TH. PR5027 Ait2!18 A A ^■^i^i^B o •• 6 -- 3B^S.'' 8 ^^^B^ 5 ^^^B :£> 5 6 ^^^^^H F^ 7 /A LIBRARY DNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE Ex Libris ISAAC FOOT -■■-*- -^ o <> z] J U5 A, THE MUMMER. THE MUMMER, AND OTHER POEMS. BY >,^ /henry gaelyn, pseud,) A/aege^y^ //ewiry r LONDON : tLLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. 1895. PREFACE. WHE>f I wrote ' The Mummer,' I was not aware that the conversion and martyrdom of St. Genesius, the comedian, fonued the ground-plot on which Rotrou, the friend and precursor of 'le grand Corneille,' built one of his noblest tragedies. His tragedy — a tragedy witliin a tragedy — has, however, little in common with the simple narrative as set forth in the ' Lives of the Saints,' and, indeed, the na'ive pathos and the uncouth mediaeval humour of the original would have been but little adapted to the statel)' style of his day. The title of his play, 'St. Genest,' is misleading, as I find that St. Genest, or Genestius, was Bishop of Clermont- Ferrand, but Rotrou possibly adopted that orthography For the sake of euphony, I know of no metrical version of the story in English, but this, I fear, may be a confession of culpable ignorance, as I can hardly suppo.se that I am the first to have been tempted by so striking a subject. HENRY GAELYN. CONTENTS. TAGE THE MUMMER - - - - - - 9 ENGLAND - . - . . . - 17 THE RISING TIDE - - - - - - iS DESPONDENCY - - - - - - I9 TURNER - - - - - . - 20 MILLET - - - - . - -21 COROT - - - - . - - 22 DELACROIX THE SEA LOST SOULS THE TULIP- THE VISION 23 24 25 TRIOLETS - - - - - - - 27 30 LAST BLOSSOMS - - - - - - 30 1894 ...... 1894 ....... COUNSEL ---... THE VISIT ...... THE SECRET . - . . . .32 31 31 32 32 33 viu CONTENTS PAOB INVOCATION - - - • - - 35 IN A CITY - - - - - - - 37 ON A NEGIyECTED TOMBSTONE - - - - 38 NOSTALGIA- - - - - - - 39 ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND - - - - 4I ELEGY - - - - - - - 44 THE SONG OF GOLD - - - - - 46 A FABLE - - - - - - - 50 THE SINGERS - - - - - - 51 THE MUMMER. UxDHR the low-born Diocletian's rule, There dwelt in Rome a mummer, a court-fool, Who, in his master's eyes to find more grace, Pursued with hatred all the Christian race. For that, or else because their simple rites. Opposed to all fantastic lewd delights, "Were slowly gathering to their sober band The wisest and the wealthiest in the land, The very name of Christ would make him shake With palsied anger. Martyrs at the stake, Withering in flames, or weltering in their gore, By wild beasts torn, were sights that he loved more Than fairest pageants. liver he would mock With ape-like gibes the persecuted flock. After much labour, the poor giddy clown. Hoping to please the court and draw the town. Devised, with some his peers, a ribald mime, Tagg'd with mad jest and song to suit the time; Just as upon the modern stage we see The travesty of some old mystery. lo THE MUMMER As for the plot, it was not far to seek ; For then, as now, among the strong some weak Backsliders could be found ; and of his kin Were sundry Christians, who his soul to win Unto their ways, expounded doctrine clear That was not lost on his attentive ear. Upon the play-bills of that distant day Thus ran the title of the scoffing play : 'The Holy Christian Chrismal Rite, this noon. Genesius, author, convert, and buffoon.' The house was crammed, the Emperor was there Surrounded by the great, the rich, the fair ; A glorious pageant, all that could surprise And dazzle and enchant mere worldly eyes. Gay gleams of sunlight ever flashed and played Athwart the heavj- awning's purple shade, Sparkling upon a hundred diadems Wrought in pure gold and precious orient gems, Now flecking marble columns with their rays. Now fainting midst the censer's odorous haze, Now lingering on some Eastern beauty's cheek Or playing with bright e3'es at hide and seek, Roving o'er scarlet, emerald, and 1)lue, And dying on sweet flowers of every hue. Meanwhile low sounds of dulcimer and flute, Murm'ring in cadence with the harp and lute. Mingle with snatches of soft amorous song Scarce heeded by the gay expectant throng. THE MUMMER ii Now all is husht, the gossip's tongue is still That erst was clacking like a busy mill : E'en whispering lovers hold their peace, and all Are mute as statues in that mighty hall. Padded, upon a couch, a monstrous size. In mimic agonj- the mummer lies. His groans and sighs provoke unending mirth, While some about him pinch his might)* girth. 'Oh, take this fardel from me,' then he moans, 'Although ye leave me but m}- skin and bones !' The doctors after consultation low Answer, with many a solemn mock and mow, 'We are not joiners, skilless with the plane. Our handiwork would hardly ease thy pain ; But here be Christian leeches who shall cure Thy body with their nostrums. Ay, be sure Not only shall their magic make thee whole. But at the same time they will save thy soul.' Now two attired in modest garb appear And with sour mien and sober gait draw near — A priest and an exorcist. Sinners gray. Old scoffers well prepared their parts to pla)-. With uncouth,antics and with jests profane They drag the mummer from his bed of pain And dip him in a well of water fair, And then with holy oil anoint his hair. This do!ie, in linen garments pure and white They clothe the chill'd and dripping neophyte. 12 THE MUMMER Biit lo ! the wretch's e5-es, imseal'd by grace, Behold a -wondrous light, throughout all space, Space infinite, beyond all human dreams It flows in mighty sun-eclipsing streams; More bright than where on spotless mountain snow The purest beams of morning gleam and glow — The light that struck Saul blind upon the way That goes towards Damascus. Its clear ray, Impleach'd with passioning hues, cleaves through the veil Of the dull firmament grown sere and pale, And in its midst, with glor)- fimbriate, He sees the Throne and all the awful state Of the Most High. PVom orlj to orb, he sees The angels wafted as upon the breeze The halcyon is borne. White wing'd thej* fly Like flights of doves athwart the summer sky. Or like rathe blossoms, the fair spring-time's pride, Floating on gentle zephyrs far and wide. From star to star the}' speed, each one intent Upon a hallow'd errand, each one bent Upon some work of mercy. By the gate He sees the shining ones with palms who wait For those who conquer in this mortal strife And gain the guerdon of Eternal Life. Meanwhile there bursts upon his ravished ear A song of love that throbs from sphere to sphere, A song of love that draws his yearning soul Nearer and nearer to the glorious goal : THE MUMMER 13 ' Seal'd ser\'ant, come, Forwander'd but not lost. The heavenh' host Shall bring thee to thy home. 'In spite of Hell, And Death and that dark way Where thou dost stray, With thee it shall be well. ' For thee, His light Now shines, thou who wert blind And couldst not find His path in thy mirk night. 'He shall not fail Thee in thine hour of need ; No broken reed Is He. Thou shalt prevail. 'Thy crown behold. More bright than earthly crowns ; No monarcli owns A crown of such pure gold. •The lilies fair With the sun's glory dight Are not so white As these thy vestments arc. 14 THE MUMMER ' Behold the road Made ready for thy feet ! Behold th}- seat Prepared in His abode ! ' Faint not nor fear, Thine hour of bitterness And sore distress Shall be forgotten here ! ' Here is thy place Of rest — thy glorious home. We wait. O come And look upon His face I 'We wait. Oconie!' And now the trembling mummer sees the roll Of all his sins upon a dusky scroll ; An angel dips it in the flood, and lo. The scroll is whiter far than driven snow. Spotless and pure it shines before his eyes While in faint echoes the sweet music dies. The vision fades, he stands as dumb and still As one bestraught, bereft of wits and will He seems. Adown his foolish painted face In grimy lines flow happy tears of grace, Smirching with rouge and dye his garments white. While his wild ej e pursues the withering light. A Pater Noster while amort he stands. Clutching his choking throat with bloodless hands. THE MUMMER 15 ' This is great art,' say some, some sit amazed, And others cr}-, ' The patch is surely crazed !' He wakes and sees again the proud array, The power, the pomp, the beauty, of his day. All that once dazzled him is now but dross, Poor sordid orts. The Glory of the Cross Outshines it all. The Emperor meanwhile Was charmed with the mad medley, but his smile Turns quickly to a dark and ominous frown, As bending low before him the poor clown With faltering voice proclaims his soul's new birth : Cleansed in the holy flood from stains of earth. Then, overcoming all his fleshly fear. He cries aloud, so that all there may hear ; ' Dread Sovereign, when but now I thought to mock The Christian's God and all the Christian flock, I heeded nought but our poor worldly day And deem'd all things subservient to thy sway ; But now I know a greater One ; on high He sits enthroned beyond the farthest sky, The bright stars do His bidding, in His hand This earth is hardly as a grain of sand. He is the Lord of love and truth and light. O Monarch, how shall thou withstand the might Of the Almighty ? At thy latest hour What shall avail thy cohorts and thy power } i6 THE MUMMER And ye, O Sages ! what your wisdom ? Mere Dull guesses in the dark ! When ye appear Before the Omniscient, sa}-, will ye still prate ? Go to, be humble ere it be too late ! And ye, O wealthy, all your hoarded gold, Shall it redeem the birthright ye have sold For this world's lusts ? O people. He alone For all our sins and strayings can atone !' But now the Emperor, grown white with rage, Glares at the wretched mummer on the stage. ' Have ye no muzzle for yon Christian hound ?' He cries ; ' lay hands upon him, hale him bound To some deep dungeon, spare not torments dire ; Hunger and thirst and stripes and flames of fire Shall be his portion.' But t'was all in vain, Their bitter torture wrung no cry of pain Nor even a murmur from his lips ; so they At last grew wear)', and upon a day They led him to his death. By some 'tis said That when beneath the axe's stroke his head Roll'd in the dust, there shone athwart the sky A wondrous light. Sweet sounds of minstrelsy Some thought they heard as his soul winged its way To the fair realms of everlasting day. 17 'That land of such dear souls, that de;>r, drar land.' Shakespeare. O England ! God hath giveu thee quiet years, And plenty, and great vantage, and wide sway ; But now dark clouds are closing round thy way, And all that love thee are beset with fears ; Dreading to see thee humbled and in tears. To hungry nations fallen an easy prey : Most lamentable in thy swift decay, A laughing-stock where once thou hadst no peers. Remember all thou boldest in thy hand. Be vigilant, be strong, spare not thy store, Nor yet with treacherous calms be thou beguiled A foeman's foot upon thy virgin shore Would stamp thee ever as a thing defiled, ' O land of such dear souls, O dear, dear land i8 THE RISING TIDE. When slowly waking from its cradled sleep, Calm and unfurrow'd by the wild wind's wing, The tide creeps on like some strange living thing, It lisps old runes and secrets of the deep. Along the sands the curving ripples sweep, And round the clefts where weeping sea-flowers cling They sport with all the flotsam that they bring, The worn-out playthings Ocean would not keep. Dimpled all over with false fawning smiles, The flood now crescive woos the sunlit land And ever murmurs its low siren rede. With fitful dalliance and weird cheating wiles It conquers all the strongholds of the strand, Till the stern cliffs defy its serpent-greed. 19 DESPONDENCY. Like silver flashing 'neath the summer sun, The countless lances of the wild sea wave Give battle to the cliff and crumbling cave, Untiring till the victory be won. No power shall staj- them till their work be done ; Deep toned and myriad voiced they ever rave. Unswerving shall their serried cohorts brave The rocks, until the sands of Time be mn. Casting aside the weakness of the world, Oh to be merged a moment in their life ! To feel their strength, to join their fierce mad play ! Even against the flinty headlands hurl'd. To sink a victim in their glorious strife Were better than this halting by the way. 20 TURNER. His life was sordid and liis home was bare, And deathly silent, ruinous and dim ; Few friendly footsteps crossed that threshold grim, It might have been the dwelling of despair. His speech was rude, he was of those who dare To look with scorn upon the fleeting whim Of ever-changing Fashion. What to him Were all the gauds for which the worldly care ! He sought with thorns to hedge about his dream And keep the foolish herd from his domain, Whence he could see long bygone summers glow On mountain, valley, cataract and stream. Or watch the storm, or mark the rainbow grow, Or the slow shadows steal across the plain. 21 MILLET. Child of the glebe, the primal curse he knew, 'The ground shall bring forth thistles. A)', and thou Shalt eat the herb o' the field.' The sweating brow. Hunger and cold and drought and blighting dew, The toil of those that delve and those that hew Or from deep wells draw water — tasks that bow The strongest necks : these things he knew and how The paths of ease are trodden but by few. Yet in great reverence God's earth he saw, Who saw the liumble flower beside the way. And midst the clouds the sun's bright crown of gold. Tried but unvanquished by the world's hard law He wrought in patience, like those craftsmen old Whose names aud fames still live in this our daj'. 22 COROT. Athwart the trivial turmoil of the street, What songs came floating from the countr}--side, From bubbling brook and rushy river wide ! What happy auguries, what visions sweet, Thronged round his humble cradle ! Zephyrs fleet Whisper'd of woods, where timid Dryads hide, Where gleaming streams amidst the sallows glide And bright-haired Nymphs fly past on furtive feet. And later, what fair dreams through all his da3's Follow' d his footsteps o'er the peaceful land * Or hover'd round him in the pleasant ways ! Aurora woo'd him and by many a strand He kept her tryst. Spell-dower'd by her rays The page he limned shall brave Time's ruthless hand. 23 DELACROIX. A Titan tortured by a soul-fed fire Unquenchable in cold Castaliau streams, Writhing to seize the evanescent dreams For ever fading from his fierce desire. A great magician, in whose coffers slept Haroun ,\1 Raschid's treasures. His clear eyes Beheld great Phoebus throned amidst the skies. And the drear hill-side where our Lady wept. A master, heir to all the wide domain Of poets' visions, his brave spirit sped With Dante through the realms of endless pain, And rode with Faustus through the midnight dread, And stood with Hamlet in the graveyard dim, ;Vnd saw on high the broad-wing'd Seraphim. 24 THE SEA. O Sea, how we liave loved thee ! Since the dim far da3s When from dark northern lands, like swallows on the wing, In the sun's track, the swift barks of the Viking king Fared to the cadence of rude nines siiug in thy praise, Our bards have been thy high-priests. To their reso- nant lays The storm-wind winds its wild horn. Who again shall bring So fair a tribute to thee ? Who again shall sing In such clear tones the glory of thy wave-paved wa)'S ? * Hast thoxi not been our strength in bitter times of need, Our noblest heritage ? Shall we sit still and see Thy fair and broad demesne pass to an alien hand ? Shall we be converts to the mad short-sighted creed Of peddling party-mongers ? To be strong and free As thy free wave, has been the glory of our land. 25 LOST SOULS. I. Wirv art thou pale, whj' tremble, O most dear And most desired ? Forget the dread red maze Through which we wandered in these latter days ! To the mad prophet's voice lend not thine ear ! Could all their shed blood buy one pearly tear Dimming thy starry eyes ? The thorny ways Are all gone o'er. With songs of joj and praise The nations hail our state. What shouldst thou fear ? Thou who wert dauntless till we reached the goal Nor ever fainted till the battle won. Shall thy proud heart quail doubting Fate's decree ! My love, O loveliest, like the glorious sun Shall chase these grisly shadows from thy soul, O Love, my love shall be thy sauctuar>-. n. By Lethe's stream they sit with staring eyes, Dim captives of the irrevocable past. With Memory's stringent coils about them cast. While baleful visions ever round them rise. 26 LOST SOULS In vain they strain and strive, the wan wave flies Their eager lips ; then shuddering, all aghast, They cling together as the mocking blast Goes laden with their sighs and dolorous cries. Cries, prayers, and curses than their pra5'ers less dire ; For thus the)- praj' : ' O give us once again One dreamless hour, even though Hell's fiercest fire Through all Eternity, Hell's gnawing pain Should be its ransom !' But the avenging Ire Hears not. Their cries and praj^ers are all in vain. 27 TRIOLETS. TO EWSE. Woui,D I could write for my Elise Trim triolets and tensons tender, And send them b}- the passing breeze ! Would I could write for my Elise Rhymes that might touch and tease and please And make her think upon the sender ! Would I could write for mj- Elise Trim triolets and tensons tender ! Sweets to the sweet ! O honej-bees Go, pillage all the woodland bowers ! Go, plunder all the broider'd leas ; Sweets to the sweet ! O honey-bees Forget your hives, to my Elise Bring the sweet spoils of sweetest flowers ! Sweets to the sweet ! O honey-bees Go, pillage all the woodland bowers ! In her fair garden my Elise Sits murmuring an ancient lay Of lovers' woes and lovers' ease. In her fair garden my Elise 28 TRIOLETS Sings, and lest her sweet song should cease The bird is silent on the spray. In her fair garden my Elise Sits murmuring an ancient lay. The -winter wind moans through the trees, No sweet bird sings, the fields are sere. The flowers are dead, the waters freeze. The winter wind moans through the trees ; But by the bower of my Elise The summer lingers all the year. The winter wind moans through the trees, No sweet bird sings, the fields are sere. AUTUMN. Driven past by Autumn's breath. Red leaves, black clouds, for ever flying. Red as blood, as black as death. Driven past by Autimm's breath O'er the tilth and o'er the heath. Whilst the dear year lies a-dying. Driven past by Autumn's breath. Red leaves, black clouds, for ever flying. TRIOLETS CHILDREN'S LAUGHTER. Laughter caused by no one's bane, Silvery chime of children's voices, Laughter giving no one pain. Laughter caused by no one's bane, Listen, how it rings again The laugh, which my dull heart rejoices ! Laughter caused by no one's bane, Silvery chime of children's voices. THE LOST PRESENCE. How is it I no longer see thy face, O lost companion of the dear fled 3-cars ? Is it because mine e3-es are dimmed with tears ? How is it I no longer see thy face ? Why didst thou vanish leaving not a trace, Thou who hadst skill to banish all my fears ? How is it I no longer see thy face, O lost companion of the dear fled years ? 30 THE TULIP. Our poets all have praised those uiodest maids, The daisy and the violet. I would sing Danie Tulip, orgulous iu her rich brocades, The Lady Mayoress of the urban spring. LAST BLOSSOMS. Last blossoms that untimely blow, Still blush and bloom to honour her, Till withering winter shall inter Your bleaching leaves neath wreaths of snow ! 1 894- Wild deeds are rife, inert, with dull dazed eyes Some leaders stare upon the face of Fate, While others, careless leeches, all too late Prate of the throes in which the century dies. 1894. EriS the serpent bound Seeks to regain her ancient sway, And leajfued with Chaos, glares upon her prey, Fair Peace, the olive-crowned. 32 COUNSEL. These things, O brothers, and others Were made to lurk in the shade ; Pale, dank, rank weeds in the dark wood, Flowers in the sunshiny glade. Brothers, bring not to the light Things that are born of the night. THE VISIT. Go, take yoiir thviribles and take Of laurel wreaths a goodly store ! All your sleek words shall hardly slake His thirst for praise. He'll still want more. THE SECRET. Why do the flowers stare at me ? Do they know The secret, that I deeni'd was only known To the far stars ? Shall their strown petals blown Carrj' the tale abroad to friend and foe ? 33 THE VISION. It comes amidst the midnight gloom, I scarcely see and scarcely hear it, I know not if I love or fear it. It comes amidst the midnight gloom And wanders all about the room As seeking one to help or cheer it. It comes amidst the midnight gloom, I scarcely see and scarcely hear it. It softly sings, the strangest things ; Would I could understand them rightly ! Its shadowy form is not unsightly. It softly sings the strangest things And then it spreads its dusky wings And dances, if the moon shine brightly. It softly sings the strangest things ; Would I could understand tliem riglitly I The vision of a vanish'd dream, The long-lost song of hope and gladness. Toned by the willier'd years to sadness. Tlie vision of a vanish'd dream, 34 THE VISION The murmur of Time's weary stream, That goads despairing souls to madness. The vision of a vanish'd dream, The long-lost song of hope and gladness. Although at dawn it takes its flight, All day I hear its crazy singing, Like ghostly chimes for ever ringing. Although at dawn it takes its flight, I watch and wait until the night Shall come, its fitful presence bringing. Although at dawn it takes its flight. All day I hear its crazy singing. 35 INVOCATION. Risii from the sea, O my dream ! Ah, sooner or later rise ! Let me see thee as in the bygone days Thou wert seen by mortal eyes ! I wander on and hope that I may meet Thy form divine, upon the moonlit strand, Or find at least the imprint of thy feet Graved on the cur\'ing sand. In caverns dim, carved by the cravinj^ wave, Where creatures strange, born of the deep, abide, I sit and watch the ever changing tide WHiat time the wild winds rave. And when the morning mists desert the shore. Like veils asunder drawn, my sleepless eyes Are .strained, to see amidst the azure skies Those eyes that I adore. 36 INVOCATION The silver sails float o'er the silver main, The seasons pass, the bright suns rise and set, The future changes to the past, and yet Thou comest not again. Rise from the sea, O my dream ! Ah, sooner or later rise ! Let me see thee as in the bygone days Thou wert seen by mortal eyes ! 37 IN A CITY. Dim grimy way In the dull drear Citj', Where never a ray Of God's sun, through the livelong day Pierces the pall of the murky sky, To tell of pity And hope, to those who live and die Day b}- day, In that grimy way. Yet there. By 5'on crazy stair. Long years ago, Love stayed his flight. There, In the dusky light JyOve shook his wings and all was bright For two true souls — and they Until this day Have found that grimy way A pathway of delight. 38 ON A NEGI.ECTED TOMBSTONE. Who was Belinda ? I don't know, But from the aspect of her tomb, She was, at least so I presume, Forgotten many years ago. Ill-favoured was she, or a shrew, Or a poor soul b}' love bewrayed, A beauty false, a beauty true, An aged matron or a maid ? Her story's lost and in the land Her memory is faded quite ; Sunk in oblivion's frozen night, Erased by Time's destroying hand. But when I see the green grass grow. And all the humble flowers that blow About her grave, though I may err, I think the spring-time thinks on her. 39 NOSTALGIA. I SIT and dream amidst the baleful glare Of this drear citj' bleaching in the light. Sepulchral, sad, and ever ghastly white, Its towers and fanes gleam in the burning air. All day the dismal cypress turns her shade, All day the shrivell'd crickets in the sun Carp, while the wither'd lizards rustling run O'er yon dry stones where once a fountain played. All day the sterile iinresponsive sea, Tideless and voiceless, sleeps beneath the skj". While on its bosom fainting breezes die, Rereft of spells to set the spirit free. From all the garden plots, the poison'd Ijrealh Of strange exotic flowers fills the air. Weird flowers of magic colours fair and rare, Born to be garuer'd for the crown of Death. 40 NOSTALGIA In all the meagre land no song of birds, No blithesome carols in the early dawn, No dewdrops l)roidering the jaded lawn. No bleat of lambs or sound of lowing herds. No peace the twilight brings, no rest the night, Or broken slumbers haunted by fair dreams Of moors and mountains, lakes and crystal streams, Bright visions fading with the morning light. 41 ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND. Our Wordsworth sang in days gone by Of that fair goddess Liberty, And how she found a home Where Alpine summits pierce the sky, Where eagles hardly dare to fly. And how she loved the foam ; The foam that like a silver band Encircles our dear native land, Not whiter than her feet. And how, when from her fastness she Was driven, by our Northern sea She found a sure retreat. I too have seen her in my dream Pass smiling by the mountain stream With Alpine roses crown'd. I too have met her where the wave Goes echoing through the Ocean cave In tumult of wild sound. 42 ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND With Peace she walketh hand in haml, And Truth and Justice near her stand Whene'er she sits in state ; And if at times she wield the glaive, Her arm is also strong to save, Her love more strong than Fate. About her robes the children cling, About her paths the free birds sing, About her paths of light. Before the glance of her clear eyes. More clear, more bright than morning skies, All things of night take flight. To mask wild deeds of blood and shame Some seek to use her sacred name. We know her hands are pure. Some, following a mad fen flame. Sink whelm'd in sloughs. Is she to blame Whose ways are always sure ? Some, purblind, see a spectre where She sits, that goddess kind and fair. May Heaven mend their sight ! Some try with spiders' threads to bind Her wings. Poor fools ! The strong North Wind Would quail before her might. ENGLAND AND SWITZERLAND 43 O Liberty ! O Liberty ! England hath been thy sanctuary And Switzerland thy throne. And thou hast been our beacon bright, The star that led us through the night O'er trackless waj'S unknown. 44 ELEGY. Fame sought him not, he sought not Fame, His days Were passed in humble service at the shrine Of our great Mother, seeking truth Divine Far from all beaten waj-s. Careless of every gaud and empty toy, Heedless of vanities, he lived apart. Deaf to the turmoil, calm and true of heart In sorrow and in jo}'. The waving corn, the murmuring forest trees, Whisper'd to him of some great otherwhere ; ^Vhile strains from a lost world still young and fair Sang in the passing breeze. Still young and fair, the world of poets' dreams Re-lived for him. Pan was not dead, his reeds Were vocal still and charmed the flowery meads And naiad-haunted streams. Here on the hillside it is therefore meet That in this copse-screen'd grave-garth he should lie. In peace beneath the ever-changing sky 'Mid fields and orchards sweet. ELEGY 45 A humble plot that in the garish daj' Holds nought that j-ou would notice as j'ou pass, Except the simple floAvers and waving grass About the tombstones gray. But when the night descends upon the plains And every bird hath gone unto his nest, Save only Philomel, who still complains Of Love and Love's unrest ; Then stealing through the groves and moonlit glades The Nymphs and Drj-ads, those of Ceres' band, And those who ever dwell in forest shades. Come hither hand in hand. They circle round his tomb and chaunt a hymn Whose sweet accords are Ijornc upon the breeze And mingling with the murmur of the trees Float o'er the champaign dim. Off'rings they bring, ofF'rings from Flora's wreath, Pomona's wealth and golden ears of corn, Milk from the byre, and honey from the heath, White wool from yearlings shorn. But ere the opal lights of morning gleam Between the sombre branches of the firs, And ere the lark amid the clover stirs, They vanish like a dream. 46 THE SONG OF GOLD. I FLEW to the top of a lone bare tree, And I sang as loud as loud might be In praise of the Lord of the land and the sea. And the sun went up, and the sun went down, And all the folk came out of the town The man and the maid and the king with his crown. And they sat them down on the drear dark hill. Every Jack by the side of his Jill, And the tongues of the wither'd old women were still. And I sang and I sang till all was at rest, Till the callow bird was asleep in the nest. And the babe was husht on its mother's breast, I sang of the Lord of the land and the sea Before whose throne all bow the knee. The rich and the poor and the bond and the free. Of the Lord of the world, of the red, red gold, That rejoices the hearts of young and old And makes weak men strong and cowards bold. THE SONG OF GOLD 47 Of gold, the master of king and slave, For which sages toil and scheme and save; The one good thing for which all men crave. And of how they knew no unhappiness Who worship'd that god, and no distress, Nor aught of the world's unkindliness. And I sang, ' Bow down in the dust and pray That his shining ej-es may look your way And ye too may be happy in this }'our day.' But one arose and in accents clear That echo'd about the hillside drear Cried aloud so that even the deaf might hear : ' O my friends, beware of that fatal rede. Of the baleful song of gold and greed, But heed my words, for great is your need ! ' O great is your peril, the passing bell Were less dread to hear than that song of Hell Which for many fair souls has toll'd the kuell ! ' For gold is the lord of an empire dire For who.se sake men risk eternal fire, 'Tis the fee of shame and the nmrderer's hire. • Ay, gold is the price of the widow's moan, Of the orphan's wail. More hard than stone Is the heart that is set upon gold alone. 48 THE SONG OF GOLD ' O'er the sea and the land gold's power is great, But it turns not aside the hand of Fate Nor serves to pay toll at heaven's gate.' As he spoke, the folk swaj-ed to and fro, And some arose as though fain to go To their peaceful homes, but their feet were slow. Slow and heavy as lead, and their gaze Was as wild as the gaze of one who strays In the midnight drear o'er haunted ways. But a caitiff wretch crept near and drew His sword and slew the prophet true. And the thirsty earth drank his blood like dew. Then each one started as who should see In Fate's dark glass his destiny , And rises up to turn and flee. In tumult wild, like a savage horde Adown the hillside bare they poured, And the corpse lay stark on the blood-stained sward. Ay, goaded and crazed by my song of sin, With hideous clangour and fiendish din, Through the cit}- gates they all rush'd in. And the sun set red and the night's black shroud Fell o'er dome and temple and palace proud And the tocsin bell rang clear and loud. THE SONG OF GOLD 49 And all was laid waste by sword and fire, Brother slew brother and son slew sire, And the whole town blazed like a funeral pyre. And thousands were flying and thousands had fled, And thousands were dying and thousands were dead, And the conduits and kennels with blood ran red. At dawn but a heap of ashes lay there Where once arose that citj' fair, And a pall of smoke swaj'ed aloft in the air. Years after, as over that land I flew, I marked in my flight that no green thing grew Save the cypress sad and the dismal yew. Yet there on the hill, in the very place Where the martyr's blood had left a trace, Grew one sweet herb — ' the Herb of Grace.' 50 A FABLE. The patient spider all the morn had spun While gilded flies were dancing in the sun. But ere the sultry noonday hours were past, The earth with low'ring clouds was overcast, The trembling trees proclaimed the tempest nigh. And soon the lightning rent the pitchy skj-, While howling gusts and hail and splashing rains Destro3-ed the work of so much toil and pains. Had she not found a providential lair, Arachne's daj's had surely ended there. Meanwhile in nooks and crannies snug and warm • The flies slept heedless of the raging storm. Moral. Let us be happy in the sun, nor waste our time, and wit, and labour, In setting traps for other folks and scheming how to catch our neighbour. 51 THE SINGERS. Man sings but of the things he loves or hates ; the song Of Love shall surely ever ring the clearest ; The sweetest song shall be of what is dearest. Yet scorn and noble hate, the scorn and hate of wrong Have also struck true chords and deep-toned on the l3're. In even,' time and clime, The folly and the crime Of man, have waked the prophet's and the poet's ire. These are the broad- wing'd ones, who sear with words of fire All human frailty ; mighty seers who see God's awful judgments, knowing no dulcet harmony Of pastoral pipes, to gather in the flocks that stray Or cheer the palmer on the rugged way. Elliot Stock, 62, Paternoster Row Lotidon. DATE DUE ' — 1 CAYLORD PRINTED »N U.S. A. UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL UBRARY FACILITY AA 000 608 556 7 L