r r* w THE DEATH OF CENONE, AKBAR'S DREAM, AND OTHER POEMS THE DEATH OF CENONE, AKBAR'S DREAM, AND OTHER POEMS BY ALFRED LORD TENNYSON rOET LAUREATE Honlion MACMILLAN AND CO. AND NEW YORK I 892 All rights reserved Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/deathofoenoneakbOOtennrich CONTENTS I'AGE June Bracken and Heather . . . . i To THE Master of Balliol 3 The Death of O^none 5 St. Telemachus 15 Akbar's Dream 23 The Bandit's Death 47 The Church-warden and the Curate . . 55 Charity 67 Kapiolani 77 The Dawn 81 The Making of Man 85 The Dreamer 87 Mechanophilus ....... 90 Riflemen form ! 93 VI CONTENTS PAGE The Tourney 96 The Wanderer . . . . , . .98 Poets and Critics 100 A Voice spake out of the Skies . . . 102 Doubt and Prayer 103 Faith 105 The Silent Voices 107 God and the Universe 108 The Death of the Duke of Clarence and Avondale .110 JUNE BRACKEN AND HEATHER To There on the top of the down, The wild heather round me and over me June^s high blue, hen I look'd at the bracken so bright and ihe heather so brown, I thought to myself I would offer this book to you, 'his, and my love together, 'o you that are seventy-seven, (& B I 2 JUNE BRACKEN AND HEATHER With a faith as clear as the. heights of the June- blue heaven, And a fancy as summer-new As the green of the bracken amid the gloom of the heather. TO THE MASTER OF BALLIOL Dear Master in our classic town, You, loved by all the younger gown There at Balliol, Lay your Plato for one minute down, II And read a Grecian tale re-told, Which, cast in later Grecian mould, Quintus Calaber Somewhat lazily handled of old ; TO THE MASTER OF BALLIOL III And on this white midwinter day — For have the far-off hymns of May, All her melodies, All her harmonies echo'd away ? — To-day, before you turn again To thoughts that lift the soul of men, Hear my cataract's Downward thunder in hollow and glen. Till, led by dream and vague desire. The woman, gliding toward the pyre. Find her warrior Stark and dark in his funeral fire. THE DEATH OF CENONE THE DEATH OF CENONE CEnone sat within the cave from out Whose ivy-matted mouth she used to gaze Down at the Troad ; but the goodly view Was now one blank, and all the serpent vines Which on the touch of heavenly feet had risen, And gliding thro' the branches overbower'd The naked Three, were wither'd long ago, And thro' the sunless winter morning-mist In silence wept upon the flowerless earth. And while she stared at those dead cords that ran 8 THE DEATH OF (ENONE Dark thro' the mist, and linking tree to tree, But once were gayer than a dawning sky With many a pendent bell and fragrant star, Her Past became her Present, and she saw Him, climbing toward her with the golden fruit. Him, happy to be chosen Judge of Gods, Her husband in the flush of youth and dawn, Paris, himself as beauteous as a God. Anon from out the long ravine below. She heard a wailing cry, that seem'd at first Thin as the batlike shrillings of the Dead When driven to Hades, but, in coming near, Across the downward thunder of the brook Sounded 'OEnone'; and on a sudden he, Paris, no longer beauteous as a God, Struck by a poison'd arrow in the fight. Lame, crooked, reeling, livid, thro' the mist THE DEATH OF CENONE 9 Rose, like the wraith of his dead self, and moan'd * CEnone, my CEnone, while we dwelt Together in this valley — happy then — Too happy had I died within thine arms, Before the feud of Gods had marr'd our peace, And sunder'd each from each. I am dying now Pierced by a poison'd dart. Save me. Thou knowest. Taught by some God, whatever herb or balm May clear the blood from poison, and thy fame Is blown thro' all the Troad, and to thee The shepherd brings his adder-bitten lamb. The wounded warrior climbs from Troy to thee. My life and death are in thy hand. The Gods Avenge on stony hearts a fruitless prayer For pity. Let me owe my life to thee. 1 wrought thee bitter wrong, but thou forgive, lo THE DEATH OF CENONE Forget it. Man is but the slave of Fate. CEnone, by thy love which once was mine, Help, heal me. I am poison'd to the heart.' * And I to mine ' she said ' Adulterer, Go back to thine adulteress and die !' He groan'd, he turn'd, and in the mist at once Became a shadow, sank and disappear'd, But, ere the mountain rolls into the plain, Fell headlong dead ; and of the shepherds one Their oldest, and the same who first had found Paris, a naked babe, among the woods Of Ida, following lighted on him there. And shouted, and the shepherds heard and came. One raised the Prince, one sleek'd the squalid hair, One kiss'd his hand, another closed his eyes, And then, remembering the gay playmate rear'd THE DEATH OF (ENONE ii Among them, and forgetful of the man, Whose crime had half unpeopled Ilion, these All that day long labour'd, hewing the pines, And built their shepherd-prince a funeral pile ; And, while the star of eve was drawing light From the dead sun, kindled the pyre, and all Stood round it, hush'd, or calling on his name. But when the white fog vanish'd like a ghost Before the day, and every topmost pine Spired into bluest heaven, still in her cave. Amazed, and ever seeming stared upon By ghastlier than the Gorgon head, a face, — His face deformed by lurid blotch and blain — There, like a creature frozen to the heart Beyond all hope of warmth, (Enone sat Not moving, till in front of that ravine Which drowsed in gloom, self-darken'd from the west, 12 THE DEATH OF CENONE The sunset blazed along the wall of Troy. Then her head sank, she slept, and thro' her dream A ghostly murmur floated, * Come to me, (Enone ! I can wrong thee now no more, QEnone, my QEnone,' and the dream Wail'd in her, when she woke beneath the stars. What star could burn so low ? not Ilion yet. What light was there ? She rose and slowly down. By the long torrent's ever-deepen'd roar, Paced, following, as in trance, the silent cry. She waked a bird of prey that scream'd and past ; She roused a snake that hissing writhed away ; A panther sprang across her path, she heard The shriek of some lost life among the pines. But when she gain'd the broader vale, and saw The ring of faces redden'd by the flames THE DEATH OF (ENONE 13 Enfolding that dark body which had lain Of old in her embrace, paused — and then ask'd Falteringly, 'Who lies on yonder pyre?'. But every man was mute for reverence. Then moving quickly forward till the heat Smote on her brow, she lifted up a voice Of shrill command, 'Who burns upon the pyre?' Whereon their oldest and their boldest said, * He, whom thou wouldst not heal ! ' and all at once The morning light of happy marriage broke Thro' all the clouded years of widowhood, And muffling up her comely head, and crying ' Husband ! ' she leapt upon the funeral pile. And mixt herself with him and past in fire. ST. TELEMACHUS ST. TELEMACHUS Had the fierce ashes of some fiery peak Been hurl'd so high they ranged about the globe ? For day by day, thro' many a blood-red eve, In that four-hundredth summer after Christ, The wrathful sunset glared against a cross Rear'd on the tumbled ruins of an old fane No longer sacred to the Sun, and flamed On one huge slope beyond, where in his cave The man, whose pious hand had built the cross, A man who never changed a word with men. Fasted and pray'd, Telemachus the Saint. i8 ST. TELEMACHUS Eve after eve that haggard anchorite Would haunt the desolated fane, and there Gaze at the ruin, often mutter low * Vicisti Galilsee ' ; louder again. Spurning a shattered fragment of the God, * Vicisti Galilaee ! ' but — when now Bathed in that lurid crimson — ask'd ^ Is earth On fire to the West ? or is the Demon-god Wroth at his fall ? ' and heard an answer ' Wake Thou deedless dreamer, lazying out a life Of self-suppression, not of selfless love/ And once a flight of shadowy fighters crost The disk, and once, he thought, a shape with wings Came sweeping by him, and pointed to the West, And at his ear he heard a whisper * Rome * And in his heart he cried ^ The call of God ! ' ST. TELEMACHUS 19 And caird arose, and, slowly plunging down Thro' that disastrous glory, set his face By waste and field and town of alien tongue, Following a hundred sunsets, and the sphere Of westward-wheeling stars ) and every dawn Struck from him his own shadow on to Rome. Foot-sore, way-worn, at length he touch'd his goal, The Christian city. All her splendour faiFd To lure those eyes that only yearned to see, Fleeting betwixt her column'd palace-walls, The shape with wings. Anon there past a crowd With shameless laughter. Pagan oath, and jest. Hard Romans brawling of their monstrous games ; He, all but deaf thro' age and weariness, And muttering to himself ^ The call of God ' And borne along by that full stream of men, Like some old wreck on some indrawing sea. 20 ST. TELEMACHUS Gain'd their huge Colosseum. The caged beast Yell'd, as he yell'd of yore for Christian blood. Three slaves were trailing a dead lion away, One, a dead man. He stumbled in, and sat Blinded ; but when the momentary gloom, Made by the noonday blaze without, had left His aged eyes, he raised them, and beheld A blood-red awning waver overhead, The dust send up a steam of human blood. The gladiators moving toward their fight, And eighty thousand Christian faces watch Man murder man. A sudden strength from heaven. As some great shock may wake a palsied limb, Turn'd him again to boy, for up he sprang, And glided lightly down the stairs, and o'er The barrier that divided beast from man ST, TELEMACHUS 2i Slipt, and ran on, and flung himself between The gladiatorial swords, and call'd * Forbear In the great name of Him who died for men, Christ Jesus ! ' For one moment afterward A silence follow'd as of death, and then A hiss as from a wilderness of snakes. Then one deep roar as of a breaking sea. And then a shower of stones that stoned him dead, And then once more a silence as of death. His dream became a deed that woke the world, For while the frantic rabble in half-amaze Stared at him dead, thro' all the nobler hearts In that vast Oval ran a shudder of shame. The Baths, the Forum gabbled of his death, And preachers lingered o'er his dying words, Which would not die, but echo'd on to reach 22 ST. TELEMACHUS Honorius, till he heard them, and decreed That Rome no more should wallow in this old lust Of Paganism, and make her festal hour Dark with the blood of man who murder'd man. (For Honorius, who succeeded to the sovereignty over Europe, supprest the gladiatorial combats practised of old in Rome, on occasion of the following event. There was one Telemachus, embracing the ascetic mode of life, who setting out from the East and arriving at Rome for this very purpose, while that accursed spectacle was being per- formed, entered himself the circus, and descending into the arena, attempted to hold back those who wielded deadly weapons against each other. The spectators of the murder- ous fray, possest with the drunken glee of the demon who delights in such bloodshed, stoned to death the preacher of peace. The admirable Emperor learning this put a stop to that evil exhibition. — Theodoret's Ecclesiastical History.) AKBAR'S DREAM AKBAR'S DREAM An Inscription by Abul Fazl for a Temple IN Kashmir (Blochmann xxxii.) O God in every temple I see people that see thee, and in every language I hear spoken, people praise thee. Polytheism and IsMm feel after thee. Each rehgion says, *Thou art one, without equal.' If it be a mosque people murmur the holy prayer, and if it be a Christian Church, people ring the bell from love to Thee. Sometimes I frequent the Christian cloister, and sometimes the mosque. But it is thou whom I search from temple to temple. Thy elect have no dealings with either heresy or orthodoxy ; for neither of them stands behind the screen of thy truth. Heresy to the heretic, and religion to the orthodox, 26 AKBAR 'S DREAM But the dust of the rose-petal belongs to the heart of the perfume seller. Akbar and Abul Fazl before the palace at Futehpur-Sikri at night. ^ Light of the nations ' ask'd his Chronicler Of Akbar * what has darken'd thee to-night ? ' Then, after one quick glance upon the stars, And turning slowly toward him, Akbar said ' The shadow of a dream — an idle one It may be. Still I raised my heart to heaven, I pray'd against the dream. To pray, to do — To pray, to do according to the prayer. Are, both, to worship Alia, but the prayers. That have no successor in deed, are faint And pale in Alla's eyes, fair mothers they Dying in childbirth of dead sons. I vow'd Whate'er my dreams, I still would do the right AKBAR'S DREAM 27 Thro' all the vast dominion which a sword, That only conquers men to conquer peace, Has won me. Alia be my guide ! But come. My noble friend, my faithful counsellor, Sit by my side. While thou art one with me, I seem no longer like a lonely man In the king's garden, gathering here and there From each fair plant the blossom choicest-grown To wreathe a crown not only for the king But in due time for every Mussulman, Brahmin, and Buddhist, Christian, and Parsee, Thro' all the warring world of Hindustan. Well spake thy brother in his hymn to heaven " Thy glory baffles wisdom. All the tracks Of science making toward Thy Perfectness Are blinding desert sand ; we scarce can spell 28 AKBAR'S DREAM The Alif of Thine alphabet of Love." He knows Himself, men nor themselves nor Him, For every splintered fraction of a sect Will clamour " / am on the Perfect Way, All else is to perdition." Shall the rose Cry to the lotus " No flower thou " ? the palm Call to the cypress " I alone am fair " ? The mango spurn the melon at his foot ? " Mine is the one fruit Alia made for man." Look how the living pulse of Alia beats Thro' all His world. If every single star Should shriek its claim " I only am in heaven " Why that were such sphere-music as the Greek Had hardly dream'd of. There is light in all, And light, with more or less of shade, in all AKBAR'S DREAM 29 Man-modes of worship ; but our Ulama, Who " sitting on green sofas contemplate The torment of the damn'd " already, these Are like wild brutes new-caged — the narrower The cage, the more their fury. Me they front AVith sullen brows. What wonder ! I decreed That even the dog was clean, that men may taste Swine-flesh, drink wine ; they know too that when- e'er In our free Hall, where each philosophy And mood of faith may hold its own, they blurt Their furious formalisms, I but hear The clash of tides that meet in narrow seas, — Not the Great Voice not the true Deep. To drive A people from their ancient fold of Faith, And wall them up perforce in mine — unwise, 30 AKBAR'S DREAM Unkinglike ; — and the morning of my reign Was redden'd by that cloud of shame when I . . . I hate the rancour of their castes and creeds, I let men worship as they will, I reap No revenue from the field of unbelief. I cull from every faith and race the best And bravest soul for counsellor and friend. I loathe the very name of infidel. I stagger at the Koran and the sword. I shudder at the Christian and the stake ; Yet "Alia," says their sacred book, "is Love," And when the Goan Padre quoting Him, Issa Ben Mariam, his own prophet, cried " Love one another little ones " and " bless " Whom? even "your persecutors"! there methought The cloud was rifted by a purer gleam Than glances from the sun of our Islam. AKBAR'S DREAM 31 And thou rememberest what a fury shook Those pillars of a moulder'd faith, when he, That other, prophet of their fall, proclaimed His Master as " the Sun of Righteousness," Yea, Alia here on earth, who caught and held His people by the bridle-rein of Truth. What art thou saying ? " And was not Alia call'd In old Iran the Sun of Love ? and Love The net of truth ? " A voice from old Iran ! Nay, but I know it — his^ the hoary Sheik, On whom the women shrieking " Atheist " flung Filth from the roof, the mystic melodist Who all but lost himself in Alia, him Abu Said — a sun but dimly seen Here, till the mortal morning mists of earth 32 AKBAR 'S DREAM Fade in the noon of heaven, when creed and race Shall bear false witness, each of each, no more, But find their limits by that larger light. And overstep them, moving easily Thro' after-ages in the love of Truth, The truth of Love. The sun, the sun ! they rail At me the Zoroastrian. Let the Sun, Who heats our earth to yield us grain and fruit. And laughs upon thy field as well as mine. And warms the blood of Shiah and Sunnee, Symbol the Eternal ! Yea and may not kings Express Him also by their warmth of love For all they rule — by equal law for all ? By deeds a light to "men ? But no such light Glanced from our Presence on the face of one. AKBAR'S DREAM 33 Who breaking in upon us yestermorn, With all the Hells a-glare in either eye, Yell'd ^'hast thou brought us down a new Koran From heaven ? art thou the Prophet ? canst thou work Miracles ? " and the wild horse, anger, plunged To fling me, and fail'd. Miracles ! no, not I Nor he, nor any. I can but Hft the torch Of Reason in the dusky cave of Life, And gaze on this great miracle, the World, Adoring That who made, and makes, and is, And is not, what I gaze on — all else Form, Ritual, varying with the tribes of men. Ay but, my friend, thou knowest I hold that forms Are needful : only let the hand that rules, With politic care, with utter gentleness, D 34 AKBAR 'S DREAM Mould them for all his people. And what are forms ? Fair garments, plain or rich, and fitting close Or flying looselier, warm'd but by the heart Within them, moved but by the living limb, And cast aside, when old, for newer, — Forms ! The Spiritual in Nature's market-place — The silent Alphabet-of-heaven-in-man Made vocal — banners blazoning a Power That is not seen and rules from far away — A silken cord let down from Paradise, When fine Philosophies would fail, to draw The crowd from wallowing in the mire of earth, And all the more, when these behold their Lord, Who shaped the forms, obey them, and himself Here on this bank in some way live the life Beyond the bridge, and serve that Infinite AKBAR'S DREAM 35 Within us, as without, that All-in-all, And over all, the never-changing One And ever-changing Many, in praise of Whom The Christian bell, the cry from off the mosque, And vaguer voices of Polytheism Make but one music, harmonising " Pray." There westward — under yon slow-falling star. The Christians own a Spiritual Head ; And following thy true counsel, by thine aid. Myself am such in our Islam, for no Mirage of glory, but for power to fuse My myriads into union under one ; To hunt the tiger of oppression out From office ; and to spread the Divine Faith Like calming oil on all their stormy creeds, And fill the hollows between wave and wave ; To nurse my children on the milk of Truth, 36 AKBAR'S DREAM And alchemise old hates into the gold Of Love, and make it current ; and beat back The menacing poison of intolerant priests, Those cobras ever setting up their hoods — One Alia ! one Kalifa ! Still — at times A doubt, a fear, — and yester afternoon I dreamed, — thou knowest how deep a well of love My heart is for my son, Saleem, mine heir, — And yet so wild and wayward that my dream — He glares askance at thee as one of those Who mix the wines of heresy in the cup Of counsel — so — I pray thee Well, I dream'd That stone by stone I rear'd a sacred fane, A temple, neither Pagod, Mosque, nor Church, AKBAR'S DREAM 37 But loftier, simpler, always open-door'd To every breath from heaven, and Truth and Peace And Love and Justice came and dwelt therein ; But while we stood rejoicing, I and thou, I heard a mocking laugh " the new Koran ! " And on the sudden, and with a cry " Saleem " Thou, thou — I saw thee fall before me, and then Me too the black-wing'd Azrael overcame. But Death had ears and eyes ; I watch'd my son, And those that follow'd, loosen, stone from stone, All my fair work ; and from the ruin arose The shriek and curse of trampled millions, even As in the time before ; but while I groan'd. From out the sunset pour'd an alien race, Who fitted stone to stone again, and Truth, Peace, Love and Justice came and dwelt therein. Nor in the field without were seen or heard 38 AKBAR'S DREAM Fires of Suttee, nor wail of baby- wife, Or Indian widow ; and in sleep I said " All praise to Alia by whatever hands My mission be accomplish'd ! " but we hear Music : our palace is awake, and morn Has lifted the dark eyelash of the Night From off the rosy cheek of waking Day. Our hymn to the sun. They sing it. Let us go.' Hymn Once again thou flamest heavenward, once again we see thee rise. Every morning is thy birthday gladdening human hearts and eyes. AKBAR'S DREAM 39 Every morning here we greet it, bowing lowly down before thee, Thee the Godlike, thee the changeless in thine ever-changing skies. II Shadow-maker, shadow-slayer, arrowing light from clime to clime, Hear thy myriad laureates hail thee monarch in their woodland rhyme. Warble bird, and open flower, and, men, below the dome of azure Kneel adoring Him the Timeless in the flame that measures Time ! NOTES TO AKBAR'S DREAM The great Mogul Emperor Akbar was born October 14, 1542, and died 1605. At 13 he succeeded his father Humayun ; at 18 he himself assumed the sole charge of government. He subdued and ruled over fifteen large provinces ; his empire included all India north of the Vindhya Mountains — in the south of India he was not so successful. His tolerance of religions and his abhorrence of religious persecution put our Tudors to shame. He invented a new eclectic religion by which he hoped to unite all creeds, castes and peoples : and his legislation was re- markable for vigour, justice and humanity. * TJiy glory baffles wisdom. ' The Emperor quotes from a hymn to the Deity by Faizi, brother of Abul Fazl, Akbar's chief friend and minister, who wrote the Ain i Akbari '(Annals of Akbar). His influence on his age was immense. n may be that he and his brother Faizi led Akbar's mind NOTES TO AKBAR'S DREAM 41 away from Islam and the Prophet — this charge is brought against him by eveiy Muhammadan writer ; but Abul Fazl also led his sovereign to a true appreciation of his duties, and from the moment that he entered Court, the problem of successfully ruling over mixed races, which Islam in few other countries had to solve, was carefully considered, and the policy of toleration was the result (Blochmann xxix.). Abtd Fazl thus gives an account of himself ' The advice of my Father with difficulty kept me back from acts of folly ; my mind had no rest and my heart felt itself drawn to the sages of Mongolia or to the hermits on Lebanon. I longed for interviews with the Llamas of Tibet or with the padres of Portugal, and I would gladly sit with the priests of the Parsis and the learned of the Zendavesta. I was sick of the learned of my own land.' He became the intimate friend and adviser of Akbar, and helped him in his tolerant system of government. Professor Blochmann writes ' Impressed with a favourable idea of the value of his Hindu subjects, he (Akbar) had resolved when pensively sitting in the evenings on the solitary stone at Futehpur-Sikri to rule with an even hand all men in his dominions ; but as the extreme views of the learned and the lawyers continually urged him to perse- cute instead of to heal, he instituted discussions, because, believing himself to be in error, he thought it his duty as ruler to inquire.' 'These discussions took place every Thursday night in the Ibadat-khana a building at Futehpur- Sikri, erected for the purpose ' (Malleson). 42 NOTES TO AKBAR'S DREAM In these discussions Abul Fazl became a great power, and he induced the chief of the disputants to draw up a document defining the * divine Faith ' as it was called, and assigning to Akbar the rank of a Mujahid, or supreme khalifah, the vicegerent of the one true God. Abul Fazl was finally murdered at the instigation of Akbar's son Salim, who in his Memoirs declares that it was Abul Fazl who had perverted his father's mind so that he denied the divine mission of Mahomet, and turned away his love from his son. Faizi. When Akbar conquered the North-West Provinces of India, Faizi, then 20, began his life as a poet, and earned his living as a physician. He is reported to have been very generous and to have treated the poor for nothing. His fame reached Akbar's ears who commanded him to come to the camp at Chitor. Akbar was delighted with his varied knowledge and scholarship and made the poet teacher to his sons. Faizi at 33 was appointed Chief Poet (1588). He collected a fine library of 4300 MSS. and died at the age of 40 (1595) when Akbar incorporated his collection of rare books in the Imperial Library. The warring world of Hindostan. Akbar's rapid con- quests and the good government of his fifteen provinces with their complete military, civil and political systems make him conspicuous among the great kings of history. The Goan Padre. Abul Fazl relates that *one night NOTES TO AKBAR'S DREAM 43 the Ibadat-khana was brightened by the presence of Padre Rodolpho, who for intelligence and wisdom was unrivalled among Christian doctors. Several carping and bigoted men attacked him and this afforded an opportunity for the display of the calm judgment and justice of the assembly. These men brought forward the old received assertions, and did not attempt to arrive at truth by reasoning. Their statements were torn to pieces, and they were nearly put to shame, when they began to attack the contradictions of the Gospel, but they could not prove their assertions. With per- fect calmness, and earnest conviction of the truth he replied to their arguments. ' Ab{l SaHd. ' Love is the net of Truth, Love is the noose of God ' is a quotation from the great Sufee poet Abu Sa'id — born A.D. 968, died at the age of 83. He is a mystical poet, and some of his expressions have been compared to our George Herbert. Of Shaikh Abu Sa'id it is recorded that he said, * when my affairs had reacht a certain pitch I buried under the dust my books and opened a shop on my own account {i.e. began to teach with authority), and verily men represented me as that which I was not, until it came to this, that they went to the Qadhi and testified against me of unbelieverhood ; and women got upon the roofs and cast unclean things upon me.' {Vide reprint from article in National Revieiv, March 1891, by C. J. Pickering. ) Aziz. I am not aware that there is any record of such 44 NOTES TO AKBAR'S DREAM intrusion upon the king's privacy, but the expressions in the text occur in a letter sent by Akbar's foster- brother Aziz, who refused to come to court when sum- moned and threw up his government, and * after writing an insolent and reproachful letter to Akbar in which he asked him if he had received a book from heaven, or if he could work miracles like Mahomet that he presumed to introduce a new religion, warned him that he was on the way to eternal perdition, and concluded with a prayer to God to bring him back into the path of salvation ' (Elphin- stone). *The Koran, the Old and New Testament, and the Psalms of David are called books by way of excellence, and their followers *' People of the Book " ' (Elphinstone). Akbar according to Abdel Kadir had his son Murad instructed in the Gospel, and used to make him begin his lessons * In the name of Christ ' instead of in the usual way * In the name of God.' To drive A people from their ancient fold of Truth, etc. Malleson says * This must have happened because Akbar states it, but of the forced conversions I have found no record. This must have taken place whilst he was still a minor, and whilst the chief authority was wielded by Bairam.' ^ I reap no reve7me from the field of unbelief "^ The Hindus are fond of pilgrimages and Akbar removed NOTES TO AKBAR'S DREAM 45 a remunerative tax raised by his predecessors on pilgrimages. He also abolished the fezza or capitation tax on those who differed from the Mahomedan faith. He discouraged all excessive prayers, fasts and pilgrimages. Suttee. Akbar decreed that every widow who showed the least desire not to be burnt on her husband's funeral pyre, should be let go free and unharmed. baby -wife. He forbad marriage before the age of puberty. hidian widow. Akbar ordained that remarriage was lawful. Music. * About a watch before daybreak,' says Abul Fazl, the musicians played to the king in the palace. * His Majesty had such a knowledge of the science of music as trained musicians do not possess.' * The Divine Faith.'' The Divine Faith slowly passed away under the immediate successors of Akbar. An idea of what the Divine Faith was may be gathered from the inscription at the head of the poem. The document referred to, Abul Fazl says * brought about excellent results ( i ) the Court became a gathering place of the sages and learned of all creeds ; the good doctrines of all religious systems were recognized, and their defects were not allowed to obscure their good features ; (2) perfect toleration or peace with all 46 NOTES TO AKBAR'S DREAM was established ; and (3) the perverse and evil-minded were covered with shame on seeing the disinterested motives of His Majesty, and these stood in the pilloiy of disgrace.' Dated September 1579 — Ragab 987 (Blochmann xiv. ). THE BANDIT'S DEATH TO SIR WALTER SCOTT ^ o great and gallant scott, True gentleman, heart, blood and bone, I WOULD it had been MY LOT To have seen thee, and heard thee, and known. 1 I have adopted Sir Walter Scott's version of the fol- lowing story as given in his last journal (Death of II Bizarro) — but I have taken the liberty of making some slight alterations. THE BANDirS DEATH Sir, do you see this dagger ? nay, why do you start aside ? I was not going to stab you, tho^ I a7n the Bandit's bride. You have set a price on his head : I may claim it without a He. What have I here in the cloth ? I will show it you by-and-by. Sir, I was once a wife. I had one brief summer of bliss. E so THE BANDIT'S DEATH But the Bandit had woo'd me in vain, and he stabb'd my Piero with this. And he dragg'd me up there to his cave in the mountain, and there one day He had left his dagger behind him. I found it. I hid it away. For he reek'd with the blood of Piero ; his kisses were red with his crime. And I cried to the Saints to avenge me. They heard, they bided their time. In a while I bore him a son, and he loved to dandle the child, And that was a link between us; but I — to be reconciled ? — THE BANDIT 'S DEA TH 5 1 No, by the Mother of God, tho' I think I hated him less, And — well, if I sinn'd last night, I will find the Priest and confess. Listen ! we three were alone in the dell at the close of the day. I was lilting a song to the babe, and it laugh'd like a dawn in May. Then on a sudden we saw your soldiers crossing the ridge, And he caught my little one from me : we dipt down under the bridge By the great dead pine — you know it — and heard as we crouch'd below. 52 THE BANDIT'S DEATH The clatter of arms, and voices, and men passing to and fro. Black was the night when we crept away — not a star in the sky — Hush'd as the heart of the grave, till the little one uttered a cry. I whisper'd 'give it to me,' but he would not answer me — then He gript it so hard by the throat that the boy never cried again. We return'd to his cave — the link was broken — he sobb'd and he wept, And cursed himself; then he yawn'd, for the wretch could sleep, and he slept THE BANDIT'S DEATH 53 Ay, till dawn stole into the cave, and a ray red. as blood Glanced on the strangled face — I could make Sleep Death, if I would — Glared on at the murder'd son, and the murderous father at rest, ... I drove the blade that had slain my husband thrice thro' his breast. He was loved at least by his dog : it was chained, but its horrible yell ' She has kill'd him, has kill'd him, has kill'd him ' rang out all down thro' the dell. Till I felt I could end myself too with the dagger — so deafen'd and dazed — 54 THE BANDIT'S DEATH Take it, and save me from it ! I fled. I was all but crazed With the grief that gnaw'd at my heart, and the weight that dragg'd at my hand ; But thanks to the Blessed Saints that I came on none of his band ; And the band will be scatter'd now their gallant captain is dead, For I with this dagger of his — do you doubt me ? Here is his head ! THE CHURCH-WARDEN AND THE CURATE THE CHURCH-WARDEN AND THE CURATE This is written in the dialect which was current in my youth at Spilsby and in the country about it. Eh ? good daay ! good daay ! thaw it bean't not mooch of a daay, Nasty, casselty weather ! an' mea haafe down wi' my haay ! 58 CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE II How be the farm gittin on ? noaways. Gittin on i'deead ! Why, tonups was haafe on 'em fingers an* toas, an' the mare brokken-kneead, An' pigs didn't sell at fall, an' wa lost wer Hal- deny cow. An' it beats ma to knaw wot she died on, but wool's looking oop ony how. Ill An' soa they've maade tha a parson, an' thou'll git along, niver fear, Fur I bean chuch-warden mysen i' the parish fur fifteen year. CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 59 Well — sin ther bea chuch-wardens, ther mun be parsons an' all, An' if t'one stick alongside t'uther the chuch weant happen a fall. IV Fur I wur a Baptis wonst, an' agean the toithe an' the raate, Till I fun that it warn't not the gaainist waay to the narra Gaate. An' I can't abear 'em, I can't, fur a lot on 'em coom'd ta-year — I wur down wi' the rheumatis then — to my pond to wesh thessens theere — Sa I sticks like the ivin as long as I lives to the owd chuch now, 6o CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE Fur they wesh'd their sins i' my pond, an' I doubts they poison'd the cow. Ay, an' ya seed the Bishop. They says 'at he coom'd fra nowt — Burn i' traade. Sa I warrants 'e niver said haafe wot 'e thowt. But 'e creeapt an' 'e crawl'd along, till 'e feeald 'e could howd 'is oan, Then 'e married a great Yerl's darter, an' sits o' the Bishop's throan. VI Now I'll gie tha a bit o' my mind an' tha weant be taakin' offence, CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 6i Fur thou be a big scholard now wi' a hoonderd haacre o' sense — But sich an obstropulous lad — naay, naay — fur I minds tha sa well, Tha'd niver not hopple thy tongue, an' the tongue's sit afire o' Hell, As I says to my missis to-daay, when she hurl'd a plaate at the cat An' anoother agean my noase. Ya was niver sa bad as that VII But I minds when i' Howlaby beck won daay ya was ticklin' o' trout, An' keeaper 'e seed ya an roon'd, an' 'e beal'd to ya '- Lad coom hout ' 62 CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE Kvl ya stood oop naakt i' the beck, an' ya tell'd 'im to knaw his awn plaace An* ya call'd 'im a clown, ya did, an' ya thraw'd the fish i' 'is faace, An' 'e torn'd as red as a stag-tuckey's wattles, but theer an' then I coamb'd 'im down, fur I promised ya'd niver not do it agean. VIII An' I cotch'd tha wonst i' my garden, when thou was a height-year-howd, An' I fun thy pockets as full o' my pippins as iver they'd 'owd, An' thou was as pearky as owt, an' tha maade me as mad as mad, CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 63 But I says to tha * keeap 'em, an^ welcome ' fur thou was the Parson's lad. IX An' Parson 'e 'ears on it all, an' then taakes kindly to me, An' then I wur chose Chuch- warden an' coom'd to the top o' the tree. Fur Quoloty's hall my friends, an' they maakes ma a help to the poor, When I gits the plaate fuller o' Soondays nor ony chuch- war den afoor. Fur if iver thy feyther 'ed riled me I kep' mysen meeak as a lamb, An' saw by the Graace o' the Lord, Mr. Harry, I ham wot I ham. 64 CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE X But Parson 'e will speak out, saw, now 'e be sixty- seven, He'll niver swap Owlby an' Scratby fur owt but the Kingdom o' Heaven ; An' thou'll be 'is Curate 'ere, but, if iver tha means to git 'igher, Tha mun tackle the sins o' the Wo'ld, an' not the faults o' the Squire. An' I reckons tha'll light of a livin' somewheers i' the Wowd or the Fen, If tha cottons down to thy betters, an' keeaps thy- sen to thysen. But niver not speak plaain out, if tha wants to git forrards a bit. But creeap along the hedge-bottoms, an' thou'll be a Bishop yit. CHURCH-WARDEN AND CURATE 65 XI Naay, but tha 7mm speak hout to the Baptises here i' the town, Fur moast on 'em talks agean tithe, an' I'd like tha to preach 'em down, Fur iheyvQ. bin a-preachin' 7?iea down, they heve, an' I haates 'em now, Fur they leaved their nasty sins i' my pond, an' it poison'd the cow. GLOSSARY * Casselty,' casualty, chance weather. * Haafe down wi' my haay,' while my grass is only half- mown. * Fingers and toes,' a disease in turnips. * Fall,' autumn. e the Voice of the Teacher who calls to them * Set yourselves free ! ' 78 KAPIOLANI II Noble the Saxon who hurFd at his Idol a valorous weapon in olden England ! Great and greater, and greatest of women, island heroine, Kapiolani Clomb the mountain, and flung the berries, and dared the Goddess, and freed the people Of Hawa-i-ee ! Ill A people believing that Peele the Goddess would wallow in fiery riot and revel On Kilauea, Dance in a fountain of flame with her devils, or shake with her thunders and shatter her island. Rolling her anger KAPIOLANI 79 Thro' blasted valley and flaring forest in blood-red cataracts down to the sea ! IV / Long as the lava-light Glares from the lava-lake Dazing the starlight, Long as the silvery vapour in daylight Over the mountain Floats, will the glory of Kapiolani be mingled with either on Hawa-i-ee. What said her Priesthood? ' Woe to this island if ever a woman should handle or gather the berries of Peele ! Accursed were she ! 8o KAPIOLANI And woe to this island if ever a woman should climb to the dwelling of Peele the Goddess ! Accursed were she ! * VI One from the Sunrise Dawn'd on His people, and slowly before him Vanish'd shadow-like Gods and Goddesses, None but the terrible Peele remaining as Kapio- lani ascended her mountain, Baffled her priesthood, Broke the Taboo, Dipt to the crater, Call'd on the Power adored by the Christian, and crying ^ I dare her, let Peele avenge herself ! Into the flame-billow dash'd the berries, and drove the demon from Hawa-i-ee. THE DAWN "You are but children." Egyptian Priest to Solon, Red of the Dawn ! Screams of a babe in the red-hot pahiis of a Moloch of Tyre, Man with his brotherless dinner on man in the tropical wood, Priests in the name of the Lord passing souls thro' fire to the fire. Head-hunters and boats of Dahomey that float upon human blood ! 82 7'HE DAWN II Red of the Dawn ! Godless furyof peoples, and Christless frolic of kings, And the bolt of war dashing down upon cities and blazing farms, For Babylon was a child new-born, and Rome was a babe in arms, And London and Paris and all the rest are as yet but in leading-strings. Ill Dawn not Day, While scandal is mouthing a bloodless name at her cannibal feast, THE DAWN 83 And rake-ruin'd bodies and souls go down in a common wreck, And the press of a thousand cities is prized for it smells of the beast, Or easily violates virgin Truth for a coin or a cheque. IV Dawn not Day ! Is it Shame, so few should have climb'd from the dens in the level below, Men, with a heart and a soul, no slaves of a four-footed will? But if twenty million of summers are stored in the sunlight still. We are far from the noon of man, there is time for the race to grow. 84 l^HE DA WN Red of the Dawn ! Is it turning a fainter red? so be it, but when shall we lay The Ghost of the Brute that is walking and haunting us yet, and be free ? In a hundred, a thousand winters? Ah, what will our children be. The men of a hundred thousand, a million summers away ? THE MAKING OF MAN Where is one that, born of woman, altogether can escape From the lower world within him, moods of tiger, or of ape ? Man as yet is being made, and ere the crowning Age of ages, Shall not aeon after aeon pass and touch him into shape ? All about him shadow still, but, while the races flower and fade, S6 THE MAKING OF MAN Prophet-eyes may catch a glory slowly gaining on the shade, Till the peoples all are one, and all their voices blend in choric Hallelujah to the Maker * It is finish'd. Man is made.' THE DREAMER On a midnight in midwinter when all but the winds were dead, * The meek shall inherit the earth ' was a Scripture that rang thro' his head, Till he dream'd that a Voice of the Earth went wailingly past him and said : * I am losing the light of my Youth And the Vision that led me of old, And I clash with an iron Truth, When I make for an Age of gold, And I would that my race were run. For teeming with liars, and madmen, and knaves. 88 THE DREAMER And wearied of Autocrats, Anarchs, and Slaves, And darken'd with doubts of a Faith that saves. And crimson with battles, and hollow with graves, To the wail of my winds, and the moan of my waves I whirl, and I follow the Sun/ Was it only the wind of the Night shrilling out Desolation and wrong Thro' a dream of the dark ? Yet he thought that he answered her wail with a song — Moaning your losses, O Earth, Heart-weary and overdone ! THE DREAMER 89 But all's well that ends well, Whirl, and follow the Sun ! He is racing from heaven to heaven And less will be lost than won, For all's well that ends well. Whirl, and follow the Sun ! The Reign of the Meek upon earth, O weary one, has it begun ? But all's well that ends well. Whirl, and follow the Sun ! For moans will have grown sphere-music Or ever your race be run ! And all's well that ends well, Wliirl, and follow the Sun ! MECHANOPHILUS (In the time of the first railways). Now first we stand and understand, And sunder false from true, And handle boldly with the hand. And see and shape and do. Dash back that ocean with a pier, Strow yonder mountain flat, A railway there, a tunnel here, Mix me this Zone with that ! Bring me my horse — my horse ? my wings That I may soar the sky, MECHANOPHILUS 91 For Thought into the outward springs, I find her with the eye. O will she, moonlike, sway the main, And bring or chase the storm, Who was a shadow in the brain. And is a Hving form ? Far as the Future vaults her skies, From this my vantage ground To those still-working energies I spy nor term nor bound. As we surpass our fathers' skill. Our sons will shame our own ; A thousand things are hidden still And not a hundred known. 92 ME C HA NO PHIL US And had some prophet spoken true Of all we shall achieve, The wonders were so wildly new That no man would believe. Meanwhile, my brothers, work, and wield The forces of to-day. And plow the Present like a field, And garner all you may ! You, what the cultured surface grows, Dispense with careful hands : Deep under deep for ever goes, Heaven over heaven expands. RIFLEMEN FORM ! There is a sound of thunder afar, Storm in the South that darkens the day ! Storm of battle and thunder of war ! Well if it do not roll our way. Storm, Storm, Riflemen form ! Ready, be ready against the storm ! Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form ! Be not deaf to the sound that warns. Be not guU'd by a despot's plea ! Are figs of thistles ? or grapes of thorns ? How can a despot feel with the Free ? 94 RIFLEMEN FORM Form, Form, Riflemen Form ! Ready, be ready to meet the storm ! Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form ! Let your reforms for a moment go ! Look to your butts, and take good aims ! Better a rotten borough or so Than a rotten fleet and a city in flames ! Storm, Storm, Riflemen form ! Ready, be ready against the storm ! Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form ! Form, be ready to do or die ! Form in Freedom's name and the Queen's ! True we have got — such a faithful ally That only the Devil can tell what he means. RIFLEMEN FORM . 95 . Form, Form, Riflemen Form ! Ready, be ready to meet the storm ! Riflemen, Riflemen, Riflemen form ! ^ ^ I have been asked to republish this old poem, which was first published in 'The Times,' May 9, 1859, before the Volunteer movement began. THE TOURNEY Ralph would fight in Edith's sight, For Ralph was Edith's lover, Ralph went down like a fire to the fight. Struck to the left and struck to the right, Roll'd them over and over. * Gallant Sir Ralph,' said the king. Casques were cracked and hauberks hack'd, Lances snapt in sunder. Rang the stroke, and sprang the blood, Knights were thwack'd and riven, and hew'd Like broad oaks with thunder. * O what an arm,' said the king. THE TOURNEY 97 Edith bow'd her stately head, Saw them He confounded, Edith Montfort bow'd her head, Crown'd her knight's, and flush'd as red As poppies when she crown'd it. ' Take her Sir Ralph,' said the king. H THE WANDERER The gleam of household sunshine ends, And here no longer can I rest ; Farewell ! — You will not speak, my friends, Unfriendly of your parted guest. O well for him that finds a friend, Or makes a friend where'er he come, And loves the world from end to end, And wanders on from home to home ! THE WANDERER 99 happy he, and fit to live, On whom a happy home has power To make him trust his life, and give His fealty to the halcyon hour ! 1 count you kind, I hold you true ; But what may follow who can tell ? Give me a hand — and you — and you — And deem me grateful, and farewell ! POETS AND CRITICS This thing, that thing is the rage, Helter-skelter runs the age ; Minds on this round earth of ours Vary like the leaves and flowers, Fashioned after certain laws ; Sing thou low or loud or sweet, All at all points thou canst not meet, Some will pass and some will pause. What is true at last will tell : Few at first will place thee well ; POETS AND CRITICS loi Some too low would have thee shine, Some too high — no fault of thine — Hold thine own, and work thy will ! Year will graze the heel of year, But seldom comes the poet here, And the Critic's rarer still. A VOICE SPAKE OUT OF THE SKIES A Voice spake out of the skies To a just man and a wise — * The world and all within it Will only last a minute! ' And a beggar began to cry ' Food, food or I die ' ! Is it worth his while to eat, Or mine to give him meat, If the world and all within it Were nothing the next minute ? DOUBT AND PRAYER X Tho' Sin too oft. when smitten by Thy rod, Rail at * Blind Fate ' with many a vain ' Alas ! ' From sin thro' sorrow into Thee we pass By that same path our true forefathers trod ; And let not Reason fail me, nor the sod Draw from my death Thy living flower and grass, Before I learn that Love, which is, and was My Father, and my Brother, and my God ! I04 DOUBT AND PRAYER Steel me with patience ! soften me with grief ! Let blow the trumpet strongly while I pray, Till this embattled wall of unbelief My prison, not my fortress, fall away ! Then, if thou wiliest, let my day be brief. So Thou wilt strike Thy glory thro' the day. FAITH Doubt no longer that the Highest is the wisest and the best, Let not all that saddens Nature blight thy hope or break thy rest, Quail not at the fiery mountain, at the ship- wreck, or the rolling Thunder, or the rending earthquake, or the famine, or the pest ! io6 FAITH II Neither mourn if human creeds be lower than the heart's desire ! Thro' the gates that bar the distance comes a gleam of what is higher. Wait till Death has flung them open, when the man will make the Maker Dark no more with human hatreds in the glare of deathless fire ! THE SILENT VOICES When the dumb Hour, clothed in black, Brings the Dreams about my bed, Call me not so often back, Silent Voices of the dead, Toward the lowland ways behind me, And the sunlight that is gone ! Call me rather, silent voices, Forward to the starry track Glimmering up the heights beyond me On, and always on ! GOD AND THE UNIVERSE Will my tiny spark of being wholly vanish in your deeps and heights ? Must my day be dark by reason, O ye Heavens, of your boundless nights. Rush of Suns, and roll of systems, and your fiery clash of meteorites ? II * Spirit, nearing yon dark portal at the limit of thy human state, GOD AND THE UNIVERSE 109 Fear not thou the hidden purpose of that Power which alone is great, Nor the myriad world, His shadow, nor the silent Opener of the Gate.' THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF CLARENCE AND AVONDALE Wo iljB Mourners The bridal garland falls upon the bier, The shadow of a crown, that o*er him hung, Has vanish'd in the shadow cast by Death. So princely, tender, truthful, reverent, pure — Mourn ! That a world-wide Empire mourns with you, DEATH OF THE DUKE OF CLARENCE in That all the Thrones are clouded by your loss, Were slender solace. Yet be comforted ; For if this earth be ruled by Perfect Love, Then, after his brief range of blameless days. The toll of funeral in an Angel ear Sounds happier than the merriest marriage-bell. The face of Death is toward the Sun of Life, His shadow darkens earth : his truer name Is * Onward,' no discordance in the roll And march of that Eternal Harmony Whereto the worlds beat time, tho' faintly heard Until the great Hereafter. Mourn in hope ! THE END Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinhirgh. ^ |ii|| ^ ""1 •■4 \ % r : J. .s <■ ( iinH