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•^w. 
 
 '■■h^.^: 
 
 '""^^^^^X. 
 
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 IN VARIOUS MOODS. 
 
,^^' 
 
 '¥% 
 
 M 
 
^^-^ 
 
 IN VARIOUS MOODS 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 STUART LIVINGSTON. 
 
 TORONTO: 
 WILLIAM BRIGGS. 
 
 MONTREAL: C. W. COATES. HALIFAX: 8. F. HUE8TI8. 
 
 1894. 
 
m 
 
 Entered, according to the Act of the Parliament of Canada, in the year one 
 thousand eight hundred and ninety-four, by William Brioob, in the office oi 
 the Minister of Agriculture, at Ottawa. 
 
n the year one 
 in the otfice oi 
 
 XLo 
 ffS^V /IDotber. 
 
t. '« 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Dedication ----.. 
 Italy - - - . . 
 
 ro A Rose --.... 
 Song of Peace .... 
 
 )VE Lies Dead Between Us 
 lER Eyes are Shaded Deep with Prayer 
 [usic - - . .^ , 
 
 Corner in the Field ... 
 'he King's Fool - 
 Song - - . . . 
 
 PAOK 
 
 V 
 
 II 
 
 12 
 14 
 15 
 
 19 
 
 20 
 
 21 
 
 23 
 28 
 
■^ 
 
 I 
 
 viii Contents. 
 
 A Little Maiukn 
 
 "There is a (Iod," She Said 
 
 He Knows 
 
 Mv Lady 
 
 In December 
 
 My Lady's Picture 
 
 The Bridal 
 
 An Impression 
 
 To E. N. L. 
 
 The Singer 
 
 Smitten by Flame of the Sun 
 
 To A Picture in a Locket 
 
 Keats 
 
 Love and My Lady 
 
 Bethlehem 
 
 If 
 
 My Lady's Mirror 
 
 54 
 
 S 
 
 56 fHE 
 
 H: 
 
 61 
 
Contents. 
 
 IX 
 
 I'Afll! 
 29 
 
 I*RAVER 
 
 «5' '^i^ AN Kaki.v Romin 
 3' 4 Skktcm 
 34 J| Milking Song 
 3^ & Church - 
 3" IfARV Magdalene 
 
 40 
 
 44 
 46 
 
 50 
 
 AfFIMORV 
 h\V. N'OLUNTEKRS OF '85 
 
 Cradle Song 
 'o Mlss Mai!F<;l 
 CiIlT - - - . 
 
 51 IpK DKAIFi OF THE I\)KT 
 
 53 BVKNIXG IN MUSKOKA . 
 
 54 A Serenade - 
 
 56 Thi; Bf:autiful 
 
 58 y ICnvoi 
 61 
 
 PAOI 
 62 
 
 63 
 64 
 
 65 
 
 66 
 68 
 
 70 
 7-2 
 
 75 
 
 77 
 81 
 
 82 
 
 87 
 88 
 
 91 
 98 
 
IN VARIOUS MOODS. 
 
 IN ITALY. 
 
 Night in the south, beneath ItaHan skies, 
 
 Shot over with a glow of amethyst ; 
 
 Still waters stretching outward to the mist 
 That folds the distance where the twilight dies. 
 Tall mountains from their mighty bastions rise, 
 
 Lifting their calm brows upward to the night, 
 
 Dim pinnacled amid the clouds with white 
 Of the eternal snow that on them lies. 
 
 Such beauties in this Italy there are ! 
 
 Yet is my spirit not content, but takes 
 Its winged flight where lies a land afar, 
 
 On whose wide breast my heart its haven makes. 
 Beneath the fixed light of the northern star— 
 
 Ah, these are not my mountains, and my lakes ! 
 
w 
 
 12 
 
 To a Rose. 
 
 TO A ROSE. 
 
 Ah, little rose, thou comest from her fingers, 
 Whose gentle soul stoops earthward like a star, 
 
 And on me sheds a gleam of hope, that lingers 
 When all this world dies in the dim afar. 
 
 iil 
 
 And if I speak her name in accents tender. 
 No one can know, for thou alone shalt hear ; 
 
 And if I love her then who is thy sender, 
 Thou wilt not whisper it to any ear. 
 
 For thou hast nestled close among the laces 
 That hide her timid bosom's spotless snow. 
 
 And so much purity in such a place is, 
 Thou must be pure, so thou alone shalt know 
 
 I 
 
 
To a Rose. 
 
 18 
 
 igers, 
 ike a star, 
 lingers 
 far. 
 
 ier, 
 It hear ; 
 
 laces 
 snow. 
 
 My secret ; and to pledge its sacred keeping, 
 I bid thee seek the place from whence thou art, 
 
 That thou again, among the laces sleeping. 
 In dreams may speak it to her listening heart. 
 
 alt know 
 
.jryji 
 
 14 
 
 A Song of Peace. 
 
 A SOiNG OF PEACE. 
 
 Though wide the waves be troubled 
 Beneath the wind's strong will, 
 
 Yet in its infinite deep on deep 
 The blue above is still. 
 
 And when the winds are weary, 
 And waves are weary, too, 
 
 The sky above will shed on them 
 The stillness of its blue. 
 
 O heart, though thou art troubled 
 Beneath the world's strong will. 
 
 Yet in its deep abiding place * 
 The heart of God is still. 
 
 And when thy tired spirit 
 Most longs to find surcease, 
 
 The Heart above will shed on thee 
 Its own eternal peace. 
 
 ;» 
 
Love Lies Dead Between Us. 
 
 15 
 
 LOVE LIES DEAD BETWEEN US. 
 
 Why should I care when thou dost not, 
 
 That Love lie- dead between us? 
 Yet, as I lor' ^^jon his face, 
 I cannot quite forget the grace 
 That fills in memory each place 
 His roguish eyes have seen us. 
 
 How merry was the laugh he gave, 
 
 And bright as summer weather, 
 When on his tiptoes, light as dew 
 On grass, he stole upon us two. 
 And found us there together. 
 
 

 16 
 
 Love Lies Dead Between Us. 
 
 He seemed as he had lately come 
 
 From some good man of stitches, 
 So gaily was the youngster dressed 
 In silken coat and figured vest, 
 Cap, buckles, ribbons of the best, 
 And satin cloth knee-breeches. 
 
 I never recognized the sprite 
 
 (Much to his own enjoyment), 
 But took him for a peasant lad, 
 Who served the king as page, or had 
 Some other court employment. 
 
 Yet I recall — ah, yes, full well — 
 That when he passed between us, 
 
 Thy little hand stole into mine, 
 
 And fired my blood as if with wine ; 
 
 The while I spent my lips on thine, 
 And wondered if he'd seen us. 
 
 Illli 
 
Love Lies Dead Between Us. 
 
 And now he lies between us dead— 
 
 I must confess I mourn him ; 
 But not for any thought of thee, 
 Nor for the vows from which I'm free, 
 Nor that my heart is dead in me; 
 If 'twere for these, I'd scorn him. 
 
 17 
 
 But 'tis because the little elf 
 
 First taught my soul to measure— 
 When speaking to my heart of thee, 
 Unfolding all thou wert to me— 
 The limitless, unfiU homed sea 
 Of love's unbounded pleasure. 
 
 ^\'hen sad, he'd whisper in my ear, 
 lie brave, for she doth love thee ; 
 Think on her eyes— pure deeps of blue- 
 Note well her heart, unaltered, true. 
 And pure as heaven above thee. 
 
-^^B! 
 
 18 
 
 Love Lies Dead Between Us. 
 
 At which my soul, by love impelled, 
 
 Would beat its earthly portals, 
 >Vith longing only to be free, 
 And waste itself with love of thee — 
 Such love, as hold the gods in fee, 
 Being too great for mortals. 
 
 But all is past ; poor little Love 
 
 Between us dead is lying ; 
 Before we part just one last kiss — 
 It surely cannot be amiss — 
 Thy lips are trembling ! What is this ? 
 
 It cannot be thou'rt crying. 
 
 And all thy face is pale, the rose 
 Its well-loved place forsaking — 
 
 Ah yes ! 'tis hard to part in tears. 
 
 Then let us pledge the coming years 
 
 With each old vow that more endears. 
 For Love, the rogue, is waking. 
 
[led, 
 
 
 Her Eyes arc Shaded Deep with Prayer. 
 
 19 
 
 je — 
 
 fee, 
 
 IS 
 
 this? 
 
 3se 
 
 ars. 
 
 ; years 
 endears, 
 ing. 
 
 hi:r eyks are shaded deep 
 
 WITH PRAYER. 
 
 Heu eyes are shaded deep with prayer; 
 Around her forehead softly cHngs, 
 Liice an aureole of light. 
 The golden glory of her hair. 
 
 The wonder on her face is strange, 
 As though to her it had been given 
 To look with those blue eyes beyond 
 The bourne that closes mortal range; 
 
 As one whom nought else had sufficed 
 To still the longing of her heart, 
 Till God had drawn the veil, and she 
 Had looked within and seen the Christ. 
 
20 
 
 Music. 
 
 MUSIC. 
 
 Oh, take thy stringed wonder tenderly, 
 
 Thy throbbing strings, thy magic bow that cries — 
 
 The hidden voice that in this moment Hes 
 
 Untroubled — to the restlessness in me. 
 
 And speak a tale from aught of passion free ; 
 
 A tale of holy calm, devoid of strife, 
 
 Drawn for the soul from those deep wells of life, 
 
 Whose waters God doth fill eternally ; 
 
 A tale of strength to suffer and be still, 
 
 With one strong purpose, though the world may changt] 
 
 Patient to wait the varying time, until 
 
 The soul, grown great, shall break its narrow range, 
 
 And from the thing I am forever free, 
 
 I rise to all that I have longed to be. 
 

 A Corner in the Field. 
 
 21 
 
 % 
 
 ■i^ 
 
 cries- 
 
 of life, 
 
 d may change 
 
 )\v range, 
 
 ^a 
 
 ELD. 
 
 ;hcd field 
 ;hirsty cup 
 
 fence 
 
 ifternoons, 
 I loved, 
 
20 
 
 Music. 
 
 Oh, take thy 
 Thy throbbin 
 The hidden v 
 Untroubled— 
 And speak a t 
 A tale of holy 
 Drawn for the 
 Whose waters 
 A tale of stren 
 With one stror 
 Patient to wait 
 The soul, grow 
 And from the 1 
 I rise to all tha 
 
^l Corner in the Field. 
 
 21 
 
 A CORNER IN THE FIELD. 
 
 There is a corner of a wide ploughed field 
 
 That long ago I knew, 
 Wherein the wild rose trained its thirsty cup 
 
 To catch the grateful dew. 
 
 And on the topmost railing of the fence 
 
 That ran the field along, 
 A lordly robin, with inflated breast. 
 
 Was wont to pipe his song. 
 
 And there have I through many afternoons. 
 
 Amid the grasses tall, 
 Sat listening to the voice of one I loved, 
 
 And to that robin's oall, 
 
.'T- 
 
 22 
 
 A Corner in the Field. 
 
 Till all the field fell far away from me, 
 
 As some forgotten place, 
 And I but heard the sweet tones of her voice, 
 
 And saw her shy young face. 
 
 Perchance some lordly robin yet doth stand 
 
 And pipe his roundelay; 
 But she, the tender light that filled the place 
 
 Will come no more that way. 
 
 Perchance the wild rose yet doth train its cup 
 
 To catch the grateful dew ; 
 But never shall I seek that nook again 
 
 Which long ago I knew. 
 
The Kuiii's Fooi. 
 
 n 
 
 THE KING'S FOOL. 
 
 In sooth he was a mighty king, 
 And ruled in splendid state, 
 
 Surrounded by a haughty band 
 Of nobles, small and great ; 
 
 And he was good to one and all, 
 
 Yet were they plotting for his fall. 
 
 For though a king be good and great 
 
 And generous, I trow 
 His nobles yet will envy him, 
 
 And seek his overthrow; 
 For so hath been the ancient strife 
 Since man first took his sovereign's life. 
 
"3JW" 
 
 I i 
 
 24 The King's Fool. 
 
 And thus, to gain their foul design, 
 They planned to he in wait, 
 
 And drop a deadly poison in 
 The golden flagon great. 
 
 That never more the king should rule; 
 
 And no one heard them but the fool. 
 
 So when the king came down that night 
 
 Into his hall to dine, 
 He found his flagon in its place, 
 
 And at its side the wine. 
 The blood-red wine, at which he said, 
 "Such wine should put life in the dead!" 
 
 Then poured he full the poisoned cup. 
 
 And, raising it on high, 
 O'er all his courtiers in the hall 
 
 He ran his noble eye : 
 "Oh, I would drink," he said, with zest, 
 "Unto the man that loves me best!" . 
 
TJie Kings Fool. 
 
 Then mute they sat around the l)oard, 
 And each looked to the other, 
 
 Till rose, with mocking reverence, 
 The fool, and said, "(iood brother, 
 
 All round this board, of every guest, 
 
 I am the man that loves thee best." 
 
 25 
 
 Then wrothful was the king, and said, 
 
 "Thou art no man, I wis, 
 That makest such a silly jest 
 
 At such a time as this. 
 Give us a better jest," he said, 
 "Or pay the forfeit with thy head." 
 
 Then quoth the fool, "My good liege lord, 
 
 I'll give another jest, 
 But after it, I tell thee now, 
 
 That I will take my rest. 
 No more to be thy jester," and 
 He snatched the flagon from his hand. 
 
26 
 
 The Kings Fool. 
 
 Then dark became the king's great brow, 
 
 Amazed was every guest, 
 VV^hile with the flagon at his lips 
 
 The fool quoth, "This sweet jest 
 That man, I trow, will best divine 
 Who poured such strength into this wine"- 
 
 Then drained the goblet at a draught. 
 
 And set it down anon, 
 While round the board each face grew pale, 
 
 And strange to look upon ; 
 Then sank the fool into his place. 
 And on the table laid his face. 
 
 Amid the silence stood the king, 
 
 As if perplexed with doubt ; 
 He looked upon his poor dead fool. 
 
 And then looked round about ; 
 And then in thunder called the guard 
 That near him kept their watch and ward. 
 
 I 
 
brow, 
 
 wine 
 
 The Kings Fool. 
 
 27 
 
 He bid them take the traitors forth 
 
 And put them all to death. 
 "Would God," he cried, "their lives could give 
 
 My poor fool back his breath— 
 My poor dead fool, whose silent breast 
 Doth show too late he loved me best ! '' 
 
 ew pale. 
 
 This is the legend of a fool 
 Who died his king to save, 
 
 And to its truth a monument 
 Was built above his grave ; 
 
 And writ in gold this wording ran, 
 
 "He lived a fool, but died a man." 
 
 ,rd 
 
 1 ward. 
 
28 
 
 A Song: 
 
 A SONG. 
 
 The bird must have a nesting place 
 
 Somewhere in leafy bowers ; 
 The grass beneath the hot noon sun 
 
 Doth long for cooling showers ; 
 The thirsty flower mu-^t have the dew 
 
 Its sweet life to prolong, 
 But my heart, my heart 
 
 Must have song. 
 
 The dove with weary wing doth search 
 
 For groves wherein to rest ; 
 The swan doth seek the hidden stream 
 
 To sleep upon its breast ; 
 The prisoned bird within its cage 
 
 For wide blue sky doth long, 
 But my heart, my heart 
 
 Must have song. 
 
A Little Maiden, 
 
 29 
 
 A LITTLE MAIDEN, 
 
 There is a little maid that twirls 
 
 My heart upon her fingers, 
 As airily as doth the bush 
 
 The latest leaf that lingers 
 When summer time is spent. Her heart! 
 
 I'd scarce believe she had one; 
 And I should know, for after it 
 
 My chase has been a sad one. 
 
 But when the slightest thing that calls 
 
 For sympathy appears, 
 There's something —it must be her heart - 
 
 That fills her eyes with tears. 
 Her hair is like the golden plenty 
 
 Of the sunlight falling ; 
 Her voice is music like the echo 
 Of a song bird calling. 
 
,"f*- 
 
 30 
 
 A Little Maiden. . 
 
 In tender ways she spends her days 
 
 All good things to discover ; 
 But words of mine can only give 
 
 The poorest picture of her. 
 She treats me so, at times I'm sad 
 
 To think I ever met her; 
 And yet, no matter how I try, 
 
 I cannot quite forget her. 
 
" There is a God:' She Said. 
 
 31 
 
 "THERE IS A GOD," SHE SAID. 
 
 "There is a God," she said, and all her face, 
 Transfigured with her heart's own purity. 
 
 Let fail such touch of heaven on the place, 
 As set at rest the troubled heart in me, 
 
 Until I felt her solemn words were true ; 
 
 For, as I looked on her with feelings awed, 
 The thought that gave her soul to earth I knew 
 
 Could spring but from the infinite heart of God. 
 
T'*- 
 
 32 
 
 lie Kiunvs. 
 
 HE KNOWS. 
 
 O Thou, great (lod, that from the arches high, 
 Which span immensity, didst speak the word 
 
 That wrought the world, and i)eopled all the sky 
 With sun and moon and stars thav have not erred 
 
 Within their courses fixedly to run — 
 
 Thou great All-knowing, yet so all unknown. 
 
 Dost Thou not know these sands of earth that are 
 
 The little habitation of the soul ? 
 Dost Thou not know the fires that scorch and mar. 
 
 And fain would utterly consume the whole ? 
 Hast 1 hou then breathed the soul into the dust, 
 And art not merciful as well as just. 
 
He Knows. 
 
 33 
 
 Ah, God ! this living were a vainful dream 
 
 Had we not faith that somewhere in the round 
 
 Of shadows, ever deepening, that seem 
 To close our vision of the outward bound, 
 
 An eye doth watch us patiently afar 
 
 With tender pity, knowing what we are. 
 
34 
 
 My Lady. 
 
 MY LADY. 
 
 My lady is not^over tall, 
 
 In sooth a little maiden she, 
 
 Yet I, who am beneath her thrall, 
 Am more content therein to be 
 
 Than ever subject yet, I ween, 
 
 To bow before his rightful queen. 
 
 My lady hath an eye of blue, 
 
 That bears its shading from the sky, 
 
 And purposes so pure and true 
 Within her timid breast do lie, 
 
 That every thought arising there 
 
 Doth deep the blue as with a prayer. 
 
 My lady's hair is like the light 
 
 Illumining a falling mist ; 
 It floats adown her shoulders white 
 
 In waves that nothing can resist, 
 Yet minds her very lightest touch 
 When straying o'er her face too much. 
 
My Lady. 
 
 My lady's voice hath said to nie 
 
 'I'hc sweetest words that one may hear ; 
 
 Yet, had I every simile 
 That to the j)oet's heart is dear, 
 
 I could not liken it to aught, 
 
 With so much music is it fraught. 
 
 35 
 
 I love my lady, not as those 
 
 Who sip the pleasures of an hour, 
 
 i'or every moment doth disclose 
 In her some yet more priceless dower ; 
 
 And if it bring me weal or woe 
 
 I care not, for I love her so. 
 
 :■.!/ 
 
! I 
 
 36 
 
 In December. 
 
 IN DECEMBER. 
 
 The woods that summer loved are grey and bare ; 
 
 The sombre trees stretch up their arms on high, 
 
 In mute appeal, against the leaden sky ; 
 A flurry faint of snow is in the air. 
 All day the clouds have hung in heavy fold 
 
 Above the valley, where grey shadows steal ; 
 
 And I, who sit and watch them, seem to feel 
 A touch of sadness as the day grows old. 
 
 But o'er my fancy comes a tender face, 
 A dream of curls that float like sunlight golden - 
 
 A subtle fragrance, filling all the place. 
 The whisper of a story that is olden — 
 
 Till breaks the sun through dull December skies. 
 
 And all the world is springtime in the deep blue of 
 her eyes. 
 
My Lady's Picture. 
 
 37 
 
 MY LADY'S PICTURE. 
 
 What hath my lady sent to me 
 
 That I so greatly prize? 
 It giveth more of sweet content 
 
 To my delighted eyes 
 Than could the rarest gem of art 
 Than ever sprang from human heart. 
 
 Perchance a charm from far-off isles, 
 
 Where wild exotics grow, 
 Wooed from the bud to fullest flower 
 
 By winds that on them blow; 
 While dainty sprites, with cunning rare, 
 Carve fateful charms to banish care. 
 
 
38 
 
 My Lady's Picture. 
 
 Nay, 'tis no charm she sends me, but 
 The picture of her face, 
 
 Wherein doth deUcately rest 
 
 « 
 
 Such witchery of grace. 
 To take a single glance at it 
 Would drive out every moody fit. 
 
 A tender face, with shy young eyes 
 
 By love divinely lit. 
 As if they saw my longing look 
 
 And fain would answer it ; 
 Bidding me lay aside all care 
 Since Love doth hold his kingdom there. 
 
 And w^hal unto my lady now 
 
 Shall I in answer send ? 
 Some costly gem of purest light, 
 
 Wherein bright lustres blend ? 
 Nay, I a simple song will give 
 That tells a place where love doth live. 
 
My Lady's Picture. 
 
 A place that knoweth naught but love, 
 
 And love of her alone; 
 Wherein she, all unconsciously. 
 
 Doth sit upon a throne: 
 And in this kingdom every part 
 Is governed by her own sweet heart. 
 
 39 
 
 Yes, I will send this simple song, 
 
 Wherein I've tried to paint • 
 
 A picture of such longing as 
 P'or love of her doth faint; 
 And she will know— ah, yes, full well- 
 Where is the place of which I tell. 
 
 ■ 
 
 Thus, for the picture of her face, 
 Which by her grace I get. 
 
 That I no longer now may be 
 So deeply in her debt, 
 
 I'll send my lady, on my part. 
 
 This song-made picture of my heart. 
 
 f 
 
40 
 
 The Bridal. 
 
 THE BRIDAL. 
 
 She walks in beauty down the world 
 To meet her lover in the west. 
 
 O happy, timid, beauteous day. 
 
 Thy head will soon be on his breast. 
 
 Her eyes are heaven's azure deeps ; 
 
 The still white cloud her veil shall be; 
 Her voice's music is a wind 
 
 That whispers low in melody. 
 
 Her brow is of the early dawn ; 
 
 Her hair is of the radiant light 
 That falls in golden splendor down 
 
 Behind her veil's soft-misted white. 
 
The Bridal. 
 
 The night, her lover in the west, 
 
 With starry eyes, doth wait his bride, 
 
 And stretches up his shadowy arms 
 To draw her gently to his side. 
 
 She stoops her lips to touch his brow; 
 Her head sinks low upon his breast; 
 
 The pure red wine— the bridal wine- 
 Is poured from all the crimson west. 
 
 41 
 
 ;' 
 
-~z^ 
 
 42 
 
 An Impression 
 
 AN IMPRESSION. 
 
 Wtifn p.isrmg through a garden, one 
 
 May ci; •• ^.e to see a rose 
 That delicately on the bush 
 
 Its bea-*y ^;</ -. disclose ; 
 He looks the while ito loveliness 
 
 Doth fill his grateful eye, 
 Then, with its fragrance following. 
 
 He goes regretful by. 
 
 Perchance as time doth pass, he thinks 
 
 He hath forgotten it. 
 Till, all alone, some dreary day 
 
 He wearily doth sit 
 And watch the rain against the pane 
 
 That falling comes and goes. 
 When, suddenly, his heart is charmed 
 
 With mem'ry of that rose. 
 
Ah Impression. 
 
 I only know I met her when 
 
 The light, that on her hair 
 Had played the wanton, softly stooped 
 
 To kiss her forehead fair; 
 And, being well content to find 
 
 So sweet a resting place, 
 It lingered there and showed me all 
 
 The beauty of her face. 
 
 I did not think I had forgot— 
 
 For who could well forget 
 The mem'ry of so fair a face, 
 
 Filled with such light ? — and yet 
 To-ciay, as all alone I sat, 
 
 I was not charmed the less 
 When o'er my fancy came her face. 
 
 And lit my dreariness. 
 
 Her outward beauty, well I know, 
 
 Is not her fairest grace, 
 For God, who made her, surely would 
 
 Not give her such a face 
 Without a tender heart that longs 
 
 His meanest things to bless; 
 And this to-day my dream of her 
 
 That charmed my dreariness. 
 
 43 
 
44 
 
 To E. N. L 
 
 TO E. N. L. 
 
 Thou sweet-souled comrade of a time gone by 
 Who in the infinite dost walk to-day, 
 
 And lift thy spirit lips in song, while I 
 Lift up but lips of clay — 
 
 Oft do I think on thee, thou steadfast heart. 
 
 Who, when the summons dread was in thine ear. 
 
 Didst raise thy calm brow up and challenge death. 
 As one that knows not fear. 
 
 And I have wondered if thy passionate lips 
 
 Now voice the songs that surged within thy heart ; 
 
 By the great alchemy of mighty death 
 Freed to diviner art. 
 
 And didst thou find a welcome on the shore 
 That rims the vastness of that shadow land ? 
 
 Did those sweet singing prophet bards of yore 
 Stretch thee a greeting hand ? 
 
To E. N. Z. 
 
 And did they gather round about thee there, 
 With faces grey against the coming day ; 
 
 And, with wan fingers on thy trembling lips. 
 Teach thee their mighty lay ? 
 
 45 
 
 - 1' 
 
 Till thy enraptured soul, by thine own lips, 
 Was filled with such great harmony of song, 
 
 As gave thee place among their matchless selves, 
 A brother of the throng. 
 
 r 
 
46 
 
 The Singer. 
 
 THE SINGER. 
 
 'TwAS in an old Swiss town — 
 
 At eventide I strolled 
 Along the quiet quay, 
 
 Watching the shaded gold 
 That lit the mountains with a flame, 
 As over them the darkness came. 
 
 Till from their lofty brows 
 
 Vanished the fading light, 
 And all the air was filled 
 
 With stillness of the night, 
 Save where against the quay's great stone 
 The water sang its monotone. 
 
The Singer. 
 
 But sudden on my ear 
 There rang a merry song, 
 
 That made such laughter spring 
 Amid the Httle throng 
 
 That joined the cafe in a ring, 
 
 I went across to hear him sing. 
 
 47 
 
 He was a handsome youth, 
 With hair Hke flowing jet ; 
 
 Erect he stood, his face 
 Aglow with laughter; yet 
 
 For all his mirth, it seemed to me, 
 
 His dark eyes looked despairingly. 
 
 And still he stood erect 
 Beneath the flashing glare 
 
 That filled the small cafe 
 With brightness everywhere, 
 
 And on that merry-hearted throng 
 
 Poured out the laughter of his song. 
 
.""T 
 
 48 
 
 The Singer. 
 
 At length he reached the end 
 
 And ceased, but all the crowd, 
 Mid bravos and applause, 
 
 Cried out in voices loud : 
 '* We would hear more ! Give more !" they said- 
 He only stood, and bowed his head. 
 
 An old man turned to me, 
 " He sings well for his pay," 
 
 He said, " but not much heart : 
 To-day I heard them say. 
 
 The young girl that he would have wed 
 
 Is over yonder lying dead." 
 
 'Twas long ago I sat 
 
 Amid that merry throng. 
 And heard that brave young voice 
 
 Ring out the laughing song. 
 Charming the crowd that gave him bread, 
 The while his heart was with his dead, 
 
bread, 
 ;ad. 
 
 The Singer. 
 
 49 
 
 they said- 
 
 And often have I thought 
 
 How many a strong young soul, 
 
 Aflame with purpose great 
 To reach some shining goal, 
 
 Doth crush itself amid the dust 
 
 To gain the hunger-staying crust. 
 
 wed 
 
 |r..| 
 
50 
 
 Smitten by Flame of the Sun. 
 
 SMITTEN BY FLAME OF THE SUN. 
 
 Smitten by flame of the sun, 
 
 Up from the anguished deep 
 Riseth the nebulous mist, 
 
 Forming the clouds that, asleep, 
 Far in the fields of the sky 
 
 Float through the azure unfurled, 
 Shedding their life-giving lain, 
 
 Quenching the thirst of the world. 
 
 Thus, O ihcu builder of songs. 
 
 Singing that bringeth the tears. 
 And on the life of mankind 
 
 Sheddeth the peace that endears 
 Each to his brother the more — 
 
 Never such singing divine 
 Canst thou give to the heart of the world. 
 
 Save from the deep anguish of thine, 
 
To a Picture in a Locket. 
 
 51 
 
 TO A PICTURE IN A LOCKET. 
 
 As in the quiet of some holy place, 
 
 Where kneels the worshipper amid the dim 
 
 And solemn twilight, while an unseen choir 
 
 Chants in a measured voice a mighty hymn 
 
 That steak ...xiong the fretted arches tall, 
 
 And d.es away along the winding aisle; 
 
 Till, like a gleaming flame o'er waters dark. 
 
 From out the west the sun's expiring rays 
 
 Break through the painted windows, falling far 
 
 Above the altar on the pictured head 
 
 Of some fair saint who hangs enhaloed there, 
 
 Till to th' enraptured worshipper it seems 
 
 The temple wall has sundered far apart, 
 
 And through the breach he sees, or seems to see, 
 
 The far off heaven of his dreams descend ; 
 
52 
 
 To a Picture in a Locket. 
 
 While out the holy light that fills the place 
 
 An angel face looks in upon the soul, 
 
 Whose mild blue eyes constrain his lips to prayer, 
 
 So out this arch of gold thy shadow face 
 
 Steals tenderly upon my eager gaze, 
 
 Illumined by the story of old days 
 
 And memories full of gentle radiance. 
 
 That mingle sunlight in thy wavy hair, 
 
 And paint thine eyes with softest shade of blue, 
 
 Filling them with a light akin to prayer. 
 
 And weave around thy lips the old-time smile, 
 
 Until they almost seem to move with voice — 
 
 So nearly move that I half feel a fear 
 
 Lest they again should bid me say farewell. 
 
 And cast my soul from Heaven into night. 
 
Keats. 
 
 53 
 
 KEATS. 
 
 A YOUNO-EYED sccr, amid the leafy ways 
 Of Latmos' groves, sacred to mighty Pan, 
 Afar from all the busy marts of man, 
 
 Content to seek the beautiful, he strays ; 
 
 With mild eyes lifted in their starry gaze 
 Of ravishment divine, a priest, he stands 
 Before the altar builded by his hands, 
 
 And on his pipe, with pallid lip, he plays. 
 
 This night, O god-like singer, have I knelt 
 Before that altar listening to thy strain. 
 
 Till off my soul mortality did melt. 
 Dissolved from all weariness of pain ; 
 
 And at thy magic melody I felt 
 All life were mine, could I such rapture drain. 
 
h 
 
 54 
 
 Love and My Lady. 
 
 LOVE AND MY LADY. 
 
 O I HAVE seen my lady pass, 
 
 Upon a sunlit day, 
 Across the happy shining fields 
 
 Swept by the winds of May, 
 While at her side, with pleasant talk, 
 The little god of Love did walk. 
 
 And, looking up into her eyes. 
 
 He made such funny quips 
 The young rogue brought a merry smile 
 
 About my lady's lips ; 
 Then, drawing down her sweet face near, 
 He slyly whispered in her ear. 
 
Love and My Lady. 
 
 55 
 
 I knew he spoke of me to her, 
 For, soon as she had heard, 
 
 She straightway turned her eyes on me, 
 But never said a word ; 
 
 At which, alas! the little sprite 
 
 Ran off, and hid himself from sight. 
 
56 
 
 Bethlehem. 
 
 BETHLEHEM. 
 
 She hath not heard of Herod's hate, 
 She hath not seen the star 
 
 That in the sky doth shed its light 
 To call men from afar ; 
 
 She only sees upon her knee 
 
 Her baby, sleeping tranquilly. 
 
 She hath not heard the angels sing 
 
 Their holy song of peace, 
 That falls upon a weary world, 
 
 And bids its tumult cease ; 
 She only hears the breathings low 
 That through the wee lips come and go. 
 
Bethlehem. 
 
 The lowly ass doth stand near by 
 And feed beside the stall ; 
 
 The dim light serveth but to cast 
 Dark shadows over all : 
 
 She hath no fear amid the place, 
 
 She only sees that little face. 
 
 57 
 
 She knoweth that her baby's feet 
 Are warm beneath her touch; 
 
 She looketh down upon his face, 
 That face she loves so much, 
 
 And dreams that out beyond the night 
 
 She hears him called the King of Light 
 
 ■■ I 
 
 But, on a sudden, all her face 
 Doth pale, as though she heard 
 
 Amid the night a whisper strange 
 That all her being stirred : 
 
 Ah, she hath dreamed a darkened land 
 
 Wherein three silent crosses stand. 
 
1 1"^ 
 
 58 
 
 // 
 
 IF. 
 
 " I THINK I love you most," she said. 
 
 Her timid eyes were downcast then, 
 And something gleamed beneath the lids 
 
 And glistened on the lashes when 
 They slowly lifted up to mine ; 
 
 And mine were wet — could it be tears? 
 With me tears will be common things 
 In coming years. 
 
 Upon the sky there sits a star 
 
 That gleams through all the wasting night ; 
 The waters, rushing from afar, 
 
 Break on the coast beneath its light, 
 And as they break they are a voice. 
 
 The still light lives ; I can discern 
 Her form, and in my soul rejoice 
 At her return. 
 
// 
 
 59 
 
 I feel the soft blue of her eyes, 
 Suffused with tears, upon me rest ; 
 
 I smell the odors faint that rise 
 From violets upon her breast ; 
 
 Her breath is warm upon my cheek, 
 My hand could almost touch her hair ; 
 
 Her lips are framed as they would speak 
 For me a prayer. 
 
 The light is dead within the sky, 
 
 The waves are stilled upon the coast ; 
 
 Dull shadows through the darkness fly, 
 And in the deeper gloom are lost. 
 
 It was the thought of one who dreams. 
 The fancy of a poet's brain. 
 
 The shadow of a hope that seems 
 To live again. 
 
 Yet, if it were reality, 
 
 And I might see those downcast eyes, 
 If only I again might see 
 
 Her gentle bosom fall and rise ; 
 And know the violets were there 
 
 I plucked for her but yestereven. 
 And smell the fragrance on the air 
 Which they had given. 
 
f"" -^ 
 
 60 
 
 // 
 
 If I might hear — though it should be 
 As but a faintly whispered breath, 
 
 Born of he* tender sympathy — 
 
 I'd dare to link my life with Death, 
 
 And in the darkness go his way, 
 And nothing reck the awful cost. 
 
 If I to-night might hear her say, 
 " I love you most." 
 
My Lady's Mirror. 
 
 61 
 
 P 
 
 MV LADY'S MIRROR. 
 
 Hid in the quiet cloisters of the wood, 
 
 Where grasses slumber 'mid the shadows cool, 
 There lieth at its ease a little pool, 
 
 Unlighted, save when thro' its leafy hood 
 
 Some straying sunbeam breaks its timid way. 
 Here doth my lady come apart to sit, 
 And, resting, doth make pretty mouths at it ; 
 
 It is her mirror, so the song-birds say. 
 
 I»f 
 
 Courageous little pool, more brave than I ; 
 
 For when my lady cometh to the wood, 
 And looketh down upon thee scornfully. 
 
 Thou dost as scornfully look back ; but should 
 She cast such glance at me, without reply 
 
 My heart would quail at her capricious mood. 
 
62 
 
 A Prayer. 
 
 A PRAYER. 
 
 O Saviour, when upon my latest vision 
 
 My life is shadowed forth, a finished tale, 
 And I can see how oft the world's derision 
 
 Has made so utterly my purpose fail ; 
 When I am covered over with affliction 
 
 To see so little good through all the years, 
 Speak to my chastened soul a benediction. 
 
 And wipe away my tears. 
 
 O Saviour, when, 'mid shadows darkly falling. 
 
 My dying eyes gaze into naught but night, 
 While round me the deep density appalling 
 
 Would lead my soul to shudder with affright ; 
 W^hen dimly all my being's fire is burning, 
 
 O wrap me round with Thy sustaining grace. 
 And when my sightless eyes are upward turning, 
 
 O may they see Thy face. 
 
To an Early Robin, 
 
 63 
 
 TO AN EARLY ROBIN. 
 
 Heigh-ho, little bard of the woods ! 
 
 Why are you singing so madly ? 
 Spring, Spring, Spring, Spring, 
 
 Spring, you say, is here ; 
 That this was the first and the last of all springs 
 
 To hear you one would think sadly ; 
 Though many a spring has come before, 
 
 And another will come next year. 
 
 And still you sing on, Uttle bard of the woods, 
 
 Joyously, gaily and gladly. 
 Till every nook of this dull old world 
 
 Re-echoes your wild note clear ; 
 And I would that you sing, though your echoing song 
 rought to me, surely and sadly, 
 e whom I love will have gone from me 
 Wl.vjn the Spring cometh in next year. 
 
64 
 
 A Sketch. 
 
 A SKETCH. 
 
 She fills each place with stately grace, 
 
 Her form is radiance begun ; 
 Where'er she goes the flowers unclose, 
 
 And turn to her as to the sun. 
 Her wavy hair floats down like air, 
 
 Her eyes are exquisitely blue, 
 And through them shine those lights divine 
 
 That speak a heart so true. 
 
 Her every word — like voice of bird. 
 
 That in the early twilight dim 
 Flings out its note on air afloat 
 
 To swell the joyous morning hymn — 
 Is sweeter far than ever are 
 
 The songs distilled by aid of art. 
 And oft again in low refrain 
 
 Pours music in my heart. 
 
t. 
 
 A Milkiiig Song. 
 
 e5 
 
 ace, 
 ose, 
 
 its divine 
 
 A MILKING SONG. 
 
 Softly the light on high 
 Fades from the western sky, 
 
 Slow from the meadows by. 
 The cows are coming. 
 
 Tin- 
 
 " Snow " is the first to come. 
 
 " Spot " will be second home, 
 " White " shall stay all alone 
 
 Through the night roaming. 
 
w 
 
 66 
 
 At Church. 
 
 AT CHURCH. 
 
 I HEAR the chanting of the psalm 
 
 Upon the quiet air, 
 I see the bended heads, and feel 
 
 The hush that follows prayer ; 
 The while my eyes have crossed the church, 
 
 And whispered she is there. 
 
 The light, that in the quiet dawn 
 Broke through the bar of Heaven, 
 
 And wandered earthward, seeking rest. 
 And found no rest was given, 
 
 Falls through the window on her face, 
 And lingers there at even. 
 
At Church. 
 
 Till I half dream that I have winged 
 Beyond the flood of space, 
 
 Beyond the barriers of God, 
 Within His holy place ; 
 
 And, by the silver waters stilled, 
 Have seen an angel's face. 
 
 The silent flame that fills her soul. 
 Her lips have voiced in prayer ; 
 
 I listen eagerly, perchance 
 My name may linger there ; 
 
 But naught of me is in the words 
 She breathes upon the air. 
 
 67 
 
 The latest prayer is said ; beyond 
 The west slow dies the light; 
 
 The music, with a broken wing. 
 Has fallen in its flight ; 
 
 And I, who sought for rest. 
 Am restless, turning toward the night. 
 
68 
 
 Mary Magdalene, 
 
 MARY MAGDALENE. 
 
 O World, thou canst not drag me back to thee ; 
 
 Dead are thy sinewy arms ; thy fevered touch 
 Of passion hath no power over me : 
 
 He calls for me, my Lord who loved me much. 
 His voice, His voice divine is in the street, 
 And I would go that I may kiss His feet. 
 
 And dost thou linger yet to loose thy hold ? 
 
 Oh, stay me not. I know thy geuio are rare ; 
 I know the yellow lustre of thy gold, 
 
 But didst thou offer all thou holdest fair 
 I would not stay ; His voice doth call me so 
 It melts my heart. Quick, loos? me, let me go 1 
 
Mary Magdalene. 
 
 69 
 
 Oh, stay me not, thy touch doth hinder me, 
 As doth the cage a bird that seeks the sky ; 
 
 The world of love, the heart that pityingly 
 Did draw me from myself, is coming nigh ; 
 
 The Lord my Master's voice is in the street. 
 
 Oh, let me go that I may kiss His feet. 
 
70 
 
 A Memory. 
 
 A MEMORY. 
 
 Her eyes, so blue and gentle, 
 
 Look out with tender light ; 
 Her throat among the laces 
 
 Is exquisitely white ; 
 Her hair is caught upon her head 
 
 In little curling tresses ; 
 Her lips illumined with the smile 
 
 That she alone possesses. 
 The sunlight, stealing through the leaves, 
 
 Drops gold upon her hair, 
 The sprig of balsam on her breast 
 
 Exhales a perfume rare ; 
 And at her side, upon the grass. 
 
 Am I, who love her so. 
 Awaiting till she speaks the word 
 
 That bids me stay or go. 
 
A Memory. 
 
 71 
 
 Said I at any time her eyes were blue, 
 
 And looked from out their depth' with tender light, 
 Or put in words the rapture of her smile, 
 
 Or said her throat was exquisitely white ? 
 I may have said it, but it seems so long 
 
 Since that last time I looked upon her face, 
 That in my life she lingers like some dream 
 
 A sleeper hath of heaven's holy place. 
 That falls from out the night upon his soul. 
 
 And fills him with the glory of its light ; 
 Then leaves him, till he starts upon his couch, 
 
 And wakes to find that all it leaves is night. 
 
72 
 
 The Volunteers of '^5. 
 
 THE VOLUNTEERS OE '85. 
 
 Wide are the plains to the north and the westward ; 
 
 Drear are the skies to the west and the north — 
 Little they cared, as they snatched up their rifles, 
 
 And shoulder to shoulder marched gallantly forth. 
 Cold are the plains to the north and the westward, 
 
 Stretching out far to the grey of the sky — 
 Little they cared as they marched from the barrack-room, 
 
 Willing and ready, if need be, to die. 
 
 Bright was the gleam of the sun on their bayonets ; 
 
 Firm and erect was each man in his place \ 
 Steadily, evenly, marched they like veterans ; 
 
 Smiling and fearless was every face ; 
 
The Volunteers of '8$- 
 
 73 . 
 
 Xt'ver a dread of the foe that was waiting them ; 
 
 Never a fear of war's terrible scenes ; 
 " lirave as the bravest," was stamped on each face of them ; 
 
 Half of them boys not yet out of their teens. 
 
 Many a woman gazed down at them longingly, 
 
 Scanning each rank for her boy as it passed ; 
 Striving through tears just to catch a last glimpse of him, 
 
 Knowing that glimpse might, for aye, be the last. 
 Many a maiden's cheek paled as she looked at them, 
 
 Seeing the lover from whom she must part ; 
 Trying to smile and be brave for the sake of him. 
 
 Stifling the dread that was breaking her heart. 
 
 Every heart of us, wild at the sight of them, 
 
 Beat as it never had beaten before ; 
 Every voice of us, choked though it may have been, 
 
 Broke from huzza to a deafening roar. 
 Proud ! were we proud of them ? God ! they were part of us, 
 
 Sons of us, brothers, all marching to fight ; 
 Swift at their country's call, ready each man and all, 
 
 Eager to battle for her and the right. 
 
< 'l 
 
 74 
 
 The Volunteers of '8£. 
 
 Wide are the plains to the north and the westward, 
 
 Stretching out far to the grey of the sky — 
 Little they cared as they filed from the barrack-room, 
 
 Shoulder to shoulder, if need be, to die. 
 Was there one flinched ? Not a boy, not a boy of them ; 
 
 Straight on they marched to the dread battle's brunt — 
 Fill up your glasses and drink to them, all of them, 
 
 Canada's call found them all at the front. 
 
-A Cradle Song, 
 
 75 
 
 A CRADLE SONG. 
 
 O FAINT and far the angels are 
 
 Calling, my babe, to thee ; 
 O faint and low their voices flow 
 
 In a ceaseless melody ; 
 Far away down from the distant skies, 
 Where the old moon, wasted and dying, lies, 
 
 In the midst of a silver sea. 
 O slumber quick, for thou must not go. 
 Because thy mother loves thee so. 
 
 And still they call, and their voices all 
 Are bidding thee come away, 
 
 To where they sing of a radiant King 
 Whose robe is the light of day ; 
 
76 
 
 A Cradle Song. 
 
 And they whisper a tale of a land afar, 
 Where the sunlight dies at the golden bar, 
 And to light it there needeth not ever a star, 
 
 For the Lord is the light, they say. 
 O sleep, my babe, and thou wilt not know, 
 For thy mother cannot let thee go. 
 
 O slee[), my babe, for I have prayed 
 
 The Christ to let thee stay, 
 And now on high from out the sky 
 
 The voices die away. 
 The voices are still that were calling to thee. 
 And the angels have passed o'er that shadowy sea 
 That breaks on the shore of eternity, 
 
 In the light of an endless day. 
 Then sleep, my babe, and thou wilt not go, 
 For the good Christ knoweth I love thee so. 
 
To Miss Mabei. 
 
 77 
 
 TO MISS MABEL. 
 
 Vou asked me, Miss Mabel, to write you some verses, 
 And nothing before such a pleasure I'd choose, 
 
 Did not I feel inwardly that the reverse is 
 Exactly the case with my diffident Muse. 
 
 Full far have I gone as a mortal might wander 
 To Erato's feet and Prometheus' rock ; 
 
 The sweet Muse admitted your graces beyond her, 
 The other declared I'd be killed by the shock. 
 
 I thought then, if love could not give me some verses. 
 Her sister, perchance, Polyhymnia, might ; 
 
 I sought out the mount where the Goddess rehearses, 
 Submitted my prayer, and got ready to write. 
 
78 
 
 To Miss Mabel. 
 
 " Alas," she exclaimed, " the presumption of mortals ! " 
 (The phrase I've just quoted is straight from the Muse) 
 
 And added as, teaiful, I passed through her portals, 
 "This language is nothing to what I might use." 
 
 Yes, soon as I told her that you were the fair one 
 Of whom my desire would lea. J me to write, 
 
 She bid me ascend to Olympus, and there one 
 Might gather the power such lines to indite. 
 
 But through the wide range of her lyric dominion 
 She said that no language had ever been known 
 
 To faintly express (I but give her opinion) 
 
 Such graces as those you may claim for your own. 
 
 To Jove then I went to present my petition, 
 High up where the thunderings clamor the air, 
 
 Believing that there some successful fruition 
 Could scarce fail to be the result of my prayer. 
 
<am m i K »mm» m 
 
 To Miss Mabel, 
 
 79 
 
 But soon as your name I attempted to mention, 
 He darkened his brow, and he swore by all odds 
 
 The thing was beyond his divine comprehension, 
 He'd call into conclave the rest of the gods, 
 
 And giwe it their serious consideration 
 
 (This sounds more like Mowat than Jove, I'll admit). 
 Then straightway dismissed me, while shook with vibration 
 
 The mount of Olympus, as if in a fit. , 
 
 I've waited, and waited, and waited, and waited ; 
 
 Believe me. Miss Mabel, I've waited an age. 
 Still hoping the answer, though somewhat belated. 
 
 Would reach me in time to go down on this page. 
 
 Alas, the unfounded presumption of mortals 
 (The phrase is my own now I know it by rote), 
 
 No answer comes through the Olympian portals. 
 Not even a messenger boy with a note. 
 
80 
 
 To Miss Mabel. 
 
 If all of the gods, not to mention the Muses, 
 Find language to fail a description so rare. 
 
 You can't blame a mortal like me who refuses 
 7^o try what the gods have resigned in despair. 
 
A Gift 
 
 81 
 
 A GIFT. 
 
 The mellow sunlight, like a mist 
 
 Of gold, was on thy hair; 
 I saw thine eyes look into mine, 
 
 And read a promise there; 
 I looked about to give thee all 
 
 I had, yet was so poor, 
 I only gave thee verses, love. 
 
 For I had little more. 
 
 Again the sunlight, flilling down, 
 
 Made glorious thy hair, 
 But far from mine thine eyes were turned, 
 
 And saw another there. 
 I loved thee yet, and all of mine 
 
 Was thine, yet I, so poor, 
 Cmild give thee but a broken heart, 
 
 For I had nothing more. 
 
 f 
 
82 
 
 The Death of the Poet. 
 
 THE DEATH OF THE POET. 
 
 At morn, my masters, cradled in the mist, 
 The day awoke to hfe, yet scarce to life, 
 So deep a gloom lay over all the world. 
 The very winds that waited on its birth 
 Spoke low, as those who stand about and wait 
 The end of one who swiftly nears the end ; 
 And as it stepped adown the eastern hills. 
 Within the vale that leads afar to night, 
 It found all weeping and disconsolate. 
 
 A vale of tears, my son, in which it stepped. 
 
 Aye, masters, men have long time called it so. 
 It seemed a multitude was gathered there, 
 With all their gaze fixed on the single form 
 
The Death of the Poet. 
 
 83 
 
 Of one who walked alone, as in old days 
 
 Weak mortals watched the struggles of the gods 
 
 Who joined the combat 'neath the walls of Troy. 
 
 F^earless he looked before, where lay a sea 
 
 Wide, dark and dreamless as the void of space, 
 
 Sunless, without a star ; and, as he walked, 
 
 The wail of those who watched him rose and fell. 
 
 As lost winds rise and fall on unknown seas. 
 
 Some were in plumed armour ; some were dressed 
 
 In rustic garb of simple countrymen ; 
 
 And maids and matrons wept amid that throng. 
 
 Where all were bowed as weighed upon with woe. 
 
 Upon the hills that closed the valley in 
 
 There stood apart another multitude, 
 
 That looked with stricken faces in the vale. 
 
 And then the wonder grew upon me so 
 
 At this so strange and sorrowful a sight, 
 
 I turned to one who stood apart, and said : 
 
 " My friend, who is this man, and who are they 
 
 That, watching him, thus spend themselves in tears ? 
 
 And who are they that stand upon the hills ? " 
 
 He raised his glance to mine and made reply : 
 
84 
 
 The Death of the Poet, 
 
 " He is our sweetest singer, come at length 
 Down to the edge of hfe ; for yonder strand, 
 Whereon the waves of that dark ocean roll 
 Within the shadow, is the verge of time, 
 And they who watch him thus within the vale 
 Are children of his mighty brain and heart, 
 Whom he himself created. Look, the one. 
 Strong, brave and dauntless, with his lance in rest, 
 And on his face the light, is Galahad. 
 The one so like a lily is Elaine ; 
 And he whose heart is like a heavenly flame, 
 Whose beauty is the radiance of the pure. 
 Whose shield is blazoned with a cross of gold. 
 Who rides the nearest after him they mourn. 
 And always has been nearest to his heart. 
 Is Arthur, England's first and purest knight. 
 There at the end, borne to the ground with grief. 
 Is Guinevere, the gentle Arthur's Queen, 
 Who lost the poet's love because she erred 
 And was not pure as he had made her fair. 
 The others are not less his children too, 
 Gereth, Lynette, the Princess, Launcelot, 
 
The Death of the Poet. 
 
 85 
 
 And all the numerous, bright, imagined train 
 That mourn, refusing to be comforted, 
 Because he nears the limit of the world 
 And goes to join the friend whose death he sang. 
 Those who thus weep for him upon the hills 
 
 Are they who knew his children and himself, 
 
 ■* ... 
 
 And from them drew an inspiration pure 
 
 Which filled to overflow their lesser lives 
 
 With such great strength of purpose high and fixed 
 
 As raised them to a fellowship with God." 
 
 He ceased, and as I watched the scene with awe, 
 
 Slow onward, steadfastly, with weary feet. 
 
 He made his way down to the dark-rimmed sea, 
 
 Where break the formless waves upon the strand 
 
 With noise like whispers spoken in the dark. 
 
 A ship lay anchored there amid the gloom. 
 
 No pinnace, but a tall and stately ship, 
 
 As built to bear across the gathered flood 
 
 A mighty spirit. Those upon the land 
 
 Stood still, with bated breath, in reverence, 
 
 And even forgot to weep as, filled with awe. 
 
 They listened for the last thing he would say. 
 
86 
 
 The Death of the Poet. 
 
 The gloom was great, hut as he stood erect 
 
 Upon the lofty deck, his eye fixed strong 
 
 Upon the density that lay before, 
 
 The moonlight broke the cloud and bathed his brow, 
 
 Serene and calm, in gentle silvery light, 
 
 While from his lips there fell these words of faith : 
 
 " I hope to see my Pilot face to face 
 
 When I have crossed the bar." 
 
't 
 
 Evening in Muskoka. 
 
 87 
 
 d his brow, 
 )f faith : 
 
 EVENING IN MUSKOKA. 
 
 Like shrouded stars within a shrouded sky, 
 The liHes lie upon the lonely lake 
 And gleam among the rushes. Slowly break 
 The last faint dying flashes from on high. 
 Around the island lies a purple sheen 
 Of mist and twilight, folding it from view, 
 While far within the narrows, passing through, 
 The shadowy glimmer of a sail is seen. 
 
 A kingfisher, shrill chattering, swiftly flies 
 
 Far down the lake more lonely haunts to seek ; 
 
 The night winds from the deepening shadows rise, 
 And whisper slumber songs that softly creep 
 
 From point to point, until the echo dies 
 
 Far o'er the lake, and night folds all in sleep. 
 
I I 
 
 88 
 
 A Screnaiie. 
 
 A SERENADH 
 
 LIFT up thine eyes from the spell they are under ; 
 Beloved, awake from thy dreams of delight ; 
 
 1 wait thee below, put thy lattice asunder, 
 
 And sail with me over the rim of the night. 
 
 Where deep in the heart of an island, dream-haunted, 
 That sleeps on the breast of the amorous sea — 
 
 Alull with old runes by the mermaidens chanted — 
 A palace of splendor is waiting for thee. 
 
 Ah, there, like an echo from Elfinland falling 
 In music that whispers an infinite rest, 
 
 Afar dies the note of the nightingale, calling 
 
 From woodland to woodland, from nest unto nest ; 
 
A Serenade. 
 
 89 
 
 I'lll moved by a sound that so gently entrances, 
 
 The spirit, unknowing, glides into a dream 
 Of soft sunny mouths, and the half-veiled glances 
 
 That speak all the lips dare not say that they mean. 
 
 « 
 
 Begirt is the isle with such languorous beauty, 
 The day lies adream i!i its easeful repose ; 
 
 No sail ever brings the dread summons of duty ; 
 The place of that island no mariner knows. 
 
 And there, O beloved, that gleam-haunted palace 
 Uprears its bright fabric of crystal for thee ; 
 
 And there would I drink from thy lips, like a chalice, 
 Forever the love that thou gavest to me. 
 
 Then lift up thine eyes from the spell they are under, 
 The sleepy young stars are grown dim in the skies ; 
 
 Afar down the heavens the wan moon doth wonder 
 Why yet thou delayest, beloved, to rise. 
 
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 90 
 
 A Serenade, 
 
 My sail like a ghost in the moonlight is shaken 
 By breezes that blow to that isle of delight ; 
 
 Then lift up thine eyes, O beloved, awaken, 
 And sail with me over the rim of the night. 
 
 ' 
 
 W 
 
The Beautiful. 
 
 91 
 
 THE bp:autiful. 
 
 At early dawn, outside the city wall, 
 
 They found him seated by the dusty way, 
 
 And having called to him without reply, 
 
 Passed by and left him sitting as he was ; 
 
 His forehead bared to meet the coming day ; 
 
 His matted hair still wet with dews of night ; 
 
 The pallid lids low drooping on his eyes, 
 
 As if to hold within their solemn deeps 
 
 Some shadowy t:reation of the soul, 
 
 Fleeting and luminous. They passed him by, 
 
 But seeing him low seated in the dust. 
 
 Holding within his hands a piece of clay, 
 
 They jeered at him, and mocked him as they passed ; 
 
 Then as a haggard fear came on his face 
 
 They mocked again, at which he crouched him down. 
 
 As some weak, trembling, hunted animal. 
 
 Exhausted, panting, sinks upon the ground. 
 
 With timid eye beseeching its pursuers ; 
 
 And, digging in the earth with muddied hands 
 
 He hid the clay from sight, and they passed by. 
 
I 
 
 92 
 
 The Beautiful. 
 
 All day he labored on the moulding clay, 
 
 Beneath the sky spread out like molten brass 
 
 From east to west, wherein the sun's great rays 
 
 Smote like a breath of fire upon his head ; 
 
 Till as he looked about with half-closed eyes, 
 
 Strange shapes, with hair that flowed about like flame, 
 
 And eyes that blasted with their stormy glare, 
 
 Arose before him, dancing on the sand, 
 
 That broke from heat to flame beneath their feet ; 
 
 Then, mocking him, they fell into the sand. 
 
 Still he toiled on, and when his lips were parched 
 
 And dry as was the sand on which he sat, 
 
 All round about, as one that lives a dream. 
 
 He saw the leafy windings of a wood. 
 
 Dark, green, and restful as the twilight hour ; 
 
 While on his aching ears there softly fell. 
 
 As falls the cooling rain upon the sward, 
 
 The sleepy notes of half-awakened birds. 
 
 He whispered to himself : " It is so cool, 
 
 And all my body burns me with its thirst." 
 
 Quick, at the word, leaped up into the light, 
 
 From out the deep recesses of the wood, 
 
* The Beautiful. 
 
 93 
 
 A crystal spring, that in a limpid stream 
 
 Of gurgling eddies flowed to where he sat. 
 
 "Thank God," he said, and stooped his mouth to drink. 
 
 But as he stooped, the wood and water seemed 
 
 To tremble, evanescent, in the light, 
 
 And„mocking him, fell back into the sand ; 
 
 Till all alone beneath the sky he sat. 
 
 And held the clay between his fevered hands. 
 
 He looked about him where the wood had been, 
 
 And, sighing, turned his eyes upon the clay. 
 
 At sight of it, upon his haggard face 
 
 There came a smile that played about his lips. 
 
 And lingered there as he toiled on again. 
 
 I!' 
 'i 
 
 So wore the day away unto its close, 
 And still he wrought, nor sought for any rest ; 
 And when men homeward turned at eventide 
 To seek the shelter of the city wall, 
 Finding him seated yet beside the way 
 Amid the dust, they passed unheeding by ; 
 Nor paused to see that there, beneath his touch. 
 The clay of earth had taken on a form 
 
94 
 
 The Beautiful. 
 
 Whose beauty was before unknown of nen. 
 
 When all were gone he raised him from the dust, 
 
 Slowly, as one doth wake out of a dream. 
 
 And tremblingly, as stricken to the death, 
 
 He staggered back to look upon the work 
 
 His wearied hands had wrought. Long stoo4>he there. 
 
 And gazed, as one might gaze who looks and sees 
 
 His life-work crumbling down into the dust 
 
 Whence he had builded it. Then changed his face. 
 
 And in the awful anguish of that look 
 
 His every hope lay trampled on and dead. 
 
 He turned away from where he stood, and reeled 
 
 As one about to fall. " I have been blind," 
 
 He said; " I have been blinded by the dust, 
 
 And all my work is nought. I thought to mould 
 
 And shape this thing of clay, that it might be 
 
 Like to the vision of the beautiful 
 
 Within my soul, but all my work is nought ; 
 
 And now I look upon it at the end. 
 
 And find it only clay, a thing of clay. 
 
 It is not beautiful," he said, and sighed, 
 
 While down his cheek there slowly rolled a tear. 
 
The Beautiful. 
 
 95 
 
 He bowed his head, then, sinking on the sand, 
 He drew his long, thin arms across his face 
 To shut the world from sight of his despair. 
 
 The city, guarded by its walls of stone. 
 In sombre silence slept, and not a sound 
 In all the stretches of that desert waste 
 Disturbed the solemn stillness of the plain. 
 Then from the gathered night there came a voice 
 That gently fell upon his shaken spirit. 
 As falls a mighty calm on troubled deeps, 
 And stills their restless waters. Soft it said : 
 " Not in the clay, O hope not in the clay. 
 Nor anywhere on earth, to find thy dream : 
 It is not given man to find it so. 
 Yet deem not all thy labor is for nought. 
 Nor all thy ceaseless striving has been vain ; 
 For by thy wearied toil beside the way. 
 By thy great pangs of thirst and fevered blood, 
 By all the anguish of this day in thee. 
 Unknowing thou hast builded greater things 
 Than thou hast dreamed of: through them thou hast 
 broke 
 
96 
 
 The Beautiful. 
 
 The narrow earthy limits of thy soul, 
 And fashioned it in a diviner form, 
 And moulded it to know the beautiful. 
 Come, then, and I will show this thing to thee 
 That thou hast striven for, but hast not found." 
 
 • ••••••• 
 
 At early dawn, outside the city wall, 
 
 Men found a statue moulded from the clay. 
 
 With bated breath they gazed upon its form. 
 
 And bowed their heads in reverential awe. 
 
 Whispering among themselves at the strange sight, 
 
 And saying to each other : " 'Tis the work 
 
 Of some great god, who, hidden by the night. 
 
 Hath come from heaven, and wrought this perfect thing 
 
 From simple clay of earth to teach us how 
 
 The beautiful may be in simple things." 
 
 Then as they gazed upon it, one made speech : 
 
 " Here are some footprints ; if we follow them, 
 
 We may perchance find traces of this go'd." 
 
 At once, with eager steps, they follow far 
 
 Into the desert, till they reach a place 
 
 Where, covered on with rags and drifted sand, 
 
hee 
 nd." 
 
 2 sight, 
 
 The Beautiful 
 
 There lies the form of him that yesterday 
 
 They mocked at, as he sat beside th^way. 
 
 Then each looked to the other with a laugh : 
 
 •' We are at nought," they said, " to seek a god, 
 
 And come upon a beggar lying dead." 
 
 Then turned they back, nor glanced again at him ; 
 
 But he slept on, untroubled by their mood, 
 
 One hand half buried in the shifting sand, 
 
 His dead eyes looking upward, ever up. 
 
 And softly round about his pallid lips 
 
 Was fixed a wondrous smile. 
 
 97 
 
 ^t, 
 
 ^rfect thing 
 
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 2m, 
 
 d, 
 
98 
 
 V Envoi. 
 
 1 : 
 
 L'ENVOl. 
 
 Close up the book ; put out the light ; 
 God rest you, ladies, and may all 
 The sweetest dreams of slumber thrall 
 
 Your starry eyes. Good night ! gpod night ! 
 
 But stay, before you quench the light ; 
 Ere yet those bright eyes hide themselves 
 Behind their lids, as woodland elves 
 
 Behind the dainty petals white 
 
 Of some fair rose, I pray you look 
 Within your hearts* wide gallery ; 
 And in that nook, if any be 
 
 For pictures gathered from this book. 
 
IJ Envoi. 
 
 If, looking, you should chance to see- 
 As something tells me that you' must- 
 Much that is fitter for the dust 
 
 Than there to hand unworthily, 
 
 I pray you, as you cast it thence 
 To lie forgotten and apart, 
 Out of your gentleness of heart 
 
 Your thoughts may build a sweet defence 
 
 99 
 
 For me, and teach your lips to say : 
 " In weariness he strove to seize, 
 And fix the beautiful in these, 
 
 But he l^s failed to have his way ; 
 
 " Yet for his very wish to show 
 The beautiful, and make it live, 
 Though he has failed, yet we forgive 
 
 Because he longed to make it so." 
 
 And now, good gentlemen, I pray. 
 
 Your mercy, too ; nay, do not pause, 
 Nor stay your generous hearts, because 
 
 I did my first petition lay 
 
f 
 
 100 
 
 U Envoi, 
 
 Before tl)eir gentler feet, whose eyes 
 Looked their compassion ere a word 
 Could leave my pen : by them unheard 
 
 I was forgiven, not otheiwise. 
 
 Will you, I know ; but well content 
 To follow in their sweet control, 
 
 > 
 
 Till in the faces of the whole 
 I see one wide forgiveness blent. 
 
 Then close the book ; put out the light : 
 God grant repose to one and all ; 
 May brightest dreams of slumber thrall 
 
 Vour eyes — again, good-night ! goodnight ! 
 
 X 
 
 
L*ard 
 
 >.F* 
 
 t !