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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9a783e --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #66520 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/66520) diff --git a/old/66520-0.txt b/old/66520-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 2f88f41..0000000 --- a/old/66520-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5384 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of Poems, by Lionel Johnson - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: Poems - -Author: Lionel Johnson - -Release Date: October 11, 2021 [eBook #66520] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -Produced by: Al Haines - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** - - - - - - - _This edition is limited to 750 copies for England - and America._ - - - - - POEMS - - BY - - LIONEL JOHNSON. - - - - -[Illustration: title page] - - - POEMS - - BY - - LIONEL JOHNSON - - - - 1895 - - LONDON * ELKIN MATHEWS - BOSTON * COPELAND & DAY - - - - - TO THE HONOURED AND GREATLY LOVED SAINT - MARY COLLEGE OF WINCHESTER NEAR - WINCHESTER A WYKEHAMIST - COME OF WYKEHAMISTS - I DEDICATE THIS - BOOK. - - - - -_Gulielmum Wickamum, ut optimum parentem agnosco, suscipio, colo, -cui si quid in me doctrinae, virtutis, pietatis, et Catholicae religionis, -maxime acceptum refero. Quippe qui ab ineunte aetate, in Wintoniensi -primum, deinde et Oxontensi eius collegio, ad omnem ingenii, -doctrinae, et pietatis cultum capessendum institutus sim._ - -HARPSFIELD. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - WINCHESTER - TO MORFYDD - PLATO IN LONDON - IN FALMOUTH HARBOUR - A FRIEND - A BURDEN OF EASTER VIGIL - BY THE STATUE OF KING CHARLES AT CHARING CROSS - LALEHAM - OUR LADY OF FRANCE - IN MEMORY - THE PRECEPT OF SILENCE - HILL AND VALE - GWYNEDD - A CORNISH NIGHT - MYSTIC AND CAVALIER - PARNELL - IN ENGLAND - TO OCEAN HAZARD: GIPSY - UPON A DRAWING - THE ROMAN STAGE - "TO WEEP IRISH" - SUMMER STORM - TO A TRAVELLER - IN MEMORY OF M. B. - HAWTHORNE - GLORIES - LINES TO A LADY UPON HER THIRD BIRTHDAY - CELTIC SPEECH - WAYS OF WAR - THE COMING OF WAR - IRELAND'S DEAD - HARMONIES - THE LAST MUSIC - A DREAM OF YOUTH - ROMANS - THE TROOPSHIP - DEAD - SANCTA SILVARUM - BAGLEY WOOD - CORONA CRUCIS - A SONG OF ISRAEL - THE DARK ANGEL - A FRIEND - TO A PASSIONIST - ADVENTUS DOMINI - MEN OF ASSISI - MEN OF AQUINO - LUCRETIUS - ENTHUSIASTS - CADGWITH - VISIONS - TO LEO XIII. - AT THE BURIAL OF CARDINAL MANNING - VIGILS - THE CHURCH OF A DREAM - THE AGE OF A DREAM - OXFORD NIGHTS - TO A SPANISH FRIEND - TO MY PATRONS - BRONTË - COMFORT - MOEL FAMMAU - SORTES VIRGILIANAE - CONSOLATION - ORACLES - THE DESTROYER OF A SOUL - OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS - ASH WEDNESDAY - DESIDERIA - ARMA VIRUMQUE - THE DAY OF COMING DAYS - RENEGADE - WALES - HARVEST - TO CERTAIN FRIENDS - THE PETITION - THE CLASSICS - APRIL - A PROSELYTE - BEYOND - EXPERIENCE - ESCAPE - TRENTALS - THE RED WIND - SERTORIUS - SAINT COLUMBA - BELLS - - - - - POEMS - - - - WINCHESTER. - - To the fairest! - Then to thee - Consecrate and bounden be, - Winchester! this verse of mine. - Ah, that loveliness of thine! - To have lived enchaunted years - Free from sorrows, free from fears, - Where thy Tower's great shadow falls - Over those proud buttressed walls; - Whence a purpling glory pours - From high heaven's inheritors, - Throned within the arching stone! - To have wandered, hushed, alone, - Gently round thy fair, fern-grown - Chauntry of the Lilies, lying - Where the soft night winds go sighing - Round thy Cloisters, in moonlight - Branching dark, or touched with white: - Round old, chill aisles, where moon-smitten - Blanches the _Orate_, written - Under each worn, old-world face - Graven on Death's holy place! - - To the noblest! - None but thee. - Blest our living eyes, that see - Half a thousand years fulfilled - Of that age, which Wykeham willed - Thee to win; yet all unworn, - As upon that first March morn, - When thine honoured city saw - Thy young beauty without flaw, - Born within her water-flowing, - Ancient hollows, by wind-blowing - Hills enfolded ever more. - Thee, that lord of splendid lore, - Orient from old Hellas' shore, - Grocyn, had to mother: thee, - Monumental majesty - Of most high philosophy - Honours, in thy wizard Browne: - Tender Otway's dear renown, - Mover of a perfect pity, - Victim of the iron city, - Thine to cherish is: and thee, - Laureate of Liberty; - Harper of the Highland faith, - Elf, and faery, and wan wraith; - Chaunting softly, chaunting slowly, - Minstrel of all melancholy; - Master of all melody, - Made to cling round memory; - Passion's poet, Evening's voice, - Collins glorified. Rejoice, - Mother! in thy sons: for all - Love thine immemorial - Name, august and musical. - Not least he, who left thy side, - For his sire's, thine earlier pride, - Arnold: whom we mourn to-day, - Prince of song, and gone away - To his brothers of the bay: - Thine the love of all his years; - His be now thy praising tears. - - To the dearest! - Ah, to thee! - Hast thou not in all to me - Mother, more than mother, been? - Well toward thee may Mary Queen - Bend her with a mother's mien; - Who so rarely dost express - An inspiring tenderness, - Woven with thy sterner strain, - Prelude of the world's true pain. - But two years, and still my feet - Found thy very stones more sweet, - Than the richest fields elsewhere: - Two years, and thy sacred air - Still poured balm upon me, when - Nearer drew the world of men; - When the passions, one by one, - All sprang upward to the sun: - Two years have I lived, still thine; - Lost, thy presence! gone, that shrine, - Where six years, what years! were mine. - Music is the thought of thee; - Fragrance, all thy memory. - Those thy rugged Chambers old, - In their gloom and rudeness, hold - Dear remembrances of gold. - Some first blossoming of flowers - Made delight of all the hours; - Greatness, beauty, all things fair - Made the spirit of thine air: - Old years live with thee; thy sons - Walk with high companions. - Then, the natural joy of earth, - Joy of very health and birth! - Hills, upon a summer noon: - Water Meads, on eves of June: - Chamber Court, beneath the moon: - Days of spring, on Twyford Down, - Or when autumn woods grew brown; - As they looked, when here came Keats, - Chaunting of autumnal sweets; - Through this city of old haunts, - Murmuring immortal chaunts; - As when Pope, art's earlier king, - Here, a child, did nought but sing; - Sang, a child, by nature's rule, - Round the trees of Twyford School: - Hours of sun beside Mead's Wall, - Ere the may begin to fall; - Watching the rooks rise and soar, - High from lime and sycamore: - Wanderings by old-world ways, - Walks and streets of ancient days; - Closes, churches, arches, halls, - Vanished men's memorials. - There was beauty, there was grace, - Each place was an holy place: - There the kindly fates allowed - Me too room; and made me proud, - Prouder name I have not wist! - With the name of Wykehamist. - These thy joys: and more than these: - Ah, to watch beneath thy trees, - Through long twilights linden-scented, - Sunsets, lingering, lamented, - In the purple west; prevented, - Ere they fell, by evening star! - Ah, long nights of Winter! far - Leaps and roars the faggot fire; - Ruddy smoke rolls higher, higher, - Broken through by flame's desire; - Circling faces glow, all eyes - Take the light; deep radiance flies, - Merrily flushing overhead - Names of brothers, long since fled; - And fresh clusters, in their stead, - Jubilant round fierce forest flame. - Friendship too must make her claim: - But what songs, what memories end, - When they tell of friend on friend? - And for them, I thank thy name. - - Love alone of gifts, no shame - Lessens, and I love thee: yet - Sound it but of echoes, let - This my maiden music be, - Of the love I bear to thee, - Witness and interpreter, - Mother mine: loved Winchester! - - 1888. - - - - - TO MORFYDD. - - A voice on the winds, - A voice by the waters, - Wanders and cries: - _Oh! what are the winds? - And what are the waters? - Mine are your eyes!_ - - Western the winds are, - And western the waters, - Where the light lies: - _Oh! what are the winds? - And what are the waters? - Mine are your eyes!_ - - Cold, cold, grow the winds, - And wild grow the waters, - Where the sun dies: - _Oh! what are the winds? - And what are the waters? - Mine are your eyes!_ - - And down the night winds, - And down the night waters, - The music flies: - _Oh! what are the winds? - And what are the waters? - Cold be the winds, - And wild be the waters, - So mine be your eyes!_ - - 1891 - - - - - PLATO IN LONDON. - - _To Campbell Dodgson._ - - The pure flame of one taper fall - Over the old and comely page: - No harsher light disturb at all - This converse with a treasured sage. - Seemly, and fair, and of the best, - If Plato be our guest, - Should things befall. - - Without, a world of noise and cold: - Here, the soft burning of the fire. - And Plato walks, where heavens unfold, - About the home of his desire. - From his own city of high things, - He shows to us, and brings, - Truth of fine gold. - - The hours pass; and the fire burns low; - The clear flame dwindles into death: - Shut then the book with care; and so, - Take leave of Plato, with hushed breath: - A little, by the falling gleams, - Tarry the gracious dreams: - And they too go. - - Lean from the window to the air: - Hear London's voice upon the night! - Thou hast bold converse with things rare: - Look now upon another sight! - The calm stars, in their living skies: - And then, these surging cries, - This restless glare! - - That starry music, starry fire, - High above all our noise and glare: - The image of our long desire, - The beauty, and the strength, are there. - And Plato's thought lives, true and clear, - In as august a sphere: - Perchance, far higher. - - 1889. - - - - - IN FALMOUTH HARBOUR. - - _To Frank Mathew._ - - I. - - The large, calm harbour lies below - Long, terraced lines of circling light: - Without, the deep sea currents flow: - And here are stars, and night. - - No sight, no sound, no living stir, - But such as perfect the still bay: - So hushed it is, the voyager - Shrinks at the thought of day. - - We glide by many a lanterned mast; - Our mournful horns blow wild to warn - Yon looming pier: the sailors cast - Their ropes, and watch for morn. - - Strange murmurs from the sleeping town, - And sudden creak of lonely oars - Crossing the water, travel down - The roadstead, the dim shores. - - A charm is on the silent bay; - Charms of the sea, charms of the land. - Memories of open wind convey - Peace to this harbour strand. - - Far off, Saint David's crags descend - On seas of desolate storm: and far - From this pure rest, the Land's drear End, - And ruining waters, are. - - Well was it worth to have each hour - Of high and perilous blowing wind: - For here, for now, deep peace hath power - To conquer the worn mind. - - I have passed over the rough sea, - And over the white harbour bar: - And this is Death's dreamland to me, - Led hither by a star. - - And what shall dawn be? Hush thee, nay! - Soft, soft is night, and calm and still: - Save that day cometh, what of day - Knowest thou: good, or ill? - - Content thee! Not the annulling light - Of any pitiless dawn is here; - Thou art alone with ancient night: - And all the stars are clear. - - Only the night air, and the dream; - Only the far, sweet-smelling wave; - The stilly sounds, the circling gleam, - And thine: and thine a grave. - - 1887. - - - - II. - - Hence, by stern thoughts and strong winds borne, - Voyaged, with faith that could not fail, - Who cried: _Lead, kindly Light!_ forlorn - Beneath a stranger sail. - - Becalmed upon a classic sea; - Wandering through eternal Rome; - Fighting with Death in Sicily: - He hungered for his home. - - These northern waves, these island airs! - Dreams of these haunted his full heart: - Their love inspired his songs and prayers, - Bidding him play his part. - - The freedom of the living dead; - The service of a living pain: - He chose between them, bowed his head, - And counted sorrow, gain. - - Ah, sweetest soul of all! whose choice - Was golden with the light of lights: - But us doubt's melancholy voice, - Wandering in gloom, unites. - - Ah, sweetest soul of all! whose voice - Hailed morning, and the sun's increase: - We of the restless night rejoice, - We also, at thy peace. - - 1887. - - - - - A FRIEND. - - _To H. B. Irving._ - - All, that he came to give, - He gave, and went again: - I have seen one man live, - I have seen one man reign, - With all the graces in his train. - - As one of us, he wrought - Things of the common hour: - Whence was the charmed soul brought, - That gave each act such power; - The natural beauty of a flower? - - Magnificence and grace, - Excellent courtesy: - A brightness on the face, - Airs of high memory: - Whence came all these, to such as he? - - Like young Shakespearian kings, - He won the adoring throng: - And, as Apollo sings, - He triumphed with a song: - Triumphed, and sang, and passed along. - - With a light word, he took - The hearts of men in thrall: - And, with a golden look, - Welcomed them, at his call - Giving their love, their strength, their all. - - No man less proud than he, - Nor cared for homage less: - Only, he could not be - Far off from happiness: - Nature was bound to his success. - - Weary, the cares, the jars, - The lets, of every day: - But the heavens filled with stars, - Chanced he upon the way: - And where he stayed, all joy would stay. - - Now, when sad night draws down, - When the austere stars burn: - Roaming the vast live town, - My thoughts and memories yearn - Toward him, who never will return. - - Yet have I seen him live, - And owned my friend, a king: - All that he came to give, - He gave: and I, who sing - His praise, bring all I have to bring. - - 1889. - - - - - A BURDEN OF EASTER VIGIL. - - Awhile meet Doubt and Faith: - For either sigheth and saith, - That He is dead - To-day: the linen cloths cover His head, - That hath, at last, whereon to rest; a rocky bed. - - Come! for the pangs are done, - That overcast the sun, - So bright to-day! - And moved the Roman soldier: come away! - Hath sorrow more to weep? Hath pity more to say? - - Why wilt thou linger yet? - Think on dark Olivet; - On Calvary stem: - Think, from the happy birth at Bethlehem, - To this last woe and passion at Jerusalem! - - This only can be said: - He loved us all; is dead; - May rise again. - _But if He rise not?_ Over the far main, - The sun of glory falls indeed: the stars are plain. - - 1888. - - - - - BY THE STATUE OF KING CHARLES - AT CHARING CROSS. - - _To William Watson._ - - Sombre and rich, the skies; - Great glooms, and starry plains. - Gently the night wind sighs; - Else a vast silence reigns. - - The splendid silence clings - Around me: and around - The saddest of all kings - Crowned, and again discrowned. - - Comely and calm, he rides - Hard by his own Whitehall: - Only the night wind glides: - No crowds, nor rebels, brawl. - - Gone, too, his Court: and yet, - The stars his courtiers are: - Stars in their stations set; - And every wandering star. - - Alone he rides, alone, - The fair and fatal king: - Dark night is all his own, - That strange and solemn thing. - - Which are more full of fate: - The stars; or those sad eyes? - Which are more still and great: - Those brows; or the dark skies? - - Although his whole heart yearn - In passionate tragedy: - Never was face so stern - With sweet austerity. - - Vanquished in life, his death - By beauty made amends: - The passing of his breath - Won his defeated ends. - - Brief life, and hapless? Nay: - Through death, life grew sublime. - Speak after sentence? Yea: - And to the end of time. - - Armoured he rides, his head - Bare to the stars of doom: - He triumphs now, the dead, - Beholding London's gloom. - - Our wearier spirit faints, - Vexed in the world's employ: - His soul was of the saints; - And art to him was joy. - - King, tried in fires of woe! - Men hunger for thy grace: - And through the night I go, - Loving thy mournful face. - - Yet, when the city sleeps; - When all the cries are still: - The stars and heavenly deeps - Work out a perfect will. - - 1889 - - - - - LALEHAM. - - _To Arthur Galton._ - - Only one voice could sing aright - His brother poet, lost in night: - His voice, who lies not far away, - The pure and perfect voice of Gray. - The sleep of humble men he sang, - For whom the tolling church bells rang - Over their silent fields and vales, - Whence no rude sound their calm assails. - He knew their melancholy rest, - And peaceful sleep, on earth's kind breast; - Their patient lives, their common doom, - The beauty of their simple tomb. - One thing he left unsung: how some, - To share those village slumbers, come: - Whose voices filled the world with joy, - Who made high thoughts their one employ. - Ah, loving hearts! Too great to prize - Things whereon most men set their eyes: - The applauding crowd; the golden lure - Of wealth, insatiate and unsure; - A life of noise! a restless death: - The sanctities of life's last breath - Profaned with ritual pride and state; - Last pageant of the little great! - But these, to whom all crowns of song, - And all immortal praise, belong, - Turn from each garish sight and sound, - To lay them down in humble ground: - Choosing that still, enchaunted sleep - To be, where kindly natures keep: - In sound of pleasant water rills, - In shadows of the solemn hills. - Earth's heart, earth's hidden way, they knew: - Now on their grave light falls her dew. - The music of her soul was theirs: - They sleep beneath her sweetest airs. - - Beside the broad, gray Thames one lies, - With whom a spring of beauty dies: - Among the willows, the pure wind - Calls all his wistful song to mind; - And, as the calm, strong river flows, - With it his mightier music goes; - But those winds cool, those waters lave, - The country of his chosen grave. - Go past the cottage flowers, and see, - Where Arnold held it good to be! - Half church, half cottage, comely stands - An holy house, from Norman hands: - By rustic Time well taught to wear - Some lowly, meditative air: - Long ages of a pastoral race - Have softened sternness into grace; - And many a touch of simpler use - From Norman strength hath set it loose. - Here, under old, red-fruited yews, - And summer suns, and autumn dews, - With his lost children at his side, - Sleeps Arnold: Still those waters glide, - Those winds blow softly down their breast: - But he, who loved them, is at rest. - - 1889 - - - - - OUR LADY OF FRANCE. - - _To Ernest Dowson._ - - Leave we awhile without the turmoil of the town; - Leave we the sullen gloom, the faces full of care: - Stay we awhile and dream, within this place of prayer, - Stay we, and pray, and dream: till in our hearts die down - Thoughts of the world, unkind and weary: till Christ crown - Laborious day with love. Hark! on the fragrant air, - Music of France, voices of France, fall piercing fair: - Poor France, where Mary star shines, lest her children drown. - - Our Lady of France! dost thou inhabit here? Behold, - What sullen gloom invests this city strange to thee! - In Seine, and pleasant Loire, thou gloriest from of old; - Thou rulest rich Provence; lovest the Breton sea: - What dost thou far from home? Nay! here my children fold - Their exiled hands in orison, and long for me. - - 1891. - - - - - IN MEMORY. - - I. - - Under the clear December sun, - Perishing and cold, - Sleep, Malise! who hast early won - Light of sacred gold. - Sleep, be at rest: we still will keep - Dear love for thee lain down to sleep. - - Youth, loving faces, holy toil, - These death takes from thee: - But of our love, none shall despoil - Thy fair soul set free. - The labours of thy love are done: - Thy labour's crown of love is won. - - Sleep, Malise! While the winds blow yet - Over thy quiet grave: - We, labouring deathward, will forget - Thee never: wherefore have - Hope, and pure patience: we, too, come - Presently to thee, in thine home. - - 1885. - - - - II. - - Ah! fair face gone from sight, - With all its light - Of eyes, that pierced the deep - Of human night! - Ah! fair face calm in sleep. - - Ah! fair lips hushed in death! - Now their glad breath - Breathes not upon our air - Music, that saith - Love only, and things fair. - - Ah! lost brother! Ah! sweet - Still hands and feet! - May those feet haste to reach, - Those hands to greet, - Us, where love needs no speech. - - 1886. - - - - III. - - Sea-gulls, wheeling, swooping, crying, - Crying over Maes Garmon side! - Cold is the wind for your white wings' flying: - Cold and dim is our gray springtide. - - But an hundred miles and more away, - In the old, sweet city, - Birds of spring are singing to the May, - Their old, sweet ditty. - - There he lies, whom I loved so well, - And lies, whom I love so dearly: - At thought of his youth, our buds will swell; - Of his face, our sun shine clearly. - - Sea-gulls, wheeling, swooping, crying, - Crying over Maes Garmon side! - Spirits of fire with him are flying, - Souls of flame, to the Crucified. - - Yet, far away from the ancient places, - Ancient pleasures, and ancient days: - He too thinks of our exiled faces, - Far away from his whiter ways. - - Sea-gulls, over Maes Garmon side, - Flying and crying! flying and crying! - You and all creatures, since Malise died, - I have loved the more, both singing and sighing. - - 1887. - - - - IV. - - Glimmering lake, waters of Windermere! - Winchester your name must be: - Or is all an evening dream? - Nay! Winton waters wander here, - Delighting me, - Down through that ancient bridge, that old-world stream. - - I lean against the old, pillared balustrade: - Now upon the red, worn mill, - Now upon the rapid race, - Poring: or where, within the shade - Of freshly chill, - Low arches, wallflowers hide their homely grace. - - Swiftly descend those waters of the weir: - Sweeping past old cottages, - Curving round, ah, happy tide! - Into sight of towers most dear, - Of ancient trees - Loved all by heart: glad stream, who there may glide! - - Farewell, whom I have loved so in gone years! - Up the little climbing street, - To the memoried Church I pass, - Church of Saint John: whence loving tears - Made the way sweet, - Saddest of ways, unto the holy grass. - - Up the slow hill, people and holy Cross - Bore thee to the sleeping place, - Malise! whom thy lovers weep. - Spring lilies crown from the soft moss - Thy silent face, - All peaceful, Malise! in thy perfect sleep. - - Ah! far away, far by the watered vale, - By the seaward-rolling hills, - Lies he, by the gray-towered walls. - Northern calm lake, wild northern dale, - Gently fulfils, - Each, its serene enchauntment: and night falls. - - Windermere gleams: as would some shadowy space - Out from willowed dream-world drawn. - Under the pure silence, earth - Looks up to heaven, with tranquil face: - And patient dawn, - Behind the purple hills, dreams toward the birth. - - - - V. - - To think of thee, Malise! at Christmas time! - The Glory of the world comes down on earth, - Malise! at Christmas: but the Yule bells chime - Over thy perfect sleep: and though Christ's birth - Wake other men to melody of heart, - Thou in their happy music hast no part. - - Or dost thou wake awhile, to feel thy gloom - Illuminated by the shepherds' light? - To stretch out longing hands from thy still tomb, - And think on days, that were: before that night - Fell on thee, Malise? and the world as well - Was darkened over us, when that night fell! - - 1888. - - - - VI. - - Whenas I knew not clearly, how to think, - Malise! about thee dead: God showed the way. - Thine holy soul among soft fires can drink - The dew of all the prayers, that I can pray. - - Prayers for thy sake shall pierce thy prison gate; - Prayers to the Mother of Misericord: - Mary, the mighty, the immaculate; - Mary, whose soul welcomed the appointed sword. - - Malise! thy dear face from my wall looks down: - The Crucifix above its beauty lies. - Now, while I look and long, I see a crown - Bright on thy brow, and heaven within thine eyes, - - 1892. - - - - - THE PRECEPT OF SILENCE. - - I know you: solitary griefs, - Desolate passions, aching hours! - I know you: tremulous beliefs, - Agonized hopes, and ashen flowers! - - The winds are sometimes sad to me; - The starry spaces, full of fear: - Mine is the sorrow on the sea, - And mine the sigh of places drear. - - Some players upon plaintive strings - Publish their wistfulness abroad: - I have not spoken of these things, - Save to one man, and unto God. - - 1893. - - - - - HILL AND VALE. - - Not on the river plains - Wilt thou breathe loving air, - O mountain spirit fine! - Here the calm soul maintains - Calm: but no joy like thine, - On hill-tops bleak and bare, - Whose breath is fierce and rare. - - Were beauty all thy need, - Here were an haunt for thee. - The broad laborious weald, - An eye's delight indeed, - Spreads from rich field to field: - And full streams wander free - Under the alder tree. - - Throw thee upon the grass, - The daisied grass, and gaze - Far to the warm blue mist: - Feel, how the soft hours pass - Over, before they wist, - Into whole day: and days - Dream on in sunny haze. - - Each old, sweet, country scent - Comes, as old music might - Upon thee: old, sweet sounds - Go, as they ever went, - Over the red corn grounds: - Still sweeping scythes delight - Charmed hearing and charmed sight - - Gentle thy life would be: - To watch at morning dew - Fresh water-lilies: tell, - How bears the walnut tree: - Find the first foxglove bell, - Spare the last harebell blue: - And wander the wold through. - - Another love is thine: - For thee the far world spied - From the far mountain top: - Keen scented, sounding pine, - The purple heather crop: - And night's great glorious tide - Of stars and clouds allied. - - 1887. - - - - - GWYNEDD. - - _To Ernest Rhys._ - - The children of the mingling mists: can they, - Born by the melancholy hills, love thee, - Royal and joyous light? From dawn of day, - We watch the trailing shadows of the waste, - The waste moors, or the ever-mourning sea: - What, though in speedy splendour thou hast raced - Over the heather or wild wave, a ray - Of travelling glory and swift bloom? Still thou - Inhabitest the mighty morning's brow: - And hast thy flaming and celestial way, - Afar from our sad beauties, in thine haste. - - Have thou thy circling triumph of the skies, - Horseman of Goldwhite Footsteps! Yet all fire - Lives not with thee: for part is in our eyes, - Beholding the loved beauty of cold hills: - And part is patron of dear home desire, - Flashing upon the central hearth: it fills - Ingle and black-benched nook with radiances, - Hearts with responding spirit, ears with deep - Delicious music of the ruddy leap, - And streaming strength, and kindling confluences: - The hearth glows, and the cavernous chimney thrills, - - Pale with great heat, panting to crimson gloom, - Quiver the deeps of the rich fire: see there! - Was not that your fair face, in burning bloom - Wrought by the art of fire? O happy art! - That sets in living flames a face so fair: - The face, whose changes dominate mine heart, - And with a look speak my delight or doom: - Nay, now not doom, for I am only thine, - And one in thee and me the fire divine! - The fire, that wants the whole vast world for room: - Yet dwells in us contented and apart. - - The flames' red dance is done: and we crouch close - With shadowy faces to the dull, red glow. - Your darkling loveliness is like the rose, - Its dusky petals, and its bower of soft - Sweet inner darkness, where the dew lies low: - And now one tongue of flame leaps up aloft, - Brightening your brows: and now it fails, and throws - A play of flushing shadows, the rich mist - Of purple grapes, that many a sun hath kissed; - The delicate darkness, that with autumn grows - On red ripe apples in a mossy croft. - - Nay! leave such idle southern imageries, - Vineyard and orchard, flowers and mellow fruit: - Great store is ours of mountain mysteries. - Look, where the embers fade, from ruddy gold - Into gray ashes falling without bruit! - Yet is that ruddy lustre bought and sold, - Elf with elf trafficking his merchandise: - Deep at the strong foot of the eagles' pass, - They store the haunting treasure, and amass - The spirit of dead fire: there still it lies, - Phantom wealth, goodlier than Ophir old. - - Across the moor, over the purple bells, - Over the heather blossom, the rain drives: - Art fired enough to dare the blowing fells, - And ford the brawling brooks? Ah, come we then! - Great good it is to see, how beauty thrives - For desolate moorland and for moorland men; - To smell scents, rarer than soft honey cells, - From bruised wild thyme, pine bark, or mouldering peat; - To watch the crawling gray clouds drift, and meet - Midway the ragged cliffs. O mountain spells, - Calling us forth, by hill, and moor, and glen! - - Calling us forth, to be with earth again, - Her memories, her splendours, her desires! - The fires of the hearth are fallen: now the rain - Stirs its delight of waters, as the flame - Stirred its delight of heat and spirited fires. - Come! by the lintel listen: clouds proclaim, - That thunder is their vast voice: the winds wane, - That all the storm may gather strength, and strive - Once more in their great breath to be alive; - And fill the angry air with such a strain, - As filled the world's war, when the world first came. - - Desolate Cornwall, desolate Brittany, - Are up in vehement wind and vehement wave: - Ancient delights are on their ancient sea, - And nature's violent graces waken there; - And there goes loveliness about the grave, - And death means dreaming, not life's long despair. - Our sister lands are they, one people we, - Cornwall desolate, Brittany desolate, - And Wales: to us is granted to be great: - Because, as winds and seas and flames are free, - We too have freedom full, as wild and rare. - - And therefore, on a night of heavenly fires; - And therefore, on a windy hour of noon; - Our soul, like nature's eager soul, aspires, - Finding all thunders and all winds our friends: - And like the moving sea, love we the moon; - And life in us the way of nature wends, - Ardent as nature's own, that never tires. - Born of wild land, children of mountains, we - Fear neither ruining earth, nor stormy sea: - Even as men told in Athens, of our sires: - And as it shall be, till the old world ends. - - Your eyes but brighten to the streaming wind, - But lighten to the sighing air, but break - To tears before the labouring hills: your mind - Moves with the passionate spirit of the land. - Now crystal is your soul, now flame: a lake, - Proud and calm, with high scaurs on either hand; - Or a swift lance of lightning, to strike blind. - True child of Gwynedd, child of wilds and fields! - To you earth clings, to you strange nature yields - Far learning, sudden light, fierce fire: these find - Home in your heart, and thoughts that understand. - - We will not wander from this land; we will - Be wise together, and accept our world: - This world of the gray cottage by the hill, - This gorge, this lusty air, this loneliness: - The calm of drifting clouds; the pine-tops whirled - And swayed along the ridges. Here distress - Dreams, and delight dreams: dreaming, we can fill - All solitary haunts with prophecy, - All heights with holiness and mystery; - Our hearts with understanding, and our will - With love of nature's law and loveliness. - - Old voices call, old pleasures lure: for now - The wet earth breathes ancient fair fragrance forth; - And dying gales hang in the branches, blow - And fall, and blow again: our widest home - Is with rich winds of West, loud winds of North, - Sweeping beneath a gray and vasty dome. - Not with the hearth, whose consolations go, - Our home of homes: but where our eyes grown tired - Of straitened joys, with stretching joys are fired: - Joys of the rolling moor and cloudy brow, - Or worn, precipitous bastions of the foam. - - Our fires are fallen from their blossoming height, - And linger in sad embers: but gray bloom - Is on the heather, an enchaunting light - Of purple dusk and vesper air: rich rain - Falls on our hearts, through eve and gentle gloom, - More than upon our foreheads. The world's pain - And joy of storm are proven our delight, - And peace enthroned for ever: ours the mirth, - And melancholy of this ancient earth: - Ours are the mild airs and the starred twilight; - And we, who love them, are not all in vain. - - 1888 - - - - - A CORNISH NIGHT. - - _To William Butler Yeats._ - - Merry the night, you riders of the wild! - A merry night to ride your wilderness. - Come you from visionary haunts, enisled - Amid the northern waters pitiless, - Over these cliffs white-heathered? Upon mild - Midnights of dewy June, oh, rare to press - Past moonlit fields of white bean-flowers! nor less - To wander beside falling waves, beguiled - By soft winds into still dreams! Yet confess, - You chivalries of air, unreconciled - To the warm, breathing world! what ghostly stress - Compels your visit unto sorrow's child? - - What would you here? For here you have no part: - Only the sad voices of wind and sea - Are prophets here to any wistful heart: - Or white flowers found upon a glimmering lea. - What would you here? Sweep onward, and depart - Over the ocean into Brittany, - Where old faith is, and older mystery! - Though this be western land, we have no art - To welcome spirits in community: - Trafficking, in an high celestial mart, - Slumber for wondrous knowledge: setting free - Our souls, that strain and agonize and start. - - The wind hath cried to me, all the long day, - That you were coming, chivalries of air! - Between the waters and the starry way. - Fair lies the sea about a land, as fair: - Moonlight and west winds move upon the bay - Gently: now down the rough path sweet it were - To clamber, and so launching out to fare - Forth for the heart of sea and night, away - From hard earth's loud uproar, and harder care! - But you at will about the winds can stray: - Or bid the wandering stars of midnight bear - You company: or with the seven stay. - - And yet you came for me! So the wind cried, - So my soul knows: else why am I awake - With expectation and desire, beside - The soothed sea's murmuring nocturnal lake? - Not sleep, but storm, welcomes a widowed bride: - Storms of sad certainty, vain want, that make - Vigil perpetual mine; so that I take - The gusty night in place of him, who died, - To clasp me home to heart. That cannot break, - The eternal heart of nature far and wide! - So now, your message! while the clear stars shake - Within the gleaming sea, shake and abide. - - So now, your message! Breathe words from the wave, - Or breathe words from the field, into mine ears: - Or from the sleeping shades of a cold grave - Bring comfortable solace for my tears. - Something of my love's heart could nature save: - Some rich delight to spice the tasteless years, - Some hope to light the valley of lone fears. - Hear! I am left alone, to bear and brave - The sounding storms: but you, from starry spheres, - From wild wood haunts, give me, as love once gave - Joy from his home celestial, so, love's peers! - Give peace awhile to me, sorrow's poor slave! - - In sorrow's order I dwell passionist, - Cloistered by tossing sea on weary land. - O vain love! vain, to claim me votarist: - O vain my heart! that will not understand, - _He is dead! I am lonely!_ Love in a Mist - My flower is: and salt tangle of the strand, - The crownals woven by this failing hand: - In the dark kingdom, walking where I list, - I walk where Lethe glides against the sand. - But vain love is a constant lutanist, - Playing old airs, and able to withstand - Sweet sleep: vain love, thou loyal melodist! - - You wanderers! Would I were wandering - Under the white moon with you, or among - The invisible stars with you! Would I might sing - Over the charmed sea your enchaunting song, - Song of old autumn, and of radiant spring: - Might sing, how earth the mother suffers long; - How the great winds are wild, yet do no wrong; - How the most frail bloom is at heart a king! - I could endure then, strenuous and strong: - But now, O spirits of the air! I bring - Before you my waste soul: why will you throng - About me, save to take even such a thing? - - Only for this you ride the midnight gloom, - Above the ancient isles of the old main. - The spray leaps on the hidden rocks of doom: - The ripples break, and wail away again - Upon the gathering wave: gaunt headlands loom - In the lone distance of the heaving plain. - And now, until the calm, the still stars wane, - You wait upon my heart, my heart a tomb. - Though I dream, life and dreams are alike vain! - Then love me, tell me news of dear death: whom - Circle you, but a soul astray, one fain - To leave this close world for death's larger room? - - If barren be the promise I desire, - The promise that I shall not always go - In living solitariness: break fire - Out of the night, and lay me swiftly low! - Soft spirits! you have wings to waft me higher, - Than touch of each my most familiar woe: - Am I unworthy, you should raise me so? - If barren be that trust, my dreams inspire - Only despair; my brooding heart must grow - Heavy with miseries; a mourning quire, - To tell the heavy hours, how sad, how slow, - Are all their footsteps, of whose sound I tire. - - Bright seafire runs about a plunging keel - On vehement nights: and where black danger lies, - Gleam the torn breakers. But all days reveal - Drear dooms for me, nor any nights disguise - Their menace: never rolls the thunder peal - Through my worn watch, nor lightning past mine eyes - Leaps from the blue gloom of its mother skies, - One hour alone, but all, while sad stars wheel. - This hour, was it a lie, that bade me rise; - Some laughing dream, that whispered me to steal - Into the sea-sweet night, where the wind cries, - And find the comfort, that I cannot feel? - - My lord hath gone your way perpetual: - Whether you be great spirits of the dead, - Or spirits you, that never were in thrall - To perishing bodies, dust-born, dustward led. - Sweet shadows! passing by this ocean wall, - Tarry to pour some balm upon mine head, - Some pity for a woman, who hath wed - With weariness and loneliness, from fall - To fall, from bitter snows to maybloom red: - The hayfields hear, the cornlands hear, my call! - From weariness toward weariness I tread; - And hunger for the end: the end of all. - - 1888 - - - - - MYSTIC AND CAVALIER. - - _To Herbert Percy Horne._ - - Go from me: I am one of those, who fall. - What! hath no cold wind swept your heart at all, - In my sad company? Before the end, - Go from me, dear my friend! - - Yours are the victories of light: your feet - Rest from good toil, where rest is brave and sweet. - But after warfare in a mourning gloom, - I rest in clouds of doom. - - Have you not read so, looking in these eyes? - Is it the common light of the pure skies, - Lights up their shadowy depths? The end is set: - Though the end be not yet. - - When gracious music stirs, and all is bright, - And beauty triumphs through a courtly night; - When I too joy, a man like other men: - Yet, am I like them, then? - - And in the battle, when the horsemen sweep - Against a thousand deaths, and fall on sleep: - Who ever sought that sudden calm, if I - Sought not? Yet, could not die. - - Seek with thine eyes to pierce this crystal sphere: - Canst read a fate there, prosperous and clear? - Only the mists, only the weeping clouds: - Dimness, and airy shrouds. - - Beneath, what angels are at work? What powers - Prepare the secret of the fatal hours? - See! the mists tremble, and the clouds are stirred: - When comes the calling word? - - The clouds are breaking from the crystal ball, - Breaking and clearing: and I look to fall. - When the cold winds and airs of portent sweep, - My spirit may have sleep. - - O rich and sounding voices of the air! - Interpreters and prophets of despair: - Priests of a fearful sacrament! I come, - To make with you mine home. - - 1889 - - - - - PARNELL. - - _To John McGrath._ - - The wail of Irish winds, - The cry of Irish seas: - Eternal sorrow finds - Eternal voice in these. - - I cannot praise our dead, - Whom Ireland weeps so well: - Her morning light, that fled; - Her morning star, that fell. - - She of the mournful eyes - Waits, and no dark clouds break: - Waits, and her strong son lies - Dead, for her holy sake. - - Her heart is sorrow's home. - And hath been from of old: - An host of griefs hath come, - To make that heart their fold. - - Ah, the sad autumn day, - When the last sad troop came - Swift down the ancient way, - Keening a chieftain's name! - - Gray hope was there, and dread; - Anger, and love in tears: - They mourned the dear and dead, - Dirge of the ruined years. - - Home to her heart she drew - The mourning company: - Old sorrows met the new, - In sad fraternity. - - A mother, and forget? - Nay! all her children's fate - Ireland remembers yet, - With love insatiate. - - She hears the heavy bells: - Hears, and with passionate breath - Eternally she tells - A rosary of death. - - Faithful and true is she, - The mother of us all: - Faithful and true! may we - Fail her not, though we fall. - - Her son, our brother, lies - Dead, for her holy sake: - But from the dead arise - Voices, that bid us wake. - - Not his, to hail the dawn: - His but the herald's part. - Be ours to see withdrawn - Night from our mother's heart. - - 1893. - - - - - IN ENGLAND. - - _To Charles Furse._ - - Bright Hellas lies far hence, - Far the Sicilian sea: - But England's excellence - Is fair enough for me. - - I love and understand - One joy: with staff and scrip - To walk a wild west land, - The winds my fellowship. - - For all the winds will blow, - Across a lonely face, - Rough wisdom, good to know: - An high and heartening grace. - - Wind, on the open down! - Riding the wind, the moon: - From town to country town, - I go from noon to noon. - - Cities of ancient spires, - Glorious against high noon; - August at sunset fires; - Austere beneath the moon. - - Old, rain-washed, red-roofed streets, - Fresh with the soft South-west: - Where dreaming memory meets - Brave men long since at rest. - - Evening, from out the green - Wet boughs of clustered lime. - Pours fragrance rich and keen, - Balming the stilly time. - - Old ramparts, gray and stern; - But comely clothed upon - With wealth of moss and fern, - And scarlet snapdragon. - - Harbours of swaying masts, - Beneath the vesper star: - Each high-swung lantern casts - A quivering ray afar. - - From round the ancient quay, - Ring songs with rough refrains: - Strong music of the sea, - Chaunted in lusty strains. - - Freshness of early spray, - Blown on me off the sea: - Morning breaks chilly gray, - And storm is like to be. - - A cliff of rent, black rock, - About whose stern height flies - The wrangling sea-gull flock, - With querulous, thin cries. - - The sea-gulls' wrangling cry - Around the black cliff rings: - I watch them wheel and fly, - A snowstorm of white wings. - - With savoury blossoms graced, - A craggy, rusted height: - Where thrift and samphire taste - The sea and wind and light. - - A light prow plunges: red, - Red as the ruddy sand, - The tall sail fills: well sped, - The fair boat leaves the land. - - I wander with delight - Among the great sea gales: - Exulting in their might, - They thunder through the vales. - - Cries of the North-west wind, - Crying from roseless lands: - From countries cold and blind, - Hard seas and unsunned strands. - - A dark forest, where freeze - My very dreams: gaunt rows - Rise up, the forest trees; - Black, from a waste of snows. - - Long, fragrant pine tree bands, - Behind whose black, straight ranks - The dusky red sun stands, - On clouds in purple banks. - - In tree-tops the worn gale - Hangs, weakened to a sigh: - The rooks with sunrise hail - From out the tree-tops fly. - - A deep wood, where the air - Hangs in a stilly trance: - While on rich fernbanks fair - The sunlights flash and dance. - - I hear the woodland folks, - Each well-swung axe's blow: - And boughs of mighty oaks, - Murmuring to and fro. - - My step fills, as I go, - Shy rabbits with quick fears: - I see the sunlight glow - Red through their startled ears. - - Mild, red-brown April woods. - When spring is in the air: - And a soft spirit broods - In patience, everywhere. - - Primroses fill the fields, - And birds' light matin cries: - The lingering darkness yields, - Before the sun's uprise. - - Deep meadows, white with dew, - Where faeries well may dance; - Or the quaint fawnskin crew, - Play in a red moon's glance. - - Quivering poplar trees, - Silvered upon the wind: - In watermeads and leas, - With silver streams entwined. - - Waters in alder shade, - Where green lights break and gleam - Betwixt my fingers, laid - Upon the rippling stream. - - In merry prime of June, - Birds sun themselves and sing: - Mine heart beats to the tune; - The world is on the wing. - - The sun, golden and strong, - Leaps: and in flying choirs - The birds make morning song, - Across the morning fires. - - Old gardens, where long hours - But find me happier, - Beside the misty flowers - Of purple lavender. - - Heaped with a sweet hay load, - Curved, yellow waggons pass - Slow down the high-hedged road; - I watch them from the grass: - - A pleasant village noise - Breaks the still air: and all - The summer spirit joys, - Before the first leaves fall. - - Red wreckage of the rose, - Over a gusty lawn: - While in the orchard close, - Fruits redden to their dawn. - - September's wintering air, - When fruits and flowers have fled - From mountain valleys bare, - Save rowan berries red. - - These joys, and such as these, - Are England's and are mine: - Within the English seas, - My days have been divine. - - Oh! Hellas lies far hence, - Far the blue Sicel sea: - But England's excellence - Is more than they to me. - - 1892. - - - - - TO OCEAN HAZARD: GIPSY. - - Burning fire, or blowing wind; - Starry night, or glowing sun: - All these thou dost bring to mind, - All these match thee, one by one: - Ocean is thy name, most fair! - Strangest name, for thee to bear. - - Daughter of the sun, and child - Of the wind upon the waste; - Daughter of the field and wild: - Thee, what oceans have embraced? - What great waves have cradled thee, - That thy name is of the sea? - - In thy beauty, the red earth, - Full of gold and jewel stone, - Flames and burns: thy happy birth - Made and marked thee for her own. - Winds held triumph in the trees: - Thou wast lying on earth's knees. - - For thine ancient people keep - Still their march from land to land: - Ever upon earth they sleep, - Woods and fields on either hand. - Not upon the barren sea - Have thy people dandled thee. - - Closer they, than other men, - To the heart of earth have come: - First the wilderness, and then - Field and forest, gave them home: - All their days, their hearts, they must - Give to earth: and then their dust. - - Was it, that they heard the sea - In the surging pinewood's voice: - As they pondered names, for thee - Fair enough; so made their choice, - Hailed thee Ocean, hailed thee queen - Over glades of tossing green? - - 1888 - - - - - UPON A DRAWING. - - _To Manmohan Ghose._ - - Not in the crystal air of a Greek glen, - Not in the houses of imperial Rome, - Lived he, who wore this beauty among men: - No classic city was his ancient home. - What happy country claims his fair youth then, - Her pride? and what his fortunate lineage? - Here is no common man of every day, - This man, whose full and gleaming eyes assuage - Never their longing, be that what it may: - Of dreamland only he is citizen, - Beyond the flying of the last sea's foam. - - Set him beneath the Athenian olive trees, - To speak with Marathonians: or to task - The wise serenity of Socrates; - Asking, what other men dare never ask. - Love of his country and his gods? Not these - The master thoughts, that comfort his strange heart, - When life grows difficult, and the lights dim: - In him is no simplicity, but art - Is all in all, for life and death, to him: - And whoso looks upon that fair face, sees - No nature there: only a magic mask. - - Or set this man beside the Roman lords, - To vote upon the fate of Catiline; - Or in a battle of stout Roman swords, - Where strength and virtue were one thing divine: - Or bind him to the cross with Punic cords. - Think you, this unknown and mysterious man - Had played the Roman, with that wistful smile, - Those looks not moulded on a Roman plan, - But full of witcheries and secret guile? - Think you, those lips had framed true Roman words, - Whose very curves have something Sibylline? - - Thou wouldst but laugh, were one to question thee: - Laugh with malign, bright eyes, and curious joy. - Thou'rt fallen in love with thine own mystery! - And yet thou art no Sibyl, but a boy. - What wondrous land within the unvoyaged sea - Haunts then thy thoughts, thy memories, thy dreams? - Nay! be my friend; and share with me thy past: - If haply I may catch enchaunting gleams, - Catch marvellous music, while our friendship last: - Tell me thy visions: though their true home be - Some land, that was a legend in old Troy. - - 1890. - - - - - THE ROMAN STAGE. - - _To Hugh Orange._ - - A man of marble holds the throne, - With looks composed and resolute: - Till death, a prince whom princes own, - Draws near to touch the marble mute. - - _The play is over: good my friends!_ - Murmur the pale lips: _your applause!_ - With what a grace the actor ends: - How loyal to dramatic laws! - - A brooding beauty on his brow; - Irony brooding over sin: - The next imperial actor now - Bids the satiric piece begin. - - - - - "TO WEEP IRISH." - - _To the Rev. Dr. William Barry._ - - Long Irish melancholy of lament! - Voice of the sorrow, that is on the sea: - Voice of that ancient mourning music sent - From Rama childless: the world wails in thee. - - The sadness of all beauty at the heart, - The appealing of all souls unto the skies, - The longing locked in each man's breast apart, - Weep in the melody of thine old cries. - - Mother of tears! sweet Mother of sad sighs! - All mourners of the world weep Irish, weep - Ever with thee: while burdened time still runs, - Sorrows reach God through thee, and ask for sleep. - - And though thine own unsleeping sorrow yet - Live to the end of burdened time, in pain: - Still sing the song of sorrow! and forget - The sorrow, in the solace, of the strain. - - 1893. - - - - - SUMMER STORM. - - _To Harold Child._ - - The wind, hark! the wind in the angry woods: - And low clouds purple the west: there broods - Thunder, thunder; and rain will fall; - Fresh fragrance cling to the wind from all - Roses holding water wells, - Laurels gleaming to the gusty air; - Wilding mosses of the dells, - Drenched hayfields, and dripping hedgerows fair. - - The wind, hark! the wind dying again: - The wind's voice matches the far-off main, - In sighing cadences: Pan will wake, - Pan in the forest, whose rich pipes make - Music to the folding flowers, - In the pure eve, where no hot spells are: - Those be favourable hours - Hymned by Pan beneath the shepherd star. - - 1887. - - - - - TO A TRAVELLER. - - The mountains, and the lonely death at last - Upon the lonely mountains: O strong friend! - The wandering over, and the labour passed, - Thou art indeed at rest: - Earth gave thee of her best, - That labour and this end. - - Earth was thy mother, and her true son thou: - Earth called thee to a knowledge of her ways, - Upon the great hills, up the great streams: now - Upon earth's kindly breast - Thou art indeed at rest: - Thou, and thine arduous days. - - Fare thee well, O strong heart! The tranquil night - Looks calmly on thee: and the sun pours down - His glory over thee, O heart of might! - Earth gives thee perfect rest: - Earth, whom thy swift feet pressed: - Earth, whom the vast stars crown. - - 1889. - - - - - IN MEMORY OF M. B. - - Old age, that dwelt upon thy years - With softest and with stateliest grace, - Hath sealed thine eyes, hath closed thine ears, - And stilled the sweetness of thy face. - - That gentle and that gracious look - Sleeps now, and wears a marble calm: - Death took no more away, but took - All cares away, and left the balm - - Of pure repose and peacefulness - Upon thy forehead touched by time: - So shall I know thee, none the less - Than earth unwintered, come the prime. - - Gone, the white snows, the lingering leaves, - That once endeared the wintry days: - But the new bloom of spring receives - The old love, and has an equal praise. - - Fare then thee well! In Winchester, - Sleep thy last fearless sleep serene. - Friends fail me not; but kindlier - Can no friend be, than thou hast been. - - The city that we two loved best, - No fairer place of sleep for thee: - There lay thee down, and take thy rest, - And this farewell of love from me. - - 1888 - - - - - HAWTHORNE. - - _To Walter Alison Phillips._ - - Ten years ago I heard; ten, have I loved; - Thine haunting voice borne over the waste sea. - Was it thy melancholy spirit moved - Mine, with those gray dreams, that invested thee? - Or was it, that thy beauty first reproved - The imperfect fancies, that looked fair to me? - - Thou hast both secrets: for to thee are known - The fatal sorrows binding life and death: - And thou hast found, on winds of passage blown, - That music, which is sorrow's perfect breath: - So, all thy beauty takes a solemn tone, - And art, is all thy melancholy saith. - - Now therefore is thy voice abroad for me, - When through dark woodlands murmuring sounds make way: - Thy voice, and voices of the sounding sea, - Stir in the branches, as none other may: - All pensive loneliness is full of thee, - And each mysterious, each autumnal day. - - Hesperian soul! Well hadst thou in the West - Thine hermitage and meditative place: - In mild, retiring fields thou wast at rest, - Calmed by old winds, touched with aerial grace: - Fields, whence old magic simples filled thy breast, - And unforgotten fragrance balmed thy face. - - 1889 - - - - - GLORIES. - - _To Theodore Peters._ - - Roses from Paestan rosaries! - More goodly red and white was she: - Her red and white were harmonies, - Not matched upon a Paestan tree. - - Ivories blaunched in Alban air! - She lies more purely blaunched than you: - No Alban whiteness doth she wear, - But death's perfection of that hue. - - Nay! now the rivalry is done, - Of red, and white, and whiter still: - She hath a glory from that sun, - Who falls not from Olympus hill. - - 1893. - - - - - LINES TO A LADY UPON HER THIRD BIRTHDAY. - - Dear Cousin: to be three years old, - Is to have found the Age of Gold: - That Age foregone! that Age foretold! - What wondrous names, then, wait thy choice, - High sounding for thine helpless voice! - I choose instead: and hail in thee - A queen of lilied Arcady, - Or lady of Hesperides: - Or, if Utopia lie near these, - Utopian thou, by right divine, - On whom all stars of favour shine. - Vainly the cold Lycean sage - Withheld his praise from childhood's age; - Denied thine happiness to thee; - Nor as a little child would be! - Man to the world he could present, - Magnanimous, magnificent: - Children, he knew not: for of thee - Dreamed not his calm philosophy; - Or Pythias was no Dorothy! - Thou hast good right to laugh in scorn - At us, of simple dreams forlorn: - At us, whose disenchaunted eyes - Imagination dare despise. - Thou hast that freshness, early born, - Which roses have; or billowy corn, - Waving, and washed in dews of morn: - And yet, no flower of woodlands wild, - But overwhelming London's child! - About thy sleep are heard the feet - And turmoil of the sounding street: - Thou hearest not! The land of dreams - More closely lies, and clearlier gleams. - Thou watchest, with thy grave eyes gray, - Our world, with looks of far away: - Eyes, that consent to look on things - Unlike their own imaginings; - And, looking, weave round all, they see, - Charms of their own sweet sorcery. - Thus very London thou dost change - To wonderland, all fair and strange: - The ugliness and uproar seem - To soften, at a child's pure dream: - And each poor dusty garden yields - The fresh delight of cowslip fields. - What is the secret, and the spell? - Thou knowest: for thou hast it well. - Wilt thou not pity us, and break - Thy silent dreaming, for our sake? - Wilt thou not teach us, how to make - Worlds of delight from things of nought, - Or fetched from faery land, and wrought - With flowers and lovely imageries? - Pity us! for such wisdom dies: - Pity thyself! youth flies, youth flies. - Thou comest to the desert plain, - Where no dreams follow in thy train: - They leave thee at the pleasaunce close; - Lonely the haggard pathway goes. - Thou wilt look back, and see them, deep - In the fair glades, where thou didst keep - Thy summer court, thy summer sleep: - But thou wilt never see them more, - Till death the golden dreams restore. - Now, ere the hard, dull hours begin - Their sad, destroying work within - Thy childhood's delicate memory, - Wilt thou not tell us, Dorothy? - Nay! thou art in conspiracy - With all those faeries, children styled, - To keep the secret of the child. - Ah! to be only three years old! - That is indeed an Age of Gold: - And, care not for mine idle fears! - Thou need'st not lose it: the far years, - Touching with love and gentle tears - The treasures of thy memory, - May mould them into poetry. - Then, of those deep eyes, gray and grave, - The world will be a willing slave: - Then, all the dreams of dear dreamland - Wait with their music at thine hand, - And beauty come at thy command. - But now, what counts the will of time? - Enough, thou livest! And this rhyme, - Unworthy of the Golden Age, - Yet hails thee, in that heritage, - Happy and fair: then, come what may, - Thou hast the firstfruits of the day. - Fair fall each morn to thee! And I, - Despite all dark fates, Dorothy! - Will prove me thine affectionate - Cousin, and loyal Laureate. - - 1889 - - - - - CELTIC SPEECH. - - _To Dr. Douglas Hyde._ - - Never forgetful silence fall on thee, - Nor younger voices overtake thee, - Nor echoes from thine ancient hills forsake thee; - Old music heard by Mona of the sea: - And where with moving melodies there break thee - Pastoral Conway, venerable Dee. - - Like music lives, nor may that music die, - Still in the far, fair Gaelic places: - The speech, so wistful with its kindly graces, - Holy Croagh Patrick knows, and holy Hy: - The speech, that wakes the soul in withered faces, - And wakes remembrance of great things gone by. - - Like music by the desolate Land's End - Mournful forgetfulness hath broken: - No more words kindred to the winds are spoken, - Where upon iron cliffs whole seas expend - That strength, whereof the unalterable token - Remains wild music, even to the world's end. - - 1887. - - - - - WAYS OF WAR. - - _To John O'Leary._ - - A terrible and splendid trust - Heartens the host of Inisfail: - Their dream is of the swift sword-thrust, - A lightning glory of the Gael. - - Croagh Patrick is the place of prayers, - And Tara the assembling place: - But each sweet wind of Ireland bears - The trump of battle on its race. - - From Dursey Isle to Donegal, - From Howth to Achill, the glad noise - Rings: and the heirs of glory fall, - Or victory crowns their fighting joys. - - A dream! a dream! an ancient dream! - Yet, ere peace come to Inisfail, - Some weapons on some field must gleam, - Some burning glory fire the Gael. - - That field may lie beneath the sun, - Fair for the treading of an host: - That field in realms of thought be won, - And armed minds do their uttermost: - - Some way, to faithful Inisfail, - Shall come the majesty and awe - Of martial truth, that must prevail - To lay on all the eternal law. - - 1893. - - - - - THE COMING OF WAR. - - _To John Davidson._ - - Gather the people, for the battle breaks: - From camping grounds above the valley, - Gather the men-at-arms, and bid them rally: - Because the morn, the battle, wakes. - High throned above the mountains and the main, - Triumphs the sun: far down, the pasture plain - To trampling armour shakes. - - This was the meaning of those plenteous years, - Those unarmed years of peace unbroken: - Flashing war crowns them! Now war's trump hath spoken - This final glory in our ears. - The old blood of our pastoral fathers now - Riots about our heart, and through our brow: - Their sons can have no fears. - - This was our whispering and haunting dream, - When cornfields flourished, red and golden: - When vines hung purple, nor could be withholden - The radiant outburst of their stream. - Earth cried to us, that all her laboured store - Was ours: that she had more to give, and more: - For nothing, did we deem? - - We give her back the glory of this hour. - O sun and earth! O strength and beauty! - We use you now, we thank you now: our duty - We stand to do, mailed in your power. - A little people of a favoured land, - Helmed with the blessing of the morn we stand: - Our life is at its flower. - - Gather the people, let the battle break: - An hundred peaceful years are over. - Now march each man to battle, as a lover: - For him, whom death shall overtake! - Sleeping upon this field, about his gloom - Voices shall pierce, to thrill his sacred tomb, - Of pride for his great sake. - - With melody about us: heart and feet - Responding to one mighty measure; - Glad with the splendour of an holy pleasure; - Swayed, one and all, as wind sways wheat: - Answering the sunlight with our eyes aglow; - Serene, and proud, and passionate, we go - Through airs of morning sweet. - - Let no man dare to be disheartened now! - We challenge death beyond denial. - Against the host of death we make our trial: - Lord God of Hosts! do thou, - Who gavest us the fulness of thy sun - On fields of peace, perfect war's work begun: - Warriors, to thee we bow. - - O life-blood of remembrance! Long ago - This land upheld our ancient fathers: - And for this land, their land, our land, now gathers - One fellowship against the foe. - The spears flash: be they as our mothers' eyes! - The trump sounds: hearken to our fathers' cries! - March we to battle so. - - 1889 - - - - - IRELAND'S DEAD. - - _To John O'Mahony._ - - Immemorial Holy Land! - At thine hand, thy sons await - Any fate: they understand - Thee, the all compassionate. - - Be it death for thee, they grieve - Nought, to leave the fight aside: - Thou their pride, they undeceive - Death, by death unterrified. - - Mother, dear and fair to us, - Ever thus to be adored! - Is thy sword grown timorous, - Mother of misericord? - - For thy dead is grief on thee? - Can it be, thou dost repent, - That they went, thy chivalry, - Those sad ways magnificent? - - What, and if their heart's blood flow? - Gladly so, with love divine, - Since not thine the overthrow, - They thy fields incarnadine. - - Hearts afire with one sweet flame, - One loved name, thine host adores: - Conquerors, they overcame - Death, high Heaven's inheritors. - - For their loyal love, nought less, - Than the stress of death, sufficed: - Now with Christ, in blessedness, - Triumph they, imparadised. - - Mother, with so dear blood stained! - Freedom gained through love befall - Thee, by thraldom unprofaned, - Perfect and imperial! - - Still the ancient voices ring: - Faith they bring, and fear repel. - Time shall tell thy triumphing, - Victress and invincible! - - 1893. - - - - - HARMONIES. - - _To Vincent O'Sullivan._ - - I. - - Sweet music lingers - From her harpstrings on her fingers, - When they rest in mine: - And her clear glances - Help the music, whereto dances, - Trembling with an hope divine, - Every heart: and chiefly mine. - - Could she discover - All her heart to any lover, - She who sways them all? - Yet her hand trembles, - Laid in mine: and scarce dissembles, - That its music looks to fall - Into mine, and Love end all. - - 1889 - - - - II. - - The airs, that best belong, - Upon the strings devoutly playing, - Your heart devoutly praying: - Now sound your passion, full and strong, - Past all her fond gainsaying. - - First, strangely sweet and low, - Slowly her careless ears entrancing: - Then set the music dancing, - And wild notes flying to and fro; - Like spirited sunbeams glancing. - - The melodies will stir - Spirits of love, that still attend her: - That able are to bend her, - By subtile arts transforming her; - And all their wisdom fend her. - - Last, loud and resolute, - Ring out a triumph and a greeting! - No call for sad entreating, - For she will grant you all your suit, - Her song your music meeting. - - 1889 - - - - - THE LAST MUSIC. - - _To Frederic Herbert Trench._ - - Calmly, breathe calmly all your music, maids! - Breathe a calm music over my dead queen. - All your lives long, you have nor heard, nor seen, - Fairer than she, whose hair in sombre braids - With beauty overshades - Her brow, broad and serene. - - Surely she hath lain so an hundred years: - Peace is upon her, old as the world's heart. - Breathe gently, music! Music done, depart: - And leave me in her presence to my tears, - With music in mine ears; - For sorrow hath its art. - - Music, more music, sad and slow! she lies - Dead: and more beautiful, than early morn. - Discrowned am I, and of her looks forlorn: - Alone vain memories immortalize - The way of her soft eyes, - Her musical voice low-borne. - - The balm of gracious death now laps her round, - As once life gave her grace beyond her peers. - Strange! that I loved this lady of the spheres, - To sleep by her at last in common ground: - When kindly sleep hath bound - Mine eyes, and sealed mine ears. - - Maidens! make a low music: merely make - Silence a melody, no more. This day, - She travels down a pale and lonely way: - Now, for a gentle comfort, let her take - Such music, for her sake, - As mourning love can play. - - Holy my queen lies in the arms of death: - Music moves over her still face, and I - Lean breathing love over her. She will lie - In earth thus calmly, under the wind's breath: - The twilight wind, that saith: - _Rest! worthy found, to die._ - - 1889 - - - - - A DREAM OF YOUTH. - - _To Lord Alfred Douglas._ - - With faces bright, as ruddy corn, - Touched by the sunlight of the morn; - With rippling hair; and gleaming eyes, - Wherein a sea of passion lies; - Hair waving back, and eyes that gleam - With deep delight of dream on dream; - With full lips, curving into song; - With shapely limbs, upright and strong: - The youths on holy service throng. - - Vested in white, upon their brows - Are wreaths fresh twined from dewy boughs - And flowers they strow along the way, - Still dewy from the birth of day. - So, to each reverend altar come, - They stand in adoration: some - Swing up gold censers; till the air - Is blue and sweet, with smoke of rare - Spices, that fetched from Egypt were. - - In voices of calm, choral tone, - Praise they each God, with praise his own: - As children of the Gods, is seen - Their glad solemnity of mien: - So fair a spirit of the skies - Is in their going: and their eyes - Look out upon the peopled earth, - As theirs were some diviner birth: - And clear and courtly is their mirth. - - Lights of the labouring world, they seem: - Or, to the tired, like some fresh stream. - Their dignity of perfect youth - Compels devotion, as doth truth: - So right seems all, they do, they are. - Old age looks wistful, from afar, - To watch their beauty, as they go, - Radiant and free, in ordered row; - And fairer, in the watching, grow. - - Fair though it be, to watch unclose - The nestling glories of a rose, - Depth on rich depth, soft fold on fold: - Though fairer be it, to behold - Stately and sceptral lilies break - To beauty, and to sweetness wake: - Yet fairer still, to see and sing, - One fair thing is, one matchless thing: - Youth, in its perfect blossoming. - - The magic of a golden grace - Brings fire and sweetness on each face: - Till, from their passage, every heart - Takes fire, and sweetness in the smart: - Till virtue lives, for all who own - Their majesty, in them alone: - Till careless hearts, and idle, take - Delight in living, for their sake; - Worship their footsteps, and awake. - - Beside the tremulous, blue sea, - Clear at sunset, they love to be: - And they are rarely sad, but then. - For sorrow touches them, as men, - Looking upon the calm of things, - That pass, and wake rememberings - Of holy and of ancient awe; - The charm of immemorial Law: - _What we see now, the great dead saw!_ - - Upon a morn of storm, a swan, - Breasting the cold stream, cold and wan, - Throws back his neck in snowy length - Between his snowy wings of strength: - Against him the swift river flows, - The proudlier he against it goes, - King of the waters! For his pride - Bears him upon a mightier tide: - May death not be by youth defied? - - But the red sun is gone: and gleams - Of delicate moonlight waken dreams, - Dreams, and the mysteries of peace: - Shall this fair darkness ever cease? - Here is no drear, no fearful Power, - But life grows fuller with each hour, - Full of the silence, that is best: - Earth lies, with soothed and quiet breast, - Beneath the guardian stars, at rest. - - At night, behold them! Where lights burn - By moonlit olives, see them turn - Full faces toward the sailing moon, - Nigh lovelier than beneath high noon! - Throw back their comely moulded throats, - Whence music on the night wind floats! - And through the fragrant hush of night - Their lustrous eyes make darkness bright: - Their laugh loads darkness with delight. - - Almost the murmuring sea is still: - Almost the world obeys their will. - Such youth moves pity in stern Fates, - And sure death wellnigh dominates: - Their passion kindles such fair flame, - As from divine Achilles came: - A vehement ardour thrills their breasts, - And beauty's benediction rests - On earth, and on earth's goodliest guests. - - The music of their sighing parts - A silence: and their beating hearts - Beat to a measure of despair: - Ah! how the fire of youth is fair? - Yet may not be for ever young! - But night hath yielded; there hath sprung - Morning upon the throne of night: - Day comes, with solemnizing light: - Consuming sorrows take to flight. - - Magnificent in early bloom, - Like Gods, they triumph over gloom: - All things desirable are theirs, - Of beauty and of wonder, heirs: - Their cities, vassals are, which give - Them thanks and praise, because they live: - Strong, they are victors of dismay; - Fair, they serve beauty every day; - Young, the sun loves to light their way. - - Where now is death? Where that gray land? - Those fearless eyes, those white brows grand, - That take full sunlight and sweet air - With rapture true and debonair, - These have not known the touch of death! - The world hath winds: these forms have breath, - But, should death come, should dear life set, - Calm would each go: _Farewell! forget - Me dead: live you serenely yet._ - - See them! The springing of the palm - Is nought, beside their gracious calm: - The rippling of cool waters dies - To nought, before their clear replies: - The smile, that heralds their bright thought, - Brings down the splendid sun to nought. - See them! They walk the earth in state: - In right of perfect youth, held great: - On whom the powers of nature wait. - - No sceptre theirs, but they are kings: - Their forms and words are royal things. - Their simple friendship is a court, - Whither the wise and great resort. - No homage of the world, they claim: - But in all places lives their fame. - Sun, moon, and stars; the earth, the sea; - Yea! all things, that of beauty be, - Honour their true divinity. - - 1889 - - - - - ROMANS. - - _To Arthur Galton._ - - How shall I praise thee, Caesar? Thou art he, - Through whom all Europe's greatness came to be - And the world's central crime is thy swift death. - And thou too, Cicero! the voice of Rome! - The listening world is thy perpetual home: - Earth's plain, thy floor; the embracing sky, thy dome. - No greater things than these, great history saith: - Caesarian sword, and Ciceronian breath. - - You were no friends: but you are brothers now: - Equal, the laurels on each victor's brow: - Triumphing generations throng each car. - This night, I hear those measured tides of sound, - Surging above that crownless king discrowned, - Dead on that sacred senatorial ground: - Low in the dark hangs, burning from afar, - With pale and solemn fires, the Julian Star. - - 1889 - - - - - THE TROOPSHIP. - - At early morning, clear and cold, - Still in her English harbour lay - The long, white ship: while winter gold - Shone pale upon her outward way. - - Slowly she moved, slowly she stirred, - Stately and slow, she went away: - Sounds of farewell, the harbour heard; - Music on board began to play. - - Old, homely airs were thine, great ship! - Breaking from laughter into tears: - And through them all good fellowship - Spoke of a trust beyond all fears. - - Still, as the gray mists gathered round, - Embracing thee, concealing thine; - Still, faintly from the Outward Bound - Came melodies of _Auld Lang Syne_. - - Oh, sad to part! Oh, brave to go - Between the Piers of Hercules, - And through the seas of fame, and so - Meet eastern sun on eastern seas! - - O richly laden! swiftly bear, - And surely, thy two thousand men; - Till round them burn the Indian air: - And English lips will hail them then. - - NEW YEAR'S DAY: 1890. - - - - - DEAD. - - _To Olivier Georges Destrée._ - - In Merioneth, over the sad moor - Drives the rain, the cold wind blows: - Past the ruinous church door, - The poor procession without music goes. - - Lonely she wandered out her hour, and died. - Now the mournful curlew cries - Over her, laid down beside - Death's lonely people: lightly down she lies. - - In Merioneth, the wind lives and wails, - On from hill to lonely hill: - Down the loud, triumphant gales, - A spirit cries Be strong! and cries Be still! - - 1887. - - - - - SANCTA SILVARUM. - - _To the Earl Russell._ - - I. - - Deep music of the ancient forest! - Through glades and coverts with thy magic winding; - And in the silence of our hushed hearts finding - Tremulous echoes of thy murmur, - Unshapen thoughts thronging and throbbing: - O music of the mystery, that embraces - All forest depths, and footless far-off places! - Thou art the most high voice of nature, - Thou art the voice of unseen singers, - Vanishing ever deeper through the clinging - Thickets, and under druid branches winging - A flight, that draws our eyes to follow: - Yet, following, find they only forest; - But lonely forest, stately melancholy, - A consecrated stillness, old and holy; - Commanding us to hail with homage - Powers, that we see not, hid in beauty: - A majesty immeasurable; a glorious - Conclave of angels: wherewithal victorious, - The Lord of venerable forests, - Murmuring sanctuaries and cloisters, - Proclaims his kingdom over our emotion: - Even as his brother Lord of the old ocean - Thunders tremendous laws, in tempest - Embattled between winds and waters. - O mighty friendship of mysterious forces, - O servants of one Will! Stars in their courses, - Flowers in their fragrance, in their music - Winged winds, and lightnings in their fierceness! - These are the world's magnalities and splendours: - At touch of these, the adoring spirit renders - Glory, and praise, and passionate silence. - - 1886. - - - - II. - - The moon labours through black cloud, - Through the vast night, dark and proud: - The windy wood dances. - Still the massed heavens drive along: - And, of all night's fiery throng, - The moon alone glances. - - How the lights are wild and strange! - Only one light doth not change, - From living fires flowing: - Where, on fragrant banks of fern, - Steadily and stilly burn - The greenwood worms glowing. - - Going down the forest side, - The night robs me of all pride, - By gloom and by splendour. - High, away, alone, afar, - Mighty wills and workings are: - To them I surrender. - - The processions of the night, - Sweeping clouds and battling light, - And wild winds in thunder, - Care not for the world of man, - Passionate on another plan: - O twin worlds of wonder! - - Ancients of dark majesty! - Priests of splendid mystery! - The Powers of Night cluster: - In the shadows of the trees, - Dreams, that no man lives and sees, - The dreams! the dreams! muster. - - Move not! for the night wind stirs: - And the night wind ministers - To dreams, and their voices: - Ah! the wild moon earthward bowed - From that tyranny of cloud: - The dim wood rejoices. - - What do I here? What am I, - Who may comprehend nor sky, - Nor trees, nor dreams thronging? - Over moonlight dark clouds drive: - The vast midnight is alive - With magical longing. - - 1889. - - - - III. - - Through the fresh woods there fleet - Fawns, with bright eyes, light feet: - Bright eyes, and feet that spurn - The pure green fern. - - Headed by leaping does, - The swift procession goes - Through thickets, over lawns: - Followed by fawns. - - Over slopes, over glades, - Down dells and leafy shades, - Away the quick deer troop: - A wildwood group. - - Under the forest airs, - A life of grace is theirs: - Courtly their look; they seem - Things of a dream. - - Some say, but who can say? - That a charmed troop are they: - Once youths and maidens white! - These may be right. - - - - IV. - - Over me, beeches broad beneath blue sky - In light winds through their cooling leaves rejoice: - Now, the red squirrel, lithe and wild, runs by; - Anon the wood dove from deep glades, with voice - Of mellow music, lulls the air: - All murmurs of the forest, stirs and cries, - Come stilly down green coverts; the high fern - Smells of rich earth aglow from burning skies. - Hither my greenwood ways love best to turn: - Hither my lone hours gladliest fare. - - But not for melancholy solitude; - Not for the fond delight of loneliness: - Though here nor voice, nor alien feet, intrude. - Lone am I: but what lone dreams dare repress - High presences of vanished days? - Long billowy reaches of unnumbered trees - Roll downward from this haunt, and break at length - Against such walls, as no man unmoved sees, - But hails the past of splendour and of strength: - And heights of immemorial praise. - - That Castle gray, marvellous with mighty years, - Crowning the forest deeps in pride of place: - Towers, royal in their histories of tears, - And royal in their chronicles of grace: - Am I alone, beholding those? - The solitary forest bowers me round: - Yet companies august go through the glade, - Crowned and resplendent! stately and discrowned! - All, solemn from the tragedies they played: - Remembering, each the doom, the close. - - Alone! Nay, but almost, would that I were - Alone: too high are these great things for me. - Immeasurable glooms and splendours here - Usurp the calm noon, where my rest should be: - O proud, O ancient Towers! farewell. - I turn from you, and take the world of men: - Gladly I mix me with the common day: - But should they vex me with their tumult: then, - Hither my feet will find the accustomed way; - Then cast once more your heightening spell. - - 1889 - - - - - BAGLEY WOOD. - - _To Percy Addleshaw._ - - The night is full of stars, full of magnificence: - Nightingales hold the wood, and fragrance loads the dark. - Behold, what fires august, what lights eternal! Hark, - What passionate music poured in passionate love's defence! - Breathe but the wafting wind's nocturnal frankincense! - Only to feel this night's great heart, only to mark - The splendours and the glooms, brings back the patriarch, - Who on Chaldaean wastes found God through reverence. - - Could we but live at will upon this perfect height, - Could we but always keep the passion of this peace, - Could we but face unshamed the look of this pure light, - Could we but win earth's heart, and give desire release: - Then were we all divine, and then were ours by right - These stars, these nightingales, these scents: then shame would cease. - - 1890. - - - - - CORONA CRUCIS. - - _To the Rev. Father Goldie, S. J._ - - Deficit inter tenebras cor triste: - Unde fulgebit mihi lux petita? - O cor infidum! Nonne dicis, Christe! - Ego sum Via, et Veritas, et Vita. - - Via amara Tu, Veritas dura, - Vita difficilis, tremende Deus! - Deliciarum Via, Veritas pura, - Vita vitarum Tu, et amor meus! - - Non Te relinquam, carae Dator crucis, - Rex caritatis, Domine dolorum! - Splendet longinqua mihi patria lucis, - Et diadema omnium amorum. - - 1893. - - - - - A SONG OF ISRAEL. - - _To the Rev. Stewart Headlam._ - - Praise ye Him, with virginals and organs: - Praise ye Him, with timbrel and flute! - Come from the field, glorify His temple, - With red corn, with the ripe first fruit. - - He is God, who brought us out from Egypt, - Gave us lands of vineyard and oil: - He is God, who made the Kings of Canaan, - Made their kingdoms, to be our spoil. - - Praise ye Him, with psaltery and cymbal: - Praise ye Him, with viol and harp! - Through the Wilderness, through the rough places, - Led He us, for whom Death grew sharp. - - Sinai, with thunders and with voices, - Praised our God, the Giver of Law: - Jordan stayed the rushing of his waters; - Israel passed over, and saw: - - Saw the plenty, saw the Land of Promise, - Saw, and praised Him, the Lord of lords: - King of armies, terrible and holy; - Light to our eyes, and strength to our swords. - - Where be now the gods of all the nations? - Where is Baal? Where Ashtaroth? - Fallen! fallen! before the God of Jacob: - None withstood the day of His wrath. - - Praise ye Him, with virginals and organs: - Praise ye Him, with music and voice! - Praise the Name of the Lord God Jehovah: - Praise Him, praise Him, ye Tribes His choice! - - 1889 - - - - - THE DARK ANGEL. - - Dark Angel, with thine aching lust - To rid the world of penitence: - Malicious Angel, who still dost - My soul such subtile violence! - - Because of thee, no thought, no thing, - Abides for me undesecrate: - Dark Angel, ever on the wing, - Who never reachest me too late! - - When music sounds, then changest thou - Its silvery to a sultry fire: - Nor will thine envious heart allow - Delight untortured by desire. - - Through thee, the gracious Muses turn - To Furies, O mine Enemy! - And all the things of beauty burn - With flames of evil ecstasy. - - Because of thee, the land of dreams - Becomes a gathering place of fears: - Until tormented slumber seems - One vehemence of useless tears. - - When sunlight glows upon the flowers, - Or ripples down the dancing sea: - Thou, with thy troop of passionate powers, - Beleaguerest, bewilderest, me. - - Within the breath of autumn woods, - Within the winter silences: - Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods, - O Master of impieties! - - The ardour of red flame is thine, - And thine the steely soul of ice: - Thou poisonest the fair design - Of nature, with unfair device. - - Apples of ashes, golden bright; - Waters of bitterness, how sweet! - O banquet of a foul delight, - Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete! - - Thou art the whisper in the gloom, - The hinting tone, the haunting laugh: - Thou art the adorner of my tomb, - The minstrel of mine epitaph. - - I fight thee, in the Holy Name! - Yet, what thou dost, is what God saith: - Tempter! should I escape thy flame, - Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death - - The second Death, that never dies, - That cannot die, when time is dead: - Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries, - Eternally uncomforted. - - Dark Angel, with thine aching lust! - Of two defeats, of two despairs: - Less dread, a change to drifting dust, - Than thine eternity of cares. - - Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not so, - Dark Angel! triumph over me: - Lonely, unto the Lone I go; - Divine, to the Divinity. - - 1893. - - - - - A FRIEND. - - His are the whitenesses of soul, - That Virgil had: he walks the earth - A classic saint, in self-control, - And comeliness, and quiet mirth. - - His presence wins me to repose: - When he is with me, I forget - All heaviness: and when he goes, - The comfort of the sun is set. - - But in the lonely hours I learn, - How I can serve and thank him best: - God! trouble him: that he may turn - Through sorrow to the only rest. - - 1894. - - - - - TO A PASSIONIST. - - Clad in a vestment wrought with passion-flowers; - Celebrant of one Passion; called by name - Passionist: is thy world, one world with ours? - Thine, a like heart? Thy very soul, the same? - - Thou pleadest an eternal sorrow: we - Praise the still changing beauty of this earth. - Passionate good and evil, thou dost see: - Our eyes behold the dreams of death and birth. - - We love the joys of men: we love the dawn, - Red with the sun, and with the pure dew pearled - Thy stern soul feels, after the sun withdrawn, - How much pain goes to perfecting the world. - - Canst thou be right? Is thine the very truth? - Stands then our life in so forlorn a state? - Nay, but thou wrongest us: thou wrong'st our youth, - Who dost our happiness compassionate. - - And yet! and yet! O royal Calvary! - Whence divine sorrow triumphed through years past: - Could ages bow before mere memory? - Those passion-flowers must blossom, to the last. - - Purple they bloom, the splendour of a King: - Crimson they bleed, the sacrament of Death: - About our thrones and pleasaunces they cling, - Where guilty eyes read, what each blossom saith. - - 1888. - - - - - ADVENTUS DOMINI. - - _To the Rev. Radclyffe Dolling._ - - Et cherubim et seraphim descendit Rex: - Caelos caelorum linquit salvaturus nos. - Deserit, ne per saecula stet mortis lex, - Angelos Deus noster et Archangelos. - - Tu, miserator! Tu, Christe misericors! - Tu, peccatores nos qui solus redimis: - Ut caeli gaudeant, ut moriatur mors, - Veni cum Angelis et cum Archangelis! - - 1890. - - - - - MEN OF ASSISI. - - _To Viscount St. Cyres._ - - A crown of roses and of thorns; - A crown of roses and of bay: - Each crown of loveliness adorns - Assisi, gleaming far away - On Umbrian heights, in Umbrian day. - - One bloomed, when Cynthia's lover sang - Cynthia, and revelry, and Rome: - And one his wounded hands did hang, - Whose heart was lovelier Love's dear home; - And his, an holier martyrdom. - - Are the spring roses round thine head, - Propertius! as they were of old? - In the gray deserts of the dead, - Glows any wine in cups of gold? - Not all the truth, dead Cynthia told! - - And round thine head, so lowly fair, - Saint Francis! thorns no longer close: - Paradise roses may be there, - And Mary lilies: only those. - Thy sister, Death, hurt not thy rose. - - We to thy shade, with song and wine, - Libation make, Propertius! - While suns or stars of summer shine, - Thy passionate music thrills through us: - Hail to thee, hail! We crown thee, thus. - - But when our hearts are chill and faint, - Pierced with true sorrow piteous: - Francis! our brother and God's Saint, - We worship thee, we hail thee, thus: - Praying, _Sweet Francis! pray for us._ - - O city on the Umbrian hills: - Assisi, mother of such sons! - What glory of remembrance fills - Thine heart, whereof the legend runs: - _These are among my vanished ones._ - - 1890. - - - - - MEN OF AQUINO. - - _To Charles Mulvany._ - - Those angry fires, that clove the air, - Heavy with Rome's imperial lust: - Those bitter fires, that burn and flare - Unquenched, above their kindler's dust: - Aquinum can their birth declare. - - The wicked splendours of old time, - Juvenal! stung thy passionate heart. - Wrath learned of thee a scorn sublime; - The Muses, a prophetic art: - Yet pride and lust kept still their prime. - - A greater birth, Aquinum knows: - Rank upon rank, in stately wise; - Rank upon rank, in ordered rows; - Like sacred hosts and hierarchies, - The march of holy science goes. - - Vain, a man's voice, to conquer men! - Rome fell: Rome rose: Aquinum lent - The world her greater citizen: - Armed for Rome's war, Saint Thomas went, - Using God's voice: they listened, then. - - Ah, Juvenal! thy trumpet sound: - Woe for the fallen soul of Rome! - But the high saint, whose music found - The altar its eternal home, - Sang: _Lauda Sion!_ heavenward bound. - - A fourfold music of the Host, - He sang: the open Heavens shone plain. - Then back he turned him to his post, - And opened heavenly Laws again, - From first to last, both least and most. - - O little Latin town! rejoice, - Who hast such motherhood, as this: - Through all the worlds of faith one voice - Chaunts forth the truth; yet stays not his, - Whose anger made a righteous choice. - - 1890 - - - - - LUCRETIUS. - - _To William Nash._ - - I. - - Visions, to sear with flame his worn and haunted eyes, - Throng him: and fears unknown invest the black night hours. - His royal reason fights with undefeated Powers, - Armies of mad desires, legions of wanton lies; - His ears are full of pain, because of their fierce cries: - Nor from his tended thoughts, for all their fruits and flowers, - Comes solace: for Philosophy within her bowers - Falls faint, and sick to death. Therefore Lucretius dies. - - Dead! And his deathless death hath him, so still and stark! - No change upon the deep, no change upon the earth, - None in the wastes of nature, the starred wilderness. - Wandering flames and thunders of the shaken dark: - Among the mountain heights, winds wild with stormy mirth: - These were before, and these will be: no more, no less. - - 1890. - - - - II. - - Lucretious! King of men, that are - No more, they think, than men: - Who, past the flaming walls afar, - Find nought within their ken: - - The cruel draught, that wildered thee, - And drove thee upon sleep, - Was kinder than Philosophy, - Who would not let thee weep. - - Thou knowest now, that life and death - Are wondrous intervals: - The fortunes of a fitful breath, - Within the flaming walls. - - Without them, an eternal plan, - Which life and death obey: - Divinity, that fashions man, - Its high, immortal way. - - Or was he right, thy past compare, - Thy one true voice of Greece? - Then, whirled about the unconscious air, - Thou hast a vehement peace. - - No calms of light, no purple lands, - No sanctuaries sublime: - Like storms of snow, like quaking sands, - Thine atoms drift through time. - - 1889. - - - - III. - - Mightiest-minded of the Roman race, - Lucretius! - In thy predestined, purgatory place, - Where thou and thine Iphigenia wait: - What think'st thou of the Vision and the Fate, - Wherewith the Christ makes all thine outcries vain? - Art learning Christ through sweet and bitter pain, - Lucretius? - - Heaviest-hearted of the sons of men, - Lucretius! - Well couldst thou justify severe thoughts then, - Considering thy lamentable Rome: - But thou wilt come to an imperial home, - With walls of jasper, past the walls of fire: - To God's proud City, and thine heart's desire, - Lucretius! - - 1887. - - - - - ENTHUSIASTS. - - _To the Rev. Percy Dearmer._ - - Let your swords flash, and wound the golden air of God: - Bright steel, to meet and cleave the splendour of His sun! - Now is a war of wars in majesty begun: - Red shall the cornfields ripen, where our horses trod, - Where scythe nor sickle swept, but smote war's iron rod: - Where the stars rose and set, and saw the blood still run. - So shall men tell of us, and dread our deeds, though done: - New annals yet shall praise time's fiercest period. - - Let your swords flash, and wound the glowing air: now play - A glorious dance of death, with clash and gleam of sword. - Did Syrian sun and moon stand still on Israel's day? - Those orbs halt over Ajalon at Joshua's word? - Of us, who ride for God, shall Christian children say: - _To battle, see! flash by armed angels of the Lord._ - - 1891. - - - - - CADGWITH. - - _To Laurence Binyon._ - - _Man is a shadow's dream!_ - Opulent Pindar saith: - Yet man may win a gleam - Of glory, before death. - - Saith golden Shakespeare: _Man - Is a dream's shadow!_ Yet, - Though death do all death can, - His soul toward life is set. - - I, living with delight - This rich autumnal day, - Mark the gulls' curving flight - Across the black-girt bay. - - And the sea's working men, - The fisher-folk, I mark - Haul down their boats, and then - Launch for the deep sea dark. - - Far out the strange ships go: - Their broad sails flashing red - As flame, or white as snow: - The ships, as David said. - - Winds rush and waters roll: - Their strength, their beauty, brings - Into mine heart the whole - Magnificence of things: - - That men are counted worth - A part upon this sea, - A part upon this earth, - Exalts and heartens me. - - Ah, Glaucus, soul of man! - Encrusted by each tide, - That, since the seas began, - Hath surged against thy side: - - Encumbering thee with weed, - And tangle of the wave! - Yet canst thou rise at need, - And thy strong beauty save! - - Tides of the world in vain - Desire to vanquish thee: - Prostrate, thou canst again - Rise, lord of earth and sea: - - Rise, lord of sea and earth, - And winds, and starry night. - Thine is the greater birth - And origin of light. - - 1892. - - - - II. - - My windows open to the autumn night, - In vain I watched for sleep to visit me: - How should sleep dull mine ears, and dim my sight, - Who saw the stars, and listened to the sea? - - Ah, how the City of our God is fair! - If, without sea, and starless though it be, - For joy of the majestic beauty there, - Men shall not miss the stars, nor mourn the sea. - - 1892. - - - - III. - - Mary Star of the Sea! - Look on this little place: - Bless the kind fisher race, - Mary Star of the Sea! - - Send harvest from the deep, - Mary Star of the Sea! - Mary Star of the Sea! - Let not these women weep. - - Mary Star of the Sea! - Give wife and mother joy - In husband and in boy: - Mary Star of the Sea! - - With intercession save, - Mary Star of the Sea! - Mary Star of the Sea! - These children of the wave. - - Mary Star of the Sea! - Pour peace upon the wild - Waves, make their murmurs mild: - Mary Star of the Sea! - - Now in thy mercy pray, - Mary Star of the Sea! - Mary Star of the Sea! - For sailors far away. - - Mary Star of the Sea! - Now be thy great prayers said - For all poor seamen dead: - Mary Star of the Sea! - - 1892 - - - - - VISIONS. - - _To Mrs. de Paravicini._ - - I. - - Each in his proper gloom; - Each in his dark, just place: - The builders of their doom - Hide, each his awful face. - - Not less than saints, are they - Heirs of Eternity: - Perfect, their dreadful way; - A deathless company. - - Lost! lost! fallen and lost! - With fierce wrath ever fresh: - Each suffers in the ghost - The sorrows of the flesh. - - O miracle of sin! - That makes itself an home, - So utter black within, - Thither Light cannot come! - - O mighty house of hate! - Stablished and guarded so, - Love cannot pass the gate, - Even to dull its woe! - - Now, Christ compassionate! - Now, bruise me with thy rod: - Lest I be mine own fate, - And kill the Love of God. - - 1893. - - - - II. - - O place of happy pains, - And land of dear desires! - Where Love divine detains - Glad souls among sweet fires. - - Where sweet, white fires embrace - The red-scarred, red-stained soul: - That it may see God's Face, - Perfectly white and whole. - - While with still hope they bear - Those ardent agonies: - Earth pleads for them, in prayer - And wistful charities. - - O place of patient pains, - And land of brave desires! - Us now God's Will detains - Far from those holy fires. - - Us the sad world rings round - With passionate flames impure: - We tread an impious ground, - And hunger, and endure: - - That, earth's ordeal done, - Those white, sweet fires may fit - Us for our home, and One, - Who is the Light of it. - - 1892. - - - - III. - - Since, O white City! I may be, - I, a white citizen of thee: - I claim no saint's high grace - Mine, but a servant's place. - - I think not vainly to become - A king, who knew no martyrdom: - Nor crown, nor palm, I crave; - But to be Christ's poor slave. - - Angels! before the Lord of lords, - Shine forth, His spiritual swords! - Flash round the King of kings - The snow of your white wings! - - But I, too fresh from the white fire, - Humble the dreams of all desire: - Nay! let me shine afar, - Who am Heaven's faintest star. - - Upon the eternal borders let - My still too fearful soul be set: - There wait the Will of God, - A loving period. - - Closer I dare not come, nor see - The Face of Him, Who died for me. - Child! thou shalt dwell apart: - But in My Sacred Heart. - - 1893. - - - - - TO LEO XIII. - - Leo! Vicar of Christ, - His voice, His love, His sword: - Leo! Vicar of Christ, - Earth's Angel of the Lord: - - Leo! Father of all, - Whose are all hearts to keep: - Leo! Father of all, - Chief Shepherd of the sheep: - - Leo! Lover of men, - Through all the labouring lands: - Leo! Lover of men, - Blest by thine holy hands: - - Leo! Ruler of Rome, - Heir of its royal race: - Leo! Ruler of Rome, - King of the Holy Place: - - Leo! Leo the Great! - Glory, and love, and fear, - Leo! Leo the Great! - We give thee, great and dear: - - Leo! God grant this thing: - Might some, so proud to be - Children of England, bring - Thine England back to thee! - - 1892. - - - - - AT THE BURIAL OF CARDINAL MANNING. - - _To James Britten._ - - Victor in Roman purple, saint and knight, - In peace he passes to eternal peace: - Triumph so proud, knew not Rome's ancient might; - She knew not to make poor men's sorrow cease: - For thousands, ere he won the holiest home, - Earth was made homelier by this Prince of Rome. - - 1892. - - - - - VIGILS. - - _To C. K. P._ - - Song and silence ever be - All the grace, life bring to me: - Song well winged with sunrise fire; - Silence holy and entire: - Silence of a marble sea, - Song of an immortal lyre. - - Take my thanks, who profferest - Wistful song and musical: - Melodies memorial, - Melancholy, augural: - Meaning, that Old World is best: - Ours, a witless palimpsest. - - Not cool glades of Fontainebleau - Hold the secret; not French plains, - Crowned with monumental fanes; - Not the Flemish waters' flow: - Light the fair days come, light go: - But the mystery remains. - - Here, beneath the carven spires, - We have dreams, revolts, desires: - Here each ancient, haunted Hall - Holds its Brocken carnival; - Where Philosophy attires - All her forms, to suit us all. - - In a ring her witches crowd: - Faces passionate and proud, - Luring eyes and voices loud: - _Death ends life: And life is death: - Man is dust: The soul a breath: - Who knows aught?_ Each fair Lie saith. - - Master of the revel rout, - Flaunts him Mephistopheles: - Leading up, to where he sees - Faith, alone and ill at ease, - Many a winning, light-foot Doubt: - _Knows each other: dance it out!_ - - Ah, the whirling, bacchant dance! - Then no more Faith's crystal glance - Pierces the benighted skies: - Then, for her inheritance, - Hath she but each dream, that lies - Dying in her wildered eyes. - - Breaking hearts! For you the lark - Cries at morn: for you the deep - Silence deepens in the dark, - When invisible angels mark - Your tired eyes, that burn and weep, - Hardly wearied into sleep. - - Fearful hearts! For you all song - Sighs, and laughs, and soars: for you - Low-preluding winds prolong - Meditative music through - Twilight: till for you there throng - Calm stars, unprofaned and true. - - Song and silence ever be - All the grace, life bring to me: - Song of Mary, mighty Mother; - Song of whom she bare, my Brother: - Silence of an ecstasy, - When I find Him, and none other. - - Song thou sendest, singing fair: - But what music past compare - That must be when, gathered home, - Poor strayed children kneel in prayer: - Confessors of Christendom - Unto thee, O royal Rome! - - Silence all is mine alone - Now, before the altar throne - Darkling, waiting, happier thus, - Till the night watches be gone. - Holy Aloysius! - Holy Mother! pray for us. - - 1887. - - - - - THE CHURCH OF A DREAM. - - _To Bernhard Berenson._ - - Sadly the dead leaves rustle in the whistling wind, - Around the weather-worn, gray church, low down the vale: - The Saints in golden vesture shake before the gale; - The glorious windows shake, where still they dwell enshrined; - Old Saints, by long dead, shrivelled hands, long since designed: - There still, although the world autumnal be, and pale, - Still in their golden vesture the old saints prevail; - Alone with Christ, desolate else, left by mankind. - - Only one ancient Priest offers the Sacrifice, - Murmuring holy Latin immemorial: - Swaying with tremulous hands the old censer full of spice, - In gray, sweet incense clouds; blue, sweet clouds mystical: - To him, in place of men, for he is old, suffice - Melancholy remembrances and vesperal. - - 1890. - - - - - THE AGE OF A DREAM. - - _To Christopher Whall._ - - Imageries of dreams reveal a gracious age: - Black armour, falling lace, and altar lights at morn. - The courtesy of Saints, their gentleness and scorn, - Lights on an earth more fair, than shone from Plato's page: - The courtesy of knights, fair calm and sacred rage: - The courtesy of love, sorrow for love's sake borne. - Vanished, those high conceits! Desolate and forlorn, - We hunger against hope for that lost heritage. - - Gone now, the carven work! Ruined, the golden shrine! - No more the glorious organs pour their voice divine; - No more rich frankincense drifts through the Holy Place: - Now from the broken tower, what solemn bell still tolls, - Mourning what piteous death? Answer, O saddened souls! - Who mourn the death of beauty and the death of grace. - - 1890. - - - - - OXFORD NIGHTS. - - _To Victor Plarr._ - - About the august and ancient _Square_, - Cries the wild wind; and through the air, - The blue night air, blows keen and chill: - Else, all the night sleeps, all is still. - Now, the lone _Square_ is blind with gloom: - Now, on that clustering chestnut bloom, - A cloudy moonlight plays, and falls - In glory upon _Bodley's_ walls: - Now, wildlier yet, while moonlight pales, - Storm the tumultuary gales. - O rare divinity of Night! - Season of undisturbed delight: - Glad interspace of day and day! - Without, an world of winds at play: - Within, I hear what dead friends say. - Blow, winds! and round that perfect _Dome_, - Wail as you will, and sweep, and roam: - Above _Saint Mary's_ carven home, - Struggle, and smite to your desire - The sainted watchers on her spire: - Or in the distance vex your power - Upon mine own _New College_ tower: - You hurt not these! On me and mine, - Clear candlelights in quiet shine: - My fire lives yet! nor have I done - With _Smollett_, nor with _Richardson_: - With, gentlest of the martyrs! _Lamb_, - Whose lover I, long lover, am: - With _Gray_, whose gracious spirit knew - The sorrows of art's lonely few: - With _Fielding_, great, and strong, and tall; - _Sterne_, exquisite, equivocal; - _Goldsmith_, the dearest of them all: - While _Addison's_ demure delights - Turn _Oxford_, into _Attic_, nights. - Still _Trim_ and _Parson Adams_ keep - Me better company, than sleep: - Dark sleep, who loves not me; nor I - Love well her nightly death to die, - And in her haunted chapels lie. - Sleep wins me not: but from his shelf - Brings me each wit his very self: - Beside my chair the great ghosts throng, - Each tells his story, sings his song: - And in the ruddy fire I trace - The curves of each _Augustan_ face. - I sit at _Doctor Primrose'_ board: - I hear _Beau Tibbs_ discuss a lord. - Mine, _Matthew Bramble's_ pleasant wrath; - Mine, all the humours of the _Bath_. - _Sir Roger_ and the _Man in Black_ - Bring me the _Golden Ages_ back. - Now white _Clarissa_ meets her fate, - With virgin will inviolate: - Now _Lovelace_ wins me with a smile, - _Lovelace_, adorable and vile. - I taste, in slow alternate way, - Letters of _Lamb_, letters of _Gray_: - Nor lives there, beneath _Oxford_ towers, - More joy, than in my silent hours. - Dream, who love dreams! forget all grief: - Find, in sleep's nothingness, relief: - Better my dreams! Dear, human books, - With kindly voices, winning looks! - Enchaunt me with your spells of art, - And draw me homeward to your heart: - Till weariness and things unkind - Seem but a vain and passing wind: - Till the gray morning slowly creep - Upward, and rouse the birds from sleep: - Till _Oxford_ bells the silence break, - And find me happier, for your sake. - Then, with the dawn of common day, - Rest you! But I, upon my way, - What the fates bring, will cheerlier do, - In days not yours, through thoughts of you! - - 1890. - - - - - TO A SPANISH FRIEND. - - Exiled in America - From thine old Castilia, - Son of holy Avila! - Leave thine endless tangled lore, - As in childhood to implore - Her, whose pleading evermore - Pleads for her own Avila. - - Seraph Saint, Teresa burns - Before God, and burning turns - To the Furnace, whence she learns - How the Sun of Love is lit: - She the Sunflower following it. - O fair ardour infinite: - Fire, for which the cold soul yearns! - - Clad in everlasting fire, - Flame of one long, lone desire, - Surely thou too shalt aspire - Up by Carmel's bitter road: - Love thy goal and love thy goad, - Love thy lightness and thy load, - Love thy rose and love thy briar. - - Leave the false light, leave the vain: - Lose thyself in Night again, - Night divine of perfect pain. - Lose thyself, and find thy God, - Through a prostrate period: - Bruise thee with an iron rod; - Suffer, till thyself be slain. - - Fly thou from the dazzling day, - For it lights the downward way: - In the sacred Darkness pray, - Till prayer cease, or seem to thee - Agony of ecstasy: - Dead to all men, dear to me, - Live as saints, and die as they. - - Stones and thorns shall tear and sting, - Each stern step its passion bring, - On the Way of Perfecting, - On the Fourfold Way of Prayer: - Heed not, though joy fill the air; - Heed not, though it breathe despair: - In the City thou shalt sing. - - Without hope and without fear, - Keep thyself from thyself clear: - In the secret seventh sphere - Of thy soul's hid Castle, thou - At the King's white throne shalt bow: - Light of Light shall kiss thy brow, - And all darkness disappear. - - 1894. - - - - - TO MY PATRONS. - - The spear rent Christ, when dead for me He lay: - My sin rends Christ, though never one save He - Perfectly loves me, comforts me. Then pray, - Longinus Saint! the Crucified, for me. - - Hard is the holy-war, and hard the way: - At rest with ancient victors would I be. - O faith's first glory from our England! pray, - Saint Alban! to the Lord of Hosts, for me. - - Fain would I watch with thee, till morning gray, - Beneath the stars austere: so might I see - Sunrise, and light, and joy, at last. Then pray, - John Baptist Saint! unto the Christ, for me. - - Remembering God's coronation day; - Thorns, for His crown; His throne, a Cross: to thee - Heaven's kingdom dearer was than earth's. Then pray - Saint Louis! to the King of kings, for me. - - Thy love loved all things: thy love knew no stay, - But drew the very wild beasts round thy knee. - O lover of the least and lowest! pray, - Saint Francis! to the Son of Man, for me. - - Bishop of souls in servitude astray, - Who didst for holy service set them free: - Use still thy discipline of love, and pray, - Saint Charles! unto the world's High Priest, for me. - - 1893. - - - - - BRONTË. - - _To Hubert Crackanthorpe._ - - Upon the moorland winds blown forth, - Your mighty music storms our heart: - Immortal sisters of the North! - Daughters of nature: Queens of art. - - Becomingly you bore that name, - Your Celtic name, that sounds of Greece: - Children of thunder and of flame; - Passion, that clears the air for peace. - - Stoic, thy chosen title: thou, - Whose soul conversed with vehement nights, - Till love, with lightnings on his brow, - Met anguish, upon _Wuthering Heights_. - - Thou, Stoic! Though the heart in thee - Never knew fear, yet always pain: - Not Stoic, thou! whose eyes could see - Passion's immeasurable gain: - - Not standing from the war apart, - Not cancelling the lust of life; - But loving with triumphant heart - The impassioned glory of the strife. - - Oh, welcome death! But first, to know - The trials and the agonies: - Oh, perfect rest! But ere life go, - To leave eternal memories. - - Then down the lone moors let each wind - Cry round the silent house of sleep: - And there let breaths of heather find - Entrance, and there the fresh rains weep. - - Rest! rest! The storm hath surged away: - The calm, the hush, the dews descend. - Rest now, ah, rest thee! night and day: - The circling moorlands guard their friend. - - Thou too, before whose steadfast eyes - Thy conquering sister greatly died: - By grace of art, that never dies. - She lives: thou also dost abide. - - For men and women, safe from death, - Creatures of thine, our perfect friends: - Filled with imperishable breath, - Give thee back life, that never ends. - - Oh! hearts may break, and hearts forget, - Life grow a gloomy tale to tell: - Still through the streets of bright _Villette_, - Still flashes _Paul Emanuel_! - - Still, when your Shirley laughs and sings, - Suns break the clouds to welcome her: - Still winds, with music on their wings, - Drive the wild soul of _Rochester_. - - Children of fire! The Muses filled - Hellas, with shrines of gleaming stone: - Your wasted hands had strength to build - Gray sanctuaries, hard-hewn, wind-blown. - - Over their heights, all blaunched in storm, - What purple fields of tempest hang! - In splendour stands their mountain form, - That from the sombre quarry sprang. - - Now the high gates lift up their head: - Now stormier music, than the blast, - Swells over the immortal dead: - Silent and sleeping, free at last. - - But from the tempest, and the gloom, - The stars, the fires of God, steal forth: - Dews fall upon your heather bloom, - O royal sisters of the North! - - 1890. - - - - - COMFORT. - - _To Claud Schuster._ - - Winter is at the door, - Winter! Winter! - Winter is at the door: - For all along the worn oak floor - Waver the carpets; and before - The once warm southern orchard wall, - The last October peaches fall; - In vain behind their fellows all - Belated. - - Winter is come apace, - Winter! Winter! - Winter is come apace. - The fireside is the cheeriest place, - To wear unfeigned a merry face: - While music tells, though now 'tis chill, - How merle, and maid, and mavis, will, - When spring comes dancing down the hill, - Be mated. - - 1887. - - - - - MOEL FAMMAU. - - _To Arthur Clutton-Brock._ - - In purple heather is my sleep - On Moel Fammau: far below, - The springing rivulets leap, - The firs wave to and fro. - - This morn, the sun on Bala Lake - Broke out behind me: morrow morn - Near Rhual I shall wake, - Before the sun is born; - - High burning over Clywyd Vale, - And reddening the mountain dew: - While the moon lingers frail, - High up in skies of blue. - - Lovely and loved, O passionate land! - Dear Celtic land, unconquered still! - Thy mountain strength prevails: - Thy winds have all their will. - - They have no care for meaner things; - They have no scorn for brooding dreams: - A spirit in them sings, - A light about them beams. - - 1887. - - - - - SORTES VIRGILIANAE. - - _To John Barlas._ - - Lord of the Golden Branch, Virgil! and Caesar's friend: - Leader of pilgrim Dante! Yes: _things have their tears_: - So sighed thy song, when down sad winds pierced to thine ears - Wandering and immemorial sorrows without end. - _And things of death touch hearts, that die_: Yes: but joys blend, - And glories, with our little life of human fears: - Rome reigns, and Caesar triumphs! Ah, the Golden Years, - The Golden Years return: this also the Gods send. - - _O men, who have endured an heavier burden yet!_ - Hear you not happy airs, and voices augural? - For you, in these last days by sure foreknowledge set, - Looms no Italian shore, bright and imperial? - Wounded and worn! What Virgil sang, doth God forget? - Virgil, the melancholy, the majestical. - - 1891. - - - - - CONSOLATION. - - Sighing and grief are all my portion now, - Sighing and grief: - But thou art somewhere smiling: thou, - Like a frail leaf, - - By winter's mercy spared a little yet, - Canst put aside - The coming shadow: happy to forget, - How thy companion died. - - 1883. - - - - - ORACLES. - - I. - - Let not any withering Fate, - With her all too sombre thread, - Flying from the Ivory Gate, - Make thy soul discomforted: - From the nobler Gate of Horn, - Take the blessing of the morn. - - Eyes bent full upon the goal, - Whatso be the prize of it: - Tireless feet, and crystal soul, - With good heart, the salt of wit: - These shall set thee in the clear - Spirits' home and singing sphere. - - Hush thy melancholy breath, - Wailing after fair days gone: - Make thee friends with kindly Death, - That his long dominion, - With a not too bitter thrall, - Hold thee at the end of all. - - Sorrow, angel of the night, - Sorrow haughtily disdains - Invocation by our light - Agonies, and passing pains: - Sorrow is but under pure - Cloven hearts their balm and cure. - - 1886. - - - - II. - - And yet, what of the sorrowing years, - Their clouds and difficult event? - Here is a kindlier way than tears, - A fairer way than discontent: - The passionate remembrances, - That wake at bidding of the air: - Fancies, and dreams, and fragrances, - That charmed us, when they were. - - So breathed the hay, so the rose bloomed, - Ah! what a thousand years ago! - So long imprisoned and entombed, - Out of our hearts the old joys flow: - Peace! present sorrows: lie you still! - You shall not grow to memories: - The ancient hours live yet, to kill - The sorry hour, that is. - - 1887. - - - - - THE DESTROYER OF A SOUL. - - _To ----._ - - I hate you with a necessary hate. - First, I sought patience: passionate was she: - My patience turned in very scorn of me, - That I should dare forgive a sin so great, - As this, through which I sit disconsolate; - Mourning for that live soul, I used to see; - Soul of a saint, whose friend I used to be: - Till you came by! a cold, corrupting, fate. - - Why come you now? You, whom I cannot cease - With pure and perfect hate to hate? Go, ring - The death-bell with a deep, triumphant toll! - Say you, my friend sits by me still? Ah, peace! - Call you this thing my friend? this nameless thing? - This living body, hiding its dead soul? - - 1892. - - - - - OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS. - - _Upon reading the poem of that name in the Underwoods - of Mr. Stevenson._ - - Far from the world, far from delight, - Distinguishing not day from night; - Vowed to one sacrifice of all - The happy things, that men befall; - Pleading one sacrifice, before - Whom sun and sea and wind adore; - Far from earth's comfort, far away, - We cry to God, we cry and pray - For men, who have the common day. - Dance, merry world! and sing: but we, - Hearing, remember Calvary: - Get gold, and thrive you! but the sun - Once paled; and the centurion - Said: _This dead man was God's own Son_. - Think you, we shrink from common toil, - Works of the mart, works of the soil; - That, prisoners of strong despair, - We breathe this melancholy air; - Forgetting the dear calls of race, - And bonds of house, and ties of place; - That, cowards, from the field we turn, - And heavenward, in our weakness, yearn? - Unjust! unkind! while you despise - Our lonely years, our mournful cries: - You are the happier for our prayer; - The guerdon of our souls, you share. - Not in such feebleness of heart, - We play our solitary part; - Not fugitives of battle, we - Hide from the world, and let things be: - But rather, looking over earth, - Between the bounds of death and birth; - And sad at heart, for sorrow and sin, - We wondered, where might help begin. - And on our wonder came God's choice, - A sudden light, a clarion voice, - Clearing the dark, and sounding clear: - And we obeyed: behold us, here! - In prison bound, but with your chains: - Sufferers, but of alien pains. - Merry the world, and thrives apace, - Each in his customary place: - Sailors upon the carrying sea, - Shepherds upon the pasture lea, - And merchants of the town; and they, - Who march to death, the fighting way; - And there are lovers in the spring, - With those, who dance, and those, who sing: - The commonwealth of every day. - Eastward and westward, far away. - Once the sun paled; once cried aloud - The Roman, from beneath the cloud: - _This day the Son of God is dead!_ - Yet heed men, what the Roman said? - They heed not: we then heed for them, - The mindless of Jerusalem; - Careless, they live and die: but we - Care, in their stead, for Calvary. - O joyous men and women! strong, - To urge the wheel of life along, - With strenuous arm, and cheerful strain, - And wisdom of laborious brain: - We give our life, our heart, our breath, - That you may live to conquer death; - That, past your tomb, with souls in health, - Joy may be yours, and blessed wealth; - Through vigils of the painful night, - Our spirits with your tempters fight: - For you, for you, we live alone, - Where no joy comes, where cold winds moan: - Nor friends have we, nor have we foes; - Our Queen is of the lonely Snows. - Ah! and sometimes, our prayers between, - Come sudden thoughts of what hath been: - Dreams! And from dreams, once more we fall - To prayer: _God save, Christ keep, them all._ - And thou, who knowest not these things, - Hearken, what news our message brings! - Our toils, thy joy of life forgot: - Our lives of prayer forget thee not. - - 1887. - - - - - ASH WEDNESDAY. - - _To the Rev. Father Strappini, S.J._ - - Ashen cross traced on brow! - Iron cross hid in breast! - Have power, bring patience, now: - Bid passion be at rest. - - O sad, dear, days of Lent! - Now lengthen your gray hours: - If so we may repent, - Before the time of flowers. - - Majestical, austere, - The sanctuaries look stern: - All silent! all severe! - Save where the lone lamps burn. - - Imprisoned there above - The world's indifferency: - Still waits Eternal Love, - With wounds from Calvary. - - Come! mourning companies; - Come! to sad Christ draw near: - Come! sin's confederacies; - Lay down your malice here. - - Here is the healing place, - And here the place of peace: - Sorrow is sweet with grace - Here, and here sin hath cease. - - 1893. - - - - - DESIDERIA. - - _To Mrs. Hinkson._ - - The angels of the sunlight clothe - In England the corn's golden ears, - Round me: yet would that I to-day - Saw sunlight on the Hill of Howth, - And sunlight on the Golden Spears, - And sunlight upon Dublin Bay. - - In hunger of the heart I loathe - These happy fields: I turn with tears - Of love and longing, far away: - To where the heathered Hill of Howth - Stands guardian, with the Golden Spears, - Above the blue of Dublin Bay. - - 1894. - - - - - ARMA VIRUMQUE. - - _To Edmund Phipps._ - - Ah! the keen, blue-bladed sword, - In the strong hands of thy lord - Living, vibrating, inspired! - Thou hast drunk the draught desired, - Blood of battle: now, restored - To the shrouding sheath, thou hatest, - For the trump of war thou waitest. - - But thy bright steel grows not dim, - While thou hangest yet by him, - In whose hands thou hast thy life. - Fear not! Thou shalt swell more strife, - Ere death come: last foe most grim! - And shalt lie, that onset over, - Close beside thy lord and lover. - - 1889. - - - - - THE DAY OF COMING DAYS. - - _To J. P. Quinn._ - - Bright seas cast far upon her shore - White flowers of flying spray: - The blossoms of her fields are more, - Than blossomed yesterday: - The music of her winds and birds - Alone can tell the triumph words, - Her children cannot say. - - The stars from solemn deeps look down - In favour and delight: - The glories of her day, they crown - With splendours of her night: - The queen of the adoring Gael, - Their radiant mother, Inisfail, - Reigns, by divinest right. - - 1894. - - - - - RENEGADE. - - _To Arthur Chamberlain._ - - But all that now is over. - Dreamers of dreams shall not in me discover - Fallen remembrances of Holy Land; - Looks in mine eyes, that seem to understand - A banished secret; in my common mien, - A charmed communion with high things unseen - - For all that now is over. - Mere merchant of earth's market-place, no lover, - I keep the dusty, trodden road of all. - Though broken echoes fill the mart, and call - Back to my silent memories: down chill air - They die away, and leave me to my care. - - Since all that now is over, - And not at any cost can I recover - The abdicated throne, the abandoned crown: - I sit me at the heart of the vast town, - To wear old love looks down to the dull look, - Befitting love unthought on, or forsook. - - 1887. - - - - - WALES. - - _To T. W. Rolleston._ - - Mother of holy fire! Mother of holy dew! - Thy children of the mist, the moor, the mountain side, - These change not from thine heart, these to thine heart allied: - These, that rely on thee, as blossoms on the blue. - O passionate, dark faces, melancholy's hue! - O deep, gray eyes, so tragic with the fires they hide! - Sweet Mother, in whose light these live! thou dost abide, - Star of the West, pale to the world: these know thee true. - - No alien hearts may know that magic, which acquaints - Thy soul with splendid passion, a great fire of dreams; - Thine heart with lovelier sorrow, than the wistful sea. - Voices of Celtic singers and of Celtic Saints - Live on the ancient air: their royal sunlight gleams - On moorland Merioneth and on sacred Dee. - - 1890. - - - - - HARVEST. - - _To Nowell Smith._ - - Not now the rejoicing face of summer glows - In splendour to a blue and splendid sky: - For now hath died each lingering wild rose - Off tangled river banks: and autumn shows - Fields of red corn, that on the downside lie - Beneath a gentle mist, a golden haze. - So shrouded, the red cornlands take an air - Trembling with warm wind: sickle-girt, forth fare - Harvesting hinds, with swift arms brown and bare; - Revering well toil's venerable ways. - - Most golden music is among the corn, - Played by the winds wavering over it: - A murmuring sound, as when against the morn, - Orient upon calm seas, their noise is borne - Innumerably rippling and sunlit. - Most golden music is in either tide: - And this of radiant corn, before it fall, - Wills not that summer die unmusical, - By no rich surge of murmurs glorified: - Nay! the fields rock and rustle, sounding all - Praise of the fruitful earth on every side. - - Good, through the yellow fields to ponder long: - Good, long to meditate the stilly sight. - Afar shone down a brazen sunlight strong, - Over the harvested hillside, along - The laboured meadows, burning with great light: - The air trembled with overflow of heat - In the low valley, where no movement was - Of soft-blown wind, ruffling the scytheless grass - Thick-growing by the waters, cool and sweet: - No swing of boughs; there were no airs to pass - Caressing them: all winds failed, when all wheat, - - All fair crops murmuring their soft acclaim, - Fell, golden rank on golden rank, and lay - Ruddily heaped along the earth: the flame - Of delicate poppies, rich and frail, became - Wan dying weed; convolvulus, astray - Out from its hedgerows far into the field, - In clinging coils of leaf and tender bloom, - Shared with the stalks it clung and clasped, their doom. - So went the work: so gave the ripened weald - Its fruits and pleasant flowers; and made a room, - Wherein fresh winds might wave a fresh year's yield. - - 1886. - - - - - TO CERTAIN FRIENDS. - - I thank Eternal God, that you are mine, - Who are His too: courageous and divine - Must friendship be, through this great grace of God; - And have Eternity for period. - - 1892 - - - - - THE PETITION. - - _To Selwyn Image._ - - Fair, gracious, daughter of those skies, - Wherein nor star, nor angel, flies - More radiant than thy royal beauty: - To thee the Hours bring all they have - Of rich, and wonderful, and brave: - Yet do they but their natural duty. - - Excelling all, thou cancellest - Their praise, and art alone the best: - Alone the theme of prayers and praises. - Wilt thou not bow thee, and be kind, - As lilies to a pleading wind, - When fragrance the wan air amazes? - - The holy angels of God's court - With humble men still deign consort: - For dear love's piteous sake discarding - Their state and their celestial home, - To company poor souls, that roam - Sad and distraught, for lack of guarding. - - Fair, gracious, daughter of the spheres! - Be not more proud than those thy peers, - Citizens of so high a city! - Behold the captive of thy chains: - Turn from thy palace to his pains, - And keep thy prisoner by pity. - - 1892. - - - - - THE CLASSICS. - - _To Ion Thynne._ - - Fain to know golden things, fain to grow wise, - Fain to achieve the secret of fair souls: - His thought, scarce other lore need solemnize, - Whom Virgil calms, whom Sophocles controls: - - Whose conscience Æschylus, a warrior voice, - Enchaunted hath with majesties of doom: - Whose melancholy mood can best rejoice, - When Horace sings, and roses bower the tomb: - - Who, following Caesar unto death, discerns - What bitter cause was Rome's, to mourn that day: - With austere Tacitus for master, learns - The look of empire in its proud decay: - - Whom dread Lucretius of the mighty line - Hath awed, but not borne down: who loves the flame, - That leaped within Catullus the divine, - His glory, and his beauty, and his shame: - - Who dreams with Plato and, transcending dreams, - Mounts to the perfect City of true God: - Who hails its marvellous and haunting gleams, - Treading the steady air, as Plato trod: - - Who with Thucydides pursues the way, - Feeling the heart-beats of the ages gone: - Till fall the clouds upon the Attic day, - And Syracuse draw tears for Marathon: - - To whom these golden things best give delight: - The music of most sad Simonides; - Propertius' ardent graces; and the might - Of Pindar chaunting by the olive trees: - - Livy, and Roman consuls purple swathed: - Plutarch, and heroes of the ancient earth: - And Aristophanes, whose laughter scathed - The souls of fools, and pealed in lyric mirth: - - Æolian rose-leaves blown from Sappho's isle; - Secular glories of Lycean thought: - Sallies of Lucian, bidding wisdom smile; - Angers of Juvenal, divinely wrought: - - Pleasant, and elegant, and garrulous, - Pliny: crowned Marcus, wistful and still strong: - Sicilian seas and their Theocritus, - Pastoral singer of the last Greek song: - - Herodotus, all simple and all wise: - Demosthenes, a lightning flame of scorn: - The surge of Cicero, that never dies: - And Homer, grand against the ancient morn. - - 1890. - - - - - APRIL. - - _To Richard Le Gallienne._ - - A pleasant heat breathes off the scented grass, - From bright green blades, and shining daisies: - Now give we joy, who sometime cried, Alas! - Now set we forth our melodies, and sing - Soft praises to the spring, - Musical praises. - - The flying winds are lovely with the sun: - Now all in sweet and dainty fashion - Goes life: for royal seasons are begun. - Now each new day and each new promise add - Fresh cause of being glad, - With vernal passion. - - Few leaves upon the branches dare the spring: - But many buds are making ready, - Trusting the sun, their perfect summer king. - Likewise we put away our wintry cares: - We hear but happy airs; - Our hopes are steady. - - Cold were the crystal rivers, bitter cold; - And snows upon the iron mountains; - And withering leaves upon the trodden mould. - Hark to the crystal voices of the rills, - Falling among the hills, - From secret fountains! - - Long not for June with roses: nor for nights - Loud with tumultuary thunder: - Those hours wax heavy with their fierce delights. - But April is all bright, and gives us first, - Before the roses burst, - Her joy and wonder. - - Clear lie the fields, and fade into blue air: - Here, sweet concerted birds are singing - Around this lawn of sweet grass, warm and fair. - And holy music, through the waving trees, - Comes gently down the breeze, - Where bells are ringing. - - 1889. - - - - - A PROSELYTE. - - Heart of magnificent desire: - O equal of the lordly sun! - Since thou hast cast on me thy fire, - My cloistral peace, so hardly won, - Breaks from its trance: - One glance - From thee hath all its joy undone. - - Of lonely quiet was my dream; - Day gliding into fellow day, - With the mere motion of a stream: - But now in vehement disarray - Go time and thought, - Distraught - With passion kindled at thy ray. - - Heart of tumultuary might, - O greater than the mountain flame, - That leaps upon the fearful night! - On me thy devastation came, - Sudden and swift; - A gift - Of joyous torment without name. - - Thy spirit stings my spirit: thou - Takest by storm and ecstasy - The cloister of my soul. And now, - With ardour that is agony, - I do thy will; - Yet still - Hear voices of calm memory. - - 1894. - - - - - BEYOND. - - All was for you: and you are dead. - For, came there sorrow, came there splendour, - You still were mine, and I yours only: - Then on my breast lay down your head, - Triumphant in its dear surrender: - One were we then: though one, not lonely. - - Oh, is it you are dead, - Both! both dead, since we are asunder: - You, sleeping: I, for ever walking - Through the dark valley, hard and dry. - At times I hear the mourning thunder: - And voices, in the shadows, talking. - - Dear, are there dreams among the dead: - Or is it all a perfect slumber? - But I must dream and dream to madness. - Mine eyes are dark, now yours are fled: - Yet see they sorrows without number, - Waiting upon one perfect sadness. - - So long, the melancholy vale! - So full, these weary winds, of sorrow! - So harsh, all things! For what counts pity? - Still, as each twilight glimmers pale - Upon the borders of each morrow, - I near me to your sleeping city. - - - - - EXPERIENCE. - - _To George Arthur Greene._ - - The burden of the long gone years: the weight, - The lifeless weight, of miserable things - Done long ago, not done with: the live stings - Left by old joys, follies provoking fate, - Showing their sad side, when it is too late: - Dread burden, that remorseless knowledge brings - To men, remorseful! But the burden clings: - And that remorse declares that bitter state. - - Wisdom of ages! Wisdom of old age! - Written, and spoken of, and prophesied, - The common record of humanity! - Oh, vain! The springtime is our heritage - First, and the sunlight on the flowing tide: - Then, that old truth's confirming misery. - - 1889. - - - - - ESCAPE. - - _To Charles Weekes._ - - She bared her spirit to her sorrow: - On the circling hills the morrow - Trembled, but it broke not forth: - Winds blew from the snowy North. - - _My soul! my sorrow! What wind bloweth, - Knows the wayless way, it goeth? - But before all else, we know - Death's way is the way to go._ - - She knew no more than that: she only - Knew, that she was left and lonely. - Left? But she had loved! And lone? - She had loved! But love had gone. - - So out into the wintry weather - Soul and sorrow fled together: - On the moor day found her dead: - Snow on hands, and heart, and head. - - 1888. - - - - - TRENTALS. - - _To Charles Sayle._ - - Now these lovers twain be dead, - And together buried: - Masses only shall be said. - Hush thee, weary melancholy! - Music comes, more rich and holy: - Through the aged church shall sound - Words, by ancient prophets found; - Burdens in an ancient tongue, - By the fasting Mass-priest sung. - - Gray, without, the autumn air: - But pale candles here prepare, - Pale as wasted golden hair. - Let the quire with mourning descant - Cry: _In pace requiescant!_ - For they loved the things of God. - Now, where solemn feet have trod, - Sleep they well: and wait the end, - Lover by lover, friend by friend. - - 1889. - - - - - THE RED WIND. - - _To Dr. Todhunter._ - - Red Wind from out the East: - Red Wind of blight and blood! - Ah, when wilt thou have ceased - Thy bitter, stormy flood? - - Red Wind from over sea, - Scourging our lonely land! - What Angel loosened thee - Out of his iron hand? - - Red Wind! whose word of might - Winged thee with wings of flame? - O fire of mournful night, - What is thy master's name? - - Red Wind! who bade thee burn, - Branding our hearts? Who bade - Thee on and never turn, - Till waste our souls were laid? - - Red Wind! from out the West - Pour winds of Paradise: - Winds of eternal rest, - That weary souls entice. - - Wind of the East! Red Wind! - Thou witherest the soft breath - Of Paradise the kind: - Red Wind of burning death! - - O Red Wind! hear God's voice: - Hear thou, and fall, and cease. - Let Inisfail rejoice - In her Hesperian peace. - - 1894. - - - - - SERTORIUS. - - _To Basil Williams._ - - Beyond the straits of Hercules, - Behold! the strange Hesperian seas, - A glittering waste at break of dawn: - High on the westward plunging prow, - What dreams are on thy spirit now, - Sertorius of the milk-white fawn? - - Not sorrow, to have done with home! - The mourning destinies of Rome - Have exiled Rome's last hope with thee: - Nor dost thou think on thy lost Spain. - What stirs thee on the unknown main? - What wilt thou from the virgin sea? - - Hailed by the faithless voice of Spain, - The lightning warrior come again, - Where wilt thou seek the flash of swords, - Voyaging toward the set of sun? - Though Rome the splendid East hath won, - Here thou wilt find no Roman lords. - - No Tingis here lifts fortress walls; - And here no Lusitania calls: - What hath the barren sea to give? - Yet high designs enchaunt thee still; - The winds are loyal to thy will: - Not yet art thou too tired, to live. - - No trader thou, to northern isles, - Whom mischief-making gold beguiles - To sunless and unkindly coasts: - What spirit pilots thee thus far - From the tempestuous tides of war, - Beyond the surging of the hosts? - - Nay! this thy secret will must be. - Over the visionary sea, - Thy sails are set for perfect rest: - Surely thy pure and holy fawn - Hath whispered of an ancient lawn, - Far hidden down the solemn West. - - A gracious pleasaunce of calm things; - There rose-leaves fall by rippling springs: - And captains of the older time, - Touched with mild light, or gently sleep, - Or in the orchard shadows keep - Old friendships of the golden prime. - - The far seas brighten with gray gleams: - O winds of morning! O fair dreams! - Will not that land rise up at noon? - There, casting Roman mail away, - Age long to watch the falling day, - And silvery sea, and silvern moon. - - Dreams! for they slew thee: Dreams! they lured - Thee down to death and doom assured: - And we were proud to fall with thee. - Now, shadows of the men we were, - Westward indeed we voyage here, - Unto the end of all the sea. - - Woe! for the fatal, festal board: - Woe! for the signal of the sword, - The wine-cup dashed upon the ground: - We are but sad, eternal ghosts, - Passing far off from human coasts, - To the wan land eternal bound. - - 1889. - - - - - SAINT COLUMBA. - - _To Dr. Sigerson._ - - Dead is Columba: the world's arch - Gleams with a lighting of strange fires. - They flash and run, they leap and march, - Signs of a Saint's fulfilled desires. - - Live is Columba: golden crowned, - Sceptred with Mary lilies, shod - With angel flames, and girded round - With white of snow, he goes to God. - - No more the gray eyes long to see - The oakwoods of their Inisfail; - Where the white angels hovering be: - And ah, the birds in every vale! - - No more for him thy fierce winds blow, - Iona of the angry sea! - Gone, the white glories of thy snow, - And white spray flying over thee! - - Now, far from the gray sea, and far - From sea-worn rocks and sea-birds' cries, - Columba hails the morning star, - That shines in never nighted skies. - - High in the perfect Land of Morn, - He listens to the chaunting air: - The Land, where music is not born, - For music is eternal there. - - There, bent before the burning Throne, - He lauds the Lover of the Gael: - _Sweet Christ! Whom Patrick's children own: - Glory be Thine from Inisfail!_ - - 1894. - - - - - BELLS. - - _To John Little._ - - From far away! from far away! - But whence, you will not say: - Melancholy bells, appealing chimes, - Voices of lands and times! - - Your toll, O melancholy bells! - Over the valley swells: - O touching chimes! your dying sighs - Travel our tranquil skies. - - But whence? And whither fade away - Your echoes from our day? - You take our hearts with gentle pain, - Tremble, and pass again. - - Could we lay hold upon your haunts, - The birthplace of your chaunts: - Were we in dreamland, deathland, then? - We, sad and wondering men? - - 1887. - - -[Illustration: Chiswick Press imprint] - -PRINTED AT THE CHISWICK PRESS - -M * DCCC * XC * V. - - - - - - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you -are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the -country where you are located before using this eBook. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Poems</p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Lionel Johnson</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: October 11, 2021 [eBook #66520]</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Al Haines</div> - -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***</div> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>This edition is limited to 750 copies for England<br /> - and America.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - POEMS<br /> -<br /> - BY<br /> -<br /> - LIONEL JOHNSON.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="capcenter"> -<a id="img-title"></a> -<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-title.jpg" alt="title page" /> -</p> - -<h1> -<br /><br /> - POEMS<br /> -</h1> - -<p class="t3b"> - BY<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t2"> - LIONEL JOHNSON<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - 1895<br /> -</p> - -<p class="t3"> - LONDON * ELKIN MATHEWS<br /> - BOSTON * COPELAND & DAY<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - TO THE HONOURED AND GREATLY LOVED SAINT<br /> - MARY COLLEGE OF WINCHESTER NEAR<br /> - WINCHESTER A WYKEHAMIST<br /> - COME OF WYKEHAMISTS<br /> - I DEDICATE THIS<br /> - BOOK.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> -<i>Gulielmum Wickamum, ut optimum parentem agnosco, suscipio, colo, -cui si quid in me doctrinae, virtutis, pietatis, et Catholicae religionis, -maxime acceptum refero. Quippe qui ab ineunte aetate, in Wintoniensi -primum, deinde et Oxontensi eius collegio, ad omnem ingenii, -doctrinae, et pietatis cultum capessendum institutus sim.</i> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> -HARPSFIELD. -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p class="noindent"> - CONTENTS.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="noindent"> - <a href="#winchester">WINCHESTER</a><br /> - <a href="#morfydd">TO MORFYDD</a><br /> - <a href="#plato">PLATO IN LONDON</a><br /> - <a href="#falmouth">IN FALMOUTH HARBOUR</a><br /> - <a href="#friend">A FRIEND</a><br /> - <a href="#burden">A BURDEN OF EASTER VIGIL</a><br /> - <a href="#statue">BY THE STATUE OF KING CHARLES AT CHARING CROSS</a><br /> - <a href="#laleham">LALEHAM</a><br /> - <a href="#ourlady">OUR LADY OF FRANCE</a><br /> - <a href="#inmemory">IN MEMORY</a><br /> - <a href="#precept">THE PRECEPT OF SILENCE</a><br /> - <a href="#hill">HILL AND VALE</a><br /> - <a href="#gwynedd">GWYNEDD</a><br /> - <a href="#cornish">A CORNISH NIGHT</a><br /> - <a href="#mystic">MYSTIC AND CAVALIER</a><br /> - <a href="#parnell">PARNELL</a><br /> - <a href="#england">IN ENGLAND</a><br /> - <a href="#hazard">TO OCEAN HAZARD: GIPSY</a><br /> - <a href="#drawing">UPON A DRAWING</a><br /> - <a href="#roman">THE ROMAN STAGE</a><br /> - <a href="#toweep">"TO WEEP IRISH"</a><br /> - <a href="#summer">SUMMER STORM</a><br /> - <a href="#traveller">TO A TRAVELLER</a><br /> - <a href="#memory">IN MEMORY OF M. B.</a><br /> - <a href="#hawthorne">HAWTHORNE</a><br /> - <a href="#glories">GLORIES</a><br /> - <a href="#lines">LINES TO A LADY UPON HER THIRD BIRTHDAY</a><br /> - <a href="#celtic">CELTIC SPEECH</a><br /> - <a href="#ways">WAYS OF WAR</a><br /> - <a href="#coming">THE COMING OF WAR</a><br /> - <a href="#irelands">IRELAND'S DEAD</a><br /> - <a href="#harmonies">HARMONIES</a><br /> - <a href="#music">THE LAST MUSIC</a><br /> - <a href="#dream">A DREAM OF YOUTH</a><br /> - <a href="#romans">ROMANS</a><br /> - <a href="#troopship">THE TROOPSHIP</a><br /> - <a href="#dead">DEAD</a><br /> - <a href="#sancta">SANCTA SILVARUM</a><br /> - <a href="#bagley">BAGLEY WOOD</a><br /> - <a href="#corona">CORONA CRUCIS</a><br /> - <a href="#israel">A SONG OF ISRAEL</a><br /> - <a href="#angel">THE DARK ANGEL</a><br /> - <a href="#afriend">A FRIEND</a><br /> - <a href="#passionist">TO A PASSIONIST</a><br /> - <a href="#adventus">ADVENTUS DOMINI</a><br /> - <a href="#assisi">MEN OF ASSISI</a><br /> - <a href="#aquino">MEN OF AQUINO</a><br /> - <a href="#lucretius">LUCRETIUS</a><br /> - <a href="#enthusiasts">ENTHUSIASTS</a><br /> - <a href="#cadgwith">CADGWITH</a><br /> - <a href="#visions">VISIONS</a><br /> - <a href="#leoxiii">TO LEO XIII.</a><br /> - <a href="#burial">AT THE BURIAL OF CARDINAL MANNING</a><br /> - <a href="#vigils">VIGILS</a><br /> - <a href="#church">THE CHURCH OF A DREAM</a><br /> - <a href="#age">THE AGE OF A DREAM</a><br /> - <a href="#oxford">OXFORD NIGHTS</a><br /> - <a href="#spanish">TO A SPANISH FRIEND</a><br /> - <a href="#patrons">TO MY PATRONS</a><br /> - <a href="#bronte">BRONTË</a><br /> - <a href="#comfort">COMFORT</a><br /> - <a href="#moel">MOEL FAMMAU</a><br /> - <a href="#sortes">SORTES VIRGILIANAE</a><br /> - <a href="#consolation">CONSOLATION</a><br /> - <a href="#oracles">ORACLES</a><br /> - <a href="#destroyer">THE DESTROYER OF A SOUL</a><br /> - <a href="#snows">OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS</a><br /> - <a href="#wednesday">ASH WEDNESDAY</a><br /> - <a href="#desideria">DESIDERIA</a><br /> - <a href="#arma">ARMA VIRUMQUE</a><br /> - <a href="#theday">THE DAY OF COMING DAYS</a><br /> - <a href="#renegade">RENEGADE</a><br /> - <a href="#wales">WALES</a><br /> - <a href="#harvest">HARVEST</a><br /> - <a href="#friends">TO CERTAIN FRIENDS</a><br /> - <a href="#petition">THE PETITION</a><br /> - <a href="#classics">THE CLASSICS</a><br /> - <a href="#april">APRIL</a><br /> - <a href="#proselyte">A PROSELYTE</a><br /> - <a href="#beyond">BEYOND</a><br /> - <a href="#experience">EXPERIENCE</a><br /> - <a href="#escape">ESCAPE</a><br /> - <a href="#trentals">TRENTALS</a><br /> - <a href="#redwind">THE RED WIND</a><br /> - <a href="#sertorius">SERTORIUS</a><br /> - <a href="#columba">SAINT COLUMBA</a><br /> - <a href="#bells">BELLS</a><br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<p><a id="winchester"></a></p> - -<p class="t2"> - POEMS -</p> - -<p><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> - WINCHESTER.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - To the fairest!<br /> - Then to thee<br /> - Consecrate and bounden be,<br /> - Winchester! this verse of mine.<br /> - Ah, that loveliness of thine!<br /> - To have lived enchaunted years<br /> - Free from sorrows, free from fears,<br /> - Where thy Tower's great shadow falls<br /> - Over those proud buttressed walls;<br /> - Whence a purpling glory pours<br /> - From high heaven's inheritors,<br /> - Throned within the arching stone!<br /> - To have wandered, hushed, alone,<br /> - Gently round thy fair, fern-grown<br /> - Chauntry of the Lilies, lying<br /> - Where the soft night winds go sighing<br /> - Round thy Cloisters, in moonlight<br /> - Branching dark, or touched with white:<br /> - Round old, chill aisles, where moon-smitten<br /> - Blanches the <i>Orate</i>, written<br /> - Under each worn, old-world face<br /> - Graven on Death's holy place!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - To the noblest!<br /> - None but thee.<br /> - Blest our living eyes, that see<br /> - Half a thousand years fulfilled<br /> - Of that age, which Wykeham willed<br /> - Thee to win; yet all unworn,<br /> - As upon that first March morn,<br /> - When thine honoured city saw<br /> - Thy young beauty without flaw,<br /> - Born within her water-flowing,<br /> - Ancient hollows, by wind-blowing<br /> - Hills enfolded ever more.<br /> - Thee, that lord of splendid lore,<br /> - Orient from old Hellas' shore,<br /> - Grocyn, had to mother: thee,<br /> - Monumental majesty<br /> - Of most high philosophy<br /> - Honours, in thy wizard Browne:<br /> - Tender Otway's dear renown,<br /> - Mover of a perfect pity,<br /> - Victim of the iron city,<br /> - Thine to cherish is: and thee,<br /> - Laureate of Liberty;<br /> - Harper of the Highland faith,<br /> - Elf, and faery, and wan wraith;<br /> - Chaunting softly, chaunting slowly,<br /> - Minstrel of all melancholy;<br /> - Master of all melody,<br /> - Made to cling round memory;<br /> - Passion's poet, Evening's voice,<br /> - Collins glorified. Rejoice,<br /> - Mother! in thy sons: for all<br /> - Love thine immemorial<br /> - Name, august and musical.<br /> - Not least he, who left thy side,<br /> - For his sire's, thine earlier pride,<br /> - Arnold: whom we mourn to-day,<br /> - Prince of song, and gone away<br /> - To his brothers of the bay:<br /> - Thine the love of all his years;<br /> - His be now thy praising tears.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - To the dearest!<br /> - Ah, to thee!<br /> - Hast thou not in all to me<br /> - Mother, more than mother, been?<br /> - Well toward thee may Mary Queen<br /> - Bend her with a mother's mien;<br /> - Who so rarely dost express<br /> - An inspiring tenderness,<br /> - Woven with thy sterner strain,<br /> - Prelude of the world's true pain.<br /> - But two years, and still my feet<br /> - Found thy very stones more sweet,<br /> - Than the richest fields elsewhere:<br /> - Two years, and thy sacred air<br /> - Still poured balm upon me, when<br /> - Nearer drew the world of men;<br /> - When the passions, one by one,<br /> - All sprang upward to the sun:<br /> - Two years have I lived, still thine;<br /> - Lost, thy presence! gone, that shrine,<br /> - Where six years, what years! were mine.<br /> - Music is the thought of thee;<br /> - Fragrance, all thy memory.<br /> - Those thy rugged Chambers old,<br /> - In their gloom and rudeness, hold<br /> - Dear remembrances of gold.<br /> - Some first blossoming of flowers<br /> - Made delight of all the hours;<br /> - Greatness, beauty, all things fair<br /> - Made the spirit of thine air:<br /> - Old years live with thee; thy sons<br /> - Walk with high companions.<br /> - Then, the natural joy of earth,<br /> - Joy of very health and birth!<br /> - Hills, upon a summer noon:<br /> - Water Meads, on eves of June:<br /> - Chamber Court, beneath the moon:<br /> - Days of spring, on Twyford Down,<br /> - Or when autumn woods grew brown;<br /> - As they looked, when here came Keats,<br /> - Chaunting of autumnal sweets;<br /> - Through this city of old haunts,<br /> - Murmuring immortal chaunts;<br /> - As when Pope, art's earlier king,<br /> - Here, a child, did nought but sing;<br /> - Sang, a child, by nature's rule,<br /> - Round the trees of Twyford School:<br /> - Hours of sun beside Mead's Wall,<br /> - Ere the may begin to fall;<br /> - Watching the rooks rise and soar,<br /> - High from lime and sycamore:<br /> - Wanderings by old-world ways,<br /> - Walks and streets of ancient days;<br /> - Closes, churches, arches, halls,<br /> - Vanished men's memorials.<br /> - There was beauty, there was grace,<br /> - Each place was an holy place:<br /> - There the kindly fates allowed<br /> - Me too room; and made me proud,<br /> - Prouder name I have not wist!<br /> - With the name of Wykehamist.<br /> - These thy joys: and more than these:<br /> - Ah, to watch beneath thy trees,<br /> - Through long twilights linden-scented,<br /> - Sunsets, lingering, lamented,<br /> - In the purple west; prevented,<br /> - Ere they fell, by evening star!<br /> - Ah, long nights of Winter! far<br /> - Leaps and roars the faggot fire;<br /> - Ruddy smoke rolls higher, higher,<br /> - Broken through by flame's desire;<br /> - Circling faces glow, all eyes<br /> - Take the light; deep radiance flies,<br /> - Merrily flushing overhead<br /> - Names of brothers, long since fled;<br /> - And fresh clusters, in their stead,<br /> - Jubilant round fierce forest flame.<br /> - Friendship too must make her claim:<br /> - But what songs, what memories end,<br /> - When they tell of friend on friend?<br /> - And for them, I thank thy name.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Love alone of gifts, no shame<br /> - Lessens, and I love thee: yet<br /> - Sound it but of echoes, let<br /> - This my maiden music be,<br /> - Of the love I bear to thee,<br /> - Witness and interpreter,<br /> - Mother mine: loved Winchester!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1888.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="morfydd"></a> - TO MORFYDD.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - A voice on the winds,<br /> - A voice by the waters,<br /> - Wanders and cries:<br /> - <i>Oh! what are the winds?<br /> - And what are the waters?<br /> - Mine are your eyes!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Western the winds are,<br /> - And western the waters,<br /> - Where the light lies:<br /> - <i>Oh! what are the winds?<br /> - And what are the waters?<br /> - Mine are your eyes!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Cold, cold, grow the winds,<br /> - And wild grow the waters,<br /> - Where the sun dies:<br /> - <i>Oh! what are the winds?<br /> - And what are the waters?<br /> - Mine are your eyes!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - And down the night winds,<br /> - And down the night waters,<br /> - The music flies:<br /> - <i>Oh! what are the winds?<br /> - And what are the waters?<br /> - Cold be the winds,<br /> - And wild be the waters,<br /> - So mine be your eyes!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1891<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="plato"></a> - PLATO IN LONDON.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Campbell Dodgson.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The pure flame of one taper fall<br /> - Over the old and comely page:<br /> - No harsher light disturb at all<br /> - This converse with a treasured sage.<br /> - Seemly, and fair, and of the best,<br /> - If Plato be our guest,<br /> - Should things befall.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Without, a world of noise and cold:<br /> - Here, the soft burning of the fire.<br /> - And Plato walks, where heavens unfold,<br /> - About the home of his desire.<br /> - From his own city of high things,<br /> - He shows to us, and brings,<br /> - Truth of fine gold.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The hours pass; and the fire burns low;<br /> - The clear flame dwindles into death:<br /> - Shut then the book with care; and so,<br /> - Take leave of Plato, with hushed breath:<br /> - A little, by the falling gleams,<br /> - Tarry the gracious dreams:<br /> - And they too go.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Lean from the window to the air:<br /> - Hear London's voice upon the night!<br /> - Thou hast bold converse with things rare:<br /> - Look now upon another sight!<br /> - The calm stars, in their living skies:<br /> - And then, these surging cries,<br /> - This restless glare!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - That starry music, starry fire,<br /> - High above all our noise and glare:<br /> - The image of our long desire,<br /> - The beauty, and the strength, are there.<br /> - And Plato's thought lives, true and clear,<br /> - In as august a sphere:<br /> - Perchance, far higher.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="falmouth"></a> - IN FALMOUTH HARBOUR.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Frank Mathew.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The large, calm harbour lies below<br /> - Long, terraced lines of circling light:<br /> - Without, the deep sea currents flow:<br /> - And here are stars, and night.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - No sight, no sound, no living stir,<br /> - But such as perfect the still bay:<br /> - So hushed it is, the voyager<br /> - Shrinks at the thought of day.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - We glide by many a lanterned mast;<br /> - Our mournful horns blow wild to warn<br /> - Yon looming pier: the sailors cast<br /> - Their ropes, and watch for morn.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Strange murmurs from the sleeping town,<br /> - And sudden creak of lonely oars<br /> - Crossing the water, travel down<br /> - The roadstead, the dim shores.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A charm is on the silent bay;<br /> - Charms of the sea, charms of the land.<br /> - Memories of open wind convey<br /> - Peace to this harbour strand.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Far off, Saint David's crags descend<br /> - On seas of desolate storm: and far<br /> - From this pure rest, the Land's drear End,<br /> - And ruining waters, are.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Well was it worth to have each hour<br /> - Of high and perilous blowing wind:<br /> - For here, for now, deep peace hath power<br /> - To conquer the worn mind.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I have passed over the rough sea,<br /> - And over the white harbour bar:<br /> - And this is Death's dreamland to me,<br /> - Led hither by a star.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - And what shall dawn be? Hush thee, nay!<br /> - Soft, soft is night, and calm and still:<br /> - Save that day cometh, what of day<br /> - Knowest thou: good, or ill?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Content thee! Not the annulling light<br /> - Of any pitiless dawn is here;<br /> - Thou art alone with ancient night:<br /> - And all the stars are clear.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Only the night air, and the dream;<br /> - Only the far, sweet-smelling wave;<br /> - The stilly sounds, the circling gleam,<br /> - And thine: and thine a grave.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - II.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Hence, by stern thoughts and strong winds borne,<br /> - Voyaged, with faith that could not fail,<br /> - Who cried: <i>Lead, kindly Light!</i> forlorn<br /> - Beneath a stranger sail.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Becalmed upon a classic sea;<br /> - Wandering through eternal Rome;<br /> - Fighting with Death in Sicily:<br /> - He hungered for his home.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - These northern waves, these island airs!<br /> - Dreams of these haunted his full heart:<br /> - Their love inspired his songs and prayers,<br /> - Bidding him play his part.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The freedom of the living dead;<br /> - The service of a living pain:<br /> - He chose between them, bowed his head,<br /> - And counted sorrow, gain.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ah, sweetest soul of all! whose choice<br /> - Was golden with the light of lights:<br /> - But us doubt's melancholy voice,<br /> - Wandering in gloom, unites.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ah, sweetest soul of all! whose voice<br /> - Hailed morning, and the sun's increase:<br /> - We of the restless night rejoice,<br /> - We also, at thy peace.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="friend"></a> - A FRIEND.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To H. B. Irving.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - All, that he came to give,<br /> - He gave, and went again:<br /> - I have seen one man live,<br /> - I have seen one man reign,<br /> - With all the graces in his train.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - As one of us, he wrought<br /> - Things of the common hour:<br /> - Whence was the charmed soul brought,<br /> - That gave each act such power;<br /> - The natural beauty of a flower?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Magnificence and grace,<br /> - Excellent courtesy:<br /> - A brightness on the face,<br /> - Airs of high memory:<br /> - Whence came all these, to such as he?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Like young Shakespearian kings,<br /> - He won the adoring throng:<br /> - And, as Apollo sings,<br /> - He triumphed with a song:<br /> - Triumphed, and sang, and passed along.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - With a light word, he took<br /> - The hearts of men in thrall:<br /> - And, with a golden look,<br /> - Welcomed them, at his call<br /> - Giving their love, their strength, their all.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - No man less proud than he,<br /> - Nor cared for homage less:<br /> - Only, he could not be<br /> - Far off from happiness:<br /> - Nature was bound to his success.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Weary, the cares, the jars,<br /> - The lets, of every day:<br /> - But the heavens filled with stars,<br /> - Chanced he upon the way:<br /> - And where he stayed, all joy would stay.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Now, when sad night draws down,<br /> - When the austere stars burn:<br /> - Roaming the vast live town,<br /> - My thoughts and memories yearn<br /> - Toward him, who never will return.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Yet have I seen him live,<br /> - And owned my friend, a king:<br /> - All that he came to give,<br /> - He gave: and I, who sing<br /> - His praise, bring all I have to bring.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="burden"></a> - A BURDEN OF EASTER VIGIL.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - Awhile meet Doubt and Faith:<br /> - For either sigheth and saith,<br /> - That He is dead<br /> - To-day: the linen cloths cover His head,<br /> - That hath, at last, whereon to rest; a rocky bed.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Come! for the pangs are done,<br /> - That overcast the sun,<br /> - So bright to-day!<br /> - And moved the Roman soldier: come away!<br /> - Hath sorrow more to weep? Hath pity more to say?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Why wilt thou linger yet?<br /> - Think on dark Olivet;<br /> - On Calvary stem:<br /> - Think, from the happy birth at Bethlehem,<br /> - To this last woe and passion at Jerusalem!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - This only can be said:<br /> - He loved us all; is dead;<br /> - May rise again.<br /> - <i>But if He rise not?</i> Over the far main,<br /> - The sun of glory falls indeed: the stars are plain.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1888.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="statue"></a> - BY THE STATUE OF KING CHARLES<br /> - AT CHARING CROSS. -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To William Watson.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Sombre and rich, the skies;<br /> - Great glooms, and starry plains.<br /> - Gently the night wind sighs;<br /> - Else a vast silence reigns.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The splendid silence clings<br /> - Around me: and around<br /> - The saddest of all kings<br /> - Crowned, and again discrowned.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Comely and calm, he rides<br /> - Hard by his own Whitehall:<br /> - Only the night wind glides:<br /> - No crowds, nor rebels, brawl.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Gone, too, his Court: and yet,<br /> - The stars his courtiers are:<br /> - Stars in their stations set;<br /> - And every wandering star.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Alone he rides, alone,<br /> - The fair and fatal king:<br /> - Dark night is all his own,<br /> - That strange and solemn thing.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Which are more full of fate:<br /> - The stars; or those sad eyes?<br /> - Which are more still and great:<br /> - Those brows; or the dark skies?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Although his whole heart yearn<br /> - In passionate tragedy:<br /> - Never was face so stern<br /> - With sweet austerity.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Vanquished in life, his death<br /> - By beauty made amends:<br /> - The passing of his breath<br /> - Won his defeated ends.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Brief life, and hapless? Nay:<br /> - Through death, life grew sublime.<br /> - Speak after sentence? Yea:<br /> - And to the end of time.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Armoured he rides, his head<br /> - Bare to the stars of doom:<br /> - He triumphs now, the dead,<br /> - Beholding London's gloom.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Our wearier spirit faints,<br /> - Vexed in the world's employ:<br /> - His soul was of the saints;<br /> - And art to him was joy.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - King, tried in fires of woe!<br /> - Men hunger for thy grace:<br /> - And through the night I go,<br /> - Loving thy mournful face.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Yet, when the city sleeps;<br /> - When all the cries are still:<br /> - The stars and heavenly deeps<br /> - Work out a perfect will.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="laleham"></a> - LALEHAM.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Arthur Galton.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Only one voice could sing aright<br /> - His brother poet, lost in night:<br /> - His voice, who lies not far away,<br /> - The pure and perfect voice of Gray.<br /> - The sleep of humble men he sang,<br /> - For whom the tolling church bells rang<br /> - Over their silent fields and vales,<br /> - Whence no rude sound their calm assails.<br /> - He knew their melancholy rest,<br /> - And peaceful sleep, on earth's kind breast;<br /> - Their patient lives, their common doom,<br /> - The beauty of their simple tomb.<br /> - One thing he left unsung: how some,<br /> - To share those village slumbers, come:<br /> - Whose voices filled the world with joy,<br /> - Who made high thoughts their one employ.<br /> - Ah, loving hearts! Too great to prize<br /> - Things whereon most men set their eyes:<br /> - The applauding crowd; the golden lure<br /> - Of wealth, insatiate and unsure;<br /> - A life of noise! a restless death:<br /> - The sanctities of life's last breath<br /> - Profaned with ritual pride and state;<br /> - Last pageant of the little great!<br /> - But these, to whom all crowns of song,<br /> - And all immortal praise, belong,<br /> - Turn from each garish sight and sound,<br /> - To lay them down in humble ground:<br /> - Choosing that still, enchaunted sleep<br /> - To be, where kindly natures keep:<br /> - In sound of pleasant water rills,<br /> - In shadows of the solemn hills.<br /> - Earth's heart, earth's hidden way, they knew:<br /> - Now on their grave light falls her dew.<br /> - The music of her soul was theirs:<br /> - They sleep beneath her sweetest airs.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Beside the broad, gray Thames one lies,<br /> - With whom a spring of beauty dies:<br /> - Among the willows, the pure wind<br /> - Calls all his wistful song to mind;<br /> - And, as the calm, strong river flows,<br /> - With it his mightier music goes;<br /> - But those winds cool, those waters lave,<br /> - The country of his chosen grave.<br /> - Go past the cottage flowers, and see,<br /> - Where Arnold held it good to be!<br /> - Half church, half cottage, comely stands<br /> - An holy house, from Norman hands:<br /> - By rustic Time well taught to wear<br /> - Some lowly, meditative air:<br /> - Long ages of a pastoral race<br /> - Have softened sternness into grace;<br /> - And many a touch of simpler use<br /> - From Norman strength hath set it loose.<br /> - Here, under old, red-fruited yews,<br /> - And summer suns, and autumn dews,<br /> - With his lost children at his side,<br /> - Sleeps Arnold: Still those waters glide,<br /> - Those winds blow softly down their breast:<br /> - But he, who loved them, is at rest.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="ourlady"></a> - OUR LADY OF FRANCE.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Ernest Dowson.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Leave we awhile without the turmoil of the town;<br /> - Leave we the sullen gloom, the faces full of care:<br /> - Stay we awhile and dream, within this place of prayer,<br /> - Stay we, and pray, and dream: till in our hearts die down<br /> - Thoughts of the world, unkind and weary: till Christ crown<br /> - Laborious day with love. Hark! on the fragrant air,<br /> - Music of France, voices of France, fall piercing fair:<br /> - Poor France, where Mary star shines, lest her children drown.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Our Lady of France! dost thou inhabit here? Behold,<br /> - What sullen gloom invests this city strange to thee!<br /> - In Seine, and pleasant Loire, thou gloriest from of old;<br /> - Thou rulest rich Provence; lovest the Breton sea:<br /> - What dost thou far from home? Nay! here my children fold<br /> - Their exiled hands in orison, and long for me.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1891.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="inmemory"></a> - IN MEMORY.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - I.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Under the clear December sun,<br /> - Perishing and cold,<br /> - Sleep, Malise! who hast early won<br /> - Light of sacred gold.<br /> - Sleep, be at rest: we still will keep<br /> - Dear love for thee lain down to sleep.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Youth, loving faces, holy toil,<br /> - These death takes from thee:<br /> - But of our love, none shall despoil<br /> - Thy fair soul set free.<br /> - The labours of thy love are done:<br /> - Thy labour's crown of love is won.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Sleep, Malise! While the winds blow yet<br /> - Over thy quiet grave:<br /> - We, labouring deathward, will forget<br /> - Thee never: wherefore have<br /> - Hope, and pure patience: we, too, come<br /> - Presently to thee, in thine home.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1885.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - II.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ah! fair face gone from sight,<br /> - With all its light<br /> - Of eyes, that pierced the deep<br /> - Of human night!<br /> - Ah! fair face calm in sleep.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ah! fair lips hushed in death!<br /> - Now their glad breath<br /> - Breathes not upon our air<br /> - Music, that saith<br /> - Love only, and things fair.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ah! lost brother! Ah! sweet<br /> - Still hands and feet!<br /> - May those feet haste to reach,<br /> - Those hands to greet,<br /> - Us, where love needs no speech.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1886.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - III.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Sea-gulls, wheeling, swooping, crying,<br /> - Crying over Maes Garmon side!<br /> - Cold is the wind for your white wings' flying:<br /> - Cold and dim is our gray springtide.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - But an hundred miles and more away,<br /> - In the old, sweet city,<br /> - Birds of spring are singing to the May,<br /> - Their old, sweet ditty.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - There he lies, whom I loved so well,<br /> - And lies, whom I love so dearly:<br /> - At thought of his youth, our buds will swell;<br /> - Of his face, our sun shine clearly.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Sea-gulls, wheeling, swooping, crying,<br /> - Crying over Maes Garmon side!<br /> - Spirits of fire with him are flying,<br /> - Souls of flame, to the Crucified.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Yet, far away from the ancient places,<br /> - Ancient pleasures, and ancient days:<br /> - He too thinks of our exiled faces,<br /> - Far away from his whiter ways.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Sea-gulls, over Maes Garmon side,<br /> - Flying and crying! flying and crying!<br /> - You and all creatures, since Malise died,<br /> - I have loved the more, both singing and sighing.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - IV.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Glimmering lake, waters of Windermere!<br /> - Winchester your name must be:<br /> - Or is all an evening dream?<br /> - Nay! Winton waters wander here,<br /> - Delighting me,<br /> - Down through that ancient bridge, that old-world stream.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I lean against the old, pillared balustrade:<br /> - Now upon the red, worn mill,<br /> - Now upon the rapid race,<br /> - Poring: or where, within the shade<br /> - Of freshly chill,<br /> - Low arches, wallflowers hide their homely grace.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Swiftly descend those waters of the weir:<br /> - Sweeping past old cottages,<br /> - Curving round, ah, happy tide!<br /> - Into sight of towers most dear,<br /> - Of ancient trees<br /> - Loved all by heart: glad stream, who there may glide!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Farewell, whom I have loved so in gone years!<br /> - Up the little climbing street,<br /> - To the memoried Church I pass,<br /> - Church of Saint John: whence loving tears<br /> - Made the way sweet,<br /> - Saddest of ways, unto the holy grass.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Up the slow hill, people and holy Cross<br /> - Bore thee to the sleeping place,<br /> - Malise! whom thy lovers weep.<br /> - Spring lilies crown from the soft moss<br /> - Thy silent face,<br /> - All peaceful, Malise! in thy perfect sleep.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ah! far away, far by the watered vale,<br /> - By the seaward-rolling hills,<br /> - Lies he, by the gray-towered walls.<br /> - Northern calm lake, wild northern dale,<br /> - Gently fulfils,<br /> - Each, its serene enchauntment: and night falls.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Windermere gleams: as would some shadowy space<br /> - Out from willowed dream-world drawn.<br /> - Under the pure silence, earth<br /> - Looks up to heaven, with tranquil face:<br /> - And patient dawn,<br /> - Behind the purple hills, dreams toward the birth.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - V.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - To think of thee, Malise! at Christmas time!<br /> - The Glory of the world comes down on earth,<br /> - Malise! at Christmas: but the Yule bells chime<br /> - Over thy perfect sleep: and though Christ's birth<br /> - Wake other men to melody of heart,<br /> - Thou in their happy music hast no part.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Or dost thou wake awhile, to feel thy gloom<br /> - Illuminated by the shepherds' light?<br /> - To stretch out longing hands from thy still tomb,<br /> - And think on days, that were: before that night<br /> - Fell on thee, Malise? and the world as well<br /> - Was darkened over us, when that night fell!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1888.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - VI.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Whenas I knew not clearly, how to think,<br /> - Malise! about thee dead: God showed the way.<br /> - Thine holy soul among soft fires can drink<br /> - The dew of all the prayers, that I can pray.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Prayers for thy sake shall pierce thy prison gate;<br /> - Prayers to the Mother of Misericord:<br /> - Mary, the mighty, the immaculate;<br /> - Mary, whose soul welcomed the appointed sword.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Malise! thy dear face from my wall looks down:<br /> - The Crucifix above its beauty lies.<br /> - Now, while I look and long, I see a crown<br /> - Bright on thy brow, and heaven within thine eyes,<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1892.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="precept"></a> - THE PRECEPT OF SILENCE.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - I know you: solitary griefs,<br /> - Desolate passions, aching hours!<br /> - I know you: tremulous beliefs,<br /> - Agonized hopes, and ashen flowers!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The winds are sometimes sad to me;<br /> - The starry spaces, full of fear:<br /> - Mine is the sorrow on the sea,<br /> - And mine the sigh of places drear.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Some players upon plaintive strings<br /> - Publish their wistfulness abroad:<br /> - I have not spoken of these things,<br /> - Save to one man, and unto God.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1893.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="hill"></a> - HILL AND VALE. -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - Not on the river plains<br /> - Wilt thou breathe loving air,<br /> - O mountain spirit fine!<br /> - Here the calm soul maintains<br /> - Calm: but no joy like thine,<br /> - On hill-tops bleak and bare,<br /> - Whose breath is fierce and rare.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Were beauty all thy need,<br /> - Here were an haunt for thee.<br /> - The broad laborious weald,<br /> - An eye's delight indeed,<br /> - Spreads from rich field to field:<br /> - And full streams wander free<br /> - Under the alder tree.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Throw thee upon the grass,<br /> - The daisied grass, and gaze<br /> - Far to the warm blue mist:<br /> - Feel, how the soft hours pass<br /> - Over, before they wist,<br /> - Into whole day: and days<br /> - Dream on in sunny haze.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Each old, sweet, country scent<br /> - Comes, as old music might<br /> - Upon thee: old, sweet sounds<br /> - Go, as they ever went,<br /> - Over the red corn grounds:<br /> - Still sweeping scythes delight<br /> - Charmed hearing and charmed sight<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Gentle thy life would be:<br /> - To watch at morning dew<br /> - Fresh water-lilies: tell,<br /> - How bears the walnut tree:<br /> - Find the first foxglove bell,<br /> - Spare the last harebell blue:<br /> - And wander the wold through.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Another love is thine:<br /> - For thee the far world spied<br /> - From the far mountain top:<br /> - Keen scented, sounding pine,<br /> - The purple heather crop:<br /> - And night's great glorious tide<br /> - Of stars and clouds allied.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="gwynedd"></a> - GWYNEDD.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Ernest Rhys.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The children of the mingling mists: can they,<br /> - Born by the melancholy hills, love thee,<br /> - Royal and joyous light? From dawn of day,<br /> - We watch the trailing shadows of the waste,<br /> - The waste moors, or the ever-mourning sea:<br /> - What, though in speedy splendour thou hast raced<br /> - Over the heather or wild wave, a ray<br /> - Of travelling glory and swift bloom? Still thou<br /> - Inhabitest the mighty morning's brow:<br /> - And hast thy flaming and celestial way,<br /> - Afar from our sad beauties, in thine haste.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Have thou thy circling triumph of the skies,<br /> - Horseman of Goldwhite Footsteps! Yet all fire<br /> - Lives not with thee: for part is in our eyes,<br /> - Beholding the loved beauty of cold hills:<br /> - And part is patron of dear home desire,<br /> - Flashing upon the central hearth: it fills<br /> - Ingle and black-benched nook with radiances,<br /> - Hearts with responding spirit, ears with deep<br /> - Delicious music of the ruddy leap,<br /> - And streaming strength, and kindling confluences:<br /> - The hearth glows, and the cavernous chimney thrills,<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Pale with great heat, panting to crimson gloom,<br /> - Quiver the deeps of the rich fire: see there!<br /> - Was not that your fair face, in burning bloom<br /> - Wrought by the art of fire? O happy art!<br /> - That sets in living flames a face so fair:<br /> - The face, whose changes dominate mine heart,<br /> - And with a look speak my delight or doom:<br /> - Nay, now not doom, for I am only thine,<br /> - And one in thee and me the fire divine!<br /> - The fire, that wants the whole vast world for room:<br /> - Yet dwells in us contented and apart.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The flames' red dance is done: and we crouch close<br /> - With shadowy faces to the dull, red glow.<br /> - Your darkling loveliness is like the rose,<br /> - Its dusky petals, and its bower of soft<br /> - Sweet inner darkness, where the dew lies low:<br /> - And now one tongue of flame leaps up aloft,<br /> - Brightening your brows: and now it fails, and throws<br /> - A play of flushing shadows, the rich mist<br /> - Of purple grapes, that many a sun hath kissed;<br /> - The delicate darkness, that with autumn grows<br /> - On red ripe apples in a mossy croft.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Nay! leave such idle southern imageries,<br /> - Vineyard and orchard, flowers and mellow fruit:<br /> - Great store is ours of mountain mysteries.<br /> - Look, where the embers fade, from ruddy gold<br /> - Into gray ashes falling without bruit!<br /> - Yet is that ruddy lustre bought and sold,<br /> - Elf with elf trafficking his merchandise:<br /> - Deep at the strong foot of the eagles' pass,<br /> - They store the haunting treasure, and amass<br /> - The spirit of dead fire: there still it lies,<br /> - Phantom wealth, goodlier than Ophir old.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Across the moor, over the purple bells,<br /> - Over the heather blossom, the rain drives:<br /> - Art fired enough to dare the blowing fells,<br /> - And ford the brawling brooks? Ah, come we then!<br /> - Great good it is to see, how beauty thrives<br /> - For desolate moorland and for moorland men;<br /> - To smell scents, rarer than soft honey cells,<br /> - From bruised wild thyme, pine bark, or mouldering peat;<br /> - To watch the crawling gray clouds drift, and meet<br /> - Midway the ragged cliffs. O mountain spells,<br /> - Calling us forth, by hill, and moor, and glen!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Calling us forth, to be with earth again,<br /> - Her memories, her splendours, her desires!<br /> - The fires of the hearth are fallen: now the rain<br /> - Stirs its delight of waters, as the flame<br /> - Stirred its delight of heat and spirited fires.<br /> - Come! by the lintel listen: clouds proclaim,<br /> - That thunder is their vast voice: the winds wane,<br /> - That all the storm may gather strength, and strive<br /> - Once more in their great breath to be alive;<br /> - And fill the angry air with such a strain,<br /> - As filled the world's war, when the world first came.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Desolate Cornwall, desolate Brittany,<br /> - Are up in vehement wind and vehement wave:<br /> - Ancient delights are on their ancient sea,<br /> - And nature's violent graces waken there;<br /> - And there goes loveliness about the grave,<br /> - And death means dreaming, not life's long despair.<br /> - Our sister lands are they, one people we,<br /> - Cornwall desolate, Brittany desolate,<br /> - And Wales: to us is granted to be great:<br /> - Because, as winds and seas and flames are free,<br /> - We too have freedom full, as wild and rare.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - And therefore, on a night of heavenly fires;<br /> - And therefore, on a windy hour of noon;<br /> - Our soul, like nature's eager soul, aspires,<br /> - Finding all thunders and all winds our friends:<br /> - And like the moving sea, love we the moon;<br /> - And life in us the way of nature wends,<br /> - Ardent as nature's own, that never tires.<br /> - Born of wild land, children of mountains, we<br /> - Fear neither ruining earth, nor stormy sea:<br /> - Even as men told in Athens, of our sires:<br /> - And as it shall be, till the old world ends.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Your eyes but brighten to the streaming wind,<br /> - But lighten to the sighing air, but break<br /> - To tears before the labouring hills: your mind<br /> - Moves with the passionate spirit of the land.<br /> - Now crystal is your soul, now flame: a lake,<br /> - Proud and calm, with high scaurs on either hand;<br /> - Or a swift lance of lightning, to strike blind.<br /> - True child of Gwynedd, child of wilds and fields!<br /> - To you earth clings, to you strange nature yields<br /> - Far learning, sudden light, fierce fire: these find<br /> - Home in your heart, and thoughts that understand.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - We will not wander from this land; we will<br /> - Be wise together, and accept our world:<br /> - This world of the gray cottage by the hill,<br /> - This gorge, this lusty air, this loneliness:<br /> - The calm of drifting clouds; the pine-tops whirled<br /> - And swayed along the ridges. Here distress<br /> - Dreams, and delight dreams: dreaming, we can fill<br /> - All solitary haunts with prophecy,<br /> - All heights with holiness and mystery;<br /> - Our hearts with understanding, and our will<br /> - With love of nature's law and loveliness.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Old voices call, old pleasures lure: for now<br /> - The wet earth breathes ancient fair fragrance forth;<br /> - And dying gales hang in the branches, blow<br /> - And fall, and blow again: our widest home<br /> - Is with rich winds of West, loud winds of North,<br /> - Sweeping beneath a gray and vasty dome.<br /> - Not with the hearth, whose consolations go,<br /> - Our home of homes: but where our eyes grown tired<br /> - Of straitened joys, with stretching joys are fired:<br /> - Joys of the rolling moor and cloudy brow,<br /> - Or worn, precipitous bastions of the foam.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Our fires are fallen from their blossoming height,<br /> - And linger in sad embers: but gray bloom<br /> - Is on the heather, an enchaunting light<br /> - Of purple dusk and vesper air: rich rain<br /> - Falls on our hearts, through eve and gentle gloom,<br /> - More than upon our foreheads. The world's pain<br /> - And joy of storm are proven our delight,<br /> - And peace enthroned for ever: ours the mirth,<br /> - And melancholy of this ancient earth:<br /> - Ours are the mild airs and the starred twilight;<br /> - And we, who love them, are not all in vain.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1888<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="cornish"></a> - A CORNISH NIGHT.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To William Butler Yeats.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Merry the night, you riders of the wild!<br /> - A merry night to ride your wilderness.<br /> - Come you from visionary haunts, enisled<br /> - Amid the northern waters pitiless,<br /> - Over these cliffs white-heathered? Upon mild<br /> - Midnights of dewy June, oh, rare to press<br /> - Past moonlit fields of white bean-flowers! nor less<br /> - To wander beside falling waves, beguiled<br /> - By soft winds into still dreams! Yet confess,<br /> - You chivalries of air, unreconciled<br /> - To the warm, breathing world! what ghostly stress<br /> - Compels your visit unto sorrow's child?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - What would you here? For here you have no part:<br /> - Only the sad voices of wind and sea<br /> - Are prophets here to any wistful heart:<br /> - Or white flowers found upon a glimmering lea.<br /> - What would you here? Sweep onward, and depart<br /> - Over the ocean into Brittany,<br /> - Where old faith is, and older mystery!<br /> - Though this be western land, we have no art<br /> - To welcome spirits in community:<br /> - Trafficking, in an high celestial mart,<br /> - Slumber for wondrous knowledge: setting free<br /> - Our souls, that strain and agonize and start.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The wind hath cried to me, all the long day,<br /> - That you were coming, chivalries of air!<br /> - Between the waters and the starry way.<br /> - Fair lies the sea about a land, as fair:<br /> - Moonlight and west winds move upon the bay<br /> - Gently: now down the rough path sweet it were<br /> - To clamber, and so launching out to fare<br /> - Forth for the heart of sea and night, away<br /> - From hard earth's loud uproar, and harder care!<br /> - But you at will about the winds can stray:<br /> - Or bid the wandering stars of midnight bear<br /> - You company: or with the seven stay.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - And yet you came for me! So the wind cried,<br /> - So my soul knows: else why am I awake<br /> - With expectation and desire, beside<br /> - The soothed sea's murmuring nocturnal lake?<br /> - Not sleep, but storm, welcomes a widowed bride:<br /> - Storms of sad certainty, vain want, that make<br /> - Vigil perpetual mine; so that I take<br /> - The gusty night in place of him, who died,<br /> - To clasp me home to heart. That cannot break,<br /> - The eternal heart of nature far and wide!<br /> - So now, your message! while the clear stars shake<br /> - Within the gleaming sea, shake and abide.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - So now, your message! Breathe words from the wave,<br /> - Or breathe words from the field, into mine ears:<br /> - Or from the sleeping shades of a cold grave<br /> - Bring comfortable solace for my tears.<br /> - Something of my love's heart could nature save:<br /> - Some rich delight to spice the tasteless years,<br /> - Some hope to light the valley of lone fears.<br /> - Hear! I am left alone, to bear and brave<br /> - The sounding storms: but you, from starry spheres,<br /> - From wild wood haunts, give me, as love once gave<br /> - Joy from his home celestial, so, love's peers!<br /> - Give peace awhile to me, sorrow's poor slave!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - In sorrow's order I dwell passionist,<br /> - Cloistered by tossing sea on weary land.<br /> - O vain love! vain, to claim me votarist:<br /> - O vain my heart! that will not understand,<br /> - <i>He is dead! I am lonely!</i> Love in a Mist<br /> - My flower is: and salt tangle of the strand,<br /> - The crownals woven by this failing hand:<br /> - In the dark kingdom, walking where I list,<br /> - I walk where Lethe glides against the sand.<br /> - But vain love is a constant lutanist,<br /> - Playing old airs, and able to withstand<br /> - Sweet sleep: vain love, thou loyal melodist!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - You wanderers! Would I were wandering<br /> - Under the white moon with you, or among<br /> - The invisible stars with you! Would I might sing<br /> - Over the charmed sea your enchaunting song,<br /> - Song of old autumn, and of radiant spring:<br /> - Might sing, how earth the mother suffers long;<br /> - How the great winds are wild, yet do no wrong;<br /> - How the most frail bloom is at heart a king!<br /> - I could endure then, strenuous and strong:<br /> - But now, O spirits of the air! I bring<br /> - Before you my waste soul: why will you throng<br /> - About me, save to take even such a thing?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Only for this you ride the midnight gloom,<br /> - Above the ancient isles of the old main.<br /> - The spray leaps on the hidden rocks of doom:<br /> - The ripples break, and wail away again<br /> - Upon the gathering wave: gaunt headlands loom<br /> - In the lone distance of the heaving plain.<br /> - And now, until the calm, the still stars wane,<br /> - You wait upon my heart, my heart a tomb.<br /> - Though I dream, life and dreams are alike vain!<br /> - Then love me, tell me news of dear death: whom<br /> - Circle you, but a soul astray, one fain<br /> - To leave this close world for death's larger room?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - If barren be the promise I desire,<br /> - The promise that I shall not always go<br /> - In living solitariness: break fire<br /> - Out of the night, and lay me swiftly low!<br /> - Soft spirits! you have wings to waft me higher,<br /> - Than touch of each my most familiar woe:<br /> - Am I unworthy, you should raise me so?<br /> - If barren be that trust, my dreams inspire<br /> - Only despair; my brooding heart must grow<br /> - Heavy with miseries; a mourning quire,<br /> - To tell the heavy hours, how sad, how slow,<br /> - Are all their footsteps, of whose sound I tire.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Bright seafire runs about a plunging keel<br /> - On vehement nights: and where black danger lies,<br /> - Gleam the torn breakers. But all days reveal<br /> - Drear dooms for me, nor any nights disguise<br /> - Their menace: never rolls the thunder peal<br /> - Through my worn watch, nor lightning past mine eyes<br /> - Leaps from the blue gloom of its mother skies,<br /> - One hour alone, but all, while sad stars wheel.<br /> - This hour, was it a lie, that bade me rise;<br /> - Some laughing dream, that whispered me to steal<br /> - Into the sea-sweet night, where the wind cries,<br /> - And find the comfort, that I cannot feel?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - My lord hath gone your way perpetual:<br /> - Whether you be great spirits of the dead,<br /> - Or spirits you, that never were in thrall<br /> - To perishing bodies, dust-born, dustward led.<br /> - Sweet shadows! passing by this ocean wall,<br /> - Tarry to pour some balm upon mine head,<br /> - Some pity for a woman, who hath wed<br /> - With weariness and loneliness, from fall<br /> - To fall, from bitter snows to maybloom red:<br /> - The hayfields hear, the cornlands hear, my call!<br /> - From weariness toward weariness I tread;<br /> - And hunger for the end: the end of all.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1888<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="mystic"></a> - MYSTIC AND CAVALIER.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Herbert Percy Horne.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Go from me: I am one of those, who fall.<br /> - What! hath no cold wind swept your heart at all,<br /> - In my sad company? Before the end,<br /> - Go from me, dear my friend!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Yours are the victories of light: your feet<br /> - Rest from good toil, where rest is brave and sweet.<br /> - But after warfare in a mourning gloom,<br /> - I rest in clouds of doom.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Have you not read so, looking in these eyes?<br /> - Is it the common light of the pure skies,<br /> - Lights up their shadowy depths? The end is set:<br /> - Though the end be not yet.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - When gracious music stirs, and all is bright,<br /> - And beauty triumphs through a courtly night;<br /> - When I too joy, a man like other men:<br /> - Yet, am I like them, then?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - And in the battle, when the horsemen sweep<br /> - Against a thousand deaths, and fall on sleep:<br /> - Who ever sought that sudden calm, if I<br /> - Sought not? Yet, could not die.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Seek with thine eyes to pierce this crystal sphere:<br /> - Canst read a fate there, prosperous and clear?<br /> - Only the mists, only the weeping clouds:<br /> - Dimness, and airy shrouds.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Beneath, what angels are at work? What powers<br /> - Prepare the secret of the fatal hours?<br /> - See! the mists tremble, and the clouds are stirred:<br /> - When comes the calling word?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The clouds are breaking from the crystal ball,<br /> - Breaking and clearing: and I look to fall.<br /> - When the cold winds and airs of portent sweep,<br /> - My spirit may have sleep.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - O rich and sounding voices of the air!<br /> - Interpreters and prophets of despair:<br /> - Priests of a fearful sacrament! I come,<br /> - To make with you mine home.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="parnell"></a> - PARNELL.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To John McGrath.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The wail of Irish winds,<br /> - The cry of Irish seas:<br /> - Eternal sorrow finds<br /> - Eternal voice in these.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I cannot praise our dead,<br /> - Whom Ireland weeps so well:<br /> - Her morning light, that fled;<br /> - Her morning star, that fell.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - She of the mournful eyes<br /> - Waits, and no dark clouds break:<br /> - Waits, and her strong son lies<br /> - Dead, for her holy sake.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Her heart is sorrow's home.<br /> - And hath been from of old:<br /> - An host of griefs hath come,<br /> - To make that heart their fold.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ah, the sad autumn day,<br /> - When the last sad troop came<br /> - Swift down the ancient way,<br /> - Keening a chieftain's name!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Gray hope was there, and dread;<br /> - Anger, and love in tears:<br /> - They mourned the dear and dead,<br /> - Dirge of the ruined years.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Home to her heart she drew<br /> - The mourning company:<br /> - Old sorrows met the new,<br /> - In sad fraternity.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A mother, and forget?<br /> - Nay! all her children's fate<br /> - Ireland remembers yet,<br /> - With love insatiate.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - She hears the heavy bells:<br /> - Hears, and with passionate breath<br /> - Eternally she tells<br /> - A rosary of death.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Faithful and true is she,<br /> - The mother of us all:<br /> - Faithful and true! may we<br /> - Fail her not, though we fall.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Her son, our brother, lies<br /> - Dead, for her holy sake:<br /> - But from the dead arise<br /> - Voices, that bid us wake.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Not his, to hail the dawn:<br /> - His but the herald's part.<br /> - Be ours to see withdrawn<br /> - Night from our mother's heart.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1893.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="england"></a> - IN ENGLAND. -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Charles Furse.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Bright Hellas lies far hence,<br /> - Far the Sicilian sea:<br /> - But England's excellence<br /> - Is fair enough for me.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I love and understand<br /> - One joy: with staff and scrip<br /> - To walk a wild west land,<br /> - The winds my fellowship.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - For all the winds will blow,<br /> - Across a lonely face,<br /> - Rough wisdom, good to know:<br /> - An high and heartening grace.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Wind, on the open down!<br /> - Riding the wind, the moon:<br /> - From town to country town,<br /> - I go from noon to noon.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Cities of ancient spires,<br /> - Glorious against high noon;<br /> - August at sunset fires;<br /> - Austere beneath the moon.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Old, rain-washed, red-roofed streets,<br /> - Fresh with the soft South-west:<br /> - Where dreaming memory meets<br /> - Brave men long since at rest.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Evening, from out the green<br /> - Wet boughs of clustered lime.<br /> - Pours fragrance rich and keen,<br /> - Balming the stilly time.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Old ramparts, gray and stern;<br /> - But comely clothed upon<br /> - With wealth of moss and fern,<br /> - And scarlet snapdragon.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Harbours of swaying masts,<br /> - Beneath the vesper star:<br /> - Each high-swung lantern casts<br /> - A quivering ray afar.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - From round the ancient quay,<br /> - Ring songs with rough refrains:<br /> - Strong music of the sea,<br /> - Chaunted in lusty strains.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Freshness of early spray,<br /> - Blown on me off the sea:<br /> - Morning breaks chilly gray,<br /> - And storm is like to be.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A cliff of rent, black rock,<br /> - About whose stern height flies<br /> - The wrangling sea-gull flock,<br /> - With querulous, thin cries.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The sea-gulls' wrangling cry<br /> - Around the black cliff rings:<br /> - I watch them wheel and fly,<br /> - A snowstorm of white wings.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - With savoury blossoms graced,<br /> - A craggy, rusted height:<br /> - Where thrift and samphire taste<br /> - The sea and wind and light.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A light prow plunges: red,<br /> - Red as the ruddy sand,<br /> - The tall sail fills: well sped,<br /> - The fair boat leaves the land.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I wander with delight<br /> - Among the great sea gales:<br /> - Exulting in their might,<br /> - They thunder through the vales.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Cries of the North-west wind,<br /> - Crying from roseless lands:<br /> - From countries cold and blind,<br /> - Hard seas and unsunned strands.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A dark forest, where freeze<br /> - My very dreams: gaunt rows<br /> - Rise up, the forest trees;<br /> - Black, from a waste of snows.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Long, fragrant pine tree bands,<br /> - Behind whose black, straight ranks<br /> - The dusky red sun stands,<br /> - On clouds in purple banks.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - In tree-tops the worn gale<br /> - Hangs, weakened to a sigh:<br /> - The rooks with sunrise hail<br /> - From out the tree-tops fly.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A deep wood, where the air<br /> - Hangs in a stilly trance:<br /> - While on rich fernbanks fair<br /> - The sunlights flash and dance.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I hear the woodland folks,<br /> - Each well-swung axe's blow:<br /> - And boughs of mighty oaks,<br /> - Murmuring to and fro.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - My step fills, as I go,<br /> - Shy rabbits with quick fears:<br /> - I see the sunlight glow<br /> - Red through their startled ears.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Mild, red-brown April woods.<br /> - When spring is in the air:<br /> - And a soft spirit broods<br /> - In patience, everywhere.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Primroses fill the fields,<br /> - And birds' light matin cries:<br /> - The lingering darkness yields,<br /> - Before the sun's uprise.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Deep meadows, white with dew,<br /> - Where faeries well may dance;<br /> - Or the quaint fawnskin crew,<br /> - Play in a red moon's glance.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Quivering poplar trees,<br /> - Silvered upon the wind:<br /> - In watermeads and leas,<br /> - With silver streams entwined.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Waters in alder shade,<br /> - Where green lights break and gleam<br /> - Betwixt my fingers, laid<br /> - Upon the rippling stream.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - In merry prime of June,<br /> - Birds sun themselves and sing:<br /> - Mine heart beats to the tune;<br /> - The world is on the wing.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The sun, golden and strong,<br /> - Leaps: and in flying choirs<br /> - The birds make morning song,<br /> - Across the morning fires.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Old gardens, where long hours<br /> - But find me happier,<br /> - Beside the misty flowers<br /> - Of purple lavender.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Heaped with a sweet hay load,<br /> - Curved, yellow waggons pass<br /> - Slow down the high-hedged road;<br /> - I watch them from the grass:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A pleasant village noise<br /> - Breaks the still air: and all<br /> - The summer spirit joys,<br /> - Before the first leaves fall.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Red wreckage of the rose,<br /> - Over a gusty lawn:<br /> - While in the orchard close,<br /> - Fruits redden to their dawn.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - September's wintering air,<br /> - When fruits and flowers have fled<br /> - From mountain valleys bare,<br /> - Save rowan berries red.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - These joys, and such as these,<br /> - Are England's and are mine:<br /> - Within the English seas,<br /> - My days have been divine.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Oh! Hellas lies far hence,<br /> - Far the blue Sicel sea:<br /> - But England's excellence<br /> - Is more than they to me.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1892.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="hazard"></a> - TO OCEAN HAZARD: GIPSY. -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - Burning fire, or blowing wind;<br /> - Starry night, or glowing sun:<br /> - All these thou dost bring to mind,<br /> - All these match thee, one by one:<br /> - Ocean is thy name, most fair!<br /> - Strangest name, for thee to bear.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Daughter of the sun, and child<br /> - Of the wind upon the waste;<br /> - Daughter of the field and wild:<br /> - Thee, what oceans have embraced?<br /> - What great waves have cradled thee,<br /> - That thy name is of the sea?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - In thy beauty, the red earth,<br /> - Full of gold and jewel stone,<br /> - Flames and burns: thy happy birth<br /> - Made and marked thee for her own.<br /> - Winds held triumph in the trees:<br /> - Thou wast lying on earth's knees.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - For thine ancient people keep<br /> - Still their march from land to land:<br /> - Ever upon earth they sleep,<br /> - Woods and fields on either hand.<br /> - Not upon the barren sea<br /> - Have thy people dandled thee.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Closer they, than other men,<br /> - To the heart of earth have come:<br /> - First the wilderness, and then<br /> - Field and forest, gave them home:<br /> - All their days, their hearts, they must<br /> - Give to earth: and then their dust.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Was it, that they heard the sea<br /> - In the surging pinewood's voice:<br /> - As they pondered names, for thee<br /> - Fair enough; so made their choice,<br /> - Hailed thee Ocean, hailed thee queen<br /> - Over glades of tossing green?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1888<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="drawing"></a> - UPON A DRAWING.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Manmohan Ghose.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Not in the crystal air of a Greek glen,<br /> - Not in the houses of imperial Rome,<br /> - Lived he, who wore this beauty among men:<br /> - No classic city was his ancient home.<br /> - What happy country claims his fair youth then,<br /> - Her pride? and what his fortunate lineage?<br /> - Here is no common man of every day,<br /> - This man, whose full and gleaming eyes assuage<br /> - Never their longing, be that what it may:<br /> - Of dreamland only he is citizen,<br /> - Beyond the flying of the last sea's foam.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Set him beneath the Athenian olive trees,<br /> - To speak with Marathonians: or to task<br /> - The wise serenity of Socrates;<br /> - Asking, what other men dare never ask.<br /> - Love of his country and his gods? Not these<br /> - The master thoughts, that comfort his strange heart,<br /> - When life grows difficult, and the lights dim:<br /> - In him is no simplicity, but art<br /> - Is all in all, for life and death, to him:<br /> - And whoso looks upon that fair face, sees<br /> - No nature there: only a magic mask.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Or set this man beside the Roman lords,<br /> - To vote upon the fate of Catiline;<br /> - Or in a battle of stout Roman swords,<br /> - Where strength and virtue were one thing divine:<br /> - Or bind him to the cross with Punic cords.<br /> - Think you, this unknown and mysterious man<br /> - Had played the Roman, with that wistful smile,<br /> - Those looks not moulded on a Roman plan,<br /> - But full of witcheries and secret guile?<br /> - Think you, those lips had framed true Roman words,<br /> - Whose very curves have something Sibylline?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Thou wouldst but laugh, were one to question thee:<br /> - Laugh with malign, bright eyes, and curious joy.<br /> - Thou'rt fallen in love with thine own mystery!<br /> - And yet thou art no Sibyl, but a boy.<br /> - What wondrous land within the unvoyaged sea<br /> - Haunts then thy thoughts, thy memories, thy dreams?<br /> - Nay! be my friend; and share with me thy past:<br /> - If haply I may catch enchaunting gleams,<br /> - Catch marvellous music, while our friendship last:<br /> - Tell me thy visions: though their true home be<br /> - Some land, that was a legend in old Troy.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1890.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="roman"></a> - THE ROMAN STAGE.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Hugh Orange.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A man of marble holds the throne,<br /> - With looks composed and resolute:<br /> - Till death, a prince whom princes own,<br /> - Draws near to touch the marble mute.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>The play is over: good my friends!</i><br /> - Murmur the pale lips: <i>your applause!</i><br /> - With what a grace the actor ends:<br /> - How loyal to dramatic laws!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A brooding beauty on his brow;<br /> - Irony brooding over sin:<br /> - The next imperial actor now<br /> - Bids the satiric piece begin.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="toweep"></a> - "TO WEEP IRISH."<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To the Rev. Dr. William Barry.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Long Irish melancholy of lament!<br /> - Voice of the sorrow, that is on the sea:<br /> - Voice of that ancient mourning music sent<br /> - From Rama childless: the world wails in thee.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The sadness of all beauty at the heart,<br /> - The appealing of all souls unto the skies,<br /> - The longing locked in each man's breast apart,<br /> - Weep in the melody of thine old cries.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Mother of tears! sweet Mother of sad sighs!<br /> - All mourners of the world weep Irish, weep<br /> - Ever with thee: while burdened time still runs,<br /> - Sorrows reach God through thee, and ask for sleep.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - And though thine own unsleeping sorrow yet<br /> - Live to the end of burdened time, in pain:<br /> - Still sing the song of sorrow! and forget<br /> - The sorrow, in the solace, of the strain.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1893.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="summer"></a> - SUMMER STORM.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Harold Child.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The wind, hark! the wind in the angry woods:<br /> - And low clouds purple the west: there broods<br /> - Thunder, thunder; and rain will fall;<br /> - Fresh fragrance cling to the wind from all<br /> - Roses holding water wells,<br /> - Laurels gleaming to the gusty air;<br /> - Wilding mosses of the dells,<br /> - Drenched hayfields, and dripping hedgerows fair.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The wind, hark! the wind dying again:<br /> - The wind's voice matches the far-off main,<br /> - In sighing cadences: Pan will wake,<br /> - Pan in the forest, whose rich pipes make<br /> - Music to the folding flowers,<br /> - In the pure eve, where no hot spells are:<br /> - Those be favourable hours<br /> - Hymned by Pan beneath the shepherd star.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="traveller"></a> - TO A TRAVELLER.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - The mountains, and the lonely death at last<br /> - Upon the lonely mountains: O strong friend!<br /> - The wandering over, and the labour passed,<br /> - Thou art indeed at rest:<br /> - Earth gave thee of her best,<br /> - That labour and this end.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Earth was thy mother, and her true son thou:<br /> - Earth called thee to a knowledge of her ways,<br /> - Upon the great hills, up the great streams: now<br /> - Upon earth's kindly breast<br /> - Thou art indeed at rest:<br /> - Thou, and thine arduous days.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Fare thee well, O strong heart! The tranquil night<br /> - Looks calmly on thee: and the sun pours down<br /> - His glory over thee, O heart of might!<br /> - Earth gives thee perfect rest:<br /> - Earth, whom thy swift feet pressed:<br /> - Earth, whom the vast stars crown.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="memory"></a> - IN MEMORY OF M. B.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - Old age, that dwelt upon thy years<br /> - With softest and with stateliest grace,<br /> - Hath sealed thine eyes, hath closed thine ears,<br /> - And stilled the sweetness of thy face.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - That gentle and that gracious look<br /> - Sleeps now, and wears a marble calm:<br /> - Death took no more away, but took<br /> - All cares away, and left the balm<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Of pure repose and peacefulness<br /> - Upon thy forehead touched by time:<br /> - So shall I know thee, none the less<br /> - Than earth unwintered, come the prime.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Gone, the white snows, the lingering leaves,<br /> - That once endeared the wintry days:<br /> - But the new bloom of spring receives<br /> - The old love, and has an equal praise.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Fare then thee well! In Winchester,<br /> - Sleep thy last fearless sleep serene.<br /> - Friends fail me not; but kindlier<br /> - Can no friend be, than thou hast been.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The city that we two loved best,<br /> - No fairer place of sleep for thee:<br /> - There lay thee down, and take thy rest,<br /> - And this farewell of love from me.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1888<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="hawthorne"></a> - HAWTHORNE.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Walter Alison Phillips.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ten years ago I heard; ten, have I loved;<br /> - Thine haunting voice borne over the waste sea.<br /> - Was it thy melancholy spirit moved<br /> - Mine, with those gray dreams, that invested thee?<br /> - Or was it, that thy beauty first reproved<br /> - The imperfect fancies, that looked fair to me?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Thou hast both secrets: for to thee are known<br /> - The fatal sorrows binding life and death:<br /> - And thou hast found, on winds of passage blown,<br /> - That music, which is sorrow's perfect breath:<br /> - So, all thy beauty takes a solemn tone,<br /> - And art, is all thy melancholy saith.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Now therefore is thy voice abroad for me,<br /> - When through dark woodlands murmuring sounds make way:<br /> - Thy voice, and voices of the sounding sea,<br /> - Stir in the branches, as none other may:<br /> - All pensive loneliness is full of thee,<br /> - And each mysterious, each autumnal day.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Hesperian soul! Well hadst thou in the West<br /> - Thine hermitage and meditative place:<br /> - In mild, retiring fields thou wast at rest,<br /> - Calmed by old winds, touched with aerial grace:<br /> - Fields, whence old magic simples filled thy breast,<br /> - And unforgotten fragrance balmed thy face.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="glories"></a> - GLORIES.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Theodore Peters.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Roses from Paestan rosaries!<br /> - More goodly red and white was she:<br /> - Her red and white were harmonies,<br /> - Not matched upon a Paestan tree.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ivories blaunched in Alban air!<br /> - She lies more purely blaunched than you:<br /> - No Alban whiteness doth she wear,<br /> - But death's perfection of that hue.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Nay! now the rivalry is done,<br /> - Of red, and white, and whiter still:<br /> - She hath a glory from that sun,<br /> - Who falls not from Olympus hill.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1893.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="lines"></a> - LINES TO A LADY UPON HER THIRD BIRTHDAY. -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - Dear Cousin: to be three years old,<br /> - Is to have found the Age of Gold:<br /> - That Age foregone! that Age foretold!<br /> - What wondrous names, then, wait thy choice,<br /> - High sounding for thine helpless voice!<br /> - I choose instead: and hail in thee<br /> - A queen of lilied Arcady,<br /> - Or lady of Hesperides:<br /> - Or, if Utopia lie near these,<br /> - Utopian thou, by right divine,<br /> - On whom all stars of favour shine.<br /> - Vainly the cold Lycean sage<br /> - Withheld his praise from childhood's age;<br /> - Denied thine happiness to thee;<br /> - Nor as a little child would be!<br /> - Man to the world he could present,<br /> - Magnanimous, magnificent:<br /> - Children, he knew not: for of thee<br /> - Dreamed not his calm philosophy;<br /> - Or Pythias was no Dorothy!<br /> - Thou hast good right to laugh in scorn<br /> - At us, of simple dreams forlorn:<br /> - At us, whose disenchaunted eyes<br /> - Imagination dare despise.<br /> - Thou hast that freshness, early born,<br /> - Which roses have; or billowy corn,<br /> - Waving, and washed in dews of morn:<br /> - And yet, no flower of woodlands wild,<br /> - But overwhelming London's child!<br /> - About thy sleep are heard the feet<br /> - And turmoil of the sounding street:<br /> - Thou hearest not! The land of dreams<br /> - More closely lies, and clearlier gleams.<br /> - Thou watchest, with thy grave eyes gray,<br /> - Our world, with looks of far away:<br /> - Eyes, that consent to look on things<br /> - Unlike their own imaginings;<br /> - And, looking, weave round all, they see,<br /> - Charms of their own sweet sorcery.<br /> - Thus very London thou dost change<br /> - To wonderland, all fair and strange:<br /> - The ugliness and uproar seem<br /> - To soften, at a child's pure dream:<br /> - And each poor dusty garden yields<br /> - The fresh delight of cowslip fields.<br /> - What is the secret, and the spell?<br /> - Thou knowest: for thou hast it well.<br /> - Wilt thou not pity us, and break<br /> - Thy silent dreaming, for our sake?<br /> - Wilt thou not teach us, how to make<br /> - Worlds of delight from things of nought,<br /> - Or fetched from faery land, and wrought<br /> - With flowers and lovely imageries?<br /> - Pity us! for such wisdom dies:<br /> - Pity thyself! youth flies, youth flies.<br /> - Thou comest to the desert plain,<br /> - Where no dreams follow in thy train:<br /> - They leave thee at the pleasaunce close;<br /> - Lonely the haggard pathway goes.<br /> - Thou wilt look back, and see them, deep<br /> - In the fair glades, where thou didst keep<br /> - Thy summer court, thy summer sleep:<br /> - But thou wilt never see them more,<br /> - Till death the golden dreams restore.<br /> - Now, ere the hard, dull hours begin<br /> - Their sad, destroying work within<br /> - Thy childhood's delicate memory,<br /> - Wilt thou not tell us, Dorothy?<br /> - Nay! thou art in conspiracy<br /> - With all those faeries, children styled,<br /> - To keep the secret of the child.<br /> - Ah! to be only three years old!<br /> - That is indeed an Age of Gold:<br /> - And, care not for mine idle fears!<br /> - Thou need'st not lose it: the far years,<br /> - Touching with love and gentle tears<br /> - The treasures of thy memory,<br /> - May mould them into poetry.<br /> - Then, of those deep eyes, gray and grave,<br /> - The world will be a willing slave:<br /> - Then, all the dreams of dear dreamland<br /> - Wait with their music at thine hand,<br /> - And beauty come at thy command.<br /> - But now, what counts the will of time?<br /> - Enough, thou livest! And this rhyme,<br /> - Unworthy of the Golden Age,<br /> - Yet hails thee, in that heritage,<br /> - Happy and fair: then, come what may,<br /> - Thou hast the firstfruits of the day.<br /> - Fair fall each morn to thee! And I,<br /> - Despite all dark fates, Dorothy!<br /> - Will prove me thine affectionate<br /> - Cousin, and loyal Laureate.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="celtic"></a> - CELTIC SPEECH.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Dr. Douglas Hyde.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Never forgetful silence fall on thee,<br /> - Nor younger voices overtake thee,<br /> - Nor echoes from thine ancient hills forsake thee;<br /> - Old music heard by Mona of the sea:<br /> - And where with moving melodies there break thee<br /> - Pastoral Conway, venerable Dee.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Like music lives, nor may that music die,<br /> - Still in the far, fair Gaelic places:<br /> - The speech, so wistful with its kindly graces,<br /> - Holy Croagh Patrick knows, and holy Hy:<br /> - The speech, that wakes the soul in withered faces,<br /> - And wakes remembrance of great things gone by.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Like music by the desolate Land's End<br /> - Mournful forgetfulness hath broken:<br /> - No more words kindred to the winds are spoken,<br /> - Where upon iron cliffs whole seas expend<br /> - That strength, whereof the unalterable token<br /> - Remains wild music, even to the world's end.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="ways"></a> - WAYS OF WAR.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To John O'Leary.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A terrible and splendid trust<br /> - Heartens the host of Inisfail:<br /> - Their dream is of the swift sword-thrust,<br /> - A lightning glory of the Gael.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Croagh Patrick is the place of prayers,<br /> - And Tara the assembling place:<br /> - But each sweet wind of Ireland bears<br /> - The trump of battle on its race.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - From Dursey Isle to Donegal,<br /> - From Howth to Achill, the glad noise<br /> - Rings: and the heirs of glory fall,<br /> - Or victory crowns their fighting joys.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A dream! a dream! an ancient dream!<br /> - Yet, ere peace come to Inisfail,<br /> - Some weapons on some field must gleam,<br /> - Some burning glory fire the Gael.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - That field may lie beneath the sun,<br /> - Fair for the treading of an host:<br /> - That field in realms of thought be won,<br /> - And armed minds do their uttermost:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Some way, to faithful Inisfail,<br /> - Shall come the majesty and awe<br /> - Of martial truth, that must prevail<br /> - To lay on all the eternal law.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1893.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="coming"></a> - THE COMING OF WAR.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To John Davidson.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Gather the people, for the battle breaks:<br /> - From camping grounds above the valley,<br /> - Gather the men-at-arms, and bid them rally:<br /> - Because the morn, the battle, wakes.<br /> - High throned above the mountains and the main,<br /> - Triumphs the sun: far down, the pasture plain<br /> - To trampling armour shakes.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - This was the meaning of those plenteous years,<br /> - Those unarmed years of peace unbroken:<br /> - Flashing war crowns them! Now war's trump hath spoken<br /> - This final glory in our ears.<br /> - The old blood of our pastoral fathers now<br /> - Riots about our heart, and through our brow:<br /> - Their sons can have no fears.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - This was our whispering and haunting dream,<br /> - When cornfields flourished, red and golden:<br /> - When vines hung purple, nor could be withholden<br /> - The radiant outburst of their stream.<br /> - Earth cried to us, that all her laboured store<br /> - Was ours: that she had more to give, and more:<br /> - For nothing, did we deem?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - We give her back the glory of this hour.<br /> - O sun and earth! O strength and beauty!<br /> - We use you now, we thank you now: our duty<br /> - We stand to do, mailed in your power.<br /> - A little people of a favoured land,<br /> - Helmed with the blessing of the morn we stand:<br /> - Our life is at its flower.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Gather the people, let the battle break:<br /> - An hundred peaceful years are over.<br /> - Now march each man to battle, as a lover:<br /> - For him, whom death shall overtake!<br /> - Sleeping upon this field, about his gloom<br /> - Voices shall pierce, to thrill his sacred tomb,<br /> - Of pride for his great sake.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - With melody about us: heart and feet<br /> - Responding to one mighty measure;<br /> - Glad with the splendour of an holy pleasure;<br /> - Swayed, one and all, as wind sways wheat:<br /> - Answering the sunlight with our eyes aglow;<br /> - Serene, and proud, and passionate, we go<br /> - Through airs of morning sweet.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Let no man dare to be disheartened now!<br /> - We challenge death beyond denial.<br /> - Against the host of death we make our trial:<br /> - Lord God of Hosts! do thou,<br /> - Who gavest us the fulness of thy sun<br /> - On fields of peace, perfect war's work begun:<br /> - Warriors, to thee we bow.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - O life-blood of remembrance! Long ago<br /> - This land upheld our ancient fathers:<br /> - And for this land, their land, our land, now gathers<br /> - One fellowship against the foe.<br /> - The spears flash: be they as our mothers' eyes!<br /> - The trump sounds: hearken to our fathers' cries!<br /> - March we to battle so.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="irelands"></a> - IRELAND'S DEAD. -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To John O'Mahony.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Immemorial Holy Land!<br /> - At thine hand, thy sons await<br /> - Any fate: they understand<br /> - Thee, the all compassionate.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Be it death for thee, they grieve<br /> - Nought, to leave the fight aside:<br /> - Thou their pride, they undeceive<br /> - Death, by death unterrified.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Mother, dear and fair to us,<br /> - Ever thus to be adored!<br /> - Is thy sword grown timorous,<br /> - Mother of misericord?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - For thy dead is grief on thee?<br /> - Can it be, thou dost repent,<br /> - That they went, thy chivalry,<br /> - Those sad ways magnificent?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - What, and if their heart's blood flow?<br /> - Gladly so, with love divine,<br /> - Since not thine the overthrow,<br /> - They thy fields incarnadine.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Hearts afire with one sweet flame,<br /> - One loved name, thine host adores:<br /> - Conquerors, they overcame<br /> - Death, high Heaven's inheritors.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - For their loyal love, nought less,<br /> - Than the stress of death, sufficed:<br /> - Now with Christ, in blessedness,<br /> - Triumph they, imparadised.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Mother, with so dear blood stained!<br /> - Freedom gained through love befall<br /> - Thee, by thraldom unprofaned,<br /> - Perfect and imperial!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Still the ancient voices ring:<br /> - Faith they bring, and fear repel.<br /> - Time shall tell thy triumphing,<br /> - Victress and invincible!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1893.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="harmonies"></a> - HARMONIES.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Vincent O'Sullivan.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Sweet music lingers<br /> - From her harpstrings on her fingers,<br /> - When they rest in mine:<br /> - And her clear glances<br /> - Help the music, whereto dances,<br /> - Trembling with an hope divine,<br /> - Every heart: and chiefly mine.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Could she discover<br /> - All her heart to any lover,<br /> - She who sways them all?<br /> - Yet her hand trembles,<br /> - Laid in mine: and scarce dissembles,<br /> - That its music looks to fall<br /> - Into mine, and Love end all.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - II.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The airs, that best belong,<br /> - Upon the strings devoutly playing,<br /> - Your heart devoutly praying:<br /> - Now sound your passion, full and strong,<br /> - Past all her fond gainsaying.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - First, strangely sweet and low,<br /> - Slowly her careless ears entrancing:<br /> - Then set the music dancing,<br /> - And wild notes flying to and fro;<br /> - Like spirited sunbeams glancing.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The melodies will stir<br /> - Spirits of love, that still attend her:<br /> - That able are to bend her,<br /> - By subtile arts transforming her;<br /> - And all their wisdom fend her.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Last, loud and resolute,<br /> - Ring out a triumph and a greeting!<br /> - No call for sad entreating,<br /> - For she will grant you all your suit,<br /> - Her song your music meeting.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="music"></a> - THE LAST MUSIC.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Frederic Herbert Trench.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Calmly, breathe calmly all your music, maids!<br /> - Breathe a calm music over my dead queen.<br /> - All your lives long, you have nor heard, nor seen,<br /> - Fairer than she, whose hair in sombre braids<br /> - With beauty overshades<br /> - Her brow, broad and serene.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Surely she hath lain so an hundred years:<br /> - Peace is upon her, old as the world's heart.<br /> - Breathe gently, music! Music done, depart:<br /> - And leave me in her presence to my tears,<br /> - With music in mine ears;<br /> - For sorrow hath its art.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Music, more music, sad and slow! she lies<br /> - Dead: and more beautiful, than early morn.<br /> - Discrowned am I, and of her looks forlorn:<br /> - Alone vain memories immortalize<br /> - The way of her soft eyes,<br /> - Her musical voice low-borne.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The balm of gracious death now laps her round,<br /> - As once life gave her grace beyond her peers.<br /> - Strange! that I loved this lady of the spheres,<br /> - To sleep by her at last in common ground:<br /> - When kindly sleep hath bound<br /> - Mine eyes, and sealed mine ears.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Maidens! make a low music: merely make<br /> - Silence a melody, no more. This day,<br /> - She travels down a pale and lonely way:<br /> - Now, for a gentle comfort, let her take<br /> - Such music, for her sake,<br /> - As mourning love can play.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Holy my queen lies in the arms of death:<br /> - Music moves over her still face, and I<br /> - Lean breathing love over her. She will lie<br /> - In earth thus calmly, under the wind's breath:<br /> - The twilight wind, that saith:<br /> - <i>Rest! worthy found, to die.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="dream"></a> - A DREAM OF YOUTH.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Lord Alfred Douglas.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - With faces bright, as ruddy corn,<br /> - Touched by the sunlight of the morn;<br /> - With rippling hair; and gleaming eyes,<br /> - Wherein a sea of passion lies;<br /> - Hair waving back, and eyes that gleam<br /> - With deep delight of dream on dream;<br /> - With full lips, curving into song;<br /> - With shapely limbs, upright and strong:<br /> - The youths on holy service throng.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Vested in white, upon their brows<br /> - Are wreaths fresh twined from dewy boughs<br /> - And flowers they strow along the way,<br /> - Still dewy from the birth of day.<br /> - So, to each reverend altar come,<br /> - They stand in adoration: some<br /> - Swing up gold censers; till the air<br /> - Is blue and sweet, with smoke of rare<br /> - Spices, that fetched from Egypt were.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - In voices of calm, choral tone,<br /> - Praise they each God, with praise his own:<br /> - As children of the Gods, is seen<br /> - Their glad solemnity of mien:<br /> - So fair a spirit of the skies<br /> - Is in their going: and their eyes<br /> - Look out upon the peopled earth,<br /> - As theirs were some diviner birth:<br /> - And clear and courtly is their mirth.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Lights of the labouring world, they seem:<br /> - Or, to the tired, like some fresh stream.<br /> - Their dignity of perfect youth<br /> - Compels devotion, as doth truth:<br /> - So right seems all, they do, they are.<br /> - Old age looks wistful, from afar,<br /> - To watch their beauty, as they go,<br /> - Radiant and free, in ordered row;<br /> - And fairer, in the watching, grow.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Fair though it be, to watch unclose<br /> - The nestling glories of a rose,<br /> - Depth on rich depth, soft fold on fold:<br /> - Though fairer be it, to behold<br /> - Stately and sceptral lilies break<br /> - To beauty, and to sweetness wake:<br /> - Yet fairer still, to see and sing,<br /> - One fair thing is, one matchless thing:<br /> - Youth, in its perfect blossoming.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The magic of a golden grace<br /> - Brings fire and sweetness on each face:<br /> - Till, from their passage, every heart<br /> - Takes fire, and sweetness in the smart:<br /> - Till virtue lives, for all who own<br /> - Their majesty, in them alone:<br /> - Till careless hearts, and idle, take<br /> - Delight in living, for their sake;<br /> - Worship their footsteps, and awake.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Beside the tremulous, blue sea,<br /> - Clear at sunset, they love to be:<br /> - And they are rarely sad, but then.<br /> - For sorrow touches them, as men,<br /> - Looking upon the calm of things,<br /> - That pass, and wake rememberings<br /> - Of holy and of ancient awe;<br /> - The charm of immemorial Law:<br /> - <i>What we see now, the great dead saw!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Upon a morn of storm, a swan,<br /> - Breasting the cold stream, cold and wan,<br /> - Throws back his neck in snowy length<br /> - Between his snowy wings of strength:<br /> - Against him the swift river flows,<br /> - The proudlier he against it goes,<br /> - King of the waters! For his pride<br /> - Bears him upon a mightier tide:<br /> - May death not be by youth defied?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - But the red sun is gone: and gleams<br /> - Of delicate moonlight waken dreams,<br /> - Dreams, and the mysteries of peace:<br /> - Shall this fair darkness ever cease?<br /> - Here is no drear, no fearful Power,<br /> - But life grows fuller with each hour,<br /> - Full of the silence, that is best:<br /> - Earth lies, with soothed and quiet breast,<br /> - Beneath the guardian stars, at rest.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - At night, behold them! Where lights burn<br /> - By moonlit olives, see them turn<br /> - Full faces toward the sailing moon,<br /> - Nigh lovelier than beneath high noon!<br /> - Throw back their comely moulded throats,<br /> - Whence music on the night wind floats!<br /> - And through the fragrant hush of night<br /> - Their lustrous eyes make darkness bright:<br /> - Their laugh loads darkness with delight.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Almost the murmuring sea is still:<br /> - Almost the world obeys their will.<br /> - Such youth moves pity in stern Fates,<br /> - And sure death wellnigh dominates:<br /> - Their passion kindles such fair flame,<br /> - As from divine Achilles came:<br /> - A vehement ardour thrills their breasts,<br /> - And beauty's benediction rests<br /> - On earth, and on earth's goodliest guests.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The music of their sighing parts<br /> - A silence: and their beating hearts<br /> - Beat to a measure of despair:<br /> - Ah! how the fire of youth is fair?<br /> - Yet may not be for ever young!<br /> - But night hath yielded; there hath sprung<br /> - Morning upon the throne of night:<br /> - Day comes, with solemnizing light:<br /> - Consuming sorrows take to flight.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Magnificent in early bloom,<br /> - Like Gods, they triumph over gloom:<br /> - All things desirable are theirs,<br /> - Of beauty and of wonder, heirs:<br /> - Their cities, vassals are, which give<br /> - Them thanks and praise, because they live:<br /> - Strong, they are victors of dismay;<br /> - Fair, they serve beauty every day;<br /> - Young, the sun loves to light their way.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Where now is death? Where that gray land?<br /> - Those fearless eyes, those white brows grand,<br /> - That take full sunlight and sweet air<br /> - With rapture true and debonair,<br /> - These have not known the touch of death!<br /> - The world hath winds: these forms have breath,<br /> - But, should death come, should dear life set,<br /> - Calm would each go: <i>Farewell! forget<br /> - Me dead: live you serenely yet.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - See them! The springing of the palm<br /> - Is nought, beside their gracious calm:<br /> - The rippling of cool waters dies<br /> - To nought, before their clear replies:<br /> - The smile, that heralds their bright thought,<br /> - Brings down the splendid sun to nought.<br /> - See them! They walk the earth in state:<br /> - In right of perfect youth, held great:<br /> - On whom the powers of nature wait.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - No sceptre theirs, but they are kings:<br /> - Their forms and words are royal things.<br /> - Their simple friendship is a court,<br /> - Whither the wise and great resort.<br /> - No homage of the world, they claim:<br /> - But in all places lives their fame.<br /> - Sun, moon, and stars; the earth, the sea;<br /> - Yea! all things, that of beauty be,<br /> - Honour their true divinity.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="romans"></a> - ROMANS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Arthur Galton.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - How shall I praise thee, Caesar? Thou art he,<br /> - Through whom all Europe's greatness came to be<br /> - And the world's central crime is thy swift death.<br /> - And thou too, Cicero! the voice of Rome!<br /> - The listening world is thy perpetual home:<br /> - Earth's plain, thy floor; the embracing sky, thy dome.<br /> - No greater things than these, great history saith:<br /> - Caesarian sword, and Ciceronian breath.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - You were no friends: but you are brothers now:<br /> - Equal, the laurels on each victor's brow:<br /> - Triumphing generations throng each car.<br /> - This night, I hear those measured tides of sound,<br /> - Surging above that crownless king discrowned,<br /> - Dead on that sacred senatorial ground:<br /> - Low in the dark hangs, burning from afar,<br /> - With pale and solemn fires, the Julian Star.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="troopship"></a> - THE TROOPSHIP.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - At early morning, clear and cold,<br /> - Still in her English harbour lay<br /> - The long, white ship: while winter gold<br /> - Shone pale upon her outward way.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Slowly she moved, slowly she stirred,<br /> - Stately and slow, she went away:<br /> - Sounds of farewell, the harbour heard;<br /> - Music on board began to play.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Old, homely airs were thine, great ship!<br /> - Breaking from laughter into tears:<br /> - And through them all good fellowship<br /> - Spoke of a trust beyond all fears.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Still, as the gray mists gathered round,<br /> - Embracing thee, concealing thine;<br /> - Still, faintly from the Outward Bound<br /> - Came melodies of <i>Auld Lang Syne</i>.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Oh, sad to part! Oh, brave to go<br /> - Between the Piers of Hercules,<br /> - And through the seas of fame, and so<br /> - Meet eastern sun on eastern seas!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - O richly laden! swiftly bear,<br /> - And surely, thy two thousand men;<br /> - Till round them burn the Indian air:<br /> - And English lips will hail them then.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - NEW YEAR'S DAY: 1890.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="dead"></a> - DEAD.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Olivier Georges Destrée.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - In Merioneth, over the sad moor<br /> - Drives the rain, the cold wind blows:<br /> - Past the ruinous church door,<br /> - The poor procession without music goes.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Lonely she wandered out her hour, and died.<br /> - Now the mournful curlew cries<br /> - Over her, laid down beside<br /> - Death's lonely people: lightly down she lies.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - In Merioneth, the wind lives and wails,<br /> - On from hill to lonely hill:<br /> - Down the loud, triumphant gales,<br /> - A spirit cries Be strong! and cries Be still!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="sancta"></a> - SANCTA SILVARUM.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To the Earl Russell.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Deep music of the ancient forest!<br /> - Through glades and coverts with thy magic winding;<br /> - And in the silence of our hushed hearts finding<br /> - Tremulous echoes of thy murmur,<br /> - Unshapen thoughts thronging and throbbing:<br /> - O music of the mystery, that embraces<br /> - All forest depths, and footless far-off places!<br /> - Thou art the most high voice of nature,<br /> - Thou art the voice of unseen singers,<br /> - Vanishing ever deeper through the clinging<br /> - Thickets, and under druid branches winging<br /> - A flight, that draws our eyes to follow:<br /> - Yet, following, find they only forest;<br /> - But lonely forest, stately melancholy,<br /> - A consecrated stillness, old and holy;<br /> - Commanding us to hail with homage<br /> - Powers, that we see not, hid in beauty:<br /> - A majesty immeasurable; a glorious<br /> - Conclave of angels: wherewithal victorious,<br /> - The Lord of venerable forests,<br /> - Murmuring sanctuaries and cloisters,<br /> - Proclaims his kingdom over our emotion:<br /> - Even as his brother Lord of the old ocean<br /> - Thunders tremendous laws, in tempest<br /> - Embattled between winds and waters.<br /> - O mighty friendship of mysterious forces,<br /> - O servants of one Will! Stars in their courses,<br /> - Flowers in their fragrance, in their music<br /> - Winged winds, and lightnings in their fierceness!<br /> - These are the world's magnalities and splendours:<br /> - At touch of these, the adoring spirit renders<br /> - Glory, and praise, and passionate silence.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1886.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - II.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The moon labours through black cloud,<br /> - Through the vast night, dark and proud:<br /> - The windy wood dances.<br /> - Still the massed heavens drive along:<br /> - And, of all night's fiery throng,<br /> - The moon alone glances.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - How the lights are wild and strange!<br /> - Only one light doth not change,<br /> - From living fires flowing:<br /> - Where, on fragrant banks of fern,<br /> - Steadily and stilly burn<br /> - The greenwood worms glowing.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Going down the forest side,<br /> - The night robs me of all pride,<br /> - By gloom and by splendour.<br /> - High, away, alone, afar,<br /> - Mighty wills and workings are:<br /> - To them I surrender.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The processions of the night,<br /> - Sweeping clouds and battling light,<br /> - And wild winds in thunder,<br /> - Care not for the world of man,<br /> - Passionate on another plan:<br /> - O twin worlds of wonder!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ancients of dark majesty!<br /> - Priests of splendid mystery!<br /> - The Powers of Night cluster:<br /> - In the shadows of the trees,<br /> - Dreams, that no man lives and sees,<br /> - The dreams! the dreams! muster.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Move not! for the night wind stirs:<br /> - And the night wind ministers<br /> - To dreams, and their voices:<br /> - Ah! the wild moon earthward bowed<br /> - From that tyranny of cloud:<br /> - The dim wood rejoices.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - What do I here? What am I,<br /> - Who may comprehend nor sky,<br /> - Nor trees, nor dreams thronging?<br /> - Over moonlight dark clouds drive:<br /> - The vast midnight is alive<br /> - With magical longing.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - III.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Through the fresh woods there fleet<br /> - Fawns, with bright eyes, light feet:<br /> - Bright eyes, and feet that spurn<br /> - The pure green fern.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Headed by leaping does,<br /> - The swift procession goes<br /> - Through thickets, over lawns:<br /> - Followed by fawns.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Over slopes, over glades,<br /> - Down dells and leafy shades,<br /> - Away the quick deer troop:<br /> - A wildwood group.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Under the forest airs,<br /> - A life of grace is theirs:<br /> - Courtly their look; they seem<br /> - Things of a dream.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Some say, but who can say?<br /> - That a charmed troop are they:<br /> - Once youths and maidens white!<br /> - These may be right.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - IV.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Over me, beeches broad beneath blue sky<br /> - In light winds through their cooling leaves rejoice:<br /> - Now, the red squirrel, lithe and wild, runs by;<br /> - Anon the wood dove from deep glades, with voice<br /> - Of mellow music, lulls the air:<br /> - All murmurs of the forest, stirs and cries,<br /> - Come stilly down green coverts; the high fern<br /> - Smells of rich earth aglow from burning skies.<br /> - Hither my greenwood ways love best to turn:<br /> - Hither my lone hours gladliest fare.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - But not for melancholy solitude;<br /> - Not for the fond delight of loneliness:<br /> - Though here nor voice, nor alien feet, intrude.<br /> - Lone am I: but what lone dreams dare repress<br /> - High presences of vanished days?<br /> - Long billowy reaches of unnumbered trees<br /> - Roll downward from this haunt, and break at length<br /> - Against such walls, as no man unmoved sees,<br /> - But hails the past of splendour and of strength:<br /> - And heights of immemorial praise.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - That Castle gray, marvellous with mighty years,<br /> - Crowning the forest deeps in pride of place:<br /> - Towers, royal in their histories of tears,<br /> - And royal in their chronicles of grace:<br /> - Am I alone, beholding those?<br /> - The solitary forest bowers me round:<br /> - Yet companies august go through the glade,<br /> - Crowned and resplendent! stately and discrowned!<br /> - All, solemn from the tragedies they played:<br /> - Remembering, each the doom, the close.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Alone! Nay, but almost, would that I were<br /> - Alone: too high are these great things for me.<br /> - Immeasurable glooms and splendours here<br /> - Usurp the calm noon, where my rest should be:<br /> - O proud, O ancient Towers! farewell.<br /> - I turn from you, and take the world of men:<br /> - Gladly I mix me with the common day:<br /> - But should they vex me with their tumult: then,<br /> - Hither my feet will find the accustomed way;<br /> - Then cast once more your heightening spell.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="bagley"></a> - BAGLEY WOOD. -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Percy Addleshaw.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The night is full of stars, full of magnificence:<br /> - Nightingales hold the wood, and fragrance loads the dark.<br /> - Behold, what fires august, what lights eternal! Hark,<br /> - What passionate music poured in passionate love's defence!<br /> - Breathe but the wafting wind's nocturnal frankincense!<br /> - Only to feel this night's great heart, only to mark<br /> - The splendours and the glooms, brings back the patriarch,<br /> - Who on Chaldaean wastes found God through reverence.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Could we but live at will upon this perfect height,<br /> - Could we but always keep the passion of this peace,<br /> - Could we but face unshamed the look of this pure light,<br /> - Could we but win earth's heart, and give desire release:<br /> - Then were we all divine, and then were ours by right<br /> - These stars, these nightingales, these scents: then shame would cease.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1890.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="corona"></a> - CORONA CRUCIS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To the Rev. Father Goldie, S. J.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Deficit inter tenebras cor triste:<br /> - Unde fulgebit mihi lux petita?<br /> - O cor infidum! Nonne dicis, Christe!<br /> - Ego sum Via, et Veritas, et Vita.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Via amara Tu, Veritas dura,<br /> - Vita difficilis, tremende Deus!<br /> - Deliciarum Via, Veritas pura,<br /> - Vita vitarum Tu, et amor meus!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Non Te relinquam, carae Dator crucis,<br /> - Rex caritatis, Domine dolorum!<br /> - Splendet longinqua mihi patria lucis,<br /> - Et diadema omnium amorum.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1893.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="israel"></a> - A SONG OF ISRAEL.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To the Rev. Stewart Headlam.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Praise ye Him, with virginals and organs:<br /> - Praise ye Him, with timbrel and flute!<br /> - Come from the field, glorify His temple,<br /> - With red corn, with the ripe first fruit.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - He is God, who brought us out from Egypt,<br /> - Gave us lands of vineyard and oil:<br /> - He is God, who made the Kings of Canaan,<br /> - Made their kingdoms, to be our spoil.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Praise ye Him, with psaltery and cymbal:<br /> - Praise ye Him, with viol and harp!<br /> - Through the Wilderness, through the rough places,<br /> - Led He us, for whom Death grew sharp.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Sinai, with thunders and with voices,<br /> - Praised our God, the Giver of Law:<br /> - Jordan stayed the rushing of his waters;<br /> - Israel passed over, and saw:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Saw the plenty, saw the Land of Promise,<br /> - Saw, and praised Him, the Lord of lords:<br /> - King of armies, terrible and holy;<br /> - Light to our eyes, and strength to our swords.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Where be now the gods of all the nations?<br /> - Where is Baal? Where Ashtaroth?<br /> - Fallen! fallen! before the God of Jacob:<br /> - None withstood the day of His wrath.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Praise ye Him, with virginals and organs:<br /> - Praise ye Him, with music and voice!<br /> - Praise the Name of the Lord God Jehovah:<br /> - Praise Him, praise Him, ye Tribes His choice!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="angel"></a> - THE DARK ANGEL.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - Dark Angel, with thine aching lust<br /> - To rid the world of penitence:<br /> - Malicious Angel, who still dost<br /> - My soul such subtile violence!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Because of thee, no thought, no thing,<br /> - Abides for me undesecrate:<br /> - Dark Angel, ever on the wing,<br /> - Who never reachest me too late!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - When music sounds, then changest thou<br /> - Its silvery to a sultry fire:<br /> - Nor will thine envious heart allow<br /> - Delight untortured by desire.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Through thee, the gracious Muses turn<br /> - To Furies, O mine Enemy!<br /> - And all the things of beauty burn<br /> - With flames of evil ecstasy.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Because of thee, the land of dreams<br /> - Becomes a gathering place of fears:<br /> - Until tormented slumber seems<br /> - One vehemence of useless tears.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - When sunlight glows upon the flowers,<br /> - Or ripples down the dancing sea:<br /> - Thou, with thy troop of passionate powers,<br /> - Beleaguerest, bewilderest, me.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Within the breath of autumn woods,<br /> - Within the winter silences:<br /> - Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods,<br /> - O Master of impieties!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The ardour of red flame is thine,<br /> - And thine the steely soul of ice:<br /> - Thou poisonest the fair design<br /> - Of nature, with unfair device.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Apples of ashes, golden bright;<br /> - Waters of bitterness, how sweet!<br /> - O banquet of a foul delight,<br /> - Prepared by thee, dark Paraclete!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Thou art the whisper in the gloom,<br /> - The hinting tone, the haunting laugh:<br /> - Thou art the adorner of my tomb,<br /> - The minstrel of mine epitaph.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I fight thee, in the Holy Name!<br /> - Yet, what thou dost, is what God saith:<br /> - Tempter! should I escape thy flame,<br /> - Thou wilt have helped my soul from Death<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The second Death, that never dies,<br /> - That cannot die, when time is dead:<br /> - Live Death, wherein the lost soul cries,<br /> - Eternally uncomforted.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Dark Angel, with thine aching lust!<br /> - Of two defeats, of two despairs:<br /> - Less dread, a change to drifting dust,<br /> - Than thine eternity of cares.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Do what thou wilt, thou shalt not so,<br /> - Dark Angel! triumph over me:<br /> - Lonely, unto the Lone I go;<br /> - Divine, to the Divinity.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1893.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="afriend"></a> - A FRIEND.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - His are the whitenesses of soul,<br /> - That Virgil had: he walks the earth<br /> - A classic saint, in self-control,<br /> - And comeliness, and quiet mirth.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - His presence wins me to repose:<br /> - When he is with me, I forget<br /> - All heaviness: and when he goes,<br /> - The comfort of the sun is set.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - But in the lonely hours I learn,<br /> - How I can serve and thank him best:<br /> - God! trouble him: that he may turn<br /> - Through sorrow to the only rest.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1894.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="passionist"></a> - TO A PASSIONIST.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - Clad in a vestment wrought with passion-flowers;<br /> - Celebrant of one Passion; called by name<br /> - Passionist: is thy world, one world with ours?<br /> - Thine, a like heart? Thy very soul, the same?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Thou pleadest an eternal sorrow: we<br /> - Praise the still changing beauty of this earth.<br /> - Passionate good and evil, thou dost see:<br /> - Our eyes behold the dreams of death and birth.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - We love the joys of men: we love the dawn,<br /> - Red with the sun, and with the pure dew pearled<br /> - Thy stern soul feels, after the sun withdrawn,<br /> - How much pain goes to perfecting the world.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Canst thou be right? Is thine the very truth?<br /> - Stands then our life in so forlorn a state?<br /> - Nay, but thou wrongest us: thou wrong'st our youth,<br /> - Who dost our happiness compassionate.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - And yet! and yet! O royal Calvary!<br /> - Whence divine sorrow triumphed through years past:<br /> - Could ages bow before mere memory?<br /> - Those passion-flowers must blossom, to the last.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Purple they bloom, the splendour of a King:<br /> - Crimson they bleed, the sacrament of Death:<br /> - About our thrones and pleasaunces they cling,<br /> - Where guilty eyes read, what each blossom saith.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1888.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="adventus"></a> - ADVENTUS DOMINI.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To the Rev. Radclyffe Dolling.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Et cherubim et seraphim descendit Rex:<br /> - Caelos caelorum linquit salvaturus nos.<br /> - Deserit, ne per saecula stet mortis lex,<br /> - Angelos Deus noster et Archangelos.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Tu, miserator! Tu, Christe misericors!<br /> - Tu, peccatores nos qui solus redimis:<br /> - Ut caeli gaudeant, ut moriatur mors,<br /> - Veni cum Angelis et cum Archangelis!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1890.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="assisi"></a> - MEN OF ASSISI.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Viscount St. Cyres.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A crown of roses and of thorns;<br /> - A crown of roses and of bay:<br /> - Each crown of loveliness adorns<br /> - Assisi, gleaming far away<br /> - On Umbrian heights, in Umbrian day.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - One bloomed, when Cynthia's lover sang<br /> - Cynthia, and revelry, and Rome:<br /> - And one his wounded hands did hang,<br /> - Whose heart was lovelier Love's dear home;<br /> - And his, an holier martyrdom.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Are the spring roses round thine head,<br /> - Propertius! as they were of old?<br /> - In the gray deserts of the dead,<br /> - Glows any wine in cups of gold?<br /> - Not all the truth, dead Cynthia told!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - And round thine head, so lowly fair,<br /> - Saint Francis! thorns no longer close:<br /> - Paradise roses may be there,<br /> - And Mary lilies: only those.<br /> - Thy sister, Death, hurt not thy rose.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - We to thy shade, with song and wine,<br /> - Libation make, Propertius!<br /> - While suns or stars of summer shine,<br /> - Thy passionate music thrills through us:<br /> - Hail to thee, hail! We crown thee, thus.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - But when our hearts are chill and faint,<br /> - Pierced with true sorrow piteous:<br /> - Francis! our brother and God's Saint,<br /> - We worship thee, we hail thee, thus:<br /> - Praying, <i>Sweet Francis! pray for us.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - O city on the Umbrian hills:<br /> - Assisi, mother of such sons!<br /> - What glory of remembrance fills<br /> - Thine heart, whereof the legend runs:<br /> - <i>These are among my vanished ones.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1890.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="aquino"></a> - MEN OF AQUINO. -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Charles Mulvany.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Those angry fires, that clove the air,<br /> - Heavy with Rome's imperial lust:<br /> - Those bitter fires, that burn and flare<br /> - Unquenched, above their kindler's dust:<br /> - Aquinum can their birth declare.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The wicked splendours of old time,<br /> - Juvenal! stung thy passionate heart.<br /> - Wrath learned of thee a scorn sublime;<br /> - The Muses, a prophetic art:<br /> - Yet pride and lust kept still their prime.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A greater birth, Aquinum knows:<br /> - Rank upon rank, in stately wise;<br /> - Rank upon rank, in ordered rows;<br /> - Like sacred hosts and hierarchies,<br /> - The march of holy science goes.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Vain, a man's voice, to conquer men!<br /> - Rome fell: Rome rose: Aquinum lent<br /> - The world her greater citizen:<br /> - Armed for Rome's war, Saint Thomas went,<br /> - Using God's voice: they listened, then.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ah, Juvenal! thy trumpet sound:<br /> - Woe for the fallen soul of Rome!<br /> - But the high saint, whose music found<br /> - The altar its eternal home,<br /> - Sang: <i>Lauda Sion!</i> heavenward bound.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A fourfold music of the Host,<br /> - He sang: the open Heavens shone plain.<br /> - Then back he turned him to his post,<br /> - And opened heavenly Laws again,<br /> - From first to last, both least and most.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - O little Latin town! rejoice,<br /> - Who hast such motherhood, as this:<br /> - Through all the worlds of faith one voice<br /> - Chaunts forth the truth; yet stays not his,<br /> - Whose anger made a righteous choice.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1890<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="lucretius"></a> - LUCRETIUS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To William Nash.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Visions, to sear with flame his worn and haunted eyes,<br /> - Throng him: and fears unknown invest the black night hours.<br /> - His royal reason fights with undefeated Powers,<br /> - Armies of mad desires, legions of wanton lies;<br /> - His ears are full of pain, because of their fierce cries:<br /> - Nor from his tended thoughts, for all their fruits and flowers,<br /> - Comes solace: for Philosophy within her bowers<br /> - Falls faint, and sick to death. Therefore Lucretius dies.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Dead! And his deathless death hath him, so still and stark!<br /> - No change upon the deep, no change upon the earth,<br /> - None in the wastes of nature, the starred wilderness.<br /> - Wandering flames and thunders of the shaken dark:<br /> - Among the mountain heights, winds wild with stormy mirth:<br /> - These were before, and these will be: no more, no less.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1890.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - II.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Lucretious! King of men, that are<br /> - No more, they think, than men:<br /> - Who, past the flaming walls afar,<br /> - Find nought within their ken:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The cruel draught, that wildered thee,<br /> - And drove thee upon sleep,<br /> - Was kinder than Philosophy,<br /> - Who would not let thee weep.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Thou knowest now, that life and death<br /> - Are wondrous intervals:<br /> - The fortunes of a fitful breath,<br /> - Within the flaming walls.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Without them, an eternal plan,<br /> - Which life and death obey:<br /> - Divinity, that fashions man,<br /> - Its high, immortal way.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Or was he right, thy past compare,<br /> - Thy one true voice of Greece?<br /> - Then, whirled about the unconscious air,<br /> - Thou hast a vehement peace.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - No calms of light, no purple lands,<br /> - No sanctuaries sublime:<br /> - Like storms of snow, like quaking sands,<br /> - Thine atoms drift through time.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - III.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Mightiest-minded of the Roman race,<br /> - Lucretius!<br /> - In thy predestined, purgatory place,<br /> - Where thou and thine Iphigenia wait:<br /> - What think'st thou of the Vision and the Fate,<br /> - Wherewith the Christ makes all thine outcries vain?<br /> - Art learning Christ through sweet and bitter pain,<br /> - Lucretius?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Heaviest-hearted of the sons of men,<br /> - Lucretius!<br /> - Well couldst thou justify severe thoughts then,<br /> - Considering thy lamentable Rome:<br /> - But thou wilt come to an imperial home,<br /> - With walls of jasper, past the walls of fire:<br /> - To God's proud City, and thine heart's desire,<br /> - Lucretius!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="enthusiasts"></a> - ENTHUSIASTS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To the Rev. Percy Dearmer.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Let your swords flash, and wound the golden air of God:<br /> - Bright steel, to meet and cleave the splendour of His sun!<br /> - Now is a war of wars in majesty begun:<br /> - Red shall the cornfields ripen, where our horses trod,<br /> - Where scythe nor sickle swept, but smote war's iron rod:<br /> - Where the stars rose and set, and saw the blood still run.<br /> - So shall men tell of us, and dread our deeds, though done:<br /> - New annals yet shall praise time's fiercest period.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Let your swords flash, and wound the glowing air: now play<br /> - A glorious dance of death, with clash and gleam of sword.<br /> - Did Syrian sun and moon stand still on Israel's day?<br /> - Those orbs halt over Ajalon at Joshua's word?<br /> - Of us, who ride for God, shall Christian children say:<br /> - <i>To battle, see! flash by armed angels of the Lord.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1891.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="cadgwith"></a> - CADGWITH.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Laurence Binyon.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>Man is a shadow's dream!</i><br /> - Opulent Pindar saith:<br /> - Yet man may win a gleam<br /> - Of glory, before death.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Saith golden Shakespeare: <i>Man<br /> - Is a dream's shadow!</i> Yet,<br /> - Though death do all death can,<br /> - His soul toward life is set.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I, living with delight<br /> - This rich autumnal day,<br /> - Mark the gulls' curving flight<br /> - Across the black-girt bay.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - And the sea's working men,<br /> - The fisher-folk, I mark<br /> - Haul down their boats, and then<br /> - Launch for the deep sea dark.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Far out the strange ships go:<br /> - Their broad sails flashing red<br /> - As flame, or white as snow:<br /> - The ships, as David said.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Winds rush and waters roll:<br /> - Their strength, their beauty, brings<br /> - Into mine heart the whole<br /> - Magnificence of things:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - That men are counted worth<br /> - A part upon this sea,<br /> - A part upon this earth,<br /> - Exalts and heartens me.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ah, Glaucus, soul of man!<br /> - Encrusted by each tide,<br /> - That, since the seas began,<br /> - Hath surged against thy side:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Encumbering thee with weed,<br /> - And tangle of the wave!<br /> - Yet canst thou rise at need,<br /> - And thy strong beauty save!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Tides of the world in vain<br /> - Desire to vanquish thee:<br /> - Prostrate, thou canst again<br /> - Rise, lord of earth and sea:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Rise, lord of sea and earth,<br /> - And winds, and starry night.<br /> - Thine is the greater birth<br /> - And origin of light.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1892.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - II.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - My windows open to the autumn night,<br /> - In vain I watched for sleep to visit me:<br /> - How should sleep dull mine ears, and dim my sight,<br /> - Who saw the stars, and listened to the sea?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ah, how the City of our God is fair!<br /> - If, without sea, and starless though it be,<br /> - For joy of the majestic beauty there,<br /> - Men shall not miss the stars, nor mourn the sea.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1892.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - III.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> - Look on this little place:<br /> - Bless the kind fisher race,<br /> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Send harvest from the deep,<br /> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> - Let not these women weep.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> - Give wife and mother joy<br /> - In husband and in boy:<br /> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - With intercession save,<br /> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> - These children of the wave.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> - Pour peace upon the wild<br /> - Waves, make their murmurs mild:<br /> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Now in thy mercy pray,<br /> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> - For sailors far away.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> - Now be thy great prayers said<br /> - For all poor seamen dead:<br /> - Mary Star of the Sea!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1892<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="visions"></a> - VISIONS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Mrs. de Paravicini.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Each in his proper gloom;<br /> - Each in his dark, just place:<br /> - The builders of their doom<br /> - Hide, each his awful face.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Not less than saints, are they<br /> - Heirs of Eternity:<br /> - Perfect, their dreadful way;<br /> - A deathless company.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Lost! lost! fallen and lost!<br /> - With fierce wrath ever fresh:<br /> - Each suffers in the ghost<br /> - The sorrows of the flesh.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - O miracle of sin!<br /> - That makes itself an home,<br /> - So utter black within,<br /> - Thither Light cannot come!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - O mighty house of hate!<br /> - Stablished and guarded so,<br /> - Love cannot pass the gate,<br /> - Even to dull its woe!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Now, Christ compassionate!<br /> - Now, bruise me with thy rod:<br /> - Lest I be mine own fate,<br /> - And kill the Love of God.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1893.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - II.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - O place of happy pains,<br /> - And land of dear desires!<br /> - Where Love divine detains<br /> - Glad souls among sweet fires.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Where sweet, white fires embrace<br /> - The red-scarred, red-stained soul:<br /> - That it may see God's Face,<br /> - Perfectly white and whole.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - While with still hope they bear<br /> - Those ardent agonies:<br /> - Earth pleads for them, in prayer<br /> - And wistful charities.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - O place of patient pains,<br /> - And land of brave desires!<br /> - Us now God's Will detains<br /> - Far from those holy fires.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Us the sad world rings round<br /> - With passionate flames impure:<br /> - We tread an impious ground,<br /> - And hunger, and endure:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - That, earth's ordeal done,<br /> - Those white, sweet fires may fit<br /> - Us for our home, and One,<br /> - Who is the Light of it.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1892.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - III.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Since, O white City! I may be,<br /> - I, a white citizen of thee:<br /> - I claim no saint's high grace<br /> - Mine, but a servant's place.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I think not vainly to become<br /> - A king, who knew no martyrdom:<br /> - Nor crown, nor palm, I crave;<br /> - But to be Christ's poor slave.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Angels! before the Lord of lords,<br /> - Shine forth, His spiritual swords!<br /> - Flash round the King of kings<br /> - The snow of your white wings!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - But I, too fresh from the white fire,<br /> - Humble the dreams of all desire:<br /> - Nay! let me shine afar,<br /> - Who am Heaven's faintest star.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Upon the eternal borders let<br /> - My still too fearful soul be set:<br /> - There wait the Will of God,<br /> - A loving period.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Closer I dare not come, nor see<br /> - The Face of Him, Who died for me.<br /> - Child! thou shalt dwell apart:<br /> - But in My Sacred Heart.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1893.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="leoxiii"></a> - TO LEO XIII.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - Leo! Vicar of Christ,<br /> - His voice, His love, His sword:<br /> - Leo! Vicar of Christ,<br /> - Earth's Angel of the Lord:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Leo! Father of all,<br /> - Whose are all hearts to keep:<br /> - Leo! Father of all,<br /> - Chief Shepherd of the sheep:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Leo! Lover of men,<br /> - Through all the labouring lands:<br /> - Leo! Lover of men,<br /> - Blest by thine holy hands:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Leo! Ruler of Rome,<br /> - Heir of its royal race:<br /> - Leo! Ruler of Rome,<br /> - King of the Holy Place:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Leo! Leo the Great!<br /> - Glory, and love, and fear,<br /> - Leo! Leo the Great!<br /> - We give thee, great and dear:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Leo! God grant this thing:<br /> - Might some, so proud to be<br /> - Children of England, bring<br /> - Thine England back to thee!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1892.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="burial"></a> - AT THE BURIAL OF CARDINAL MANNING. -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To James Britten.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Victor in Roman purple, saint and knight,<br /> - In peace he passes to eternal peace:<br /> - Triumph so proud, knew not Rome's ancient might;<br /> - She knew not to make poor men's sorrow cease:<br /> - For thousands, ere he won the holiest home,<br /> - Earth was made homelier by this Prince of Rome.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1892.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="vigils"></a> - VIGILS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To C. K. P.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Song and silence ever be<br /> - All the grace, life bring to me:<br /> - Song well winged with sunrise fire;<br /> - Silence holy and entire:<br /> - Silence of a marble sea,<br /> - Song of an immortal lyre.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Take my thanks, who profferest<br /> - Wistful song and musical:<br /> - Melodies memorial,<br /> - Melancholy, augural:<br /> - Meaning, that Old World is best:<br /> - Ours, a witless palimpsest.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Not cool glades of Fontainebleau<br /> - Hold the secret; not French plains,<br /> - Crowned with monumental fanes;<br /> - Not the Flemish waters' flow:<br /> - Light the fair days come, light go:<br /> - But the mystery remains.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Here, beneath the carven spires,<br /> - We have dreams, revolts, desires:<br /> - Here each ancient, haunted Hall<br /> - Holds its Brocken carnival;<br /> - Where Philosophy attires<br /> - All her forms, to suit us all.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - In a ring her witches crowd:<br /> - Faces passionate and proud,<br /> - Luring eyes and voices loud:<br /> - <i>Death ends life: And life is death:<br /> - Man is dust: The soul a breath:<br /> - Who knows aught?</i> Each fair Lie saith.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Master of the revel rout,<br /> - Flaunts him Mephistopheles:<br /> - Leading up, to where he sees<br /> - Faith, alone and ill at ease,<br /> - Many a winning, light-foot Doubt:<br /> - <i>Knows each other: dance it out!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ah, the whirling, bacchant dance!<br /> - Then no more Faith's crystal glance<br /> - Pierces the benighted skies:<br /> - Then, for her inheritance,<br /> - Hath she but each dream, that lies<br /> - Dying in her wildered eyes.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Breaking hearts! For you the lark<br /> - Cries at morn: for you the deep<br /> - Silence deepens in the dark,<br /> - When invisible angels mark<br /> - Your tired eyes, that burn and weep,<br /> - Hardly wearied into sleep.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Fearful hearts! For you all song<br /> - Sighs, and laughs, and soars: for you<br /> - Low-preluding winds prolong<br /> - Meditative music through<br /> - Twilight: till for you there throng<br /> - Calm stars, unprofaned and true.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Song and silence ever be<br /> - All the grace, life bring to me:<br /> - Song of Mary, mighty Mother;<br /> - Song of whom she bare, my Brother:<br /> - Silence of an ecstasy,<br /> - When I find Him, and none other.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Song thou sendest, singing fair:<br /> - But what music past compare<br /> - That must be when, gathered home,<br /> - Poor strayed children kneel in prayer:<br /> - Confessors of Christendom<br /> - Unto thee, O royal Rome!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Silence all is mine alone<br /> - Now, before the altar throne<br /> - Darkling, waiting, happier thus,<br /> - Till the night watches be gone.<br /> - Holy Aloysius!<br /> - Holy Mother! pray for us.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="church"></a> - THE CHURCH OF A DREAM.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Bernhard Berenson.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Sadly the dead leaves rustle in the whistling wind,<br /> - Around the weather-worn, gray church, low down the vale:<br /> - The Saints in golden vesture shake before the gale;<br /> - The glorious windows shake, where still they dwell enshrined;<br /> - Old Saints, by long dead, shrivelled hands, long since designed:<br /> - There still, although the world autumnal be, and pale,<br /> - Still in their golden vesture the old saints prevail;<br /> - Alone with Christ, desolate else, left by mankind.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Only one ancient Priest offers the Sacrifice,<br /> - Murmuring holy Latin immemorial:<br /> - Swaying with tremulous hands the old censer full of spice,<br /> - In gray, sweet incense clouds; blue, sweet clouds mystical:<br /> - To him, in place of men, for he is old, suffice<br /> - Melancholy remembrances and vesperal.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1890.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="age"></a> - THE AGE OF A DREAM.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Christopher Whall.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Imageries of dreams reveal a gracious age:<br /> - Black armour, falling lace, and altar lights at morn.<br /> - The courtesy of Saints, their gentleness and scorn,<br /> - Lights on an earth more fair, than shone from Plato's page:<br /> - The courtesy of knights, fair calm and sacred rage:<br /> - The courtesy of love, sorrow for love's sake borne.<br /> - Vanished, those high conceits! Desolate and forlorn,<br /> - We hunger against hope for that lost heritage.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Gone now, the carven work! Ruined, the golden shrine!<br /> - No more the glorious organs pour their voice divine;<br /> - No more rich frankincense drifts through the Holy Place:<br /> - Now from the broken tower, what solemn bell still tolls,<br /> - Mourning what piteous death? Answer, O saddened souls!<br /> - Who mourn the death of beauty and the death of grace.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1890.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="oxford"></a> - OXFORD NIGHTS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Victor Plarr.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - About the august and ancient <i>Square</i>,<br /> - Cries the wild wind; and through the air,<br /> - The blue night air, blows keen and chill:<br /> - Else, all the night sleeps, all is still.<br /> - Now, the lone <i>Square</i> is blind with gloom:<br /> - Now, on that clustering chestnut bloom,<br /> - A cloudy moonlight plays, and falls<br /> - In glory upon <i>Bodley's</i> walls:<br /> - Now, wildlier yet, while moonlight pales,<br /> - Storm the tumultuary gales.<br /> - O rare divinity of Night!<br /> - Season of undisturbed delight:<br /> - Glad interspace of day and day!<br /> - Without, an world of winds at play:<br /> - Within, I hear what dead friends say.<br /> - Blow, winds! and round that perfect <i>Dome</i>,<br /> - Wail as you will, and sweep, and roam:<br /> - Above <i>Saint Mary's</i> carven home,<br /> - Struggle, and smite to your desire<br /> - The sainted watchers on her spire:<br /> - Or in the distance vex your power<br /> - Upon mine own <i>New College</i> tower:<br /> - You hurt not these! On me and mine,<br /> - Clear candlelights in quiet shine:<br /> - My fire lives yet! nor have I done<br /> - With <i>Smollett</i>, nor with <i>Richardson</i>:<br /> - With, gentlest of the martyrs! <i>Lamb</i>,<br /> - Whose lover I, long lover, am:<br /> - With <i>Gray</i>, whose gracious spirit knew<br /> - The sorrows of art's lonely few:<br /> - With <i>Fielding</i>, great, and strong, and tall;<br /> - <i>Sterne</i>, exquisite, equivocal;<br /> - <i>Goldsmith</i>, the dearest of them all:<br /> - While <i>Addison's</i> demure delights<br /> - Turn <i>Oxford</i>, into <i>Attic</i>, nights.<br /> - Still <i>Trim</i> and <i>Parson Adams</i> keep<br /> - Me better company, than sleep:<br /> - Dark sleep, who loves not me; nor I<br /> - Love well her nightly death to die,<br /> - And in her haunted chapels lie.<br /> - Sleep wins me not: but from his shelf<br /> - Brings me each wit his very self:<br /> - Beside my chair the great ghosts throng,<br /> - Each tells his story, sings his song:<br /> - And in the ruddy fire I trace<br /> - The curves of each <i>Augustan</i> face.<br /> - I sit at <i>Doctor Primrose'</i> board:<br /> - I hear <i>Beau Tibbs</i> discuss a lord.<br /> - Mine, <i>Matthew Bramble's</i> pleasant wrath;<br /> - Mine, all the humours of the <i>Bath</i>.<br /> - <i>Sir Roger</i> and the <i>Man in Black</i><br /> - Bring me the <i>Golden Ages</i> back.<br /> - Now white <i>Clarissa</i> meets her fate,<br /> - With virgin will inviolate:<br /> - Now <i>Lovelace</i> wins me with a smile,<br /> - <i>Lovelace</i>, adorable and vile.<br /> - I taste, in slow alternate way,<br /> - Letters of <i>Lamb</i>, letters of <i>Gray</i>:<br /> - Nor lives there, beneath <i>Oxford</i> towers,<br /> - More joy, than in my silent hours.<br /> - Dream, who love dreams! forget all grief:<br /> - Find, in sleep's nothingness, relief:<br /> - Better my dreams! Dear, human books,<br /> - With kindly voices, winning looks!<br /> - Enchaunt me with your spells of art,<br /> - And draw me homeward to your heart:<br /> - Till weariness and things unkind<br /> - Seem but a vain and passing wind:<br /> - Till the gray morning slowly creep<br /> - Upward, and rouse the birds from sleep:<br /> - Till <i>Oxford</i> bells the silence break,<br /> - And find me happier, for your sake.<br /> - Then, with the dawn of common day,<br /> - Rest you! But I, upon my way,<br /> - What the fates bring, will cheerlier do,<br /> - In days not yours, through thoughts of you!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1890.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="spanish"></a> - TO A SPANISH FRIEND. -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - Exiled in America<br /> - From thine old Castilia,<br /> - Son of holy Avila!<br /> - Leave thine endless tangled lore,<br /> - As in childhood to implore<br /> - Her, whose pleading evermore<br /> - Pleads for her own Avila.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Seraph Saint, Teresa burns<br /> - Before God, and burning turns<br /> - To the Furnace, whence she learns<br /> - How the Sun of Love is lit:<br /> - She the Sunflower following it.<br /> - O fair ardour infinite:<br /> - Fire, for which the cold soul yearns!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Clad in everlasting fire,<br /> - Flame of one long, lone desire,<br /> - Surely thou too shalt aspire<br /> - Up by Carmel's bitter road:<br /> - Love thy goal and love thy goad,<br /> - Love thy lightness and thy load,<br /> - Love thy rose and love thy briar.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Leave the false light, leave the vain:<br /> - Lose thyself in Night again,<br /> - Night divine of perfect pain.<br /> - Lose thyself, and find thy God,<br /> - Through a prostrate period:<br /> - Bruise thee with an iron rod;<br /> - Suffer, till thyself be slain.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Fly thou from the dazzling day,<br /> - For it lights the downward way:<br /> - In the sacred Darkness pray,<br /> - Till prayer cease, or seem to thee<br /> - Agony of ecstasy:<br /> - Dead to all men, dear to me,<br /> - Live as saints, and die as they.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Stones and thorns shall tear and sting,<br /> - Each stern step its passion bring,<br /> - On the Way of Perfecting,<br /> - On the Fourfold Way of Prayer:<br /> - Heed not, though joy fill the air;<br /> - Heed not, though it breathe despair:<br /> - In the City thou shalt sing.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Without hope and without fear,<br /> - Keep thyself from thyself clear:<br /> - In the secret seventh sphere<br /> - Of thy soul's hid Castle, thou<br /> - At the King's white throne shalt bow:<br /> - Light of Light shall kiss thy brow,<br /> - And all darkness disappear.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1894.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="patrons"></a> - TO MY PATRONS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - The spear rent Christ, when dead for me He lay:<br /> - My sin rends Christ, though never one save He<br /> - Perfectly loves me, comforts me. Then pray,<br /> - Longinus Saint! the Crucified, for me.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Hard is the holy-war, and hard the way:<br /> - At rest with ancient victors would I be.<br /> - O faith's first glory from our England! pray,<br /> - Saint Alban! to the Lord of Hosts, for me.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Fain would I watch with thee, till morning gray,<br /> - Beneath the stars austere: so might I see<br /> - Sunrise, and light, and joy, at last. Then pray,<br /> - John Baptist Saint! unto the Christ, for me.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Remembering God's coronation day;<br /> - Thorns, for His crown; His throne, a Cross: to thee<br /> - Heaven's kingdom dearer was than earth's. Then pray<br /> - Saint Louis! to the King of kings, for me.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Thy love loved all things: thy love knew no stay,<br /> - But drew the very wild beasts round thy knee.<br /> - O lover of the least and lowest! pray,<br /> - Saint Francis! to the Son of Man, for me.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Bishop of souls in servitude astray,<br /> - Who didst for holy service set them free:<br /> - Use still thy discipline of love, and pray,<br /> - Saint Charles! unto the world's High Priest, for me.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1893.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="bronte"></a> - BRONTË.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Hubert Crackanthorpe.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Upon the moorland winds blown forth,<br /> - Your mighty music storms our heart:<br /> - Immortal sisters of the North!<br /> - Daughters of nature: Queens of art.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Becomingly you bore that name,<br /> - Your Celtic name, that sounds of Greece:<br /> - Children of thunder and of flame;<br /> - Passion, that clears the air for peace.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Stoic, thy chosen title: thou,<br /> - Whose soul conversed with vehement nights,<br /> - Till love, with lightnings on his brow,<br /> - Met anguish, upon <i>Wuthering Heights</i>.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Thou, Stoic! Though the heart in thee<br /> - Never knew fear, yet always pain:<br /> - Not Stoic, thou! whose eyes could see<br /> - Passion's immeasurable gain:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Not standing from the war apart,<br /> - Not cancelling the lust of life;<br /> - But loving with triumphant heart<br /> - The impassioned glory of the strife.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Oh, welcome death! But first, to know<br /> - The trials and the agonies:<br /> - Oh, perfect rest! But ere life go,<br /> - To leave eternal memories.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Then down the lone moors let each wind<br /> - Cry round the silent house of sleep:<br /> - And there let breaths of heather find<br /> - Entrance, and there the fresh rains weep.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Rest! rest! The storm hath surged away:<br /> - The calm, the hush, the dews descend.<br /> - Rest now, ah, rest thee! night and day:<br /> - The circling moorlands guard their friend.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Thou too, before whose steadfast eyes<br /> - Thy conquering sister greatly died:<br /> - By grace of art, that never dies.<br /> - She lives: thou also dost abide.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - For men and women, safe from death,<br /> - Creatures of thine, our perfect friends:<br /> - Filled with imperishable breath,<br /> - Give thee back life, that never ends.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Oh! hearts may break, and hearts forget,<br /> - Life grow a gloomy tale to tell:<br /> - Still through the streets of bright <i>Villette</i>,<br /> - Still flashes <i>Paul Emanuel</i>!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Still, when your Shirley laughs and sings,<br /> - Suns break the clouds to welcome her:<br /> - Still winds, with music on their wings,<br /> - Drive the wild soul of <i>Rochester</i>.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Children of fire! The Muses filled<br /> - Hellas, with shrines of gleaming stone:<br /> - Your wasted hands had strength to build<br /> - Gray sanctuaries, hard-hewn, wind-blown.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Over their heights, all blaunched in storm,<br /> - What purple fields of tempest hang!<br /> - In splendour stands their mountain form,<br /> - That from the sombre quarry sprang.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Now the high gates lift up their head:<br /> - Now stormier music, than the blast,<br /> - Swells over the immortal dead:<br /> - Silent and sleeping, free at last.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - But from the tempest, and the gloom,<br /> - The stars, the fires of God, steal forth:<br /> - Dews fall upon your heather bloom,<br /> - O royal sisters of the North!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1890.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="comfort"></a> - COMFORT.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Claud Schuster.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Winter is at the door,<br /> - Winter! Winter!<br /> - Winter is at the door:<br /> - For all along the worn oak floor<br /> - Waver the carpets; and before<br /> - The once warm southern orchard wall,<br /> - The last October peaches fall;<br /> - In vain behind their fellows all<br /> - Belated.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Winter is come apace,<br /> - Winter! Winter!<br /> - Winter is come apace.<br /> - The fireside is the cheeriest place,<br /> - To wear unfeigned a merry face:<br /> - While music tells, though now 'tis chill,<br /> - How merle, and maid, and mavis, will,<br /> - When spring comes dancing down the hill,<br /> - Be mated.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="moel"></a> - MOEL FAMMAU.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Arthur Clutton-Brock.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - In purple heather is my sleep<br /> - On Moel Fammau: far below,<br /> - The springing rivulets leap,<br /> - The firs wave to and fro.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - This morn, the sun on Bala Lake<br /> - Broke out behind me: morrow morn<br /> - Near Rhual I shall wake,<br /> - Before the sun is born;<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - High burning over Clywyd Vale,<br /> - And reddening the mountain dew:<br /> - While the moon lingers frail,<br /> - High up in skies of blue.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Lovely and loved, O passionate land!<br /> - Dear Celtic land, unconquered still!<br /> - Thy mountain strength prevails:<br /> - Thy winds have all their will.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - They have no care for meaner things;<br /> - They have no scorn for brooding dreams:<br /> - A spirit in them sings,<br /> - A light about them beams.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="sortes"></a> - SORTES VIRGILIANAE. -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To John Barlas.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Lord of the Golden Branch, Virgil! and Caesar's friend:<br /> - Leader of pilgrim Dante! Yes: <i>things have their tears</i>:<br /> - So sighed thy song, when down sad winds pierced to thine ears<br /> - Wandering and immemorial sorrows without end.<br /> - <i>And things of death touch hearts, that die</i>: Yes: but joys blend,<br /> - And glories, with our little life of human fears:<br /> - Rome reigns, and Caesar triumphs! Ah, the Golden Years,<br /> - The Golden Years return: this also the Gods send.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>O men, who have endured an heavier burden yet!</i><br /> - Hear you not happy airs, and voices augural?<br /> - For you, in these last days by sure foreknowledge set,<br /> - Looms no Italian shore, bright and imperial?<br /> - Wounded and worn! What Virgil sang, doth God forget?<br /> - Virgil, the melancholy, the majestical.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1891.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="consolation"></a> - CONSOLATION.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - Sighing and grief are all my portion now,<br /> - Sighing and grief:<br /> - But thou art somewhere smiling: thou,<br /> - Like a frail leaf,<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - By winter's mercy spared a little yet,<br /> - Canst put aside<br /> - The coming shadow: happy to forget,<br /> - How thy companion died.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1883.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="oracles"></a> - ORACLES.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - I.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Let not any withering Fate,<br /> - With her all too sombre thread,<br /> - Flying from the Ivory Gate,<br /> - Make thy soul discomforted:<br /> - From the nobler Gate of Horn,<br /> - Take the blessing of the morn.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Eyes bent full upon the goal,<br /> - Whatso be the prize of it:<br /> - Tireless feet, and crystal soul,<br /> - With good heart, the salt of wit:<br /> - These shall set thee in the clear<br /> - Spirits' home and singing sphere.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Hush thy melancholy breath,<br /> - Wailing after fair days gone:<br /> - Make thee friends with kindly Death,<br /> - That his long dominion,<br /> - With a not too bitter thrall,<br /> - Hold thee at the end of all.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Sorrow, angel of the night,<br /> - Sorrow haughtily disdains<br /> - Invocation by our light<br /> - Agonies, and passing pains:<br /> - Sorrow is but under pure<br /> - Cloven hearts their balm and cure.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1886.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="poem"> - II.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - And yet, what of the sorrowing years,<br /> - Their clouds and difficult event?<br /> - Here is a kindlier way than tears,<br /> - A fairer way than discontent:<br /> - The passionate remembrances,<br /> - That wake at bidding of the air:<br /> - Fancies, and dreams, and fragrances,<br /> - That charmed us, when they were.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - So breathed the hay, so the rose bloomed,<br /> - Ah! what a thousand years ago!<br /> - So long imprisoned and entombed,<br /> - Out of our hearts the old joys flow:<br /> - Peace! present sorrows: lie you still!<br /> - You shall not grow to memories:<br /> - The ancient hours live yet, to kill<br /> - The sorry hour, that is.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="destroyer"></a> - THE DESTROYER OF A SOUL.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To ——.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - I hate you with a necessary hate.<br /> - First, I sought patience: passionate was she:<br /> - My patience turned in very scorn of me,<br /> - That I should dare forgive a sin so great,<br /> - As this, through which I sit disconsolate;<br /> - Mourning for that live soul, I used to see;<br /> - Soul of a saint, whose friend I used to be:<br /> - Till you came by! a cold, corrupting, fate.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Why come you now? You, whom I cannot cease<br /> - With pure and perfect hate to hate? Go, ring<br /> - The death-bell with a deep, triumphant toll!<br /> - Say you, my friend sits by me still? Ah, peace!<br /> - Call you this thing my friend? this nameless thing?<br /> - This living body, hiding its dead soul?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1892.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="snows"></a> - OUR LADY OF THE SNOWS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>Upon reading the poem of that name in the Underwoods<br /> - of Mr. Stevenson.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Far from the world, far from delight,<br /> - Distinguishing not day from night;<br /> - Vowed to one sacrifice of all<br /> - The happy things, that men befall;<br /> - Pleading one sacrifice, before<br /> - Whom sun and sea and wind adore;<br /> - Far from earth's comfort, far away,<br /> - We cry to God, we cry and pray<br /> - For men, who have the common day.<br /> - Dance, merry world! and sing: but we,<br /> - Hearing, remember Calvary:<br /> - Get gold, and thrive you! but the sun<br /> - Once paled; and the centurion<br /> - Said: <i>This dead man was God's own Son</i>.<br /> - Think you, we shrink from common toil,<br /> - Works of the mart, works of the soil;<br /> - That, prisoners of strong despair,<br /> - We breathe this melancholy air;<br /> - Forgetting the dear calls of race,<br /> - And bonds of house, and ties of place;<br /> - That, cowards, from the field we turn,<br /> - And heavenward, in our weakness, yearn?<br /> - Unjust! unkind! while you despise<br /> - Our lonely years, our mournful cries:<br /> - You are the happier for our prayer;<br /> - The guerdon of our souls, you share.<br /> - Not in such feebleness of heart,<br /> - We play our solitary part;<br /> - Not fugitives of battle, we<br /> - Hide from the world, and let things be:<br /> - But rather, looking over earth,<br /> - Between the bounds of death and birth;<br /> - And sad at heart, for sorrow and sin,<br /> - We wondered, where might help begin.<br /> - And on our wonder came God's choice,<br /> - A sudden light, a clarion voice,<br /> - Clearing the dark, and sounding clear:<br /> - And we obeyed: behold us, here!<br /> - In prison bound, but with your chains:<br /> - Sufferers, but of alien pains.<br /> - Merry the world, and thrives apace,<br /> - Each in his customary place:<br /> - Sailors upon the carrying sea,<br /> - Shepherds upon the pasture lea,<br /> - And merchants of the town; and they,<br /> - Who march to death, the fighting way;<br /> - And there are lovers in the spring,<br /> - With those, who dance, and those, who sing:<br /> - The commonwealth of every day.<br /> - Eastward and westward, far away.<br /> - Once the sun paled; once cried aloud<br /> - The Roman, from beneath the cloud:<br /> - <i>This day the Son of God is dead!</i><br /> - Yet heed men, what the Roman said?<br /> - They heed not: we then heed for them,<br /> - The mindless of Jerusalem;<br /> - Careless, they live and die: but we<br /> - Care, in their stead, for Calvary.<br /> - O joyous men and women! strong,<br /> - To urge the wheel of life along,<br /> - With strenuous arm, and cheerful strain,<br /> - And wisdom of laborious brain:<br /> - We give our life, our heart, our breath,<br /> - That you may live to conquer death;<br /> - That, past your tomb, with souls in health,<br /> - Joy may be yours, and blessed wealth;<br /> - Through vigils of the painful night,<br /> - Our spirits with your tempters fight:<br /> - For you, for you, we live alone,<br /> - Where no joy comes, where cold winds moan:<br /> - Nor friends have we, nor have we foes;<br /> - Our Queen is of the lonely Snows.<br /> - Ah! and sometimes, our prayers between,<br /> - Come sudden thoughts of what hath been:<br /> - Dreams! And from dreams, once more we fall<br /> - To prayer: <i>God save, Christ keep, them all.</i><br /> - And thou, who knowest not these things,<br /> - Hearken, what news our message brings!<br /> - Our toils, thy joy of life forgot:<br /> - Our lives of prayer forget thee not.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="wednesday"></a> - ASH WEDNESDAY.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To the Rev. Father Strappini, S.J.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ashen cross traced on brow!<br /> - Iron cross hid in breast!<br /> - Have power, bring patience, now:<br /> - Bid passion be at rest.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - O sad, dear, days of Lent!<br /> - Now lengthen your gray hours:<br /> - If so we may repent,<br /> - Before the time of flowers.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Majestical, austere,<br /> - The sanctuaries look stern:<br /> - All silent! all severe!<br /> - Save where the lone lamps burn.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Imprisoned there above<br /> - The world's indifferency:<br /> - Still waits Eternal Love,<br /> - With wounds from Calvary.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Come! mourning companies;<br /> - Come! to sad Christ draw near:<br /> - Come! sin's confederacies;<br /> - Lay down your malice here.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Here is the healing place,<br /> - And here the place of peace:<br /> - Sorrow is sweet with grace<br /> - Here, and here sin hath cease.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1893.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="desideria"></a> - DESIDERIA.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Mrs. Hinkson.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The angels of the sunlight clothe<br /> - In England the corn's golden ears,<br /> - Round me: yet would that I to-day<br /> - Saw sunlight on the Hill of Howth,<br /> - And sunlight on the Golden Spears,<br /> - And sunlight upon Dublin Bay.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - In hunger of the heart I loathe<br /> - These happy fields: I turn with tears<br /> - Of love and longing, far away:<br /> - To where the heathered Hill of Howth<br /> - Stands guardian, with the Golden Spears,<br /> - Above the blue of Dublin Bay.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1894.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="arma"></a> - ARMA VIRUMQUE.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Edmund Phipps.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Ah! the keen, blue-bladed sword,<br /> - In the strong hands of thy lord<br /> - Living, vibrating, inspired!<br /> - Thou hast drunk the draught desired,<br /> - Blood of battle: now, restored<br /> - To the shrouding sheath, thou hatest,<br /> - For the trump of war thou waitest.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - But thy bright steel grows not dim,<br /> - While thou hangest yet by him,<br /> - In whose hands thou hast thy life.<br /> - Fear not! Thou shalt swell more strife,<br /> - Ere death come: last foe most grim!<br /> - And shalt lie, that onset over,<br /> - Close beside thy lord and lover.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="theday"></a> - THE DAY OF COMING DAYS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To J. P. Quinn.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Bright seas cast far upon her shore<br /> - White flowers of flying spray:<br /> - The blossoms of her fields are more,<br /> - Than blossomed yesterday:<br /> - The music of her winds and birds<br /> - Alone can tell the triumph words,<br /> - Her children cannot say.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The stars from solemn deeps look down<br /> - In favour and delight:<br /> - The glories of her day, they crown<br /> - With splendours of her night:<br /> - The queen of the adoring Gael,<br /> - Their radiant mother, Inisfail,<br /> - Reigns, by divinest right.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1894.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="renegade"></a> - RENEGADE.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Arthur Chamberlain.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - But all that now is over.<br /> - Dreamers of dreams shall not in me discover<br /> - Fallen remembrances of Holy Land;<br /> - Looks in mine eyes, that seem to understand<br /> - A banished secret; in my common mien,<br /> - A charmed communion with high things unseen<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - For all that now is over.<br /> - Mere merchant of earth's market-place, no lover,<br /> - I keep the dusty, trodden road of all.<br /> - Though broken echoes fill the mart, and call<br /> - Back to my silent memories: down chill air<br /> - They die away, and leave me to my care.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Since all that now is over,<br /> - And not at any cost can I recover<br /> - The abdicated throne, the abandoned crown:<br /> - I sit me at the heart of the vast town,<br /> - To wear old love looks down to the dull look,<br /> - Befitting love unthought on, or forsook.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="wales"></a> - WALES.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To T. W. Rolleston.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Mother of holy fire! Mother of holy dew!<br /> - Thy children of the mist, the moor, the mountain side,<br /> - These change not from thine heart, these to thine heart allied:<br /> - These, that rely on thee, as blossoms on the blue.<br /> - O passionate, dark faces, melancholy's hue!<br /> - O deep, gray eyes, so tragic with the fires they hide!<br /> - Sweet Mother, in whose light these live! thou dost abide,<br /> - Star of the West, pale to the world: these know thee true.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - No alien hearts may know that magic, which acquaints<br /> - Thy soul with splendid passion, a great fire of dreams;<br /> - Thine heart with lovelier sorrow, than the wistful sea.<br /> - Voices of Celtic singers and of Celtic Saints<br /> - Live on the ancient air: their royal sunlight gleams<br /> - On moorland Merioneth and on sacred Dee.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1890.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="harvest"></a> - HARVEST.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Nowell Smith.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Not now the rejoicing face of summer glows<br /> - In splendour to a blue and splendid sky:<br /> - For now hath died each lingering wild rose<br /> - Off tangled river banks: and autumn shows<br /> - Fields of red corn, that on the downside lie<br /> - Beneath a gentle mist, a golden haze.<br /> - So shrouded, the red cornlands take an air<br /> - Trembling with warm wind: sickle-girt, forth fare<br /> - Harvesting hinds, with swift arms brown and bare;<br /> - Revering well toil's venerable ways.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Most golden music is among the corn,<br /> - Played by the winds wavering over it:<br /> - A murmuring sound, as when against the morn,<br /> - Orient upon calm seas, their noise is borne<br /> - Innumerably rippling and sunlit.<br /> - Most golden music is in either tide:<br /> - And this of radiant corn, before it fall,<br /> - Wills not that summer die unmusical,<br /> - By no rich surge of murmurs glorified:<br /> - Nay! the fields rock and rustle, sounding all<br /> - Praise of the fruitful earth on every side.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Good, through the yellow fields to ponder long:<br /> - Good, long to meditate the stilly sight.<br /> - Afar shone down a brazen sunlight strong,<br /> - Over the harvested hillside, along<br /> - The laboured meadows, burning with great light:<br /> - The air trembled with overflow of heat<br /> - In the low valley, where no movement was<br /> - Of soft-blown wind, ruffling the scytheless grass<br /> - Thick-growing by the waters, cool and sweet:<br /> - No swing of boughs; there were no airs to pass<br /> - Caressing them: all winds failed, when all wheat,<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - All fair crops murmuring their soft acclaim,<br /> - Fell, golden rank on golden rank, and lay<br /> - Ruddily heaped along the earth: the flame<br /> - Of delicate poppies, rich and frail, became<br /> - Wan dying weed; convolvulus, astray<br /> - Out from its hedgerows far into the field,<br /> - In clinging coils of leaf and tender bloom,<br /> - Shared with the stalks it clung and clasped, their doom.<br /> - So went the work: so gave the ripened weald<br /> - Its fruits and pleasant flowers; and made a room,<br /> - Wherein fresh winds might wave a fresh year's yield.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1886.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="friends"></a> - TO CERTAIN FRIENDS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - I thank Eternal God, that you are mine,<br /> - Who are His too: courageous and divine<br /> - Must friendship be, through this great grace of God;<br /> - And have Eternity for period.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1892<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="petition"></a> - THE PETITION.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Selwyn Image.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Fair, gracious, daughter of those skies,<br /> - Wherein nor star, nor angel, flies<br /> - More radiant than thy royal beauty:<br /> - To thee the Hours bring all they have<br /> - Of rich, and wonderful, and brave:<br /> - Yet do they but their natural duty.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Excelling all, thou cancellest<br /> - Their praise, and art alone the best:<br /> - Alone the theme of prayers and praises.<br /> - Wilt thou not bow thee, and be kind,<br /> - As lilies to a pleading wind,<br /> - When fragrance the wan air amazes?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The holy angels of God's court<br /> - With humble men still deign consort:<br /> - For dear love's piteous sake discarding<br /> - Their state and their celestial home,<br /> - To company poor souls, that roam<br /> - Sad and distraught, for lack of guarding.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Fair, gracious, daughter of the spheres!<br /> - Be not more proud than those thy peers,<br /> - Citizens of so high a city!<br /> - Behold the captive of thy chains:<br /> - Turn from thy palace to his pains,<br /> - And keep thy prisoner by pity.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1892.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="classics"></a> - THE CLASSICS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Ion Thynne.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Fain to know golden things, fain to grow wise,<br /> - Fain to achieve the secret of fair souls:<br /> - His thought, scarce other lore need solemnize,<br /> - Whom Virgil calms, whom Sophocles controls:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Whose conscience Æschylus, a warrior voice,<br /> - Enchaunted hath with majesties of doom:<br /> - Whose melancholy mood can best rejoice,<br /> - When Horace sings, and roses bower the tomb:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Who, following Caesar unto death, discerns<br /> - What bitter cause was Rome's, to mourn that day:<br /> - With austere Tacitus for master, learns<br /> - The look of empire in its proud decay:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Whom dread Lucretius of the mighty line<br /> - Hath awed, but not borne down: who loves the flame,<br /> - That leaped within Catullus the divine,<br /> - His glory, and his beauty, and his shame:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Who dreams with Plato and, transcending dreams,<br /> - Mounts to the perfect City of true God:<br /> - Who hails its marvellous and haunting gleams,<br /> - Treading the steady air, as Plato trod:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Who with Thucydides pursues the way,<br /> - Feeling the heart-beats of the ages gone:<br /> - Till fall the clouds upon the Attic day,<br /> - And Syracuse draw tears for Marathon:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - To whom these golden things best give delight:<br /> - The music of most sad Simonides;<br /> - Propertius' ardent graces; and the might<br /> - Of Pindar chaunting by the olive trees:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Livy, and Roman consuls purple swathed:<br /> - Plutarch, and heroes of the ancient earth:<br /> - And Aristophanes, whose laughter scathed<br /> - The souls of fools, and pealed in lyric mirth:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Æolian rose-leaves blown from Sappho's isle;<br /> - Secular glories of Lycean thought:<br /> - Sallies of Lucian, bidding wisdom smile;<br /> - Angers of Juvenal, divinely wrought:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Pleasant, and elegant, and garrulous,<br /> - Pliny: crowned Marcus, wistful and still strong:<br /> - Sicilian seas and their Theocritus,<br /> - Pastoral singer of the last Greek song:<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Herodotus, all simple and all wise:<br /> - Demosthenes, a lightning flame of scorn:<br /> - The surge of Cicero, that never dies:<br /> - And Homer, grand against the ancient morn.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1890.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="april"></a> - APRIL.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Richard Le Gallienne.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A pleasant heat breathes off the scented grass,<br /> - From bright green blades, and shining daisies:<br /> - Now give we joy, who sometime cried, Alas!<br /> - Now set we forth our melodies, and sing<br /> - Soft praises to the spring,<br /> - Musical praises.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The flying winds are lovely with the sun:<br /> - Now all in sweet and dainty fashion<br /> - Goes life: for royal seasons are begun.<br /> - Now each new day and each new promise add<br /> - Fresh cause of being glad,<br /> - With vernal passion.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Few leaves upon the branches dare the spring:<br /> - But many buds are making ready,<br /> - Trusting the sun, their perfect summer king.<br /> - Likewise we put away our wintry cares:<br /> - We hear but happy airs;<br /> - Our hopes are steady.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Cold were the crystal rivers, bitter cold;<br /> - And snows upon the iron mountains;<br /> - And withering leaves upon the trodden mould.<br /> - Hark to the crystal voices of the rills,<br /> - Falling among the hills,<br /> - From secret fountains!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Long not for June with roses: nor for nights<br /> - Loud with tumultuary thunder:<br /> - Those hours wax heavy with their fierce delights.<br /> - But April is all bright, and gives us first,<br /> - Before the roses burst,<br /> - Her joy and wonder.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Clear lie the fields, and fade into blue air:<br /> - Here, sweet concerted birds are singing<br /> - Around this lawn of sweet grass, warm and fair.<br /> - And holy music, through the waving trees,<br /> - Comes gently down the breeze,<br /> - Where bells are ringing.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="proselyte"></a> - A PROSELYTE.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - Heart of magnificent desire:<br /> - O equal of the lordly sun!<br /> - Since thou hast cast on me thy fire,<br /> - My cloistral peace, so hardly won,<br /> - Breaks from its trance:<br /> - One glance<br /> - From thee hath all its joy undone.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Of lonely quiet was my dream;<br /> - Day gliding into fellow day,<br /> - With the mere motion of a stream:<br /> - But now in vehement disarray<br /> - Go time and thought,<br /> - Distraught<br /> - With passion kindled at thy ray.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Heart of tumultuary might,<br /> - O greater than the mountain flame,<br /> - That leaps upon the fearful night!<br /> - On me thy devastation came,<br /> - Sudden and swift;<br /> - A gift<br /> - Of joyous torment without name.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Thy spirit stings my spirit: thou<br /> - Takest by storm and ecstasy<br /> - The cloister of my soul. And now,<br /> - With ardour that is agony,<br /> - I do thy will;<br /> - Yet still<br /> - Hear voices of calm memory.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1894.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="beyond"></a> - BEYOND. -</h3> - -<p class="poem"> - All was for you: and you are dead.<br /> - For, came there sorrow, came there splendour,<br /> - You still were mine, and I yours only:<br /> - Then on my breast lay down your head,<br /> - Triumphant in its dear surrender:<br /> - One were we then: though one, not lonely.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Oh, is it you are dead,<br /> - Both! both dead, since we are asunder:<br /> - You, sleeping: I, for ever walking<br /> - Through the dark valley, hard and dry.<br /> - At times I hear the mourning thunder:<br /> - And voices, in the shadows, talking.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Dear, are there dreams among the dead:<br /> - Or is it all a perfect slumber?<br /> - But I must dream and dream to madness.<br /> - Mine eyes are dark, now yours are fled:<br /> - Yet see they sorrows without number,<br /> - Waiting upon one perfect sadness.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - So long, the melancholy vale!<br /> - So full, these weary winds, of sorrow!<br /> - So harsh, all things! For what counts pity?<br /> - Still, as each twilight glimmers pale<br /> - Upon the borders of each morrow,<br /> - I near me to your sleeping city.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="experience"></a> - EXPERIENCE.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To George Arthur Greene.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The burden of the long gone years: the weight,<br /> - The lifeless weight, of miserable things<br /> - Done long ago, not done with: the live stings<br /> - Left by old joys, follies provoking fate,<br /> - Showing their sad side, when it is too late:<br /> - Dread burden, that remorseless knowledge brings<br /> - To men, remorseful! But the burden clings:<br /> - And that remorse declares that bitter state.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Wisdom of ages! Wisdom of old age!<br /> - Written, and spoken of, and prophesied,<br /> - The common record of humanity!<br /> - Oh, vain! The springtime is our heritage<br /> - First, and the sunlight on the flowing tide:<br /> - Then, that old truth's confirming misery.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="escape"></a> - ESCAPE.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Charles Weekes.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - She bared her spirit to her sorrow:<br /> - On the circling hills the morrow<br /> - Trembled, but it broke not forth:<br /> - Winds blew from the snowy North.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - <i>My soul! my sorrow! What wind bloweth,<br /> - Knows the wayless way, it goeth?<br /> - But before all else, we know<br /> - Death's way is the way to go.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - She knew no more than that: she only<br /> - Knew, that she was left and lonely.<br /> - Left? But she had loved! And lone?<br /> - She had loved! But love had gone.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - So out into the wintry weather<br /> - Soul and sorrow fled together:<br /> - On the moor day found her dead:<br /> - Snow on hands, and heart, and head.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1888.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="trentals"></a> - TRENTALS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Charles Sayle.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Now these lovers twain be dead,<br /> - And together buried:<br /> - Masses only shall be said.<br /> - Hush thee, weary melancholy!<br /> - Music comes, more rich and holy:<br /> - Through the aged church shall sound<br /> - Words, by ancient prophets found;<br /> - Burdens in an ancient tongue,<br /> - By the fasting Mass-priest sung.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Gray, without, the autumn air:<br /> - But pale candles here prepare,<br /> - Pale as wasted golden hair.<br /> - Let the quire with mourning descant<br /> - Cry: <i>In pace requiescant!</i><br /> - For they loved the things of God.<br /> - Now, where solemn feet have trod,<br /> - Sleep they well: and wait the end,<br /> - Lover by lover, friend by friend.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="redwind"></a> - THE RED WIND.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Dr. Todhunter.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Red Wind from out the East:<br /> - Red Wind of blight and blood!<br /> - Ah, when wilt thou have ceased<br /> - Thy bitter, stormy flood?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Red Wind from over sea,<br /> - Scourging our lonely land!<br /> - What Angel loosened thee<br /> - Out of his iron hand?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Red Wind! whose word of might<br /> - Winged thee with wings of flame?<br /> - O fire of mournful night,<br /> - What is thy master's name?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Red Wind! who bade thee burn,<br /> - Branding our hearts? Who bade<br /> - Thee on and never turn,<br /> - Till waste our souls were laid?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Red Wind! from out the West<br /> - Pour winds of Paradise:<br /> - Winds of eternal rest,<br /> - That weary souls entice.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Wind of the East! Red Wind!<br /> - Thou witherest the soft breath<br /> - Of Paradise the kind:<br /> - Red Wind of burning death!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - O Red Wind! hear God's voice:<br /> - Hear thou, and fall, and cease.<br /> - Let Inisfail rejoice<br /> - In her Hesperian peace.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1894.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="sertorius"></a> - SERTORIUS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Basil Williams.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Beyond the straits of Hercules,<br /> - Behold! the strange Hesperian seas,<br /> - A glittering waste at break of dawn:<br /> - High on the westward plunging prow,<br /> - What dreams are on thy spirit now,<br /> - Sertorius of the milk-white fawn?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Not sorrow, to have done with home!<br /> - The mourning destinies of Rome<br /> - Have exiled Rome's last hope with thee:<br /> - Nor dost thou think on thy lost Spain.<br /> - What stirs thee on the unknown main?<br /> - What wilt thou from the virgin sea?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Hailed by the faithless voice of Spain,<br /> - The lightning warrior come again,<br /> - Where wilt thou seek the flash of swords,<br /> - Voyaging toward the set of sun?<br /> - Though Rome the splendid East hath won,<br /> - Here thou wilt find no Roman lords.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - No Tingis here lifts fortress walls;<br /> - And here no Lusitania calls:<br /> - What hath the barren sea to give?<br /> - Yet high designs enchaunt thee still;<br /> - The winds are loyal to thy will:<br /> - Not yet art thou too tired, to live.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - No trader thou, to northern isles,<br /> - Whom mischief-making gold beguiles<br /> - To sunless and unkindly coasts:<br /> - What spirit pilots thee thus far<br /> - From the tempestuous tides of war,<br /> - Beyond the surging of the hosts?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Nay! this thy secret will must be.<br /> - Over the visionary sea,<br /> - Thy sails are set for perfect rest:<br /> - Surely thy pure and holy fawn<br /> - Hath whispered of an ancient lawn,<br /> - Far hidden down the solemn West.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - A gracious pleasaunce of calm things;<br /> - There rose-leaves fall by rippling springs:<br /> - And captains of the older time,<br /> - Touched with mild light, or gently sleep,<br /> - Or in the orchard shadows keep<br /> - Old friendships of the golden prime.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - The far seas brighten with gray gleams:<br /> - O winds of morning! O fair dreams!<br /> - Will not that land rise up at noon?<br /> - There, casting Roman mail away,<br /> - Age long to watch the falling day,<br /> - And silvery sea, and silvern moon.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Dreams! for they slew thee: Dreams! they lured<br /> - Thee down to death and doom assured:<br /> - And we were proud to fall with thee.<br /> - Now, shadows of the men we were,<br /> - Westward indeed we voyage here,<br /> - Unto the end of all the sea.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Woe! for the fatal, festal board:<br /> - Woe! for the signal of the sword,<br /> - The wine-cup dashed upon the ground:<br /> - We are but sad, eternal ghosts,<br /> - Passing far off from human coasts,<br /> - To the wan land eternal bound.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1889.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="columba"></a> - SAINT COLUMBA.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To Dr. Sigerson.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Dead is Columba: the world's arch<br /> - Gleams with a lighting of strange fires.<br /> - They flash and run, they leap and march,<br /> - Signs of a Saint's fulfilled desires.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Live is Columba: golden crowned,<br /> - Sceptred with Mary lilies, shod<br /> - With angel flames, and girded round<br /> - With white of snow, he goes to God.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - No more the gray eyes long to see<br /> - The oakwoods of their Inisfail;<br /> - Where the white angels hovering be:<br /> - And ah, the birds in every vale!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - No more for him thy fierce winds blow,<br /> - Iona of the angry sea!<br /> - Gone, the white glories of thy snow,<br /> - And white spray flying over thee!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Now, far from the gray sea, and far<br /> - From sea-worn rocks and sea-birds' cries,<br /> - Columba hails the morning star,<br /> - That shines in never nighted skies.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - High in the perfect Land of Morn,<br /> - He listens to the chaunting air:<br /> - The Land, where music is not born,<br /> - For music is eternal there.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - There, bent before the burning Throne,<br /> - He lauds the Lover of the Gael:<br /> - <i>Sweet Christ! Whom Patrick's children own:<br /> - Glory be Thine from Inisfail!</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1894.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<h3> -<a id="bells"></a> - BELLS.<br /> -</h3> - -<p class="t3"> - <i>To John Little.</i><br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - From far away! from far away!<br /> - But whence, you will not say:<br /> - Melancholy bells, appealing chimes,<br /> - Voices of lands and times!<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Your toll, O melancholy bells!<br /> - Over the valley swells:<br /> - O touching chimes! your dying sighs<br /> - Travel our tranquil skies.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - But whence? And whither fade away<br /> - Your echoes from our day?<br /> - You take our hearts with gentle pain,<br /> - Tremble, and pass again.<br /> -</p> - -<p class="poem"> - Could we lay hold upon your haunts,<br /> - The birthplace of your chaunts:<br /> - Were we in dreamland, deathland, then?<br /> - We, sad and wondering men?<br /> -</p> - -<p class="year"> - 1887.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="capcenter"> -<a id="img-116"></a> -<img class="imgcenter" src="images/img-116.jpg" alt="Chiswick Press imprint" /> -</p> - -<p><br /></p> - -<p class="t3"> - PRINTED AT THE CHISWICK PRESS<br /> -<br /> - M * DCCC * XC * V.<br /> -</p> - -<p><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> - -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK POEMS ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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