IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I 11.25 m 12.5 c Sdences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STRUT WIBSTER.N.Y. I4SM (71«)«73-4S03 '^°^1» ^ ^.V^ '^ .^ signifia "A SUIVRE ', la symbola Y signifia "FIN ". Nlapa. piatas. charta. ate. may ba filmad at diffarant raduction ratioa. Thoaa too larga to ba antiraly includad in ona axpoaura ara filmad baginning in tha uppar laft hand corner, laft to right and top to bottom, aa many framas aa raquirad. Tha following diagrama illuatrata tha mathod: Laa cartas, planches, tablaaux, ate. pauvani Atra filmte i daa taux do reduction diffirants. Lorsqua la documant ast trop grand pour Atra raproduit an un saul clichA. il ast film* A partir da I'angla supAriaur gaucha, da gaucha A droita, at da haut ^n bas. 9n pranant la nombre d'imagas nAcassaira. Las diagrammas sulvants illustrant la mAthoda. *» 2 1 i 3 1 2 3 4 5 6 * * I * ^ ^ ROSE LEAVES. 1 i 'I ♦ 1* f: f * ROSE LEAVES * A COLLECTION OF SIMPLE VERSES WRITTEN ON VARIOUS OCCASIONS .<■ f J*'' BY ARTHUR G. DOUGHTY, M.A LONDON THOMAS MORING 52 High Holborn W.C 1894 CHISWICK PRESS :-CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COl'RT, CHANCKRY LANE. u TO MRS. F. W. NEWMAN THIS LITTLE BOOK IS INSCRIBED IN FAITHFUL KEMEMBRANCE. ^' CONTENTS. EDICATION . . . An Idyll Why weepest thou? . Sir Lancelot's Return I'AGE I 2 6 9 The First Christmas 27 •* In Memoriam" 30 Solitude 32 To the Queen 34 Lines written for an Album 35 On the Death of Sir J. A. Macdonald 37 " Crossing the Bar " 39 Jesu, Amator Animarum 41 Ethel 46 Vita Nuova 50 To Alfred Lord Tennyson 53 viii CONTENTS. PACE On a Dead Violet ........... 55 To Miss Julia Marlowe 57 " Silent Voices " 60 To H.S.H. Princess Victoria Mary 61 A Farewell 63 Fragment 66 Sleep 68 The Passing of Tennyson 70 Cleopatra 72 . Note on Cleopatra 75 1 4 DEDICATION. HE rose leaves falling, quickly fade And vanish from our sight ; And, lest these thoughts sink into shade, I bring them forth to light. Of little value leaves that fall From off a withered tree. But, since they may a friend recall, I gather them for thee. B I ■ 1^' I ^ t ^f4 AN IDYLL. PRING comes, and trembling listens For youth and maiden's voice, Her gorgeous mantle glistens With flowers of lovers' choice. i^ The green sward spread beneath th'^m Of brightest em'rald hue, Invitingly reminds them 'Twas kissed by morning dew. ft AN IDYLL, In vales and groves of beeches " The pensive lovers rest," In many broken speeches Their true love is confessed. Light hearts and beaming faces, Love songs and tender sighs, And queenly maiden graces, The light of lovers' eyes. By brook and rippling river, By broad and open lake, Where weeping willows quiver, Their silent walks they take. SI AN IDYLL. In gardens filled with roses, In orchards gay with bloom, They bind in garlands, posies, Nor think ofcoming gloom. The shadows o'er them stealing Creep on to deeper night, A tender, saddened feeling. Subdues their vision bright. They roam in tender sadness, By silvery moonlight pale. And hear, in tones of gladness, The warbling nightingale. AN IDYLL, Dreaming of love for ever, The moments quickly fly, They vow to love for ever, And part with pensive sigh. But Spring has past for ever. The leaves begin to fall, And youth and maiden never That spring-time may recall. 5 WHY WEEPEST THOU ? WHOM SEEKEST THOU ? J NCE in a holy garden glade A woman sorely wept, For One so precious to her soul, Who in death calmly slept. Dear to that faithful soul was He, Dearer than brother far, The very sun of Life and Love, Her Hope, her Guiding Star. lV//y WEEP EST THOU? " Why weepest thou ? " an Angel breathed Into that woman's ear, For Angels often nestle near The silent, secret tear. " Why weepest thou ? whom seekest thou ? " Thy Lord ? thy Hope ? thy Love ? Rejoice ! He, vanquisher o'er Death, Now dwells in Light above. Once, on a bright September morn, A maiden fell asleep— A lily 'mid those lilies fair. That ever fragrant keep— " Why weepest thou ? " an Angel sang, The maiden rests awhile ; '•^•S^:-':- 8 PVUV WEEP EST THOU? >■'( Already in her Father's home I see her sweetly smile. " Whom seekest thou ? " by that new grave, 'Neath heaven's majestic dome ! The soul of Ethel dwells with Him, In a refulgent home. Weep not, seek not, but rather strive To reach that perfect rest, And live for ever with those flowers The sweetest, — and the best. I f SIR LANCELOT'S RETURN. HE bravest of the brave, Sir Lancelot, The goodly knight, famed most in Arthur's court At Camelot for chivalry, and loved Beyond all other knights, had from the world Withdrawn, and in a distant country sought, To calm within himself the still small voice Of Conscience, which in ever-murmuring tones, Like those borne on the breeze float o'er the sea. I \ 10 SIR LANCELOTS RETURN, As wave beats, or recedes, against the rocks. And never ceasing, never tire. So Lancelot heard, and strove to silence, one, A voice that ever called in accents mild, Tho' reaching far as horn across the mount. And the sound was of the voice Of Arthur, speaking as in the days of yore, Turned towards the prize, and so towards Guinevere. And then there followed calmer moods, and high Beyond the confines of the lower world, In uncreated grandeur, loomed the sign Of vision blest, known as the " Holy Grail." And Lancelot saw, or thought he saw, around His form three maidens fair, all clothed in white, And in their hands they bare a victor's crown, Yet not of laurels, but composed of thorns. And one, more beauteous than the twain, in tones Surpassing sweet, bade him arise, and gird Him with celestial armour for the quest, And leave behind the world and Guinevere. Then silence reigned, and o'er his weary soul M wmm i6 SIR LANCELOTS RETURN, There softly stole, as steal the purple shades Across the golden mantle of the sun, A flood of holy light, so calm and still, That all the world seemed hushed at its sweet will. Or sleeping, only slept to do its will. And strong in strength of other worlds, the knight Behind him cast the thoughts of earth, and strove Alone to gain the crown of thorns, which seemed Of more entrancing worth than gold, or those Which in the tourney fall from ladies' hands. And so there passed in rapid order, all The many scenes, in Arthur's court the while, Had filled the sum of hmnan life and love. Then waking from his dream he pondered well If Jlfv SIR LANCELOTS RETURN. 17 11 i ^ Of what her life had been since that fell day, When banished from her presence he, as she. Had sought in exile to redeem the pas^. And still again a voice rang in his ears That bade him turn again to his own land, And to the queen, who in great danger stood. And Lancelot on these thoughts arose, and mused. Then f^eeking solace by the lonely shrine In prayer he sought to leai:n the will of heaven. And as he prayed, before his mind there came A picture of the dying, blameless king, Slain by his own, who, faithless to their vows, Had, in the midst of virtue, sown but vice. And Lancelot saw the face of Arthur, cold As chiselled marble, in the sleep of death ; D np 1 8 SIR LANCELOT'S RETURN, And read thereon a gentle, mute reproach. Then pondering deeper on that noble life, That calmly in unruffled calmness slept, The knight bethought him of his own brief life, And of the contrast to that nobler one. Yet once again he thought of her whose life Had ever been the glory of the King's Until across her pathway he had come, And robbed her of her peace for evermore. Then, dreaming of her beauty, and their love — The living bond of two bright souls — yet dead Unto each other, severed by their choice. As ill-according with those laws which seem So oft on earth man's glory and his bane. He vowed once more to see her, and once more To claim her as the brightest gift of heaven. vliilfe ore SIR LANCELOTS RETURN, 19 And strong in this resolve he took to horse, And rode o'er mount and valley till he came Unto the deep-set woods of Camelot. How changed the greeting to the days of old ! When at his entry silver trumpets blared, And silken tokens waved from lily hands ! Now all was gloom, and desolation fell. And ruin, marred the pride of Arthur's court. No more the stately walls and bastions stood. Erect, defying sword, or onvard march Of belted legion, or of heathen host. Where once the flower of virtue reigned supreme, And Truth and Honour bound all loyal hearts In bond of union to a noble cause, Now grew the noxious weed where reptiles hide ; And from the lofty throne whence Arthur's word T ?i i n 20 SIR LANCELOT'S /RETURN. Fell on his knights as law, and brilliant wit Flashed as a meteor 'cross the sky, now dwelt The bat, as lord, amid that ruin dire. And Lancelot turned his horse close by the shrine, Where in the Virgin's honour he had knelt. And vowed to serve one only, him, the King. And still before the crumbling altar stood The eastern wall, filled with its storied glass, Thro' which in purple and in crimson rays Streamed down the golden light, which erstwhile fell In softened shadow on the blazoned forms Of saints, illumined by the hand divine, Who sleep in everlasting sanctity. Then all around him in oblivion sank ; « '^^^^-. '-. ■^^m^^^^^'^'^ SIR LANCELOT'S RETURN, 21 And musing on the scene, the moments flew, Till in his ears a plaintive echo rang. Proceeding from an old and withered man. " Whom seek ye here ? Why pause to dwell Where ruin reigns as lord ? Here Virtue wore the cloak of hell, And Truth the demon's sword ! " Here on the bended knee they swore In hoHness to die ! And yonder, by the rocky shore, They gave their vow the lie. " And I, alone, this altar tend, And pray that soon the day I. V. la '' 'V. i1 22 SIR LANCET OTS RETURN, May come, when I my body lend With it to pass away." And Lancelot, turning towards the voice, beheld The ancient form and face of Mage Merlin. Then spake the sage, and in a sterner voice He bade the knight to flee, and seek out one Who lived as witness to this ruined shrine. And Lancelot fain had spoken with the sage. And somewhat learned of that which followed since The days when he and Merlin walked the woods. Or tarried in the shades of Camelot ; But ere the knight his purpose could fulfil, The sage had vanished, and was seen no more. lUiS^' -*"?wreajOTTK«»i S/J^ LANCELOTS RETURN, 23 Then Lancelot, pausing, lost himself in thought, And tears fell fast, and faster, as he saw The glory that had been, and was no more. Then taking up his sword the knight rode forth Until he reached the gate of Almesbury. And there within the silent cloister walked, With drooping head, the queen of Camelot. And as he saw that beauteous form, and all The sorrow of her life, there sank into his soul But one desire, to live with her in heaven. Yet, as she turned and saw that face, which once Had been to her as life, a gleam of light Shone from her eyes, which fell on him, and then The love of old returned once more, and he, So strong of old, felt as a little child. 24 SIJ^ LANCELOTS RETURN. fti! l\ \ I Then in a faltering voice he told the queen Once more of his deep sorrow, and his love, And bade her turn again with him, and live Together, as one life, to part no more. Then Guinevere, as sweetly as of yore, Bade him once more to leave her to that peace By prayer and fasting, she might one day gain : " For thro' thy love," she said, " I am undone. Yet think not that thy love I do despise, But rather pray with me, that thro' that love I purify my soul to higher love. And then hereafter, when the time shall come Where love is undivided, and we share In all its fulness an undying love, Thy soul may mate with mine, and I shall know, As now I know not, love's deep mystery. i i SIR LANCELOTS RETURN. 25 But turn thee to thine own again, and wed Some maiden whom thou may'st, for I wed not, Except the sorrow of thy love and mine." And Lancelot bowed before the queen, and said, " If by God's grace thou hast so vowed to live. Apart from all the world, in sanctity ; Then here, before God's altar, I declare. That I, henceforth, will give myself to prayer. Farewell, sweet rose of womanhood, farewell ! Farewell, beloved dream, my long-lost love : I see thy face on earth no more, farewell ! " And parting with these words he left the queen. And as a hermit lived for six brief moons, Till prayer and fasting turned his soul to God. Then, taking on the habit of a priest, E » w m !| i 36 SIR LANCELOTS RETURN, In holiness he lived, near Almesbury : And when, at length, the fair queen left this world, To share eternal and undying peace, The knight, whom once on earth she deeply loved. Sang o'er her tomb the Requiem of the Dead. m \ ^PWWWk--' '..* i Hi B THE FIRST CHRISTMAS. Jii incarnat%is est de Spiritu Sancto ex Maria Virgine; et homo f actus est. HE sun has sunk behind the hills, The birds and beasts now calmly rest ; The murmur of the ocean trills A lullaby to heaven addressed. The solemn midnight hour creeps on, The world is hushed in slumber deep ; ii wmmm i at THE FIRST CHRISTMAS. When lo ! a heavenly radiance shone Upon the shepherds with their sheep. Ten thousand harps of music bright Are touched as by the hand of one, A quivering thrill of pure delight Steals o'er the earth as doth the sun. What means this pure ecstatic theme ! These strains that from the Angels flow ? Why thus their glorious faces beam With brilliance of celestial glow ? It is a message strange they sing, These spotless souls in garments white ; The message that the Heavenly King In Bethlehem is bom to-night. ■•«?'-"^'^??S??^Wv THE FIRST CHRISTMAS, Hush ! softly tread, and peep within The cot where yonder sweetly lies The Blessed Babe, the Saviour King, The ruler of the earth and skies. 29 % Oh, blessed calm to rest beneath The roof where heaven and earth are one ! Come ! let us with the angels wreathe A garland for the Virgin's Son. ( H < *-* ^p. ^fc' y, HI SOLITUDE. Nox erat, et calo fulgebat luna sereno Inter minera sidera. HEN darkness veils the splendour of the skies, In solitude deep pensive thoughts arise ; Thoughts freighted with divine, mysterious power, That come as solace to man's lonely hour : Melodious thoughts, that fain thro' welling tears Would harmonize with those of nobler spheres. r f, u SOLITUDE. 33 Touched by the fire of heaven's inspiring glow, In stillness oft celestial fancies flow ! When, Arab-like, our kindling souls expand Beyond the confines of the desert sand, And range, in boundless flights, in purer air. Above the din of earth, of mortal care. No mortal breath disturbs that joyful peace : No mortal minstrel bids those voices cease : Their echo rolls along the midnight sky, The echo of the angels' harmony. Serene and happy, he who thus hath viewed, And heard those strains in deepest solitude. Ecstatic joy, which sometimes here is given. To gaze in rapture on the bliss of heaven. Man's lonely hour ! nay, rather, perfect bliss. For what is heaven on earth, if 'tis not this } W I 34' ■ ' ■ft TO HER MAJESTY QUEEN VICTORIA. (May 24, 1891.) ICTORIA, Imperatrix ! Queen ! Thy name will long remain By deeper ties than Sovereignty Bound. Throughout England's vast domain Loved ! and served with loyalty Far off by Krishna's angry tide, Name dear to Britons far and wide, Victoria, Imperatrix ! r A. i|i iin ity in LINES WRITTEN FOR AN ALBUM. OU ask me on your natal day To pen a little song ; Fair child, I hasten to obey, My thoughts to you belong. But what to say to one so fair? Or how thy charms express ! They're surely more than I would dare In language to confess ; II I i 36 LINES WRITTEN FOR AN ALBUM, For deep within those violet eyes — Fit mirrors of thy soul, Whose softly flashing depths arise And innocence extol — There dwells that sweet and kindly light Which Eros sometimes showers On those whose lives are pure and biight And fragrant as the flowers. % Take then, dear child, these lines from one Whose words like weeds must be Amid the flowers of thought the sun Warms into life for thee. ON THE DEATH OF SIR JOHN A MACDONALD. UFFLED peals, and drooping banners, Bated breath and measured tread, Emblems of a Nation's mourning For her great and noble dead. ^ Solemnly the cortege passes, Bearing now the lifeless Chief, While a country bows in silence- Silence that proclaims its grief. Ill 38 DEATH OF SIR J, MACDONALD. Gone ! the solemn bells are tolling, Gone ! the minute guns reply ; Gone ! though still in memory living, For thy name will never die. I Farewell ! brave and dauntless Leader, Nobly hast thou done thy part. Earning for thyself the guerdon Of the loyal and true of heart. w D. I "CROSSING THE BAR." {In Imitation of Tennyson,) UNSET of golden hue! Lo ! 'tis the call for me ! And may there be no storm, nor clou in view As I approach the sea. ;5 Then on the ocean's calm, unruffled tide, My feeble bark may roam. n^ ^ 1 hi} ' 40 ^ ''CROSSING THE BARP For faithful on all seas hath been the guide Who now steers home. Twilight, and silvery bell ! And soon the deeper shades ! And may no tear-drop mingle in farewell As my bark fades : For tho' I may have drifted in life's race, And ofttimes wandered far, I know my Pilot's loving face Is watching 'cross the Bar. w ^ i I JESU, AMATOR ANIMARUM. (/« imitation of Eugene J. HilL) ESU, lover of my soul, Let me to thy bosom fly, While the gathering waters roll, While the tempest still is high." Words like these, to music sweet, Sang a little children's band As they tripped with airy feet Lightly o'er the glistening sand, G 42 JESU, AMATOR ANIMARUM. Heedless of the ocean's roll, Careless of the danger nigh, " Jesu, lover of my soul. Let me to thy bosom fly." I. "' " Hide me, O my Saviour, hide. Till the storm of life is past, Safe into the haven guide, O receive my soul at last." As the lengthened shadows creep Towards the close of summer night, Lay a maiden half asleep Filled with visions pure and bright ; Softly, all unheard, she sighed, As a day-dream quickly passed, r^ JESU, AMATOR ANIMARUM. 43 " Safe into the haven guide, O receive my soul at last." \ " Other refuge have I none, Hangs my helpless soul on thee, Leave, ah ! leave me not alone. Still support and comfort me," To the mother comfort brought As the echo of her prayer, Of a soul that solace sought, Robbed of all that made life fair. Thou, oh Lord, my son hast known. Dead ! — he liveth yet with thee, " Leave, ah ! leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me." I nii««<<)lMMHMM»MiaMM«M ^ In. ^ h \ % 44 JESU, AMATOR ANIMARUM, " All my trust in thee is stayed, All my help from thee I bring, Cover my defenceless head 'Neath the shadow of thy wing." Thus it was a little child, Tossed upon a fever bed, Lisped to Him, the meek and mild, Ere its tender spirit fled Where they need no more to sing, " Cover my defenceless head 'Neath the shadow of thy wing." " Jesu, lover of my soul. Let me to thy bosom fly. While the gathering waters roll. While the tempest still is high." JESU, AMATOR ANIMAL lM, 45 Thou canst still the angry wav^, Thou canst calm the troubled breast, Thou, O Lord, art strong to save, Grant us thine eternal rest Where no angry billow rolls, There, beyond the starry sky. Then — O Lover of our souls — " Let us to thy bosom fly." I I mw i K ' .'H t 'wwmmm ii i J- i! ^? «. ni * Is - Si i tI^ '""'?^' ETHEL (/« Memon'am.) UST are our frames," and all the deep- set pride Of boasted riches, or ambition's dream. Are but as passing vapour, vanishing. Like clouds which seem " pavilions of the sun." Deep mystery of life ; and deeper still The fell enigma of black-hooded Death ; Which in its hideous, ever-onward march. I ETHEL 47 }) Despoils the beauty of that image fair Whereof we boast as most resembling Him In whose immortal likeness we are cast. In vain the human heart would strive to solve The Wisdom of High God, Who in His love Calls to Himself our dearest ones thro' Death. O, all Eternal Wisdom, from whence flows The secret fountain of all human love, Grant that the golden hnk of friendship pure, Which bound two souls on this bright earth as one. May be the foretaste of a holici bond, Where all is pure, and love is understood. Of such a friendship now my Muse wo-ild sing, And fain the prelude of its glory swell. Fair maid, as fair as ever maiden grew, iiiw m ini ; »iiiii m m ft f \i \ 'f I t! $, ■■ r^ \\ li 48 ETHEL Or tender flower kissed by the morning dew, How lovely in her own unsullied life She dwelt as lily midst the lilies fair ! And as the blossom its sweet fragrance sheds The more when warmed to life by summer sun, So in all purity the maid increased. As day by day the sun of Love divine Cast o'er her soul the mantle of His light. And ever more the maiden grew, and more The beauty of her soul shone in her eyes, The fire of truth dwelt ever on her lips, Till she, in virtue gaining, and in grace. United in one form, divinely pure, A perfect type of lovely maidenhood. Yet scarce the glorious orb its course had run, And set perfection's seal upon her lips. '^'^PW'P iiSl'l!-'-,..!,",,'.-^-"!?*!! ETHEL — 49 A shadow stole across the golden clouds, And dimmed the splendour of the radiant light. Then, slowly, as the fading orb of day In matchless grandeur sets beyond the hills, Intense in amber or i m crimson hue. Yet brightest seems ere yet it sinks to sleep, And darkness follows quickly, and then night, So passed the maiden in her joyous youth, To youth perpetual in a fairer clime. H ^i I i VITA NUOVA. (O. IS o'er : the dreary night of restless sleep, Dark with its phantoms, clouded by despair, Is past ; and Spring, the gentle messenger Of hopes undying, and of joys sublime. With all her pent-up treasures, wakes again. And smiles on one whose wearied eyes Well-nigh had closed for ever to the light. O beauteous land ! O soul-enchanting earth ! ^ VITA NUOVA. 51 Melodious with the hum of mortal life : O stately hills ! O lowly vales ! that wear The lovely garments of the opening spring ; How sweet the music of your voice, that bids Me rise again, and free myself from bonds That bind my soul in fetters to the flesh ! For lo ! the winter of my grief is o'er, And I, exuberant in the joys of health, Once more, with budding spring, return to life ; Once more I mingle in the strain of praise That from a thousand lips ascends the throne Of that great Power Beneficent who holds The key of human life, its joys its woes. And into one eternal strain attunes The discord of our ever-varying life. The past is o'er ; yet would I of the past i, i f i -f 52 F/7Vi NUOVA. ^ !l One strain divine would mingle with my lot, To raise the haunted darkness from the mind, And paint a living memory in those hues. Companions of the air of vernal mom. But Love is dead : why seek again to raise, On ruined altars, idols of the past ! Or vainly strive with mortal breath to fan Its whitened ashes into Love's white flame ! But rather, listen to the lyre of life, Attuned afresh to kinder themes than Love, That moves in stately cadence to the pulse And throb of everything that lives and breathes, Resolving all of mortal dissonance, Of mortal sorrow, love, of mortal woe, " To one immortal and most perfect strain " — The sum of human suffering, and of Love. . I l^^WWio- ■ #' TO ALFRED LORD TENNYSON. {On readincr his reply to the Committee of the World^s Fair.) OET sublime, yet with one song, Ere yet in sleep thou fade away, A nation seeks to voice its throng, On fair Columbia's natal day. Sweet songster, favoured of the Muse, On whom sweet Clio's laurel dwelt. While genial spring did thee infuse With grace and power, since keenly felt II A I 54 TO ALFRED LORD TENNYSON, The fragrant rose and myrtle wreath, The flambeau of Erato's love, Are with thee still, though all beneath A higher wisdom from above. \ I \\ Sing on, nor dream that time can wrest The laurel from thy noble brow, 'Tis thine, e'en when among the blest A fairer crown shall thee endow. W •"•^ ON A DEAD VIOLET. HE fragrance from the flower has flown, No more its sweetness breathes of thee, The little life it lived has gone : It lived, and died, and but for thee. A little, lifeless, vacant flower. It lies forgotten and forlorn. Its colour faded, and its power To please for evermore is shorn. 56 ON A DEAD VIOLET. m 'I Mute emblem of a deeper love, That sleeping lies within my breast ; I'll tend thee, even as my love. For thou wert once by love carest. Oxford, 1884. 1 i TO MISS JULIA MARLOWE AS ROSALIND. N Shakespeare's art a noble portrait stands — A type of pure and simple maiden- hood — In Rosalind, the lovely maiden whom In one are woven all those varied charms Which lift the gentler sex to higher plane, As in the golden age of chivalry. n if 58 TO MISS JULIA MARLOWE, Fair daughter of a Prince, bom to command The reverence, and the homage, claimed by birth ; Yet ever faithful in adversity, And royal, even as a village maid, When ruled by the all-powerful prince of Love. Vivacious, courtly, pure, courageous, and In wit abounding ; in all pleasures versed ; Nor saint ; nor sinner ; but a perfect type Of woman, in a woman's place in life. Such was the maiden Rosalind of old, And such again, once more, we see in her The modern model — fairest Rosalind — Fair model of the ancient ; living still As monument of the great poet's skill To fashion minds like thine to his strong will. (to-u n I TO MISS JULIA MARLOWE, 59 O lovely maiden, sweet simplicity, Yet deep enigma — and for ever true ! O fair dissembler ! crushing with thy frown The buoyant hopes that live but with thy smile. Live on, and reign, and lend to art that charm Of beauteous nature, which uplifteth art ; Till art and nature, merged in one, unite All lovely themes, and thou on virgin Dawn, As morning star doth softly, sweetly gleam With somewhat of that pure, ethereal hue, " The light that never was on land or sea." «HHi ^ - '.V P'i |i "SILENT VOICES." {In imitation of Tennyson,) HEN, hushed in deepest slumber, Angels smile around my bed, O mar not their sweet number. Silent Voices of the Dead ! To soft music let them lead me, Through nocturnal gloom to Light, Where still echo clearer voices, Luring towards the Vision bright ; Yes, and onward, far beyond me Onward, on to Life. TO H. S. H. PRINCESS VICTORIA MARY OF TECK. U^ly 6, 1893.) HE bridal garland falls upon the bier," So sang the plaintive voice of England's bard E'er yet he passed to that pure light Where vanish all the shadows cast by Death. Princess, for you that garland blooms again, And falling on a brother's love, in one «p 62 TO PRINCESS MARY, Shall bind the loves of lost and living love. And on this mom, when joyous marriage bell Makes tuneful music over hill and dale, Its echo rolls along th' eternal shore . Where, happy in the love he bare to you, His soul, in finer light, now shares with him, His brother, in the mystic bond of love ; Until, hereafter, when the Sun of Love Shall wreathe in garlands fairer flowers than earth's. The soul of brother, husband, and of wife. Shall dwell as one, where no discordance reigns, And love, in an Eternal Harmony. I i ' ' !■ A FAREWELL. EFORE the Virgin's altar-shrine, Laden with flowers of purity- Meet offerings to the Maid divine- I knelt at noon, and thought of thee. The tender blossoms filled the air With fragrance sweet as sanctity, And even mingled with the prayer I prayed for thee, I prayed for thee. ■Tt"- VI ,tr »- ' ,.- ' i W ui.i i |i.^^i "*■-' "^svmfT^ 64 A FAREWELL, I prayed the Ever-Gracious Son To keep thee in His loving care, Until, the final victory won, He bid thee all His glory share. I therefore leave thee in His hands Whose v/isdom is made manifest : And simply say, "He understands. Who knoweth best, who knoweth best." Farewell ! farewell ! but for a day ! I will forget thee never, And tho' on tide of time I stray, Forget me not, forever. i4 A FAREWELL. Farewell ! farewell ! for evermore ! For ever, and for ever ; Farewell ! I see thy face no more, For ever, and for ever. Montreal, 1893. 65 9) best." K ^j i>^\ FRAGMENT. i|^ 1 • j /■-•■■ TO ONE IN PARADISE. O me thou wert all that was sweet, Most lovely and divine, A light to guide my erring feet To purity's white shrine. Fair flower of perfect petals formed For which my soul did pine. i- \ Ah ! happy dream, too bright to last. Ethereal ray of light ; \- FRAGMENT, How soon the shadows overcast And noon-day turned to night ! O Lady, from thy lovely home, Teach me to live aright. (^1 London, 1883. i\i ■} r»* If li I 'If r r lit ?4| m SLEEP. Fair Rose of Dawn ! Promise of golden day, O shed thy gracious her i\s on man's dark way. LEEP, sleep, to sleep ! sleep on and dream in peace, For loving angels their sweet watch increase In sleep, in sleep. Sleep, happy soul, while silver moonbeams play In halo round thy head, till dawn of day, Sleep, sleep, to sleep. It ='■ way. on and t watch ms play SLEEP. 69 The rosy dawn bursts forth in radiance rare, Clothing the waking earth in garments fair, But sleep, sleep, sleep. Sleep till the golden beams rest on thy brow In token of thy guardian angel's vow, To bless thy sleep. Dream on thro' life ; for well the angels love Their charge on earth, and theirs once more above, In sleep, deep sleep. ^1)1 THE PASSING OF TENNYSON. {October^ 1892.) HE moon in her own dying glory fades, And from thy casement half withdraws her light ; The leaves of autumn, touched with golden hue, Are softly sighing in the solemn night ; Whilst thou, the glorious minstrel of our time, Whose harp, ^Eolian toned, awoke such strains As swell the choral anthems of the heavens, Art calmly waiting in the moonlight pale \m SI. ^ fades, idraws sn hue, time, strains ns, THE PASSING OF TENNYSON. 71 For dawn of golden sunlight that precedes Thine entry to undying harmony. Farewell ! beloved voice that sang of Truth, In clearest tones, to ever noble themes ; That mingled with the earthly song a strain Of that immortal beauty which belongs, Not to this earth, but an unfading land. Farewell ! thy voice still lives, its echo lasts, To swell the glory of undying fame. shl \ *>[ fc St :h I i i CLEOPATRA. F her I sing, who once the sceptre swayed From Alexandria's palace, in the might Of Empire, over fair Egypta's realm ; Of Cleopatra, beauteous, wanton queen Who, ere the dawn of Christendom, arose, Shone like a meteor in the sky, and lured Men's souls thro' depths of vice to deepest hell. Fair sorceress, whose charms enthralled and bound CLEOPATRA. 7^^ The lofty Caesar in the bonds of Love — The Dionaean Venus, rather than The sweeter charms of sweet Eronian love — Until with thine own sad departure fell The ruin of thy kingdom o'er thy tomb. Yet from the gorgeous pageantries that swelled The pride of Egypt to its greatest height, And thereby, ever grandly rose thine own, Thou art enthroned in history's page, but not On clouds of virtue, but on praise of vice. Yet sadness mingles with thy name, for thou, The crown of beauty and of brilliant wit. Hast set before the world in vivid hue The grandeur of the heights thy sex may gain By contrast with thy life, which only shews The startling depths to which it may descend. L ''•i i • ifi .t NOTE. CLEOPATRA. " Song makci great names immortal, cheats the tomb, And hands down fame to ages yet to come." EA.UTY has raised more mortals to immortality than all other virtues together," says Isocrates ; and surely the most devoted champion of Egypt's beauteous, though wanton queen, could not mourn that her fame and beauty were locked in the dark oblivion 76 NOTE. ptU' ; of a tearless grave, for lack of consecrating song. The history of her day rescued her name from obscurity, while succeeding ages have sung her praises. The peerless Cleopatra, who reigned before the dawn of Christendom, appears to us in history as the "siren who lures men's souls to destruction," whose faith was passion, whose religion lust ; who controlled the destinies of nadons by a smile ; who had philosophers and poets, kings and heroes grovelling at her feet as slaves. The lofty Caesar lay captive in her arms, content to beHeve that there was no other world outside of their embrace, whi]'=' the imperious Mark Antony thrust away a chance of wielding an imperial sceptre to bow before her shrine. It is true that Shakespeare, in his beautiful r^ \h m NOTE. n picture of two women, allows the light to fall upon the virtuous Octavia, while the honourless Cleopatra is darkened by her shadow. But still, after all, the world loves Cleopatra best. No one has ventured to call Cleopatra a good woman, and few have been brave enough to withhold their admiration. The faults of the Egyptian beauty were those which society rarely pardons in the weaker sex, though it stands silent before the pyramidal prodigality of the Ptolemies. Although unable to weigh accurately, at this remote period, the propor- tions of truth and error in the traditions of the courtesan queen, she stands out to-day as the highest type of female beauty, combined with wit and intellectual vigor ; as the very incarna 78 NOTE. ,\ '■ 4 I tion of the mythical Aphrodite, the apotheosis of sensuality. Such was the Cleopatra whom painters have painted, poets sung, essayists described. Two thousand years have passed since she crossed that bourne from whose shores no traveller ever returns, and still her multitu- dinous vagaries, her gorgeous pageants, form the basis of one of the great dramas of modern days. Of her it may truly be said : " Age cannot wither, nor custom stale Her infinite variety." Cleopatra was colossal in all things, and this may be the justification for the universal pallia- tion of her offences ; if, indeed, it is not due to a feeling born of pity — pity for one whose long NOTE. 79 theosis whom sayists ce she res no lultitu- , form lodern id this pallia- iue to ; long train of meteoric splendour vanished into dark- ness in the twinkling of an eye ; who paid so dearly for her triumph at the last. The poisonous asp was the signal for Cleopatra to retire ; her death-throes the knell of Egypt's grandeur. Cleopatra is dead. The pristine glory of Egypt is no more, but to-day its ruins serve to bring out in bolder relief the splendour of the land while it lay beneath her spell. Cleo- patra showed by contrast what woman should be. She has raised her to an eminence she could only attain by showing the depths to which she could descend. M CHISWICK PRESS I—C. WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. ■\iV :o.,