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A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 
 ~-&^i:3— 
 
 
 SONGS AND SONNETS 
 
 OF SPRINGTIME. 
 
 
 Small crown 8vo, cloth, 5s, 
 
 
 LONDON : KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, 
 
 1 
 
 & CO. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE; 
 
 THE ELIXIR OF LIFE; 
 THE STORY OF CLARICE; 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 CONSTANCE C. W. NADEN, 
 
 author of 
 "songs and sonnets of springtime." 
 
 " To bear all naked truths, 
 And to envisage circumstance, all calm, 
 That is the top of sovereignty." 
 
 — Keats, Hyperion. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, & CO., I PATERNOSTER SQUARE. 
 1887. 
 
^ 
 
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 A Modern Apostle .... 
 
 3 
 
 The Elixir of Life .... 
 
 . . . e^ 
 
 The Story of Clarice .... 
 
 • 99 
 
 Resipiscentia, etc. :— 
 
 
 Resipiscentia .... 
 
 . 119 
 
 The Recluse .... 
 
 . 125 
 
 Love's Mirror .... 
 
 . 126 
 
 Friendship 
 
 . 128 
 
 Christ, the Nazarene 
 
 • 130 
 
 Song 
 
 . 131 
 
 Time and Love .... 
 
 • 132 
 
 Evolutional Erotics :— 
 
 
 Scientific Wooing 
 
 . 135 
 
 The New Orthodoxy . 
 
 • 139 
 
 Natural Selection 
 
 . 142 
 
 Solomon Redivivus 
 
 • 144 
 
 Sonnets :— 
 
 
 Heloise 
 
 . 151 
 
 I. Bride 
 
 . 151 
 
 II. NtC7l . . 
 
 • 152 
 
 III. Abbess 
 
 • 153 
 
 422 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Sonnets [contimied) : — 
 Hercules 
 
 Prometheus and Pandora 
 The Nebular Theory 
 The Pessimist's Vision 
 The Gift 
 Andrew Marvell's " Definition of 
 Poet and Botanist 
 Science and Philosophy 
 The Double Rainbow . 
 Recompense 
 
 Translations :— 
 
 Ideals 
 
 {From the German of Schiller.) 
 Fragments from Faust 
 
 I. Mephistopheles on Logic 
 II. The Baccalaiiretis .... 
 
 The Eye 
 
 {From the German of Eviil Rittershans.) 
 
 On the Water 
 
 ( From the German of Geibel. ) 
 
 Dante and Nino 
 
 {From the Italian of Dante.) 
 
 167 
 
 171 
 171 
 173 
 
 174 
 
 175 
 176 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 I. 
 
 A GARRET room, outlooking on dull streets ; 
 
 A bed, a chair or two, a half-starved fire ; 
 A little table, with a lamp, and sheets 
 
 Of printed proofs, and many a written quire ; 
 Bending o'er these, as though they held the sweets 
 
 Of Power or Wisdom, one in mean attire ; 
 A slender youth, with sallow mobile face, 
 Quick, dark-browed, nervous— sure, of Celtic race. 
 
 You cry, " A common picture ! " Look again— 
 A massive forehead shades the features thin ; 
 
 The deep-set eyes are like stilettos twain. 
 
 That might transfix a heart grown hard with sin. 
 
 Or pierce a clean-edged wound through skull and brain, 
 A pathway for the Truth to enter in : 
 
 What strange bright soul inspires that body frail ? 
 
 Hear if you will, and know young Alan's tale. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 He was the prophet of a httle sect 
 
 Which deemed itself a plot of favoured ground, 
 A nursery-garden for the Lord's elect, 
 
 Rich-soiled, high-walled, and sentinelled around 
 By angel-bands so keenly circumspect 
 
 They challenged every wind of dubious sound, 
 And quarantined the sunbeams, lest afloat 
 In any ray should lurk some poison-mote. 
 
 And Alan, nurtured from his infant years 
 
 To be a Levite, holy to the Lord, 
 Took up the ark of God with reverent fears, 
 
 And girded on the spiritual sword ; 
 He would not flinch before Philistine jeers. 
 
 Nor take the Babylonish spoils abhorred. 
 Clean would he keep his soul, pure from the stain 
 Of thought, of earthly love, of lore profane. 
 
 Alas ! not every saint can quite disown 
 
 Those two unsaintly organs, brain and heart. 
 
 Nor dwell upon a pedestal of stone 
 Until he grow the pillar's counterpart. 
 
 Nor can he by long prayers and fasts atone 
 For unregenerate virtues — the black art 
 
 Of feeling and of thought is ne'er unlearned, 
 
 And spirits come, although the books be burned. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 Poor Alan, with the Gael in his hot blood, 
 And that insatiate mind, which rather durst 
 
 Plunge and be drowned in the full tidal flood 
 Of human wisdom, than live on athirst — 
 
 Ah ! how could he, though bred from babyhood 
 To deem what most he craved a thing accurst, 
 
 Dwell in a land of streams innumerous. 
 
 And pine a self-afflicted Tantalus ? 
 
 A second-hand bookstall was his fatal tree 
 Of knowledge, bearing divers kinds of fruit : 
 
 Peaches soft-rinded, melting lusciously. 
 Yet bitter-flavoured ; on another shoot 
 
 Ruddy-cheeked apples, innocent to see, 
 But yielding potent cider ; from one root, 
 
 It seemed, grew stimulants and anodynes, 
 
 Green opium capsules, and rich-clustered vines. 
 
 Here Alan read ; at first, the guilt of reading 
 
 Weighed on his conscience ; he would toss all night, 
 
 Praying the Holy Ghost to grant him leading. 
 And quell or quench this lawless appetite ; 
 
 And then for days from that unhallowed feeding 
 Would hold aloof, till in his own despite 
 
 He turned unthinking down the accustomed street — 
 
 The serpent tempted him, and he did eat. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 Soon he waxed bolder ; could it be a crime 
 To learn how men with spirit overcast 
 
 Doubted, and told their doubts in prose or rhyme, 
 Prating of " Cosmos " or of " Protoplast " ? 
 
 What then of Job, rash questioner sublime ? 
 What of the weary throned Ecclesiast ? 
 
 He reasoned ; thus accomphshing his fall, 
 
 For Reason is the Sin Original. 
 
 And so at last he shut his eyes and plunged, 
 
 And took whate'er he found, both good and ill — 
 
 Pale Christianity with Christ expunged, 
 Faint Unbelief deploring its own skill, 
 
 Great tomes of metaphysic lore, that sponged 
 The World away, leaving the lonely Will : 
 
 Carlyle he conned, and — guilt of dye intenser ! 
 
 Dallied with Darwin and with Herbert Spencer. 
 
 A thousand thoughts within his head ran riot. 
 Shunning at first his Faith, ensceptred long ; 
 
 As Rome's old senators, august and quiet. 
 
 Sat on their ivory chairs, and cowed the strong 
 
 Victorious Gauls, as by a speechless fiat 
 Divine ; till one of that barbai ian throng 
 
 Stroked a grey beard ; the answering blow began 
 
 The slaughter ; weak wrath proved the god but man. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 And thus, when Alan's Faith, by touches rude 
 Disturbed, in angry tone began to speak, 
 
 And let the invading spirits know how crude 
 She was in wit, in argument how weak, 
 
 What marvel that the unbaptized brood 
 
 Taunted and mocked, and smote her on the cheek. 
 
 Cast her to earth, discrowned her reverend head, 
 
 And left her bleeding, senseless, well-nigh dead ? 
 
 Yet still she was not slain, and Alan grieved. 
 
 And fain had stanched her wounds, and set the crown 
 
 On her scarred forehead, and again believed ; 
 But Reason came and stayed him with a frown. 
 
 Saying, " Why crave and yearn to be deceived ? 
 She who lies low deserved to be cast down ; 
 
 'Tis Nature's mandate — to the puny rival 
 
 Defeat and death ; to the more fit^ survival." 
 
 Yet many times poor wounded Faith uprose. 
 But each time paler, fainter, freshly maimed. 
 
 And stronger and more valiant grew her foes. 
 
 Their skill more sure, their strokes more truly aimed ; 
 
 Till tortured Alan, reft of all repose, 
 
 Plagued night and day by fiery thoughts untamed. 
 
 Sought, not the Deity on sapphire throne 
 
 Circled with elders ; but a God Unknown. 
 
8 A MODERN APOSTLE, 
 
 It was a broken prayer, a wild appeal ; 
 
 He spoke aloud, nor knew what words he said. 
 He did not clasp his hands, or bend, or kneel. 
 
 But paced the room with quick uneven tread, 
 Now hurrying in the tumult of his zeal, 
 
 Now halting, with a pang of sudden dread. 
 And now he seemed, with fixed gaze, to invoke 
 Some present Power : and these strange words he spoke : 
 
 " My God ! w^hether thou be my Father too, 
 The Father who willed not to take from Christ 
 
 That bitter cup, but rather to renew 
 
 His strength to suffer and be sacrificed ; 
 
 Or whether the green earth, the heavens blue, 
 
 And men — kings high enthroned, slaves cheaply 
 priced — 
 
 Be but thy Visions — transient thoughts and themes, 
 
 Which thou, the World-Soul, shadowest in thy dreams : 
 
 " My God ! if thou dost hear, or if indeed 
 
 Thy Spirit breathes in mine, and prays this prayer — 
 
 Thou knowest my pain, my strife, my famished need ; 
 For health, love, gladness, let the morrow care, 
 
 To-day I hunger for a perfect creed : 
 If I be but thy dream, in me declare 
 
 Some symbol of the Truth — or let me die, 
 
 That, fleeting, I may know the Dawn is nigh. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 " Is not this madness ? Wherefore do I pray 
 To my own soul, and cheat myself with hope ? 
 
 Seeking for earnest in the Cosmic play, 
 Weak victim of an Oriental trope ! 
 
 And yet, O Truth, whom I blaspheme to-day. 
 
 Because with doubt and dread I scarce may cope, 
 
 Reveal thyself, and let thy sole word be — 
 
 ' Leave all, take up thy cross, and follow me 1' " 
 
 His deep eyes shone with rapture as he bade 
 
 To Love and Faith, for Hope's dear sake, adieu : 
 
 He owned no "great possessions;" but he had 
 Home, friends, a pittance, and from hearers few 
 
 Credence devout ; though some looked shrewd and sad, 
 And shook their heads, and whispered that he drew 
 
 His doctrines from vile books of Babylon, 
 
 By scoffers, named Carlyle and Emerson. 
 
 Little he cared in that ecstatic hour 
 
 For friendly or for hostile tongues and pens ; 
 
 Let the grim Orthodox be starched and sour. 
 The dull beasts growl morosely in their dens ! 
 
 He felt but his own spirit's fervent power, 
 Which — by his thought as by a crystal lens 
 
 Converged and focussed in one burning spot — 
 
 Imaged that Sun, which mortal eyes see not. 
 
lo A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 A wondrous Vision rose before his sight — 
 The Earth in all her glory ; flowers and trees ; 
 
 Purple-robed mountain-ranges, every height 
 
 Gleaming like gold ; rich meadows ; boundless seas, 
 
 That changed from sapphire to green chrysolite 
 And topaz ; in the land and ocean breeze 
 
 Life's voices murmured ; scale and fur and wing 
 
 Bright glistened ; while Man trod, apparent king. 
 
 But as he looked, there passed a stormful cloud 
 Athwart the sun, and wakened fiery strife 
 
 In heaven ; he heard the waves roar, and the loud 
 Thunders ; then deeper gazing, saw how life 
 
 Preyed upon life ; how men, ruthless and proud. 
 Destroyed their fellow-men with club and knife 
 
 And fire-brand ; or by deadlier arms, and fraud 
 
 Refined, and smooth hypocrisy unawed. 
 
 Yet in the stained Earth and the darkened Sun, 
 
 He saw, by some revealing miracle, 
 The Eternal Power which makes the Many, One, 
 
 Shining through all ; the Law made visible : 
 As though this embryo world had just begun 
 
 To quicken with the shaping Principle 
 Which silently prepares its robe of youth 
 A body all translucent to the Truth. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 Then came a Voice — " Behold what thou hast sought 
 So long ; thyself, and Nature's Self, behold ! 
 
 Thou couldst not spend thy prayers and tears for nought, 
 By human pain my Being I unfold ; 
 
 I am the end and essence of thy thought. 
 The life of all new creeds and symbols old ; 
 
 I rule in star and atom ; all mankind 
 
 Work out my purpose in their battlings blind. 
 
 " But thou, whose eyes are opened ; who dost see 
 Thy true Soul, and yet livest — thou, rejoice ! 
 
 Go forth into the world and speak of me ; 
 
 I choose thee from all men by thine own choice ; 
 
 In evil and in good, in bond and free 
 I live, and utter truth in every voice ; 
 
 Each sings his few faint notes of joy and woe, 
 
 Only my Prophets the full concord know." 
 
 The Voice passed, and the Vision, and gave place 
 To darkness and deep silence, as of death ; 
 
 And the young mystic fell upon his face. 
 
 Scarce his heart beat, and scarce he drew his breath : 
 
 This glorious message to the human race. 
 
 Unknown to ancient seers, who cried, " Thus saith 
 
 The Lord " held all his sense and soul entranced, 
 
 While the hours fled, night deepened, morn advanced. 
 
12 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 He felt as one who having grasped the whole 
 Of his desire, may rest ; he seemed estranged 
 
 From realms of Space, and freed from Time's control, 
 Pure Spirit ; not from dream to dream he ranged, 
 
 Nor prayed, nor hoped, nor pondered ; for his soul 
 Was all concentred in one thought unchanged : 
 
 Till slowly he awoke, when dawn was near, 
 
 Mortal again ; but God's anointed seer. 
 
( 13 
 
 II. 
 
 Small, fragile, and dark-eyed was Alan's mother, 
 Of Highland blood ; her solemn Saxon mate 
 
 Had ne'er been able quite to quench or smother 
 The poet-flame within her breast innate ; 
 
 She had been wont, to Alan and no other. 
 Strange tales of wraith and kelpie to relate, 
 
 And wondrous legends of the second sight, 
 
 Claimed by her race as its ancestral right. 
 
 She told her tales in rapid whispers, sitting 
 Over the fire, with changeful glances wild, 
 
 And quick dramatic hands, that wove unwitting 
 A spiritual garment for her child. 
 
 Who all the while, his bright eyes never quitting 
 Her face, beside her crouched, enrapt, beguiled 
 
 But these were secret pleasures ; when she heard 
 
 A slow step, hushed was the half-spoken word. 
 
14 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 For Alan's father, tall, large-boned, and grim. 
 Considered works of fiction merely lies, 
 
 And banned all poetry except the hymn ; 
 His creed forbade him earthly gifts to prize, 
 
 Calhng mirth, folly — love, a sinful whim : 
 Such faith at once contracts and satisfies 
 
 The constant soul ; that one ideal spark 
 
 Shows all the world around blank, cold, and dark. 
 
 Each day he opened with a prayer, and singing ; 
 
 The prayer a little sermon in disguise, 
 Teaching the Lord His own designs, and slinging 
 
 Smooth pebbles at unwise and overwise ; 
 The hymn was loud, aggressive, as though flinging 
 
 Contemptuous pearls to neighbours or to spies ; 
 Like a big drum he sang, beat with small skill ; 
 Alan, more low ; the mother, clear and shrill. 
 
 That morning, Alan sang with fervour double ; 
 
 His inner exaltation overbore 
 All sad presentiment of toil and trouble 
 
 And severance of old friendships, and welled o'er 
 In natural song : the hymn said, " Life's a bubble, 
 
 A wave that breaks in foam upon the shore, 
 A fading leaf : " but Alan's voice rang out 
 As though its burden were a triumph-shout. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 15 
 
 And after prayer, and hymn, and frugal meal, 
 He spoke, and all his glorious Vision told ; 
 
 At first with painful strivings to reveal 
 
 His secret heart : but soon he grew more bold, 
 
 And e'en his father's look could not congeal 
 His ardour ; as the petrifying cold 
 
 That binds the dull stream. Winter's prisoned vagrant, 
 
 Freezes not generous wine, nor ether fragrant. 
 
 The old man heard with bony brows drawn down. 
 And keen eyes watchful, and thin lips compressed ; 
 
 The anxious mother shivered at his frown. 
 And trembled for her son, yet unconfessed 
 
 Shared in the new belief; she plucked her gown 
 With nervous fingers, while her loving breast 
 
 Was rent with fear, and hope, and awe-struck joy 
 
 That Heaven had found a Prophet in her boy. 
 
 The story ended ; then, with look austere, 
 
 And speech deliberate, calm, the father spoke : 
 
 " I understand you well ; your words are clear ; 
 You fain would cast away the ancient yoke, 
 
 Renounce the Lord of Hosts, whom devils fear 
 And angels worship ; and, forsooth, invoke 
 
 Some newer God, who dwells in rogue and thief, 
 
 Yet speaks by you, of his apostles chiefi 
 
i6 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 " Call on your Baal ! Try what he can do — 
 
 Surely he is a god, though he begins 
 With blasphemy— doubt not— your course pursue ; 
 
 Shout, leap, and wound your soul, till suffering wins 
 Success ; and then remember, that while you 
 
 Are feasting, I am fasting for my sins, 
 And wishing Heaven had blotted out the morn 
 On which a man-child to the world was born." 
 
 He broke off with a sob ; Alan, aghast 
 
 At such emotion, hastened to his side, 
 Crying, " My father ! " But he roughly cast 
 
 His son away, with gestures that defied 
 Sorrow and pity, and in silence passed 
 
 Out from the house, in his unbending pride 
 That did brave battle with a love and grief 
 More deep than aught except his stern belief. 
 
 And now the son and mother, each to each 
 The best-loved thing on earth, were left alone ; 
 
 Then on his knees beside her, without speech 
 He fell, and took her cold hands in his own ; 
 
 And she, all trembling, weeping the new breach 
 Between her dear ones, spoke in faintest tone. 
 
 Pleadingly, brokenly, as though she prayed 
 
 For grace, that some hard sentence might be stayed. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 17 
 
 " My Alan, my dear son ! my heart will break— 
 Although I always knew that God would send 
 
 His Spirit — that some morning you would wake 
 And feel that strength was granted you to spend 
 
 In some great service— only, for my sake 
 And for your father's, wait a little — bend 
 
 Awhile, before his anger — who can tell ? 
 
 This wrathful mood may pass — he loves you well." 
 
 But he replied, " INIy mother, tempt me not ! 
 
 For you I would do all things — all, save this — 
 Nay, I could wish my father's wish, to blot 
 
 My hour of birth, rather than idly miss 
 My birthright : grieve you that my zeal is hot ? 
 
 You taught me, by your songs, your tales, your kiss 
 That human love, that heed of Wisdom's ray, 
 By which the heavenly Voice I now obey. 
 
 " Ah, do not weep, dear mother ! Even those 
 Who cast me forth, shall hear the Word divine ; 
 
 To-morrow, in the face of friends and foes, 
 
 My charge, once held so dear, I must resign — 
 
 But weep not ! " He embraced her and arose 
 And went forth, that the April sun might shine 
 
 Into his heart, and quiet grief and wrath 
 
 And exultation, and make plain his path. 
 
i8 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 'Twas in an English town that Alan dwelt, 
 
 A town marked Liberal both by creeds and votes, 
 
 Where every individual voice did melt 
 
 In the loud hum of Progress ; jarring notes 
 
 Of small exclusive sects were merely felt 
 Like nettle-stings when dock-leaf antidotes 
 
 Are plenteous ; there, the party-leader's cue 
 
 Was to hope all things, and believe a few. 
 
 Turning a corner sharply, Alan met 
 
 George, an old school-mate, strong in politics, 
 
 Ruddy and fair, short-statured and thick-set, 
 Well versed in all the rhetorician's tricks ; 
 
 An eye he had that you could ne'er forget. 
 Blue, humorous, clear ; not steady to transfix 
 
 The erring, but most skilful to detect 
 
 A meeting's mood, and watch a word's effect. 
 
 " 'Tis you !" he cried — " we have not met for long ; 
 
 In truth, I wonder you are still alive. 
 Pacing your treadmill round with weary song. 
 
 Seeking rich honey m a dronish hive. 
 Boring deep wells Artesian in the wrong 
 
 Strata, whence you may dig, till you arrive 
 At the earth's core, yet no refreshing drop 
 You fmd, till at the central fire you stop. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 19 
 
 " Some day, your friends will leave you in the lurch, 
 For what know you about the selfish springs 
 
 That move them to condemn all true research ? 
 Like Gallio, I care nothing for such things — 
 
 And yet I care for you — I know a church 
 
 Where you might fearlessly unfold your wings. 
 
 Read, think, and labour, and perchance do good — 
 
 A free church, in a crowded neighbourhood. 
 
 " They want a parson now — the salary 
 Is poor, but better than your present pay; 
 
 And what is worse than the dull destiny 
 Of one condemned, year after year, to stay 
 
 Shut in a sect, and preach incessantly 
 
 The same old doctrines in the same old way ? 
 
 Come fortii, nor heed how bigots may abuse 
 
 'J'he step — shake off their dry dust from your shoes." 
 
 The words, though kindly meant — the flippant cavil — 
 The confident suggestions, like commands, 
 
 Jarred upon Alan ; then, he fain would travel, 
 And scatter the good seed in many lands ; 
 
 Yet might he not, by George's aid, unravel 
 Present perplexities, and set his hands 
 
 To the Lord's plough ? And would not God enlarge 
 
 His field, if true he were in one small charge ? 
 
 B 
 
20 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 Therefore he answered — " Come to-morrow night, 
 And tell me of this church — my trust I leave 
 
 Not for its dulness, nor for any spite 
 Against the people, who in faith receive 
 
 My words, and to their utmost power requite 
 ]\Iy service ; nay, I willingly would cleave 
 
 To this old home ; but God has called me thence, 
 
 Granting me sight of his Omnipotence." 
 
 " Well," said the other — " so that you come out 
 I care not why. On Sunday evening, late, 
 
 When none of your good friends will be about, 
 And your last sermon will have fixed your fate. 
 
 Expect me. Now, good-bye ; I have to spout 
 To-night, at a political debate, 
 
 And must begin to think what I shall say — 
 
 So, till to-morrow ! " And he went his way. 
 
 Then Alan wandered far, beyond the town, 
 
 Past budding hedge-rows, where the spider weaves 
 
 Her tracery ; past trees with branches brown 
 
 Seen through their April robe of light green leaves ; 
 
 And past bright gardens, where the tulip-crown 
 
 And fruit-buds pink, are spoiled by winged thieves ; 
 
 Such common sights, and the soft wind's caress 
 
 Filled all his soul with strength and happiness. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 21 
 
 Farther he rambled ; on through country lanes 
 And copses where the ferns their fronds unrolled, 
 
 And pastures where the gentle spring-tide rains 
 Jewelled anemone and marigold ; 
 
 Thrushes and blackbirds carolled joyful strains, 
 And all things sang, in cadence manifold — 
 
 " Rejoice, rejoice, with bird and tree and flower ! 
 
 Rejoice, rejoice, in plenitude of power!" 
 
 Homeward he turned, his ardent mind sincere 
 Feasting on this glad gospel ; soon, ah soon ! 
 
 The trembling mother must forget her fear, 
 The steadfast father must accept that boon 
 
 Dearer than rubies ; all should see and hear 
 With souls undimmed, exultant in the noon 
 
 Of cloudless Truth ; Faith, Hope, and Love, these three, 
 
 At last should blend in perfect trinity. 
 
( 22 ) 
 
 III. 
 
 Alan had preached his sermon — grave, devout, 
 Yet full of lightnings and electric shocks 
 
 For tender souls who reckoned even doubt 
 Less damnable than faith unorthodox ; 
 
 Henceforth the young apostle stood without 
 Their iron gates, made fast with bars and locks, 
 
 Till his last banishment to realms beneath, 
 
 Where scoffers ever weep and gnash their teeth. 
 
 But now he sat and chatted in his room 
 
 With his friend George, who comfortably smoked 
 
 His pipe, unthinking of so dread a doom, 
 
 And talked in worldly tone, that half-provoked 
 
 Alan to wrath ; yet on the tranquil fume 
 
 Floated kind wishes, clad in words that joked, 
 
 And many a scheme, by friendly warmth begot, 
 
 And pictures quaint of Alan's future lot. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 " The people, chiefly poor and ignorant, 
 Will be a stony field for you to plough, 
 
 What thoughts they spare from misery and from want 
 May they be yours ! But let me show you now 
 
 Another aspect : you will have a scant 
 Sprinkling of better hearers, to allow 
 
 Scope for your genius— men of moderate wealth. 
 
 Whose tonic for their spiritual health 
 
 " Has been to found a church where all is free, 
 The seats, the service, and the preacher's thought, 
 
 Where e'en the poorest may behold the Tree 
 Of Life, and taste, and eat his fill for nought : 
 
 A fine idea, though such things to me 
 
 Are nothings : w^ell, their cleverest member caught 
 
 Directly, at your name ; for he had heard 
 
 You once, and had remembered every word. 
 
 " Their cleverest, not their richest : though he rules 
 
 The others, he is but a dilettante ; 
 (Our thirty millions, true, are 'mostly fools,' 
 
 Wisdom is rare, and men of mind are scanty ! ) ; 
 They reverence him. with faith that never cools 
 
 For having meant to write a book on Dante- 
 All, save his helpmate ; commonplace and keen. 
 Through her sage lord her wifely eyes have seen. 
 
24 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 " Then their one daughter — did you meet her ever ? 
 
 Shm shape, and soft brown hair, and dark-blue eyes, 
 So gentle, that you scarce believe her clever, 
 
 And quite entrancing, were she not so wise : 
 But oh, beware of Ella's beauty ! never 
 
 Let that Madonna fairness win your sighs ; 
 Or, if you should address her, use your tact, 
 And study first the sciences exact. 
 
 " The heavenly host she watches from her attics. 
 She knows the name and place of every star ; 
 
 True incarnation of Pure Mathematics, 
 She cares for all that is abstruse or far : 
 
 Go, woo her with Dynamics and with Statics, 
 And term your love a force molecular ; 
 
 She then, perchance, may fathom your intention — 
 
 Plain language is beneath her comprehension. 
 
 " Enough of this ! you are a son of God, 
 
 And do not haunt the daughters of the earth — 
 
 Yet who can tell ? you are no frozen clod ; 
 Perchance fair Venus, whose celestial worth 
 
 You long have slighted, may prepare a rod 
 To torture you, or else a cup of mirth 
 
 To tempt you — Well, I hope 'twill be the latter : 
 
 As to the church, be easy, for that matter 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 " Is practically settled. Now, good-night, 
 
 And happy dreams of — whatsoe'er you choose ! " 
 
 They parted. Alan, by the fire's dim light 
 Long meditated on the hopeful news. 
 
 And felt that he unthankfully should slight 
 Heaven's leading, could he hesitate to use 
 
 A proffered chance of free unfettered work. 
 
 Came it from Jew, or Infidel, or Turk. 
 
 And then he looked from out his window high. 
 As though the fresh night air could put to proof 
 
 His purity of heart : against the sky 
 
 Each house stood black, distinct, and each wet roof 
 
 Gleamed in the moonlight ; tapering slenderly 
 Rose many a spire : the city seemed aloof 
 
 From care and toil ; and said, by silence deep — 
 
 " Doubt not nor ponder, but in gladness sleep." 
 
 Why should I weary the long-suffering Muse 
 And hstener patient- souled, with tedious telling 
 
 Of letters, of official interviews, 
 
 Of change of ministry, and change of dwelling, 
 
 And how the fond proud mother wept to lose 
 Her son, and how the father's heart w^as knelling 
 
 The death of hope, or how the elders prayed 
 
 In vigorous language for the renegade ? 
 
26 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 Enough, that Alan found himself installed 
 In his new church, and gloried in the sense 
 
 Of working unimpeded, unenthralled ; 
 
 Here was no sentinel, demanding " Whence 
 
 Come you, and whither go ? " A town unwalled 
 Was that society, with no defence 
 
 Save the united force of Faith and Science — 
 
 In truth, a somewhat perilous alliance. 
 
 Here he proclaimed the Brotherhood of Men — 
 God lives in all ; by Him are all inspired, 
 
 And so are equal ; to the Prophet's ken 
 The king is level with the drudge o'ertired, 
 
 And what he is, should seem : with tongue and pen 
 He preached Equality, until he fired 
 
 His people ; and ere long, the novel schism 
 
 Was christened "Pantheistic Socialism." 
 
 Such was his lot, when first I bade you look. 
 Kind listener, at his study, where he wrote 
 
 His deep thoughts in a world-convincing book ; 
 But that was night — his days he would devote 
 
 To patient work in many a squalid nook, 
 Amid such sights and odours, as denote 
 
 The homes of women dulled in heart and eye, 
 
 Mothers of starvelinsr babies, born to die, 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 Or for worse fates. Such wretches he would aid 
 From his own scanty income ; sometimes even 
 
 They ventured in to hear him, half afraid, 
 
 And did not understand, but felt near heaven : 
 
 Of motley stuff his little flock was made, 
 
 Rich men, poor men, and beggars, with a leaven 
 
 Of gentle women ; but for him, the place 
 
 Contained but one, with sweet Madonna-face. 
 
 The blue eyes gleamed with quivering light, as though 
 Some lamp within had just begun to shine, 
 
 The pale cheeks flushed, as 'mid the latest snow 
 Bloom faint pink almond blossoms— welcome sign 
 
 Of coming Spring — he deemed this changeful glow 
 Enkindled by an intuition fine 
 
 That pierced through speech and symbol, ne'er content 
 
 Until it knew the soul of what he meant. 
 
 He watched the face on Sundays, dreamed of it 
 Through all the w^eek ; in haunts of dark distress 
 
 And sordid shame, he saw its beauty flit. 
 Now, for a moment, calm and passionless. 
 
 And now again with sudden radiance lit, 
 Like some new-born diviner consciousness 
 
 Evolving from completed human grace 
 
 The future parent of a nobler race. 
 
28 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 No Raphaelite Madonna has a brow 
 
 Like Ella's, nor could e'er have learnt the use 
 
 Of sciences to which by voiceless vow 
 
 Her strength was dedicate ; in themes abstruse 
 
 She locked herself, and scarce had craved till now 
 A truth not yielded by her life recluse ; 
 
 As little children, miserably fed. 
 
 Grow faint, but are not hungry for their bread. 
 
 For she, with innocent clear sight, had found 
 That those about her merely thought of thinking. 
 
 And felt they ought to feel ; with quick rebound 
 She drew her life away from theirs, and shrinking 
 
 From windy verbiage, craved some solid ground, 
 Trying to satisfy her soul by linking 
 
 Truths abstract ; no vague talk of liberal views 
 
 Can alter cosine and hypotenuse. 
 
 Her mother, with shrewd mind of meaner class 
 
 Laughed inly, when she heard some "thinker" draw 
 
 The wonted music from his sounding brass, 
 Showing that with approval Christ foresaw 
 
 This nineteenth century of steam and gas, 
 And Mammon, and " Inexorable Law," 
 
 Or wresting from St. Paul a strong opinion 
 
 In favour of the theory Darwinian. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 29 
 
 But Ella grieved ; her father's lucubration 
 
 On Dante (which, in sooth, till Doomsday comes 
 
 Shall never be writ down) — the declamation 
 Of pseudo-scientific Chrysostoms — 
 
 Rejoiced her not ; she gained a reputation 
 
 For gentle chillness ; and, since nought benumbs 
 
 The heart so much, as when our friends suppose 
 
 It cold, poor Ella slowly, sadly froze. 
 
 Yet Ella was a woman, and the frost 
 
 Bound not her inmost nature ; still she kept 
 
 The natural love for children ; she had lost 
 A baby sister once, and when she slept 
 
 Often the little child's white image crossed 
 
 Her dreams, and nearer stole to her, and crept 
 
 Close to her heart ; then, piercing through her sleep 
 
 Remembrance thrilled, and she would wake and weep. 
 
 When Alan came, at first she only smiled 
 At his fresh ardour ; yet she oft would check 
 
 Her satire ; for he seemed a very child, 
 Pure, single-minded, with no marring fleck 
 
 Of self-conceit, although by dreams beguiled ; 
 
 And she would sigh, to think how time must wreck 
 
 His hopes, and all his fancies disenchant ; 
 
 So mused the girl, like some old maiden aunt. 
 
30 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 But soon, a strange new light began to break 
 Upon her mind, and dubiously to fall 
 
 O'er thought and feeling : what if the mistake 
 In truth, were hers ; and what if after all 
 
 This visionary seer were more awake 
 Than she, the sage and mathematical ? 
 
 'Twas thus she pondered, as in church she sate 
 
 Listening, with changeful colours delicate. 
 
 From pitying, she began to sympathise. 
 From sympathising, almost to revere, 
 
 The inner light grew radiant in her eyes, 
 And she forgot her wise predictions drear, 
 
 And she forgot to carp and criticise, 
 
 And all things she forgot, except to hear, 
 
 And hope, and with a willing mind receive 
 
 The mystic word— and lastly, to believe. 
 
 Her face grew fairer, and her step more light, 
 As though she entertained, not unaware, 
 
 An Angel : as some holy anchorite 
 
 When heavenly visitants have deigned to share 
 
 His hut and food, will feel a sweet delight 
 Henceforth, in water pure and meagre fare ; 
 
 So Ella found new pleasures in her home. 
 
 And fresh gradations in Life's monochrome. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 31 
 
 More bright and blithe she was, than any yet 
 Had known her ; all around might well discern 
 
 The change, much marvelling what amulet 
 Transformed the gentle maiden taciturn 
 
 So gladsomely. When she and Alan met, 
 
 As soon they ?m^sf meet, haply might she learn 
 
 The spirit of all prophets who have dwelt 
 
 On earth, and dream what Christ's apostles felt. 
 
( 32 ) 
 
 IV. 
 
 At last they met, once, twice, and many times, 
 Until she knew the secret of his being. 
 
 That essence which an ardent zeal sublimes 
 From the dull ashes ; faith was slowly freeing 
 
 Her soul from fear ; she felt as one who climbs 
 High peaks at midnight, know^ing, but not seeing 
 
 The depths beneath him, while his lantern's glow 
 
 Shines brilhantly before him on the snow. 
 
 What shall the sun reveal ? A cloud-robed world, 
 A space of white about the traveller's feet, 
 
 And all things else impenetrably furled 
 
 In vapours cold ? Or will the mist retreat. 
 
 Unveiling valleys green, with lakes impearled, 
 And bounded by a curve of Alps, that greet 
 
 The dawn with rosy summits, towering high 
 
 Beneath the paling moon and faint blue sky ? 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 33 
 
 But Alan — with heart pure and passionate 
 That ne'er of any woman's love had dreamed, 
 
 To noble service ever consecrate — 
 
 Now joyed in broadening, brightening noon, that 
 streamed 
 
 Above him and around, till Life and Fate 
 
 Were nought but one glad radiance, and Love seemed 
 
 The fruit of Truth's white flower, grown sweet and ripe ; 
 
 Nay, Truth herself was here, the perfect type 
 
 In a fair woman's form ; the one Ideal 
 Shining all glorious 'mid the figures grey 
 
 Of Earth : how different from the hideous Real 
 He saw in court and alley day by day ! 
 
 He was of those who going down to Sheol 
 
 Can find God there, yet none the less do pray 
 
 To see Him, not through veils of shame and vice. 
 
 But as man first beheld in Paradise. 
 
 Yet when the Truth is clad in beauteous flesh 
 That man may know it, human love will claim 
 
 Its rights ; and daily deeper in the mesh 
 
 Sank Alan's heart, and all his fine-strung frame 
 
 With passion throbbed. One August evening fresh 
 He walked in Ella's garden, while the flame 
 
 Of sunset lit the trees with golden sheen, 
 
 Changing to chrysoprase their sombre green. 
 
34 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 And she was at his side ; he spoke to her 
 
 Eagerly, earnestly, and yet he said 
 No word whose mere significance could stir 
 
 The pulse ; but every syllable, instead 
 Of telling its own tale, was messenger 
 
 Of Love ; and answering came the fitful red 
 To Ella's cheeks ; though, as they slowly walked, 
 'Twas but of Alan's mission that they talked. 
 
 Until he said, close-bending, " When at first 
 I came, and saw the rows of faces blank, 
 
 The brutish and the ignorant, and worst 
 The self-complacent rich, my spirit sank 
 
 A moment ; then a flood of sunshine burst 
 Upon me, for I saw your eyes that drank 
 
 The message, and returned it richly bright. 
 
 As this deep rose gives beauty to the light. 
 
 " And as the rose within her petals hides 
 The rays which they reflect not, yet receive, 
 
 Oh, tell me now that in your heart abides 
 Full confidence — nay, Ella, do not grieve, 
 
 Look up — assure me that one Vision guides 
 Your steps and mine — that you in truth believe 
 
 I know it, yet forgive me if I seek 
 
 To hear it— Ella ! speak to me — oh speak ! " 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 35 
 
 She faltered " I believe " with head low-drooped, 
 And tearful eyes— new longings and alarms 
 
 Athwart her inward vision swiftly trooped ; 
 As one whom unfamiliar music charms 
 
 Breathless and mute she stood ; but Alan stooped 
 And kissed her hps, and clasped her in his arms, 
 
 Crying, " I love — I worship you ! We share 
 
 One hfe— oh joy too great for man to bear ! " 
 
 And she replied ; such answers are not made 
 In speech articulate ; no word she spoke 
 
 For Alan's ears, but on his breast she laid 
 
 Her head, as though she sought at once to cloak 
 
 And to express her passion. They had stayed 
 Thus, for long hours, but that a loud sound broke 
 
 Upon their rapt communion, like the knell 
 
 Of that bright moment — 'twas the evening bell 
 
 For prayer. They hurried in, nor watched the glow 
 Of sunset fading from the purple beech. 
 
 And, bidding fond good-night, she bade him go. 
 That she, with chosen words, might try to reach 
 
 Her parents' hearts, before she slept. And so 
 The sacred love -tale was profaned by speech, 
 
 Till from the two she won a slow consent. 
 
 Mingled with scolding and with merriment. 
 
2,6 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 The father, half in earnest, half to tease, 
 
 Exclaimed — " Just like Cadijah and Mahomet, 
 
 Or Beatrice and Dante — whom you please ! 
 I wish you joy, my daughter, and your comet 
 
 Is briUiant." The shrewd mother, ill at ease, 
 
 Said " No — your will-o'-the-wisp ! What can come 
 from it ? 
 
 And what's the use of all your Conic Sections 
 
 If like a fool you yield to your affections ? " 
 
 But Ella gloried in the grudging " Yes ; " 
 
 Love lent the charmed days bright plumes to fly, 
 
 Woke her each morn, and filled her loneliness 
 With light, and sang at eve her lullaby : 
 
 Yet, as the spring-buds burst, her joy grew less — 
 No chill distrust of Alan's constancy. 
 
 Nor any fear that time could e'er abate 
 
 His fervid love, made her disconsolate. 
 
 It was not this ; but her deep-thinking brain 
 Learned slowly, mournfully, against her will, 
 
 How mystic faiths are woven from a vain 
 
 Tissue of dreams, which hold men captive still 
 
 In day-light ; and she saw, with bitter pain, 
 That every thought, deed, passion, good or ill, 
 
 Might thus be sanctified, and at its need 
 
 Find refuge in some hospitable creed. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. s7 
 
 And when she conned the pages of his book, 
 
 And saw his cherished thoughts, all printed clear, 
 
 Robbed of that glow suffused of voice and look 
 Which made their mellow misty atmosphere, 
 
 She shivered, almost thinking she mistook 
 The words, that seemed so living to her ear. 
 
 So spectral to her eye — men praised the style. 
 
 Bold, fiery : mute she heard, with pallid smile. 
 
 Not that her love diminished — nay, it grew : 
 As oft from wild delirious words we know 
 
 The spirit's beauty, so his nature true 
 
 Shone out more bright through the delusive show 
 
 Of gloaming fantasies ; but well she knew 
 
 Her Reason tipped the dart, and strung the bow, 
 
 To slay his Passion : with a wife to dwell 
 
 Not wedded to his soul, for him were Hell. 
 
 Confute a theologian ; with sharp word 
 
 He answers you, yet may forgive the thrust 
 
 If he be quite convinced that you have erred : 
 But tell Jehovah's prophet that his trust 
 
 Is nought — he will not rage, but he will gird 
 His loins in silence, and will shake the dust 
 
 From off his feet, and go his lonely way, 
 
 Over dry desert sand, or fenlands grey. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 She pined with strange distress — the woman's heart 
 Throbbed, quivered, bled ; while the logician's mind 
 
 Worked on relentless, heeding not the smart, 
 
 Ne'er to be drugged, or deafened, or made blind ; 
 
 Against herself her riven Self took part. 
 The martyr and the torturer combined : 
 
 Stretched on the rack, bound with flesh-cutting rope. 
 
 What is the poor maimed anguished victim's hope ? 
 
 What is a woman's hope, when she is torn 
 By passion and by thought, and cannot cease 
 
 To think or love, nor teach herself to scorn 
 Her deepest life, nor ever win release 
 
 From the harsh yoke, too heavy to be borne, 
 Of iron principles that crush her peace : 
 
 Will not some opiate give her dreamful rest 
 
 Till she return to the Great Mother's breast ? 
 
 Nay ! rather let her maim her shrinking soul — 
 That groping she may climb her lame way in 
 
 To Life — than down to Death, seeing and whole, 
 Spring, damned by the inexpiable sin 
 
 Of treachery ; and in the longed-for goal 
 
 Find that fair-seeming Heaven which traitors win, 
 
 Whose gate is bliss ; whose midmost point, a germ 
 
 Of Hell, whence issues the undying worm. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 39 
 
 'Twas a May twilight— and the two once more 
 
 Paced round the walks where they were wont to spend 
 
 Sweet hours : but Ella spoke as ne'er before — 
 Calmly, as one who, dying, tells his friend, 
 
 His best-beloved friend, that life is o'er, 
 
 That now is come the dead, blank, hopeless end ; 
 
 Yet weeps not, neither moans, because his breath 
 
 Is well-nigh quenched by the chill winds of Death. 
 
 But Alan stayed her — " No, it cannot be ! 
 
 This is some fevered nightmare dream ! " he cried— 
 " Wake and believe, dear Ella ! wake and see 
 
 How Earth and Heaven by God are glorified ; 
 His, presence shines in every flower and tree, 
 
 And in ourselves — and shall He be denied 
 By those who breathe His Spirit ? Be not you 
 Like the blind throng, who know not what they do ! 
 
 " Forgive me, Dearest ! you are sad and pale ; 
 
 I speak too harshly." But she answered—'"' Nay, 
 Be not so gentle, lest your words avail 
 
 Too much— lest I be tempted to obey 
 Love, and not conscience : my resolve is frail. 
 
 Yet I wi7l speak : oh turn your eyes away, 
 And do not touch my hand, the while I try 
 To tell my thought— until we say good-bye. 
 
40 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 " You are as true as any seer of old, 
 
 Prophet, or martyr ; you would sell your life 
 
 That Faith might rise up from her torpor cold, 
 And vanquish doubt, hypocrisy, and strife : 
 
 For this I loved you — yes, long ere you told 
 Your love — yet, Alan, if I were your wife 
 
 I should be but a mist, a leaden cloud. 
 
 Folding your spirit in its clinging shroud. 
 
 " For all my faith is gone, that seemed so sure : 
 Even that God who every day is wroth 
 
 With sinners, gives a refuge more secure 
 For the sad heart ; the banquet is of froth 
 
 Which you in mercy set before the poor. 
 Not knowing : Alan, Alan, that we both 
 
 Might strive to find, by patient thought and search. 
 
 Some firm foundation for a nobler Church ! " 
 
 Her voice grew stronger, and more clear her glance, 
 As thus she pleaded, and to thoughts long pent 
 
 Within her breast, gave language ; she perchance 
 Clung to some hope : but Alan, eloquent, 
 
 Broke forth with all the story of his trance. 
 And how he was inspired of God, and sent 
 
 To tend the flame Divine 'mid vapours damp 
 
 And cold — the dim yet ever-burning lamp. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 41 
 
 She listened — then she said, in tones that fell 
 
 Upon his soul and senses heavily — 
 " Long have I pondered o'er this vision-spell, 
 
 For me it holds no magic. You are free, 
 And we must part — kiss me and say Farewell. 
 
 Yet are you mine to all Eternity — 
 No other voice or look my heart can move, 
 I love you with irrevocable love." 
 
 The pallid mournful face, the solemn tone, 
 
 Slew all his hope. He clasped her to his breast. 
 
 And kissed the passive lips, that chilled his own 
 Like icicles, and speechlessly expressed 
 
 Her anguish — till she cried, with sudden moan 
 
 Thrusting him from her — " Leave me — it is best — 
 
 I am too weak to bear it." Forth he went 
 
 Alone, with quick blind steps, and head low-bent. 
 
 When some poor lonely pilgrim devotee 
 
 Who worships in the temple of a saint, 
 Coming one morning with his fervent plea 
 
 Finds the shrine empty — trembling then and faint 
 He leaves the stone, deep-printed by his knee, 
 
 And goes out homeless, with no wild complaint, 
 But stricken. Yet to feel what Alan felt 
 Is sharper pain — to see the spirit melt 
 
42 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 And fade and vanish from some image fair 
 Of Truth, whose glory clothed it like the sun, 
 
 But now departs, leaving it cold and bare 
 And lifeless. One dark moment, only one 
 
 He doubted his Ideal ; but his prayer 
 
 And answering Vision, came afresh, and spun 
 
 A web, that nought could break except the power 
 
 Of Life's last sad illuminating hour. 
 
 And Ella ? Almost stupefied with woe. 
 
 Of /lim were all her thoughts, as bowed, forlorn. 
 
 He left her, sorely wounded, as a foe 
 
 Can never wound. She scarce could stay to mourn 
 
 Her own maimed life, but, pacing to and fro. 
 Pictured his days of weary labour, shorn 
 
 Of joy ; until the bitterness of loss 
 
 O'erwhelmed her, and she stooped to take her cross. 
 
 She set herself to suffer and endure 
 
 In silence. Life, though mutilated, marred. 
 
 Must yet be lived ; there was not any cure, 
 Nor any further stab ; the gate seemed barred 
 
 Alike to hope and fear, and she was pure 
 
 At least, of treason ; yet the thought was hard 
 
 That this last act of loyalty could gain 
 
 Nought from her Love, save haply his disdain. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 43 
 
 Heart-sore, all probing hints she sought to parry, 
 But when at length she spoke, her father said — 
 
 " My dear, a man of genius should not marry, 
 It should be penal for a seer to wed ; 
 
 You know, Ezekiel's wife must help to carry 
 
 His ' burden.' " " Yes, and help to earn the bread, 
 
 And bake it," said the mother — " glorious fate 
 
 No doubt— for ' glorious ' means ' unfortunate ' ! " 
 
( 44 
 
 V. 
 
 Summer passed by, and Autumn ; Winter came 
 With grey cold days and black unpitying nights, 
 
 And many children gathered round the flame 
 Of Yule-tide logs, and dreamed of new delights 
 
 With the New Year : many, with shivering frame, 
 Half-naked, famished, crept to see the sights 
 
 In gay shop-windows — a celestial treat ! 
 
 On earth there might be bread, and sometimes meat, 
 
 But this was Heaven. They had their make-believe, 
 For every child can find an open door 
 
 Even from Hell, and thoughtlessly achieve 
 Proserpine's miracle ; while she who bore 
 
 The starvelings, crouches too benumbed to grieve 
 In her cold room, and sees but the bare floor 
 
 And fireless hearth, and hungers through the day, 
 
 Idle, or toiling hard for paltry pay. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 45 
 
 Wages were low that winter ; work was scant ; 
 
 And many little groups of men would cluster 
 Round the street corners ; grim they were and gaunt, 
 
 With hollow cheeks and sunken eyes lack-lustre ; 
 And oft, attracted by the ready rant 
 
 Of some stump orator, a throng would muster 
 To hear of wrongs and rights, and pass a plan 
 For straightway equalising man and man. 
 
 And Alan went among them ; he was pale 
 And thin as they, but his deep eyes outshone 
 
 With self-consuming light, that told a tale 
 Of Hope and Love irrevocably gone, 
 
 But Faith still clinging to her Holy Grail — 
 That sacred poison-wine, which made him wan 
 
 And fiery, giving strength to brave and bear 
 
 All ills, all woes ; strength even to despair. 
 
 But at the people's groan, his heart waxed hot. 
 And loathed the miserable prayers and pence 
 
 He had to give, and private pangs forgot 
 In the one sorrow of his impotence 
 
 To succour ; he would say he scarce knew what 
 In fire- words, winged with fatal eloquence. 
 
 And then go home, and in his study brood 
 
 Through night, till dawn, careless of sleep and food. 
 
46 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 Thus the drear days dragged on ; and with the spring 
 No comfort came, but rather woe more keen, 
 
 For Poverty more deeply plunged her sting, 
 
 And stalwart frames grew slouching, pinched, and lean. 
 
 And there arose that sullen murmuring 
 
 Which may mean little, but perchance may mean 
 
 The roll of coming thunder, and the flash 
 
 Of lightning — or the earthquake's deadlier crash. 
 
 One day, as Alan sat intently writing 
 An earnest tract on Dives and his dogs, 
 
 A sudden tumult, as of fire or fighting, 
 
 Pierced though the smoky mist which ever clogs 
 
 The air of towns ; he heard a voice inciting 
 
 To deeds of vengeance — " Are you stones or logs ? 
 
 Prove yourselves men ! Burst on them like a flood — 
 
 The rich, who batten on your flesh and blood ! " 
 
 He started up ; that moment, his old friend 
 
 George, rushed in, crying — " Quick ! the mob ! a riot ! 
 
 The people cried for bread, and we who tend 
 Their souls political, replied ' Be quiet ! 
 
 Hope on ! ' while such as you, the case to mend, 
 Fed them on too inflammable a diet ; 
 
 And so, among us all, the mischiefs done. 
 
 The fire-brand lit, the rioting begun. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 47 
 
 " But now, make haste ! for some of them have taken 
 The road to Ella's home — don't turn so white ! 
 
 Perhaps they'll only ask for bread and bacon, 
 And beer, their one inalienable right ; 
 
 Cheer up, my friend ! I know you are forsaken. 
 But here's a chance to act the doughty knight, 
 
 Boldly to face the many-headed giant, 
 
 And hold your Love 'gainst all the world defiant ; " 
 
 They chose the quiet streets, where the fierce rabble 
 Came not ; all doors were barred, all shops were shut, 
 
 No children in the gutters dared to dabble, 
 No woman chatted with her neighbour ; but 
 
 From the great thoroughfares they heard the babble 
 Of many voices ; once, the fog was cut 
 
 By springing flame, and the friends faster strode, 
 
 Winding through bye-ways to that dear abode. 
 
 Alan, impatient, fevered, onward urged 
 
 His comrade ; they came nearer to the noise, 
 
 And in a fair broad road at last emerged. 
 Filled with a ragged rout of men and boys 
 
 And women ; like a stormy sea it surged. 
 That blindly, deafly, ruthlessly destroys : 
 
 Some carried stones ; some, staves ; some, iron crows 
 
 And rails ; some, bludgeons, fit for deadliest blows. 
 
48 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 Some faces were pale, wolfish ; some on fire 
 With drink, and hope of spoil or forced largess 
 
 From wealthy homes ; in tawdry torn attire 
 The women scarcely hid their nakedness ; 
 
 And there were jests, foul as the city mire 
 
 Whose old stains clung to many a tattered dress : 
 
 Such was the tide that towards the suburb rolled 
 
 Where Ella dwelt. One moment, speechless, cold, 
 
 Stood Alan : then, with sudden leap, he sprang 
 On a low wall, and beckoned to the crowd 
 
 That fought, broke windows, trampled gardens, sang 
 And swore, around him ; but his voice rose loud, 
 
 And through the clamour like a trumpet rang ; 
 Its clear bold accents for a minute cowed 
 
 The people ; or perchance they thought he came 
 
 To spur them forward to their desperate game. 
 
 " My friends !" he cried, "all human hopes and Hves 
 Are truly one ; no man can harm another 
 
 But blindly with his proper Self he strives. 
 His own soul in the body of his brother : 
 
 In you, in all, the spark of Truth survives — 
 Is there no father here, is there no mother. 
 
 No husband, wife or friend, who knows the tie 
 
 Which makes two beings one until they die ? 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 49 
 
 " That tie is but an image and a sign 
 
 Of universal kinship — to reveal 
 How men are sharers in the life Divine : 
 
 Think not the rich man's woe the poor man's weal ! 
 When the brain languishes the heart must pine ; 
 
 To hate is atheism, and to steal 
 Is sacrilege ; to murder, suicide : 
 I too have erred, who should have been your guide ; 
 
 " Oft I spoke rashly, for my heart was sore 
 
 To see you suffer ; humbly I avow 
 My fault, my crime — Ah help me to restore 
 
 The peace I troubled ; let me lead you now 
 Back to your homes." Then rose an angry roar. 
 
 And a great stone struck Alan on the brow. 
 He staggered ; and before his friend could bound 
 To save him, he fell prone with heavy sound. 
 
 George raised him in his arms — bleeding, death-white, 
 Unconscious — then to face the crowd he turned : 
 
 " This is the man who laboured day and night 
 For you and for your children — yes, he burned 
 
 His life away, and loved you in despite 
 Of all ingratitude, and still returned 
 
 Good for your evil — his own wants denied 
 
 For you— that you might live, he would have died. 
 
50 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 " And you have slain him. Help me, some of you 
 To stanch his wounds — those whom he visited 
 
 When they were ill, and brought them aid — those, too, 
 Who starved, until he gave them his own bread — 
 
 And if by chance there should be here a few 
 Who were in prison, and he came and said 
 
 Kind words of hope — 'tis only these I pray 
 
 Now for their help to carry him away 
 
 " And bear him to his friends." The crowd was hushed. 
 
 But he who seemed the chief, a strong tall man, 
 Came forth with halting step, and features flushed, 
 
 And look half-shamed, half-sorry, and began — 
 " The parson nursed me when my foot was crushed, 
 
 I would not do him harm. Here, Ned and Dan, 
 Help us to carry him — and you, John, go 
 Quick, for a doctor — 'tis an ugly blow, 
 
 " But worse have mended." Now the throng, subdued 
 
 Almost to soberness, his words obeyed. 
 Seeming a funeral pageant motley-hued : 
 
 As once through Florence paced a cavalcade 
 Of skeletons and spectres — all the brood 
 
 Of Famine and of Death — such show they made ; 
 And bearing Alan in procession grim 
 Straightway to Ella's home they carried him. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 51 
 
 They passed fair gardened homes that rich men build, 
 
 But every man was hidden, as a rat 
 Hides in his hole ; like birds affrighted, stilled 
 
 By coming storm, crouched those who " eat the fat 
 And drink the sweet," that Scripture be fulfilled — 
 
 On, till George saw the house where Ella sat 
 Alone, for both her parents were away, 
 Spending in Rome their Easter holiday. 
 
 She all the day had shivered in suspense 
 For Alan's safety, growing sick with fear, 
 
 And making now and then a vain pretence 
 To read, but straining all the while her ear, 
 
 And starting at each murmur, to see whence 
 The voices came ; for as they grew more clear 
 
 She felt, she knew, that iMan must be nigh, 
 
 To turn the rabble backward, or to die. 
 
 There came a roar — she shuddered — then a lull — 
 She waited at the window, in her dread. 
 
 And soon she heard again the murmurs dull. 
 And saw at last a strange procession, led 
 
 By men who bore some burden pitiful — 
 
 Was it a comrade, wounded — dying — dead ? — 
 
 But knew she not the figure and the gait 
 
 Of Alan's friend ? Oh Heaven ! Came they too late, 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 And did they bring him dead, that she might see 
 His face, and weep with unavaiHng woe ? 
 
 Nearer they came and nearer — Yes, 'twas he — 
 
 Her cheeks turned white, her heart stood still, as though 
 
 She too must fall ; but, tottering dizzily. 
 She left her room in piteous need to know 
 
 The truth — with quivering hands unbarred the door. 
 
 And ran to meet the crowd, and what it bore. 
 
 George saw her coming in her breathless haste, 
 With wide eyes, feet that terror seemed to spur. 
 
 Long hair unknotted, floating to her waist ; 
 
 Till then, he scarce had spent a thought on her, 
 
 But now he groaned ; 'twere easier to have faced 
 A furious mob ; he felt a murderer : 
 
 Forward he stepped, and lest her strength should fail. 
 
 Stayed her, and told, as best he might, the tale. 
 
 " He is not dead ! " she cried — " not dead ! " and then 
 Her heart grew stronger ; Alan's face she saw 
 
 And scarcely trembled ; to those rugged men, 
 Those hungering, thirsting breakers of the law. 
 
 She spoke, with accents that seemed alien 
 To her own voice ; they Hstened half in awe. 
 
 And bore him to the house ; and then dispersed 
 
 AVith money for their hunger and their thirst. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 53 
 
 Alan lay still unconscious ; months of toil, 
 
 And care, and grief, had done their work by stealth ; 
 
 The mental and the physical turmoil, 
 The evil deeds of poverty and wealth, 
 
 The city's filth and crime, that could not soil 
 His spirit, drained away his body's health : 
 
 " But he will live ! " cried Ella, fain to grope 
 
 For light. The surgeon said, " There still is hope." 
 
 "There still is hope." Thus sounds the first low note. 
 The first faint tremor of the passing bell ! 
 
 " There still is hope." The dread that loomed remote 
 Draws near ; the poison-pang we sought to quell 
 
 Stings sharper for this futile antidote : 
 So heavy on her ears the comfort fell — 
 
 " There still is hope." She watched his sighing breath. 
 
 Feeling herself the very pains of death. 
 
( 54 ) 
 
 VI. 
 
 Ella kept anxious vigil by the bed : 
 
 How strange it is to watch through creeping hours 
 A face which was Thought's temple, and instead 
 
 To find blank nothingness, or jarring powers ; 
 For mind, and soul, and senses, all are fled, 
 
 And weirdly wander in a world not ours. 
 Some Tartarus, whereof we seek the key. 
 Striving to follow and to set them free. 
 
 Ere night, there came a change ; for Alan woke 
 From torpor to delirium : now he seemed 
 
 To see again his Vision, and invoke 
 
 With prayer, some Power divine ; anon, he dreamed 
 
 Of his old home and his old faith, and broke 
 
 Into sad cries of " Mother ! " and there streamed 
 
 From his hot lips full many a wonder wild 
 
 Of elves, and wraiths, and witches who besfuiled 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 55 
 
 The hearts of chieftains. Then he wandered back 
 From childish days, and softly moaned the name 
 
 Of Ella ; or he trod his wonted track 
 
 'Mid squalor and disease, and vice and shame. 
 
 Crying, " I cannot eat while others lack, 
 I eat their flesh ! " But still again he came 
 
 To that old home, and raved with strange despair 
 
 Because he could not find his mother there. 
 
 And Ella listened ; these lamentings moved 
 
 Her inmost heart ; her sorrowing eyes grew dim 
 
 With bitterer tears — this woman she had loved. 
 Tenderly loved, when first betrothed to him, 
 
 But, at the severance, haply it behoved 
 A prophet's mother to resent the whim 
 
 That harmed her idol ; and the two, estranged, 
 
 For many months no greeting word had changed. 
 
 And who would tell the mother ? She must come ; 
 
 But who would say to her — " Your son is lying 
 Wounded to death — he wakes from swoonings dumb 
 
 To rave and moan — perchance he may be dying 
 E'en while I speak." Poor Ella, cold and numb, 
 
 Pondered of this, and felt her heart replying — 
 " You, you must bear the message — only you 
 Have wrecked his life — take anguish as your due." 
 
56 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 As thus she mused, George entered. " Go awhile," 
 He said, " and sleep, for you are tired and worn, 
 
 And I will watch." She gave a faint wan smile 
 At thought of sleep, with this envenomed thorn 
 
 Deep in her breast — better the weary mile 
 To Alan's home — better to greet the morn 
 
 With wakeful eyes, than half to see its beams 
 
 In the sad Limbo of unslumbrous dreams. 
 
 But forth she went ; and loitering at the gate 
 
 She saw that stalwart limping rioter 
 Who championed Alan 'gainst the blinded hate 
 
 Of the brute mob. No tumult was astir. 
 But only this one man had come to wait 
 
 For news. In whispering tones he questioned her, 
 As though a louder sound the ear might reach 
 Of him who heard but his own babbling speech. 
 
 And when she told her errand, he besought 
 
 That he might guide her through the darkening streets, 
 
 For some of those who swore and robbed and fought 
 That morning, were not sated with their feats ; 
 
 He had no fear — /ie never would be caught 
 By any slow policeman on his beats. 
 
 She would be safe with him — for well enough 
 
 His face was known to every city rough. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 57 
 
 So, with her strange companion, Ella wound 
 
 Through many streets, with foot that could not tire. 
 
 And scarcely saw the wrecks that lay around. 
 The havoc wrought by pillage and by fire ; 
 
 Nor did her speed grow slack, until she found 
 Her goal ; and then, refusing gift or hire. 
 
 Her guide departed ; timidly she knocked. 
 
 And a slow trembling hand the door unlocked. 
 
 And Ella stepped into the homely room 
 
 Where, two years past, Alan his Vision told ; 
 
 There, sitting upright in the fire-lit gloom. 
 Was the grey father, stern yet unconsoled. 
 
 Still mourning for his son's eternal doom : 
 The careworn mother, thinner than of old, 
 
 Flitted from spot to spot, or crouching sate 
 
 Like a poor bird with nest made desolate. 
 
 I know not how the story was begun. 
 
 Nor ended how ; the father's face, hard-set, 
 
 Just quivered — " Lord," he said, " Thy will be done ! " 
 But with reluctant tears his eyes grew wet. 
 
 Oozing like drops of blood — " My son, my son ! " 
 He murmured, seeming all things to forget 
 
 Save sorrow ; but the mother, pallid, fierce, 
 
 Gazed at the girl, as though she fain would pierce 
 
58 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 Her heart. " Your fault ! " she cried — " it is your fault ! 
 
 His blood be on your head, if he must die ; 
 Like the proud Pharisees, who did exalt 
 
 Their barren lore, and shouted ' Crucify ! ' 
 You slew my son ! " But now the tear-drops salt 
 
 Choked her mad words ; and Ella made reply 
 By kneeling at her feet, and weeping — " Nay, 
 Mother ! it was myself I meant to slay." 
 
 She kissed the slender hand, by toil made hard, 
 And the poor mother, seeing her so mild, 
 
 And feeling the hot tears, her heart unbarred 
 With quick repentance for those plainings wild ; 
 
 Saying — " Forgive me — kiss me— I should guard 
 My lips from evil. Take me to my child." 
 
 The women clung together ; then the three 
 
 Set out on their sad errand silently. 
 
 They neared the house with many a wordless prayer. 
 And knew not whether that they came to seek 
 
 Were life or death : George met them on the stair 
 With mien so haggard, that it seemed to speak 
 
 All that they dreaded ; but he said, " Prepare 
 To see him — he is conscious, but as weak 
 
 As any babe, and his unceasing cry 
 
 Is ' Let my mother come before I die ! ' " 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 59 
 
 And the two parents, by his tone bereft 
 
 Well-nigh of hope, passed to the sick man's side ; 
 
 While Ella in her loneliness was left 
 
 Waiting without, uncalled. Should Death divide 
 
 Their hearts for ever, leaving still the cleft 
 
 Between his soul and hers unbridged and wide ? 
 
 She lingered ; oft against her will she heard 
 
 The tender sighing of a farewell word. 
 
 Was there for /ler no longing and no call. 
 Not even one poor good-bye message, sent 
 
 Like ears of corn that careless hands let fall 
 For one who gleans — was this her punishment ? 
 
 Was parting not enough, without the gall 
 Of this immedicable pain, unblent 
 
 With joy, and stinging backward, till at last 
 
 It should empoison all the sacred Past ? 
 
 But now the two came out to her ; their tears 
 Were dried, and in their faces there was calm ; 
 
 The father seemed as one who dimly hears 
 The music of some new revealing psalm ; 
 
 The mother, past all hopes and past all fears 
 And memories of anger, with cold palm 
 
 Pressed Ella's hand — " Go in," she said, " be brave, 
 
 He loves you now — yes, even to the grave." 
 
6o A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 He loved her — then the utmost bitterness 
 Was gone from pain, leaving remembered joy 
 
 Unsullied — happy they who still possess 
 
 Gladness in grief embalmed, that cannot cloy 
 
 With full fruition, nor by time grow less, 
 Nor can estrangement any more destroy 
 
 This Love ideal : thus doth Heaven accord 
 
 Through Death, its one immutable reward. 
 
 She went in softly ; he lay white and still. 
 
 Though his dark eyes unquenched were burning clear 
 She laid her hand in his, already chill, 
 
 And heard his faint voice whisper, " Dear, more dear 
 In death — forgive me, Ella, and fulfil 
 
 My last petition, for the end is near. 
 Is close ; oh stay, and hold awhile my hand. 
 And listen— only you will understand. 
 
 " Stay with me, while I linger on the verge 
 
 Of the unknown abyss, yet void of awe 
 And fear, and ecstasy ; I hear a dirge 
 
 Wailing that Vision which of old I saw ; 
 Yet not in darkness but in glory merge 
 
 My dreams, and yield to some transcendent Law, 
 I know not how ; for all is plunged and drowned 
 In the bright waters of this peace profound. 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 " But that my eyesight wanes, now might I see ; 
 
 But that my thoughts grow dim, at last might learn ; 
 But that sleep weighs me down so wearily. 
 
 Rise to that Truth, for whose pure light I yearn : 
 Unworshipped on her mount she dwells, in free 
 
 And maiden loneliness ; her wooers turn 
 Toward fair reflected images, that gleam 
 And waver with the mist or with the stream. 
 
 " I cannot think, and scarcely can I feel — 
 But you are strong, and now again you shine 
 
 Truth's radiant herald, come to wound and heal 
 A generation hungry for a sign — 
 
 Be no sign granted, saving to unseal 
 The meaning of the ages, and unshrine 
 
 All errors, all illusions — theirs, my own : 
 
 For though the wine-press that I trod alone 
 
 " Held blood-red grapes from the volcano's edge, 
 Yet the true purple full-ripe fruit I missed : 
 
 Seek you and find ; oh give this one last pledge- 
 Ella, my Love— my Wife ! " His lips she kissed 
 
 With tender lingering pressure : sacrilege 
 It seemed, to mar that silent Eucharist 
 
 By uttered vow ; the very soul of each 
 
 Shone visible, disrobed of veiling speech. 
 
62 A MODERN APOSTLE. 
 
 Grieve not for them ; but rather grieve for such 
 As live with what they love, and night and noon 
 
 Have joy of gentle voice and kindly touch, 
 Yet famish for some unimagined boon ; 
 
 Too little Heaven they have, and all too much 
 Of Earth, whose bounties deaden, late or soon 
 
 Their aspiration ; or its torrent-force 
 
 Frays out some fleshly or ethereal course. 
 
 For such your grief; what husbands and their wives 
 Once in long years each other's soul can see ? 
 
 But these found all to which high Passion strives — 
 Perfect communion, from cold symbols free. 
 
 The fleeting quintessence of myriad lives, 
 A concentrated brief Eternity, 
 
 The mountain-vista of an endless age 
 
 Not known by weary winding pilgrimage. 
 
 At length she spoke — " Myself I dedicate 
 
 To this great service : all my spirit's power — 
 
 Through joy and grief, in good or evil fate, 
 Whether the desert pathways bud and flower, 
 
 Or the fair fields be ravaged by man's hate — 
 Shall bear the superscription of this hour : 
 
 I give whate'er I have of strength and skill ; 
 
 Trust me in this — what Woman can, I will." 
 
A MODERN APOSTLE. 63 
 
 Then she was silent : for his look was fraught 
 With peace that quenches all desire and dread, 
 
 Yet spares the impress of each noble thought 
 That ruled in life the converse of the dead ; 
 
 As Night brings every trivial thing to nought, 
 
 While still the mountains tower, the oceans spread : 
 
 Long time she knelt ; and when at last she rose 
 
 Her features almost mirrored his repose. 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
( 67 ) 
 
 THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 In some strange waking vision I beheld 
 A man and woman in their summer prime, 
 
 Who seemed memorial forms of classic eld, 
 And yet the fairest, newest births of Time ; 
 
 My heart they rapt, my questionings they quelled : 
 But now I bid my plain ungilded rhyme 
 
 Repeat the marvels that I saw and heard 
 
 Vivid in colour and distinct in word. 
 
 The man was such as Grecian sculptors took 
 For model of a god ; he well might cope 
 
 With any deity who ever shook 
 
 The lance or lyre ; he seemed incarnate Hope : 
 
 And there was joyous foresight in his look. 
 As though the Present were a telescope 
 
 Through which appeared the Future's nebulous haze 
 
 Clear sky, with constellated suns ablaze. 
 
68 THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 Yet, gazing in his dark unfathomed eyes, 
 You might behold long mournful ages pass, 
 
 Each laying down a load of mysteries 
 
 Solved by his mind ; you saw, as in a glass. 
 
 Your own thoughts and the world's thoughts, mad or wise, 
 Fleet, ever adding to the winnowed mass ; 
 
 As though Apollo, King of laughing Hours, 
 
 With Time's old scythe should reap the grass and flowers. 
 
 Tall was the woman ; beautiful and lithe, 
 Filled full of life in eye, and lip, and hair, 
 
 Whose coils like dull-gold serpents seemed to writhe 
 About her royal forehead broad and fair ; 
 
 Her sapphire eyes were bright, their glance was blithe. 
 Yet if you caught it sideways, unaware. 
 
 Now and again, behind the lustre glad 
 
 Floated a shade, half cynic and half sad. 
 
 One moment she would seem an angel, fresh 
 
 From Heaven, and bringing joyful news to man ; 
 
 The next, a shuddering hint of World and Flesh 
 And Devil, swiftly through your senses ran ; 
 
 But then her eyes and voice would quite enmesh 
 Your soul, and you could neither bless nor ban — 
 
 Happy, if ere the Siren's isle you passed 
 
 Your Fate had lashed you safely to the mast ! 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 69 
 
 Together in a frescoed hall they sate, 
 
 Storied with pictures fair of many lands : 
 
 Old Rome, and sad Palmyra desolate. 
 
 And Alpine summits, and Arabian sands ; 
 
 Fair ladies rode with knights inamorate, 
 And little children played in merry bands ; 
 
 But not a group so bright was painted there 
 
 That it might shadow forth the living pair. 
 
 He held her hand, yet seemed to wander through 
 Long years of thought ; till she the silence broke. 
 
 And made of her soft voice a silken clue 
 
 To guide him back ; these gentle words she spoke— 
 
 " Dearest, this day you promised to endue 
 My heart with mirth celestial, and evoke 
 
 Visions of joy, whose glories should prevail 
 
 O'er all the marvels of Arabian tale." 
 
 Light was her tone ; but he, with accent grave. 
 Said — " Hear me, Marah ! In my power I keep 
 
 A boon more precious than you hope or crave. 
 Or even dream in waking or in sleep ; 
 
 Such bridal gift as no man ever gave 
 To his fair Empress ; a delight as deep 
 
 E'en as our love, which ne'er shall fade and flee 
 
 Like pallid loves of weak mortality. 
 
JO THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 " Nay, start not, shrink not ! Ages have gone by 
 Since in a slumbrous German town I dwelt. 
 
 And from my jutting gable saw the sky 
 
 Narrowed but clear ; there did my childhood melt 
 
 In fires of youth ; and every day more high 
 Ran my life's rushing stream, until I felt 
 
 That never must chill Death the torrent freeze, 
 
 But it must spread and foam in boundless seas. 
 
 " Life, dear Life, human Life ! for this I prayed — 
 
 To be a goblet filled up to the brim 
 With Life's rich wine ; not an ethereal shade, 
 
 A naked spirit passionless and dim, 
 But perfect Man, imperishably made. 
 
 With Immortality in heart and limb. 
 And brain whose orbed empire might suffice 
 To hold the World and make it Paradise. 
 
 " Thus hoping, searching, in alchemic toil 
 I spent the hours of my poor mortal day. 
 
 Till Time took youth and vigour as a spoil, 
 
 And bent my frame, and made my temples grey : 
 
 Yet still I watched my costly potions boil. 
 And with strange herbs and metals did assay 
 
 To win, and ever hold in bridal clasp 
 
 The Life that flitting mocked my palsied grasp. 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 71 
 
 " But daily farther from the goal I swerved ; 
 
 Sight left my eyes, and skill my fingers lean : 
 ' Sweet Life ' — I cried — ' for whom I long have served, 
 
 Whose glorious beauty I from far have seen. 
 Not such reward thy votary deserved, 
 
 Not this thy warrior's guerdon should have been — 
 At last, at last, thy full fruition give. 
 Let me not die, ere I have learned to live ! 
 
 " ' Yet if thy renovating touch divine 
 
 Too late, too late, be laid on these grey hairs, 
 
 I conquer still, though strength should not be mine 
 To drink the cup my dying hand prepares ; 
 
 Myself, but not my triumph, I resign. 
 
 For all mankind shall be my deathless heirs : 
 
 I, friendless, childless, poor, will yet bequeathe 
 
 One boon — Eternity for all who breathe ! ' 
 
 " That night, with aching eyes and weary brain 
 
 Over a seething flask I sadly hung. 
 And the last precious drops that I could strain 
 
 From my necessities, therein I flung. 
 Half-fearing 'twere a senile fancy vain 
 
 That one so worn and wrinkled could grow young : 
 Suddenly, strangely, the thick wizard-broth 
 Foamed upward in my face with amber froth. 
 
72 THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 " It fell — and bright the liquid grew and pure 
 I jke molten topaz ; and a perfume rose 
 
 Whose sweetness might a Moslem saint allure 
 To drink damnation with his Prophet's foes : 
 
 Scarce could my soul this lightning-hope endure, 
 My knees were fain to yield, my eyes to close : 
 
 I stretched a hand, blind-groping, as I sank 
 
 Gasping for breath, and reached the flask, and drank. 
 
 " A miracle ! my sight, but now half-quenched. 
 
 Pierced through the gloom, and made the lamplight 
 clear ; 
 
 I felt my forehead, with deep cares entrenched, 
 Grow smooth, and many a sorrow-laden year 
 
 Roll like a mist away ; the limbs that blenched 
 Were buoyant, and the heart that quaked with fear 
 
 Now sang exultantly, in youth renewed. 
 
 And strength to bear its own beatitude. 
 
 " I dashed the flask to earth with joyous hand — 
 ' Life, human Life, these drops to thee ! ' I cried : 
 
 I ran and leaped ; I felt my soul expand 
 Till all its pettier hopes were glorified 
 
 To a great longing that the Earth should stand 
 Arrayed in Immortality, a bride. 
 
 Wedded to Heaven, not as a beggar-wife, 
 
 But bringing her own dower of boundless life. 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 73 
 
 " And those bright drops that on the floor I threw 
 
 In the exuberant lavishness of health 
 Brought forth, by magic of their golden dew, 
 
 All tints, and shapes, and substances of wealth ; 
 A glorious sculptured palace round me grew, 
 
 Whose mystic builders wrought unseen, by stealth ; 
 Frescoes there were and statues, gold and gems, 
 And sceptres, and Imperial diadems. 
 
 " Yet all these marvels were but promises 
 And gracious foretastes of a world unknown ; 
 
 I must go forth, a happier Heracles, 
 
 With hydra-headed Death to strive alone. 
 
 Fill with new wine all poisoned chalices. 
 
 Anoint all wounds ; revengeful Time dethrone, 
 
 Crowning and sceptring in his stead at last 
 
 A perfect Present, that should ne'er be Past. 
 
 " I sought the mother-land of many hopes — 
 Land of the sun, whose summer rays illume 
 
 Blue lakes, engarlanded by golden slopes. 
 And valleys dim with amethystine bloom ; 
 
 The wondrous land of scholars, painters. Popes, 
 The Church's cradle, and the Empire's tomb : 
 
 Dear land, my promised Canaan of delights. 
 
 Peopled, alas, by soft-tongued Canaanites. 
 
74 THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 " I knew fair Florence in her noon-day glow 
 And in her late repentance and remorse ; 
 
 Saw the first joy of Michel Angelo 
 
 When great Lorenzo marked his budding force, 
 
 And pacing at Careggi to and fro 
 
 Heard silver-voiced Mirandola discourse, 
 
 Though from San Marco thrilled a note of fear — 
 
 ' Repent, repent ! the sword of God is here ! ' 
 
 " And then I entered those Imperial walls 
 Where every epoch finds its magnet-pole, 
 
 And watched the great Cathedral's domed halls 
 Rise, and Life's yellow Tiber-current roll, 
 
 And heard wise Leo and his Cardinals 
 Wittily prate of God and of the Soul, 
 
 Or lightly mock, as Teuton ravings drunk, 
 
 The thundering theses of the rebel monk. 
 
 " But I beheld a black abyss of lust 
 
 And hatred yawn beneath Italia's prime — 
 
 Groaning I said, ' Where is a man so just, 
 
 So wise, that he should live beyond his time ? 
 
 What poet, priest, or woman can I trust 
 To use in righteousness my gift subhme ? 
 
 Or shall I aid the crude one-sided plan 
 
 Of friar iVugustine or Dominican ? ' 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 75 
 
 " And so I kept my boon, and sought anew 
 For one to share it. Now in tranquil seas 
 
 I coasted, where they lap with waters blue 
 
 The white or ruddy sands ; with westward breeze 
 
 I sailed, that proud Iberian land to view 
 Made Empress by the ill-starred Genoese, 
 
 Fain to rule Europe, as she ruled her slaves 
 
 In diamond mines beyond Atlantic waves. 
 
 " But here, 'mid wealth and courtesy and pride 
 Methought the vale of Hinnom ever burned, 
 
 There tender maids and youths in torture died. 
 Parents and children, sages, hinds unlearned. 
 
 Who all with blind heroic faith defied 
 
 Faith blindly tyrannous ; heartsore I turned 
 
 From the grim King, who seemed what proverbs tell 
 
 Of his Madrid — ' half winter and half hell' 
 
 " Now to the valiant island, which that King 
 Had thought to win with mightiest armament : 
 
 There gladsomely I heard at heaven's gate sing 
 
 Blithe birds of morn ; and though the song was blent 
 
 With notes unworthy so divine a spring, 
 
 x\ thrill of joy through all my frame it sent : 
 
 But not in city or in court I stayed. 
 
 Nor joined the wooers of the Royal Maid. 
 
76 THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 " It was a midland village that I sought, 
 Where daisy-banked a placid river ran 
 
 Past a grey church, and near it dwelt and wrought 
 A bard whose god-like eyes the heart could scan, 
 
 Telling its dreams and humours ; but I thought — 
 ' Nay, let the Poet live, and leave the Man 
 
 To die in peace ; he quaffs his own rich wine 
 
 Of Immortality — what needs he mine ? ' 
 
 " Again I roamed ; in European wars 
 I strove, and saw the great Gustavus fall, 
 
 In the red carnage that my soul abhors 
 Mingled, that I might know and suffer all, 
 
 \^'arring, with vanquished or with conquerors, 
 O'er burning home and shattered city-wall, 
 
 Till peace returned — then, tired in heart and hand 
 
 I sought the visions of the Morning Land. 
 
 " And first I pilgrimed to the Holy Grave 
 
 Where fought of old the flower of Europe's might— 
 
 For the benignant Prince of Peace, who gave 
 
 Not peace, but sword and fire, long raged the fight 
 
 There now divided Christians scowl and rave, 
 Armenian, Latin, Greek, and Maronite : 
 
 Loathing I left them ; then o'er sand and foam 
 
 Passed to an elder worship's dreamful home. 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 77 
 
 " Often at night I heard the hon's roaring 
 
 From the wild jungles of some pathless wood ; 
 
 I saw the zoned Himalayas soaring 
 
 To Arctic heights ; and sought a brotherhood 
 
 Not found in age-long roving and exploring, 
 Among the saints of Brahma and of Buddh : 
 
 But no fit sharer of a lofty fate 
 
 Rose from that primal race degenerate. 
 
 " Two human lifetimes, alien from the West 
 I roved ; then turning, found all Europe lit 
 
 With war— with strange convulsions sore distressed ; 
 And that fair feminine city of keen wit 
 
 Which made of Earth and Heaven a graceful jest 
 Read her own doom in ruddy lightnings writ — 
 
 ' Summed, weighed, found wanting, rent : ' her King was 
 slain. 
 
 Her Queen, her nobles, that the crushed might reign. 
 
 " It was the hey-day of that cursed spawn 
 Of rebels, bred and schooled by Tyranny, 
 
 That dyed them through and through, and now withdrawn 
 Left them indeed unsovereigned, but not free : 
 
 And yet it was the drear and blood-red dawn 
 Of a new hope for sad Humanity : 
 
 I watched a fresh enthusiasm's birth. 
 
 Not for high Heaven, but for the suffering Earth. 
 
78 THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 " I knew the man who touched the secret nerve 
 Of GalHc Hfe, and thrilled it as he would ; 
 
 One of those meteor-minds, which never swerve, 
 But dash straight down to their selected good, 
 
 Not orbing in a planet's constant curve, 
 Nor comet-soaring through infinitude, 
 
 But flashing for a moment, earthward hurled, 
 
 The iron fragment of some starry world. 
 
 " Then sailed I West, to that Republic free 
 Which bravely to old Britain bade defiance ; 
 
 I saw how Christians fostered slavery. 
 
 How Freedom with Corruption made alliance ; 
 
 And thence returned, to give unrestingly 
 One life to Metaphysics, one to Science, 
 
 And one to Politics, that I might know 
 
 The varied springs of human weal and woe. 
 
 " Now am I made the King of this fair State, 
 Which I will rule as mortal man rules not ; 
 
 My gathered wisdom will I dedicate 
 To general concord, of just laws begot ; 
 
 Then Paradise shall blossom new-create. 
 Not marred by any fraudful serpent-plot. 
 
 And Truth and Right the human soul uplift. 
 
 Till men be worthy of my glorious gift. 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 79 
 
 " While still I roamed, my heart I shut and sealed 
 Against all passionate love ; yet oftentimes 
 
 When dark Italian orbs their light revealed, 
 Or the blue eyes besung in Northern rhymes 
 
 Glanced coyly, almost would my spirit yield ; 
 As though the sure-foot mountaineer who climbs 
 
 Some Alpine crag, should loiter on the brink 
 
 To pluck the gentian or the mountain pink. 
 
 " But in a myriad women, none I found 
 
 So filled and flushed with Life's exuberant tide 
 
 That through uncounted ages it could bound 
 And ne'er grow stagnant, weak, or satisfied ; 
 
 No joy so rich and vital, that undrowned 
 
 On the broad flood in triumph it could ride : 
 
 How should a fragile creature, fashioned fair 
 
 For her brief hour, my endless being share ? 
 
 " But now I have my kingdom and have you 
 
 Gloriously framed for an immortal fate. 
 Almost that regal beauty might subdue 
 
 Grim Death, and his predestined hour undate : 
 Sing and exult ! for we the World make new. 
 
 Our dual Star all tranced hopes await ; 
 The Future is our own — who will may claim 
 The unre2;retted Past, of deathful fame. 
 
8o THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 " And you to-night, this very night, shall drink 
 Immortal Life." He ceased, and fixed on her 
 
 That look, where all the aeons seemed to sink 
 In one bright Now ; but did my senses err, 
 
 Or did I see her for an instant shrink 
 
 Before she answered, " Dearest harbinger 
 
 Of gladness ! " with a smile so softly bright 
 
 That I believed it in my own despite. 
 
( 8i ) 
 
 11. 
 
 The Vision changed. And now I saw the Queen 
 
 In a fair garden loiter ; at her side 
 Was one of stahvart frame and princely mien, 
 
 His dark eyes bright with passion and with pride, 
 Yet not her lord. They reached an arbour green, 
 
 Blossomed with roses, and o'er-canopied 
 With bowering trees ; nor marked amid the shade 
 A slim shape rustle, like a Dryad-maid. 
 
 Marah was speaking, " Tis a wondrous tale ! 
 
 He has the true Elixir — deems me fit 
 To share it. Marvel not that I am pale ! 
 
 Oh weary fancy, nevermore to quit 
 His side, but while the ages drag and trail 
 
 In his Elysian theatre to sit. 
 Or act in dramas classic and sublime 
 Until I almost long for pantomime ! 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 " I could have loved him ; but he is a god, 
 And I am not a goddess or a saint ; 
 
 For twenty generations he has trod 
 
 This evil earth, seeing through rags and paint 
 
 To its vile heart ; and now he bids me plod 
 With him for slow millennia : sooth, 'tis quaint 
 
 That / am chosen by this clear-eyed sage 
 
 His Empress, and ensample to the Age ! 
 
 "I'd worship him, if he were carved in marble. 
 And every morning I could come and kneel 
 
 Before his sacred shrine, and softly warble 
 The shivering adoration that I feel. 
 
 Nor need his philanthropic Law to garble 
 ^Yith. any gloss of selfish woe or weal ; 
 
 Then could I yield, like pious Christians many. 
 
 The pound to Caesar, and to God the penny. 
 
 " At first, indeed, 'twas sweet and wonderful 
 To feel my spirit floating, cradled soft 
 
 As on some eagle's wings, who left the dull, 
 Stale, petty world, and as he soared aloft 
 
 Seemed all my meaner longings to annul ; 
 But after journeying sunward long and oft 
 
 I hunger and grow faint ; the naked glare 
 
 Is too intense, the atmosphere too rare. 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 " I have not sinned — not yet — but I am weary 
 Of all the glories of these ether-flights, 
 
 I'm tired of listening to the concert sphery, 
 Dizzy with gazing from Olympian heights : 
 
 Dear mortal planet, unideal, cheery. 
 
 Oh give me back thy motley-hued delights — 
 
 Give me, for solemn-chanting sun and moon, 
 
 A gas-lit ball-room, and a lilting tune ! 
 
 " I love my life ; and yet a Life Eternal 
 Is something far too serious and too vast : 
 
 'Twere well, I own, to keep one's beauty vernal. 
 But even vanity might pall at last; 
 
 Better to tempt at once the Powers Infernal 
 Than with an ever-young enthusiast 
 
 Live for Humanity, its evils probe. 
 
 And like old Atlas, hoist the ponderous globe. 
 
 " But he will test me — find me out some day, 
 And know with what delusive light I shone ; 
 
 Then will he bid me in his lordly way 
 
 With just a touch of sorrow — ' Hence — begone I ' 
 
 Or else will strip the gauzy wings so gay 
 From his poor worthless weak ephemeron : 
 
 Cruel it were, the fire-fly's life to mar, 
 
 Because it is an insect, not a star ! 
 
 F 
 
84 THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 " Hear me, good Hubert ! yet you are not good — 
 
 He is a whole infinitude above 
 Your noblest ; I were happy, if I could 
 
 Cleave to him, wed his thought, his virtues prove ; 
 Were I the archetype of womanhood 
 
 As he of manhood, then we two might love ; 
 Then should I deem your passion, at the best, 
 But a dull fable, or a sorry jest. 
 
 " Nay, Hubert, do not frown ! I like you well ; 
 
 I am a woman of the world, you know. 
 Too tired by far to rave about the spell 
 
 Of mutual love, and tremblingly to glow 
 With girlish raptures ; but to you I tell 
 
 My thoughts and wishes, be they high or low — 
 That frown again — oh free me from this bond, 
 Then shall you find me sweet, caressing, fond ! 
 
 "Oh set me free ! bear me away, away. 
 To cold Kamschatka or to burning Ind — 
 
 If you should shrink or fail, I needs must pray 
 Some ocean current or some rushing wind 
 
 To take me — I am mean, and must obey 
 
 My own mean heart ; the boast—' I have not sinned. 
 
 Was vain ; for sinned I have in wish and thought — 
 
 Cares Conscience in what stuff the sin is wrought ? " 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 85 
 
 He clasped her close. " Fair Queen of my desire, 
 
 Flower of all loveliness ! I do your will 
 Because it is my own, with heart on fire — 
 
 But from the plan is one thing lacking still ; 
 For we two, sweetest Marah, could not tire. 
 
 And in millennia could not take our fill 
 Of joyance — we should gaily revel on, 
 And wondering cry — ' Another cycle gone ! ' 
 
 " Short hfe is all a mocking game of chance ; 
 
 Years are the counters — one by one we lose 
 And soon grow bankrupt — lucky Circumstance 
 
 Comes late, and we its blandishments refuse 
 Because we are too old to sing or dance, 
 
 Love we forget, and wealth we cannot use : 
 Man stakes his all upon a single cast — 
 Give him a myriad, and he wins at last. 
 
 " Then let us of that magic wine partake 
 
 This night, and fathom all the depths of pleasure, 
 
 And live without satiety or ache 
 
 Our feastful days, that Time forgets to measure : 
 
 How shall we cheat this chemist-King, and make 
 Ourselves possessors of his liquid treasure ? 
 
 His servants love him ; vainly should we try 
 
 With stores of gold the loyal fools to buy. 
 
86 THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 " But I will give you a prepotent draught 
 To set before your deathless lord to-night, 
 
 Saying — ' Come, pledge me ! not till you have quaffed 
 This cup, I taste of your Elixir's might ! ' 
 
 So shall we capture life and love by craft, 
 For as he drinks, he will be reft of sight, 
 
 Hearing, and thought, by slumber — you are free ! 
 
 Then quick ! the goblet seize, and haste to me 
 
 " That we may drink deep, deep, of boundless bliss " — 
 But she — " It is not poison ? " faintly asked — 
 
 " To poison he is mortal — spare me this ! " 
 
 Lord Hubert turned aside ; the fiend unmasked 
 
 Glared from his face ; but soon with tender kiss 
 Again his power of smooth deceit he tasked. 
 
 Saying — " This potion does not harm, but cures — 
 
 I would not hurt a hound that had been yours ! " 
 
 The foliage shook ; they saw a light shape spring, 
 And toward the palace dart. " We are betrayed," 
 
 Cried Marah, " hastes she not to warn the King ? 
 Prate, ready tongue ! — a ready hand had stayed 
 
 Her flight. I know her — heard her carolling 
 That foolish story of the beggar-maid 
 
 And King Cophetua, long ere I was doomed 
 
 To life, and in immortal love entombed." 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 87 
 
 Leaving the guilty pair in their dismay 
 
 My dream pursued the maiden's flying feet ; 
 
 Fragile she was, and slender as a fay, 
 
 Fair streamed her tresses as she glided fleet, 
 
 Her white robe flashed — she sped with no delay 
 Till at the gate I heard her voice entreat 
 
 That she might see her sovereign, kind to grant 
 
 The prayers of many a humble suppliant. 
 
 They led her where he sate ; then, cowering low, 
 She said — " My liege, I oft have made your sport — 
 
 You know me not, perchance — how should you know 
 A simple singing-maiden of your court ? 
 
 I would not seek you for my private woe, 
 But I have that to tell which would extort 
 
 Language, though I were dumb, and give me breath 
 
 For warning speech, though cold I lay in death." 
 
 She faltered — then at once she oped the sluice 
 Of words and tears, and told the plot accurst, 
 
 Adding at last, in weeping self-excuse — 
 " I had not stayed to listen, but the first 
 
 Word of the Queen foreshadowed some abuse 
 Of your deep love — must I not learn the worst, 
 
 And fly to save my monarch from the snare ? 
 
 Trust me, oh King ! I have no other prayer." 
 
88 THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 But he abashed her with a searching look — 
 " You have an honest face," he said, "but sure 
 
 A most deceiving fancy ; you mistook 
 
 Faces or meanings. Nay ! I am secure — 
 
 Go, fooHsh damsel, to your singing-book ! 
 Hubert I trust not, but the Queen is pure — 
 
 Pure as the radiant ether. She shall come 
 
 And speak her innocence, and strike you dumb." 
 
 He said and smiled ; then to the Queen he sent 
 Praying her presence. Marah came, with lips 
 
 Pale but firm-set, and haughty eyes that meant 
 To look unchanged on glory or eclipse ; 
 
 But when she saw her lord, that bold intent 
 
 Slipped from her, like the outworn slough that slips 
 
 From a snake's body ; and forgetting pride 
 
 She fell before him. " I have sinned," she cried, 
 
 " And am not worthy to be called your wife — 
 
 No, nor your slave ! That coward in will and deed. 
 
 Whose false lips bade me steal your cup of life. 
 Has fled, and basely left me at my need, 
 
 A double traitor. Let the vengeful knife 
 End my despair — nay, rather will I plead 
 
 That you, so merciful, will grant me time 
 
 For penitence — perchance forgive my crime 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 89 
 
 At last, and — dare I think it ? — in the end 
 
 Take back the woman whom you justly spurned, 
 
 To be— ah not your wife — but yet your friend, 
 Long hence, when all my follies are unlearned : 
 
 Oh, by the love you bore me, hear and bend, 
 
 And pardon ! " But from that fair form he turned 
 
 As from some loathly creature misbegot — 
 
 Crying — " Nay, woman ! of my love speak not — 
 
 " What I loved is not, and has never been. 
 It dies where it was born — in my own heart ; 
 
 Yours are the form, the features, and the mien. 
 As Hell may hold a seraph's counterpart : 
 
 But I reproach you not ; I should have seen, , 
 I should have better known the Siren's art : 
 
 Shall not the sage Physician's blame be mute 
 
 When /le has pressed for wine the poison-fruit ? 
 
 " You were to me a light illusive ghost, 
 
 Not living flesh : as though a man should find 
 
 Some portrait fair, and fooHshly should boast 
 That he in eyes and lips can read the mind. 
 
 And know the heart's recesses innermost, 
 
 And so should give himself with passion blind 
 
 To a mere phantom — worshipping perchance 
 
 The painter's flattery of a harlot's glance. 
 
90 THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 " You loved your life — the life you understood : 
 No man but prizes that which he may call 
 
 His life, and lightly names that primal good 
 In common phrase, and symbols read by all, 
 
 Yet new translated by each alien mood : 
 
 The freeman speaks one language with the thrall. 
 
 And yet the simplest words of love and hate 
 
 Passing from one to other, shed their freight. 
 
 " Calm is my speech, because my heart is cold. 
 Cold, cold, by you fast frozen. Go your way — 
 
 For when that luring fairness I behold. 
 
 And hear the voice, well-loved but yesterday, 
 
 I feel as when I grew infirm and old. 
 
 And Life fled from me with a mocking Nay : 
 
 Go, Marah — soul and body you bereave 
 
 Of Youth, and only Age's heart-ache leave." 
 
 " Marah ! " She seemed to shudder at the name ; 
 
 Perchance some tardy touch of penitence 
 Or late-awakening love, had stirred her frame. 
 
 Deep-thrilling till it pricked the inward sense ; 
 Trembling she rose, and hung her head in shame 
 
 As though her beauty mirrored her offence ; 
 Then forth she went, with slow uncertain pace, 
 And hands that strove to hide her drooping face. 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 91 
 
 Now the pale singing-maiden dared to draw 
 Near to the King, till at his feet she knelt, 
 
 But silently she gazed, held back by awe 
 
 From murmuring or from chanting what she felt ; 
 
 And when the timid upturned look he saw 
 
 Gently he spoke — " Fear not — for you have dealt 
 
 Wisely and loyally ; you shall not lose 
 
 Your recompense." But she replied — " I choose 
 
 " No thanks, or else an infinite reward — 
 Make me immortal ! not that life is sweet. 
 
 But should your grace this sovereign boon accord 
 I may learn wisdom, sitting at your feet ; 
 
 Till haply, in a myriad years, my Lord 
 
 Might deem me worthy — but it is not meet 
 
 To babble thus." That shame w^as in her cheeks, 
 
 Which, striving to be secret, plainlier speaks. 
 
 He laid a pitying hand upon her head — 
 
 " Peace, gentle child ! You know not what you seek ; 
 Calm is the grave, and restful are the dead. 
 
 But Life is rude, and tempest-tost, and bleak. 
 And you w^ll tire, ere threescore years have sped : 
 
 Your nature is too womanly and weak 
 To drink my cup, or watch one age with me 
 In the World's garden of Gethsemane." 
 
92 THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 Then she too stole away, and he was left 
 In darkness and alone. I thought he strove 
 
 To disentangle all the ravelled weft 
 
 Of wrath and weariness, and scorn and love ; 
 
 At first like the unquiet shade, long reft 
 Of hope, who paces some Tartarean grove : 
 
 But when he spoke, his voice, though sad, untuned. 
 
 Told not of an immedicable wound. 
 
 " Marah ! with mind that might have soared beyond 
 The highest Heaven of woman, yet was bent 
 
 Even to Hell ! was it for you I conned 
 The World — an age to every lineament ? 
 
 If I were mortal, now must I despond. 
 
 Or from despair step downward to content : 
 
 But he whose portion is perpetual youth 
 
 May watch and fail, and still have time for Truth. 
 
 " Love shrivels to black dust, but leaves alive 
 Duty and Hope. When not a flower remains 
 
 Unblighted, still the leafy boughs survive. 
 And still the sap is mounting in their veins ; 
 
 No more, no more, my lonely life shall strive 
 To put forth blossoms, nurturing canker-stains ; 
 
 Yet shall the tree aspire, and gather might 
 
 By broader foliage from a clearer light. 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 93 
 
 " Too late, too late ! such dolorous cry was mine, 
 Such words my doubting spirit sighed of yore ; 
 
 They are the brand of death — the fatal sign 
 Proving wise man, with all his dear-bought lore 
 
 Of evil and of good, not yet divine : 
 
 ' Too late, too late ! ' I know the words no more — 
 
 ' Live and prevail ! ' is written in their stead, 
 
 In golden letters for their sanguined red. 
 
 " Death, living death ! thou canst not bid me grieve 
 
 Eternally, because a woman's lip 
 Was beautiful and cunning to deceive : 
 
 Now, since nor love is mine nor fellowship, 
 More gloriously my life I will enweave 
 
 With general gladness, and for ever strip 
 My soul of passion ; even as the Sun 
 Lavishes glowing heat, but garners none. 
 
 " All private hope is frail and fugitive, 
 
 Dead if it miss or if it reach its goal ; 
 There is one way of peace, but one — to live 
 
 The universal Life ; to make the whole 
 Of Nature mine ; to feel the laws which give 
 
 Form to her Being, sovereign in my soul : 
 By this one road, enfranchisement I gain 
 From the heart-stifling narrowness of pain. 
 
94 THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 
 
 " Thus I exalt this anguish finely-nerved 
 To poignant thought and aspiration keen : 
 
 Oh Life, stern Life, for whom in woe I served, 
 Whose veiled beauty I so long have seen, 
 
 If such reward thy votary deserved. 
 
 If this thy warrior's guerdon should have been, 
 
 At last, at last, be perfect bounty shown. 
 
 And all thy pulses vibrate in my own ! 
 
 " Come to me, come to me, from sea and star ! 
 
 From all thy homes, from all thy fountains, come 
 Oh let me feel thy throbbings near and far. 
 
 And give full utterance to thy voices dumb : 
 Make me thy true, thy radiant Avatar, 
 
 And in my action concentrate the sum 
 Of thy unseen endeavours ; let its plan 
 Image the secret destiny of Man. 
 
 " Surely thy end and meaning is not loss. 
 Surely thou workest to some joy untold ; 
 
 Some Book of Life there is, not writ across 
 With runes of woe and dirges manifold ; 
 
 Some fire thou hast, to purge away the dross 
 Of Death, deep grained in thy purest gold : 
 
 From all things save the quintessence of Thee— 
 
 From Hate, from Love — oh Life, deliver me ! " 
 
THE ELIXIR OF LIFE. 95 
 
 Then was he silent ; in that human breast 
 
 Immortal, sorrow seemed at war with thought ; 
 
 The tears burst forth : like the empoisoned vest 
 Of Jove-born Heracles, remembrance wrought : 
 
 Fainter, more distant, grew the murmurs pressed 
 From that heroic heart ; my Vision, fraught 
 
 With marvels, faded, and a chilly stream 
 
 Of work-day light poured in and quenched the dream. 
 
THE STORY OF CLARICE, 
 
( 99 ) 
 
 THE STORY OF CLARICE. 
 
 In an old house, wind-haunted, bare, and grim, 
 
 Fair Clarice and her father lived alone 
 With books for comrades ; books were slaves to him, 
 
 But friends to her ; among them she had grown 
 For well-nigh twenty summers ; though the sage 
 Who gave her being, scarcely knew her age. 
 
 Like a wise pedlar, vending where he can 
 
 A ribbon, a gilt pin, a crystal bead, 
 That yellow, smoke-dried, literary man 
 
 Wrote books that all might quote, though none would 
 read : 
 He raked the dust-heaps of the Court of France, 
 And left his daughter to herself — and Chance. 
 
 But she, in virgin majesty serene, 
 
 Whom few had dared to love, and none to woo. 
 Wore learning as a long-descended queen 
 
 Her robes and crown doth royally endue ; 
 As though what others con with aching head 
 This maiden knew by right inherited. 
 
THE STORY OF CLARICE. 
 
 Stately, with dear grey eyes and flaxen hair, 
 
 She might have seemed Athene, wise and chaste, 
 
 Save that no lofty helmet she did wear. 
 Nor aegis buckled to her slender waist ; 
 
 Nor could she teach what worldly snares to shun. 
 
 As the great Goddess taught Ulysses' son. 
 
 Grave was her mouth, and yet was formed for smiles ; 
 
 Pale were her cheeks — how lovely, had they blushed ! 
 No sweet gay looks were hers, no girlish wiles : 
 
 Not that her woman's instincts had been crushed ; 
 But, like azaleas in a darkened room, 
 They had not air and light enough to bloom. 
 
 I said the maid was left to Chance — 'tis true — 
 
 But that Divinity has divers shapes ; 
 Now, she appears an apple rich of hue. 
 
 Eve's fruit or Discord's — now, the juice of grapes. 
 Promising mirth — now, a fair human form. 
 With tender words, and sighs, and love-looks warm. 
 
 She came to Clarice as a scholar young, 
 
 The secretary of her pedant sire ; 
 (Gentle of mien and eloquent of tongue 
 
 He spoke with something of a poet's fire : 
 Well might accomplished Wilfred hope to gain 
 The maiden's guileless heart and book-learn'd brain. 
 
THE STORY OF CLARICE. loi 
 
 His mind was all o'ergrown with metaphor, 
 With tropes that simulate and stifle thought ; 
 
 Right glibly could he wage a wordy war, 
 
 Skilled in debate, not lightly tripped or caught : 
 
 Yet oft with her he faltered and grew hoarse, 
 
 x\nd lost the gilded thread of his discourse. 
 
 His face — in sooth, it was a handsome face. 
 Quick to express whate'er he dreamed or felt ; 
 
 His dark eyes glowed with all-subduing grace, 
 Sure of their power to brighten, kindle, melt : 
 
 Yet Wilfred's practised heart poor Clarice stole, 
 
 And reigned unconscious tyrant of his soul. 
 
 For, spite of all her wisdom, she was still 
 So calm, so child-like, and so marble-cold, 
 
 She did not know he loved her, nor had skill 
 To read in looks what no sweet words had told : 
 
 Though tales of love her spirit oft could reach 
 
 Like distant warblings in a foreign speech. 
 
 She knew the woes of Dido ; she could tell 
 How Helen set the towers of Troy ablaze : 
 
 She thought of Love as a forgotten spell. 
 Potent in far-off lands, in ancient days ; 
 
 Obsolete now, like Magic black and white, 
 
 Or the Emission Theory of Light. 
 
I02 THE STORY OF CLARICE. 
 
 But once she prayed the youth, his day's work done. 
 To read, and she would hsten : with fresh hopes 
 
 He took the philosophic malison 
 
 Of Schopenhauer, king of misanthropes. 
 
 And chose the chapter where a sunny mist 
 
 Floats o'er the pages of the Pessimist. 
 
 For there, in mildest mood, he tells how Art 
 
 Reveals the pure Idea, soothes desire. 
 Sets free the mind, and heals the aching heart ; 
 
 But chief he vaunts the magic of the lyre — 
 Sweet peace and tranquil ecstasy it gives. 
 And breathes the inmost life of all that lives. 
 
 So rapt was queenly Clarice, so intent 
 
 On Wilfred's voice, he could not meet her look ; 
 
 Its very chillness fired him — on he went. 
 
 Halting and stammering — then flung down the book 
 
 And spoke and gazed as every man, not dunce 
 
 Or icicle, has gazed and spoken once. 
 
 " Too long have I stood blindfold on the brink 
 Of Heaven or Hell ; and now I dare at length 
 
 To pray for sight — I scarce can speak or think 
 Because with all my soul and all my strength 
 
 And all my life I love you — Clarice, hear ! " 
 
 And his voice quivered with a passionate fear. 
 
THE STORY OF CLARICE. 
 
 103 
 
 Oh gentle heart that could not understand ! 
 
 Oh cruel calm in wondering childlike eyes ! 
 She let him clasp her unresponsive hand, 
 
 And froze him with her innocent surprise — 
 Then plucked her hand away, cut short his prayer, 
 Fled from the room, and left him planted there. 
 
 Blankly he stood ; one miserable course 
 Alone remained — to take his hat, and go — 
 
 Though still he kept the lover's sad resource, 
 To rail on the cold heart that made his woe, 
 
 And switch with savage cane the wayside flower, 
 
 And curse himself, and Fate, and Schopenhauer. 
 
( I04 ) 
 
 11. 
 
 Clarice awoke next morning with the sense 
 
 That something she had found, and something lost 
 
 A httle pain she felt, but knew not whence, 
 A little loosening of her vestal frost : 
 
 And she was sad for him — not knowing yet 
 
 How lightly men can love, how soon forget. 
 
 'Twas a grey, misty, miserable day, 
 
 And he would sit, she thought, alone and drear 
 In dingy lodgings ; or perchance would stray 
 
 Out in the busy street, with none to cheer, 
 No one to sound his lonely heart's abysm, 
 And comfort him with German Pessimism. 
 
 A stirring as of springtide he had wrought 
 
 In that fair breast which yet he could not win ; 
 
 She pitied, and she wondered, and she thought : 
 They say that Pity is to Love akin — 
 
 Agreed — with one important reservation — 
 
 She is at best a very poor relation. 
 
THE STORY OF CLARICE. 105 
 
 For Clarice neither loved the swain himself, 
 
 Nor dreamed of being some day some one's wife ; 
 
 But he, like those great Germans on the shelf, 
 Suggested a new way of viewing life : 
 
 The first poor swallow does not make a summer, 
 
 Yet is he a thrice memorable comer. 
 
 Her father — might she speak to him ? In vain ! 
 
 He would have scorned a modern love affair ; 
 It never entered his most learned brain 
 
 That this unmothered daughter needed care ; 
 And he was seeking, in that dust-heap dark. 
 Some mouldy scandal touching Joan of Arc. 
 
 She had no comrades ; books were all her friends ; 
 
 And even these had failed her utterly. 
 For none could teach her how to make amends, 
 
 None could restore her nature's harmony ; 
 Nor found she any grief so vague as hers 
 Recorded by the ancient chroniclers. 
 
 The classic beauty either loves her wooer. 
 Or else she hates him in the same degree : 
 
 Daphne was glad to 'scape her bright pursuer 
 By branching out into a laurel-tree ; 
 
 Queen Dido slew herself that luckless day 
 
 When the too pious Trojan sailed away. 
 
io6 THE STORY OF CLARICE. 
 
 These old companions have no kindly aid 
 For any heart in lore of love unlearned ; 
 
 So, of her fluctuating thoughts afraid, 
 
 To Spenser and to Shakespeare Clarice turned. 
 
 And read of all sweet ladies wooed by men, 
 
 From Una chaste to wifely Imogen. 
 
 She read, and pondered, and read o'er again 
 The moonlight vows of glowing Juliet ; 
 
 She read how scorning doubt, delay, and pain. 
 Sir Scudamour found white-robed Amoret, 
 
 And led her by the coy resisting hand 
 
 From sovran Cytherea's priestess-band. 
 
 And much she marvelled how such things might be ; 
 
 " And such things are," she thought, " this very day. 
 But Heaven in grace has left me fancy-free, 
 
 And this is well ; and /te is gone away : 
 My father now must analyse alone 
 Those blotches on die shield of valiant Joan." 
 
 But, as the days and weeks and months went on. 
 Less calm she grew ; more anxious to believe 
 
 That she was happier since the youth had gone. 
 That she was no fond simple girl, to grieve 
 
 For a mere fantasy ; but ne'ertheless 
 
 She oft forgot her reasoned happiness. 
 
THE STORY OF CLARICE. 107 
 
 And having no one else to think about, 
 
 She thought of Wilfred ; seemed to see him, hear 
 
 Him speak : and his successor was a lout 
 Who made that inward vision doubly clear ; 
 
 For slow he was of speech, and dull of eye, 
 
 And short, and round, and rubicund, and shy. 
 
 In study and in dreams, one long year passed : 
 The house seemed shadowed by some direful ban 
 
 For every day was lonelier than the last. 
 Each book the dullest ever writ by man : 
 
 Clarice had half begun to doubt her boast, 
 
 When — a three-volume novel came by post ! 
 
 She knew the writing — rapid, firm, and fine ; 
 
 She looked within — and there was Wilfred's name- 
 The letters rose and danced along the line. 
 
 Mocking her quivering lips and cheeks aflame : 
 This was his book, his voice, his heart ; she sighed. 
 And turned the leaves with a sad thrill of pride. 
 
 'Twas the first novel she had ever read — 
 Think of it, Mudie's votaries and Smith's ! 
 
 Ambrosially her sky-born soul was fed 
 On the sun's poetry in old-world myths. 
 
 But never knew what wealth of weed and flower 
 
 His tireless beams engender hour by hour. 
 
io8 THE STORY OF CLARICE. 
 
 And Wilfred's heroine was a maiden queen 
 Like Clarice, bred on such Olympian food : 
 
 Surely she saw her own transfigured mien — 
 "But no," she thought, " for I am not so good, 
 
 So fair — some other's portrait this must be, 
 
 And her he loves, and has forgotten me." 
 
 She read with pain and pleasure ; now she pored. 
 Jealously, o'er some page with passion fraught, 
 
 And wondered what fair Goddess he adored ; 
 
 Now, her heart sprang to meet some bright-clad thought : 
 
 For thoughts there were, rich ears of harvest-gold. 
 
 Not choked with tares and poppies, as of old. 
 
 Not one day thus she pored, but many days ; 
 
 She knew the volumes three almost by heart. 
 She lived in the book's life, thought in its phrase. 
 
 And so for weeks she conned and mused apart ; 
 Till, as it chanced, one afternoon there came 
 A visitor of antiquarian fame. 
 
 A blear-eyed bookworm ; yet he was a shade 
 More human than her father ; he had penned 
 
 Stout vindications of the slandered Maid 
 Of Orleans, till he half estranged his friend : 
 
 He took the scutcheon of that virgin knight. 
 
 And either whitewashed, or else washed it white. 
 
THE STORY OF CLARICE. 109 
 
 Now the pair sat and argued ; but at last 
 
 The visitor, right glad to end the strife 
 When Clarice entered, left the angry Past, 
 
 And stooped to safer themes of modern life ; 
 Of dynamite he spoke, and what could ail 
 The Irish ; then of books — of Wilfred's tale. 
 
 " The book is good — or rather, not so bad 
 As one might augur from its great success ; 
 
 You know the young romancer — it is sad 
 
 When budding brains are doomed to idleness ; 
 
 For he is ill — they say, in doubtful case. 
 
 Alone, in lodgings," — and he named the place. 
 
 Poor Clarice stole away ; the old man's words 
 
 Chilled her like death -, she saw the sun grow dim ; 
 
 And like the fluttering of imprisoned birds 
 She felt wild pulses throb in every limb : 
 
 To a dull corner of her room she crept, 
 
 And there, till night was black, she crouched and wept. 
 
 But in the midnight watches she began. 
 
 Thinking of his pain, to forget her own ; 
 And all her strenuous soul was bent to plan 
 
 How she might aid him ; for that word — "Alone," 
 Rang in her ears ; she knew, as ne'er before, 
 The load of bitter meaning that it bore. 
 
THE STORY OF CLARICE, 
 
 Pure innocence — what counsellor is worse ? — 
 Guided and guarded her in all she did ; 
 
 She had no friend, not even an old nurse, 
 To tell her what was lawful, what forbid ; 
 
 And so resolved — lacking such nurse or friend — 
 
 That Wilfred she must seek, and watch, and tend. 
 
 Then Clarice slept, and dreamed that AMlfred's book 
 Became a world ; its chapters palaces ; 
 
 And she its Goddess : but an earthquake shook 
 The domes of light and rainbow terraces : 
 
 The miraged earth engulphed its phantom race. 
 
 And left its two Immortals face to face. 
 
( III ) 
 
 III. 
 
 " How lightly men can love, how soon forget ! " 
 I said — yet some there be not false or fickle : 
 
 For one, the blind god wings an arrowlet 
 
 No deadlier pointed than a sweetbriar prickle ; 
 
 For one, a dart fledged with Tartarean flame, 
 
 Barbed, venomed, and thrice cursed in Hecate's name. 
 
 Neither the rose-thorn nor the poisoned arrow 
 Was sped for Wilfred — but a keen-tipped shaft. 
 
 That rankled deep, yet pierced not bone and marrow. 
 And still he dined, debated, jested, laughed ; 
 
 The while his heart was like a tooth, whose fang 
 
 Aches with dull woe, or with fierce throbbing pang. 
 
 For one bright image lived before his eyes ; 
 
 Where'er he moved, the haunting shape was there : 
 And long he pondered what rich sacrifice 
 
 Could win its beauty ; till the vision fair. 
 As saint from heaven instructs an eremite. 
 Taught her sad thrall to worship her aright. 
 
112 THE STORY OF CLARICE, 
 
 She made herself the centre of a world 
 
 Peopled with gracious phantoms indistinct ; 
 
 But, as he gazed, a golden mist upfurled,- 
 
 And all was clearly shaped, and brightly tinct : 
 
 How could he choose but chronicle from far 
 
 The story of that new-created star ? 
 
 And thus he dreamed and wrote, until his dream 
 Was all set forth in fine-writ manuscript ; 
 
 He felt, at the last page of the last ream, 
 As though in some great argosy he shipped 
 
 His wealth ; not with the trader's avarice keen, 
 
 But as the hard-won ransom of a queen. 
 
 And the book prospered wheresoe'er it went ; 
 
 Much fame had Wilfred, and a little gold, 
 Yet thought of the one copy that he sent 
 
 To Clarice, more than of the hundreds sold ; 
 And for her smile, had been content to lose 
 Even the most nectareous of reviews. 
 
 'Tis sweet, in truth, to feel oneself a god 
 Shaping with words a spirit-universe. 
 
 Touching to various life the formless clod. 
 Winning fresh glory e'en from Fate perverse. 
 
 That foe to plans divine and human toils, 
 
 WTiich like a snake in every Eden coils. 
 
THE STORY OF CLARICE. 
 
 Such deities are mortal ; and when these, 
 As once their sire Apollo, love in vain. 
 
 And grant the willing mind no hour of ease. 
 
 But still toward high achievement strive and strain. 
 
 What marvel if the genial visage pales. 
 
 And the pulse languishes, and the strength fails ? 
 
 'Twas thus with Wilfred ; though the bookworm old 
 Had somewhat overdrawn his piteous plight. 
 
 Most truly might that learned man have told 
 Of many a torpid day and tossing night. 
 
 Filled with sick hope of one approving line 
 
 From Clarice — but there came no word or sign. 
 
 One cheerless afternoon, upon his couch 
 
 Brooding he lay ; there came a tap — the door 
 
 Soft-opened — sure his dazzled eyes could vouch 
 That the fair image kept in his heart's core 
 
 They saw; come haply as a cruel wraith. 
 
 With cold ethereal gifts to mock his faith. 
 
 The maiden entered ; the dim light aslant 
 
 On his pale face, constrained her like a charm ; 
 
 She felt and seemed a spectral visitant 
 Of one in mortal straits : on languid arm 
 
 He raised himself, with an uncertain cry 
 
 Of " Clarice ! " and sank backward wearily. 
 
114 THE STORY OF CLARICE. 
 
 Then all the wifehood and the motherhood 
 That in her virgin heart close-hidden lay 
 
 Sprang forth ; the voice of her quick-pulsing blood 
 Rebuked her coming, and yet murmured " Stay ! " 
 
 She stood there an Olympian goddess mute 
 
 And blushing, with soft eyes irresolute. 
 
 At last she spoke — " Forgive me ! but I knew 
 That you were ill, alone — and I am come 
 
 With fruit and medicines — if I weary you. 
 
 Tell me, and bid me go " — here she grew dumb, 
 
 And cold, and faint, and all her thoughts forgot, 
 
 Because so wild he gazed, yet answered not. 
 
 He lay and watched her timid attitudes. 
 
 The rosy colour mantling in her cheek, 
 Her faltering phrases, with brief interludes 
 
 Of sighs ; he watched, and did not stir or speak : 
 But when, like one who in strange peril stands. 
 She tottered, grew death-pale, flung out her hands, 
 
 He rose with desperate hunger in his face. 
 
 Clasped her with arms that trembled as they strained. 
 
 Kissed the fair head that bent to his embrace, 
 The lily cheeks, the eyelids violet-veined ; 
 
 And held her long, although she faintly strove 
 
 To free herself, in very fear of love. 
 
THE STORY OF CLARICE. 115 
 
 She did not know the feehng of a kiss, 
 
 Except her father's — which had not been warm — 
 
 And now she shrank and shuddered from her bhss, 
 E'en as a thirsting wretch before the storm 
 
 Of wind and rain, that must renew his hfe, 
 
 Unless he die in the tumultuous strife. 
 
 At length he half-released her — " Sweet," he said, 
 " This is my fruit, my medicine ; were I blind 
 
 Now must I see — must live, if I were dead ; 
 
 You are my breath, my pulse, my inmost mind ; 
 
 Music you are, whose mournfulness and mirth 
 
 Reveal the Will of this phantasmal Earth." 
 
 She blushed at his remembrance of that page 
 In Schopenhauer — " Ah forgive ! " she cried — 
 
 " I was a tame-bred goldfinch in its cage. 
 Not knowing that the world is all outside ; 
 
 Yet such poor birds will beat the bars, and sing 
 
 Of hope, and build an idle nest in Spring." 
 
 " Yet nay," he smiled, " you are Olympian-born, 
 You are Egeria's self, the nymph who blest 
 
 Rome's king with laws from Heaven ; that gloomy morn 
 When I arose from nightmare-laden rest 
 
 A banished man, you sent your sprite divine, 
 
 That pitying led me to the fountain-shrine." 
 
ii6 THE STORY OF CLARICE. 
 
 What more fond vows they uttered — how they planned 
 The future's wedded joy — I need not tell, 
 
 For every love-taught soul will understand ; 
 
 Nor how, when twilight came, they broke the spell 
 
 Reluctantly, that Clarice home might haste, 
 
 Yet once again, and still once more embraced. 
 
 That night she dreamed that over fertile ground 
 And blossomed herbage the two lovers trod ; 
 
 The air was filled with an ^olian sound 
 That sang of secret life beneath the sod. 
 
 And all pure fragrances of flower and fruit 
 
 Lived in the music of that fitful lute. 
 
 Of couching flocks it chanted ; of the bird 
 
 Nested in shade ; of all things that have breath ; 
 
 Of human fate ; and still entranced they heard. 
 And knew the harmonies of Birth and Death : 
 
 Till downward flowed the dream, and bore her deep 
 
 Into the dark unhaunted caves of Sleep. 
 
RESIPISCENTTA, Etc. 
 
( 119 ) 
 
 RESIPISCENTIA, 
 
 '' Ye must be horn again.'" 
 
 First Voice. 
 
 Good morrow, comrade ! Whence that look elate ? 
 
 Where are thy sins and fears, a mocking host ? 
 One week ago, thou wast as I, who hate 
 
 Both day and night — day most. 
 
 Second Voice. 
 
 Glad tidings of great joy ! that host is gone ! 
 
 I prayed to Christ an unbelieving prayer, 
 Half blasphemous, half mad — but straight there shone 
 
 Into my soul's despair 
 
 A strange, pure light — then on my brow I felt 
 A healing hand, and on my sleepless eyes ; 
 
 Till, knowing nothing, feeling all, I knelt. 
 And with deep groans and sighs 
 
RESIPISCENTIA. 
 
 Yielded to Christ my soul, its secret need, 
 Its woe, its doubt, its dread, its self-disdain, 
 
 Its myriad petty sins, that grow and breed. 
 And, mob-like, rule the brain. 
 
 All these he took away — he made me yield 
 The last regret, the lingering sense of wrong ; 
 
 I am as one from year-long tortures healed. 
 Made sound, and hale, and strong — 
 
 Who every morning feels a sweet new joy 
 
 Because he wakes without the accustomed pain ; 
 
 Who runs and leaps more lightly than a boy, 
 Having been born again 
 
 Into a long-forgotten world of health, 
 
 Where he may woo bright eyes, nor need to fear 
 That but in pity or in lust of wealth 
 
 They feign to hold him dear. 
 
 Where he with other men may strain and strive — 
 To win he scarcely craves — let it suffice 
 
 That heart, brain, limbs, so bounteously alive 
 Are his full Paradise. 
 
RESIPISCENTIA. 121 
 
 Oh come and taste and see what virtues lie 
 In this EUxir that has made me whole— 
 
 Though thou be sick to death, thou shalt not die — 
 Repent, and heal thy soul ! 
 
 First Voice. 
 
 Brave words, my friend— I do not grudge thy mirth 
 Though life be one remorse, I yet endure. 
 
 Well knowing there be ills upon this earth 
 Which have not any cure. 
 
 Thou hast been lame awhile, and now canst run ; 
 
 Awhile thou hast been blind, but seest now : 
 Go, leap and praise thy God for strength new-won— 
 
 But I am not as thou. 
 
 Pain comes of sudden hurt or slow disease ; 
 
 Break thou a bone, the surgeon sets it well — 
 But show him leprous sores — will he cure these ? 
 
 Alas, thou canst not tell. 
 
RESIPISCENTIA. 
 
 Life as it is, and must be, and has been 
 No piecemeal penitence can show aright, 
 
 Deeming the one part foul, the other clean, 
 Here black, and there snow-white. 
 
 That this day week, I left my task unwrought ; 
 
 That yesterday, I said not what I meant ; 
 That one hour since, I grossly sinned in thought- 
 
 Not thus do I repent. 
 
 Nor do I lay a finger on my shame. 
 
 Calling this nerve, that muscle, falsely built ; 
 
 I can but say — " This Self, this physical frame, 
 Is one incarnate Guilt." 
 
 Could I believe thy glorious Gospel true, 
 That were no cure for this organic ill : 
 
 Can Christ unweave my tissues, mould anew 
 The matrix of my will ? 
 
 My grief has no beginning and no end ; 
 
 I do repent of antenatal sin, 
 Whose poisoning juices thread my veins, and blend 
 
 With the fresh life within. 
 
RESIPISCENTIA. it 
 
 That in my blood this virus I must keep 
 
 To-morrow, next week, next month, all my years, 
 
 Until my day of death — for this I weep 
 With ignominious tears. 
 
 Third Voice. 
 
 Nay, hope is thine ! Who chants this grim complaint 
 Has steadfast heart, free mind, and insight keen ; 
 
 Such man may purge away the leprous taint 
 While yet he cries " Unclean ! " 
 
 Daily thy tissues die — are born afresh 
 Daily, not moving thee to joy or dole ; 
 
 Yet all the slow mutations of thy flesh 
 Gently transmute thy soul. 
 
 Go, live in hope and labour, fearing nought ; 
 
 Starve the foul germs of hate, and lust, and greed 
 Force day by day thy brain to patient thought, 
 
 Thy hand to earnest deed. 
 
124 RESIPISCENTIA. 
 
 Long were the darkling months before thy birth, 
 Long years regenerate a frame defiled : 
 
 It may be thou shalt enter heaven on earth 
 Clean as a pure-born child. 
 
125 ) 
 
 THE RECLUSE. 
 
 ' Heu ! Quanta minus est cum reliquis versari, qiiam tui meminisse! 
 
 Having known Love, all its unmeasured heights, 
 All its unfathomed depths, I go my way, 
 
 In full content that these supreme delights 
 Come not, like meaner pleasures, day by day. 
 
 Such lesser joys I yielded with few tears, 
 
 Reserving nought, paying Love's perfect price : 
 
 Shall I bewail my thirty desert years, 
 
 I, who have lived three days in Paradise ? 
 
 Nay, smile not, friend ! I know not which is best. 
 Plucked rosebud, or remembered asphodel, 
 
 A mortal wife, or an Olympian guest : 
 
 Well hast thou chosen ; but I, too, chose well. 
 
( 126 ) 
 
 LOVE'S MIRROR. 
 
 I LIVE with love encompassed round, 
 And glowing light that is not mine, 
 And yet am sad ; for, truth to tell, 
 It is not I you love so well ; 
 Some fair Immortal, robed and crowned. 
 You hold within your heart's dear shrine. 
 
 Cast out the Goddess ! let me in ; 
 Faulty I am, yet all your own, 
 But this bright phantom you enthrone 
 
 Is such as mortal may not win. 
 
 And yet this beauty that you see 
 Is like to mine, though nobler far ; 
 
 Your radiant guest resembles me 
 E'en as the sun is like a star. 
 
 Then keep her in your heart of hearts, 
 And let me look upon her face, 
 And learn of that transcendent grace, 
 
 Till all my meaner self departs. 
 
LOVE'S MIRROR. 127 
 
 And, while I love you more and more, 
 My spirit, gazing on the hght. 
 Becomes, in loveliness and might, 
 
 The glorious Vision you adore. 
 
( 128 ) 
 
 FRIENDSHIP. 
 
 The human soul that crieth at thy gates, 
 
 Of man or woman, alien or akin, 
 'Tis thine own Self that for admission waits — 
 Rise, let it in. 
 
 Bid not thy guest but sojourn and depart. 
 Keep him, if so it may be, till the end. 
 If thou have strength and purity of heart 
 To be his friend. 
 
 Not only, at bright morn, to wake his mind 
 
 With noble thoughts, and send him forth with 
 song. 
 Nor only, when night falls, his wounds to bind ; 
 But all day long 
 
 To help with love, with labour, and with lore. 
 
 To triumph when, by others' aid, he wins, 
 To carry all his sorrows, and yet more — 
 To bear his sins ; 
 
FRIENDSHIP. 129 
 
 To keep a second conscience in thine own, 
 
 Which suffers wound on wound, yet strongly Uves, 
 Which takes no bribe of tender look or tone, 
 And yet forgives. 
 
 But, should some mortal vileness blast with death 
 Thy love for comrade, leader, kinsman, wife — 
 Seek no elixir to restore false breath, 
 And loathsome life. 
 
 Thy love is slain — thou canst not make it whole 
 With all thy store of wdne, and oil, and bread : 
 Some passions are but flesh — thine had a soul. 
 And that is dead. 
 
( I30 ) 
 
 CHRIST, THE NAZARENE. 
 
 The copyist group was gathered round 
 A time-worn fresco, world-renowned, 
 Whose central glory once had been 
 The face of Christ, the Nazarene. 
 
 And every copyist of the crowd 
 With his own soul that face endowed. 
 Gentle, severe, majestic, mean ; 
 But which was Christ, the Nazarene ? 
 
 Then one who watched them made complaint, 
 And marvelled, saying, " Wherefore paint 
 Till ye be sure your eyes have seen 
 The face of Christ, the Nazarene ? " 
 
( 131 ) 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Think not I roam afield 
 
 With heart untrue ; 
 ,The gifts my rambles yield 
 Are all for you. 
 
 The bird must leave her nest 
 
 And fledglings five, 
 The honey-bee must rest 
 
 Far from her hive. 
 
 New regions I explore 
 While day is bright ; 
 
 My heart, with richer store. 
 Goes home at night. 
 
( 132 ) 
 
 TIME AND LOVE. 
 
 Time hobbles, but Love flies ; 
 One moment, say the wise, 
 
 They pass together : 
 Not Cupid's curls of gold 
 But Time's grey forelock hold, 
 
 A trusty tether. 
 
 For Time, once safely caught. 
 Is servant to your thought 
 
 For ever after ; 
 But wanton Love will snip 
 The curl you hold, and trip 
 
 Away with laughter. 
 
 Yet if my hint you heed. 
 With all his craft and speed, 
 
 He ne'er shall flout you : 
 Catch Cupid by the wing, 
 For then he cannot spring 
 
 To Heaven without you. 
 
EVOLUTIONAL EROTICS, 
 
( 135 ) 
 
 SCIENTIFIC WOOING. 
 
 I WAS a youth of studious mind, 
 Fair Science was my mistress kind, 
 
 And held me with attraction chemic • 
 No germs of Love attacked my heart, 
 Secured as by Pasteurian art 
 
 Against that fatal epidemic. 
 
 For when my daily task was o'er 
 I dreamed of H^SO^, 
 
 While stealing through my slumbers placid 
 Came Iodine, with violet fumes. 
 And Sulphur, with its yellow blooms, 
 
 And whiffs of Hydrochloric Acid. 
 
 My daily visions, thoughts, and schemes 
 With wildest hope illumed my dreams, 
 
 The daring dreams of trustful twenty : 
 I might accomplish my desire. 
 And set the river Thames on fire 
 
 If but Potassium were in plenty ! 
 
[36 SCIENTIFIC WOOING. 
 
 Alas ! that yearnings so sublime 
 Should all be blasted in their prime 
 
 By hazel eyes and lips vermilion ! 
 Ye gods ! restore the halcyon days 
 While yet I walked in Wisdom's ways, 
 
 And knew not Mary Maud Trevylyan ! 
 
 Yet nay ! the sacrilegious prayer 
 Was not mine own, oh fairest fair ! 
 
 Thee, dear one, will I ever cherish ; 
 Thy worshipped image shall remain 
 In the grey thought-cells of my brain 
 
 Until their form and function perish. 
 
 Away with books, away with cram 
 For Intermediate Exam. ! 
 
 Away with every College duty ! 
 Though once Agnostic to the core 
 A virgin Saint I now adore, 
 
 And swear belief in Love and Beauty. 
 
 Yet when I meet her tranquil gaze, 
 I dare not plead, I dare not praise, 
 
 Like other men with other lasses ; 
 She's never kind, she's never coy, 
 She treats me simply as a boy, 
 
 And asks me how I like my classes I 
 
SCIENTIFIC WOOING. 137 
 
 I covet not her golden dower — 
 Yet surely Love's attractive power 
 
 Directly as the mass must vary — 
 But ah ! inversely as the square 
 Of distance ! shall I ever dare 
 
 To cross the gulf, and gain my Mary ? 
 
 So chill she seems — and yet she might 
 Welcome with radiant heat and light 
 
 My courtship, if I once began it ; 
 For is not e'en the palest star 
 That gleams so coldly from afar 
 
 A sun to some revolving planet ? 
 
 My Mary ! be a solar sphere ! 
 Envy no comet's mad career. 
 
 No arid, airless lunar crescent ! 
 Oh for a spectroscope to show 
 That in thy gentle eyes doth glow 
 
 Love's vapour, pure and incandescent ! 
 
 Bright fancy ! can I fail to please 
 If with similitudes like these 
 
 I lure the maid to sweet communion ? 
 My suit, with Optics well begun, 
 By Magnetism shall be won. 
 
 And closed at last in Chemic union ! 
 
138 SCIENTIFIC WOOING. 
 
 At this I'll aim, for this I'll toil, 
 And this I'll reach— I will, by Boyle, 
 
 By Avogadro, and by Davy ! 
 When every science lends a trope 
 To feed my love, to fire my hope, 
 
 Her maiden pride must cry " Peccavi ! " 
 
 I'll sing a deep Darwinian lay 
 Of little birds with plumage gay. 
 
 Who solved by courtship Life's enigma ; 
 111 teach her how the wild-flowers love. 
 And why the trembling stamens move. 
 
 And how the anthers kiss the stigma. 
 
 Or Mathematically true 
 
 With rigorous Logic will I woo, 
 
 And not a word 111 say at random ; 
 Till urged by Syllogistic stress. 
 She falter forth a tearful "Yes," 
 
 A sweet " Quod erat demonstrandum! " 
 
( 139 ) 
 
 THE NEW ORTHODOXY. 
 
 So, dear Fred, you're not content 
 Though I quote the books you lent, 
 And I've kept that spray you sent 
 
 Of the milk-white heather ; 
 For you fear I'm too " advanced " 
 To remember all that chanced 
 In the old days, when we danced, 
 
 Walked, and rode together. 
 
 Trust me, Fred, beneath the curls 
 Of the most " advanced " of girls, 
 Many a foolish fancy whirls, 
 
 Bidding Fact defiance. 
 And the simplest village maid 
 Needs not to be much afraid 
 Of her sister, sage and staid, 
 
 Bachelor of Science. 
 
I40 THE NEW ORTHODOXY. 
 
 Ah ! while yet our hope was new 
 Guardians thought 'twould never do 
 That Sir Frederick's heir should woo 
 
 Little Amy Merton : 
 So the budding joy they snatched 
 From our hearts, so meetly matched, 
 You to Oxford they despatched. 
 
 Me they sent to Girton. 
 
 Were the vows all writ in dust ? 
 No — you're one-and-twenty — just — 
 And you write — " We will, we must 
 
 Now, at once, be married ! " 
 Nay, you plan the wedding trip ! 
 Softly, sir ! there's many a slip 
 Ere the goblet to the lip 
 
 Finally is carried. 
 
 Oh, the wicked tales I hear ! 
 Not that you at Ruskin jeer, 
 Nor that at Carlyle you sneer, 
 
 With his growls dyspeptic : 
 But that, having read in vain 
 Huxley, Tyndall, Clifford, Bain, 
 All the scientific train — 
 
 You're a hardened sceptic ! 
 
THE NEW ORTHODOXY. 141 
 
 Things with fin, and claw, and hoof 
 Join to give us perfect proof 
 That our being's warp and woof 
 
 We from near and far win ; 
 Yet your flippant doubts you vaunt, 
 And — to please a maiden aunt — 
 You've been heard to say you can't 
 
 Pin your faith to Darwin ! 
 
 Then you jest, because Laplace 
 Said this Earth was nought but gas 
 Till the vast rotating mass 
 
 Denser grew and denser : 
 Something worse they whisper too, 
 But I'm sure it can'f be true — 
 For they tell me, Fred, that you 
 
 Scoff at Herbert Spencer ! 
 
 Write — or telegraph — or call ! 
 Come yourself and tell me all : 
 No fond hope shall me enthrall, 
 
 No regret shall sway me : 
 Yet — until the worst is said, 
 Till I know your faith is dead, 
 I remain, dear doubting Fred, 
 
 Your believing 
 
 Amy. 
 
( 142 ) 
 
 NATURAL SELECTION. 
 
 I HAD found out a gift for my fair, 
 
 I had found where the cave-men were laid 
 
 Skull, femur, and pelvis were there. 
 And spears, that of silex they made. 
 
 But he ne'er could be true, she averred. 
 Who would dig up an ancestor's grave — 
 
 And I loved her the more when I heard 
 Such filial regard for the Cave. 
 
 My shelves, they are furnished with stones 
 All sorted and labelled with care, 
 
 And a splendid collection of bones. 
 Each one of them ancient and rare ; 
 
 One would think she might like to retire 
 To my study — she calls it a " hole ! " 
 
 Not a fossil I heard her admire. 
 
 But I begged it, or borrowed, or stole. 
 
NATURAL SELECTION. 143 
 
 But there comes an idealess lad, 
 
 With a strut, and a stare, and a smirk ; 
 
 And I watch, scientific though sad, 
 The Law of Selection at work. 
 
 Of Science he hasn't a trace. 
 
 He seeks not the How and the Why, 
 
 But he sings with an amateur's grace, 
 And he dances much better than I. 
 
 And we know the more dandified males 
 By dance and by song win their wives — 
 
 'Tis a law that with Aves prevails, 
 And even in Homo survives. 
 
 Shall I rage as they whirl in the valse ? 
 
 Shall I sneer as they carol and coo ? 
 Ah no ! for since Chloe is false, 
 
 I'm certain that Darwin is true ! 
 
( 144 ) 
 
 SOLOMON REDIVIVUS, 1886. 
 
 What am I ? Ah, you know it, 
 
 I am the modern Sage, 
 Seer, savant, merchant, poet — 
 
 I am, in brief, the Age. 
 
 Look not upon my glory 
 Of gold and sandal-wood, 
 
 But sit and hear a story 
 
 From Darwin and from Buddh. 
 
 Count not my Indian treasures. 
 All wrought in curious shapes, 
 
 My labours and my pleasures. 
 My peacocks and my apes ; 
 
 For when you ask me riddles, 
 And when I answer each, 
 
 Until my fifes and fiddles 
 
 Burst in and drown our speech, 
 
SOLOMON REDIVIVUS. 145 
 
 Oh then your soul astonished 
 Must surely faint and fail, 
 
 Unless, by me admonished, 
 You hear our wondrous tale. 
 
 We were a soft Amoeba 
 In ages past and gone, 
 
 Ere you were Queen of Sheba, 
 And I King Solomon. 
 
 Unorganed, undivided. 
 We lived in happy sloth. 
 
 And all that you did I did, 
 One dinner nourished both 
 
 Till you incurred the odium 
 Of fission and divorce — 
 
 A severed pseudopodium 
 
 You strayed your lonely course. 
 
 When next we met together 
 
 Our cycles to fulfil. 
 Each was a bag of leather, 
 
 With stomach and with gill. 
 
146 SOLOMON REDIVIVUS. 
 
 But our Ascidian morals 
 
 Recalled that old mischance, 
 
 And we avoided quarrels 
 By separate maintenance. 
 
 Long ages passed — our wishes 
 Were fetterless and free, 
 
 For we were jolly fishes, 
 A-swimming in the sea. 
 
 We roamed by groves of coral, 
 We watched the youngsters play- 
 
 The memory and the moral 
 Had vanished quite away. 
 
 Next, each became a reptile, 
 With fangs to sting and slay 
 
 No wiser ever crept, I'll 
 Assert, deny who may. 
 
 But now, disdaining trammels 
 Of scale and limbless coil, 
 
 Through every grade of mammals 
 We passed with upward toil. 
 
SOLOMON REDIVIVUS. I47 
 
 Till, anthropoid and wary 
 
 Appeared the parent ape, 
 And soon we grew less hairy, 
 
 And soon began to drape. 
 
 So, from that soft Amoeba, 
 
 In ages past and gone. 
 You've grown the Queen of Sheba, 
 
 And I, King Solomon. 
 
SONNETS. 
 
HELOISE. 
 
 L 
 Bride. 
 
 Come in my dreams, beloved ! though thou seem 
 Less kind, less noble, than by truthful day ; 
 Even in sleep my heart has strength to say — 
 
 " His love is changeless — this is but a dream : " 
 
 Yet rather come at sunrise, with the beam 
 
 Of thought renewed ; and still, when eve is grey. 
 Inspire me, as I tread my lonely way, 
 
 With thine own dauntless will and hope supreme. 
 
 Ah, let me die, ere meaner moods have power 
 To dim these glories that within me shine ! 
 
 Give me black night or this unclouded sun, 
 
 Swift death or life immortal, in that hour 
 
 When all my soul is filled and fired with thine. 
 
 When thou and I are equal, being one. 
 
152 HELOISE. 
 
 11. 
 
 Nun. 
 
 This is the doom I must henceforth fulfil : 
 
 To hide my heart through days, and months, and years 
 To look in anxious eyes, and lull their fears ; 
 
 To lose all hope, and strive with joyless will ; 
 
 To sing and pray, scarce knowing good from ill ; 
 To hear stale converse, as an idiot hears ; 
 To tread the cloistered courts with burning tears, 
 
 Forced backward to their fount, yet rising still. 
 
 Nay, there is comfort ! E'en the sick may smile, 
 Knowing for pain a swift and gentle cure ; 
 
 I can be patient, and can wait awhile, 
 
 Nor curse the heedless heavens with moaning breath : 
 Though for a night my weeping may endure, 
 
 Joy comes with morn — that joy, whose name is Death. 
 
HELOISE. 153 
 
 III. 
 
 Abbess. 
 
 Sweet is life's crown of quiet ; sweet is age, 
 With tranquil days, unmarred by joy or dole, 
 Void of desire, save that with just control 
 
 I may administer Christ's heritage : 
 
 Long since he heard my vow, the heartless gage 
 
 Not spurning ; took my tear-stained, love-writ scroll. 
 And words of strength and healing for the soul 
 
 Wrote with his own heart's blood across the page. 
 
 Passion is all forgotten, pain is fled : 
 
 Yet oft, 'mid idle phantoms of the mind. 
 Returns my earUer Self, with scornful eyes, 
 Saying — " Thou deemest age hath made thee wise, 
 And knowest not that thou art deaf, and blind, 
 And palsied. Live in peace ; for I am dead." 
 
( 154 ) 
 
 HERCULES. 
 
 This fruitage from the far Hesperides 
 
 I bring to great Eurystheus, feared and hated, 
 Whom I, his slave, nor hate nor fear ; my fated. 
 
 My full reward, he has no power to seize. 
 
 Nor is it bought with golden gauds like these ; 
 I seek supreme delights, untold, undated ; 
 Of joys wherew^ith these kings of men are sated 
 
 Right little recks the Jove-born Hercules. 
 
 I live content to bear my destined burden, 
 
 To toil unthanked, unhonoured, void of guerdon, 
 
 To work a tyrant's will through lonely years ; 
 That, neither shunning pain nor scorning pleasure, 
 My strenuous soul may win Olympian leisure, 
 
 And dwell in peace among the Gods, my peers. 
 
( 155 ) 
 
 PROMETHEUS AND PANDORA. 
 
 These pangs I bear through Hngering centuries 
 
 For slavish Man, in pity and in scorn ; 
 
 Glad, while by birds of Jove my breast is torn 
 Till sunset, that I spurned his luring prize : 
 Yet when she came, that queen with jacinth eyes 
 
 August yet changeful, like the sea at morn, 
 
 I could have triumphed that mine Earth had borne 
 A creature fashioned in such glorious wise. 
 
 Nay ! but my will were firm, though Heaven should give 
 
 A Goddess pure. One only gift I seek, 
 Freedom for Man ; or, this renounced, I live 
 Self-sentenced to mine own immortal hate : 
 
 Better the rock, the chain, the eagle's beak, 
 And this fulfilment of my chosen fate. 
 
( 156 ) 
 
 THE NEBULAR THEORY. 
 
 This is the genesis of Heaven and Earth. 
 In the beginning was a formless mist 
 Of atoms isolate, void of life ; none wist 
 Aught of its neighbour atom, nor any mirth, 
 Nor woe, save its own vibrant pang of dearth ; 
 Until a cosmic motion breathed and hissed 
 And blazed through the black silence ; atoms kissed, 
 Clinging and clustering, with fierce throbs of birth, 
 And raptures of keen torment, such as stings 
 
 Demons who wed in Tophet ; the night swarmed 
 With ringed fiery clouds, in glowing gyres 
 Rotating : aeons passed : the encircHng rings 
 Split into satellites ; the central fires 
 Froze into suns ; and thus the world was formed. 
 
( 157 ) 
 
 THE PESSIMIST'S VISION. 
 
 I DREAMED, and saw a modern Hell, more dread 
 Than Dante's pageant ; not with gloom and glare, 
 But all new forms of madness and despair 
 
 Filled it with complex tortures, some Earth-bred, 
 
 Some born in Hell : eternally full-fed 
 
 Ghosts of all foul disease-germs thronged the air : 
 x\nd as with trembling feet I entered there, 
 
 A Demon barred the way, and mocking said — 
 
 " Through our dim vales and gulfs thou need'st not rove ; 
 From thine own Earth and from its happiest lot 
 Thy lust for pain may draw full nourishment, 
 With poignant spice of passion ; knowest thou not 
 Fiends wed for hate as mortals wed for love, 
 
 Yet find not much more anguish ? Be content." 
 
( 158 ) 
 
 THE GIFT. 
 
 From Paradise there came, one Mayticle morn, 
 An Almoner of love, with gifts divine : 
 To some he brought rich draughts of magic wine 
 
 To some, who laboured in their fields forlorn. 
 
 Sweet showers and sunbeams for the springing corn 
 Then me he called, with gracious word and sign. 
 But when I looked what bounty should be mine. 
 
 One fire-bright drop he gave me, as in scorn. 
 
 " Angel ! to these thou givest present mirth. 
 To those, the promise of a golden crop 
 
 In Autumn ; was my hope so little worth ? " 
 
 Smiling, the Angel answered — " Share and prove 
 Their joy, if so thou wilt — in that one drop 
 
 Thou hast the life and quintessence of Love." 
 
( 159 ) 
 
 ANDREW MARVELL'S "DEFINITION 
 OF LOVE." 
 
 ' ' My love is of a birth as rare 
 As 'tis for object strange and high, 
 It was begotten of Despair 
 Upon Impossibihty." 
 
 Love sought me — not the bhnd god infantine, 
 But Love with lucent eyes and pensive brow ; 
 And as I mused with what adoring vow 
 
 I should accost that visitant divine, 
 
 He said, " Think but a thought and I am thine, 
 Exalting thee to heavenly heights, which thou 
 Without me canst not reach ; yet ponder now, 
 
 Nor rashly to my power thy life resign ; 
 
 For never will I grant thy full desire. 
 
 But will transpierce thy heart with many a wound, 
 
 And in the end will leave thee sorrowing." 
 Then said I — " Though thy voice be sternly tuned, 
 Though still thou feed, and ne'er assuage, my fire, 
 Yet I rejoice, and take thee for my King." 
 
( i6o ) 
 
 POET AND BOTANIST. 
 
 Fair are the bells of this bright-flowering weed ; 
 Nectar and pollen treasuries, where grope 
 Innocent thieves ; the Poet lets them ope 
 
 And bloom, and wither, leaving fruit and seed 
 
 To ripen ; but the Botanist will speed 
 To win the secret of the blossom's hope, 
 And with his cruel knife and microscope 
 
 Reveal the embryo life, too early freed. 
 
 Yet the mild Poet can be ruthless too. 
 
 Crushing the tender leaves to work a spell 
 Of love or fame ; the record of the bud 
 He will not seek, but only bids it tell 
 His thoughts, and render up its deepest hue 
 
 To tinge his verse as with his own heart's blood. 
 
( i6i ) 
 
 SCIENCE AND PHILOSOPHY. 
 
 We went a-begging for a nobler creed, 
 
 We craved the living bread and wine of thought, 
 That Eucharist, which is not sold or bought, 
 
 But freely given ; yet, did any heed, 
 
 'Twas but to offer pence, or bid us feed 
 From empty sacramental vessels, wrought 
 Of gold or brass ; we spent our prayers for nought. 
 
 Faint and athirst with spiritual need. 
 
 Then some brought grapes, and some brought corn and 
 yeast. 
 Plenteous and good ; yet still we murmured, " Give ! 
 This is scant fare when thirst and hunger cry : 
 Teach us to change our garner to a feast, 
 Preparing food by which the mind may live. 
 Perennial loaves, and flagons never dry." 
 
( i62 ) 
 
 THE DOUBLE RAINBOW. 
 
 I SAW the passions and desires of Man 
 Blent in a thousand-coloured arc of light, 
 A double rainbow ; but so jewel-bright 
 
 The scarf of Iris had been pale and wan 
 
 Beside it : not the torrent-bows that span 
 A river-fall at noon ; nor birds whose flight 
 Gleams ruby and gold ; nor columned chrysolite 
 
 In caves enchanted ; nought, since light began, 
 
 Could match its glories : but the inner arch 
 With Joy and Anguish too intensely burned 
 
 For eyes that love the cloudy robes of March 
 
 And April, and calm Autumn's golden dress : 
 Half-blinded, to the outer bow they turned, 
 
 Soft with remembered Grief and Happiness, 
 
( i63 ) 
 
 RECOMPENSE. 
 
 The wine-flushed monarch slept — but in his ear 
 
 An angel breathed — " Repent ; or choose the flame 
 Quenchless." In dread he woke, but not in shame. 
 
 Deep musing — "Sin I love, yet Hell I fear." 
 
 Wherefore he left his feasts, and minions dear, 
 And justly ruled, and died a saint in name. 
 But when his hasting spirit heavenward came 
 
 A stern Voice cried — " Oh Soul ! what dost thou here ? 
 
 " Love I forswore, and w4ne, and kept my vow 
 To live a just and joyless life, and now 
 
 I crave reward." The Voice came like a knell — 
 " Fool ! dost thou hope to find again thy mirth. 
 And those foul joys thou didst renounce on earth ? 
 
 Yea, enter in ! My Heaven shall be thy Hell ! 
 
TRANSLA TIONS. 
 
( i67 ) 
 
 IDEALS. 
 
 Fion the German of Schiller. 
 
 Ah faithless ! canst thou thus desert me, 
 
 With all fair thoughts and fancies gay, 
 With all thy joys, with all thy sorrows 
 
 Wilt thou unpitying haste away ? 
 Ah youthful prime of golden joyance, 
 
 Can nought delay thee, fleeting fast ? 
 In vain ! The river seeks the ocean, 
 
 Eternity engulphs the Past. 
 
 Quenched are the suns whose gladsome lustre 
 
 Athwart the road of youth was cast, 
 And banished all the fair Ideals 
 
 That fired the rapt enthusiast, 
 Dead is the faith in sweet illusions. 
 
 Beings, that in my dream had birth, 
 And reft away their god-like beauty 
 
 By rude realities of Earth. 
 
1 68 IDEALS. 
 
 As once, with ardent supplication 
 
 Pygmalion clasped the sculptured form, 
 Until the pale cold cheeks of marble 
 
 Flushed with emotion, bright and warm ; 
 So I, aflame with youthful passion, 
 
 Dead Nature to my bosom pressed. 
 Till she to breathe, to glow, to tremble, 
 
 Began upon my poet-breast ; 
 
 Till, kindling to my fiery impulse. 
 
 At last the Dumb her silence broke. 
 With answering love returned my kisses. 
 
 And understood my heart that spoke : 
 The tree, the flower, for me had voices. 
 
 For me the silver fount could sing ; 
 I felt my life's re-echoing music 
 
 Give soul to every senseless thing. 
 
 A universe of mighty yearning 
 
 Throbbed in my bosom's narrow bound, 
 To issue forth, to live incarnate, 
 
 In deed and word, in form and sound : 
 How great this world, how nobly fashioned, 
 
 While yet the bud contained it all ! 
 How few, alas ! the opened blossoms, 
 
 And even these, how weak and small ! 
 
IDEALS. 169 
 
 Oh how, on wings of dauntless courage, 
 
 All blissful in his dream of truth. 
 Not yet by any care embridled. 
 
 Forth on Life's journey sprang the youth ! 
 His soaring aspirations bore him 
 
 Even to Ether's palest star ; 
 For Hope, with strong untiring pinions, 
 
 Was nought too high and nought too far. 
 
 How lightly was he carried onward ! 
 
 What power could stay his glad advance ?• 
 How swift before Life's rolling chariot 
 
 His airy escort seemed to dance ! 
 For there was Love, with sweetest promise. 
 
 And there, with star-set crown, was Fame, 
 And Fortune with her golden chaplet, 
 
 And Truth all robed in sunlight came. 
 
 But ah ! those bright companions vanished 
 
 Ere half the destined course was run. 
 They turned away their faithless footsteps, 
 
 Till all had left me, one by one. 
 Away fled Fortune, nimbly speeding. 
 
 The thirst to Know was unallayed. 
 And meeting round Truth's sunbright image. 
 
 The storms of Doubt thick darkness made. 
 
I70 IDEALS. 
 
 I saw Fame's crown, of old so sacred, 
 
 Profaned upon a vulgar head ; 
 Too soon, alas, the short spring over. 
 
 The beauteous time of Love had fled ; 
 And every hour the silence deepened, 
 
 And lonelier grew the rugged way, 
 Till even Hope could scarcely lighten 
 
 Its shadows by one pallid ray. 
 
 But which of all that frolic escort 
 
 Cheered with her constant love my road- 
 Stays with me still, consoles, and follows — 
 
 Yes, even to the dark abode ? 
 Thou, gentle tender hand of Friendship, 
 
 Who all my sorest wounds hast bound, 
 With loving aid Life's burdens bearing, 
 
 Thou, whom I early sought and found, 
 
 And thou, who journeyest with her gladly. 
 
 Like her canst quell the spirit's storms ; 
 Diligent Work, who wearies never. 
 
 Nor ruins, slowly though she forms ; 
 Who in Eternity's vast fabric 
 
 But grain of sand on sand-grain rears. 
 Yet from the debt-roll of the ages, 
 
 Can strike out minutes, days, and years. 
 
( 171 ) 
 
 FRAGMENTS FROM FAUST. 
 
 I. 
 
 Mephistopheles on Logic. {Part /.) 
 
 Meph. Be careful of your time, so swiftly flies it, 
 But Order teaches how to utilise it. 
 And first, by my advice, dear friend. 
 Collegium logicum attend. 
 For there your mind is drilled and graced, 
 In Spanish boots 'tis tightly laced. 
 That now, with warier step, it may 
 Go plodding on in Thought's highway, 
 And not, mayhap, with zigzag light. 
 Go will-o'-the-wisping left and right. 
 And there they'll teach you, many a day, 
 That what you once did free and gay, 
 At one stroke, easy as eating and drinking. 
 Needs One ! Two ! Three ! — the right way of thinkim 
 In the manufactory of Thought, 
 Like a weaver's masterpiece 'tis wrought, 
 
172 FRAGMENTS FROM FAUST. 
 
 Where one jerk moves a thousand threads, 
 
 The shuttles go shooting over and under, 
 
 The threads flow unseen, entwined and asunder, 
 
 One stroke a thousand filaments weds. 
 
 Then the Philosopher, in comes he, 
 
 And clearly proves, so m?isf it be ; 
 
 The First was so, the Second so, 
 
 Therefore the Third and Fourth were so. 
 
 And had the First and Second not been, 
 
 The Third and Fourth you ne'er had seen. 
 
 The students on all sides call him clever. 
 
 But not a student becomes a weaver. 
 
 To know and describe a living whole 
 
 One first of all drives out the soul. 
 
 Handles the parts and loses none, 
 
 Save, alas ! the soul that made them one. 
 
 E7icheii-esin naturce^ Chemistry calls it, 
 
 Mocks itself, and knows not what befalls it. 
 
 Student. I don't seem quite to comprehend. 
 
 Afeph. 'Twill all go better soon, my friend, 
 When you can qualify and quantify. 
 And properly can classify. 
 
 Studejit. I feel so stupid after all you've said. 
 As though a mill-wheel went round in my head. 
 
FRAGMENTS FROM FAUST. 173 
 
 11. 
 
 The Baccalaureus. (Pafi //.) 
 
 I TELL you this is Youth's supreme vocation ! 
 
 Before me was no World — 'tis my creation : 
 
 'Twas I who raised the Sun from out the sea ; 
 
 The Moon began her changeful course with me ; 
 
 Day decked herself in dazzling robes to meet me ; 
 
 Earth budded forth with leaves and flowers to greet me 
 
 I gave the signal on that primal night 
 
 When all the host of heaven burst forth in light. 
 
 Who but myself saves man from the dominion 
 
 Of dogmas cramping, crushing, Philistinian ? 
 
 So, free and gay, my spirit's voice I heed. 
 
 And follow where the inner light may lead, 
 
 Still hasting onward wdth a gladsome mind, 
 
 The Bright before me, and the Dark behind. 
 
( 174 ) 
 
 THE EYE. 
 
 From the German of Emil Rittershaus. 
 
 The human soul — a world in little ; 
 
 The world — a greater human soul ; 
 The eye of man — a radiant mirror, 
 
 That clear and true reflects the whole. 
 
 And, as in every eye thou meetest 
 The mirrored image is thine own, 
 
 Each mortal sees his soul reflected. 
 In all the world himself alone ! 
 
( 175 ) 
 
 ON THE WATER. 
 
 From the German of Emmanuel Geibel. 
 
 Now hill and dale begin to bloom anew, 
 
 The tree-tops bud, and winds pass whispering through 
 
 Faint grow the bugle-notes, with sunset's red — 
 
 I would be merry, but my heart is dead. 
 
 My comrades ply their oars, and scorn delay, 
 The furrowed wave gleams back the starlight ray ; 
 To the guitar the dancing boat is sped — 
 Fain were I merry, but my heart is dead. 
 
 The moon is up, and clearer shine the skies, 
 From every bosom songs of mirth arise ; 
 In all our goblets wine glows darkly red — 
 Fain were I merry, but my heart is dead. 
 
 And could my Love rise up from out the grave. 
 And grant all dear delights that once she gave. 
 And say all tender words that once she said — 
 In vain ! The Past is past, the Dead are dead. 
 
( 176 ) 
 
 DANTE AND NINO. 
 
 From the Italian of Dante (Purgatorio, Canto VIII. v. 45-84). 
 
 Again Sordello spoke — " Into this dell 
 Among the mighty Dead, now let us go, 
 The sight of thee will please the spirits well." 
 In but three steps, meseems, I was below, 
 And gazing on me only, one came nigh, 
 Attent, as though my face he fain would know. 
 It was the time when eve englooms the sky, 
 Yet not so dusk but that a closer view 
 Made clear the darkling path from eye to eye. 
 Noble Judge Nino, how I gloried when 
 I saw thou wast not with the damned crew ! 
 All words of courteous greeting spake we ; then 
 He asked — " How long since camest thou to us 
 Beneath this mount, o'er seas beyond our ken ? " 
 " I came by those dread regions dolorous 
 This morning, with my first life undecayed. 
 In hope to gain the second, journeying thus." 
 And when they heard this answer that I made, 
 He and Sordello shrank back, as in fear, 
 
DANTE AND NINO. i77 
 
 Like folk by sudden wonder all dismayed. 
 This turned toward Virgil— that, to one who near 
 Was sitting, cried—" Up, Conrad, from thy place. 
 What God in mercy wills, come and see and hear ! " 
 Then to me turning—" By that special grace 
 Granted to thee by Him, who from our sense 
 Conceals his primal Why, which none may trace- 
 When thou Shalt pass beyond the seas, far hence, 
 Say to my little Joan, she must implore 
 For me, where heed is given to innocence. 
 Her mother loves me, so I think, no more. 
 Since she has cast aside the fillet white. 
 Which, heart-sick, she shall wish that still she wore. 
 From her thou mayest understand aright 
 How long will burn the fire of woman's love 
 Not kindled fresh by daily touch and sight. 
 Less nobly will her funeral pageant move 
 Beneath the Milan warrior's viper-shield 
 Than were Gallura's cock emblazed above." 
 Such words he uttered, seeming stamped and sealed 
 With that just ardour, whose attempered heat 
 His heart still cherished, and his face revealed. 
 
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