14 3 9 A 17 
 \90
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS
 
 By the same Author. 
 Outlines 
 
 OF THE 
 
 History of Religion. 
 Crown 8vo. Price 3s. 6d.
 
 SONNETS ^^ 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN K. INGRAM 
 
 LONDON 
 ADAM AND CHARLES BLACK 
 
 1900
 
 Printed at the 
 
 By Pon8o:jsy & Weudrick.
 
 PR 
 
 T 
 
 r 
 
 PREFATORY NOTE. 
 
 /^NL Y four of the Sonnets in the ;prese7it vohwic 
 have been previously published, and two of them 
 have since been slightly altered. 
 
 The sonnets signed ' T. D. /.' are by Tho77ias 
 Dunbar Ingram {son of the author of the other pieces 
 171 the volume), who, after a distingitished career ifi 
 Trinity College, Dublin, died in South Africa, whither 
 he had gone in search of health, at the age of twe?zty- 
 five. 
 
 The second series of son7iets will scarcely be fully 
 understood without some ktiowledge of the writings of 
 A uguste Comte, who is in several ^places spoken of as 
 ' the Master.' I woicld earnestly recomm.end to all 
 who read my verses the study of those writings — of, at 
 least, the 'Catechisme Positiviste ,'' in the original or 
 in Dr. Congr eve's translation, or of the ' General 
 View of Positivism^ tra7islated by Dr. Bridges. 
 
 8S187G
 
 b PRE FA 2 OR Y NO TE. 
 
 The ;poetn entitled 'The Memory of the Dead' was 
 published in the 'Nation ' newspaper iji April, 184^, 
 when I was in my twentieth year. That was the early 
 period of the so-called Young Irelanders, whose policy, 
 though deficient in sanity, was inspired by nobler feel- 
 ings than have since, for the -most part, been matiifested 
 i?i the public conduct of the Irish popular leaders. 
 Their political projects were, as I soon saw, chimerical; 
 but their action, though violent and precipitate, was 
 not sordid or demoralizing. I never was a member of 
 the group, but some of them were known to me, and 
 I had one dear friend amongst them — Jolui [after- 
 wards yudge) O^Hagaji. ' The Memory of the Dead ' 
 was my 07ily contribution to the ^Nation.'' It has 
 already been reprinted, with my name, in several col- 
 lections of Irish verse. I have reproduced it here, 
 though differing in character , as in date, from the 
 other pieces i7i the volume, because some persons have 
 believed, or affected to believe, that I am. ashamed of 
 having written it, and would gladly, if I could, disown 
 its azithorship. Those who know fne do not need to be 
 told that this idea is without foundation. I think the 
 Irish race should be grateful to 7nen who, in evil times, 
 however mistaken may have been their policy, gave 
 their lives for their country. But I have no sympathy
 
 PREFA TOR Y NO TE. ^ 
 
 with those who preach sedition in our own day, when 
 all the circumstances are radically altered. In my 
 opinion no real popular interest caiz now be furthered 
 by violence. 
 
 The sonnet by the late Archbishop Irench has been 
 printed in order to render intelligible the Ofie which 
 follows it. 
 
 Dublin, igoo.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGES 
 
 I. -LOVE AND SORROW, . . . .11-33 
 
 II.— THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY, . . 35-64 
 
 UI.— MISCELLANEOUS 65-106
 
 I. 
 
 LOVE AND SORROW.
 
 LOVE AND SORROW. 13 
 
 DELGANY. 
 
 Just ere the feet of her I loved the best 
 Began to tread the thorny path of pain, 
 We two, with all our joyous household train, 
 Found in a Wicklow glen our summer rest. 
 Sweet was our sojourn in that peaceful nest. 
 The garden pleas'd us, and the stream that flow'd 
 Beneath the thatch-roof'd cot, our quaint abode ; 
 Not seldom, too, we hail'd some friendly guest. 
 She lov'd the place, and often spoke its praise ; 
 And then would I half-playfully repeat 
 The words of Deirdr6, from a like retreat 
 Forc'd to return to Erin's endless jars — 
 * Sun kiss thee, moon caress thee, dewy stars 
 Refresh thee still, dear scene of quiet days ! '* 
 
 * The last two lines of this Sonnet are from Sir Samuel 
 Ferguson's fine poem — Deirdre. 

 
 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW. 
 
 Why should thy form upon the rack of pain — 
 Thy delicate form — be stretch'd ? who ever true 
 And tender wert, and pure as morning dew. 
 On me, whose soul was black with many a stain, 
 Which, but ill purg'd, would oft appear again, 
 Till thy sweet influence did my life renew — 
 On me, if justice some high Power could do, 
 The doom were laid this bitter cup to drain. 
 My burden is, that thine I cannot bear. 
 Nightly I listen with love-quicken'd ears 
 To the half-utter'd moan which thou would'st fain 
 Wholly suppress, my tortur'd heart to spare ; 
 Then is my pillow drench'd with silent tears- — 
 Oh could they profit ! — but I weep in vain.
 
 LOVE AND SORROJV. 75 
 
 III. 
 
 DANTEAN DREAMS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Poet supreme ! who leavest far behind 
 
 In piercing gaze, in lofty flight and long, 
 
 All winged Powers that haunt the heaven of song,- 
 
 When she who was my pearl of womankind. 
 
 Whose fingers from my soul had disentwin'd 
 
 The tangling weeds of folly, pined in pain, 
 
 Oft thy austere, yet tender-hearted strain 
 
 Rais'd up and calm'd my downcast, troubled mind. 
 
 When evening fell, th' immortal page I read 
 
 That made thee lean, as grief had wasted me : 
 
 Then came Dantean dreams about my bed, 
 
 The Purgatorial mount I seem'd to see, 
 
 Or Madeline my wondering spirit led 
 
 Through happy fields, as Beatrice thee.
 
 i6 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 DANTEAN DREAMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Within the place where patient souls abide 
 
 In hopeful suffering, — dead among the dead 
 
 Methought T stood, and pray'd with bended head, 
 
 When sudden shone an angel at my side, 
 
 Who to my startled questioning glance replied— 
 
 ' Because thou hast lov'd well, the Lord hath said 
 
 It is His will that thou be comforted. 
 
 Ask what thou wilt ; it shall not be denied.' 
 
 ' Show me my saint — one moment, only one ! ' 
 
 And lo ! an image, on cloud-canvas cast. 
 
 Of a great company in robes of white. 
 
 And 'mongst them she, with face divinely bright 
 
 Upturn'd, adoring. Soon the vision pass'd ; 
 
 But long I stood and gaz'd, though it was gone.
 
 LOVE AND SORROW. ly 
 
 DANTEAN DREAMS. 
 
 III. 
 
 * But knew she that I saw her, Power benign ? ' 
 Turning, I ask'd ; he answer'd — * When the light, 
 That clothes a blessed one, glows doubly bright, 
 Of some new joy is this the outward sign. 
 
 The mirror of th' Intelligence Divine 
 Shows her all good ; because she knew the grace 
 That was vouchsafed thee, was it that her face 
 Thou saw'st with such transcendent lustre shine.' 
 
 * I thank thee, blessed Spirit ! ' I replied ; 
 ' Now all is well ; I go with heart content 
 My purgatorial suffering to abide. 
 
 I shall rejoin her, when my term is spent.' 
 The Angel smiled, then vanish'd from my side, 
 And I address'd me to the steep ascent.
 
 J 8 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 DANTEAN DREAMS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Long, in that realm of pain that is not woe — 
 
 The second, better kingdom of the dead 
 
 Through which the mighty Florentine was led — 
 
 Methought, like him, I travell'd from below, 
 
 With patient heart, but feeble steps and slow. 
 
 I pass'd the fiery fence, and reach'd the head 
 
 Of the steep mount, where, from twin fountains Ted, 
 
 Lethe and Eunoe, diverse waters, flow. 
 
 Then, conscious of a presence at my side, 
 
 I turn'd and saw the face whence sweetness beams 
 
 And all things pure, ' Oh, Madeline,' I cried, 
 
 * How have I sought thee, even in my dreams ! ' 
 'I know thou hast been faithful,' she replied, 
 
 * Come, let me lead thee to the healing streams.'
 
 LOVE AND SORROW. tfy 
 
 VII. 
 
 DANTEAN DREAMS. 
 
 V. 
 
 So, hand in hand, together mov'd we o'er 
 The flowery fields that crown that holy height ; 
 But these I little mark'd, for soul and sight 
 Hung on the heav'nly face I saw once more. 
 We came and stood where from a cavern hoar 
 Those streams that Dante saw, one crystal-bright, 
 One dusk-hued but transparent, spring to light. 
 And part, like brethren at their father's door 
 Who know too well they ne'er again shall meet. 
 She bade me kneel and drink ; I knelt and quaff'd 
 The flowing darkness of the duller wave : 
 Then, stooping, from her hollow'd palm she gave 
 Thrice to my willing lips the sparkling draught. 
 For the dear cup that held it doubly sweet. 
 
 B 2
 
 so SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 VIII. 
 DANTEAN DREAMS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The draught from out the darker of the springs 
 
 A gloom Lethean o'er my spirit cast. 
 
 I saw the present only — not the past. 
 
 Long-cherish'd memories of blessed things, 
 
 Of dear love-service and sweet communings — 
 
 Had vanish'd quite, nor less each harrowing thought 
 
 Of kindness slighted or injustice wrought, 
 
 With which Remorse the shrinking bosom stings. 
 
 But when the fairer wave refresh'd my lips, . 
 
 While those ill memories were still effaced, 
 
 The good revived, now more than ever bright ; 
 
 So some skill'd hand in chymic mixture dips 
 
 A scroll whereon an unseen text is traced, 
 
 And lo ! the hidden letters leap to light. 

 
 LOVE AND SORROW. »i 
 
 IX. 
 
 DANTEAN DREAMS. 
 VII. 
 
 The Awaking. 
 
 These were but dreams, of Dante's magic bred. 
 There is no mount of healing pain, I know, 
 Save that up which, with struggling effort slow. 
 In this our world repentant sinners tread. 
 Bright winged creatures do not come and go, 
 From orb to orb on mystic errands sped ; 
 Nor need I heav'nly visitants to show 
 How I should think of thee, my dear one dead ! 
 Had Gabriel pass'd me at thy chamber door 
 With 'Ave, gratia plena' on his tongue, 
 Or had he o'er thee at thy parting hung, 
 And traced the sign of blessing on thy brow, 
 Should I thy memory higher prize than now ? 
 A saint I knew thee — he could know no more.
 
 as SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 X. 
 
 LOVE'S TEACHINGS. 
 
 Love, thou has train'd me in a school severe. 
 
 'This man,' thou said'st, 'knows somewhat of my lore, 
 
 But not enough ; lo ! I will teach him more.' 
 
 So Sorrow came, and sojourn'd with me here, 
 
 Wearing the form and face to me most dear. 
 
 Then learn'd I laws of thine, but guess'd before, \ 
 
 The hard, hard lesson conning o'er and o'er, 
 
 While on the page fell many a bitter tear. 
 
 Still Self within me feebly strove ; but when 
 
 Death came and hid my angel from my sight — 
 
 Not from my soul — Self died, and rose again 
 
 Newborn, in one joint being blent with her. 
 
 And now, O Love, I own thy matchless might, 
 
 That even of Death can'st make thv minister.
 
 LOVE AND SORROW. 93 
 
 XL 
 AN APPEAL. 
 
 Ladies, who understand the gentle lore 
 
 Of courteous words, kind deeds, and gracious ways, 
 
 Bear witness, ye who knew her — do I praise 
 
 More than she merits her whom I deplore ? 
 
 Will ye not say — 'thy dear one to adore, 
 
 And of her worth fit monument to raise, 
 
 This be the sacred task of all thy days. 
 
 Thy solace this, till thy brief term be o'er. 
 
 More loving heart ne'er beat in human breast. 
 
 Her life was all a willing service, done 
 
 With simple dignity and artless grace. 
 
 In her sweet converse weary souls found rest, 
 
 And from her breath'd such purity that none 
 
 Could think of evil, looking on her face.'
 
 a4 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 VISITATIONS. 
 
 Sometimes evoked by stress of prayers and tears, 
 
 And sometimes all unbidden, of free grace. 
 
 She gives me sight of her beloved face — 
 
 Now as the bright young maiden she appears, 
 
 Who shook my heart long since with hopes and fears ; 
 
 Now, as she bloom'd, a flower of womanhood, 
 
 Image and source to me of all things good, 
 
 In the ripe summer of our wedded years. 
 
 But oftenest the dear features wear again 
 
 The smile so sad, yet so divinely sweet. 
 
 They wore in those last months of patient pain. 
 
 Then first her saintly soul I fully knew ; 
 
 Love turn'd to worship, and my spirit threw 
 
 Itself in adoration at her feet. 
 
 I
 
 LOVE AND SORROW. S5 
 
 XIII. 
 
 PAST AND PRESENT. 
 
 Once Joy each morn our window-curtains drew, 
 And smiling bade us hail — ' Rise, happy pair, 
 A new day calls you and the world is fair.' 
 But one dark dawning quench'd my zeal to view 
 Heav'ns matin pomp — its wealth of varying hue. 
 Now by my lonely bed — she is not there — 
 The vestal Duty stands with solemn air. 
 And says — ' Remember, thou hast much to do.' 
 I turn and gaze on her, half-blind with tears, 
 And lo ! she is transfigured, and I see 
 No longer her with looks severe, but thee. 
 My blessed one, with eyes of love that still 
 Shed peace and comfort as in vanish'd years — 
 And prompt I rise, thy counsels to fulfil.
 
 a6 
 
 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE ANGELUS. 
 
 Sleepless I often lie at dawn of day — 
 
 Then from the convent tower that rises near 
 
 The trebly threefold note salutes my ear 
 
 That bids the true believer muse and pray. 
 
 With answering heart my Angelus I say, 
 
 And think of her who was so lately here-^ 
 
 Of her whose love through many a happy year 
 
 Brought me all good, and charm'd all ills away. 
 
 Again each sacred stage I travel o'er. 
 
 From the dusk eve when, hearing first her voice, 
 
 (Her face half hid) my heart presaged its choice — 
 
 To that last morn when 'midst white flowers she lay, 
 
 With brow and cheek, ah I white and cold as they — 
 
 No longer mine, yet mine for evermore.
 
 LOVE AND SORROW. ay 
 
 XY. 
 
 'Time the Consoler' — so with specious phrase 
 Men seek their base ingratitude to screen, 
 Oblivious of the lost ones who have been 
 Their joy and glory in the by-gone days. 
 But ne'er shall cloud that low desire can raise, 
 Or selfish quest of consolation mean. 
 Or the world's feverish turmoil, come between 
 Thee and my longing spirit's wistful gaze. 
 Who will may woo Lethean apathy ; 
 But if the years with dead'ning fingers slow 
 Could dull thy image written in my heart — 
 Then should we seem a second time to part ; 
 Forlorn I were indeed, and Time would be — 
 Consoler ? nay, but deepener of my woe.
 
 s8 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 As rich men, never talking of their store. 
 Nor thinking of it oft— yet walk elate, 
 As inly conscious that their wealth is great ; 
 So, in the happy years that are no more 
 There liv'd within my being's central core 
 A calm, deep sense of my so favour'd state — 
 Possessing wealth past human estimate 
 In her, who brought all blessings to my door. 
 Now in the eternal world my treasure lies — 
 From thoughts of her I borrow day by day 
 Strength to my feet and guidance on my way. 
 Yet, walking thus by faith, I yearn for sight — 
 Yearn for her visible presence, and the light 
 That shone upon me from those loving eyes.
 
 LOVE AND SORROW. sg 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Not seldom, when in foreign lands we fare, 
 
 We see in rudely-fashion'd wayside shrine 
 
 An image of the Mother-maid divine ; 
 
 And thus we muse — ' not less the pious care 
 
 That such memorial shaped and placed it there. 
 
 Than moved the artist bent on high design — 
 
 Marvel of Roman skill or Florentine — 
 
 Destin'd to grace some glorious House of Prayer.' 
 
 So, a poor craftsman, to my lady's praise 
 
 I dedicate these all unworthy lays, 
 
 That tender souls may cherish the dear name. 
 
 Would Petrarch's lute were mine, and Petrarch's art ! 
 
 Tuneless my voice to his ; but in his heart 
 
 For his lost love glow'd no intenser flame.
 
 jo SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 XVIIl. 
 HALLOWED GROUND. 
 
 Beautiful soul, that for too brief a space 
 Look'd on this world of ours through human eyes — ■ 
 The thought of thy mute presence sanctifies 
 For us who lov'd and love thee, every place 
 Oft brighten'd with the sunshine of thy face : 
 But chief we dally with that fond surmise 
 Here, where thou didst all household charities 
 Daily dispense with meek unconscious grace, 
 And where thy nobleness shone fully forth — 
 The crown and consummation of thy worth — 
 When unembitter'd, unsubdued by pain, 
 ' Like a bright saint,' as said my poet-friend. 
 Thou didst thy heavy burden long sustain. 
 Serene and uncomplaining to the end.
 
 LOVE AND SORROW. p 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Oft must we feel to what frail tenement 
 
 All is entrusted that we fondly prize. 
 
 What is most precious to our heart and eyes 
 
 Is not our freehold, is not giv'n but lent. 
 
 We need not hold that Powers maleficent 
 
 With conscious purpose break our dearest ties, 
 
 And lives, else rich, thus blight and pauperise — 
 
 Enough, that we are thralls of accident. 
 
 While all our prospect looks serene and fair, 
 
 The heavens grow dark, and in a single day 
 
 We lose what cost the toil of years to gain. 
 
 Yet droop not therefore ; nought can bar the way 
 
 That leads our souls o'er rugged tracts or plain 
 
 Up to diviner heights and purer air.
 
 i 
 
 jg SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 How brief, how troubled is this mortal scene ! 
 
 The cruel fates our cherish'd hopes deride, 
 
 And rudely snatch our dear ones from our side. 
 
 Yet, looking back through tears on what hath been, 
 
 I own the truth — though sobs that rise between 
 
 Impede the utterance — that, by grief untried, 
 
 By memories of the dead unsanctified, 
 
 Our life were but a shallow thing and mean. 
 
 We are not made for self-complacent ease, 
 
 Or boastful confidence. But oh ! stern Powers, 
 
 Whate'er ye be, that rule our destinies, 
 
 Pity poor mortals, and forbear to lay 
 
 Too heavy burdens on these hearts of ours. 
 
 Or we shall faint and perish by the way.
 
 LOVE AND SORROW. 33 
 
 XXI. 
 
 TREASURED WORDS. 
 
 In those last days ere I was left alone — 
 Days saddest, yet most sacred, I have known- 
 Seven words she spake, which in my heart shall live 
 Till sister Death my parting sign shall give. 
 Write not those words, my hand ! but let them be 
 A holy secret between her and me. 
 
 On one I think each morn when dawn is gray, 
 
 And keep it for my solace through the day ; 
 
 And so, within the compass of the week. 
 
 All seven I seem to hear my angel speak. 
 
 Ah me ! but seem — yet will I not repine ; 
 
 I mourn not my own sufferings, dear ! but thine.
 
 II. 
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. 
 
 C 2
 
 i 
 
 I
 
 [ 31 ] 
 
 I. 
 
 TO THE READER, 
 
 Brother, who glancest with a heedless eye 
 
 At these my strains, to thee they well may seem 
 
 To show but forms of a distemper'd dream, 
 
 So far from thoughts and hopes of thine they lie. 
 
 I know that they are fated soon to die ; 
 
 But, if they live the common term of men. 
 
 And one who knows his time shall read them then, 
 
 He may perchance with sympathetic sigh 
 
 Thus muse or murmur — ' When our faith was young, 
 
 This man beheld and bless'd the dawning light, 
 
 And sang its triumph in no doubtful tone, 
 
 Though with a tuneless harp and stammering tongue.* 
 
 O well for me, if coming years shall write 
 
 Such words as these on my memorial stone 1
 
 38 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 TRANSFIGURATION. 
 
 Late in a dream methought I slowly stray'd 
 Through an antique cathedral's spaces vast, 
 And in the Lady Chapel stood at last 
 Before a picture, where my steps I stay'd 
 In contemplation of the group portray'd 
 By the old master's pencil, which surpass'd 
 All others in the mystic charm it cast 
 About the features of the blessed Maid. 
 Star-crown'd she stood upon a crescent moon, 
 And to her bosom clasp'd her wondrous boy. 
 The Eternal Father, stooping from above, 
 O'er son and mother stretch'd His arms of love ; 
 While hovering cherubs sang some heavenly tune, 
 Their faces kindled with adoring joy.
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. ^g 
 
 III. 
 
 TRANSFIGURATION. 
 II. 
 
 While still I gazed upon the pictured scene, 
 
 The outlines seem'd before mine eyes to swim, 
 
 And all the forms to waver and dislimn. 
 
 The Father faded in the clear serene 
 
 Of space ethereal, and no more was seen. 
 
 Slowly receded to the distance dim 
 
 The winged host, while, group'd where they had been, 
 
 A quire of holy women sang the hymn. 
 
 The Virgin still her baby fondly press'd, 
 
 But not upon the moon her feet were placed ; 
 
 Now on our kindly planet did they rest ; 
 
 And on the letter'd scroll above her head, 
 
 Where late the name Deipara I read, 
 
 Stood out l'Umanita distinctly traced.
 
 ^o SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Quaerens me, sedisti lassa ; 
 Redemisti, crucem passa. 
 
 O MATER dolorosa ! with what pain 
 
 Thy feet have upward trod the steep incline 
 
 Which leads to all things good ! that heart of thine — 
 
 What swords have pierc'd it through, whilst not in vain 
 
 Thy toil was spent to nurture, teach, and train 
 
 Hero and sage, and form that thing divine, 
 
 The Woman as we know her — to refine 
 
 The coarse, and make our rugged pathway plain. 
 
 Wearied and faint, thou yet with faith sublime 
 
 Hast labour'd on, and held thy suffering light 
 
 In contemplation of a better time. 
 
 How can we such long martyrdom requite ? 
 
 I\Iay heart, brain, hand thy duteous servants be, 
 
 And love, thought, life, be consecrate to Thee!
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. 41 
 
 ' In Te est totum quod volo et desidero.' 
 
 Once oft I strain'd mine eyes in hope to see 
 The form by human fancy drawn in air 
 Of a first Good, first Perfect and first Fair; 
 For infinitely great, me-seem'd, must be 
 The Power to which my soul could bend her knee- 
 To which should rise the passion of her prayer. 
 But now such fruitless quest do I forbear, 
 Finding all fulness in Humanity. 
 Of the great thoughts that quicken and sustain 
 None was inspired by supernatural breath ; 
 Each sprang unprompted in a human brain. 
 And, search the depths below, the heights above, 
 Nought nobler wilt thou find than human love — 
 Love, that is subject to, yet conquers, Death.
 
 42 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 GUARDIAN ANGELS. 
 
 The Being that enfolds in her embrace 
 
 Our little lives and binds them into one, 
 
 We image as a Mother with her son 
 
 Clasp'd in her arms, because sole fount of grace 
 
 Is She to all the children of our race. 
 
 But, though we own her presence ever near. 
 
 She speaks no word to any mortal ear, 
 
 No mortal eye may look upon her face. 
 
 We know her through her angels, whom she sends- 
 
 Not airy creatures borne on radiant wings. 
 
 But loving women, born to be our friends, 
 
 To walk beside us on life's common way, 
 
 To be our charm and solace day by day. 
 
 And raise our drooping souls to higher things.
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. 43 
 
 VII. 
 
 INTERPRETERS. 
 
 Those does our Virgin Mother, full of grace, 
 As her Vicegerents send, that we may see 
 Her mingled tenderness and purity 
 Reflected in each well-beloved face ; 
 And other rarer spirits of our race 
 Ordains as her Interpreters, that She 
 Through them may speak her oracles, and we 
 Be mov'd her blessed service to embrace. 
 Two name I, whom our Master prized the most- 
 The mighty bard, who saw the depths of Hell, 
 And heard the anthems of the heavenly host ; 
 And the meek saint, who in his convent cell. 
 All worldly noises silenc'd, bent his ear 
 The whispers of the voice divine to hear.
 
 44 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Master first brought clearly to our view 
 
 That woman's nature is a higher thing 
 
 Than man's, and from her, as a living spring, 
 
 Ever his noblest impulses he drew. 
 
 Yet was this precious truth not wholly new ; 
 
 To souls elect no secret had it been : 
 
 And here the Southern heart had farther seen 
 
 Than the cold Northern intellect could do. 
 
 Dante on Beatrice tipivard gazed, 
 
 All self-abased, in reverential love, 
 
 And with bow'd head receiv'd her grave rebuke ; 
 
 While Milton's Adam, as God's image rais'd 
 
 To fancied height, with condescending look 
 
 Eve's tender grace contemplates from above.
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. 45 
 
 IX. 
 
 PISGAH. 
 
 In th' irreligious city of the Seine 
 
 I sat, a listener at the Master's feet, 
 
 And to my soul his earnest words were sweet 
 
 As to parch'd earth the fertilizing rain. 
 
 He show'd me how men's spirits once again 
 
 In witness of a common faith shall meet, 
 
 And how their hearts in unison shall beat 
 
 Under Humanity's eternal reign. 
 
 The dawn is spreading over hill and plain, 
 
 And, when the growing morn full day shall be, 
 
 The renovated life of all our kind 
 
 Its metropolitan home and fane shall find 
 
 For ages long — O wondrous destiny ! — 
 
 In the religious city of the Seine.
 
 4b SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 X. 
 
 'UTINAM VIDEREM.' 
 
 ' O WOULD,' said holy Bernard, * I could see 
 The Church of God as in the days of old ! ' 
 So yearns my feebler spirit to behold — 
 Ah ! yet far off — thy Church, Humanity ! 
 As in the coming ages it shall be, 
 When nations shall be gather'd in thy fold, 
 In every tongue thy oracles be told, 
 And millions in thy temples bow the knee. 
 Then we no more shall spend our wealth of love 
 Upon imagin'd beings in the skies, 
 Or waste our thoughts on things beyond our ken ; 
 But flood our hearts with human sympathies. 
 Content our planet dwelling to improve. 
 And solace, raise, and bless our brother-men.
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. 4J 
 
 XI. 
 
 THE CHILDHOOD OF HUMANITY. 
 
 The human child, arriving on earth's shore, 
 
 Finds itself welcomed to a loving breast, 
 
 And sweetly fed, and lapp'd in soothing rest ; 
 
 And, when the years of others' rule are o'er, 
 
 Wise counsel meets him, and the gather'd lore 
 
 Of the past ages' loftiest souls and best ; 
 
 And so, unless his lot be all unblest. 
 
 He grows in heart and head from more to more. 
 
 But when the race was born, and on its way 
 
 First enter'd, who its dubious steps could guide ? 
 
 From out itself it framed the needed stay. 
 
 It shaped ideal beings to preside 
 
 O'er its dim march, and in their fancied sway 
 
 Its own high thoughts and aims personified.
 
 48 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 XII. 
 
 THE HUMAN HERITAGE. 
 
 Eternal Power, to whom our lives belong, 
 Heirs are we at our birth of all the store 
 Piled in thy treasure-house from days of yore 
 For use or splendour — ordinances strong 
 To guard the weak and tie the hands of wrong- 
 The civic wisdom, and the sacred lore 
 Potent to guide, to chasten, to restore — 
 The wealth of tender, noble, passionate song — 
 And all the marvel and the charm of Art. 
 Thou art the living fountain, whence alone 
 Comes all of stay or solace that is ours. 
 Shall we not then, with glad and grateful heart. 
 To thy dear service consecrate our powers, 
 And give thee back some portion of thine own .'
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. 4q 
 
 XIII. 
 
 ' Non nobis, Domina, sed nomini Tuo.' 
 
 Brothers, remember what the Master said. 
 And all great souls had dimly felt before—^ 
 ' In sober truth, and ever more and more, 
 The men who live are govern'd by the dead.' 
 The rules by which our daily lives are led, 
 Our faith, our arts, our language and our lore- 
 We did not make them, but inherited, 
 Augmenting little the transmitted store. 
 For us, the children of a younger day, 
 The noble deeds of olden time were done; 
 For us were Freedom's ancient battles won. 
 And saintly sufferers trod the toilsome way ; 
 Be thankful, then, at thought of Marathon, 
 And 'midst lona's ruins pause and pray. 
 
 D
 
 so SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE NEW SYNTHESIS. 
 
 When closed my song-charm'd boyhood's dreamy days, 
 
 Began austerer Science to invite 
 
 My spirit, seeking everywhere for light. 
 
 I learn'd the line and surface to appraise, 
 
 And star and planet fix'd my studious gaze. 
 
 Then did I yearn to reach a specular height, 
 
 Whose cloudless vantage should command the sight 
 
 Of Man's whole world and all his works and ways. 
 
 For guidance thither long I sought in vain, 
 
 Till he I count the chief of those who know 
 
 Taught us such mount of vision to attain, 
 
 Seven golden stairs ascending from below. 
 
 Eager I sprang his sacred lore to meet, 
 
 And sat a glad disciple at his feet.
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. 51 
 
 XV. 
 
 MEA CULPA. 
 
 When I remember how in youth, misled 
 
 By bookish lore and intellectual pride, 
 
 And in life's grave realities untried, 
 
 I blindly rank'd the heart below the head, 
 
 And, to my self-sufficient follies wed, 
 
 Unletter'd worth and simple faith decried — 
 
 Paining sweet souls that then were at my side, 
 
 And now are number' d with the blessed dead — 
 
 ' Master,' I cry — when this I call to mind — 
 
 'Why did I not thy doctrine earlier know ? 
 
 Then might I from remorseful thoughts be free 
 
 That haunt me now ; for none had power like thee 
 
 My wrestling rebel spirit to lay low. 
 
 And with the cords of strong persuasion bind.' 
 
 D 2
 
 SB SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Ere yet I reach'd the middle of life's way, 
 I found myself within a darksome wood, 
 Where most that in me dwelt of native good 
 Was stifled or obscured, my inner day 
 Was dimm'd, and more and more I went astray, 
 By Demas fool'd, by Lamian spells subdued ; 
 And with keen zeal unworthy aims pursued, 
 Prizing as jewels things of common clay. 
 Not mine the merit that at length I woke. 
 Ofttimes mine ears had caught the Master's word, 
 But now within my heart his voice was heard ; 
 And thou, my dear one, earnest to my side. 
 I took thee for my guardian and my guide, 
 And bow'd my spirit to thy gentle yoke.
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. ^ 
 
 XVII. 
 
 DE PROFUNDIS. 
 
 ' Let all thy life be a perpetual prayer.' 
 
 So said the Master, and my soul replies— 
 
 ' Might but the fire within me oftener rise 
 
 And struggle upward into purer air 1 
 
 For now, alas, depress'd by worldly care 
 
 Or narrowing thoughts, it droops and almost dies. 
 
 Till sudden inspiration vivifies 
 
 The flame once more ; but ah ! such grace is rare.' 
 
 Yet do I cleave unto the better part. 
 
 Let me love more, and nought I ask beside- 
 
 To others be the laurel crown of art, 
 
 And wealth, and all that ministers to pride. 
 
 Not these my portion^only let my heart 
 
 Be fill'd with love, and I am satisfied.
 
 54 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 A POSITIVIST SOLEMNITY. 
 
 Now dawns the sacred day of All the Dead. 
 Not only those by household memories 
 Link'd with our lives, for whom on bended knees 
 Daily we yearn, and tears not seldom shed — 
 Nor only the great spirits who have led 
 Man's upward march to nobler destinies, 
 Whose record in Fame's golden book is read — 
 We reverence to-day ; not only these. 
 But all, in whatsoever age or clime 
 (Albeit the names of most the unpitying Hours 
 Have hid for ever in the abyss of time), 
 Who faithful, patient, helpful strove to be. 
 And so, while worshipping imagin'd Powers, 
 True service did, Humanity ! to Thee.
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. 55 
 
 XIX. 
 
 A RELIGIOUS SYMBOL. 
 
 Trefoil of Erin ! as I contemplate 
 
 Thy sister leaflets, I behold in these 
 
 An emblem of profound triplicities 
 
 That live in nature and in man's estate. 
 
 Three are the Norns that weave the web of fate 
 
 In silent loom — Past, Present, and To-be ; 
 
 And Feeling, Thought, and Action are the three 
 
 Handmaids that on the human spirit wait. 
 
 The Apostle of our isle — as legends tell — 
 
 Used thee to symbolise a mystery 
 
 Now fading from our souls ; but thou as well 
 
 May'st type for future men who look on thee 
 
 Our sacred Triad indivisible — 
 
 Family, Mother-land, Humanity.
 
 56 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 XX. 
 
 THE MODERN FETISHISM. 
 
 Fear not, I pray thee, my too scrupulous friend, 
 Trusting the impulse of poetic thought, 
 To image all the visible world as fraught 
 With will and feeling, which for ever tend 
 To universal good, their common end. 
 Such genial faith, from primal instinct caught 
 By the first men, in these last times is taught 
 By highest wisdom, which thus fain would blend 
 With all of truth that studious years have found 
 The fresh conceptions of our infant race. 
 Doubt not the Sun upon his distant peers 
 And on his subject orbs looks fondly round. 
 And planets, dancing through delighted space. 
 Hail with admiring joy their sister spheres.
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. si 
 
 XXI, 
 
 Master, amid the turmoil and the strife, 
 How shall my spirit calm and trustful be ? 
 Thus only, if the fountains of my life 
 Are hidden in Humanity with thee.
 
 S8 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 THE TRIUMPH OF HUMANITY : 
 
 A HYMN OF THE PAST AND THE FUTURE. 
 
 I. 
 
 A WONDROUS pageant fills th' historic page, 
 
 Moving through every age — 
 
 The long procession of the Gods of Man — 
 
 Forms, which his young imagination shaped 
 
 And with rich legend draped, 
 
 To guide his steps, ere Science yet began 
 
 With searching gaze the outer world to scan, 
 
 And which, as thought and various knowledge grew, 
 
 He moulded oft afresh, or clothed in vesture new. 
 
 II. 
 No human faith will we, with stupid pride, 
 Disparage or deride ; 
 
 Each for our race some precious work has done — 
 Knit social bonds, or selfish will repress'd, 
 And calm'd the troubled breast. 
 But now their tasks are wrought, their courses run — 
 And they must fade and vanish, all save one ; 
 Though some may linger long, as loth to part, 
 Familiars of the home — penates of the heart.
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. sg 
 
 III. 
 
 Our early sires, to whom small heritage 
 
 Came from a mother age, 
 
 By fancy and emotion wholly sway'd, 
 
 The likeness of their inner being found 
 
 In all they saw around. 
 
 The tree beneath whose boughs their childhood play'd. 
 
 The stream upon whose banks their youth had stray'd — 
 
 Not senseless things were these, but living powers 
 
 By fervid feeling stirr'd, with loves and hates like ours. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then sprang the thought — 'Those orbs that shine afar. 
 
 The Sun, the Moon, the star, 
 
 Must rule our lives, must send us good or ill. 
 
 Our days they gladden or illume our night, 
 
 Our fields they bless or blight. 
 
 How shall we learn to read their secret will, 
 
 Their ordinances rightly to fulfil } 
 
 Choose we some gifted men their names to praise, 
 
 To study their intents, their altar-stones to raise.'
 
 6o SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 So grew the faith that far-off heavenly powers 
 
 Govern'd this world of ours, 
 
 And quicken'd natural things that else were dead. 
 
 They, manlike beings of a mightier race, 
 
 By anger moved or grace, 
 
 On earthly issues sovereign influence shed, 
 
 Our projects thwarted or our wishes sped. 
 
 Priesthoods august arose to rule the lands, 
 
 And guide the wayward crowd by the divine commands. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And soon, in visions of the sons of song, 
 
 A many-colour'd throng, 
 
 The Olympians shone ; they loved the lyre and flute, 
 
 They heard, well-pleas'd, the din of martial strife. 
 
 The stir and stress of life. 
 
 And, ere Apollo's music yet was mute, 
 
 Follow'd a graver train in soberer suit, 
 
 Awakening deeper moods of reverent awe, 
 
 And bending Roman pride to the behests of law.
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. 6i 
 
 VII. 
 
 One people ruled the world ; the Imperial peace 
 
 Bade sterile conflicts cease ; 
 
 But its own gods each nation worshipp'd still, 
 
 ' These various faiths,' the nobler instincts cried, 
 
 ' Do but our hearts divide. 
 
 We want one righteous Power, one sovereign will, 
 
 To judge for all alike our good and ill. 
 
 And oh ! for one who mortal weakness knows. 
 
 And having learn'd to weep, can feel for human woes.' 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Treading a path of suffering and of shame, 
 
 The Man of Sorrows came. 
 
 Around him rose strong faith and purpose high, 
 
 And noble spirits welcomed pain and loss, 
 
 Might they but bear his cross, 
 
 Nay — for the love of him rejoiced to die ; 
 
 Because, 'twas said, he left his native sky, 
 
 And his pure soul a free-will offering gave, 
 
 The ruin'd race of men to succour and to save.
 
 63 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 IX. 
 
 But not in him they found their surest sta}-, 
 
 For, when they knelt to pray, 
 
 They trembled, mindful of his judgment seat, 
 
 And, inly conscious of his broken laws, 
 
 Ask'd — 'Who will plead our cause ? 
 
 Is not his Mother tender-soul'd and sweet ? 
 
 Oh ! let us haste to kiss her blessed feet I 
 
 If stern the Judge, the mother-maid is mild ; 
 
 She will assuage the wrath of her almighty child.' 
 
 And so, beside the throne of Sire and Son, 
 
 In mystic union One — 
 
 IMother and Bride of Heaven, the Virgin stands ; 
 
 She, Star of hope, the heavy-laden cheers, 
 
 She dries the mourner's tears. 
 
 Wherever sufferers pined in Christian lands. 
 
 To her for help they raised their suppliant hands; 
 
 High saints, great bards, did homage at her shrine. 
 
 And artists loved to paint her human face divine.
 
 THE RELIGION OF HUMANITY. 63 
 
 XI. 
 
 Long by the chosen spirits of the West 
 The Eastern maid was bless'd 
 As type supreme of tenderest womanhood. 
 In her ideal nature they combined 
 Whate'er in human kind 
 Inspired their love or won their gratitude- 
 All that they knew of bountiful and good, 
 All that in Woman's gentler breast began 
 And by contagion sweet pass'd to the soul of man. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And now that riper thought has purged our eyes, 
 In her we recognise 
 A beautiful, though faint, prefigurement 
 Of Thee, Humanity ! in these last days 
 Giv'n to our longing gaze- 
 Great Being, in whose soul are truly blent 
 All gifts to her by pious fancy lent. 
 Each dear addition link'd to Mary's name — 
 Star, Refuge, Fountof grace— thine own may better claim.
 
 64 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 To power, controll'd by law and led by love, 
 
 Not seated far above 
 
 In the blank sky where comes no voice of prayer, 
 
 But here incarnate, blessed one ! in Thee — 
 
 We bow the adoring knee. 
 
 Grateful we own Thy fond maternal care, 
 
 And view with trustful hope the promise fair 
 
 Which, bright'ning now, will shine on human souls 
 
 Long as through gladden'dspace.Thy planet-dwelling rolls. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 So let the mighty organ shed around 
 
 Its stormy waves of sound, 
 
 And be the solemn silver trumpets blown, 
 
 And let ten thousand hearts and voices raise 
 
 The anthem-note of praise ; 
 
 For on this day, by bard and sage foreshown, 
 
 The Woman-spirit mounts th' eternal throne. 
 
 Lift up your heads, ye everlasting gates, 
 
 And let Her enter in, whose reign all earth awaits.
 
 III. 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 6y 
 
 A NATION'S WEALTH. 
 
 O England, thou hast many a precious dower ; 
 But of all treasures it is thine to claim, 
 Prize most the memory of each sainted name. 
 That in thy realm, in field or hall or bower 
 Hath wrought high deeds or utter'd words of power- 
 Unselfish warrior, without fear or blame — 
 Statesman, with sleepless watch and steadfast aim 
 Holding his country's helm in perilous hour — 
 Poet, whose heart is with us to this day 
 Embalm'd in song — or Priest, who by the ark 
 Of faith stood firm in troublous times and dark. 
 Call them not dead, my England ! such as they 
 Not were, but are ; within us each survives, 
 And lives an endless life in others' lives. 
 
 R 2
 
 68 SONNETS AND OIHER POEMS. 
 
 SOCIAL HEREDITY. 
 
 Man is no mushroom growth of yesterday. 
 His roots strike deep into the hallow'd mould 
 Of the dead centuries ; ordinances old 
 Govern us, whether gladly we obey, 
 Or vainly struggle to resist their sway : 
 Our thoughts by ancient thinkers are controll'd, 
 And many a word in which our thoughts are told 
 Was coin'd long since in regions far away. 
 The strong-soul'd nations, destin'd to be great, 
 Honour their sires and reverence the Past; 
 They cherish and improve their heritage. 
 The weak, in blind self-trust or headlong rage. 
 The olden time's transmitted treasure cast 
 Behind them, and bemoan their loss too late.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 6g 
 
 SOCIAL ORIGINS. 
 
 Think sometimes when you read a lovely lay 
 
 Of Tennyson or Wordsworth — this hath sprung 
 
 From germs that lived while yet our world was young. 
 
 Give your imagination leave to play, 
 
 And you will see how on a far-oflf day 
 
 In a rude tent a wild-eyed audience hung 
 
 On a love-tale by primal poet sung, 
 
 And with loud plaudits own'd the singer's sway. 
 
 And when you hear the organ's thunderous groan 
 
 Roll through the vast cathedral's crowded space, 
 
 Think how the early fathers of our race, 
 
 Oppress'd with fear or overwhelm'd v/ith care, 
 
 Turn'd to unseen creations of their own 
 
 For help and hope, and bow'd the knee in prayer.
 
 'JO SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 SAINT PAUL. 
 
 True Prince of the Apostles, great Saint Paul ! 
 Upon that day, with mighty issues rife. 
 Which form'd and fix'd the purpose of thy life, 
 Not from the blank, impassive heav'n did fall 
 The words that thrill'd thee ; that imagin'd call 
 Was but the echo of the inward voice 
 That from thy spirit's shrine decreed the choice 
 Glorious for thee and fraught with good to all. 
 ' It 7nust be true : I saw how Stephen died. 
 The Lord he serv'd was no mere child of earth. 
 This faith will mould the Gentile, as the Jew, 
 To its own image, will make all things new, 
 And give our worn-out world a second birth. 
 Henceforth I live to preach the Crucified.'
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 7/ 
 
 THE SOCIAL FUTURE. 
 
 As, with enforc'd yet unreluctant pace, 
 We downward move along life's westward slope, 
 Slow fades the once bright gleam of personal hope, 
 And larger looms the future of the race ; 
 Our wistful eyes the goodly prospect trace, 
 Seen through a haze of forecast ; there outspread 
 Lie the fair fields our children's feet shall tread 
 When we have pass'd to our abiding place. 
 Oh ! sons and daughters of the coming age, 
 Give worthy meed of gratitude and praise 
 To those true souls who, in less happy days. 
 Have lived for others — most of all for you, — 
 Have stored the wealth which is your heritage. 
 And plann'd the work it will be yours to do.
 
 'J2 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 PASTOR AB AMPHRYSO. 
 
 ' Thou seemest, O Lysanias, all distraught, 
 And turnest from us, as intent to hear 
 Some far-off music, or as if thine ear 
 The voices of aerial spirits caught.' 
 
 * Yea, so it is. Late, hastening homeward, near 
 This spot, T heard such notes that, sure, methought 
 Apollo from Olympus must have brought 
 His flute divine to charm our lower sphere. 
 Now the ecstatic carol of a bird. 
 And now a long-drawn passionate wail I heard. 
 Sudden it ceas'd ; but, ever since, the sound 
 With bodiless presence haunts me, and I seem 
 To see not, or forget, the things around, 
 Wrapt in the cloudy covert of a dream '
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 73 
 
 II. 
 
 ' Well ! hast thou seen thy magic minstrel ? ' ' Yea, 
 And spoken with him. Where Pen6us pours 
 Between steep cliffs his flood to yonder shores, 
 I found him sitting thoughtful yesterday. 
 He gave me greeting kind, and bade me stay ; 
 Then talk'd, and nobly, of Life, Love, and Art, 
 Of things divine and human, till the gray 
 Of evening fell around and made us part. 
 Creon, he is a god : such brow and eyes ! 
 Music unmatch'd, and grand poetic thought ! 
 The blessed ones, they tell us, oft descend 
 From their high dwelling, and in humble guise 
 Move amongst men. Unhappy they, my friend, 
 Who, meeting the Immortals, know them not.'
 
 14 
 
 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 STREAMS. 
 
 I. 
 
 Streams! ye have ever been the friends of men — 
 From tiny brook, the playmate of the child, 
 Or torrent, dashing down the rocky glen. 
 That fills the soul of youth with rapture wild, 
 To Rhine or Seine, a nation's pride, that wends 
 Through peopled plains, by cities great and free. 
 As with full sweep majestic it descends, 
 Bearing its tribute to the mighty sea. 
 Most to the sacred poets streams are dear: 
 Not seldom, as the singers in old time 
 Drew inspiration from Castalian dews. 
 They still by fount or river find the Muse ; 
 And, mingled with their songs, we seem to hear 
 The voice of waters, soothing or sublime.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. -75 
 
 STREAMS. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yes ! all the noblest of the tuneful train 
 
 Lov'd running waters and have sung their praise. 
 
 Xanthus and Simois in old Homer's lays 
 
 Still rush in whirling eddies to the main ; 
 
 We catch at times through Milton's lofty strain 
 
 Warblings of Siloa and her sister fount 
 
 That bathe the feet of Sion's holy mount ; 
 
 Dante remembers among souls in pain 
 
 The rills that speed down slopes of bright-green sward 
 
 To join his Arno ; in Petrarca's song 
 
 Seems Sorga to console his amorous woe 
 
 With soft response ; and Spenser, laureate bard 
 
 Of British rivers, marshals all their throng 
 
 To pass before us in triumphal show.
 
 'jb SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 NATIONAL PRESAGE. 
 
 Unhappy Erin, what a lot was thine ! 
 
 Half-conquer'd by a greedy robber band ; 
 
 111 govern'd with now lax, now ruthless hand ; 
 
 Misled by zealots, wresting laws divine 
 
 To sanction every dark or mad design ; 
 
 Lured by false lights of pseudo-patriot league 
 
 Through crooked paths of faction and intrigue ; 
 
 And drugg'd with selfish flattery's poison'd wine. 
 
 Yet, reading all thy mournful history, 
 
 Thy children, with a mystic faith sublime. 
 
 Turn to the future, confident that Fate, 
 
 Become at last thy friend, reserves for thee, 
 
 To be thy portion in the coming time. 
 
 They know not what — but surely something great.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 'j'j 
 
 A PROTEST. 
 
 ' Whom the gods love, dies young' — Oh, say not so! 
 
 Thou art a father — can the cruel word 
 
 Lodge in thy breast or from thy lips be heard? 
 
 Let the young live, ye awful Powers, and know, 
 
 Ere they pass hence, the savour of that best 
 
 Of fruit that grows upon the tree of life — 
 
 The happy home, the love of child and wife — 
 
 And, working with their fellows, earn their rest. 
 
 The old must go, and others fill their room ; 
 
 So is the blood of the world re-vivified. 
 
 But ah ! 'tis piteous when a father stands 
 
 O'er his dead son, and holds the pulseless hands, 
 
 Or mother for her daughter must provide 
 
 Not marriage robes, but garments of the tomb.
 
 7<J SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 [majuba. 
 
 In Memoriam, G. P.C. 
 
 Gentle and brave, well skilled in that dread lore 
 Which mightiest nations dare not to unlearn ; 
 Fair lot for thee had leapt from Fortune's urn, 
 Just guerdon of long toil ; and more and more 
 We counted for her favourite was in store. 
 Nor failed prophetic fancy to descry 
 Wreaths of high praise and crowns of victory 
 Which in our thought thy brows already wore. 
 But He who portions out our good or ill 
 Willed an austerer glory should be thine, 
 And nearer to the Cross than to the Crown. 
 Then lay, ye mourners, there your burden down. 
 And hear calm voices from the inner shrine 
 Which whisper 'Peace!' and say, 'Be still, be still!' 
 
 R. CD.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. jg 
 
 ON READING THE SONNET BY R.C.D., 
 
 Entitled ' In Memoriam, G. P. C 
 
 Yes ! mourn the soul, of high and pure intent, 
 
 Humane as valiant, in disastrous fight 
 
 Laid low on far Majuba's bloody height ! 
 
 Yet, not his death alone must we lament, 
 
 But more such spirit on evil mission sent. 
 
 To back our broken faith with armed might, 
 
 And the unanswered plea of wounded right 
 
 Strike dumb by warfare's brute arbitrament. 
 
 And while these deeds are done in England's name. 
 
 Religion unregardful keeps her cell: 
 
 The tuneful note that wails the dead, we hear ; 
 
 Where are the sacred thunders that should swell 
 
 To shame such foul oppression, and proclaim 
 
 Eternal justice in the nation's ear?
 
 8o SONNEl'S AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 TO THE PRESIDENT OF THE TRANSVAAL. 
 
 Kruger, I hail thee, late-born ironside, 
 
 Who, jeer'd at by a sceptic, scoffing age, 
 
 Yet, bold in warfare and in council sage, 
 
 With steadfast, strenuous effort hast defied 
 
 The lawless greed and overweening pride 
 
 That sought by open force or treacherous stealth 
 
 To slay or wound thy homely commonwealth — 
 
 Helvetia of the south. Whate'er betide, 
 
 Valour and constancy to guard her right 
 
 Are thine and hers ; yet lacks there something more- 
 
 To spread within her bounds the sacred light 
 
 Of Science and all humanising lore, 
 
 And rear amid her brave and stalwart race 
 
 The tender flow'rs of gentleness and grace. 
 
 1898.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 8i 
 
 1899. 
 
 Farewell, old year, unhappy Ninety-nine ! 
 
 No personal cause have I to hate thy name ; 
 
 While thou wert here, to me no suffering came : 
 
 No bright young life, rear'd at this hearth of mine, 
 
 At call of duty join'd the battle-line. 
 
 I mourn the public loss, the public shame — 
 
 The blot thou leav'st upon our country's fame. 
 
 On history's page this record will be thine — 
 
 That a vain man, by England's evil fate 
 
 Clothed with brief power to guide and wound the State, 
 
 By mingling serpent guile and menace rude 
 
 Goaded a patient people into war, 
 
 And made our good Victoria's evening star 
 
 Look on a surging sea of brothers' blood.
 
 82 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 A MONITION. 
 
 England, on every sea thy navies ride, 
 
 And larger breadths of earth thy Throne obey 
 
 Than own'd of old the conquering Roman's sway ; 
 
 Yet, at this full swell of thy fortune's tide, 
 
 Hear thou a warning word : Beware of pride — 
 
 A Nemesis sits ever at her gates ; 
 
 Shun selfish greed ; respect thy sister States, 
 
 And fail not those who in thy truth confide. 
 
 Wrong not the dark-hued subjects of thy rule, 
 
 Compel them not to toil for others' gain 
 
 In blind and unaspiring servitude. 
 
 Rather, with godlike art Promethean, school 
 
 Each laggard race by discipline humane. 
 
 And lead them gently on to all things good.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 83 
 
 A FILIAL TRIBUTE. 
 
 I. 
 
 If I have heard with wonder and delight 
 
 The verse of Homer, with triumphant chime 
 
 Breaking for ever on the shores of Time ; 
 
 Have eyed, well pleased, the Theban eagle's flight ; 
 
 Have watch'd the scenic vision of the blight 
 
 That vengeful track'd the Thyest^an crime ; 
 
 Have dwelt, deep-rapt, on Plato's dreams sublime, 
 
 Or soberer wisdom of the Stagirite ; 
 
 And listen'd, other music fallen mute, 
 
 To Thyrsis piping in the summer shade 
 
 By Arethusa's springs on oaten flute — 
 
 My mother! thy laborious widow'd days 
 
 Have won for me these boons — ah! ill repaid 
 
 By this my heartfelt, but too tardy, praise. 
 
 F 2
 
 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 A FILIAL TRIBUTE. 
 
 II. 
 
 To have look'd on these Greek splendours — what a gain ! 
 
 And scarcely less that I have learn'd to prize 
 
 The imperial Roman spirit, strong and wise, 
 
 Nor wanting in a pure poetic vein — 
 
 As in the sympathetic Mantuan swain. 
 
 Whose Muse ' walks highest,' if she seldom 'flies' ; 
 
 Or him whose logic-web of closest grain 
 
 Is shot with fancy's rich embroideries — ; 
 
 The pregnant phrase of Tacitus to know, 
 
 And Tully's amplitude and liberal flow ; 
 
 All this I owe to thee ; and, better still, 
 
 The pattern of a life for others spent. 
 
 Oh ! had I earlier tamed my stubborn will. 
 
 And my proud heart to humble service bent.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 85 
 
 SIR L. ALMA-TADEMA'S 'WOMEN OF AMPHISSA.' 
 
 How well the picture tells its lovely tale ! 
 
 About the agora in slumber deep 
 
 The stranger Maenads lie, all passion-pale, 
 
 And worn with wanderings over hill and dale, 
 
 Through the thick wood and up the toilsome steep. 
 
 O'er them the matrons of the city keep 
 
 Tender and reverent watch, which will not fail 
 
 Till morning's touch shall break the charm of sleep. 
 
 See ! one by one they wake, they ope their eyes 
 
 No longer with the Bacchic frenzy wild, 
 
 And gaze upon the scene in mute surprise. 
 
 A kind voice comforts each and calls her 'child.' 
 
 Kind hands upraise them, and the sacred band 
 
 Is shelter'd in the homesteads of the land.
 
 86 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 NOSTALGIA. 
 
 One — where I know not, nor how long ago — 
 Was rapt in vision to the highest heaven, 
 Where John and Dante came. In vain had striven 
 Eyes yet death-doom'd to pierce the fiery glow 
 That hides the throne ; but all the burning row 
 Of Seraphim he saw, the Spirits seven, 
 Martyrs, high saints, and souls of men forgiven. 
 Then his heart spoke — ' amid this dazzling show, 
 And with the songs of angels in my ears, 
 I think of suffering souls I left below. 
 I could not breathe in these too happy spheres. 
 Better than joy is sympathy with woe ; 
 Here I should pine for pity's human tears. 
 Myself to shed them, and to see them flow.'
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. Sj 
 
 WINGED THOUGHTS. 
 
 Little they know us, ev'n who know us best. 
 
 Oft, when the social circle, frank and gay, 
 
 Sports with the topics of the passing day. 
 
 I seem, at friendly challenge, with keen zest 
 
 To catch and echo back the flying jest ; 
 
 Yet will my inmost thought be far away — 
 
 Like bird that lights, and lights, but does not stay- 
 
 Beside my lost ones in their long low rest. 
 
 One sleeps in Erin, near the home she bless'd, 
 
 Where grateful hearts still worship her ; and one, 
 
 Who pass'd, his active manhood scarce begun, 
 
 And all his poet-soul yet unexpress'd, 
 
 Lies under tamarisk boughs, where Afric's sun 
 
 Looks down on hallow'd ground at Beaufortwest. 
 
 St. Angelo, Lough Erne, 1898.
 
 88 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 How brief our dates ! how soon Death apprehends 
 
 The sinner Life, and claps us in our tombs, 
 
 While Fame, if granted, but short space illumes 
 
 A name, ere, shining, its own self it spends ! 
 
 But life has other measures, other ends 
 
 Than individual merely ; it assumes 
 
 Ampler proportions than these narrow rooms, 
 
 And infinite in depth and breadth extends 
 
 For him who recognizes that each deed. 
 
 The slightest, has results that go to build 
 
 The future, be it for IMan's good or ill. 
 
 Deeds born have issue endless, that no greed 
 
 Of Time can touch, till Time's course be fulfill'd ; 
 
 And, dying, by his deeds man liveth still. 
 
 T.D.I.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. ^ 
 
 Would'st thou be economical of Time 
 
 That, heedless squanderer of its treasury, 
 
 Wastes its dear wealth on years that bring no prime, 
 
 And grants no law to genius lest it die ? 
 
 Would'st thou have store of that thou canst not bind, 
 
 And win dominion o'er the uncontroU'd ? 
 
 While having but as much as all mankind, 
 
 Would'st yet have more than others of this gold ? 
 
 Then use time well, and crowd thy useful years 
 
 With action, knowing that, where idlers are, 
 
 The plea of occupation most appears, 
 
 And who use most, most hours have still to spare : 
 
 For this is true, and will be to the end, 
 
 Who wastes the least, has ever most to spend. 
 
 T. D. I.
 
 qo SONNETS AND 01 HER POEiUS. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 From the Norse. 
 
 * Noble warrior ! droop not thus ; 
 Tower of strength thou hast in us. 
 Yonder stand our anvils ten, 
 Round them, see, are stalwart men — 
 Bare broad shoulder, sinewy limb, 
 Black-brow'd feature sooty-grim ; 
 Eye like glare of smouldering fire. 
 Lighted with a dull desire. 
 These shall sweat; their hammers swinging. 
 They will keep the anvils ringing. 
 Forging thee such trusty mail, 
 Nought against it will prevail.'
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. gi 
 
 II. 
 
 * God-like artist, spare thy pain ! 
 Strength and skill alike are vain. 
 When upon the destin'd day 
 Balder meets me in the fray, 
 Were my breast-plate triple steel. 
 If his shaft but once it feel, — 
 Such that weapon's magic power — 
 Like a guilty thing 'twill cower, 
 And, smit through with fear and wonder, 
 Shrink, and cleave, and fall asunder. 
 Well I know this weird is mine — 
 I am human, he divine.'
 
 q2 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 TO A. J. 
 A Monody. 
 
 Bright spirit ! wheresoe'er thou art, 
 Take this sad tribute of my heart ; 
 Or if within the realms of space 
 Thou ownest now no dwelling-place, 
 Yet let me hum my descant o'er, 
 Though ear of thine it reach no more. 
 
 Not often mov'd thy thoughts away 
 From active duties of the day. 
 Yet was thy faith, I doubt not, sure 
 That after death our lives endure, 
 And, safe on some far distant shore, 
 They dwell whom here we meet no more. 
 
 Such golden dream I do not share ; 
 My promis'd land is here, not there ; 
 Here, where the brethren of my race 
 Love, work, and weep their little space. 
 And, with green hillocks cover'd o'er, 
 Lie those who bless our homes no more.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. q^ 
 
 That earlier vision fades away, 
 As twilight kindles into day. 
 Another prospect greets our view — 
 Of Earth array'd in vesture new. 
 Nor need we grieve that now no more 
 We shape the future as of yore. 
 
 For truth is truth, and love is love, 
 Though never register'd above ; 
 And Duty looks her mute appeal, 
 And we its mastering force can feel. 
 Though it may be we live no more 
 "When this our earthly life is o'er. 
 
 We need no verdict from the skies 
 To tell us thou wert good and wise. 
 Though angel trump ne'er break thy rest, 
 Thy heart was pure, thy work was blest ; 
 Nor is thy sacred service o'er, 
 Though here thy face is seen no more. 
 
 Thy quickening power is with us still, 
 Thy memory spurs the laggard will ; 
 Thy call to labour while we may, 
 And reap the harvest of the day, 
 Inspires our souls not less, but more, 
 Because thy well-wrought task is o'er.
 
 q4 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 And oft the wish will haunt my breast 
 To earn like thee my final rest. 
 Might I, at parting, leave behind 
 Some worthy gift to human kind, — 
 Perchance a not unvalued store, 
 When I on earth am seen no more ! 
 
 well for those who chant a song 
 That through the ages echoes long, 
 Or rear some pile of thought sublime, 
 Strong to withstand the shocks of time ; 
 And so, when this first life is o'er, 
 
 Still live in others evermore. 
 
 Not such my lot — I have but power 
 To breathe the feeling of the hour — 
 Half said, half sung — in simple strain. 
 Like this, whose sorrowful refrain 
 Some kindly souls may murmur o'er, 
 When my poor voice is heard no more. 
 
 Yet do I fret not, nor repine. 
 Because no loftier gifts are mine ; 
 Lamenting rather that my past. 
 With stains of sin is overcast. 
 Which, if anew I traced it o'er, 
 
 1 trust, should soil the page no more.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. qs 
 
 Be still, sad heart, nor thus complain, 
 Nor spend thy waning strength in vain. 
 Thou canst not by repentant tears 
 Efface the record of the years. 
 Be true, be loving now, the more 
 That love and life will soon be o'er.
 
 q6 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 The moon was bright that Autumn night, 
 
 The skies around her blue ; 
 Within this wood alone we stood, 
 
 And breathed a fond adieu. 
 
 The leaves that fell might seem to tell 
 How all things change and fade ; 
 
 But time and tide our hearts defied — 
 We faced them undismay'd. 
 
 For, loving thus, oh ! what to us 
 Was Fortune's fickle breath ? 
 
 But, holding light life's utmost spite, 
 We never thought of death. 
 
 ' The hours,' said I, ' will quickly fly — 
 
 A year will soon be o'er ; 
 Then holy bands will join our hands, 
 
 And we shall part no more.' 
 
 The moon is bright this April night, 
 
 The sky as blue as then ; 
 The wood retrieves its fallen leaves : 
 
 We ne'er shall meet again.
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 97 
 
 ' A year,' I said, ' and we shall wed.' 
 
 Ere half that year is flown, 
 Spring flow'rets wave upon thy grave, 
 
 And I am here alone. 
 
 My hopes are cross'd, my treasure lost ; 
 
 Joyless my life must be ; 
 Yet — thus bereft — there still is left 
 
 The memory of thee. 
 
 Beneath these boughs that heard our vows — 
 
 Ah ! now they hear but mine — 
 Again to-night my troth I plight 
 
 To be for ever thine.
 
 <)8 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 'Vos plaudite!' th' imperial Roman said 
 To them that stood around his dying bed. 
 To those I love, who after me shall live, 
 This be my message — 'Pity, and forgive!'
 
 VERSICLES. ^ qq 
 
 VERSICLES. 
 
 What is the watchword of the coming ages .- 
 What law their master spirits will control ? 
 This — 'Serve Humanity with heart and soul, 
 And, having done thy duty, ask no wages.' 
 
 Content thee to obey : thou would'st not tread 
 With step as firm in leading as when led. 
 
 * How to be happy?' — smiling, spoke the sage- 
 
 * Most miss the way, yet never cease the quest. 
 Here is the secret — still, from youth to age, 
 Keep one beloved image in thy breast.'
 
 loo SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 When in a man the flower of courtesy 
 And reverence for the better sex you see, 
 ' Sweet-natured was his mother,' boldly say, 
 'Or else, 'tis certain, Love has pass'd his way.' 
 
 Each nation master at its own fireside — 
 The claim is just, and so one day 'twill be ; 
 But a wise race the time of fruit will bide. 
 Nor pluck th' unripen'd apple from the tree. 
 
 Live for thyself, thy pleasure and thy gain, 
 And with thee ne'er will Happiness abide : 
 But serve thy fellows and relieve their pain, 
 And she will steal, unbidden, to thy side.
 
 VERSICLES. loi 
 
 The Records of the Time each morning bring 
 
 Some mournful tale of human suffering ; 
 
 And, as I daily pace the crowded street, 
 
 How many careworn faces do I meet ! 
 
 Could we of each the secret story know, 
 
 That, sure, were an Apocalypse of woe. 
 
 Oh ! melt, hard heart ! thy brethren's sorrows feel. 
 
 And soothe and comfort, if thou canst not heal. 
 
 'How sacred is this place,' in awe I cried. 
 Pacing the mighty temple's glorious nave ; 
 And then, methought, an inner voice replied — 
 'Sacred indeed — and other things beside, 
 The household hearth, the cradle, and the grave.' 
 
 The thoughts that wait upon the uninspired 
 Are by laborious effort drawn from far ; 
 To him who sings with inborn fervour fired 
 They come spontaneous and say, * Here we are.'
 
 I02 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 As down the westward slope of life we move, 
 Shapes from the past our daily steps attend. 
 So live, that memor}^ in thy age may prove 
 No dread intruder, but a welcome friend. 
 
 Fain would I serve my brethren. How shall I 
 Hasten the advent of the golden year } 
 And a voice answer' d — 'Do not strive or cry, 
 But whisper truths into thy neighbour's ear.' 
 
 Be not too much exalted, if to-day 
 Strong winds of faith bear up thy spirit's wings ; 
 Soon the high passion will have pass'd away, 
 And thy soul stumble among worldly things.
 
 VERSICLES. 103 
 
 Despair not, if thy spirit-fire burns low, 
 Nor think its ardour will return no more ; 
 Soon thy heart's altar once again will glow, 
 And the flame tremble upward as before. 
 
 'These thoughts are old.' True ; but each race of men 
 In its own way must think them o'er again.
 
 104 SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD. 
 
 Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight ? 
 Who blushes at the name ? 
 When cowards mock the patriot's fate, 
 Who hangs his head for shame ? 
 He 's all a knave, or half a slave, 
 Who slights his country thus ; 
 But a true man, like you, man, 
 Will fill your glass with us. 
 
 II. 
 
 We drink the memory of the brave. 
 
 The faithful and the few : 
 
 Some lie far off beyond the wave, 
 
 Some sleep in Ireland, too. 
 
 All, all are gone ; but still lives on 
 
 The fame of those who died ; 
 
 And true men, like you, men, 
 
 Remember them with pride.
 
 THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD. 105 
 
 III. 
 
 Some on the shores of distant lands 
 Their weary hearts have laid, 
 And by the stranger's heedless hands 
 Their lonely graves were made ; 
 But though their clay be far away 
 Beyond th' Atlantic foam, 
 In true men, like you, men. 
 Their spirit's still at home. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The dust of some is Irish earth, 
 Among their own they rest. 
 And the same land that gave them birth 
 Has caught them to her breast ; 
 And we will pray that from their clay 
 Full many a race may start 
 Of true men, like you, men, 
 To act as brave a part. 
 
 V. 
 
 They rose in dark and evil days 
 
 To right their native land ; 
 
 They kindled here a living blaze. 
 
 That nothing shall withstand. 
 
 Alas ! that might can vanquish right^ — 
 
 They fell and pass'd away ; 
 
 But true men, like you, men. 
 
 Are plenty here to-day.
 
 I Ob SONNETS AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then here 's their memory ! may it be 
 
 For us a guiding light, 
 
 To cheer our strife for liberty 
 
 And teach us to unite. 
 
 Through good and ill, be Ireland's still, 
 
 Though sad as theirs your fate, 
 
 And true men be you, men, 
 
 Like those of Ninety-Eight. 
 
 CJjJ?^^.^ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFY^RNITa^
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-o0m-7, '54 (5990)444
 
 WFK- - 
 
 |U321 
 
 |l900 
 
 _Ingrai[L-^ 
 Sonnets 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL 
 
 LIBRARY FACILITY 
 
 AA 000 369 877 
 
 PR 
 
 U821 
 IU39A17 
 1900