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diff --git a/old/51592-0.txt b/old/51592-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index e538b10..0000000 --- a/old/51592-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,3037 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems in Many Lands, by Rennell Rodd - -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/license - - -Title: Poems in Many Lands - -Author: Rennell Rodd - -Release Date: March 29, 2016 [EBook #51592] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS IN MANY LANDS *** - - - - -Produced by Larry B. Harrison, Chuck Greif and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - POEMS IN MANY LANDS - - Ballantyne Press - BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO., EDINBURGH - CHANDOS STREET, LONDON - - - - - POEMS IN MANY LANDS - - BY - - RENNELL RODD - - [Illustration] - - LONDON - DAVID BOGUE, 3, ST. MARTIN’S PLACE - TRAFALGAR SQUARE, W.C. - 1883. - - - - -PREFACE. - - -The kind reception my first small volume of “Songs in the South” met -with, has induced me to include a few of those poems in this more -complete volume of early lyrics. - -I have to acknowledge the permission to reprint one or two poems which -have been previously published in magazines, or as songs. - -R. R. - -_December, 1882._ - - - - -CONTENTS. - - - - PAGE - -A STAR-DREAM 1 - -THE DAISY 3 - -“THOSE DAYS ARE LONG DEPARTED” 4 - -IN APRIL 6 - -IN THE WOODS 7 - -A SUMMER SONG 8 - -THE BURDEN OF AUTUMN 10 - -“TO WONDER AND BE STILL” 11 - -AN ANSWER 13 - -THE POET 14 - -VICTORY 15 - -“AH! WILD SWANS” 16 - -DAY’S END 19 - -FROM THE ROADSIDE 20 - -A DIRGE FOR LOVE 22 - -NOS COLLINES D’AUTREFOIS 24 - -THE TWO GATES 25 - -GETTATI AL VENTO 26 - -THE SEA-KING’S GRAVE 29 - -DISILLUSION 33 - -ON THE BORDER HILLS 35 - -WHEN HE HAD FINISHED 36 - -THE LONELY BAY 37 - -MUSIC 40 - -WHAT HOLDS THEE BACK 41 - -WORDS FOR MUSIC 42 - -BELLA DONNA 47 - -JOSEPH BARA 46 - -IN CHARTRES CATHEDRAL 53 - -BY THE ANNIO 55 - -BY THE CRUCIFIX 58 - -“UNE HEURE VIENDRA QUI TOUT PAIERA” 60 - -IN THE ALPS 61 - -IN NÔTRE DAME DE 62 - -TWO SONNETS 67 - -AT LANUVIUM 69 - -A ROMAN MIRROR 71 - -THE SONG OF THE DEAD CHILD 73 - -NIGHT AT AVIGNON 78 - -WHERE THE RHONE GOES DOWN TO THE SEA 80 - -AT TIBER MOUTH 82 - -GARIBALDI IN ROME 88 - -ἙΡΑΝ ΤΩΝ ἉΔΥΝΑΤΩΝ 89 - -TRANSLATIONS 92 - -AVE ATQUE VALE 96 - -“IF ANY ONE RETURN” 99 - -HIC JACET 101 - -“WHEN I AM DEAD” 103 - -ST. CATHARINE OF EGYPT 105 - -ATALANTA 109 - -THEORETIKOS 111 - -ROME--I. FROM THE HILL OF GARDENS 114 - - II. IN THE COLISEUM 116 - - III. IN A CHURCH 117 - -SEA-PICTURES--FRANCE. - - I. SUNSET 120 - - II. TWILIGHT 121 - - III. STORM 122 - -A LAST WORD 124 - - - - - A STAR-DREAM. - - - There was a night when you and I - Looked up from where we lay, - When we were children, and the sky - Was not so far away. - - We looked towards the deep dark blue - Beyond our window bars, - And into all our dreaming drew - The spirit of the stars. - - We did not see the world asleep-- - We were already there! - We did not find the way so steep - To climb that starry stair. - - And faint at first and fitfully, - Then sweet and shrill and near, - We heard the eternal harmony - That only angels hear; - - And many a hue of many a gem - We found for you to wear, - And many a shining diadem - To bind about your hair. - - We saw beneath us faint and far - The little cloudlets strewn, - And I became a wandering star, - And you became my moon. - - Ah! have you found our starry skies? - Where are you all the years? - Oh, moon of many memories! - Oh, star of many tears! - - - - - THE DAISY. - - - With little white leaves in the grasses, - Spread wide for the smile of the sun, - It waits till the daylight passes, - And closes them one by one. - - I have asked why it closed at even, - And I know what it wished to say: - There are stars all night in the heaven, - And I am the star of day. - - - - -“THOSE DAYS ARE LONG DEPARTED.” - - - Those days are long departed, - Gone where the dead dreams are, - Since we two children started - To look for the morning star. - - We asked our way of the swallow - In his language that we knew, - We were sad we could not follow - So swift the dark bird flew. - - We set our wherry drifting - Between the poplar trees, - And the banks of meadows shifting - Were the shores of unknown seas. - - We talked of the white snow prairies - That lie by the Northern lights, - And of woodlands where the fairies - Are seen in the moonlit nights. - - Till one long day was over - And we grew too tired to roam, - And through the corn and clover - We slowly wandered home. - - Ah child! with love and laughter - We had journeyed out so far; - We who went in the big years after - To look for another star; - - But I go unbefriended - Through wind and rain and foam,-- - One day was hardly ended - When the angel took you home. - - - - - IN APRIL. - - - The diamond dew lies cool - In the violet cups athirst, - The buds are ready to burst, - The heart of the spring is full; - Great clouds dream over the sky, - The drops on the grass-blades glisten, - The daffodil droops to listen - As the wind from the South goes by, - For it came through the sea cliffs hollow, - With the dawning over the bay, - And the swallow, it said, the swallow, - The swallow comes home to-day. - - - - - IN THE WOODS. - - - This is a simple song - That the world sings every day, - Hark! as ye pass along - Ye that go by the way! - For the nightingale up in the oak-bough sings, - “_Be loyal, be true, true, true_,” - And the wood-dove sits with its folded wings, - And answers “_to you, to you_.” - And the thrush in the hedge, “_I am glad, be glad_,” - And the linnet, “_let love, let live_,” - And the wind in the rushes says, “_why so sad!_” - And the wind in the trees “_forgive!_” - While ever so high in the skies above - The heart of the lark o’erflows, - And “_I love, I love, and I love_,” - Is the only song he knows. - Hark! as ye pass along - Ye that go by the way! - This is the simple song - That the world sings every day. - - - - - A SUMMER SONG. - - - Summer in the world and morning, the far hills were in the mist, - And we watched the river borders, how the rush and ripple kist, - While the bird sang “Whither, whither,” and the wind said, - “Where I list.” - - And we saw the yellow kingcup, and the arrowhead look through, - From the silent, shallow waters, where the mirrored skies were blue, - And the flags about the swan’s nest kept the secret that we knew. - - In the hedge a thrush was singing, where the wild hopclusters are, - And the lowly ragged-robin, with its frailly fretted star, - While a soft wind brought the fragrance of the meadow-sweet from far. - - All its blushing bells a’ ringing, on a bank the foxglove grows, - Where the honeysuckle tangles in the thorns of the wild rose, - And a sudden sea of blue-bells from the wood-side overflows. - - And we watched the silver crescent of the wings of the wild dove - Circle swiftly in the sunlight through the aspen tops above, - And we felt the great world’s heart beat, in the gladness of our love. - - - - - THE BURDEN OF AUTUMN. - - - We are dying, said the flowers, - All the days are out of tune, - Spent are all the sungold hours, - And the glory that was June, - Dying, dying said the flowers. - The snow will hide the garden bed - While they sleep underground, - Wild winds will drift it overhead, - But they will slumber sound. - - We are going, said the swallows, - All the singing days are done, - Summer’s over, winter follows, - And we seek a warmer sun, - Going southward, said the swallows. - And I must watch them all depart - And find no song to sing, - Oh take the autumn from my heart - And give me back the spring! - - - - -“TO WONDER AND BE STILL.” - - - Oft in the starry middle night - I vex my heart in vain, - To set its mystic music right, - And find the hidden strain. - - To-night the summer moon is strong, - The little clouds drift past,-- - The wonder is too deep for song-- - The silence speaks at last. - - “Thou canst not match those harmonies - On moon-enamoured lute, - Serenely silent arch the skies, - And the great stars are mute; - - “Thou canst not tune to thine unrest - Their solemn calm above; - In silence thou shalt worship best, - And reverently love. - - “Beyond this night in which thou art, - There is a voice of spheres, - Which the eternal in thine heart - Remembers and reveres. - - “But how they sing in unison - Earth’s ear hath never heard, - So only in thine heart rings on - The song that has no word.” - - - - - AN ANSWER. - - - Take again thy shallow hearted reason - Groping dimly through the night in which thou art! - Very harmless fall the arrows of thy treason - On the worship and the wonder in my heart. - - I have drunk the everlasting fountains - Flowing downward from the infinite to me, - Seen the wonder of the moonrise in the mountains - And the glory of the sunset on the sea. - - - - - THE POET. - - - HE will come again as oft of old among you, - With his burden to fulfil;-- - Did ye hearken ever to the songs they sung you - Till the song was still? - - HE will bear again the scorn, the idle wonder, - And heart-hunger and love’s need; - You will drown the sound of music in your thunder, - And he will not heed. - - Singing unperplexed above the mocking laughter - Till his day be overpast; - Till the music dies, and silence follows after - And ye turn at last,-- - - Then when all the echoes breathe it and ye know it, - Ye will seek him to revere; - Cry aloud, and call him, master, lover, poet! - And he will not hear. - - - - - VICTORY. - - - This then--to live and have no joy thereof, - To thirst and hunger and be very tired, - To walk unloved, or know if one should love - It were a bitter thing that he desired, - To have no home in all the earth, to be - Mocked and derided and outcast of men, - To squander love and labour, and to see - No fruit of it, and yet to love, and then - Bearing all slander silently alway, - Serenely when the last reproach is hurled - To look Death in the face alone, and say - “Be of good cheer for I have overcome the world.” - - - - -“AH! WILD SWANS!” - - - “Ah! wild swans winging southward, I would fly with you to-night; - Southward, ever swiftly southward, through the autumn grey twilight. - - “You will leave these downs and gullies, and the white cliffs far behind, - Sailing on above the waters in the music of the wind. - - “And the seamen on their highway looking up will see you fly, - Like a misty shadow moving o’er the moon-illumined sky. - - “Day and night and all things changing,--sunny skies and overcast,-- - Till the cloud-engirdled mountains and the snowy peaks are passed. - - “We should near the lands of laughter and the vines and olive trees, - Watch the little sails at sundown sparkle out on summer seas; - - “Day and night and ever flying till we reached the wonderland, - And the seaward branching river, and the desert ways of sand; - - “Saw beneath us standing lonely that grave bird that never sings, - Like a solemn sentry guarding by the giant tombs of kings. - - “And I think it would be sunset when our journeying was done, - And the silver of your plumage would be crimsoned in the sun; - - “In a pleasant land of palm-trees, where the lotus lilies grow, - And the fruits of many flood-tides by the river borders blow; - - “There forgetting and forgotten, and not any one to hear, - I would sing to you, that sing not, all the winter of the year.” - - Brighter burn the stars and colder, twilight deepens into night, - Moans the wind among the willows, and the swans fade out of sight. - - - - - DAY’S END. - - - We watched how robed in royal red - The slow sun sailed to rest, - Through crimson cloud streaks islandèd - In seas of glory o’er the west, - I held your hand, and I heard you say, - “What have we done for the world to-day?” - - While still the mountain-heather glowed - All songs were hushed, and through - The twilight east the young moon showed - Her frail white crescent in the blue; - The silence sank profound and deep, - The ways of earth were full of sleep; - And the spirit of silence seemed to say, - “What have ye done for the world to-day?” - - - - - FROM THE ROADSIDE. - - - Peace be with the little red-roofed church out yonder, - With its quiet English village gathered round; - With shade of great beech-trees on the grave-mounds under, - And leaves of the Autumn over all the ground! - - There go the rooks at even homeward flying! - The sweet sense of home lies over all that land; - The glow is on the tower of the daylight dying, - And lovers in the shadow are walking hand-in-hand. - - Here comes no voice from the middle world to move them, - All the year round no memorable thing; - Yet the great skies arch as beautiful above them, - All the year through there are birds with them that sing. - - Ah! well with you who calm and little knowing, - Here in submission to your uneventful days, - Leave the mad world to its coming and its going, - Safe with God’s shadow on your evening ways! - - - - - A DIRGE FOR LOVE. - - - “What is this pitiful song ye sing, - Shades of the passing hours? - What is this beautiful young dead thing, - Borne on a bier of flowers?” - - “This is dead Love who, all night through, - Beat at the fast-closed door; - Wept his heart out waiting for you, - Now he will beat no more! - - “Here he dwelt for a night and day, - Longer he might not wait; - Never again will he pass this way, - Therefore we sing ‘too late!’” - - “Ah, but the door of my heart within, - Was it not alway wide? - Had he not wings to have entered in, - Why did he beat outside?” - - “Once he came, though his eyes were blind, - Up to the outer door; - The way within was too hard to find, - Peace! For he wakes no more.” - - “Yet ye knew I had waited long, - Was I not always true? - How could I will sweet Love this wrong-- - Where do ye bear him to?” - - “Back to the land where he lives again, - Over the westward strand; - Over the waves and the cloud domain, - Into the rainbow land!” - - “Then, sweet spirits, do this for grace, - Set my heart on his bier; - So, when he comes to his resting-place, - Love may awake and hear!” - - - - - NOS COLLINES D’AUTREFOIS. - - - Can you remember when we dwelt together, - In the golden land of childhood long ago; - Up on our mountain heights in the clear weather, - How we longed to see the valleys down below? - - Lands so lovely never found we after,-- - Oh, our winters with the wonder of their snows; - Oh, the swallows of our spring-time, and the laughter, - Oh, the starnight of our summers and the rose! - - Well-belovèd in that land were all the faces, - None are like them of these dwellers in the plain; - Oh, why did we come down from our high places! - We can never climb the bitter hills again! - - - - - THE TWO GATES. - - - Two gates--and one was morning’s, gold with gleams - Of sudden sunlight, and clear skies above - Ways where the air is musical with love, - And summer singing in a land of streams: - - One sad with twilight and low sound that seems - Like the marred song-voice of a broken heart, - Where life and love sit evermore apart, - And look back longing to the gate of dreams. - - Time was, I wandered in those sunlit lands, - And felt the glamour in my wakening eyes; - But now with sword aflame the angel stands, - Pointing the threshold of the gate of gloom; - While through the monotone of human cries, - Upsoars this pitiless, “fulfil thy doom!” - - - - - GETTATI AL VENTO. - - - I. - - The sea swallows wheel and fly - To their homes in the grey cliff-side; - And the silent ships drift by, - The world and its ways are wide! - - Oh, which of you wandering sails - Will carry a word from me? - Spread all your wings in the gales, - Fly fast to her northern sea! - - Go say to my heart’s desired, - Too long from her side I roam, - And say I am tired, tired, - And I would she would call me home! - - - II. - - I thought that I wandered, wandered, - All night till the dawn of day, - And I came to the house she dwells in, - A hundred miles away: - - So I watched the hills grow golden, - I heard the birds begin, - And she came to open her window, - And let the morning in. - - But when she would not greet me, - And I called to her all in vain, - I awoke, and knew I was dreaming, - But I could not sleep again. - - * * * * * - -I. - - What shadow is this of dead delight, - That thou art dreaming of? - Oh, heart, what ails thee in the evenlight, - And is it thine old burden love, - That wistful-eyed, like one who roams, - I stand and watch from far, - The peace of sunset over quiet homes, - And the belovéd evening star? - - - II. - - Are not the heavens wide? And yet, - Until all journeyings be done, - No star shall change the orbit set, - That marks its journey round the sun. - - And, sweet, we travel down our days, - As the stars wander in their sky; - We cannot change our fated ways, - But meet and greet and hasten by. - - - III. - - I breathed a name once and again, - I said a bitter thing in my pain, - “I gave you all my love, and I spent it all in vain!” - - Then I saw a form across the night - Glide down the stars in a veil of light, - And I said, “Who are you, dweller of the Infinite?” - - And I heard a voice on the stilly air, - “You chide amiss in your own despair; - Lo, I am the soul of her love, and I follow you everywhere!” - - - - - THE SEA-KING’S GRAVE. - - - High over the wild sea-border, on the furthest downs to the west, - Is the green grave-mound of the Norseman, with the yew-tree - grove on its crest. - And I heard in the winds his story, as they leapt up salt from the wave, - And tore at the creaking branches that grow from the sea-king’s grave. - Some son of the old-world Vikings, the wild sea-wandering lords, - Who sailed in a snake-prowed galley, with a terror of twenty swords. - From the fiords of the sunless winter, they came on an icy blast, - Till over the whole world’s sea-board the shadow of Odin passed, - Till they sped to the inland waters and under the South-land skies, - And stared on the puny princes, with their blue victorious eyes. - And they said he was old and royal, and a warrior all his days, - But the king who had slain his brother lived yet in the island ways; - And he came from a hundred battles, and died in his last wild quest, - For he said, “I will have my vengeance, and then I will take my rest.” - - He had passed on his homeward journey, and the king of the - isles was dead; - He had drunken the draught of triumph, and his cup was the - And he spoke of the song and feasting, and the gladness of things to be, - And three days over the waters they rowed on a waveless sea; - Till a small cloud rose to the shoreward, and a gust broke - out of the cloud, - And the spray beat over the rowers, and the murmur of winds was loud - With the voice of the far-off thunders, till the shuddering - air grew warm, - And the day was as dark as at even, and the wild god rode on the storm. - But the old man laughed in the thunder as he set his casque on his brow, - And he waved his sword in the lightning and clung to the painted prow. - And a shaft from the storm-god’s quiver flashed out from the - flame-flushed skies, - Rang down on his war-worn harness and gleamed in his fiery eyes, - And his mail and his crested helmet, and his hair, and his - beard burned red; - And they said, “It is Odin calls;” and he fell, and they found him dead. - - So here, in his war-guise armoured, they laid him down to his rest, - In his casque with the rein-deer antlers, and the long grey beard - on his breast; - His bier was the spoil of the islands, with a sail for a shroud beneath, - And an oar of his blood-red galley, and his battle-brand in the sheath; - And they buried his bow beside him, and planted the grove of yew, - For the grave of a mighty archer, one tree for each of his crew; - Where the flowerless cliffs are sheerest, where the sea-birds - circle and swarm, - And the rocks are at war with the waters, with their jagged - grey teeth in the storm; - And the huge Atlantic billows sweep in, and the mists enclose - The hill with the grass-grown mound where the Norseman’s yew-tree grows. - - - - - DISILLUSION. - - - Ah! what would youth be doing - To hoist his crimson sails, - To leave the wood-doves cooing, - The song of nightingales; - To leave this woodland quiet - For murmuring winds at strife, - For waves that foam and riot - About the seas of life? - - From still bays, silver sanded, - Wild currents hasten down - To rocks where ships are stranded - And eddies where men drown. - Far out, by hills surrounded, - Is the golden haven gate, - And all beyond unbounded - Are shoreless seas of fate. - - They steer for those far highlands - Across the summer tide - And dream of fairy islands - Upon the further side. - They only see the sunlight, - The flashing of gold bars; - But the other side is moonlight - And glimmer of pale stars. - - They will not heed the warning - Blown back on every wind, - For hope is born with morning, - The secret is behind. - Whirled through in wild confusion, - They pass the narrow strait, - To the sea of disillusion - That lies beyond the gate. - - - - - ON THE BORDER HILLS. - - - So the dark shadows deepen in the trees - That crown the border mountains, all the air - Is filled with mist-begotten phantasies - Shaped and transfigured in the sunset glare. - What wildly spurring warrior-wraiths are these? - What tossing headgear, and what red-gold hair? - What lances flashing, what far trumpet’s blare, - That dies along the desultory breeze? - - Slow night comes creeping with her misty wings - Up to the hill’s crest, where the yew trees grow; - About their shadow-haunted circle clings - The rumour of an unrecorded woe, - Old as the battle of those border kings - Slain in the darkling hollow-lands below. - - - - - WHEN HE HAD FINISHED. - - - When He had finished, first his orbèd sun - Blazed through the startled firmament, and all - His hosts cried glory, and the stars each one - Sang joy together,--then did there not fall - A peace of solemn silence on His world, - A moment’s hush before one leaf was stirred - Or one wave o’er the ocean mirror curled! - Lo! then it was the carol of a bird - Gave the joy-note of being, up the sky - Some lark’s song mounted and the young greenwood - Woke to a matin of wild melody,-- - And He looked down and saw that it was good. - - - - - THE LONELY BAY. - - - Hollowed and worn by tide on tide - The rocks are steep, to the water’s side; - Never a swimmer might hope to land - With the sheer, sheer rocks upon either hand; - Never a ship dare enter in - For the sunken reefs are cruel and thin; - Only at times a plaintive moan - Comes from yon arch in the caverned stone, - When the seals that dwell in the ocean cave - Rise to look through the lifting wave; - Only the gulls as they float or fly - Answer the waves with their wind-borne cry. - - Weeds of the waste uptossed lie there - On the sandy space that the tide leaves bare, - Ever at ebb some waif or stray - That ever the flood wave washes away, - And round and round in the lonely bay. - - And one dwells there in the caves below - That only the seals and the seagulls know, - And the haunting spirit is passing fair - With sea-flowers set in her grey-green hair, - But she looks not oft to the daylight skies - For the sunshine dazzles her ocean eyes; - But now and again the sea-winds say, - In the twilight hour of after-day, - They have seen her look through her veil of spray. - - Stilled are the waves when she lies asleep - And the stars are mirrored along the deep, - The gulls are at rest on the rifted rocks - And slumbering round are the ocean flocks, - Where the waving oarweeds lull and lull - And the calm of the water is beautiful. - - But ever and aye in the moonless night, - When the waves are at war and the surf is white, - When the storm-wind howls in the dreary sky, - And the storm-clouds break as it whirls them by; - When it tears the boughs from the churchyard tree - And they think in the world of the folk at sea, - When the great cliffs quake in the thunder’s crash - And the gulls are scared at the lightning flash, - You will hear her laugh in the depths below, - Where the moving swell is a sheet of snow, - Mocking the mariner’s shriek of woe. - - Let us away, for the sky grows wild - And the wind has the voice of a moaning child! - And if she looked through her veil of spray, - And called and beckoned, you might not stay; - You would leap from the height to her cold embrace - And drown in the smile of her wanton face! - She would carry you under the mazy waves - From deep to deep of her ocean caves, - Hold you fast with the things that be - Held in the drifts of the drifting sea, - Round and round for eternity! - The sun goes under, away, away! - It’s dark and weird by the lonely bay. - - - - - MUSIC. - - - What angel viol, effortless and sure, - Speaks through the straining silence, whence, ah whence - That tremulous low joy, so keen, so pure - That all existence narrows to one sense, - Lapped round and round - In rapture of sweet sound? - Oh, how it wins along the steep, and loud and loud, - Over the chasm and the cloud, - Swells in its lordly tide - Higher and higher, and undenied, - Full throated to the star!-- - Then lowlier, softer, dreaming dies and dies - Over the closing eyes, - Dies with my spirit away, afar, - Swayed as on ocean’s breast - Dies into rest. - - - - -“WHAT HOLDS THEE BACK?” - - - What holds thee back then? Hast thou aught to do, - And fearest for the venture, art thou too, - So light a thing that every wind blows through? - - What hast thou envied in the lives of these, - That thou should’st heed to please them or displease - And fill thine own with mirrored mockeries? - - This arm of thine is thine alone, and strong - To thy free service through thy whole life long, - Hear thine heart’s voice, it will not lead thee wrong! - - - - - WORDS FOR MUSIC. - - - I. - - The autumn wind goes sighing - Through the quivering aspen tree, - The swallows will be flying - Toward their summer sea; - The grapes begin to sweeten - On the trellised vine above, - And on my brows have beaten - The little wings of love. - Oh wind if you should meet her - You will whisper all I sing! - Oh swallow fly to greet her, - And bring me word in spring! - - - II. - - I see your white arms gliding, - In music o’er the keys, - Long drooping lashes hiding - A blue like summer seas: - The sweet lips wide asunder, - That tremble as you sing, - I could not choose but wonder, - You seemed so fair a thing. - - For all these long years after - The dream has never died, - I still can hear your laughter, - Still see you at my side; - One lily hiding under - The waves of golden hair; - I could not choose but wonder, - You were so strangely fair. - - I keep the flower you braided - Among those waves of gold, - The leaves are sere and faded, - And like our love grown old. - Our lives have lain asunder, - The years are long, and yet, - I could not choose but wonder. - I cannot quite forget. - - - III. - - All through the golden weather - Until the autumn fell, - Our lives went by together - So wildly and so well.-- - - But autumn’s wind uncloses - The heart of all your flowers, - I think as with the roses, - So hath it been with ours. - - Like some divided river - Your ways and mine will be, - --To drift apart for ever, - For ever till the sea. - - And yet for one word spoken, - One whisper of regret, - The dream had not been broken - And love were with us yet. - - - IV. - - I remember low on the water - They hung from the dripping moss, - In the broken shrine of some streamgod’s daughter - Where the north and south roads cross; - And I plucked some sprays for my love to wear, - Some tangled sprays of maidenhair. - - So you went north with the swallow - Away from this southern shore, - And the summers pass, and the winters follow, - And the years, but you come no more, - You have roses now in your breast to wear, - And you have forgotten the maidenhair. - - And the sound of the echoing laughter, - The songs that we used to sing, - To remember these in the years long after - May seem but a foolish thing,-- - Yet I know to me they are always fair - My withered sprays of maidenhair. - - - V. - - The wide seas lay before us - The moon was late to rise, - The skies were starry o’er us - And Love was in our eyes; - And “like those stars, abiding,” - You whispered “Love shall be,” - Then one great star went gliding - Right down into the sea. - - Since then beyond recalling - How many moons have set! - And still the stars keep falling, - But the sky is starry yet: - And I look up and wonder - If they can hear and know, - For still we walk asunder, - And that was years ago. - - - - - BELLA DONNA. - - - Two tear-drops of the bluest seas - Were prisoned in those laughing eyes, - And soft as wind in summer trees - The music of her low replies; - A sunbeam caught entangled there - Makes light in all her golden hair; - - The wild rose where the wild bees sip - Is not so delicate as this, - And yet that little rose-curled lip - Is very poisonous to kiss, - And they were stars of wintry skies - That lit the lustre in her eyes. - - And she will smile and bid you stay - And love a little at her will, - And love a little--and betray - But smile as ever sweetly still; - She knows that roses fade away, - To-morrows turn to yesterday. - - She walks the smooth and easy ways - Apparelled in her queenly dress, - She hears no word that is not praise, - And ever of her loveliness; - And she will kill, that cannot hate, - Dispassionately passionate. - - - - - JOSEPH BARA. - - - In the year of battles, ninety-three, - In Vendée, by the westward sea, - The word was whispered--_Liberty_. - - There was a child that would not stay, - When he watched them arm and ride away, - For the sword was bared in la Vendée. - - Thirteen years, and girl-like fair, - With blue wide eyes and yellow hair-- - And the word had moved him unaware. - - “Mother,” he said, “if I were old, - My arm should win the young ones gold-- - A boy’s life may be dearly sold. - - “Mother, the hearts of the children bleed, - There are lips enough for one hand to feed, - And the youngest born have the greater need.” - - In the year of battles, ninety-three, - In Vendée by the westward sea, - He rode to fight for liberty. - - They wondered how his stedfast eye - Could see the strong men bleed and die, - His shrill lips shape the battle cry. - - At Chollet, in the month Frimaire - They found the lion in his lair, - And long the struggle wavered there. - - Till wide and scattered, man with man, - The bloody waves of battle ran, - The boy was leading in the van. - - His bugle at his waist he wore, - His sword-arm pointing straight before, - And on his brow the tricolore. - - Horse and rider overthrown, - Lay about him stark as stone, - The bugle boy stood all alone. - - They closed about him menacing, - To strike him seemed a murderous thing; - “Take life, cry homage to the King!” - - Fearless their bayonets he eyed, - The dead he loved were at his side, - And “Vive la République,” he cried. - - Sword thrust and bayonet - In his young heart’s-blood met, - The groan died in his lips hard set, - And through his eyes shone life’s regret. - - O’er his torn and bleeding breast - All the storm of battle pressed,-- - He lay lowly with the rest. - - When the bitter fight was done - There they found their little one, - Stark and staring at the sun. - - Freedom, let thy banners wave, - Where he lies among the brave, - For that young fresh life he gave! - - Song above the names that die - Shrine his name in memory! - - - - - IN CHARTRES CATHEDRAL. - - - Through yonder windows stained and old, - Four level rays of red and gold - Strike down the twilight dim, - Four lifted heads are aureoled - Of the sculptured cherubim, - And soft like sounds on faint winds blown - Of voices dying far away, - The organ’s dreamy undertone, - The murmur while they pray; - And I sit here alone, alone, - And have no word to say; - Cling closer shadows, darker yet, - And heart be happy to forget. - - And now, the mystic silence--and they kneel, - A young priest lifts a star of gold,-- - And then the sudden organ peal! - Ave and Ave! and the music rolled - Along the carven wonder of the choir, - Thrilled canopy and spire, - Up till the echoes mingled with the song; - And now a boy’s flute note that rings - Shrill sweet and long, - Ave and Ave, louder and more loud, - Rises the strain he sings, - Upon the angel’s wings! - Right up to God! - - And you that sit there in the lowliest place, - With lips that hardly dare to move; - You with the old sad furrowed face, - Dream on your dream of love! - For you, glide down the music’s swell - The folding arms of peace, - For me wild thoughts, I dare not tell - Desires that never cease. - For you the calm, the angel’s breast, - Whose dim foreknowledge is at rest; - For me the beat of broken wings, - The old unanswered questionings. - - - - - BY THE ANNIO. - -(PASTORAL.) - - - Here where shallows ripple by, - And the woody banks are high, - Every little wind that frets - Waves the scent of violets; - Here the greening beech has made - Such a palace of cool shade, - You and I would rather sit - Silent in the shade of it, - Seeking questions and replies - Only through each other’s eyes. - Sweet, than climb the thorny ways - Up their barren hills of praise. - In the gloom of yonder glen - Hides the crimson cyclamen, - And the tall narcissus still - Lingers near the reedy rill, - In the ooze the rushes grow - Pipes for merry lips to blow; - Here the songs that we shall sing - Shall be all of love or spring; - Here the emerald dragon-fly - Flits and stays and passes by, - While the bird that overhead - Mocked our song, grows unafraid, - Splashing till his breast be cool - At the margin of the pool. - In my hand the hand I hold - Lies more daintily than gold; - On your lips is all the praise - I would barter for my lays, - In your eyes I look to see - Witness of my sovereignty. - They that long for high estate - Turn to look for love too late, - Climbing on at last they find - Love has long been left behind; - Sweet, we do not envy these - In our riverland of trees. - - Seldom feet of mortals pass - Here along the dewy grass; - Only in the loneliest spot, - Where the woodman enters not, - Spirits of these groves and springs - Make their nightly wanderings. - Never now they walk at day - Since the Satyrs fled away, - Only when the fireflies gleam - Up the winding wooded stream, - You may hear low silver tones, - Like the ripple on the stones, - Asking some familiar star - Where their olden lovers are. - Listen, listen, up above - All the branches sing of love! - When the world is tired of May, - When the springtide fades away, - When the clouds draw over head, - And the moon of love is dead, - When the joy is no more new, - Seek we other work to do! - Only while the heart is young - Let no other song be sung! - - - - - BY THE CRUCIFIX. - - - He tells his story with his young sad eyes, - The rags are drooping from his sunburnt breast, - He had sat down a little while to rest, - Far off the country of his longing lies; - - He sits there looking at his bare bruised feet - And sees the rich man and the priest pass by, - There where the crucifix is planted high - On the grass bank outside the village street. - - Beside him lies his little flageolet-- - The children danced that morning when he played, - Laughed loud to hear the music that he made;-- - Now the day closes and he wanders yet. - - Oh, if some one of all the folk who pass, - Would turn and speak one word and hear him though, - And help! It were so small a thing to do; - And all they see him lying in the grass. - - So the day ended, and the evening sun - Cast the long shadows down; he turned and saw - The crucifix blood-red, and in mute awe, - He crossed himself, and shuddered, and went on. - - And then, it seemed that the pale form above - Moved slowly, lifting up the thorn-crowned head, - And the drooped eyelids opened, and he said, - “Oh, ye who make profession of your love, - - “With voices echoing a hollow cry, - My name is ever on your lips, and yet - I wander wearily and ye forget, - I am as nothing to you passers by, - - “I had no heed of any shame or loss, - And will ye leave me tired and homeless still - Oh, call my name by any name ye will, - But leave me not for ever on my cross!” - - - - -“UNE HEURE VIENDRA QUI TOUT PAIERA.” - - - It was a tomb in Flanders, old and grey, - A knight in armour, lying dead, unknown - Among the long-forgotten, yet the stone - Cried out for vengeance where the dead man lay; - - No name was chiselled at his side to say - What wrongs his spirit thirsted to atone, - Only the armour with green moss o’ergrown, - And those grim words no years had worn away. - - It may be haply in the songs of old - His deeds were wonders to sweet music set, - His name the thunder of a battle call, - Among the things forgotten and untold; - His only record is the dead man’s threat-- - “An hour will come that shall atone for all!” - - - - - IN THE ALPS. - - - It is spring by now in the world, but here - The doom of winter on all the year; - A little brown bird flits to and fro, - Watching perhaps for a rift of blue - Where the mists divide and the sky looks through, - Or a crocus-bell in the half-thawed snow. - - Little brown bird, have you no nest here - When winds blow cold in the long starlight? - Never a tree, and the fields so white-- - And are you ever a wayfarer? - It is spring by now in the vales below, - And why do you stay in the world of snow? - - - - - IN NOTRE DAME DE.... - - - There were two had died one day - So they told me by the way; - “One, ah well, poor soul,” they said, - “Better off that he is dead, - Such a poor man!--but the other - He was our good prefect’s brother; - Rich! And surely of great worth;--” - Both at one now--earth and earth!-- - “Half the town is deep in prayer; - Round him at our Lady’s there; - But the poor man’s funeral - Is in the church outside the wall; - Aye, our Lady’s nave is wide, - Would you lay them side by side?” - So I followed both these dead;-- - Where the poor man’s pall was spread, - Boarded in his box of deal, - There were only six to kneel, - And a priest that hurried through - Such quick office as would do. - _Requiem æternam dona ei, Domine, - Et lux perpetua luceat ei._ - - Oh, but here how good to see - The great sable canopy! - All the columns shrouded o’er, - The rich curtains at the door, - And the purple velvet pall, - And the high catafalque o’er all, - Where a hundred tapers glow - On the same pale face of death below.-- - All the good town’s folk are there, - Some to weep and some to stare; - Little recks _he_ how ye weep, - Very sound he lies asleep; - Little recks _he_ how ye pray, - For his ears are sealed alway! - Many a monk to thumb his beads, - Chant his canticles and creeds; - Aye and here with quivering lips - O’er his meagre finger-tips - Prays the priest, and all the while - Drones the deep organ thrill; and then - Along the gloomy curtained aisle, - Swells the full chant again; - _Requiem æternam dona ei, Domine, - Et lux perpetua luceat ei._ - - Now beyond the city wall - Winds his pomp of funeral; - Feebly do those tapers flare - In the sunshine’s summer glare, - Loud above their chanting swells - The horror of the tolling bells, - Tapers burn where light is needed - For the living, not the dead! - Aye, and if your chants be heeded, - For the living be they said! - Where were all this folk who pray - When the poor man passed this way? - - Long ago the spirit fled, - All of him that was of worth, - In his sojourning on earth; - Wherefore o’er a body dead, - Need long litanies be said? - - Shall the jewelled cross he presses - In those bony hands of his, - Aught avail, when death caresses - With his equal mouldering kiss? - Shall the rosary they twined - Round and round his stiffened wrists, - Hold his body sanctified - From the worms, the socialists? - _Gaudea sempiterna possideat!_ - - So the two that died one day - Travelled down the selfsame way, - One in simple coffin board - Painted cross along it scored, - One with all his high estate - Graven on the silver plate, - All the pomp that he could save - To adorn him in the grave, - Lily wreaths of eucharis - To cover those poor bones of his, - From the graveyard’s mouldy sod,-- - But the poor man’s soul and this - Went the same way up to God! - _In Paradisum deducant te angeli, - Æternam habeas requiem!_ - By the sable shrouded door, - Of our Lady’s church once more! - Softly came low music floating from above, - And a voice seemed to breathe its cadence through; - “Peace, peace! Lo this we did it of our love, - There was so little we could do!” - _Requiem æternam dona iis, Domine, - Et lux æterna luceat iis._ - - - - - TWO SONNETS. - - - I.--ACTEA. - - When the last bitterness was past, she bore - Her singing Cæsar to the Garden Hill, - Her fallen pitiful dead emperor. - She lifted up the beggar’s cloak he wore - --The one thing living that he would not kill-- - And on those lips of his that sang no more, - That world-loathed head which she found lovely still, - Her cold lips closed, in death she had her will. - - Oh wreck of the lost human soul left free - To gorge the beast thy mask of manhood screened! - Because one living thing, albeit a slave, - Shed those hot tears on thy dishonoured grave, - Although thy curse be as the shoreless sea, - Because she loved, thou art not wholly fiend. - - - II.--IMPERATOR AUGUSTUS. - - Is this the man by whose decree abide - The lives of countless nations, with the trace - Of fresh tears wet upon the hard cold face? - --He wept, because a little child had died. - - They set a marble image by his side, - A sculptured Eros, ready for the chase; - It wore the dead boy’s features, and the grace - Of pretty ways that were the old man’s pride. - - And so he smiled, grown softer now, and tired - Of too much empire, and it seemed a joy - Fondly to stroke and pet the curly head, - The smooth round limbs so strangely like the dead, - To kiss the white lips of his marble boy - And call by name his little heart’s-desired. - - - - - AT LANUVIUM. - - “_Festo quid potius die - Neptuni faciam._” - HORACE, _Odes_, iii. 28. - - - Spring grew to perfect summer in one day, - And we lay there among the vines, to gaze - Where Circe’s isle floats purple, far away - Above the golden haze; - - And on our ears there seemed to rise and fall - The burden of an old world song we knew, - That sang, “To-day is Neptune’s festival, - And we, what shall we do?” - - Go down brown-armed Campagna maid of mine, - And bring again the earthen jar that lies - With three years’ dust above the mellow wine; - And while the swift day dies. - - You first shall sing a song of waters blue, - Paphos and Cnidos in the summer seas, - And one who guides her swan-drawn chariot through - The white-shored Cyclades; - - And I will take the second turn of song, - Of floating tresses in the foam and surge - Where Nereid maids about the sea-god throng; - And night shall have her dirge. - - - - - A ROMAN MIRROR. - - - They found it in her hollow marble bed, - There where the numberless dead cities sleep, - They found it lying where the spade struck deep, - A broken mirror by a maiden dead. - - These things--the beads she wore about her throat - Alternate blue and amber all untied, - A lamp to light her way, and on one side - The toll-men pay to that strange ferry-boat. - - No trace to-day of what in her was fair! - Only the record of long years grown green - Upon the mirror’s lustreless dead sheen, - Grown dim at last, when all else withered there. - - Dead, broken, lustreless! It keeps for me - One picture of that immemorial land, - For oft as I have held thee in my hand - The dull bronze brightens, and I dream to see - - A fair face gazing in thee wondering wise, - And o’er one marble shoulder all the while - Strange lips that whisper till her own lips smile, - And all the mirror laughs about her eyes. - - It was well thought to set thee there, so she - Might smooth the windy ripples of her hair - And knot their tangled waywardness, or ere - She stood before the queen Persephone. - - And still it may be where the dead folk rest - She holds a shadowy mirror to her eyes, - And looks upon the changelessness and sighs, - And sets the dead land lilies in her breast. - - - - - THE SONG OF THE DEAD CHILD. - - FLORENCE, ’81. - - - By the light of their waxen tapers, I saw not ever a tear, - For the child in its bridal garment, the little dead child on the bier. - - Some child of the poor;--I wonder, was it glad that the years were done, - This flower that fell in spring tide, and had hardly looked on the sun? - - They have decked her in burial raiment, they have twined a - wreath for her hair; - Ah child, you had never in life such delicate dress to wear! - - And the man in the pilgrim’s habit has covered the marble head, - And carried it out for ever to the sleeping place of the dead. - - Rest, little one, have no fear, you will hardly turn in your sleep, - Though the moon and the stars are clouded, and the grave they - have made be deep! - - But an hour before the dawning there will come one down on the night, - With the wings and the brows of an angel, in wonder-robes of white. - - He will smile in your eyes of wonder, he will take your hand in his hand, - And gather you up in his arms and pass from the sleeping land. - - Then after a while, at morning, you will come to the lands that lie - On the other side of the sunrise between the cloud and the sky, - - And here is the place of resting with the wings of your angel furled, - For the feet that are tired with travel in the dusty ways of the world. - - And here is the children’s meeting, the length of a summer’s day, - You will gather you crowns of roses, in the deep meadow lands at play. - - While up through the clouds dividing, like a sweet bewildering dream, - You will watch the wings of the angels drift by in an endless stream; - - Such marvellous robes are o’er them, and whiter are some than snows, - And some like the April blossom, and some like the pale primrose. - - For these are the hues of day-dawn that you saw from the world of old, - And the first light over the mountains was shed from their - crowns of gold; - - And many go by with weeping, for ever, the long night through, - The tears of the sorrowing angels fall over the earth in dew; - - Till your eyes grow weary of wonder as you sit in the long cool grass, - And many will bend and kiss you of the wonderful forms that pass; - - With your head on the breast of the angel there will steal down - over your eyes - The sleep of the long forgetting, and the dream where memory dies, - - As the flowers are washed in the night-time, when the dew drops - down from above, - You will reck no more of the winter, and hunger, and want of love. - - Then at last it will seem like even when you waken, and hand in hand - You will pass with your angels guiding, to the utmost verge of the land; - - And I think you will hear far voices growing musical there, and loud, - As you pass, with an unfelt swiftness, from luminous cloud to cloud; - - Till the light shall turn to a glory, that seemed but a lone faint star, - That will be the gate of Heaven, where the souls of the children are. - - - - - NIGHT AT AVIGNON. - - - No cloud between the myriad stars and me,-- - Soft music moving o’er a sleeping land - Of winds that fret about the cypress tree, - And Rhone’s swift rapids rippling past the sand. - Arch over arch, and tower on battled wall, - Against the violet deepness of the skies;-- - And one grey spire set high above them all, - Where round the hill the moon begins to rise. - An hour’s knell rings softly out once more - From unseen cloisters, where the misty bridge - Fades in the distance of the further shore, - And nearer spires repeat it o’er and o’er; - One great blue star peers through the seaward ridge; - - A hollow footfall up the echoing street - Goes wandering out to silence, and the breeze - Drops faint and fainter, here beneath my feet - The grass is all with violets overstrewn; - Oh listen, listen; in yon garden trees - Do you not hear the lute that lovers use! - One sets the discord of its strings atune;-- - And in the dreamland of the risen moon - They sing some olden love-song of Vaucluse. - - - - -“WHERE THE RHONE GOES DOWN TO THE SEA.” - - - A sweet still night of the vintage time, - Where the Rhone goes down to the sea; - The distant sound of a midnight chime - Comes over the wave to me. - Only the hills and the stars o’erhead - Bring back dreams of the days long dead, - While the Rhone goes down to the sea. - - The years are long, and the world is wide, - And we all went down to the sea; - The ripples splash as we onward glide, - And I dream they are here with me-- - All lost friends whom we all loved so, - In the old mad life of long ago, - Who all went down to the sea. - - So we passed in the golden days - With the summer down to the sea. - They wander still over weary ways, - And come not again to me. - I am here alone with the night wind’s sigh, - The fading stars, and a dream gone by, - And the Rhone going down to the sea. - - - - - AT TIBER MOUTH. - - - The low plains stretch to the west with a glimmer of rustling weeds, - Where the waves of a golden river wind home by the marshy meads; - And the fresh wind born of the sea grows faint with a sickly breath, - As it stays in the fretting rushes and blows on the dews of death. - We came to the silent city, in the glare of the noontide heat, - When the sound of a whisper rang through the length of the lonely street; - No tree in the clefted ruin, no echo of song nor sound, - But the dust of a world forgotten lay under the barren ground. - There are shrines under these green hillocks to the beautiful - gods that sleep, - Where they prayed in the stormy season for lives gone out on the deep; - And here in the grave street sculptured, old record of loves and tears, - By the dust of the nameless slave, forgotten a thousand years. - Not ever again at even shall ship sail in on the breeze, - Where the hulls of their gilded galleys came home from a hundred seas, - For the marsh plants grow in her haven, the marsh birds breed in her bay, - And a mile to the shoreless westward the water has passed away. - But the sea-folk gathering rushes come up from the windy shore, - So the song that the years have silenced grows musical there once more; - And now and again unburied, like some still voice from the dead, - They light on the fallen shoulder and the lines of a marble head. - But we went from the sorrowful city and wandered away at will, - And thought of the breathing marble and the words that are music still. - How full were their lives that laboured, in their fetterless - strength and far - From the ways that our feet have chosen as the sunlight is from the star, - They clung to the chance and promise that once while the years are free - Look over our life’s horizon as the sun looks over the sea, - But we wait for a day that dawns not, and cry for unclouded skies, - And while we are deep in dreaming the light that was o’er us dies; - We know not what of the present we shall stretch out our hand to save - Who sing of the life we long for, and not of the life we have; - And yet if the chance were with us to gather the days misspent, - Should we change the old resting-places, the wandering ways we went? - They were strong, but the years are stronger; they are grown - but a name that thrills, - And the wreck of their marble glory lies ghost-like over their hills. - So a shadow fell o’er our dreaming for the weary heart of the past, - For the seed that the years have scattered, to reap so little at last. - And we went to the sea-shore forest, through a long colonnade of pines, - Where the skies peep in and the sea, with a flitting of silver lines. - And we came on an open place in the green deep heart of the wood - Where I think in the years forgotten an altar of Faunus stood; - From a spring in the long dark grasses two rivulets rise and run - By the length of their sandy borders where the snake lies - coiled in the sun. - And the stars of the white narcissus lie over the grass like snow, - And beyond in the shadowy places the crimson cyclamens grow; - Far up from their wave home yonder the sea-winds murmuring pass, - The branches quiver and creak and the lizard starts in the grass. - And we lay in the untrod moss and pillowed our cheeks with flowers, - While the sun went over our heads, and we took no count of the hours; - From the end of the waving branches and under the cloudless blue, - Like sunbeams chained for a banner, the thread-like gossamers flew. - And the joy of the woods came o’er us, and we felt that our - world was young - With the gladness of years unspent and the sorrow of life unsung. - So we passed with a sound of singing along to the seaward way, - Where the sails of the fishermen folk came homeward over the bay; - For a cloud grew over the forest and darkened the sea-god’s shrine, - And the hills of the silent city were only a ruby line. - But the sun stood still on the waves as we passed from the fading shores, - And shone on our boat’s red bulwarks and the golden blades of the oars, - And it seemed as we steered for the sunset that we passed - through a twilight sea, - From the gloom of a world forgotten to the light of a world to be. - - - - - GARIBALDI IN ROME. - -JUNE 29-30, 1849. - - - St. Peter’s eve, from dim Janiculum - The battle’s thunder drowned the bells that tolled, - The great guns flashed, but that night as of old - We kept St. Peter’s vigil, and the dome - Blazed with its myriad little lamps of gold, - And all the river ran with yellow foam, - While on the torchlit Capitol unrolled - The banner blew of our Republic, Rome, - - Then silence fell with treacherous midnight,-- - An hour ere dawn we heard a wild alarm, - The blast of bugles, the swift call to arm, - We sang his war hymn and fell in to fight; - Then as dawn gathered on the Esquiline - Our grand old lion gave the battle sign. - - - - -ἙΡΑΝ ΤΩΝ ἉΔΥΝΑΤΩΝ. - - - So now I know we shall not any more, - As we have done in these last golden days, - Go hand in hand along life’s pleasant ways, - Walk heart with heart together as before. - - It seems we cannot choose but wear the chain - Fate winds about our little lives. Ah sweet, - What wall is set between us that your feet - Must wander alway where I gaze in vain! - - Could we have climbed together! How these bars - Had melted in the fire of love; the road - Had known our footsteps where the wise men trod, - And our sure ways had ended with the stars! - - We had atoned for passion!--passed above - All fleeting shadows of the world’s desire, - Made pure our spirits at a holier fire, - And in the lap of morning laid our love. - - One law I knew, one right, one starward way, - One hope to make our lives divine, one love - In this one life, one star of truth above, - And one great desert where the rest go stray. - - Life had no more to give, if that we two - Had let the world go gladly, grasp and reach - Strained ever upward, leaning each on each, - Had seen one star-ray of the pure and true. - - Had we but climbed together! Oh my light, - My star, my moon, and art thou clouded o’er? - And we that were together, evermore - Must stand apart and stare across the night! - - One life it seems must take its tale of days, - And as it may make service of its own, - But ah! the infinite help of love!--alone - The heart grows faint and weary of dispraise. - - I shall be braver on the way I go, - Hearing that voice forever, for whose sake, - What burthen had I not bowed down to take, - What shame or peril, had it helped you so! - - This must content me, to have loved, who lose - In this hard world where little loves live on, - No man will love you as I might have done, - Sweet heart, too holy for the world to choose! - - Therefore be strong, remembering love’s past, - Climb on for ever in the steep old way - That haply so a moment’s space we may - Meet on the verge of changes at the last. - - That at the end of all these journeyings, - Crossing the borderland of time and space - We two may stand together face to face, - Whose hearts were set upon abiding things, - And through the cloud-veil of Eternity - Our eyes may meet at last in the full light, and see. - - - - - TRANSLATIONS. - -_From the Italian of Stecchetti._ - - - I. - - When the sere leaves fall and you come one - To find me under the graveyard stone, - It will be in a corner hidden away, - With beds of flowers about it grown. - - Then gather and wreathe in your golden hair - The flowers that grow from my heart laid there. - - They will be love’s message I might not bring, - And the rest of the songs that I meant to sing. - - - II. - - Floweret born in the hedge-row shade - Set out of sight alone, - Love like thee must hide his head - Love like thee must live unknown. - - No smile of the sun, and thou wilt die, - Thorns round thee and above, - No smile of hope, and love will die, - And none take heed.--Poor love! Poor love! - - * * * * * - - -_From the German of Heine._ - - - I. - - How the mirrored moonbeams quiver - On the waters’ fall and rise, - Yet the moon serene as ever - Wanders through the quiet skies. - - Like the mirrored moonlight’s fretting - Are the dreams I have of you, - For my heart will beat, forgetting - You are ever calm and true. - - - II. - - So fair and pure and holy, - So flowerlike thou art, - And while I gaze the shadow - Grows deeper on my heart; - I want my hands to rest on - That head of thine in prayer, - That God will keep thee alway - So holy pure and fair. - - - III. - - The leaves are falling, falling, - The yellow treetops wave, - Ah, all delight and beauty - Is drawing to the grave. - - About the wood’s crest flicker - The wan sun’s laggard rays, - They are the parting kisses - Of fleeting summer days. - - Meseems I should be shedding - The heart’s-tears from my eyes, - The day will keep recalling - The time of our good-byes. - - I knew that you were dying - And I must pass away, - Oh I was the waning summer, - And you were the wood’s decay. - - - IV. - - From my tears that have fallen a flower - Is springing along the vale, - And the sighs I have sighed endower - The song of a nightingale. - - And, child, if you’ll be my lover, - The flowers shall all be yours, - And the bird with its song shall hover - For ever before your doors. - - - - - AVE ATQUE VALE. - - - I. - - And he is gone!--like strain of viols parted-- - Back to the infinite from whence he came, - And we sit here, bereft and weary hearted, - New songs may wake, but not again the same. - - Our hearts were lutes, whereon he used to play, - Now evermore is silence on that key, - And thought grows chilly like a sunless day - That greys the ripple on the haggard sea. - - Those lips were cold that lingering we kissed, - There came no pressure from the old true hand, - A little while and through the twilight mist - We scarce shall trace his footprints in the sand. - - - II. - - This was the end love made,--the hard-drawn breath, - The last long sigh that ever man sighs here; - And then for us, the great unanswered fear, - Will love live on,--the other side of death? - - Only a year, and I had hoped to spend - A life of pleasant communing, to be - A kindred spirit holding fast to thee, - We never thought that love had such an end. - - This was the end love made, for our delight, - For one sweet year he cannot take away;-- - Those tapers burning in the dim half-light, - Those kneeling women with a cross that pray, - And there, beneath green leaves and lilies white, - Beyond the reach of love, our loved one lay. - - - III. - - He had the poet’s eyes, - --Sing to him sleeping,-- - Sweet grace of low replies, - --Why are we weeping? - - He had the gentle ways, - --Fair dreams befall him!-- - Beauty through all his days, - --Then why recall him?-- - - That which in him was fair - Still shall be ours: - Yet, yet my heart lies there - Under the flowers. - - - - -“IF ANY ONE RETURN.” - - - I would we had carried him far away - To the light of this south sun land, - Where the hills lean down to some red-rocked bay - And the sea’s blue breaks into snow-white spray - As the wave dies out on the sand. - - Not there, not there, where the winds deface! - Where the storm and the cloud race by! - But far away in this flowerful place - Where endless summers retouch, retrace, - What flowers find heart to die. - - And if ever the souls of the loved, set free, - Come back to the souls that stay, - I could dream he would sit for a while with me, - Where I sit by this wonderful tideless sea, - And look to the red-rocked bay, - - By the high cliff’s edge where the wild weeds twine, - And he would not speak or move, - But his eyes would gaze from his soul at mine,-- - My eyes that would answer without one sign, - And that were enough for love. - - And I think I should feel as the sun went round - That he was not there any more, - But dews were wet on the grass-grown mound - On the bed of my love lying underground, - And evening pale on the shore. - - - - - HIC JACET. - - - Did you play here, child, - The whole spring through, - And smiled and smiled - And never knew?-- - Where the shade is cool - And the grass grows deep, - One that was beautiful - Lies in his sleep. - - Ah no, child, never - Will he arise; - The sleep was for ever - That closed his eyes. - And his bed is strewn - Deep underground, - He was tired so soon, - And now sleeps sound. - - When the first birds sing - We can hear them, dear, - And in early spring - There are snowdrops here; - For the flowers love him - That lies below, - And ever above him - The daisies grow. - - “Shall we look down deep - Where he hides away? - Shall we find him asleep?” - Yes, child, some day. - But his palace gate - Is so hard to see, - We two must wait - For the angel’s key. - - - - -“WHEN I AM DEAD.” - - - When I am dead, my spirit - Shall wander far and free - Through realms the dead inherit - Of earth, and sky, and sea; - Through morning dawn and gloaming, - By midnight moons at will, - By shores where the waves are foaming, - By seas where the waves are still. - I, following late behind you, - In wingless sleepless flight, - Will wander till I find you, - In sunshine or twilight; - With silent kiss for greeting - On lips, and eyes, and head, - In that strange after-meeting - Shall love be perfected. - We shall lie in summer breezes, - And pass where whirlwinds go, - And the Northern blast that freezes - Shall bear us with the snow. - We shall stand above the thunder, - And watch the lightnings hurled - At the misty mountains under, - Of the dim forsaken world, - We shall find our footsteps’ traces, - And passing hand in hand - By old familiar places, - We shall laugh, and understand. - - - - - ST. CATHARINE OF EGYPT. - - - There was a king’s one daughter long ago, - In ways of summer, where the swallows go, - For whom no prince was found in any land - Fair lived and clean to wed so white a hand; - Who lying wakeful on a moonless night - Saw the dim ways grow tremulous with light, - As the sun’s dawning glory, and was aware - Of a pale woman standing shrouded there, - With hands locked in another’s hands, whose eyes - Shone like the starriest wonder of the skies. - - And the pale woman bending o’er her bed - Unveiled the pity in her eyes, and said, - “Lo this is he whose blameless days were sweet, - If thou could’st love him, and thy love was meet.” - And yet he turned those lustrous brows away, - And a sad voice seemed evermore to say - Across the stillness of a world that slept, - “Not mine, not mine,”--so all night through she wept - And never heard the singing nightingales. - - Then awhile after when the cloudy sails - Of many a day had winged across the sky, - And she had gathered all the mystery - From a lone hermit in a desert wood, - He came once more in the night-time and stood - And set a bridal ring upon her hand - To be his lady in his father’s land. - So in a little while her rumour grew - Till the rough Roman angered--her they slew - Being too sweet and wise for that rude time - That murdered pity and made love a crime. - - And the wise men were glad when she was dead, - For they had failed of reason--she had said, - “When I come up into my kingdom there - And my Lord greets me, and I speak him fair, - Then will I take him by the hand with me - And lead him down, how far so e’er it be, - Until we find the old man, Socrates, - And the fair souls who followed, for all these - Will be together, and I will bid him take - Their hands in his and love them for my sake, - Because of old they brought me near his side.” - - It was the time of even when she died; - And a fair choir of angels swept along - The dying afterglow, before their song - The gates were loosed and through the broken bars - They bore her skyward under the chill stars, - Westward--but once alighting as they flew. - In a deep meadow-land, with soft night-dew, - They washed the tender wounded throat, and kissed - The cords that bound her delicate soft wrist, - And at their kiss the fetters fell in twain - And the white robe grew faultless of one stain. - Then onward, ever onward, all night through, - Till lustreless the moon of morning grew - In the pale sky where one star lingered yet. - - Some dark-browed fisher, as he cast his net - And woke a ripple on the waveless calm, - Looked up and heard the passing angels’ psalm, - And through the ripple of the water-rings - He saw the gleam of rainbow-tinted wings - Drift o’er the glassing bosom of the sea. - - There where the grave of innocence should be, - High up between the rock ridge and the sky, - Upon the holy summit Sinai, - Above the red sea’s summer-tranced wave - They laid their burden in a marble grave. - And there her beauty fleeteth not, decay - Can never steal her loveliness away, - But like a carven image evermore - Sleeps on now with her still hands folded o’er - The saint’s white lily ever blossoming,-- - All that was earthly of so fair a thing. - - - - - ATALANTA. - - - Wait not along the shore, they will not come; - The suns go down beyond the windy seas, - Those weary sails shall never wing them home - O’er this white foam; - No voice from these - On any landward wind that dies among the trees. - - Gone south, it may be, rudderless, astray, - Gone where the winds and ocean currents bore, - Out of all tracks along the sea’s highway - This many a day, - To some far shore - Where never wild seas break, or any fierce winds roar. - - For there are lands ye never recked of yet - Between the blue of stormless sea and sky, - Beyond where any suns of yours have set, - Or these waves fret; - And loud winds die - In cloudless summertide, where those far islands lie. - - They will not come! for on the coral shore - The good ship lies, by little waves caressed, - All stormy ways and wanderings are o’er, - No more, no more! - But long sweet rest, - In cool green meadow-lands, that lie along the West. - - Or if beneath far fathom depths of waves - She lies heeled over by the slow tide’s sweep, - Deep down where never any swift sea raves, - Through ocean caves, - A dreaming deep - Of softly gliding forms, a glimmering world of sleep. - - Then have they passed beyond the outer gate - Through death to knowledge of all things, and so - From out the silence of their unkown fate - They bid us wait, - Who only know - That twixt their loves and ours the great seas ebb and flow. - - - - - THEORETIKOS. - -A THOUGHT OF DARWIN. - - - He dwelt unblinded with eternal truth, - Through long communion perfected, not once - Did he misdeem the prelude for the song, - And looking onward, to his ample view - That long to-come when he should be no more - Outweighed the moment of his passing here. - And he was happy, and his peace was full, - Having outlived the struggle--not as those - Who take the world on faith, and rest content - With the old verdicts, question, wonder not, - But feeling trusting loving are at peace. - He sought and found one little germ of truth, - Made pure his spirit of all chance and change, - Held fast on things abiding, learned to stand - On ever loftier summits-till at last - TI is brow grew starry and his searching eyes - Blue with the mirrored distance, and he heard - The everlasting music, Time and space - Were part with every heart-beat, and almost - God seemed to whisper in his listening ear. - What need for him of all your wonder world? - He made the wonder visible--enough - This little handful of the common clay - A seed to sow therein, and then to watch - The hidden forces quicken into life, - Till leaf by leaf some flower-star unfolds, - One flower of all the flowers, because the sun - Is in the skies, one sun of all the suns. - Search but the structure of one daisy’s heart - Your lore has no such miracle as this!-- - And look at all the infinite device, - The texture of the leaves of all the trees-- - Is there not marvel here enough? And yet - Ye crave new signs and wonders to convince - And wander lost upon your devious ways. - Ye will but gaze upon a part, and grow - In little wisdom overwise, therefore - Your partial grasp is barren to conceive - The thought Infinity, Time wilders yet - Because ye measure with your finite gauge, - And Motion maddens through your own unrest. - He let the world go gladly, hand in hand - He walked with Reason, till thought strained away - And God grew nearer,--so he built his mind - A bridge to span from sun to sun of all - The starry systems;--like a faint far dream - The changing pageant of men’s lives unrolled, - And he stood by serenely,--but with him - The calm was struggle in a lordlier way, - Absorbed and dwelling with eternal truth, - Whose star o’ershone him; till it seemed that life - And death were one, and from the throbbing brow - The craving died away,--and now he rests - With that fair choir from many times whose souls - Have earned the right of knowledge after death. - - - - - ROME. - - - I.--FROM THE HILL OF GARDENS. - - The outline of a shadowy city spread - Between the garden and the distant hill-- - And o’er yon dome the flame-ring lingers still, - Set like the glory on an angel’s head: - The light fades quivering into evening blue - Behind the pine-tops on Ianiculum; - The swallow whispered to the swallow “come!” - And took the sunset on her wings, and flew. - - One rift of cloud the wind caught up suspending - A ruby path between the earth and sky; - Those shreds of gold are angel wings ascending - From where the sorrows of our singers lie; - They have not found those wandering spirits yet, - But seek for ever in the red sunset. - - Pass upward angel wings! Seek not for these, - They sit not in the cypress-planted graves; - Their spirits wander over moonlit waves, - And sing in all the singing of the seas; - And by green places in the spring-tide showers, - And in the re-awakening of flowers. - - Some pearl-lipped shell still dewy with sea foam - Bear back to whisper where their feet have trod; - They are the earth’s for evermore; fly home! - And lay a daisy at the feet of God. - - - II.--IN THE COLISEUM. - - Night wanes; I sit in the ruin alone; - Beneath, the shadow of arches falls - From the dim outline of the broken walls; - And the half-light steals o’er the age-worn stone - From a midway arch where the moon looks through - A silver shield in the deep, deep blue. - - This is the hour of ghosts that rise;-- - Line on line of the noiseless dead-- - The clouds above are their awning spread; - Look into the shadow with moon-dazed eyes, - You will see the writhing of limbs in pain, - And the whole red tragedy over again. - - The ghostly galleys ride out and meet, - The Cæsar sits in his golden chair, - His fingers toy with his women’s hair, - The water is blood-red under his feet,-- - Till the owl’s long cry dies down with the night, - And one star waits for the dawning light. - - - III.--IN A CHURCH. - - This was the first shrine lit for Queen Marie; - And I will sit a little at her feet, - For winds without howl down the narrow street - And storm-clouds gather from the westward sea. - - Sweet here to watch the peasant people pray, - While through the crimson shrouded-window falls - Low light of even, and the golden walls - Grow dim and dreamful at the end of day. - - Till from these columns fades their marble sheen, - And lines grow soft and mystical,--these wraiths - That watch the service of the changing faiths, - To Mary mother from the Cyprian queen. - - But aye for me this old-word colonnade - Seems open to blue summer skies once more, - These altars pass, and on the polished floor - I see the lines of chequered light and shade; - - I seem to see the dark-browed Lybian lean - To cool the tortured burning of the lash, - I see the fountains as they leap and flash, - The rustling sway of cypress set between. - - And now yon friar with the bare feet there, - Is grown the haunting spirit of the place; - Ah! brown-robed friar with the shaven face, - The saints are weary of thy mumbled prayer. - - From matins’ bell to the slow day’s decline - He sits and thumbs his endless round of beads, - Draws out the dreary cadence of his creeds, - And nods assent to each familiar line. - - But she the goddess whose white star is set, - Whose fane was pillaged for this sombre shrine, - Could she look down upon those lips of thine, - And hear thee mutter, would she still regret? - - There came a sound of singing on my ear, - And slowly glided through the far-off door - A glimmer of grey forms like ghosts, they bore - A dead man lying on his purple bier. - - Some poor man’s soul, so little candle smoke - Went curling upwards by the uncased shroud, - And then a sudden thunder-clap broke loud, - And drowned the droning of the priest who spoke. - - So all the shuffling feet passed out again - To lightnings flashing through the wet and wind, - And while I lingered in the gate behind - The dead man travelled through the storm and rain. - - - - - SEA PICTURES--FRANCE. - - - I. SUNSET. - - One autumn evening from the west-most steep - I watched the daylight passing o’er the deep;-- - Down from the setting sun the great waves rolled - Along its seaward path of molten gold, - All the dark ocean rocks like capes of brass - Gleamed where the foam had washed them, and the grass - Grew glorious with that light, and the long swell - Line after line that followed, rose and fell - And shattered into frosted gold, the sky - Arched splendour over splendour,--isles that lie - Of crimson cloudland in pale seas of blue - Red bars of flame with one star peeping through, - Silent for glory; and the sea’s monotone - Grew part with silence;--the great world rolled on - And the sun watched along the waves, until - The glow died upwards on the western hill, - And the shade saddened over all the sea - Reaching away, starward away from me - Into the twilight and Eternity. - - - II. TWILIGHT. - - Late evening now, and overclouded skies - To-night we shall not see the young moon rise; - The twilight deepens, and on either hand - The cliffs are lost in mystic shadowland. - Only low sound of breakers as they die - Pale shimmer of waters and a pale still sky - Where darkness gathers on the moving sea, - And yet the child laughs light of heart with me! - - Still deeper now;--one little brown-sailed bark - Glides past us seaward, drifting into dark, - The only light is on the white sea-foam - And the lamp by the crucifix: Come home! - - - III. STORM. - - Night grows on the heaving ocean - With its ominous white foam flakes, - And the dizzy eternal motion - Where the crest of the wave line breaks, - With surge and swirl on the shingle - Blown on by the keen sea wind, - Surf waves that recoil and mingle - With the hurrying surf behind. - - Low over the sea line yonder - The gathering cloud-ranks form, - With a gleam of the sunset under - The fringe of the boding storm. - Along the dim cliffs hollows - The voice of the water moans, - Where the wave as it follows follows - Tears on at the yielding stones. - - The last day gleam departed, - Wild gusts of a storm blast came, - And out of the cloud gloom darted - The flash of the lightning flame, - - And the pale, pale sea grew haggard - A moment under the flash, - And the line of the dark rocks staggered - And reeled from the thunder-crash: - - Long loudly sullenly pealing - It died in the cliffs afar,-- - And I saw that a woman was kneeling - At the cross by the harbour bar. - - - - - A LAST WORD. - - - Time now to close these pages, far away - And fainter the old hills of childhood fade, - The very graves where the young dreams are laid - Are hidden deep in autumn leaves to-day. - - It may be they have brought thee nearer truth, - These hasting years, but fain wouldst thou have stayed - In the old land where trust was unbetrayed, - And love was honest in the eyes of youth. - - And now it’s winter, and the moon of snow - Blind mists of doubt, and chill unfriendly rain, - But somewhere, sometime in the year, we know - It must be spring and flowertime again. - Do thou but keep, though winter days be long, - Thy young love loyal, and thy young faith strong. - - - PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO - LONDON AND EDINBURGH - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Poems in Many Lands, by Rennell Rodd - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS IN MANY LANDS *** - -***** This file should be named 51592-0.txt or 51592-0.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/1/5/9/51592/ - -Produced by Larry B. 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