in the years + When Love began, when Love began + With eyes that were not touched of tears + And lips that still could sing-- + And all around us, in the may, + The child-god with his laughter ran, + And every bloom, on every spray, + Betrayed his fluttering wing. + + So hold it, keep it, count it, sweet, + Until the end, until the end. + It is not cruelty, but bliss + That pains and is so fond: + Crush life like thyme beneath your feet, + And O, my love, when that strange friend, + The Shadow of Wings, which men call Death + Shall close your eyes, with that last kiss, + Ask not His name. A rosier breath + Shall waken you--beyond. + + + + +PARACLETE + + + Tongue hath not told it, + Heart hath not known; + Yet shall the bough swing + When it hath flown. + + Dreams have denied it, + Fools forsworn: + Yet it hath comforted + Each man born. + + Once and again it is + Blown to me, + Sweet from the wild thyme, + Salt from the sea; + + Blown thro' the ferns + Faint from the sky; + Shadowed in water, + Yet clear as a cry. + + Light on a face, + Or touch of a hand, + Making my still heart + Understand. + + Earth hath not seen it. + Nor heaven above, + Yet shall the wild bough + Bend with the Dove. + + Yea, tho' the bloom fall + Under Thy feet, + _Veni, Creator, + Paraclete!_ + + + + +AFTER RAIN + + + Listen! On sweetening air + The blackbird growing bold + Flings out, where green boughs glisten, + Three splashes of wild gold. + + Daughter of April, hear; + And hear, O barefoot boy! + That carol of wild sweet water + Has washed the world with joy. + + Glisten, O fragrant earth + Assoiled by heaven anew, + And O, ye lovers, listen, + With eyes that glisten, too. + + + + +THE DEATH OF A GREAT MAN + + + No--not that he is dead. The pang's not there, + Nor in the City's many-coloured bloom + Of swift black-lettered posters, which the throng + Passes with bovine stare, + To say _He is dead_ and _Is it going to rain?_ + Or hum stray snatches of a rag-time song. + Nor is it in that falsest shibboleth + (Which orators toss to the dumb scorn of death) + That all the world stands weeping at his tomb. + London is dining, dancing, through it all. + And, in the unchecked smiles along the street + Where men, that slightly knew him, lightly meet, + With all the old indifferent grimaces, + There is no jot of grief, no tittle of pain. + No. No. For nearer things do most tears fall. + Grief is for near and little things. But pride, + O, pride was to be found by two or three, + And glory in his great battling memory, + Prouder and purer than the loud world knows, + In one more dreadful sign, the day he died-- + The dreadful light upon a thousand faces, + The peace upon the faces of his foes. + + + + +THE ROMAN WAY + + + He that has loyally served the State + Whereof he found himself a part, + Or spent his life-blood to create + A kingdom's treasure in his art; + + Who sees the enemies of his land + Applauded, by her sects and schools; + And the high thought they scarce had scanned + Derided and befogged by fools; + + --Better to know it soon than late!-- + Struggling, he wins a meed of praise; + Achieving, he is dogged by hate + And furtive malice all his days. + + O, Emperor of the Stoic clan, + Enfold him, then, with nobler pride. + Teach him that nought can hurt a man + Who will not turn or stoop to chide. + + Can falsehood kindle or bedim + One bay-leaf in his quiet crown? + Ten thousand Lies may pluck at him, + But only Truth can tear him down. + + Why should he heed the thing they say? + They never asked if it were true. + Why brush one scribbler's tale away + For others to invent a new? + + No, let him search his heart, secure + --If Truth be there--from tongue or pen; + And teach us, Emperor, to endure, + To think like Romans and like men. + + + + +THE INNER PASSION + + + There is a Master in my heart + To whom, though oft against my will, + I bring the songs I sing apart + And strive to think that they fulfil + His silent law, within my heart. + + But He is blind to my desires, + And deaf to all that I would plead: + He tests my truth at purer fires + And shames my purple with His need. + He claims my deeds, not my desires. + + And often when my comrades praise, + I sadden, for He turns from me! + But, sometimes, when they blame, I raise + Mine eyes to His, and in them see + A tenderness too deep for praise. + + He is not to be bought with gold, + Or lured by thornless crowns of fame; + But when some rebel thought hath sold + Him to dishonour and to shame, + And my heart's Pilate cries, "Behold," + + "Behold the Man," I know Him then; + And all those wild thronged clamours die + In my heart's judgment hall again, + Or if it ring with "Crucify!" + Some few are faithful even then. + + Some few sad thoughts,--one bears His cross; + To that dark Calvary of my pride; + One stands far off and mourns His loss, + And one poor thief on either side + Hangs on his own unworthy cross. + + And one--O, truth in ancient guise!-- + Rails, and one bids him cease alway, + And the God turns His hungering eyes + On that poor thought with, "Thou, this day, + Shalt sing, shalt sing, in Paradise." + + + + +A COUNTRY LANE IN HEAVEN + + + The exceeding weight of glory bowed + My head, in that pure clime: + I found a road that ran through cloud + Along the coasts of Time.... + + Out of that mist of years there came + A cross-barred gate of wood. + I clutched, I kissed the unheavenly frame + So hard, it trickled blood. + + My head upon the iron lay. + I slobbered blood and foam. + Yea, like a dog, I knew the way, + A hundred yards from home. + + _Iron and blood and wood! They knew + The secret of that cry + When the Eternal Passion drew + Their Maker through--to die._ + + I knew each little hawthorn-cloud + Along my misty lane, + Then my heart burst. She sobbed aloud, + Between my arms again. + + + + +TO THE DESTROYERS + + + Yes. You have shattered many an ancient wrong, + And we were with you, heart and mind and soul, + But there are fools who cast away control + In life and thought and art; because the Strong-- + We dare to say it--have now destroyed so long, + That careless minds forget the unchanging goal-- + The nobler Order which shall make us whole, + The Service which is freedom, beauty, song. + + We shall be stoned as traitors to your cause + While the real traitors that you did not know, + Chaos and Vice, trumpet themselves as free. + Pray God that, loyal to the Eternal laws, + A little remnant, mauled by friend and foe, + Save you through Truth, and bring you Liberty. + + + + +THE TRUMPET-CALL + + + I + + Trumpeter, sound the great recall! + Swift, O swift, for the squadrons break, + The long lines waver, mazed in the gloom! + Hither and thither the blind host blunders. + Stand thou firm for a dead Man's sake, + Firm where the ranks reel down to their doom, + Stand thou firm in the midst of the thunders, + Stand where the steeds and the riders fall, + Set the bronze to thy lips and sound + A rally to ring the whole world round. + Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us! + Sound the great recall. + + + II + + Trumpeter, sound for the ancient heights! + Clouds of the earth-born battle cloak + The heaven that our fathers held from of old; + And we--shall we prate to their sons of the gain + In gold or bread? Through yonder smoke + The heights that never were won with gold + Wait, still bright with their old red stain, + For the thousand chariots of God again, + And the steel that swept thro' a hundred fights + With the Ironsides, equal to life and death, + The steel, the steel of their ancient faith. + Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us! + Sound for the sun-lit heights. + + + III + + Trumpeter, sound for the faith again! + Blind and deaf with the dust and the blood, + Clashing together we know not whither + The tides of the battle would have us advance. + Stand thou firm in the crimson flood, + Send the lightning of thy great cry + Through the thunders, athwart the storm, + Sound till the trumpets of God reply + From the heights we have lost in the steadfast sky, + From the Strength we despised and rejected. Then, + Locking the ranks as they form and form, + Lift us forward, banner and lance, + Mailed in the faith of Cromwell's men, + When from their burning hearts they hurled + The gage of heaven against the world! + Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us, + Up to the heights again. + + + IV + + Trumpeter, sound for the last Crusade! + Sound for the fire of the red-cross kings, + Sound for the passion, the splendour, the pity + That swept the world for a dead Man's sake, + Sound, till the answering trumpet rings + Clear from the heights of the holy City, + Sound till the lions of England awake, + Sound for the tomb that our lives have betrayed; + O'er broken shrine and abandoned wall, + Trumpeter, sound the great recall, + Trumpeter, rally us, rally us, rally us; + Sound for the last Crusade! + + + V + + Trumpeter, sound for the splendour of God! + Sound the music whose name is law, + Whose service is perfect freedom still, + The order august that rules the stars. + Bid the anarchs of night withdraw, + Too long the destroyers have worked their will, + Sound for the last, the last of the wars. + Sound for the heights that our fathers trod, + When truth was truth and love was love, + With a hell beneath, but a heaven above, + Trumpeter, rally us, up to the heights of it! + Sound for the City of God. + + + + +THE HEART OF CANADA + +_July 1912_ + + + Because her heart is all too proud + --_Canada! Canada! fair young Canada_-- + To breathe the might of her love aloud, + Be quick, O Motherland! + Because her soul is wholly free + --_Canada kneels, thy daughter, Canada_-- + England, look in her eyes and see, + Honour and understand. + + Because her pride at thy masthead shines, + --_Canada! Canada!_--queenly Canada + Bows with all her breathing pines, + All her fragrant firs. + Because our isle is little and old + --_Canada! Canada!_--young-eyed Canada + Gives thee, Mother, her hands to hold, + And makes thy glory hers. + + Because thy Fleet is hers for aye, + --_Canada! Canada!_--clear-souled Canada, + Ere the war-cloud roll this way, + Bids the world beware. + Her heart, her soul, her sword are thine + --_Thine the guns, the guns of Canada!_-- + The ships are foaming into line, + And Canada will be there. + + + + +THE RETURN OF THE HOME-BORN + + + All along the white chalk coast + The mist lifts clear. + Wight is glimmering like a ghost. + The ship draws near. + Little inch-wide meadows + Lost so many a day, + The first time I knew you + Was when I turned away. + + Island--little island-- + Lost so many a year, + Mother of all I leave behind + --_Draw me near!_-- + Mother of half the rolling world, + And O, so little and gray, + The first time I found you + Was when I turned away. + + _Over yon green water + Sussex lies. + But the slow mists gather + In our eyes. + England, little island + --God, how dear!-- + Fold me in your mighty arms, + Draw me near._ + + Little tawny roofs of home, + Nestling in the gray, + Where the smell of Sussex loam + Blows across the bay ... + Fold me, teach me, draw me close, + Lest in death I say + The first time I loved you + Was when I turned away. + + + + +A SALUTE FROM THE FLEET + + + I + + _The Guns of H.M.S. Royal Sovereign_ + + Ocean-mother of England, thine is the crowning acclaim. + Here, in the morning of battle, from over the world and beyond, + Here, by our fleets of steel, silently foam into line + Fleets of our glorious dead, thy shadowy oak-walled ships. + Mother, for O, thy soul must speak thro' our iron lips! + How should we speak to the ages, unless with a word of thine? + Utter it, Victory! Let thy great signal flash thro' the flame! + Answer, _Bellerophon_, _Marlborough_, _Thunderer_, _Condor_, + respond! + + + II + + _The Guns of H.M.S. Majestic_ + + Out of the ages we speak unto you, O ye ages to be. + Rocks of Sevastopol, echo our thunder-word, bruit it afar. + Roll it, O Mediterranean, round by Gibraltar again. + Buffet it, Porto Bello, back to the Nile once more. + Answer it, great St. Vincent! Answer it, Elsinore, + Buffet it back from your crags and roll it over the main! + Heights of Quebec, O hear and re-echo it back to the Baltic Sea! + Answer it, _Camperdown_! Answer it, answer it, _Trafalgar_! + + + III + + _The Guns of H.M.S. Rainbow_ + + How should we speak to the ages, if not with a word of thine, + Maker of cloud and harvest, foam and the sea-bird's wing, + Ocean-Mother of England and all things living and free? + Deep that wast moved by the Spirit to bloom with the first white morn, + Mother of Light and Freedom, mother of hopes unborn, + Speak, O world-wide welder of nations, O Soul of the sea! + Thine was the watchword that called us of old o'er the gray sky-line: + Lift thy stormy salute. It is freedom and peace that we bring. + + + IV + + _The Guns of H.M.S. Victory_ + + Therefore on thee we call, O Mother, for we are thy sons. + Speak, with thy world-wide voice, O wake us anew from our sleep! + Speak, for the Light of the world still lives and grows on thy face. + Give us the ancient Word once more, the unchangeable Word,-- + This that Nelson knew, this that Effingham heard, + This that resounds for ever in all the hearts of our race, + This that lives for a moment on the iron lips of our guns, + This--that echoes for ever and ever--the Word of the Deep. + + + V + + _The Guns of H.M.S. Dreadnought_ + + How shall a king be saved by the multitude of an host? + Was not the answer thine, when fleet upon fleet swept, hurled + Blind thro' the dark North Sea, with all their invincible ships? + Thine was the answer, O mother of all men born to be free! + Witness again, Cape Wrath!--O thine, everlastingly, + Thine as Freedom arose and rolled thy song from her lips, + Thine when she 'stablished her throne in thy sight, on our rough + rock-coast, + Thine with thy lustral glory and thunder, washing the world. + + + VI + + _The Guns of H.M.S. Temeraire_ + + O for that ancient cry of the watch at the midnight bell, + Under the unknown stars, from the decks that Frobisher trod. + Hark, _Before the world?_--he questions a fleet in the dark! + Answer it, friend or foe! And, ringing from mast to mast, + Mother, hast thou forgotten what cry in the dark went past, + Answering still as he questioned? _Before the world?_ O, hark, + Ringing anear, _Before the world?_ ... _was God_ ... All's well! + Dying afar ... _Before the world?_ ... All's well ... _was God!_ + + + VII + + _The Guns of H.M.S. Revenge_ + + Raleigh and Grenville heard it, Knights of the Ocean-sea. + Have we forgotten it only, we with our leagues of steel? + Give us our watchword again, O mother, in this great hour! + Here, in the morning of battle, here as we gather our might, + Here, as the nations of earth in the light of thy freedom unite, + Shake our hearts with thy Word, O 'stablish our peace on thy power! + 'Stablish our power on thy peace, thy glory, thy liberty, + 'Stablish on thy deep Word the throne of our Commonweal. + + + VIII + + _The Guns of H.M.S. Leviathan_ + + They that go down to the sea in ships--they heard it of old-- + They shall behold His wonders, alone on the Deep, the Deep! + Have _we_ forgotten, we only? O, rend the heavens again, + Voice of the Everlasting, shake the great hills with thy breath! + Roll the Voice of our God thro' the valleys of doubt and death! + Waken the fog-bound cities with the shout of the wind-swept main, + Inland over the smouldering plains, till the mists unfold, + Darkness die, and England, England arise from sleep. + + + IX + + _The Guns of H.M.S. Triumph_ + + Queen of the North and the South, Queen of our ocean-renown, + England, England, England, O lift thine eyes to the sun! + Wake, for the hope of the whole world yearns to thee, watches and + waits! + Now on the full flood-tide of the ages, the supreme hour + Beacons thee onward in might to the purpose and crown of thy power. + Hark, for the whole Atlantic thunders against thy gates, + Take the Crown of all Time, all might, earth's crowning Crown, + Throne thy children in peace and in freedom together, O weld them + in one. + + + X + + _The Guns of the Fleet_ + + _Throne them in triumph together. Thine is the crowning cry! + Thine the glory for ever in the nation born of thy womb! + Thine the Sword and the Shield, and the shout that Salamis heard, + Surging in Aeschylean splendour, earth-shaking acclaim! + Ocean-mother of England, thine is the throne of her fame. + Breaker of many fleets, O thine the victorious word, + Thine the Sun and the Freedom, the God and the wind-swept sky, + Thine the thunder and thine the lightning, thine the doom._ + + + + +IN MEMORY OF A BRITISH AVIATOR + + + On those young brows that knew no fear + We lay the Roman athlete's crown, + The laurel of the charioteer, + The imperial garland of renown, + While those young eyes, beyond the sun, + See Drake, see Raleigh, smile "Well done." + + Their desert seas that knew no shore + To-night with fleets like cities flare; + But, frailer even than theirs of yore, + His keel a new-found deep would dare: + They watch, with thrice-experienced eyes + What fleets shall follow through the skies. + + They would not scoff, though man should set + To feebler wings a mightier task. + They know what wonders wait us yet. + Not all things in an hour they ask; + But in each noble failure see + The inevitable victory. + + A thousand years have borne us far + From that dark isle the Saxon swayed, + And star whispers to trembling star + While Space and Time shrink back afraid,-- + "Ten thousand thousand years remain + For man to dare our deep again." + + Thou, too, shalt hear across that deep + Our thundering fleets of thought draw nigh, + Round which the suns and systems sweep + Like cloven foam from sky to sky, + Till Death himself at last restore + His captives to our eyes once more. + + * * * * * + + Feeble the wings, dauntless the soul! + Take thou the conqueror's laurel crown; + Take--for thy chariot grazed the goal-- + The imperial garland of renown; + While those young eyes, beyond the sun, + See Drake, see Raleigh, smile "Well done." + + + + +THE WAGGON + + + Crimson and black on the sky, a waggon of clover + Slowly goes rumbling, over the white chalk road; + And I lie in the golden grass there, wondering why + So little a thing + As the jingle and ring of the harness, + The hot creak of leather, + The peace of the plodding, + Should suddenly, stabbingly, make it + Strange that men die. + + Only, perhaps, in the same blue summer weather, + Hundreds of years ago, in this field where I lie, + Caedmon, the Saxon, was caught by the self-same thing: + The serf lying, black with the sun, on his beautiful wain-load, + The jingle and clink of the harness, + The hot creak of leather, + The peace of the plodding; + And wondered, O terribly wondered, + That men must die. + + + + +THE SACRED OAK + +(_A Song of Britain_) + + + I + + Voice of the summer stars that, long ago, + Sang thro' the old oak-forests of our isle, + Enchanted voice, pure as her falling snow, + Dark as her storms, bright as her sunniest smile, + Taliessin, voice of Britain, the fierce flow + Of fourteen hundred years has whelmed not thee! + Still art thou singing, lavrock of her morn, + Singing to heaven in that first golden glow, + Singing above her mountains and her sea! + Not older yet are grown + Thy four winds in their moan + For Urien. Still thy charlock blooms in the billowing corn. + + + II + + Thy dew is bright upon this beechen spray! + Spring wakes thy harp! I hear--I see--again, + Thy wild steeds foaming thro' the crimson fray, + The raven on the white breast of thy slain, + The tumult of thy chariots, far away, + The weeping in the glens, the lustrous hair + Dishevelled over the stricken eagle's fall, + And in thy Druid groves, at fall of day + One gift that Britain gave her valorous there, + One gift of lordlier pride + Than aught--save to have died-- + One spray of the sacred oak, they coveted most of all. + + + III + + I watch thy nested brambles growing green: + O strange, across that misty waste of years, + To glimpse the shadowy thrush that thou hast seen, + To touch, across the ages, touch with tears + The ferns that hide thee with their fairy screen, + Or only hear them rustling in the dawn; + And--as a dreamer waking--in thy words, + For all the golden clouds that drowse between, + To feel the veil of centuries withdrawn, + To feel thy sun re-risen + Unbuild our shadowy prison + And hear on thy fresh boughs the carol of waking birds. + + + IV + + O, happy voice, born in that far, clear time, + Over thy single harp thy simple strain + Attuned all life for Britain to the chime + Of viking oars and the sea's dark refrain, + And thine own beating heart, and the sublime + Measure to which the moons and stars revolve + Untroubled by the storms that, year by year, + In ever-swelling symphonies still climb + To embrace our growing world and to resolve + Discords unknown to thee, + In the infinite harmony + Which still transcends our strife and leaves us darkling here. + + * * * * * + + + V + + For, now, one sings of heaven and one of hell, + One soars with hope, one plunges to despair! + This, trembling, doubts if aught be ill or well; + And that cries, "Fair is foul and foul is fair;" + And this cries, "Forward, though I cannot tell + Whither, and all too surely all things die;" + And that sighs, "Rest, then, sleep and take thine ease." + One sings his country and one rings its knell, + One hymns mankind, one dwarfs them with the sky. + O, Britain, let thy soul + Once more command the whole, + Once more command the strings of the world-wide harmony. + + + VI + + For hark! One sings, _The gods, the gods are dead!_ + _Man triumphs!_ And hark--_Blind Space his funeral urn._ + And hark, one whispers with reverted head + To the old dead gods--_Bring back our heaven, return!_ + And hark, one moans--_The ancient order is fled, + We are children of blind chance and vacant dreams. + Heed not mine utterance--that was chance-born, too._ + And hark, the answer of Science--_All they said, + Your fathers, in that old time, lit by gleams + Of what their hearts could feel, + The rolling years reveal + As fragments of one law, one covenant, simply true._ + + + VII + + _I find_, she cries, _in all this march of time + And space, no gulf, no break, nothing that mars + Its unity. I watch the primal slime + Lift Athens like a flower to greet the stars! + I flash my messages from clime to clime, + I link the increasing world from depth to height! + Not yet ye see the wonder that draws nigh, + When at some sudden contact, some sublime + Touch, as of memory, all this boundless night + Wherein ye grope entombed + Shall, by that touch illumed, + Like one electric City shine from sky to sky._ + + + VIII + + _No longer then the memories that ye hold + Dark in your brain shall slumber. Ye shall see + That City whose gates are more than pearl or gold + And all its towers firm as Eternity. + The stones of the earth have cried to it from of old! + Why will ye turn from Him who reigns above + Because your highest words fall short? + Kneel--call + On Him whose Name--I AM--doth still enfold + Past, present, future, memory, hope and love. + No seed falls fruitless there._ + Beyond your Father's care-- + _The old covenant still holds fast_--no bird, no leaf can fall. + + + IX + + O Time, thou mask of the ever-living Soul, + Thou veil to shield us from that blinding Face, + Thou art wearing thin! We are nearer to the goal + When man no more shall need thy saving grace, + But all the folded years like one great scroll + Shall be unrolled in the omnipresent Now, + And He that saith _I am_ unseal the tomb: + Nearer His thunders and His trumpets roll, + I catch the gleam that lit thy lifted brow, + O singer whose wild eyes + Possess these April skies, + I touch--I clasp thy hands thro' all the clouds of doom. + + + X + + Teach thou our living choirs amid the sound + Of their tempestuous chords once more to hear + That harmony wherewith the whole is crowned, + The singing heavens that sphere by choral sphere + Break open, height o'er height, to the utmost bound + Of passionate thought! O, as this glorious land, + This sacred country shining on the sea, + Grows mightier, let not her clear voice be drowned + In the fierce waves of faction. Let her stand + A beacon to the blind, + A signal to mankind, + A witness to the heavens' profoundest unity. + + + XI + + Her altars are forgotten and her creeds + Dust, and her soul foregoes the lesser Cross. + O, point her to the greater! Her heart bleeds + Still, where men simply feel some vague deep loss. + Their hands grope earthward, knowing not what she needs. + We would not call her back in this great hour! + Nay, upward, onward, to the heights untrod + Signal us, living voices, by those deeds + Of all her deathless heroes, by the Power + That still, still walks her waves, + Still chastens her, still saves, + Signal us, not to the dead, but to the living God. + + + XII + + Signal us with that watchword of the deep, + The watchword that her boldest seamen gave + The winds of the unknown ocean-sea to keep, + When round their oaken walls the midnight wave + Heaved and subsided in gigantic sleep, + And they plunged Westward with her flag unfurled. + Hark, o'er their cloudy sails and glimmering spars, + The watch cries, as they proudly onward sweep,-- + _Before the world ... All's well!... Before the world_ ... + From mast to calling mast + The counter-cry goes past-- + _Before the world was God!_--it rings against the stars. + + + XIII + + Signal us o'er the little heavens of gold + With that heroic signal Nelson knew + When, thro' the thunder and flame that round him rolled, + He pointed to the dream that still held true. + Cry o'er the warring nations, cry as of old + _A little child shall lead them! they shall be + One people under the shadow of God's wing! + There shall be no more weeping!_ Let it be told + That Britain set one foot upon the sea, + One foot on the earth. Her eyes + Burned thro' the conquered skies, + And, as the angel of God, she bade the whole world sing. + + + XIV + + A dream? Nay, have ye heard or have ye known + That the everlasting God who made the ends + Of all creation wearieth? His worlds groan + Together in travail still. Still He descends + From heaven. The increasing worlds are still His throne + And His creative Calvary and His tomb + Through which He sinks, dies, triumphs with each and all, + And ascends, multitudinous and at one + With all the hosts of His evolving doom, + His vast redeeming strife, + His everlasting life, + His love, beyond which not one bird, one leaf can fall. + + + XV + + And hark, His whispers thro' creation flow, + _Lovest thou me?_ His nations answer "yea!" + And--_Feed My lambs_, His voice as long ago + Steals from that highest heaven, how far away! + And yet again saith--_Lovest thou Me?_ and "O, + Thou knowest we love Thee," passionately we cry: + But, heeding not our tumult, out of the deep + The great grave whisper, pitiful and low, + Breathes--_Feed My sheep_; and yet once more the sky + Thrills with that deep strange plea, + _Lovest thou, lovest thou Me?_ + And our lips answer "yea"; but our God--_Feed My sheep._ + + + XVI + + O sink not yet beneath the exceeding weight + Of splendour, thou still single-hearted voice + Of Britain. Droop not earthward now to freight + Thy soul with fragments of the song, rejoice + In no faint flights of music that create + Low heavens o'er-arched by skies without a star, + Nor sink in the easier gulfs of shallower pain! + Sing thou in the whole majesty of thy fate, + Teach us thro' joy, thro' grief, thro' peace, thro' war, + With single heart and soul + Still, still to seek the goal, + And thro' our perishing heavens, point us to Heaven again. + + + XVII + + Voice of the summer stars that long ago + Sang thro' the old oak-forests of our isle, + An ocean-music that thou ne'er couldst know + Storms Heaven--O, keep us steadfast all the while; + Not idly swayed by tides that ebb and flow, + But strong to embrace the whole vast symphony + Wherein no note (no bird, no leaf) can fall + Beyond His care, to enfold it all as though + Thy single harp were ours, its unity + In battle like one sword, + And O, its one reward + One spray of the sacred oak, still coveted most of all. + + + + +THE WORLD'S WEDDING + +"Et quid curae nobis de generibus et speciebus? Ex uno Verbo omnia, et +unum loquuntur omnia. Cui omnia unum sunt, quique ad unum omnia trahit +et omnia in uno videt, potest stabilis corde esse."--THOMAS A KEMPIS. + + + I + + When poppies fired the nut-brown wheat, + My love went by with sun-stained feet: + I followed her laughter, followed her, followed her, all a summer's + morn! + But O, from an elfin palace of air, + A wild bird sang a song so rare, + I stayed to listen and--lost my Fair, + And walked the world forlorn. + + + II + + When chalk shone white between the sheaves, + My love went by as one that grieves; + I followed her weeping, followed her, followed her, all an autumn noon! + The sunset flamed so fierce a red + From North to South--I turned my head + To wonder--and my Fair was fled + Beyond the dawning moon. + + + III + + When bare black boughs were choked with snow, + My love went by, as long ago; + I followed her dreaming, followed her, followed her, all a winter's + night! + But O, along that snow-white track + With thorny shadows printed black, + I saw three kings come riding back, + And--lost my life's delight. + + + IV + + They are so many, and she but One; + And I and she, like moon and sun + So separate ever! Ah yet, I follow her, follow her, faint and far; + For what if all this diverse bliss + Should run together in one kiss! + Swift, Spring, with the sweet clue I miss + Between these several instances,-- + The kings, that inn, that star. + + + V + + Between the hawk's and the wood-dove's wing, + My love, my love flashed by like Spring! + The year had finished its golden ring! + Earth, the Gipsy, and Heaven, the King, + Were married like notes in the song I sing, + And O, I followed her, followed her, followed her over the hills of + Time, + Never to lose her now I know, + For whom the sun was clasped in snow, + The heights linked to the depths below, + The rose's flush to the planet's glow, + Death the friend to life the foe, + The Winter's joy to the Spring's woe, + And the world made one in a rhyme. + + + + +IN MEMORIAM: SAMUEL COLERIDGE-TAYLOR + + + _Farewell!_ The soft mists of the sunset-sky + Slowly enfold his fading birch-canoe! + _Farewell!_ His dark, his desolate forests cry, + Moved to their vast, their sorrowful depths anew. + + Fading! Nay, lifted thro' a heaven of light, + His proud sails brightening thro' that crimson flame, + Leaving us lonely on the shores of night, + Home to Ponemah take his deathless fame. + + Generous as a child, so wholly free + From all base pride that fools forgot his crown, + He adored Beauty, in pure ecstasy, + And waived the mere rewards of his renown. + + The spark that falls from heaven not oft on earth + To human hearts this vital splendour gives; + His was the simple, true, immortal birth. + Scholars compose; but--_this man's music lives_! + + Greater than England or than Earth discerned, + He never paltered with his art for gain: + When many a vaunted crown to dust is turned, + This uncrowned king shall take his throne and reign. + + Nations unborn shall hear his forests moan; + Ages unscanned shall hear his winds lament, + Hear the strange grief that deepened through his own + The vast cry of a buried continent. + + Through him, his race a moment lifted up + Forests of hands to Beauty as in prayer; + Touched through his lips the sacramental Cup, + And then sank back--benumbed in our bleak air. + + Through him, through him, a lost world hailed the light! + The tragedy of that triumph none can tell,-- + So great, so brief, so quickly snatched from sight; + And yet--O hail, great comrade, not farewell! + + + + +INSCRIPTION + +(_For the Grave of Coleridge-Taylor_) + + + Sleep, crowned with fame; fearless of change or time. + Sleep, like remembered music in the soul, + Silent, immortal; while our discords climb + To that great chord which shall resolve the whole. + + Silent with Mozart on that solemn shore; + Secure where neither waves nor hearts can break; + Sleep--till the Master of the World, once more, + Touch the remembered strings, and bid thee wake.... + + Touch the remembered strings, and bid thee wake. + + + + +VALUES + + + The moon that sways the rhythmic seas, + The wheeling earth, the marching sky,-- + I ask not whence the order came + That moves them all as one. + + These are your chariots. Nor shall these + Appal me with immensity; + I know they carry one heart of flame + More precious than the sun. + + + + +THE HEROIC DEAD + +(_On the loss of the Titanic_) + + + If in the noon they doubted, in the night + They never swerved. Death had no power to appal. + There was one Way, one Truth, one Life, one Light, + One Love that shone triumphant over all. + + If in the noon they doubted, at the last + There was no Way to part, no Way but One + That rolled the waves of Nature back and cast + In ancient days a shadow across the sun. + + If in the noon they doubted, their last breath + Saluted once again the eternal goal, + Chanted a love-song in the face of Death + And rent the veil of darkness from the soul. + + If in the noon they doubted, in the night + They waved the shadowy world of strife aside, + Flooded high heaven with an immortal light, + And taught the deep how its Creator died. + + + + +THE CRY IN THE NIGHT + + + It tears at the heart in the night, that moan of the wind, + That desolate moan. + It is worse than the cry of a child. I can hardly bear + To hear it, alone. + + It is worse than the sobbing of love, when love is estranged: + For this is a cry + Out of the desolate ages. It never has changed. + It never can die. + + A cry over numberless graves, dark, helpless and blind, + From the measureless past, + To the measureless future, a sobbing before the first laughter, + And after the last! + + * * * * * + + From the height of creation, in passion eternal, the Word + Rushes forth, the loud cry, + _Forsaken! Forsaken!_ It cuts through the night like a sword! + Shall it win no reply? + + Not of earth is that height of all sorrow, past time, out of space, + Therefore here, here and now, + Universal, a Calvary, crowned with Thy passionate face, + Thy thorn-wounded brow. + + Ah, could I shrink if Thy heart for each heart upon earth + Must break like a sea? + Could I hear, could I bear it at all, if I were not a part + Of this labour in Thee? + + Shall I accuse Thee, then? God, I account it my own + All the grief I can bear, + On Thy Cross of Creation, to balance earth's bliss and atone, + Atone for life there. + + If this be the One Way for ever, which not Thine all-might + Could change, if it would, + Till the truth be untrue, till the dark be the same as the light, + And till evil be good, + + Shall I who took part in Thine April, shrink now from my part + In Thine anguish to be? + If Thy goal be the One goal of all, shall not even man's heart + Endure this, with Thee; + + Die with Thee, balancing life, or help Thee to pay + For our hope with our pain?... + _O, the voice of the wind in the night! Is it day, then, broad day, + On the blind earth again?_ + + + + +ASTRID + +(_An Experiment in Initial Rhymes_) + + + White-armed Astrid,--ah, but she was beautiful!-- + Nightly wandered weeping thro' the ferns in the moon, + Slowly, weaving her strange garland in the forest, + Crowned with white violets, + Gowned in green. + Holy was that glen where she glided, + Making her wild garland as Merlin had bidden her, + Breaking off the milk-white horns of the honey-suckle, + Sweetly dripped the dew upon her small white + Feet. + + White-throated Astrid,--ah, but she was beautiful!-- + Nightly sought the answer to that riddle in the moon. + She must weave her garland, ere she save her soul. + Three long years she has wandered there in vain. + Always, always, the blossom that would finish it + Falls to her feet, and the garland breaks and vanishes, + Breaks like a dream in the dawn when the dreamer + Wakes. + + White-bosomed Astrid,--ah, but she was beautiful!-- + Nightly tastes the sorrow of the world in the moon. + Will it be this little white miracle, she wonders. + How shall she know it, the star that will save her? + Still, ah still, in the moonlight she crouches + Bowing her head, for the garland has crumbled! + All the wild petals for the thousand and second time + Fall. + + White-footed Astrid,--ah, but she is beautiful!-- + Nightly seeks the secret of the world in the moon. + She will find the secret. She will find the golden + Key to the riddle, on the night when she has numbered them, + Marshalled all her wild flowers, ordered them as music, + Star by star, note by note, changing them and ranging them, + Suddenly, as at a kiss, all will flash together, + Flooding like the dawn thro' the arches of the woodland, + Fern and thyme and violet, maiden-hair and primrose + Turn to the Rose of the World, and He shall fold her, + Kiss her on the mouth, saying, all the world is one now, + This is the secret of the music that the soul hears,-- + This. + + + + +THE INIMITABLE LOVERS + + + They tell this proud tale of the Queen--Cleopatra, + Subtlest of women that the world has ever seen, + How that, on the night when she parted with her lover + Anthony, tearless, dry-throated, and sick-hearted, + A strange thing befell them in the darkness where they stood. + + Bitter as blood was that darkness. + And they stood in a deep window, looking to the west. + Her white breast was brighter than the moon upon the sea, + And it moved in her agony (because it was the end!) + Like a deep sea, where many had been drowned. + Proud ships that were crowned with an Emperor's eagles + Were sunken there forgotten, with their emeralds and gold. + They had drunken of that glory, and their tale was told, utterly, + Told. + + There, as they parted, heart from heart, mouth from mouth, + They stared upon each other. They listened. + For the South-wind + Brought them a rumour from afar; and she said, + Lifting her head, too beautiful for anguish, + Too proud for pity,-- + _It is the gods that leave the City! O, Anthony, + Anthony, the gods have forsaken us; + Because it is the end! They leave us to our doom. + Hear it!_ And unshaken in the darkness, + Dull as dropping earth upon a tomb in the distance, + They heard, as when across a wood a low wind comes, + A muttering of drums, drawing nearer, + Then louder and clearer, as when a trumpet sings + To battle, it came rushing on the wings of the wind, + A sound of sacked cities, a sound of lamentation, + A cry of desolation, as when a conquered nation + Is weeping in the darkness, because its tale is told; + And then--a sound of chariots that rolled thro' that sorrow + Trampled like a storm of wild stallions, tossing nearer, + Trampled louder, clearer, triumphantly as music, + Till lo! in that great darkness, along that vacant street, + A red light beat like a furnace on the walls, + Then--like the blast when the North-wind calls to battle, + Blaring thro' the blood-red tumult and the flame, + Shaking the proud City as they came, an hundred elephants, + Cream-white and bronze, and splashed with bitter crimson, + Trumpeting for battle as they trod, an hundred elephants, + Bronze and cream-white, and trapped with gold and purple, + Towered like tusked castles, every thunder-laden footfall + Dreadful as the shattering of a City. Yet they trod, + Rocking like an earthquake, to a great triumphant music, + And, swinging like the stars, black planets, white moons, + Thro' the stream of the torches, they brought the red chariot, + The chariot of the battle-god--Mars. + While the tall spears of Sparta tossed clashing in his train, + And a host of ghostly warriors cried aloud + _All hail!_ to those twain, and went rushing to the darkness + Like a pageantry of cloud, for their tale was told--utterly-- + Told. + + And following, in the fury of the vine, rushing down + Like a many-visaged torrent, with ivy-rod and thyrse, + And many a wild and foaming crown of roses, + Crowded the Bacchanals, the brown-limbed shepherds, + The red-tongued leopards, and the glory of the god! + _Iacchus! Iacchus!_ without dance, without song, + They cried and swept along to the darkness. + Only for a breath when the tumult of their torches + Crimsoned the deep window where that dark warrior stood + With the blood upon his mail, and the Queen--Cleopatra, + Frozen to white marble--the Maenads raised their timbrels, + Tossed their white arms, with a clash--_All hail!_ + Like wild swimmers, pale, in a sea of blood and wine, + _All hail! All hail!_ Then they swept into the darkness + And the darkness buried them. Their tale was told--utterly-- + Told. + + And following them, O softer than the moon upon the sea, + Aphrodite, implacably, shone. + Like a furnace of white roses, Aphrodite and her train + Lifted their white arms to those twain in the silence + Once, and were gone into the darkness; + Once, and away into the darkness they were swept + Like a pageantry of cloud, without praise, without pity. + Then the dark City slept. And the Queen--Cleopatra-- + Subtlest of women that this earth has ever seen, + Turning to her lover in the darkness where he stood, + With the blood upon his mail, + Bowing her head upon that iron in the darkness, + Wept. + + + + +THE CRAGS + +(_In memory of Thomas Bailey Aldrich_) + + + Falernian, first! What other wine + Should brim the cup or tint the line + That would recall my days + Among your creeks and bays; + + Where, founded on a rock, your house + Between the pines' unfading boughs + Watches through sun and rain + That lonelier coast of Maine; + + And the Atlantic's mounded blue + Breaks on your crags the summer through, + A long pine's length below, + In rainbow-tossing snow. + + While on your railed verandah there + As on a deck you sail through air, + And sea and cloud and sky + Go softly streaming by. + + Like delicate oils at set of sun + Smoothing the waves the colours run-- + Around the enchanted hull, + Anchored and beautiful,-- + + Restoring to that sun-dried star + You brought from coral isles afar-- + With shells that mock the moon-- + The tints of their lagoon; + + Till, from within, your lamps declare + Your harbours by the colours there, + An Indian god, a fan + Painted in Old Japan. + + But, best of all, I think at night, + The moon that makes a road of light + Across the whispering sea, + A road--for memory. + + When the blue dusk has filled the pane, + And the great pine-logs burn again, + And books are good to read. + --For his were books indeed.-- + + Their silken shadows, rustling, dim, + May sing no more of Spain for him; + No shadows of old France + Renew their courtly dance. + + He walks no more where shadows are + But left their ivory gates ajar, + That shadows might prolong + The dance, the tale, the song. + + His was no narrow test or rule. + He chose the best of every school,-- + Stendhal and Keats and Donne, + Balzac and Stevenson; + + Wordsworth and Flaubert filled their place. + Dumas met Hawthorne face to face. + There were both new and old + In his good realm of gold. + + The title-pages bore his name; + And, nightly, by the dancing flame, + Following him, I found + That all was haunted ground; + + Until a friendlier shadow fell + Upon the leaves he loved so well, + And I no longer read, + But talked with him instead. + + + + +THE GHOST OF SHAKESPEARE + +1914 + + + Crimson was the twilight, under that crab-tree, + Where--old tales tell us--all a midsummer's night, + A mad young poacher, drunk with mead of elfin-land, + Lodged with the fern-owl, and looked at the stars. + + There, from the dusk where the dream of Piers Plowman + Darkens on the sunset, to this dusk of our own, + I read, in a history, the record of our world. + + The hawk-moth, the currant-moth, the red-striped tiger-moth + Shimmered all around me, so white shone those pages; + And, in among the blue boughs, the bats flew low. + + I slumbered, the history slipped from my hand. + Then I saw a dead man, dreadful in the moon-dawn, + The ghost of the master, bowed upon that book. + He muttered as he searched it,--_what vast convulsion + Mocks my sexton's curse now, shakes our English clay?_ + Whereupon I told him, and asked him in turn + Whether he espied any light in those pages + Which painted an epoch later than his own. + _I am a shadow_, he said, _and I see none_.... + + _I am a shadow_, he said, _and I see none_. + + Then, O then he murmured to himself (while the moon hung + Crimson as a lanthorn of Cathay in that crab-tree), + Laughing at his work and the world, as I thought, + Yet with some bitterness, yet with some beauty, + Mocking his own music, these wraiths of his rhymes: + + + I + + God, when I turn the leaves of that dark book + Wherein our wisest teach us to recall + Those glorious flags which in old tempests shook + And those proud thrones which held my youth in thrall; + + When I see clear what seemed to childish eyes + The gorgeous colouring of each pictured age; + And for their dominant tints now recognise + Those prints of innocent blood on every page; + + O, then I know this world is fast asleep, + Bound in Time's womb, till some far morning break; + And, though light grows upon the dreadful deep, + We are dungeoned in thick night. We are not awake. + + The world's unborn, for all our hopes and schemes; + And all its myriads only move in dreams. + + + II + + Read what our wisest chroniclers record:-- + A king betrayed both foes and friends to death, + Delivered his own country to the sword, + And lied, and lied, and lied to his last breath. + + He died, the martyred anarch of his time. + What balm is this that consecrates his dust? + The self-same history shudders at the "crime" + Which shed a blood so fragrant, so "august." + + Yes. Let our sons by thousands, millions, die; + And when the crowned assassin of to-day + Stands in the Judgment Hall of Liberty + What shall your desolate nations rise and say? + + Honour the dog. He's vanquished! He's a king! + So--for our dead--he's too "august" a thing. + + + III + + _It was a crimson twilight, under that crab-tree. + Moths beat about me, and bats flew low. + I read, in a history, the record of our world. + If there be light, said the Master, + I am a shadow, and I see none.... + I am a shadow, and I see none._ + + + + +THE WHITE CLIFFS + + + Woden made the red cliffs, the red walls of England. + Round the South of Devonshire, they burn against the blue. + Green is the water there; and, clear as liquid sunlight, + Blue-green as mackerel, the bays that Raleigh knew. + + Thor made the black cliffs, the battlements of England, + Climbing to Tintagel where the white gulls wheel. + Cold are the caverns there, and sullen as a cannon-mouth, + Booming back the grey swell that gleams like steel. + + Balder made the white cliffs, the white shield of England + (Crowned with thyme and violet where Sussex wheatears fly), + White as the White Ensign are the bouldered heights of Dover, + Beautiful the scutcheon that they bare against the sky. + + _So the world shall sing of them--the white cliffs of England, + White, the glory of her sails, the banner of her pride. + One and all,--their seamen met and broke the dread Armada. + Only white may show the world the shield for which they died._ + + + + +ON THE SOUTH COAST + + + Come away into the sun and see + All the heavens that used to be, + Daily, hourly, brought to birth + Out of the deep remembering earth. + + _This is England, this is the land + That holds my heart in her sweet hand. + This is she whose turf, I pray, + Will hide me, on her breast, one day._ + + Cast you down on the close-cropped turf, + See how the white cliff spreads the surf, + On green-eyed seas that glitter and trail + Into the south like a peacock's tail. + + Then, come away over the hills of thyme, + Where folds like elfin belfries chime + Till Eve, in a cloud of her dusky hair, + Makes it Elf-land everywhere. + + You shall pity the king on his throne. + You shall know what never was known. + All the glory of all the skies + Utterly yours in your true love's eyes; + + All the bloom to the world's end + And all the heavens that over it bend, + Compacted in one garden white, + The garden of your love's delight. + + _This is England, this is the land + That holds my soul in her sweet hand. + This is she whose turf, I pray, + Will hide me on her heart one day._ + + + + +OLDER THAN THE HILLS + + + Older than the hills, older than the sea, + Older than the heart of the Spring, + O, what is this that breaks + From the blind shell, wakes, + Wakes, and is gone like a wing? + + Older than the sea, older than the moon, + Older than the heart of the May, + What is this blind refrain + Of a song that shall remain + When the singer is long gone away? + + Older than the moon, older than the stars, + Older than the wind in the night,-- + Though the young dews are sweet + On the heather at our feet + And the blue hills laughing back the light,-- + + Till the stars grow young, till the hills grow young, + O, Love, we shall walk through Time, + Till we round the world at last, + And the future be the past, + And the winds of Eden greet us from the prime. + + + + +THE TORCH + +(_Sussex Landscape_) + + + Is it your watch-fire, elves, where the down with its darkening shoulder + Lifts on the death of the sun, out of the valley of thyme? + Dropt on the broad chalk path and, cresting the ridge of it, smoulder + Crimson as blood on the white, halting my feet as they climb, + + Clusters of clover-bloom, spilled from what negligent arms in the tender + Dusk of the great grey world, last of the tints of the day; + Beautiful, sorrowful, strange last stain of that perishing splendour. + Elves, from what torn white feet trickled that red on the way? + + No--from the sun-burnt hands of what lovers that fade in the distance? + Here, was it here that they paused, here that the legend was told? + Even a kiss would be heard in this hush; but, with mocking insistence, + Now thro' the valley resound--only the bells of the fold. + + Dropt--from the hands of what beautiful throng? Did they cry "_follow + after_"? + Dancing into the west, leaving this token for me, + _Memory dead on the path, and the sunset to bury their laughter?_ + Youth--is it youth that has flown? Darkness covers the sea. + + Darkness covers the earth; but the path is here! I assay it. + Let the bloom fall like a flake--dropt from the torch of a friend! + Beautiful revellers, happy companions, I see and obey it; + Follow your torch in the night, follow your path to the end. + + + + +THE OUTLAW + + + Deep in the greenwood of my heart + My wild hounds race. + I cloak my soul at feast and mart, + I mask my face; + + Outlawed, but not alone, for Truth + Is outlawed, too. + Proud world, you cannot banish us. + _We_ banish _you_. + + Go by, go by, with all your din, + Your dust, your greed, your guile, + Your gold, your thrones can never win-- + From Her--one smile. + + She sings to me in a lonely place, + She takes my hand. + I look into her lovely face + And understand.... + + Outlawed, but not alone, for Love + Is outlawed, too. + You cannot banish us, proud world. + _We_ banish _you_. + + Now which is outlawed, which alone? + Around us fall and rise + Murmurs of leaf and fern, the moan + Of Paradise. + + Outlawed? Then hills and woods and streams + Are outlawed, too! + Proud world, from our immortal dreams, + We banish you. + + + + +THE YOUNG FRIAR + + + When leaves broke out on the wild briar, + And bells for matins rung, + Sorrow came to the old friar + --Hundreds of years ago it was!-- + And May came to the young. + + The old was ripening for the sky, + The young was twenty-four. + The Franklin's daughter passed him by, + Reading a painted missal-book, + Beside the chapel door. + + With brown cassock and sandalled feet, + And red Spring wine for blood; + The very next noon he chanced to meet + The Franklin's daughter, in a green May twilight, + Walking through the wood. + + _Pax vobiscum_--to a maid + The crosiered ferns among! + But hers was only the Saxon, + And his the Norman tongue; + And the Latin taught by the old friar + Made music for the young. + + And never a better deed was done + By Mother Church below + Than when she made old England one, + --Hundreds of years ago it was!-- + Hundreds of years ago. + + Rich was the painted page they read + Before that sunset died; + Nut-brown hood by golden head, + Murmuring _Rosa Mystica_, + While nesting thrushes cried. + + A Saxon maid with flaxen hair, + And eyes of Sussex grey; + A young monk out of Normandy:-- + "May is our Lady's month," he said, + "And O, my love, my May!" + + Then over the fallen missal-book + The missel-thrushes sung + Till--_Domus Aurea_--rose the moon + And bells for vespers rung. + It was gold and blue for the old friar, + But hawthorn for the young. + + For gown of green and brown hood, + Before that curfew tolled, + Had flown for ever through the wood + --Hundreds of years ago it was!-- + But twenty summers old. + + And empty stood his chapel stall, + Empty his thin grey cell, + Empty her seat in the Franklin's hall; + And there were swords that searched for them + Before the matin bell. + + And, crowders tell, a sword that night + Wrought them an evil turn, + And that the may was not more white + Than those white bones the robin found + Among the roots of fern. + + But others tell of stranger things + Half-heard on Whitsun eves, + Of sweet and ghostly whisperings-- + Though hundreds of years ago it was-- + Among the ghostly leaves:-- + + _Sero te amavi_-- + Grey eyes of sun-lit dew!-- + _Tam antiqua, Tam nova_-- + Augustine heard it, too. + Late have I loved that May, Lady, + So ancient, and so new! + + And no man knows where they were flown, + For the wind takes the may: + But white and fresh the may was blown + --Though hundreds of years ago it was-- + As this that blooms to-day. + + And the leaves break out on the wild briar, + And bells must still be rung; + But sorrow comes to the old friar, + For he remembers a May, a May, + When his old heart was young. + + + + +A FOREST SONG + + + Who would be a king + That can sit in the sun and sing? + Nay, I have a kingdom of mine own. + A fallen oak-tree is my throne. + _Then, pluck the strings, and tell me true + If Caesar in his glory knew + The worlds he lost in sun and dew._ + + Who would be a queen + That sees what my love hath seen?-- + The blood of little children shed + To make one royal ruby red! + _Then, tell me, music, why the great + For quarrelling trumpets abdicate + This quick, this absolute estate._ + + Nay, who would sing in heaven, + Among the choral Seven + That hears--as Love and I have heard, + The whole sky listening to one bird? + _And where's the ruby, tell me where, + Whose crimsons for one breath compare + With this wild rose that all may share?_ + + + + +THE TRUMPET OF THE LAW + +(_Phi Beta Kappa Poem, Harvard, 1915_) + + + Music is dead. An age, an age is dying. + Shreds of Uranian song, wild symphonies + Tortured with moans of butchered innocents, + Blow past us on the wind. Chaos resumes + His kingdom. All the visions of the world, + The visions that were music, being shaped + By law, moving in measure, treading the road + That suns and systems tread, O who can hear + Their music now? Urania bows her head. + Only the feet that move in order dance. + Only the mind attuned to that dread pulse + Of law throughout the universe can sing. + Only the soul that plays its rhythmic part + In that great measure of the tides and suns + Terrestrial and celestial, till it soar + Into the supreme melodies of heaven, + Only that soul, climbing the splendid road + Of law from height to height, may walk with God, + Shape its own sphere from chaos, conquer death, + Lay hold on life and liberty, and sing. + + Yet, since, at least, the fleshly heart must beat + In measure, and no new rebellion breaks + That old restriction, murmurs reach it still, + Rumours of that vast music which resolves + Our discords, and to this, to this attuned, + Though blindly, it responds, in notes like these: + + There was a song in heaven of old, + A song the choral seven began, + When God with all his chariots rolled + The tides of chaos back for man; + When suns revolved and planets wheeled, + And the great oceans ebbed and flowed, + There is one way of life, it pealed, + The road of law, the unchanging road. + + The trumpet of the law resounds, + And we behold, from depth to height, + What glittering sentries walk their rounds, + What ordered hosts patrol the night, + While wheeling worlds proclaim to us, + Captained by Thee thro' nights unknown,-- + _Glory that would be glorious + Must keep Thy law to find its own._ + + Beyond rebellion, past caprice, + From heavens that comprehend all change, + All space, all time, till time shall cease, + The trumpet rings to souls that range, + To souls that in wild dreams annul + Thy word, confessed by wood and stone,-- + _Beauty that would be beautiful + Must keep Thy law to find its own._ + + He that can shake it, will he thrust + His careless hands into the fire? + He that would break it, shall we trust + The sun to rise at his desire? + Constant above our discontent, + The trumpet peals in sterner tone,-- + _Might that would be omnipotent + Must keep Thy law to find its own._ + + Ah, though beneath unpitying spheres + Unreckoned seems our human cry, + In Thy deep law, beyond the years, + Abides the Eternal memory. + Thy law is light, to eyes grown dull + Dreaming of worlds like bubbles blown; + _And Mercy that is merciful + Shall keep Thy law and find its own._ + + Unchanging God, by that one Light + Through which we grope to Truth and Thee, + Confound not yet our day with night, + Break not the measures of Thy sea. + Hear not, though grief for chaos cry + Or rail at Thine unanswering throne. + _Thy law, Thy law, is liberty, + And in Thy law we find our own._ + + So, to Uranian music, rose our world. + The boughs put forth, the young leaves groped for light. + The wild flower spread its petals as in prayer. + Then, for terrestrial ears, vast discords rose, + The struggle in the jungle, clashing themes + That strove for mastery; but above them all, + Ever the mightier measure of the suns + Resolved them into broader harmonies, + That fought again for mastery. The night + Buried the mastodon. The warring tribes + Of men were merged in nations. Wider laws + Embraced them. Man no longer fought with man, + Though nation warred with nation. Hatred fell + Before the gaze of love. For in an hour + When, by the law of might, mankind could rise + No higher, into the deepening music stole + A loftier theme, a law that gathered all + The laws of earth into its broadening breast + And moved like one full river to the sea, + The law of Love. + The sun stood dark at noon; + Dark as the moon before this mightier Power, + And a Voice rang across the blood-stained earth: + _I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, the Light._ + We heard it, and we did not hear. In dreams + We caught a thousand fragments of the strain, + But never wholly heard it. We moved on + Obeying it a little, till our world + Became so vast, that we could only hear + Stray notes, a golden phrase, a sorrowful cry, + Never the rounded glory of the whole. + So one would sing of death, one of despair, + And some, knowing that God was more than man, + Knowing that the Eternal Power behind + Our universe was more than man, would shrink + From crowning Him with human attributes, + Though these remained the highest that we knew; + And therefore, falling back on lower signs, + Bereft of love, thought, personality, + They made Him less than man; made Him a blind + Unweeting force, less than the best in man, + Less than the best that He Himself had made. + + Yet, though from earth we could no longer hear + As from a central throne, the harmonies + Of the revolving whole; yet though from earth, + And from earth's Calvary, the central scene + Withdrew to dreadful depths beyond our ken; + Withdrew to some deep Calvary at the heart + Of all creation; yet, O yet, we heard, + Echoes that murmured from Eternity, + _I am the Way, the Truth, the Life, the Light._ + And still the eternal passion undiscerned + Moved like a purple shadow through our world, + While we, in intellectual chaos, raised + The ancient cry, _Not this man, but Barabbas._ + Then Might grew Right once more, for who could hold + The Right, when the rebellious hearts of men + Finding the Law too hard in life, thought, art, + Proclaimed that Right itself was born of chance, + Born out of nothingness and doomed, at last, + To nothingness; while all that men have held + Better than dust--love, honour, justice, truth-- + Was less than dust, for the blind dust endures? + But love, they said, and the proud soul of man, + Die with the breath, before the flesh decays. + And still, amidst the chaos, Love was born, + Suffered and died; and in a myriad forms + A myriad parables of the Eternal Christ + Unfolded their deep message to mankind. + So, on this last wild winter of his birth, + Though cannon rocked his cradle, heaven might hear, + Once more, the Mother and her infant Child. + + _Will the Five Clock-Towers chime tonight?_ + --Child, the red earth would shake with scorn.-- + _But will the Emperors laugh outright + If Roland rings that Christ is born?_ + + No belfries pealed for that pure birth. + There were no high-stalled choirs to sing. + The blood of children smoked on earth; + For Herod, in those days, was king.-- + + _O, then the Mother and her Son + Were refugees that Christmas, too?_-- + Through all the ages, little one, + That strange old story still comes true.-- + + _Was there no peace in Bethlehem?_-- + Yes. There was Love in one poor Inn; + And, while His wings were over them, + They heard those deeper songs begin.-- + + _What songs were they? What songs were they? + Did stars of shrapnel shed their light?_-- + O, little child, I have lost the way. + I cannot find that Inn tonight.-- + + _Is there no peace, then, anywhere?_-- + Perhaps, where some poor soldier lies + With all his wounds in front, out there.-- + _You weep?_--He had your innocent eyes.-- + + _Then is it true that Christ's a slave, + Whom all these wrongs can never rouse?_-- + They said it. But His anger drave + The money-changers from His House.-- + + _Yet He forgave and turned away._-- + Yes, unto seventy times and seven. + But they forget. He comes one day + In power, among the clouds of heaven.-- + + _Then Roland rings?_--Yes, little son! + With iron hammers they dare not scorn, + Roland is breaking them, gun by gun, + Roland is ringing. Christ is born. + + Born and re-born; for though the Christ we knew + On earth be dead for ever, who shall kill + The Eternal Christ whose law is in our hearts, + Christ, who in this dark hour descends to hell, + And ascends into heaven, and sits beside + The right hand of the Father. If for men + This law be dead, it lives for children still. + Children that men have butchered see His face, + Rest in His arms, and strike our mockery dumb. + So shall the trumpet of the law resound + Through all the ages, telling of that child + Whose outstretched arms in Belgium speak for God. + + They crucified a Man of old, + The thorns are shrivelled on His brow. + Prophet or fool or God, behold, + They crucify Thy children now. + They doubted evil, doubted good, + And the eternal heavens as well, + Behold, the iron and the blood, + The visible handiwork of Hell. + + Fast to the cross they found it there, + They found it in the village street, + A naked child, with sunkissed hair. + The nails were through its hands and feet. + For Christ was dead, yes, Christ was dead! + O Lamb of God, O little one, + I kneel before your cross instead + And the same shadow veils the sun.... + + And the same shadow veils the sun.... + + But you, O land, O beautiful land of Freedom, + Hold fast the faith which made and keeps you great. + With you, with you abide the faith and hope, + In this dark hour, of agonised mankind. + Hold to that law whereby the warring tribes + Were merged in nations, hold to that wide law + Which bids you merge the nations, here and now, + Into one people. Hold to that deep law + Whereby we reach the peace which is not death + But the triumphant harmony of Life, + Eternal Life, immortal Love, the Peace + Of worlds that sing around the throne of God. + + + + +THRICE-ARMED + + + Thus only should it come, if come it must-- + Not with a riot of flags and a mob-born cry, + But with a noble faith, a conscience high + That, if we fail, we failed not in our trust. + We fought for peace. We dared the bitter thrust + Of calumny for peace, and watched her die, + Her scutcheons rent from sky to outraged sky + By felon hands and trampled into the dust. + + We proffered justice, and we saw the law + Cancelled by stroke on stroke of those deft hands + Which still retain the imperial forger's pen. + They must have blood--Then, at this last, we draw + The sword, not with a riot of flags and bands, + But silence, and a mustering of men. + + They challenge Truth. A people makes reply, + East, West, North, South, one honour and one might, + From sea to sea, from height to war-worn height, + The old word rings out--to conquer or to die. + And we shall conquer! Though their eagles fly + Through heaven, around this ancient isle unite + Powers that were never vanquished in the fight, + The unconquerable Powers that cannot lie. + + Though fire destroy her flesh, and many a year + This land forgot the faith that made her great, + Now, as her fleets cast off the North Sea foam, + Casting aside all faction and all fear, + Thrice-armed in all the majesty of her fate, + Britain remembers, and her sword strikes home. + + + + +THE SONG-TREE + + + Grow, my song, like a tree, + As thou hast ever grown, + Since first, a wondering child, + Long since, I cherished thee. + It was at break of day, + Well I remember it,-- + The first note that I heard, + A magical undertone, + Sweeter than any bird + --Or so it seemed to me-- + And my tears ran wild. + This tale, this tale is true. + The light was growing gray; + And the rhymes ran so sweet + (For I was only a child) + That I knelt down to pray. + + Grow, my song, like a tree. + Since then I have forgot + A thousand friends, but not + The song that set me free, + So that to thee I gave + My hopes and my despairs, + My boyhood's ecstasy, + My manhood's prayers. + In dreams I have watched thee grow, + A ladder of sweet boughs, + Where angels come and go, + And birds keep house. + In dreams, I have seen thee wave + Over a distant land, + And watched thy roots expand, + And given my life to thee, + As I would give my grave. + + Grow, my song, like a tree, + And when I am grown old, + Let me die under thee, + Die to enrich thy mould; + Die at thy roots, and so + Help thee to grow. + Make of this body and blood + Thy sempiternal food. + Then let some little child, + Some friend I shall not see, + When the great dawn is gray, + Some lover I have not known, + In summers far away, + Sit listening under thee. + And in thy rustling hear + That mystical undertone, + Which made my tears run wild, + And made thee, O, how dear. + + In the great years to be? + I am proud then? 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