553 1867 :-NRLF POEMS. BY CLAUDE LAKE. LONDON: ALFKED W. BENNETT, 5, BISHOPSGATE WITHOUT. 1867. LOAN STACK UNWIN BROTHERS, PRINTERS, BFCKLERSBURY, B.C. TO JOSEPH MAZZINI, THE PROPHET, MARTYR, AND HERO, m IN UNDYING GRATITUDE AND REVERENCE. 690 CONTENTS. POEMS TO J. M. I. PAGE THE TORRENT 7 II. ASPIRATIONS : I. I saw thee in the streets, so wan and pale ... 14 II. Each word that falleth from thy lips 15 III. Weeping, weary, did I wander 16 IY. Am I, indeed, th' -ZEolian harp 17 V. I move amid a golden cloud 18 VI. My sonl is like a fragile flower 19 VII. Like to the echoes, clear and light 30 VIII. My heart is hushed and holy 21 IX. Sometimes, in the summer night 22 X. Like Jove's great eagle, who on giant wings... 23 XI. Blossoms rain upon the lea 24 XII. Creature of moods and changes manifold ... 25 B VI CONTENTS. PAGE DELIGHT 26 A SIGH 27 THE WIND 29 ON A LETTER: I. Sunbeams can fling no purer brightness o'er the sea 36 II. Soft lies the silent fall of snow 36 ECHOES OP SPRING: I. I walk about in driving snow 37 II. Oft on the gleaming April days 38 III. Sometimes on my soul will throng 39 IV. Fain would I sing of each sweet sight and sound 41 V. There' s somewhat in the loveliness of spring ... 42 YI. Oh, birds, winged voices ! children of the light 42 VII. Oh, soft sweet air of early spring 43 VIII. The blooming hedge, the budding grove 44 IX. Like a flower-fall of rain 45 X. With thousand gaps the earth is split 45 THE ORANGE-PEEL IN THE GUTTER 47 QUESTION AND ANSWER 58 THE WANDERER 60 ENTANGLED 62 To HOPE 65 INVOCATION 78 ODE TO A CHILD ... 82 POEMS TO J. M I. THE TORRENT. OH torrent, roaring in thy giant fall, And thund'ring grandly o'er th' opposing blocks, Thy voice, far louder than the lion's call, Through trackless forests shakes the heart of rocks, Runs through the marrow of the earth with shocks, Lashes the clouds with terror, for they fly Along the high wide blue with streaming locks, And round thee foam white dazzling flashes high, And with forked water-flames half licks the central sky. B2 8 THE TOBRENT. Oh, what a storm of waters ! Oh, what chasms Of foam ! what seething hills ! what whirling rain ! Billows on billows press, though torn by spasms ; Wounded and bleeding, yet defying pain ! They grapple with the stones, that gnash in vain Their cruel teeth, for smarting wounds they brave, And toss in scorn their wildly flowing mane, When with exulting cries big wave on wave Eolls with a mighty sweep o'er a slain foeman's grave. Roll on, great torrent, with triumphal song, Through caverned cliff, through rock and mountain roll; Force all the barriers that around thee throng, Thou know'st th' eternal ocean for thy goal. Hence thine impetuous rush, and roar, and roll ; Hence thy wild heavings as thou flow'st amain ; Hence thy far-reaching and tempestuous call For stream and river, brook and rill and rain, Thou on thy Titan breast would' st carry to the main. THE TORRENT. l < Eoll on ! The heavens are with thee, for they fling Their lovely rainbows round thy gleaming brow ; Rainbows, that like the crowns of heroes cling For ever round thee with their magic glow ; Or like the wondrous halo which will flow Around the martyr's head ; for those sweet hues, They hover round thee in thy weal and woe, Like love, that with its tender tears bedews And heals the bitter pain of ev'ry earthly bruise ! Roll on ! with a white heat upon thy way ! Lo yon, a little tiny woodland bird Flits on wet wing through all the surf and spray, And settles on a jagged rock unscared, Round whose grim base a billowy din is heard ; A bright amazed ray from its black eyes It darts around, and listens not afeared Then diamond-powdered to the woods it flies, And sings to forest ears the mighty melodies. 10 THE TORRENT. E'en thus thou art ! for that Titanic stream But a material symbol was of thee ! A dim reflection of thy being did seem Thou man, high-souled as son of man can be ! Into whose mind, vast, noble, pure, and free, Flash awful revelations light-like in : Unveiling spiritual laws to thee ; Great central truths, that glow all life within, That move the nations on, and make the planets spin. Thou hero ! for through prejudice's walls, That lock up earth against the quick'ning floods, And 'gainst the fresh regenerating falls Of young ideas, that in sprouting mood Seethe like new wine, stirred by the grape's hot blood, In the old bottles ; thou, oh, brave and bold ! Didst force thy way, crushing night's deathly brood, As George the sainted, in the days of old The dragon, who beneath his footstep writhing roll'd. THE TORRENT. 11 Dragons, alas ! still darken the green earth, War with the good, the beautiful, the wise ; From gulfs of ancient night they've issued forth, And with their shadowy wings blot out the skies ; Old creeds that gasp forth curses, tyrannies All foul with feeding on their own decay, Old cramping forms, and crippling social lies, Whose venomous breathings with corruption slay, Like loathsome rattlesnakes that glut upon their prey. But thou assail'st them, fearless, though they spurt Their reeking poison in thy smarting face ; And careless of thy bruises and thy hurt, Thou still press'st on with an undaunted pace ; A bold path-finder for the coming race, And in thy faith, strong as the morning star, Piercing the welt'ring clouds with lucent rays ; Thy voice, a light above time's din and war, Proclaimeth to mankind the rosy dawn afar ! 12 THE TOKKENT. Thou martyr ! for the world it knows thee not, Scoffs at thee, scorns thee, rails and laughs and sneers ; With barbed darts embitters thy hard lot, As oft of old to prophets and to seers ; With its bleared sight the veil it cannot pierce, I And see the future rise upon the days ! Thus persecutes with hatred blind and fierce, And, 'stead of crowns plucked from the living bays, It binds thy brows with thorns thorns that will turn to rays ! Still from thy heart's vast deeps the shouts arise, And swell along, a rushing lava stream A lava stream of burning melodies, Shaking thy brethren from a sluggish dream, To strive and be the thing they fain would seem ; With thee, false custom's cramping bounds to leap, To trust the rising of the virgin beam, And at thy call through death and danger sweep Towards the free, the pure, the renovating deep. THE TORRENT. 18 And still around thee, thro' the battle's roar, Shimmers in splendour and unfading bloom, Brighter than moonlight on the seething shore, Sweeter than roses clust'ring round the tomb, Born of the struggle with the fatal gloom ; A subtle gleam, fleeting 'mid tears and ruth, A dewy prophecy of days to come, When one great rainbow, love, and light and truth, Encircle will the world with an eternal youth ! But I, behold, like to the tiny thing, The forest bird ; I feel a magic spell, That draws me strongly on uncertain wing Away from all the violet woodland smell, To hear the words that from thy spirit well : Enchained, entranced, oh ! let me list, while flame And dazzling light in billows round me swell ; Then flying back to shades from whence I came I will heroic deeds, prophetic words, proclaim. 14 II. ASPIRATIONS. I. I SAW thee in the streets, so wan and pale ; My heart, it shivered at the saddening sight ; Like a thin cloud thou wert, that through the sky doth sail, And threatens to dissolve, each moment, on its flight. But through that thinly textured cloud, the moon Can pour her splendour with a radiant sweep ; While its strong brethren make her silver light to swoon, And quench her lustre in their dense and gloomy deep. ASPIRATIONS. 15 Thus, through thy wan and weak and worn-out clay, The full- orbed soul floods her ethereal light ; Purer than pure moonbeams shineth her wondrous ray; For, through the racking fire, she winged her up- ward flight. n. Each word that falleth from thy lips, Is like a seed that lieth long ; Then sprouts within my spirit's deeps, And buds and blossoms forth in song. 16 ASPIRATIONS. III. Weeping, weary, did I wander Thro' the world's wide weird wood ; Wet my cheeks with drops of sorrow ; Wet my soles with drops of blood ; Tumbling here, and stumbling yonder, Bramble-bruised, with thorns all torn, For the path I groped despairing, For a light I sighed forlorn. But thou took'st me, strong and tender, Oh my master, by the hand ; Pity, cheer, reproach, and rousing In thy words did sweetly blend. Tho' the way is wild as ever, Still I falter not, nor fear ; Led by thee, I'll pierce the forest, See the vaulting skies appear. ASPIEATIONS. 17 IV. Am I, indeed, th' ^Eolian harp, That to each breeze responsive swells ; Within whose slight and quiv'ring strings, No deep and inborn music dwells ? Am I the pool, where flower, and leaf, And wand'ring cloud, and flitting beam, Are glassed in beauty and in joy, Then pass away, a silent dream ? Oh, wert thou then the constant wind, To wake my echoes, and to play The measures of thy own soul out Upon my chords, for aye and aye ! Wert thou the flower, the leaf, the cloud, The ray of a transcendent sun ! Casting thy splendour in my deeps, And flaming grandly on and on. 18 ASPIRATIONS. V. I move amid a golden cloud ; The green earth springs beneath my tread ; My thoughts like birds with joy are loud ; And every throbbing pulse is glad. This very day, this blessed day, Thee face to face shall I behold ; Like seas, when storms have ebbed away, And hills, when thunders on have rolled, That lie like babes all hushed and bright, And suck in sun and rainbow- skies ; Thus will I drink the words of light, Falling adown thy lips and eyes. Oh dewy calm ! Oh peace divine ! More still than fragrant summer-air ; To feel my spirit kneel to thine, In hushed and reverential prayer. ASPIRATIONS. 19 VI. My soul is like a fragile flower, Whose cup the sky so full has filled With dew, that earthwards it must lower Its head, till half the wealth is spilled. Thus hast thou showered on me, my Heaven, Such glorious bliss without alloy ; My heart, it bends 'neath bounty given, And overbrims in tears of joy. 20 ASPIRATIONS. VII. Like to the echoes, clear and light, The sounding horn arouses, That flit from height to Alpine height, In elfin-like carouses ; Then float away, With flamings of the forward- speeding day. Thus, in my soul, thy words awake Ideal aspirations, That heavenwards their pulsion take : Swift dawn-lit exhalations, And swell and rise To steep their being in the infinite skies. ASPIRATIONS. 21 VIII. My heart is hushed and holy, And pure and calm my soul, Like aisles in old cathedrals, Where organ billows roll. And o'er my fancy flitteth A dim and lovely light, Like beams that fall and quiver Through oriel windows bright. Oh thou, thou art the music That, like a tide, sweeps in, Waking the sacred echoes My spirit's deeps within. And thou, thou art the splendour, Mysteriously divine, That overfloods with glory That twilight soul of mine. 22 ASPIRATIONS. IX. Sometimes, in the summer night, Floating o'er the silent deep, Did my fingers in their flight Through the slumbering waters sweep. Raising then my hand, I spied Drops of ocean-fire and light From my gleaming fingers slide, Like the shooting- stars of night. Thus I dipped, with gliding thought Thro' thy deep, mysterious soul ; Now, with light and fire full-fraught, O'er me dazzling doth it roll. ASPIBATIONS. 23 X. Like Jove's great eagle, who on giant wings Bore the Greek Ganymede unto the skies, Thus on thy winged words, oh let me rise Unto the ether of perennial things. Till my whole soul on her aerial flight Staggers, and reels, and pants, divinely drunk, And in the infinite of Spirit sunk, Swallowed and lost my life in vast whirlpools of light. o 2 24 ASPIRATIONS. XL Blossoms rain upon the lea ; Moonbeams on the silent sea ; Dewdrops on the linden- tree ; And my fancies upon thee. Milk-white blossoms fade away ; Quenched in night the moony ray ; Dews are dead at break of day ; Fancies droop all wan and gray. But the lea blooms fair and bright ; And the sea rolls on in might ; And the lime waves day and night ; And thou standest in thy height. ASPIEATIONS. 25 XII. Creature of moods and changes manifold : Mutable as the film of fleeting cloud ; Transfused now with heaven's purest gold, And now the lightning's dread and gloomy shroud ; Dissolved, with keen bliss, in the blue sky ; 'Mid storms of tears weeping thyself away ; When, when, immovable, and calm and high, Soul, like a star, wilt thou pursue thy way ? 26 DELIGHT. FLEETEE than a tone scarce born That melts away, Sweeter than a dream of morn That shuns the day, Swifter than a rainbow fading out of sight : Sucked away as dewdrops by the burning light ; Or like birds or blossoms, takest thou thy flight- Sunbeam of delight. 27 A SIGH. SILENT, I sat within the boat, The earth and sea were still ; The mist wrapped softly, fold on fold, O'er wood, and dale, and hill : Dim shone the moon, and far away The sea lay waste and bare ; Low- wailing Ossian's ghost did float Across the waters drear. And wailing low, my weary heart, Sighed from its inner deep : Oh Love, that I could lay me down Upon thy breast, and sleep ! 28 A SIGH. Oh Love, thou art the cradle, thou, To rock the heart to rest ; Oh Love, thou art the fountain, thou, With waters cool and blest. Where art thou, Love ? Oh, loud I call ! Life's dust and heat they lie Upon my wings, and drag them down : Oh, hear me where I sigh ! So sadly did the moon look down, Sadly she seemed to sigh : Yea, where is Love ? and where is rest ? Shrill did the sea-mew cry. 29 THE WIND. ACROSS the barren moors the wild, wild wind Went sweeping on, and with his sobs and shrieks Filled the still night, and tore the woof of clouds Through which the moon did shed her cold clear light. From age to age a houseless wanderer he Neither of heaven, nor yet of earth, but doomed For evermore to waver 'twixt the two : Begging the moon with moans to take him up Into her charmed calm ; now with a wail, Piteous and low, beseeching that the earth Might fold him to her bosom, but in vain ! A lonely outcast, frenzied does he storm Wildly from land to land, from sea to sea, Driving the clouds before him, ploughing up The shaking sod, splitting the tow'ring masts, And laying low the oaks of thousand years. 30 THE WIND. But I that night ne'er closed an eye in sleep, For I did see him wand'ring o'er the moor A giant phantom lost in midnight gloom, Flitting a restless shadow 'twixt the earth And round orbed moon; loose tattered folds of clouds, Bagged with ages, swept behind, as he With Titan strides did bridge the rocky chasms ; Oh how he sobbed and shrieked, and howled and roared, Torn with eternal hunger after home. So roars the lion from Numidian peaks, Swaying his maned head from side to side, As low, then loud and louder swell his tones, Till big with horror thro' the forest lone They roll towards the plain, curdling the blood Of flocks and herds returning to the fold. So howls the famished wolf across the waste Siberian snows, with glare of restless eyes, Making a hideous brilliance in the dark. Now worn away, the wild wind's voice would die Fainting with its excess ; then draw a sigh THE WIND. 31 Sounding far off, and then a soughing wail, A roar, a shriek, to pierce the ears of night ; So on and on, through all the livelong night, And all the livelong night I tossed about ; His stormy voice, it would not let me rest, But woke an echo in me, rolling on Over my boundless waste of soul, till all The weary longings and the phantoms wild, The cravings with their thirst unquenchable, The doubts dark looming in the nether mists, Eose up in tumult, shrieking with one voice : " Is there no goal ? shall we for aye and aye Be hurried restlessly through endless space ? Oh has the storm no nest ? the soul no home ? And the foundation stone of all my being Shook, and a flood, brackish with tears unshed, Surged o'er and o'er me. Tortured I arose, Went to the open casement, and looked out. There was a lull. Upon the gravelled walks And smooth-cut sward, patches of moonlight lay ; 82 THE WIND. The clouds were swept away ; and sharp and clear The trees did cast their shadows on the ground. Weird-like and moonlit the wan brood of night Did flit adown the ridges of the moors, Up from the river, and from out the trees, Gliding with noiseless movements in and out The pale moonlight, making my flesh to creep ; And sick with fear I turned me to my rest But not to sleep, for he on dewed wings Had shyly fled before the moaning wind, Who now arose again in all his strength, And tore along, blasting the peace of night ; And the old clock did toll the weary hours, As one by one night dropped them from her lap, And weary, wearily I counted them, With burning eyes and with a burning brain. But, lo ! What golden touch falls on the curtain now ? Up from my bed I spring I look, I see A trembling light gleam faintly in the east, THE WIND. 33 A trembling light, while all around is dark ; It grows, it deepens into liquid gold And glowing orange and vermilion bright ; It spreads along in billowy ripples, like A glittering ocean when the tide rolls in. Smiling, it greets the mist- enshrouded earth, And draws her up with hill and tree and field, Driving the host of pris'ning fogs to flight, That brooding vengeance fly behind the hills, And gath'ring force from night, swoop in one mass Of densest black across the swooning earth. Trees weep, and long drawn sighs float here and there; Have shadows then wiped out the golden light ? See ! see ! the strangling cloud Sinks back ; pierced by the arrow of the dawn, Her blood it trickles on the grass, and all The vague wan children of the night, they fly In dire confusion westward. . . . Hark ! oh hark ! The lovely morn now blows his silver horn, And like a lavish prodigal he strews 34 THE WIND. Ked roses, thick as sands on amber shores Along heaven's eastern floor : for now the sun, The radiant conqueror of the night, steps forth Upon the gorgeous path, with dazzling shield, Greeted by pealing chants as he begins His grand triumphal march: hills, vales, and streams, Laugh glowing up to him ; the heavy tears Wept through the night, now sparkle on the grass Like orient pearls, well knowing that the sun Will kiss them all away ; the merry birds Shake out their plumage wet with drops, and flit In airy gambols twitt'ring to and fro ; The flowers smile again, and shyly play With morning rays. But in the west, a white mist like a dream With languid rooks, floats o'er the winding stream, And wearied out, the wind, a phantom, strides On with the faded moon and flick'ring star, Towards the hazy stretch of western moors ; His strong voice dying slowly as he goes. THE WIND. 35 But by my side a radiant spirit stood, A sunbeam, whispering, with a smile, " Behold ! After the darkness still there falls a light ; After the storm a tranced calm there falls. There is a light ; yea, and there is a rest ! " And all the weary and the restless gusts That had been shaking at my roots of being Were lulled, a silence came, and dewy sleep Fell on my burning eyes and burning brain. 36 ON A LETTER. I. SUNBEAMS can fling no purer brightness o'er the sea And rain- showers bring no surer blessing to the lea, And lilies wing with no more sweetness the gold bee, Than those few lines thy hand has penned have brought to me. II. Soft lies the silent fall of snow Upon the hemlock tree ; Soft lies the moonlight's silver flow Upon the troubled sea. Sweet on the blossom of the vines The night- dews drop from high ; But softer, sweeter far, thy lines Upon my spirit lie. 37 ECHOES OF SPRING. I. I WALK about in driving snow, And drizzling rain, splashed o'er and o'er ; No sign that radiant spring e'en now Stands at the threshold of the door. No sign that fragrant violets burn To burst the ground and quicken forth ; No sign that swallow flights return, To gladden all the serious north. But in my breast what flutterings here ! What bursts of song ! what twitt'rings blest ! Sure the first swallow of the year Within my heart has built her nest. D 38 ECHOES OF SPRING. II. Oft on the gleaming April days, When skies are soft, and winds are warm, And in the air a subtle charm, And on the hill a flight of rays ; When silver clouds slide through the blue, Spreading a pure, transparent wing, And all the budding branches ring With blithesome birds, that warbling woo ; Beneath a pear tree's shade I lay, Deep bedded in the long thick grass, And heard the twitt'ring swallow pass, And grasshoppers at endless play. I knew, though flowers mine eyes did screen, That butterflies danced in the light ; For, breaking sunbeams in their flight, They flashed their shadows on the green. ECHOES OF SPUING. 39 And gazing up, in dreamful ease, Where quiv'ring frail on shivery sprays, The blossoms mix a milky maze, What hum of golden-girted bees ! So lily-white, the tree, behold, Seems set on fire by burnished lights, And shoal on honeying shoal alights, And turns the snowy boughs to gold. Thus on my spirit music-fraught, Burst swarms of glimm'ring melodies, And like the yellow-banded bees, Make honey of my flutt'ring thought. III. Sometimes on my soul will throng Such a blossom-burst of song, That I cannot seize it all, Letting sweetest measures fall. D2 40 ECHOES OF SPRING. Thus a child feels sudden sunk On a crowding violet bank, And delighted and amazed, Gathers in a flushed haste. Gathers them so fast and fleet, Little fingers cannot meet O'er the lot ; and swifter still Than they cull, the wealth they spill. To that sweets o'erflooded nook, Casting back one longing look, At the last it takes away But one little odorous spray. Yet through many a day and night, Flinging back the fragrant sight, Cleaves to face, and hands, and feet, All the woodland's violets sweet. ECHOES OF SPRING. 41 IV. Fain would I sing of each sweet sight and sound, Of fleeting odours wheeling round and round, Of sunbeams dancing on the virgin grass, Of flocks of fleecy clouds that glimmer as they pass. Of larks, that lost in the blue ether float, Of the weird blackbird's dream enchanted note ! While the glad hedges palpitate with song, That drops like murm'ring rain the dewy fields among. Of blooming bushes and of budding trees, Of flaming flowers, dotting the grassy leas, Of glowing pools and of the babbling rills, That flash through azure mists, slumb'ring on folded hills. Fain would I sing, sweet April- time, of thee, And mingle in thy wantonness of glee ; But thou such overwealth of sweets dost fling, My heart is all too full, too full to speak or sing. 42 ECHOES OF SPUING. Y. There's somewhat in the loveliness of spring, In the young light, and in the fragrant bloom, In the sweet song that each soft breeze doth wing, In the bright flowers that rise from earth's dark womb ; Which fills with sadness the presentient mind, And for a far-off home awakes the sigh ; Which makes us gaze, with longings undefined, On dim blue hills, and weep we know not why. VI. Oh, birds, winged voices ! children of the light ! Whose song is love, whose love is melody ; Shedding o'er hedge, and field, and bush, and tree, Your tuneful joy and musical delight, ECHOES OF SPRING. 43 Making the air, the earth, the heavens bright ; Melodious, tender, sad and gay and free ; By all these gifts true poets horn are ye ; Love circumscribes alone your restless flight. Poets, I say ? Ah, not like poets here, That wander forth alone, companionless ; Whose lays are wrung from them by care and pain ; Who sing, while blinded by the hot salt tear. Not such are ye ; but free from all distress, Ye, with the sunlight, range o'er land and main. VII. Oh, soft sweet air of early spring, Again thou float 'st on viewless wing, Coax'st snowdrops their white bells to ring, And wak'st the blackbird up to sing. 44 ECHOES OF SPRING. Again, upon the bright 'ning lea, Beneath the budding bursting tree, The toddling baby-mites I see, Skip, jump, and frisk in lamb-like glee. But I am sad, I know not why ; My breast heaves with the long-drawn sigh ; The tear rounds slowly in mine eye ; I'd like to lay me down and die. VIII. The blooming hedge, the budding grove, Resound with notes of joy and love ; The gleaming bush, the glimm'ring tree, Live with a dewy melody. Along the meadows, flashing bright, Run triljs of shrill and sweet delight ; E'en the small snowy clouds among, Gush showers on showers of silver song. ECHOES OF SPUING. 45 But thou, my heart, oh, tell me why Hast thou no language but a sigh ? IX Like a flower-fall of rain, Like a snowy elfin train, Like stray gleams of moonlight fair, Do you shift upon the air, Do you flutter on the breeze, Do you fall upon the leas, Blossoms of the apple-trees ; Then on earth's bosom slow ye fade away, Like to a low and sweetly dying lay. X. With thousand gaps the earth is split, By sunbeams wounded o'er and o'er, My heart, it acheth bit by bit ; Life's heat and dust have made it sore. 46 ECHOES OF SPRING. When wilt thou fall from clouds above, In silver showers, refreshing rain ? When wilt thou come, reviving love, With dew, and make me whole again ? A little while, big drops will slake, Oh, earth, thy thirst's hot agony ; But till my fevered heart doth break, Will solace ever come to me ? 47 THE ORANGE-PEEL IN THE GUTTEE. BEHOLD, unto myself I said, This place how dull and desolate, For lovely thoughts how all unmeet, This drear and darksome London street. Above, heneath, and all around, Not one slight crumb is to be found ; Not one so slight poetic crumb For sparrow-poet to feed upon. For lo ! above there is no sky ! No living blue to glad the eye ! No sun that shines, no flying cloud ! But fog, that in a huge dun shroud Wraps all the London town about ; And with it comes the drizzling rain, 48 THE ORANGE-PEEL IN THE GUTTER. And dusky houses wets in vain It ne'er can wash them white again. Those houses, yea, how cold and bare, With self-same aspect stand they there, With grimy windows two and two, It makes me sick to look at you ! No tree, no shrub, to lend you grace, With drooping branch to hide your face ; No solitary blossom e'en To brighten you with flow'ry sheen ; Nor living thing I here espy, Save yon black cat, with sharp green eye, Sliding along with stealthy pace : The very spirit of the place. And in the road hops here and there A sparrow, searching scanty fare, The pauper of the sons of air. Nought ! nought ! but wall and iron spike, Cold, cruel, as if fain 'twould like To run some beggar through and through, THE OKANGE-PEEL IN THE GUTTER. 49 And guard the door from him and you; And underfoot ? no flowers, no grass, T' arrest the step before you pass, To send up whispers low and sweet, To smile, to beckon, and to greet ; No gurgling brook, no silent pool, In whose pure waters, still and cool, The flying bird, the flitting cloud, The sunbeam peering in and out, The star that slides through limpid air, Are glassed in beauty wondrous fair. None none of these, but miry clay, To cling tenaciously all day, With heavy clutch to your poor heel, And in the gutter yon, the peel Of some sweet golden orange fruit, Though smothered now with dirt and soot Still darting forth through dull decay, The splendour of a by-gone day, The ling'ring of a dying ray. 50 THE ORANGE-PEEL IN THE GUTTER. Oh, wondrous strange ! I feel the deep Hush of Italian nights slow creep Around me, see the fuller light Of southern stars strike through the night, And hear the sweeter breathed sighs Of southern breezes swell and rise ; Eise, swell I hear the balm-fed breeze, Through the dark grove of orange trees, Where silver gleams of creamy bloom, In fragrance flash along the gloom ; And the gold fruit through dark doth shine A star ! a mystery divine ! I hear the sweeter sighs of love, By southern hearts breathed through the grove, Like to the cooing of a dove ; Like to soft falls of summer rain, On hoary wood and parched plain ; Like to the drops of pale moonlight, That sink upon the sea at night ; Heart melts with heart, and kiss with kiss, THE ORANGE-PEEL IN THE GUTTEE. 51 In holy night, in holy bliss, As in the wondrous sunset skies Hues melt with hues, and dyes with dyes, Till all in one vast glory lies. But what a full and deep -set roar Heaves, swells, and surges more and more, Like billows on a stormy shore. Yet here flows not the dark blue sea, But street on street continually ; Here walls on walls press nigh and nigher, And roofs on roofs rise high and higher, And spire still greets the rising spire. The clang, the clash, the row, the roar, London, great London, 'tis once more, With hurry, flurry, to and fro, Time scarce to snarl a " yes " or " no ;" Time scarce t' evade your neighbour's toe. But here's the market fair to see, An island green within that sea 52 THE ORANGE-PEEL IN THE GUTTER. Of streets, a little flow'ry spot, Keminding him who's long forgot, Of country fields and waving trees, Of hedges, birds and flowers and bees. The snowdrop stands in moist brown ground, And purifies the air around ; The violet scatters woodland smells, And hyacinths ring their honeyed bells. This man sells grapes from sunny Spain ; Lombardian almonds this again ; Pears, peaches, with the morning down, All in that world- wide lap are thrown, By all the nations, and they vie In fruits, nursed by a southern sky. The chaff'ring crowd, the bart'ring maid, Here buy and sell, and choose and trade. There sits a woman lean and old, She shivers in the east wind's cold ; She knits ; how fast her fingers fly ! Her fingers, oh ! how worn and dry. THE OEANGE-PEEL IN THE GUTTEB. 53 But still she knits, because she knows Her crying grandchild's icy toes. Her basket stands close by her side, With orange heaps in golden pride ; Surely imprisoned sunbeams throw Around them such a flush and glow, That seeing them we seem to see A glimpse of sun-loved Italy. Oh, may they all be bought, and give The old woman wherewithal to live ! Here in the garret, 'neath the leads, Slowly spin out life's weary threads ; Slowly and slowly ebbs away The breath of one poor child of clay. The throbbing pulse, the great'ning eye, The parched lips, the impatient sigh, The mother marks 'twixt hope and fright, From weary noon to weary night, From midnight round to noon again : 54 THE ORANGE -PEEL IN THE GUTTER. Each hour crammed full with aching pain, And anxious flutterings of hope, As both alternately find scope. And as she breathless notes each sound, He whispers, turning round and round, " Oh ! mother, mother, give me drink." She's up, she's back scarce in a wink, And to her darling's burning lips, The luscious fruit she holds, he sips With breaths long drawn, still on and on, Till all the cooling juice is gone, And only left of fragrant meal, Is that still golden orange-peel. The orange-peel ! ah, where am I ? Beneath the deep Italian sky ? In Covent Garden's crowded fair ? Or 'neath the roof of pain and care ? Ah, still within the darksome street, So all unlovely and unsweet ! THE OBANGE-PEEL IN THE GUTTEB. 55 The welt 'ring fog, the drizzling rain, The dirt , the dust upon each pane, The iron rails so hard and bare, The miry clay, they all are here ! What did befall ? Then did I dream ? Was all but air ? Did all but seem ? How caught I then this wondrous gleam ? Ah ! here yon bit of sunny gold, Within the gutter I behold ; Across my mind its life it flashed, The fragrance of the past it dashed, Dying, it kindled life, and hurled My soul through heights and depths of world. In bud and blossom, fruit and tree, Revealed life's perfect harmony ! Eevealed the throbs of mutual love, Ensphered by kindling stars above ! Uevealed the stir of busy life, The trade, the turmoil, and the strife ! Struggles of honest poverty ; , 56 THE ORANGE-PEEL IN THE GUTTER. A watching mother's agony ! Child-life that hangs upon a breath, The tremblings betwixt life and death Revealed the mystic link, that thrills Through joy and pain, through good and ills, Wafts influences from afar, Connects the worm still with the star, And binds the earth, the skies, the main, The worlds, with one electric chain ! Behold, unto myself I said, There's nought on earth so desolate, But if the eye is there to see Will find a joy and mystery, As under dark and mossy dells The violet hides with spring-like smells ! No cell, no garret, and no tomb, For which no flower of love doth bloom ! No place so waste, so dark, so drear, But heavenly beauty lurketh there ! And from these two will ever spring, THE OKANGE-PEEL IN THE GUTTEB. 57 As music from the harp's sweet string, As from the nest the lark soars high, As from the flame the live sparks fly, The fountain of great poesy, Will shine and flash, and flame and glow, Like to the million coloured bow Of hope and peace, a lovely sign, Flinging around that world of thine A glory that is all divine ! 58 QUESTION AND ANSWER. " CAN the soul dis, believe you ? Because it seems to me My soul is dead and buried, So still it seems to be. " It quivers not with joy ; It moaneth not with pain ; There is no note in nature Awakens it again. " Those white clouds in the azure ; Those lanes ; those breezy trees ; Those softly gliding swallows ; Those fluted melodies ; QUESTION AND ANSWEK. 59 " Those shadows in the meadows, Kunning a fitful race ; With pleasure once they thrilled me, But coldly now I gaze." Fear not ; oh ! not so lightly The soul of mortal dies ; It has but wept itself to sleep. And all unconscious lies. The surging feelings overwrought, They have but ebbed away, And left the soul a little while With all their changeful spray. But stronger, deeper, fuller, in The billowy tide will roll, And overflood, with life and love, The ever living soul. 60 THE WANDEKEK. ON unknown paths I falter forth, A homeless wand'rer in the world ; Doubtful I flit across the earth, Whither by blowing fates I'm hurled. I grope about the pathless wood ; I tread along the boundless plain ; And with the wind's capricious mood, I sink and rise upon the main. The lonely cloud within the sky, That by conflicting gales is torn, Sways to and fro no more than I, Now eastward, and now westward borne. THE WANDERER. 61 The crested billow on the deep Knows to which shore its current lies ; The blast the realms which he must sweep ; The ant the hill to which it hies. The stork that seeks the tropic glows, It knoweth whither it is bound ; And the revolving planet knows The circle of its luminous round. But I, confused, seek a way In darkness here ; I fall, I sigh, Upon a broken wing I stray, And all my help lies in a cry ! 62 ENTANGLED. I STOOD as one enchanted, All in the forest deep : As one that wond'ring wanders, Dream-bound within his sleep. A thousand rustling footsteps Pattered upon the ground ; A thousand whisp'ring voices Made the wide silence, sound. Some murmured deep and deeper, Like waves in solemn seas ; Some breathed sweet and sweeter, Like elves on moon-lit leas. ENTANGLED. 63 Tall ferns, washed down in sunlight, Beckoned with fingers green ; Tall flowers nodded strangely, With white and glimm'ring sheen ; They sighed, they sang so softly, They stretched their arms to me ; My heart, it throbbed so wildly, In weird tumultuous glee. I staggered in the mosses, It seemed to drag me down Into the gleaming bushes ; To fall, to sink, to drown. When lo ! thro' scared foliage, A lovely bird did fly ; And looked at me so knowing, With bright and curious eye ; 64 ENTANGLED. It broke out into warbles, And singing sped away ; But I, like one awakened, Fled down the mossy way. 65 TO HOPE. OH come, thou power divine, Thou lovely spirit with the wings of light, And let thy dewy eyes Shed their sweet influences on my soul ; Oh let me hear thy voice, Whose sound thrills with a keener, deeper bliss, Than the shrill jubilance the bird of joy Pours on the air ! Or the child babblings of the gladsome rill When, issuing first from out its mossy couch In venturesome delight, it frisks in glee Adown the hoary mountain, silver-fraught. 66 TO HOPE. Oh come ! Where I do lie drenched in my bitter tears, And drowning in dejection : haunted by The pale gaunt fears that spectre-like rush forth In shadowy swarms from out the brain's black cells, Like glaring madmen in confusion 'scaped From out their dens, whirling with shambling limbs In whooping dances through the startled dusk, And pouncing wildly on my shiv'ring soul, Where in her hour of weakness prostrate she Doth palpitate in terror, like a deer, That hunted by the swift pursuing hounds, Wounded and bleeding, sinks upon the ground, While with hoarse croaks the ravening birds of prey Wheel close and closer, darkening all the air. But thou, Come breathe upon me with thy balmy breath, Like a young wind, born in the rosed east, That leapeth boy-like from the lap of mom, To blow the land all clear from crouching fogs : TO HOPE. 67 Thus drive thou hence the phantoms ; cleanse my soul ! Thou sweet enchantress, with the magic spells ! Wails there a heart, lone on the populous earth, Like a weak infant lost within the night That crieth piteously in helplessness, And pusheth its blind limbs with gestures scared Against the gloom, Then with an airy footfall glide st thou Gently anigh, as softly as a cloud, When one alone in crimson glory slides Along the twilight sky : tak'st the bewildered thing Into thine arms, thy fair and downy arms, And rock'st it on thy bosom singing low An old, old song, old as the flowers that bloom, And like them ever young ; till dreams rise up, Like cool white mists from out the heart of hills, And lie dew- sweet upon it in its sleep ! Sits there an orphan girl with sunken cheeks, And red-rimmed eyes, high up beneath the leads, 00 TO HOPE. Stitching with aching fingers all the night Beside the meagre flame, to earn her bread, And feed with scanty fuel the low fire Of life, while the shrill blast Dashes the rain against the rattling panes, And down the chimney roars with smoke and wet ; Then comest thou, with memories all dim And faint, with beauty from the childish years, Transposing them into the time to come With a new lustre of the full-grown heart. Where the bare walls stood with a hungry stare, The golden cornfields, weighed down by their wealth, Sway to and fro ; purling the brook flows on ; And, like a bit of sky drawn down by love, Wilds of forget-me-nots run riot round ; And meadows scent the air ; and lowing kine Are driven home ; and silver geese hiss loud Within the pools ; and childhood's silver laughs King o'er the green like chimes of silver bells In the clear atmosphere ; and through green boughs TO HOPE. 69 Curls up the smoke from many a thatched roof, Flushed all the land with roseate floods of eve, While large and full glows low the harvest moon, There as through homely fields she lightly walks, And one is by her side, and whispers low, And thine, oh hope ! the future's kindling glow. Rocks there a sailor on a reeling ship, That staggers blindly like a brain-struck man, Around the staring cliffs ! While the wild blast, the fiddler of the deep, Wakes such mad music on his shrieking strings That the fierce elements in huge delight Vault from their torpor, rearing giant heights ! Ha ! The maned billows from abysmal deeps Leap like live Alps, and catch the tearing clouds That dizzy haste along the wilds of sky ; Tossing them round in labyrinthic whirls To the witch light of lightning, and the roar Of thunder, in its crashing clattering fall. 70 TO HOPE. Yea, while the ocean yawneth for its prey, Yelling with starved jaws around the hull, Man's sole frail guardian from the fangs of death, Thou softly float'st, Like to the dove that bore the olive branch Across the waste of waters, to his side. . . . No longer sees he then the wide wild sea, No longer hears he the tempestuous blast : But where the cottage leans against the cliff, The evening star shedding its peace adown, He lifts the latch, and with one bound of joy He stands in the low room, beside the hearth, Where sits his winsome wife, and rocks her babe With lullabies ; and heaving one big sob I He strains her to his breast, her whom he thought On this side of the grave to see no more ! Then does she take him by the hand, and leads Him round from cot to cot, where with round cheeks His children lie, sleep-flushed, 'twixt snow-white sheets ; TO HOPE, 71 And snatching up the youngest in his arms, With an untameable emotion, weeps His kisses on him, till it opens wide Large dream-dew'd eyes, and lisps with cherry mouth, " Oh, Dada, Dada !" That thou dost for him ! Wanders the patriot on a stranger shore, An exile from the land he loved too well : Within his heart The festering wound a thankless nation strikes, When cloud-capp'd by its ignorance and fear, And goaded on by spurring king and priest, Like a mad dog it turns and bites the hand Stretched out to heal. He sees his friends fall off like rotten leaves That scrambling flee the tempest- girted oak ; He sees the enemies he boldly braved, Forging the red-hot slanders wherewithal To scorch his writhing soul ! 72 TO HOPE. Alone in the wide world, alone he stands ; Alone, save where beyond the roaring seas His mother weeps, and weeps, oh God! through him. Then, blowing from dead deserts the simoom Of doubt breathes on him, with its killing breath, With'ring the flowers of faith, the groves of youth, And buffeting his heart on cruel waves Of wind, e'en like a quiv'ring autumn leaf. Oh, is it strange ? That in the midnight, on the dark there grow Pale faces sweating blood, and wrapped in shrouds, Turning reproachful eyes upon his eyes, And asking dumbly, " Wherefore did we die, And spill the wine-filled goblets of our youth On barren soil that will not teem with birth?" That brides, like broken lilies whirled along By arrowy streams, glide past and sadly sob, " Thou'st mowed us down, and mowed us down in vain!" That infants thrill the silence with their wail, TO HOPE. 73 " Why are we fatherless, if fatherland Is still denied ?" And that his heartstrings quake With sobs of mothers' hearts that hopeless hreak ? Strange that his purpose, that did seem so fair, With a white blaze of light around her head, Which fell like orient beams on nations' brows, Should wane before his terror-stricken eyes ? And that in direst agony of soul His noble nature tott'ring on her base, Should question if his deeds were rightful deeds ? Stirred up by God's own living breath, or pushed By hot ambition's ravenous desire ? And if the aim that drew were but a dream By which his visionary youth was mocked, As travellers in the desert by the shine Of fair false waters ? At that torturing thought Smells of cold graves struck damp upon his brow, Till his wild eyes grew void, and limp his limbs, And he had dropped resistless in the jaws Of madness or of death ! 74 TO HOPE. Hadst thou not come, perennial presence ! bright As Phosphorus in the dim morning skies ! And poured thy morning sunbeams on his heart, And blown thy morning breezes on his soul, Till freshly born the world, and on him smiled With eyes as tender as his mother's were, When sowing love upon his cradled self. Then back plucked he his purpose, fixed it firm In iron steadfastness upon his soul, And called on faith, where with upturned eyes Above the clouds she treads the mountain peaks, And on that love, which boundless as the sky, Stretches o'er all mankind its azured vault. Then rose he, set his trustful eyes on high, And set his heart among the lowly born : For in the vasty glimmerings of the dawn He saw such visions of the things to be, Such heights of being ascended, and such love And justice throning on the seats of men, That with unflagging steps he calmly trod TO HOPE. 75 The walks of martyrdom ! Oh, crown his brows With buds of those full summers of the race ! Mourns there an aged mother, lying low Upon the lowly grave, Round which the autumn moans her mournful dirge, And shivering cadence of the shrunken leaves Keeps saddest measure with the wailing wind ; While the pale glimm'rings of the waning moon Fall in cold tears upon the unknown tomb, Beneath whose sod, washed by the ghastly mists, Lies he, her one sole flower, that on the breast Of life bloomed for her all the days and nights ; In the midsummer of his lusty life Devoured by that grim beast, whose reeking breath Is saturated with the blood of man The twin of pestilence the foul firstborn Of her who spinneth in the nether gloom The phantasms that turn mad the brains of men, 76 TO HOPE. And him whose savage lusts and greedy soul Would make his footstool on the necks of men ! Oh here, even here like a stray beam of light That glides unscared in sacred tenderness Across the heavy vapours, brooding blind In shapeless masses o'er a joyless tarn Deep sunk in mountains, even here the gleam Of thy gold hair makes music in the dark, Cradlest the head of grief on thy warm breast, Whisperest in tones sweeter than honeycomb Of that new heaven where death shall be no more, Nor grief, nor crying, neither shall there be More pain ; for former things have passed away. And with thy wings of light around her soul, And with thy dewy eyes upon her heart, Death takes her gently like a cherubim By the shrunk hand, and leads her to her rest. TO HOPE. 77 Oh Hope ! thou consolation of the soul ! Flash forth, and like a sun strike on the clouds Of dull despondency, that pour their rain In showers upon the sad heart's shivering soil ; Flash forth, and force each drop e'en as it falls To glass thy loveliness, and on the cloud Frowning in dumb defiance, paint such bloom Etherial, that its blackness but becomes A foil on which thy brightness brighter beams, Till spanned with rainbow-glory the sad soul Glistens in glimmering smiles through all her tears, And life shone through by white eternity, Circled with calm as by a covenant, Is born in beauty of the bitter tears, Like Aphrodite from the salt sea waves. 78 INVOCATION. JUNE, 1866. BREATHE thro' me in music, Spirit of the time ! Pregnant with the future, Spirit of the time ! As the west wind sougheth, Through the swaying pine, Sweep thro' all my hranches With thy song divine. Nations now are rolling Onward, as the sea Which the moon upheaveth, Thus upheaved by thee. INVOCATION. 79 Muffled mutt'ring groweth Louder on the air ! Like a lion roaring, Rising from his lair. As the anthem surgeth Through cathedral aisles, Swells the voice of nations Over miles of miles. As the thunder growleth In yon cloud afar, In their bosoms hroodeth The black bolt of war. Snap in twain your fetters, Cleave your ancient yoke, Burst the gloom of ages With the lightning's stroke. 80 INVOCATION. Clap on clap, down- crashing, Clatter crowd on crowd, From Yenetia's dungeons, From the Roman shroud ; From the graves of Poland, From Germania's plains, From the death-pollution Of imperial chains. Feel yourselves as brothers, Dare to think ye free ; And in dust will shiver Thrones of tyranny. Like night's phantoms, with'ring 'Neath the glance of dawn, Kings and priests dissolveth Your full-flashing frown. INVOCATION. Forward, sons of morning, With a sacred ire ! Lead ye, like Jehovah, In a pillar of fire. Through the dreary desert, Through the burning sand Till, on shores of promise And of peace, ye land. Where a purer people, Led by laws innate, Shall, towards the heavens, Tower in grander state. Breathe and blow in music ; On, from clime to clime ; Baptize, with the Holy Ghost Spirit of the time. 81 ODE TO A CHILD. BRIGHT as a morn of spring, That jubilates along the earth, With clouds, and winds, and flowers rejoicing, And all the creatures that on wing Scarce dip the ground in their ethereal mirth. Whilst the dew'd sunlight and the gold-flushed rain Wed midway in the air ; And from the twain Is ever born that fairy gossamer, The iridescent bridge that spans the skies. Yea, e'en in such wild glory dost thou glow Soul-fresh exuberant child ! And drops of heavenly freshness gleam On red, red lips, in dark-orbed eyes, Like morning dews that glimmering show ODE TO A CHILD. 83 x On winter moss and heath'ry wild. And soft-cropped grasses undefiled, In all the shifting splendour of a dream. Oh, thou, that in thy glee Know'st of no ending yet, and no beginning, Making the hours melodious with thy play, Like grasshoppers, that through the livelong day Hopping on the new-mown hay, Sun-struck trill their roundelay ; Or the cricket, chirping cheerly Late at night, at morning early, With a little baby- singing Like an echo faintly ringing From the distant summer leas ; And with tremulous murmurs clinging Round the hearth, like clustering bees Humming round the linden trees. And yet athwart thy soul, 84 ODE TO A CHILD. At times, perchance, I seem to see The hid existence of far off events, Trailing their slumb'rous shadows silently. For in the dusky deeps Of thy large eyes Sometime the veiled outline of a still And mute-born vision sleeps As in the hollows of a hill, Wfth dim and darksome rents The dreamful shadow of the morning lies, And softly, slowly, ever down doth roll, Till lost in mystic deeps it flees our watchful eyes. Yet from that silent trance Quick leap'st thou hack into thy playfulness., As waters darkened by the drifting cloud Into the swift sweet sunlight crowd, Where dashed with dewy gold they dance In unbedimmed sprightliness ; Till with their blithesome strain ODE TO A CHILD. 85 They make the brooding mountains loud And fling their merriment across the voiceless plain. And buzzing lightly, here and there, Thou, like a little curious fly That fusses through the air, Dost pry and spy With thy keen inquisitive eye ; Poking fatly- dimpled fingers Into corner, box, and closet, Where, perchance, there hidden lingers Some deposit, To be carried off triumphantly. And with many questions, ever Rippling like a restless river, Puzzling many an older brain, Dost thou hour by hour increase thy store Of marvellous lore. Thus a squirrel darting deftly Up and down autumnal trees, Sees its hoard of chesnuts growing swiftly 86 ODE TO A CHILD. In a heap upon the leaf-strewn leas. Yea, open art thou to each influence That strikes on thy soft spirit from without Thy spirit not yet frozen, nor shut out From nature's kindling breath By selfish aims, nor dulled the sense By hot desires ; alas, too oft the death Of man's spiritual vision. No, thy soul Is yet all clear and bright And lieth naked 'neath the eye of heaven As a small mountain pool A pure and azure pool, To whom its food is given By dews, and rains, and snows all lily-white, That softly fall Through many a summer's day and winter's night ; And whose unspotted breast Glasses each pageant of the outer world, The cloud with pinions to the blast unfurled, ODE TO A CHILD. 87 The mountains 1 haughty crest, The slanting beam of twilight skies That like a golden ladder lies Stretching across perchance for angel hosts To slide Down to the earth with heavenly boon ; And glasses too the hurrying mists that glide Like gliding ghosts, And stars, and all the mildness of the moon. As yet 'tis early January with thee ! Warm- cradled doth the summer leaf Lie folded in the winter leaf On the blank tree. And folded in the earth the seed The future mother of some glorious weed, Or flower blowing gorgeously, Or cedar branching wondrously, Lies slumbering ; its whole destiny Of great or lowly, foul or fair, 88 ODE TO A CHILD. In this minutest space surely foreshadowed there. But let the west wind, ocean-horn, Floating towards the meads of morn, But once spread out his wild and vasty wing Setting the sap a-cantring ; till new life Works wonders : then thy being Will strangely stir, as at the sound Of sounding drum and fife The war-horse paws the ground. And through thy sweet pure veins Life like a waterfall will grandly hound. But now the Psyche of thy being Still shyly doth essay her delicate wing, Like to that airy nurseling of the sun When first it breaketh through its dun And horned shell, and tries To move its pinions, powdered o'er and o'er With rainbow dust of April skies, That have as not yet learnt to soar, ^ ODE TO A CHILD. 89 And lie soft-folded in sweet mysteries. Oh ! looking on thee, I do speculate On thy futurity ! What wilt thou be ? Some great and glorious lot I dream for thee, Some starry fate ! For in thy nature meet Such buoyant strength, and such a sweet Half- veiled heart tenderness, that on thy being doth rest Like soft dark bloom upon a pansy's breast ; And pity gushes o'er thee, like warm rain, For everything in pain, Or great or small ; and such a shoal Of thick -bred fancies ever swimmeth forth From the deep sea Of changeful fantasy, Like golden fish that glitter in the sun ; And quick perception leading on and on, Into a maze of thought, fresh 'ning the soul G 2 90 ODE TO A CHILD. Of him who listens. Aye, what wilt thou be ? Perchance, one of that sacred band That ever were the salt of earth, Whom men call dowered with genius ! They who stand In grandeur and in glory like the Alps, With silver-shining scalps, Bathed in the ether ; feeding all the land With the pure skyey waters that descend For ever from them ; men who freed From narrow bonds of hate and greed, Fetters of custom, and blind circumstance, Breathe the soul- quickening air of thought and love. And struggling into freedom, sudden see The solid shroud of sense Consumed by a heavenly flame, As is the vapour dense and dun, Which the earth- spirit fast doth breed By the great sun. And the large mind in native majesty ODE TO A CHILD. 91 Doth catch that radiance evermore above, Around us"; finest effluence of being ; Illuminating with sharp sudden blaze Nature's mysterious ways ; Until his spirit, feeling itself one With all that is, and was, and is to be, Vibrates into intenser life, Which is creation ! Then makes he revelation Of that one truth, that as a supreme ray With new existence heavily fraught, Lightened in awful loveliness And empyrean holiness, Upon his passive thought ; Till with long peals of explosive oracular thunder, He bursts and cleaves and splinters asunder The clinging clinking manacles of life, That fall and curl in harsh black masses under His winged feet : and through time's noisy strife His infinite acts do strike like flame 92 ODE TO A CHILD. Of a volcano seen across a sea, On nights when with earthquake the labouring hills are rife ; And labouring, too, like heaving heights, doth he, Girt round with turbulent whirls of praise and blame, Breathe the hot spark of that which he did see, As vital force that pulses strong and warm In the mid-heart of creeds, Or rolls itself along the epic's flood, Or lives through ages in the marbled form, Or leaps to life in the heroic deeds, Watering with the heart's noble blood The seed of future world-reforming good. But stay, my soul ; Too far thou fliest, as a falcon flies, Forgetful of the hand Where he must perch, so tranced with the grand And boundless skies. Oh come my song, and roll ODE TO A CHILD. 93 Thy billows back, where on the swelling bank, Mid flowers, and reeds, and grasses rank, And feathered warblers, warbling wild, Sporteth the unconscious child, Safely roofed o'er by shielding mother's love, Like wee lamb -clouds of morn by tender skies above. Hark ! now I hear thy low soft laughter falling Upon my heart, like to the murmurous calling Of brooding stock doves, now it sweet doth sound Like rippling rills of rain, that make the ground Harmonious on hot summer afternoons ; And now thy joyous croons Blither and brighter tumble on my ear All clarion clear, Like songs of matin birds that in spring weather, Hid in young woods, do jubilate together. Yea, on the musing mind, That wrapt in meditation's sober dress, Looks inward in a half-forgetfulness Of the world's outer show, 94 ODE TO A CHILD. Thou breakest in, like a tumultuous wind That teasing tosses The foam of flickering fountain ; Or like the flashing flow Of waves of light along the long green grasses ; Or waters bickering low Down many a sloping mountain That make themselves a nest mid ferns and shining mosses. Of each free thing that in its joy All chains, and bonds, and obstacles o'erpasses In elemental gladsomenesses And wonderful wild wantonnesses Fire, water, wand'ring air, Hast a part, exuberant boy, Glorious, glad, and fresh, and fair, And blowing in upon the tired brain Nature's undying, spirit-stirring strain. LONDON : UNWIN BROTHERS, GRESHAM STEAM PRESS BUCKLERSBURY, E.G. RETURN CIRCULATION DEPARTMENT TO* 202 Main Library LOAN PERIOD 1 HOME USE 2 3 4 5 6 ALL BOOKS MAY BE RECALLED AFTER 7 DAYS 1-month loans may be renewed by catting 642-3405 1-year loans may be recharged by bringing the books to the Circulation Deft 1 ? Renewals and recharges may be made 4 days prior to due date DUE AS STAMPED BELOW INTERLI 3RARY LOAN NO' / 7 1984 1 IWIV OF CAUIF,, BERK. VJIHIV. v*i rtr-fifar 1*4*5 i 1 3 bcNT ON 2c LL r*f\f* ..-. a 396 U. C. BERK ELEY PODAA UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, BEF DCD1/CICV