5UO N22l7r A A = A ^ A = ^ = - m ^^ "" 3 = 7 = == ^ 5 m — S ^•"^ DD 9 = 3> 2 = - -C 8 — — 1 ^^ ^ 9 THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES A RHYMER'S WALLET. BY CKADOCK NEWTON, ADTHOE OF ' Arnold, a Dramatic BQstory." LONDON : ALFRED W. BENNETT, 5, BISHOPSGATE WITHOUT. 1867. UCLA UriiAitlf I'NWIN BROTUKllS, riUNTKHS, BLCUl.KRSUtJ Klf. LONDON, B.C. CONTENTS. Suspiria . PAGE 1 SUGGESTIONS IN VERSE. Mater Doloris "^ Philedonia 7 Wondei'land ^ Lurleifelsen 13 A Pilgrim Stave 21 The Three Goblets 25 Lying in State 28 The Wonder-Flower 33 Bird and Bard 37 Hie Jacet 39 A Meditation 41 The Wishing-Bridge 43 960725 VI CONTENTS. LYRICS OF LOVE AND DEATH, etc. PAGE Olafs Guests 47 Jarl Haldor's Dangliter 49 Dead Minna 54 Edwin to Angelina 57 The Lover's Message 62 Bamewood Bells 64 Dora Herbert 66 Three Kisses 71 Ida's Gift 73 The Laurel Crown 75 A Shooting Star, observed from the Sea 77 The Final Blow 79 In the Spring 81 The Wayside Shi-ine 84 Jezer Horra ,. 91 POEMS OF DISILLUSION. The Amphitheatre 99 Disillusion 102 After-Dinner Talk 105 The Devil and Doctor Faustns 113 The Jester's Song 117 CONTENTS. VU POEMS IN BLANK VEESE. PAGE Sir Lancelot at the Cross 121 Pilate in Exile 128 The New Evangel 133 Anarchia 140 SONNETS. ♦ Behind the Veil 149 Renunciation 150 Rejuvenescence , 151 Sunset from the Cotswolds 152 Music from the Valley 153 The Italian Revolution 154 Excelsior 155 Failure 156 The Incomplete 157 Aspiration 158 SUSPIRIA. When Life weeps solemn tears o'er Love's vain wrack, When Faith the soul hath fled the corse of Form, When all oiu- wing'd desires are beaten back Like wearied birds that buffet with the storm ; — "When faihng sights leave only strength to see A doubt of all we hope and all we know, Uprising as a dark funereal tree "Gainst the grey gleam that follows sunset's glow — B Z SUSPIEIA. Aid us, God ! Nor leave us j^et to stand In grosser regions, blind, unblest, undone, But lift us to Thine holy table-laud, "Where they that know and they that love are one : Or, failing all, find grace the fate to bear — As flowers from seeds chance-sown in caves of night, That on their stinted dole of dismal air Strive to fulfil their beauty, lacking light. SUGGESTIONS IN YEKSE. B 2 MATER DOLOBIS. The embers are ashen, the shades down close — And out of the shadows she grows and grows ; Her beauty is that of the dead, and her eyes Are as angels' that weep for a lost Paradise ; In folds of dark sackcloth her figure is drest, Round her brow is a thorn wreath, a cross at her breast ; 6 MATER DOLOEIS. And the voice of her singing is solemn and low, Like the dirge of a joy that is dead long ago ; And the song that she sings is a song that seems To wail for the lost in weary dreams ; The flow'rs that she bears are no blooms of pride, She di'ops them to die where a past hath died ; The path that she leads is no path of bhss, And tears are the fruit of her quiet kiss ; She leads to a grave which the sere leaves shroud, And the night o'ershadows with cloud on cloud. PHILEDONIA. The robe she wears is like violet wine, Whose soft lights lie on a soul of shade — DiAdne she seems, yet is not divine. So fair are the fallen angels made — So fair are the passionate fallen made. Her faint fierce glamour of touch and of eye. The cruel warm sweet bane of her breath — Love hath tasted these and must die ; What is left unto Love but death ? — The shrivel'd dust of a rose's death. 8 PHILEDONIA. So from the dark to the dawn of day A sorrowing angel sits, and sings That the soul she hath lured with her lips of clay Shall lose the wonderful gift of wings, — The wonderful gift of heav'nward wings. WONDERLAND. Mournfully list'ning to the waves' strange Yoice, And marking with a dim and moisten'd eye The summer days sink down behind the sea — Sink do'u-n beneath the brine, and slowly fall Into the Hades of forgotten things ; — A mighty longing stealeth o'er the soul As of a man who pineth to behold Through parted years and pain on alien shores One — all his memory, marvelling if her eyes Live with the old love in them. Even so, With passion strong as love and deep as death Yeameth the spirit after Wonderland. 10 WONDERLAND. All, happy, happy land ! The husy soul Calls up in pictures of the half-shut eye Thy shores of splendour, as a sad blind girl, Who thinks the roses must be beautiful But cannot see their beauty. Olden tones Borne on the bosom of the breeze from far, — Angels that came to the young heart in dreams — In dreams, and dim and fair with forms of di'eams Keturn. The I'ugged steersman at the wheel Softens into a cloudy shape, the sails Move to a music of their own. Braye bark. Speed well and bear us unto Wonderland ! Leave far behind thee the vext earth, where men Spend their dark days in weaving their o'svn shrouds. And fraud and wrong are crowned kings, and toil Hath chains for hire ; and all creation groans — Ci7ing in its great bitterness to God ; And Love can never speak the thing it feels, WOXDEKLAND. 11 Or save the thing it loves — is succouiiess ; For whilst one saith, " I love thee," the beloved Travel'leth as a doom'd lamb the road of death, And kisses fade so fast from lips that fade — And garlands for the brow but green the grave, — EoU, weary seas, ashore to Wonderland ! There larger natures sport themselves at ease 'Neath kindlier suns that nurture fairer flow'rs, And richer harvests billow in the vales. And passionate kisses fall on fadeless brows As summer rain ; nor ever know they there The passion that is desolation's prey — The bitter tears begotten of farewells- Farewells — nor meetings pale with parting's pain ; For life is more than life, and love than love, And, fed with sight serener, soul than soul. Fair shore, unhaunted by impossible change, Shine forth ! Waft, tardy winds, to Wonderland ! 12 WONDEELAXD. Alas ! the rugged steersman at the wheel Comes back again to vision. The hoarse sea Speaketh from its great heart of discontent ; And in the misty distance dies away The Wonderland — 'tis past and gone. Soul ! "^Tiilst yet unbodied thou didst summer there, God saw thee — led thee, lingering, forth with fear- And sold thee in the Egypt of the sense, And set the desert 'twixt thee and thy dreams ; — Yet with thy task-work thy deliverance win ; Believe and wait, and it may be that He Will guide thee back again to Wonderland ! 18 LURLEIFELSEN. The smoke of the steamboat's funnel soiletli the clear blue air, Like the smear of a sooty finger daub'd o'er a picture fair ; And the tourist grips his guide-book, and sneers with a passing sneer At the foolish ancient legend of the whirling dark Geivirre ; 14 LURLEIFELSEN. But I sit ashore in the shadow watching the torrent strong, And to me the Lurley, the Lurley, singeth the whole day long : — " Come to me hitherward, downward ; deep as the heart of dreams — • Safe in a calm, unstirr'd hy the swirl of the sounding streams, " Lieth my rosy cavern, soft are its mosses sheen — Soft is my couch of pleasure, my hreast is the hreast of a Queen ! " Wrapt in mine arms of quiet, lipp'd with my lips of love, Thou shalt forget the ways and the woes of the world above ; LUELEIFELSEN. 15 " The souls of tlie world above wander a wailing crowd — Eacli with a shroud around him, each with a worm in the shroud. " Will any earthly maiden soothe thee with kiss so sweet, Or bathe with the milk of healing thy brow and thy burning feet ? " Passion is pain and peril, and slayeth peace with a breath ; Love is the rose of a day, whose root and rest are in death ! " Thou castest thine arms round shadows that vex thee, afar removed ; Say if that which thou hast is as that thou hadst loved ? 16 LURLEIFELSEN. " Thou seekest and findest never, and wanderest near and far ; Fortune and love flee from thee, child of an evil star ! " Come to me hithei'ward, downward, mine are the arms for thee ; And there is a music of rest that is murmur'd by none but me. " For the peace that ceaseth strife, and stills desii-e, are mine, And I mingle sleep and death to a sweet and soothing wine ; " I will seal thy lips with silence, and touch thy brow with balm. And teach thee slumber's secret, and the happy soul of calm : LUELEIFELSEN. 17 " I will cli-aw tliy passion from thee, draw it from breast and brain, I will breathe my breath upon thee and heal the pulse of pain ; — " Thine heart shall yearn no longer for an earthly maiden's breast. But thou shalt love the Lurley, and her cave and couch of rest. " I know thine idle longings, and the wasted prayers I know Thou hast sighed to the far and starry nights of the long-ago ; " Madly aspires the spirit, mounting on broken wings. And a mighty sorrow is born of the lore of lofty things. 18 LURLEIFELSEN. " The bird, though it soar in ether, dies where it drew its birth ; The arrow shot at the sun comes heavily back to earth. " What are the gains of wisdom, that only with toil befall When the head is grey, and the heart is cold, and the world is all ? " Wherefore hunger for knowledge ? Yea, though divine the lust, 'Tis a fantasy born in dreams only to end in dust. " When thou hast conquer'd all with labour and toil of breath — Lo ! thy conquerors wait thee — these are they, pain and death ! LURLEIFELSEN. 19 " Come to me, hitherward, downward, to my cave and couch below — I will teach thee in one sweet whisper all that thy soul can know ; — " I have a kiss for the brow and the lips, and I lay a touch on the eyes. That shall make thee as wise as all that have lived and learn'd and were wise ! " Come to me hitherward, downward — deep as the heart of dreams, Safe in a calm unstirr'd by the swirl of the sounding streams, " Lieth my rosy cavern, soft are its mosses sheen — Soft is my couch of pleasure, my breast is the breast of a Queen ! " c2 20 liURLELFELSEN. So, as I sit in the shadow, watching the torrent strong To me the Lurley, the Lurley, singeth the whole day long. 21 A PILGRIM STAVE. FoBWAKD ! in footstep together — Cheerly, ere noontide be gone ; Night, when the pilgrim is weary, - Night and the end cometh on. Marching in legion on legion, Following legions pass'd o'er — Martyrs, confessors, apostles, Sages and saints gone before. 22 A PILGEIM STAG'S. Many must fall by the wayside — Wearily sink from the tread ; Weep them, but wait not in weeping ; — Leave thou the dead to the dead. Here sinks the ruler, down-stricken, — There quits the miser his hoard, — Here sleeps the bard 'neath the daisies, - The fighter is there with his sword. Still the march moveth and moveth, Thousands on thousands we press, — Singing the same song and tending On to the same goal no less. Look not behind, lest thou sorrow — See there thy youth's cherish'd worth, riow'rs of the garden of Eden Trod 'ueath the dust of the earth. A PILGEIM STAVE, 23 Wayfarer, wherefore be gazing Back o'er the past of thy years, — Wliere in the mist-closing distance Veil'd stands the Angel of Tears ? Whoso will wait by the wayside Falters and fails of the goal : Thought is the palsy of purpose, Action is hope for the soul. Hark ! through the soft summer stillness- Hark ! through the hush and the calm — Voices for ever and ever Chorus the world's marching psalm ! Pilgrim, be glad in thy nature — Forward in step to the stave ; Taking the road through the valley, Treading the road to the grave. 24 A PILGRIM STAVE. Half of the heiglits yet unmounted — Half of the soul's strength to spare ; Rest shall await thee when weaiy, Night with a morn otherwhere. 25 THE THREE GOBLETS. " Heee is a rest for the weary, Here faith and patience be ! But far in the wood by the wayside There wait Night's children three. " Each holdeth a juice-fill'd goblet, Whose subtle lights shimmer and shine Like gems of the deep, deep ocean, Or jewels far in the mine. 26 THE THREE GOBLETS. " To the lips they are first as nectar, But ere one the taste repeat, He shall say, ' These draughts of sweetness, Methinks they are bitter-sweet ! ' " For who taketh the first fair proffer From him his faith shall flee, — Who tasteth the cup of the second, His hope shall cease to be ; But who drinketh the draught of the Night's dark wine His heart's-love loseth he." But he kiss'd her lips with laughter. And rode down the leaf- glade long, Where through come the moan and the murmur Of the sister- sirens' song : — THE THREE GOBLETS. 27 " All, art thou athirst, Beloved ? What juice like the juice I fill ; Drink till thou dream, and dreaming, Quaff from the goblet still. "Ah, hast thou been faint. Beloved, The perilous draught to drain ? Hither I bring thee healing, Take, and be blest again. " Ah, art thou then mad, Beloved ? What opiate soothes like mine ? Tarry and drown thy fever In drowsing and murmuring wine." -"D Stricken and sad returning. When the sunset gleam was o'er He looked on the face of the maiden, And knew that he loved no more. 28 LYING IN STATE. Ho ! World, wliither hurriest ? Stay ! Why so quickly away ? And canst thou not watch by the side Of this king in his pride — One hour, ere the face-cloth be spread O'er the face of the dead ? " This king," — lo ! what throne have we here ? Bare walls and a bier ; What ruled he or wrought that wc bow To crown him king now ? LYING IN STATE. 29 His song or his thought had uo pow'r To take captive the hour ; — His wisdom won neither the state Nor the wealth that make great. At best, to our fancy he seems But a dreamer of dreams. "A dreamer," — e'en so, yet 'tis true What he dream 'd thou shalt do ; All he fail'd in shall yet be fulfiU'd, All he censured be stiU'd ; The future that acteth his thought Shall be honour'd unsought ; — Thyself shalt with splendour and speed Crown the dream in the deed ; — Thyself shalt with noise of acclaim Raise the doer to fame ; — While Grod to this dreamer shall say — " Behold now thy day, 30 LYING IN STATE. This work of thy thought was too true For thine own day to do ; — Let others take praise in thy place, — Gaze thou on My face." So wrought he, content, who now seems But a dreamer of dreams ; While the lusters for wealth or for pow'r Sold their souls to the hour, The lusters for pleasure sought hliss In a cup or a kiss ; The pedant quenched truth with his prate ; The man of the state, Clinging fast to fate's chariot strong, Thought he guided along : The priest, with his tithe-book for psalter. Rang coin on the altar ; The sophist made wrong for right speak ; The demagogue sleek LYING IN STATE. 31 TaugM the slaye-chain without was the sin, Not the slave- soul within ; — While each thou didst set on his throne, This dreamer alone. Unmindful to scheme or to bend, Went unthroned to the end. How lived he — this man above men, Sphered so high o'er our ken ? Was he pure as the stars ? Did he fall, Though so great, like the small ? Strong in thought, weak in will, — thus did he Fail even as we ? World ! how shall I hope to sustain him When thou dost arraign him ? — There he lies, howsoe'er the vote fall. Mute enough to it all. 32 LYING IN STATE. See, he learns the great secret with grace And composure of face, As though, whate'er Heav'n grants or denies him, No fate could surprise him. 'Fore what tribune would' st cite him for trial ? He seems to defy all. He appeals e'en /row Caesar. So let him. Pass on and forget him. 33 THE WONDEK-FLOWEE. Adown the mountain's castleJ side The shining meads spread far and wide ; There forth they crowd from town and tower To seek the magic Wonder-flower ; The simple blossoms, meek and sweet. Of spring they tread beneath their feet, D 34 THE WONDER-FLOWER. And pass them witli an eager mind, Intent the Wonder-flower to find. "Who finds it in its sheeny pride, Wins every blissful wish beside. The maiden seeks, that she may know The love that makes a heaven below. The young man seeks, with joyful hope, That he may fill his soul's large scope. The scholar seeks, Avith dreamy eyes, That he to hidden lore may rise. The miser seeks, his painful store Perchance to swell from more to more. THE WONDER-FLOWER. 35 All seek, and seek till life grows grey, But none hatk found it to this day ; — Yet fondly fashioned tales are told Of those who sought and found of old. In songs that ancient women weave, Youth's credulous ardour to deceive. So forth the streams of children flow, And forth the aged greybeards go ; And spurn the blossoms, meek and sweet, Of spring that bloom beneath their feet, And pass them with an eager mind, Intent the Wonder-flower to find. D2 36 THE WONDEK-FLOWEK. Some homeward wander, dazed and dark, Some on the mountain-side lie stark ; But none of all from town or tower E'er find the mastic Wonder-flower. 37 BIRD AND BARD. Unbosom thyself, lark, on higli, Sing thy song to the morning sky : Trill and thrill till the wide blue air That seemed but light seems music too,- A tremulous melody everywhere, Sinking down like a sounding dew ; Thyself dissolved therein, and we Lost in thy carolling losing thee. 38 BIRD AND BARD. Sing thy song, poet, on high, Fuse thyself with the morning sky, So the light of life shall flow more fair That it thrilleth and filleth with song from thee- Thy music a presence everywhere — Thyself dissolved therein, that we. Heedless of thee, may love thy lays, And praise thee when God alone we praise. 39 HIC JACET. How strange it seems with silent breath to stand within the place of death, While earth and every living thing awaken to the breeze of spring, — A gentle breeze that scarce upheaves the lime's light robe of early leaves. In any form will any day restore to us the pass'd away ? Will any futui'e new Love rise from out the sod where dead Love Ues, As this year's roses bud and blow o'er last year's blooms in mould below ? 40 HIC JACET. He was so bright lie seemed to be a creature of eternity, But now lie lieth there as cold as any corpse of wormy mould ; No resurrection shall be known — no angel roll away the stone. Cast solemnly the clods of clay upon him ere we turn away, And stand in rev'rent silence by, and let no tear bedim the eye, Nor any more lament be said than this lament — that Love is dead. 41 A MEDITATION. Shall, in that state where good is crown'd with best, And perfect life fulfils life's prophecy, This form terrene with, many a pleasaunce blest. Be as a robe disused and put by ? Or shall some climax thereunto belong, — Some counterpart in that th' immortal gains To this melodious burst of matin song, — This mist of morning sunlight in the lanes ? 42 A MEDITATION. And shall it bring the knowledge what did mean The bluencss of these heavens; and wherefore meant This valley with its sloping swards of green, That fill the silent spirit with content ? Enough, if but the new take up the old, Transfigured though it be b}- that fresh bii'th ; And hft from grief to glory I behold The sweet familiar beauties of the earth. Enough, if I be not as one that fears Strange forms, new tongues ; but more as one, in truth, Who knows his exile ended, that he hears The unforgotten music of his youth. 43 THE WISHING-BRIDGE. The old bridge from the city grey Lieth no further than a mile, O'er many a rude sequester'd stile And many a daisied meadow way ; And 'twixt green hanks with wild blooms bright, And copses where the song-bird calls, The rivulet flows in silver falls, And laughing ripples warm with light. Come here in simple trust, you Whose trust no cold experience shakes — Who have the fervent faith that makes A truth of that it would have true ! 44 THE WISHING-BKIDGE. Come when the sun that soon must set, Lingers in love about the place, And earth is as an angel's face O'ershadow'd by a vague regret : And when the dizzy insect hum Is hush'd in reverence to the power And solemn beauty of the hour That makes the woods and valleys dumb. Then, baptized by the setting sun In Hquid hues of dying day, Unself thyself till thou canst pray That the diviner will be done. LTKICS OF LOYE AND DEATH, ETC. 47 OLAF'S GUESTS. Jarl Olaf he summon'cl his henchmen all And bade them make ready his banquet-hall ; " This night my sires of the dead," said he, " Will come from Walhalla to sup -with me." So they set on the board the feast-lights dim, And the mead-cups fiU'd with mead to the brim ; And oped on the darkness the broad hall-door. That the guests of the grave to the feast might pour. 48 olaf's guests. Throngh the pine-wood went a shimmering light, And the ban-dog bay'd to the moonless night. In they filed — one by one — with noiseless tread, Till the hall was throng'd with the shapes of the dead : Each stood to the board with his vizor up — Each lift to his lips the mead-brimm'd cup — Each spake as he stood Jarl Olaf's name — Each beckon'd unto him, then went as they came. Jarl Olaf he rose in his harness dight And follow'd them forth into the night ; — And the dai'kness closed on theu* ghostly track, And never again came Olaf back. 49 JARL HALDOR'S DAUGHTER. By the wayside stood holy Erik, And lifted his voice and cried — " Turn, ye sons of the Norseman, To Jesus the Crucified ! " "Stranger, and what is thy Saga, And what new song do we hear ? Good are the songs of our fathers, And pleasant unto the ear ; " 50 JAEL haldor's daughter. Answer' d the grey Jarl Haldor ; "And many brave runes I ken — Loving to gather round me, Singers and Sagamen." Then to him turn'd holy Erik, And told him in measure good The stoiy of Mary Mother, And of Christ who died on rood ; But out spake grey Jarl Haldor, " Let him to the new Gods kneel Who lovetli his mother's distaff More than his father's steel. " Why have I sought rejoicing, The rolling storm-wave o'er, The song of the sword and buckler, And the fray on the foeman's shore ? JARL HAIiDOR's DAUGHTER. 51 " And what shall avail the sunlight, Or the sea-lift's laughing spray, If the men of many battles And the old Gods pass away ? " Let me be led hereafter, When in fierce fight I fall. By the wild-haired Valkyr maidens To Father Odin's hall ! " To Walhall, hall of heroes, Wherein I hope indeed To eat of the wild boar Seimnerr, And to di'ink of the beer and mead ; " And with mighty men of valour To wage pei-petual war, And to look on Father Odin, And the trae old Hammerer, Thor." E 2 52 JAEL haldor's daughter. But the daughter of Jarl Haldor To the good man nearer drew, And a mist of tears enshrouded Her eyes of living blue. And she said, " Father Haldor To this new faith give ear. Which to valour addcth pity, And with love doth conquer fear ; ' ' And to the warrior giveth A warfare all his days. Yet leads his feet to triumph By newer, nobler ways." Then answer'd grey Jarl Haldor : — " They are dead, the glorious throng Who loved the Norseman's battle And the joy of spear and song ; jARL haldoe's daughtek. 53 " And now the new day bnugeth New feelings, fasidons strange, And the old is borne before us On the rashing wind of change ; " Yet since the maid thou movest (Wiser are maids than men), I would hear thee, strange singer, Of this thy song again." 54 DEAD MINNA. As May's first mom arose in pride, The village maiden, Minna, died. Her friends — the kinsmen of her race- Moum'd round her for a little space, Then left her in her dcath-rohe drest. With one white lily on her breast. DEAD MINNA. 55 But when tlie hour of night was near, And moonlight soft suffused the bier, There came the Prince of all the land, And, weeping, kiss'd her small cold hand ; And brought a jewell'd circlet rare To glimmer round the maiden's hair, And brought a pearl-lit star to rest Upon the crowned maiden's breast. Still bore her brow the moon's soft ray — It tinged the lily where it lay. He cast the circled gems aside — " God's crown is best, my queen, my bride ! " He cast the pearls beneath his feet — " God's lily is thy breast-flow'r, Sweet ! " 56 DEAD MINNA. Then, kneeling, wept with passionate pain, And shower'd wild kisses down like rain ; And linger'd till the moon sank low, And all its soft and smiling glow Paled slowly from the pallid face, And darkness rose around the place — Then left her in her death-robe di-est. With one white lily on her breast. t. 57 EDWIN TO ANGELINA. If one could cover vain love as they cover a dead man's face, Cover and close for ever, and bury it out of sight, Nor start at its hollow ghost haunting each silent place, Vexing the dreary hours of the dim monotonous night; — 58 EDWIN TO ANGELINA. If one could learn at last the lore of tlie fluent smile and lie, — Could batten witli gross content upon life's material good, And know no more of love than the name, at need to - apply To clothe convenience sordid in love's similitude ; — If one, indeed, as swine in the slough of sloth and . of sin Could wallow, and wish no other, and always thus could be, Secure from the devils of memory ever entering in And goading him forth from his garbage to drown in the sea ; — EDWIN TO ANGELINA. 59 Or could one in barter take for youth and its glorious spoils, Its fervour, its fiery passion, its nobler faith and doubt, His indifference wise whom the world hath ta'en in its toils, And bound down his breast to the grindstone and ground his heart out ; — If on some lonely height of frigid, intellectual morn, The sov'reign mind the heart could savagely tame and rule ; And deaden its burning nerve in a Lethe of lasting scorn. As hot iron is thrust into water to hiss itself cool ; — 60 ED-WlN TO ANGELINA. Better a Patriot's death— straight from the street to the sod, In the dim and misty day-break forth for some good cause led, To look one's last undaunted — the while a marching squad Halted, front-faced, loaded, and suddenly shot one dead ! For when I strive to make such feast as the evil Fates afford, And gather 'such guests as gather to misery's holiday — In glides tlie ghost, and shadowy sits at the boai'd. Poisons the few poor meats and scares the feasters away. EDWIN TO ANGELINA. 61 So have the Destinies will'd it ! Ever may life mean joy to you, That means to me but patience — that virtue of snails and slaves ; — May you find new loves as fair as the old was only true — But would to God that ghosts could keep at home in their graves ! 62 THE LOVER'S MESSAGE. [Temp. Car. II.] Go, Bird of Eve, and warble clear This message in my mistress' ear ; — Tell her that love is sweet, sweet, When lover and his lady meet, And she with smiles and tender wiles His longing gaze doth greet, doth greet ! And this too tell her, sweet, sweet ! — That youthful hours so fast do fleet, That love whose suit is long delay'd, And coldly met when warmly made, Must seek a nest in some new breast Before the flow'rs do fade, do fade. THE lovee's message. 63 Yet whisper softly, sweet, sweet ! — That knight ne'er knelt at lady's feet Who did so fondly, wildly sue, So loth to change old loves for new ; And if she's kind, she none shall find In all the world so true, so true ! 64 BAENEWOOD BELLS. When we two wander' d forth first together, Wander'd together the breezy dells, The spring smiled out with sudden flushes, And I read your thought in your tender blushes- " Gloria Deo ! " rang Barnewood Bells ; " Gloria Deo ! Gloria Deo ! " Gloria Deo ! " rang Barnewood Bells. The air was faint with the summer blisses, And full of the soft, sonorous swells — As again in the pause of our happy kisses, Too happy, sweet, for a life like this is — Gloria Deo ! " rang Barnewood Bells ; " Gloria Deo ! Gloria Deo ! " Gloria Deo ! " rang Barnewood Bells. BAENEWOOD BELLS. 65 The autumn leaves lay sere by the river, When false tongues drave us to cold fai'ewells — The evil angels were strong to sever, And the morning of life was lost for ever ; — " Gloria Deo ! " rang Barnewood Bells, " Gloria Deo ! Gloria Deo ! Gloria Deo ! " rang Barnewood Bells. Now as I thrust, with too idle weeping. The frozen gi'ass from the stone that tells Where thou liest, more blest than living, Faithful to death, and in death forgiving ; — " Gloria Deo ! " ring Barnewood Bells, " Gloria Deo ! Gloria Deo ! Gloria Deo ! " ring Barnewood Bells. 60 DORA HERBERT. Sweet Dora Herbert, flow'ret nurst By nature, fed with sun and shower, Till like an Eden-blossom burst The right bud into brighter flower ; She seem'd by angels brought to earth, From some remote and happy star, Or claiming for her place of birth A clime of summers fairer far. DORA HERBERT. I loved to mark her life's young spring, From day to day, from week to week ; Each birth of morning seem'd to bring A richer bloom upon her cheek ; Her eyes of tender hazel, ! To watch them was a dear delight, Now moist with tears they loved to glow, Now crowded full of soulborn light. 67 What note, where birds of Eastern wing Bright- plumaged to the rose rejoice, Or falling waters in the spring Had half the music of her voice ? — Now light with laughter, now with speed, To sweet and solemn changed fi'om gay. At some old tale of knightly deed. Or some high-thoughted poet's lay. f2 68 DOEA HERBERT. Most vain is love, hard sages preach, When we the wish'd-for guerdon wear, But what is love when love must teach The lesson of its own despair ? So every thought that rohed with state, That crown'd her brow with light divine, But served to show the space more great ' Twixt her and any hope of mine. In vain I strove my thought to turn From that false dream of joy and pain. Departed, passion to unlearn, Ileturn'd, to learn it all again ; Till, wearied in my soul, I swore It ill became a man to shun His fate, so ere the day was o'er, Sweet Dora should be lost or won. DOEA HERBERT. 69 That hour the birds of air were glad, Their summer store of song and glee Was all unspent, the roses had Bright noons of beauty yet to be ; And, richer far, myself 'twas plain Had love to last the longest life, And lives beyond it could I gain Sweet Dora Herbert for my wife. Below her garden's terraced crest, All urns and palisades, lay hid A leafy glen, her wonted rest, Through which a singing streamlet slid ; As onward through the murm'rous shade, She moved in stateliness and grace, I deem'd her queen of glen and glade. The young Egeria of the place. 70 DOEA HEEEEET. Fi-om lawn and garden came the breeze, Scent laden through the umbrage blew, Made music mid the murmuring trees, And from the violet shook the dew, Then ceased. The song that now it sings Is not that song of Love's young breath. But fair from unforgotten springs Bloom roses mid the weeds of death. 71 THREE KISSES. Three kisses I give each morning to Willie, so lithe and bright, And thi-ee to merry Elsie, with her dancing curls of light. And three I give no longer that I gave in days of old, To lips that were ever ready, but now are for ever cold : 72 THREE KISSES. But when Willie has hush'd his ranting in awe of the dark without, And Elsie lingers in silence our household knees about, There comes a small voice pleading through the sound of wind and rain, And a small wraith through the darkness flits by the window pane ; So when each lies softly folded and with happy slum- ber blest. And the dreams that visit childi'en come floating round their rest, I follow the wind o'er the moorland away to the churchyard lone, And leave there tears for kisses on my little maid's grave -stone. 73 IDA'S GIFT. White rosebuds Ida gave me, And your gift as soon forgot, If to mock me or enslave me Matters not ; Dead, and I now to die, 'Twere meet that dust with dust should lie. Perchance that when my bosom With life shall beat anew, I may find you fair in blossom, Quicken'd too, See you wake, lise and take And seek out Eden for your sake : — 74 Ida's gift. There I, for you appealing, Will say, " Not these condemn, All my best of thought and feeling Gave I them; " Yield you so, rise and go Unto the unblest shades below. Then the thought indeed shall brave me, However lost, undone, That of any gifts she gave me Lost I none ; Taintless, pure, each her wooer. As he received did give back to her. 75 THE LAUREL CI10^\T^. When in the strife of life, love's chaplet falls from the head, And the roses in pleasure's garland are drooping and dead. Where shall the crownless look to win him a crown instead ? Though the wreath remain that is wove of the leaf the lightning spares. Which he at the battle's close who hath fought a good fight wears. His guerdon who greatly suffers, his glory who greatly dares ; — 76 THE liAUBEL CBOWN. How shall he seek to win it — by smiting some sin anew ? By setting his heel on the false and setting on high the true ? By oping the city gates that the armies of God march through ? If for such seeming service the wreath of glory were meet, How should I wear it in triumph who wavered so oft in defeat, While the saints who are strong before Thee cast all their crowns at Thy feet ! Kather let all world-voices shout with a trumpet blast, " This man failed and was vanquish'd," so that Thou hold me fast, And cx'ownless, I find my crown low at Thy feet at last. 77 A SHOOTING STAR, OBSERVED FROM THE SEA. Like a love -stricken maiden, sad and young. Mad, helpless, heedless, down a swift stream borne To death 'mid the twined water-weeds forlorn, Leaving her passionate wrongs unwept, unsung, "With none to heed her on her wild death way, And none to bend above her bier and say, " God pity her, she died young !" So wentest thou, pale daughter of the night, Borne swiftly down th' immeasurable blue. Then sank beneath its liquid depths from view ; IMeanwhile thy myriad sisters shone as bright. But our hearts turned from them where they shone, To thee, the beautiful, the past and gone. And mourn' d thy vanish 'd light. 78 A SHOOTING STAR. We sat and mused by the dirge-murm'ring sea, How loveliest things have ever briefest breath, flow beauty is the stolen spouse of death, And hearts are reft of hopes as heaven of thee ; And each one thought of some fair star, that went In silence from his life's lorn finnament, No more again to be. And as the seaman from his bark, storm-riven, Casts forth her argosied wealth into the main, Did each one put away from him with pain And silence many a hope that youth had given ; So died they in thy death. Their funeral song Was bonie the desolate dashing waves along, Beneath the darken'd heaven. 79 THE FINAL BLOW. I marvell'd not at speech or smile Withheld, or to some better given ; Through sloughs of trial one stumbles, while Another treads the seventh heaven. So far you deem'd my deeds of good, My knowledge of the good below ; In such weak mood was ill withstood — I own'd to all the angels so. 80 THE FINAL BLOW. So when you met my vows with slight, I could not chide the wise mistrust, But judged you right in heart's despite, And thought you tender, knew you just. One worships where he may not win, And far the bitterer pang did prove, AJi ! not wherein you scom'd my sin, But that you sconi'd me in my love. For while you thought of that as true, My altar held one sacred spark ; Quench or renew ? 'twas left to you, Cold stands the altar in the dark ! 81 IN THE SPRING. See, there is greenness, fresh greenness all over the wood, And the primrose is proud of her crown of gold ; God is surely tender and good. Though the world be weary and old. The early orchis burns, Uke sun-touch'd wine, in the wood, The dove hath blisses half di-eam'd, half told ; God is surely tender and good. Though the world be weary and old, G 82 IN THE SPRING. My father cursed, my mother turn'd away, Her blessing to my piteous pray'r denied, Yet seem'd the very voice of Heav'n to say, " Bear all, and be his bride." He whose least word seem'd beautiful and right, Soon as to wifely cares my bliss was wean'd. Grew foul with shameful riot in my sight, And falser than the fiend. Some women would have far more briefly wept. But, nursing all their spirit for the deed. Had given him the dagger while he slept. Though damn'd, avenged and freed. But then his babe upon my lap was laid, To keep me pure from sinning. In the boy To see his father's smile ere it betray'd. Was something of a joy. IN THE SPEING. 83 Yet this they would not leave me. When spring sods Shook oflf their winter sadness for fresh bloom, They piled up to the very sky the clods That press'd him in the tomb. But when the poplar's shadow slowly sways Across the moon-lit wall, on many a night The lost one steals unto my breast, and stays And clasps me tight, so tight ; And though he wears each curl he used to wear. And his cheek dimples as it did in dreams, Of this my solace none of them will hear, And I am mad, it seems. See, there is greenness, fresh greenness, all over the wood, And the primrose is proud of her crown of gold ; God is surely tender and good, • Though the world be weary and old. g2 84 THE WAYSIDE SHRINE. 'TwAS up a Valais mountain-road To gain the pass my feet did press, While far aloft the snow-peaks show'd In awful aching loneliness ; O'er half way clouds ascending high, Like second mountains in the sky. Grey boulders strew'd the rugged path, That from the bolt-scarr'd heights seemed hurl'd By demons, striving in their wrath To work the ruin of the world ; The glacier-torrents wrought a roar Of many waters evermore. THE WAYSIDE SHKINE. 85 All else was wildly strange, for steep And liigh the pine-girt pastures rose, Up which the nimble goat would leap Unto the limit of the snows ; Or where broke through the rock's rent walls A silvery mist of waterfalls. •'Mid crag and gorge o'ergloom'd with shade A chalet gleam' d ; a pleasant sound The goat-bell's fitful tinkle made, And the blue gentian bloom'd around ; The path, by whomsoever trod, 'Twere meet he paused there to praise God. Soon, at a turning of the way, I came across a road-side shrine. So placed that he who could not pray Might gain from Nature aid divine — 86 THE WAYSIDE SHRINE. There her best wealth she did accord Unto the altar of the Lord. Rude was the shrine — a stone wherein An image of the mother-maid Was set, uncouth, ill shaped, and in Coarse tawdi-y ornament array'd ; Strange were it could a form so mean Raise any soul to the Unseen. In presence of the mountain's face. Where heaven makes light of human years, A passer by might deem the place Disfigured by such lowly cares ; A higher art, with unshod feet, Would halt where God and Nature meet. Yet there a poor herdwoman knelt Absorb'd, and heedless of my view, THE WAYSIDE SHRINE. 87 Despite her tears drew strength, and felt Communion with the pure and true ; Then rose, and climb'd with lighter air. And freer for that wayside prayer. I watch'd her less'ning form toil slow To the lone chalet on the height, And knew that talk with angels so Leaves round the earthly body light ; That whatsoe'er the shrine appear, 'Twas good for her to have been here. Ne'er dawn'd on her perception dim The virgins Eaphael portray' d From faces heav'n sent forth to him, San Sisto's or Foligno's maid, Nor Milan's marbles, nor the dome Wherewith great Angelo crown'd Rome. 88 THE WAYSIDE SHRINE. The spirit that no form contains, The abstract from all concrete free, The heav'n that earthly shape disdains Had never j^von the bended knee, She did to this mean shape award Of the sweet mother of the Lord. No thund'rous avalanche astir To rush the startled vales upon, Nor glint of steel-blue glacier That like an angel's armour shone, Had awed her thus, nor sun that rose To glorify the morning snows. The highest humanness allied To hers she sought at that low shrine, Unable from the spirit's side T' approach at once to the divine THE WAYSIDE SHRINE. Nor find a comfort or a charm In disembodying faith fi-om form. Does he who pans from form because It sinks, not serves, his spirit's needs, Or deems he holds in some large laws The quintessence of all the creeds, Find his cold mountain airs too rare For breath of rev'rence or of prayer ? Does he despise their insight dim, These simple ones, their rites condemn. Because heav'n soars so high for him, That seems to stoop so low to them — Yet leaves to them to tend the creed. To fi-uit of duty and good deed ? The truth they seiwe but cannot see, Sees he yet sei-ves not— does he say 89 90 THE WAYSIDE SHRINE. " The things they guess are clear to me" — Yet fail to follow and obey ? And work the soul less service thence, Than they who serve it through the sense ? And is he fain to feed his pride Where their humilities are fed, Forgetting that the deified Dispenses all their daily bread Of food celestial, though the store Be an iiTegular less or more ? Let him, descending hither, kneel, And e'en through this poor fonn adore. And with a contrite spirit feel That God is nearer than before — And own, whate'er the shrine appear, 'Tis good for him to have been here. 91 JEZER HORRA. So the children of the Captivity Lift up their voices with one accord, Because that their hands from bondage free Had built again the house of the Lord ; With trumpet, and cymbal, iTud joyful roar, The Priests and Levites and people stood, Praising the Lord, for the Lord is good. Whose mercy endureth evermore. 92 JEZEE HORRA. But the ancient men and the elders, they Who had seen great Solomon's house of old, Rememb'ring all that had pass'd away, The Ark and the Cherubim of gold, The Mercy seat, the Shekinah cloud, The Urim and Thummim of days gone by, Cried out with a great and bitter cry, Rended their raiment and wept aloud. Then Zacharias the prophet spake, " Full well do ye weep and wail, for ye Did the law of the Lord your God forsake Till he drave you into captivity ; And though his mercies return, yet none Renounceth the sin of his sires of old, For there moveth among you, uncontroll'd, Jezer Horra, that evil one ! " JEZER HORRA. 93 Then all the people shouted, " To-day- Show us this Prince of the evil Pow'rs, Him will we take, and bind, and slay, That the sin of our fathers be not ours ; Lest we too feel the avenging rod, And the temple again be burn'd with fire. Because we follow our heart's desire, Leaving the law of the Lord our God." But Zacharias answer'd them, " Lo ! Him can ye nowise take and slay. For the Lord commandeth that to and fro About the earth he shall walk alway : This may ye do, with a constant mind Daily and hourly resist his pow'r, Jealously keeping each day and hour The Holy Law in your hearts enshrined." 94 JEZER HORRA. And while they clamour'd aloud, behold ! The gates of the Temple open swung, And a terrible lion, fierce and bold. Forth from the yawning portal sprung; Strong and swaii and angry and dun, The breath of his nostrils like fire was red, " This is none other," the people said, " Than Jezer Hon'a, the evil one." " Fear not, but bind him ^ith chains full strong, The Lord our helper shall with us fight, And the powers of evil shall know ere long The name Jehovah is Judah's might." And when they had bound him strong and fast, The host of the people that stood without. Rejoiced with a great and joyful shout, " Jezer Horra is chain'd at last! " JEZER HORRA. 95 But they fell on their faces sore afraid, As the captive was taken away from sight, And forth whence his hroken honds were laid, One like to an angel, piercing bright, Ascended slowly the morning sky. With raiment that shone as the morning sun, And face as the face of a Holy One, Unto the throne of the Most High. -V Then Zacharias the prophet said, " This shall be unto you for a sign; The evil one is a lion dread To rend and tear you when ye incline To follow your idols and lusts abhon-'d ; But when ye resist, and strive, and shun, Then Jezer Horra, the evil one, Is a sun-bright angel of the Lord." POEMS OF DISILLUSION. H 99 THE a:\iphitheatre. The folk of a city old and grey, To the amphitheatre liock'd one day, For the gods themselves had announced a play Of the many boons, without which, they say, Man's life were nought in its transient stay. But a little dust. First did the arrowy young god rise, Cupid, the darts of his dangerous eyes Are shafts full sharp, and in ev'17 wise They wound men's hearts that they bleed in sighs, Till at last, through lust or change. Love dies To a little dust. H 2 100 THE AMPHITHEATRE. Then Jove-born Bacclius leapt, bright and strong, Into the midst of the laughing throng, With his winy bowl and his fiery song, FoUow'd with pomp of cymbal and gong ; But dull satiety sank ere long To a little dust. Then suddenly started Mars, the red, With shielded arm and helmeted head ; Terror and Flight were his horses dread ; Songs and shouts in his praise were said, Till the shouters saw when the fight was dead But a little dust. Then in came Plutus, the lame and blind, AVho scattereth wealth with uncertain mind ; Of all that seek there be few that find. And his gifts are ever of winged kind ; And suddenly fleeing leave behind But a little dust. THE AMPHITHEATRE. 101 And many more shows were shown, they say ; But if you would seek the place to-day Among the wrecks of the pass'd away Of that amphitheatre old and grey, There is nought of it or its crowd so gay But a little dust. 102 DISILLUSION. They are clearing the anchor-cable, The mariners crowd to the fore, And over the bar of the harbour AVe glide to the olden shore. And the sunlight falls on the castle. The slow moving sails of the mill. The white and ancient lighthouse And the kirk on the wind-swept hill ; DISILLUSION. And gilds with a tenderer glory The graves where the seamen sleep ; Content that their burial silence Be stirr'd by the voice of the deep. The swell of the soothed summer ocean Dissolves into silvery spray, And lifts with a languid motion The pilot-boat out in the bay. Ah, fair ! yet the first days and fairest, That, yielding their beauty and breath, Were led by the angel of slumber To the arms of the angel of death ! But could we their far-off Hades Fling open and bid them arise, With the light and the ancient passion Relit in their strange dead eyes, 103 104 DISILLUSION. Their light would reveal such darkness, Their pleasure recall such pain, That 'twere better, silently, softly, To lay them to rest again. Yet fall, thou earlier splendour. On shore and on basking bay One moment ! — " Wake up, man, we're landing ! Beware of the cheats on the quay !" 105 AFTER-DINNER TALK. YouK story is neither good nor new. The manner fine, nor the moral fair, But the bottle has tarried its time with you, Send it this way for change of air. True, as you say, his life elysian, Our friend now finds turn'd inside out ; He sees all things with an alter' d vision, And is astonished thereat, no doubt. 106 AFTER-DINNEB TALK. Poor fellow ! so hot, so enthusiastic For "freedom," "enlightenment," " rights of man," "Progress," "philanthropy," moulding the plastic Child Nature on some new ideal plan ; His " mission," too — ah ! that was a gay word, Just fitted the castle of cards to crown ; — But a little whiff from a lady wayward Has tumbled, you see, the card-house down. That one who has donn'd the virile dress. And rasps each day at a rugged chin, Should the wreck of a whole life's aims confess, When two blue eyes he has fail'd to win ! I've earn'd my scars in the fight too, Maurice, Yet sit a hale bachelor here, you see ; And they'll now as soon flirt with an Ichthyosaurus As think of setting their caps at me. AFTER-DINNER TALK. 107 I have known, as I say, the madness too — A lunacy brief, although intense ; Some notes and a wither'd flow'r or two Testify here against common sense : Odd does it seem, to see them laid 'Mid these mouldy books with their dusty backs — These, the "Statistics of Foreign Trade," And this " The Law upon Income Tax." What leaps of the happy heart when she came ! What sudden transitions from dark to bright ! What pacings beneath her ■window-frame At unwonted hours of morn and night ! Perhaps for other ends I was made. With other aims I have long since striven ; Think you they'll rub off the rust of trade, And make us lovers again in Heaven ? 108 AFTER-DINNER TALK. Fools that we are, we must needs be blest, When we give a woman our brains in fee, And carve with the blade of youthful zest Our Rosalind's name on every tree. Faugh ! the fancy was once divine, Now it is gross and dark and cold ; Fill up your glass, there is nought like wine When the world and the heart are growing old. 'Tis nature, say, to be vex'd therewith, And to waste thereon some idle groans ; When we find that the honest heart of Smith Counts nothing against the gold of Jones ; No matter ! If old wounds bleed afresh, What styptic is like the lust of gain ? Let your mournful friend, if ho will, lose flesh, He trades in sorrow, and I with Spain. AFTER-DINNER TALK. 109 I don't go mending the world's condition Till my own condition is parish-food, Nor own to having another " mission " Than the mission to keep my digestion good. * I deem Dame luiowledge a savage ogress, Who swallows her children a score per minute, A.nd fancy the " March of Human Progress " Has one or two bars of the " Rogue's March " in it. In spite of the saints and sages, I Am wisely and well content, forsooth. To let the philanthi'opies blow by, And the noisy passions that pass for truth ; And I hold that life were a simple song Were the blacks all black and the whites all white, Nor so much of right in this man's wi'ong. Nor so much of wi'ong in that man's right. 110 AFTER-DINNER TALK. Till the end of life's dizzy whirl shall come, Let us strive as we can to keep sound skins ; Our earth is a clumsy teetotum That reels and buzzes, and kicks and spins ; And men and women, from peer to peasant, Ai-e tools or tpants as fate's chance brings ; And who shall say which is most pleasant To be the puppet or pull the strings ? Your rainbow-robe of idealness May be flaunting wear for upper ether, But I hold my dull, grey homespun dress Best for terrestrial wind and weather : And he is the wisest man, I ween, Who to narrowest knowledge makes pretence. And lights on the balancing point between The opposite poles of soul and sense. AFTER-DINNER TALK. One man with trutli in his farthest ken, Follows with ardour her troublous track, Flounders about for a while and then Cannot go forward or turn back. Another, no perilous path seeks he. But the senses sway at his swinish feast ; Watch them a little, and what do you see ? One is a dreamer, and one a beast. Ill My fancy to no extreme inclines. That which is evil is that which is odd, So I love to kneel at the well-worn shrines, And to worship well-to-do people's God ; To tune the pew from the parson's perch I take to my soul as wisdom plain ; But when I am safely home from church, Say " Que saisjeT' with old Montaigne. 112 AFTER- DINNER TALK. All high-flown fancies of love and life Are soon puff 'd out by experience sad, For first the world, and next your wife. You find are false, then yourself as bad ; In morals too, he can best afford To shun the fight who shrinks the fall — When my virtues take their turn at the board Two moves fi-om the devil checkmates them all. Then lay romance, my boy, on the shelf. Though the world or the women should use you ill, Though Daphne prefer a peer to yourself, Or Chloe marry a cotton-mill. Here is my pamphlet, wet from the press, You need not read it, so don't look askance ; And, come what may, we will none the less Find solace in this good wine of France. 113 THE DEVIL AND DOCTOR FAUSTUS. Said the Devil to Doctor Faustus, " I have watch'd thee for years a score, And to see a fine man buried Grieveth my heart full sore. " Thine eyes are dim for a lover's, Through peering in vain for truth ; Yet thy lips are athirst for kisses, As the yearning lips of youth. I 114 THE DEVIL AND DOCTOR FAUSTUS. " Thy brow is wrinkled with study, But thou hast not gain'd in the school What brings the maid in her beauty Unto the breast of the fool. " Thou art great in lore and science, But thou hast made all thy ways The ways of lonely virtue, And not of pudding or praise. " So the world speaks lightly of thee. Seeing thee blink in thy den — * This musty, fusty scholar, Is as an owl 'mong men.' " Thou losest the joy of nature, The zest of the social game ; Pleasure and pow'r thou foregoest, And the sweet incense of fame. THE DEVIL AND DOCTOR FAUSTUS. 115 " Now, therefore, I promise unto thee Thy vanish' d youth to restore, And to make thee fresher and fairer Than ever thou wert before ; " I will smooth thy brow of its wrinkles^ And send thee forth richly array'd, And make thee the gayest gallant That ever befool'd a maid. " Each day shall give some new pleasure, Each night shall bring some new bliss, And thy lips, that so long were lonely, Shall thrill with the warmth of a kiss. " I will put thy wisdom to profit. Till all men shall worship and say — ' Lo ! this is the great Herr Faustus,. The foremost man of the day !' i2 116 THE DEVIL AND DOCTOR FAUSTUS. " I will give thee pow'r o'er nature, Nor the sway of mankind deny, And the little matter of payment We can think of by and by." Then answer' d Faustus, " Satan, Thou readest my heart like a scroll, And thy voice, that has spoken to me, - Is as the voice of my soul ; " Why slave for an unknown future, With weary bosom and brow, And what shall avail the hereafter, When one has lost the now ? " This life is the one thing certain, ^^^lerefore the bargain let's tiy ; And the little matter of payment We will talk of by and by." iir THE JESTER'S SONG. There's nought in tliis world, for king or for clown, But a kiss when you're up, and a kick when you're down ; Feathers or rags, So the world wags ! There's nought in this world but to starve or to cheat, And the fool's the knave's jackal to find him in meat; Bare legs or hose. So the world goes. 118 THE JESTEE's song. There's nought in this world, when you're in it no more, But to lie in your grave with a lie graven o'er ; Foemen or friends, So the world ends ! POEMS IN BLANK VERSE. 121 SIR LANCELOT AT THE CROSS. And so it fell tliat lie, Sir Lancelot, rode All day across a waste and wither'd land, Wherein was voice of nothing, and none dwelt ; And with the set of sun a country came Wherein none dwelt, but many castles lay Rent, ruinous, irregular with the fall Of carvings and of columns — silent save With creeping murmur moved the worm decay Where life and pleasure erst o'er cup and kiss Each other hail'd immortal. Forth he fared, 122 SIR LANCELOT AT THE CROSS. Mute and much marvelling, while many a league, The yew that nurseth shadows in her shape Held sway, and any winds that wander'd through Were as lost souls, that call'd on some to save, Mock'd with a mighty silence for reply. Then sought Sir Lancelot comfort of a pray'r — And thus he spake — ** fair sweet Lord, I pray Me sick that thou make sound, me foul make pure And holy, gazing on the holy Grail !" And while the stars were gathering, forth he came Unto a deseii place where two ways met — A desert and strange place, and hard by saw A cross of marble carven curiously, With shapes of saints and virgins stoled in stone ; There Lancelot loosed his helm, and laid him down, And was as one that dreameth him a dream. And, as one seeth in dreams, he saw a knight SIR LANCELOT AT THE CROSS. 123 On litter by two fair white palfreys bome, Brought wounded to the cross. His vizor lift, Show'd the wan life that linger'd in his cheek, O'erlaid by leaden death. His helpless weight Sank heavily, his harness smote the stone With clangour, and he pray'd— " fair, sweet Lord, Because I, even though I fall, yet fall Face forward, fighting through the fiends to Thee, Nor turn for dalliance or delight aside. For this my travail yield me of Thy grace, I may be holpen of the holy Grail !" And even while he spake was straightway brought The sacred vessel of the Sangreal, laid Upon pure silver ; round it tapers four. Set in fair silver, seeming borne by none , Save an uncertain mystery of wings, Soon lost in light intense. The wounded knight, 124 SIR LANCELOT AT THE CROSS. Kneeling with difficult patience, kiss'd the cup, . And, lo ! his ghostly pallor changed to rose. And with a sudden smile he took his youth In all his veins at once, and stood erect, In all the points of knighthood such a knight As in the tumult of the tournament Lays his lance gaily for a lady's grace. Then fell it that Sir Lancelot would arise To touch for his soul's health the Sangreal blest. But vainly. Seeking, the desire to seek Wax'd .weak for visions rising in the way, Of how in lilied bowers of Camelot He lay, the guilty guest of Queen Ganore. Again he strove — again, and yet again ; But, thrall'd and troubled with tumultuous joy His thoughts came thick, as when a hand of chance Touches a tone upon the string that brings SIB LANCELOT AT THE CEOSS. 125 The past in passion to us. So the past, Rich with remembrance of the luring lip — The lip, the languorous heaving happy breast. The deep delicious light of drowning eyes, That down to desperate worship drew and drew — Grew richer with remember'd treasons sweet. But chief that first, when all the air was fill'd With fatal music, and the fading light That wanly shone o'er western skies and seas Was blent of passion's blush and passion's pale, And the wild want that took the heart of earth. Desiring unto death the beautiful. Came to them, sitting side by side, as each Upon the tremulous silence sobb'd to each The long-pent secret, until each for each Cast heav'n aside, and with fierce blood-beats slew The cold- voiced conscience. So the tide of love, Beneath the moon of memory, rose in flood 126 SIR LANCELOT AT THE CROSS. O'er life, and all the records it had wi*it. But when the vision pass'd he pray'd anew, Much mourning. For the silvern show had ceased- A solemn train of sailing angels bore The sei-vice of the Sangreal to the stars — And mute before bare heav'n he stood dismay 'd, As one shall stand before the judgment dumb, Till from the void of stars there woke a voice, Clear, awful, unappeasable, that seem'd The conscience of the silence gathering speech. That spake him — " Lancelot, waiy as the wolf. Swift as the libbard, as the lion strong, Stern of thy sword and subtle of thy tongue. And sinful, staining all thy soul with sin. Sweet, secret ; thee, by penance and slow pain, Pray'r, fasting, vigils wearily bought and borne. May God assoil ! But never any more Thou in the garden of thine innocence SIR LANCELOT AT THE CROSS. 127 Shalt walk as in the days when thou wert pure, Nor canst thou kiss the Sangreal with the kiss Of children or of angels ; wherefore hence Arise, and hie thee from this holy place !" Then rose Sir Lancelot, sorrowful, and strode His quivering steed ; and 'neath a night, whose stars Seem'd falling in a large and luminous rain, Rode to salt shores, where many mighty waves Smote the sea-marge with thunder, roar on roar. 128 PILATE IN EXILE. Roman, whether of Csesar's wrath thrust forth From Tiber's shore, like bale be thine to mine, Doom'd to the company of mountains cold. Whose rifted crags writhe upward to the cloud ; Or whether I, long strange to men, a shade Sec thee— a shade, scourged by th' avenging three, Most dolorous, more accursed is he thou seest, Pilate, erst governor of the Jews, ev'n he "Who slew the man of Galilee, the Christ ! For, day by day, there dawn th' eternal snows, At rise or set smote by the angry sun, PILATE IN EXILE. 129 Red with an awful trouble of just blood, — In memory that I wrought the people's will, The people's, when they all with one voice cried — " Let him be cnicified !" And night by night, Voiced with accusing wrath, the mighty winds Hurl, mad with torture, on the pine-woods old, That, bending, in their agony groan. And forth A far roar peals from echoing peak to peak. Till the gi'eat snow-fall swalloweth the voice. And hurrieth down to darkness. For, behold ! When as I sat in judgment, him they brought For judgment — this the King, whose unseen crown, And worship wrested from the mocker's mouth. And strength forlorn, and legion'd loneliness, O'erlaid my power with power, and seem'd to wear An armour that I wot not of. Then rose The rabble round me with their bribing breath. And vile and vassal praise. And, lo ! of me E 130 PILATE IN EXILE. That sought in years of youth that soul of things, The Truth, by mystic Oracle 'twas told That in the after-days the Truth should stand Before me, lightly question'd, left to bear Its slighted secret from me. This One spake Of Truth,— then ask'd I wearily, =' What is Truth? " Could one mouth be more wise than all the Schools ? Could what Greece gave not come from Galilee ? Ai'e prisoners more than princes ? Should one seek Philosophers in felons ? Then I spake, — " Take him and crucify him" — whom they took And slew, and Pilate yielded that they slew ; Pilate, who saw no fault in him at all, Yet slew the very Truth and Life, the Christ. Th' unburicd shades spurn'd from the Stygian boat, Hero move in mighty robes, whose misty folds Veil the dim hills ; in vaporous crowd on crowd They pass in haste, accusers of my soul ! PILATE IN EXILE. 131 For when they had set upon his cross the name Of King, and crown'd with thorns and cooFd with gall, At the ninth hour earth shook, the rocks were rent, The land was dark, and many dead arose — The sheeted dead strode straightway through the dark Unto the palace where I, Pilate, lay. And pointing lean and leugth'uing fingers, cried, " Wo to thee, wo to thee ! what hast thou done ? Thou that didst seek the Truth, didst slay the Truth ; Hast slain the very Truth and Life, the Christ !" Hence ! vex not with unsought companionship The accursed one. Should fortune set thy feet Romeward, bear witness thou hast Pilate seen ; Whom not the wrath of Csesar wreak'd with will By the bleak elements, his ministers Hath wrought this anguish ; — Pilate who sustains Unslain the vengeance of a God, to whom Piome hath no temple ; — Pilate, unto whom K 2 132 • PILATE IN EXILE. Visions are given wherein the Shrines of Kome Perish, the pui-ples of the Caesars pale, The Capitoline Mount beholds no more The coil of triumph toiling up its steep With stately progress, serpentine and slow ; — Who sees the dust their fashion would defy Heap'd upon halls imperial ; — -who sees The statued Gods un-pedestall'd depart Each after each, a doom upon their brows, To darkness — while colossal fanes and fair Climb to the clouds, and his their fame and praise The lonely Galilean whom we slew ! Such knowledge brings the wand'ring night to me, Pilate — to whom a curse of prophecy Cleaves like a burning skirt — that murder made And slew the very Truth and Life, the Christ. 133 THE NEW EVANGEL. The fool saith in his heart " There is no God." Having first said therein " There is no good ;" — What if the wise man soar to the top of good And find no God there ? God being horn of us, Not we of him — our aggregate of good — Growth of our thought and growing with our thought From low to high, from many unto One — And lifted on the level of our lives As the flood lift the Ark to Ararat — Created, not Creator — mutable — The mould of His feign'd moulding moulding Him. 134 THE NEW EVANGEL. Such is the great new gospel — such the end Of wisdom gain'd through ages. Time's first sons Nought douhted, we the school'd of centuries Nothing believe. Forthwith we cro^vn man God, The sciences his prophets, culture Christ, The earth redeem'd by Physics his sole heav'n — Supernal nought nor supernatural more — Man, slave of death, shall yet be lord of life. Himself unto himself both good and truth — What more ? The here is all, th' hereafter nought, And the fond fancies that have gone before To beautify the opposite shores of death Have idly dream'd. The hopes that made themselves Laws to the reason with their passionate will Are vain, and vain the visions which the soul. Like blindness prophesying of its sight, Claims to have seen of that which it would see ; Vain too the soul itself — a self no more — THE NEW EVANGEL. 135 A quintessence that moves from form to form, First I, next thou, next one that is to be ; Doom'cl like a bubble on the ocean's breast To worship of the wave whereon 'tis borne, Wherein it sinks its separate self again. Earth ! mother ! thrice accursed because so fair, Because so fond — shutting not life in life — Letting thy children dream whom thou let'st die ; Sweet are thy summers, yet they stir us oft With yearnings after summers otherwhere ; And sweet thy flowers, but straightway he who sees Sickens for sight of far-off Asphodels, And feigns of them as fadeless though these fade ; And sweet the loves thou bringest and we love — But lo ! the food hath made a hunger, lo ! For evermore the unappeasable heart Seeketh, and finding is not satisfied, But strives to snatch Love from thy doom of dust, 13G THE NEW EVANGEL. And with great greed of everlastingness So dow'r him that thou coukVst not rule with change Nor cool mth clay — but he v/ere lord of thee And laugher at thy limits. Sweet, too, death — And sweet the sod thou givest us for graves, Yet ever dost thou thwart desire to die With anger at the nothingness of death ; And though thou steal the murmur from the mouth, And draw the vision slowly from the eye, And drop the lids on darkness — though thou lay As slumber bids thee lay, the limbs — yet stays A look unfinal on the face, a gaze As of continuance, a haunting sense Of something other worlds have won from ours — So that we see not that the dead are dead. Tlien, like a sudden laughter through the stars — A splendid glory round the feet of God — Comes the great thought of iuunovtality ! 137 THE NEW EVANGEL. And this, too, is but a fool's fantasy, » The mocking echo of a mad desire, And sonl and form are of one dust, and die — So saith the prophet ! On his page I slept Full sadly, and full sadly dream'd a dream : — I dream'd God perish'd, as a stricken sun. From His mid-universe. His throne was void — And lo ! there rose before it, formless, vast, Shadowy, impalpable, array'd with night — That which reach'd forth a hand and laid the stars To silence, that they ceased to munnur more Their old processional song — nor sang nor shone, But died with a dull glare as of white ash Upon the cooling ember. Then my vision Forsook the universal to behold This earth alone : and I beheld it, night Clothed on it like a vesture — light was not 138 THE NEW EVANGEL. And men were few, and each had to himself A wilderness of shade. And each in soul By That was haunted, which had neither name Nor fonn nor voice, nor seem'd it thing externe Nor alien, but a portion of himself Passing into a terror which he fear'd But could not know. Nor ever parted they — These mates of night — nor could one gaze to where Another yielded his devoured heart, Bv reason of surrounding shade. For all But death were dead. Close-clasping, faith and hope Lay like twin corses ; and the worm was fed On worship ; thought was darken'd ; and desire Watch'd the approaching phantom of decay With strangling terror in the throat, and died ; Virtue that rotted to one clay with sin ; THE NEW EVANGEL. 139 Love mortal e'en as lust ; truth perishing At pace with falsehood — all were dead, and dead Was light, and God the first and last of light ; — So di-eam'd I — Open at my waking lay The page I slept on ; but the sudden ciy Of doubt for faith, of darkness for the light, Of false for true, impure for pure, of frail For strength, and incomplete for its complete, And death for life, and earth for Heav'n, and man For God, — so shook the comfort of my soul — I turn'd from all the prophet taught, but tum'd As one that dreams in darkness of the dawn — But wakes to find no waking of the birds. 140 ANARCHIA. Through the mirk air and by the moving main Slow wand'ring unto ever weirder shade, That which at first in dubious distance seem'd The spirit of darkness in the dark astir, Took form — and from the form a living voice Awoke, and with strange utterance spake me thus : " Art poor or rich ? Whichever, heav'n and hell Will batter thee, their challenged chattell so In strife to win thee, that whoso doth win ANAECHIA. 141 Will win thee soil'd and shapeless. Swear' st by Faith ? Thou art as one that in his hour of need Should ope some hoarded casket of his house By nimble thieves unjewell'd, thence to find It holds but shreds and dust. Is learning thine ? We wrap our robes of knowledge round us so As hucksters in a masque that feign them kings ; The sudden Unknown plucks us by the sleeve And laughs to scorn our knowledge of the known. Dost serve Ambition ? Then indeed dost cast Life's tangible coin into Fame's crucible To fuse it to thin vapour. Would'st thou free Thy kind from evil ? Then thou art as one That casts scant water upon flame and feeds " The fire he sought to stifle. For the soul Of man from sin, too, di-aws its sustenance As from the filth about the root the flow'r Feedeth its blood of beauty. Life is strife : 142 ANAECHIA. One plant to gain its verdure starveth ten — One soul gains heaven by treading ten to hell — One right inflicts innumerable wrongs — One pleasure must be fed by many pains — And evil is the useful foil of good, And grows a good thereby. Ai't Venus' slave ? See, in some mirthful corners of the skies. The Gods derisive with stop-watch in hand By seconds note the length of women's loves ; Love, too, hath grown commercial and doth feign Komance, as brothels feign reputed trades To countenance their foulness. Poet art ? Look to't or, Marsyas-like, thou'lt pay thy skin For piping — the Apollo of all years Is match'd against thee ; and the world's too old To wed the young bride Song, his toothless eld Espoused to Death already. Would'st by Art, That which God made in joy remake in pain ANAECHIA. 143 Amid mean needs, working by eyes that weep, And dull His hues of gloiy to thy grey ? Then, having caught the shape and slipp'd the soul, Will life grow fairer for thee ? Hopest to climb Beyond thy mortal compass, reaching forth Vain hands to worlds unsphered in death ? Behold ! The mountains raise thee so far to the skies, And then the mountains fail thee. Say'st to sin — ' I loathe thee,' and to virtue, ' Thee I love ;' The fates shall mock thee with a changeling bride To dotage. This I speak ; I speak as one Long dead — sent to the living from the dead To cry to them they are the fools of dreams, And that th' immortals make their sport of men, Not heeding — measuring one end to all — Careless of agony — laughing at the strife Of good and ill, and deaf to any prayer, 144 ANAECHIA. They lay their laws indiff'rently on all ; Neither with them shall anything avail, Nor fast of sense, rejDression of desire. Nor the ascetic curb of low delight, Nor service of the higher thoughts that seem To wrap a golden promise round the heart, Nor follow'd faith nor duteous deed ; and thence Let thine eye seek henceforth thine eye's delight, Thy lips their fill of pleasure, thine heart say — * What better than to eat and drink and die, And leave no cup untasted by the way. Ere the dull throat is stifled with thick dust, And Death is the same God to good and ill ;' And this I speak to thee — I speak as one Who sought while life was his the height of life — Soul's power o'er sense, truth's triumph, sin's defeat, The ways that were the gi-eat highways to God ; Who in his proud and passion-troubled youth ANARCHIA. 145 Loved beauty aucl loved danger, and was fed On daring, but for duty bearded death, And for a far ideal, like a star, Forsook the low delights beloved of men, And strove to keep the stainless soul. But, lo ! The gods make sport of the mad dreams of men, Who, being beasts, would be as gods," And round The silence shrank from his strange voice, that cursed Love, wisdom, worship — things that cheat the heart And torture ; shaking off from him his words As vipers. Who, when I essay'd reply. Withdrew to night. But to my soul I said — " Be not as those who cleave to doubt, although One rose to them from death to say ' Believe !' But rather, though th' arisen from the dead Should say to thee ' Believe not !' heed him noo. Belief is life, contains its own fulfilment ; L 146 ANARCHIA. All that the soul affirms, the soul shall know ; And though eternal faith breed transient doubt, When form is false to soul, when fashions change ; Though he who on the mount sees face to face Is sceptic of the golden calves below ; Yet all true thought shall live, and hope and faith Are guiding threads that thread the maze of life, And through the mystery and the mournful dark Shall lead, and land us in eternal light." SONNETS. l2 149 BEHIND THE VEH.. To what lone shore or mountain would I go To catch the murmur from her lip let fall — If, touch'd by light auroral, life would grow, Like Memnon in the morning, musical — In rhj-thmic revelation uttering all We agonize to know, while beats in mock The pulse of being, like a sick-room clock, Measuring for thought her immemorial thrall ; Some all-including secret of the spheres, Eaves-di-opping at her portal, to have won. To make man's doubtful guesses and dim fears Fade as the pale stars fade before the sun. And earth meet heav'n, as when two mingling meres Have burst their separant barriers to be one. 150 RENUNCIATION. Enough — words, tears, are vain ! So let it be. Alas ! what claim had I to love or trust ? I crush my precious pearl of life to dust, And di'own it in the draught I drink to thee. The after-feast reels from mc, and I see No exit save the portal that unbars A night beyond the shining of the stars ; Yet if the wintry dark that waiteth me Leave softer seasons, screen'd from rude annoy. To nurse thy bloom, this bitterness I bless ; And in the threshold shadow pray no less, Sweet, the cup tliy happier lips employ. Of passion's fruitage plunged into the press, And running thence the ruddy wine of joy. 151 EEJU^^ENESCEXCE. A SOFT breeze stealing on by lane and lea, In which all memory of dark days is drown'd — A sudden vernal glow that seems to be From lands where death and winter are not found — A mist of bursting buds on every tree — A new growth breaking through the hard bare ground, The pulse of ev'ry plant wakes silently, And in the wood-bird's pauses stirs a sound — A sound of resurrection sweet and clear, From flowing fountains that were frost-bound long, Comes, falling fresh and happy on the ear As children's voices in a choral song ; Life's triumph over death is chaunted here — 0, living heart ! take courage and be strong. 152 SUNSET FROM THE COTSWOLDS. Turning, I gazed o'er the hills' sudden crest, The whole expanse of western shy to see Flooded with molten flame tumultuously By the dissolving orb, whose like bequest Gave hill and valley each some varying hue — The fore hills purple, and the far hills blue : Until the faith arose from thought deprest — These shows of mortal air, too transient far, Fade to fulfil themselves in heav'n, and are Its antitypes of splendour and of rest : Else were those amphitheatrcd heights more blest That, native to the sight, serenely saw — Though not without a hush of possible awe — That glory of God descending down the west. 153 MUSIC FROM THE VALLEY. PiisiNG in pensive softness, seem'd the strain — Time, with a trick of sadness on his tongue, ]\Iourning the lost workl, beautiful and young ; — Then burst into a lengthen'd wail ; again With passionate and strong desire was thrill'd — Yearnings impossible to be fulfill'd, Immortal language given to mortal pain, — As though a wand'ring angel, exiled long. Had learn'd earth's sorrow, yet not lost heav'n's song; Till, changing to a clear and jubilant blast. Strong with the triumph over suffering past — While that fuU-clarion'd song swell'd far and wide, Surely some conquering soul stood satisfied With — and before — the Infinite at last. 154 THE ITALIAN REVOLUTION. Italia, Italia ! though thou art The Magdalene of nations, and hast sold Thy beauty for the brutal alien's gold, And play'd with painted smile the hireling's part — Yet, in thy fall's most fallen hour, for thee A pardon did the pitying angels keep, Because thou hadst loved much, and now they weep, Thee weeping at the Master's feet to see. And prodigal of precious ointments so — Spending thy soul in incense at the shrine Of soiTow, purifjang and divine, Till thou art saint who sinner once did show — All stains fade from thee, and the holy skies Sister once more thy consecrated eyes. 155 EXCELSIOR. A VALE there is by mist and mirk enshrouded, From out whereof a mountain doth arise, Midway, its rugged sides are darkness-clouded ; Higher, its summit shineth to the skies ; And if the mists of error one despise. Let him take up his pilgrim- staff and wend Mountwards, and with a daring step ascend ; Nor where the cloud of doubt surrounding lies. Be faint of heart nor fearful of the end — But with a forward soul of enterprise Climb on — and, rising through that nether night, The lofty summit lands of truth once trod, Their fields are with perpetual sunshine bright, And their air holy, being nigh to God. 156 FAILURE. He vainly toils who toils to make his life A Babel-tower whereby to reach the skies ; Aims are confounded, passions fall to strife, Wisdom is but the folly of the wise ; Ever the soul's deed fails of her emprise — So is she mock'd and darkness-mazed, and led To hunger in earth's desert for heav'n's bread. Bring, sculptor, all the art that in thee lies — All aid thereto of heart's love and soul's thought, That so thy brave life -statue may be wrought ; Give all thy days unto the toil, then see No bright God-image beaming from the stone — It lies a limbless Dagon overthrown Upon the bare plains of eternity. 157 THE INCOMPLETE. All other things drink gladness with their breath- Sadness, unrest, have in their lives no part — The bird's wild song, untuned to pain or death, Springs from a hidden pleasui'e of the heart ; None empty fi-om life's festal halls depaii — The violet dies not from the woodland side Till all the soul it hath is satisfied ; But man, into earth's banquet chamber led, Feeds but on dead-sea fr'uits, or is not fed — Or, gi-asping the pure food too long denied, Lo ! the pale stranger with the shadowy hand Stands beck'ning to him. From the palace door He follows — out into the silent land, Unblest, unsated, to return no more. 158 ASPIRATION. Lord of Hosts, most holy and most strong, If eartlily voices, making pray'r or moan. Rise where the blessed forms before Thy thi'one Quiver in light as doth the lark in song, Make haste to hear and answer, be not long ; Thy temples desolated and o'erthrown Restore ; Thy triune influence make known To conquer weakness, wilfulness and wrong ; What power hath made and love hath saved, we pray That the abiding Paraclete keep whole ; Our doubts, our sins, our sorrows take away — Creator, Saviour, and Sustainer be — That out of all the ways of death the soul Be di-awn through dust and darkness unto Thee. ^> This book IS DUE on the date stamped below. last 10M-1 1-50 2555,470 REM I NGTON R** FBl 5110 ^ rhymer's UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY _Haactaa_= AA 000 375 928 9 m 5110 N2217r JUtL-