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 «
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 ^tfuJcJriou 

 
 HARD RAD A 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER P O E :\I S.
 
 HARDRADA 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 PAUL WILLIAMS WYATT 
 
 Clirist Church, Oxford 
 
 BEDFORD— F. HOCKI.IFFE 
 LONDON— SIMPKIN, MARSHALL, AND CO. 
 
 1878
 
 
 TO 
 
 MY BROTHERS 
 
 VITRUVIUS AND HERVEY 
 
 91724
 
 r These are but passing tones 
 
 Half-caught amid the thousand sounds of Hfe 
 That sweep across our too world-burdencil ears.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 HAKUKAUA ... 
 
 SIGHS OF THE SEA 
 
 GWENDOLINE 
 
 STOKNOWAY. TO K. J. M. 
 
 MARIE ANTOINETTE 
 
 A SEA E\JpNING ... 
 
 ARE ALL-THINGS THEN TOO LATE.' 
 
 BASIAS > ... 
 
 TO J. M. 
 
 KKAGMENT THE SURGES 
 
 ZEUS IN HIS WISDOM MAKES PKOVI 
 
 NINETEENTH CENTURY 
 WEEP FOR THEM THAT DIE.' 
 THE CHILDREN OK THIS GENERATION 
 TO F. E. C... 
 
 TO M ... 
 
 THE HARVEST END 
 
 HUMANI NIHIL A ME ALIENUM, 
 
 FRANZKAI ... 
 
 OSMAN, 1877 
 
 ADYTUM ANIM.E ... 
 
 TO THE NIGHT WIND 
 
 ')I1E .MYSTERY OF LIVING 
 
 SIGN 
 
 OR THE 
 
 PAGE 
 I 
 
 19 
 22 
 27 
 29 
 30 
 32 
 
 33 
 36 
 38 
 
 39 
 40 
 
 41 
 45 
 47 
 48 
 
 49 
 
 52 
 55 
 56 
 57 
 59
 
 H A R D R A D A 
 
 i 
 K MEMORY OF STAMFORD BRIDGE 
 
 1066
 
 HARDRADA. 
 
 THE FIGHT. 
 
 'jf- So the morn broke along the dusky hills ; 
 Woke to new burst of life the sleeping rills 
 And streams of Derwent ; and the coming day 
 Flung its first lights across the heather's grey, 
 Redd'ning the tents of Norway : sullen hung 
 The Land-waster's proud ensign — pennon sung 
 By skald, or king, or spearman — dreaded name, 
 That yet no foe could lower to defame. 
 So swayed its folds slow through the morning air, 
 Drooping like palm above a lion-lair. 
 Guarding Hardrada's rest as he lay sleeping there. 
 
 B
 
 2 HARDRADA. 
 
 Far Stretched the Norsemen's camp: slow past them roll 'd 
 
 The flood of reedy Derwent to the wold : 
 
 Secure they lay, still flushed with victory's charm, 
 
 Nor dreamed of fight, nor heeded war's alarm. 
 
 What fear was their's ? York's timorous head was bent 
 
 In that ill-timed surrender : her intent 
 
 To save herself ; she recked not who should fall : 
 
 " Perish Earl Harold, Eadwine, Morkere, all : 
 
 " Perish their cause " — this, this her only cry, 
 
 So she might 'scape the o'er-looming destiny. 
 
 Thus waits the host far-stretched along the leas 
 Northumbria's plighted train of hostages ; 
 What thought of coming victory had they ? 
 How slept the chiefs in their own reverie ? 
 Did Fulford's field presage the rising day ? 
 Should Stamford see their crowning victory ? 
 Hardrada dreaming sees a coming throne ; 
 Tostig yearns but to take again his own.
 
 HARDRADA. 
 
 His fair Northiimbria ; that loved him erst, 
 But drave him forth by GamiKs death accurs'd ; 
 And Norway dreams his Raven-flight shall be 
 E'en wider-winged — a mightier emperj'. 
 'Sudden a cloud — ^no cloud of heaven — is seen, 
 A dust-cloud, broken by the flashing sheen 
 Of coijiing spear and helm ; as one descries 
 In Northern seas an iceberg pierce the skies 
 With fretted pinnacles of dazzling snow 
 Piercing thro' mists that wrap the heaving floe. 
 To arms ! to arms ! avenging England comes ! 
 His brother's wrong, his own false service numbs 
 The terror'd heart of Tostig ; but the might 
 Of Nonvay shrinks not from the coming fight, 
 While cravens counsel one and all retreat, 
 To gain the shelt'ring cover of the fleet. 
 
 Note I. Snorro, Julni-tonc, 206. I-aiiig, vol. iii. 87.
 
 4 HARDRADA. 
 
 But the skald king bids stand. And at that call 
 On either side springs up a living wall 
 Of Scandinavia's heroes, as the note 
 Of her defiance on the English smote. 
 
 And as in some deep mockery of Peace, 
 One rides to sue for terms and compact, " Cease, 
 " Cease," rose the cry, " 'tis idle. Stay — if he, 
 " My brother still, again my Earl will be, 
 " Let it be so, and spare the fight." " Say, then, 
 " What have the King and these his Northern men ?" 
 " Their full seven feet of ground — to all — and he 
 " One foot the more to match his sovereignty." 
 — Asked but to prove the mettle of each host ; 
 — Answered and e'en fulfilled, no idle boast. 
 
 So clasht the hosts together ; and there rang 
 Spear against buckler, helms with sword-strokes clang. 
 And chief smote chief with sword and skald-like sang — 
 The old Berserker rage within their breasts ;
 
 HARDRADA. 
 
 And waved a might}- sea of shimmering tossing crests. 
 So fought the hosts, and Sigurdsson fought on, 
 Mightiest among the mighty ; and had won 
 Another fight — where England's arms struck not 
 For Enghsh land — by her own sons forgot — 
 But for her smote her sons, and Godwine's line 
 Itself forgat not ; nor the hoary sign 
 Of the old worshipped dragon ; and its lord 
 Smote with his steel, as high above him soar'd 
 The standard ; and the lord of Norway fought 
 ^Unpanzered and unhelmed ; seemed but to court 
 Death's crowning duel, deal one parting blow, — 
 And own but him alone the conquering foe. 
 
 Note 2. Son^ (if Amor, Tostig's Skald,
 
 HARDRADA. 
 
 II. 
 
 THE DEATH OF HARDRADA. 
 
 Upclomb the orb of day ; and yet the fight 
 Unbroken raged in its first furied might ; 
 And Iceland, Ireland, Scotland, Orkney fought 
 For Norway and for Tostig ; and distraught 
 At her own equipoise did Fortune soar 
 Hovering uncertain o'er the din of war. 
 Hear the loud cry of England, "Holy Rood," 
 See arrows" deadly flight, the field bestrewed 
 With sunken warriors of that living wall 
 Staunch to the death, whom no death might appal, 
 Around the great horse standard : sudden — he — 
 T'he Land-waster falls low and yields to destiny.
 
 HAKURADA. 7 
 
 So goes he lo fell Hela's murky shades 
 Where light of day into dim twilight fades ; 
 And flitter the pale ghosts by Gialls shore, 
 Or where the founts of dark Vergelmer pour 
 Their loathsome waters to the dread Queen's throne, 
 And Asgard sees a pomp more awful than its own. 
 
 And fiercer raged the fight ; and Tostig took 
 His stand beneath the banner ; and there shook 
 Its folds defiant, till the arrow hied 
 Burying its fell head deep within his side. 
 And falling pierced he still for vengeance cries, — 
 A traitor, yet a brave, a traitor dies. 
 Then came there Eystein Orre from the fleet 
 Slem-tipp'd with burnished gold, hurrying to meet 
 England's advancing line ; and strove to stay 
 The back retreating host. And now the day 
 Dropped slowly down below the western wave 
 And drew its lights from o'er the Norsemen's grave.
 
 8 HARURADA. 
 
 Yet Still the hosts charge on till duskier night 
 
 Spreads her dark robe between and stays the fight. 
 * * « # 
 
 So part the nations, fated ne'er to meet 
 By land, by sea, with armies or with fleet 
 In war's array again — a lasting peace 
 Struck once and deep — a bond that shall increase 
 Unsnapt ; unf retted by the onward course 
 Of centuries, that rends with its slow force 
 All-certain. Friends for ever shall they be 
 Borne on the downward tide of nations' history.
 
 HARDRADA. 
 
 III. 
 
 THE NIGHT OF THE VICTORY. 
 
 See how oftimes in the mid-storm the blast 
 Will lull its raging fury ; and as past 
 All seems awhile ; and stricken nature hies 
 To gain her form that chilled and prostrate lies. 
 Too soon — deceptive presage of a strife 
 As yet unfought out,, sterner, feller, rife 
 With hidden struggle ; then bursts forth once more 
 The storm-cloud voices, and the fire-fiend's roar : 
 Aloft the victim-seeking bolt upsoars 
 All deadlier in its aim that it hath sought the pause. 
 So came to England's king the lull of war 
 That fell o'er Stamford's victory ; and he saw
 
 lO HARDRADA. 
 
 And knew it in himself ; heard the far cry 
 
 Of coming winds that sighed his destiny. 
 
 And dying Edward's prophet voice outspake 
 
 The ills to come in this false victory's wake ; 
 
 " Sanguelac !" "The arrow !" pierced his prescient ears, 
 
 And saints forsworn fanned on the growing fears ; 
 
 And the bowed Rood struck chill with dark dismay 
 
 The soul that conscious right and wrong alone could sway. 
 
 One hero heart in this too craven earth ; 
 A giant soul unknowing its own worth : 
 Conscious but of the strife within that stirred 
 To prove th' intent that broke a plighted word : 
 A true soul, likest God's own image he — 
 Born a true king, born but to destiny. 
 
 Then with a mighty effort of the man 
 The heart revived, and swift the warm blood ran ; 
 And Godwine's house all-chivalrous should again 
 O'er England's unrent throne triumphant reign.
 
 HAKDKADA. I I 
 
 Now rose the wassail shouts along the feast, 
 The long line of broad tables ; nor the least 
 Of these his chieftains' voices is the king's, 
 As down the halls in laughter loud it rings. 
 And Eadwine sat him there by his lord's side 
 Oblivious of defeat, that erst betyde 
 Northumbria's Earldom there, and INIorkere's shield 
 Left battered and down-trod upon the field. 
 It may be the king's conscious soul within 
 Dwelt on that oath, and knew how that his sin 
 E'en now was a sin pardoned, an oath ta'en 
 To his own hurt but dared for England's gain : 
 Knew that his country and his crown were his, 
 And his of right : why care he more than this ? 
 And so his voice rang clear, and the laugh sped 
 All bright as his should be but now that wed 
 A royal English wife, that Godwine's strain 
 Might mingle it with Alfgar's, and their reign
 
 1 2 HARDRADA. 
 
 From two unstable coronets build one crown 
 Over all England, ne'er to be cast down ; 
 Bright as behoved him then as he might see 
 Round him the warrior friends he led to victory. 
 
 But sudden came a pause upon the feast ; 
 And voices hushed, and laughters ringing ceased, 
 As up the hall stained and besmirched with dust. 
 And panting loud, in hurried course there rushed 
 A courier from the South, that sped to tell 
 News that but struck the note of England's knell ; 
 The seas safe crossed at last, the Norman came 
 By dint of arms to prove his vaunted claim. 
 No voice awhile brake on the silent hall — 
 None dared his fellow's utt'rance to forestall — 
 Late, bending forwards, low, an aged thane 
 Whispered his neighbour Edward's dread refrain 
 Of Senlac ; and a shiver ran amain 
 Adown the feast ; as when the bending grain
 
 HARDRADA. 13 
 
 Deep-laden in the autumn takes the force 
 
 Of passing winds that o"er the rich fields course. 
 
 Then spake the king, and rose, and bade them arm, 
 
 And all at his loud tones forgat th' alarm ; 
 
 So fell the banquet shouts, the wassail strain, 
 
 And each girt on his blade to essay the fight again.
 
 14 HARDRADA. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE BURIAL OF HARDRADA. 
 
 Still rides the cold moon high o'er Derwent s flood, 
 RolHng encrimsoned with the warrior blood 
 Out-poured on Stamford's plain, past that great span 
 Of unhewn stones 'neath which the river ran, 
 Bearing its tale down to the Northern Sea, 
 Its count of life, of death, defeat, and victory : 
 The deadly scatt perforce each people bore. 
 Not more the conquered than the conqueror. 
 And paler than the pale moon's silver gleam, 
 Splint'ring her down-shot arrows on the stream, 
 Burnt the far torches of a silent crowd 
 Of mourners, moving o'er the field bestrewed 
 Alike with foe and friend that lay in sleep, 
 Such sleep as knew no waking, calm and deep.
 
 HARDRADA. 1 5 
 
 As some long march of cranes wends its slow train 
 By Guadalquiver or thro' Ebros plain, 
 Silent their course and long, save the low cry 
 That warns the approach of some near enemy ; 
 Then halts the column to survey the plain, 
 And e'en pursues its forward march again : 
 So moved the band of silent monks and sad ; 
 Thought's^ utt'rance all their weight of grief forbad ; 
 Friend after friend they mark, foe upon foe, 
 And bursts upon the night some cry of woe 
 Too long pent-up, as the low graves close o'er 
 Loved faces, that may now be seen no more. 
 And there the traitor Earl in death is found 
 Disfigured and despoiled ; his arms around 
 Shivered, and stainetl, and dinted ; no repose 
 Or painted death as sleep, or seemed to gloze 
 The dead form as a living ; and they bear 
 His body to the king his brother ; there
 
 1 6 HARDRADA. 
 
 He shall not lie — but e'en forgiv'n in death 
 Shall sleep where first he drew his childhood breath, 
 And heard his brother's prattling voice and loved ; 
 So, false himself, the other's trueness proved. 
 
 Then seek they him among the ghastly throng, 
 Their first of men to Norway, and the song 
 Of poet-chiefs ; nor seek they vainly long. 
 
 For he lay there a giant at repose, 
 Amid a slaughtered host of fallen foes ; 
 His visage seared with one great murd'rous scar — 
 A face e'en then that death forebore to mar 
 With his own ghostly pallor ; and his eye 
 Closed as in a light sleep doth death belie. 
 No line hath searing care stamped on his brow ; 
 Calm slept he in his tent, and sleeps he now ; 
 A warrior fell with his slain round him strewed — 
 
 The last grim witness to his fortitude.
 
 HARDKAUA. 1 7 
 
 So bear they him to that his promised grave, 
 The sepulchre that England's monarch gave ; 
 When each the other faced in princely might, 
 And rode in majesty to meet the fight : 
 E'en now a helpless burden in their arms — 
 His northern beauty yields not all its charms ; 
 Life fled still leaves behind its glorious tracks, 
 Enhancing all that ruined power it lacks. 
 As Adriatic cities of the sea 
 Fling o'er the still wave all their brilliancy 
 In mirror'd outline, and in silence mourn 
 The surge of waves erst round their walls now gone ; 
 That wooing them no more leaves but the boon 
 Of unmoved stillness in the dead lagune ; 
 Reflects but splendours of the days gone by, 
 And guards the truth of their past empery : 
 So showed the dead man's face his high estate, 
 A sovereign still, as when the thread of Fate 
 
 c
 
 1 8 HARDRADA. 
 
 By grey Nornes spun hung o'er the Raven's flight, 
 And urged him on in thund'ring Northern might 
 To English shores : his panoply of power 
 Seemed still encircling e'en in this death-hour ; 
 And writ upon his smile they read the count 
 Ofbattle-joys, of might,soul-born,that none could daunt. 
 They laid him down beside that Northern shore ; 
 His shroud the sand, his dirge the ocean roar ; 
 They gave his death~"-chant to the winds to sing. 
 And buried him, and said, ' He was a king.'
 
 SIGHS OF THE SEA. 1 9 
 
 SIGHS OF THE SEA. 
 
 The northern wind sweeps down the sea ; 
 And over the surge 
 i Floats the low dirge 
 
 Of the passing bell from the lea. 
 
 Wafted, blown above the breezes, 
 
 Moaning low through the night, 
 
 Chilling the morning light 
 
 That itself already freezes ; 
 
 Low, low its sound at the day-break 
 Waking the dell 
 With its deathly knell, 
 
 Proclaiming a widow's heart-ache.
 
 20 SIGHS OF THE SEA. 
 
 A sire and a son set sail ; alack ! 
 
 That the winds blew fair 
 
 To the morning air 
 Of the day that should ne'er see them back. 
 
 They are gone where many a friend and foe 
 
 Lie with their dead 
 
 In the oozy bed, 
 'Neath the heaving ocean's ebb and flow. 
 
 " Will they, will they come ?" she had said, 
 That mother and wife, 
 As she watched the strife 
 
 Of winds and billows that sighed out ' Dead.' 
 
 Dead ! dead ! her own, her own ; 
 The boy she loved, 
 The man she had proved, 
 
 And she alone.
 
 SIGHS OF THE SEA. 21 
 
 Dead ! dead ! " Will they come ? "' her cry : 
 
 Answered — not on earth, 
 
 But in other birth 
 Of new life that is born as we die. 
 
 Three graves } nay, nay the same sod ; 
 
 Parted not let them be ; 
 
 Lives bound to£rether three 
 Rest they together — with God.
 
 2 2 GWENDOLINE. 
 
 GWENDOLINE. 
 
 He turned, and left the place, and bowed his head, 
 
 His heart bursting with its own sorrow-spleen, 
 Left you as one to him henceforward dead. 
 You, Gwendoline. 
 
 He stood by those dark laurels that of old 
 
 Your plighted love had seen ; 
 Your lips to him th' oft fabled words out-told, 
 Yours, Gwendoline. 
 
 And as his touch played with your golden hair, 
 
 And kisses too, I ween, 
 Rained hot upon your burning forehead there. 
 There, Gwendoline,
 
 GWENDOLINE. 2$ 
 
 You took his love, and threw your piercing look, 
 
 Your eyes flashed all their sheen ; 
 And he, soul-stirred with thrilling passion, shook 
 For Gwendoline. 
 
 And in his arms you scarce gave him one thought. 
 
 Whose love you ne'er had been : 
 You knew that hundred other suitors sought 
 Fair Gwendoline. 
 
 And yet you held him in your captive hold, 
 
 Your fair false arms between ; 
 He knew not that to others you were sold. 
 Their Gwendoline. 
 
 And then it came. One he had slighted erst 
 
 Told him all, of mere spleen ; 
 In his first frenzied grief he madly cursed 
 You, Gwendoline.
 
 24 GWENnoi.IXK. 
 
 And then the old love came on him anew ; 
 
 And with a heart serene 
 Again he rose, and would have trusted you, 
 His Gwendoline. 
 
 And once again he came to meet you here, 
 
 These old tall trees between ; 
 His passions tost amain with hope and fear, 
 Of Gwendoline. 
 
 And you, traitress before, at last betrayed 
 
 Yourself as you had been, 
 And shameless stood before him there displayed 
 As Gwendoline. 
 
 The scarlet pomegranate had blushed to meet 
 
 That silent love I ween ; 
 He bowed, he fell, stricken before your feet, 
 Yours, Gwendoline.
 
 GWENDOLINE. 2 
 
 And in one groan his agony went forth : 
 
 Death's icy blast had been 
 Spring's sun, as he rushed to the driving north 
 From GwendoHne. 
 
 ■iP tF ^ 
 
 * # * * * 
 
 He left, and could not curse you for the love 
 
 He bore you as his queen ; 
 He dare not to believe that you could prove 
 False, Gwendoline. 
 
 His soul fled back to the circle of your charms 
 
 As they of old had been, 
 He felt the warm embrace of your soft arms, 
 Yours, Gwendoline. 
 
 3
 
 26 GWENDOLINE. 
 
 And then the traitor-kiss stole o'er his thought, 
 
 And strove itself to screen 
 From sight the soul-murder by your hands wrought, 
 Fell Gwendoline. 
 
 * * * * 
 
 * * * * 
 
 And so he left you and came not again. 
 
 But in his anguish keen 
 Bowed his head slowly there, and there lay slain 
 By Gwendoline. 
 
 March, 1877.
 
 STORXOWAY. 27 
 
 STORNOWAY. 
 
 TO K. J. M. 
 
 One wrote and told of Stomoway 
 
 With sea and cliff, and wind-swept shore, 
 And castled turrets grim and grey 
 
 Fronting the sullen ocean-roar : 
 All varied scenes as these, and more, 
 
 Such told he then in his own way ; 
 
 And as I read, before me lay 
 
 The scenes he saw and sang, but aye 
 
 There rose a thought in me bevond all he might sav. 
 
 'O' 
 
 And e'en as he that other told 
 Of seas all-furied in their might : 
 
 How frowning cliffs with frontlet bold 
 Hurl back their waves in sovereign right ;
 
 2 8 STORNOWAY. 
 
 And skies glare witli tlieir sapphire light 
 Or mellow softly into gold ; 
 Yet fairer scenes than these he told 
 And thoughts that e'er we know as old 
 And yet are new — yea, new as though they ne'er had been . 
 
 As told that other, so I saw 
 
 The sky, the rock, the battling wave, 
 And castled hill, and sunny shore. 
 
 Or watched the stars their glimmering lave ; 
 Such scenes all other thoughts out-drave 
 
 Save one — that filled my heart of yore, 
 
 And great within it grew yet more — 
 
 For one whose love for me was law 
 
 And law but love law-giving — giving for my weal. 
 
 Stonioivay Castle, N^.B., 
 July, 1875.
 
 3IAK1E ANTOIXKTTE. 29 
 
 MARIE ANTOINETTE. 
 
 In more than queen-like grace she stands ; 
 Pleads for her son with out-stretched hands — 
 Imperious child of other lands. 
 
 i 
 
 France answers, Vengeance ! hear the cry ; 
 She proudly turns, nor knows a sigh ; 
 So calmly bends her head to die. 
 
 Fate thrusts her to a giddy throne. 
 High, yet scarce higher than her own. 
 Then, rolling onward, hurls her down.
 
 30 A SEA EVENING. 
 
 A SEA EVENING. 
 
 A PALE, o'er sicklied, downward dropping sun 
 Behind a plain of seas ; a leaden wooing 
 Of grey and purple tints — a shingle reach 
 Low-lying, and with scarce a rising ridge 
 Breaking the distance : pools left by the tide 
 Stretching here, there, and taking the faint ray 
 Of dulling lights scarce flashed out in the west : 
 And then two forms at play, — chance boys or girls, 
 Or one and one — stooping above the pools, 
 And the bright ring of laughter, as their hand 
 Causfht some green sea-crab welcoming not the touch ;
 
 A SEA EVENING. 3 1 
 
 Or dashed a hasty pahn into the pool 
 
 Splashing the other : tournaments of mirth 
 
 And childhood's sunlight, gleaming through the waste 
 
 Of dull unburnished seas and smouldering skies 
 
 Of faded flames lit by the setting day.
 
 32 
 
 Are all things then too late ? 
 Shall all this toil as one long day-dream break 
 Into the real, to find ideals null, 
 And that truth-germ within them just died out 
 For want of using ? Are all things too late ?
 
 liASlAS. 33 
 
 BASIAS. 
 
 TO C. H. B., IN REMEMBRANCE OF A SUMMER IN 
 
 HUNGARY AND SERVIA DURING THE TURKO-SERVIAN 
 
 CAMPAIGN OF 1 876. 
 
 'Tis gained : at last before me lie 
 
 The lands I've longed to see ; 
 
 Eager I turn m\- willins: eve 
 
 O'er mountain and o'er lea ; 
 Range upon range, plain after plain, 
 Again, unwearied, and again 
 
 All wondering I may scan ; 
 Where Ister's bosom broadly spread. 
 Is narrowing to a silver thread, 
 
 From liasias to Kasan.
 
 34 BASIAS. 
 
 IsLer, whose ever-rolling streams 
 
 Are born in northern snow ; 
 Who now 'twixt crag and forest gleams, 
 
 Now winds 'mid marshes low ; 
 Fed by a thousand streams that haste 
 To lose their waters in his waste, 
 
 He rolls superbly on ; 
 'Neath mellower moons, star-studded skies, 
 His swelling current eastward hies. 
 
 Until the goal is won. 
 
 * 
 
 And can it be that o'er yon hills 
 The Cross with Crescent vies ; 
 
 And Christian blood dyes deep the rills. 
 And cold the Pagan lies ? 
 
 Fanatic rule has fired a train 
 
 That fanned by greed and lust of gain
 
 13ASIAS. 35 
 
 Has burst o'er Europe's peace ; 
 Hope one, hope all, that help is nigh 
 To quell war's bloodhounds' hue and cry, 
 
 And make them ever cease. 
 
 'So far the river bore me on 
 , My course, but now no more ; 
 The hills are fled, the forests gone. 
 
 Gone too the waters' roar — 
 But still in thought those scenes shall live. 
 And recollection fondly give 
 
 A picture back to view ; 
 When other sights have passed away 
 And faded into distant grey, 
 
 These only bright and true. 
 
 Basias, September, 1876.
 
 36 TO J. M. 
 
 TO J. M. 
 
 A STAR shot thro' the glimmVing night 
 That closed upon the sunken day, 
 
 Tracked out a golden furrow-light 
 And seared the skies with dying ray ; 
 
 Only a star — yet bound to me 
 
 In closest tie — thou wast by me. 
 
 A drop fell from yon bending blade 
 Where it hung glist'ring in the sun, 
 
 And glinted diamond, crimson shade. 
 Now golden and now thickening dun : 
 
 It fell unloved by all but me — 
 
 And why ? its sheen had flashed on thee.
 
 TO J. M. 37 
 
 The morning gale swept on with wing 
 Burdened with perfumes of the dawn, 
 
 And in its flight it seemed to sing 
 That sad and jo}'Ous are hut one — 
 
 Who heard but I ? 'twas bHss to me 
 
 To breathe the air that smiled on thee.
 
 38 FRAGMENT — THE SURGES. 
 
 FRAGMENT— THE SURGES. 
 
 I WATCHED the billows breaking on the shore 
 
 And rising higher ; and at first they seemed 
 
 As though for ever they would swell, nor stay 
 
 Their battled climbing : so they fought and rose. 
 
 But, as I watched, the foremost foam would glide 
 
 Ever adown the shingle, and appeared 
 
 What erst was covered, and the surge withdrew. 
 
 Thus thought I human pride and man's fierce thoughts 
 
 Swell, threatening deluge to what may oppose 
 
 And front their rising : then a mightier force 
 
 Our old-world thinkers called necessity 
 
 Stays the wild fury — leaves the man alone — 
 
 As the withdrawing tide leaves the low shore 
 
 Bare, ground beneath its force, smooth, silent, strewn.
 
 zKus. 39 
 
 ZEUS IN HIS WISDO^I :\rAKES PROVISION 
 FOR THE NINETEENTH CENTURY. 
 
 FAiR-^''enus' self made the stern gods to tremble : 
 Who'said he loved not did his thoughts dissemble : 
 When Eros, lovely child, burst on their view, 
 Olvmpus shook, and soon poor mortals too : 
 Zeus moved with pity saw all ill-at-ease, 
 And so, to save us, gave men Philotes.
 
 40 
 
 Weep for them that die ? Joy for those that are born ? 
 Weep or joy for them that die or ever they see the hght ? 
 Joy for them that marry and keep the marriage-feast 
 
 bright ? 
 Or weep we for them that marry not, and live on their 
 
 life alone ? 
 
 Weep or be glad do we ask ? alas ! we know not what : 
 For glad is turned to sad, and woe it mayhap to weal ; 
 Nor know we if Fate in red or in black will set her a seal; 
 And ever unknowing and yearning to know hurrv we 
 on to our lot.
 
 THE CHII.DRFX OF THIS GF.NF.RATION'. 4 1 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF THIS GENERATION. 
 
 ' Lkt us alone ; we will not hear,' the}' en*, 
 
 These children of the day ; 
 ' Wi^er we than the sons of light on high ' 
 ' This generation say. 
 
 ' Let-US alone : ye weary with your voice 
 ' That piped to men of old : 
 
 ' Leave us to work the work of our own choice 
 ' And rear the calf of gold. 
 
 ' Leave us : our Faith draws \-aster multitudes 
 ' Than your religions drew : 
 
 ' United we ; ve breed but sects and feuds ; 
 ' We will have none of \ou.
 
 42 THE CHILDREN OF THIS GENERATION. 
 
 ' Go to your old forgot, insensate times, 
 ' Go back, and taste and see — 
 
 ' Romance and nobleness, and acted mimes 
 ' Oi faith and chivalry.' 
 
 So shriek they in their bitter hate, and pass 
 
 Round ' Peace ' for their watch-word, 
 
 And echo rising loathes the hollow farce. 
 And answering moans ' a sword.' 
 
 ■o 
 
 These sin against their country for their gold 
 Cloked with mock charity ; 
 
 As Canaanitish-Rahab sinned of old, 
 Nor sin as well as she. 
 
 These barter as did Esau hunger-faint 
 
 Their birthright from on high ; 
 
 But ne'er repentant comes the after-plaint. 
 The exceeding bitter cry.
 
 THK CHILDRF.X OF THIS GEXF.RATIOX. 43 
 
 These sin as rose-crowned Helen had the seeds 
 
 Of strife for nations sown ; 
 She walked the wa\- love for another leads ; 
 
 These sin but for their own. 
 
 Or like the woman who they say sold Rome 
 
 For love of Sabine gold, 
 And found her instant guerdon in a tomb 
 T Of dead shields o'er her rolled. 
 
 Disdaining our world-temples these uprear 
 Their grand hypsethral fane, 
 
 High in the lands and brooking no compeer, 
 To self and God of gain. 
 
 No room for charity in that fell creed, 
 
 No place for sympathy ; 
 Sailing on one vast subtersensuous greed 
 
 Their smuggling life-craft ply.
 
 44 THK CHILDREN' OF THIS GENERATION. 
 
 Nor then the burning fever-thirst can slake ; 
 
 But of their madness dire, 
 Seeking a fearful stimulant, they make 
 
 Their sons too pass the fire ; 
 
 The Molochizing fire that sears the germ 
 Of kindness in man's soul ; 
 
 As scorches the fierce noon-sun yon poor worm 
 Writhing to reach her hole. 
 
 A holocaust of nature. All desires 
 And passions pile they up ; 
 
 And pouring their libations to the fires, 
 Drain the dregs out the cup. 
 
 Let them alone ; we talk and waste our breath 
 To check their mocking cry ; 
 
 Wallow they in their festering slime of death. 
 And there forgotten lie.
 
 TO F, E. C. 45 
 
 TO F. E. C. 
 
 We met and parted ; for the sea 
 
 And duty bore you then awa}- ; 
 And <)ld-heard calls awaited me — 
 
 When should we meet— ah, who should say ? 
 Or where ? if friendships parted be 
 
 By our world chances and the w^ay 
 Of these life-paths, we know the truth all plain, 
 The meeting may be long ; it may be ne'er again. 
 
 Yet have we met hard by the old-known spot 
 As first, and the quick year has sped its flight — 
 
 Leaden, too oft, to such as wail their lot ; 
 
 Fleet as the wind to them whose li\'es are bright —
 
 46 TO F. E. C. 
 
 Your path o"er seas and continents of hot 
 
 And arid clime ; mine in the scorching light 
 Of cities' open gaze and piercing ken ; 
 Yours in the heavens" clear sight, mine 'neath the 
 eyes of men.
 
 TO M 47 
 
 TO INI 
 
 There is a sorrow comes to some of us 
 Beyo.nd our ken ; it comes ; we suffer all 
 Not iMiderstanding ; stumied to senselessness 
 We move along our life-path, and so leave 
 The sorrow. And the distance ever grows ; 
 Month presses month, year year ; we ahva)-s see 
 The cloud slow-waning ; but as fringe and edge 
 j\Ierge centre-nearing, darker grows the whole, 
 And still mars our horizon.
 
 48 THE HARVKST END. 
 
 THE HARVEST END. 
 
 Not ripe the bending gold-red corn-ears yet ; 
 
 Not ripe that the sharp sickle be thrust in ; 
 
 Not yet the great world harvest-home ; the sin 
 
 Of man not finished, not the cup brimful 
 
 For out-pouring. Not yet — a little lull 
 
 Ere that fierce storm that o'er creation breaks, 
 
 As now the summer clouds may blacken o'er 
 
 The swaying crops : this war-worn old world shakes ; 
 
 And, in the eternal, time shall be no more, 
 
 And sun and stars antl time together set.
 
 HUMAN! NIHIL A .ME ALIENL'.M. 49 
 
 HUMAXI NIHIL A ME ALIEXU.AI. 
 
 Who am I, brother, that I dare to give 
 
 ]My judgment against thee ? 
 Who for a fiercer judgment waiting Uve 
 T That sure shall meted be. 
 
 i 
 
 Arn I so pure, my sister, that I dare 
 
 iMine own self to condemn thee ? 
 
 And meet thy look with one self-righteous stare 
 Shorn of all sympathy ? 
 
 Who am I to condemn thee ? to take up 
 First stone that thou be slain ? 
 
 Forgetting as now I fill up the cup 
 It shall be filled again.
 
 50 HUMANI NIHIL A ME ALIENUM. 
 
 The merest child-lesson that all shall learn 
 
 If they nor shut the eye 
 Nor stop the ear. Oh, God ! make each man yearn 
 
 With human charity. 
 
 Who am I that I dare to separate 
 
 My soul garden, and thrust 
 All from its hedge-walls, and there self-wrapped sate 
 
 A Pharisaic lust ? 
 
 Is not mine own sin deeper .'' think, ah think. 
 
 What meaneth sympathy ; 
 Faint, faintest and yet godlike — the last link 
 
 Between us ere we die. 
 
 Think ' Magdalene," ' seven devils." Dare to doubt 
 
 That pardon. All may see 
 Forgiveness. Thrust them out? 
 
 Thou ? and forgiven be.
 
 HUMAXl .NIHIL A MIC AI.IK.\L"JI. 5 I 
 
 Throw, throw thyself before a throne of grace 
 
 Low at a mercy-seat : 
 Cry loud for pardon : gazing on the face 
 
 Of one sure paraclete. 
 
 Who dares condemn ? methinks to waste the days 
 
 In pride of idleness 
 Aqd nothing-working pleasure but betrays 
 T A sin scarce less than this. 
 
 i\Ian"s part on earth to work — work, pity, aid 
 
 Others to work, and live 
 For others, not for self in our life-trade ; 
 
 Work, pity, and forgive.
 
 52 FKAXZKAl. 
 
 FRANZKAI. 
 
 We left him there, and saw his home 
 
 Fade fast behind us in the Hght ; 
 The good ship plunged and splashed her foam, 
 
 And Buda waned to one dull light : 
 Fell back the hills and left the flood, 
 
 The haunts and sounds of men had ceased ; 
 The helmsman wrenched his wheel, and stood 
 
 To meet the morning in the East, 
 
 And all night through we drove our way 
 On thro' the low Hungarian plain ; 
 
 The night dark softens into grey, 
 
 The Pole-star and the Bears slow wane :
 
 FRAN'ZKAI. 53 
 
 A solitude, a stillness sweeps 
 
 The desert marsh with osier lined ; 
 And thought flies back and flying weeps 
 , To lose all we have left behind. 
 
 ^^'hy met we if we met to part, 
 * To lose the friendship hardly won ? 
 \X\\y ran a glad thrill through the heart 
 
 "^At morn, to chill ere set of sun ? 
 I hate the cliffs that Neusatz crowns, 
 
 I hate the clust'ring Semlin towers — 
 I hate those dull, dead, Danube towns 
 That robbed us of the joyous hours. 
 
 Why did we part ? Could I but stay 
 With him, I would have risked a cast 
 
 With fortune's dice-box, and the day 
 That parted us had never past.
 
 54 FRAXZKAT. 
 
 I may not see him : I could choose 
 Him only always as my own : 
 
 Say, is it good that I should lose 
 As true a friend as can be won.
 
 OSMAX. 55 
 
 OSMAN, 1877. 
 
 He looked upon the town that he had held ; 
 I^ooked on the host that thirsted for its fall ; 
 LcFoked on the town and on its deadly hills ; 
 Looked on his ghastly dead that fought by him ; 
 Looked on the warrior few that stood with him ; 
 Looked in their sunken eyes that starved with him ; 
 Looked on his wound that slowly sickened him ; 
 Looked on his war-worn sword — and yielded it, 
 And yielded with it — freedom and — himself.
 
 ^6 AnvTr:\i .\\i:\i.t.. 
 
 :> 
 
 ADYTUM ANIM^. 
 
 To part the veil and know a brother's secret, 
 
 Heart-stored, flesh-robed, soul-hidden, trebly locked ; 
 
 To deem we see another's inner man ! 
 
 We gaze but for an instant — and forget. 
 
 A lifting of the snow-mists off the snows, 
 
 So may we view beneath us lying deep 
 
 Quick nature, clust'ring homes, and lanes, and trees ; 
 
 And the cloud-veil regathers, and we lose 
 
 The sight, even as we look ; and so pass on ; 
 
 And straight forget what manner of sight we saw. 
 
 For all men bear within their secret stored : 
 
 The only gift we may bear on through life ; 
 
 The only gift men carry to the grave, 
 
 And carrying, pass beyond.
 
 TO THF NIGHT Wixn. 
 
 57 
 
 TO THE NIGHT WIND. 
 
 V 
 
 AFTER THE STYLE OF THE RENAISSANCE POEMS 
 OF THE PLEIAD. 
 
 Sighs across the plain, 
 ^ Woos the golden grain 
 * The soft sea-wind ; 
 
 Sunk the burning sun, 
 ->^- His fiery course o'ernm, 
 
 Draws the night behind. 
 
 Breeze across the lea, 
 Leave the tremulous sea 
 
 Lulled to its sleep : 
 Fan. fan the golden grain. 
 Sweeping above the plain 
 
 With joyous leap.
 
 58 TO THE NIGHT WIND. 
 
 Woo, WOO each poppy red, 
 Antl in thy fragrance sped 
 
 All flowerets steep ; 
 Mixing their subtle scent 
 Each to the other lent 
 
 Invite to sleep.
 
 THE MYSTERY OF I.IVIxn. 59 
 
 rTHE MYSTERY OF LIVING. 
 
 What is this mystery that men call Life ? 
 How little do we know it, yet how well. 
 One prides him he knows all, nor deems it hard ; 
 Both right and wrong : another yearns to know. 
 Professing an all-ignorance ; wrong yet right. 
 Round us the lower lives that men call dumb 
 Ask in their wonder-gaze, ' why are we here ?" 
 Answer with muteness that may speak to us : 
 So runs the world : rede his own riddle each.
 
 6o THK MYSTERY OF LIVING. 
 
 Is life a q:oocI ? Yea trulv I would count it. 
 Is it poor ignorance in me then doth frame 
 The thought ? Or is it rather a true greatness 
 vStill living, born in each man that is born ? 
 Weakness or strength? Both strength and weakness we ; 
 A poised balance — rede his riddle each. 
 
 1
 
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