
 
 < 
 
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 THE 
 COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BUCHANAN 
 Vol. I. 
 
 i'[^
 
 POEMS AND NOVELS by ROBERT BUCHANAN 
 THE COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS OF ROBERT 
 
 BUCHANAN. 2 vols, crown 8vo. buckram, with Portrait Fron- 
 tispiece to each volume, izs. 
 
 Crown 8vo. cloth, 6s. each. 
 
 THE DEVIL'S CASE: a Bank Holiday Interlude. With 
 
 6 Illustrations. 
 
 THE EARTHQUAKE; or, Six Days and a 4*abbath. 
 THE WANDERING JEW : a Christmas Carol. 
 
 C.own 8vo. clot'i, t.s. id. each. 
 THE OUTCAST : a Rhyme for the Time. 
 
 THE BALLAD OF MARY THE MOTHER: a Christmas 
 Carol. 
 
 ST. ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. Crown 8vo. doth, 
 
 ■2S. 6d. 
 Crown 8vo. cloth, 3J. 6d. each; post 8vo. illustrated boards, 2.r. each. 
 
 THE SHADOW OF THE SWORD. 
 
 A CHILD OF NATURE. 
 
 GOD AND THE MAN. With 11 Illustrations by Fred. 
 Barnard. 
 
 LADY KILPATRICK. 
 
 THE MARTYRDOM OF MADELINE. 
 
 LOVE ME FOR EVER. 
 
 ANNAN WATER. 
 
 THE NEW ABELARD. 
 
 FOXGLOVE MANOR. 
 
 RACHEL DENE. 
 
 MATT : a Story of a Caravan. 
 
 THE MASTER OF THE MINE. 
 
 THE HEIR OF LINNE. 
 
 WOMAN AND THE MAN. 
 
 RED AND WHITE HEATHER. Crown 8vo. cloth, 3J.6ar. 
 
 ANDROMEDA : an Idyll of the Great River. Crown 8vo. 
 cloth, 3 J. dd. 
 
 THE CHARLATAN. By Robert Buchanan and Henry 
 
 Murray. Crown 8vo. cloth, with a Frontispiece by T. H. Robinson, 
 3J. (>d. ; post 8vo. picture boards, 2s. 
 
 London: CHATTO & WINDUS, in St. Martin's Lane, W.C.
 
 fh^tv. LurrauA, ^v^'*m 
 
 444*^ 

 
 THE 
 
 COMPLETE POETICAL WORKS 
 
 OF 
 
 ROBERT BUCHANAN 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES— VOL. L 
 
 WITH A PORTRAIT 
 
 LONDON 
 CH ATTO & WIN DUS 
 
 lyoi 
 
 9U974
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 LONDON
 
 -K 
 
 I 
 
 A 1^ 
 
 \^, V 
 
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 Contents. 
 
 EARLY POEMS. 
 
 Pastoral Pictures : page 
 
 . I. Down the River . . . . i 
 
 ^ 2. The Summer Pool . . . . . 3 
 
 k( 3- Up the River 4 
 
 (I 4. Snow 6 
 
 — ^To THE LUGGIE 7 
 
 ^^Fra Giacomo 8 
 
 '"'Charmian 9 
 
 ^ Cloudland 9 
 
 ^^ Cuckoo Song 12 
 
 ■^ The White Deer 12 
 
 — Convent-Robbing 13 
 
 The Ballad of the Wayfarer . . . 15 
 
 -^ In Spring-Time 16 
 
 The Fisherman 16 
 
 , The Churchyard 16 
 
 J Sea-Wash 17 
 
 -» Earth and the Soul . . . .17 
 
 (3 A Curl 18 
 
 Love and Time 20 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 (1864.) 
 
 Poet's Prologue— To David in Heaven 
 The Undertones : 
 
 1. Proteus ; or, a Prelude . 
 
 2. Ades, King of Hell . 
 3- Pan 
 
 4. The Naiad 
 
 5. The Satyr .... 
 
 6. Venus on the Sun-Car 
 
 7. Selene the Moon . 
 
 8. Iris the Rainbow 
 
 9. Orpheus the Musician . 
 
 10. Polypheme's Passion . 
 
 11. Penelope .... 
 
 12. Sappho : on the Leucadian Rock 
 
 13. The Syren .... 
 
 14. A Voice from Academe 
 '5- Pygmalion the Sculptor 
 
 i6. Antony in Arras .... 
 17. Fine Weather on the Digentia 
 
 24 
 26 
 30 
 
 35 
 36 
 
 39 
 40 
 
 41 
 42 
 
 43 
 52 
 54 
 54 
 58 
 59 
 65 
 65 
 
 18. Fine Weather by Baiae . . 
 ig. The Swan-Song of Apollo 
 Poet's Epilogue— To Mary on Earth 
 
 PAGE 
 
 • 70 
 
 • 73 
 
 • 74 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF 
 
 INFERS URN. 
 
 (1865.) 
 
 The Lowland Village . 
 
 Willie Baird .... 
 
 Lord Ronald's Wife . 
 
 Poet Andrew .... 
 
 White Lily of Weardale-Head 
 
 The English Huswife's Gossip 
 
 The FaHry Foster-Mother 
 
 The Green Gnome 
 
 Hugh Sutherland's Pansies 
 
 The Dead Mother . 
 
 The Widow Mysie (an Idyl of Love 
 
 Whisky) .... 
 The Minister and the Elfin 
 
 Village Voices : 
 
 1. January Wind . . 
 
 2. April Rain 
 3. 
 4. 
 
 Summer Moon 
 December Snow . 
 
 and 
 
 76 
 77 
 83 
 84 
 90 
 
 93 
 98 
 
 99 
 100 
 105 
 
 106 
 tio 
 
 III 
 112 
 112 
 113 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 (1866-70.) 
 
 Bexhill, i866 113 
 
 The Little Milliner ; or, Love in an 
 
 Attic 115 
 
 Liz 119 
 
 The Starling 124 
 
 Jane Lkwson 125 
 
 Langley Lane (a Love Poem) . . . 13S 
 Edward Crowhurst; or, 'A New Poet' 136 
 Artist and Model (a Love Poem) . . 147 
 
 Nell 149 
 
 Attorney Sneak 152 
 
 Barbara Gray iSS 
 
 The Blind Linnet 157
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 ' Tiger Bay ' (a Stormy Night's Dream) : page 
 I. The Tigress ...... 157 
 
 «. ' Ratdiffe Meg ' 158 
 
 3. Intercession 159 
 
 The City Asleep 159 
 
 Up in an Attic 160 
 
 To THE Moon 
 
 Spring Song in the City . . 
 
 In London, March 1866 . 
 
 A Lark's Flight .... 
 
 De Berny 
 
 The Wake of Tim O'Hara 
 
 Kitty Kemble 
 
 The Swallows .... 
 Tom Dunstan; or, the Politician 
 
 O'Murtogh 
 
 The Bookworm 
 
 The Last of the Hangmen 
 
 London, 1864 
 
 The Modern Warrior . 
 
 Pan : Epilogue 
 
 L'Envoi to London Poems . 
 
 161 
 
 162 
 163 
 163 
 
 165 
 166 
 168 
 173 
 174 
 175 
 176 
 177 
 182 
 183 
 185 
 i8s 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 (1866-70.) 
 
 The Death of Roland .... 186 
 
 The Gift of Eos 192 
 
 Clari in the Well 196 
 
 Serenades . . . . . . . 197 
 
 In the Garden 198 
 
 The Asrai (Prologue to the Changeling) . 200 
 The Changeling (a Legend of the Moon- 
 light) : 
 
 I. The Asrai 201 
 
 E. The Changeling's Birth . . . 202 
 
 3. His Mortal Life 203 
 
 4. His Sorrow and Sin . . . . 203 
 
 5. The Battle-Field .... 204 
 
 6. The Abbot Paul 204 
 
 To Clari (with the Preceding Poem) . . 206 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS. 
 
 (1867-68.) 
 Meg Blane: 
 
 1. Storm ....... 207 
 
 2. Dead Calm ..... 211 
 
 3. A Troubled Deep 214 
 
 4. ' And the Spirit of God moved upon 
 
 the Waters' 217 
 
 The Battle of Drumliemoor (Covenant 
 
 Period) 221 
 
 The Northern Wooing . . . .223 
 
 An English Eclogue 227 
 
 A Scottish Eclogue 229 
 
 The Scaith o' Bartle 232 
 
 The Glamour 241 
 
 Sigurd of Saxony (Media;val) . . . 244 
 
 A Poem to David 246 
 
 Hakon 247 
 
 SONNETS 
 
 WRITTEN BY LOCH CORUISK, 
 
 ISLE OF SKYE. 
 
 (1870.) 
 
 Coruisken Sonnets : page 
 
 1. Lord, is it Thou ? .... 248 
 
 2. We are Fatherless 248 
 
 3. We are Children .... 248 
 
 4. When we are all Asleep . . . 249 
 
 5. But the Hills will bear Witness . 249 
 
 6. Desolate ! 249 
 
 7. Lord, art Thou here? . . . 249 
 
 8. God is Beautiful 250 
 
 9. The Motion of the Mists . . . 250 
 
 10. Coruisk 250 
 
 11. But Whither? 250 
 
 12. God is Pitiless 251 
 
 13. Yea, Pitiless 251 
 
 14. Could God be Judged? . . . . 251 
 
 15. The Hills on their Thrones . . 251 
 
 16. King Blaabhein 252 
 
 17. Blaabhein in the Mists . . , 252 
 
 18. The Fiery Birth of the Hills .\ . 252 
 
 19. The Changeless Hjlls . . . 252 
 
 20. O Mountain Peak of a God . . . 253 
 
 21. God the Image . ... 253 
 
 22. The Footprints 253 
 
 23. We are Deathless .... 253 
 
 24. A Voice in the Whirlwind . . . 254 
 
 25. Cry of the Little Brook . . . 254 
 
 26. The Happy Hearts of Earth . . 254 
 
 27. Father, forgive Thy Child . . 254 
 
 28. God's Loneliness . . . . , 255 
 
 29. The Cup of Tears .... 255 
 
 30. The Light of the World . . . 255 
 
 31. Earth's Eldest Born .... 255 
 
 32. What Spirit Cometh? • • . . 256 
 
 33. Stay, O Spirit ! . . • . . 256 
 
 34. Quiet Waters 256 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 (1870.) 
 
 Inscription (To F. W. C.) . . . . 257 
 Proem (to IBook of Orm and Political 
 
 Mystics) 257 
 
 The Book of the Visions seen by Orm 
 
 the Celt 257 
 
 1. First Song of the Veil: 
 
 1. The Veil Woven 258 
 
 2. Earth the Mother .... 259 
 
 3. Children of Earth 259 
 
 4. The Wise Men 260 
 
 2. The Man and the Shadow : 
 
 1. The Shadow 261 
 
 2. The Rainbow 266 
 
 3. Songs of Corruption : 
 
 1. Phantasy 268 
 
 2. The Dream of the World without 
 
 Death . . . . . . . 269 
 
 3. Soul and Flesh 272 
 
 4. The Soul and the Dwelling . . 273 
 
 5. Songs of Seeking: 
 
 1. ....... 276 
 
 2. Quest ....... 276
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 vu 
 
 3. The Happy Earth . 
 
 4. O Unseen One ! . 
 
 5. World's Mystery 
 
 6. The Cities . 
 
 7. The Priests 
 
 8. The Lamb of God. 
 
 9. Doom 
 
 10. God's Dream . 
 
 11. Flower of the World . 
 
 12. O Spirit .... 
 
 6. The Lifting of the Veii, : 
 
 1. Orm's Vision 
 
 2. The Face and the World 
 
 3. Orm's Awakening 
 
 7. The Devil's Mystics : 
 
 1. The Inscription without 
 
 2. The Tree of Life 
 
 3. The Seeds 
 
 4. Fire and Water ; or, a Voice of the 
 
 Flesh .... 
 
 5. Sanitas .... 
 
 6. The Philosophers 
 
 7. The Devil's Prayer 
 
 8. Homunculus ; or, the Song of 
 
 cides .... 
 
 9. Roses .... 
 
 10. Hermaphroditus 
 
 11. After .... 
 
 12. His Prayer .... 
 
 8. The Vision op the Man Accurst 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 (1871.) 
 
 Titan and Avatar (a Choral Mystic): 
 
 I. Ode of Nations 
 
 s. The Avatar's Dream . . , . 
 
 3. The Elemental Quest 
 
 4. The Elemental Doom . . . , 
 The Fool of Destiny (a Choric Drama) . 
 The Teuton Monologue (1870) 
 
 The Reply 
 
 The City of Man ... 
 
 PAGE 
 
 . 276 
 . 277 
 
 • 277 
 . 278 
 . 278 
 . 278 
 
 • 279 
 . 279 
 . 280 
 . 280 
 
 Dei- 
 
 281 
 284 
 
 284 
 284 
 285 
 
 286 
 286 
 287 
 287 
 
 287 
 288 
 
 290 
 290 
 
 29s 
 297 
 301 
 303 
 307 
 330 
 333 
 334 
 
 SONGS OF THE TERRIBLE 
 
 YEAR. 
 
 (1870.) 
 
 Ode to the Spirit of Auguste Comte 
 
 (1871) 335 
 
 A Dirge for Kings 337 
 
 The Perfect State 338 
 
 The Two Voices (January 1871). . 1339 
 OrjE BEFORE Paris (December 1870) . . 340 
 A Dialogue in the Snow (before Paris, 
 
 December 1870) 341 
 
 The Prayer in the Night . . .343 
 The Spirit of France 344 
 
 The Apotheosis of the Sword (Versailles, 
 
 '871) 345 
 
 The Chaunt by the Rhine (1871) . . 347 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN 
 WIVES. 
 
 A TALE OF SALT LAKE CITY. 
 
 page 
 349 
 
 350 
 350 
 351 
 352 
 
 Dedication : to Old Dan Chaucer 
 Approaching Utah.— The Boss's Tale: 
 
 1. Passing the Ranche . . ^. . 
 
 2. Joe Wilson goes a-courting 
 
 3. Saint and Disciple . . . . 
 
 4. The Book of Mormon 
 
 5. Joe ends his Story — First Glimpse of 
 
 Utah 355 
 
 The City of the Saints : 
 
 1. Among the Pastures— Summer Even- 
 
 ing Dialogue 356 
 
 2. Within the City — St. Abe and the 
 
 Seven 361 
 
 3. Promenade— Main Street, Utah . 364 
 
 4. Within the Synagogue — Sermonizeth 
 
 the Prophet 367 
 
 5. The Falling of the Thunderbolt . 369 
 
 6. Last Epistle of St. Abe to the Poly- 
 
 gamists 371 
 
 The Farm in the Valley— Sunset (1871) 377 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 A LOVE STORY. 
 
 Dedication 
 
 Invocation (' Know'st thou the Land 
 
 1. The Capture of Eureka Hart 
 
 1. Natura Naturans . 
 
 2. Eureka 
 
 3. The Capture . 
 
 4. Thro' the Wood 
 
 5. The Red Tribe . 
 
 2. Red Rose : 
 
 1. Erycina Ridens . 
 
 2. Log and Sunbeam . 
 
 3. Nuptial Song 
 
 4. Arretez I 
 
 5. The Farewell 
 
 6. The Paper 
 
 3. White Rose : 
 
 1. Drowsietown 
 
 2. After Meeting , 
 
 3. Phoebe Anna 
 
 4. Nuptial Song . , 
 
 4. The Great Snow: 
 
 1. The Great Snow 
 
 2. The Wanderer 
 
 3. Retrospect : the Journey 
 
 4. The Journey's End 
 
 5. Face to Face 
 
 6. Pauguk .... 
 
 7. The Melting of the Snow 
 
 8. The Last Look , 
 
 Epilogue 
 
 . 380 
 
 . 380 
 
 , 3S1 
 • 383 
 . 38s 
 . 387 
 388 
 
 ■ 390 
 
 ■ 390 
 392 
 392 
 393 
 396 
 
 397 
 399 
 402 
 404 
 
 405 
 407 
 411 
 415 
 417 
 419 
 421 
 422 
 
 423
 
 VIU 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 FACES ON THE WALL. 
 (1876.) 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Lone House 424 
 
 Storm and Calm 424 
 
 Without and Within 425 
 
 Napoleon 425 
 
 Abraham Lincoln 425 
 
 Walt Whitman ...... 425 
 
 O Faces ! 425 
 
 To Triflers 426 
 
 The Wanderers 426 
 
 The Watcher of the Beacon . . 426 
 'And the Spirit of God moved upon 
 
 THE Waters' 426 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 A SONG OF DIVINE DEATH. 
 
 Proem to . (A Song of a Dres.ii) 
 
 1. The Birth of Balder : 
 
 1. Balder's Birth-Song 
 
 2. His Growth and Godhead . 
 
 2. The Finding of Balder : 
 
 1. Frea in the Wood 
 
 2. The Shadow in the Wood . 
 
 3. Full Godhead . . . , 
 
 4. The Man by the Ocean 
 
 3. The Heavenward Journey : 
 
 1. The Goddesses . . , 
 
 2. The Fruit of Life . . . 
 
 3. The City of the Gods 
 
 4. The Voice of the Father 
 
 5. Balder's Return . . . , 
 
 4. Balder's Return to Earth : 
 
 1. ' Balder is here ' . . 
 
 2. ...... 
 
 3. All Things Blest by Balder . 
 
 4. The Cry from the Ground . 
 
 5. The Shadow on the Earth 
 
 6. On the Heights — Evening 
 
 7. The Vow of Balder 
 
 5. Balder's Quest for Death : 
 
 • 427 
 
 • 429 
 
 • 432 
 
 • 433 
 . 434 
 
 • 438 
 
 • 440 
 
 • 442 
 
 • 445 
 
 • 446 
 
 • 448 
 
 • 448 
 
 451 
 453 
 454 
 455 
 456 
 458 
 459 
 
 The Fight of Ships 
 Ydun . 
 
 Balder and Death : 
 The Altar of Sacrifice 
 Balder and Death . 
 ' O Death, pale Death ' 
 Death Sings . 
 
 The Last Prayer .... 
 The First Snowfiake— Falling of the 
 Snow 
 
 . 460 
 . 461 
 . 462 
 • 463 
 
 465 
 467 
 468 
 468 
 
 469 
 470 
 
 471 
 
 The Coming of the Other : 
 
 1. ..... 
 
 2. The Light on the Snow 
 
 3. The Face and the Voice 
 
 4. 'Wake, Balder! Wake!' . 
 
 5. The Birth and Death . 
 
 6. The Paracletes . 
 
 8. The Twilight of the Gods : 
 
 I. ..... 
 
 2 
 
 3. The Bridge of Ghosts . 
 
 4. ' Behold, I am Risen ' 
 
 5. Alfadur .... 
 
 6. The Brethren 
 
 7. Father and Son 
 
 8. Twilight .... 
 
 9. ' A Cross and a Lily ' . 
 
 9. The Last Blessing : 
 
 1. The Waking of the Sea 
 
 2. From Death to Life 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 
 
 AND BALLADS. 
 
 (1878-83.) 
 
 Dedication (To Harriett) . 
 
 The Strange Country . . , 
 
 The Ballad of Judas Iscariot . ] 
 
 The Lights of Leith . . / . 
 
 The Wedding of Shon Maclean (a Bag^ 
 pipe Melody) . . , _ 
 
 Hans Vogel (an Episode of the Franco- 
 Prussian War) .... 
 
 Phil Blood's Leap (a Tale of the Gold'- 
 Seekers) 
 
 The Faery Reaper (Ireland) . 
 
 The 'Midian-Mara' 
 
 O'Connor's Wake (an Irish Fiddle Tune) 
 
 Highland Lament .... 
 
 James Avery 
 
 The Devil's Peepshow (Old Style) . ' \ 
 
 Daybreak (Fragment) . 
 
 Euphrosyne; or, the Prospect . ' ', 
 
 Stanley Farm 
 
 On a Young Poetess's Grave ' . \ 
 Love in Winter (a Genre Picture) 
 Will o' the Wisp (a Ballad written "for 
 
 Clari, on a Stormy Night) 
 Giant Despair : 
 
 1. His Death .... 
 
 2. After ' . * * 
 
 The Mountain Well . 
 The Song of the Shealing . 
 The Secret of the Mere . 
 Mnemosyne; or, the Retrospect . 
 Vanity Fair .... 
 
 PAGE 
 
 473 
 47c 
 474 
 475 
 47( 
 477 
 47^ 
 479 
 
 480 
 481 
 48X 
 
 482 
 
 484 
 486 
 48? 
 48c 
 490 
 
 491 
 491 
 
 493 
 493 
 494 
 496 
 
 SCO 
 
 SO? 
 
 5o.r 
 
 Sio 
 517 
 51.' 
 Sii 
 517 
 519 
 S19 
 521 
 521 
 522 
 
 523 
 
 526 
 527 
 528 
 529 
 529 
 531 
 532
 
 Early Poems. 
 
 PASTORAL PICTURES. 
 
 Down the River. 
 
 How merry a life the little River leads, 
 Piping a vagrant ditty free from care ; 
 Now rippling as it rustles through the reeds 
 And broad-leaved lilies sailing here and 
 
 there, 
 Now l)'ing level with the clover meads 
 And musing in a mist of golden air ! 
 Bearing a pastoral peace where'er it goes, 
 Narrow'd to mirth or broaden'd to repose : 
 Through copsy villages and tiny towns, 
 By belts of woodland singing sweet, 
 Pausing where sun and shadow meet 
 Without the darkness of the breezy downs. 
 Bickering o'er the keystone as it flows 
 'Neath mossy bridges arch'd like maiden 
 
 feet ; 
 And slowly widening as it seaward grows, 
 Because its summer mission grows com- 
 plete. 
 
 Run seaward, for I follow ! 
 
 Let me cross 
 My garden-threshold ankle-deep in moss. 
 Sweet Stream, your heart is beating and I 
 
 hear it, 
 As conscious of its pleasure as a girl's : 
 O little River, whom I love so well, 
 Is it with something of a human spirit 
 You twine those lilies in your sedgy curls? 
 Take up the inner voice we both inherit, 
 O Httle River of my love, and tell ! 
 
 The rain has crawled from yonder moun- 
 tain-side. 
 And passing, left its footprints ffvr and wide. 
 
 The path I follow winds by cliff and scar, 
 Purple and dark and trodden as I pass, 
 The foxglove droops, the crocus lifts iis 
 
 star, 
 And bluebells brighten in the dewy grass. 
 Over deep pools the willow hangs its hair. 
 Dwarf birches show their sodden roots and 
 
 shake 
 Their melting jewels on my bending brows. 
 The mottled mavis pipes among t! eir 
 
 boughs 
 For joy of five unborn in yonder brake. 
 The River, narrow'd to a woody glen, 
 leaps trembling o'er a little rocky ledge. 
 Then broadens forward into calm again 
 Where the gray moor-hen builds her nest 
 
 of sedge ; 
 Caught in the dark those willow-trees have 
 
 made. 
 Lipping the yellow lilies o'er and o'er, 
 It flutters twenty feet along the shade, 
 Halts at the sunshine like a thing afraid, 
 And turns to kiss the lilies yet once more. 
 
 Those little falls are lurid with the rain 
 That ere the day is done will come again. 
 The River falters swoU'n and brown, 
 P'alters, falters, as it nears them. 
 Shuddering back as if it fears them, 
 Falters, falters, falters, falters. 
 Then dizzily rushes down. 
 
 Rut all is calm again, the little River 
 Smiles on and sings the song it sings for 
 
 ever. 
 Here at the curve it passes tilth and farm, 
 And faintly flowing onward to the mill 
 It stretches out a little azure arm 
 To aid the miller, aiding with a will. 
 And singing, singing still.
 
 EARLY POEMS. 
 
 Sweet household sounds come sudden on 
 
 mine ear : 
 The waggons rumblinc: in the rutted lanes, 
 The village clock and trumpet Chanticleer, 
 The flocks and cattle on the marish-plains. 
 With shouts of urchins ringing loud and 
 
 clear ; 
 And lo ! a Village, breathing breath that 
 
 curls 
 In foam-white wieaths through ancient 
 
 sycamores ! 
 A hum of looms comes through the cottage 
 
 doors. 
 I stuml)le on a group of country girls 
 Faring afield thro' deep and dewy grass ; 
 Small urchins rush from sanded kitchen- 
 floors 
 To stare with mouths wide open as I pass. 
 
 But yonder cottage where the woodbine 
 
 grows. 
 Half cottage and half inn, a pretty place. 
 Tempts ramblers with the country cheer it 
 
 shows ; 
 Entering, I rob the threshold of a rose. 
 And meet the welcome on a mother's face. 
 Come, let me sit. The scent of garden 
 
 flowers 
 FHts through the casement of the sanded 
 
 room, 
 Hitting the sense with thoughts of summer 
 
 hours 
 When half the world has budded into bloom. 
 Is that the faded picture of our host 
 Shading the plate of pansies where I sit — 
 That lean-limb'd stripling straighter than a 
 
 post, 
 Clad in a coat that seems a sorry fit? 
 I drink his health in this his own October, 
 That bites so sharply on the thirsty tongue ; 
 And here he comes, but not so slim and sober 
 As in the days when Love and he were 
 
 young. 
 ' Hostess ! ' I fill again and pledge the glory 
 Of that stout angel answering to my call, 
 Who changed him from the shadow on the 
 
 wall 
 Into the rosy tun of sack before me ) 
 
 Again I follow where the river wanders. 
 The landscape billows into hills of thyme ; 
 Over the purple heights I slowly climb ; 
 Till in a glen of birchen-trees and boulders 
 
 I halt, beneath a heathery mountain ridge 
 Clothed on with amber cloud from head to 
 shoulders. 
 
 I wander on and gain a mossy bridge, 
 And watch the angling of a shepherd boy ; 
 Below the little river glimmers by, 
 Touched with a troubled sense of pain or 
 
 joy 
 By some new life at work in earth and sky. 
 The marshes there steam mist from hidden 
 
 springs. 
 Deep-hidden in the marsh the bittern calls, 
 And yonder swallow oils its ebon wings 
 While fluttering o'er the falls. 
 Below my feet the little budding flower 
 Thrusts up dark leaves to feel the coming 
 
 shower : 
 I'll trust these weather-signs and creep apart 
 Beneath this crag until the rain depart, — 
 'Twill come again and go within an hour. 
 
 The moist soft wind has died and fallen now. 
 The air is hotandhush'd on flower and tree. 
 The leaves arc troubled into sighs, and see ! 
 There falls a heavy drop upon my brow. », 
 The cloudy standard is above unfurl'd ; 
 The aspen fingers of the blinded Rain 
 Feel for the summer eyelids of the world 
 That she may kiss them open once again. 
 Darker and darker, till w ith one accord 
 The clouds pour forth their hoard in gusts 
 
 of power, 
 A sunbeam rends their bowels like a sword 
 And frees the costly shower ! 
 
 Fluttering around me and before me. 
 Stretched like a mantle o'er me. 
 The rushing shadows blind the earth and 
 
 skies, 
 Dazzling a darkness on my gazing eyes 
 With troublous gleams of radiance, like the 
 
 bright 
 Figments of gold that flutter in our sight. 
 When with shut eyes we strain 
 Our aching vision back upon the brain. 
 
 Across the skies and o'er the plain 
 Fast fly the swollen shadows o! the Kain ; 
 Blown duskly by, 
 From hill to hill they fly. 
 O'er solitary streams and windy downs, 
 O'er trembling villages and darkened towns 1
 
 DOWN THE RIVER— THE SUMMER POOL 
 
 3 
 
 I crouch beneath the crag and watch the 
 mist 
 
 Move on the skirts of yonder mountains gray 
 
 Until it bubbles into amethyst 
 
 And softly melts away. 
 
 The thyme-bells catch their drops of silver 
 dew, 
 
 And quake beneath the load ; 
 
 The squadron'd pines that shade the splash- 
 ing road 
 
 Are glimmering with a million jewels too. 
 
 And hark ! the Spirit of the Rain 
 
 Sings to the Summer sleeping, 
 
 Pressing a dark damp face against the plain, 
 
 And pausing, pausing, not for pain, 
 
 Pausing, pausing, ere the low refrain, 
 
 Because she cannot sing for weeping. 
 
 She flings her cold dim arms about the 
 Earth, 
 
 That soon shall wear the blessing she has 
 given, 
 
 Then brightens thro' her tears in sunny 
 mirth 
 
 And flutters back to heaven. 
 
 A fallen sunbeam trembles at my feet. 
 And as I sally forth the linnets frame 
 Their throats to answer yonder laverock 
 
 sweet. 
 The jewell'd trees flash out in emerald flame. 
 The bright drops fall with throbs of peace- 
 ful sound, 
 And melt in circles on the shallow pools 
 That glisten on the ground. 
 Last, Iris issues from her cloudy shrine, 
 Trembling alone in heaven where she rules, 
 And arching down to kiss with kisses sweet 
 The bright green world that flashes at her 
 
 feet, 
 Runs liquid through her many hues divine. 
 
 II. 
 The Summer Pool. 
 
 There is a singing in the summer air, 
 The blue and brown moths flutter o'er the 
 
 grass, 
 The stubble bird is creaking in the wheat, 
 And perch'd upon the honeysuckle hedge 
 Pipes the grcon linnet. Oh, the golden 
 
 world ! 
 The stir of life on every blade of grass. 
 The motion and the joy on every bough. 
 
 The glad feast everywhere, for things that 
 
 love 
 The sunshine, and for things that love the 
 
 shade ! 
 
 Aimlessly wandering with weary feet, 
 Watching the wool white clouds that wander 
 
 by. 
 
 I come upon a lonely place of shade, — 
 A still green Pool, where with soft sound 
 
 and stir 
 The shadows of o'erhanging branches sleep, 
 Save where they leave one dreamy space of 
 
 blue, 
 O'er whose soft stillness ever and anon 
 The feathery cirrhus blows. Here unaware 
 I pause, and leaning on my staff I add 
 A shadow to the shadows ; and behold ! 
 Dim dreams steal down upon me, with a hum 
 Of little wings, a murmuring of boughs, — 
 The dusky stir and motion dwelling here. 
 Within this small green world. O'er- 
 
 shadowed 
 By dusky greenery, tho' all around 
 The sunshine throbs on fields of wheat and 
 
 bean. 
 Downward I gaze into the dreamy blue. 
 And pass into a waking sleep, wherein 
 The green boughs rustle, feathery wreaths 
 
 of cloud 
 Pass softly, piloted by golden airs : 
 The air is still, —no birds sing any more, — 
 And, helpless as a tiny flying thing, 
 1 am alone in all the world with God. 
 
 The wind dies — not a leaf stirs — on the Pool 
 The fly scarce moves ; Earth seems to hold 
 
 her breath 
 Until her heart stops, listening silently 
 I'"or the far footsteps of the coming Rain ! 
 
 While thus I pause, it seems that I have 
 
 gained 
 New eyes to see ; my brain grows sensitive 
 To trivial things that, at another hour, 
 Had passed unheeded. Suddenly tho air 
 Shivers, the shadows in whose mitlst I stand 
 Tremble and blacken — the blue eye o' the 
 
 Pool 
 Is closed and clouded ; with a sudden gleam, 
 Oiling its wings, a swallow darteth past, 
 And wcedling flowers beneath my feet thrust 
 
 up 
 
 B 2
 
 EARLY POEMS. 
 
 Their leaves to feel the fragrant shower. Oh 
 
 hark! 
 The thirsty leaves are troubled into sighs, 
 And up above me, on the glistening boughs, 
 Patters the summer Rain ! 
 
 Into a nook, 
 Screen'd by thick foliage of oak and beech, 
 I creep for shelter ; and the summer shower 
 Murmurs around me. Oh, the drowsy 
 
 sounds ! 
 The pattering rain, the numerous sigh of 
 
 leaves, 
 The deep, warm breathing of the scented air. 
 Sink sweet into my soul — until at last 
 Comes the soft ceasing of the gentle fall. 
 And lo ! the eye of blue within the Pool 
 Opens again, while with a silvern gleam 
 Dew-diamonds twinkle moistly on the 
 
 leaves. 
 Or, shaken downward by the summer wind. 
 Fall melting on the Pcol in rings of light ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Up the River. 
 
 Behind the purple mountains lies a lake. 
 Steadfast thro' storm and sunshine in its 
 
 place ; 
 Asleep 'neath changing skies, its waters make 
 A mirror for the tempest's thunder-face ; 
 Thence — singing songs of glee, 
 Fluttering to my cottage by the sea, 
 By bosky glen and grove. 
 Past the lone shepherd, moveless as the rock 
 Whence stretch'd at length he views his 
 scatter' d flock, — 
 Cometh the Httle River that I love. 
 
 To-day I '11 bid farewell to books. 
 And by the River loved so well, 
 Thro' ferny haunts and flowery nooks, 
 Thro' stony glen and woody dell. 
 The rainy river-path I '11 take, 
 Till by the silent-sleeping lake 
 I hear the shepherd's bell. 
 The summer bleats from every rocky height. 
 The bluebell banks are dim with dewy light. 
 The heavens are clear as infants' eyes 
 above ; 
 This is no day — you, little River, know it ! — 
 For sage or poet 
 To localise his love. 
 
 In rippling cadence, calm and slow. 
 
 Sing, httle River, as I go. 
 
 Songs of the mountains whence you flow ! 
 
 The grassy banks are wet with dew that 
 
 flashes 
 Silverly on the Naiad-river's lashes — 
 The Naiad-river, bright with sunken suns, 
 Who murmureth as she runs. 
 ^'onder the silver-bellied salmon splashes 
 Within the spreading circle of blue shade 
 That his own leaps have made : 
 And here I stoop, and pluck with tender care 
 A lily from the Naiad's sedgy hair. 
 And curling softly over pebble, 
 \\ eaving soft waves o'er yellow sands, 
 Singing her song in tinkling treble. 
 The mountain Lady thro' the farmer's lands 
 Shdes to the sea, with harvest-giving hands. 
 
 Here freckled cowslips bloom unsought. 
 Like yellow jewels on her light green 
 
 train ; 
 And yonder, dark with dreaming of the 
 rain. 
 Grows the wood-violet hke a lowly thought. 
 Lightly the mountain Lady dances down, 
 Dressed maidenly in many a woodland 
 
 gem;— 
 Lo, even where the footprint of the clown 
 Has bruised her raiment-hem, 
 Crimson-tipp'd daisies make a diadem. 
 
 The little River is the fittest singer 
 To sound the praises of a day so fair. 
 The dews, suck'd up thro' pores of sunshine, 
 
 linger 
 As silver cloudlets in mid-air ; 
 And over all the sunshine throws 
 Its golden glamour of repose. 
 The Silence hstens, in a dream. 
 To hear the ploughman urge his reelingteam. 
 The trout, that flashes with a sudden gleam, 
 And musical motions heaved by hills that 
 
 bound 
 The slumberous vales around. 
 
 I loiter onward slowly, and the whole 
 Sweet joy is in my happy fancies drowned. 
 The sunshine meets the music. Sight and 
 
 sound 
 Are wedded by the Soul. 
 — Sing, little River, this sweet morn, 
 Songs of the hills where thou wert born !
 
 UP THE RIVER. 
 
 For, suddenly, mine eyes perceive 
 The purple hills that touch the sky : 
 Familiar with the stars of eve, 
 Against the pale blue West they lie, 
 Netted in mists of azure air, 
 With thread-like cataracts here and there. 
 Oh hark ! Oh hark ! 
 
 The shepherd shouts, and answering sheep- 
 dogs bark ; 
 And voices, startling Echo from her sleep. 
 Are blown from steep to steep. 
 
 At yonder falls, the trembling mountain 
 Lady 
 Clings to the bramble high above me 
 
 lying, 
 With veil of foam behind her swift feet 
 flying, 
 And a lorn terror in her lifted voice. 
 Ere springing to the rush-friezed basin 
 shady. 
 
 That boils below with noise. 
 Then, whirling dizzily for a moment's 
 
 space. 
 She lets the sun flash brightly on her face. 
 And lightly laughs at her own terror past, 
 And floateth onward fast ! 
 
 Thus wandering onward, ankle- deep in 
 
 grass. 
 Scaring the cumbrous black cock as I pass, 
 I came upon two shepherd boys, who wade 
 For coolness in the limpid waves, 
 And with their shade 
 Startle the troutling from its shallow caves. 
 
 Let me lie down upon the bank, and 
 drink ! 
 The minnows at the brim, with bellies 
 
 white 
 Upturned in specks of silvery light. 
 Flash from me in a shower, and sink. 
 Below, the blue skies wink 
 Thro' heated golden air — a clear abyss 
 Of azure, with a solitary bird 
 Steadfastly winging thro' the depths un- 
 stirred. 
 The brain turns dizzy with its bliss ; 
 
 And I would plunge into the chasms cool, 
 And float to yonder cloud of fleecy wool. 
 That floats below me, as I kiss 
 The mountain Lady's lips with thirsty 
 mouth. 
 
 What would parch'd Dives give amid his 
 
 drouth 
 For kisses such as this ? 
 
 Sing, Mttle River, while I rest, 
 Songs of your hidden mountain nest. 
 And of the blue sky in your breast ! 
 
 The landscape darkens slowly 
 
 With mountain shadows ; when I wander 
 
 on. 
 The tremulous gladness of the heat seems 
 gone. 
 And a cool awe spreads round me, sweet 
 
 and holy, — 
 A tender, sober-suited melancholy. 
 The path rough feet have made me winds 
 
 away 
 O'er fenny meadows to the white highway. 
 Where the big waggon clatters with its 
 load, 
 And pushing onward, to the ankles wet 
 In swards as soft as silken sarcenet, 
 I gain the dusty road. 
 
 The air is hotter here. The bee booms by 
 
 With honey-laden thigh, 
 
 Doubling the heat with sounds akin to heat ; 
 
 And like a floating flower the buttei^fly 
 Swims upward, downward, till its feet 
 Clin • to the hedgerows white and sweet. 
 
 A black duck rises clumsily with a cry. 
 
 And the dim lake is nigh. 
 The road curves upward to a dusty rise, 
 Where fall the sunbeams flake on flake ; 
 And turning at the curve, mine eyes 
 Fall sudden on the silent lake, 
 Asleep 'neath hyacinthinc skies. 
 
 Sing, little River, in your mirth. 
 Sing to thyself for joy the earth 
 Is smiling on your humble worth ; 
 And sing for joy that earth has given 
 A place of birth so near to heaven ! 
 Sing, little River, while I climb 
 These little hills of rock and thyme ; 
 And hear far-off your tinkling chime ! 
 
 The cataracts burst in foamy sheen ; 
 The hills slope blackly to the water's brim. 
 And far below I see their shadows dim ; 
 
 The lake, so closely hemmed between 
 Their skirts of heather and of grass. 
 Grows black and cold beneath me as I pass.
 
 EARLY POEMS. 
 
 The sunlight fades on mossy rocks, 
 And on the mountain sides the flocks 
 
 Are split like streams ; — the highway dips 
 Down, narrowing to the path where lambs 
 Lay to the udders of their dams 
 
 Their soft and pulpy lips. 
 The hills grow closer ; to the right 
 The path sweeps round a shadowy bay, 
 Upon whose slated fringes, white 
 And crested wavelets play. 
 All else is still. But list, oh list ! 
 Hidden by boulders and by mist, 
 A shepherd whistles in his fist ; 
 From height to height the far sheep bleat 
 In answering iteration sweet. 
 Sound, seeking Silence, bends above her. 
 Within some haunted mountain grot ; 
 Kisses her, like a trembling lover — 
 So that she stirs in sleep, but wakens not ! 
 
 Along this rock I '11 lie, 
 
 With face turn d upward to the sky. 
 
 A dreamy numbness glows within my 
 
 brain — 
 It is not joy and is not pain — 
 'Tis like the solemn, sweet imaginings 
 That cast a shade on Music's golden wings. 
 With face turned upward to the sun, 
 I lie as indolent as one 
 Who, in a vision sweet, perceives 
 Spirits thro' mists of lotus leaves ; 
 
 And now and then small shadows move 
 Across me, cast by clouds so small 
 Mine eyes perceive them scarce at all 
 
 In the unsullied blue above. 
 I hear the streams that burst and fall. 
 The straggling' shepherd's frequent call. 
 
 The kine low bleating as they pass, 
 The dark lake stirring with the breeze, 
 The melancholy hum of bees. 
 
 The very murmur of the grass. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Snow. 
 
 I WANDER forth this chill December dawn : 
 John Frost and all his elves are out, I see, 
 As busy as the elfin world can be. 
 Clothing a world asleep with fleecy lawn. 
 'Mid the deep silence of the evening hours 
 They glimmered duskly down in silent 
 showers, 
 
 And featly have they laboured all night long, 
 Cheering their labour with a half-heard 
 
 rhyme — 
 Low as the burthen of a milkmaids song 
 When Echo moans it over hills of thyme. 
 
 There is a hush of music on the air — 
 The white-wing'd fays are faltering every- 
 where ; 
 And here and there. 
 
 Made by a sudden mingling as they fall. 
 There comes a softer lullaby than all, 
 Swept in upon the universal prayer. 
 Mine eyes and heart are troubled with a 
 
 motion 
 Of music like the moving waves of ocean. 
 When, out of hearing, o'er the harbour bars 
 They sigh toward the moon and jasper stars. 
 The tiny squadrons waver down and thicken. 
 Gathering numbers as they fly, 
 And nearing earth their thick-set ranks they 
 
 quicken, 
 And swim in swarms to die 1 
 
 But now the clouds are winnowed away : 
 The sky above is gray as glass ; below 
 The feeble twilight of the dreamy day 
 Nets the long landskip hush'd beneath tlie 
 
 snow. 
 The arrowy frosts sting keenly as I stray 
 Along the rutted lane or broad highway, 
 fast wind-swept hedges sighing sharp and 
 
 clear, 
 Where half the sweetly changeful year 
 The scented summer loves to gleam and 
 
 glow. 
 The new-lain snowy carpet, ankle-deep. 
 Crumbles beneath my footsteps as I pass. 
 Revealing scanty blades of frozen grass ; 
 On either side the chirping sparrows leap. 
 And here and there a robin, friendly now. 
 From naked bough to bough. 
 That snow-clad homestead in the river's arm 
 Is haunted with the noisy rooks that fly 
 Between its leafless beeches and the sky. 
 And hailing fast for yonder fallow farm, 
 A solitary crow is plunging by. 
 Light muffled winds arising high among 
 White mountains brooding in _their winter 
 
 rest, 
 Bear from the eastern winter to the West 
 The muttered diapason of n song 
 Made by tlie thunder on a mountain's breast.
 
 SMOW—TO THE LUC, cm. 
 
 The sun is hanging in a purple globe, 
 'Mid yellow mists that stir with silver breath; 
 The quiet landskip slumbers, white as death, 
 Amid its naked fields and woody wolds, 
 Wearing the winter as a stainless robe 
 Low-trailing in a fall of fleecy folds. 
 By pasture-gates the mottled cattle swarm, 
 Thick'ning the misty air, with piteous eyes 
 Fixed ever on tlie tempest-breeding skies. 
 And watch the lingering traces of the storm. 
 A feeble sunbeam kisses and illumes 
 Yon whitened spire that hints a hidden town, 
 And flickering for a space it darkens down 
 Above the silence of forgotten tombs. 
 
 I gain the shoulder of the woodland now, 
 A fledgling's flutter from a small hifl's brow. 
 I see the hamlet, half a mile below. 
 With dripping gables and with criniion 
 
 panes. 
 And watch the urchins in the narrow lanes 
 Below the school-house, shouting in the 
 
 snow. 
 The whitened coach comes swiftly round the 
 
 road 
 With horns to which a dozen hills reply. 
 And rattling onward with itslaiighing load. 
 Halts steaming at the little hostelry. 
 Hard by the lonely woodman pants and 
 
 glows. 
 And, wrapt in leather stockings to the thigh, j 
 
 Toils with an icicle beneath his nose. 
 In yonder field an idle farm-boy blows 
 His frozen fingers into tingling flame ; 
 The gaunt old farmer, as he canters by, 
 Reins in to greet the country clowns by 
 
 name ; 
 That chestnut pony in the yellow fly 
 Draws the plump parson and liis leaner dame. 
 
 I loiter down the road, and feel the ground 
 Like iron 'ncath my heel ; the windless air 
 Seems lying in a swound. 
 Frost follows in its path without a sound. 
 And plies his nimble fingers everywhere. 
 Under my eyelids and beneath my hair. 
 Yon mountain dons once more its helm of 
 
 cloud, 
 The air grows dark and dim as if in wonder ; 
 Once more the heaven is winnow'd, and the 
 
 crowd 
 Of silken fays flock murmurously under 
 A sky that flutters like a wind-swept shroud. 
 
 Through gloomy dimbles, clad with new- 
 fall' n snow. 
 Back to my little cottage home I go. 
 But once again I roam by field and flood. 
 Stung into heat where hoar-frosts melt and 
 
 bite, 
 What time the fog- wrapt sun drops red as 
 
 blood. 
 And Eve's white star is tingling into sight. 
 
 TO THE LUGGIE.^ 
 
 Oh, sweet and still around the hill 
 
 Thy silver waters, Brook, are creeping ; 
 Beneath the hill, as sweet and stiU, 
 
 Thy weary Friend lies sleeping : 
 A laurel leaf is in his hair. 
 
 His eyes are closed to human seeming. 
 And surely he hath dreams most fair. 
 
 If he, indeed, be dreaming. 
 
 O Brook ! he smiled, a happy child. 
 
 Upon thy banks, and loved thy crying. 
 And, as time flew, thy murmur grew 
 
 A trouble purifying ; 
 Tin, last, thy laurel leaf he took, 
 
 Dream-eyed and tearful, like a woman, 
 And turned thy haunting cry, O Brook ! 
 
 To speech divine and human. 
 
 O Brook ! in song full sweet and strong, 
 
 He sang of thee he loved so dearly ; 
 Then softly creep around his sleep. 
 
 And murmur to him checrly ; 
 For though he knows no fret or fear. 
 
 Though life no more slips strangely 
 through him. 
 Yet he may rest more sound to hear 
 
 His friend so close unto him. 
 
 And when at last the sleepers cast 
 
 Their swathes aside, and, wondering, 
 waken. 
 Let thy Friend be full tenderly 
 
 In silvern arms uptaken. 
 Him be it then thy task to bear 
 
 Up to the Footstool, softly flowing, — 
 Smiles on his eyes, and in his hair 
 
 Thy leaf of laurel blowing ! 
 
 ' See ' The Luggie and other Poems,' by the 
 lute David Gray.
 
 EARLY POEMS. 
 
 ERA GIACOMO. 
 
 Alas, Fra Giacomo, 
 
 Too late ! but follow me . . . 
 Hush ! draw the curtain — so 1 
 
 She is dead, quite dead, you see. 
 Poor little lady 1 she lies. 
 All the light gone out of her eyes ! 
 But her features still wear that soft, 
 
 Gray, meditative expression, 
 Which you must have noticed oft. 
 
 Thro' the peephole, at confession. 
 How saintly she looks, how meek ! 
 
 Though this be the chamber of death, 
 
 I fancy I feel her breath, 
 As I kiss her on the cheek. 
 Too holy for vie, by far !— 
 As cold and as pure as a star, 
 
 Not fashioned for kissing and pressing, 
 But made for a heavenly crown ! . . . 
 Ay, Father, let us go dowTi, — 
 
 Rut first, if you please, your blessing. 
 
 II. 
 , . . Wine ? No ! Come, come, you must ! 
 
 Blessing it with your prayers. 
 You'll quaff a cup, I trust, 
 
 To the health of the Saint upstairs. 
 My heart is aching so ! 
 
 And 1 feel so weary and sad, 
 
 Through the blow that I have had ! 
 You'll sit, Fra Giacomo ? , . . 
 
 III. 
 Heigho ! 'tis now six summers 
 
 Since I saw that angel and married her — 
 
 I was passing rich, and I carried her 
 Off in the face of all comers . . . 
 So fresh, yet so brimming with Soul ! 
 
 A sweeter morsel, I swear, 
 Never made the dull Ijlack coal 
 
 Of a monk's eye glitter and glare . . . 
 
 N our pardon — nay, keep your chair ! — 
 A jest ! but a jest ! . . . Very true. 
 
 It is hardly becoming to jest, 
 
 And that Saint upstairs at rest — 
 Her Soul may be listening, too ! 
 To think how I doubted and doubted, 
 Suspected, grumbled at, flouted 
 
 That golden-hair'd Angel, and solely 
 Because she was zealous and holy 1 — 
 Night and noon and mom 
 
 She devoted herself to piety — 
 Not that she seemed to scorn, 
 
 Or shun, her husband's society ; 
 But the claims of her Soul superseded 
 All that I asked for or needed. 
 And her thoughts were far away 
 From the level of lustful clay, 
 And she trembled lest earthly matters 
 Interfered with her aves 2SiA paters ! 
 Sweet dove ! she so fluttered, in flying 
 
 To avoid the black vapours of Hell, 
 So bent on self-sanctifying,^ 
 That she never thought of trying 
 
 To save her poor husband as well ! 
 And while she was named and elected 
 
 For place on the heavenly roll, 
 I (beast that I was) suspected 
 
 Her manner of saving her Soul — 
 So half for the fun of the thing, 
 VV^hat did I (blasphemer!) but fling 
 On my shoulders the gown of a monk, 
 
 (Whom I managed for that very day 
 
 To get safely out of the way), 
 And se;.t me, half-sober, half-drunk, 
 With the cowl drawn over my face. 
 In the Father Confessor's place . . . 
 Eheu I benedicite ! 
 In her beautiful sweet simplicity, 
 With that pensive gray expression, 
 She sighfully knelt at confession, — 
 While I bit my lips till they bled, 
 
 And dug my nails in my palm. 
 And heard, with averted head. 
 
 The horrible words come calm — 
 Each word was a serpent's sting ; 
 
 But, wrapt in my gloomy gown, 
 I sat Hke a marble thing 
 
 As she uttered j'ow?" name. Sit down! 
 
 IV. 
 
 More wine, Fra Giacomo ? 
 One cup— as you love me ! No? 
 Come, drink ! 'twill bring the streaks 
 Of crimson back to your cheeks. 
 Come ! drink again to the Saint, 
 Whose virtues you loved to paint, 
 \Vho, stretched on her wifely bed, 
 With the soft, sweet, gray expression 
 You saw and admired at confession — 
 Lies poisoned, overhead J
 
 FRA GlACOMO. 
 
 Sit still — or, by God, you die ! 
 Face to face, soul to soul, you and I 
 
 Have settled accounts, in a fine 
 
 Pleasant fashion, over our wine — 
 Stir not, and seek not to fly — 
 
 Nay, whether or not, you are mine ! 
 Thank Montepulciano for giving 
 
 Your death in such delicate sips — 
 'Tis not every monk ceases living 
 
 With so pleasant a taste on his lips — 
 But lost Montepulciano unsurcly should kiss, 
 
 Take this 1 — and this !— and this 1 
 
 VI. 
 
 , . . Raise him ; and cast him, Pietro, 
 Into the deep canal below : 
 You can be secret, lad, I know . . . 
 And hark you, then to the convent go — 
 Bid every bell of the convent toll. 
 And the monks say mass, for your mistress's 
 soul. 
 
 CHAR MIAN. 
 
 Cleo. Charm ian ! 
 
 Char. Madam? 
 
 Cleo. Give me to drink mandragora ! 
 
 Antony and Cleopatra. 
 
 In the time when water-lilies shake 
 Their green and gold on river and lake. 
 When the cuckoo calls in the heart o' the 
 
 heat, 
 When the Dog-star foams and the shade is 
 
 sweet ; 
 Where cool and fresh the River ran, 
 I sat by the side of Charmian, 
 And heard no sound from the world of 
 
 man. 
 
 All was so sweet and still that day ! 
 The rustlmg shade, the rippling stream. 
 All life, all breath, dissolved away 
 Into a golden dream ; 
 Warm and sweet the scented shade 
 Drowsily caught the breeze and stirred. 
 Faint and low througli the green glade 
 Came hum of bee and song of bird. 
 Our hearts were full of drowsy bliss, 
 And yet we did not clasp nor kiss, 
 Nor did we break the happy spell 
 Wiih tender tone or syllable. 
 
 But to ease our hearts and set thought free, 
 
 We pluckt the flowers of a red rose-tree, 
 
 And leaf by leaf, we threw them, Sweet, 
 
 Into the River at our feet, 
 
 And in an indolent delight 
 
 Watch'd them glide onward, out of sight. 
 
 Sweet, had I spoken boldly then, 
 How might my love have garner'd thee ! 
 But I had left the paths of men. 
 And sitting jonder, dreamily. 
 Was happiness enough for me ! 
 Seeking no gift of word or kiss. 
 But looking in thy face, was bliss ! 
 Plucking the rose-leaves in a dream. 
 Watching them glimmer down the stream. 
 Knowing that eastern heart of thine 
 Shared the dim ecstasy of mine ! 
 
 Then, while we linger'd, cold and gray 
 Came Twilight, chilling soul and sense ; 
 And you arose to go away. 
 Full of a sweet indifference ! 
 I missed the spell— I watch'd it break, — 
 And such come never twice to man : 
 In a less golden hour I spake, 
 And did not win thee, Charmian ! 
 
 For wearily we turned away 
 
 Into the world of everyday, 
 
 And from thy heart the fancy fled 
 
 Like the rose-leaves on the River shed ; 
 
 But to me that hour is sweeter far 
 
 Than the world and all its treasures are : 
 
 Still to sit on so close to thee. 
 
 Were happiness enough for me ! 
 
 Still to sit on in a green nook, 
 
 Nor break the spell by word or look ! 
 
 To reach out happy hands for ever. 
 
 To pluck the rose-leaves, Charmian ! 
 
 To watch them fade on the gleaming River, 
 
 And hear no sound from the world of man 1 
 
 CLOUDLAND. 
 
 Under green branches I lie, 
 Pensive, I know not why ; 
 All is dead calm down here ; 
 But yonder, tho' heaven smiles clear. 
 Bright winds blow, and silent and slow 
 The vaporous Clouds sail by.
 
 10 
 
 EARLY POEMS. 
 
 For the branches, that here and there 
 Grow yellow in autumn air, 
 Are parted ; and through the rent 
 Of a flower-enwoven tent, 
 The round blue eye of the peaceful sky 
 Shows tearless, quiet, and fair. 
 
 Face upward, calmly I rest 
 As the leaf that lies dead on my breast ; 
 And the only sound I hear 
 Is a rivulet tinlding near, 
 And falling asleep in the woodland deep 
 Like a fluttering bird in a nest. 
 
 My mood would be full of grace 
 As an eremite's peaceful face. 
 And I should slumber away 
 The delicate dreamful day, 
 Save for Shapes that swim thro' the silence 
 dim 
 Of the blue ethereal space ! 
 
 I close my eyes in vain. 
 In a pensive, poetic pain : 
 Even then, to the gurgling glee 
 Of the Brook I cannot see. 
 Silent and slow they glide and they go 
 O'er the bright still blank of the brain ! 
 
 With a motion wind-bequeath'd, 
 Fantastically wreathed, 
 They disturb my Soul, — as the beat 
 Of the pale Moon's silvern feet 
 Broke the sleep forlorn of the Sea new-born, 
 Till it audibly stirr'd and breathed. 
 
 White as a flock of sheep, 
 Slender and soft and deep, 
 Wiih a radiance mild and faint 
 As the smile of a pictured Saint, 
 Or the light that flies from a mother's eyes 
 On the face of a babe asleep ! 
 
 Yonder with dripping hair. 
 Is Aphrodite the fair, 
 Fresh from the foam, whose dress 
 Enfleeces her loveliness. 
 But melts like mist from the limbs sun-kiss'd 
 That are kindling unaware ! 
 
 One, like a Titan cold. 
 With banner about him roll'd. 
 Bereft of sense, and hurl'd 
 To the wondrous under-world, 
 
 And drifting down, with a weedy crown, 
 Some miraculous River old. 
 
 One like a bank of snows, 
 Which flushes to crimson, and glows ; 
 One like a goddess tall 
 In a violet robe ;— and all 
 Have a motion that seems like the motion 
 of dreams, — 
 A dimly disturb'd repose ; — 
 
 A motion such as you see 
 In the pictured divinity 
 By the touch of an artist thrown 
 On a Xaiad sculptured in stone. 
 For ever and ever about to quiver 
 To a frighten' d flush, and flee ! 
 
 Beautiful, stately, slow, 
 The pageants changefully grow ; 
 And in my bewilder'd brain 
 Comes the distinct refrain 
 Of the stately speech and the mighty reach 
 Of Songs made long ago. 
 
 Into my heart there throng 
 Rich melodies worshipp'd long : 
 The epic of Troy divine, 
 Milton's majestical line. 
 The palfrey pace and the glittering grace 
 Of Spenser's magical song. 
 
 Do whatever I may, 
 I cannot shake them away ; 
 They are haunting voices that move 
 Like the wondrous shapes above ; 
 Stately and slow they come and they go. 
 Like measured words when we pray. 
 
 When the troublous motion sublime 
 Of the Clouds and the r^' ^Avering rhyme. 
 Ceasing, leave now and again 
 A pause in the hush'd heart, the?i 
 The brook bursts in with a pastoral din, 
 A gurgling lyrical chime ! 
 
 Oh ! sweet, very sweet, to lie 
 Pensive, I know not why. 
 And to fashion magical swarms 
 Of poet-created Forms 
 In the pageants dumb that go and come 
 Above in a windless sky !
 
 CLOUDLAND. 
 
 II 
 
 For yonder, a dark Ship furls 
 Sails by an Island of pearls, 
 And crafty Ulysses steers 
 Through thewhite-tooth'dwaves, andhears 
 1 he liquid song of the syren throng, 
 That beckon through golden curls. 
 
 Tis faded away, and lo ! 
 The Grecian tents, like snow, 
 And a brazen Troy afar, 
 Whence Helen glitters a star ; 
 And the tents reveal the ghmmering steel 
 Of the gathering Greeks below ! 
 
 In fierce, precipitate haste 
 From a golden gate are chased 
 A shadowy Adam and Eve ; 
 And within the Gate they leave. 
 Doth a sunbeam stand like the angel's brand, 
 To illumine the azure waste. 
 
 The sunbeam fading, behold 
 A huge Tree tipp'd with gold, 
 And a naked Eve beneath, 
 With the apple raised to her teeth ; 
 While round and round the Snake coils, 
 wound 
 In many a magical fold. 
 
 Oppress'd with fanciful fears. 
 Trembling with unshed tears, 
 I droop my eyes, until 
 The notes of the lyrical rill 
 Are shaken like rain on my eyelids twain, 
 And another pageant appears. 
 
 Far, far away, snow-white. 
 Full of a silvern light. 
 Beauteous, and yet so small 
 They are scarce perceived at all, 
 See Una guide her Lamb, by the side 
 Of the mounted Red-Cross Knight. 
 
 Then, to meet a far foe, speeds 
 The Knight over azure meads, 
 While threatening Dragons, hordes 
 Of Satyrs, and traitor swords, 
 Assail the Maid, but tremble afraid 
 At the milk-white Lamb she leads ! 
 
 And she wanders undismay'd 
 Through vistas of sun and shade ; 
 Over a moimtain's brow 
 She shines like a star ; and now 
 
 She fading is seen in the depths dark-green 
 Of a mimical forest glade, — 
 
 Which, opening flower-like, shows 
 A Garden of crimson repose. 
 Of lawns ambrosial. 
 Streams that flash as they fall. 
 In the innermost fold an arbour of gold 
 Like the yellow core of a rose. 
 
 On the verge of this fairy land 
 Doth mailed Sir Guyon stand, 
 And bending his bloody plume 
 'Neath portals of snowy bloom. 
 He enters the place with a pallid face. 
 Breathless, and sword in hand. 
 
 Oh ! is it not sweet, sweet, sweet, 
 To lie in this green retreat. 
 In a beautiful dim half-dream 
 Like a god on a hill ; and seem 
 A part of the fair strange shapes up there, — 
 With the wood-scents round my feet ? 
 
 But shadows lengthen around, 
 And the dew is dim on the ground ; 
 And hush'd, to list to the tune 
 Of the coming stars and moon. 
 The brook doth creep thro' the lunbrage 
 deep 
 With cooler, quieter sound. 
 
 Homeward ; — but when the pale 
 Moon filleth her silver sail, 
 I shall sit alone with a book 
 'Neath another heaven, and look 
 On the spiritual gleam and the cloudy dream 
 Of Milton's majestical tale ; 
 
 Or wandering side by side 
 With Una, through forests wide, 
 Watch her beauty increase 
 To heavenly patience and peace, 
 While the Lamb of light licks her hand 
 snow-white. 
 And watches her face, meek-eyed ! 
 
 Or, 'mill trumpets murmuring loud, 
 Tiie waving of banners proud. 
 And the rattle of horses' hooves. 
 See the Grecian host — as it moves 
 Its glittering powers to the Trojan towers, 
 That dissolve away, as a Cloud !
 
 12 
 
 EARLY POEMS. 
 
 CUCKOO SONG. 
 
 O Kitty Bell, 'twas sweet, I swear. 
 
 To wander in the spring together. 
 When buds were blowing everywhere. 
 
 And it was golden weather ! 
 And down the lanes beside the farm 
 
 You roam'd beside me, tripping lightly, — 
 Blushing you hung upon my arm, 
 
 And the small gloved hand press'd 
 tightly ! . . . 
 And the orchis sprang 
 
 In the scented meadow, 
 And the throstle sang 
 
 In the greenwood shadow ; 
 And your eyes were bright 
 
 With happy dew, — 
 Could I doubt a light 
 
 So divinely blue. 
 When you kiss'd and sighed 
 
 • I will be true ' ? . . . 
 Cuckoo ! 
 Though far and wide 
 The brown bird cried — 
 
 ' Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! cuckoo ! ' 
 
 Kitty Bell, the cry seem'd sweet, 
 
 1 or you were kind, and flowers were 
 springing ; 
 The dusty willow in the heat 
 
 Its woolly bells were swinging, 
 And in its boll the hnnet brown 
 
 Finish'd her nest with wool and feather. 
 And 7i'e had thoughts of nesthng down, 
 
 In the farm by the mill, together. . . . 
 And over the hill 
 
 The breeze was blowing. 
 And the arms of the mill 
 
 Kcj t coming and going ; 
 And who but Love 
 
 Was between us two, 
 Wlien around and above 
 
 The flittermice flew. 
 And as night drew nigh. 
 
 You swore to be true ? . . » 
 Cuckoo I 
 
 1 heard the cry 
 
 From woods hard by — 
 
 ' Cuckoo ! cuckoo ! cuckoo ! ' 
 
 O Kitty Bell, 'tis spring again. 
 But all the face of things looks iller ; 
 
 The nests are built in wood and lane, 
 
 But you are nested with the miller. 
 And other lovers kiss and swear, 
 
 While I behold in scorn and pity. 
 For 'all,' I cry, 'is false and fair,' 
 
 And curse the cuckoo and Kitty. ... 
 And over the hill 
 
 The breeze is blowing, 
 And the arms of the mill 
 
 Keep coming and going ; 
 And the hidden bird 
 
 Is singing anew 
 The warning I heard 
 
 When I trusted you ; ' 
 And I sicken and sigh, 
 
 W^ith my heart thrill'd through . . , 
 Cuckoo ! 
 Wherever I fly 
 I hear the cry — 
 
 'Cuckoo! cuckoo! cuckoo!' 
 
 THE WHITE DEER. 
 
 The hunter leaps from slumber, 
 And quits his cottage door ; 
 
 Days and nights without number, 
 Forth he has fared before. 
 
 Still the old quest is sorest, 
 The hunter's heart is cold ; 
 
 He seeks the deer of the forest 
 With mystical horns of gold. 
 
 Dim as a dream it glimmers 
 Through the dark forest glades. 
 
 Passes wiih starlight tremors. 
 Trances the sight and fades. 
 
 By the dim quiet fountain 
 Lies the print of its form ; 
 
 Up mid the cloud of the mountain 
 Cries its voice in the storm 1 
 
 Not a bullet or arrow 
 
 Hath reached its bosom yet, 
 And though the ways are narrow. 
 
 It steps through noose and net. 
 
 The hunter's cheek is sickly, 
 1 ime hath silvered his hair. 
 
 His weary breath comes quickly, 
 He tremblcth in despair.
 
 THE WHITE DEER. 
 
 n 
 
 Many a one before him 
 Hath been a hunter here, 
 
 Then, with the sad sky o'er him, 
 Died in quest of the deer. 
 
 See, the day is dying ! 
 
 See, the hunter is spent ! 
 Under the dark trees lying ; 
 
 Perishing ill content. 
 
 Ev'n as his sad eyes darken, 
 Stirs the boughs of the glade. 
 
 He gathers his strength to hearken. 
 Peering into the shade. 
 
 And lo, with a soft light streaming, 
 Stainless and dimly bright, 
 
 Stands with its great eyes gleaming 
 The mystical deer, snow-white ! 
 
 Closer it comes up creeping, 
 With burning beautiful e3'es — 
 
 Then, as he falls back sleeping, 
 Touches his lips and files ! 
 
 II. 
 
 The hve foot ever fleeing, 
 
 It comes to the dying and dead — 
 Oh, hope in the darkness of being ! 
 
 Methinks 1 hear thy tread. 
 
 Around, above me, and under, 
 God's forest is closing dim ; 
 
 I chase the mystical wonder. 
 Footsore and weary of limb. 
 
 Down in the dim recesses, 
 
 Up on the heights untrod. 
 Eluding our dreams and guesses, 
 Slips the secret of God. 
 
 Only seen by the dying. 
 In the last spectral pain ; 
 
 Just as the breath is flying — 
 Flashing and fading again. 
 
 White mystery, might I view thee ! 
 
 Bright wonder, might we meet ! 
 Ever as I pursue thee, 
 
 I see the jjrint of thy feet. 
 
 Ever those feet are roaming. 
 Ever we follow in quest ; 
 
 While thou hauntest the gloaming 
 Never a soul shall rest, 
 
 CONVENT-ROBBING. 
 (old style.) 
 
 May Margaret felt a cold cloud come 
 
 down on her — 
 They made her a nun and ptit ablack gown 
 
 on her ; 
 
 Young Roland went white 
 Thro' the winter moonlight, 
 Looming tall in the breath of the frost every 
 
 night, 
 And gazed at the Convent, and plann'd 
 
 how to win her there. 
 And his cheek gather'd dew till the dawn, 
 
 and grew thinner there. 
 
 ' A ruse, ho, a ruse ! ' cried his brother. Clerk 
 
 John, to him, — 
 When in vain both the monks and the leeches 
 
 had gone to him, — 
 
 ' Cease to fume and to frown. 
 Close thine eyes, lie thee down. 
 Stretch thee straight on a bier in thy chilly 
 
 death-gown ; 
 The great bell shall ring, and thy house 
 
 gather gloom in it, 
 While I'll to the Convent, and beg thee 
 
 a tomb in it ! ' 
 
 The Convent bell tolls, hung with black are 
 
 the porches there. 
 Come tall black pall-bearers and pages 
 
 with torches there. 
 
 Then the bier, — and thereon 
 The pale youth dead and gone ! 
 And behind, grim as Death, weeping sore, 
 
 goes Clerk John ! 
 And the chapel is dark, as the bearers pace 
 
 slow in it. 
 And all the black nuns stands with lights in 
 
 a row in it. 
 
 Ah ! chill is the chapel, the great bell chimes 
 
 weary there. 
 Black bearers, black nuns, and black pages 
 look dreary there ; 
 
 The youth lies in death, 
 Not a syllabic saith ; 
 But the tiny frost-cloud on his lips is his 
 breath 1—
 
 '4 
 
 EARL V POEMS. 
 
 And the shroud round his limbs hath bright ! And 'a mirnde,' murmurs the Abbess so 
 
 holy now, 
 For shiningly vested the dead rises slowly 
 now ! 
 
 armour of steel in it 
 And his hand, gloved in mail, grips the 
 sword it can feel in it ! 
 
 Ho, shescreameth,— May Margaret ! kneels 
 by the side of him ! — 
 
 ' White Mary above, be the guardian and 
 guide of him ! 
 
 They plighted us twain, 
 Yet we parted in pain. 
 
 And ah ! that so soon I should clasp him 
 again ! ' 
 
 Wan, wan, is her cheek, with dim torch- 
 light the while on' it- 
 
 He draweth May Margaret's sweet blushing 
 
 cheek to him. 
 She kisses him softly, yet strives not to speak 
 to him ; 
 The nuns sable-gown'd 
 Shiver dismally round. 
 As he lifteth the great sable pall from the 
 
 ground, 
 And turiuth it deftly, and flingcth it over 
 her,— 
 Does she dream ? . . Has the face changed ? •'^"'1 ^ mantle of ermine doth clothe her and 
 
 . . and is there a smile on it? 
 
 She holds his cold hand to her heart, and 
 
 doth call on him, 
 Drop by drop, warm and scented, her tender 
 
 tears fall on him ; 
 The nuns, sable-gown'd. 
 Chanting low, stand around ; 
 Clerk John bites his lips, willi liis eyes on 
 
 the ground . . 
 ' Dear heart, that we meet iitit in woe such 
 
 as this again 1 ' 
 Then she kisses his lips !— Does she dream ? 
 
 . . Did he kiss again ? 
 
 Who opens the door with a terril)le shout 
 at onee? — 
 
 A great wind sweeps in, and tlie lights are 
 blown out at once ! 
 
 The Abbess screams low, 
 Moan the nuns in a row. 
 
 Thro' the porch sweeps the wind and the 
 sleet and the snow. 
 
 But the moon thro' the quaint-colour'd win- 
 dows is beaming now, — 
 
 And W9nderful shapes round the bier gather 
 gleaming now ! — 
 
 The sable pall-bearers and pages are new- 
 arrayed, 
 In armour that glitters like golden dew 
 arrayed ! 
 
 How chill the moon glows ! 
 
 How it blows ! how it snows ! I 
 
 cover her ! 
 
 On the floor of the ehapel their foot-falls 
 
 sound hollow now, 
 Clerk John and the rest very silently follow 
 
 now . . . 
 Hark ! is it the beat 
 Of horses' foot ? 
 Or the wild wind whistling in snow and in 
 
 sleet? 
 Down the aisles of the chapel the wild echoes 
 
 die away. 
 While fast in the snow-storm the happy ones 
 
 hie away ! 
 
 'Saints,' erieth the Abbess, 'pour down 
 
 your dole on us ! 
 To take our sweet sister the devil hath stole 
 on us ! ' 
 And the nuns, in a row. 
 Murmur slyly and low — 
 ' Ah I would he might come unto iis also ! ' 
 And they look at the bier, with the tingle of 
 
 sin on ihoni. 
 And the moon blushes faintly, still glimmer- 
 ing in on them. 
 
 Ay, fast in the snow-storm gallop the lovers 
 
 now ! 
 Young Roland's warm castle their merriment 
 covers now ! 
 To the bower they have run, 
 For the bridal is done, 
 And the jolly old priest hath macfe them one : 
 ' May all who love true,' cries the youth, 
 win such kisses, dear. 
 
 Vet May Margaret's cheek is as red as a | Die such death,— and be tomb'd in a bower 
 "■"se 1 I such as this is, dear I '
 
 THE BALLAD OF THE WAYFARER. 
 
 IS 
 
 THE BALLAD OF TLLE WAY- 
 FARER. 
 (old style.) 
 
 O'er the cheerless common, 
 
 Where tlic Ijleak winds blow, 
 Wanders the wan Woman ; 
 Waysore and weary, 
 Through the dark and dreary 
 Drift-bed of the Snow. 
 On her pale pinch'd features snowing 'tis 
 
 and sleeting, 
 By her side her little Son runs with warm 
 
 heart beating. 
 Clinging to her wet robe, while she wails 
 repeating : 
 'Further, my child, further— further let 
 us go ! ' 
 
 Fleet the Boy doth follow, 
 Wondering at her woe ; 
 On, with footfall hollow, 
 O'er the pathway jagged 
 Crawls she wet and ragged. 
 Restless and slow. 
 ' Mother ! ' now he murmurs, mid the tem- 
 pest's crying, 
 ' Mother, rest a little — I am faint with flying — 
 Mother, rest a little ! ' Still she answers 
 sighing, 
 'Further, child, and faster— further let us 
 go! 
 
 But now she is sitting 
 On a stone, and lo ! 
 Dark her brows are knitting, 
 While the Child, close clinging 
 Tc her raiment wringing, 
 Shivers at the snovv. 
 'Tell me of my father ! for I never knew 
 
 him 
 Is he dead or living, are we flying to him ? ' 
 ' F'eace, my child ! ' she answers, and the 
 voice thrills through him ; 
 ' When we wander further — further ! — 
 thou shall know. ' 
 
 (Wild wind of December, 
 
 Blow, wind, blow ! — ) 
 'Oh, but I rt'mcmbcr! 
 In my mind I gather 
 Pictures of my father, 
 
 And a gallant show. 
 
 Tell me, mother, tell me — did we always 
 
 wander? 
 Was the world once brighter? In some 
 
 town out yonder 
 Dwelt we not contented ? ' Sad she seems 
 
 to ponder, 
 Sighing ' I will tell thee —when we further 
 
 go.' 
 
 'Oh. but Mother, listen! 
 We were rich, I know ! 
 (How his bright eyes glisten !) 
 We were merry people. 
 In a town with a steeple. 
 Long, long ago ; 
 In a gay room dwelling, where your face 
 
 shone brightly. 
 And a brave man brought us food and 
 
 presents nightly. 
 Tell me, 'twas my father?' Now her face 
 looms whitely, 
 While she shivers moaning, ' Peace, let 
 
 us go 
 
 I ' 
 
 How the clouds gather ! 
 How the winds IjIow ! 
 ' Who was my father ? 
 Was he Prince or Lord there. 
 With a train and a sword there ? 
 Mother, I will know ! — 
 I have dreamt so often of those gallant 
 
 places ; 
 There were banners waving — I could see the 
 
 faces — 
 Take me to my father ! ' cries he with cm- 
 braces, 
 While she shivers moaning, ' No, child, 
 no ! ' 
 
 While the child is speaking. 
 
 Forth the moon steals slow. 
 From the black cloud breaking, 
 Shining white and eerie 
 On the wayside weary. 
 Shrouded white in snow. 
 On the heath behind them, 'gainst the dim 
 
 sky lying. 
 Looms the Gallows blackly, in the wild 
 
 wind sighing. 
 To her feet the woman springs ! with fierce 
 shriek crying— 
 ' See ! Oh, God in heaven ! . . . Woe, 
 child, woe 1 '
 
 i6 
 
 EARLY POEMS. 
 
 (Blow, wind of December, 
 
 Blow, wind, blow ! — ) 
 ' Thou canst not remember — 
 Thou wert but a blossom 
 Suckled on my bosom. 
 Years, years ago ! 
 Thy father stole to feed us ; our starving 
 
 faces stung him ; 
 In yonder town behind us, they seized him 
 
 and they hung him ! 
 They murdered him on Gallows-Tree, and 
 to the ravens flung him ! 
 Faster, my child, faster — faster let us go ! ' 
 
 IN SPRING-TIME. 
 
 Sweet, sing a song of the May to me, 
 
 Sweeten the lingering hours ! 
 Soft comes her whisper each day to me, 
 See, thro' the green and the gray, to me ; 
 
 Thrills the faint flame of the flowers. 
 For the spell of the winter is ended. 
 
 The rainbow is seen thro' the showers, 
 And the May, by fair spirits attended. 
 
 Shall smile up the skies, and be ours. . . 
 Afar away yonder her foot cometh slow to 
 
 us — 
 She steals up the south, with her cheeks all 
 
 aglow, to us ! 
 The blue waters tremble ! the rain singeth 
 
 low to us ! 
 Green stir the blossoming bovvers ! 
 
 THE FISHERMAN. 
 
 The sea is moaning, the little one cries. 
 In child-bed sorrow the Mother lies, 
 And the Fisher fisheth afar away 
 In the morning gray. 
 
 The drift is dark as the dawn appears : 
 Is it the moan of the wind he hears— 
 Is it the splash of the ocean foam. 
 Or a cry from home ? 
 
 He fisheth there that the babe may eat — 
 The wind is whistling in shroud and sheet ; 
 He lookcth down from the side of his bark 
 On the waters dark. 
 
 Sees he the gleam of the foam-flake there, 
 Or a white, white face in its floating hair? — 
 
 Sea-weeds salt that are shoreward drifted, 
 Or arms uplifted ? 
 
 His heart is heavy, his lips are set, 
 He sighs as he draggeth in his net — 
 A goodly gift from the waters wild 
 To Mother and Child 1 
 
 The Dawn gleams cold as he homeward flies 
 The boat is laden, the newborn cries, 
 But the wraith of the mother fades far away 
 In the morning gray 1 
 
 THE CHURCHYARD. 
 (a genre picture.) 
 
 How slowly creeps the hand of Time 
 
 On the old clock's green-mantled face ! 
 Yea, slowly as those ivies climb. 
 
 The hours roll round with patient pace ; 
 The drowsy rooks caw on the tower. 
 
 The tame doves hover round and round ; 
 Below, the slow grass hour by hour 
 
 Makes green God's sleeping ground. 
 
 All moves, but nothing here is swift ; 
 
 The grass grows deep, the green boughs 
 shoot ; 
 From east to west the shadows drift ; 
 
 The earth feels heavenward underfoot ; 
 The slow stream through the bridge doth 
 stray 
 
 With water-lilies on its marge. 
 And slowly, piled with scented hay, 
 
 Creeps by the silent barge. 
 
 All stirs, but nothing here is loud : 
 
 The cushat broods, the cuckoo cries ; 
 Faint, far up, under a white cloud. 
 
 The lark trills soft to earth and skies ; 
 And underneath the green graves rest ; 
 
 And through the place, with slow foo! falls, 
 With snowy cambric on his breast. 
 
 The old gray Vicar crawls. 
 
 And close at hand, to see him come. 
 
 Clustering at the playground gate, 
 The urchins of the schoolhonse, dumb 
 
 And bashful, hang the head and wait ; 
 The little maidens curtsey deep,' 
 
 The boys their forelocks touch meanwhile. 
 The Vicar sees them, half asleep, 
 
 And smiles a sleepy smile,
 
 THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 17 
 
 Slow as the hand on the clock's face, 
 
 Slow as the white cloud in the sky, 
 He Cometh now with tottering pace 
 
 To the old vicarage hard by ; 
 Smothered it stands in ivy leaves, 
 
 Laurels and yews make dark the ground ; 
 The swifts that built beneath the eaves 
 
 Wheel in still circles round. 
 
 And from the portal, green and dark. 
 
 He glances at the church-clock old — 
 Gray soul ! why seek his eyes to mark 
 
 The creeping of that finger cold? 
 He cannot see, but still as stone 
 
 He pauses, listening for the chime, 
 And hears from that green tower intone 
 
 The eternal voice of Time. 
 
 SEA-WASH. 
 
 Wherefore so cold, O Day, 
 That gleamest far away 
 O'er the dim line where mingle heaven and 
 ocean. 
 While fishing-boats lie netted in the gray. 
 And still smooth waves break in their shore- 
 ward motion — 
 Wherefore so cold, so cold? 
 O say, dost thou behold 
 A Face o'er which the rock-weed droopcth 
 sobbing, 
 A Face just stirred within a sea-cave old 
 By the green water's throbbing ? 
 
 Wherefore, O Fisherman, 
 
 So full of care and wan. 
 This weary, weary morning shoreward flying 
 
 While stooping downward, darkly thou 
 dost scan 
 That which below thee in thy boat is lying? 
 
 Wherefore so full of care ! 
 
 What dost thou shoreward bear 
 Caught in thy net's moist meshes, as a token? 
 
 Ah ! can it be the ring of golden hair 
 Whereby my heart is broken ? 
 
 Wherefore so still, O Sea? 
 
 That washest wcarilic 
 Under the lamp lit in the fisher's dwelling, 
 
 Holding the secret of thy deeps from me. 
 Whose heart would break so sharply at the 
 telling ? 
 
 Wherefore so still, so stiU ? 
 Say, in thy sea-cave chill 
 Floats she forlorn with foam-bells round her 
 breaking, 
 While the wet Fisher lands and climbs the 
 
 hill 
 To hungry babes awaking ? 
 
 EARTH AND THE SOUL. 
 
 ' Child of my bosom, babe of my bearing ; 
 Why dost thou turn from me n_ow thou 
 art old ? 
 Why, like a wild bird for passage preparing. 
 Shrink from my touch with a tremor of 
 cold?" 
 • Mother, I dread thee ! mother, I fear 
 thee ! 
 Darkness and silence are hid in thy core ; 
 Deep is thy voice, and I tremble to hear 
 thee ; 
 Let me begone, for thou lov'st me no 
 more ! ' 
 
 ' Love thee not, dearest one, son of my 
 splendour. 
 Love thee not ? How shall I smile thee a 
 sign ? 
 See my soft arms, they are kindly and tender ! 
 See my fond face, flushing upward to 
 thine ! " 
 ' Mother, thy face looketh dreadful and 
 ghastly ! 
 Mother, thy breath is as frost on my hair ! 
 Hold me not, stay me not, time spcedcth 
 fastly, 
 Look, a kind Hand beckons softly up 
 there ! ' 
 
 ' Child, yet a while ere thy cruel feet fare on ! 
 Sec, in my lap lie the flowers of the May ; 
 See, in my hair twine the roses of Sharon ; 
 See, on my breast gleam the gems of 
 Cathay ! ' 
 ' Mother, I know thou art (juccnly and 
 splendid. 
 Yet is there death in the Ijlush of thy 
 bloom ; 
 Touch me not, mother— my chiklhood is 
 ended. 
 Dark is thy shadow and dreadful thy 
 doom.' 
 
 C
 
 i8 
 
 EARLY FOEMS. 
 
 ' Child, 'twas T bare thee ! child, 'twas I 
 fashioned 
 Those gleaming limbs, and those ringlets 
 of light. 
 Made thee a spirit sublime and impassioned. 
 Read thee the Book of the stars night by 
 night. 
 Led thy fraU feet when they failed sorrow- 
 laden, 
 \Vhispered thee wonders of death and of 
 birth, 
 Made thee the heir of the garden of Aiden, 
 Child, it was I, thy ixior mother, the 
 Earth ! ' 
 
 Take the last love of my bosom forlorn with 
 thee — 
 Seek the great Void for a kinder in vain ! ' 
 
 ' Mother, I go ; but if e'er I discover 
 
 That which I seek in those regions untrod, 
 I will come back to thee ; softly bend over 
 
 Thypillow, and whisperthe secret of God.' 
 ' Child, thou wilt find me asleep in black 
 raiment. 
 
 Dead by the side of the infinite Sea ; 
 Drop one immortelle above me for payment 
 
 Of all the wild love I have wasted on thee ! ' 
 
 ' Mother, I know it ! and oh, how I loved 
 thee, 
 \Vlien on thy bosom I leapt as a child, 
 Shared each still pleasure that filled thee and 
 moved thee, 
 Thrilled to the bliss of thy face when it 
 smiled. 
 Yea, but I knew not thy glory was fleeing. 
 Not till that night thou didst read me the 
 scroll. 
 Sobbed in my ear the dark secret of Being ; 
 Mother, I wept — thy fair creature, the 
 Soul!' 
 
 'Child, wherefore weep? Since the secret 
 is spoken. 
 Lie in mine arms— I will rock thee to rest ; 
 Ne'er shall thy slumber be troubled and 
 broken. 
 Low will I sing to thee, held to my breast. 
 Oh, it is weary to wander and wander ; 
 Child of my fashioning, stay with me 
 here. ' 
 • Mother, I cannot; 'tis brighter up yonder ; 
 Dark is thy brow with the shadow I fear ! ' 
 
 ' Child, yet one kiss ! yet one kiss, ere thou 
 flyest ! ' 
 ' Nay, for thy Lips l-.ave the poison of 
 death ! ' 
 ' Child, one embrace ! ' ' Nny, all vainly 
 thou criest ; 
 I see thy face darken, I shrink at thy 
 breath. ' 
 ' Go, I have wept for thee, toiled for thee, 
 borne with thee, 
 Pardoned thee freely each taint and each 
 staia. 
 
 A CURL." 
 
 fA boy's poem.) 
 
 See ! what a treasure rare 
 
 I hold with fingers aglow ! 
 
 — 'Tis full of the bright 
 
 Subdued sunlight 
 Which shone in the scented hair 
 Of a maiden I once held fair ; 
 
 And I puzzle my brains to know 
 If the heart of the beautiful g.rl 
 
 Hath kept the light of the Long Ago, 
 As long as the yellow curl ? 
 
 What matter? Why, little or none ! 
 She is nought to me now, understand ; 
 But I feel less sad 
 Than tearfully glad, 
 And a passionate thrill hath run 
 Through my veins, like a flash of the sun, — 
 
 That with so unheeding a hand 
 I can grasp a small part of the gold 
 Which dazzled my wits, when I planned 
 and planned 
 For the love of that maiden, of old. 
 
 See ! I crush it with finger and thumb. 
 Half in cruelty, half in jest. — 
 
 As she lies asleep. 
 
 Doth a shudder creep 
 Thro' her h-^art, and render it numb? 
 Doth a sorrowful whisper come 
 
 * As these verses bear a certain superficial re- 
 semblance, in subject, to Mr. Tennyson's Poem, 
 ' A Ringlet,' it may be as well to state that they 
 appeared in print several years before the publi- 
 cation of ' Enoch Ardcii, and Other roems.'
 
 A CURL. 
 
 19 
 
 From afar, while her lord is at rest 
 By her side, and none else are by ? 
 
 Doth she shiver away from her husband's 
 breast, 
 And hide her face, and cry ? 
 
 Is her heart quite withered and sere? 
 
 Are the pledges forgotten yet, 
 That, with blushing face, 
 In a secret place, 
 She breathed in my burning ear, 
 In the morning of the year, 
 
 When, after long parting, we met 
 By the Sea, on the shadowy lawn, 
 
 And spake till the sunset faded to jet, 
 And moon and stars made a dawn ? 
 
 As she lies in her wifely place. 
 The wings of her white soul furled. 
 Does the cheek at rest 
 On her husband's breast 
 
 Grow scorch' d with the hot disgrace 
 
 Of the kisses I rain'd on her face, 
 When the mists of the night upcurled 
 
 From the ocean that night of June, 
 
 And make a glamour, wherein the world 
 
 Seemed close to the stars and moon ? 
 
 By this ringlet of yellow hair. 
 
 Still full of the light forlorn 
 Of that parting spot ! 
 Hath she quite forgot 
 The passionate love she bare, 
 And the hope she promised to share, 
 
 When the ringlet of gold was shorn. 
 And the flowers felt the sun on the soil, 
 
 And the firefly stars went out in the morn, 
 And I hurried back to my toil ? 
 
 I could crush it under my heel 1 
 
 Hath she forgotten the clear 
 Vision of fame 
 That died, when her shame 
 Made my wild brain totter and reel ? 
 Hath she a heart to feel? — 
 
 False to her vows in a year ! 
 False and hollow as Hell ! 
 
 False to the voice that warned in her car 1 
 And false to her God as well ! 
 
 This curl that she gave to me 
 IcU over her brow of snow. 
 
 So 'twas near the bright 
 Spiritual light 
 
 That burned in the brain — and see ! 
 I am kissing it tenderly ! 
 
 She is asking for mercy, I know ; 
 So I kiss it again and again, 
 
 For I know some charm makes the wild 
 kiss glow 
 Like fire thro' the woman's brain ! 
 
 She cannot choose but atone ! 
 By the brow where this curl once gleam'd ! 
 She must in sin thought, 
 Against him who bought 
 The heart already mine own, 
 And left me weeping alone. 
 
 'Tis a charm, and my loss is redeemed ! 
 And the sin 'gainst her lord will be — 
 To remember how close to the stars we 
 seemed 
 That night in the mists by the Sea ! 
 
 She will look on her husband's face, 
 She will kiss him on the cheek — 
 
 She will kiss, she will smile ; 
 And all the while. 
 
 In thought no other may trace. 
 
 She'll be back in that perfumed place, 
 Hearing the words that I speak, 
 
 ■Vowing the vow I believe, 
 
 While the sunset dies with a purple sti eak, 
 
 'Neath the whitening star of eve. 
 
 And the voice of the waves will bar 
 All sweeter sounds from her ears. 
 She'll be under the moon 
 Of that night of June, 
 And the motion of moon and star 
 Will trouble her from afar ; 
 
 And then, when the silver spheres 
 Fade fitfully out of the skies, 
 And the red dawn breaks, she will \\ake 
 in tears, 
 And shrink from her husband's eyes ! 
 
 And in time, when again and again 
 
 I have kissed the magical gold. 
 
 Those same gross eyes 
 
 Will be open and wise. 
 
 And his heart will be feverish pain. 
 
 And a doubt will arise in his brain ; 
 
 And ere she is grown very old, 
 He will know she is frail as foam, — 
 He will see the light of that night in hei 
 cold 
 Face,— and my curse strikes home ! 
 
 C3
 
 20 
 
 EARLY POEMS. 
 
 For perchance in her yearning she may 
 Be bewildered and brouglit to blame, 
 By a new delight 
 So like that night 
 With its mimical glamour of day, 
 That she cannot shake it away ; 
 
 And following it once more, 
 She will take a path of shame, 
 While the man blushes red at his darken' d 
 door 
 As the children utter her name. 
 
 See ! my passionate lips are warm 
 
 On the curl, in a cruel bliss — 
 In day or mirk 
 The charm would work ! — 
 While she dreams of that night till her form 
 Is caught in the eddies of storm ! 
 
 There's a devil impels me to kiss, 
 And my blood boils to and fro ; 
 
 She asks for mercy I shall mercy like this 
 Be given my darling ? . . . No ! 
 
 With the world, as it ebbs and flows, 
 My heart is in jarring tune ; 
 Let the memory 
 Of her beauty be 
 Furled in a soft repose 
 Round my heart, like the leaves of a rose. 
 
 The f lith which has faded too soon, 
 I bury with this last cry ; 
 
 For the curl, still bright with that night 
 of June, 
 Lo ! I tenderly put it by 1 
 
 LOVE AND TIME. 
 
 This is the place, as husht and dead 
 
 As when I saw it long ago ; 
 Down the dark walk with sha lows spread 
 
 I wander slow. 
 
 The tangled sunlight, cold and clear. 
 Steals frost-white through the boughs 
 around. 
 
 There is no warmth of suumicr here, 
 No summer sound. 
 
 Darnel and nettle, as I pass, 
 
 Choke the dim ways, and in the bowers 
 Gather the weeds and the wild grass 
 
 Instead of flowers. 
 
 O life I O time ! O days that die ! 
 
 O days that Ave within the mind 1 
 Here did we wander, she and I, 
 
 Togedier twined. 
 
 We passed out of the great broad walk, 
 Beyond the emerald lawns we strayed, 
 
 We lingered slow in tender talk 
 Along the shade. 
 
 And then the great old maze we found. 
 And smiling entered it unseen. 
 
 Half sad, half glad, went round and round 
 Thro' windings green. 
 
 In the bright centre of the maze 
 A rose-bush grew, a dial gleam'd ; 
 
 She pluck'd a rose . . . with blissful gaze 
 Watch'd it, and dreamed. 
 
 O life I O time ! O days divine ! 
 
 O dreams that keep the soul astir ! 
 That hour eternity was mine, 
 
 Looking at her ! 
 
 This is the place. I wander slow. 
 
 Lark are the shades of shrub and tree. 
 The dial stands, the leaves lie low, 
 
 But where is she ? 
 
 O life 1 O time ! O birds and flowers ! 
 
 O withering leaves upon the bough ! 
 Alas, she measures not her hours 
 
 With roses now. 
 
 The dial stands — the dark days roll — 
 From year to year the roses spring — 
 
 Eternity is in my soul. 
 Remembering. 
 
 The dial stands — the summer goes — 
 
 All changeth, nothing diclh, h(;re ! 
 And all reneweth like a rose, 
 irom year to )-ear.
 
 TO DAVTD IN HEAVEN. 
 
 21 
 
 Undertones. 
 
 (1864.) 
 
 POET'S PROLOGUE. 
 TO DA VI D IN HE A VEN. 
 
 'Quo diversus abis?' 
 
 ' Quem Di diligunt, adolescens moritur.' 
 
 I. 
 
 Lo ! the slow moon roaming* 
 Thro' fleecy mists of gloaming, 
 Furrowing with pearly edge the jewel pow- 
 der'd sky ! 
 Lo, the bridge moss-I den, 
 Arch'd like foot of maiden, 
 And on the bridge, in silence, looking up- 
 ward, you and I ! 
 Lo, the pleasant season 
 Of reaping and of mowing — 
 The round still moon above,— beneath, the 
 river duskily flowing ! 
 
 II. 
 Violet colour'd shadows, 
 Blown from scented meadows, 
 Float o'er us to the pine -wood dark from 
 yonder dim corn-ridge ; 
 The little river gushes 
 Thro' shady sedge and rushes. 
 And gray gnats murmur o'er the pools, be- 
 neath the mossy bridge ; — 
 And you and I stand darkly, 
 O'er the keystone leaning. 
 And watch the pale mesmeric moon, in the 
 time of gleaners and gleaning. 
 
 in. 
 Do I dream, I wonder? 
 As, sitting sadly under 
 A lonely roof in London, thro' the grim 
 square pane I gaze ? 
 Here of you I ponder. 
 In a dream, and yonder 
 The still streets seem to stir and breathe be- 
 neath the white moon's rays. 
 By the vision cherish'd, 
 By the battle braved. 
 Do I but dream a hopeless dream, in the 
 city that slew, you, David ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Is it fancy also. 
 That the light which falls so 
 Faintly upon the stony street below me as I 
 write. 
 Near tall mountains passes 
 Thro' churchyard weeds and grasses 
 Barely a mower's mile away from that small 
 bridge, to-night? 
 And, where you are lying, — 
 Grass and flowers above you — 
 Is mingled with your sleeping face, as calm 
 as the hearts that love you? 
 
 V. 
 
 Poet gentle-hearted. 
 Are you then departed, 
 And have you ceased to dream the dream 
 we loved of old so well ? 
 Has the deeply cherish'd 
 Aspiration perish'd. 
 And are you happy, David, in that heaven 
 where you dwell ? 
 Have you found the secret 
 We, so wildly, sought for, 
 And is your soul enswath'd, at last, in the 
 singing robes you fought for ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 In some heaven star-lighted, 
 Are you now imited 
 Unto the poet-spirits that you loved, of 
 English race? 
 Is Chatterton still dreaming? 
 And, to give it stately seeming. 
 Has the music of his last strong song passed 
 into Kcats's face? 
 Is Wordsworth there? and Spenser? 
 Beyond the grave's black portals, 
 C'an the grand eye of Milton see the glory 
 he sang to mortals ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 You at least could teach me. 
 Could your dear voice reach me
 
 22 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 Wliere I sit and copy out for men my soul's 
 strange speech, 
 Whether it be bootless, 
 Profitless, and fruitless, — 
 The weary aching upward strife to heights 
 we cannot reach, 
 The fame we seek in sorrow. 
 The agony we forego not. 
 The haunting singing sense that makes us 
 chmb — whither we know not. 
 
 viir. * 
 
 Must it last for ever, 
 The passionate endeavotir, 
 Ay, have ye, there in heaven, hearts to throb 
 and still aspire ? 
 In the life you know now, 
 Render'd white as snow now, 
 Do fresher glory-heights arise, and beckon 
 higher — higher ? 
 Are you dreaming, dreaming, 
 Is your soul still roaming. 
 Still gazing upward as we gazed, of old in 
 the autumn gloaming ? 
 
 IX. 
 
 Lo, the book I hold here. 
 In the city cold here ! 
 I hold it with a gentle hand and love it as I 
 may ; 
 Lo, the weary moments 1 
 Lo, the icy comments ! 
 And lo, false Fortune's knife of gold swift- 
 lifted up to slay ! 
 Has the strife no ending ? 
 Has the song no meaning ? 
 Linger I, idle as of old, while men are reap- 
 ing or gleaning ? 
 
 Upward my face I turn to you, 
 I long for you, I yearn to you. 
 The spectral vision trances me to utt'rance 
 wild and weak ; 
 It is not that I mourn you. 
 To mourn you were to scorn you, 
 For you are one step nearer to the beauty 
 singers seek. 
 But I want, and cannot see you, 
 I seek and cannot find you. 
 And, see ! I touch the book of songs you 
 tenderly left behind you ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 Ay, me ! I bend above it. 
 With tearful eyes, and love it, 
 With -tender hand I touch the leaves, but 
 cannot find you there ! 
 Mine eyes are haunted only 
 By that gloaming sweetly lonely. 
 The shadows on the mossy bridge, the 
 glamour in the air ! 
 I touch the leaves, and only 
 See the glory they retain not — 
 The moon that is a lamp to Hope, who 
 glorifies what we gain not ! 
 
 xri. 
 
 The aching and the yearning. 
 The hollow, undiscerning, 
 Uplooking want I stiU retain, darken the 
 leaves I touch — 
 Pale promise, with much sweetness 
 Solemnizing incompleteness. 
 But ah, you knew so litde then — and now 
 you know so much ! 
 By the vision cherish'd, 
 By the battle braved. 
 Have you, in heaven, shamed the song, by 
 a loriier music, David ? 
 
 XIII. 
 
 I, who loved and knew you, 
 In the city that slew you. 
 Still hunger on, and thirst, and climb, proud- 
 hearted and alone : 
 Serpent-fears enfold me. 
 Syren-visions hold me. 
 And, like a wave, I gather strength, and 
 gathering strength, I moan ; 
 Yea, the pale moon beckons, 
 Still I follow, aching, 
 And gather strength, only to make a louder 
 moan, in breaking ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Tho' the world could turn from you. 
 This, at least. I learn from you : 
 Beauty and Truth, tho' never found, are 
 worthy to be sought, 
 The singer, upward-springing. 
 Is grander than his singing, 
 And tranquil self-sufficing joy illumes the 
 dark of thought.
 
 TO DAVID IN HEAVEN. 
 
 23 
 
 This, at least, you teach me, 
 In a revelation : 
 That gods still snatch, as worthy death, the 
 soul in its aspiration. 
 
 XV. 
 
 And I think, as you thought. 
 Poesy and Truth ought 
 Never to he silent in the singer's heart on 
 earth ; 
 Tho' they be discarded, 
 Slighted, unrewarded, — 
 Tho', unto vulgar seeming, they appear of 
 little worth, — 
 Yet tender brother-singers, 
 Young or not yet born to us. 
 May seek there, for the singer's sake, that 
 love which sweeteneth scorn to us! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 While I sit in silence. 
 Comes from mile on mile hence, 
 From English Keats's Roman grave, a voice 
 that sweetens toil ! 
 Think you, no fond creatures 
 Draw comfort from the features 
 Of Chatterton, pale Phiiethon, hurled down 
 to sunless soil? 
 Scorch'd with sunlight lying. 
 Eyes of sunlight hollow. 
 Rut, see ! upon the lips a gleam of the 
 chrism of Apollo ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Noble thought produces 
 Noble ends and uses, 
 Noble hopes are part of Hope wherever she 
 may be. 
 Noble thought enhances 
 Life and all its chances. 
 And noble self is noble song, — all this I 
 learn from thee ! 
 And I learn, moreover, 
 'Mid the city's strife too, 
 That such faint song as sweetens Death can 
 sweeten the singer's life too I 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Lo, my Book !— I hold it 
 In weary hands, and fold it 
 Unto my heart, if only as a token I aspire ; 
 
 And, by song's assistance. 
 
 Unto your dim distance, 
 My soul uplifted is on wings, and beckon'd 
 higher, nigher. 
 By the sweeter wisdom 
 You return unspeaking, 
 Though endless, hopeless, be the search, wc 
 exalt our souls in seeking. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Higher, yet, and higher, 
 Ever nigher, ever nigher, 
 To the glory we conceive not, let us toil 
 and strive and strain 1 — 
 The agonized yearning. 
 The imploring and the burning, 
 Grown awfuller, intenser, at each vista we 
 attain, 
 And clearer, brighter, growing, 
 Up the gulfs of heaven wander, 
 Higher, higher yet, and higher, to the 
 Mystery we ponder ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 Yea, higher yet, and higher. 
 Ever nigher, ever nigher. 
 While men grow small by stooping and the 
 reaper piles the grain, — 
 Can it then be bootless, 
 Profitless and fruitless. 
 The weary aching upward search for what 
 we never gain ? 
 Is there not awaiting 
 Rest and golden weather. 
 Where, passionately purified, the singers 
 may meet together ? 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Up ! higher yet, and higher, 
 Ever nigher, ever nigher. 
 Thro' voids that Milton and the rest beat 
 still with seraph-wings ; 
 Out thro' the great gate creeping 
 Where God hath put his sleeping — 
 A dewy cloud detaining not the soul that 
 soars and sings. 
 Up ! higher yet, and higher, 
 Fainting nor retreating. 
 Beyond the sun, beyond the stars, to the far 
 bright realm of meeting !
 
 24 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 O Mystery ! O Passion ! 
 To sit on earth, and fashion, 
 What floods of music visibled may fill that 
 fancied place ! 
 To think, the least that singeth, 
 Aspireth and upspringeth. 
 May weep glad tears on Keats's breast and 
 look in Milton's face ! 
 When human power and failure 
 Are equalized for ever, 
 And the one great Light that haloes all is 
 the passionate bright endeavour ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 But ah, that pale moon roaming 
 Thro' fleecy mists of gloaming. 
 Furrowing with pearly edge the jewel- 
 powder' d sky, 
 And ah, the days departed 
 With your friendship gentle-hearted, 
 And ah, the dream we dreamt that night, 
 togcthci you and I ! 
 Is it fasmon'd wisely. 
 To heip Its or to blind us, 
 That at ",ich i;eight we gain we turn, and 
 behold a heaven behind us? 
 
 THE UNDERTONES. 
 
 Thou Fame ! who makest of the singer's Life, 
 
 Faint with the sweetness of its own desire, 
 
 A statue of Narcissus, still and fair 
 
 For evermore, and bending evermore 
 
 Over its beauteous image mirrored 
 
 In the swift current of our human days, 
 
 Eternally in act to clasp and kiss ! 
 
 O Fame, teach thou this flesh and blood to love 
 
 Some beauteous counterpart, and while it bends, 
 
 Tremulously gazing on the image, blow 
 
 Thy trump aloud, and freeze it into stone ! 
 
 PROTEUS ; 
 
 OR, A PRELUDE. 
 
 Into the living elements of things 
 I, Proteus, mingle, seeking strange dis- 
 guise : 
 
 T track the Sun-god on an eagle's wings. 
 Or look at horror thro' a murderer's eyes, 
 
 In shape of homed beast my shadow glides 
 Among broad-leaved flowers thatblow 'neath 
 Afiic tides. 
 
 I.o ! I was stirring in the leaves that shaded 
 
 The Garden where the Man and Woman 
 smiled : 
 I saw them later, raimentless, degraded. 
 
 The apple sour upon their tongues ; be- 
 guiled 
 By the sweet wildness of the Woman's tears, 
 
 I dropt in dew upon her lips, and stole 
 
 Under her heart, a stirring human Soul, 
 The blood within her tingling in mine ears ; 
 And as I lay, I heard a voice that cried 
 
 ' Lo, Proteus, the unborn, shall wake- 
 to be 
 Heir of the Woman's sorrow, yet a guide 
 
 Conducting back to immortality — 
 The spirit of the leaves of Paradise 
 Shall lift him upward, to aspire and rise ! ' 
 Then sudden, I was conscious that I lay 
 Under a heaven that gleam'd afar away : — 
 
 I heard the Man and Woman w eping. 
 
 The green leaves rustling, and the Serpent 
 creeping. 
 The roar of beasts, the song of birds, the 
 
 chime 
 Of elements in sudden strife sublime. 
 
 And overhead I saw the starry Tree, 
 
 Eternity, 
 Put forth the blossom Time. 
 
 A wind of ancient prophecy swept down, 
 
 And wither'd up my beauty - where I lay 
 On Paris' bosom, in the Trojan town ; 
 
 Troy vanish'd, and I wander'd far away, — 
 Till, lying on a Virgin's breast, I gazed 
 
 Thro' infant eyes, and saw, as in a dream. 
 The great god Pan whom I had raised and 
 praised, 
 Float huge, unsinew'd, down a miglity 
 stream. 
 With leaves and lilies heap'd about his head. 
 And a weird music hemming him around. 
 While, dropping from his nerveless fingers 
 dead, 
 A brazen sceptre plunged with hollow 
 sound : 
 A trackless Ocean wrinkling tempest-wing'd 
 Open'd its darkness for the clay unking'd :
 
 PROTEUS. 
 
 25 
 
 Moreover, as he floated on at rest, 
 
 With lips that flutter'd still in act to speak, 
 An eagle, swooping down upon his breast, 
 Pick'd at his songless hps with golden 
 beak. 
 
 4- 
 There was a sound of fear and lamentation, 
 The forests wail'd, the stars and moon 
 grew pale. 
 The air grew cloudy with the desolation 
 Of gods that fell from realmless thrones 
 hke hail ; 
 But as I gazed, the great God Pan awaking, 
 Lookt in the Infant's happy eyes and 
 smiled. 
 And smiling died ; and like a sunbeam 
 breaking 
 From greenwood olden, rose a presence 
 mild 
 In exhalation from the clay, and stole 
 Around the Infant in an auricle — 
 
 When, gladden'd by the glory of the child, 
 Dawn gleam'd from pole to pole. 
 
 5- 
 And, lo ! a shape with pallid smile divine 
 
 Wander'd in Palestine ; 
 And Adam's might was stately in his eyes, 
 And Eve's wan sweetness glimmer'd on 
 
 his cheek, 
 Andwhenheopcn'dheavenly lips to speak, 
 I heard, disturbing Pilate into sighs, 
 The rustle of those leaves in Paradise ! 
 Then all was dark, the earth, and air, and 
 sky. 
 The sky was troubled and the earth was 
 shaken. 
 Beasts shriek'd, men shouted, and there 
 came a cry — 
 ' My God, I am forsaken ! ' 
 But even then I smiled amid my tears, 
 And saw in vision, down the future years, 
 What time the cry still rung in heaven's 
 dark dome. 
 The likeness of his smile ineffable. 
 Serenely dwell 
 On Raphael, sunn'd by popes and kings at 
 Rome, 
 And Dante, singing in his Tuscan cell ! 
 
 6. 
 
 Suddenly, from the vapours of the north. 
 Ice-bearded, snowy-visaged, Strength burst 
 forth. 
 
 Brandishing arms in death : 
 'Twas Ades, frighted from his seat in Hell 
 By that pale smile of peace ineffable. 
 
 That with a sunny life-producing breath. 
 Wreathed summer round the foreheads of 
 the Dead, 
 
 And troubled Hell's weird silence into joy. 
 And with a voice that rent the pole he said, 
 
 ' Lo, I am Thor, the mighty to destroy ! ' 
 The accents ran to water on his mouth. 
 
 The pole was kindled to a fiery glow, 
 A breath of summer floated from the south 
 
 And melted him like snow. 
 
 7- 
 
 Yea thus, thro' change on change, • 
 
 Haunted for ever by the leafy sound 
 That sigh'd the Woman and the Man around, 
 
 I, Proteus, range. 
 A weary quest, a power to climb and soar. 
 
 Yet never quit life's bitterness and stark- 
 ness, 
 
 A groping for God's hand amid the dark- 
 ness, 
 The day behind me and the night before. 
 This is my task for evermore ! 
 I am the shadow of the inspiration 
 
 Breath'don the Man; I am the sense alone. 
 That, generation upon generation. 
 
 Empowers the sinful Woman to atone 
 By giving angels to the grave and weeping 
 
 Because she knows not whither they are 
 going ; 
 I am the strife awake, the terror sleeping, 
 
 The sorrow ever ebbing, ever flowing. 
 Mine are the mighty names of power and 
 worth 
 
 The seekers of the vision that hath fled, 
 I bear the Infant's smile about the earth. 
 
 And put the Cross on the aspirant's head, 
 I am the peace on holy men who die, 
 
 I waft as sacrifice their fleeting breath — 
 I am the change that is not change, for I 
 
 Am deathless, being Death, 
 
 For, evermore I grow 
 Wiser, with huml ilcr power to feel and know ; 
 For, in the end I, Proteus, shall cast 
 
 All wondrous shapes aside but one alone, 
 And stand (while round about me in the Vast 
 
 Earth, Sun, Stars, Moon, as snowflakes 
 melt dt last, )
 
 26 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 A Skeleton that, shadow d by the Tree, 
 
 Eternity, 
 Holds in his hands the blossom Time full 
 blown. 
 
 And kneels before a Throne. 
 
 II. 
 ADES, KING OF HELL. 
 
 I. 
 Beneath the caves where sunless loam 
 Grows dim and reddens into gold ; 
 'Neath the fat earth-seams, where the 
 cold 
 Rains thicken to the flowery foam 
 Fringing blue streams in summer zones ; 
 Beneath the spheres where dead men's 
 bones 
 Change darkly thro' slow centuries to marl 
 and glittering stones ; — 
 
 Orb'd in that rayless realm, alone. 
 
 Far from the realm of sun and shower, 
 A palpable god with godlike power, 
 I, Ades, dwelt upon a throne ; 
 
 Much darkness did my eyelids tire ; 
 But thro' my veins the hid Sun's fire 
 Communicated impulse, hope, thought, pas- 
 sion, and desire. 
 
 Eternities of lonely reign. 
 Full of faint dreams of day and night 
 And the white glamour of starry light, 
 Oppress'd my patience into pain ; 
 Upward I sent a voice of prayer 
 That made a horror in the air : 
 And ' Ades craves a queen, O Zeus ! ' shook 
 heaven unaware. 
 
 The gods stopt short in full carouse, 
 And listen'd. On the streams of Hell 
 The whole effulgent conclave fell 
 As in a glass. With soft-arch'd brows. 
 And wings of dewy-tinctured dye. 
 Pale Iris listen'd blushingly ; 
 And Herd sought the soul of Zeus with 
 coldly eager eye. 
 
 Then the clear hyaline grew cold 
 And dim before the Father's face ; 
 Gray meditation clothed the place ; 
 And rising up Zeus cried, ' Behold ! ' — 
 And on Olumpos' crystal wall, 
 A kingly phantom cloudy and tall, 
 Throned, sceptred, crown' d, was darkly 
 apparition'd at the call. 
 
 ' Behold him ! ' Zeus the Father cried, 
 With voice that shook my throne for- 
 lorn : 
 Pale Hermes curl'd his lips in scorn, 
 And Iris drew her bow aside : 
 
 Artemis paled and did not speak ; 
 Sheer fear flush'd Aphrodite's check ; 
 And only owl-eyed Pallas look'd with pitying 
 smile and meek. 
 
 A weary night thro' earth and air 
 The shadow of my longing spread, 
 And not a goddess answered. 
 All nature darken'd at my prayer ; 
 Which darkness earth and air did 
 
 shroud, 
 No starrain'd light, but, pale and proud. 
 With blue-edged sickle Artemis cut her slow 
 path thro' cloud. 
 
 8. 
 
 And when the weary dark was done. 
 Beyond my sphere of realm upsprang. 
 With smile that beara'd and harp that 
 sang, 
 Apollo piloting the Sun ; 
 
 And conscious of him shining o'er, 
 I watch'd my black and watery floor 
 Wherein the wondrous upper - world is 
 mirror'd evermore. 
 
 When lo, there mumiur'd on my brain. 
 Like sound of distant waves, a sound 
 That did my godlike sense confound 
 And kiss'd my eyelids down in pain ; 
 And far above I heard the beat 
 Of musically falling feet, 
 Hurl'd by the echoes of the earth down to 
 my brazen seat.
 
 ADES, KING OF HELL. 
 
 27 
 
 10. 
 
 And I was 'ware that overhead 
 
 Walk'd one whose very motion sent 
 A sweet immortal wonderment 
 Thro' the deep dwelhngs of the Dead, 
 And flush'd the seams of cavern and 
 
 mine 
 To gleams of gold and diamond shine, 
 ^nd made the misty dews shoot up to kiss 
 her feet divine. 
 
 By Zeus, the beat of those soft feet 
 Thrill'd to the very roots of Hell, 
 Troubling the mournful streams that fell 
 Like snakes from out my brazen seat : 
 Faint music reach'd me strange and 
 
 slow. 
 My conscious Throne gleam'd pale as 
 snow, 
 A beauteous vision vaguely fill'd the dusky 
 glass below. — 
 12. 
 
 When I beheld in that dark glass 
 The phantom of a lonely maid. 
 Who gather'd flowers in a green glade 
 Knee-deep in dewy meadow-grass, 
 And on a riverside. Behold, 
 The sun that robed her round with gold, 
 Mirror'd beneath me raylessly, loom'd white 
 and round and cold. 
 
 Soft yellow hair that curl'd and clang 
 Throbbed to her feet in softest showers. 
 And as she went she gather'd flowers. 
 And as she gather'd flowers she sang : 
 It floated down my sulphurous eaves. 
 That melody of flowers and leaves. 
 Of vineyards, gushing purple wines, and 
 yellow slanted sheaves. 
 
 14. 
 
 Darkling I mutter'd, ' It were choice 
 Proudly to throne in solemn cheer 
 So fair a queen, and ever to hear 
 Such song from so divine a voice ! ' 
 And with the wish I upward breathed 
 A mist of fire that swiftly seethed 
 Thro' shuddering earth-seams overhead, and 
 round her warm knees wreathed. 
 
 IS- 
 Whereon the caves of precious stones 
 Grew bright as moonlight thrown on 
 
 death, 
 And red gold brighten'd, and the breath 
 Drew greenness moist from fleshless bones; 
 And every cave was murmuring : 
 ' O River, cease to flow and sing, 
 And bear the tall bride on thy banks to the 
 footstool of thy king ! ' 
 
 16. 
 Then writhed the roots of forest trees 
 In tortuous fear, till tremblingl)' 
 Green leaves quaked round her. A 
 sharp cry 
 Went upward from the Oreades ; 
 
 Low murmurs woke in bower and cave. 
 With diapason in the wave : 
 The River eddied darkly round, obeying as 
 a slave. 
 
 17- 
 Half stooping downward, while she held 
 A flower in loosening fingers light ; 
 The quick pink fading from the white 
 Upon her cheek ; with eyes that welled 
 Dark pansy thoughts from vems that 
 
 dart 
 Like restless snakes round the honied 
 heart. 
 And balmy breath that mildly blew her rose- 
 red lips apart, — 
 
 18. 
 
 She listen'd — stately, yet dismay'd ; 
 And dimly conscious of some change 
 That made the whispering place seem 
 strange 
 And awful, far from human aid ; 
 
 And as the moaning Stream grew near. 
 And whirl'd unto her with eddies clear. 
 She saw my shadow in his waves and shrank 
 away in fear. 
 
 19- 
 'Small River, flowing with summer sound, 
 Strong River, solemn Ades' slave, 
 Flow unto her with gentle wave, 
 And make an isle, and hem her round.' 
 The River, sad with gentle worth. 
 Felt backward to that cave of earth 
 Where, troubled with my crimson eyes, he 
 shudder'd into birth.
 
 28 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 20. 
 
 Him saw she trembling ; but unseen, 
 Under long sedges lily-strew'd, 
 Round creeping roots of underwood, 
 Low down beneath the grasses green 
 Whereon she waited wondering-eyed, 
 My servant slid with stealthy tide : — 
 Then like a fountain bubbled up and foam'd 
 on either side. 
 
 And shrinking back she gazed in fear 
 On his wild hair, and lo, an isle — 
 Around whose brim waves rose the while 
 She cried, ' O mother Ceres, hear ! ' 
 Then sprang she wildly to and fro. 
 Wilder than rain and white as snow. 
 ' O honour'd River, grasp thy prize, and to 
 the footstool flow ! ' 
 
 One swift sunbeam with sickly flare 
 On white arms waving high did gleam. 
 What time she shriek'd, and the strong 
 Stream 
 Leapt up and grasp'd her by the hair. 
 And all was dark. With wild heads 
 
 bow'd 
 The forest murmur'd, and black cloud 
 Split speumy on the mountain tops with tire 
 and portent loud ! 
 
 23- 
 
 Then all was still as the Abyss, 
 
 Save for the dark and bubbling water. 
 And the far voice. ' Bear Ceres' daughter 
 Unto the kingly feet of Dis ! ' 
 Wherefore I rose upon my throne, 
 And smote my kingdom's roof of stone ; 
 Earth moan'd to her deep fiery roots — Hell 
 answer'd with a groan. 
 
 24. 
 
 When swiftly waving sulphurous wings 
 The Darkness brooded down in fear 
 To listen. I, afar, could hear 
 The coming River's murmurings ; 
 My god-like eyes with flash of flame 
 Peer'd up the chasm. As if in shame 
 Of his slave-deed, darkly and slow, my 
 trembling servant came. 
 
 25- 
 
 The gentleness of summer light, 
 
 This stream, my honour'd slave pos- 
 sessed : 
 The blue flowers min-or'd in his breast, 
 And the meek lamps that sweeten night. 
 Had made his heart too mild to 
 
 bear 
 With other than a gentle care, 
 And slow sad solemn pace, a load so violet- 
 eyed and fair ! 
 
 26. 
 Him saw I, as, thro' looming rocks, 
 He glimmer'd like a serpent gray 
 Whose moist coils hiss ; then, far 
 away, 
 Lo, the dim gleam of golden locks, 
 Lo, a far gleam of glinting gold, 
 Floating in many a throbbing fold, 
 What time soft ripples panted dark on 
 queenly eyelids cold. 
 
 27. 
 
 Silently, with obeisance meet, 
 In gentle arms escorting well 
 The partner of eternal Hell, 
 Thus flow'd, not halting, to my feet 
 The gracious River with his load : 
 Her with dark arm-sweep he bestow'd 
 On my great footstool — then again, with 
 sharp shriek, upward flow'd. 
 
 28. 
 
 So fair, so fair, so strangely fair. 
 Dark from the waters lay my love ; 
 And lo, \, Ades, stoop'd above, 
 And shuddering touch'd the yellow hair 
 That made my beaded eyeballs close — 
 Awful as sunshine. Cold as snows, 
 Pale-faced, dank-lidded, proud, she lay in 
 wonderful repose. 
 
 29. 
 
 And all the lesser Thrones that rise 
 Around me, shook. With murmurous 
 
 breath. 
 Their Kings shook off eternal death. 
 And with a million fiery eyes 
 
 Glared red above, below, around. 
 And sav/ me stooping fiery-crown'd ; 
 And the white faces of the damn'd arose 
 without a sound.
 
 ADES, KING OF HELL. 
 
 29 
 
 30. 
 As if an awful sunbeam, rife 
 
 With living glory, pierced the gloom, 
 
 Bringing to spirits blind with doom 
 
 The summers of forgotten life, — 
 
 Those pallid faces, mad and stem, 
 
 Rose up in foam, and each in turn 
 
 Roll'd downward, as a white wave breaks, 
 
 and seem'd to plead and yearn. 
 
 31- 
 
 What time this horror loom'd beyond, 
 Her soul was troubled into sighs : 
 Stooping, throned, crown'd, 1 touch'd 
 her eyes 
 With dim and ceremonial wand ; 
 And looking up, she saw and knew 
 An awful love which did subdue 
 Itself to her bright comeliness and gave her 
 greeting due ! 
 
 32. 
 ' Welcome ! " — The rocks and chasms and 
 caves, 
 The million thrones and their black 
 
 kings, 
 The very snakes and creeping things, 
 The very damn'd within the waves, 
 Groan'd ' welcome ; ' and she heard — 
 
 with light 
 Fingers that writhed in tresses bright, — 
 But when I toucli'd her to the soul, she 
 slowly rose her height. 
 
 33- 
 While shadows of a reign eterne 
 
 Quench'd the fine glint in her yellow 
 
 hair. 
 She rose erect more hugely fair. 
 And, dark'ning to a queenhood stern. 
 She gazed into mine eyes and thence 
 Drew black and subtle inference, 
 Subliming the black godhead there with 
 sunnier, sweeter sense. 
 
 • 34- 
 Low at her feet, huge Cerberus 
 Crouch'd groaning, but with royal look 
 She stooping silenced him, and took 
 The throne sublime and perilous 
 
 That rose to hold her and upstream'd 
 Vaporous fire : the dark void scrcam'd. 
 The pale Eumenides made moan, with eyes 
 and teeth that gleam'd. 
 
 35- 
 Behold, she sits beside me now, 
 A weighty sorrow in her mien, 
 Yet gracious to her woes - a queen ; 
 The sunny locks about her brow 
 
 Shadow'd to godhead solemn, meet ; 
 Throned, queen'd ; but round about 
 her feet, 
 Sweeten'd by gentle grass and flowers, the 
 brackish waves grow sweet. 
 
 36. 
 And surely, when the mirror dun 
 
 Beneath me mirrors yellowing leaves, 
 And reapers binding golden sheaves, 
 And vineyards purple in the sun. 
 When fulness fills the plenteous year 
 Of the bright upper-world, I hear 
 The voice among the harvest-fields that 
 mourns a daughter dear. 
 
 ' 37- 
 ' Lo, Ceres mourns the bride of Dis, ' 
 The old Earth moans ; and rocks and 
 
 hills, 
 ' Persephone ; ' sad radiance fills 
 The dripping horn of Artemis 
 Silverly shaken in the sky ; 
 And a great frost-wind njshing by — 
 ' Ceres will rob the eyes of Hell when seed- 
 time draweth nigh.' 
 
 38. 
 And in the seed-time after snow, 
 
 Down the long caves, in soft distress. 
 Dry corn-blades tangled in her dress. 
 The weary goddess wanders slow — 
 The million eyes of Hell are bent 
 On my strange queen in wonderment, — 
 The ghost of Iris gleams across my waters 
 impotent ! 
 
 39- 
 And the sweet Bow bends mild and 
 bland 
 O'er rainy meadows near the light, 
 When fading far along the night 
 They wander upward hand-in-hand ; 
 And like a phantom I remain, 
 Chain'd to a throne in lonely reign, 
 Till, sweet with greenness, moonlight-kiss'd, 
 she wanders back again
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 40. 
 
 But when afar thro' rifts of gold 
 And caverns steep' d in fog complete, 
 I hear the beat of her soft feet, 
 My kingdom totters as of old ; 
 And, conscious of her sweeter worth, 
 Her godhead of serener birth. 
 Hell, breathing fire thro' flowers and leaves, 
 feels to the upper-earth. 
 
 HI. 
 PAN. 
 
 It is not well, ye gods, it is not well ! 
 ■Vea, hear me grumble— rouse, ye sleepers, 
 
 rouse 
 Upon thick-carpeted Olumpos' top — 
 Nor, faintly hearing, murmur in your sloth 
 ' 'Tis but the voice of Pan the malcontent ! ' 
 Shake the sleek sunshine from ambrosial 
 
 locks. 
 Vouchsafe a sleepy glance at the far earth 
 That underneath ye wrinkles dim with cloud, 
 And smile, and sleep again 1 
 
 Me, when at first 
 The deep Vast murmur'd, and Eternity 
 Gave forth a hollow sound while from its 
 
 voids 
 Ye blossom'd thick as flowers, and by the 
 
 light 
 Beheld yourselves eternal and divine, — 
 Me, underneath the darkness visible 
 And calm as ocean when the cold Moon 
 
 smoothes 
 The palpitating waves without a sound, — 
 Me, ye saw sleeping in a dream, white-hair'd, 
 Low-lidded, gentle, aged, and like the shade 
 Of the eternal self-unconsciousness 
 Out of whose law ye had awaken' d — gods 
 Fair-statured, self-apparent, marvellous. 
 Dove-eyed, and inconceivably divine. 
 
 Over the ledges of high mountains, thro' 
 The fulgent streams of dawn, soft-pillowed 
 On downy clouds that swam in reddening 
 
 streaks 
 Like milk wherein a crimson wine-drop 
 
 melts, 
 And far beyond the dark of vague low lands. 
 Uprose Apollo, shaking from his locks 
 Ambrosial dews, and making as he rose 
 A murmur such as west winds \\ cave in June. 
 
 Wherefore the darkness in whose depth I sat 
 ■Wonder'd : thro' newly-woven boughs, the 
 
 light 
 Crept onward to mine eyelids unaware. 
 And fluttering o'er my wrinkled length of 
 
 limb 
 Like tremulous butterflies above a snake, 
 Disturb'd me, — and I stirr'd, and open'd 
 
 eyes. 
 Then lifted up my eyes to see the light. 
 And saw the light, and, seeing not myself, 
 Smiled ! 
 
 Thereupon, ye gods, the woods and lavras 
 Grew populously glad with living things. 
 A rod of stone beneath my heel grew bright, 
 Writhing to life, and hissing drew swift coils 
 O'er the upspringing grass ; above my head 
 A birch unbound her silver-shimmering hair, 
 Brightening to the notes of numerous birds; 
 And far dim mountains hollow'd out them- 
 selves 
 To give forth streams, till down the moun- 
 tain-sides 
 The loosen'd streams ran flowing. Then a 
 
 voice 
 Came from the darkness as it roll'd away 
 Under Apollo's sunshine-sandall'd foot. 
 And the vague voice shriek'd ' Pan ! ' and 
 
 woods and streams. 
 Sky - kissing mountains and the courteous 
 
 vales. 
 Cried ' Pan ! ' and earth's reverberating roots 
 Gave forth an answer, ' Pan ! ' and stooping 
 
 down 
 His fiery eyes to scorch me from my trance. 
 Unto the ravishment of his soft lyre 
 ' Pan ! ' sang Apollo : when the wide world 
 
 heard. 
 Brightening brightlier, till thro' murmurous 
 
 leaves 
 Pale wood-nymphs peep'd around me 
 
 whispering ' Pan ! ' 
 And sweeter faces floated in the stream 
 That gurgled to my ankle, whispering 
 
 ' Pan ! ' 
 And, clinging to the azure gown of air 
 That floated earthward dropping scented 
 
 dews, 
 A hundred lesser spirits panted ' Pan 1 ' 
 And, far along an opening forest-glade, 
 Beating a green lawn with alternate feet, 
 ' Pan ! ' cried the satyrs leaping. Then all 
 sounds
 
 PAN, 
 
 31 
 
 Were hush'd for coming of a sweeter sound ; 
 And rising up, with outstretch'd arms, I, 
 
 Pan, 
 Loolc'd eastward, saw, and knew myself a 
 
 god. 
 
 It was not well, ye gods, it was not well ! 
 Star - guiders, cloud - compellers — ye who 
 
 stretch 
 Ambrosia - dripping limbs, g^eat - statured, 
 
 bright, 
 Silken and fair-proportion'd, in a place 
 Thick-carpeted with grass as soft as sleep ; 
 Who with mild glorious eyes of liquid depth 
 Subdue to perfect peace and calm eterne 
 The mists and vapours of the nether-world. 
 That curl up dimly from the nether-world 
 And make a roseate mist wherein ye lie 
 Soft - hdded, broad - foreheaded, stretch'd 
 
 supine 
 In awful contemplations — ye great gods, 
 Who meditate your forms and find them 
 
 fair — 
 Ye heirs of odorous rest — it was not well ! — 
 For, with Apollo sheer above, I, Pan, 
 In whom a gracious godhead lived and 
 
 moved, 
 Rose, glorious-hearted, and look'd down ; 
 
 and lo, 
 Goat-legs, goat-thighs, goat-feet, uncouth 
 
 and rude, 
 And, higher, the breast and bowels of a 
 
 beast, 
 Huge thews and twisted sinews swoU'n like 
 
 cords. 
 And thick integument of bark-brown skin — 
 A hideous apparition masculine ! 
 Rut in my veins a new and natural youth. 
 In my great veins a music as of boughs 
 When the cool aspen-fingers of the Rain 
 Feel for the eyelids of the earth in spring. 
 In every vein quick life ; within my soul 
 The meekness of some sweet eternity 
 Forgot ; and in mine eyes soft violet-thoughts 
 That widen'd in the eyeball to the light. 
 And peep'd, and trembled chilly back to the 
 
 soul 
 Like leaves of violets closing. 
 
 By my lawns. 
 My honey-flowing rivers, Ijy my woods 
 Grape-growing, by my mountains down 
 wliose sides 
 
 The slow flocks thread like silver streams at 
 
 eve. 
 By the deep comfort in the eyes of Zeus 
 When the soft murmur of my peaceful dales 
 Blows hke a gust of perfume on his cheek, 
 There where he reigns, cloud-shrouded — by 
 
 meek lives 
 That smoothe themselves like wings of doves 
 
 and brood 
 Over immortal themes for love of me — 
 I swear it was not well. 
 
 Ay, ay, ye smile ;-— 
 Ye hear me, garrulous, and turn again 
 To contemplation of the slothful clouds 
 That curtain ye for sweetness. Hear me, 
 
 gods ! 
 Not the ineflfable stars that interlace 
 The azure panoply of Zeus himself. 
 Have surer sweetness than my hyacinths 
 When they grow blue in gazing on blue 
 
 heaven. 
 Than the white hlies of my rivers when 
 In leafy spring Selene's silver horn 
 Spills paleness, peace, and fragrance. — And 
 
 for these, 
 For all the sensible or senseless things 
 Which swell the sounds and sights of earth 
 
 and air, 
 I snatch some glory which of right belongs 
 To ye whom I revile : ay, and for these. 
 For all the sensible or senseless things 
 Which swell the sounds and sights of earth 
 
 and air, 
 I will snatch fresher glory, fresher joy, 
 Robbing your rights in heaven day by day,' 
 Till from my dispensation ye remove 
 Darkness, and drought that parches thirsty 
 
 skins. 
 The stinging alchemy of frost, the agues 
 That rack me in the season of wet winds — 
 Till, bit by bit, my bestial nether-man 
 Peels off like bark, my green old age shoots 
 
 up 
 Godhead apparent, and I know myself 
 Fair — as becomes a god ! 
 
 Ay, I shall do ! 
 Not I alone am something garrulous, gods ! 
 But the broad-bosom'd earth, whose count- 
 less young 
 Moan ' Pan ! ' most piteously when ye 
 
 frown 
 In tempests, or when Thunder, waving 
 
 wings,
 
 32 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 Groans crouching from your lightning 
 
 spears, and then 
 Springs at your lofty silence with a shriek ! 
 Not I alone, low horror masculine. 
 But earthquake-shaken hills, the dewy da'es, 
 Blue rivers as they flow, and boughs of trees, 
 Yea, monsters, and the purblind race of men, 
 Grow garrulous of your higher glory, gods ; 
 Yearning unto it moan my name aloud. 
 Climbing unto it shriek or whisper ' Pan ! ' 
 Till from the far-off verdurous depths, from 
 
 deep 
 Impenetrable woods whose wondrous roots 
 Blacken to coal or redden into gold, 
 I, stirring in this ancient dream of mine. 
 Make answer — and they hear. 
 
 In Arcady 
 I, sick of mine own envy, hollow' d out 
 A valley, green and deep ; then pouring 
 
 forth 
 From the great hollow of my hand a stream 
 Sweeter than honey, bade it wander on 
 In soft and rippling lapse to the far sea. 
 Upon its banks grew flowers as thick as 
 
 grass, 
 Gum-dropping poplars and the purple vine, 
 Slim willows dusty hke the thighs of bees. 
 And, further, stalks of corn and wheat and 
 
 flax, 
 And, even further, on the mountain sides 
 White sheep and ncw-yean'd lambs, and in 
 
 the midst 
 Mild-featured shepherds piping. Was not 
 
 this 
 An image of your grander ease, O gods ? 
 A faint sweet picture of your bliss, O gods ? 
 They thank'd me, those sweet shepherds, 
 
 with the smoke 
 Of crimson sacrifice of lambkins slain. 
 Rich spices, succulent herbs that savour 
 
 meats ; 
 And when they came upon me ere aware, 
 Walk'd sudden on my presence where I piped 
 By rivers lorn my mournful ditties old, 
 Cried ' Pan 1 ' and worshipp'd. Yet it was 
 
 not well, 
 Ye gods, it was not well, that I, who gave 
 The harvest to these men, and with my 
 
 breath 
 Thickcn'd the wool upon the backs of sheep, 
 I, Pan, should in these purblind mortal 
 
 forms 
 Witness a loveliness more gently fair, 
 
 Nearer to your dim loveliness, O gods ! 
 Than my immortal wood pervading self, — 
 Carelessly blown on by the rosy Hours, 
 Who breathe quick breath and smile before 
 
 they die — 
 Goat-footed, horn'd, a monster — j'et a god. 
 
 By wanton Aphrodite's velvet limbs, 
 I swear, ye amorous gods, it was not 
 
 well !— 
 Down the long vale of Arcady I chased 
 A wood-nymph, unapparell'd and white- 
 
 limb'd, 
 I'rom gleaming shoulder unto foot a curve 
 Delicious, like the bow of Artemis : 
 A gleam of dewy moonlight on her limbs ; 
 Within her veins a motion as of waves 
 Moon-led and silver-crested to the moon ; 
 And in her heart a sweetness such as fills 
 Uplooking maidens when the virgin orb 
 Witches warm bosoms into snows, and gives 
 The colourable chastity of flowers 
 To the tumultuous senses curl'd within. 
 Her, after summer noon, what time her foot 
 Startled with moonlight motion milk-blue 
 
 stalks 
 Of hyacinths in a dim forest glade, — 
 Her saw I, and, uplifting eager arms, 
 I rush'd around her as a rush of boughs. 
 My touch thriU'd thro' her, she beheld my 
 
 face. 
 And like a gnat it stung her, and she Ucd. 
 
 Down the green glade, along the verdur- 
 ous shade. 
 She screaming fled and I pursued behind : 
 By Zeus, it was as though the forest moved 
 Behind her, following ; and with shooting 
 
 boughs. 
 And bristling arms and stems, and murmur- 
 ous leaves. 
 It eddied after her — my underwood 
 Of bramble and the yellow-blossom'd furze 
 Flung its thick growth around her waist, my 
 
 trees 
 Dropt thorns before her, and my growing 
 
 grass 
 Put forth its green and sappy oils and sli d 
 Under her feet ; until, with streaming hair 
 Like ravell'd sunshine torn 'mid scars and 
 
 cliff's. 
 Pale, breathless, and long-throated like a 
 swan.
 
 FAN. 
 
 33 
 
 With tongue that panted 'tween the foamy 
 
 lifs 
 As the red arrow in a tulip's cup, 
 She, coming swiftly on the river-side, 
 Into the circle of a sedgy pool 
 Plunged knee-deep, shrieking. Then I, 
 
 thrusting arms 
 To grasp her, touch'd her with hot hands 
 
 that clung 
 Like burrs to the soft skin ; while, writhing 
 
 down 
 Even as a fountain lessens gurglingly, 
 She cried to Artemis, ' Artemis, Artemis, 
 Sweet goddess, Artemis, aid me, Artemis ! ' 
 And o'er the laurels on the river-side. 
 Dark and low-fluttering, Daphne's hidden 
 
 soul 
 Breathed fearful hoar-frost, echoing ' Arte- 
 mis ' ; 
 When lo, above the sandy sunset rose 
 The silver sickle of the green-gown'd witch 
 Which flicker'd thrice into a pallid orb, 
 And thrice flash'd white across the forest 
 
 leaves, 
 And— lo, the change ye wot of: melting 
 
 limbs 
 Black'ning to oozy sap of reeds, white hands 
 Waving aloft and putting forth green shoots, 
 n he faint breath-bubbles circling in a pool, 
 Last, the sharp voice's murmur dying away 
 In the low lapping of the rippling pool, 
 The melancholy motion of the pool, 
 And the faint undertone of whispering reeds. 
 
 By Latmos and its shepherd, was it well ? 
 By smooth-chinn'd Syrinx, was it well, O 
 
 gods? 
 Yet mark. What time the pallid sickle 
 
 wax'd 
 Blue-edged and luminous o'er the black'ning 
 
 west, 
 I, looming hideous in the smooth pool, 
 
 stooped 
 And pluck'd seven wondrous pipes of britde 
 
 reeds 
 Wherein the wood-nymph's soul still flutter'd 
 
 faint ; 
 And these seven pipes I shaped to one, 
 
 wherein 
 I, Pan, with ancient and dejected head 
 Nodding above its image in the pool. 
 And large limbs stretch'd their length on 
 
 shadowy banks, 
 
 Did breathe such weird and awful ravish- 
 ment, 
 Such symmetry of sadness and sweet sound, 
 Such murmurs of deep boughs and hollow 
 
 cells, 
 That neither bright Apollo's hair-strung lute. 
 Nor Herd's queenly tongue when her red 
 
 lips 
 Flutter to intercession of love-thoughts 
 Throned in the counsel-keeping eyes of Zeus, 
 Nor airs from heaven, blow sweetlier. Hear 
 
 me, gods I 
 Behind her veil of azure, Artemis 
 Turn'd pale and listen'd ; mountains, woods, 
 
 and streams, 
 And every mute and living thing therein, 
 Marvell'd, and hush'd themselves to hear 
 
 the end^ 
 Yea, far away, the fringe of the green sea 
 Caught the faint sound and with a deeper 
 
 moan 
 Rounded the pebbles on the shadowy sJiore. 
 Whence, in the season of the pensive eve, 
 The earth plumes down her weary, weary 
 
 wings ; 
 The Hours, each frozen in his mazy dance. 
 Look scared upon the stars and seem to 
 
 stand 
 Stone-still, hke chisell'd angels mocking 
 
 Time ; 
 And woods and streams and mountains, 
 
 beasts and birds. 
 And serious hearts of purblind men, are 
 
 hush'd ; 
 While music sweeter far than any dream 
 Floats from the far-off silence, where I sit 
 Wondrously wov'n about with forest 
 
 boughs — 
 Through which the moon peeps faintly, on 
 
 whose leaves 
 The unseen stars sprinkle a diamond dew— 
 And shadow'd in some water that not flows, 
 But, pausing, spreads dark waves as smooth 
 
 as oil 
 To listen 1 
 
 Am I over-garrulous, gods? 
 Thou pale-faced witch, green-kirtled, — thou 
 
 whose light 
 Troubles the beardless shepherd where he 
 
 sleeps 
 On Latmos, — am I over-garrulous? 
 Nay, then, pale huntress of my groves, I 
 swear
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 The lily and the primrose 'neath thy heel 
 Savour as fair as thee, as pure as thee, 
 Drinking the lucid glamour of thy speed ; 
 And on the cheeks of marriageable maids 
 Dwelleth a pallor enviably sweet, 
 Sweet as thy sweetest self, yet robb'd from 
 
 thee. 
 Snow-bosom'd lady, art thou proud? — Then 
 
 hark . . . 
 Wlien last in the cool quiet of tlie night 
 Thou glimmeredst dimly down with thy 
 
 white nymphs 
 And brush'd these dewy lawns with buskin'd 
 
 foot, 
 I, Pan the scorn'd, into an oak-tree crept. 
 And holding between thumb and finger — 
 
 thus — 
 A tiny acorn, dropt it cunningly 
 In the small nest beneath thy snow-heap'd 
 
 breasts. 
 And thou didst pause in tumult, cried aloud. 
 Then redden'd like a rose from breast to 
 
 brow. 
 Sharp-crimson like a rose from breast to 
 
 brow, 
 And trembled, aspen-hearted, timorous 
 As new-yean'd lambs, and with a young 
 
 doe's cry 
 Startled amazed from thine own tremulous 
 
 shade 
 Faint-mirror'd in the dark and dewy lawn ! 
 
 Ha, turn your mild grand eyes, O gods, 
 
 and hear 1 
 Why do I murmur darkly, do ye ask ? 
 What do I seek for, yearn for? — Why, not 
 
 much. 
 I would be milky-limb'd and straight and 
 
 tall 
 And pleasant-featured, like Apollo there ! 
 I would be lithe and fair as Hermes is ; 
 And, with that glittering sheath of god-like 
 
 form. 
 Trust me, could find for it a wit as keen 
 As that which long ago did prick and pain 
 The thin skin of the Sun-God. I would be 
 Grand and fine-slatured as becomes a god, 
 A sight divine conceived harmoniously, 
 A stately incarnation of my sweet 
 Pipings in lonely places. There's the worm ! 
 
 Ay, ay, the mood is on me — I am aged. 
 White-bearded, and my very lifted hands 
 
 Shake garrulously — and ye hear, and smile. 
 By the faint undertone of this blind Earth, 
 Swooning towards the pathway of the Sun 
 With flowery pulses, leafy veins, whene'er 
 She hears in intercession of new births 
 My voice miraculous melancholy old, — 
 I swear not I alone, a sensible god. 
 Shall keep these misproportions, worse than 
 
 beast's ; 
 While woods and streams, and all that dwell 
 
 therein. 
 And merest flowers, and the starr'd coils of 
 
 snakes. 
 Yea, purblind mortal men, inhale from 
 
 heaven 
 Such dews as give them heavenly seemliness, 
 Communicably lovely as the shapes 
 That doze on high Olumpos. 
 
 Is it well ? 
 Ye who compel the very clouds to forms 
 Beauteous and purely beauteous, ere my rain 
 Rends their white vesments into flowers to 
 
 make 
 My peaceful vales look lovely, — gods, great 
 
 gods, 
 I ask ye, is it well ? — Ye answer not. 
 But Earth has answer'd, and aU things that 
 
 grow, 
 All things that live, all things that feel or see 
 The interchanges of the sun and moon ; 
 And with a yearning palpable and dumb, 
 Yet conscious of some glory yet unborn, 
 Of unfulfilled mysteries, I, Pan, 
 Prophesy. 
 
 In the time to come, — in years 
 Across whose vast I wearily impel 
 These ancient, blear'd, and humble-lidded 
 
 eyes, — 
 Some law more strong than I, yet part of 
 
 nie. 
 Some power more piteous, yet a part of me. 
 Shall hurl ye from Olumpos to the depths. 
 And bruise ye back to that great darkness 
 
 whence 
 Ye blossom'd thick as flowers ; while I — I, 
 
 Pan — 
 The ancient haunting shadow of dim earths. 
 Shall slough this form of beast, this wrinkled 
 
 length. 
 Yea, cast it from my feet as one who shakes 
 A worthless garment off ; and lo, beneath. 
 Mild-featured manhood, manhood eminent, 
 Subdued into the glory of a god,
 
 PA l^- THE NAIAD. 
 
 35 
 
 Sheer harmony of body and of soul, 
 Wondrous, and inconceivably divine. 
 
 Wherefore, ye gods, with this my prophecy 
 I sadden those sweet sounds I pipe unseen. 
 From dimly lonely places float the sounds 
 To haunt the regions of the homeless air, 
 Whatever changeful season ye vouchsafe 
 To all broad worlds which, hearing, whisper, 
 
 ■ Pan ! ' 
 And thence they reach the hearts of lonely 
 
 men. 
 Who wearily bear the burthen and are pain'd 
 To utterance of fond prophetic song, 
 Who singing smile, because the song is 
 
 sweet. 
 Who die, because they cannot sing the end. 
 
 It is my care to keep the graves of such 
 Thick -sirewn and deep with grass and 
 
 precious flowers 
 Such as ye slumber on ; and to those graves, 
 In sable vestments, ever comes the ghost 
 Of my forgot and dumb eternity, 
 Mnemosyne ; but what she broods on there 
 I know not, nor can any wholly know. 
 Mortal or god. The seasons come and go. 
 In their due season perish rocks and trees. 
 In their due season are the streams drain'd 
 
 dry ; 
 Earth dumbly changes, and those lonely 
 
 men, 
 Less blind than purblind mortals, sing and 
 
 die ; 
 But still, with hooded and dejected head. 
 Above those graves ponders Mnemosyne ; 
 While I remain to pipe my ditties old, 
 And my new prophecy, in ancient woods 
 And by the margins of unfortunate pools, — 
 My wondrous music dying afar away 
 Upon the fringes of the setting sun, 
 
 IV. 
 THE NAIAD. 
 
 DiAN white-arm'd has given mc this cool 
 
 shrine. 
 Deep in the bosom of a wood of pine : 
 
 The silver-sparkling showers 
 
 That close me in, the flowers 
 That prink my fountain's brim, are hers 
 
 and mine ; 
 
 And when the days are mild and fair, 
 Andgrassisspringing, buds are blowing, 
 Sweet it is, 'mid waters flowing, 
 
 Here to sit, and know no care, 
 'Mid the waters flowing, flov/ing, flow- 
 ing, 
 
 Combing my yellow, yellow hair. 
 
 2. 
 
 The ounce and panther down the mountain- 
 side 
 Creep thro' dark greenness in the eventide ; 
 And at the fountain's brink 
 Casting great shades they drink. 
 Gazing upon me, tame and sapphire-eyed ; 
 For, awed by my pale face, whose light 
 Gleameth thro' sedge and lilies yellow, 
 They, lapping at my fountain mellow, 
 Harm not the lamb that in affright 
 Throws in the pool so mellow, mellow, 
 mellow. 
 Its shadow small and dusky-white. 
 
 3- 
 
 Oft do the fauns and satyrs, flusht with play, 
 Come to my coolness in the hot noon-day. 
 Nay, once indeed, I vow 
 By Dian's truthful brow. 
 The great god Pan himself did pass this way. 
 And, all in festal oak-leaves clad, 
 
 His limbs among these lilies throwing, 
 Watch'd the silver waters flowing, 
 Listen'd to their music glad, 
 Saw and heard them flowing, flowing, 
 flowing. 
 And ah ! his face was worn and sad ! 
 
 Mild joys around like silvery waters fall ; 
 But it is sweetest, sweetest far of all, 
 In the calm summer night, 
 When the tree-tops look white. 
 To be exhaled in dew at Dian's call. 
 Among my sister-clouds to move 
 Over the darkness earth bediniming, 
 Milky-robed thro' heaven swinnning. 
 Floating round the stars above, 
 
 Swimming proudly, swimming, proudly 
 swimming. 
 And waiting on the Moon I love. 
 
 So tenderly I keep this cool green shrine, 
 Deep in the bosom of a wood of pine ; 
 
 D 2
 
 36 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 Faithful thro' shade and sun, 
 That service due and done 
 May haply earn for me a place divine 
 Among the white-robed deities 
 
 That thread thro' starry paths, attendmg 
 My sweet Lady, calmly wendmg 
 Thro' the silence of the skies, 
 
 Changing in hues of beauty never end 
 
 ing. 
 Drinking the light of Dian s eyes. 
 
 V. 
 THE SATYR. 
 
 I. 
 
 The trunk of this tree, 
 
 Dusky-leaved, shaggy-rooted, 
 
 Is a pillow well suited 
 To a hybrid like me, 
 
 Goat-bearded, goat-footed ; 
 For the boughs of the glade 
 
 Meet above me, and throw 
 A cool pleasant shade 
 
 On the greenness below ; 
 Dusky and brown' d 
 
 Close the leaves all around ; 
 And yet, all the while, 
 
 Thro' the boughs 1 can see 
 A star, with a smile, 
 Looking at me. 
 
 Full length I lie, 
 
 On this mossy tree-knot. 
 With face to the sky. 
 
 The vast blue I see not ; 
 And I start in surprise 
 From my dim half-dream, 
 With the moist white gleam 
 Of the star in mine eyes : 
 So strange does it seem 
 That the star should beam 
 From her crystal throne 
 On this forest nook 
 Of all others, and look 
 Upon me alone : 
 Ay, that yonder divine 
 Soft face 
 Should shine 
 On this one place ; 
 And, when things so fair 
 Till the earth and air. 
 
 Should choose to be, 
 Night after night, 
 The especial light 
 
 Of a monster like me 1 
 
 Why, all day long, 
 
 I run about 
 With a madcap throng, 
 And laugh and shout. 
 Silenus grips 
 
 My ears, and strides 
 On my shaggy hips, 
 And up and down 
 In an ivy crown 
 Tipsily rides ; 
 And when in a doze 
 His eyeUds close, 
 
 Off he tumbles, and I 
 Can his wine-skin steal, 
 I drink— and feel 
 
 The grass roll— sea-high ! 
 Then with shouts and yells, 
 Down mossy dells, 
 I stagger after 
 
 The wood-nymphs fleet. 
 Who with mocking laugliter 
 
 And smiles retreat ; 
 And just as I clasp 
 A yielding waist. 
 With a cry embraced, 
 
 Gush ! it melts from my grasp 
 
 Into water cool. 
 
 And— bubble ! trouble ! 
 Seeing double ! 
 I stumble and gasp 
 In some icy pool I 
 
 All suborn me. 
 Flout me, scorn me ! 
 Drunken joys 
 
 And cares are mine, 
 Romp and noise, 
 
 And the dregs of wine ; 
 And wheije'er in the night 
 
 Diana glides by 
 
 The spot where 1 lie, 
 With her maids green-dight, 
 
 I must turn my back 
 In a rude affright. 
 
 And blindly fly 
 
 From her shining track !
 
 THE SATYR. 
 
 37 
 
 Or if only I hear 
 
 Her bright foot-fall near, 
 
 Fall with face to the grass, 
 Not breathing for fear 
 
 Till I feel her pass. 
 
 . S- 
 
 I am — 
 
 I know not what : 
 
 Neither what I am, 
 
 Nor what I am not — 
 
 I seem to have rollick'd, 
 
 And frolick'd, 
 
 In this wood for ay, 
 
 With a beast's delight 
 Romping all day, 
 
 Dreaming all night ! 
 Yet I seem 
 
 To remember awaking 
 
 Just here, and aching 
 
 With th3 last forsaking 
 Tender gleam 
 Of a droll strange dream. — 
 When I lay at mine ease, 
 
 With a sense at my heart 
 
 Of being a part 
 Of the grass and trees 
 And the scented earth, 
 
 And of drinking the bright 
 
 Subdued sunlight 
 With a leafy mirth : 
 Then behold, I could see 
 
 A wood-nymph peeping 
 Out of her tree, 
 
 And closer creeping, 
 Timorously 
 Looking at me ! 
 And still, so still, 
 I lay until 
 
 She trembled close to me, 
 
 Soft as a rose to me, 
 And I leapt with a thrill 
 
 And a shout, and threw 
 Arms around her, and press'd her, 
 Kiss'd her, caress'd her, — 
 
 Ere she scream'd, and flew. 
 
 Then I was 'ware 
 
 Of a power I had — 
 To drink the air, 
 
 T.aiigh and shout, 
 
 Run about. 
 
 And be consciously glad — 
 So I follow'd the maiden 
 
 'Neath shady eaves, 
 Thro' groves deep-laden 
 
 With fruit and leaves. 
 Till, drawing near 
 To a brooklet clear, 
 I shuddering fled 
 
 From the monstrous shape 
 There mirrored — 
 Which seem'd to espy me, 
 
 And grin and gape. 
 And leap up high 
 In the air with a cry, 
 And fly me ! 
 
 Whence I seem to have slowly 
 
 Grown conscious of being 
 A thing wild, unholy. 
 
 And foul to the seeing. — 
 But ere I knew aught 
 
 Of others like me, 
 I would lie, fancy-fraught. 
 In the greenness of thought. 
 
 Beneath a green tree ; 
 And seem to be deep 
 
 In the scented earth-shade 
 
 'Neath the grass of the glade. 
 In a strange half-sleep : 
 When the wind seem'd to move me. 
 
 The cool rain to kiss. 
 The sunlight to love me, 
 
 The stars in their bliss 
 To tingle above me ; 
 And I crept thro' deep bowers 
 That were sparkling with showers 
 
 And sprouting for pleasure, 
 And I quicken'd the flowers 
 
 To a joy without measure — 
 Till my sense seem'd consuming 
 
 With warmth, and, upspringing, 
 I saw the flowers blooming, 
 And heard the birds singing ! 
 
 8. 
 
 Wherever I range. 
 
 Thro' the greenery. 
 That vision strange, 
 
 Whatsoever it be. 
 
 Is a part of me 
 Which suffers not change. —
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 The changes of eartli, 
 
 Water, air, ever-stitring, 
 
 Disturb me, conferring 
 My sadness or mirth : 
 Wheresoever I run, 
 I drink strength from the sun ; 
 The wind stirs my veins 
 
 With the leaves of the vsfood, 
 TTie dews and the rains 
 
 Mingle into my blood. 
 I stop short 
 In my sport, 
 
 Panting, and cower, 
 While the blue skies darken 
 
 With a sunny shower ; 
 And I lie and hearken. 
 
 In a balmy pain 
 To the tinkling clatter, 
 Fitter, patter, 
 
 Of the rain 
 On the leaves close to me, 
 
 And sweet thrills pass 
 Thro' and thro' me, 
 
 Till I tingle like grass. 
 When lightning with noise 
 
 Tears the wood's green ceiling, 
 When the black sky's voice 
 
 Is terribly pealing, 
 I hide me, hide me, hide me. 
 
 With wild averted face, 
 
 In some terror-stricken place. 
 While flowers and trees beside me, 
 
 And every streamlet near, 
 Darken whirl, and wonder, 
 Above, around, and under, 
 And murmur back the thunder 
 
 In a palpitating fear 1 
 
 Ay ; and when the earth turns 
 A soft bosom of balm 
 
 To the darkness that yearns 
 Above it, and grows 
 To dark, dewy, and calm 
 Repose, — 
 
 I, apart from rude riot, 
 
 Partake of the quiet 
 The night is bequeathing. 
 
 Lie, unseen and unheard. 
 
 In the greenness just stirr'd 
 By its own soft breathing — 
 
 And my heart then thrills 
 With a strange sensation 
 
 Like the purl of rills 
 Down moonlit hills 
 
 That loom afar. 
 With a sweet sensation 
 Like the palpitation 
 
 Of yonder star ! 
 
 lo. 
 
 Thro" yonder bough 
 
 Her white ray twinkles ; 
 And on my brow 
 
 She silently sprinkles 
 A dewy rain. 
 That lulls my brain 
 To a dream of being 
 
 Under the ground. 
 Blind to seeing. 
 
 Deaf to sound. 
 Drinking a dew 
 
 That drops from afar, 
 And feeling unto 
 
 The sweet pulse of a star. 
 Who is beckoning me 
 Though I cannot see ! 
 And of suddenly blooming 
 
 Up into the air. 
 And, swooning, assuming 
 
 The shape I wear ! 
 While all fair things 
 
 Fly night and day from me. 
 Wave bright wings. 
 
 And glimmer away from me 
 
 — She shines above me, 
 
 And heareth not, 
 
 Though she smiles on this spot 
 And seems to love me. 
 Here I lie aloof. 
 
 Goat-footed, knock-kneed, 
 
 A monster, indeed. 
 From horns to hoof ; 
 And the star burns clearly 
 
 With pearl-white gleam — 
 Have I merely 
 
 Dream'd a dream ? 
 
 12. 
 
 — Did she hear me, I wonder ? — 
 She trembles upon 
 Her throne — and is gone I 
 
 The boughs darken under.
 
 THE SATYR— VENUS ON THE SUN-CAR. 
 
 39 
 
 Then thrill, and are stirr'd 
 
 By the notes of a bird, 
 The green grass brightens 
 
 With pearly dew, 
 And the whole wood whitens 
 
 As the daNvn creeps thro". — 
 ' Hoho ! '—that shout 
 Flung the echoes about 
 
 The boughs, hke balls ! 
 Who calls ?— 
 'Tis the noisy rout 
 Of my fellows upspringing 
 
 From sleep and dreaming, 
 To the birds' shrill singing. 
 
 The day's soft beaming : 
 And they madly go 
 To and fro, 
 
 Though o' nights they are dumb. 
 Hoho ! hoho ! 
 
 I come ! I come ! 
 Hark ! — to the cry 
 They reply : 
 ' Ha, there, ha ! ' 
 ' Hurrah ! ' — ' hurrah t ' 
 
 And startling afraid 
 At the cries, 
 
 In the depths of the glade 
 Echo replies — 
 
 ' Ho, there 1 ' — ' ho, there ! ' — 
 By the stream below there 
 
 The answer dies. 
 
 VI. 
 
 VENUS ON THE SUN-CAR. 
 
 Tell me, thou many-finger'd Frost, 
 Coming and going like a ghost 
 
 In leafless woods forsaken — 
 O Frost that o'er him lying low 
 Drawest the garment of the snow 
 
 From silver cloud-wings shaken. 
 And round bare boughs with strange device 
 Twinest fantastic leaves of ice — 
 
 When will Adon waken ? 
 Lo, dawn by dawn I rise afar 
 Beside Apollo in his car. 
 
 And, far below us wreathing. 
 Thy fogs and mists are duskly curl'd 
 Round the white slumber of the world, 
 
 Like to its own deep breathing ; 
 
 But crimson thro' the mist our light 
 Foameth and freezeth, till by night 
 
 Snow-bosom'd hills we fade on — 
 The pallid god, at my desire. 
 Gives unto thee a breath of fire 
 
 To reach the lips of Adon. 
 
 2. 
 
 Tell me, thou bare and wintry World, 
 Wherein the winged flowers are curl'd 
 
 Like pigmy spirits dozing — 
 O World, within whose lap he lies. 
 With thy quick earth upon his eyes. 
 
 In dim unseen reposing, 
 Husht underneath the wind and storm, 
 Still rosy-lipt in darkness warm — 
 
 Are Adon's eyes unclosing ? 
 Lo, dawn by dawn I rise af?.r 
 Beside Apollo in his car, 
 
 Thro' voids of azure soaring, 
 And gazing down on regions dead, 
 With golden hair dishevelled, 
 
 And clasped hands imploring. 
 Wonderful creatures of the light 
 Hover above thee, hanging bright 
 
 Faint pictures glen and glade on : 
 The pallid god, at my desire, 
 Hideth in glimmering snows his fire. 
 
 To reach the sleep of Adon. 
 
 Tell me, thou spirit of the Sun, 
 Radiant-lock'd and awful one, 
 
 Strong, constant, unforsaking— 
 Sun, by whose shadier side I sit 
 And search thy face, and question it. 
 
 Conferring light and taking— 
 Whose fiery westward motion throws 
 The shadow-hours on his repose, — 
 
 Is my Adon waking ? 
 Lo, dawn by dawn I rise afar 
 Beside thee in thy flaming car, 
 
 Thou ever-constant comer ! 
 And flashing on the clouds that break 
 Around our path thy sunbeams make 
 
 A phantom of the summer. 
 O breathe upon the Moon, that she 
 May use her magic witchery 
 
 When snowy hills we fade on, 
 That, in the dark, when thou art gone, 
 She speed the resurrection. 
 
 And stir the sleep of Adon !
 
 40 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 Tell me, O silver-winged Moon, 
 That glidest to melodious tune 
 
 Ice-sparkling skies on skies up, — 
 O Moon, that to the sunset gray, 
 Drinking faint light that fades away, 
 
 Liftest immortal eyes up, 
 And walking on, art thro' the night 
 Troubled to pain by that strange light, — 
 
 When will Adon rise up ? 
 Lo, dawn by dawn I rise afar 
 Beside Apollo in his car, 
 
 Imploring sign or token 
 But night by night such pale peace beams 
 Upon his slumber, that it seems 
 
 Too beauteous to be broken ! 
 
 gentle goddess, be not cold — 
 But, some dim dawn, may we behold 
 
 New glor)' hill and glade on. 
 The leaves and flowers alive to bliss. 
 And, somewhat pale with thy last kiss, 
 
 The smiling face of Adon ! 
 
 VII. 
 SELENE THE MOON. 
 
 I. 
 
 1 HIDE myself in the cloud that flies 
 From the west and drops on the hill's gray 
 
 shoulder, 
 And I gleam through the cloud with my 
 panther-eyes, 
 While the stars turn paler, the dews grow 
 colder ; 
 I veil my naked glory in mist, 
 
 Quivering downward and dewily glistening, 
 Till his sleep is as pale as my lips unkist. 
 And I tremble above him, panting and 
 listening. 
 As white as a star, as cold as a stone. 
 Dim as my light in a sleeping lake. 
 With his head on his arm he lieth alone. 
 
 And I sigh ' Awake ! 
 Wake, Endymion, wake and see ! ' 
 And he stirs in his sleep for the love of me ; 
 But on his eyelids my breath I shake : 
 ' Endymion, Endymion ! 
 Awaken, awaken ! ' 
 And the yellow grass stirs with the mystic 
 moan, 
 And the tall pines groan, 
 Aad Echo sighs in her grot forsaken 
 The name of Endymion I 
 
 A foam)' dew from the Ocean old. 
 
 Whence I rise with shadows behind me 
 flying, 
 Drops from my sandals and glittereth cold 
 On the long spear-grass where my love is 
 lying ; 
 My face is dim with departed suns. 
 And my eyes are dark from the depths of 
 ocean, 
 A starry shudder throughout me runs, 
 And my pale cloud stirs with a radiant 
 motion. 
 When the darkness wherein he slumbers 
 alone 
 Ebbs back from my brightness, as black 
 waves break 
 From my shiningankle with shuddering tone ; 
 
 And I sigh ' Awake ! 
 Wake, Endymion, wake and hear 1 ' 
 And he stirs in his sleep with a dreamy fear, 
 And his thin lips part for my sweet sake : 
 ' Endymion, Endymion I 
 Awaken, awaken ! ' 
 And the skies are moved, and a shadow is 
 blown 
 From the Thunderer's throne. 
 And the spell of a voice from Olumpos shaken 
 Echoes ' Endymion ! ' 
 
 Then under his lids like a balmy rain 
 
 I put pale dreams of my heavenly glory ; — 
 And he sees me lead with a silver chain 
 
 The tamed Sea-Tempest white-tooth'd and 
 hoary ; 
 And he sees me fading thro' forests dark 
 Where the leopard and lion avoid me in 
 wonder. 
 Or ploughing the sky in a pearly bark, 
 While the earth is dumb with my beauty 
 under ! 
 Then he brightens and yearns where he lies 
 alone. 
 And his heart grows dumb with a yearning 
 ache. 
 And the thin lips part with a wondering moan. 
 
 As I sigh ' Awake ! 
 W^ake, Endymion, wake and see 
 All things grow bright for the love of me. 
 With a love that grows gentle for thy sweet 
 sake ! 
 Endymion, Endymion 1
 
 SELENE THE MOON.— IRIS THE RAINBOW. 
 
 41 
 
 Awaken, awaken ! ' 
 And my glory gfrows paler, the deep woods 
 groan, 
 
 And the waves intone, 
 Ay, all things whereon my glory is shaken 
 
 Murmur ' Endymion ! ' 
 
 Ai ! The black earth brightens, the Sea 
 creeps near 
 When I swim from the sunset's shadowy 
 portal ; 
 But he will not see, and he will not hear. 
 Though to hear and see were to be im- 
 mortal : 
 Pale as a star and cold as a stone. 
 
 Dim as my ghost in a sleeping lake, 
 In an icy vision he lieth alone, 
 
 And I sigh ' Awake ! 
 Wake, Endymion, wake and be 
 Divine, divine, for the love of me ! ' 
 
 And my odorous breath on his lids I shake : 
 ' Endymion, Endymion ! 
 Awaken, awaken ! ' 
 But Zeus sitteth cold on his cloud-shrouded 
 throne 
 And heareth my moan. 
 And his stern lips form not the hope-forsaken 
 Name of Endymion. 
 
 VIII. 
 IRIS THE RAINBOW. 
 
 I. 
 
 'Mid the cloud enshrouded haze 
 
 Of Olumpos I arise. 
 With the full and rainy gaze 
 
 Of Apollo in mine eyes ; 
 But I shade my dazzled glance 
 
 With my dripping pinions white 
 Where the sunlight sparkles dance 
 
 In a many- tinctured light : 
 My foot upon the woof 
 
 Of a fleecy cloudlet small, 
 I glimmer thro' the roof 
 
 Of the paven banquet-hall, 
 And a soft pink radiance dips 
 
 Thro' the floating mists divine, 
 Touching eyes and cheeks and lips 
 
 Of the mild-eyed gods supine. 
 And the growing glory rolls 
 
 Round their foreheads, while I stain. 
 
 With a blush like wine, the bowls 
 Of transparent porcelain : 
 
 Till the whole calm pl:;ce has caught 
 A deep gleam of rosy fire — 
 
 When I darken to the thought 
 In the eyes of Zeus the Sire. 
 
 Then Zeus, arising, stoops 
 
 O'er the ledges of the skies. 
 Looking downward, thro' the loops 
 
 Of the starry tapestries. 
 On the evident dark plain 
 
 Speck'd with wood and hill and stream, 
 On the wrinkled tawny main 
 
 Where the ships, like snowflakes, gleam 
 And with finger without swerve. 
 
 Swiftly lifted, swiftly whirl'd. 
 He draws a magic curve 
 
 O'er the dark low-lying world ; 
 When with waving wings displayed. 
 
 On the Sun-god's threshold bright 
 I upleap, and seem to fade 
 
 In a flash of golden'light ; 
 But I plunge thro' vapours dim 
 
 To the dark low-lying land. 
 And I tremble, float, and swim. 
 
 On the strange curve of the Hand : 
 From my wings, that drip, drip, drip, 
 
 With cool rains, shoot jets of fire. 
 As across green capes I slip 
 
 With the thought of Zeus the Sire. 
 
 Thence, vdth drooping vvdngs bedew'd, 
 
 Folded close about my form, 
 I alight with feet unview'd 
 
 On the ledges of the storm ; 
 For a moment, cloud-enroll'd. 
 
 Mid the murm'rous rain I stand, 
 And with meteor eyes behold 
 
 Vapoury ocean, misty land ; 
 Till the thought of Zeus outsprings 
 
 From my ripe mouth with a sigh, 
 And unto my lips it clings 
 
 Like a shining butterfly ; 
 When I brighten, gleam, and glow 
 
 And my glittering wings unfurl. 
 And the melting colours flow 
 
 To my foot of dusky pearl ; 
 And the ocean mile on mile 
 
 Gleams thro' capes and straits and bays,
 
 42 
 
 THE UMDERTONF.S. 
 
 And the vales and niounlains smile, 
 And the leaves are wet with rays, — 
 
 While I wave the htimid Bow 
 Of my wings with flash of fire, 
 
 And the Tempest, crouch'd below, 
 Knows the thought of Zeus the Sire. 
 
 IX. 
 
 ORPHEUS THE MUSICIAN. 
 
 I SAT of old beside a stream new-born 
 From loamy loins of mountains cold. 
 
 And it was garrulous of dreams forlorn 
 And visions old : 
 
 Wherefore the legends of the woods and caves 
 With that faint melody were blended ; 
 
 And as the stream slid down to ocean-waves, 
 I comprehended. 
 
 Into a dreary silence dim and deep 
 I sank with drowsy sighs and nods : 
 
 Then sang — my blue eyes dark and wise 
 from sleep — 
 The birth of gods. — 
 
 A gleaming shoulder cut the stream, andlo ! 
 
 I saw the glistening Naiad rise : 
 She floated, like a lily white as snow, 
 
 With half-closed eyes. 
 
 And suddenly, thronging the boughs around, 
 Came forest faces strange and glad, 
 
 That droopt moist underlips and drank the 
 sound 
 Divinely sad. 
 
 Far down the glade, where heavy shadows 
 slept, 
 
 Stole, purple-stained by the vine, 
 Silenus, — thro' whose blood my music crept 
 
 Like wondrous wine : 
 
 Tiptoe, like one who fears to break a spell, 
 He came, with eyeballs blank as glass — 
 
 Not drawing breath till, at my feet, he fell 
 Prone on the grass. 
 
 Then, leaning forked chin upon his hand. 
 He listen'd, dead to tipsy strife. 
 
 And lo ! his face grew smooth and soft and 
 bland 
 With purer life 
 
 Goat-footed fauns and satyrs one by one, 
 With limbs upon the greensward thrown, 
 
 Gather'd, and darken'd round me in the sun, 
 Like shapes of stone : 
 
 Between thi sunset and the green hillside 
 Quaint pigmy spirits linger'd bright. 
 
 Till heaven's one star swam dewy, opening 
 wde 
 To the delight, — 
 
 While sunlight redden' d, dying, and below 
 All heark'd — like shapes upon a cup, 
 
 By skied Her6, in the ambrosial glow. 
 Held rosily up. 
 
 Then twilightdusklygloam'd upon the place, 
 Full of sweet odour and cool shade. 
 
 But music made a lamp of every face 
 In the forest-glade : 
 
 Till swiftly swam, in showers of pearly beams, 
 
 Selen6 to her azure arc. 
 Scattering silence, light, and dewy dreams 
 
 On eyelids dark. 
 
 The music sadden'd, and the greenwood 
 stirr'd. 
 The moonlight clothed us in its veil, 
 As stooping down the dove-eyed goddess 
 heard. 
 Smiled, and grew pale : 
 
 For as they listen'd, satyrs, nymphs, and 
 fauns 
 
 Conceived their immortahty — 
 Yea, the weird spiritsof the woodsandlawns. 
 
 Gross, vile, to see — 
 
 Whence her pure light disturb'd them, and 
 they strove 
 
 To shake away the sweet strange charm ; 
 But the light brighten'd, shaken from above 
 
 With pearly arm. 
 
 They could not fly, they could not cry nor 
 speak, 
 
 It held them like a hand of strength, — 
 They hid their faces, wild, abash'd and weak, 
 
 And writhed full length. 
 
 The Naiad lifted up her dewy chin. 
 And knew, and saw the light with love, 
 
 Made peaceful by a purity akin 
 To hers above.
 
 ORPHEUS THE MUSICIAN. 
 
 43 
 
 And countless beauteous spirits of the shade 
 Knew their own souls and felt no fear ; 
 
 While Echo, nestling in her thyme-cave, 
 made 
 An answer clear. 
 
 Till, when I ceased to sing, the satyr-crew 
 Rush'd back to riot and carouse ; 
 
 Self-fearful faces blushingly withdrew 
 Into leafy boughs ; 
 
 Lastly, Silenus to his knees upcrept, 
 Rubb'd eyelids swollen like the vine, 
 
 Stared blankly round him, vow'd that he had 
 slept. 
 And bawl'd for wine. 
 
 X. 
 
 POLYPHEME'S PASSION. 
 
 Ho, Silenus ! — no one here 1 
 
 ' The kitchen empty, the flocks in stalls. 
 
 The red fire flickering over the walls, 
 And — a young kid spitted — dainty cheer ! 
 Ho, Silenus ! — tipsy old reveller, 
 Soft - zone - unloosener, bright - hair - dis- 
 
 heveller, 
 Where are you hiding, you tipsy old hound 
 
 you. 
 With your beard of a goat and your eyes of 
 
 a lamb ? 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Ho, Cyclops ! 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 He mocks met Where are you, confound you? 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Patience, sweet master, here I am ! — 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Rise ! or with my great fist I'll put an end 
 
 to thee ; 
 The dregs of my great flagon have been 
 
 warming thee 
 Thou'rt drunk, sow-ears. I find there's no 
 
 reforming thee, 
 Tho' six round moons I've tried to be a 
 
 friend to thee. 
 Once more divinely warming those old veins. 
 Chirping like grasshoppers at every pore, 
 
 Foaming as warm as milk among thy brains, 
 
 Gushing like sunshine in thine heart's dry 
 
 core. 
 
 Runs the pink nectar of my vines. It stains. 
 
 Flowing from that bald head, this grassy 
 
 floor — 
 
 Too sweet for earth to drink, unmeet for 
 
 thee, 
 Fit only to be quaffed by gods like me ! 
 
 Cyclops ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Jump up, then, quickly. Nay, no more. 
 FoUow me to this rocky eminence, 
 Cool-cushion'd with the yellow moss, from 
 whence 
 We can at ease behold 
 The cloud-stain'd greenness of the ocean 
 
 sleek, 
 Rounding its glassy waves into the creek. 
 
 Speckled with sparkling jewels manifold. 
 And, far away, one melting patch of gold. 
 Now, sit 1 — Nay, nearer, higher — here, 
 above 
 IVIy shoulder. Turn thy face to mine, 
 
 Silenus ! 
 Fear not : — being fill'd with the sweet milk 
 of Venus, 
 Thou'rt a fit counsellor for one in love ; 
 And, as I'm in a talking humour, why — 
 Suppose we chat a little at our leisure. 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 With pleasure ! 
 The subject ? 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 One alone beneath the sky, 
 Old man, is worthy of the conversation 
 And serious consideration 
 
 Of such a god as I ! 
 Now, guess the name of that sweet thing ? 
 
 SILENU.S. 
 
 With ease. 
 Bacchus, the god to whom these aged knees 
 Bend gloriously impotent so often. 
 And in whose luscious pool 
 I dip hot mouth and eyes, and soak and 
 
 soften 
 The yoke of thy strong rule.
 
 44 
 
 THE UNDERTOJVES. 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 A thing a thousand times more beautiful ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 I know no thing more beautiful than he 
 When, dripping odours cool, 
 
 Deep-purpled, like a honey-bosom'd flower 
 For which the red mouth buzzes like a bee, 
 He bursts from thy deep caverns gushingly. 
 
 And throws his pleasure round him in a 
 shower, 
 And sparkles, sparkles, like the eyes that see. 
 In sunshine, murmuring for very glee 
 
 And bursting beaded bubbles until sour 
 Lips tremble into moist anticipation 
 Of his rich exultation ! 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Has little Bacchus, whom ye praise so, power 
 To unnerve these mighty limbs, make this 
 one Eye 
 Rain mpotent tears, hurl this gigantic bulk 
 Down on its stubborn knees — nay, make me 
 skulk 
 And fume and fret, and simper oaths, 
 and sigh, 
 Like tiny mortal milking-maids who sulk 
 In dairies, frothing yellow like their 
 cream ? 
 Could Bacchus, once let loose to fight and 
 
 fly. 
 
 Do all these things to sinewy Polypheme? 
 
 Assuredly ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 By this right hand, you lie !— 
 I am a god, great-statured, strong, and born 
 
 Out of Poseidon's nervy loins divine ! 
 I laugh the wrath of Zeus himself to scorn ; 
 And when I rise erect on Aetna's horn 
 My shadow on the faint sea-hyaline 
 Falls like a cloud wherein the winds drop 
 still 
 
 And white-wing'd ships move slowly without 
 
 win. 
 Shall bulk so wondrous and so grand as mine 
 Yield to the miserable god of wine ? 
 
 Certainly not. 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Never ! — by Pallas' spear, 
 At whose sharp touch the plump god leaps 
 
 and flies. 
 While startled Revel shrieks with haggard 
 eyes I 
 Never, by Hermes, whom the drunken 
 fear, 
 But whose quick fingers pilfer not the wise ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Whom shall we praise, O Cyclops ? 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Thou shalt hear — 
 Tell me, didst thou ever see a, — 
 Ever see a, ever hear a,— 
 Either far away or near, a — 
 Nymph so sweet as Galatea ? 
 
 Never ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 'Tis false, old man ! she is not fair ; — 
 
 Those weeds that under ocean rot at ease 
 
 Into dark dreams o' the flowery earth, and 
 
 there 
 Put purples in the sea-nymph's sunny hair 
 
 Are fairer : she is changeable as these. 
 She is as wanton as the perfumed fays 
 That dimple on the windless sea and dally. 
 Musically, 
 With the puff'd sails of ships becalm'd fo' 
 days. 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 True, Cyclops, she is fickle ; and by her 
 Whose amorous breath blew the Greek host 
 
 to Troy, 
 I have seen fairer ! 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Dotard ! Driveller ! 
 Not her the false Idalian shepherd-boy. 
 With silken string, like a tame heifer, 
 led— 
 .^Iay, not lush Aphrodite, whose blue eyne. 
 Pink-lidded, smiled on their unhallow'd 
 bed- 
 Is half so fair, so precious, so divine. 
 As Galatea ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Exactly what I said.
 
 POLYPHEME'S PASSION. 
 
 45 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Her voice hath gentle sweetness, borrowed 
 
 From soft tide-lispings on the pebbly sand, 
 'Tis like the brooding doves in junipers ; 
 
 White as a shell of ocean is her hand, 
 Wherein, with rosy light, the pink blood 
 
 stirs ! 
 Her hair excels the fruitage of the beech 
 Wherein the sun runs liquid gleam on gleam; 
 Her breasts are like two foaming bowls of 
 
 cream, 
 A red straw-berry in the midst of each ! 
 
 And the soft gold-down on her silken chin 
 Is like the under side of a ripe peach — 
 
 A dimple dipping honeyly therein 1 
 
 Her eyes- 
 
 SILENUS, 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Profane them not ! — For their sweet fire is 
 Wondrous and various as the Bow 
 Drawn over rainy ledges dripping low 
 By many-colour'd Iris — 
 From whose bright end, plunged the dark 
 
 waters under. 
 Woven with the tapestries of her sea-cave, 
 And dying hue by hue on the green wave. 
 They may have drunk a portion of their 
 
 wonder. 
 But oh, what tongue can tell 
 Their glory inexpressible ? 
 You seem to see the music of the ocean 
 Folded within them, as within a shell. 
 And gently stirring with a violet motion. 
 Until it drops unto the lips, and there 
 Flutters in perfumed accents on the air ; 
 Nor this alone. They change as the sea 
 
 changes, 
 In hues as various as the ringdove's dyes : 
 Whatsoever sweet and strange is 
 Flashes across them with a quick surprise. 
 Now, in their troubled orbs rise multiform 
 Wild pictures of sky-tempest and sea-storm ; 
 And her wild eyes droop brightly on her breast 
 Till it is troubled like a thing distrest ; 
 But in their softest mood 
 You watch the pale soul tremulously brood 
 On those bright orbs whose fire the dark 
 
 sea cools, 
 And there it trembles, as the moonlight flows 
 On seas just stirr'd by their own deep repose. 
 And throbbing, throbbing, into silver pools ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 O eloquent Cyclops, pause, and breathe a 
 
 space ! — 
 Few eyes save thine, few eyes of earth, have 
 
 plainly 
 Seen this immortal Galatea's face ; 
 For she thou lovest is of that fair race 
 Whom mortal vision dreams of, but seeks 
 vainly — 
 
 For they comb and they comb 
 
 Their yeUow locks, 
 Under the foam, 
 
 Among weedy rocks ! 
 And they sing unseen 
 In their sea-caves green, 
 And gaze at the white sun overhead 
 Whose pale ray saddens their dripping 
 curls, 
 Or the moon that glimm'ring in ocean's 
 bed 
 
 Leaves her light for ever in pools of 
 pearls ! 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Chirrup not, wine-sponge ! — Am not I a 
 
 god? 
 Cannot this eye peer to Olumpos' helm ? 
 Does not the great sea, trembling at my nod, 
 Hush itself humbly around this my realm ? 
 
 SH.ENUS. 
 
 It does, O Cyclops ! 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Save, of course, when I 
 Hurl rocks and trees down on the shudder- 
 ing ships. 
 And, while I loom above the waves, my lips 
 Roar terrible defiance at the sky. 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Precisely. 
 
 POLYPHJiME. 
 
 Ask not, then, the when and how ; 
 But turn thine ancient gaze 
 On the broad wonder of my brow, 
 Thence drop it, in a natural amaze, 
 Down the steep mountain to my sinewy feet. 
 Round which the lambs, as small as snow- 
 flakes, bleat ; 
 Now, tell me — am I fair ?
 
 46 
 
 THE UNDERTONES. 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Most fair ! 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Thy fears 
 Lie to my strength a hollow lie, Silenus ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 By all the love that there exists between us, 
 By doves that perch on Bacchus' vine- 
 
 wreath'd ears, 
 I swear thou art most beautiful 1 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Again : 
 Have those blurr'd eyeballs noticed that of 
 
 late 
 Mine air has grown more solemn, more 
 
 sedate, 
 More bountiful to those I hold in chain 
 To watch my flocks, and more compassion- 
 ate ; 
 As if I struggled underneath the weight 
 Of some indefinite pain ? 
 That I have learn'd to tremble and to blush, 
 To droop this eyelid modestly, to flush 
 All over at the tiniest whispering sound, 
 To pick small dainty steps upon the ground 
 As if I saw and seeing fear'd to crush 
 Some crawling insect or the crimson-crown'd 
 Small daisy-flower that, whensoe'er I pass, 
 Shuts up its little leaves upon the grass 
 And thinks the shadowy eve has stolen down ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Cyclops ! — These things I saw, but fear'd to 
 
 question ; 
 Nay, with a blush I own it — do not frown ! — 
 I set thy trouble down as indigestion. 
 For neither dainty kids, nor lambs stall- 
 fed. 
 Nor sucking-swine with pippins in their 
 
 teeth, 
 Nor ox-thighs with green herbs engarlanded, 
 Nor foamy curds wherein hot apples seethe 
 Nay, not the parsley-flavour'd tongues of 
 
 sheep, 
 Could tempt o' late thy dainty appetite ; 
 But lying on the mountain out of sight 
 Of melancholy thou hast drunken deep ; 
 While down among the yellow pastures 
 moaning 
 
 With lambs new-yean'd, where thy cool 
 
 streamlets run, 
 We saw thee loom above us, mighty one ! 
 And heard thee, like the monstrous seas 
 
 intoning, 
 Melodiously groaning ! 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Ay me ! ay me ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Be calm, sweet Polypheme ! 
 The eagle poised o'er yonder cropping lamb 
 Flew scared, at that big cry. 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Ay me ! I am 
 
 Lost, swallow'd up, absorbed into a dream ! 
 Thro' the swift currentof my frame gigantic 
 Eddies a frantic 
 
 Consimiing fire. I am not what I seem. 
 For Galatea I refuse all food. 
 For Galatea I grow weak and wild 
 And petulant-featured as a sickly child ; 
 For Galatea \, in desperate mood, 
 Seek out green places in this solitude, 
 And close my eyes, and think I am a curl 
 Tingling, tingling, lightly 
 Against the snow-heap'd bosom swelhng 
 whitely ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 One should not break his heart for any girl. 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Ay me ! I close my eyes in a sweet woe, 
 And dream that I am little, fair, and sweet, 
 For a small goddess's embraces meet. 
 Nor huge, nor rough. It was not always so ! 
 Of old, Silenus, this great awful Me 
 Was swoU'n with glory at the contemplation 
 Of its enormity in yonder sea ; 
 I revell'd in the roar and consternation, 
 When, grasping rocks with frantic acclama- 
 tion, 
 Round this frowning, .(Etna-crowning head 
 
 I whirl'd them. 
 Tremendously, stupendously, and hurl'd 
 
 them 
 On the passing fleets below ; 
 And from under came the thunder of vessels 
 
 crush'd asunder, 
 And the shriek, faint and weak, of the 
 mortnis in their wonder,
 
 POLYPHEME'S PASSION. 
 
 47 
 
 And the sea rolled underneath, and the winds 
 
 began to blow, 
 And above the desolation, drunk with rage, 
 
 I took my station, 
 With my waving arms expanded and my 
 
 crimson eye aglow. 
 And to earth's reverberation, 
 Roar' d ' Ho ! ho ! ho ! ' 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Cyclops ! sweet Cyclops ! — 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Fear not ! 
 I am as weak as the eagle's callow young ; 
 Yet listen, mild old man, and interfere not. 
 One summer day, when earth and heaven 
 
 rung 
 With thunders, and the hissing lightning 
 
 stung 
 With forked meteor tongue 
 The green smooth living ocean till it 
 
 shriek' d — 
 I stood aloft on Etna's horn and wreak'd 
 My cruel humour with a monstrous glee : 
 When lo ! from out the rainy void did flit 
 Bright Iris, and with tremulous foot alit 
 On this my mountain, touching even me 
 With her faint glory : for a moment, she 
 Paused shudd'ring high above me : then 
 
 with fleet 
 Footstep slid downward till she reach'd my 
 
 feet ; 
 And there, with many-tinctured wings 
 
 serene. 
 She waved the seas to silence, and, beguiled 
 By her mild message, the dark ocean 
 
 smiled — 
 A palpitating lapse of oily green. 
 With silvery glimmers here and there be- 
 tween 
 The shadows of the clouds that, dewy and 
 
 mild. 
 Parted and flutter'd : — when, with radiant 
 
 head 
 Plunging among the mountain mibts, she 
 
 fled. 
 15ut, as the vapours flcam'd away, behold ! 
 I taw far down upon the brown sea-strand 
 A nymph who held aloft in pearly hand 
 A whitc-tooth'd comb, and comb'd her locks 
 
 of gold 
 Over a dank and shipwrcck'd sailor-lad, — 
 
 On whose sad eyelids a faint radiance lay, 
 Robb'd from some little homestead far away. 
 Some silent hearth that wearily would wait, 
 For that faint smile which left it desolate. 
 And hush itself and watch and yearn and 
 
 pray. 
 Oh ! tenderly she comb'd her locks of gold, 
 Over that gently-sleeping sailor-lad, 
 Stretch'd 'mid the purple dulse and rock- 
 weed cold ; 
 And all the while she sang a ditty sad, 
 To deep division of the wave that roll'd 
 Up to her feet, like a huge snake that springs 
 At two bright butterflies with golden wings : 
 
 Marinere, O Marinere, 
 Waken, waken ! 
 Sleep-o'ertaken, 
 Look upon me, with no fear, 
 Look, and see, and hear : 
 Underneath the white-tooth'd waves, 
 Sleep your comrades in their caves ; 
 Coral grottoes are their bed. 
 Purple plants stir overhead. 
 All around black weeds are twined, 
 Frozen still without a wind ; 
 And the sea-nymphs in distress 
 Pluck dark flowers all odourless, 
 Growing deep in caverns clear, 
 Gently to bestrew their bier. 
 Under the sea 
 They sleep — ah me ! 
 They have slept for many a year. 
 
 Marinere, O Marinere, 
 Wake not, wake not. 
 Slumber break not. 
 Close your eyelids with no fear. 
 Do not see, nor hear ! 
 I' ar above the silence deep, 
 W'here your gentle comrades sleep, 
 Rolls the sea and foams the storm. 
 Horrors thicken, terrors swarm, 
 And the sca-nyniphs, lightning-led, 
 Flash about white-garmented ; 
 But below the Storm-god's frown. 
 Sleep the shipwreck'd fathoms down— 
 Ocean-flowers are on the liier, 
 Foam-bells hang in every car 1 
 
 Under the sea 
 
 They sleep — ah me ! 
 
 They shall ileep for many a yc;ir.
 
 4S 
 
 THE UNDERTONES. 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 That was the song she sang ? 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 It was. But ill 
 Those tender accents fill 
 This rocky breast, whose distant roar 
 Frightens those white waves seaward from 
 
 the shore. 
 For they trembled, tinkling, twining, 
 For melodious combining, 
 While her yellow locks fell shining 
 
 To her knees. 
 While the Storm, with bright eyes glistening. 
 Thro' its cloud- veil looking at her, 
 Hung breathlessly and listening 
 
 On the seas : 
 And in the sun she sat her, 
 Wliile her voice went pitter-patter, 
 Pitter-patter, like the clatter 
 
 Of bright rain on boughs of trees I 
 Then ho ! with my great stride, 
 Down the steep mountain side, 
 I sprang unto her, with mine arms extended! 
 Her bright locks gleani'd afraid, 
 Like a sunbeam trapt in shade. 
 In my deep shadow, and the music ended : 
 And she rose erect to fly. 
 Panting, moaning, and her cry 
 Met the lifted cry of Ocean, and they blended ! 
 While earth reel'd under, 
 
 Downward I bore, 
 With step of thunder, 
 
 On to the shore ; 
 And in shrieking amaze, 
 
 With eyes fasten'd in fear — 
 Like a star's firm gaze 
 
 When a cloud draws near — 
 On the horror that came 
 With an eye of flame, 
 She leapt to the water, 
 All woebegone ; 
 And her bright locks shone 
 And tript and distraught her. 
 But the water caught her 
 
 And push'd her on ! 
 From billow to billow. 
 
 With wild locks streaming 
 And tangling oft ; 
 From billow to billow. 
 Dark-green, or gleaming 
 Like doves' wings soft, 
 
 From billow to billow, 
 Panting and screaming. 
 With white hands beaming 
 
 And waving aloft ! 
 Then, coming hideous 
 
 On to the tide, 
 I spurn'd the perfidious 
 
 Foam aside. 
 And follow'd her, dashing 
 
 Thro' stonn sublime, 
 Flashing, crashing, 
 Splashing-splashing 
 
 On the seaweed's slippery slime ! 
 The billows clomb up. 
 With flash of foam up. 
 
 My loins and thighs ; 
 Till they gleam' d and fleam'd. 
 
 With clangor and anger, 
 And around me upstream'd 
 
 W.th their wild white eyes ! 
 Till panting, choking, 
 Dripping and soaking. 
 With nostrils smoking, 
 I halted, spitting, 
 
 Spurting, chin-deep, 
 And saw her sitting 
 Where gulls were flitting 
 
 Far out on the deep ; 
 And all around her with gentle motion 
 One smooth soft part of the murmurous 
 ocean 
 
 Had gone to sleep ! 
 Then waving her hands. 
 
 And shaking her locks. 
 To the ocean sands. 
 
 To the purple rocks 
 Under the foam, 
 
 To the sea-caves brovim. 
 She sank to her home, 
 
 Down ! down ! do'Am ! down I 
 And the sea grew black 
 In her shining track, 
 
 . nd the waters green 
 Darken'd afar ; 
 
 And the one thing seen 
 Was the steadfast star 
 Of my round Eye red, 
 
 Rolling immense 
 
 With a pain intense 
 In my rocky head, 
 IVIid the white foam wreathing 
 Aroimd wind-led. 
 And the great sea seething
 
 POLYPHEME'S PASSION. 
 
 49 
 
 Down to deep breathing, 
 
 Like a monster panting, on its sandy bed ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Most musical Cyclops ! 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Hush ! — Unto the beach 
 I wearily strode, with great headbow'd, and 
 
 dragg'd 
 Foot-echoes after me ; and with no speech, 
 On yonder shore, weedy andwetandcragg'd, 
 I stood, and in an agony of pain 
 Look'd out with widening eyeball on the 
 
 main. 
 Lo ! far away a white wind glided dim 
 O'er the cloud-cover'dbright'ningocean-rim, 
 And violet shadows here and there were 
 
 trail'd 
 Over the waters : then behold the sun 
 Flasht pale across the waste, and one by one. 
 Like sea-gulls dripping rain, rose ships 
 
 white-sail' d. 
 All else was silence, save monotonous moan 
 Of the broad-chested billows, till the warm 
 Light kindled all things, and I loomed 
 
 alone — 
 The one huge cloud remaining of the storm ; 
 And in the awfulness of that strange hour 
 A change came over my big throbbing breast, 
 And the soft picture of the calm had power 
 To move my mountainous bulk with vague- 
 unrest ! — 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Weep not, O Cyclops — lest thy tears should 
 
 roll 
 Down oceanward and brain the grazing 
 
 sheep ! 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Ay me, ay me, the passion in my soul ! 
 Ay me, her glory haunts me, and I weep ! — 
 O, I would give away the world to be 
 As soft, as sweet, as'fleecy-limb'd as she. 
 As liny and as tender and as white 
 As her mild loveliness ! 
 With two soft eyes such as mere men possess, 
 Two pretty little dewy eyes, that might 
 Interpret me aright ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Amazement ! — Polypheme, whom vast Pos- 
 eidon 
 SpawTi'd upon Thoosi in the salted brine, 
 
 Thouwho canst strangle fleets, andsit astride 
 
 on 
 /Etna and roar thine origin divine ! 
 Wrong not thyself, thy beauty, and thy sire ! 
 See ! where thy mighty shadow stretches 
 
 wide 
 Down the steep mountain side, 
 And see ! that eyeball of immortal fire ! 
 Had wanton Helen, Paris' love-sick toy, 
 Beheld thee, Polypheme, 
 Hill-haunting Echo had not found a theme 
 In rain and the ten years' war of Troy ! 
 
 And is it so? 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 By (Janymede bright eyed. 
 
 By— by— 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Enough — let us return. I stood, 
 When she had flown, in meditative mood ; 
 Then, raising up my resinous hands, I cried: 
 • O thou from whose huge loins I darkling 
 
 came. 
 King of all ocean and its wondrous races. 
 Return, return, the nymph to my embraces, 
 Or, thro' thy lips ooze-dripping, name her 
 
 name ! ' 
 And o'er the sands did a low murmur creep. 
 Whispering ' Galatea ; ' and, deep-pain'd, 
 I vaguely knew, like one who dreams in 
 
 sleep. 
 She was a goddess of the sacred deep. 
 Not to be lightly woo'd or roughly gain'd. 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 pitiful ! and you — 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 In the dim birth 
 Of the strange love that stirs my hid blood's 
 
 fountains. 
 As unborn earthquakes trouble springs in 
 
 mountains, 
 
 1 look'd abroad upon the fair green earth ; 
 And lo, all things that lived, all things tliat 
 
 stirr'd. 
 Unto the very daisy closing up 
 In my great shade its crimson-tipped cup. 
 And the small lamlis, and every little bird 
 Scem'd to abhor and dread, avoid and fear 
 
 me ; 
 
 E
 
 5° 
 
 THE UNDERTONES. 
 
 And in an agony of hate for all, 
 I cried ' How can a thing so sweet, so small, 
 So gentle, love me— or be happy near me ? ' 
 Whereon I sadly clomb the cliffs and made 
 A looking-glass of yonder ocean, where 
 Startled by my long shade 
 The silver-bellied fishes rose afraid ; 
 But with a lover's hand I smooth'd my hair 
 To sleekness, parting it with care, 
 And husht the rugged sorrow of my brow- 
 Then, stooping softly o'er the dimpled mirror, 
 I shaped my face to a sweet smile— as now ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 O agony ! help, help, ye gods ! O terror 1 
 Hide me ! 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 What ails thee ? Ha 1 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 O Ocean's child — 
 
 Cyclops ! My heart, with admiration rent, 
 
 Fainted and cried with its deep ravishment 
 
 Because you look'd so beauteous when you 
 
 smiled 1 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 Tl -ou liest ! — and (ay me", you shrunk in fear 
 As silly younglings shrink at something 
 
 hateful ; 
 Yet tremble not : — to a lorn lover's ear, 
 Ev'en flattery so base as thine is grateful. 
 Ay me, ay me — I am 
 A great sad mountain in whose depths doth 
 
 roam 
 My small soul, wandering like a gentle lamb 
 That bleats from place to place and has no 
 
 home ; 
 But prison'd among rocks 
 Can just behold afar 
 A land where honey-flowing rivers are 
 Andgentle shepherds withtheirgentle flocks: 
 For even so my timid soul looks round 
 On beauteous living things— that creep and 
 
 seem, 
 To this vast Eye, like insects on the ground — 
 From whose companionship 'tis shut and 
 
 bound 
 Within this mountain of a Polypheme ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Most melancholy Cyclops, be consoled ! 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 My heart is like those blubbery crimson blots 
 
 That float on the dank tide in oozy spots ; 
 
 It is as mild as patient flocks in fold. 
 
 I am as lonely as the snowy peak 
 
 Of Dardanos, and, like an eagle, Love 
 
 Stoops o'er me, helpless, from its eyrie above. 
 
 And grasps that lamb, my Soul, within its 
 
 beak. 
 Nay, on the margin of the waters where 
 She comes and goes hke a swift gull, I sit 
 Above these flocks, and rake my little wit 
 To pipe upon the misty mountain air 
 Ditties as tender as a shepherd man, 
 Perch'd on a litde hillock, half asleep, 
 Surrounded by his silly stainless sheep. 
 Pipes with mild pleasure and no definite plan 
 In fields Arcadian. \_He sings. 
 
 White is the little hand of Galatea, 
 That combs her yellow locks with dainty 
 care ; 
 Bright is the fluttering hand of Galatea, 
 When tangled, like a dove, in sunny 
 hair. 
 Sweet is Galatea — sweet is Galatea — 
 
 Ay, so sweet ! 
 Complete is Galatea, from her feathery 
 fingers fair 
 To her small white mice of feet ! 
 The billows huge and hoar cease to rumble 
 
 and to roar. 
 When the white hands wave above them, 
 
 like doves that shine and soar. 
 And, as gentle, from the shore, I adore, and 
 implore Galatea ! 
 
 Ho, that these limbs were meet for Galatea 
 With soft pink kisses sweetly to enfold ! 
 Ho, had I two small eyes, that Galatea 
 Might there my gentle gentle heart 
 behold ! 
 Dear is Galatea — dear is Galatea — 
 
 Ay, so dear ! 
 No peer has Galatea, but her bosom is so 
 cold 
 And her eyes so full of fear ! 
 When the great seas wildly rise, there is 
 
 terror in her eyes. 
 And she trembles in sweet wonder, like a 
 
 bird that storms surprise, — 
 .And before my tender cries, and my sighs, 
 swiftly flies Galatea !
 
 POLYPHEME'S PASSION. 
 
 51 
 
 Under the white sea-storm sits Galatea, 
 While overhead the sea-birds scream in 
 flocks, 
 In deep green darkness sitteth Galatea, 
 Combing out sunshine from her golden 
 locks ! 
 Fair sits Galatea— fair sits Galatea- 
 Ay, so fair 1 
 Ho, there sits Galatea, in the shade of 
 purple rocks, 
 Mid the fountain of her hair 1 
 Ho, would I were the waves, on whose crest 
 
 the tempest raves, 
 So might I still the tempest that my raging 
 
 bulk outbraves. 
 For the dark-green stillness laves, and en- 
 slaves, and encaves Galatea I 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Comfort, O Cyclops, comfort ! There is 
 
 sure 
 Some remedy for such a wound as this : 
 Red wine, I say again : the plump God's 
 
 kiss 
 Is sweeter far than honey, rich and pure. 
 
 POLYP HEME. 
 
 Alas, not he whose temples Artemis 
 Bound with weird herbs and poison-snakes 
 
 that hiss 
 But stmg not— wise Asclepios— could cure ! 
 For evermore, Silenus, when my brain 
 Lies in a dream just conscious of its pain, 
 And my full heart throbs tenderly and rock- 
 
 ingly, 
 Far out upon the bosom of the main 
 She flashes up, green-kirtled, and laughs 
 
 mockingly. 
 Thrice has her smile enticed me to the chin 
 Thro' the great waves that round me bite 
 
 and bark, 
 And gleam'd away and left me in the dark. 
 Alas, that I must woo and never win ! 
 Mas. that I am foul while she is fair ! 
 Alas, that this red Eye, my only one, 
 Like a brown lizard looking on the sun, 
 Turns green in her bright mist of yellow 
 
 hair 1 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Majestic f yclops ! Heir of the huge Sea ! 
 God-hke,— like those great heavens that 
 oversheen us ! 
 
 One-eyed, like the bright Day ! Wilt thou 
 
 by me. 
 Thy servant, be advised ? 
 
 POLYPIIEME. 
 
 Speak on, Silf^nus. 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Behold ! Beneath the many-tinctured west 
 
 hid, 
 Fades Phoibos crimson-crested, 
 And the faint image of his parting light 
 On the deep Sea broad-breasted 
 Fades glassily ; while down the mountain 
 
 height 
 Behind us, slides the purple shadow'd Night. 
 Come in ! — and from your cellar iced by 
 
 sprmgs 
 Drag forth the god of wine, 
 And listen to him as he chirps and sings 
 His songs delicious, dulcet, and divine : 
 Throned in the brain, magnificently wise, 
 And blowing warmly out thro' kindled eyes 
 All vapours vapid, vague, and vain. 
 Seek the god's counsel, Cyclops, I beseech 
 
 thee ; 
 'Tis he alone, if once his magic reach thee, 
 Can cure Love's panting heat or shivering 
 
 pain. 
 
 POLYPHEME. 
 
 He cannot make me fair ! 
 
 SILENUS. 
 
 Phoo ! — He will teach thee 
 To lift thy dreamy gaze from the soft sod, 
 And rise erect, big-hearted, self-reliant. 
 On .Etna's horn— with leathern lungs de- 
 fiant — 
 No minnow-hearted grampus of a god ! 
 And— then in the quick flush and exultation 
 Of that proud inspiration. 
 Wine in his nostrils, Polypheme will be 
 In Polypheme's own estimation 
 A match for any girl on land or sea. 
 Then, furiously, gloriously rash. 
 Grasp Opportunity, that, passing by 
 On the sheet-lightning with a moment's flash, 
 Haunts us for ever with its meteor eye ; 
 And— grasp the thing thou pantest for in 
 
 vain. 
 Ay, hold her fast, and for a space entreat 
 
 her — 
 But, if she still be deaf to thy sad pain, 
 Why, hearken to the mad god in thy brain, 
 And make a meal of trouble — that is, cat her!
 
 C2 
 
 THE UNDERTONES. 
 
 XI. 
 
 PENELOPE. 
 
 Whither, Ulysses, whitherdost thouroam, 
 Rolled round with wind-led waves that ren- 
 der dark 
 The smoothly-spinning circle of the sea ? 
 Lo, Troy has fallen, fallen like a tower, 
 And the mild sunshine of degenerate days 
 Sleeps faintly on its ruins. One by one, 
 Swift as'the sparkle of a star, the ships 
 Have dipt up moistly from the under-world, 
 And plumed warriors, standing in their 
 
 prows, 
 Stretching out arms to wives and little ones 
 That crowd with seaward faces on the beach. 
 Have flung their armour off and leapt and 
 
 swam 
 Ere yet the homeward keels could graze the 
 
 sand. 
 And these — the gaunt survivors of thy 
 
 peers — 
 Have landed, shone upon by those they love. 
 And faded into happy happy homes ; 
 While I, the lonely woman, hugging close 
 The comfort of thine individual fame, 
 Still wait and yearn and wish towards the 
 
 sea ; 
 And all the air is hollow of my joy : 
 The seasons come and go, the hour-glass 
 
 runs, 
 The day and night come punctual as of old ; 
 But thy deep strength is in the solemn dawn, 
 And thy proud step is in the plumed noon. 
 And thy grave voice is in the whispering eve ; 
 And all the while, amid this dream of thee, 
 In restless resolution oceanward, 
 I sit and ply my sedentary task. 
 And feir that I am lonelier than I know. 
 
 Yea, love, I am alone in all the world, 
 The past grows dark upon me where I wait, 
 With eyes that hunger seaward and a cheek 
 Grown like thesamplercoarse-complexioned. 
 For in the shadow of thy coming home 
 I sit and weave a weary housewife's web, 
 Pale as the silkworm in the cone ; all day 
 I sit and weave this weary housewife's web. 
 And in the night with fingers swift as frost 
 Unweave the wear>' labour of the day. 
 Behold how I am mock'd 1 — Suspicion 
 
 Mumbles my name between his toothless 
 
 gums; 
 And while I ply my sedentary task, 
 They come to me, mere men of hollow clay, 
 Gross-mouth'd and stain'd with wine they 
 
 come to me. 
 And whisper odious comfort, and upbraid 
 The love that follows thee where.' er thou art. 
 That follows, and perchance, with thy moist 
 
 cheek. 
 Dips on the dozy bottom of the world. 
 They come, Ulysses, and they seek to rob 
 Thy glory of its weaker wearier half. 
 Tliey tell me thou art dead ; nay, they have 
 
 brought 
 To these cnld ears that bend above the web 
 Whispers that thou, no wiser than thy peers. 
 Hast pluckt upon the windy plain of Troy 
 A flower thou shrinest in a distant land, 
 A chamber'd delicacy drowsy-eyed. 
 Pink-lidded, wanton, like the queen who 
 
 witch'd 
 The fatal apple out of Paris' palm. 
 
 And I— and I— ah me, I rise my height, 
 In matron majesty that melts in tears. 
 And chide them from me wdth a tongue that 
 
 long 
 Hath lost the trick of chiding : what avails ? 
 They heed me not, rude men, they heed me 
 
 not ; 
 And he thou leftest here to guard me well. 
 He, the old man, is helpless, and his eyes 
 Are yellow with the money-minting lie 
 That thou art dead. O husband, what avails? 
 They gather on me, till the sense grows cold 
 And huddles in upon the steadfast heart ; 
 And they have dragged a promise from my 
 
 lips 
 To choose a murderer of my love for thee. 
 To choose at will from out the rest one man 
 To slay me with his kisses in the dark, 
 Whene'er the weary web at which I work 
 Be woven : so, all day, I weave the web ; 
 And in the night with fingers like a thief's 
 Unweave the silken sorrow of the day. 
 
 The years wear on. Telemachus, thy son, 
 Grows sweetly to the height of all thy hope : 
 More woman-like than thee, less strong of 
 
 hmb, 
 Net worthy thee ; and likest thy grave mood,
 
 PENELOPE. 
 
 S3 
 
 When, in old time, among these fields, thine 
 
 eye 
 Would kindle on a battle far away. 
 And thy proud nostrils, drinking the mild 
 
 breath 
 Of tanned haycocks and of slanted sheaves. 
 Swell suddenly, as if a trumpet spake. 
 Hast thou forgotten how of old he loved 
 To toy with thy great beard, and sport with 
 
 thee. 
 And how, in thy strong grasp, he leapt and 
 
 seem'd 
 A lambkin dandled in a lion's paw ? 
 But change hath come, Troy is an old wife's 
 
 tale, 
 And sorrow stealeth early on thy son. 
 Whom sojourn with my weeping woman- 
 hood 
 Hath taught too soon a young man's gentls- 
 
 ness. 
 Behold now, how his burning boy-face turns 
 With impotent words beyond all blows of 
 
 arm 
 On those rude men that rack thy weary wife ! 
 Then turns to put his comfort on my cheek, 
 While sorrow brightens round him — as the 
 
 grey 
 Of heaven melts to silver round a star ! 
 
 Return, Ulysses, ere too late, too late : 
 Return, immortal warrior, return : 
 Return, return, and end the weary web ! 
 For day by day I look upon the sea 
 And watch each ship that dippeth like a gull 
 Across the long straight line afar away 
 Where heaven and ocean meet ; and when 
 
 the winds 
 Swoop to the waves and lift them by the hair, 
 And the long storm-roar gathers, on my 
 
 knees 
 I pray for thee. Lo, even now, the deep 
 Is g irrulous of thy vessel tempest-tost ; 
 And on the treeless upland gray-eyed March, 
 With blue and humid mantle backward 
 
 blown, 
 Plucks the first primrose in a blustering 
 
 wind. 
 The keels are wheel'd unto the ocean sand 
 And eyes look outward for the homeward 
 
 bound. 
 And not a marinere, or man or boy, 
 Scum'd and salt-blooded from the boisterous 
 
 sea, 
 
 Touches these shores, but straight 1 summon 
 
 him, 
 And bribe with meat and drink to tell good 
 
 news, 
 And question him of thee. But what avails ? 
 Thou wanderest ; and my love sits all alone 
 Upon the threshold of an empty hall. 
 
 My very heart has grown a timid mouse, 
 Peeping out, fearful, when the house is still. 
 Breathless I hsten thro' the breathless dark, 
 And hear the cock counting the leaden hours, 
 And, in the pauses of his cry, the deep 
 Swings on the fiat sand with a hollow clang ; 
 And, pale and burnhrg-eyed, I fall asleep 
 When, with wild hair, across the weary wave 
 Stares the sick Dawn that brings thee not 
 to me. 
 
 Ulysses, come ! Ere traitors leave the 
 
 mark 
 Of spread wine-dripping fingers on the 
 
 smooth 
 And decent shoulders that now stoop for 
 
 thee ! 
 I am not young or happy as of old, 
 When, awed by thy male strength, my face 
 
 grew dark 
 At thy grave footfall, with a serious joy, 
 Or when, with blushing backward-looking 
 
 face, 
 I came a bride to thine inclement realm, 
 Trembling and treading fearfully on flowers. 
 I am not young and beauteous as of old ; 
 And much I fear that when we meet thy face 
 May startle darkly at the work of years, 
 And turn to hide a disappointed pang, 
 And then, with thy grave pride, subdue itself 
 Into such pity as is love stone-dead. 
 But thou, thou too, art old, dear lord — thy 
 
 hair 
 Is threaded with the silver foam — thy heart 
 Is weary from the blows of cruel years ; 
 And there is many a task thy wife can do 
 To soothe thy sunset season and make calm 
 Thy journey down the slow descent to Sleep. 
 
 Return, return, Ulysses, ere I die ! 
 Upon this desolate, desolate strand I wait. 
 Wearily stooping o'er the weary web — 
 An alabaster woman, whose fix'd eyes 
 Stare seaward, whether it be storm or calm. 
 And ever, evermore, as in a dream,
 
 54 
 
 THE UNDERTONES. 
 
 I see thee gazing hither from thy ship 
 In sunset regions where the still seas rot, 
 And stretching out great arms whose 
 
 shadows fall 
 Gigantic on the glassy purple sea ; 
 And ever, evermore, thou lingerest, 
 And evermore thy coming far away 
 Aches on the burning heartstrings, — ever- 
 more 
 Tliou comest not, and I am tired and old. 
 
 XII. 
 
 SAPPHO : 
 On the Leucadian Rock. 
 
 O SWEET, sweet, sweet ! 
 While the Moon, with her dove's eyes fair, 
 And her beautiful yellow hair, 
 
 And the Sea-Snake coiling round her sil- 
 vern feet, 
 Walk'd dumbly up above in the jewell'd air 
 
 Waving her luminous wings, 
 To sit upon this crag above ihe sea 
 Clasp'd close, so close, to thee, 
 
 Pale with much yearning, while the mur- 
 murings 
 Of the great waters seem'd to waft to me 
 
 The name of Phaon, 
 
 To whisDer Phaon, Phaon, 
 Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, with deep intonin •, 
 
 Hushfully, hushfully moaning I 
 
 2. 
 
 O bliss, bliss, bliss ! 
 Though the Moon look'd pale in the sky, 
 On thy passionate heart to lie. 
 
 To cling to thy burning lips with kiss on 
 kiss. 
 Faintly watching the butterfly stars swim by 
 
 In the track of that qu'^ienly Moon ; 
 And in a dream, clasp'd close, so close, to 
 
 thee. 
 To list and seem to be 
 
 A portion of the faint monotonous tune 
 Made for its mistress by the serpent sea, 
 
 That whisper'd Phaon, 
 
 Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, 
 Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, while Dian darken- 
 ing 
 
 Stoop'd hushfully, hushfully, harkening I 
 
 O pain, pain, pain ! 
 While the Moon, in a sky as clear 
 As of old, walks on, and I hear 
 
 Her palpitating foot on the living main. 
 While, under her feet, the green sea-snake 
 creeps near 
 
 Hissing with scales that gleam. 
 To stand upon this crag beside the sea 
 And dream, and dream, of thee — 
 
 With clench'd white hands, set teeth, and 
 robes that stream 
 Behind me in the wind, while audibly 
 
 The waves moan Phaon, 
 
 Shriek Phaon, Phaon, Phaon, 
 
 Phaon, Phaon, Phaon,with deep intoning, 
 
 Mournfully, mournfully, moaning 1 
 
 O rest, rest, rest ! — 
 While the Moon with her virgin light 
 Thro' eternities of night 
 
 Dumbly paces on to the east from the 
 west, — 
 To mingle with the waves that under the 
 height 
 
 Murmur along the shore, 
 To mix my virgin love, my agony. 
 Into the serpent sea 
 
 That Dian seeks to silence evermore. 
 To cling to those white skirts and moan of 
 thee, 
 
 O Phaon, Phaon, 
 
 Restless for love of Phaon, 
 Phaon, Pliaon, Phaon, with ceaseless motion 
 
 Soothed by the soother of Ocean ! 
 
 Xlll. 
 THE SYREN. 
 
 Ah, kiss me. Sweetest, while on yellow sand 
 
 Murmurs the breaking billow. 
 And smoothe my silken ringlets with thy 
 hand. 
 
 And make my breast thy pillow ; 
 And clasp me. Dearest, close to Mp and cheek 
 
 And bosom softly sighing. 
 While o'er the green sea, in one orange streak. 
 
 The summer day is dying ! 
 Kiss, kiss, as one that presses to his mouth 
 
 A vine-bunch bursting mellow,
 
 THE SYREN. 
 
 SS 
 
 In this lone islet of the sleepy south 
 Fringed with smooth sands yellow : 
 
 A twilight of fresh leaves endusks us round, 
 Flowers at our feet are springing, 
 
 And wave on wave breaks smoothly to the 
 sound 
 Of my sweet singing ! 
 
 EUMOLPUS. 
 
 Is it the voice of mine own Soul I hear ? 
 
 Or some white sybil of the sphered ocean ? 
 And are these living limbs that lie so near. 
 
 Stirring around me withia serpent-motion? 
 Is this a tress of yellow yellow hair, 
 
 Around my finger in a ring enfolden? 
 Whose face is this, so musically fair. 
 
 That swoons upon my ken thro' vapours 
 golden ? 
 What sad song withers on the odorous air ? 
 Where am I, where? 
 
 Where is my country and that vision olden? 
 
 THE SYKEN. 
 
 I sang thee hither in thy bark to land 
 
 With deftly warbled measure, 
 I wove a witch's spell with fluttering hand. 
 Till thou wert drunken, Dearest, with 
 much pleasure. 
 At hush of noon I had thee at my knee, 
 And round thy finger pink I wound a curl, 
 And singing smiled beneath with teeth of 
 pearl, 
 Of what had been, what was, and wliat 
 
 should be 
 Sang dying ditties three ! 
 And lo ! thy blood was ravish'd with the 
 
 theme, 
 And lo ! thy face was pale with drowsy dream. 
 While stooping low, with rich lips tremulous, 
 I kiss thee thus !— and thus ! 
 
 EUMOLPUS. 
 
 Thy kisses trance me to a vision wan 
 
 Of what hath been and neverm re will be. 
 O little fishing-town Sicilian, 
 
 I can behold thee sitting by the sea ! 
 O little red-tiled town wht re I was born ! 
 
 O days ere yet 1 sail'd from mortal ken ! 
 Why did I launch ujion the deep forlorn. 
 
 Nor fish in shallow pools with simple men? 
 It was a charm ; for while I rockt at ease 
 
 Within our little bay, 
 
 There came a melody across the seas 
 
 From regions far away ; 
 And ah ! 1 fell into a swooning sleep. 
 
 And all the world had changed before I 
 knew, — 
 And I awoke upon a glassy deep 
 
 With not a speck of land to break the view, 
 And tho' 1 was alone, I did not weep, 
 
 For I was singing too 1 
 I sang ! I sang ! and with mine oarskepttime 
 Unto the rude sweet rhyme, 
 And went a-sailing on into the west 
 
 Blown on by airs divine, 
 Singing for ever on a wild-eyed quest 
 
 For that immortal minstrel feminine ; 
 And night and day went past, until I lost 
 
 All count of time, yet still did melodise ; 
 
 And sun and stars beheld me from their 
 skies ; 
 And ships swam by me, from whose decks 
 storm-tost 
 
 Rude seamen gazed with terror-glazed eyes. 
 And still I found not her for whom I sought. 
 
 Yet smiled without annoy, 
 To ply the easy oar, and take no thought, 
 
 And sing, was such sweet joy ! — 
 Then Tempest came, and to and from the sky 
 
 I rose and fell in that frail bark of mine, 
 While the snake Lightning, with its blank 
 bright eye. 
 
 Writhed fierily in swift coils serpentine 
 
 Along the shppery brine ; 
 And there were days when dismal sobbing 
 
 Rain 
 Made melancholy music for the brain. 
 And hours when I shriek'd out and wept in 
 woe 
 
 Prison'd about by chilly still affright, 
 Whileall around dropt hushed flakes of Snow 
 
 Melting and mingliny down blue chasms 
 of night. 
 Yet evermore, I heard that voice sublime 
 
 Twining afar its weirdly v/oven song, 
 And ev r, ever more, mine oars kept time, 
 And evermore I uttered in song 
 
 My yearnings sad or merry, faint orstrong. 
 Ah me ! my love for her afar away. 
 My yearning and my Ijurning night and day ! 
 In dreams alone, I met her in still lands, 
 
 And knelt in tears before her. 
 And could not sing, but only wring mine 
 hands, 
 
 Adore her and implore her 1
 
 56 
 
 THE UNDERTONES. 
 
 She glisten'd past me as a crane that sails 
 Above the meeting of the ocean-gales, 
 
 With waft of broad slow wing to regions 
 new ; 
 And tho' I foUow'd her from place to place, 
 She held her veil dew-spangled to her face, 
 
 And I could merely feel her eyes of blue 
 
 Steadfastly gazing thro' ! 
 Wherefore my heart had broken quite, — but 
 
 then 
 I would awake again, — 
 To see the oily water steep'd in rest 
 
 While, glistering in many-colour'd flakes 
 Harming me not, lay brooding on its breast 
 
 Leviathan and all the ocean-snakes. 
 And on the straight faintstreakafartheround 
 
 Moist eye of morning lookt thro' dewy air, 
 And all was still, a joyous calm profound, — 
 And I would break the charm with happy 
 sound 
 
 To find the world so fair ! 
 And lo ! I drank the rain-drops and was glad, 
 
 And smote the birdof ocean down and ate ; 
 And ocean harm'd me not, and monsters sad 
 
 That people ocean and the desolate 
 Abysses spared me, — charmed by the song 
 
 warbled wildly as I went along. 
 Yet day and night sped on, and I grew old 
 
 Before I knew ; and lo ! 
 My hands were wither'd, on my bosom cold 
 
 There droopt a beard of snow, — 
 And raising hands I shriek'd, I cried a curse 
 
 On that weird voice that twined me from 
 home ; 
 And echoes of the awful universe 
 
 Answer'd me ; and the deep with lips of 
 foam 
 Mock'dmeand spat upon me; and the things 
 
 That people ocean rose and threaten'd ill. 
 Yea also air-born harpies waving wings, 
 
 Because I could not sing to charm them 
 still. 
 I was alone, the shadow of a man. 
 
 Haunting the trackless waste of waves 
 forlorn. 
 Blown on by pitiless rains and vapours wan, 
 Plaining for that small town Sicilian, 
 
 Where, in the sweet beginning, I was bom I 
 
 THE SYREN. 
 
 Ah, weep not, Dearest ! lean upon my breast. 
 While sunset darkens stilly. 
 
 And Dian poises o'er the slumberous west 
 
 Her silver sickle chilly ; 
 The eyes of heaven are opening, the leaves 
 Fold dark and dewy round the closing 
 roses, 
 In lines of foam the breaking billow heaves, 
 Each thing that gladdens and each thing 
 that grieves 
 Dip slow to sweet reposes. 
 
 EUMOLPUS. 
 
 O voice that lured me on, I know thee now ! 
 O melancholy eyes, how bright ye beam ! 
 
 kiss, thy touch is dewy on my brow ! 
 Sweet Spirit of my dream ! 
 
 THE SYREN. 
 
 Name thy love, and I am she. 
 Name thy woe, and look on me, 
 Name the weary melody 
 That led thee hither o'er the sea, — 
 Then call to mind my ditties three 
 Ofwhathathbeen, whatis, and whatshallbe ! 
 
 EUMOLPUS. 
 
 Ah woe ! ah woe ! 
 
 1 see thee and I clasp thee, and I know ! 
 Sing to me. Sweetest, while the shadows 
 
 grow — 
 
 Sing low ! sing low ! 
 Oh, sweet were slumber now, at last, at last. 
 
 For I am sick of wandering to and fro, 
 And ah ! my singing-days are nearly pass'd — 
 
 Sing low ! sing low ! sing low ! 
 
 THE SYREN. 
 
 Love with wet cheek, Joy with red lips apart, 
 Hope with her blue eyes dim from looking 
 long. 
 Ambition with thin hand upon his heart — 
 
 Of which shall be the song ? 
 Of one, of one. 
 Who loved till life was done. 
 
 For life with him was loving, tho" she slew 
 his love with wrong. 
 Then, on a winter day. 
 When all was lost and his young brow was 
 
 grray, 
 He knelt before an Altar piled proud 
 With bleached bones and fruits and garlands 
 
 gay. 
 And cried aloud : —
 
 THE SYREN. 
 
 57 
 
 ' Have I brought Joy, and slain her at thy 
 feet? 
 Have I brought Peace, for thy cold kiss 
 to kill, 
 Have I brought Youth crowned with wild- 
 flowers sweet, 
 With sandals dewy from a morning hill, 
 For thy gray solemn eyes to fright and 
 chill ? 
 Have I brought Scorn the pale and Hope 
 
 the fleet, 
 And First-Love in her lily winding-sheet ? 
 
 And art thou pitiless still ? 
 O Poesy, thou nymph of fire, 
 Grandest of that fair quire 
 Which in the dim beginning stoop'd and 
 fell,— 
 So beauteous yet so awful, standing tall 
 Upon the mountain-tops where mortals 
 dwell. 
 Seeing strange visions of the end of all, 
 And pallid from the white-heat glare of Hell ! 
 Is there no prophecy, far-seeing one. 
 
 To seal upon these lips that yearn to sing ? 
 Can nought be gain'd again? can nought 
 be won ? 
 Is there no utterance in this suffering, 
 Is there no voice for any human thing?' 
 Then, smiling in the impotence of pain. 
 
 His sweet breath at the Altar did he yield, — 
 While she he loved, afar across the main, 
 Stoop'd down to breaka weary people's chain, 
 And crown a hero on a battle-field ! 
 
 EUMOLPUS. 
 
 EUMOLPUS. 
 
 Ah no ! ah no ! 
 
 So sad a theme is too much woe ! 
 
 Sing to me sweetlier, since thou lovest me 
 
 so - 
 Sing low ; sing low ! 
 
 THE SYREN. 
 
 Sisters we, the syrens three. 
 Fame and Love and Poesy ! 
 In the solitude we sit, 
 On the mountain-tops we flit, 
 From the islands of the sea 
 Luring man with melody ; 
 Sisters three we seem to him 
 Foating over waters dim, — 
 Syrens, syrens three, are we — 
 Fame and Love and Poesy ! 
 
 Ah woe ! ah woe ! 
 
 That is the song I heard so long ago ! 
 
 That is the song 
 
 That lured me long : 
 
 Those were the three 1 saw, with arms of snow 
 
 And ringlets waving yellow, beckoning, 
 While on the violet deep I floated slow, 
 
 With little heart to sing ; 
 And lo ! they faded as I leapt to lana. 
 
 And their weird music wither'd on the air. 
 And I was 13'ing drowsy on the sand 
 
 Smiling and toying with thy yellow hair ! 
 
 THE SYREN. 
 
 Sisters we, the syrens three, 
 Fame and Love and Poesy, 
 Sitting singing in the sun, 
 
 While the weary marinere 
 
 Passes on or faints in fear, — • 
 Sisters three, yet only one, 
 
 When he cometh near ! 
 Charmed sight and charmiJd sound 
 Hover quietly around, 
 Mine are dusky bowers and deep, 
 Closed lids and balmy sleep. 
 Kisses cool for fever'd cheeks and warmth 
 
 for eyes that weep ! 
 
 EUMOLPUS. 
 Sing low 1 sing low ! 
 Thou art more wondrous fair than mortals 
 
 know. 
 Bringest thou. Beautiful, or peace or woe ? 
 Close up each eyelid with a warm rich kiss 
 And let me listen while the sunlights go. 
 I cannot bear a time so still as this. 
 Unbroken by thy voice's fall and flow. 
 Sing to me. Beautiful ! Sing low, sing 
 low, sing low ! 
 
 THE SYREN. 
 
 Love with wet cheek, Joy with red lips apart, 
 Hope with her blue eyes dim from looking 
 long. 
 
 Ambition with thin hand upon his heart — 
 Of which shall be the song ? 
 
 Ah, woe ! ah, woe ! 
 
 For Love is dead and wintry winds do blow. 
 
 Yea, Love is dead ; and by her fuiu-ral bier 
 
 Ambition gnaws the lip and sheds no tear ;
 
 ss 
 
 THE UNDERTONES. 
 
 And in the outer chamber Hope sits wild, 
 
 Watching the. faces in the fire and weeping ; 
 And at the threshold Joy the little child 
 
 With rosy cheeks runs leaping, 
 And stops. — while in the misty distance 
 
 creeping 
 Down western hills the large red sun sinks 
 
 slow — 
 To see Death's footprints on the still white 
 
 snow. 
 Ah, Love has gone, and all the rest must go. 
 Sing low ! sing low ! sing low ! 
 
 EUMOLPUS. 
 
 It is a song that slays me. Sing no more. 
 
 THE SYREN. 
 
 Ah, Sweet, the song is o'er ! — 
 
 The ocean-hum is hush'd, 'tis end of day. 
 
 The long white foam fades faintly, 
 The orange sunset dies into the gray 
 
 Where star on star swims saintly. 
 Hast thou not sung ? and is not song enough ? 
 
 Hast thou not loved ? and is not loving all? 
 Art thou not weary of the wayfare rough, 
 
 Or is there aught of life thou wouldst recall? 
 Ah no, ah no ! 
 The life came sweetly — sweetly let it go ! 
 
 Mine are dusky bowers and deep, 
 
 Closed eyes and balmy sleep, 
 Kisses cool for fever'd cheeks and warmth 
 for eyes that weep I 
 
 EUMOLPUS. 
 
 Thou art the gentle witch that men call 
 Death 1 
 Ah, Beauteous, I am weary, and would 
 rest ! 
 
 THE SYREN. 
 
 Lie very softly, Sweet, and let thy breath 
 Fade calmly on my breast ! 
 Call me Love or call me Fame, 
 
 Call me Death or Poesy, 
 Call me by whatever name 
 
 Seemeth sweetest unto thee : — 
 I anoint thee, I caress thee; 
 With my dark reposes bless thee, 
 I redeem thee, 1 possess thee ! 
 I can never more forsake thee I 
 
 Slumber, slumber, peacefully. 
 
 Slumber calm and dream of me, 
 Till I touch thee, and awake thee ! 
 
 EUMOLPUS. 
 
 Diviner far than song divine can tell ! 
 Thine eyes are dim with dreams of that 
 
 awaking ! 
 Yea, let me slumber, for my heart is 
 breaking 
 With too much love. Farewell ! farewell ! 
 farewell ! 
 
 THE SYREN. 
 
 Charmed sight and charmed sound 
 Close the weary one around ! 
 Charmed dream of charmed sleep 
 Make his waiting sweet and deep ! 
 Husht be all things ! Let the spell 
 Duskly on his eyelids dwell ! 
 
 EUMOLPUS. 
 
 Farewell ! farewell ! farewell 1 
 
 THE SYREN. 
 
 O melancholy waters, softly flow ! 
 
 O Stars, shine softly, dropping dewy 
 balm! 
 O Moon walk on in sandals white as snow ! 
 
 O Winds, be calm, be calm ! 
 For he is tired with wandering to and fro, 
 Yea, weary vidth unrest to see and know. 
 O charmed sound 
 That hoverest around ! 
 O voices of the Night ! Sing low ! sing low 1 
 sing low ! 
 
 XIV. 
 A VOICE FROM ACADEME. 
 
 Over this azure poplar glade 
 The sunshine, fainting high above. 
 Ebbs back from woolly clouds that move 
 Like browsing lambs and cast no shade ; 
 And straight before me, faintly seen 
 Thro' emerald boughs that intervene. 
 The visible sun turns white and weaves 
 Long webs of silver thro' the leaves. 
 The grassy sward beneath my foot 
 Is soft as lips of lambs and beeves. 
 How cool those harebells at the root 
 Of yonder tree, that dimly dance 
 Thro' dews of their own radiance ! 
 
 Yonder I see the river run, 
 
 Half in the shade, half in the sun ;
 
 A VOICE FROM ACADEME— PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. 59 
 
 And as I near its shallow brink 
 
 The sparkUng minnows, where they lie 
 
 With silver bellies to the sky, 
 
 Flash from me in a shower and sink. 
 
 I stand in shadows cool and sweet. 
 
 But in the mirror at my feet 
 
 The heated azure heavens wink. 
 
 All round about this shaded spot. 
 Whither the sunshine cometh not, 
 Where all is beautiful repose — 
 I know the kindled landskip glows ; 
 And further, flutter golden showers 
 On proud Athenai white with towers, 
 And catching from the murmurous sea, 
 [Stain'd with deep shadows as of flowers 
 And dark'ning down to purple bowers 
 Thro' which the sword-fish darts in glee, ] 
 A strife that cometh not to me. 
 
 For in this place of shade and sound, 
 Hid from the garish heat around, 
 I feel like one removed from strain 
 And fever of the happy brain — 
 Where thoughts thrill fiery into pain : 
 Like one who, in the pleasant shade 
 The peaceful pulseless dead have made. 
 Walking in silence, just perceives 
 The gaudy world from which he went 
 Subdue itself to his content, 
 Like that white globe beyond the leaves ! 
 
 XV. 
 PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. 
 
 ' Materietn super abat opus.' 
 
 I. Shadow. 
 
 Upon the very morn I should have wed 
 Death put his silence in a mourning house ; 
 And, coming fresh from feast, I saw her lie 
 In stainless marriage samite, white and cold, 
 With orange blossoms in her hair, and 
 
 gleams 
 Of the ungiven kisses of the bride 
 Playing kbout the edges of her lips. 
 
 Then I, Pygmalion, kiss'd her as she slept, 
 And drew my robe across my face whereon 
 The midnight revel linger'd dark, and 
 
 pray'd ; 
 And the sore trouble hollow'd out my heart 
 
 To hatred of a harsh unhallow'd youth 
 As I glode forth. Next, day by day, my soul 
 Grew conscious of itself and of its fief 
 Within the shadow of her grave : therewith, 
 Waken'd a thirst for silence such as dwells 
 Under the ribs of death : whence slowly grew 
 Old instincts that had tranced me to tears 
 In mine unsinew'd boyhood, sympathies 
 Full of faint odours and of music faint 
 Like buds of roses blowing ; — till I felt 
 Her voice come down from heaven on my 
 
 soul, 
 And stir it as a wind that droppeth down 
 Unseen, unfelt, unheard, until its breath 
 Troubles the shadows in a sleeping lake. 
 
 And the voice said, ' Pygmalion,' and 
 
 •Behold,' 
 I answer'd, ' I am here ; ' when thus the 
 
 voice : 
 ' Put men behind thee — take tliy tools, and 
 
 choose 
 A block of marble white as is a star. 
 Cleanse it and make it pure, and fashion it 
 After mine image : heal th\self : from grief 
 Comes glory, like a rainbow from a cloud. 
 For surely life and death, which dwell apart 
 In grosser human sense, conspire to make 
 The breathless beauty and eternal joy 
 Of sculptured shapes in stone. Wherefore 
 
 thy life 
 Shall purify itself and heal itself 
 In the long toil of love made meek by tears.' 
 
 I barr'd the entrance-door to this my tower 
 Against the hungry world, I hid above 
 The mastiff-murmur of the town, I pray'd 
 In my pale chamber. Then I wrought, and 
 
 chose 
 A rock of marble white as is a star. 
 And to her silent image fashion'd clay, 
 And purified myself and hcal'd myself 
 In the long toil of love made meek by tears. 
 
 2. The Marble Life. 
 
 The multitudinous light oppress'd me not. 
 But smiled subdued, as a young mother 
 
 smiles, 
 Wlien fearful lest the sunbeam of the smile 
 Trouble the eyelids of the babe asleep. 
 
 As Ocean murmurs when the stonn is past 
 And keeps the echoed thunders many days,
 
 6o 
 
 THE UNDERTONES. 
 
 My solitude was troublous for a time : 
 Wherefore I should have harden'd ; but the 
 
 clay 
 Grew to my touch, and brighten'd, and 
 
 assumed 
 Fantastic images of natural things, 
 Which, melting as the fleecy vapours melt 
 Around the shining cestus of the moon, 
 Made promise of the special shape I loved. 
 Withdrawing back, I gazed. Theunshaped 
 
 stone 
 Took outline in the dusk, as rocks unhewn 
 Seen from afar thro' floating mountain mists 
 Gather strange forms and human lineaments. 
 And thus mine eye was filled with what I 
 
 sought 
 As with a naked image, thus I grew 
 Self-credulous of the form the stone would 
 
 wear, 
 And creeping close I strove to fashion clay 
 After the vision. Day and night, I drew 
 Newcomfortfrommygrief ; my tears became 
 As honey'd rain that makes the woodbine 
 
 sweet. 
 Until my task assumed a precious strength 
 Wherewith I fortified mine inner ear 
 Against the pleadings of the popular tongue 
 That babbled at my door ; and when there 
 
 dawn'd 
 A hand as pure as milk and cold as snow, 
 A small white hand, a little radiant hand. 
 That peep'd out perfect from the changing 
 
 mass. 
 And seem'd a portion of some perfect shape 
 Unfreed, imprison'd in the stone, — I wept 
 Warm tears of utter joy, and kiss'd the 
 
 hand, 
 As sweet girl-mothers kiss the newly born. 
 Weak as a mother. Then I heard no more 
 The murmurous swarm beneath me, women 
 
 and men ; 
 But, hoarded in my toil, I counted not 
 The coming and the going of the sun : 
 Save when I swoon'd to sleep before the 
 
 stone, 
 And dream'd, and dreaming saw the perfect 
 
 shape 
 Emblazon'd, like the rainbow in a stream, 
 On the transparent tapestry of sleep. 
 
 Ah me, the joy, the glory, and the dream. 
 When like a living wonder senseless stone 
 Smiles to the beatmg of a heart that hangs 
 
 Suspended in the tumult of the blood ! 
 To the warm touch of my creating hand 
 The marble was as snow ; and like the snow 
 Whereon the molten sunshine gleams as 
 
 blood. 
 It soften'd, glow'd, and changed. As one 
 
 who stands 
 Beneath the cool and rustling dark to watch 
 The shadow of his silently beloved 
 Cross o'er the lighted cottage blind and feel 
 The brightness of the face he cannot see. 
 So stood I, trembling, while the shape 
 
 unborn 
 Darken' d across the white and milky mass 
 And left the impress of its loveliness 
 To glorify and guide me. As I wrought 
 The Past came back upon me, like the ghost 
 Of the To-Come. Whate'er was pure and 
 
 white. 
 Soft-shining with a snow-like chastity, 
 Came back from childhood, and from that 
 
 dim land 
 Which lies behind the horizon of the sense, 
 Felt though forgotten ; vanishings divine 
 Of the strange vapours many-shaped and fair 
 Which moisten sunrise when the eye of 
 
 heaven 
 Openeth dimly from the underworld : 
 Faint instincts of the helpless babe that 
 
 smiles 
 At the sweet pictures in its mother's eyes 
 And lieth with a halo round its head 
 Of beauty uncompleted : memories 
 Of young Love's vivid heaven-enthroned 
 
 light, 
 By whose moist rays the pensive soul of 
 
 youth 
 Was troubled at the fountains, like a well 
 Wlicrein the mirror'd motion of a star 
 Lies dewy and deep ;— and, amid all, there 
 
 dwelt 
 A vaguer glory, deeper sense of power, 
 Scarce conscious of itself yet ruling all, 
 Like the hid heart which rocks the jaded 
 
 blood. 
 Brightens the cheek, throbs music to the 
 
 brain. 
 Yet dwells within the breast scarce recog- 
 nised, 
 Save when our pulses warn us and in fear 
 We pause to listen. — Even so at times 
 Those visions tranced me to a dumb dismay. 
 And, sudden music thronging in mine cars,
 
 PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. 
 
 6l 
 
 I hcarken'd for that central loveliness 
 Whose magic guided and created all. 
 
 Then languor balmier than the blood i' 
 
 the veins 
 When youth and maiden mingle and the 
 
 moon 
 Breathes on the odorous room wherein they 
 
 lie 
 Chamber'd as in a folded rose's leaves, 
 Oppress'd me, and a lover's rapture fill'd 
 My soul to swooning. Lo, I kiss'd the stone. 
 And toy'd with the cold hand, and look'd 
 
 for light 
 In the dim onward-looking marble eyes, 
 And smooth'd the hair until it seeui'd to 
 
 grow 
 Soft as the living ringlets tingling warm 
 Against a heaving bosom. At her feet 
 I knelt, and tingled to the finger-tips 
 To gaze upon her breathless loveliness — 
 Like one who, shuddering, gazes on a shrine 
 From human eyes kept holy. 
 
 Then at last , 
 Fair-statured, noble, like an awful thing 
 Frozen upon the very verge of life, 
 And looking back along eternity 
 With rayless eyes that keep the shadow 
 
 Time, 
 She rose before me in the milky stone, 
 White-limb'd, immortal ; and I gazed and 
 
 gazed 
 Like one that sees a vision, and in awe 
 Half hides his face, yet looks, and seems to 
 
 dream. 
 
 3. The Sin. 
 
 Blue night. I threw the lattice open wide, 
 Drinking the odorous air ; and from my 
 
 height 
 I saw the watch-fires of the town and heard 
 The gradual dying of the murmurous day. 
 Then, as the twilight deepen'd, on her limbs 
 The silver lances of the stars and moon 
 Were shatter'd, and the shining fragments 
 
 fell 
 Resplendent at her feet. The Cyprian star 
 Quiver'd to liquid emerald where it hung 
 On the ribb'd ledgers of ihe darkening hills, 
 Gazing upon her ; and, as in a dream, 
 Methon^^ht the marble, underneath that 
 
 look, 
 
 Stirr'd — like a bank of stainless asphodels 
 Kiss'd into tumult by a wind of light. 
 
 Whereat there swam upon me utterly 
 A drowsy sense wherein my holy dream 
 Was melted, as a pearl in wine : bright-eyed, 
 Keen, haggard, passionate, with languid 
 
 thrills 
 Of insolent unrest, I watch'd the stone. 
 And lo, I loved it : not as men love fame. 
 Not as the warrior loves his laurel wreath, 
 But with prelusion of a passionate joy 
 That threw me from the height whereon I 
 
 stood 
 To grasp at Glory, and in impiousnoss 
 Of sweet communing with some living Soul 
 Chamber'd in that cold bosom. As I gazed, 
 There was a buzz of revel in mine ears, 
 And tinkling fragments of a song of love. 
 Warbled by wantons over wine-cups, swam 
 Wildly within the brain. — Then I was 
 
 shamed 
 By her pale beauty, and I scorn'd myself. 
 And standing at the lattice dark and cool 
 Watch'd the dim winds of twilight enter in. 
 And draw a veil about that lovehness 
 White, dim, and breathed on by the common 
 
 air. 
 
 But, like a snake's moist eye, the dewy star 
 Of lovers drew me ; and I watched it grow 
 Large, soft, and tremulous ; and as I gazed 
 In fascinated impotence of heart, 
 I pray'd the lifeless silence might assume 
 A palpable life, and soften into flesh. 
 And be a beautiful and human joy 
 To crown my love withal ; and thrice the 
 
 prayer 
 Blacken'd across my pale face with no word. 
 But thro' the woolly silver of a cloud 
 The cool star dripping emerald from the 
 
 baths 
 Of Ocean brighten'd in upon my tower. 
 And touch'd the marble forehead with a 
 
 gleam 
 Soft, green, and dewy ; and I said ' the prayer 
 Is heard ! ' 
 
 The live-long night, the breathless 
 
 night 
 I waited in a darkness, in a dream. 
 Watching the snowy figure faintly seen. 
 And ofttimes shuddering when I scem'd to 
 
 sec
 
 THE UNDERTONES. 
 
 Life, like a taper burning in a skull, 
 Gleam thro' the rayless eyes : yea, wearily 
 I hcarken'dthro' the dark and seem'd to hear 
 The low warm billowing of a hving breast, 
 Or the slow motion of anointed hmbs 
 New-stirring into life ; and, shuddering, 
 Fearing the thing I hoped for, awful eyed. 
 On her cold breast I placed a hand as cold 
 And sought a fluttering heart. — But all was 
 
 still, 
 And chill, and breathless ; and she ga/!cd 
 
 right on 
 With rayless orbs, normarvell'd at my touch : 
 White, silent, pure, inefl'able, a shape 
 Rebuking human hope, a deathless thing, 
 Sharing the wonder of the Sun who sends 
 His long bright look thro' all futurity. 
 
 When Shame lay heavy on me, and I hid 
 My face, and almost hated her, my work. 
 Because she was so fair, so human fair, 
 Yea not divinely fair as that pure face 
 Which, when mine hour of loss and travail 
 
 came. 
 Haunted me, out of heaven. Then the 
 
 Dawn 
 Stared in upon her : when I open'd eyes. 
 And saw the gradual Dawn encrimson her 
 Like blood that blush'd within her,— and 
 
 behold 
 She trembled — and I shriek'd I 
 
 With haggard eyes, 
 I gazed on her, my fame, my work, my love ! 
 Red sunrise mingled with the first bright 
 
 flush 
 Of palpable life— she trembled, stirr'd, and 
 
 sigh'd — 
 And the dim blankness of her stony eyes 
 Melted to azure. Then, by slow degrees, 
 She tingled with the warmth of living blood : 
 Her eyes were vacant of a seeing soul. 
 But dewily the bosom rose and fell, 
 The lips caught sunrise, parting, and the 
 
 breath 
 Fainted thro' pearly teeth. 
 
 I was as one 
 Who gazes on a goddess serpent-eyed, 
 And cannot fly, and knows to look is death. 
 O apparition of my work and wish ! 
 The weight of awe oppress'd me, and the 
 
 air 
 Swung as the Sx-as swing around drowning 
 
 4. Death in Life. 
 
 About her brow the marble hair had clung 
 With wavy tresses, in a simple knot 
 Bound up and braided ; but behold, her eyes 
 Droopd downward, as she wonder'd at 
 
 herself. 
 Then flush'd to see her naked loveliness. 
 And trembled, stooping dovraward ; and the 
 
 hair 
 Unloosening fell, and brighten'd as it fell. 
 Till gleaming ringlets tingled to the knees 
 And cluster'd round about her where she 
 
 stood 
 As yellow leaves around a lily's bud, 
 Making a fountain round her such as clips 
 A Naiad in the sunshine, pouring down 
 And throwing moving shadows o'er the floor 
 Whereon she stood and brighten'd. 
 
 Wondering eyed, 
 With softly heaving breast and outstretch'd 
 
 arms, 
 Slow as an eyeless man who gropes his way. 
 She thrust a curving foot and touch'd the 
 
 ground. 
 And stirr'd ; and, downcast-lidded, saw not 
 
 me. 
 Then as the foot descended with no sound. 
 The whole live blood grew pink within the 
 
 veins 
 For joy of its own motion. Step by step. 
 She paced the chamber, groping till she 
 
 gain'd 
 One sunlight-slip that thro' the curtain'd 
 
 pane 
 Crept slant — a gleaming line on wall and 
 
 floor ; 
 And there, in light, she pausing sunn'd her- 
 self 
 With half-closed eyes ; while flying gleams 
 
 of gold 
 Sparkled like flies of fire among her hair, 
 And the live blood show'd brightlier, as wine 
 Gleams thro' a curd-white cup of porcelain. 
 
 There, stirring not, she paused and sunn'd 
 
 herself, 
 With drooping eyelids that grew moist and 
 
 warm. 
 What time, withdrawn into the further dark, 
 I watch'd her, nerveless, as a murderer 
 
 stretch'd 
 Under a nightmare of the murder' d man.
 
 PYGMALION THE SCULPTOR. 
 
 63 
 
 And still she, downcast-lidded, saw me not ; 
 But gather'd glory while she sunn'd herself. 
 Drawing deep breath of gladness such as 
 
 earth 
 Breathes dewily in the sunrise after rain. 
 
 Then pray'd I, lifting up my voice aloud. 
 ' O apparition of my work and wish ! 
 Thou most divinely fair as she whose face 
 Haunted me, out of heaven ! Raise thine 
 
 eyes ! 
 Live, love, as thou and I have lived and 
 
 loved ! 
 Behold me — it is I — Pygmalion. 
 Speak, Psyche, with thy human eyes and 
 
 lips, 
 Speak, to Pygmalion, with thy human soul ! ' 
 
 And still she, downcast-lidded, saw me not. 
 But gather'd glory as she sunn'd herself. 
 Yet listen'd murmuring inarticulate speech, 
 Listen'd with ear inclined and fluttering lids, 
 As one who lying on a bed of flowers 
 Hearkeneth to the distant fall of waves. 
 That cometh muffled in the drowsy hum 
 Of bees pavilion'd among roses' leaves 
 Near to the ears that listen. .So she stood 
 And listen'd to my voice, framing her lips 
 After the speech; nay, when the sound had 
 
 ceased, 
 Still listen'd, with a shadow on her cheek — 
 Like the Soul's Music, when the Soul has 
 
 fled. 
 Fading upon a dead Musician's face. 
 
 But, stooping in mine awe, with out- 
 
 stretch'd arms, 
 I crept to her ; nor stirr'd she, till my breath 
 Was warm upon her neck : then raised she 
 
 eyes 
 Of dewy azure, ring in ring of blue 
 Less'ning in passionate orbs whereon my 
 
 face 
 Fell white with yearning wonder ; when a 
 
 cry 
 Tore her soft lips apart, the gleaming orbs 
 Widen'd to silvery terror, and she fled, 
 With yellow locks that shone and arms that 
 
 waved, 
 And in the further darkness covver'd and 
 
 moan'd, 
 Dumb as a ringdove that witli fluttering 
 
 wings 
 Watches a serpent in t}ie act to spring. 
 
 Whatfollow'd was a strange and wondrous 
 
 dream 
 Wherein, half conscious, wearily and long 
 I wooed away her fears with gentle words, 
 Smooth gestures, and sweet smiles, — with 
 
 kindness such 
 As calms the terror of a new-yean'd lamb, 
 So pure, it fears its shadow on the grass ; 
 And all the while thick pulses of my heart 
 Throng'd hot in ears and eyelids, — for my 
 
 Soul 
 Seem'd swooning, deaden'd in the sense, 
 
 like one 
 Who sinks in snows, and sleeps, and wakes 
 
 no more. 
 
 Yet was I conscious of a hollow void, 
 A yearning in the tumult of the blood, 
 Her presence fill'd not, quell'd not ; and I 
 
 search'd 
 Her eyes for meanings that they harbour'd 
 
 not. 
 Her face for beauty that disturb'd it not. 
 'Twas Psyche's face, and yet 'twas not her 
 
 face, 
 A face most fair, yet not so heavenly fair, 
 As hers who, when my time of travail came. 
 Haunted me, out of heaven. For its smile 
 Brought no good news from realms beyond 
 
 the sun. 
 The lips framed heavenly nor human speech, 
 And to the glorious windows of the eyes 
 No Soul clomb up — to look upon the stars. 
 And search thevoid for glimpses of the peaks 
 Of that far land of morning whence it comes. 
 
 Then, further, I was conscious that my 
 
 face 
 Had luU'd her fears ; that close to me she 
 
 came 
 Tamer than beast, and toy'd with my great 
 
 beard. 
 And murmur'd sounds like prattled infants' 
 
 speech. 
 And yielding to my kisses kissed again. 
 Whereat, in scorn of my pale Soul, I cried, 
 ' Here will I feast in honour of this night ! ' 
 And spread the board with meats and fruits 
 
 and wine. 
 And drew the curtain with a wave of arm 
 Bidding the sunlight welcome : lastly, 
 
 snatch'd 
 A purple robe of richness from the wail,
 
 64 
 
 THE UNDERTONES. 
 
 And flung it o'er her while she kiss'd and 
 
 smiled, 
 Girdling the waist with clasp and cord of 
 
 gold. 
 
 Then sat we, side by side. She, queenly 
 
 stoled, 
 Amid the gleaming fountain of her hair, 
 With liquid azure orbs and rosy lips 
 Gorgeous with honey'd kisses ; I, like a 
 
 man 
 Who loves fair eyes and knows they are a 
 
 fiend's, 
 And in them sees a heav'n he knows is hell. 
 For, like a glorious feast, she ate and drank, 
 Staining her lips in crimson wine, and 
 
 laugh'd 
 To feel the vinous bubbles froth and burst 
 In veins whose sparking blood was meet 
 
 to be 
 A spirit's habitation. Cup on cup 
 I drain'd in fulness — careless as a god — 
 A haggard bearded head upon a breast 
 In tumult like a sun-kist bed of flowers. 
 
 But ere, suffused with light, the eyes of 
 
 Heaven 
 Widen'd to gaze upon the white-arm'd 
 
 Moon, 
 Stiller than stone we reign'd there, side by 
 
 side. 
 Yea, like a lonely King whose Glory sits 
 Beside him, — impotent of life but fair, — 
 Brightly apparelled I sat above 
 The tumult of the town, as on a throne, 
 Watching her wearily ; while far away 
 The sunset dark'd like dying eyes that shut 
 Under the waving of an angel's wing. 
 
 5. Shadow. 
 
 Thkee days and nights the vision dwelt 
 
 with me. 
 Three days and nights we dozed in dreadful 
 
 state, 
 Look'd piteously upon by sun and star ; 
 But the third night there pass'd a homeless 
 
 sound 
 Across the city underneath my tower, 
 And lo ! there came a roll of muffled wheels, 
 A shrieking and a hurrying to and fro 
 Beneath, and I gazed forth. Then far below 
 I heard the people shriek ' A pestilence ! ' 
 
 But, while they shriek'd, they carried forth 
 
 their Dead, 
 And flung them out upon the common ways, 
 And moaning fled : while far across the hills 
 A dark and brazen sunset ribb'd with black 
 Glared, like the sullen eyeballs of the plague, 
 
 I turn'd to her, the partner of my height : 
 She, with bright eyeballs sick with wine, 
 
 and hair 
 Gleaming in sunset, on a couch asleep. 
 And lo ! a horror lifted up my scalp. 
 The pulses plunged upon the heart, and fear 
 Froze my wide eyelids. Peacefully she lay 
 In purple stole array'd, one little hand 
 Bruising the downy cheek, the other still 
 Clutching the dripping goblet, and the light, 
 With gleams of crimson on the ruinous hair. 
 Spangling a blue-vein'd bosom whence the 
 
 robe 
 Fell back in rifled folds ; but dreadful 
 
 change 
 Grew pale and hideous on the waxen face. 
 And in her sleep she did not stir, nor dream. 
 Therefore, it seem'd. Death pluck' d me by 
 
 the sleeve, 
 And, sweeping past, with lean forefinger 
 
 touch'd 
 The sleeper's brow and smiled ; when, 
 
 shrinking back, 
 I turn'd my face away, and saw afar 
 The brazen sullen sunset ribb'd with black 
 Glare on her, like the eyeballs of the 
 
 plague ! 
 
 O apparition of my work and wish ! 
 Shrieking I fled, my robe across my face, 
 And left my glory and my woe behind, 
 And sped, thro' pathless woods, o'er moon- 
 lit peaks, 
 Toward sunrise ; — nor have halted since 
 
 that hour, 
 But wander far away, a homeless man, 
 Prophetic, orphan'd both of name and fame. 
 Nay, like a timid Phantom evermore 
 I come and go with haggard warning eyes ; 
 And some, that sit with lemans over wine, 
 Or dally idly with the glorious hour. 
 Turn cynic eyes away and smile aside ; 
 And some are saved because they see me 
 
 pass. 
 And, shuddering, yet constant to their task, 
 Look up for comfort to the silent Ftars.
 
 ANTONY IN A RMS -FINE WEATHER ON THE DIGENTIA. 65 
 
 XVI. 
 ANTONY IN ARMS. 
 
 Lo, we are side by side !— One dark arm 
 furls 
 
 Around me like a serpent warm and bare ; 
 The other, lifted 'mid a gleam of pearls, 
 
 Holds a full golden goblet in the air : 
 Her face is shining through her cloudy curls 
 
 With light that makes me drunken un- 
 aware, 
 And with my chin upon my breast I smile 
 Upon her, darkening inward all the while. 
 
 And thro' the chamber curtains, backward 
 roll'd 
 
 By spicy winds that fan my fever' d head, 
 I see a sandy flat slope yellow as gold 
 
 To the brown banks of Nilus wrinkling red 
 In the slow sunset ; and mine eyes behold 
 
 The West, low down beyond the river's 
 bed. 
 Grow sullen, ribb'd with many a brazen bar. 
 Under the white smile of the Cyprian star. 
 
 A bitter Roman vision floateth black 
 Before me, in my dizzy brain's despite ; 
 
 The Roman armour brindles on my back, 
 My swelling nostrils drink the fumes of 
 fight : 
 
 But then, she smiles upon me !— and I lack 
 The warrior will that frowns on lewd 
 delight, 
 
 And, passionately proud and desolate, 
 
 I smile an answer to the joy I hate. 
 
 Joy coming uninvoked, asleep, awake. 
 Makes sunshine on the grave of buried 
 powers ; 
 Ofttimcs I wholly loathe her for the sake 
 
 Of manhood slipt away in easeful hours : 
 But from her lips mild words and kisses 
 break. 
 Till I am like a ruin mock'd with flowers ; 
 I think of Honour's face— then turn to hers— 
 Dark, like the splendid shame that she con- 
 fers. 
 
 Lo, how her dark arm holds me !— I am 
 bound 
 By the soft touch of fingers light as leaves : ' 
 I dr.ig my face aside, but at the sound I 
 
 Of her low voice I turn— and she perceives 
 The cloud of Rome upon my face, and round 
 
 Jly neck she twines her odorous arms and 
 grieves. 
 Shedding upon a heart as soft as they 
 Tears 'tis a hero's task to kiss away ! 
 
 And then she loosens from me, trembling 
 stin 
 Like a bright throbbing robe, and bids 
 me ' go ! ' — 
 When pearly tears her drooping eyelids fill. 
 And her swart beauty whitens into snow ; 
 And lost to use of life and hope and wiD, 
 I gaze upon her with a warrior's woe, 
 
 And turn, and watch hersidelonginannoy 
 
 Then snatch her to me, fiush'd with shame 
 and joy ! 
 
 Once more, O Rome ! I would be son of 
 thine — 
 
 This constant prayer my chain'd soul ever 
 saith — 
 I thirst for honourable end— I pine 
 
 Not thus to kiss away my mortal breath. 
 But comfort such as this may not be mine— 
 
 I cannot even die a Roman death : 
 I seek a Roman's grave, a Roman's rest — 
 But, dying, I would die upon her breast ! 
 
 XVIL 
 
 FINE WEATHER Oi\ THE 
 DIGENTIA. 
 
 HORATIUS COGITABUNUUS. 
 I. 
 
 Favonius changes with sunny kisses 
 The spring's ice-fetters to bands of flowers, 
 
 And the deli. ate Graces, those thin-skinn'd 
 Misses, 
 Are beginning to dance with the rosy 
 Hours ; 
 
 The Dryades, feehng the breeze on their 
 bosoms, 
 
 Thro' tuby branches are blowing out blos- 
 soms ; 
 
 The naked Naiad of every poo!. 
 
 Lest the sunshine should drive her to playing 
 the fool. 
 
 Lies full length in the water and keeps her- 
 self cool ; 
 
 F
 
 66 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 Pan is piping afar, 'mid the trees, 
 
 His ditty dies on the dying breeze. 
 
 While a wood-nyraph leaneth her head on 
 
 his knees, 
 In a dream, in a dream, with her wild eyes 
 
 ghstening, 
 Her bosom throbbing, her whole soul list- 
 ening ! 
 In fact, 'tis the season of billing and cooing, 
 Amorous flying and fond pursuing, 
 Kissing, and pressing, and mischief-doing ; 
 And pleasant it is to take one's tipple 
 In the mild warm breath of the spicy South, 
 And deftly to fasten one's lips to the mouth 
 Of a flasket warmer than Venus' nipple i 
 Pleasant, pleasant, at this the season 
 When folly is reason and reason treason, 
 When nought is so powerful near or far 
 As the palpitating 
 Titillating 
 Twinkle, twinkle, of the Cyprian star ! 
 
 But what has a shaky quaky feUow, 
 Full of the sunshine but over-meUow, 
 To do with the beautiful Lesbian C^iueen, 
 The pink-eyed precious with locks of yellow. 
 The goddess of twenty and sweet eighteen. 
 Whose double conquest o' er Pride and Spleen 
 In the Greek King's bed put a viper green 
 Anddarken'd the seas with the Grecian force? 
 
 Nothing, of course ! 
 Well, even I have of joy my measure 
 And can welcome the newborn Adonis with 
 
 pleasure ; 
 For since at Philippi, worst of scrapes, 
 I saved my skin for the good of the nation. 
 And made my pious asseveration 
 To scorn ambition and cultivate grapes, 
 I've found by a curious convolution 
 
 Of physical ailments and heavenly stars, 
 And of wisdom wean'd on the blood -milk 
 of Mars, 
 That my pluckissurpass'd by my elocution — 
 And learnt, in fine, 
 That rosy wine 
 And sunshine agree with my constitution ! 
 
 {Bibit.) 
 3- 
 Pleasant it is, I say, to sit here. 
 Just in the sunshine without the threshold, 
 And, with fond fingers and lips, caress old 
 Bacchus' bottle, the source of wit, here I 
 
 Drowsily hum the honey-bees. 
 Drowsily murmur the birds in the trees, 
 Drowsily drops the spicy breeze. 
 Drowsily I sit at mine ease. 
 
 An idle life is the life for me, — 
 Idleness spiced by philosophy ! 
 I care not a fig for the cares of business. 
 Politics fill me with doubt and dizziness, 
 Pomps and triumphs are simply a bore to 
 
 me. 
 Crude ambition will come no more to me, 
 I hate the vulgar popular cattle. 
 And I modestly blush at the mention of 
 
 battle. 
 No ! — Here is my humble definition 
 Of a perfectly happy and virtuous condition : 
 A few fat acres aroundabout, 
 
 To give one a sense of possession ; a few 
 Servants to pour the sweet Massic out ; 
 
 Plenty to eat and nothing to do ; 
 A feeling of cozy and proud virility ; 
 A few stray pence ; — 
 And the tiniest sense 
 Of self-conserving responsibility ! 
 
 For, what is Life? — or, rather ask here. 
 
 What is that fountain of music and motion 
 We call th Soul ? — As I sit and bask here, 
 I confess that I haven't the slightest notion 
 Yet Plato calls it eternal, telling 
 How its original lofty dwelling 
 Was among the stars, till, fairly repining 
 At eternally turning a pivot and shining, 
 
 Heaven it quitted 
 
 To dwell unpitied 
 In a fleshly mansion of waning and whining; 
 Aristotle, I don't know why. 
 Believes that, born up above in the sky 
 The moment that Body is born on the earth, 
 'Tis maiTied to Body that moment of birth ; 
 Hippo and others, whose heads were a 
 
 muddle. 
 Affirm 'tis compounded of water — puddle ! 
 Fire, not a few, with Democritus, swear ; 
 While others — chameleons — reduceit to Air; 
 Water and fire, cries Hippocrates ! 
 No, water and earth, cries Xenophanes ! 
 Earth and fire, cries Parmenides ! 
 Stop ! cries Empedocles, — all of these-i-
 
 FINE WEATHER ON THE DIGENTIA. 
 
 67 
 
 Ennius follow' d Pythagoras, thinking 
 The transmigration of spirits a truth ; — 
 A doctrine 1 choose to apply in sooth 
 To the spirit that lies in the wine I'm drink- 
 ing ; 
 Speculation, muddle, trouble, 
 Some see obliquely, others double, 
 While under their noses, 
 Which smell not the roses, 
 Truth placidly bursts like a spangled bubble. 
 
 6. 
 
 Altogether, they puzzle me quite, 
 They all seem wrong and they all seem right. 
 The puzzle remains an unsatisfied question ; 
 But Epicurus has flatly tried 
 To prove that the soul is closely allied 
 To wine, and sunshine, and good digestion. 
 For without any prosing, head-racking, or 
 
 preaching, 
 That's the construction I put on his teaching! 
 'Tis simple : the Soul and the Body are one, 
 Like the Sun itself and the light of the Sun, 
 Bom to change with all other creations, 
 Homunculi, qualities, emanations, 
 To pass thro' wondrous and strange grada- 
 tions ; 
 And if this be the case, our best resource 
 Is to make the most of our time, of course, 
 Nor grumble and question till hoary and 
 
 hoarse. 
 And I slightly improve upon P'picurus, 
 Whoshirk'd good living, as some assure us, 
 And assert, from experience long and rare, 
 That body and soul can be perfectly snug. 
 With sunshine, fresh air. 
 And no physical care, 
 In a garden that never requires to be dug. 
 
 7- 
 I, Quintus Horatius Elaccus, am learning 
 From the tuneful stars in my zenith turning, 
 From my bachelorhood, which is wide 
 awake, 
 That the sum of good is a life of case, 
 A friend or two, if the humour please, 
 And not a tie it would pain you to break. 
 Call me selfish, indolent, vain, 
 But I don't and won't see the virtue of pain. 
 Be it of body or be it of brain ; 
 Philippi finish'd my education, 
 For it taught me the doctrine of self-preser- 
 vation. 
 
 I hate the barking of Scylla's dogs, 
 
 Round Charybdis your sailor may spin, 
 
 but not I : — 
 In short, I am one of those excellent hogs 
 That grunt in the Grecian epicure's sty. 
 Day by day, my delight has grown wider 
 Since I learnt that wine is a natural good. 
 And the stubborn donkey called Fortitude 
 Has a knack of upsetting the bile of its rider. 
 All creeds that vex one are mere vexation ; 
 But I firmly believe, and no man dare doubt 
 
 me. 
 In Massic taken in moderation, 
 And I like to dwell where no fools can flout 
 
 me — 
 Sans physical care, 
 In the sunny air, 
 And to sing — when I feel the fresh world 
 
 about me 1 
 
 {Bibit.) 
 8. 
 Bear witness, Flower! — One's sense perceives 
 The rich sap lying within your leaves. 
 Which lusciously swoon to a soft blood-red 
 As the sunlight woos them from overhead ! 
 Now, here is a parallel worth inspection 
 Of body and blood in perfect connexion 
 With what some call Soul, that obscure 
 
 abstraction 
 Which I have proved to my satisfaction 
 To be Body in lesser or greater perfection. 
 The perfect parts of the perfect flower 
 Were nourish'd by sunshine for many an 
 
 hour, 
 TiU the sunshine within them o'erflovdng — 
 
 hence 
 The juice whose odorous quintessence, 
 Though sweetly expressing the parts and the 
 
 whole. 
 Is simply a part of the whole, and still 
 Inscparate from the general will. 
 The Flower is the Body, the Scent is the 
 
 Soul ! 
 See ! I press a thorn in the milky stalk : 
 The small thing droops o'er the garden walk, 
 The soft leaves shiver, the sap runs dry, 
 And never more will the flower's mild eye 
 Drink the breath of the moon — it will linger, 
 
 and die. 
 But the scent of the flower, some would cry, 
 
 is the sweeter ; 
 True, but the scent, every moment, grows 
 
 less, 
 
 F 2
 
 68 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 And, further observing, they would con- 
 fess, 
 That the flower, as a flower, is the incom- 
 pleter ! 
 Well, between my fingers I sharpl press 
 The delicate leaves, and thro' every vein 
 The perfect anatomy shrinks with pain. 
 And the flower with its odorous quint- 
 essence 
 Will never, 'tis clear, be perfection again. 
 Bah ! I pluck it, I pluck it, and cast it 
 hence, 
 As Death plucks humanity body and brain ! 
 But the odour has not yet flown, you cry. 
 It sweetens the air, tho' the flower doth die ! 
 Of course ; and the feelers and stem and 
 
 leaves. 
 And the sap and the odour it interweaves, 
 
 No longer perfect and gastronomic, 
 Are in common resolving themselves, one 
 perceives, 
 Back to first principles — say atomic ; 
 And whatever destination your fine 
 Hard-headed philosophers choose to assign 
 To the several parts, they are reft of their 
 power. 
 And, so far as concerns its true functions 
 
 — to scent 
 The soft air, and look fair — and its first 
 sweet intent, 
 'Tis clear that the whole is no longer a 
 Flower. 
 
 9- 
 Take that bulky and truly delectable whole, 
 
 The egotistic disciple of Bacchus, 
 With small hare's-eyes and gray hairs on his 
 poll. 
 Myself — good Quintus Horatius Flaccus ! 
 There's a Body ! There's a Soul ! 
 Many a year, over Rome's dominions. 
 Has he vaunted his Epicurean opinions : 
 He may be wrong, he may be right, 
 So he roars his creed in no mad heroics, — 
 Since down in the grave, where all creeds 
 
 unite 
 Even Epicureans are changed to Stoics. 
 
 [Bibii.) 
 
 lo. 
 Humph, the grave ! — not the pleasantest 
 prospect, affirms 
 This quiet old heart starting up with a 
 beat — 
 
 Well, 'tis rather hard that liquor so sweet 
 
 Goes simply to flavour a meal for worms ! 
 
 After all, I'm a sensible man. 
 
 To render my span 
 
 As happy and easeful as ever I can. 
 
 To-morrow may mingle, who knows, who 
 
 knows. 
 The Life that is Dream with the Death 
 
 that is Sleep, 
 And the grass that covers my last repose 
 May make a sward where the lambkins 
 
 leap 
 Round a mild-eyed mellifluous musical boy 
 Who pipes to his flock in a past jral joy. 
 While the sun that is shining upon him there 
 Draws silver threads thro' his curly hair, 
 And Time with long shadows stalks past 
 
 the spot, 
 And theHours pass by, and he sees themnot! 
 Instead of moping and idly rueing it. 
 Now, this is the pleasantest way of viewing 
 
 it!— 
 To think, when all is over and done, 
 Of insensately feeling one's way to the sun. 
 Of being a part of the verdmre that chases 
 The mild v,-est-wind into shady places, 
 While one's liver, warming the roots of a tree. 
 Creeps upward and flutters delectably 
 In the leaves that tremble and sigh and sing, 
 And the breath bubbles up in a daisy ring. 
 And the heart, mingling strangely with rains 
 
 and snows. 
 Bleeds up thro' the turf in the blood of a rose. 
 
 II. 
 Which reminds me, here, that the simile 
 
 drawn 
 From tlie flower that is withering on the 
 
 lawn. 
 May, by a stretch of the thought, apply 
 To the universe — ocean, earth, air, and sky ; 
 And dividing the whole into infinite less. 
 First principles, atomies numberless. 
 We find that the sum of the universe strange 
 Suffers continual mystical change ; 
 While the parts of the whole, the' their 
 
 compounds range 
 Thro' all combinations from men down to 
 
 daisies. 
 Are eternal, unchangeable, suffer no phases. 
 So that Death, to the dullest of heads so 
 
 unsightly. 
 Is (here I improve Epicurus slightly)
 
 FTNE WEATHER ON THE DIGEXTIA. 
 
 69 
 
 Is but the period of dissolution 
 
 Into some untraceable constitution 
 
 Of the several parts of the Body and Soul,— 
 
 And the total extinction of Man as a whole. 
 
 As to Time— mere abstraction ! With even 
 
 motion 
 Like waves that gathering foamy speech 
 Grow duskily up on a moonlit beach, 
 And seem to increase the huge bulk of the 
 
 ocean. 
 Hours roll upon hours in the measureless sea 
 Of eternity : 
 
 Never ceasing, they seem increasing ; 
 But the parts of the Infinite, changing never, 
 Increase not, tho changing, the Whole, the 
 
 For Ever. 
 Time? Call it a compound, if you please, 
 A divisible drop in eternal seas, 
 An abstract figure, by which we men 
 Try to count our sensations again and again, 
 And then you will know, perceiving we 
 
 imist 
 Nourish some compound with dust of dust. 
 And seeing how short our sensations and 
 powers. 
 Why I am one, 
 Who sits in the sun, 
 Whose Time is no limited number of hours, 
 But wine ever-present, in nectarine showers. 
 
 O Mutability, dread abstraction, 
 
 Let me be wise in the satisfaction 
 
 Of my moderate needs in a half-inaction ! 
 
 While Propertius grows love-sick and weary 
 
 and wan. 
 While thou, Virgil, singest of arms and the 
 
 man, 
 Whileassassins on Caesar sharpen their eyes, 
 While Agrippa stands grimly on blood- 
 stained decks. 
 While Maecenas flirts with the female sex, 
 Teach me to sport and philosophize ! 
 O Mutability, lasting ever, 
 Changing ever, yet changing never. 
 Teach me, O teach me, and make me 
 
 wise I — 
 In the dreadful depth of thy eyeballs dumb, 
 Strange meanings flutter and pass to 
 nought. 
 
 And beautiful images fade as they come, 
 Thro' an under-trouble of shady thought ! 
 
 13- 
 
 Yonder, yonder, the River doth run, 
 From sun to shade, and from shade to sun, 
 Shaking the lilies to seed as it flows. 
 Under the willow-trees taking a doze, 
 And waking up in a flutter of fun ! 
 Could you look at the leaves of yonder tree ! 
 The vdnd is stirring them as the sun is stir- 
 ring me ! 
 The woolly clouds move quiet and slow, 
 
 In the pale blue calm of the tranquil skies. 
 And their shades that run on the grass below 
 Leave purple dreams in the violet's eyes ! 
 The vine droops over my head with bright 
 Clusters of purple and green— the rose 
 Breaks her heart on the air— and the 
 orange glows 
 Like golden lamps in an emerald night.* 
 While I sit, with the stain of the wine on 
 
 my lip. 
 Shall nature and I part fellowship ? 
 No, by Bacchus ! This view from the thres- 
 hold of home 
 Is as glad to the core, and as soitow- 
 
 despising. 
 As Aphrodite when fresh from the foam 
 That still on her bosom was falling and 
 
 rising, 
 While the sunshine crept thro' her briny 
 
 hair 
 And mingled itself with the shadows there, 
 And her deepening eyes drank their azure 
 
 from air, 
 And she blush'd a new beauty surpassingly 
 fair ! 
 
 14. 
 'Tis absurd to tell me to ruffle a feather, 
 Because there may soon be a change of 
 
 weather. 
 When the Dog-Star foams, I will lie in liie 
 
 shade, 
 
 And watch the white sun thro' an cmrrnld 
 
 glade ; 
 When winter murmurs with rain and storm, 
 I will watch my hearth smile to itself, and 
 
 keep warm ; 
 And for Death, who having fulfilled his task 
 Leaves his deputy Silence in houses of 
 
 mourning, — 
 
 * Golden lamps in a green night.— Andrew 
 Marvel.
 
 70 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 Well, I hope he no troublesome questions 
 
 will ask, 
 But knock me down, like an ox, without 
 
 warning. 
 Like the world, I most solemnly promise 
 
 devotion 
 To pleasure commingled of light, music, 
 
 motion. 
 I like (as I said) to sit here in my mirth. 
 To be part of the joy of the sweet-smelling 
 
 earth. 
 To feel the blood blush like a flower with its 
 
 glee. 
 To sing Hke a bird, to be stirr'd like a tree, 
 Drowsily, drowsily, sit at mine ease. 
 While the odd rhymes buzz in my brain like 
 
 bees, 
 And over my wine-cup to chirp and to nod. 
 Ay to sit— till I fall 
 Like that peach from the wall — 
 Self-sufficient, serene, happy-eyed, — like a 
 
 GoDl [Bibit.) 
 
 IS- 
 
 Ay, crop the com with the crooked sickle. 
 
 Sow harvest early and reap too late, 
 Prove Fortune friendly or false or fickle. 
 Blunder and bother with aching pate. 
 Attempting to conquer chance or fate, 
 Struggle, speculate, dig, and bleed, 
 Reap the whirlvrind of Venus' seed, 
 
 senseless, impotent human breed ! 
 What avails ! what avails ! Were ye less 
 
 intent 
 On your raking and digging, perchance 
 
 ye'd behold 
 The fleecy vapours above you roll'd 
 Round the dozing Deities dead to strife. 
 With their mild great eyes on each other bent 
 Enchanging a wisdom indifferent 
 To the native honours of death and life. 
 Sober truths of a pleasure divine 
 Keep them supine ! 
 
 The grand lazy fellows have nothing to do 
 With the bubble and trouble of me or of you, 
 The stars break around them in silver foam, 
 And they calmly amuse themselves, some- 
 times, by stealing 
 A peep at us pigmies, v/ith much the same 
 
 feeling 
 With which, from the candour and quiet of 
 home, 
 
 1 glance at the strife of political Rome. 
 
 Serene, happy-eyed, self-sufficient, they rest 
 On the hill where the blue sky is leaning her 
 
 breast : — 
 Jove seated supreme in the midst, at his side 
 
 Apollo the Sun and Selene the Moon, 
 Juno half dozing, her foot of pride 
 On the neck of Venus the drowsy-eyed. 
 
 And Pallas humming the spheric tune. 
 
 i6. 
 
 Flash ! 
 
 Lightning, I swear ! — there's a tempest 
 brewing ! 
 
 Crash ! 
 
 Thunder, too— swift-footed lightning pur- 
 suing ! 
 
 The leaves are troubled, the winds drop 
 dead, 
 
 The air grows ruminant overhead — 
 
 Splash ! 
 
 That great round drop fell pat on my nose. 
 
 Flash ! crash ! splash ! — 
 
 I must run for it, I suppose. 
 
 O what a flashing and crashing and 
 splashing. 
 The earth is rocking, the skies are riven — 
 
 Jove in a passion, in god-like fashion. 
 Is breaking the crystal urns of heaven. 
 
 XVIIL 
 FINE WEATHER BY BAIAE. 
 
 Virgil to Horace. 
 
 Sweet is soft slumber, Horace, after toil. 
 To him who holds the glebe and ploughs 
 
 the fruitful soil. 
 Sweet to salt-blooded mariners, on decks 
 
 washed red with storm. 
 Deep sleep wherein past tempest and green 
 
 waves 
 
 Make shadows multiform ; 
 
 Sweet 'tis to Caesar, when the red star, grown 
 Swart with war's dust, doth fade, to loll 
 
 upon a throne 
 Dispensing gifts, while on his lips a crafty 
 
 half-smile dies. 
 And the soft whispers of approving Rome 
 Fan his half-closed eyes I
 
 FINE WEATHER BY BAIAE. 
 
 71 
 
 Sweet to Tibullus, sick and out of tune, 
 What time his elegies like wolves howl at 
 
 the moon, 
 Comes Pity loos'ning Delia's zone as breezes 
 
 part a cloud ; 
 And sweet to thee a wine-cup rough with 
 
 sleep, 
 
 After the tawnv crowd. 
 
 And further, sweetly comes a scroll from thee, 
 To Virgil where he dwells at Baiae near the 
 
 sea — 
 For, sick with servile snakes of state that 
 
 twine round Caesar's foot, 
 He welcomes thy moist greeting and thy 
 
 thought 
 
 Poetically put. 
 
 Such alternation of unrest and rest, 
 
 All fitful peace and passion of the yearning 
 
 breast, 
 Deepen the meanings flaiihing swift in Joy's 
 
 pink-lidded eyne, 
 And help the Hours to juggle with the fruits 
 Of easy creeds like thine. 
 
 6. 
 The time-glass runs, the seasons come and 
 
 go, 
 After the rain, the flowers, after the flowers, 
 
 the snow ; 
 This Hour is pale and olive-crown'd, that 
 
 splash'd with rebel-mud — 
 This, flusht to gaze on Caesar's laurell'd 
 
 brows, 
 That, drunk with Caesar's blood ! 
 
 Shall merest mortal man with drowsy nod 
 Sit under purple vine and doze and ape the 
 
 god? 
 Wave down the everlasting strife of earth 
 
 and air and sea ? 
 And, like a full-fed fruit that gorges light, 
 Grow rotten on the tree? 
 
 Leave the grand mental war that mortals 
 
 keep? 
 Eat the fat ears of corn, yet neither sow nor 
 
 reap? 
 
 Loll in the sunshine, sipping sweets, what 
 
 time the din of fights 
 Quenches the wind round Troy, and very 
 
 gods 
 
 Feel dizzy on their heights ? 
 
 Nay, friend ! — For such a man each hour 
 
 supphes 
 Portents that mock his ease, affright his 
 
 languid eyes : 
 The very elements are leagued to goad him 
 
 blood and brain, 
 The very Sun sows drouth witliin his throat 
 Until it raves for rain 1 
 
 10. 
 
 Methinks I see thee sitting in the sun. 
 Whose kisses melt thy crusty wrinkles one 
 
 by one : 
 Thy lips droop darkly with a worm of 
 
 thought, half sad, half wroth. 
 Which stirs the chrysalis mouth, then, ripe 
 
 with wine. 
 
 Bursts like a golden moth. 
 
 II. 
 
 Unfaith is vidth thee, Horace. Sun and wifid 
 
 Disturb the tranquil currents of thy hc/irt 
 and mind ; 
 
 In midst of Joy, comes pigmy doi(bt, prick- 
 pricking like a flea, 
 
 Till, wide awake, you rack your brains to 
 prove 
 
 Your perfect bliss to me. 
 
 12. 
 
 O better far, if Man would climb, to range 
 Thro' sun and thunder-storm tempestuous 
 
 paths of change. 
 To mingle with the motion huge of earth 
 
 and air and main. 
 And lastly, fall upon a bed of flowers 
 When wearied down by pain. 
 
 13- 
 Deep, deep, within Man's elemental parts — 
 Earth, water, fire, and air that mi.\ in human 
 
 hearts, — 
 Subsists Unrest that seeketh Rest, and 
 
 flashes into gleams 
 That haunt the soul to action, and by night 
 
 Disturb our sleep with dreams.
 
 72 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 14. 
 And thus we fashion with a piteous will 
 The gods in drowsy mildness seated on a hill, 
 The day before them evermore, the starry 
 
 night behind, — 
 Inheritors of the divine repose 
 
 We seek and cannot find. 
 
 15- 
 Woe, woe, to him, who craving that calm 
 
 boon 
 Falleth to sleep on beds of poppy flowers 
 
 too soon ! 
 The elements shall hem him in and fright 
 
 his shrieking soul, 
 And, since he asks for light. Lightning itself 
 Shall scorch his eyes to coal ! 
 
 16. 
 My Horace ! — I am here beside the deep, 
 Weaving at will this verse for Memory to 
 
 keep : 
 I sharp, the sunshine vnth my friend, and 
 
 like a lizard bask ; 
 But I, friend, doubt this summer joy, — and 
 you 
 
 Shall answer what I ask. — 
 
 17- 
 Bluff March has blown his clarion out of 
 
 tune, 
 Gone is the blue-edged sickle of the April 
 
 moon ; 
 Faded hath fretful May behind a tremulous 
 
 veil of rain, — 
 But I would the boisterous season of the 
 
 winds 
 
 And snows were here again ! 
 
 18. 
 For I am kneeling on the white sea-sand, 
 Letting the cold soft waves creep up and 
 
 kiss my hand ; 
 A golden glare of sunshine fills the blue air 
 
 at my back, 
 And swims between the meadows and the 
 skies, 
 
 Leaving the meadows black. 
 
 19. 
 All is as still and beautiful as sleep : 
 Nay, all is sleep — the quiet air, the azure 
 deep ; 
 
 The cool blue waves creep thro' my fingers 
 
 with a silver gleam. 
 As, lost in utter calm, I neither think 
 Nor act, but onlv dream. 
 
 This is the poetry of Heart's repose, 
 
 For which my spirit yeani'd thro' drafting 
 
 winds and snows — 
 Only the tingling coolness on my hand seems 
 
 part akin 
 To that bleak winter warring when the 
 dream 
 
 Of peace arose within. 
 
 21. 
 
 What time I dream'dof this, the winds, cast 
 
 free, 
 Swoop'd eagle-like and tore the white bowels 
 
 of the sea ; 
 The winter tempest moved above, and storm 
 
 on storm did frown ; — 
 I saw the awful Sea bound up in cloud 
 And then torn hugely down. 
 
 22. 
 Within my blood arose the wild commo- 
 tion. 
 My soul was battling abroad with winds and 
 
 ocean ; 
 But in the centre of the wrath, all nature, 
 
 sea and sky, 
 Call'd out aloud for peace divine as this. 
 And lo, I join'd the cry. 
 
 23- 
 And calm has come, and June is on the 
 
 deep, 
 The vnnds are nested, and the earth takes 
 
 mellow sleep ; 
 Yet, friend, my soul, though huslit in awe, 
 
 feels peace so still is pain, — 
 And the monotonous yearning voice within 
 Calls out for war again 1 
 
 24. 
 
 For hark ! into my dream of golden ease 
 Breaketh the hollow murmur of untroubled 
 
 seas ; 
 And behold, my blood awakens with a thrill 
 
 and sinks and swells. 
 As when low breezes die and rise again 
 On beds of asphodels.
 
 FINE WEATHER BY BAIAE-TIIE SWAN-SONG OF APOLLO. 73 
 
 25- 
 Ay, now, when all is placid as a star, 
 My soul in incompleteness longs for active 
 
 war ; 
 Amid its utter happiness, it sighs imperfectly 
 In answer to the beautiful unrest 
 Within the sleeping sea. 
 
 26. 
 
 Unsatisfied, I hunger on the land, 
 
 Only subdued by this bright water on my 
 
 hand ; 
 The beating heart within my breast for 
 
 louder utterance yearns — 
 I listen, and the sympathetic sea 
 Its endless moan returns. 
 
 27, 
 Quiet, monotonous, breathless, almost 
 
 drown'd, 
 Inaudibly audible, felt scarce heard, cometh 
 
 the sound, 
 Monotonous, so monotonous, but oh ! so 
 
 sweet, so sweet, 
 When my hid heart is throbbing forth a 
 
 voice, 
 
 And the two voices meet. 
 
 28. 
 The void within the calm for which I 
 
 yearned, 
 Until this moment was imperfectly dis- 
 cerned ; 
 But now I feel to the roots of life an inner 
 
 melody. 
 That harmonises my unquiet heart 
 With the unquiet sea. 
 
 Hear I the craw ling movements of the main ? 
 Or hear I dim heart-echoes dying in the 
 
 brain ? 
 Is thi;rc but one impatient moan, and is it 
 
 of the sea ? 
 And, if two voices speak, v/liich voice 
 
 belongs 
 
 To ocean, which to me? 
 
 30- 
 The sounds have mingled into some faint 
 
 whole, 
 Inseparate, trembling o'er the fibres of my 
 
 soul ; 
 
 And the cool waves have a magic all my 
 
 swooning blood to quell ; 
 The sea glides thro' and thro' me, and my 
 
 soul 
 
 Keeps sea-sound like a shell. 
 
 31- 
 Ah, the monotonous music in my soul, 
 Enlarging like the waves, murmuring with- 
 out control ! — 
 Is it that changeful nature can rest not night 
 
 nor day ? 
 And is the music born of this lorn Man, 
 Or Ocean, — Horace, say ? 
 
 32. 
 Is there a climbing element in life 
 Wliich is at war with rest, alternates strife 
 
 with strife, 
 Whereby we reach eternal seas upon whose 
 
 shores unstirr'd 
 Ev'n Joy can sleep, — because no moan like 
 this 
 Within those waves is heard ? 
 
 XIX. 
 THE SWAN-SONG OF APOLLO, 
 
 O Lyre ! O Lyre ! 
 Strung with celestial fire ! 
 Thou living soul of sound that answereth 
 These fingers that have troubled thee so 
 long, 
 With passion, and with music, and with 
 breath 
 Of melancholy song, — 
 
 Answer, answer, answer me, 
 With thy withering melody ! 
 For the earth is old and strange 
 Mysteries are working change, 
 And the Dead who slumbcr'd deep 
 Startle troubled from their sleep, 
 And the ancient gods divine. 
 Pale and haggard o'er their wine. 
 Fade in their ghastly banquet-halls, with 
 large eyes fixed on mine ! 
 
 Ah mc ! ah me ! 
 
 The earth and air and sea
 
 74 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 Are shaken ; and the great pale gods sit still, 
 The roseate mists around them roll 
 away : — 
 
 Lo ! Hebe listens in the act to fill, 
 And groweth wan and gray ; 
 On the banquet-table spread, 
 Fruits and flowers grow sick and dead, 
 Nectar cold in every cup 
 Gleams to blood and withers up ; 
 Aphroditd breathes a charm. 
 Gripping Pallas' bronzed arm ; 
 Zeus the Father clenches teeth. 
 While his cloud-throne shakes beneath ; 
 
 The passion-flower in Here's hair melts in a 
 snowy wreath ! 
 
 3- 
 
 Ah, woe ! ah, woe ! 
 
 One climbeth from below, — 
 A mortal shape with pallid smile divine, 
 Bearing a heavy Cross and crown'd with 
 
 thorn, — 
 His brow is moist with Uood, his strange 
 
 sweet eyne 
 Look piteous and forlorn : 
 
 Hark, O hark ! his cold foot-fall 
 
 Breaks upon the banquet-hall ! 
 
 God and goddess start to hear, 
 
 Earth, air, ocean, moan in fear ; 
 
 Shadows of the Cross and Him 
 
 Dark the banquet-table dim. 
 
 Silent sit the gods divine, 
 
 Old and haggard over wine. 
 And slowly to thy song they fade, with large 
 eyes fixed on mine ! 
 
 4- 
 O Lyre ! Q Lyre ! 
 Thy strings of golden fire 
 Fade to their fading, and the hand is chill 
 That touches thee ; the great bright brow 
 grows gray — 
 I faint, I wither, while that conclave still 
 Dies wearily away ! 
 
 Ah, the prophecy of old 
 Sung by us to smilers cold ! — 
 God and goddess droop and die, 
 Chilly cold against the sky, 
 There is change and all is done. 
 Strange look moon and stars and sun ! 
 God and goddess fade, and see ! 
 All their large eyes look at me ! 
 WTiile woe ! ah, woe ! in dying song, I fade, 
 I fade, with thefe I 
 
 POET'S EPILOGUE. 
 TO MARY ON EARTH. 
 ' Simplex munditiis.' 
 
 I. 
 
 So ! now the task is ended ; and to-night, 
 Sick, impotent, no longer soul-sustain'd. 
 Withdrawing eyes from that ideal height 
 Where, in low undertones, those Spirits 
 
 plain'd, 
 Each full of special glory unattain'd, — 
 I turn on you, Sweet-Heart, my weary 
 
 sight. — 
 Shut out the darkness, shutting in the hght: 
 So ! now the task is ended. What is gain'd? 
 
 2. 
 
 First, sit beside me. Place your hand in 
 
 mine. 
 From deepest fountain of your veins the 
 
 while 
 Call up your Soul ; and briefly let it shine 
 In those gray eyes with mildness feminine. 
 Yes, smile, Dear ! — you are truest when you 
 
 smile. 
 
 3- 
 My heart to-night is calm as peaceful 
 
 dreams. — 
 Afar away the wind is shrill, the culver 
 Blows up and down the moors with windy 
 
 gleams. 
 The birch unlooseneth her locks of silver 
 And shakes them softly on the mountain 
 
 streams, 
 And o'er the grave that holds my David's 
 
 dust 
 The Moon uplifts her empty dripping horn: 
 Thither my fancies turn, but turn in trust, 
 Not wholly sadly, faithful though forlorn. 
 For you, too, ove him, mourn his life's 
 
 quick fleeting ; 
 We think of him in common. Is it so? — 
 Your little hand has answer'd, and I know 
 His name makes music in your heart's soft 
 
 beating ; 
 And well, 'tis something gain'd for him 
 
 and me — 
 Him, in his heaven, and me, in this low spot, 
 Something his eyes will see, and joy to see — 
 That you, too, love him, though you knew 
 
 him not.
 
 TO ATARY ON EARTH. 
 
 75 
 
 Yet this is bitter. We were boy and boy, 
 Hand link'd in hand we dreamt of power 
 
 and fame, 
 We shared each other's sorrow, pride, and 
 
 joy, 
 To one wild tune our swift blood went and 
 
 came. 
 Eyes drank each other's hope with flash of 
 
 flame. 
 Then, side by side, we clomb the hill of life, 
 We ranged thro' mist and mist, thro' storm 
 
 and strife ; 
 
 But then, it is so bitter, now, to feel 
 
 That his pale Soul to mine was so akin, 
 Firm-fix'd on goals we each set forth to win, 
 So twinly conscious of the sweet Ideal, 
 So wedded (God forgive me if I sin !) 
 That neither he, my friend, nor I could steal 
 One glimpse of heaven's divinities — alone. 
 And flushing seek his brother, and reveal 
 Some hope, some joy, some beauty, else 
 
 unknown ; 
 Nor, bringing down his sunlight from the 
 
 Sun, 
 Call sudden up, to light his fellow's face, 
 A smile as proud, as glad, as that I trace 
 In your dear eyes, now, when my work is 
 
 done. 
 
 S- 
 Love giins in giving. 'What had I to give 
 Whereof his Poet-Soul was not possest? 
 What gleams of stars he knew not, fugitive 
 As lightning-flashes, could I manifest ? 
 What music fainting from a clearer air? 
 What lights of sunrise from beyond the grave? 
 What pride in knowledge that he could not 
 
 share ? — 
 Ay, Mary, it is bitter ; for I swear 
 He took with him, to heav'n, no wealth I 
 
 gave. 
 
 6. 
 
 No, Love, it is not bitter ! Thoughts like 
 
 those 
 Were sin these songs I sing you must adjust. 
 Not bitter, ah, not bitter ! — God is just ; 
 ^nd, seeing our one-knowledge, just God 
 
 chose, 
 ^y one swift stroke, to part us. Far above 
 The measure of my hope, my pride, my 
 
 love. 
 
 Above our seasons, suns and rains and 
 
 snows, — 
 He, like an exhalation, thus arose ; 
 Hearing in a diviner atmosphere 
 Music we only see, when, dewy and dim, 
 The stars thro' gulfs of azure darkness swim. 
 Music we seem to see, but cannot hear. 
 But evermore, my Poet, on his height. 
 Fills up my Soul with sweetness to the brim. 
 Rains influence, and warning, and delight ; 
 And now, I smile for pride and joy in him ! 
 
 I said. Love gains by giving. And to know 
 That I, who could not glorify my Friend, 
 Soul of my Soul, although I loved him so. 
 Have power and strength and privilege to 
 
 lend 
 Glimpses of heav'n to Thee, of hope, of bliss ! 
 Power to go heavenward, pluck flowers and 
 
 blend 
 Their hues in wreaths I give you with a kiss — 
 You, Love, who climb not up the heights 
 
 at all ! 
 To think, to think, I never could upcall 
 On his dead face, so proud a smile as this ! 
 
 8. 
 
 Most just is God : who bids me not be sad 
 For his dear sake whose name is dear to thee, 
 Who bids me proudly climb and sometimes 
 
 see 
 With joy a glimpse of him in glory clad , 
 Who, further, bids your life be proud and 
 
 glad, 
 When I have climb' d and seen, for joy in me. 
 My lowly-minded, gentle-hearted Love ! 
 I bring you down his gifts, and am sustain'd : 
 You watch and pray — I climb— he stands 
 
 above. 
 So, now the task is ended, what is gain'd? 
 
 This knowledge. — Better in yourarms to rest. 
 Better to love you till my heart should break. 
 Than pause to ask if he who would be blest 
 Should love for more than his own loving's 
 
 sake. 
 So closer, closer still ; for (while afar. 
 Mile upon mile toward the polar star, 
 Now in the autumn time our Poet's dust 
 Sucks back thro' grassy sods the flowers it 
 
 thrust
 
 76 
 
 UNDERTONES. 
 
 To feel the summer on the outer earth) 
 I turn to you, and on your bosom fall. 
 Love grows by giving. I have given my all. 
 So, smile — to show you hold the gift of 
 worth. 
 
 lO. 
 
 Ay, all the thanks that I on earth can render 
 To him who sends me such good news from 
 
 God, 
 Is, in due turn, to thy young life to tender 
 Hopes that denote, while blossoming in 
 
 splendour. 
 Where an invisible Angel's foot hath trode. 
 
 So, Sweet-Heart, I have given unto thee, 
 Not only such poor song as here I twine. 
 But Hope, Ambition, all of mine or me. 
 My flesh and blood, and more, my soul 
 
 divine. 
 Take all, take all ! Ay, wind white arms 
 
 about 
 My neck and from my breath draw bliss for 
 
 thine : 
 Smile, Sweet-Heart, and be happy— lest 
 
 thou doubt 
 How much the gift I give thee makes thee 
 
 mine 1 
 
 Idyls and Legends of Inverburn. 
 
 (1865.) 
 
 Fly to the city, Spirit of the Spring, 
 Breathe softly on the eyes of those who read, 
 A.nd make a gentle picture of the scene 
 Wherein these men 'and women come and go : 
 The clachan with its humming sound of looms, 
 The quaint old gables, roofs of turf and thatch, 
 
 THE LOWLAND VLLLAGE. 
 
 Seven pleasant miles by wood, and stream, 
 
 and moor, 
 Seven miles along the country road that 
 
 wound 
 Uphill and downhill in a dusty line. 
 Then from the forehead of a hill, behold — 
 Lying below me, sparkling ruby-like — 
 The village ! — quaint old gables, roofs of 
 
 thatch. 
 The glimmering spire thatpeep'd above the 
 
 firs, 
 The sunset lingering orange-red on all. 
 And nearer, tumbling thro' a mossy bridge. 
 The river that I knew ! No wondrous peep 
 Into the faery land of Obcron, 
 Its bowers, its glow^vorm-Iighted colonnades 
 Where pigmy lovers wander two by two. 
 Could weigh upon the city wanderer's heart 
 With pace so pure as this ! Why, yonder 
 
 stood, 
 A fledgling's downward flight beyond the 
 
 spire. 
 The gray old manse, endear'd by memories 
 
 The glimmeringlspire that peeps above the firs, 
 The stream whose soft blue arms encircle all, — 
 And in the background heathery norland hills, 
 Hued like the azure of the dew-berrie. 
 And mingling with the regions of the rain 1 
 
 Of Jean the daughter of the minister ; 
 And in the cottage with the painted sign, 
 Hard by the bridge, how many a winter night 
 Had I with politicians sapient-eyed 
 Discuss' d the county paper's latest news 
 And read of toppling thrones ! — And nought 
 
 seem'd changed ! 
 The very gig before the smithy door, 
 The barefoot maiden with the milking pail 
 Pausing and looking backward from the 
 
 bridge. 
 The last rook wavering homeward to the 
 
 wood, 
 All seem'd a sunset-picture, every tint 
 Unchanged, since I had bidden it farewcli. 
 My heart grew garrulous of olden times. 
 And my face sadden'd, as I saunter'd down. 
 Then came a rural music on my ears, — 
 The waggons in the lanes, the waterfall 
 With cool sound plunging in its wood-nest 
 
 wild. 
 The rooks amid the windy rookery, 
 The shouts of children, and more far away 
 The crowing of a cock. Then o'er the bridge 
 I bent, above the river gushing dowm
 
 THE LOWLAND VILLAGE—WILLIE BAIRD. 
 
 77 
 
 J; 
 
 Thro' mossy boulders, making underneath 
 Green-shaded pools where now and then a 
 
 trout 
 Sank in the ripple of its own quick leap ; 
 And like some olden and familiar tune, 
 Half humra'd aloud, half tinkling in the 
 
 brain, 
 Troublously, faintly, came the buzz of looms. 
 And here I linger'd, nested in the shade 
 Of Peace that makes a music as she grows ; 
 And when the vale had put its glory on 
 The bitter aspiration was subdued. 
 And Pleasure, tho' she wore a woodland 
 
 crown, 
 Look'd at me with Ambition's serious eyes. 
 Amid the deep green woods of pine, whose 
 
 boughs 
 Made a sea-music overhead, and caught 
 White flakes of sunlight on their highest 
 
 leaves, 
 I foster'd solemn meditations ; 
 Stretch'd on the sloping river banks, fresh 
 
 strewn 
 (With speedwell, primrose, and anemone, 
 I watch'd the bright king-fisher dart about. 
 His quick small shadow with an azure gleam 
 Startling the minnows in the pool beneath ; 
 Or later on the moors, where far away 
 Across the waste the sportsman with his gun 
 .Stood a dark speck across the azure, while 
 The heath-hen tower'd with beating wings 
 
 and fell, 
 I caught the solemn wind that wander' d down 
 With thunder-echoes heaved among the hills. 
 Nor lack'd I, in the balmy summer nights. 
 Or on the days of rain, such counterpoise 
 As books can give. The honey-languaged 
 
 Greek 
 Who gently piped the sweet bucolic lay, 
 The wit who raved of Lesbia's loosen'd zone 
 And loved divinely what was less than earth. 
 Were with me ; others, of a later date : 
 The eagle-eyed comedian divine ; 
 The English Ilomcr, not the humpback'd 
 
 one 
 Who sung Belinda's curl at Twickenham, 
 But Chapman, master of thelong strong line; 
 Moreover, those few singers who have lit 
 The beacon-lights of these our latter days — 
 Chief, young Hyperion, who setting soon 
 Sent his pale look along the future time, 
 And the tall figure on the hills, that stoopt 
 To see the daisy's shadow on the grass. 
 
 WILLIE BAIRD. 
 
 'An old man's tale, a tale for men gray-hair'd, 
 Who wear, thro' second childhood, to the Lord. 
 
 'Tis two-and-thirty summers since I came 
 To school the viUage lads of Inverburn. 
 
 My father was a shepherd old and poor. 
 Who, dwelling 'mong the clouds on norland 
 
 hiUs, 
 His tartan plaidie on, and by his side 
 His sheep-dog running, redden'd with the 
 
 winds 
 That whistle southward from the Polar seas: 
 I follow'd in his footsteps when a boy. 
 And knew by heart the mountains round our 
 
 home ; 
 But when I went to Edinglass, to learn 
 At college there, I look'd about the place, 
 And heard the murmur of the busy streets 
 Around me, in a dream ; — and only saw 
 The clouds that snow around the mountain- 
 tops. 
 The mists that chase the phantom of the 
 
 moon 
 In lonely mountain tarns, — and heard the 
 
 while. 
 Not footsteps sounding hollow to and fro. 
 But winds sough-soughing thro' the woods 
 
 of pine. 
 Time pass'd ; and day by day those sights 
 
 and sounds 
 Grew fainter, — till they troubled me no more. 
 
 O WiUie, WilUe, are you sleeping sound? 
 And can you feel the stone that I have placed 
 Yonder above you ? Are you dead, my doo ? 
 Or did you see the shining Hand that parts 
 The clouds above, and becks the bonnie 
 
 birds. 
 Until they wing away, and human eyes. 
 That watch them till they vanish in the blue. 
 Droop and grow tearful ? Ay, I ken, I ken, 
 I'm talking folly, but I loved the child ! 
 He was the bravest scholar in the school ! 
 He came to leach the very dominie — 
 Me, with my lyart locks and sleepy heart ! 
 
 O weel I mind the day his mother brought 
 Her tiny trembling tot with yellow hair, 
 Her tiny poor-clad tot si.'i summers old,
 
 78 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. 
 
 And left him seated lonely on a form 
 Before my desk. He neither wept nor 
 
 gloom' d ; 
 But waited silently, with shoeless feet 
 Swinging above the floor ; in wonder eyed 
 The maps upon the walls, the big black 
 
 board, 
 The slates and books and copies, and my 
 
 own 
 Grey hose and clumpy boots ; last, fixing 
 
 gaze 
 Upon a monster spider's web that fill'd 
 One corner of the whitewash'd ceiling, 
 
 watch 'd 
 The speckled traitor jump and jink about. 
 Till he forgot my unfamiliar eyes, 
 Weary and strange and old. ' Come here, 
 
 my bairn ! ' 
 And timid as a lamb he seed'ed up. 
 'What do they call ye?" 'Willie,' coo'd 
 
 the wean. 
 Up-peeping slyly, scraping with his feet. 
 I put my hand upon his yellow hair, 
 And checr'd him kindly. Then I bade him 
 
 lift 
 The small black bell that stands behind the 
 
 door 
 And ring the shouting laddies from their 
 
 play. 
 ' Run, WilUe ! ' And he ran, and eyed the 
 
 bell, 
 Stoop'd o'er it, seem'd afraid that it would 
 
 bite, 
 Then grasp'd it firm, and as it jingled gave 
 A timid cry — next laugh'd to hear the 
 
 sound — 
 And ran full merry to the door and rang, 
 And rang, and rang, while lights of music lit 
 His pallid cheek, tiU, shouting, panting 
 
 hard. 
 In ran the big rough laddies from their play. 
 
 Then rapping sharply on the desk I drove 
 The laddies to their seats, and beckon'd up 
 The stranger — smiling, bade him seat him- 
 self 
 And hearken to the rest. Two weary hours 
 Buzz-buzz, boom-boom, went on the noise 
 
 of school. 
 While Willie sat and listen'd open-mouthed; 
 Till school was over, and the big and small 
 Flew home in flocks. But Willie stay'd 
 behind. 
 
 I beckon'd to the mannock with a smile. 
 And took him on my knee and crack'd and 
 talk'd. 
 
 First, he was timid ; next, grew bashful ; 
 
 next, 
 He warm'd and told me stories of his home, 
 His father, mother, sisters, brothers, all ; 
 And how, when strong and big, he meant 
 
 to buy 
 A gig to drive his father to the kirk ; 
 And how he long'd to be a dominie : 
 Such simple prattle as I plainly see 
 You smile at. But to little children God 
 Has given wisdom and mysterious power 
 Which beat the mathematics. Qucsrere 
 Verum in sylvis Acadeiiii, Sir, 
 Is meet for men who can afford to dwell 
 For ever in a garden, reading books 
 Of morals and the logic. Good and weel ! 
 Give me such tiny truths as only bloom 
 Like red-tipt gowans at the hallanstone. 
 Or kindle softly, flashing bright at times. 
 In fuffing cottage fires ! 
 
 The laddie still 
 Was seated on my knee, when at the door 
 We heard a sound of scraping : WiUie 
 
 prick' d 
 His ears and listened, then he clapt his 
 
 hands — 
 ' Hey ! Donald, Donald, Donald ! ' [See ! 
 
 the rogue 
 Looks up and bhnks his eyes — he kens his 
 
 name !] 
 ' Hey, Donald, Donald ! ' Willie cried. Av 
 
 that 
 I saw beneath me, at the door, a Dog — 
 The very collie dozing at your feet, 
 His nose between his paws, his eyes half 
 
 closed. 
 At sight of Willie, with a joyful bark 
 He leapt and gamboll'd, eying j/ielhe while 
 In queer suspicion; and the mannock peep'd 
 Into my face, while patting Donald's back — 
 ' It's Donald ! he has come to take me 
 
 home ! ' 
 
 An old man's tale, a tale for men gray- 
 hair' d, 
 
 Who wear, thro' second childhood to the 
 grave ! 
 
 I'll hasten on. Thenceforward Willie came
 
 WILLIE BAIRD. 
 
 79 
 
 Daily to school, and daily to the door 
 Came Donald trotting ; and they homeward 
 
 went 
 Together — Willie walking slow but sure, 
 And Donald trotting sagely by his side. 
 [Ay, Donald, he is dead 1 be still, old man !] 
 
 What link existed, human or divine, 
 Between the tiny tot six summers old, 
 And )'onder hfe of mine upon the hills 
 Among the mists and storms ? 'Tis strange, 
 
 'tis strange ! 
 But when I look'd on Willie's face, it seem'd 
 That I had known it in some beauteous 
 
 life 
 That I had left behind me in the north. 
 This fancy grew and grew, till oft I sat — 
 The buzzing school around me — and would 
 
 seem 
 To be among the mists, the tracks of rain, 
 Nearing the awful silence of the snow. 
 Slowly and surely I began to feel 
 That I was all alone in all the world, 
 And that my mother and my father slept 
 Far, far away in some forgotten kirk — 
 Remember'd but in dreams. Alone at nights, 
 I read my Bible more and Euclid less. 
 For, mind you, like my betters, I had been 
 Half scoffer, half believer ; on the whole, 
 I thought the life beyond a useless dream, 
 Best left alone, and shut my eyes to themes 
 That puzzled mathematics. But at last, 
 When Willie Baird and I grew friends, and 
 
 thoughts 
 Came to me from beyond my fathers grave, 
 I found 'Xv/as pleasant late at e'en to read 
 My Bible — haply, only just to pick 
 Some easy chapter for my pet to learn — 
 Yet night by night my soul was guided on 
 Like a blind man some angel hand convoys. 
 
 I cannot frame in speech the thoughts that 
 
 fiird 
 This gray old brow, the feelings dim and 
 
 warm 
 That soothed the throbbings of this weary 
 
 heart ! 
 Rut when I placed my hand on Willie's head. 
 Warm sunshine tingled from the yellow hair 
 Thro' trembling fingers to my blood 
 
 within ; 
 And when I look'd in Willie's stainless eyes 
 T saw the empty sther floating gray 
 
 O'er shadowy mountains murmuring low 
 
 with winds ! 
 And often when, in his old-fashion'd way. 
 He question'd me, I seem'd to hear a voice 
 From far away, that mingled with the cries 
 Haunting the regions where the round redsun 
 Is all alone with God among the snow ! 
 
 Who made the stars ? and if within his 
 
 hand 
 He caught and held one, would his fingers 
 
 bum ! 
 If I, the gray-hair'd dominie, was dug 
 From out a cabbage garden such as ke 
 Was found in ? if, when bigger, he would 
 
 wear 
 Gray homespun hose and clumsy boots like 
 
 mine. 
 And have a house to dwell in all alone ? 
 Thus would he question, seated on my knee. 
 While Donald (wheesht, old man !) stretch'd 
 
 lyart limbs 
 Under my chair, contented. Open-mouth'd 
 He hearken'd to the tales I loved to teU 
 About Sir William Wallace and the Bruce, 
 And the sweet lady on the Scottish throne, 
 Whose crown was colder than a band of ice, 
 Yet seem'd a sunny crovra whene'er she 
 
 smiled ; 
 With many tales of genii, giants, dwarfs, 
 And little folk that play at jing-a-ring 
 On beds of harebells 'neath the silver moon ; 
 Stories and rhymes and songs of Wonder- 
 land : 
 How Tammas Ercildoune in Elfland dwelt. 
 How Galloway's mermaid comb'd her golden 
 
 hear. 
 How Tammas Thumb stuck in the spider's 
 
 web. 
 And fought and fought, a needle for his 
 
 sword, 
 Dyeing his weapon in the crimson blood 
 Of the foul traitor with the poison'd fangs ! 
 
 And when we read the Holy Book, the 
 
 child 
 Would think and think o'er parts he loved 
 
 the best ; 
 The draught of fish, the Child that sat so 
 
 wise 
 In the great Temple, Herod's cruel law 
 To slay the bairns, or — oftenest of all — 
 The crucifixion of the Good Kind Man
 
 8o 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. 
 
 Who loved the weans and was a wean him- 
 self. 
 He speir'd of Death ! and were the sleepers 
 
 cold 
 Down in the dark wet ear:h ? and was it 
 
 God 
 That put the grass and flowers in the kirk- 
 yard ? 
 What kind of dwelling-place was heaven 
 
 above ? 
 And was it full of flowers ? and were there 
 
 schools 
 And dominies there ? and was it far away ? 
 Then, with a look that made your eyes 
 
 grow dim, 
 Clasping his wee white hands round 
 
 Donald's neck, 
 • Dodoggiesgang to heaven ? ' he would ask ; 
 'Would Donald gang?' and keek'd in 
 
 Donald's face, 
 While Donald blink'd with meditative gaze, 
 As if he knew full brawly what we said, 
 And ponder'd o'er it, wiser far than we ! 
 But how I answer'd, how explained these 
 
 themes 
 I know not. Oft I could not speak at all. 
 Yet every question made me think of things 
 Forgotten, puzzled so, and when I strove 
 To reason puzzled me so much the more. 
 That, flinging logic to the winds, I went 
 Straight onward to the mark in Willie's way. 
 Took most for granted, laid down premises 
 Of laith, imagined, gave my wit the reins. 
 And oft on nights at e'en, to my surprise. 
 Felt palpably an angel's glowing face 
 Glimmering down upon me, while mine eyes 
 Dimm'd their old orbs with tears that came 
 
 unbid 
 To bear the glory of the light they saw ! 
 
 So summer pass'd. Yon chestnut at the 
 
 door 
 Scatter'd its burnish'd leaves and made a 
 
 sound 
 Of wind among its branches. Every day 
 Came Willie, seldom going home again 
 Till near the sunset : wet or dry he came : 
 Oft in the rainy weather carrying 
 A big umbrella, under which he walk'd— 
 A little fairy in a parachute 
 Blown hither, thither, at the wind's wild 
 
 will. 
 Pleased was my heart to see his pallid cheeks 
 
 Were gathering rosy-posies, that his eyes 
 Were softer and less sad. Then, with a 
 
 gust, 
 Old Winter tumbled shrieking from the hills, 
 His white hair blowing in the wind. 
 
 The house 
 Where Willie's mother lives is scarce a mile 
 From yonder hallan, if you take a cut 
 Before you reach the village, crossing o'er 
 Green meadows till you reach the road again; 
 But he who thither goes along the road 
 Loses a reaper's mile. The summer long 
 Wee Willie came and went across the fields : 
 He loved the smell of flowers and grass, the 
 
 sight 
 Of cows and sheep, the changing stalks of 
 
 wheat, 
 And he was weak and small. When winter 
 
 came, 
 Still caring not a straw for wind or rain 
 Came Willie and the collie ; till by night 
 Down fell the snow, and fell three nights and 
 
 days. 
 Then ceased. The ground was white and 
 
 ankle -deep ; 
 The window of the school was threaded o'er 
 With flowers of hueless ice — Frost's unseen 
 
 hands 
 Prick'd you from head to foot with tingling 
 
 heat. 
 The shouting urchins, yonder on the green, 
 Play'd snowballs. In the school a cheery 
 
 fire 
 Was kindled every day, and every day 
 When Willie came he had the warmest seat. 
 And every day old Donald, punctual, came 
 To join us, after labour, in the lowe. 
 
 Three days and nights the snow had 
 
 mistily fall'n. 
 It lay long miles along the country-side. 
 White, avifful, silent. In the keen cold air 
 There was a hush, a sleepless silentness, 
 And mid it all, upraising eyes, you felt 
 God's breath upon your face ; and in your 
 
 blood, 
 Though you were cold to touch, was flaming 
 
 . fire, 
 Such as within the bowels of the earth 
 Burnt at the bones of ice, and wreath'd them 
 
 round 
 With grass ungrovvn.
 
 WILLIE BAIRD. 
 
 8j 
 
 One day in school I saw, 
 Through threaded window - panes, soft 
 
 snowy flakes 
 Fall with unquiet motion, mistily, slowly. 
 At intervals ; but when the boys were gone, 
 And in ran Donald with a dripping nose. 
 The air was clear and gray as glass. An hour 
 Sat WiHie, Donald, and myself around 
 The murmuring fire, and then with tender 
 
 hand 
 I wrapt a comforter round Willie's throat, 
 Button'dhis coat around him close and warm. 
 And off he ran with Donald, happy-eyed 
 And merry, leaving fairy prints of feet 
 Behind him on the snow. I watch'd them 
 
 fade 
 Round the white curve, and, turning with a 
 
 sigh, 
 Came in to sort the room and smoke a pipe 
 Before the fire. Here, dreaming all alone, 
 I sat and smoked, and in the fire saw clear 
 The norland mountains, white and cold with 
 
 snow 
 That crumbled silently, and moved, and 
 
 changed, — 
 When suddenly the air grew sick and dark, 
 And from the distance came a hollow sound, 
 A murmur like the moan of far-off seas. 
 
 I started to my feet, look'd out, and knew 
 The winter wind was whisthng from the 
 
 clouds 
 To lash the snow-clothed plain, and to my- 
 self 
 I prophesied a storm before the night. 
 Then with an icy pain, an eldritch fear, 
 I thoii2;ht of Willie ; but I cheer'd my heart, 
 ' He's home, and with his mother, long ere 
 
 this ! ' 
 While thus I stood the hollow murmur grew 
 Deeper, the wold grew darker, and the snow 
 kush'd downward, whirling in a shadowy 
 
 mist. 
 I walk'd to yonder door and opcn'd it. 
 Whirr ! the wind swung it from me with a 
 
 clang. 
 And in upon me with an iron-like crash 
 Swoop'd in the drift ! With pinch'd sharp 
 
 face I gazed 
 Out on the storm ! Dark, dark, was all ! 
 
 A mist, 
 A bUnding, whirling mist, of chilly snow. 
 The faUing ajid the driven ; for the wind 
 
 Swept round and round in clouds upon tlie 
 
 earth. 
 And birm'dthedeathly driftaloft with moans. 
 Till all was dreadful darkness. Far above 
 A voice was shrieking, like a human cry ! 
 
 I closed the door, and tum'd me to the 
 
 fire. 
 With something on my heart — a load — a 
 
 sense 
 Of an impending pain. Down the broad lum 
 Came melting flakes that hiss'd upon the 
 
 coal ; 
 Under my eyelids blew the blinding smoke, 
 And for a time I sat like one bewitch'd. 
 Still as a stone. The lonely room grew dark, 
 The flickering fire threw phantoms of the 
 
 snow 
 Along the floor and on the walls around • 
 The melancholy ticking of the clock 
 Was hke the beating of my heart. But, 
 
 hush ! 
 Above the moaning of the wind I heard 
 A sudden scraping at the door ; my heart 
 Stood still and listen'd ; and with that there 
 
 rose 
 An awsome howl, shriU as a dying screech, 
 And scrape-scrape-scrape, the sound beyond 
 
 the door ! 
 I could not think — I could not breathe — a 
 
 dark. 
 Awful foreboding gript me like a hand. 
 As opening the door I gazed straight out, 
 Saw nothing, till I felt against my knees 
 Something that moved and heard a moaning 
 
 sound — 
 Then, panting, moaning, o'er the threshold 
 
 leapt 
 Donald the dog, alone, and white wdth snow. 
 
 Down, Donald ! down, old man ! Sir, 
 
 look at him ! 
 I swear he knows the meaning of my words, 
 And tho" he cannot speak, his heart is full 1 
 See now ! see now ! he puts his cold black 
 
 nose 
 Into my palm and whines ! he knows, he 
 
 knows ! 
 Would speak, and cannot, but he minds 
 
 that night 1 
 
 The terror of my heart seom'd choking me. 
 Dumbly I stared and wildly at tlie dog.
 
 82 
 
 TDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. 
 
 Who gazed into my face and whined and 
 
 moan'd, 
 Leap'd at the door, then touched me with 
 
 his paws, 
 And lastly, gript my coat between his teeth, 
 And pull'd and pull'd— whiles growling, 
 
 whining whiles — 
 Till fairly madden'd, in bewilder'd fear, 
 I let him drag me through the banging door 
 Out to the whirling storm. Bareheaded, 
 
 wild, 
 The wind and snow-drift beating on my face 
 Blowing me hither, thither, with the dog, ^ 
 I dash'd along the road. What follow'd 
 
 seem.'d 
 An eerie, eerie dream ! — a world of snow, 
 A sky of wmd, a whirling howling mist 
 Which swam around with hundred sickly 
 
 eyes ; 
 And Donald dragging, dragging, beaten, 
 
 bruised. 
 Leading me on to something that I fear'd— 
 An awful something, and I knew not what ! 
 On, on, and farther on, and still the snow 
 Whirling, the tempest moaning ! Then I 
 
 mind 
 Of groping blindly in the shadowy light, 
 And Donald by me burrowing with his nose 
 And whining. Next a darkness, blank and 
 
 deep ! 
 But then I mind of tearing thro' the storm, 
 Stumbhng and tripping, blind and deaf and 
 
 dumb. 
 And holding to my heart an icy load 
 I clutch'd with freezing fingers. Far away— 
 It seem'd long miles on miles away — I saw 
 A yellow light— unto that light 1 tore — 
 And last, remember opening a door 
 And falling, dazzled by a blinding gleam 
 Of human faces and a flaming fire. 
 And with a crash of voices in my ears 
 Fading away into a world of snow. 
 
 When I awaken'd to myself, I lay 
 In my own bed at home. I started up 
 As from an evil dream and look'd around, 
 And to my side came one, a neighbour's wife. 
 Mother to two young lads I taught in school. 
 With hollow, hollow voice I question'd her, 
 And soon knew aU : how a long night had 
 
 pass'd 
 Since, with a lifeless laddie in my arms, 
 I stumbled horror-stricken, swooning, wild 
 
 Into a ploughman's cottage : at my side, 
 My coat between his teeth, a dog ; and how 
 Senseless and cold I fell. Thence, when the 
 
 storm 
 Had pass'd away, they bore me to my home. 
 I listen'd dumbly, catching at the sense ; 
 But when the woman mention'd Willie's 
 
 name. 
 And I was fear'd to phrase the thought that 
 
 rose, 
 She saw the question in my tearless eyes 
 And told me — he was dead. 
 
 'Twould weary you 
 To tell the thoughts, the fancies, and the 
 
 dreams 
 That weigh'd upon me, ere I rose in bed, 
 But httle harm'd, and sent the wife away. 
 Rose, slowly drest, took upmy staff and went 
 To Willie's mother's cottage. As I walk'd, 
 Though all the air was calm and cold and 
 
 still, 
 The blowing wind and dazzled snow were 
 
 yet 
 Around about. I was bewilder'd like ! 
 Ere I had time to think I found myself 
 Beside a truckle bed, and at my side 
 A weeping woman. And I clench'd my 
 
 hands. 
 And look'd on Willie, who had gone to sleep. 
 
 In death-govm white, lay Willie fast asleep, 
 Hisblueeyes closed, his tiny fingers clench'd. 
 His lips apart a wee as if he breathed. 
 His yellow hair kaim'd back, and on his face 
 A smile— yet not a smile— a dim pale light 
 Such as the snow keeps in its own soft wings. 
 Ay, he had gone to sleep, and he was sound ! 
 And by the bed lay Donald watching still. 
 And when I look'd, he whined, but did not 
 move. 
 
 I turn'd in silence, with my nails stuck deep 
 In my clench'd palms ; but in my heart of 
 
 hearts 
 I pray'd to God. In Willie's mother's face 
 There was a cold and silent bitterness— 
 1 saw it plain, but saw it in a dream, 
 And cared not. So I went my way, as grim 
 As one who holds his breath to slay himself. 
 What follow'd that is vague as was the rest : 
 A winter day, a landscape hush'd in snow, 
 A weary wind, a small white coffin borne
 
 WILLIE BAIRD-LORD RONALD'S WLFE. 
 
 83 
 
 On a man's shoulder, shapes in black, o'er 
 
 all 
 The solemn clanging of an iron bell. 
 And lastly me and Donald standing both 
 Beside a tiny mound of fresh-heap'd earth, 
 And while around the snow began to fall 
 Mistily, softly, thro' the icy air. 
 Looking at one another, dumb and cold. 
 
 And Willie 's dead ! — that's all I compre- 
 hend — 
 Ay, bonnie Willie Baird has gone before : 
 The school, the tempest, and the eerie pain, 
 Seem but a dream, — and I am weary like. 
 I begged old Donald hard— they gave him 
 
 me — 
 And we have lived together in this house, 
 Long years, with no companions. There's no 
 
 need 
 Of speech between us ! Here we dumbly 
 
 bide, 
 But ken each other's sorrow, — and we both 
 Feel weary. When the nights are long and 
 
 cold. 
 And snow is falling as it falleth now. 
 And wintry winds are moaning, here I dream 
 Of Willie and the unfamiliar life 
 I left behind me on the norland hills ! 
 ' Do doggies gang to heaven ? ' Willie ask'd; 
 And ah ! what Solomon of modern days 
 Can answer that? Yet here at nights I sit, 
 Reading the Book, with Donald at my side ; 
 And stooping, with the Book upon my knee, 
 I sometimes gaze in Donald's patient eyes — 
 So sad, so human, though he cannot speak — 
 And think he knows that Willie is at peace, 
 Far far away beyond the norland hills. 
 Beyond the silence of the untrodden snow. 
 
 LORD RONALD'S WIPE. 
 
 Last night I toss'd upon my bed, 
 
 Because I knew that she was dead : 
 
 The curtains were white, the pane was blue. 
 
 The moon peep'd through. 
 
 And its eye was red — 
 ' I would that my love were awake ! ' I said. 
 
 II. 
 Then I rose and the lamp of silver lit. 
 And over the ntshes lightly stept, 
 
 Crept to the door and open'd it, 
 
 And enter'd the room where my lady slept ; 
 And the silver lamp threw a feeble ray 
 Over the bed on which she lay. 
 And sparkled on her golden hair. 
 Smiled on her lip and melted there. 
 And I shudder'd because she look'd so fair; — 
 For the curtains were white and the pane was 
 blue. 
 
 And the moon look'd through. 
 
 And its eye was red : 
 ' I will hold her hand, and think,' I said. 
 
 III. 
 
 And at first I could not think at all. 
 
 Because her hand was so thin and cold ; 
 The gray light flicker'd along the wall. 
 
 And 1 seem'd to be growing old ; 
 I look'd in her face and could not weep, 
 I hated the sound of mine own deep 
 breath. 
 Lest it should startle her from the sleep 
 
 That seem'd too sweet and mild for death. 
 I heard the far-off clock intone 
 So slowly, so slowly — 
 Afar across the courts of stone, 
 The black hound shook his chain with a 
 moan, 
 
 As the village clock chimed slowly, 
 slowly, slowly. 
 I pray'd that she might rise in bed. 
 
 And smile and say one little word, 
 ' I long to see her eyes ! ' I said . . 
 
 I should have shriek'd if she had 
 stirr'd. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I never sinn'd against thee. Sweet ! 
 
 And yet last night, when none could see . . 
 I know not . . but from head to feet, 
 
 I seem'd one scar of infamy : 
 Perhaps because the fingers light 
 I held had grown so worn and white. 
 Perhaps because you look'd so fair. 
 With the thin graylight on your golden hair! 
 
 You were warm, and I was cold, 
 
 Yet you loved me, little one, I knew — 
 
 I could not trifle — I was old — 
 I was wiser, carefuUer, than you ; 
 
 I liked my horse, I liked my hound, 
 
 I liked to hear ih3 trumpet sound, 
 
 F2
 
 84 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. 
 
 Over my wine I liked to chat, 
 
 But soberly, for I had mind : 
 You wanted that, and only that. 
 
 You were as light as is the wind. 
 At times, I know, it fretted me — 
 
 I chid thee mildly now and then — 
 No fault of mine — no blame to thee — 
 
 Women are women, men are men. 
 At first you smiled to see me frown. 
 
 And laughing leapt upon my knee, 
 And kiss'd the chiding shadow down. 
 
 And smooth' d my great beard merrily ; 
 But then a change came o'er you. Sweet ! 
 
 You walk'd about with pensive head ; 
 
 You tried to read, and as you read 
 Patted your small impatient feet :— 
 
 ' She is wiser now ! ' I smiling said . . 
 And ere I doubted — you were dead. 
 
 VI. 
 
 All this came back upon my brain 
 
 While I sat alone at your white bedside. 
 And I remember'd in my pain 
 Those words you spoke before you died — 
 For around my neck your arms you flung. 
 
 And smiled so sweet though death was 
 near — 
 ' I was so foolish and so young ! 
 
 And yet I loved thee ! — kiss me, dear ! ' 
 I put aside your golden hair, 
 
 And kiss'd you, and you went to sleep 
 And when I saw that death was there. 
 
 My grief was cold, I could not weep ; 
 And late last night, when you were dead, 
 I did not weep beside your bed, 
 For the curtains were white, and the pane 
 was blue, 
 And the moon look'd through, 
 And its eye was red — 
 ' How coldly she lies ! ' 1 said. 
 
 vit. 
 Then loud, so loud, before I knew. 
 The gray and black cock scream'd and crew, 
 And I heard the far-off bells intone 
 
 So slowly, so slowly, 
 The black hound bark'd, and I rose with a 
 groan. 
 
 As the village bells chimed slowly, 
 slowly, slowly. 
 I dropp'd the hand so cold and thin, 
 
 I gazed, and your face seem'd still and 
 wise. 
 
 And I saw the damp dull dawn stare in 
 
 Like a dim drown'd face with oozy eyes ; 
 And I open'd the lattice quietly. 
 And the cold wet air came in on me, 
 And I pluck'd two roses with fingers chill 
 From the roses that grew at yotu- window- 
 sill, 
 I pluck'd two roses, a white and a red. 
 Stole again to the side of your bed. 
 Raised the edge of your winding fold, 
 
 Dropp'd the roses upon your breast, 
 Cover'd them up in the balmy cold. 
 
 That none might know — and there they 
 rest ! 
 And out at the castle-gate I crept 
 Into the woods, and then . . I wept ! 
 But to-day they carried you from here, 
 
 And I follow'd your coffin with tearless 
 cheek — 
 They knew not about the roses, dear ! — 
 
 I would not have them think me weak. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And I am weary on my bed 
 Because I know you are cold and dead ; 
 And I see you lie in darkness. Sweet ! 
 With the roses under your winding-sheet ; 
 The days and nights are dreary and cold. 
 And I am fooHsh, and weak, and old. 
 
 POET ANDREW. 
 
 O Loom, that loud art murmuring, 
 What doth he hear thee say or sing ? 
 Thou hummest o'er the dead one's songs, 
 
 He cannot choose but hark, 
 His heart with tearful rapture throngs, 
 
 But all his face grows dark. 
 
 O cottage Fire, that bumest bright, 
 What pictures sees he in thy light ? 
 A chy's smoke, a white white face. 
 
 Phantoms that fade and die, 
 And last, the lonely burial-place 
 
 On the windy hill hard by. 
 
 'Trs near a year since Andrew went to 
 
 sleep — 
 A vdnter and a summer. Yonder bed 
 Is where the boy was born, and where he 
 
 died. 
 And yonder o'er the lowland is his grave : 
 The nook of grass and gowans where in 
 
 thought
 
 POET ANDREW. 
 
 85 
 
 I found you standing at the set o' sun . . 
 The Lord content us — 'tis a weary world. 
 These five-and-twenty years I've wrought 
 
 and wrought 
 In this same dwelling ; — hearken ! you can 
 
 hear 
 The looms that whuzzle-whazzle ben the 
 
 house, 
 Where Jean and Mysie, lassies in their teens, 
 And Jamie, and a neighbour's son beside, 
 Work late and early. Andrew who is dead 
 Was our first-born ; and when he crying 
 
 came. 
 With beaded een and pale old-farrant face. 
 Out of the darkness, Mysie and mysel 
 Were young and heartsome ; and his smile, 
 
 be sure, 
 Made daily toil the sweeter. Hey, his kiss 
 Put honey in the very porridge-pot ! 
 His smile strung threads of sunshine on the 
 
 loom ! 
 And when he hung around his mother's neck, 
 He deck'd her out in jewels and in gold 
 That even ladies envied ! . . Weel ! . . in time 
 Came other children, newer gems and gold, 
 And Andrew quitted Mysie's breast for mine. 
 So years roll'd on, like bobbins on a loom ; 
 And Mysie and mysel' had work to do, 
 And Andrew took his turn among the rest. 
 No sweeter, dearer ; till, one Sabbath day. 
 When Andrew was a curly-pated tot 
 Of sunny summers si.x, I had a crack 
 With Mister Mucklewraith the Minister, 
 Who put his kindly hand on Andrew's head, 
 Call'd him a clever wean, a bonnie wean, 
 Clever at learning, while the mannikin 
 Blush'd red as any rose, and peeping up 
 Went twinkle-twinkle with his round black 
 
 ecu ; 
 And then, while Andrew laugh'd and ran 
 
 awa', 
 The Minister went deeper in his praise, 
 And prophesied he would become in time 
 A man of mark. This set me thinking, sir. 
 And watching,— and the mannock puzzled 
 
 me. 
 
 Would sit for hours upon a stool and draw 
 Droll faces on the slate, while other lads 
 Were shouting at their play ; dumbly would 
 
 lie 
 Beside the Lintock, sailing, piloting. 
 Navies of docken-leaves a summer day ; 
 
 Had learn'd the hymns of Doctor Watts by 
 
 heart 
 And as for old Scots songs, could lilt them 
 
 a' — 
 From Yarrow Braes to Bonnie Bessie Lee~ 
 And where he learn'd them, only Heaven 
 
 knew ; 
 And oft, altho' he feared to sleep his lane, 
 Would cowrie at the threshold in a storm 
 To watch the lightning, — as a birdie sits. 
 With fluttering fearsome heart and dripping 
 
 wings, 
 Among the branches. Once, I mind it weel, 
 In came he, running, with a bloody nose. 
 Part tears, part pleasure, to his fluttering 
 
 heart 
 Holding a callow mavis golden-bill'd, 
 The thin white film of death across its een. 
 And told us, sobbing, how a neighbour's son 
 Harried the birdie's nest, and how by chance 
 He came upon the thief beside the burn 
 Throwing the birdies in to see them swim. 
 And how he fought him, till he yielded up 
 This one, the one remaining of the nest ; — 
 And ' O the birdie 's dying ! ' sobb'd he sore, 
 ' The bonnie birdie *s dying ! ' — till it died ; 
 And Andrew dug a grave behind the house, 
 Buried his dead, and cover'd it with earth. 
 And cut, to mark the grave, a grassy turf 
 Where blew a bunch of govvans. After that, 
 I thought and thought, and thick as bees 
 
 the thoughts 
 Buzz'd to the whuzzle-whazzling of the 
 
 loom — 
 I could make naething of the mannikin ! 
 But by-and-by, when Hope was making hay. 
 And web-work rose, I setded it and said 
 To the good wife, ' 'Tis plain that yonder lad 
 Will never take to weaving — and at school 
 They say he beats the rest at all his tasks 
 Save figures only : I have settled it : 
 Andrew shall be a minister — a pride 
 And comfort to us, Mysie, in our age : 
 He shall to college in a year or twa 
 (If fortune smiles as now) at Edinglass.' 
 You guess the wife open'd her een, cried 
 
 ' Foosh ! ■ 
 And call'd the plan a silly senseless dream, 
 A hopeless, useless castle in the air ; 
 But ere the night was out, I talk'd her o'er, 
 And here she sat, her hands upon her knees, 
 Glow'ring and hcark'ning, as I conjured up, 
 Amid the fog and reek of Edinglass
 
 86 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. 
 
 Life's peaceful gloaming and a godly fame. 
 So it was broach'd, and after many cracks 
 With Mister Mucklewraith, weplann'dita', 
 And day by day we laid a penny by 
 To give the lad when he should quit the 
 bield. 
 
 And years wore on ; r.nd year on year was 
 
 cheer' d 
 By thoughts of Andrew, drest in decent 
 
 black, 
 Throned in a Pulpit, preaching out the 
 
 Word, 
 A house his own, and all the country-side 
 To touch their bonnets to him. Weel, the lad 
 Grew up among us, and at seventeen 
 His hands were genty white, and he was tall, 
 And slim, and narrow-shoulder'd : pale of 
 
 face. 
 Silent, and bashful. Then we first began 
 To feel how muckle more he knew than we, 
 To eye his knowledge in a kind of fear. 
 As folk might look upon a crouching beast, 
 Bonnie, but like enough to rise and bite. 
 Up came the cloud between us silly folk 
 And the young lad that sat among his books 
 Amid the silence of the night ; and oft 
 It pain'd us sore to fancy he would learn 
 Enough to make him look with shame and 
 
 scorn 
 On this old dwelling. 'Twas his viafiner, 
 
 sir! 
 He seldom lookt his father in the face. 
 And when he walkt about the dwelling, 
 
 seem'd 
 Like one superior ; dumbly he would steal 
 To the burnside, or mto Lintlin Woods, 
 With some new-farrant book, — and when I 
 
 peep'd. 
 Behold a book of jingling-jangling rhyme, 
 Fine-written nothings on a printed page, 
 And, press' d between the leaves, a flower 
 
 perchance. 
 Anemone or blue forget-me-not, 
 Piuckt in the grassy woodland. Then I 
 
 look'd 
 Into his drawer, among his papers there, 
 And found — you guess? — a heap of idle 
 
 rhymes. 
 Big-sounding, like the worthless printed 
 
 book : 
 Some in old copies scribbled, some on scraps 
 Of writing paper, others finely writ 
 
 With spirls and flourishes on big white 
 
 sheets. 
 I clench'd my teeth, and groan'd. The 
 
 beauteous dream 
 Of the good Preacher in his braw black dress, 
 With house and income snug, began to fade 
 Before the picture of a drunken loon 
 Bawling out songs beneath the moon and 
 
 stars,— 
 Of poet Willie Clay, who wrote a book 
 About King Robert Bruce, and aye got fou, 
 Andscatter'd stars in verse, and aye got fou. 
 Wept the world's sins, and then got fou, 
 
 again, — 
 Of Ferguson, the feckless limb o' law, — 
 And Robin Burns, who gauged the whisky- 
 casks 
 And brake the seventh commandment. So 
 
 at once 
 I up and said to Andrew, ' You're a fool ! 
 You waste your time in silly senseless verse, 
 Lame as your own conceit : take heed ! take 
 
 heed ! 
 Or, hke your betters, come to grief erelong! ' 
 But Andrew flusht and never spake a word, 
 Yet eyed me sidelong with his beaded een. 
 And turn'd awa', and, as he turn'd, his 
 
 look — 
 Half scorn, half sorrow— stang me. After 
 
 that, 
 I felt he never heeded word of ours. 
 And tho' we tried to teach him common- 
 sense 
 He idled as he pleased ; and many a year, 
 After I spake him first, that look of his 
 Came dark between us, and I held my 
 
 tongue, 
 And felt he scorn'd me for the poetry's sake. 
 This coldness grew and grew, until at last 
 We sat whole nights before the fire and spoke 
 No word to one another. One fine day, 
 Says Mister Mucklewraith to me, says he, 
 ' So ! you've a Poet in your house ! ' and 
 
 smiled ; 
 ' A Poet ? God forbid ! ' I cried ; and then 
 It all came out : how Andrew slyly sent 
 Verse to he paper ; how they printed it 
 In Poet's Corner ; how the printed verse 
 Had cat a girdle in the callant's head ; 
 How Mistress Mucklewraith they thought 
 
 half daft 
 Had cut the verses out and pasted them
 
 POET ANDREW. 
 
 87 
 
 In albums, and had praised them to her 
 
 friends. 
 I said but little ; for my schemes and dreams 
 Were tumbling down like castles in the air, 
 And all my heart seem'd hardening to stone. 
 But after that, in secret stealth, I bought 
 The papers, hunted out the printed verse, 
 And read it like a thief ; thought some were 
 
 good. 
 And others foolish havers, and in most 
 Saw naething, neither common-sense nor 
 
 sound — 
 Words pottle-bellied, meaningless, and 
 
 strange, 
 That strutted up and down the printed page, 
 Like baiUes made to bluster and look big. 
 
 'Twas useless grumbling. All my silent 
 
 looks 
 Were lost, all Mysie's flyting fell on ears 
 . Choke-full of other counsel ; but we talk'd 
 In bed o' nights, and Mysie wept, and I 
 Felt stubborn, wrothful, wrong'd. It was to 
 
 be! 
 But mind you, though we mourn'd, we ne'er 
 
 forsook 
 The college scheme. Our soitow, as we saw 
 Our Andrew growing cold to homely ways. 
 And scornful of the bield, but strengthen'd 
 
 more 
 Our wholesome wish to educate the lad. 
 And do our duty by him, and help him on 
 With our rough hands — the Lord woufd do 
 
 the rest, 
 The Lord would mend or mar him. So at 
 
 last, 
 New-clad from top to toe in homespun cloth. 
 With books and linen in a muckle trunk. 
 He went his way to college ; and we sat, 
 Mysie and me, in weary darkness here ; 
 For tho' the younger bairns were still about, 
 It seem'd our hearts had gone to Edinglass 
 With Andrew, and were choking in the reek 
 Of Edinglass town. 
 
 It was a gruesome fight, 
 Both for oursel's at home, and for the boy. 
 That student life at college. Hard it was 
 To scrape the fees together, but beside. 
 The lad was young and needed meat and 
 
 drink. 
 We sent him meal and bannocks by the train. 
 And country cheeses ; and with this and that, 
 
 Though sorely push'd, he throve, though 
 
 now and then 
 With empty wame : spinning the siller out 
 By teaching grammar in a school at night. 
 Whiles he came home : weary old-farrant 
 
 face 
 Pale from the midnight candle ; bringing 
 
 home 
 Good news of college. Then we shook awa' 
 The old sad load, began to build again 
 Our airy castles, and were hopeful Time 
 Would heal our wounds. But, sir, they 
 
 plagued me still — 
 Some of his ways ! When here, he spent his 
 
 time 
 In yonder chamber, or about the woods. 
 And by the waterside, — and with him books 
 Of poetry, as of old. Mysel' could get 
 But little of his company or tongue ; 
 And when we talkt, atweel, a kind of frost, — 
 My consciousness of silly ignorance. 
 And worse, my knowledge that the lad 
 
 himsel' 
 Felt sorely, keenly, all my ignorant shame, 
 Made talk a torture out of which we crept 
 With burning faces. Could you understand 
 One who was wild as if he found a mine 
 Of golden guineas, when he noticed first 
 The soft green streaks in a snowdrop's inner 
 
 leaves ? 
 And once again, the moonlight glimmering 
 Thro' watery transparent stalks of flax ? 
 A flower's a flower ! . . . But Andrew 
 
 snooved about, 
 Aye finding wonders, mighty mysteries. 
 In things that ilka learless cottar kcnn'd. 
 Now, 'twas the falling snow or murmuring 
 
 rain ; 
 Now, 'twas the laverock singing in the sun. 
 And dropping slowly to the callow young ; 
 Now, an old tune he heard his mother lilt ; 
 And aye those trifles made his pallid face 
 Flush brighter, and his een flash keener far, 
 Than when he heard of yonder storm in 
 
 France, 
 Or a King's death, or, if the like had been, 
 A city's downfall. 
 
 He was born with love 
 For things both great and small : yet seem'd 
 
 to prize 
 The small things best. To nic, it seem'd 
 
 indeed
 
 88 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF IN VERB URN. 
 
 The callant cared for nothing for itsel', 
 But for some special quahty it had 
 To set him thinking, or at least bestow 
 A tearful sense he took for luxury. 
 He loved us in his silent fashion weel ; 
 But in our feckless ignorance we knew 
 'Twas when the hvunomr seized him — with a 
 
 sense 
 Of some queer power we had to waken up 
 The poetry — ay, and help him in his rhyme! 
 A kind of patronising tenderness, 
 A pitying pleasure in our Scottish speech 
 And homely ways, a love that made him note 
 Both ways and speech with the same curious 
 
 joy 
 As fill'd him when he watch'd the birds and 
 
 flowers. 
 
 He was as sore a puzzle to us then 
 As he had been before. It puzzled us, 
 How a big lad, down-cheek'd, almost a man. 
 Could pass his time in silly childish joys . . . 
 Until at last, a hasty letter came 
 From Andrew, telling he had broke awa' 
 From college, pack'd his things, and taken 
 
 train 
 To London city, where he hoped (he said) 
 To make both fortune and a noble fame 
 Thro' a grand poem, carried in his trunk ; 
 How, after struggling on with bitter heart, 
 He could no longer bear to fight his way 
 Among the common scholars ; and the end 
 Bade us be hopeful, trusting God, and sure 
 The light of this old home would guide him 
 
 stiU 
 Amid the reek of evil. 
 
 Sae it was ! 
 We twa were less amazed than you may 
 
 guess. 
 Though we had hoped, and fear'd, and 
 
 hoped, so long ! 
 But it was hard to bear — hard, hard, to bear ! 
 Our castle in the clouds was gone for good ; 
 And as for Andrew— other lads had ta'en 
 The same mad path, and learn'd the bitter 
 
 task 
 Of poverty and tears. She grat. I sat, 
 In silence, looking on the fuffing fire, 
 Where streets and ghaistly faces came and 
 
 went. 
 And London city crumbled down to crush 
 Our Andrew; and my heart was sick and cold. 
 
 Ere long, the news across the country-side 
 Speak quickly, like the crowing of a cock 
 From farm to farm — the women talkt it o'er 
 On doorsteps, o'er the garden rails ; the men 
 Got fu' upon it at the public-house. 
 And whisper'd it among the fields at work. 
 A cry was quickly raised from house to 
 
 house. 
 That all the blame was mine, and canker'd 
 
 een 
 Lookt cold upon me, as upon a kind 
 Of upstart. ' Fie on pride ! ' the whisper said, 
 ' The fault was Andrew's less than those who 
 
 taught 
 His heart to look in scorn on honest work, — 
 Shame on them ! — but the lad, poor lad, 
 
 would learn ! ' 
 O sir, the thought of this spoil'dmany a web 
 In yonder — tingling, tingling, in my ears, 
 Until I fairly threw my gloom aside. 
 Smiled Hke a man whose heart is light and 
 
 young. 
 And with a future -kenning happy look 
 Threw up my chin, and bade them wait and 
 
 see . . . 
 But, night by night, these een lookt London- 
 ways, 
 And saw my laddie wandering all alone 
 'Mid darkness, fog, and reek, growing afar 
 To dark proportions and gigantic shape — 
 Just as the figure of a sheep-herd looms, 
 Awful and silent, thro' a mountain mist ! 
 
 Youmaybe ken the rest. Atfirst, therecame 
 Proud letters, swifdy writ, telling how folk 
 Now roundly call'd him ' Poet, ' holding out 
 Bright pictures, which we smiled at wearily — 
 As people smile at pictures in a book. 
 Untrue but bonnie. Then the letters ceased, 
 There came a silence cold and still as frost, — 
 We sat and hearken'd to our beating hearts, 
 And pray'd as we had never prav'd before. 
 Then lasdy, on the silence broke the news 
 That Andrew, far awa', was sick to death. 
 And, weary, weary of the noisy streets. 
 With aching head and weary hopeless heart. 
 Was coming home from mist and fog and 
 
 noise 
 To grassy lowlands and the caller air. 
 
 'Twas strange, 'twas strange ! — but this, 
 the weary end 
 Of all our bonnie biggins in the clouds.
 
 POET ANDREW. 
 
 89 
 
 Came like a tearful comfort. Love sprang up 
 Out of the ashes of the household fire, 
 Where Hope was fluttering like the loose 
 
 white film ; 
 And Andrew, our own boy, seemed nearer 
 
 now 
 To this old dwelling and our aching hearts 
 Than he had ever been since he became 
 Wise with book-learning. With an eager 
 
 pain, 
 I met him at the train and brought him 
 
 home ; 
 And when we met that sunny day in hairst. 
 The ice that long had sunder'd us had 
 
 thaw'd, 
 We met in silence, and our een were dim. 
 Ah ! — I can see that look of his this night ! 
 Part pain, part tenderness — a weary look 
 Yearning for comfort such as God the Lord 
 Puts into parents' een. I brought him here. 
 Gently we set him down beside the fire, 
 And spake few words, and hush'd the noisy 
 
 house ; 
 Then eyed his hollow cheeks and lustrous 
 
 een. 
 His clammy hueless brow and faded hands. 
 Blue vein'd and white like lily-flowers. The 
 
 wife 
 Forgot the sickness of his face, and moved 
 With light and happy footstep but and ben. 
 As though she welcomed to a merry feast 
 A happy guest. In time, out came the truth : 
 Andrew was dying : in his lungs the dust 
 Of cities stole unseen, and hot as fire 
 Burnt — like a deil's red een that gazed at 
 
 Death. 
 Too late for doctor's skill, tho' doctor's skill 
 We had in plenty ; but the ill had ta'en 
 Too sure a grip. Andrew was dying, dying : 
 The beauteous dream had melted like a mist 
 The sunlight feeds on : a' remaining now 
 Was Andrew, bare and barren of his pride. 
 Stark of conceit, a weel-beloved child. 
 Helpless to help himsel', and dearer thus. 
 As when his yaumer * — like the com-craik's 
 
 cry 
 Heard in a field of wheat at dead o' night — 
 Brake on the hearkening darkness of the 
 
 bield. 
 
 And as he nearer grew to God the Lord, 
 ' Yaumer, a child's cry. 
 
 Nearer and dearer ilka day he grew 
 To Mysie and mysel' — our own to love, 
 The world's no longer. For the first last 
 
 time. 
 We twa, the lad and I, could sit and crack 
 With open hearts — free-spoken, at our ease ; 
 I seem'd to know as muckle then as he, 
 Because I was sae sad. 
 
 Thus grief, sae deep 
 It flow'd without a murmur, brought the 
 
 balm 
 Which blunts the edge of worldly sense and 
 
 makes 
 Old people weans again. In this sad time, 
 We never troubled at his childish ways ; 
 We seem'd to share his pleasure when he sat 
 List'ning to birds upon the eaves ; we felt 
 Small wonder when we found him weeping 
 
 o'er 
 His old torn books of pencill'd thoughts and 
 
 verse ; 
 And if, outbye, I saw a bonnie flower, 
 I pluckt it carefully and bore it home 
 To my sick boy. To me, it somehow seem'd 
 His care for lovely earthly things had 
 
 changed — 
 Changed from the curious love it once had 
 
 been, 
 Grown larger, bigger, holier, peacefuller ; 
 And though he never lost the luxury 
 Of loving beauteous things for poetry's sake. 
 His heart was God the Lord's, and he was 
 
 calm. 
 Death came to lengthen out his solemn 
 
 thoughts 
 Like shadows to the sunset. So we ceased 
 To wonder. What is folly in a lad 
 Healthy and heartsome, one with work to 
 
 do. 
 Befits the freedom of a dying man. . . 
 Mother, who chided loud the idle lad 
 Of old, now sat her sadly by his side. 
 And read from out the Bible soft and low, 
 Or lilted lowly, keeking in his face. 
 The old Scots songs that made his een so 
 
 dim ! 
 I went about my daily work as one 
 Who waits to hear a knocking at the door. 
 Ere Death creeps in and shadows those that 
 
 watch ; 
 And seated here at e'en i' the ingleside,
 
 90 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. 
 
 I watch'd the pictures in the fire and smoked 
 My pipe in silence ; for my head was fu' 
 Of many rhymes the lad had made of old 
 (Rhymes I had read in secret, as I said), 
 No one of which I minded till they came 
 Unsummon'd, murmuring about my ears 
 Like bees among the leaves. 
 
 The end drew near. 
 Came Winter moaning, and the Doctor said 
 That Andrew couldna live to see the Spring ; 
 And day by day, while frost was hard at 
 
 work. 
 The lad grew weaker, paler, and the blood 
 Came redder from the lung. One Sabbath 
 
 day — 
 The last of winter, for the caller air 
 Was drawing sweetness from the barks of 
 
 trees — 
 When down the lane, I saw to my surprise 
 A snowdrop blooming underneath a birk. 
 And gladly pluckt the flower to carry home 
 To Andrew. Ere I reach'd the bield, the 
 
 air 
 Was thick wi' snow, and ben in yonder room 
 I found him, Mysie seated at his side, 
 Drawn to the window in the old arm-chair, 
 Gazing with lustrous een and sickly cheek 
 Out on the shower, that waver'd softly down 
 In glistening siller glamour. Saying nought. 
 Into his hand I put the year's first flower. 
 And turn'd awa' to hide my face ; and he . . 
 . . He smiled . . and at the smile, I knew 
 
 not why, 
 It swam upon us, in a frosty pain. 
 The end of a' was come at last, and Death 
 Was creeping ben, his shadow on our hearts. 
 We gazed on Andrew, call'd him by his 
 
 name. 
 And touch'd him softly . . and he lay awhile, 
 His een upon the snow, in a dark dream. 
 Yet neither heard nor saw ; but suddenly, 
 He shook awa' the vision wi' a smile, 
 Raised lustrous een, still smiling, to the sky. 
 Next upon us, then dropt them to the flower 
 That trembled in his hand, and murmur'd 
 
 low, 
 Like one that gladly murmurs to himsel" — 
 ' Out of the Snow, the Snowdrop — out of 
 
 Death 
 Comes Life ; ' then closed his eyes and made 
 
 a moan. 
 And never snake another word again. 
 
 . . And you think weel of Andrew's book ? 
 
 You think 
 That folk will love him, for the poetry's 
 
 sake. 
 Many a year to come ? We take it kind 
 You speak so weel of Andrew ! — As for me, 
 I can make naething of the printed book ; 
 I am no scholar, sir, as I have said. 
 And Mysie there can just read print a 
 
 wee. 
 Ay ! we are feckless, ignorant of the world ! 
 And though 'twere joy to have our boy again 
 And place him far above our lowly house. 
 We like to think of Andrew as he was 
 When, dumb and wee, he hung his helpless 
 
 arms 
 Round Mysie's neck ; or — as he is this 
 
 night — 
 Lying asleep, his face to heaven — asleep. 
 Near to our hearts, as when he was a bairn, 
 Without the poetry and human pride 
 That came between us to our grief, langsyne! 
 
 WHITE LILY OF WEARD ALE- 
 HEAD. 
 
 THE ELVES. 
 
 All day the sunshine loves to dwell 
 Upon the pool of Weardale Well ; 
 But when the sunbeams shine no more 
 
 The Monk stalks down the moonlit dell : 
 His robe is black, his hair is hoar, 
 
 He sits him down by Weardale Well ; 
 He hears the water moan below. 
 He sees a face as white as snow, 
 His nightly penance there is done, 
 And he shall never see the sun. 
 
 THE MONK. 
 
 Hear them, old Anatomy ! 
 Down the glade I see them flee — 
 White-robed Elfins, three times three I 
 
 THE ELVES. 
 
 Night by night, in pale moonlight. 
 The Monk shall tell his story o'er. 
 
 And the grinning Gnome with teeth of white 
 Hearkeneth laughing evermore ; 
 
 His nightly penance thus is done — 
 
 And he shall never see the sun 1
 
 WHITE LILY OF WEARDALE-HEAD. 
 
 9' 
 
 THE GNOME. 
 
 Ever new and ever old, 
 Comrade, be thy story told, 
 While the face as white as snow 
 Sighs upon the pool below. 
 
 THE MONK. 
 
 ' I love the sunshine,' said 
 White Lily of Weardale-head. 
 
 And underneath the greenwood tree. 
 
 She wander' free, she wander'd bold ; 
 The merry sun smiled bright to see, 
 
 And turn'd her yellow hair to gold : 
 Then the bee, and the moth, and the 
 butterfly 
 
 Hunting for sweets in the vi'ood-bowers 
 fair. 
 Rose from the blooms as she wander'd by. 
 
 And played in the light of her shining hair. 
 She sat her down by Weardale Well, 
 And her gleaming ringlets rustled and fell. 
 Clothing her round with a golden glow, 
 And her shadow was light for the pool below ; 
 Then tlie yellow adder fold in fold 
 Writhed from his lair in the grass and roU'd 
 With glittering scales in a curl o' the gold : 
 She stroked his head with her finger light. 
 
 And he gazed with still and glistening eye; 
 And she laught and clapt her hands of white. 
 And overhead the sun went by 
 Thro' the azure gulfs of a cloudless sky ; 
 ' All things that love the sun, love me, 
 And O but the sun is sweet to see. 
 And I love to look on the sun,' said she. 
 
 But the Abbess gray of Lintlin Brae 
 Hated to look on the light of day ; 
 She mumbled prayers, she counted beads. 
 
 She whipt and whipt her shoulders bare, 
 She slept on a bed of straw and reeds. 
 
 And wore a serk of horse's hair. 
 By candle-light she sat and read, 
 
 And heard a song from far away, 
 She cross'd herself and raised her head — 
 
 ' Who sings so loud ? ' said the Abbess 
 gray. 
 I, who sat both early and late 
 A shadow black at the Abbey gate, 
 ' Mater sacra, it is one 
 Who wanders evermore in the sun, 
 
 A little maiden of Weardale-head, 
 
 Whose father and mother have long been 
 
 dead. 
 But she loves to wander in greenwood 
 
 bowers, 
 Singing and plucking the forest flowers." 
 The Abbess frown'd, half quick, half dead, 
 ' There is a sin ! ' the Abbess said. 
 
 I found her singing a ditty wild. 
 
 Her gleaming locks around her roll'd ; 
 I seized her while she sang and smiled, 
 
 And dragged her along by the hair of gold: 
 The moth and butterfly, fluttering, 
 
 Follow'd me on to Lintlin Brae, 
 The adder leapt at my heart to sting. 
 
 But with sandall'd heel I thrust it away ; 
 And the bee dropt down ere I was 'ware 
 On the hand that gript the yellow hair. 
 And stang me deep, and I cursed aloud. 
 And the sun went in behind a cloud ! 
 
 THE ELVES. 
 
 Nightly be his penance done 1 
 He shall never see the sun ! 
 
 THE MONK. 
 
 The cell was deep, the cell was cold, 
 It quench'd the light of her hair of gold ; 
 One httle loop alone was there. 
 
 One little eye-hole letting in 
 
 A slender ray of light as thin 
 As a tress of yellow hair. 
 
 ' Oh for the sunshine ! ' said 
 White Lily of Weardale-head ; 
 And in the dark she lay. 
 
 Reaching her fingers small 
 To feel the little ray 
 
 That glimmer'd down the wall. 
 
 And while she liiiger'd white as snow 
 She heard a fluttering faint and low ; 
 And stealing thro' the looplet thin 
 The moth and butterfly crept in — 
 With golden shadows as they flew 
 
 They waver' d up and down in air, 
 Then dropping slowly ere she knew. 
 
 Fell on her eyes and rested there : 
 And O she slept with balmy sighs, 
 
 Dreaming a dream of golden day, 
 The shining insects on her eyes, 
 
 Their shadows on h(^r cheeks, she lay ;
 
 92 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF IN VERB URN. 
 
 And while she smiled on pleasant lands, 
 
 On the happy sky and wood and stream, 
 I, creeping in with outstretch'd hands, 
 
 Murder' d the things that brought the 
 dream. 
 She woke and stretch'd her hands and 
 smiled, 
 
 Then gazed around with sunless eyes. 
 Her white face gloom'd, her heart went wild, 
 
 She sank with tears and sighs. 
 ' Oh for the sunshine 1 ' said 
 White Lily of Weardale-head. 
 
 And while she lay with cries and tears, 
 There came a humming in her ears ; 
 And stealing through the looplet thin 
 The yeUovv honey-bee crept in, 
 And hover'd round with summer sound 
 
 Round and around the gloomy cell ; 
 
 Then softly on her lips he fell, 
 And moisten'd them with sweetness found 
 
 Among the flowers by Weardale Well ; 
 And O she smiled and sang a song, 
 
 And closed her eyelids in the shade, 
 And thought she singing walkt among 
 
 The lily-blooms in the greenwood glade. 
 I heard the song and downward crept, 
 
 And enter'd cold and black as sin, 
 And slew, although she raved and wept. 
 
 The bee that brought the sweetness in : 
 ' Oh for the sunshine ! ' said 
 White Lily of Weardale-head. 
 
 And while she lay as white as snow 
 She heard a hissing sad and low ; 
 And writhing through the looplet thin 
 The little yellow snake crept in : 
 His golden coils cast shadows dim. 
 
 With glistening eye he writhed and crept. 
 And while she smiled to welcome him, 
 
 Into her breast he stole, and slept ; 
 And O his coils fell warm and sweet 
 Upon her heart and husht its beat. 
 And softest thrills of pleasure deep 
 Ran through her, though she could not sleep, 
 But lay with closed eyes awake. 
 Her little hand upon the snake — 
 • All things that love the sun, love me. 
 And O but the sun is sweet to see ! 
 And I long to look on the sun," said she. 
 
 Then down, on sandall'd foot, I crept. 
 To kill the snake that heal'd the pang, 
 
 But up, with waving arms, she leapt. 
 
 And out across the threshold sprang, 
 And up the shadowy Abbey stairs. 
 Past the gray Abbess at her prayers, 
 Through the black court with leap and 
 
 run, 
 Out at the gate, and into the sun ! 
 There for a space she halted, blind 
 
 With joy to feel the light again, 
 But heard my rushing foot behind 
 
 And sped along the Abbey lane ; 
 The sunshine made her strong and fleet, 
 
 As on she fled by field and fold, 
 Her shining locks fell to her feet 
 
 In ring on ring of living gold ; 
 But the sun went in behind a cloud. 
 
 As I gript her by the shining locks, 
 I gript them tight, I laught aloud, 
 
 The echoes rang through woods and 
 rocks ; 
 Moaning she droopt, then up she sprang, 
 The adder leapt at my heart and stang. 
 And like a flash o' the light she fell 
 Into the depths of Weardale Well ! 
 The adder stang with fatal fang, 
 Around 1 whirl'd and shriek'd and sprang, 
 
 Then leU and struggled, clenching teeth ; 
 Then to the oozy grass I clang, 
 
 And gazed upon the pool beneath ; 
 The wliite death-film was on mine eye, 
 Yet look d 1 down in agony ; 
 And as 1 look'd in throes of death, 
 In shinmg bubbles rose her breath 
 And burst in httle rings of hght, 
 
 And upward came a moaning sound ; 
 But suddenly the sun shone bright, 
 
 And all the place was gold around, 
 And to the surface, calm and dead, 
 Uprose White Lily of Weardale-head : 
 Her golden hair around her blown 
 Made gentle radiance of its own ; 
 lier face was turn'd to the summer sky 
 
 With smile that seem'd to live and speak, 
 The golden moth and butterfly. 
 
 With glowing shadows, on her cheek ; 
 And lying on her lips apart 
 
 The honey-bee with w ings of gold, 
 And sleeping softly on her heart 
 
 The yellow adder fold in fold ; 
 And as I closed mine eyes to die, 
 Overhead the sun went by 
 Through the azure gulfs of a cloudless 
 sky 1
 
 WHITE LILY OF WEARDALE-HEAD. 
 
 93 
 
 THE EI.VES. 
 
 All dr\y the sunshine loves to dwell 
 Upon the sleep of Weardale Well ; 
 All day there is a gentle sound, 
 
 And little insects pause and sing, 
 The butterfly and moth float round, 
 
 The bee drops down with hummin;; wing, 
 And all the pool lies clear and cold, 
 Yet glittering like hair of gold. 
 All day the Monk in hollow shell 
 
 Lies dumb among the Abbey-tombs, 
 
 While, in the grass and foxglove-blooms. 
 The adder basks by Weardale Well ; 
 But the adder stings his heart by night : 
 
 His tale is told, his penance done, 
 His eyes are dark, they long for light. 
 
 Yet they shall never see the sun ! 
 
 THE ENGLISH HUSWIFE'S 
 GOSSIP. 
 
 A ploughman's English wife, bright-eyed, sharp- 
 
 speech'd, 
 Plump as a pillow, fresh as clothes new-bleach 'd : 
 The firelight dancing ruddy on her cheeks, 
 Irons Tom's Sunday linen as she speaks. 
 
 At three-and-forty, simple as a child, 
 Soft as a sheep yet curious as a daw. 
 Wise, cunning, in a fashion of his own. 
 Queer, watchful, strange, a puzzle to us 
 
 all:— 
 That's John ! 
 
 My husband's brother — seven years 
 Younger than Tom. When we were newly 
 
 wed, 
 John came to dwell with Tom and me for 
 
 good, 
 And now has dwelt beside us twenty years. 
 But now, at forty-three, is breaking fast, 
 Grows weaker, brain and body, every day. 
 At times he works, and earns his meat and 
 
 drink. 
 At times is sick, and lies and moans in bed, 
 Beside the noisy racket up and down 
 He makes when he is glad. A natural ! 
 Man-bodied, but in many things a child ; 
 Unfinish'd somewhere — where, the Lord 
 
 knows best 
 
 Who made and guards him ; wiser, craftier, 
 
 Than Tom, or any other man I know. 
 
 In tiny things few men perceive at all ; 
 
 No fool at cooking, clever at his work. 
 
 Thoughtful when Tom is senseless and un- 
 kind. 
 
 Kind with a grace that sweetens silent- 
 ness, — 
 
 But weak when other working-men are 
 strong. 
 
 And strong where they are weak. An angry 
 word 
 
 From one he loves, — and off he creeps in 
 pain — 
 
 Perhaps to ease his tender heart in tears. 
 
 But easy-sadden'd, sir, is easy-pleased ! 
 
 Give him the babe to nurse, he sits him 
 down, 
 
 Smiles like a woman, and is glad at heart. 
 
 Crazed ? There's the question ! Mister 
 Mucklewraith, 
 Yourfriend — and John's as well — will answer 
 
 'No!' 
 And often has he scolded when I seem'd 
 To answer ' Yea.' Of late the weary limbs 
 Have tried the weary brain, that every day 
 Grows feebler, duller ; yet the Minister 
 Still stands his friend and helps him as he 
 
 can. 
 'Tender of heart,' says Mister Muckle- 
 wraith, 
 ' Tender of heart, goodwife, is wise of head: 
 If John is weak, his heart is to be blamed ; 
 And can the erring heart of mortal be 
 O'er gentle ? ' Hey, 'tis little use to talk ! 
 The Minister is soft at heart as he ! 
 
 Talk of the . . . John I and home again 
 
 so soon ? 
 The children are at school, the dinner o'er, 
 Tom still is busy working at the plough. 
 Weary ? — then sit you dovm and rest awhile. 
 John fears all strangers — is ashamed to 
 
 speak — 
 But stares and counts his fingers o'er as now, 
 Yet — trust him ! — when you vanish he will 
 
 tell 
 The colour of your hair, your hat, your 
 
 clothes. 
 The number of the buttons on your coat — 
 Eh, J ohn ? — he laughs— as sly as sly can be I
 
 94 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF LNVERBURN. 
 
 Now, run to Tom — as quickly as you can — 
 Say he is wanted by tlie gentleman 
 [Tom knows the name] from Mister Muckle- 
 wraith's. 
 
 Off, like an arrow from a bow, you see ! 
 That's nothing ! John would run until he 
 
 dropt 
 For me, and need no thanking but a smile, 
 Would work and work his fingers to the 
 
 bone, 
 Do aught I asked, without or in the house, — 
 And just because I cheer him merrily 
 And speak him kindly. Tom he little likes. 
 And would not budge a single step to serve. 
 For Tom is rough, and says I humour him. 
 And mocks him for his silly childish ways. 
 And Tom has reason to be wToth at times ! 
 But yesterday John sat him on a stool, 
 And ripp'd the bellows up, to find from 
 
 where 
 The wind came ! slowly did it bit by bit. 
 As sage as Solomon, and when 'twas done 
 Just scratch'd his head, still puzzled, creep- 
 ing off 
 To some still corner in the meadow, there 
 To think the puzzle out in peace alone ! 
 There is his weakness — curiosity ! 
 Those watchful, prying, curious eyes of his, 
 That like a cat's see better in the dark. 
 Are ne'er at rest ; his hands and eyes and 
 
 ears 
 Are eager getting knowledge, — when 'tis 
 
 got 
 Lord knoweth in what comer of his head 
 He hides it, but it ne'er sees light again ! 
 
 Oft he reminds me of a painter lad 
 TVTio came to Inverburn a summer since. 
 Went poking everywhere with pallid face. 
 Thought, painted, wander'd in the woods 
 
 alone, 
 Work'd a long morning at a leaf or flower. 
 And got the name of clever. John and he 
 Made friends — a thing I never could make 
 
 out ; 
 But, bless my life ! it seem'd to me the lad 
 Was just a John who had learnt to read and 
 
 paint ! 
 
 He buys a coat : what does he first, but 
 count 
 The pockets and the buttons one by one — 
 
 A mighty calculation sagely summ'd ; 
 Our eldest daughter goes to Edinglass, 
 Brings home a box — ^John eyes the box with 
 
 greed. 
 And next, we catch him in the lassie's room, 
 The box wide open, John upon the floor. 
 And in his hand a bonnet, eyed and eyed, 
 Tum'd o'er and o'er, examined bit by bit. 
 Like something wondrous as a tumbled star! 
 Our youngest has a gift — a box of toys, 
 A penny trumpet — not a wink for John 
 Till he has seen the whole, or by and by 
 He gives the child a sixpence for the toy, 
 And creeps away and cuts it up to bits 
 In wonder and in joy. It makes me cry 
 For fun to watch his pranks, the natural ! 
 But think not, sir, that he was ever so : — 
 Nay ! twenty years ago but few could tell 
 That he was simpler than the rest of men — 
 His step was firm, he kept his head erect, 
 Could hold his tongue, because he knew full 
 
 well 
 That he was not so clever as the rest. — 
 Now, when his wits have gone so fast asleep, 
 He thinks he is the wisest man of men ! 
 Yet, sir, his heart is kindly to the core, 
 Tho' sensitive to touch as fly-trap flowers : 
 He loves them best that seem to think him 
 
 wise, 
 Consult him, notice him, and those that 
 
 mock 
 His tenderness be never will forgive. 
 Money he saves to buy the children gifts — 
 Clothes, toys, whate'er he fancies like to 
 
 please — 
 And many of his ways so tender are, 
 So gentle and so good, it fires my blood 
 To see him vex'd and troubled. Just a child ! 
 He weeps in silence, if a little ill ; 
 A cold, a headache — he is going to die ; 
 But then, again, he can be trusted, sir ! 
 (Ye cannot say the hke of many men !) 
 Tell him a secret, — torture, death itself, 
 Would fail to make him whisper and betray. 
 
 Nay, sit you down— and smoke? Ay, 
 smoke your fill : 
 Both John and father like their cutty-pipe ; 
 Tom will be here as fast as he can come ; 
 And I can chat and talk as well as work, 
 
 John, simple as he is, has had his cares : 
 They came upon him in his younger days
 
 THE ENGLTSH HUSWIFE'S GOSSIP. 
 
 95 
 
 When he was tougher-hearted, and I think 
 They help'd to make him silly as he is : 
 Time that has stolen all his httle wits, 
 By just a change of chances, might have 
 
 made 
 Our John another man and strengthen'd 
 
 him ; 
 The current gave a swirl, and caught the 
 
 straw. 
 And John was doom'd to be a natural ! 
 Oft when he sits and smokes his pipe and 
 
 thinks, 
 I know by his downcast eyes and quivering 
 
 lips 
 His heart is aching ; but he ne'er complains 
 Of that — the sorest thought he has to bear. 
 I know he thinks of Jessie Glover then ; 
 But let him be, till o'er his head the cloud 
 Passes, and leaves a meekness and a hush 
 Upon the heart it shadow'd. Jessie, sir? — 
 She was a neighbour's daughter in her teens, 
 A bold and forward huzzie, tho' her face 
 Was pretty in its way : a jet-black eye, 
 I ed cheeks, black eyebrows, and a comely 
 
 shape 
 The petticoat and short-govra suited well. 
 In here she came and stood and talk'd for 
 
 hours 
 [Her tongue was like a bell upon a sheep — 
 Her very motion seem'd to make it jing] 
 And, ere 1 guess'd it, John and she were 
 
 friends. 
 She pierced the silly with her jet-black eye, 
 Humour'd him ever, seem'd to think him 
 
 wise, 
 Was serious, gentle, kindly, to his face. 
 And, ere I guess'd, so flatter'd his conceit 
 That, tho' his lips were silent at her side, 
 He grew a mighty man behind her back. 
 Held up his head in gladness and in pride, 
 And seem'd to have an errand in the world. 
 At first I laugh'd and banter'd with the rest — 
 'How's Jessie, John?" and 'Name the 
 
 happy day ; ' 
 And, ' Have ye spoken to the minister?" 
 Thinking it just a joke ; and when the lass 
 Would sit by John, her arm about his neck. 
 Holding his hand in hers, and humour him. 
 Yet laugh her fill behind the silly's back, 
 I let it pass. I little liked her ways — 
 I guess'd her heart was tough as cobbler's 
 
 wax — 
 Yet what of that ?— 'Twas but a piece of fun. 
 
 A piece of fun ! — 'Twas serious work to 
 
 John I 
 The huzzie lured him with her wicked eyes, 
 And danced about him, ever on the watch, 
 Like pussie yonder playing with a mouse. 
 I saw but little of them, never dream'd 
 They met unknown to me ; but by and by 
 The country-side was ringing with the talk 
 That John and she went walking thro' the 
 
 fields. 
 Sat underneath the slanted harvest sheaves 
 Watching the glimmer of the silver moon. 
 Met late and early — courted night and day — 
 John earnest as you please, and Jess for fun. 
 I held my peace awhile, and used my eyes I 
 New bows and ribbons upon Jessie's back. 
 Cheap brooches, and a bonnet once or twice. 
 Proved that the piece of fun paid Jessie well. 
 And showed why John no longer spent his 
 
 pence 
 In presents to the boys. I saw it all. 
 But, pitying John, afraid to give him pain 
 I spake to Jessie, sharply bade her heed, 
 Cried ' shame ' upon her, for her heartless- 
 
 ness. 
 The huzzie laugh'd and coolly went her way, 
 And after that came hither nevermore 
 To talk and clatter. But the cruel sport 
 Went on, I found. One day, to my surprise. 
 Up came a waggon to the cottage door, 
 John walking by the side, and while I stared 
 He quickly carried to the kitchen here, 
 A table, chairs, a wooden stool, a broom, 
 Two monster saucepans, and a washing tub. 
 And last, a roll of blankets and of sheets. 
 The waggon went away, here linger'd John 
 Among the things, and blushing red says he, 
 ' I bought them all at Farmer Simpson's 
 
 sale — 
 Ye'll keep them till I need them for myself I ' 
 And then walk'd out. Long time I stood 
 
 and stared. 
 Puzzled, amazed ; but by-and-by I saw 
 The meaning of it all. Alas for John 1 
 The droll beginning of a stock in trade 
 Yorjnarriage stood before me ! Jessie's eyes 
 And lying tongue had made him fairly 
 
 crazed. 
 And ta'en the little wits he had to spare. 
 With flashing face, set teeth, away I ran 
 To Jessie — found her washing at a tub. 
 Covered with soap-suds— and I told her all ; 
 And for a while she could not speak a word
 
 o6 
 
 IDYLS AMD LEGENDS OF INVRRBURN. 
 
 For laughter. ' Shame upon ye, shame, 
 
 shame, shame ! 
 Thus to misuse the lad who loves 3'e so ! 
 Mind, Jessie Glover, folks with scanty brains 
 Have hearts that can be broken ! ' Still she 
 
 laugh'd ! 
 While tears of mirth ran down her crimson 
 
 cheeks 
 And mingled with the frothy suds of soap ; 
 But, trust me, sir, I went not home again 
 Till Jessie's parents knew her wickedness ; 
 And last, I wrung a promise from her lips 
 From that day forth to trouble John no more, 
 To let him know her fondness was a joke. 
 Pass by him in the street without a word. 
 And, though perhaps his gentle heart might 
 
 ache. 
 Shake him as one would shake a drunken 
 
 man 
 Until his sleepy wits awoke again. 
 
 I watch'd that Jessie Glover kept her word. 
 
 That night, when John was seated here 
 alone, 
 Smoking his pipe, and dreaming as I guess'd 
 Of Jessie Glover and a wedding ring, 
 1 stole behind him silently and placed 
 My hand upon his shoulder : when he saw 
 The shadow on my face, he trembled, 
 
 flush'd, 
 And knew that I was sad. I sank my voice. 
 And gently as I could I spake my mind, 
 Spake like a mother, told him he was wrong, 
 That Jessie only was befooling him 
 And laugh'd his love to scorn behind his 
 
 back. 
 And last, to soothe his pain, I rail'd at her, 
 Hoping to make him angry. Here he sat, 
 And let his pipe go out, and hung his head. 
 And never answer'd back a single word. 
 'Twas hard, 'twas hard, to make him under- 
 stand ! 
 He could not, would not ! All his heart was 
 
 wrapt 
 In Jessie Glover ; and at twenty-three 
 A full-grown notion thrusts its roots so deep, 
 'Tis hard indeed to drag it up without 
 Tearing the heart as well. Without a word. 
 He crept away to bed. Next morn, his eyes 
 Were red with weeping — but 'twas plain to 
 
 see 
 He thought I wrong'd both Jessie and him- 
 self. 
 
 That morning Jessie pass'd him on the 
 
 road : 
 He ran to speak — she toss'd her head and 
 
 laugh'd — 
 And sneering pass'd him by. All day he 
 
 wrought 
 In silence at the plough — ne'er had he borne 
 A pang so quietly. At gloaming hour 
 Home came he, weary : here was I alone : 
 Stubborn as stone he turn'd his head away. 
 Sat on his stool before the fire and smoked ; 
 Then while he smoked I saw his eyes were 
 
 wet : 
 ' John ! ' and I placed my hand upon his arm. 
 He turn'd, seem'd choking, tried in vain to 
 
 speak. 
 Then fairly hid his face and wept aloud,— 
 But never wept again. 
 
 The days pass'd on. 
 I held my tongue, and left the rest to time. 
 And warn'd both father and the boys. My 
 
 heart 
 Was sore for John ! He was so dumb and 
 
 sad. 
 Never complaining as he did of old. 
 And toiling late and early. By-and-by, 
 ' Jenny,' says he, as quiet as a lamb, 
 ' Ye'U keep the things I bought at Simpson's 
 
 sale — 
 I do not need them now ! ' and tried to smile, 
 But could not WeU, I thank'd him cheerily, 
 Nor seem'd to see his heart was aching so : 
 Then after that the boys got pence from 
 
 John, — 
 The smaller playthings, and the bigger 
 
 clothes : 
 He eased his heart by spending as of old 
 His money on the like. 
 
 Well may you cry 
 Shame, shame on Jessie ! Heartless, grace- 
 less lass ! 
 I could have whipt her shoulders with a 
 
 staff !— 
 But One above had sorer tasks in store. 
 Ere long the village, like a peal of bells. 
 Rang out the tale that Jessie was a thief. 
 Had gone to Innis Farm to work a week, 
 And stolen Maggie Fleming's watch and 
 
 chain — 
 They found them in her trunk with scores 
 of things
 
 THE ENGLISH HUSWIFE'S GOSSIP 
 
 97 
 
 From poorer houses. Woe to Jessie then 
 If Farmer Fleming had unkindly been, 
 Nor spared her for her sickly father's sake ! 
 The punishment was spared — she kept the 
 
 shame ! 
 The scandal rose, with jingling-jangling din, 
 And chattering lasses, wives, and mothers 
 
 join'd. 
 At first she saw not that the sin was guess'd; 
 But slowly, one by one, her lassie friends. 
 Her very bosom-gossips, shook her off : 
 She heard the din, she blush'd and hid her 
 
 face, 
 Shrinking away and trembling as with cold, 
 Like Eve within the garden when her mouth 
 Was bitter with the apple of the Tree. 
 
 One night, when John returned from 
 
 work and took 
 His seat upon the stool beside the fire, 
 1 saw he knew the truth. For he was 
 
 changed ! 
 His look was dark, his voice was loud, his 
 
 eyes 
 Had lost their meekness ; when we spoke 
 
 to him. 
 He flush'd and answer'd sharply. He had 
 
 heard 
 The tale of Jessie's shame and wickedness, — 
 What thouglu he of it all ? Believe me, sir, 
 He was a riddle still : in many things 
 So peevish and so simple, but in one — 
 His silly dream of Jessie Glover's face — 
 So manly and so dumb, — with power to hide 
 His sorrow in his heart and turn away 
 Like one that shuts his eyes when men pass 
 
 by 
 Rut looks on Him. 'Twas natural to think 
 John would have taken angry spiteful joy 
 In Jessie's fall, — for he was ever slow 
 I'urgctting and forgiving injuries ; 
 But no ! his voice was dumb, his eyes were 
 
 fierce, 
 Yetchieflywhen they mention'djessin scorn, 
 He seem'd confused and would not under- 
 stand, 
 Perple.xt as when he breaks the children's 
 
 toys. 
 
 Now, bold as Jessie was, she could not 
 bear 
 The shame Irer sin had brought her, and 
 wheneer 
 
 We met she tingled to the finger-tips ; 
 And soon she fled away to Edinglass 
 To hide among the smoke. It came to pass, 
 The Sabbath after she had flitted off, 
 That Mister Mucklewraith (God bless him !) 
 
 preach'd 
 One of those gentle sermons low and sad 
 Wherewith he gathers wheat for Him he 
 
 serves': 
 The text— let him who is sinless cast the first 
 Stone at the sinner; and we knew he preach'd 
 Of Jessie Glover. Hey I to hear him talk 
 Ye would have sworn that Jessie was a saint. 
 An injured thing for folk to pet and coax ! 
 But tho' ye know 'twas folly, spiinging up 
 Out of a heart so kindly to the core, 
 Your eyes were dim with tears while hearken- 
 ing— 
 He spake so low and sadly. John was there. 
 
 And early down the stairs came John next 
 
 day 
 Drest in his Sabbath clothes. ' I'm going 
 
 away,' 
 He whispers, ' for a day or maybe two — 
 Don't be afraid if I'm away at night, 
 And do not speak to Tom ; ' and oft he ran 
 Ere I could question. When the evening 
 
 came. 
 No sign of John ! Night pass'd, and not 
 
 a sign 
 
 Tom sought him far and near withotit aval'. 
 The next night came, and we were sitting here 
 Weary and pensive, wondering, listening, 
 To every step that pass'd, when in stept John, 
 And .sat beside the fire, and when we ask'd 
 Where he had been, he snapt us short and 
 
 crept 
 Away to bed. 
 
 Rut by-and-by, I heard 
 The truth from John himself— a truth indeed 
 That was and is a puzzle, will remain 
 A puzzle to the end. And can ye guess 
 Where John had been ? Away in fulinglass, 
 At Jessie Glover's side, holding her hand 
 And looking in her eyes 1 
 
 'Jessie I ' he said ; 
 And while she stared stood scraping with his 
 
 shoes. 
 And humm'd and haw'd and staniiner'il out 
 
 a speech. 
 Whose sense, made clear and shortcn'd. 
 came to this : 
 
 H
 
 98 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. 
 
 The country folk thatcall'd her cruel names 
 And mock'd her so, had done the same by 
 
 him ! 
 He did not five a straw for what they said ! 
 He did not give a straw, and why should she? 
 And tho' she laugh'd before, perchance 
 
 when folk 
 Miscall'd her, frighten'd her from home and 
 
 friends, 
 She'd turn to simple John and marry him ? 
 For he had money, seven pound and more. 
 And yonder in his home, to stock a house, 
 The household things he bought at Simp- 
 son's sale ; 
 John Thomson paid him well, and he could 
 
 work, 
 And, if she dried her eyes and married him, 
 Who cared for Tom and Jennie, and the 
 
 folk 
 That thought them crazed?. . John, then 
 
 and now ashamed, 
 Said that she flung her arms about his neck. 
 And wept as if her heart was like to break, 
 And told him sadly that it could not be. 
 He scratch'd his head, and stared, and 
 
 answer'd nought — 
 His stock of words was done, but last, he 
 
 forced 
 His money in the weeping woman's hand, 
 And hasten'd home as fast as he could run. 
 
 He feels it still ! it haunts him night and 
 
 day ! 
 Ay, silly tho' he be, he keeps the thought 
 Of Jess still hidden in his heart ; and now, 
 Wearing away like snowdrift in the sim, 
 If e'er he chance to see, on nights at home, 
 One of the things he bought at Simpson's 
 
 sale 
 (I keep them still, tho' they are worn and 
 
 old,) 
 His eyes gleam up, then glisten, — then are 
 
 dark. 
 
 THE FAERY FOSTER-MOTHER. 
 
 Bright Eyes, Light Eyes ! Daughter of a 
 
 Fay 1 
 I had not been a married wife a twelvemonth 
 
 and a day, 
 
 I had not nurst my little one a month upon 
 
 my knee. 
 When down among the blue-bell banks rose 
 
 elfins three times three. 
 They gript me by the raven hair, I could 
 
 not cry for fear, 
 They put a hempen rope around my waist 
 
 and dragg'd me here. 
 They made me sit and give thee suck as 
 
 mortal mothers can. 
 Bright Eyes, Light Eyes I strange and weak 
 
 and wan ! 
 
 II. 
 Dim Face, Grim Face ! lie ye there so still? 
 Thy red red lips are at my breast, and thou 
 
 may' St suck thy fill ; 
 But know ye, tho' I hold thee firm, and rock 
 
 thee to and fro, 
 'Tis not to soothe thee into sleep, but just 
 
 to still my woe ? 
 And know ye, when I lean so calm against 
 
 the wall of stone, 
 'Tis when 1 shut my eyes and try to think 
 
 thou art mine own ? 
 And know ye, tho' my milk be here, my 
 
 heart is far away. 
 Dim Face, Grim Face ! Daughter of a Fay ! 
 
 III. 
 Gold Hair, Cold Hair ! Daughter to a King ! 
 Wrapt in bands of snow-white silk with 
 
 jewels glittering. 
 Tiny slippers of the gold upon thy feet so 
 
 thin. 
 Silver cradle velvet-lined for thee to slumber 
 
 in, 
 Pigmy pages, crimson-hair'd, to serve thee 
 
 on their knees. 
 To bring thee toys and greenwood flowers 
 
 and honey bags of bees, — 
 I was but a peasant lass, my babe had but 
 
 the milk. 
 Gold Hair, Cold Hair ! raimented in silk ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Pale Thing, Frail Thing ! dumb and weak 
 
 and thin, 
 Altho' thou ne'er dost utter sigh thou'rt 
 
 shadow'd with a sin ; 
 Thy minnie scorns to suckle thee, thy minnie 
 
 is an elf. 
 Upon a bed of rose's-leaves she lies and fans 
 
 herself ;
 
 THE FAERY FOSTER-MOTHER— THE GREEN GNOME. 
 
 99 
 
 And though my heart is aching so for one 
 
 afar from me, 
 I often look into thy face and drop a tear 
 
 for thee, 
 And I am but a peasant born, a lowly cotter's 
 
 wife. 
 Pale Thing.Frail Thing ! sucking at my life ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Weak Thing, Meek Thing ! take no blame 
 
 from me, 
 Altho' my babe may fade for lack of what I 
 
 give to thee ; 
 For though thou art a stranger thing, and 
 
 though thou art my woe, 
 To feel thee sucking at my breast is all the 
 
 joy I know. 
 It soothes me tho' afar away I hear my 
 
 daughter call. 
 My heart were broken if I felt no little lips 
 
 at all ! 
 If I had none to tend at all, to be its nurse 
 
 and slave, 
 Weak Thing, Meek Thing ! I should shriek 
 
 and rave ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Bright Eyes, Light Eyes ! lying on my knee ! 
 If soon I be not taken back unto mine own 
 
 countree. 
 To feel my own babe's little lips, as I am 
 
 feeling thine. 
 To smoothe the golden threads of hair, to 
 
 see the blue eyes shine, — 
 I 11 lean my head against the wall and close 
 
 my weary eyes. 
 And think my own babe draws the milk with 
 
 balmy pants and sighs. 
 And smile and bless my little one and sweetly 
 
 pass away. 
 Bright Eyes, Light Eyes ! Daughter of a Fay ! 
 
 THE GREEN GNOME. 
 
 A MELODY. 
 
 Ring, sing ! ring, sing ! pleasant Sabbath 
 bells ! 
 
 Chime, rhyme ! chime, rhyme ! through the 
 dales and dells ! 
 
 Rhyme, ring ! chime, sing ! pleasant Sab- 
 bath bells ! 
 
 Chime, sing ! rhyme, ring ! over fields and 
 fells ! 
 
 And I gallop'd and I gallop'd on my palfrey 
 
 white as milk. 
 My robe was of the sea-green woof, my serk 
 
 was of the silk. 
 My hair was golden yellow, and it floated 
 
 to my shoe. 
 My eyes were like two harebells bathed in 
 
 shining drops of dew ; 
 My palfrey, never stopping, made a music 
 
 sweetly blent 
 With the leaves of autumn dropping all 
 
 around me as I went ; 
 And I heard the bells, grown fainter, far 
 
 behind me peal and plav. 
 Fainter, fainter, fainter, fainter, till they 
 
 seem'd to die away ; 
 And beside a silver runnel, on a lonely heap 
 
 of sand, 
 I saw the green Gnome sitting, with his 
 I cheek upon his hand ; 
 
 Then he started up to see me, and he ran 
 
 with cry and bound. 
 And drew me from my palfrey white, and 
 
 set me on the ground : 
 
 crimson, crimson, were his locks, his face 
 
 was green to see. 
 But he cried, ' O light-hair'd lassie, you are 
 
 bound to marry me ! ' 
 He claspt me round the middle small, he 
 
 kissed me on the cheek, 
 He kissed me once, he kissed me twice— I 
 
 could not stir or speak ; 
 He kissed me twice, he kissed me thrice — 
 
 but when he kissed again, 
 
 1 called aloud upon the name of Him who 
 
 died for men ! 
 
 Ring, sing ! ring, sing ; pleasant Sabbath 
 bells ! 
 
 Chime, rhyme ! chime, rhyme ! through the 
 dales and dells ! 
 
 Rhyme, ring ! chime, sing ! pleasant Sab- 
 bath bells ! 
 
 Chime, sing ! rliyme, ring ! over fields and 
 fells ! 
 
 O faintly, faintly, faintly, calling men and 
 
 maids to pray. 
 So faintly, faintly, faintly, rang the bells 
 
 afar away ; 
 And as I named the Blessed Name, as in 
 
 our need we can, 
 The ugly green green Gnome became a tall 
 
 and comely man ! 
 
 H 2
 
 100 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF IN VERB URN. 
 
 His hands were white, his beard was gold, 
 
 his eyes were blade as sloes. 
 His tunic was of scarlet woof, and silken 
 
 were his hose ; 
 A pensive light from Faeryland still linger'd 
 
 on his cheek. 
 His voice was like the running brook, when 
 
 he began to speak : 
 ' O you have cast away the charm my step- 
 dame put on me, 
 Seven years I dwelt in Faeryland, and you 
 
 have set me free ! 
 O I will mount thy palfrey white, and ride 
 
 to kirk with thee, 
 And by those swettly shining eyes, we twain 
 
 will wedded be ! ' 
 
 Back we gallop'd, never stopping, he before 
 and I behind. 
 
 And the autumn leaves were dropping, red 
 and yellow, in the wind. 
 
 And the sun was shining clearer, and my 
 heart was high and proud. 
 
 As nearer, nearer, nearer, rang the kirk- 
 bells sweet and loud. 
 
 And we saw the kirk before us, as we trotted 
 down the fells. 
 
 And nearer, clearer, o'er us, rang the wel- 
 come of the bells ! 
 
 Ring, sing ! ring, sing ! pleasant Sabbath 
 beUs! 
 
 Chime, rhyme ! chime, rhyme ! through the 
 dales and dells ! 
 
 Rhyme, ring ! chime, sing ! plea?ant Sab- 
 bath bells ! 
 
 Chime, sing ! rhyme, ring ! over fields and 
 fells ! 
 
 HUGH SUTHERLAND'S 
 PANSIES. 
 
 The aged Minister of Inverburn, 
 A mild heart hidden under features stern, 
 Leans in the sunshine on the garden-yale, 
 Pensive, yet happy, as he tells this tale-, — 
 And he who listens sees the garden lie 
 Blue as a little patch of fallen sky. 
 
 ' The lily minds me of a maiden brow,' 
 Hugh Sutherland would say ; ' the marigold 
 Is full and sunny like her j'ellow hair. 
 The full-blown rose her lips with sweetness 
 tipt; 
 
 But if you seek a likeness to her eyes — 
 Go to the pansy, friend, and find it there ! ' 
 ' Ay, leeze me on the pansies ! ' Hugh would 
 
 say — 
 Hugh Sutherland, the weaver — he who 
 
 dwelt 
 Here in the white-wash'd cot you fancy so — 
 Who knew the learned names of all the 
 
 flowers. 
 And recognised the lily, tho' its head 
 Rose in a ditch of dull Latinity 1 
 
 Pansies? You praise the ones that grow 
 
 to-day 
 Here in the garden : had you seen the place 
 When Sutherland was living ! Here they 
 
 grew. 
 From blue to deeper blue, in midst of each 
 A golden dazzle like a glimmering star. 
 Each broader, bigger, than a silver crown ; 
 While here the weaver sat, his labour done. 
 Watching his azure pets and rearing them, 
 Until they seem'd to know his step and 
 
 touch, 
 And stir beneath his smile like living things ! 
 The very sunshine loved them, and would 
 
 lie 
 Here happy, coming early, lingering late, 
 Because they were so fair. 
 
 Hugh Sutherland 
 Was country-bred — I knew him from the 
 
 time 
 When on a bed of pain he lost a limb, 
 And rose at last, a lame and sickly lad, 
 Apprenticed to the loom — a peevish lad. 
 Mooning among the shadows by himself. 
 Among these shadows, with the privilege 
 Of one who loved his flock, I sought him 
 
 out, 
 And gently as I could I won his heart ; 
 And then, tho' he was young and I was old, 
 We soon grew friends. He told his griefs 
 
 to me, 
 His joys, his troubles, and I hclp'd him on ; 
 Yet sought in vain to drive away the cloud 
 Deep pain had left upon his sickly check, 
 And lure him from the shades that deepen'd 
 
 it. 
 Then Heaven took the task upon itself 
 And sent an angel down among the flowers 1 
 Almost before I Icnew the work was done, 
 I found him settled in this but and ben,
 
 HUGH SUTHERLAND'S PANSTES. 
 
 lOI 
 
 Where, wiih an eye that brighten'd, he had 
 
 found 
 The sunshine loved his garden, and begun 
 To rear his pansies. 
 
 Sutherland was poor. 
 Rude, and untutor'd ; peevish, too, when 
 
 first 
 The angel in his garden found him out ; 
 But pansy-growing made his heart within 
 Blow fresh and fragrant. When he came 
 
 to share 
 This cottage with a brother of the craft, 
 Only some poor and sickly bunches bloom'd, 
 Vagrant, though fair, among the garden- 
 plots ; 
 And idly, carelessly, he water'd these, 
 Spread them and train'd them, till they grew 
 
 and grew 
 In size and beauty, and the angel thrust 
 Its bright arms upward thro' thebright'ning 
 
 sod. 
 And clung around the sickly gardener's 
 
 heart. 
 Then Sutherland grew calmer, and the cloud 
 Was fading from his face. Well, by-and-by, 
 The country people saw and praised the 
 
 flowers, 
 And what at first had been an idle joy 
 Became a sober serious work for fame. 
 Next, being won to send a bunch for show. 
 He gained a prize — a sixth or seventh rate, 
 And slowly gath'ring courage, rested not 
 Till he had won the highest prize of all. 
 Here in the sunshine and the shade he toil'd 
 Early and late in joy, and, by-and-by. 
 Rose high in fame ; for not a botanist, 
 A lover of the flowers, poor man or rich. 
 Came to the village, but the people said 
 ' Go down the lane to Weaver Sutherland's, 
 And see his pansies ! ' 
 
 Thus the summers pass'd. 
 And Sutherland grew gentler, hajipier ; 
 The angel God had sent him clung to him : 
 There grew a rapturous sadness in his tone 
 When he was gladdest, like the dewiness 
 That moistens pansies when they bloom the 
 
 best ; 
 And in his face there dawn'd a gentle light 
 Like that which softly clings about a flow'r, 
 And makes you love it. Yet his heart was 
 
 glad 
 
 More for the pansies' sakes than for his own: 
 His eye was hke a father's, moist and bright, 
 When they were praised ; and, as I said, 
 
 they seem'd 
 To make themselves as beauteous as they 
 
 could. 
 Smiling to please him. Blessings on the 
 
 flowers ! 
 They were his children ! Father never 
 
 loved 
 His little darhngs more, or for their sakes 
 Fretted so dumbly ! Father never bent 
 More tenderly above his little ones, 
 In the still watches of the night, when sleep 
 Breathes balm upon Iheir eyelids ! Night 
 
 and day 
 Poor Hugh was careful for the gentle things 
 Whose presence brought a sunshine to the 
 
 place 
 Where sickness dwelt : this one was weak 
 
 and small, 
 And needed watching like a sickly child ; 
 This one so beauteous, that it shamed its 
 
 mates 
 And made him angry with its beauteousness. 
 ' I cannot rest ! ' cried Hughie with a smile, 
 ' I scarcely snatch a moment to myself — 
 They plague me so ! ' Part fun, part earnest, 
 
 this: 
 He loved the pansies better than he kitew. 
 liv'n in the shadow of his weaving-room 
 They haunted him and brighten'd on his 
 
 soul : 
 Daily v\hile busy working at the loom 
 The humming seem'd a mystic melody 
 To which the pansies sweetly grew and 
 
 grew— 
 A leaf unrolling soft to every note, 
 A change of colours with the change of 
 
 sound ; 
 And walkmg to the door to rest himself, 
 Still wi h the pleasant murmur in his ears, 
 He saw the lloweis and heard the melody 
 They make in growing ! Pleasure such as 
 
 this. 
 So exquisite, so lonely, might have pass'd 
 Into the shadowy restlessness of yore ; 
 But wholesome human contact saved him 
 
 here, 
 And kept him fresh and meek. The people 
 
 came 
 To stir him with their praise, and he would 
 
 show
 
 ro2 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. 
 
 The medals and the prizes he had got — 
 As proud and happy as a child who gains 
 A prize in school. 
 
 The angel still remain'd 
 In winter, when the garden-plots were bare, 
 And deep winds piloted the wandering snow: 
 He saw its gleaming in the cottage fire, 
 While, with a book of botany on his knee, 
 He sat and hunger' d for the breath of spring. 
 The angel of the flowers was with him still ! 
 Here beds of roses sweeten'd all the page ; 
 Here lilies whiter than the falling snow 
 Crept gleaming softly from the printed lines ; 
 Here dewy violets sparkled till the book 
 Dazzled his eyes with rays of misty blue ; 
 And here, amid a page of Latin names, 
 All the sweet Scottish flowers together grew 
 With fragrance of the summer. 
 
 Hugh and I 
 Were still fast friends, and still I help'd him 
 
 on ; 
 And often in the pleasant summer-time. 
 The service over, on the Sabbath day, 
 I join'd him in the garden, where we sat 
 And chatted in the sun. But all at once 
 It came upon me that the gardener's hand 
 Had grown less diligent ; fortho' 'twas June 
 The garden that had been the village pride 
 Look' d but the shadow of its former self ; 
 And ere a week was out I saw in church 
 Two samples fairer far than any blown 
 In Hughie's garden — blooming brighter far 
 In sweeter soil. What wonder that a man. 
 Loving the pansies as the weaver did — 
 A skilful judge, moreover— should admire 
 Sweet Mary Moffat's sparkling pansy-eyes? 
 
 The truth was out. The weaver play'd 
 
 the game 
 (I christen'd it in sport that very day) 
 Of ' Love among the Pansies ! ' As he 
 
 spoke. 
 Telling me all, I saw upon his face 
 The peevish cloud that it had worn in youth ; 
 1 cheer'd him as I could, and bade him hope: 
 ' You both are poor, but, Sutherland, God's 
 
 flowers 
 Are poor as well ! ' He brighten'd as I 
 
 spoke. 
 And answer'd, ' It is settled ! I have kept 
 The secret till the last, lest " nay " should 
 
 come 
 
 And spoil it all ; but " ay " has come instead. 
 And all the help we wait for is your own ! ' 
 
 Even here, I think, his angel clung to him. 
 The fairies of his garden haunted him 
 With similes and sympathies that made 
 His likes and dislikes, though he knew it 
 
 not. 
 Beauty he loved if it was meek and mild. 
 And hke his pansies tender ev'n to tears ; 
 And so he chose a maiden pure and low, 
 Wlio, like his garden pets, had love to spare. 
 Sunshine to cast upon his pallid cheek. 
 And yt- 1 a tender clinging thing, too weak 
 To bloom uncared for and unsmiled upon. 
 
 Soon Sutherland and she he loved were 
 
 one, — • 
 And bonnily a moon of honey gleam'd 
 At night among the flowers ! Amid the 
 
 spring 
 That follow'd, blossom'd with the other buds 
 A tiny maiden with her mother's eyes. 
 The little garden was itself again. 
 The sunshine sparkled on the azure beds ; 
 The angel Heaven had sent to save a soul 
 Stole from the blooms and took an infant 
 
 shape ; 
 And wild with pleasure, seeing how the 
 
 flowers 
 Had given her their choicest lights and 
 
 shades. 
 The father bore his baby to the font 
 And had her christen'd PANSY. 
 
 After that 
 Poor Hugh was happy as the days were long. 
 Divided in his cares for all his pets, 
 And proudest of the one he loved the best. 
 The summer found him merry as a king, 
 Dancing the little one upon his knee 
 Here in the garden, while the plots around 
 Gleam'd in the sun , and seem'd as glad as he. 
 
 But moons of honey wane, and sui..mer 
 
 suns 
 Of wedlock set to bring the autumn in ! 
 Hugh Sutherland, with wife and child to 
 
 feed. 
 Wrought sore to gain his pittance in a world 
 His pansies made so fair. Came Poverty 
 With haggard eyes to dwell within the 
 
 house ;
 
 HUGH SUTHERLAND'S PANS FES. 
 
 103 
 
 When first she saw the garden she was 
 
 glad, 
 And, seated on the threshold, smiled and 
 
 spin. 
 But times grew harder, bread was scarce as 
 
 gold, 
 A shadow fell on Pansy and the flowers ; 
 And when the strife was sorest, Hugh 
 
 received 
 An office — lighter work and higher pay- 
 To take a foreman's place in lidinglass. 
 'Twas hard, 'twas hard, to leave the little 
 
 place 
 He loved so dearly ; but the weaver look'd 
 At Mary, saw the sorrow in her face, 
 And gave consent, — happy at heart to think 
 His dear ones would not want. To Edin- 
 
 glass 
 They went, and settled. Thro' the winter 
 
 hours 
 Bravely the weaver toil'd ; Iiis wife and child 
 Were happy, he was heartsonie — tho' his 
 
 taste 
 Was grassy lowlands and the caller air. 
 
 The cottage here remain d untenanted, 
 The angel of the flowers forsook the place. 
 The sunshine faded, and the pansies died. 
 
 Two su.Timers pass'd ; and still in Edin- 
 glass 
 The weaver toil'd, and ever when I went 
 Into the city, to his house I hied — 
 A welcome guest. Now first, I saw a change 
 Had come to Sutherland : for he was pale 
 And peevish, had a venom on his tongue. 
 And hung the under-lip like one that doubts. 
 Part of the truth 1 heard, and part I saw — 
 But knew too late, when all the ill was done ! 
 At first, poor Hugh had shrunk from making 
 
 friends, 
 And pored among his books of botany, 
 And later, in the dull dark nights he sat, 
 A dismal b' ok upon his knee, and read : 
 A book no longer full of leaves and flowers. 
 That glimmer'd on the soul's sweet con- 
 sciousness, 
 Yet seem'd to fill the eye, — a dismal book, — 
 Big-sounding T.atin, Eiaglish dull and dark, 
 And not a breath of summer in it all. 
 '1 he sunshine perish'd in the city's smoke. 
 The pansies grew no more to comfort him, 
 And he began to spend his nights with those 
 
 Who waste their substance in the public- 
 house : 
 The flowers had lent a sparkle to his talk, 
 Which pleased the muddled wits of idle men ; 
 Sought after, treated, liked by one and all. 
 He took to drinking ; and at last lay down 
 Stupid and senseless on a rainy night, 
 And ere he waken'd caught the flaming fire. 
 Which gleams to white-heat on the face and 
 
 burns 
 Clear crimson in the lungs. 
 
 But it was long, 
 Ere any knew poor Hughie's plight ; and, 
 
 ere 
 He saw his danger, on the mother's breast 
 Lay Pansy withering — tho' the dewy breath 
 Of spring was floating like a misty rain 
 Down from the mountains. Then the tiny 
 
 flower 
 Folded its leaves in silence, and the sleep 
 That dwells in winter on the flower-beds 
 Fell on the weaver's house. At that sad hour 
 I enter'd, scarcely welcomed with a word 
 Of greeting : by the hearth tlie woman sat 
 Weeping full sore, her apron o'er a face 
 Haggard with midnight watching, while the 
 
 man 
 Cover'd his bloodshot ej'es and cursed him- 
 self. 
 Then leaning o'er, my hand on his, I said — 
 ' She could not bear the smoke of cities, 
 
 Hugh ! 
 God to His Garden has transplanted her, 
 Where summer dwells for ever and the air 
 Is fresh and pure ! ' But Hughie did not 
 
 speak ; 
 I saw full plainly that he blamed himself; 
 And ere the day was out he bent above 
 His little sleeping flower, and wept, and 
 
 said : 
 ' Ay, sir ! she wither'd, wither'd like the rest, 
 Neglected ! ' and I saw his heart was full. 
 When Pansy slept beneath the churchyard 
 
 grass 
 Poor Hughie'sangel had return'd to Heaven, 
 Anil all his heart was dark. His ways grew 
 
 strange, 
 Peevish, and sullen ; often he would sit 
 And drink alone ; the wife and he grew cold, 
 And harsh to one another ; till at last 
 A stern physician put an end to all. 
 And told him he must die.
 
 r04 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. 
 
 No bitter cry, 
 No sound of wailing rose within the house 
 After the Doctor spoke, hut Mary niourn'd 
 In silence, Hughie smoked his pipe and set 
 His teeth together, at the ingleside. 
 Days pass'd ; the only token of a change 
 .Was Hughie's face — the peevish cloud of 
 
 care 
 Seem'd melting to a tender gentleness. 
 After a time, the wife forgot her grief, 
 Or could at times forget it, in the care 
 Her husband's sickness brought. I went 
 
 to them 
 As often as I could, for Sutherland 
 Was dear to me, and dearer for his sin. 
 Weak as he was he did his best to toil. 
 Rut it was weary work ! By slow degrees. 
 When May was breathing on the sickly 
 
 bunch 
 Of mignonette upon the window-sill, 
 I saw his smile was softly wearing round 
 To what it used to be, when here he sat 
 Rearing his flowers ; altho' his brow at 
 
 times 
 Grew cloudy, and he gnaw'd his under lip. 
 At last I found him seated by the hearth, 
 Trj'ing to read : I led his mind to themes 
 Of old langsyne, and saw his eyes grow dim : 
 ' O sir,' he cried, ' I cannot, cannot rest ! 
 Something I long for, and I know not what. 
 Torments me night and day ! ' I saw it all, 
 And sparkling with the brilliance of the 
 
 thought, 
 Look'd in his eyes and caught his hand, and 
 
 cried, 
 ' Hugh, it's the pansies ! Spring has comte 
 
 again. 
 The sunshine breathes its gold upon the air 
 And threads it through the petals of the 
 
 flowers. 
 Yet here you linger in the dark ! ' I ceased 
 And watch'd him. Then he trembled as he 
 
 said, 
 ' I see it now, for as I read the book 
 The lines andwords, the Latin seem'd to bud. 
 And they peep'd thro'.' He smiled, like 
 
 one ashamed, 
 Adding in a low voice, ' I long to see 
 The pansies ere I die ! ' 
 
 What heart of stone 
 Could throb on coldly, Sir, at words like 
 those ? 
 
 Not mine, not mine ! Within a week poor 
 
 Hugh 
 Had left the smoke of Edinglass behind. 
 And felt tlie wind that runs along the lanes, 
 Spreading a carpet of the grass and flowers 
 For June the sunny-hair'd to walk upon. 
 In the old cottage here he dwelt again : 
 The place was wilder than it once had been. 
 But buds were blowing green around about. 
 And with the glad return of Sutherland, 
 The angel of the flowers came back again. 
 The end was near and Hugh was wearied 
 
 out. 
 And like a flower was closing up his leaves 
 Under the dropping of the gloaming dews. 
 
 And daily, in the summer afternoon, 
 I found him seated on the threshold there, 
 Watching his flowers, and all the place, I 
 
 thought, 
 Brighten'd when he was nigh. Now first I 
 
 talk'd 
 Of heavenly hopes unto him, and I knew 
 The angel help'd me. On the day he died 
 The pain had put its shadow on his face. 
 The words of doubt were on his tremulous 
 
 lips : 
 ' Ah, Hughie, life is easy ! ' I exclaim'd, 
 ' Easie.', tsetter, than we know ourselves : 
 'Tis pansy-growing on a mighty scale, 
 And God above us is the gardener. 
 The fairest win the prizes, that is just. 
 But all the flowers are dear to God the Lord : 
 The Gardener loves them all, He loves them 
 
 all!' 
 He saw the sunshine on the pansy-beds 
 And brighten'd. Then by slow degrees he 
 
 grew 
 Cheerful and meek as dying man could be, 
 And as I spoke there came from far-away 
 The faint sweet melody of Sabbath bells. 
 And ' Hugh,' I said, ' if God the Gardener 
 Neglected those he rears as you have done 
 Your pansies and your Pansy, it were ill 
 For we who blossom in His garden. Nighf 
 And morning He is busy at His work. 
 He smiles to give us sunshine, and we live : 
 He stoops to pluck us softly, and our hearts 
 Tremble to see the darkness, knowing not 
 It is the shadow He, in stooping, casts. 
 He pluckt your Pansy so, and it was well. 
 But, Hugh, though some be beautiful and 
 
 grand,
 
 HUGH SUTHERLAND'S PANSIES—THE DEAD MOTHER. 105 
 
 Some sickly, like yourself, and mean and 
 
 poor, 
 He loves them all, the Gardener loves them 
 
 all!' 
 Then later, when he could no longer sit 
 Out on the threshold, and the end was near, 
 We set a plate of pansies by his bed 
 To cheer him. ' He is coming near,' I said, 
 •Great is the garden, but the Gardener 
 Is com ng to the corner where you bloom 
 So sickly ! ' And he smiled, and moan'd, 
 
 ' I hear ! ' 
 And sank upon his pillow wearily. 
 His hollow eyes no longer bore the light, 
 The darkness gather'd round him as 1 said, 
 ' The Gardener is standing at your side. 
 His shade is on you and you cannot see : 
 
 Lord, that lovest both the strong and 
 
 weak. 
 Pluck him and wear him ! ' Even as I 
 pray'd, 
 
 1 felt the shadow there and hid my face ; 
 But when I look'd again the flower was 
 
 pluckd. 
 The shadow gone : the sunshine thro' the 
 
 blind 
 Gleam'd faintly, and the widow'd woman 
 
 wept. 
 
 II. 
 
 I awoke from sleep, I awoke from sleep. 
 
 Up I rose from my grave so deep ! 
 
 The earth was black, but overhead 
 
 The stars were yellow, the moon was red ; 
 
 And I walk'd along all white and thin. 
 
 And lifted the latch and enter'd in. 
 
 And reach'd the chamber as dark as night. 
 
 And though it was dark my face was wliite : 
 
 ' Mother, mother, I look on thee ! 
 
 Mother, mother, you frighten me ! 
 
 For your cheeks are thin and your hair i 
 
 gray ! ' 
 But I smiled, and kiss'd her fears away, 
 I smooth'd her hair and I sang a song. 
 And on my knee I rock'd her long : 
 ' O mother, mother, sing low to me — 
 I am sleepy now, and I cannot see ! ' 
 I kiss'd her, but I could not weep. 
 And she went to sleep, she went to sleep. 
 
 THE DEAD MOTHER. 
 
 As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep, 
 
 Under the grass as I lay so deep, 
 
 As I lay asleep in my cotton serk 
 
 Under the shade of Our Lady's Kirk, 
 
 I waken'd up in the dead of night, 
 
 I .vaken'd up in my death-serk white, 
 
 And I heard a cry from far away. 
 
 And I knew the voice of my daughter May: 
 
 ' Mother, mother, come hither to me ! 
 
 Mother, mother, come hither and see ! 
 
 Mother, mother, mother dear, 
 
 Another mother is sitting here : 
 
 My body is bruised, and in pain I cry, 
 
 On straw in the dark afraid I lie, 
 
 I thirst and lumger for drink and meat. 
 
 And mother, mother, to sleep were sweet ! ' 
 
 I heard the cry, though my grave was deep. 
 
 And awoke from sleep, and awoke from 
 
 sleep. 
 
 III. 
 
 As we lay asleep, as we lay asleep, 
 My May and 1, in our grave so deep, 
 As we lay asleep in the midnight mirk. 
 Under the shade of our Lady's Kirk, 
 I waken'd up in the dead of night, 
 Though May my daughter lay warm and 
 
 white. 
 And I heard the cry of a little one. 
 And I knew 'twas the voice of Hu h my 
 
 son : 
 ' Mother, mother, come hither to me ! 
 Mother, mother, come hither and see ! 
 Mother, mother, mother dear, 
 AnoUier mother is sitting here : 
 My body is Ijruised and my heart is sad, 
 But I speak my mind and call them bad ; 
 1 thirst and hunger night and day, 
 And were I strong I would fly away ! ' 
 I heard the cry, tliougli my grave was deep. 
 And awoke from sleep, and :uvoke from 
 
 sleep ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 1 awoke from sleep. I awoke from sleep, 
 Up I rose from my grave so dee|), 
 The earth was black, but overhead 
 The stars were yellow, the moon was red ; 
 And I walk'd along all white and thin, 
 And lifted the .atch and enter'd in.
 
 lo6 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. 
 
 ' Mother, mother, and art thou here? 
 I know your face, and I feel no fear ; 
 Raise me, mother, and kiss my cheek, 
 For oh I am weary and sore and wealv. ' 
 I smooth'd his hair with a mother's joy. 
 And he laugh'd aloud, my own brave boy ; 
 I raised and held him on my breast. 
 Sang him a song, and bade him rest. 
 ' Mother, mother, sing low to me — 
 I am sleepy now and I cannot see ! " 
 I kiss'd him, and I could not weep. 
 As he went to sleep, as he went to sleep. 
 
 V. 
 
 As I lay asleep, as I lay asleep. 
 
 With my girl and boy in my grave so deep. 
 
 As I lay asleep, I awoke in fear. 
 
 Awoke, but awoke not my children dear, 
 
 And heard a cry so low and weak 
 
 From a liny voice that could not speak ; 
 
 I heard the cry of a little one. 
 
 My bairn that could neither talk nor run. 
 
 My little, little one, uncaress'd. 
 
 Starving for lack of the milk of the breast ; 
 
 And I rose from sleep and enter'd in. 
 
 And found my little one pinch'd and thin, 
 
 And croon'd a song and hush'd its moan. 
 
 And put its lips to my white breast-bone ; 
 
 And the red, red moon that lit the place 
 
 Went white to look at the little face, 
 
 And I kiss'd and kiss'd, and I could not 
 
 weep. 
 As it went to sleep, as it went to sleep. 
 
 VI. 
 
 As it lay asleep, as it lay asleep, 
 I set it down in the darkness deep, 
 Smooth'd its limbs and laid it out. 
 And drew the curtains around about ; 
 Then into the dark, dark room I hied 
 Where he lay awake at the woman's side, 
 And though the chamber was black as 
 
 night. 
 He saw my face, for it was so white ; 
 I gazed in his eyes, and he shriek'd in pain. 
 And I knev/ he would never sleep again. 
 And back to my grave went silently. 
 And soon my baby was brought to me ; 
 My son and daughter beside me rest. 
 My little baby is on my breast ; 
 Our bed is warm and our grave is deep. 
 But he cannct sleep, he cannot sleep ! 
 
 TL/E WIDOW MYSIE. 
 An Idyl of Love and Whisky. 
 
 Tom Love, a man ' prepared for fiiend or foe, 
 Whisker'd, well-teatured, tight from top to toe.' 
 
 O Widow Mysif., smiling, soft, and sweet ! 
 O Mysie, buxom as a sheaf of wheat ! 
 O Mysie, Widow Mysie, late Monroe, 
 Foul fall the traitor-face that served me 
 so! 
 
 Mysie Love, a second time a bride, 
 
 1 pity him who tosses at your side — 
 Who took, by honied smiles and speech 
 
 misled, 
 A beauteous bush of brambles to his bed ! 
 
 You saw her at the ploughing match, you 
 
 ken. 
 Ogling the whisky and the handsome men : 
 The smiling woman in the Paisley shawl. 
 Plump as a partridge, and as broad as 
 
 tall. 
 With ribbons, bows, and jewels fair to see, 
 Bursting to blossom like an apple-tree. 
 Ay, that was Mysie, — now two score and 
 
 ten. 
 Now Madam Love of Bungo in the Glen ! 
 Ay, that was Mysie, tho' her looks no more 
 Dazzle with beams of brightness as of 
 
 yore ! — 
 The tiny imps that nested in her eyes. 
 Winning alike the wanton and the wise. 
 Have ta'en the flame that made my heart 
 
 forlorn 
 Back to the nameless place, where they were 
 
 born. 
 
 years roll on, and fair things fade and 
 
 pine ! — 
 Twelve sowings since and I was twenty-nine : 
 With ploug!inian'scoat on back, and plough 
 
 in hand, 
 
 1 wrought at Bungo on my father's land. 
 And all the neighbour-lassies, stale or fair. 
 Tried hard to net my father's son and heir. 
 My heart was lightsome, cares I had but 
 
 few, 
 I climb'd the mountains, drank the moun- 
 tain dew. 
 Could sit a mare as mettlesome as fire, 
 ' Could put the stone with any in the shire,
 
 THE WIDOW MYSIE. 
 
 107 
 
 Had been to college, and had learn'd to 
 
 dance, 
 Could blether thro' my nose like folks in 
 
 France, 
 And stood erect, prepared for friend or foe, 
 Whisker'd, well-featured, tight from top to 
 
 toe. 
 
 ' A marriageable man, for every claim 
 Of lawful wedlock fitted,' you exclaim? 
 But, sir, of all that men enjoy or treasure, 
 Wedlock, I fancied, was the driest pleasure. 
 True ; seated at some pretty peasant's side. 
 Under the slanted sheaves I loved to hide. 
 Lilting the burthen of a Scottish tune, 
 To sit, and kiss perchance, and watch the 
 
 moon. 
 Pillow d on breasts like beds of lilies white 
 Heaving and falling in the pale moonlight ; 
 But rather would have sat with crimson face 
 Upon the cutty-stool with Jean or Grace, 
 Than buy in kirk a partner with the power 
 To turn the mother-milk of Freedom sour. 
 
 I loved a comely face, as I have said. 
 
 But sharply watch'd the maids who wish'd 
 
 to wed, — 
 I knew their arts, was not so cheaply won, 
 They loved my father's Siller, not his Son. 
 Still, laughing in my sleeve, I here and there 
 Took liberties allow'd my father's heir, 
 Stole kisses from the comeliest of the crew, 
 And smiled upon the virgin nettles too. 
 So might the game have daunder'd on tiU 
 
 this. 
 And lasted till my father went to bliss, — 
 But Widow IVlysie came, as sly as sin. 
 And settled in the ' William Wallace' Inn. 
 
 The Inn had gone to rack and loss complete 
 Since Simpson drown'd himself in whisky 
 
 neat ; 
 And poor Jock Watt, who follow'd in his 
 
 shoes, 
 Back'd by the sourest, gumliest of shrews, 
 (The whisky vile, the water never hot. 
 The very sugar sour'd by Mistress Watt,) 
 Hadfound thegossips, grumbling, groaning, 
 
 stray 
 To Sandie Kirkson's, half a mile away. 
 But hey ! at Widow Mysie's rosy face, 
 A change came o'er the spirits of the place. 
 
 The fire blazed high, the shining pewter 
 
 smiled. 
 The glasses glitter'd bright, the water boil'd. 
 Grand was the whisky, Highland born and 
 
 fine. 
 And Mysie, Widow Mysie, was divine S 
 
 O sweet was Widow Mysie, sweet and sleek ! 
 
 The peach's blush and down were on her 
 clieek. 
 
 And there were dimples in her tender chin 
 
 For Cupids small to hunt for kisses in ; 
 
 Dark-glossy were her ringlets, each a prize, 
 
 And wicked, wicked were her beaded eyes ; 
 
 Plump was her figure, rounded and com- 
 plete. 
 
 And tender were her tiny tinkling feet ! 
 
 All this was nothing to the warmth and light 
 
 That seem'd to hover o'er her day and 
 night ;— 
 
 Where'er she moved, she seem'd to soothe 
 and please 
 
 With pleasant murmurs as of humble-bees ; 
 
 Her small plump hands on public missions 
 flew 
 
 Like snow-white doves that flying croon and 
 coo ; 
 
 Her feet fell patter, cheep, like little mice ; 
 
 Her breath was soft with sugar and with 
 spice ; 
 
 And when her finger - so ! — your hand 
 would press. 
 
 You tingled to the toes with loveliness. 
 
 While her dark eyes, with lessening zone in 
 zone, 
 
 Flasht sunlight on the mirrors of your own, 
 
 Dazzling your spirit with a wicked sense 
 
 That seem'd more heavenly-born than inno- 
 cence ! 
 
 Sure one so beauteous and so sweet had 
 
 graced 
 And checr'd the scene, where'er by Fortune 
 
 placed ; 
 But with a background of the pewter bright. 
 Whereon the fire cast gleams of rosy light. 
 With jingling glasses round her, and a scent 
 Of spice and lemon-peel where'er she went. 
 What wonder she should to the cronies seem 
 An angel, in a cloud of toddy steam ? 
 What wonder, while I sipt my glass one 
 
 day, 
 She, and the whisky, stole my heart away ?
 
 I05 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. 
 
 She was not loath ! — for, while her comely 
 
 face 
 Shone full on other haunters of the place, 
 From me she turn'd her head and peep'd 
 
 full sly 
 With just the corner of her roguish eye, 
 And blush'd so bright my toddy seem'd to 
 
 glow 
 Beneath the rosy blush and sweeter grow ; 
 And once, at my request, she took a sip. 
 And nectar'd all the liquor with her lip. 
 ' Take heed ! for Widow Mysie's game is 
 
 plain,' 
 The gossips cried, but warn'd me all in vain: 
 Like sugar melting at the toddy's kiss. 
 My very caution was dissolved in bliss. 
 Fear died for ever with a mocking laugh. 
 And Mysie's kisses made his epitaph. 
 
 Kisses? Ay, faith, they foUow'd score on 
 
 score. 
 After the first I stole behind the door, 
 And lingered softly on these lips of mine 
 Like Massic whisky drunk by bards divine. 
 But O I the glow, the rapture, and the glee, 
 That night she let me draw her on my knee — 
 When bliss thrill'd from her to my finger- 
 tips, 
 Then eddied wildly to my burning lips, 
 From which she drank it back with kisses 
 
 fain. 
 Then blush'd and glow'd and breathed it 
 
 back again — 
 Till, madden'd with the ecstasy divine, 
 I clasp'd her close and craved her to be mine, 
 And thrilling, panting, struggling up to fly. 
 She breathed a spicy ' Yes ' with glistening 
 
 eye. 
 And while my veins grew fire, my heart 
 
 went wild. 
 Fell like a sunbeam on my heart, and smiled! 
 
 The deed thus done, I hied me home, you 
 
 say, 
 And rued my folly when I woke next day ? 
 Nay ! all my business was to crave and cry 
 That Heaven would haste the holy knot to tie, 
 Though ' Mysie lass,' I said, ' my gold and 
 
 gear 
 Are small, and will be small for many a year. 
 Since father is but fifty years and three. 
 And tough as cobbler's wa.\, though spare 
 
 and wee 1 ' 
 
 •Ah, Tarn," she sigh'd, 'there's nothing 
 
 there to me — 
 The gold, the gear, that Mysie wants is you! ' 
 And brightly clad, with kisses thrilling 
 
 through me. 
 Clung like a branch of trembling blossoms 
 
 to me. 
 
 I found my father making up his books. 
 With yellow eyes and penny-hunting looks. 
 ' Father,' I said, ' I'm sick of single life. 
 And will, if you are willing, take a wife.' 
 'Humph,' snapt my father, '(six and four 
 
 are ten. 
 And ten are twenty) — Marry? who? and 
 
 when ? ' 
 ' Mistress Monroe," I said, 'that keeps the 
 
 inn.' 
 At that he shrugg'd his shoulders with a 
 
 grin: 
 ' I guess'd as much ! the tale has gone the 
 
 round ! 
 Ye might have stay'd till I was underground! 
 But please \'ourself — Lve nothing to refuse. 
 Choose where you will— you're old enough 
 
 to choose ; 
 But mind," he added, blinking yellow eye, 
 ' ril handle my own guineas till I die ! 
 Frankly I own, you might have chosen 
 
 worse, 
 Since you have little siller in your purse — 
 The Inn is thriving, if report be true, 
 And Widow M\sie has enough for two ! ' 
 
 ' And if we wait till he has gone his way, 
 Wliy, Mysie, I'U be bald, and you'll be gray," 
 I said lo Mysie, laughing at her side. 
 ' Oh, let him keep his riches,' she replied, 
 ' He's right ! there's plenty here for you 
 
 and me ! 
 May he live long ; and happy ma\ he be ! ' 
 ' O Mysie, you're an angel,' I return'd. 
 With eye that glisten'd demly and yeam'd. 
 Then running off she mi.xed, with tender 
 
 glee, 
 A glass of comfort — sat her on my knee — 
 ' Come, Tam ! ' she cried, ' who cares a fig 
 
 for wealth — 
 Ay, let him keep it all, and here's his 
 
 health I ' 
 And added, shining brightly on my breast, 
 'Ah, Tam, the siller's worthless— Love is 
 
 best I '
 
 THE WIDOW MYSIE. 
 
 109 
 
 O Widow Mysie, wert thou first sincere, 
 VVhen tender accents trembled on mine ear, 
 Like bees that o'er a flower will float and 
 
 fleet. 
 And ere they light make murmurs soft and 
 
 sweet ? 
 Or was the light that rcnder'd me unwise, 
 Guile's— the sly Quaker with the downcast 
 
 eyes ? 
 
 Widow Mysie, not at once are we 
 Taught the false scripture of Hypocrisy ! 
 Even pink Selfishness has times, I know. 
 When thro' his fat a patriot's feelings glow ; 
 Falsehood first learns her nature with a sigh. 
 And nurses bitterly her first-born Lie ! 
 
 Days pass'd ; and I began, to my amaze, 
 To see a colder light in Mysie's gaze ; 
 Once when, with arm about her softly 
 wound, 
 
 1 snatch'd a kiss, she snapt and flusht and 
 
 frown'd ; 
 But oftener her face a shadow wore, 
 Such as had never darken'd it before ; 
 I spoke of this, I begg'd her to explain,— 
 She tapt my cheek, and smiled, and mused 
 
 again. 
 Rut, in the middle of my love-alarm, 
 The Leech's watch went ' tick ' at Bungo 
 
 Farm ; 
 My father sicken'd, and his features cold 
 Retain'd the hue, without the gleam, of 
 
 gold. 
 
 Then Mysie soften'd, sadden'd, and would 
 
 speak 
 Of father's sickness with a dewy check ; 
 When to the Inn I wander'd. unto me. 
 Lightly, as if she walk'd on wool, came she, 
 And ' Is he better ? ' ' Is he changed at all ? ' 
 .'\nd ' Heaven help him ! ' tenderly would 
 
 call. 
 'So old— so ill — untended and alone ! 
 He is your father, Tam, — and seems my 
 
 own ! ' 
 And nuising stood, one little hand of snow 
 Nestling and fluttering on my shoulder — so ! 
 But father sicken'd on, and then one night. 
 When we were sitting in the ingle-light, 
 ' O Tam,' she cried, ' I have it ! — I should 
 
 ne'er 
 Forgive myself for staying idly here, 
 While he, your father, lack'd in his distress 
 
 The love, the care, a daughter's hands 
 
 possess — 
 He knows our troth— he wiH not say me nay; 
 But let me nurse him as a daughter may. 
 And he may live, for darker cases mend, 
 To bless us and to join us in the end ! ' 
 ' But, Mysie ' ' Not a word, the thing is 
 
 plann'd,' 
 She said, and stopt my mouth with warm 
 
 white hand. 
 She went with gentle eyes that very night. 
 Stole to the chamber like a moonbeam 
 
 white ; 
 My father scowl'd at first, but soon was 
 
 won — 
 The keep was carried, and the deed was 
 
 done. 
 
 O Heaven ! in what strange Enchanter's den 
 Learnt she the spells wherewith she con- 
 
 quer'd men ? 
 When to that chamber she had won her way, 
 The old man's cheek grew brighter every 
 
 day ; 
 She smooth'd the pillows underneath his 
 
 head. 
 She brought sweet music roundabout his 
 
 bed. 
 She made the very mustard-blisters glow 
 With fire as soft as youthful lovers know, 
 The very physic bottles lost their gloom 
 And seem'd like little fairies in the room. 
 The very physic, charm'd by her, grew fine, 
 Rhubarb was nectar, castor-oil was wine. 
 Half darkly, dimly, yet with secret flame 
 That titillated up and down his frame. 
 The grim old man lay still, with hungry 
 
 eye 
 Watching her thro' the room on tiptoe fly; — 
 She turn'd her back — his cheek grew dull 
 
 and dim ! 
 She turn'd her face — its sunshine fell on 
 
 him ! 
 Better and better every day grew he. 
 Colder and colder grew his nurse to me. 
 Till up he leapt, with fresher new life astir, 
 And only sank again — to kneel to her ! 
 
 • Mysie ! ' I cried, with flushing face, too late 
 Stung by the pois'nous things whose names 
 
 1 hate, 
 Which in so many household fires flit free, 
 The salamanders. Doubt and Jealousy, —
 
 no 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. 
 
 ' Mysie ! ' — and then, in accents fierce and 
 
 bold, 
 Demanded why her looks had grown so 
 
 cold? 
 She trembled, flush'd, a tear was in her eye, 
 She dropt her gaze, and heaved a balmy 
 
 sigh, 
 Then spoke with tender pauses low and 
 
 sad: 
 Had I a heart? She knew full well I had. 
 Could I without a conscience-qualm behold 
 My white-hair'd father, weak, untended, 
 
 old. 
 Who had so very short a time to live. 
 Reft of the peace a woman's hands can give ? 
 ' Mysie ! ' I shriek'd, with heart that seem'd 
 
 to rend. 
 With glaring eyes, and every hair on end. 
 Clasping her little hands, ' O Tarn,' she 
 
 cried, 
 ' Save for my help your father would have 
 
 died ; 
 Bliss ! to have saved your filial heart that 
 
 sorrow ! 
 But for my help, why, he may die to-morrow. 
 Go, Tarn ! — this weak warm heart I cannot 
 
 trust 
 To utter more — be generous ! be just ! 
 I long have felt — I say it in humihty — 
 A sort of — kind of — incompatibility ! 
 Go, Tarn ! Be happy ! Bless you ! Wed 
 
 another ! 
 And I shall ever love you ! — as a mother ! ' 
 
 Sir, so it was. Siunn'd, thunder-stricken, 
 
 wild, 
 I raved, while father trembled, Mysie smiled; 
 O'er all the country-side the scandal rang, 
 And ere I knew, the bells began to clang ; — 
 And shutting eyes and stopping ears, as 
 
 red 
 As ricks on fire, I blushing turn'd and fled. 
 Twelve years have pass'd since I escaped 
 
 the net. 
 And father, tough as leather, lingers yet, 
 A gray mare rules, the laugh has come to 
 
 me, 
 I sport, and thank my stars that I am frte ! 
 If Mysie likes her bargain ill or well, 
 Only the Deil, who won it her, can tell ; 
 But she, who could so well his arts pursue. 
 May learn a trick to cheat her Teacher too. 
 
 T//E MINISTER AND 
 THE ELFIN. 
 
 ' O WHO among you will win for me 
 The soul of the Preacher of Woodilee? 
 For he prays, he preaches, he labours sore, 
 He cheats me alike of rich and poor. 
 And his cheek is pale with a thought divine, 
 And I would, I would that he were mine? ' 
 ' O surely / will win for thee 
 The Minister of Woodilee ; 
 Round and around the elfin tree. 
 Where we are fleeting in company, 
 The Minister of Woodilee, 
 Laughing aloud, shall dance with me ! ' 
 
 II. 
 
 The Minister rode in the white moonshine. 
 His face was pale with his thought divine. 
 And he saw beneath the greenwood tree 
 As sweet a maiden as well could be : 
 My hair of gold to my feet fell bright, 
 My eyes were blue, and my brow was white. 
 My cheeks were fresh as the milk of kine 
 Mingled with drops of red red wine. 
 And they shone thro' my veil o' the silk 
 
 with gleam 
 Like a lover's face thro' a thin light dream ; 
 But the sickness of death was in mine ee. 
 And my face was pallid and sad to see. 
 And I moaned aloud as the man came near. 
 And I heard him mutter a prayer in fear ! 
 
 III. 
 
 But the Minister, when he look'd on me, 
 Leapt down and set my head on his knee, 
 Wet my lips with the running stream. 
 And I open'd my eyes as in a dream, 
 I open'd my eyes and look'd on him. 
 And his head whirl'd round and his cheek 
 
 grew dim ! 
 I kiss'd him twice, I kissd him thrice, 
 Till he kiss'd again with lips of ice, 
 Till he kiss'd again with lips of stone. 
 And clasped me close to his cold breast- 
 bone ; 
 And tho' his face was wenry and sad. 
 He laugh'd aloud and seem'd mad, so mad. 
 Then up to my feet I leapt in glee. 
 And round and round and around went we, 
 Under the moonlit greenwood tree !
 
 THE MINISTER AND THE ELFIN-VILLAGE VOICES. in 
 
 IV. 
 
 He leapt on his steed and home rode he, 
 The Minister of Woodilee ; 
 And when at the door of the manse he rein'd, 
 With blood his lips were damp'd and stain'd, 
 And he pray'd a prayer for his shame and 
 
 sin, 
 And dropt a tear as he enter'd in. 
 Rut the smile divine from his face had fled, 
 When he laid him down on his dying bed. 
 
 ' O thanks, for thou hast won for me 
 
 The Minister of Woodilee, 
 
 Who nevermore, O nevermore. 
 
 Shall preach and pray and labour sore, 
 
 And cheat me alike of rich and poor. 
 
 For the smile divine no more wears he — 
 
 Hasten and bring his soul to me ! ' 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh, off I ran his soul to win. 
 And the gruy gray manse I enter'd in. 
 And I saw him lying on his bed, 
 With book and candle at his head ; 
 But when he lurn'd him, weary and weak, 
 A smile and a tear were on his cheek, 
 And he took my hand and kiss'd it thrice, 
 Tho' his lips were clammy cold as ice._ 
 ' O wherefore, wherefore, dost thou jdi^ 
 One who has stolen thy soul from bliss ? ' 
 Then over his face so pale with pain 
 The thought divine came back again. 
 And ' I love thee more for the shame,' he 
 
 said, 
 ' I love thee more on my dying bed, 
 And I cannot, cannot love thee less, 
 Tho' my heart is vvae for its wickedness ; 
 I love thee better, I love thee best. 
 Sweet Spirit that crrest and wanderest ; 
 Colder and colder my blood doth run, 
 I pray for thee, pray for thee, little one ! ' 
 Then I heard the bell for the dying toll. 
 And I reach'd out hands to seize his soul, 
 But I trembled and shriek'd to see as he 
 
 died 
 An angel in white at his bedside ! 
 And 1 fled away to the greenwood tree. 
 Where the elves were fleeting in company. 
 And I hate my immortality, 
 And 'twere better to be a man and dee ! 
 
 VILLAGE VOICES. 
 
 I. 
 
 JANUARY WIND. 
 
 The wind, wife, the wind ; how it blows, 
 
 how it blows ; 
 It grips the latch, it shakes the house, it 
 
 whistles, it screams, it crows. 
 It dashes on the window-pane, then rushes 
 
 off with a cry, 
 Ye scarce can hear your own loud voice, it 
 
 clatters so loud and high ; 
 And far away upon the sea it floats with 
 
 thunder-call. 
 The wind, wife, the wind, wife ; the wind 
 
 that did it all ! 
 
 II. 
 
 The wind, wife, the wind ; how it blew, how 
 
 it blew ; 
 The very night our boy was born, it whistled, 
 
 it scream'd,.it crew ; 
 And while you moan'd upon your bed, and 
 
 your heart was dark with fright, 
 I swear it mingled with the soul of the boy 
 
 you bore that night ; 
 It scarcely seems a winter since, and the 
 
 wind is with us stiU, — 
 The wind, wife ; the wind, wife ; the wind 
 
 that blew us ill ! 
 
 III. 
 
 The wind, wife, the wind ; how it blows, 
 
 how it blows ! 
 It changes, shifts, without a cause, it ceases, 
 
 it comes and goes ; 
 And David ever was the same, wayward, 
 
 and wild, and bold — 
 For wilful lad will have his way, and the 
 
 wind no hand can hold ; 
 But ah ! the wind, the changeful wind, was 
 
 more in the blame than he ; 
 The wind, wife ; the wind, wife, that blew 
 
 him out to sea 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 The wind, wife; the wind ; now 'lis still, now 
 
 'tis still ; 
 And as we sit I seem to feel the silence 
 
 shiver and thrill,
 
 112 
 
 IDYLS AND LEGENDS OF INVERBURN. 
 
 'Twas thus the night he went away, and we 
 
 sat in silence here, 
 We listen'd to our beating hearts, and all 
 
 was weary and drear ; 
 We long'd to hear the wind again, and to 
 
 hold our David's hand — 
 The wind, wife ; the wind, wife, that blew 
 
 him out from land ! 
 
 V. 
 
 The wind, wife, the wind ; up again, up 
 
 again ! 
 [t blew our David round the world, yet 
 
 shriek'd at our window-pane ; 
 And ever since that time, old wife, in rain, 
 
 and in sun, and in snow. 
 Whether I work or weary here, I hear it 
 
 whistle and blow. 
 It moans around, it groans around, it 
 
 comes with scream and cry - 
 The wind, wife ; the wind, wife ; may it 
 
 blow him home to die ! 
 
 II. • 
 APRIL RAIN. 
 
 Showers, showers, nought but showers, 
 
 and it wants a week of May, 
 Flowers, flowers, summer flowers, arc hid 
 
 in the green and the gray ; 
 Green buds and gray shoots cover their 
 
 sparkling gear. 
 They stir beneath, they long to burst, for 
 
 the May is so near, so near,— 
 While I spin and I spin, and the fingers of 
 
 the Rain 
 Fall patter, pitter, pattct, on the pane. 
 
 Showers, showers, silver showers, murmur 
 
 and softly sing. 
 Flowers, flowers, summer flowers, are 
 
 swelling and hearkening ; 
 It wants a week of May, when my love and 
 
 I will be one. 
 The flowers will burst, the birds will sing, 
 
 as we walk to church in the sun. 
 So patter goes my heart, in a kind of 
 
 pleasant pain, 
 To the patter, pitter, patter of the Rain. 
 
 III. 
 
 SUMMER MOON, 
 
 I. 
 
 Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, across 
 
 the west you fly, 
 You gaze on half the earth at once with 
 
 sweet and steadfast eye ; 
 Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, were I 
 
 aloft with thee, 
 I know that I could look upon my boy who 
 
 sails at sea. 
 
 Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, you 
 
 throw your silver show ers 
 Upon a glassy sea th.it lies round shores of 
 
 fruit and flowers. 
 And on the blue tide's silver edge drop 
 
 blossoms in the breeze. 
 And the shadow of the ship lies dark near 
 
 shades of orange-trees. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, now 
 
 wind and storm have fled, 
 Youi light creeps thro' a cabin-pane and 
 
 lights a fla.xen head : 
 He tosses with his Hps apart, lies smiling in 
 
 your gleam, 
 For underneath his folded hds you put a 
 
 gentle dream. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, his head 
 
 is on his arm, 
 He stirs with balmy breath and sees the 
 
 moonlight on the Farm, 
 He stirs and breathes his mother's name, he 
 
 smiles and sees once more 
 The Moon above, the fields below, the 
 
 shadow at the door. 
 
 Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, across 
 
 the lift you go. 
 Far south you gaze and see my Boy, where 
 
 groves of orange grow ! 
 Summer Moon, O Summer Moon, you turn 
 
 again to me. 
 And seem to have the smile of him who 
 
 sleeps upon the sea !
 
 VILLAGE VOICES— BEXIIILL, 1866. 
 
 "3 
 
 IV. 
 DECEMBER SNOW. 
 
 I. 
 
 The cold, cold snow ! the snow that lies so 
 
 white ! 
 The moon and stars are hidden, there is 
 
 neither warmth nor light — 
 I wonder, wife — I wonder, wife — where 
 
 Jeanie lies this night ? 
 
 ir. 
 
 'Tis cold, cold, cold, since Jeanie went away, 
 
 The world has changed, 1 sit and wait, and 
 listen night and day, 
 
 The house is silent, silent, and my hair has 
 grown so gray — 
 
 'Tis cold, cold, cold, wife, since Jeanie went 
 away. 
 
 rii. 
 
 And tick ! tick ! tick ! the clock goes ever- 
 more. 
 
 It chills me, wife — it seems to keep our 
 bairn beyond the door ; 
 
 I watch the firelight shadows as they float 
 
 upon the floor. 
 And tick I tick ! tick ! wife, the clock goes 
 
 evermore ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 'Tis cold, cold, cold ! — 'twere better she 
 
 were dead. 
 Not that I heed the Minister, and the bitter 
 
 things he said, — 
 But to think my lassie cannot find a place 
 
 to lay her head — 
 'Tis cold, cold, cold, wife — better she were 
 
 dead ! 
 
 The cold, cold snow ! the snow that lies so 
 
 white ! 
 Beneath the snow her little one is hidden 
 
 out of sight, 
 But up above, the wind blows keen, there's 
 
 neither warmth nor light, 
 I wonder, wdfe — I wonder, wife — where 
 
 Jeanie hes this night ! 
 
 London Poems. 
 
 (1866-70.) 
 
 Greift nur hinein in's voile Menschenleben ! 
 Ein jeder lebt's, nicht vielen ist's bekannt, 
 Und wo ihr's packt, da ist's interessant. 
 
 Faust - Vorspiel aufdem Theater. 
 
 BEX HILL, 1S66. 
 
 Now, when the catkins of the hazel swing 
 Wither'd above the leafy nook wherein 
 The chaffinch breasts her five blue speckled 
 
 eggs. 
 All round the thorn grows fragrant, white 
 
 with may. 
 And underneath the fresh wild hyacinth- 
 bed 
 Shimmers like water in the whispering wind; 
 Now, on this sweet still gloaming of the 
 
 spring. 
 Within my cottage by the sea, I sit, 
 Thinking of yonder city where I dwelt. 
 Wherein I sicken'd, and whereof I learn' 
 i>o much that dwells like music on my brain. 
 
 A melancholy happiness is mine ! 
 
 My thoughts, like blossoms of the nms- 
 
 chatel. 
 Smell sweetest in the gloaming ; and I feel 
 Visions and vanishings of other years, — 
 Faint as the scent of distant clover 
 
 meadows — 
 Sweet, sweet, though they awaken serious 
 
 cares — 
 Beautiful, beautiful, though they make me 
 
 weep. 
 
 The good days dead, the well-belovM 
 gone 
 Before me, lonely I abode amid 
 The buying, and the selling, and the strife 
 Of little natures ; ye there- still lemain'd 
 
 I
 
 114 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 Something to thank the Lord for. — I could 
 
 live ! 
 On winter nights, when wind and snow were 
 
 out, 
 Afford a pleasant fire to keep me warm ; 
 And while I sat, with homeward-looking 
 
 eyes. 
 And while I heard the humming of the town, 
 I fancied 'twas the sound I used to hear 
 In Scotland, when I dwelt beside the sea. 
 I knew not how it was, or why it was, 
 I only heard a sea-sound, and was sad. 
 It haunted me and pain'd me, and it made 
 That little life of penmanship a dream ! 
 And yet it served my soul for company. 
 When the dark city gather'd on my brain, 
 And from the solitude came never a voice 
 To bring the good days back, and show my 
 
 heart 
 It was not quite a solitary thing. 
 
 The purifying trouble grew and grew, 
 Till silentness was more than I could bear. 
 Brought by the ocean murmur from afar, 
 Came silent phantoms of the misty hills 
 Which I had known and loved in other days; 
 And, ah ! from time to time, the hum of hfe 
 Around me, the strange faces of the streets. 
 Mingling with those thin phantoms of the 
 
 hills, 
 And with that ocean-murmur, made a cloud 
 That changed around my life with shades 
 
 and sounds, 
 And, melting often in the light of day. 
 Left on my brow dews of aspiring dream. 
 And then I sang of Scottish dales and deUs, 
 And human shapes that lived and moved 
 
 therein. 
 Made solemn in the shadow of the hills. 
 Thereto, not seldom, did I seek to make 
 The busy life of London musical, 
 And phrase in modern song the troubled 
 
 lives 
 Of dwellers in the sunless lanes and streets. 
 Yet ever I was haunted from afar. 
 While singing ; and the presence of the 
 
 mountains 
 Was on me ; and the murmur of the sea 
 Deepen'dmy mood; while everyAvhere I saw, 
 Flowing beneath the blackness of the streets. 
 The current of sublimer, sweeter life, 
 Which is the source of human smiles and 
 
 tears, 
 
 And, melodised, becomes the strength of 
 song. 
 
 Darkling, I long'd for utterance, whereby 
 Poor people might be holpen, gladden'd, 
 
 cheer' d ; 
 Bright'ning at times, I sang for singing's 
 
 sake. 
 The wild wind of ambition grew subdued. 
 And left the changeful current of my soul 
 Crystal and pure and clear, to glass like 
 
 water 
 The sad and beautiful of human life ; 
 And, even in the unsung city's streets, 
 Seem'd quiet wonders meet for serious song, 
 Truth hard to phrase and render musical. 
 For ah I the weariness and weight of tears, 
 The crying out to God, the wish for slumber. 
 They lay so deep, so deep ! God heard 
 
 them all ; 
 He set them unto music of His own ; 
 But easier far the task to sing of kings. 
 Or weave weird ballads where the moon-dew 
 
 glistens, 
 Than body forth this life in beauteous sound. 
 The crowd had voices, but each living man 
 Within the crowd seem'd silence-smit and 
 
 hard : 
 They only heard the murmur of the town, 
 They only felt the dimness in their eyes. 
 And now and then turn'd startled, when they 
 
 saw 
 Some weary one fling up his arms and drop, 
 Clay-cold, among them, — and they scarcely 
 
 grieved. 
 But hush'd their hearts a time, and hurried 
 
 on. 
 
 'Twas comfort deep as tears to sit alone, 
 Haunted by shadows from afar away. 
 And try to utter forth, in tuneful speech, 
 What lay so musically on my heart. 
 But,thoughitsweeten'dlife,it seem'd in vain. 
 For while I sang, much that was clear be- 
 fore — 
 The souls of men and women in the streets. 
 The sounding sea, the presence of the hiUs, 
 And all the weariness, and all the fret, 
 And all the dim, strange pain for what had 
 
 fled— 
 Turn'd mto mist, mingled before mine eyes, 
 RoU'd up like wreaths of smoke to heaven, 
 apd died :
 
 BEXHILL, \?,66-THE LITTLE MILLINER. 
 
 "S 
 
 The pen dropt from my hand, mine eyes 
 
 grew dun, 
 And the great roar was in mine ears again. 
 And I was all alone in London streets. 
 
 Hither to pastoral solitude I came, 
 Happy to breathe again serener air 
 And feel a purer sunshine ; and the woods 
 And meadows were to me an ecstasy, 
 The singing birds a glory, and the trees 
 A green perpetual feast to fill the eye 
 And shimmer in upon the soul ; but chief, 
 There came the mumiur of the waters, 
 
 sounds 
 Of sunny tides that wash on silver sands, 
 Or cries of waves that anguish' d and went 
 
 white 
 Under the eyes of lightnings. 'Twas a bliss 
 Beyond the bliss of dreaming, yet in time 
 It grew familiar as my mother's face ; 
 And when the wonder and the ecstasy 
 Had mingled with the beatings of my heart, 
 The terrible City loom'd from far away 
 Andgather'd on me cloudily, dropping dews, 
 Even as those phantoms of departed days 
 Had haunted me in London streets and 
 
 lanes. 
 ■Wherefore in brighter mood I sought again 
 To make the life of London musical. 
 And sought the mirror of my soul for shapes 
 That linger'd, faces bright or agonised, 
 Yet ever talcing something beautiful 
 From glamour of green branches, and of 
 
 clouds 
 That glided piloted by golden airs. 
 
 And if I list to sing of sad things oft, 
 It is that sad things in this life of breath 
 Are truest, sweetest, deepest. Tears bring 
 
 forth 
 The richness of our natures, as the rain 
 Sweetens the smelling brier ; and I, thank 
 
 God, 
 Have anguish'd here in no ignoble tears — 
 Tears for the pale friendwith the singinglips, 
 Tears for the father with the gentle eyes 
 (My dearest up in heaven next to God) 
 Who loved me like a woman. I have 
 
 wrought 
 No garland of the rose and passion-flower, 
 Grown in a careful garden in the sun ; 
 But I liave gather'd samphire dizzily, 
 Close to the liollow roaring of a Sea. 
 
 Far away in the dark 
 
 Breaketh that living Sea, 
 Wave upon wave ; and hark ! 
 
 These voices are blown to me ; 
 For a gre.1t wind rises and blows, 
 
 Wafting the sea-sound near, \ 
 But it fitfully comes and goes, 
 
 And I cannot always hear ; 
 Green boughs are flashing around, 
 
 And the flowers at my feet are fair, 
 And the wind that bringeth the ocean-sound 
 
 Grows sweet with the country air. 
 
 THE LITTLE MILLINER ; 
 
 OR, LOVE IN AN ATTIC. 
 
 With fairy foot and fearless gaze 
 .She passes pure through evil ways ; 
 She wanders in the sinful town, 
 
 .And loves to hear the deep sea-music 
 Of people passing up and down. 
 
 Fear nor shame nor sin hath she. 
 But, like a sea-bird on the Sea, 
 Floats hither, thither, day and night : 
 
 The great black waters cannot harm her, 
 Because she is so weak and light ! 
 
 My girl hath violet eyes and yellow hair, 
 A soft hand, like a lady's, small and fair, 
 A sweet face pouting in a white straw 
 
 bonnet, 
 A tiny foot, and little boot upon it ; 
 And all her finery to charm beholders 
 Is the gray shawl drawn tight around her 
 
 shoulders. 
 The plain stuff-gown and collar white as 
 
 snow. 
 And sweet red petticoat that peeps below. 
 But gladly in the busy town goes she, 
 Summer and winter, fearing nobodie ; 
 She pats the pavement with her fairy feet. 
 With fearless eyes she charms tlie crowded 
 
 street ; 
 And in her pocket lie, in lieu of gold, 
 A lucky si.xpence and a thimble old. 
 
 We lodged in the same house a year ago : 
 She on the topmost floor, 1 just below, — 
 She, a poor milliner, content and wise, 
 I, a poor city clerk, witii hopes to rise ; 
 And, long ere we were friends, I learnt to 
 
 love 
 The little angel on the floor above. 
 
 I 2
 
 li6 
 
 LONDON POEMS, 
 
 Yox, every morn, ere from my bed I stirr'd, 
 Her chamber door would open, and I 
 
 heard, — 
 Andlisten'd, blushing, to her coming down, 
 And palpitated with her rustling gown. 
 And tingled while her foot went downward 
 
 slow, 
 Creak'd like a cricket, pass'd, and died 
 
 below ; 
 Then peeping from the window, pleased and 
 
 sly. 
 I saw the pretty shining face go by, 
 Healthy and rosy, fresh from slumber 
 
 sweet, — 
 A sunbeam in the quiet morning street. 
 All winter long, witless who peep'd the while, 
 She sweeten'd the chill mornings with her 
 
 smile : 
 When the soft snow w-as falling dimly white. 
 Shining among it with a child's delight, 
 Bright as a rose, though nipping winds 
 
 might blow, 
 And leaving fairy footprints in the snow ! 
 
 And every night, when in from work she 
 
 tript, 
 Red to the ears I from my chamber slipt. 
 That I might hear upon the narrow stair 
 Her low ' Good evening,' as she pass'd me 
 
 there. 
 And when her door was closed, below sat I, 
 And hearken'd stilly as she stirr'd on high, — 
 Watch'd the red firelight shadows in the 
 
 room, 
 Fashion'd her face before me in the gloom, 
 And heard her close the window, lock the 
 
 door. 
 Moving about more lightly than before, 
 And thought, ' She is undressing now !' and 
 
 oh! 
 My cheeks were hot, my heart was in a glow! 
 And I made pictures of her, — standing bright 
 Before the looking-glass in bed-gown white, 
 Upbinding in a knot her yellow hair, 
 Then kneeling timidly to say a prayer ; 
 Till, last, the floor creak'd sofdy overhead, 
 'Neath bare feet tripping to the little bed, — 
 And all was hush'd. Yet still I hearken'd 
 
 on, 
 Till the faint sounds about the streets were 
 
 gone; 
 And saw licr slumbering with lips apart. 
 One little hand upon her little heart, 
 
 The other pillowing a face that smiled 
 In slumber like the slumber of a child. 
 The bright hair shining round the small 
 
 white ear. 
 The soft breath stealing visible and clear. 
 And mixing with the moon's, whose frosty 
 
 gleam 
 Made round her rest a vaporous light of 
 
 dream. 
 
 How free she wander'd in the wicked place, 
 Protected only by her gentle face ! 
 She saw bad things — how could she choose 
 
 but see ? — 
 She heard of wantonness and misery ; 
 The city closed around her night and day, 
 But lightly, happily, she went her way. 
 Nothing of evil that she saw or heard 
 Could touch a heart so innocently stirr'd, — 
 By simple hopes that cheer'd it through the 
 
 storm, 
 And little flutterings that kept it warm. 
 No power had she to reason out her needs, 
 To give the whence and wherefore of her 
 
 deeds ; 
 But she was good and pure amid the strife. 
 By virtue of the joy that was her life. 
 Here, where a thousand spirits daily fall. 
 Where heart and soul and senses turn to 
 
 gall, 
 She floated, pure as innocent could be, 
 Lilce a small sea-bird on a stormy sea, 
 Which breasts the billows, wafted to and 
 
 fro. 
 Fearless, uninjured, while the strong winds 
 
 blow. 
 While the clouds gather, and the waters 
 
 roar. 
 And mighty ships are broken on the shore. 
 
 And London streets, with all their noise 
 
 and stir. 
 Had many a pleasant sight to pleasure 
 
 her. 
 There were the shops, where wonders ever 
 
 new, 
 As in a garden, changed the whole year 
 
 through. 
 Oft would she stand and watch with laughter 
 
 sweet 
 The Punch and Judy in the quiet street ; 
 Or look and listen while soft minuets 
 Play'd the street organ with the marionettes;
 
 THE LITTLE MILLINER. 
 
 117 
 
 Or joined the motley group of merry folks 
 Round the street huckster with his wares 
 
 and jokes. 
 Fearless and glad, she join'd the crowd that 
 
 flows 
 Along the streets at festivals and shows. 
 In summer time, she loved the parks and 
 
 squares, 
 Where fine folk drive their carriages and 
 
 pairs ; 
 In winter time her blood was in a glow, 
 At the white coming of the pleasant snow ; 
 And in the stormy nights, when dark rain 
 
 pours, 
 She found it pleasant, too, to sit indoors. 
 And sing and sew, and listen to the gales. 
 Or read the penny journal with the tales. 
 
 Once in the year, at merry Christmas 
 
 time. 
 She saw the glories of a pantomime. 
 Feasted and wonder'd, laugh'd and clapp'd 
 
 aloud. 
 Up in the gallery among the crowd, 
 Gathering dreams of fairyland and fun 
 To cheer her till another year was done ; 
 More happy, and more near to heaven, so. 
 Than many a lady in the tiers below. 
 
 And just because her heart was pure and 
 
 glad, 
 She lack'd the pride that finer ladies had : 
 She had no scorn for those who lived 
 
 amiss, — 
 The weary women with their painted bliss ; 
 It never struck her little brain, be sure. 
 She was so very much more fine and pure. 
 Softly she pass'd them in the public places. 
 Marvelling at their fearful childish faces ; 
 She sheltcr'd near them, when a shower 
 
 would fall, 
 And felt a little frighten'd, that was all, 
 And watch'd them, noting as they stood 
 
 close by 
 Their dress and fine things with a woman's 
 
 eye. 
 And spake a gentle word if spoken to, — 
 And wonder'd if their mothers lived and 
 
 knew? 
 
 Her look, her voice, her step, had witchery 
 And sweetness that were all in all to me ! 
 
 We both were friendless, yet, in fear and 
 
 doubt, 
 I sought in vain for courage to speak out. 
 Wilder my heart could ne'er have throbb'd 
 
 before her. 
 My thoughts have stoop'd more humbly to 
 
 adore her. 
 My love more timid and more still have 
 
 grown. 
 Had Polly been a queen upon a throne. 
 All I could do was wish and dream and sigh. 
 Blush to the ears whene'er she pass'd me by. 
 Still comforted, although she did not love 
 
 me, 
 Because — her little room was just above me! 
 
 'Twas when the spring was coming, when 
 
 the snow 
 Had melted, and fresh winds began to blow, 
 And girls were selling violets in the town, 
 That suddenly a fever struck me down. 
 The world v\as changed, the sense of life 
 
 was pain'd. 
 And nothing but a shadow-land remain'd ; 
 Death came in a dark mist and look'd at 
 
 me, 
 I felt his breathing, though I could not see, 
 But heavily I lay and did not stir, 
 And had strange images and dreams of her. 
 Then came a vacancy : with feeble breath, 
 I shiver'd under the cold touch of Death, 
 And swoon'd among strange visions of the 
 
 dead. 
 When a voice call'd from Heaven, and he 
 
 fled; 
 And suddenly I waken'd, as it seem'd, 
 From a deep sleep wherein I had not 
 
 dream 'd. 
 
 And it was night, and I could see and hear. 
 And I was in the room I held so dear. 
 And unaware, stretch'd out upon my bed, 
 1 hearken'd for a footstep overhead. 
 
 But all was hush'd. I look'd around the 
 
 room, 
 And slowly made out shapes amid the 
 
 gloom. 
 The wall was redden'd by a rosy light, 
 A faint fire flicker'd, and I knew 'twas night, 
 Because below there was a sound of feet 
 Dying away along the quiet ttreet, —
 
 ii8 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 When, turning my pale face and sighing 
 
 low, 
 I saw a vision in the quiet glow : 
 A little figure, in a cotton gown. 
 Looking upon the fire and stooping down, 
 Her side to me, her face illumed, she eyed 
 Two chestnuts burning slowly, side by 
 
 side, — 
 Her hps apart, her clear ej'es strain'd to see. 
 Her little hands clasp'd tight around her 
 
 knee. 
 The firelight gleaming on her golden head, 
 And tinting her white neck to rosy red. 
 Her features bright, and beautiful, and pure, 
 With childish fear and yearning half demure. 
 
 Oh, sweet, sweet dream ! I thought, and 
 strain'd mine eyes. 
 Fearing to break the spell with words and 
 sighs. 
 
 Softly she stoop'd, her dear face sweetly 
 
 fair. 
 And sweeter since a light like love was there, 
 Brightening, watching, more and more elate. 
 As the nuts glow'd together in the grate, 
 Crackling with little jets of fiery light, 
 Till side by side they turn'd to ashes white, — 
 Then up she leapt, her face ^ast off its fear 
 For rapture that itself was radiance clear. 
 And would have clapp'd her little hands in 
 
 glee. 
 But, pausing, bit her lips and peep'd at me. 
 And met the face that yearn'd on her so 
 
 whitely. 
 And gave a cry and trembled, blushing 
 
 brightly, 
 While, raised on elbow, as she turn'd to flee, 
 'Polly /' I cried, — and'grew as red as she ! 
 
 It was no dream ! — for soon my thoughts 
 
 were clear, 
 And slie could tell me all, and I could hear : 
 How in my sickness friendless 1 had lain, 
 How the hard people pitied not my pain ; 
 How, in despite of what bad people said. 
 She left her labours, stopp'd beside my bed. 
 And nursed me, thinking sadly I would die ; 
 How, in the end, the danger pass'd me by ; 
 I low she had sought to steal away before 
 The sickness pass'd, and I was strong once 
 
 more. 
 
 By fits she told the story in mine ear, 
 And troubled all the telling with a fear 
 Lest by my cold man's heart she should be 
 
 chid. 
 Lest I should think her bold in what she did ; 
 But, lying on my bed, I dared to say. 
 How I had watch'd and loved her many a 
 
 day, 
 How dear she was to me, and dearer still 
 For that strange kindness done while I was 
 
 ill, 
 And how I could but think that Heaven 
 
 above 
 Had done it all to bind our hves in love. 
 And Polly cried, turning her face away. 
 And seem'd afraid, and answer'd ' yea ' nor 
 
 ■ nay ; ' 
 Then stealing close, with little pants and 
 
 sighs, 
 Look'd on my pale thin face and earnest 
 
 eyes. 
 And seem'd in act to fling her arms about 
 My neck, then, blushing, paused, in flutter- 
 ing doubt. 
 Last, sprang upon my heart, sighing and 
 
 sobbing, — 
 That I might feel how gladly hers was 
 
 throbbing I 
 
 Ah ! ne'er shall I forget until I die 
 How happily the dreamy days went by, 
 While I grew well, and lay with soft heart- 
 beats, 
 Heark'ning the pleasant murnmr from the 
 
 streets, 
 And Polly by me like a sunny beam, 
 And life all changed, and love a drowsy 
 
 dream ! 
 ' Twas happiness enough to lie and see 
 The little golden head bent droopingly 
 Over its sewing, while the still time flew, 
 And my fond eyes were dim with happy 
 
 dew ! 
 And then, when I was nearly well and 
 
 strong. 
 And she went back to labour all day long, 
 How sweet to lie alone with half-shut eyes, 
 And hear the distant murmurs and the cries. 
 And think how pure she was from pain and 
 
 sin, — 
 And how the summer days were coming in ! 
 Then, as the sunset faded from the room, 
 To listen for her footstep in the ^loom,
 
 THE LITTLE MILLINER-LIZ. 
 
 119 
 
 To pant as it came stealing up tlie stair, 
 To feel my whole life brighten unaware 
 When the soft tap came to the door, and 
 
 when 
 The door was open'd for her smile again I 
 Best, the long evenings ! - when, till late at 
 
 night, 
 She sat beside me in the quiet light, 
 And happy things were said and kisses won, 
 And serious gladness found its vent in fun. 
 Sometimes I would draw close her shining 
 
 head, 
 And pour her bright hair out upon the bed, 
 And she would laugh, and blush, and try to 
 
 scold, 
 While ' Here,' I cried, ' I count my wealth 
 
 in gold ! ■ 
 Sometimes we play'd at cards, and thrill'd 
 
 with bliss, 
 On trumping one another with a kiss. 
 And oft our thoughts grew sober and found 
 
 themes 
 Of wondrous depth in marriage plans and 
 
 schemes ; 
 And she with pretty calculating hps 
 Sat by me, cautious to the finger-tips, 
 Till, all our calculations grown a bore. 
 We summ'd them up in kisses as before ! 
 
 Once, like a little sinner for transgression. 
 She blush'd upon my breast, and made con- 
 fession : 
 How, when that night I woke and look'd 
 
 around, 
 I found her busy with a charm profound. — 
 One chestnut was herself, my girl confess'd, 
 The other was the person she loved best, 
 And if they burn'd together side by side, 
 He loved her, and she would become his 
 
 bride ; 
 And burn indeed they did, to her delight, — 
 And had the pretty charm not proven right? 
 Thus much, and more, with timorous joy, 
 
 she said, 
 While her confessor, too, grew rosy red, — 
 And close together press'd two blissful faces. 
 As I absolved the sinner, with embraces. 
 
 And here is winter come again, winds 
 blow, 
 The houses and the streets are white with 
 snow ; 
 
 And in the long and pleasant eventide, 
 Why, what is Polly making at my side ? 
 What but a silk-gown, beautiful and grand, 
 We bought together lately in the Strand ! 
 What but a dress to go to church in soon, 
 And wear right queenly 'neaih a honey- 
 moon I 
 And who shall match her with her new 
 
 straw bonnet, 
 Her tiny foot and little boot upon it, 
 Embroider'd petticoat and silk-gown new, 
 And shawl she wears as few fine ladies do ? 
 And she will keep, to charm away all ill. 
 The lucky sixpence in her pocket still ! 
 And we will turn, come fair or cloudy 
 
 weather, 
 To ashes, like the chestnuts, close together ! 
 
 LIZ. 
 
 The crimson light of sunset falls 
 
 Through the gray glamour of the murmuring 
 rain, 
 And creeping o'er the housetops crawls 
 
 Through the black smoke upon the broken pane, 
 Steals to the straw on which she lies, 
 
 And tints her thin black hair and hollow cheeks, 
 Her sun-tann'd neck, her glistening eyes, — 
 
 While faintly, sadly, fitfully she speaks. 
 But when it is no longer light. 
 
 The pale girl smiles, with only One to mark, 
 And dies upon the breast of Night, 
 
 Like trodden snowdrift melting in the dark, 
 
 Ah, rain, rain, rain ! 
 
 It patters down the glass, and on the sill, 
 
 And splashes in the pools along the lane — 
 
 Then gives a kind of shiver, and is still : 
 
 One likes to hear it, though, when one is 
 ill. 
 Rain, rain, rain, rain ! 
 
 Ah, how it pours and pours ! 
 Rain, rain, rain, rain ! 
 
 A dismal day for poor girls out-o'-doors 1 
 
 II. 
 Ah, don't ! That sort of comfort makes me 
 
 cry. 
 And, Parson, since I'm bad, I want to die. 
 The roaring of the street 
 The tramp of feet. 
 The sobbing of the rain, 
 Bring nought but pain ;
 
 I20 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 They're gone into the aching of my brain ; 
 And wliether it be Hght, 
 Or dark dead night, 
 Wherever I may be, I hear them plain ! 
 I'm lost and weak, and can no longer bear 
 To wander, hke a shadow, here and there — 
 As useless as a stone — tired out — and 
 
 sick ! 
 So that they put me down to slumber 
 quick, 
 It does not matter where. 
 No one will miss me ; all will hurry by. 
 And never cast a thought on one so low ; 
 Fine gendemen miss ladies when they go. 
 But folk care nought for such a thing as I. 
 
 III. 
 'Tis bad, I know, to talk like that— too bad! 
 Joe, though he's often liard, is strong and 
 
 true — 
 [And there's the baby, too ! — 
 But I'm so tired and sad. 
 I'm glad it was a boy, sir, very glad. 
 A man can fight along, can say his say. 
 Is not look'd down upon, holds up his 
 
 head, 
 And, at a push, can always earn his bread: 
 Men have the best of it, in many a way. 
 But ah ! 'lis hard indeed for girls to keep 
 Decent and honest, tramping in the 
 
 town, — 
 Their best but bad — made light of — 
 beaten down — 
 Wearying ever, wearying for sleep. 
 If they grow hard, go wrong, from bad to 
 badder. 
 Why, Parson dear, they're happier being 
 
 blind : 
 They get no thanks for being good and 
 kind — 
 The better that they are, they feel the sadder! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Nineteen ! nineteen ! 
 
 Only nineteen, and yet so old, so old ; — 
 I feel like fifty, Parson — I have been 
 
 So wicked, I suppose, and life's so cold ! 
 Ah, cruel are the wind, and rain, and snow. 
 
 And I've been out for years among them 
 all: 
 
 I scarce remember being weak and small 
 Like baby there — it wa.s so long ago. 
 
 It does not seem that I was born. I woke. 
 One day, long, long ago, in a dark room. 
 And saw the housetops round me in tha 
 smoke. 
 And, leaning out, look'd down into tlie 
 gloom, 
 .Saw deep black pits, blank walls, and broken 
 panes. 
 And eyes, behind the panes, that flash'd 
 at me, 
 And heard an awful roaring, from the lanes, 
 
 Of folk I could not see ; 
 Then, while I look'd and listen'd in a dream, 
 I tm^n'd my eyes upon the housetops gray, 
 And saw, between the smoky roofs, a gleam 
 
 Of silver water, winding far away. 
 Tliat was the River. Cool and smooth and 
 deep. 
 It glided to the sound o' folk below. 
 Dazzling my eyes, till they began to grow 
 Dusty and dim with sleep. 
 Oh, sleepily I stood, and gazed, and 
 hearken'd ! 
 And saw a strange, bright light, that 
 
 slowly fled. 
 Shine through the smoky mist, and stain 
 it red. 
 And suddenly the water flash'd, — then 
 
 darken'd ; 
 And for a little time, though I gazed on, 
 The river and the sleepy light were gone ; 
 But suddenly, over the roofs there lighten'd 
 A pale, Strang*; brightness out of heaven 
 shed, 
 And, with a sweep that nude me sick and 
 frighten'd. 
 The yellow Moon roll'd up above my 
 head ; — 
 And down billow me roar'd the noise o'» 
 
 trade. 
 And ah ! I felt c^live, and was afraid, 
 And cold, and hungry, crying out for 
 bread. 
 
 V. 
 
 All that is like a dream. It don't seem t7i/e ! 
 Father was gone, and mother left, you 
 
 see, 
 To work for little brother Ned and me ; 
 And up among the gloomy roofs we grew, — 
 Lock'd in full oft, lest we should wander 
 out, 
 With nothing b>U a crust o' bread to eat.
 
 LIZ. 
 
 121 
 
 While mother char'd for poor folk round 
 about, 
 Or sold cheap odds and ends from street 
 to street. 
 Yet, Parson, there were pleasures fresh and 
 
 fair, 
 To make the time pass happily up there : 
 A steamboat going past upon the tide, 
 A pigeon lighting on the roof close by. 
 The sparrows teaching little ones to fly, 
 The small white moving clouds, that we 
 espied. 
 And thought were living, in the bit of 
 
 sky — 
 With sights like these right glad were 
 Ned and I ; 
 And then, we loved to hear the soft rain 
 calling. 
 Pattering, pattering, upon the tiles. 
 And it was fine to see the still snow falling. 
 Making the housetops white for miles on 
 miles, 
 And catch it in our little hands in play. 
 And laugh to feel it melt and slip away ! 
 But I was six, and Ned was only three. 
 And thinner, weaker, wearier than me ; 
 And one cold day, in winter time, when 
 mother 
 Had gone away into the snow, and we 
 Sat close for warmth and cuddled one 
 another. 
 He put his little head upon my knee. 
 And went to sleep, and would not stir a limb. 
 
 But look'd quite strange and old ; 
 And when I shook him, kiss'd him, spoke 
 
 to him, 
 He smiled, and grew so cold. 
 Then I was frighten'd, and cried out, and 
 none 
 Could hear me ; while I sat and nursed 
 his head. 
 Watching th- whiten'd window, while the 
 Sun 
 Peep'd in upon his face, and made it red. 
 And I began to sob ;— till mother came. 
 Knelt down, and scrcam'd, and named the 
 good God's name. 
 And told me he was dead. 
 And when she put his night-gown on, and, 
 weeping. 
 Placed him among the rags upon his bed, 
 I thought that brother Ned was only sleep- 
 ing. 
 
 And took his '«ttle hand, and felt no fear. 
 But when the place grew gray and cold 
 and drear. 
 And the round Moon over the roofs came 
 creeping, 
 And put a silver shade 
 All round the chilly bed where he was laid, 
 I cried, and was afraid. 
 
 VI. 
 Ah, yes, it's like a dream ; for time pass'd 
 
 by. 
 
 And I went out into the smoky air. 
 Fruit-selling, Parson — trudging, wet or 
 dry — 
 Winter and summer — weary, cold, and 
 bare. 
 And when old mother laid her down to die. 
 And parish buried her, I did not cry, 
 
 And hardly seem'd to care ; 
 1 was too hungry, and too dull ; beside, 
 The roar o' streets had made me dry as 
 dust — 
 It took me all my time, howe'er I tried. 
 
 To keep my limbs alive and earn a crust ; 
 I had no time for weeping. 
 And when I was not out amid the roar. 
 Or standing frozen at the playhouse door, 
 Wliy, I was coil'd upon my straw, and 
 
 sleeping. 
 All, pence were hard to gain I 
 Some girls were pretty, too, but I was plain : 
 Fine ladies never stopp'd and look'd and 
 smiled, 
 .A.nd gave me money for my face's sake. 
 That made me hard and angry when a child; 
 But now it thrills my heart, and makes 
 it ache ! 
 The pretty ones, poor things, what could 
 they do. 
 Fighting and starving in the wicked town. 
 But go from bad to badder — down, down, 
 down — 
 Being so poor, and yet so pretty, too ? 
 Never could bear the like of that— ah, no ! 
 B 'Iter have starved outright than gone so 
 low ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 But 1 've no call to boast. I might have 
 
 been 
 As wicked, Parson dear, in my distress. 
 But for your friend you know the one I 
 
 mean ? —
 
 122 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 The tall, pale lady, in the mourning dress. 
 Though we were cold at first, that wore 
 away — 
 
 She was so mild and young, 
 
 And had so soft a tongue. 
 
 And eyes to sweeten what she loved to say. 
 
 She never seem'd to scorn me — no, not she ; 
 
 And (lAhat was best) she seem'd as sad as 
 
 me ! 
 Not one of them that make a girl feel base. 
 And call her names, and talkof her disgrace, 
 And frighten one with thoughts of flaming 
 hell, 
 And fierce Lord God with black and 
 angry brow ; 
 But soft and mild, and sensible as well ; 
 
 And oh, I loved her, and I love her now. 
 She did me good for many and many a 
 day — 
 More good than pence could ever do, I 
 
 swear, 
 For she was poor, with little pence to 
 spare — 
 Learn'd me to read, and quit low words, 
 
 and pray. 
 And, Parson, though I never understood 
 How such a life as mine was meant for good, 
 And could not guess what one so poor and 
 low 
 Would do in that sweet place of which 
 she spoke, 
 And could not feel that God would let me 
 
 go 
 
 Into so bright a land with gentlefolk, 
 I liked to hear her talk of such a place. 
 And thought of all the angels she was 
 best, 
 Because her soft voice soothed me, and her 
 face 
 Made my words gentle, put my heart at 
 rest. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Ah, sir ! 'twas very lonesome. Night and 
 day, 
 Save when the sweet miss came, I was 
 
 alone, — 
 Moved on and hunted through the streets 
 of stone, 
 .■\iid even in dreams afraid to rest or stay. 
 T hen, other girls had lads to work and strive 
 for; 
 I envied them, and did not know 'twas 
 wrong. 
 
 And often, very often, used to long 
 For some one I could like and keep alive for. 
 Marry ? Not they ! 
 
 They can't afford to be so good, you know; 
 But many of them, though they step astray, 
 
 Indeed don't mean to sin so much, or go 
 Against what's decent. Only^'tis their way. 
 And many might do worse than that, may be, 
 
 If they had ne'er a one to fill a thought — 
 It sounds half wicked, but poor girls like me 
 
 Must sin a little, to be good in aught. 
 
 IX. 
 
 So I was glad when I began to see 
 Joe Purvis fancied me ; 
 And when, one night, he took me to the play, 
 Over on Surrey side, and offer'd fair 
 That we should take a little room and 
 share 
 Our earnings, why, I could not answer 
 
 ' Nay ! ' 
 And that's a year ago ; and though I'm 
 bad, 
 I've been as true to Joe as girl could be. 
 I don't complain a bit of Joe, dear lad, 
 
 Joe never, never meant but well to me ; 
 And we have had as fair a time, I think, 
 As one could hope, since we are both so 
 
 low. 
 Joe likes me— never gave me push or blow, 
 When sober : only, he was wild in drink. 
 But then we don't mind beating when a man 
 Is angry, if he likes us and keeps straight, 
 Works for his bread, and does the best he 
 can ; — 
 'Tis being left and slighted that we hate. 
 
 X. > 
 
 And so the baby 's come, and I shall die ! 
 And though 'tis hard to leave poor baby 
 
 here. 
 Where folk will think him bad, and all's 
 so drear. 
 The great Lord God knows better far 
 
 than I. 
 Ah, don't ! — 'tis kindly, but it pains me so 1 
 You say I'm wicked, and I want to go ! 
 ' God's kingdom,' Parson dear? Ah nay, 
 ah nay ! 
 That must be like the country — which I 
 fear : 
 I saw the country once, one sunmner day, 
 And I would rather die in London here
 
 LIZ. 
 
 "3 
 
 XI. 
 
 For I was sick of hunger, cold, and strife. 
 
 And took a sudden fancy in my head 
 
 To try the country, and to earn my bread 
 Out among fields, where I had heard one's 
 
 life 
 Was easier and brighter. So, that day, 
 I took my basket up and stole away. 
 Just after sunrise. As I went along, 
 
 TrembHng and loath to leave the busy 
 place, 
 I felt that I was doing something wrong. 
 
 And fear'd to look policemen in the face. 
 And all was dim : the streets were gray and 
 wet 
 
 After a rainy night : and all was still ; 
 
 I held my shawl around me with a chill, 
 And dropt my eyes from every face I 
 
 met ; 
 Until the streets began to fade, the road 
 
 Grew fresh and clean and wide, 
 Fine houses where the gentlefolk abode, 
 
 And gardens full of flowers, on every iide. 
 That made me walk the quicker— on, on, 
 on — 
 
 As if I were asleep with half-shut eyes, 
 
 And all at once I saw, to my surprise, 
 The houses of the gentlefolk were gone. 
 And I was standing still. 
 Shading my face, upon a high green hill. 
 
 And the bright sun was blazing. 
 And all the blue above me seem'd to melt 
 
 To burning, flashing gold, while I was 
 gazing 
 On the great smoky cloud where I had dwelt. 
 
 XII. 
 
 I'll ne'er forget that day. All was so bright 
 And strange. Upon the grass arojnd my 
 feet 
 The rain had hung a million drops of light; 
 The air, too, was so clear and w.irm and 
 sweet, 
 It seem'd a sin to breathe it. All around 
 Were hills and fields and trees that trem- 
 bled through 
 A burning, blazing fire of gold and blue ; 
 And there was not a sound. 
 
 Save a bird singing, singing, in the skies. 
 And the soft wind, that ran along the 
 ground, 
 And blew so sweetly on my lips and eyes. 
 
 Then, with my heavy hand upon my chest. 
 Because the bright air pain'd me, trem- 
 bling, sighing, 
 I stole into a dewy field to rest. 
 And oh, the green, green grass where I 
 was lying 
 Was fresii and living— and the bird sang 
 
 loud. 
 Out of a golden cloud— 
 
 And I was looking up at him and crying ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Howswift the hours slipt on !— and by and by 
 The sun grew red, big shadows fill'd the sky, 
 The air grew damp with dew. 
 And the dark night was coming down, I 
 knew. 
 Well, I was more afraid than ever, then. 
 And felt that I should die in such a 
 
 place, — 
 So back to London town I turn'd my face, 
 .\nd crept into the great black streets again ; 
 And when I breathed the smoke and heard 
 the roar. 
 Why, I was better, for in London here 
 My heart was busy, and I felt no fear. 
 I never saw the country any more. 
 And I have stay'd in London, well or ill— 
 I would not stay out yonder if I could. 
 For one feels dead, and all looks pure and 
 good — 
 I could not bear a life so bright and still. 
 All that I want is sleep. 
 Under the flags and stones, so deep, so deep! 
 God won't be hard on one so mean, but He, 
 Perhaps, will let a tired girl slumber sound 
 There in the deep cold darkness under 
 ground ; 
 And I shall waken up in time, may be, 
 Better and stronger, not afraid to see 
 Tliegreat, still Light that folds Him round 
 and round ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 See ! there's the sunset creeping through the 
 
 pane — 
 How cool and moi^t it looks amid the rain! 
 I like to hear the splashing of the drops 
 On the house-tops, 
 
 And tlie loud humming of the folk that go 
 Along the streets below I 
 I like the smoke and noise — I am so bad — 
 They make a low one hard, and still her 
 cares, . . .
 
 124 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 There's Joe ! I hear his foot upon the 
 stairs ! — 
 He must be wet, poor lad ! 
 He will be angry, like enough, to find 
 Another little life to clothe and keep. 
 But show him baby, Parson — speak him 
 kind — 
 And tell him Doctor thinks I'm going to 
 sleep. 
 A hard, hard life is his ! He need be strong 
 And rough, to earn his bread and get along. 
 I think he will be sorry when I go. 
 And leave the little one and him behind. 
 I hope he'il see another to his mind. 
 To keep him straight and tidy. Poor old 
 Joe! 
 
 THE STARLING. 
 
 The little lame tailor 
 
 Sat stitching and snarling — 
 Who in the world 
 
 Was the tailor's darling ? 
 To none of his kind 
 Was he well-inclined. 
 
 But he doted on Jack the starling. 
 
 II. 
 
 For the bird had a tongue. 
 
 And of words good store, 
 And his cage was hung 
 
 Just over the door. 
 And he saw the people. 
 
 And heard the roar, — 
 Folk coming and going 
 
 Evermore, — 
 And he look'd at the tailor, — 
 
 And swore. 
 
 iir. 
 From a country lad 
 
 The tailor bought him, — 
 His training was bad, 
 
 For tramps had taught him ; 
 On alehouse benches 
 
 His cage had been, 
 While louts and wenches 
 
 Made jests obscene, — 
 But he leam'd, no doubt, 
 
 His oaths from lellows 
 Who travel about 
 
 With kettle and bellows, 
 And three or four. 
 
 The roundest by far 
 That ever he swore, 
 
 Were taughi by a tar. 
 And the tailor heard — 
 
 ' We'll be friends ! ' said he, 
 ' You're a clever bird. 
 
 And our tastes agiee — 
 We both are old, 
 
 And esteem life base, 
 The whole world cold, 
 
 Things out of place. 
 And we're lonely too, 
 
 And full of care — 
 So what can we do 
 
 But swear ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 ' The devil take you. 
 
 How you mutter ! — 
 Yet there's much to make you 
 
 Swear and flutter. 
 You want the fresh air 
 
 And the sunlight, lad, 
 And your prison there 
 
 Feels dreary and sad. 
 And here I frown 
 
 In a prison as dreary, 
 Hating the town. 
 
 And feeling weary : 
 We're too confined. Jack, 
 
 And we want to fly, 
 And you blame mankind. Jack, 
 
 And so do I ! 
 And then, again, 
 
 By chance as it were. 
 We learn'd from men 
 
 How to grumble and swear ; 
 You let your throat 
 
 By the scamps be guided. 
 And swore by rote — 
 
 All just as I did ! 
 And without beseeching, 
 
 Relief is brought us — 
 For we turn the teaching 
 
 On those who taught us ! ' 
 
 V. 
 
 A haggard and ruffled 
 
 Old fellow was Jack, 
 With a grim face muffled 
 
 In ragged black.
 
 THE STARLING— JANE LEIVSON. 
 
 125 
 
 And his coat was rusty 
 
 And never neat, 
 And his wings were dusty 
 
 With grime of the street, 
 And he sidelong peer'd, 
 
 With eyes of soot, 
 And scowl'd and sneer'd, — 
 
 And was lame of a foot ! 
 And he long'd to go 
 
 From whence he came ; — 
 And the tailor, you know, 
 
 Was just the same. 
 
 VI. 
 
 All kinds of weather 
 
 They felt confined. 
 And swore together 
 
 At all mankind ; 
 For their mirth was done. 
 
 And they felt like brothers, 
 And the swearing of one 
 
 Meant no more than the other's 
 'Twas just a way 
 
 They had learn'd, you see, — 
 Each wanted to say 
 
 Only this — ' Woe 's me ! 
 I'm a poor old fellow, 
 
 And I'm prison'd so. 
 While the sun shines mellow. 
 And the corn waves yellow 
 
 And the fresh winds blow, — 
 And the folk don't care 
 
 If I live or die. 
 But I long for air. 
 
 And 1 wish to fly ! ' 
 Yet unable to utter it. 
 
 And too wild to bear, 
 They could only mutter it, 
 
 And swear. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Many a year 
 
 They dwelt in the city. 
 In their prisons drear. 
 
 And none felt pity. 
 And few were sparing 
 
 Of censure and coldness, 
 To hear them swearing 
 
 With such i^lain boldness ; 
 But at last, by the Lord, 
 
 Their noise was stopt, — 
 For down on his board 
 
 The tailor dropt. 
 
 And they found him dead. 
 
 And done with snarling, 
 And over his head 
 
 Still grumbled the Starling ; 
 But when an old Jew 
 
 Claim'd the goods of the tailor, 
 And with eye askew 
 
 Eyed the feathery railer. 
 And, with a frown 
 
 At the dirt and rust, 
 Took the old cage down, 
 
 In a shower of dust, — 
 Jack, with heart aching, 
 
 Felt life past bearing. 
 And shivering, quaking, 
 All hope forsaking. 
 
 Died, swearing. 
 
 JANE LEWS ON. 
 
 Clasping his knee with one soft lady-hand, 
 
 The other fingering his glass of wine, 
 Black-rairaented, white-hair'd, polite, and bland, 
 
 With mellow voice discourses Doctor Vine : 
 He warms, \j\Xh deep eyes stirr'd to thoughtful 
 light. 
 
 And roundabout his serious talk the while. 
 Kindly, yet pensive — worldly wise, yet bright, 
 
 Like bloom upon the blackthorn, blowshis smile. 
 
 An, Strong and mighty are we mortal men I 
 Braving the whirlwind on a ship at sea, 
 Facing the grim fort's hundred tongues of 
 
 fire, 
 Ay, and in England, 'neath the olive branch, 
 Pushing a stubborn elbow through the 
 
 crowd. 
 To get among the heights that keep the 
 
 gold; 
 But there is might and might, — and in the 
 
 one 
 Our dames and daughters shame us. Come, 
 
 my friend. 
 My man of sinews, — conscious of your 
 
 strength, 
 Proud of your well-won wrestles with the 
 
 world, — 
 Hear what a feeble nature can endure ! 
 
 A little yellow woman, dress'd in black. 
 With weary crow's-feet crawling round the 
 eyes,
 
 126 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 And solemn voice, that scem'd a call to 
 
 prayer ; 
 Another yellow woman, dress'd in black. 
 Sad, too, and solemn, yet with bitterness 
 Burn'd in upon the edges of her lips, 
 And sharper, thinner, less monotonous 
 
 voice ; 
 And last, a little woman auburn-hair'd. 
 Pensive a little, but not solemnised. 
 And pretty, with the open azure eyes. 
 The white soft cheek, the little mindless 
 
 mouth. 
 The drooping childish languor. There they 
 
 dwelt. 
 In a great dwelling of a smoky square 
 In Islington, named by their pious friends, 
 And the lean Calvinistic minister — 
 The Misses Lewson, and their sister Jane. 
 
 Miss Sarah, in her twenty-seventh year, 
 Knew not the warmer passions of her sex, 
 But groan'd both day and night to save her 
 
 soul ; 
 Miss Susan, two years younger, had regrets 
 Her sister knew not, and a secret pain 
 Because her heart was withering — whence 
 
 her tongue 
 Could peal full sharp at times, and show a 
 
 sting ; 
 But Jane was comely— might have cherish'd 
 
 hopes, 
 Since she was only twenty, had her mind 
 Been hopefuller. The elders ruled ihe 
 
 house. 
 Obedience and meekness to their will 
 Was a familiar habit Jane had learn'd 
 Full early, and had fitted to her life 
 So closely, 'twas a portion of her needs. 
 She gazed on them, as Eastern worshippers 
 Gaze on a rayless picture of the sun. 
 Her acts seem'd ether than her own ; her 
 
 heart 
 Kept melancholy time to theirs ; her eyes 
 Look'd ever unto them for help and light ; 
 Her eyelids droop'd before them if they chid. 
 A woman weak and dull, yet fair of face ! 
 Her mother, too, had been a comely thing — 
 A bright-hair'd child wed to an aged man, 
 A heart that broke because the man was 
 
 hard, — 
 Not like the grim first wife, who brought 
 
 the gold, 
 And yielded to his melancholy kiss 
 
 The melancholy virgins. Well, the three. 
 Alone in all the world, dwelt in the house 
 Their father left them, living by the rents 
 Of certain smaller houses of the poor. 
 And they were stern to wring their worldly 
 
 duts — 
 Not charitable, since the world was base, 
 But cold to all men, save the minister. 
 Who weekly cast the darkness of his blessing 
 Over their chilly table. 
 
 All around 
 The life of London shifted like a cloud. 
 Men sinned, and women fell, and thildien 
 
 cried, 
 And Want went ragged up and down the 
 
 lanes ; 
 While the two hueless sisters dragg'd their 
 
 chain 
 Self-woven, pinch <1 their lives complexion- 
 less. 
 Keeping their feelings quiet, hard, and pure. 
 But Jane felt lonesome in the world ; and 
 
 oft, 
 Pausing amid her work, gazed sadly forth 
 Upon the dismal square of wither'd trees. 
 The dusty grass that grew within the 
 
 rails. 
 The garden-plots where here and there a 
 
 flower 
 Grew up, and sicken 'd in the smoke, and 
 
 died ; 
 And when the sun was on the square, and 
 
 sounds 
 C amefrom thecliildren in the neighbouring 
 
 streets. 
 She thought of happy homes among the 
 
 fields, » 
 
 And brighter faces. When she walk'd 
 
 abroad, 
 The busy hum of life oppress'd her heart 
 And frighten'd her : she did not raise her 
 
 eyes. 
 But stole along, — a sweet shape clad in 
 
 black, 
 A pale and pretty face, at which the men 
 Stared vacant admiration. Far too dull 
 To blame her gloomy sisters for the shape 
 Her young days took, she merely knew the 
 
 world 
 Was drear ; and if at times she dared to 
 
 dream 
 Of things that made her colour come and go,
 
 JANE LEW SON. 
 
 127 
 
 And dared to hope for cheerier, sunnier 
 
 days, 
 She grew the wanner afterwards, and felt 
 Sad and ashamed. The dull life that she 
 
 wore. 
 Like to a gloomy garment, day by day, 
 Was a familiar life, the only life 
 She clearly understood. Coldly she heard 
 The daily tale of human sin and wrung, 
 And the small thunders of the Sunday nights 
 In chapel. All ai^ound her were the streets, 
 And frightful sounds, and gloomy sunless 
 
 faces. 
 And thus with tacit dolour she resign'd 
 Her nature to the hue upon the cheeks 
 Of her cold sisters. Yet she could not pray 
 As they pray'd, could not wholly feel and 
 
 know 
 The blackness of mankind, her own heart's 
 
 sin ; 
 Rut when she tried to get to God, and 
 
 yearn' d 
 For iielp not human, she could only cry. 
 Feeling a loveless and a useless thing. 
 Thinking of those sweet places in the fields, 
 Those homes whereon the sun shone plea- 
 
 .santly, 
 And happy mothers sat at cottage doors 
 Among their children. 
 
 Save for household work. 
 She would have wasted soon. From week 
 
 to week 
 The burthen lay on her, — the gloomy twain 
 Being too busy searching for their souls. 
 And begging God above to spare the same. 
 Yet she was quiet thus, content and glad 
 To silent drudgery, such as saved her heart 
 From wilder flulterings. The Sabbath day 
 Was drearest : drest in burial black, she sat 
 Those solemn hours in chapel, listening. 
 And scarcely heeding what she heard, but 
 
 watching 
 The folk around, their faces and their dress, 
 Or gazing at the sunshine on the floor ; 
 And service over, idly pined at home. 
 And, looking from the window at the 
 
 square, 
 Long'd for the labour of the coming day. 
 Her sisters watch'd her warily, be sure ; 
 And though their hearts were pure as pure 
 
 could be, 
 They loved her none the better for her face. 
 
 Love is as cunning as disease or death. 
 No doctor's skill will ward him off or cure. 
 And soon he found this pale and weary girl. 
 Despite the cloud of melancholy life 
 That rain'd around her. In no beauteous 
 
 shape, 
 In guise of passionate stripling iris-eyed. 
 Such as our poets picture in tiieir songs. 
 Love came ; — but in a gloomy garb of one 
 Whom men call'd pious, and whose holv 
 
 talk 
 Disarm'd the dragons. 'Twere but idle, 
 
 friend. 
 To count the wiles by which he won his way 
 Into her heart ; how she vouchsafed him all 
 The passion of a nature not too strong ; 
 How, when the first wild sunshine dazzled 
 
 her, 
 The woman loved so blindly, that her 
 
 thoughts 
 Became a secret trouble in the house ; 
 And how at last, with white and frighten'd 
 
 face. 
 She glided out into the dark one night. 
 And vanish'd with no utterance of farewell. 
 
 The sisters gave a quick and scandall'd 
 
 cry, 
 And sought a little for the poor flown bird; 
 Then, thinking awful things, composed 
 
 their hearts 
 In silence, pinch'd their narrow nat res 
 
 more. 
 And waited. 'This is something strange," 
 
 they thought, 
 ' Which God will clear ; we will not think 
 
 the worst. 
 Although she was a thing as light as straw.' 
 Nor did they cry their fear among their 
 
 friends. 
 Hawking a secret shame, but calmly waited. 
 Trusting no stain would fall upon their chill 
 And frosty reputations. Weeks pass'd by ; 
 They pray'd, they fasted, yellowing more 
 
 and more, 
 They waited sternly for the end, and heard 
 The timid knock come to the door at last. 
 
 It was a dark and rainy night ; the streets 
 Were gleaming watery underneath the 
 
 lamps. 
 The dismal wind scream'd fitfully without, 
 And made within a melancholy sound ;
 
 128 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 And the faint knock came to the door at last. 
 The sisters look'd in one another's faces, 
 And knew the wanderer had returned again, 
 But spoke not ; and the younger sister rose, 
 Open'd the door, pser'd out into the rain, 
 And saw the weary figure shivering there. 
 Holding a burthen underneath her shawl. 
 And silently, with wan and timid look, 
 The wanderer slipt in. No word of greeting 
 Spake either of the sisters, but their eyes 
 Gleam'd sharply, and they waited. White 
 
 and cold. 
 Her sweet face feebly begging for a word. 
 Her long hair dripping loose md wet, stood 
 
 Jane 
 Before them, shivering, clasping tight her 
 
 load, 
 In the dull parlour with the cheerless fire. 
 Till Susan, pointing, cried in a shrill voice, 
 'What are you carrying underneath your 
 
 shawl, 
 Jane I.ewson?' and the faint despairing 
 
 voice. 
 While the rain murmur'd and the night-wind 
 
 blew, 
 Moan'd, ' It's my Baby !' and could say no 
 
 more, 
 For the wild sisters scream'd and raised their 
 
 hands. 
 And Jane fell quivering down upon her 
 
 knees, 
 The old shawl opening show'd a child asleep. 
 And, trebling terror with a piteous cry, 
 The child awaken'd. 
 
 Pointing to the door, 
 With twitching lips of venom, Susan said — 
 ' Go ! ' and the elder sister echo'd her 
 More sadly and more solemnly. But Jane, 
 Clinging to Sarah's skirts, implored and 
 
 moan'd, 
 ' Don't turn me out ! my little girl will die ! 
 I have no home in all the world but here ; 
 Kill me, but do not drive from the house ! ' 
 'Jane Lewson,' Susan cried, as white as 
 
 death, 
 ' Where is the father o this child ? ' and Jane 
 Moan'd, ' Gone, go je, gone ; ' and when 
 
 she named his name, 
 And how, while she who spake in sickness 
 
 lay, 
 He secretly had fled across the seas. 
 They shiver'd to the hair. Holding her han d 
 
 Upon her heart, the elder sister spake 
 
 In dull monotonous voice — ' Look up ! 
 
 look up I 
 Perhaps 'tis not so ill as we believed. 
 Are you a wedded woman ? ' The reply 
 Was silentness and heavy drooping eyes, 
 Yet with no blush around the quivering lids ; 
 And Sarah, freezing into ice, spake on 
 In dull monotonous voice — ' Your sin has 
 
 brought 
 Shame on us all, but they who make their 
 
 beds 
 Must sleep upon them ; go away, bad 
 
 woman ! 
 The third of what our father left is yours. 
 But you are not our sister any more. ' 
 Still moaning, shuddering, the gul begg'd 
 
 on. 
 Nor ceased to rock the babe and still its 
 
 cries, 
 ' Kill me, but do not drive me from the 
 
 house ! 
 Put any pain upon me that you please. 
 But do not, do not, drive me forth again 
 Into the dreadful world ! I have no friends 
 On all the earth save you ! ' The sisters 
 
 look'd 
 At one another, and without a word 
 Walk'd from the room. 
 
 Jane sat upon the floor, 
 Soothing the child, and did not rise, but 
 
 waited ; 
 The agony and terror dried her t( ars. 
 And she could only listen, praying God 
 That He would soften ihem ; and the little 
 
 one 
 Look'd in her face and laugh'd. y 
 
 A weary hour 
 Pass'd by, and then, still white, and stern, 
 
 and cold, 
 The sisters enter'd, and the elder one 
 Spake without prelude : ' We have talk'd it 
 
 o'er, 
 Jane Lewson, and have settled how to act ; 
 You Viave a claim upon us : will you take 
 Trie third of what our father left, and find 
 Another home? ' But Jane cried, ' Do not, 
 
 do not. 
 Drive me away ; I have no friends save you ; 
 And I am sorry.' 'I'rembling, lor her heart 
 Was not all cold, the elder icicle
 
 JANE LEWSON. 
 
 129 
 
 Resumed : ' Take what is left you, and be 
 
 gone, 
 And never see our faces anv more ; 
 Or if you will, stay with us here, but only 
 On these conditions : For the infant's sake, 
 And for the sake of our good name, our 
 
 friends 
 Must never know the miserable child 
 Is yours ; but we will have it given out 
 That, being lonely and unwedded here, 
 We have adopted a poor tenant's child. 
 With view to bring it up in godliness.' 
 Jane answer'd, with a feeble thrill of hope, 
 ' Anything, anything, — only leave me not 
 Alone in the dark world." ' Peace ! ' Susan 
 
 said, 
 ' You do not understand : the child herself 
 Must never know Jane Lewson is her 
 
 mother : 
 Neither by word nor look nor tender folly. 
 Must you reveal unto the child her shame. 
 And yours, and ours ! ' Then, with a bitter 
 
 cry. 
 And a wild look, Jane cried, ' And must my 
 
 babe 
 Not know me?' 'Never,' Sarah Lewson 
 
 said : 
 ' For the babe's sake, for yours, for ours, 
 
 the shame 
 Must not be utter'd. See, you have your 
 
 choice : 
 Take what our father gave you, and depart. 
 Or stay on these conditions. We are firm. 
 We have decided kindly, not forgetting 
 You were our sister, nor that this poor 
 
 child 
 Is blameless, save that all the flesh is sin. 
 But not forgetting, cither, what we owe 
 To God above us.' Weeping o'er the child. 
 Not rising yet, Jane answer'd, ' I will stay ; 
 Yes, gladly, for the little baby's sake. 
 That folk may never call it cruel names." 
 And the stern sisters took from off the shelf 
 The gri at old Bible, placed it in her hands 
 And made her kiss it, swearing before God 
 Never to any one in all the world, 
 Not even to the child itself, to tell 
 Site was its sinful mother. Wild and dazed. 
 She sware upon the Book. 'That is 
 
 enough,' 
 Said Sarah ; 'but, Jane Lewson, never again 
 Speak to us of the evil that has pass'd ; 
 Live with us as you used to do, and ask 
 
 The grace of God, who has been kinder fai 
 Than you deserved.' 
 
 Thus, friend, these icicles 
 Dealt their hard measure, deeming that they 
 
 did 
 A virtuous and a righteous deed ; and Jane, 
 The worn and mindless woman, sank again 
 Into submission and house-drudgery, 
 Comforted that she daily saw her child. 
 And that her shame was hidden from the 
 
 world. 
 And that the child would never suffer scorn 
 Because a sinner bore it. But her heart 
 Was a bruised reed, the little sunny hue 
 Had gone from all things ; and whene'er 
 
 she pray'd. 
 She thought the great cold (iod above her 
 
 head 
 Dwelt on a frosty throne and did not hear. 
 
 II. 
 
 Yet He, the Almighty Lord of this our 
 
 breath. 
 Did see and hear, and surely pitied too, 
 If God can pity, — but He works as God, 
 Not man, and so we cannot understand. 
 
 No whisper of reproach, no spoken word, 
 Troubled with memories of her sinfulness 
 The suffering woman ; yet her daily life 
 Became a quiet sorrow. In the house 
 She labour'd with her hands from morn to 
 
 night, 
 Seeing few faces save the pensive ones 
 Whose yellow holiness she bow'd before ; 
 And tacitly they suffer'd her to sink 
 Into the household drudge, — with privilege 
 Upon the Sabbath day to dress in black, 
 Sit in the sunless house or go to prayer, — 
 So idle, that her thoughts could travel back 
 To shame and bitterness. Her only joy 
 Was when she gave her little girl the breast, 
 (They dared not rob her weary heart of that, ) 
 When, seated all alone, she felt it suck. 
 And, as the little lips drew forth the milk. 
 Felt drowsily rcsign'd, and closed her eyes. 
 And trembled, and could feel the happy 
 tears. 
 
 There came a quiet gathering in the house, 
 And by the gloomy minister the child 
 Was christcn'd ; and the name he gave to licr 
 
 K
 
 I30 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 Was 'Margaret Lewson.' For the sisters 
 
 said, 
 ' Her mother being buried, as it were, 
 The girl shall take our name." And Jane 
 
 sat by, 
 And heard the pious lie with aching heart. 
 And ever after that her trouble grew. 
 
 Soon, when the sound of little feet were 
 
 heard 
 In the dull dwelling, and a baby-voice 
 Call'd at the mother's heart, Jane thrill'd 
 
 and heard, 
 But even as she listen'd the sweet sounds 
 Would seem to die into the cloud that hid 
 The great cold God above her. Margaret 
 Grew to a little wildling, quick and bright, 
 Black-eyed, black-hair'd, and passionate 
 
 and quick, 
 Not like its mother ; fierce and wild when 
 
 chid, 
 So that the gloomy sisters often thought, 
 ' There is a curse upon it ; ' yet they grew 
 To love the litde wildling unaware. 
 Indulged it in their stern and solemn way. 
 More cheer'd than they believed by its shrill 
 
 laugh 
 Within the dismal dwelling. But the child 
 Clung most to Jane, and though, when first 
 
 it learn' d 
 To call her by her Christian name, tlie sound 
 Bruised the poor suffering heart, that wore 
 
 away ; 
 And all the little troubles of the child, 
 The pretty joys, the peevish fits, the bursts 
 Of passion, work'd upon her nature so. 
 That all her comfort was to snatch it up. 
 And cover it with kisses secretly. 
 Wilful and passionate, yet loving too, 
 Grew Margaret, — an echo in a cave 
 Of human life without ; clinging to Jane, 
 Wlio never had the heart to fondle it 
 Before her sisters ; not afraid at times 
 To pinch the thin, worn arms, or pull the 
 
 hairs 
 Upon the aching head, but afterwards 
 Curing the pain with kisses and with tears. 
 So that as time wore on the mother's heart 
 Grew tenderer to its trouble than before. 
 
 Then later, when the little girl went forth 
 To school hard by, the motion and the light 
 
 Hied from the house ; and all the morning 
 
 hours 
 The thin face came and went against the 
 
 panes, 
 Looking out townward, — till the little shape 
 Appear'd out of the cloud, and pale eyes 
 
 grew 
 Dim to its coming. As the years went on, 
 The mother, with the agony in her heart 
 She could not utter, quietly subdued 
 Her nature to a listening watchfulness : 
 Her face grew settled to expectant calm, 
 Her vision penetrated things around 
 And gazed at something lying far beyond, 
 Her very foot Mnger'd about the house, 
 As if she loiter'd hearkening for a sound 
 Out of the world. For Margaret, as she 
 
 grew. 
 Was wilder and more wilful, openly 
 Master' d the gloomy virgins, and escaped 
 The pious atmosphere they daily breathed 
 To gambol in a freer, fresher air ; 
 And Jane would think, ' 'TwiU kill me, if 
 
 my child 
 Should turn out wicked." Mindless though 
 
 she was. 
 And feeble, yet the trouble made her sense 
 Quick, sharp, and subtle to perceive and 
 
 watch. 
 A little word upon the girlish tongue 
 Could sting her, — nay, a light upon the face, 
 A kindling of the eye, a look the child 
 Wore when asleep, would trouble her for 
 
 days, 
 Carrying strangest import. So she waited, 
 Watching and listening, — while the young 
 
 new hfe 
 Drew in the air, and throve, absorbing hues 
 Out of a thousand trivial lights and shades 
 That hover'd lightly round it. Still to Jane 
 The habit of submission clung : she watch'd 
 The wiser sterner faces oftentimes. 
 Trembling for confirmation of her fears ; 
 And nightly pray'd that God, who was so 
 
 just, 
 So hard to those who went astray at all. 
 Would aid her sisters, helping them to make 
 The little Margaret better as she grew, — 
 Waking her secret trouble evermore 
 With countless, nameless acts of help and 
 
 love. 
 And humble admonition, — comforted 
 By secret fondlings of the little arms.
 
 JANE LEWS ON. 
 
 131 
 
 Or kisses on the tiny, wilful mouth 
 Apart in childish slumber. 
 
 Thus the years 
 Pass'd over her like pensive clouds, and 
 
 melted 
 Into that dewy glimmer on the brain, 
 Whichmen call Memory. Wherefore recount 
 The little joys and sorrows of the time : 
 The hours when sickness came, and thought 
 
 itself 
 Tick'd like a death-watch, — all the daily 
 
 hopes 
 And impulses and fears? Enough to tell, 
 That all went onward like a troubled stream. 
 Until the sisters, worn and growing old. 
 Felt the still angel coming nearer, nearer. 
 Scattering sleep-dust on uplooking eyes ; 
 And Jane, though in her prime, was turning 
 
 gray; 
 And Margaret was a maiden flower full- 
 blown. 
 
 A passion-flower !-^a maiden whose rich 
 
 heart 
 Burn'd with intensest fire that turn'd the 
 
 light 
 Of the sweet eyes into a warm dark dew ; 
 One of those shapes so marvellously made. 
 Strung so intensely, that a finger-press. 
 The dropping of a stray curl unaware 
 Upon the naked breast, a look, a tone, 
 Can vibrate to the very roots of life, 
 And draw from out the spirit light that 
 
 seems 
 To scorch the tender cheeks it shines upon ; 
 A nature running o'er with ecstasy 
 Of very being, an appalling splendour 
 Of animal sensation, loveliness 
 IJke to the dazzling panther's ; yet, withal. 
 The gentle, wilful, clinging sense of love. 
 Which makes a virgin's soul. It seem'd, 
 
 indeed. 
 The gloomy dwelling and the dismal days. 
 Gloaming upon her heart, had lent this 
 
 show 
 Of shining life a melancholy shade 
 That trebled it in beauty. Such a heart 
 Needed no busy world to make it beat : 
 It could throb bunnngly in solitude ; 
 Since kindly Heaven gave it strength 
 
 enough 
 To rock the- languid blood into the brains 
 Of twenty smaller natures. 
 
 Then the pain. 
 The wonder, deepen'd on the mother's 
 
 heart, — 
 Her mother, her worn mother, whom she 
 
 knew not 
 To be her mother. As she might have 
 
 watch'd 
 A wondrous spirit from another world, 
 Jane Lewson watch'd her child. Could this 
 
 fair girl, — 
 This wild and dazzling life, be born of 
 
 /^tv-?— 
 A lightning flash struck from a pensive cloud 
 The wan still moon is drinking? Like a 
 
 woman 
 Who has been sick in darkness many days, 
 And steps into the sunshine, Jane beheld 
 Her daughter, and felt blind. A terror 
 
 grew 
 Upon her, that the smother'd sense of pride 
 Lack'd power to kill. She pray'd, she 
 
 wept, she dream'd. 
 And thought, if Margaret's liad been a face 
 More like the common faces of the streets, 
 'Twould have been better. With this feel- 
 ing, grew 
 The sense of her own secret. Oftentimes 
 A look from Margaret brought the feeble 
 
 blush 
 Into the bloodless cheek ; — creeping away 
 Into her chamber, Jane would wring her 
 
 hands. 
 Moaning in pain, ' God help me ! If she 
 
 knew I 
 Ah, if she knew ! ' And then for many days 
 Would haunt the dwelling fearfully, afraid 
 To look on what she loved, — till once again, 
 Some little kindness, some sweet look or 
 
 tone, 
 A happy kiss, would bring her courage back 
 And cheer her. 
 
 Nor had Margaret fail'd to win 
 The hard-won sisters ; oft their frosty eyes 
 Enlarged themselves upon her and grew 
 
 thaw'd — 
 In secret she was mistress over both — 
 And in their loveless way, they also felt 
 A frighten'd pleasure in the beauteous thing 
 That brighten'd the dull dwelling. 
 
 Oftentimes, 
 The fiery maiden-nature flashing forth 
 
 K 2
 
 132 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 In wilful act or speech or evil looks, 
 Deepcn'd Jane's terror. Margaret heeded 
 
 not 
 The sisters' pious teachings, did not show 
 A godly inclination, — nay, at times 
 Mock'd openly. Ah, had she guess'd the 
 
 pain, 
 The fear, the agony, such mockings gave 
 Her mother, her worn mother, whom she 
 
 knew not 
 To be her mother ! In her secret heart 
 Jane deem'd her own deep sorrows all had 
 
 come 
 Because she had not, in her dreary youth, 
 Been godly ; and as such flashes as she 
 
 saw 
 Gleam from her girl, seem'd wicked things 
 
 indeed ; 
 And at such times the weary woman's eyes 
 Would seek the sunless faces, searching 
 
 them 
 For cheer or warning. 
 
 In its season came 
 That light which takes from others what it 
 
 gives 
 To him or her who, standing glorified. 
 Awaits it. 'Tis the old, sad mystery : 
 No gift of love that comes upon a life 
 But means another's loss. The new sweet 
 
 joy. 
 That play'd in tender colours and mild fire 
 On Margaret's cheek, upon the mother's 
 
 heart 
 Fell like a firebrand. 
 
 For to Jane, her friend. 
 Her dearest in the household from the first. 
 Her mother, her worn mother, whom she 
 
 knew not 
 To be her mother, Margaret first told 
 The terror — how she loved and was beloved; 
 And seated at Jane's feet, with eyes upiurn'd. 
 Playing with the worn fingers, she exclaim'd, 
 ' I love him, Jane ! and you will love him 
 
 too ! 
 I will not marry any other man ! ' 
 And suddenly Jane felt as if the Lord 
 Had come behind her in the dark and 
 
 breathed 
 A burning fire upon her. For she thought, 
 ' My child will go away, and I shall die ! ' 
 But only murniur'd, 'Marry, Margaret? 
 
 You are too young to marry ! ' and her 
 
 face 
 Was like a murder'd woman's. 
 
 And the pain, 
 
 The agony, deepen'd, when the lover's face 
 Came smiling to the dwelling, young and 
 
 bright 
 With pitiless gladness. Jane was still, and 
 
 moan'd, 
 ' My child will go away, and I shall die ! ' 
 And look'd upon her sisters, and could see 
 They pitied her ; but their stetn faces said, 
 'This is God's will 1 the just God governs 
 
 all! 
 How should we cross such love ? ' adding, 
 
 ' Beware, — 
 For our sakes, for your own, but chief of all 
 For her sake whom you love, remember 
 
 now ! 
 Pray, and be silent ! ' And the wounded 
 
 heart 
 Cried up to God again, and from the sky 
 No answer came ; when, crush'd beneath 
 
 her pain. 
 The woman sicken'd, lay upon her bed. 
 And thought her time was come. 
 
 Most tenderly 
 Her daughter nursed her ; little fathoming 
 The meaning of the wild and yearning look 
 That made the white face sweet and beau- 
 tiful ; 
 For Jane was saying, ' Lord, I want to die! 
 My child would leave me, or my useless life 
 Would turn a sorrow to her, if I stay'd : 
 Lord, let me die ! ' Yea, the cJlill nature 
 
 clung 
 Still into silence, with the still resolve 
 Of mightier natures. Thinking she would 
 
 die, 
 Jane lay as in a painless dream, and watch'd 
 The bright face stir around her, following 
 The shape about the room, and praying still 
 For strength — so happy in her drowsy 
 
 dream. 
 That she went chill at times, and felt that 
 
 thoughts 
 So tranquil were a sin. A darker hour 
 Gloam'd soon upon her brain. She could 
 
 not see 
 The face she loved ; murmur'd delirious 
 
 words ;
 
 JANE LEWSON. 
 
 133 
 
 And in the weary watches of the night, 
 Moaning and wringing hands, with closed 
 
 eyes, 
 Cried ' Margaret ! Margaret ! ' Then the 
 
 sisters sought 
 To lead the girl away, lest she should hear 
 The secret ; but she conquer'd, and re- 
 
 main'd ; 
 And one still evening, when the quiet fire 
 Was making ghosts that quiver'd on the 
 
 floor 
 To the faint time-piece ticking, Jane awoke, 
 Gazed long and strangely at the shining 
 
 face. 
 Waved her thin arms, cried, ' Margaret ! 
 
 Margaret ! 
 Where are you, Margaret ? Have you gone 
 
 away? 
 Come to your mother 1 ' The wild cry of 
 
 pain 
 Startled the maiden, but she only thought 
 The fever'd woman raved. Twining her 
 
 arms 
 Around Jane's neck, she murmurd, 'I am 
 
 here ! ' 
 Weeping and kissing ; but the woman sigh'd 
 Ami shiver'd, crying feebly, ' Let me die ! 
 My little girl has gone into the town, 
 And she has learn'd to call me wicked 
 
 names, 
 And will not come again ! ' 
 
 When, wearied out, 
 Jane sank to troubled sleep, her child sat 
 
 still. 
 Thinking of those strange words ; and 
 
 though at last 
 She shut them from her thought as idle 
 
 dream, 
 Their pain return'd upon her. The next 
 
 day 
 She spake unto the sisters of the same. 
 Adding, in a low voice, ' She talk'd of me. 
 And moan'd out loudly for a little child — 
 Has she a child ? ' The first quick flash of 
 
 fear 
 Died from the yellow visages unseen, 
 And they were calm. ' Delirium ! ' Sarah 
 
 said ; 
 ' But you, my child, must watch her sick- 
 bed less — 
 You are too young, too weak, to bear such 
 
 things." 
 
 And this time Margaret did not say a word, 
 But yielded, thinking, ' It is very strange !— 
 There is a mystery, and I will watch : 
 Can Jane have had a child? ' 
 
 That very day 
 The dark mists roU'd from the sick woman's 
 
 brain. 
 And she awoke, remembering nought, and 
 
 saw 
 The sisters watching her. Two days they 
 
 watch'd ; 
 And spake but very little, though they saw 
 The wan eyes wander with a hungry look. 
 Seeking the face they loved. Then Sarah 
 
 took 
 Jane's hand, and spake more gently, sisterly, 
 (Such natures, friend, grow kinder as they 
 
 age,) 
 Than slie had done for many years, and 
 
 told 
 Of those wild words utter'd while she was ill ; 
 Jane moan'd and hid her face ; but Sarah 
 
 said, 
 ' V/e do not Ijlame you, and perchance the 
 
 Lord 
 Spake through you ! We have thought it 
 
 o'er, and pray'd : 
 Now hsten, Jane. Since that unhappy 
 
 night, 
 We iiave not spoken of your shame, yet 
 
 know 
 You have repented. ' With her face still hid, 
 Jane falter'd, ' Let me die ! ' but Sarah said, 
 ' We do not think, Jane Lewson, you will 
 
 live ; 
 So mark me well. If, ere you go away, 
 You feel that you could go more cheerfully, 
 If you are certain that it is not sin. 
 Poor Margaret shall know she is your child; 
 W'e will not, now you die, deny you this ; 
 And Margaret will be silent of tlie shame, — 
 And, lest you break your oath upon the 
 
 Word, 
 Our li|is shall tell her.' Still Jane Lewson 
 
 hid 
 Her face ; and all was quiet in the room, 
 Save for a shivering sound and feeble crying. 
 But suddenly Jane lifted up her face, 
 Beauteous beyond all beauty given to joy. 
 And quickly whispering, prcss'd the chilly 
 
 hand — 
 ' 1 will not speak I I will not hurt my child
 
 134 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 So cruelly ! — the child shall never know ! 
 And I will go in silence to my grave, 
 Leaving her happy, — and perhaps the Lord 
 Will pardon me ! ' Then, for the first last 
 
 time. 
 The sisters look'd on Jane with different 
 
 eyes. 
 Admiring sternly, with no words of praise, 
 Her they had scorn'd for feebleness so long. 
 
 Even then the watchers in the chamber 
 
 heard 
 A sound thatthrill'd them through, — a rust- 
 
 Hng dress, 
 A deep hard breathing as of one in pain ; 
 And pointing with her hand Jane scream'd 
 
 aloud ; 
 And turning suddenly the sisters saw 
 A face as white as marble, yet illumed 
 By great eyes flashing with a terrible flame 
 That made them quail. And in a dangerous 
 
 voice. 
 As low as a snake's hissing, Margaret said, 
 ' I have heard all ! ' Then the great eyes 
 
 were turn'd 
 On Jane, and for a moment they were 
 
 cold; 
 But all at once the breathless agony 
 Of recognition struck upon her heart. 
 The bosom heaved and moan'd, the bright 
 
 tears burst, 
 And Margaret flung herself upon the bed. 
 Clasping her shivering mother ; and at first 
 Jane shrank away, — but soon the wondrous 
 
 love 
 Master'd her, — she could smile and kiss and 
 
 cry — 
 And hear the dear wild voice cry, ' Mother, 
 
 mother ! ' 
 And see the bright face through her tears, 
 
 and feel 
 That Love was there. 
 
 After the first strange bliss 
 Of meeting, both were stiller. Jane could 
 
 weep. 
 And bear to feel so happy. Margaret 
 Clang to her mother, breathed her bhss upon 
 
 her. 
 Fondling the silver'd tresses, covering 
 The thin hard hand with kisses and with 
 
 tears, 
 
 Trying to say a thousand merry things 
 That died in sobs and tears, and only say- 
 ing, 
 For all the utterance of her speechful heart, 
 ' Mother, my mother ! ' Suddenly her 
 
 shame 
 Came back upon the woman, and she 
 
 turn'd 
 To seek her sisters' faces piteously. 
 But they had stolen from the happy room ; 
 Whereon again she murmur'd, ' Let me die! 
 I am a wicked woman, Margaret ! 
 Why did you listen ? ' But a second burst 
 Of love and bhssful pain, and bitter things 
 Hurl'd at the cruel sisters, answer'd her ; 
 And more tears flow'd, and more fond kisses 
 
 brush' d 
 The tears away, — until at last Jane cried, 
 ' Dear, I could go away not weeping now — 
 God is so gentle with me ! ' 
 
 But He, who drew 
 Thus from His cloud at last and look'd so 
 
 kind, 
 Will'd that Jane Lewson should not die so 
 
 soon. 
 The agony did not kill her, and the joy 
 Sent a fresh life into her languid blood 
 And saved her. So that soon she rose from 
 
 bed. 
 To see the sunshine on her daughter's face, 
 To see the sunless sisters, who again 
 Look'd cold as ever. 
 
 But a btu-ning fire 
 From Margaret scorch'd theip to the heart, 
 
 because 
 They loved the girl ; she, heap'd upon their 
 
 heads 
 Rage and reproaches, mockery and scorn, 
 Until they cried, ' You are a wicked girl ! 
 Jane Lewson's shame is on you. After this 
 We cannot dwell together any more. ' 
 And Margaret would have answer'd fiercelier 
 
 still. 
 But that her feeble mother, piteously 
 Gazing at them to whom in spite of all 
 Her heart was humble, begg'd her on her 
 
 knees 
 For silence; and, thus conquer'd, Margaret 
 Answer'd her aunts with kisses and with 
 
 tears 
 Shower'd on her mother's face.
 
 JANE LEWSON—LANGLEY LANE. 
 
 1.35 
 
 I 
 
 That evening, 
 Margaret held her mother round the neck, 
 And led her to her lover in the house. 
 And with her lips set firm together, saying, 
 'This is my dear, dear mother,' told him 
 
 all, 
 Concealing nothing. For a time, the man 
 Look'd starded and appall'd ; but being 
 
 made 
 Of clay not base, he smiling spake at last, 
 And stooping softly, kiss'd the thin worn 
 
 hand — 
 ' She is my mother, too,- -and we will dwell 
 Together ! ' 
 
 And they dwelt together, — leaving 
 The dismal dwelling in the smoky square. 
 To dwell within a cottage close to town ; 
 But Jane lived with them only foi a year, 
 And then, because the heart that had been 
 
 used 
 To suffering so long could not endure 
 To be so happy, died ; worn out and 
 
 tired, 
 Kissing her child; and as her dying 
 
 thoughts 
 Went back along the years, the suffering 
 
 seem'd 
 Not such a thankless suffering after all, 
 But like a faded garment one has leam'd 
 To love through habit ; — and the woman 
 
 cried 
 On her stem sisters with her dying breath. 
 
 LANG LEY LANE. 
 
 A LOVE POEM. 
 
 In all the land, range up, range down, 
 Is there ever a place so pleasant and 
 sweet, 
 As Langley Lane, in London town. 
 Just out of the busUc of square and 
 street? 
 Little white cottages, all in a row, 
 Gardens, where bachelors'-buttons grow, 
 
 Swallows' nests in roof and wall, 
 And up above the still blue sky, 
 Where the woolly-white clouds go sailing 
 by.- 
 I seem to be able to see it all I 
 
 For now, in summer, I take my chair. 
 And sit outside in the sun, and hear 
 The distant murmur of street and square, 
 And the swallows and sparrows chirping 
 near ; 
 And Fanny, who lives just over the way. 
 Comes running many a time each day. 
 With her little hand's-touch so warm and 
 kind ; 
 And I smile and talk, with the sun on my 
 
 cheek. 
 And the little live hand seems to stir and 
 speak, — 
 For Fanny is dumb and I am blind. 
 
 Fanny is sweet thirteen, and she 
 
 Has fine black ringlets, and dark eyes 
 clear, 
 And I am older by summers three, — 
 
 Why should we hold one another so dear? 
 Because she cannot utter a word. 
 Nor hear the music of bee or bird. 
 
 The water-cart's splash, or the milkman's 
 call. 
 Because I have never seen the sky. 
 Nor the little singers that hum and fly, — 
 
 Yet know she is gazing upon them all. 
 
 For the sun is shining, the swallows fly. 
 
 The bees and the blue-flies murmur low, 
 And I hear the water-cart go by. 
 
 With its cool splash-splash down the 
 dusty row ; 
 And the litde one, close at my side, per- 
 ceives 
 Mine eyes upraised to the cottage eaves, 
 Where birds are chirping in summer 
 shine, 
 And I hear, though I cannot look, and 
 
 she, 
 Though she cannot hear, can the singers 
 see, — 
 And the little soft fingers flutter in mine. 
 
 Hath not the dear litde hand a tongue. 
 When it stirs on my palm for the love of 
 me? 
 
 Do I not know she is pretty and young ? 
 Hath not my soul an eye to see ? 
 
 'Tis pleasure to make one's bosom stir, 
 
 To wonder how things appear to her. 
 That I only hear as they pass around ;
 
 1^6 
 
 LONDOAT POEMS. 
 
 And as long as we sit in the music and 
 
 light, 
 She is happy to keep God's sight, 
 And / am happy to keep God's sound. 
 
 Why, I know her face, though I am 
 blind— 
 I made it of music long ago : 
 Strange large eyes, and dark hair twined 
 Round the pensive light of a brow of 
 snow ; 
 And when I sit by my Httle one, 
 And hold her hand, and talk in the sun. 
 And hear the music that haunts the 
 place, 
 I know she is raising her eyes to me. 
 And guessing how gentle my voice must 
 be, 
 And seeing the music upon my face. 
 
 Though, if ever Lord God should grant me 
 a prayer, 
 (I know the fancy is only vain,) 
 I should pray : Just once, when the weather 
 is fair. 
 To see little Fanny and Langley Lane ; 
 Though Fanny, perhaps, would pray to 
 
 hear 
 The voice of the friend that she holds so 
 dear. 
 The song of the birds, the hum of the 
 street, — 
 It is better to be as we have been, — 
 Each keeping up something, unheard, un- 
 seen, 
 To make God's heaven more strange and 
 sweet. 
 
 Ah ! life is pleasant in Langley Lane ! 
 There is always something sweet to 
 hear ; 
 Chirping of birds, or patter of rain ; 
 
 And Fanny, my little one, always near ; 
 And though I am weak, and cannot live 
 
 long. 
 And Fanny, my darling, is far from strong. 
 And though we can never married be, — 
 What then? — since we hold one another so 
 
 dear. 
 For the sake of the pleasure one cannot 
 hear, 
 And the pleasure that only one can see ? 
 
 EDWARD CROWHURST; 
 
 OK, ' A NEW POET.' 
 
 Potts, in his dusty chamber, writes, 
 
 A dilettante lord to please : 
 A ray of country sunshine lights 
 
 The foggy region ruled by these ; 
 Flock, kind advisers, critics sage, 
 
 To damn the simple country clown, ^ 
 The mud of English patronage 
 
 Grows round his feet, and keeps him down. 
 
 ' This little mean-faced duodecimo, 
 
 "Poems by Edward Crowhurst, La- 
 bourer," 
 This coarsely-printed little book of rhymes. 
 Contains within the goodliest gift of song 
 The gods have graced us with for many a 
 
 day : 
 A crystal clearness, as of running brooks. 
 A music, as of gi-een boughs murmuring, 
 A peeping of fresh thoughts in shady 
 
 places 
 Like violets new-blown, a gleam of dew 
 
 drops, 
 A sober, settled, greenness of repose, — 
 And lying over all, in level beams. 
 Transparent, sweet, and unmistakable, 
 
 The light that never was on sea or land. 
 
 * 
 
 ' Let all the greater and the lesser lights 
 
 Regard these lines upon a Wood in 
 Spring, 
 
 Or those which follow, call'd ' ' the Barley- 
 Bird," 
 
 And then regard their laurels. Melody 
 
 More sweet was never blown through pas- 
 toral pipe 
 
 In Britain, since the Scottish Ramsay died. 
 
 Nor let the squeamish dreamers of our 
 time. 
 
 Our rainbow bards, despise such song as 
 this, 
 
 Wealthy in images the poor man knows. 
 
 And household chords that make the women 
 weep. 
 
 Simply yet subtly, Edward Crowhurst 
 works : 
 
 Singing of lowly truths and homely things — 
 
 Death snatching up a cotter's child at 
 play.
 
 EDWARD CROWHURST. 
 
 137 
 
 Light flashing from far worlds on dying 
 
 eyes 
 That never saw beyond their native fields, 
 The pathos and the power of common life ; 
 And while, perchance, his deeper vein runs 
 
 on 
 Less heeded, by a random touch is waken'd 
 A scent, a flower-tint, a wave of wings, 
 A sense of rustling boughs and running 
 
 brooks, 
 Touch'd by whose spell the soul is stirr'd, 
 
 and eyes 
 Gaze on the dark world round them, and 
 
 are dim. 
 
 * 
 
 'This Mister Crowhurst is a poor young 
 
 man. 
 Uneducated, doom'd to earn his bread 
 By working daily at the plough ; and yet. 
 Sometimes in midst of toil, sometimes at 
 
 night. 
 Whenever he could snatch a little time. 
 Hath written down (he taught himself to 
 
 write !) 
 His simple verses. Is it meet, we ask, 
 A nature so superb should languish thus ? 
 Nay, he deserves, if ever man deserved. 
 The succour of the rich and high in place, 
 The opportunity to labour less. 
 And use those truly wondrous gifts of his 
 In modest competence ; and therewithal, 
 Kindness, encouragement, and good ad- 
 vice, 
 Such as the cultured give. Even now, we 
 
 hear, 
 A certain sum of money is subscribed, 
 Enougli to furnish well his present needs. 
 Among the donors, named for honour 
 
 here, 
 We note the noble Earl of Chrcmiton, 
 Lord Phidippus, Lord Gnathos, Lady Dee, 
 Sir Charles Toroon. But more must yet 
 
 be done. 
 We dare to put the case on public grounds. 
 Since he who writes so nobly is, indeed, 
 A public benefactor, — with a claim 
 On all who love to listen and to look, 
 When tlie fresh Saxon Muse, in homespun 
 
 gear. 
 The free breeze blowing back her loosen' d 
 
 hair. 
 Wanders barefooted through the dew^ 
 
 lanes 
 
 And sings aloud, till all the valleys ring 
 For pleasure, and the echoes of the hills 
 Make sweet accord ! ' 
 
 — Conservative Review, 
 
 II. 
 After Ten Years. 
 
 A homely matron, who has once been fair, 
 
 In quiet suffering old, yet young in years ; 
 Soft threads of silver in her auburn hair. 
 
 And lines around the eyes that tell of tears ; 
 But on her face there trembles peaceful light, 
 'J'hat seems a smile, and yet is far less bright, — 
 To tell of watchings in the shade and sun, 
 And melancholy duty sweetly done. 
 
 What, take away my Teddy? shut him up 
 Between stone walls, as if he was a thief? 
 You freeze my blood to talk of such a thing! 
 Why, these green fields where my old man 
 
 was born. 
 The river, and the woodland, and the lanes. 
 Are all that keep him living : he was ever 
 O'er fond of things like those ; and now, 
 
 you see. 
 Is fonder of them than he was before. 
 Because he thinks so little else is left. 
 Mad ? He 's a baby ! Would not hurt a 
 
 fly! 
 Can manage him as easy as our girl ! 
 And thouglihe was a poet and went wrong. 
 He could not help his failings. Ah, True 
 
 Heart, 
 I love him all the deeper and the dearer ! 
 I would not lose him for the whole wide 
 
 world ! 
 
 It came through working lonely in the 
 
 fields. 
 And growing shy of cheerful company, 
 And worrying his wits with idle things 
 He saw and heard when quiet out o' doors. 
 For, long ere we were wedded, all the place 
 Knew Teddy's ways : how mad he was for 
 
 flowers 
 And singing birds ; how often at the plough 
 He used to idle, holding up his head 
 And looking at the clouds ; what curious 
 
 stuff 
 He used to say about the ways of things ; 
 How week-days he was never company, 
 Nor tidy on a Sunday. Even then 
 Folk call'd him stupid : so did I myself.
 
 t38 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 At first, before his sheepishness wore off ; 
 And then, why I was frighten'd for a time 
 To find how wondrous brightly he could look 
 And talk, when with a girl, and no one by. 
 Right soon he stole this heart of mine away, 
 So cunningly I scarcely guess'd 'twas gone, 
 But found my tongue at work before I knew, 
 Sounding his praises. Mother shook her 
 
 head ; 
 But soon it was the common country talk 
 That he and I were courting. 
 
 After that 
 Some of his sayings and his doings still 
 Seem'd foolish, but I used to laugh and say, 
 ' Wait till we marry ! I shall make him 
 
 change ! ' 
 And it was pleasant walking after dark. 
 In summer, wandering up and down the 
 
 lanes. 
 And heark'ning to his talk ; and pleasant, 
 
 too, 
 In winter, to sit cuddling by the fire. 
 And whispering to the quiet firelight sound 
 And the slow ticking of the clock. Ere long, 
 I grew to care for many things he loved. 
 He knew the names of trees, and birds, and 
 
 flowers. 
 Their races and their seasons ; named the 
 
 stars, 
 Their comings and their goings ; and could 
 
 tell 
 Strange truths about the manners of the 
 
 clouds. 
 Set him before a hedgerow in a lane, 
 And he was happy all alone for hours. 
 The woods and fields were full of joy to him. 
 And wonders, and fine meanings ever new. 
 How, at the bottom of the wa)'side well. 
 The foul toad lies and purifies the drink ; 
 How twice a year red robin sings a song, 
 Once when the orchis blows its bells in 
 
 spring. 
 Once when the gold is on the slanted 
 
 sheaves ; 
 How late at night the common nightingale 
 Comes in the season of the barley-sowing. 
 Silently builds her nest among the boughs. 
 And then sings out just as the roses blow. 
 And it is sweet and pleasant in the moon. 
 Why, half his courtship lay in talk hke that, 
 And, oh ! the way he talk'd fill'd high my 
 
 heart 
 
 With pleasure. Then, o' quiet winter nights, 
 With ^vild bright eyes and voice that broke 
 
 for joy, 
 He often read aloud from books of songs ; 
 One I remember, that I liked the best, 
 A book of pictures and of love-tales, call'd 
 ' The Seasons.' I was young, and did not 
 
 think ■ 
 I only felt 'twas fine. Yet now and then 
 I noticed more, and took a sober fit, 
 And tried to make him tidy in his clothes, 
 And could not, though I tried ; and used to 
 
 sigh 
 When mother mutter'd hints, as mothers 
 
 will. 
 That he should work more hard and look 
 
 ahead, 
 And save to furnish out a house for me. , . . 
 For Teddy smiled, poor lad, and worU'd 
 
 more hard. 
 But save . . . not he ! Instead of laying 
 
 by. 
 
 Making a nest to rear the young ones in. 
 He spent his hard-won cash in buying 
 
 books, — 
 Much dusty lumber, torn and black and 
 
 old, 
 Long sheets of ballads, bundles of old 
 
 rhyme, — 
 And read them, one by one, at home o' 
 
 nights, 
 Or out aloud to me, or at the plough. 
 I chid at first, but quickly held my tongue. 
 Because he look'd so grieved ; and once he 
 
 said 
 With broken voice and dew-light in his 
 
 eyes, 
 • Lass, I 'm a puzzle to myself and you. 
 But take away the books, and I should 
 
 die!' 
 His back went bare for books, his stomach 
 
 starved 
 To buy them, — nay, he pawn'd his jacket 
 
 once. 
 To get a dreary string of solemn stuff 
 All about Eve and Adam. More and more 
 He .slacken'd at his toil ; and soon the lad. 
 Who turn'd the cleanest furrow, when he 
 
 pleased. 
 Of all the ploughmen, let his work go 
 
 spoil. 
 And fairly led an idle thriftless life 
 In the green woods and on the river side.
 
 EDWARD CROWHURST. 
 
 139 
 
 And then I found that he himself made 
 
 verse 
 In secret, — verse about the birds and 
 
 flowers, 
 Songs about lovers, rhymes about the stars, 
 Tales of queer doings in the village here, — 
 All writ on scraps of paper out-o'-doors, 
 And hidden in an old tin coffee-pot 
 Where he had kept his cash. The first I 
 
 heard 
 Was Just a song all about him and me. 
 And cuddling in the kitchen while 'twas 
 
 snowing ; 
 He read it to me, blushing like a girl, 
 And I was pleased, and laugh'd, and 
 
 thought it fine. 
 And wonder'd where he leam'd to make the 
 
 words 
 Jingle so sweetly. Then he read me more, 
 Some that I liked, some that I fancied poor; 
 And, last of all, one morn in harvest-time. 
 When all the men were working in the 
 
 fields. 
 And he was nearly ragged, out it came — 
 'They're reaping corn, and corn brings 
 
 gold, my lass ; 
 But I will reap gold, too, and fame beside, — 
 I 'm going to print a Book ! ' 
 
 I tliought him mad ! 
 The words seem'd dreadful— such a fool 
 
 was I ; 
 And I was puzzled more when he explain'd: 
 That he had sent some verses by the post 
 To a rich man who lived by selling songs 
 Yonder in London city ; that for months 
 No answer came, and Teddy strain'd his 
 
 eyes 
 Into the clouds for comfort ; that at last 
 There came a letter full of wondrous praise 
 From the great man in London, offering 
 Poor Teddy, if he sent him verse enough 
 To make a pretty little printed book, 
 To value it in money. Till I die, 
 I '11 ne'er forget the light on Teddy's face — 
 The light, the glory, and the wonder there : 
 He laugh'd, and read the letter out aloud. 
 He leapt and laugh'd and kiss'd me o'er and 
 
 o'er. 
 And then he read the letter o'er again, 
 And then turn'd pale, and sank into a chair. 
 And hid his bright face in his hands, and 
 
 cried. 
 
 Bewilder'd though I was, my heart was 
 
 glad 
 To see his happy looks, and pleased beside 
 That fine folk call'd him clever. I said 
 
 nought 
 To mother — for I knew her ways too well^ 
 But waited. Soon came other wondrous 
 
 news : 
 The scraps of verse had all been copied out 
 On fine white sheets, written in Teddy's 
 
 hand, 
 Big, round, and clear, like print ; and word 
 
 had come 
 That they were read and praised by other 
 
 folk. 
 Friends of the man in London. Last of all. 
 One night, when I was ironing the clothes, 
 And mother knitting sat beside the fire, 
 In Teddy came — as bright and fresh and 
 
 gay 
 
 As a cock starling hopping from the nest 
 
 On May-day ; and wdth laughing eyes he 
 cried, 
 
 ' Well, mother, when are Bess and I to 
 wed?' 
 
 'Wed? 'mother snapt, as sour as butter- 
 milk, 
 
 ' Wed ? when the birds swim, and the fishes 
 
 fly. 
 
 And the green trees grow bread and cheese 
 
 and butter 
 For lazy loons that lie beneath and yawn ! ' 
 Then Teddy laugh'd aloud, and when I 
 
 frown'd 
 And shook my head to warn him, laugh'd 
 
 the more ; 
 And, drawing out his leathern ploughman's 
 
 pouch, 
 'See, mother, see!' he cried, — and in her 
 
 lap 
 Pour'd thirty golden guineas ! 
 
 At the first, 
 I scream'd, and mother look'd afraid to 
 
 touch 
 The ghttering gold,— and plain enough she 
 
 said 
 The gold, she guess'd, was scarcely honest 
 
 gain ; 
 Then Teddy told her all about his book. 
 And how those golden guineas were the 
 
 price 
 The great rich man in London put upon 't.
 
 I40 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 She shook her head the more ; and when 
 
 he read 
 The great man's letter, with its words of 
 
 praise, 
 Look'd puzzled most of all ; and in a dream, 
 Feeling the gold with her thin hand, she 
 
 sat, 
 While Teddy, proud dew sparkhng in his 
 
 eyes, 
 Show'd me in print the little song he made 
 Of cuddling in the kitchen while 'twas 
 
 snowing, — 
 'And, Bess,' he cried, ' the gold will stock 
 
 a house, 
 But little 'tis I care about the gold : 
 This bit of printed verse is sweeter far 
 Than all the shining wealth of all the 
 
 world ! ' 
 And lifted up the paper to his mouth 
 And kiss'd the print, then held it out at 
 
 length 
 To look upon "t with sparkling, happy eyes. 
 And folded it and put it in his pouch, 
 As tenderly and carefully, I swear, 
 As if it were a note upon a bank 
 For wealth untold. Why linger o'er the 
 
 tale?— 
 Though now my poor old man is weak and 
 
 ill, 
 Sweet is the telling of his happy time. 
 The money stock'd a house, and in a month 
 We two were man and wife. 
 
 Teddy was proud 
 And happy, — busy finishing the book 
 That was his heart's delight ; and as for 
 
 me, 
 My thoughts were merry as a running 
 
 brook. 
 For Teddy seem'd a wise man after all ; 
 And it was spring-time, and our little home 
 Was hung with white clematis, porch and 
 
 wall. 
 And wall-flower, candituft, and London 
 
 pride, 
 All shining round a lilac bush in bloom, 
 Sweeten'd the little square of garden ground; 
 And cozy as a finch's mossy nest 
 Was all within ; the little sleeping-room 
 And red-tiled kitchen ; and, made snug and 
 
 fine 
 By chairs and tables cut of bran-new deal, 
 The little parlour,— on the mantel-piece 
 
 Field-flowers and ferns and bird's-egg neck- 
 laces, 
 Two pretty pictures pasted on the walls, 
 (The portraits of one Milton and one Burns,} 
 And, in the corner Teddy loved the best, 
 Three shelves to keep the old, black, thumb- 
 mark'd books. 
 
 And if my heart had fever, lest the hfe 
 Begun so well was over-bright to last, 
 Teddy could cheer me ; for he placed his 
 
 arm 
 Around me, looking serious in his joy. 
 When we were wed three days ; and ' Bess," 
 
 he said, 
 ' The Lord above is very kind to me ; 
 For He has given me this sweet place and 
 
 you, 
 Adding the bliss of seeing soon in print 
 The verse I love so much.' Then, kissing 
 
 me, 
 ' I have been thinking of it all,' he said, 
 ' Holpen a bit by lives of other folk, 
 Which I have read. Now, many men like 
 
 me 
 Grow light o' head and let their labour go ; 
 But men can't live by writing verses, Bess.' 
 'Nay, nay,' cried \, ''twere pity if they 
 
 could, 
 For every man would try the easier task, 
 And who would reap the fields or grind the 
 
 corn ? ' 
 And Teddy smiling, said, ' 'Tis so ! 'tis so ! 
 Pride shall not puff my wits, but all the dav 
 I will toil happily in the fields I love ; 
 And in the pleasant evenings 'twill be fine 
 To wander forth and see the world with you, 
 Or read out poems in the parlour here, 
 Or take a pen and write, for ease o' heart, 
 Not praise, not money.' I was glad ten- 
 fold,— 
 Put all my fears aside, and trusted him, — 
 And well he kept his word. 
 
 Yet ill at ease, 
 Restless and eager, Teddy waited on, 
 Until the night a monster parcel came 
 From London : twelve brown volumes, all 
 
 the same. 
 Wide-printed, thin, and on the foremost 
 
 page, 
 ' Poems by Edward Crowhurst, Labourer.' 
 The happiest hour my Teddy ever knew I
 
 EDWARD CROWHURST. 
 
 141 
 
 He turn'd the volumes o'er, examined each, 
 Counted the sheets, counted the printed 
 
 hnes, 
 Stared at his name in print, held out the page 
 At arm's length, feasting with his mouth and 
 
 eyes. 
 I wonder'd at his joy, yet, spite o' me, 
 I shared it. 'Twas so catching. The old 
 
 tale ! 
 A little thing could make my Teddy's heart 
 Gay as a bunch of roses, while a great 
 Went by unheeded like a cannon-ball. 
 The glowworm is a little common grub. 
 Yet what a pretty gleam it often sheds ; 
 And that same poor, small, common-looking 
 
 book. 
 Set on our table, kept around its leaves 
 A light hke sunshine. 
 
 'When his joy grew cool, 
 Teddy took up a book to read it through ; 
 And first he show'd me, next the foremost 
 
 page, 
 A bit of writing called the ' Author's Life," 
 Made up of simple things my man had told — 
 How he was but a lowly labourer. 
 And how the green fields work'd upon his 
 
 heart 
 To write about the pretty things he saw — 
 All put together by a clevcr»man 
 In London. For a time he sat and read 
 In silence, looking happy with his eyes ; 
 But suddenly he started up and groan'd. 
 Looking as black as bog-mud, while he flung 
 The book upon the table ; and I gript 
 His arm, and ask'd whatail'd him. ' 13ess,' 
 
 he said, 
 ' The joy o' this has all gone sudden sour. 
 All through the cruel meddling of a fool : 
 The story of my life is true enough. 
 Despite the fine-flown things the teller sticks 
 Around it — peacock's feathers stuck around 
 The nest of some plain song-bird ; but the 
 
 end 
 Is like the garlic flower, — looks fine at first, 
 Rut stinks on peeping nearer. Ficss, my lass, 
 I nevi^r hegg'd a penny in my life, 
 I sought the help of no man, but could work, 
 ■What then? what then? O Bess, 'tis hard, 
 
 'tis hard ! 
 They make me go a-begging, book in hand, 
 As if I were a gipsy of the lanes 
 ■Whistling for coppers at an alehouse door ! ' 
 
 I, too. was hurt, but tried to comfort him ; 
 'Twas kindly meant, at least, I thought and 
 
 said ; 
 But Teddy clench'd his teeth, and sat him 
 
 down. 
 And wTote, not rudely, but as if in grief. 
 To him in London. Till the answer came. 
 The printed poems cheer'd him, though the 
 
 book 
 Had lost a scent that ne'er would come 
 
 again ; 
 And when the answer came, 'twas like the 
 
 words 
 A mother murmurs to a silly child — 
 A smiling, pitying, quiet kind of tone. 
 That made him angrier than violent speech ; 
 And at the end a melancholy hint 
 About ingratitude. Teddy must trust 
 In those who had his fortune most at heart. 
 Nor rashly turn his friends to enemies. 
 Nor meddle with the kindly schemes of those 
 Who knew the great world better far than 
 
 he. 
 Oh, Teddy's eyes were dim with bitter dew ! 
 ' Begging is begging, and I never begg'd ! 
 Shame on me if 1 ever take their gold ! ' 
 I coa.x'd him to be silent ; and though soon 
 The bitter mood wore off, his gladness lost 
 The look of happy pride it wore of old. 
 
 'Twas happy, happy, in the little home, 
 And summer round about on wood and field, 
 And summer on the bit of garden ground. 
 But soon came news, like whiffs of colour'd 
 
 smoke, 
 Blown to us thickly on the idle wind. 
 And smelling of the city. For the land 
 Was crying Teddy's praises ! Every morn 
 Came papers full of things about the Book, 
 And letters full of cheer from distant folk ; 
 And Teddy toil'd away, and tried his best 
 To keep his glad heart humble. Then, one 
 
 day, 
 A smirking gentleman, with inky thumbs, ■ 
 Call'd, chatted, pried with little fox's eyes 
 This way and that, and when he went away 
 He wrote a heap of lying scribble, styled 
 'A Summer Morning with the Labourer 
 
 Bard ! ' 
 Then others came : some, mild young 
 
 gentlemen. 
 Who chirp'd, and blush'd, and simper' d, 
 
 and were gone ;
 
 142 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 Some, sallow ladies wearing spectacles, 
 And pale young misses, rolling languid eyes, 
 And pecking at the words my Teddy spake 
 Like sparrows picking seed ; and, once or 
 
 twice. 
 Plump merry gentlemen who talk'd no stuff, 
 But chatted sensibly of common things, 
 And made us feel at home. Ay, not a day 
 But Teddy must be sent for, from the fields. 
 To meet with fine-clad strangers from afar. 
 The village folk began to open eyes 
 And wonder, but were only more afraid 
 Of Teddy, gave him hard suspicious looks, 
 And shunn'd him out-o'-doors. Yet how 
 
 they throng'd. 
 Buzzing like humble bees at swarming time, 
 That mom the oil'd and scented gentleman 
 (For such we thought him) brought a little 
 
 note 
 From Lord Fitztalbot of Fitztalbot Tower, 
 Yonder across the moorland. 'Twas a line 
 Bidding my Teddy to the Tower, and he 
 Who brought it was the footman of my lord. 
 Well, Teddy went, was many hours away, 
 And then return'd with cat's-claws round 
 
 his lips. 
 ' See ! ' Teddy cried, and flung a little purse 
 Of money in my lap ; and I, amazed, 
 Counted ten golden guineas in my palm, 
 Then gazed at Teddy, saw how pale he was, 
 And ask'd what ail'd him. ' 'Tis the money, 
 
 lass,' 
 He answer'd, groaning deep. ' He talk'd, 
 
 and seem'd 
 Right kindly ; ask'd about my home, and 
 
 you ; 
 Spoke of the poems, smiled, and bow'd 
 
 farewell ; 
 And, dropping that same money in my hat, 
 Bade me go dine below. I burn'd like fire, 
 Felt choking, yet was fearful to offend, 
 And took the money, as I might have took 
 A blazing cinder, bow'd, and came away. 
 O Lord ! O Lord ! this comes of yonder 
 
 loon, 
 "Who sent the book a-begging ! ' Then he 
 
 talk'd— 
 How fiercely and how wildly, clenching 
 
 hands : 
 ' Was not a poet better than a lord ? 
 WTiy should the cruel people use him so? 
 Why would the world not leave his home 
 
 in peace ? ' 
 
 And last, he vow'd to send the money back 
 But I, though shamed and troubled, thought 
 
 him wrong. 
 And vow'd my lord was kind, and meant 
 
 us well, 
 And won him o'er at last to keep the purse. 
 And ah ! we found it useful very soon. 
 When I lay in, and had a dreadful time, 
 And brought our girl. Then Teddy put 
 
 aside 
 All grief and anger ; thought of us alone ; 
 Forgot, or nearly, all the praise and blame 
 Of loveless strangers ; and was proud and 
 
 glad. 
 Making fond rhymes about the babe and me. 
 
 Ah ! had the folk but let my man alone, 
 All would be happy now. He loved his 
 
 work, 
 Because it kept him in the fields ; he loved 
 The babe and me ; and all he needed more, 
 To keep his heart content, was pen and ink, 
 And now and then a book. And as for 
 
 praise. 
 He needed it no more than singing birds ; 
 And as for money, why, he wanted none ; 
 And as for prying strangers in the house. 
 They brought a clumsy painful sense of pride 
 That made him restless. He was ever shy 
 Of company — he loved to dream alone — 
 And the poor life that he had known so long 
 Was just the kind of life he suited best. 
 He look'd a fine straight man in homespun 
 
 gear, 
 But ne'er seem'd easy in his Sunday coat. 
 
 What should his fine frienfls do at last, 
 
 but write. 
 Bidding my man to London, — there to meet 
 A flock o' gentlefolk, who spent their days 
 In making books ! - Though here we dwell 
 
 so near. 
 That northward, far away, you see the sky 
 Black with the smoky breathing of the city, 
 We ne'er had wander'd far away from home, 
 Save once or twice, five miles to westward 
 
 yonder, 
 To Kersey Fair. Well, Teddy fix'd to go ; 
 And seeing him full bent, I held my tongue. 
 And off he set, one day, in Sunday black, 
 A hazel staff over his shoulder flung. 
 His bundle swinging, — and was sped by 
 
 train
 
 EDWARD CROWHURST. 
 
 143 
 
 To London town. Two weeks he stay'd 
 
 away ; 
 And, when he came from London, he was 
 
 changed. 
 His eyes look'd wild, his cheek was pale, 
 
 his step 
 Unsteady ; when he enter'd, I could smell 
 Drink in his breath. Full pain'd, and sick 
 
 at heart, 
 I question'd him ; but he was petulant. 
 And snapt me short ; and when I brought 
 
 the child. 
 He push'd her from him. Next day, when 
 
 he rose. 
 His face was pallid ; but his kindly smile 
 Came back upon it. Ere the day was out. 
 He told me of his doings, of the men 
 And places he had seen, and when, and how. 
 He had been dull in dwellings of the rich, 
 Had felt ashamed in great grand drawing- 
 rooms. 
 And angry that the kindly people smiled 
 As if in pity ; and the time, he said, 
 Would have gone drearily, had he lack'd 
 
 the cheer 
 He chanced to find among some jovial folk 
 Who lived by making books. Full plain I 
 
 saw 
 That something had gone wrong. His 
 
 ways were strange, 
 He did not seem contented in his home, 
 He scarcely glinted at the poor old books 
 He loved so dearly. In a little time, 
 Teddy grew more himself, at home, a-field. 
 And though, from that day forward, he 
 
 began 
 To take a glass and smoke a pipe at night, 
 1 scarcely noticed. Thus the year wore 
 
 on ; 
 And still the papers praised him far away, 
 And still the letters came from distant folk. 
 
 And Teddy had made friends : folk who 
 
 could talk 
 About the things he loved, and flatter him. 
 Ay, laugh aloud to see him drink his glass, 
 And clap his back, and shake him by the 
 
 hand. 
 How wild soe'er he talk'd. For by degrees 
 His tongue grew freer, he was more at ease 
 With strangers. Oft he spent the evening 
 
 hours 
 With merry-makers in the public-house, 
 
 And totter'd home with staring, dazzled 
 
 eyes. 
 The country people liked him better now. 
 And loved to coax him out to drink at 
 
 night. 
 And, gaping, heark'd to the strange things 
 
 he said. 
 Ah, then my fear grew heavy, though his 
 
 heart 
 Was kindly still, his head still clear and 
 
 wise, 
 And he went wastering only now and then. 
 
 But soon his ways grew better, for his 
 
 time 
 Was spent in finishing another book. 
 Yet then I found him changed in other 
 
 things ; 
 For once or twice when money as before 
 Was sent or given him, he only laugh'd. 
 And took it, not in anger. And, be 
 
 sure, 
 Money grew needful in the little home — 
 Another babe was coming. Babe and 
 
 book 
 Were born together, but the first was born 
 Quiet and breathless. 'Twould be idle 
 
 talk 
 To speak about the book. What came of 
 
 that. 
 Was much the same as what had come 
 
 before : 
 The papers praised it over all the land. 
 But just a shade more coolly ; strange folk 
 
 wrote, 
 But not so oft. Yet Teddy was in glee. 
 For this time fifty golden guineas came 
 From the rich man in London. 
 
 to 
 
 Once again, 
 London ; once 
 
 -with wilder words 
 
 He 
 
 They coax'd him up 
 
 again. 
 Home came he changed, 
 
 of wit. 
 And sharper sayings, on his tongue 
 
 toil'd 
 Even less than ever : nay, his idle friends. 
 Who loved to drain the bottle at his side, 
 Took up his time full sorely. We began 
 To want and pinch : more money was sub 
 
 scribed, 
 And taken : — till at last my man grew sick 
 Of working in the open fields ai all
 
 144 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 And just as work grew hardest to his 
 
 mind, 
 The Lord Fitztalbot pass'd him on the 
 
 road, 
 And turn'd his head away. A change had 
 
 come, 
 As dreadful as the change within himself. 
 The papers wrote the praise of newer men, 
 The strange folk sent him letters scarce at 
 
 all; 
 And when he spake about another book. 
 The man in London wrote a hasty ' No ! ' 
 And said the work had little chance to sell. 
 Those words were like a sunstroke. Wild 
 
 and scared, 
 My Teddy stared at London — all his 
 
 dreams 
 Came back upon him — and with bitter 
 
 tongue 
 He mock'd and threaten'd. 'Twas of no 
 
 avail ! 
 His fine-day friends like swallows wing'd 
 
 away. 
 The summer being o'er ; the country folk 
 Began to knit their foreheads as of old, 
 Save one or two renown'd as ne'er-do- 
 wells ; 
 And, mad with pride, bitten with shame 
 
 and fear, 
 Teddy drank deeper at the public-house. 
 
 Teddy to blame ? Teddy to blame ? Ah, 
 
 nay ! 
 The blame be theirs who broke his simple 
 
 pride 
 With money, beggar'd him against his will. 
 The blame be theirs who flatter'd him from 
 
 home. 
 And led him out to make his humble ways 
 An idle show. The blame be theirs who 
 
 smiled 
 Whene'er he play'd a wrong and foolish 
 
 part. 
 Because he had skill to write a bit of verse. 
 The blame be theirs who spoil'd him like a 
 
 child. 
 And, when the newness of his face was 
 
 gone, 
 Turn'd from him scornfully and smiled else- 
 where. 
 Teddy to blame ! — a silly, ignorant man. 
 Not learn'd, not wise, not cunning in the 
 
 world ! 
 
 But hearken how I changed him yet once 
 
 more. 
 One day when he was sick and ill with 
 
 pain. 
 I spake of all our early courting days, 
 Full low and tender, of the happy time 
 When I brought forth our girl, and of the 
 
 words 
 He spake w hen we were happy ; last of all, 
 ' Teddy," I said, ' let people be unkind. 
 The whole world hard, you cannot heal 
 
 your pain 
 Wastering, idhng ; think of merrier days. 
 Of me, and of our girl, and drink no more.' 
 He gazed at me full long, his bosom rose 
 And flutter'd, and he held my hand in his, 
 And shivering, moaning, sank into a chair; 
 And, looking at the bookshelf at his side. 
 And at the common-looking thumb-mark'd 
 
 books. 
 He promised, promised, with his poor 
 
 cheeks wet. 
 And his voice broken, and his lips set firm. 
 
 True Heart, he kept his word. The 
 
 public-house 
 Knew him no longer ; in the fields he toil'd 
 Lonely once more ; and in the evenings 
 Read books and wrote, — and all he wrote, 
 
 I know. 
 Was sad, sad, sad. Bravely he work'd all 
 
 day. 
 But not so cheerfully. And no man cared 
 To brighten him viath goodly words. His 
 
 face 
 Was stale with gentlefolk, his heart too 
 
 proud * 
 
 To mix with coarse, low men. Oft in the 
 
 fields 
 They saw him turn his poor eyes London- 
 wards, 
 And sigh ; but he was silent of the pain 
 That grew upon him. Slowly he became 
 The saddcn'd picture of his former self : 
 He stood at ploughtail looking at the 
 
 clouds, 
 He watchd the ways of birds and trees and 
 
 flowers ; 
 But all the litUe things he learn'd and 
 
 loved 
 Had ta'en a sadder meaning. Oftentimes, 
 In spite of all he did to hide his heart, 
 I saw he would have been a happy man
 
 EDWARD CROWHURST. 
 
 145 
 
 If any one had praised him as of old ; 
 But he was never sent for from the fields, 
 No strangers wrote to cheer him, and he 
 
 seem'd 
 All, all, forgotten. Still, as true as steel, 
 He held his promise to our girl and me, 
 Though oft, I know, the dreadful longing 
 
 came 
 To fly to drink for comfort. Then, one 
 
 night, 
 I heard a stirring in the dark : our girl 
 Crept close to me, and whisper'd in mine 
 
 ear — 
 ' Hark ! father's crying ! ' 
 
 O 'tis terrible 
 To hear a strong man weep ! I could not 
 
 bear 
 To find him grieving so, but crept unto 
 
 him, 
 And put my arms about him, on his neck 
 Weeping, ' O Teddy, Teddy, do not so 1 
 Cheer up, for you will kill me if you cry. 
 What do you long for? Why are you so 
 
 sad?' 
 And I could feel him crush his hot tears 
 
 down. 
 And shake through every limb. ' O lass ! ' 
 
 he cried, 
 ' I cannot give a name to what I want ; 
 I cannot tell you why I grow so sad ; 
 But I have lost the pleasure and the peace 
 The verses brought me. I am sick and 
 
 changed, — 
 I think too much of other men, — I seem 
 Despised and useless. If I did not feel 
 You loved me so, and were so kind and 
 
 true, 
 When all the world is cruel, I should fall 
 And wither. All my strength is gone 
 
 away. 
 And I am broken 1 ' 
 
 'Twas but little cheer 
 That I could give him : that was grief too 
 
 deep 
 For foolish me to understand or cure. 
 I made the little parlour bright o' nights, 
 Coax'd him to read aloud the books he 
 
 loved, 
 And often he was like himself again, 
 Singing for ease o' heart ; and now and 
 
 then, 
 
 A poem printed in a newspaper, 
 
 Or something kind from people in the 
 
 world, 
 Help'd me a little. So the time wore on ; — 
 Till suddenly, one night in winter time, 
 I saw him change. Home came he white 
 
 and pale. 
 Shivering, trembling, looking wild and 
 
 strange, 
 Yet speaking quietly. ' My head feels 
 
 queer — 
 It aches a bit ! ' he said ; and the next day 
 He cotild not rise from bed. Quiet he 
 
 lay. 
 But now and then I saw him raise his 
 
 hand 
 And hold his forehead. In the afternoon, 
 He fell to troubled sleep, and, when he 
 
 woke. 
 He did not seem to know me. Full of 
 
 fear, 
 I sent for Doctor Earth. When Doctor 
 
 came, 
 He found poor Teddy tossing on his bed, 
 Moaning and muttering and clenching 
 
 teeth, 
 And Doctor said, ' The ill is on the brain — 
 Has he been troubled lately ? ' and I cried, 
 ' Ay, much, much troubled ! He has fretted 
 
 sore 
 For many months ! ' 
 
 'Twas sad, 'twas sad, to see 
 My strong man suffer on his dull sick-bed. 
 Not knowing me, but crying out of things 
 That haunted him. I will not weary you, 
 By telling how the Doctor brought him 
 
 round. 
 And how at last he rose from bed, the 
 
 ghost 
 Of his old self, and something gone away 
 That never would return. Then it was 
 
 plain 
 That he could work no more : the Light 
 
 had fled. 
 Which keeps a man a man despite the 
 
 world 
 And all its cruel change. To fright the wolf, 
 I took in washing at the cottage here ; 
 And people sent us money now and then, 
 And pitying letters reach'd us from the 
 
 world. 
 Too late ! too late !
 
 t4fi 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 Thank the good God above, 
 Who made me strong and willing, I could 
 
 keep 
 The little house above us, though 'twas 
 
 dear, 
 And ah ! I work'd more hard because I 
 
 knew 
 Poor Teddy's heart would break outright 
 
 elsewhere. 
 Yet Teddy hardly seem'd to comprehend 
 All that had happen'd. Though he knew 
 
 me well, 
 And spake full sensibly of many things, 
 He lack'd the power to speak of one thing 
 
 long. 
 Sometimes he was as merry as a bird, 
 Singing wild songs he learn'd by heart when 
 
 young ; 
 Sometimes he wish'd to wander out a- 
 
 field. 
 But easy 'twas to lead his wits away 
 To other things. And he was changeful 
 
 ever, 
 Now laughing and now crying ; and at 
 
 times 
 He wrote strange notes to poets that were 
 
 dead. 
 And named himself by all their names in 
 
 turn. 
 Still making verse, which I had sense to 
 
 see 
 Was wild, and strange, and wrong — not 
 
 like the verse 
 He made of old. One day for hours he 
 
 sat. 
 Looking upon the bit of garden ground, 
 And smiling. When I spoke, he look'd 
 
 and laugh' d. 
 ' Surely you know me, Teddy ? ' I ex- 
 
 claim'd ; 
 And up he raised his head, with shrill thin 
 
 voice 
 Saying, 'Yes, you are Queen Elizabeth, 
 And I am Shakespeare ; ' and again he 
 
 smiled 
 Craftily to himself ; but when I hung 
 Around his neck, and wept, and ask'd 
 
 again. 
 He turn'd upon me with so pale a 
 
 look, 
 So wan, so sharp, so full of agony, 
 'Twas clear the cloud was lifted for a 
 
 moment, 
 
 'Twas clear he knew that he was Teddy 
 
 Crowhurst, 
 And that the light of life had gone away. 
 
 And oft, in sunny weather, he and I 
 Had walks in quiet places, — in the lanes. 
 And in the woods, and by the river side ; 
 And he was happy, prying as of old 
 In little mossy nests, or plucking flowers. 
 Or dropping pebbles at the water-brim, 
 To make the speckled minnows start and 
 
 fly 
 In little gleams of light. Ne'er had he 
 
 been 
 More cunning in the ways and looks of 
 
 things, 
 Though memory fail'd him when he tried 
 
 for names. 
 The sable streaks upon the arum-flower 
 Were strange to him as ever ; a lark singing 
 Made his eyes misty as it used to do ; 
 The shining sun, the waving of green 
 
 boughs, 
 The rippling of the river down the dell. 
 Were still true pleasure. All the seasons 
 
 brought 
 Something to charm him. Staring on the 
 
 snow, 
 Or making great snow-houses like a boy. 
 He was as busy when the boughs were 
 
 bare, 
 As carrying home a bough of scented May 
 Or bunch of yellow lilies from the pond. 
 What had been pleasure in his younger 
 
 days 
 Came back to keep him quiet in the world. 
 He gave much love to trees and birds and 
 
 flowers, 
 And, when the mighty world was all unkind, 
 The little, gentle, speechless things were 
 
 true. 
 
 True Heart, I never thought that he could 
 
 bear 
 To last so long ; but ten slow years have 
 
 fled 
 Since the first book that brought the trouble 
 
 and pain 
 Was printed, — and within the parlour there 
 Teddy is sitting, busy as a bee. 
 Doing? He dreams the world that knows 
 
 him not
 
 EDWARD CROWHURST— ARTIST AND MODEL. 
 
 Ml 
 
 Rings with his praises, and for many an 
 
 hour 
 Sits busy with the verse of later years, 
 Marks, copies, and arranges it with care. 
 To go to some great printer that he thinlis 
 Is waiting ; and from time to time he eyes 
 The boolcs they printed, numbering the 
 
 lines. 
 Counting the pages. Sometimes he is 
 
 Burns, 
 Sometimes John Milton, sometimes other 
 
 men. 
 And sometimes — always looking saddest 
 
 then — 
 Knows he is Teddy Crowhurst. Thin he is. 
 And worn, and feeble, — wearing slowly 
 
 down 
 Like snowdrift; and at times, when Memory 
 Comes for a moment like a mirror flash'd 
 Into his eyes, he does not groan and weep, 
 But droops the more, and seems resign' d 
 
 and still. 
 True Heart, I fear the end is near at last ! 
 He sits and hearkens vacantly and dreams, 
 He thrills at every knocking at the door. 
 Stilly he waits for light that never comes, 
 That never will return until the end. 
 And oft at evening, when my work is 
 
 done. 
 And the dark gathers, and he holds my 
 
 hand, 
 The waiting grows intenser, and becomes 
 The sense o' life itself. Take Teddy 
 
 hence ! 
 Show me the man will draw my hand 
 
 away ! 
 I am a quiet comfort to his pain ; 
 For though his thoughts be far away from 
 
 here, 
 I know he feels my hand ; and ah ! the 
 
 touch 
 Just keeps his heart from breaking. 'Tis 
 
 my joy 
 To work where I can watch him through the 
 
 day, 
 And quiet him, and see he wants for 
 
 nought. 
 He loves to sit among his books and 
 
 flowers, 
 And wears away with little pain, and feels 
 The quiet parlour is a pleasant place ; 
 And there — God bless him ! — in a happy 
 
 time 
 
 
 Teddy will feel the darkness pass away, 
 And smile farewell upon his wife and girl, 
 And Light that he has lost will come again 
 To shine upon him as he goes to sleep. 
 
 ARTIST AND MODEL: 
 
 A LOVE POEM. 
 
 The scorn of the nations is bitter, 
 But the touch of a hand is warm. 
 
 Is it not pleasant to wander 
 
 In town on Saturday night, 
 While people go hither and thither. 
 
 And shops shed cheerful light ? 
 And, arm in arm, while our shadows 
 
 Chase us along the panes, 
 Are we not quite as cozy 
 
 As down among country lanes? 
 
 Nobody Icnows us, heeds us, 
 
 Nobody hears or sees. 
 And the shop-lights gleam more gladly 
 
 Than the moon on hedges and trees ; 
 And people coming and going, 
 
 All upon ends of their own, 
 Though they work a spell on the spirit. 
 
 Make it more finely alone. 
 
 The sound seems harmless and pleasant 
 As the murmur of brook and wind ; 
 
 The shops with the fruit and the pictures 
 Have sweetness to suit my mind ; 
 
 And nobody knows us, heeds us, 
 And our loving none reproves, — 
 
 /, the poor figure-painter ! 
 You, the lady he loves ! 
 
 And what if the world should scorn you 
 
 For now and again, as you do, 
 Assuming a country kirtle, 
 
 And bonnet of straw thereto, 
 Or the robe of a vestal virgin. 
 
 Or a nun's gray gabardine. 
 And keeping a brother and sister 
 
 By standing and looking divine ? 
 
 And what if the world, moreover. 
 
 Should silently pass me by, 
 Because at the dawn of the struggle, 
 
 I labour some stories high ! 
 
 L2
 
 148 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 Why, there 's comfort in waiting, worlcing, 
 And feeling one's heart beat right, — 
 
 And rambhng alone, love-making, 
 In London on Saturday night. 
 
 For when, with a blush Titianic, 
 
 You peep'd in that lodging of mine, 
 Did I not praise the good angels 
 
 For sending a model so fine? 
 When I was fill'd with the pureness 
 
 You brought to the lonely abode, 
 Did I not learn to love you ? 
 
 And — did Love not lighten the load ? 
 
 And haply, indeed, little darling. 
 
 While I ycarn'd and plotted and plann'd, 
 And you watch'd me in love and in yearning 
 
 Your heart did not quite understand 
 All the wonder and aspiration 
 
 You meant by your loveliness. 
 All the faith in the frantic endeavour 
 
 Your beautiful face could express ! 
 
 For your love and your beauty have thriven 
 
 On things of a low degree. 
 And you do not comprehend clearly 
 
 The drift of a dreamer like me ; 
 And perchance, when you look'd so divinely, 
 
 You meant, and meant only, to say : 
 ' How sad that he dwells in a garret ! 
 
 And lives on so little a day ! ' 
 
 What of that? If your sweetness and 
 beauty, 
 
 And the love that is part of thee. 
 Were mirror'd in wilder visions. 
 
 And express'd much more to mc, 
 Did the beautiful face, my darling, 
 
 Need subtler, loftier lore ? — 
 Nay, beauty is all our wisdom, — 
 
 We painters demand no more. 
 
 Indeed, I had been no painter, 
 
 And never could hope to rise, 
 Had I lack'd the power of creating 
 
 The meanings for your sweet eyes ; 
 And what you were really thinking 
 
 Scarcely imported, in sooth, — 
 Since the truth we artists fail for. 
 
 Is the truth that looks the truth. 
 
 Your beautiful face was before me, 
 
 Set in its golden hair ; 
 And the wonder and love and yearning 
 
 Were shining sublimely there ! 
 And your eyes said — ' Work for glory f 
 
 Up, up, where the angels call ! ' 
 And I understood, and I labour' d. 
 
 And I love the face for it all 1 
 
 I am talking, you think, so strangely ! 
 
 And you watch with wondering eyes !- 
 Could I utter one half of the yearning 
 
 Your face, even now, implies ! 
 But the yearning will not be utter'd, 
 
 And never, ah 1 never can be, 
 Till the work of the world is over, 
 
 And we see as immortals see. 
 
 Yet bless thee for ever and ever, 
 
 For keeping me humble and true. 
 And would that my Art could utter 
 
 The wisdom I find in you. 
 Enough to labour and labour, 
 
 And to feel one's heart beat right, 
 And to wander unknown, love-making. 
 
 In London on Saturday night ! 
 
 You think : ' How dearly I love him ! 
 
 How dearly he loves me ! 
 How sweet to live on, and love him, 
 
 With children at my knee ! 
 With the useless labour over, 
 
 And comfort and leisure won, 
 And clever people praising 
 
 The work that he has done ! ' 
 
 I think : ' How dearly I love her ! 
 
 How dearly she loves me ! 
 Yet the beauty the heart would utter 
 
 Endeth in agony ; 
 And life is a climbing, a seeking 
 
 Of something we never can see ! 
 And death is a slumber, a dreaming 
 
 Of something that may not be ! ' 
 
 And your face is sweetly troubled. 
 
 Your little hand stirs on mine own, 
 For you guess at a hidden meaning, 
 
 Since I speak in so tender a tone ; 
 And you rain the yearning upon me 
 
 You brought to my help before. 
 And I ask no mightier v/isdom, — 
 
 We painters demand no more.
 
 ARTIST AND MODEL— NELL. 
 
 149 
 
 And we shall live, ray darling, 
 
 Together till we grow old. 
 And people will buy my pictures, 
 
 And you will gather the gold. 
 And your lovehness will reward me, 
 
 And sanctify all I do, 
 And toiling for Love's sake, darling, 
 
 I may toil for Fame's sake, too. 
 
 Ah, dearest, how much you teacli me, 
 
 How much of hope and of light, 
 Up yonder, planning and painting, 
 
 And here on Saturday night ; 
 And I turn sad eyes no longer 
 
 From the pageant that passes around. 
 And the vision no more seems weary. 
 
 And the head may yet be crown 'd ! 
 
 And I ask no more from mortals 
 
 Than your beautiful face implies, — 
 The beauty the artist beholding 
 
 Interprets and sanctifies. 
 Who says that men have fallen. 
 
 That life is wretched and rough ? 
 I say, the world is lovely, 
 
 And that loveliness is enough. 
 
 So my doubting days are ended, 
 
 And the labour of life seems clear ; 
 And life hums deeply around me, 
 
 Just like the murmur here. 
 And quickens the sense of living, 
 
 And shapes me for peace and storm, — 
 And dims my eyes with gladness 
 
 When it glides into colour and form ! 
 
 His form and His colour, darling. 
 
 Are all we apprehend. 
 Though the meaning that underlies them 
 
 May be utter'd in the end ; 
 And I seek to go no deeper 
 
 Than the beauty and wonder there. 
 Since the world can look so wondrous. 
 
 And your face can look so fair. 
 
 For ah ! life's stream is bitter, 
 
 When too greedily we drink. 
 And I might not be so happy 
 
 If I knew quite all you think ; 
 And when God takes much, my darling, 
 
 He leaves us the colour and form, — 
 The scorn of the nations is bitter, 
 
 But the touch of a hand is warm. 
 
 NELL. 
 
 She gazes not at her who hears, 
 
 But, while the gathering darkness cries, 
 Stares at the vacancy through tears, 
 
 That burn upon her glistening eyes, 
 Yet do not flow. Her hair falls free 
 
 Around a face grown deathly thin ; 
 Her elbow rests upon her knee, 
 
 And in her palms she props her chin. 
 
 See, Nan ! his little face looks pinch' d with 
 
 fright. 
 His little hands are clench'd together tight ! 
 Born dead, that's comfort ! quiet too ; when 
 one 
 Thinks of what kill'd him ! Kiss him, 
 Nan, for me. 
 Thank God, he never lookd upon the sun 
 That saw his father hang'd on galiows- 
 tree. 
 O boy, my boy ! you're better dead and 
 
 sleeping, 
 Kill'd by poor mothers fear, and shame, 
 
 and weeping : 
 She never loved another living man, 
 
 But held to father all thro' right and 
 wrong — 
 Ah, yes ! I never turn'd against him, Nan, 
 I stuck by him that stuck by me so long ! 
 
 You're a kind woman, Nan ! ay, kind and 
 true ! 
 God will be good to faithful folk like you ! 
 You knew my Ned? 
 
 A better, kinder lad never drew breath — 
 We loved each other true, though never wed 
 In church, Uke some who took him to his 
 death : 
 A lad as gentle as a lamb, but lost 
 
 His senses when he took a drop too 
 much — 
 Drink did it all — drink made him mad when 
 cross'd — 
 He was a poor man, and they're hard on 
 such. 
 O Nan ! that night ! that night ! 
 
 When I was sitting in this very chair. 
 Watching and waiting in the candle-light. 
 And heard his foot come creaking up the 
 stair, 
 And turn'd, and saw him standing yonder, 
 white
 
 ISO 
 
 LONDON POEMS 
 
 And wild, with staring eyes and rumpled 
 
 hair ! 
 And when I caught his arm and call'd, in 
 
 fright, 
 He push'd me, swore, and to the door he 
 
 pass'd 
 To lock and bar it fast ! 
 Then down he drops just hke a lump of 
 
 lead, 
 Holding his brow, shaking, and growing 
 
 whiter, 
 And — Nan ! — ^just then the light seem'd 
 
 growing brighter, 
 And I could see the hands that held his 
 
 head. 
 All red ! all bloody red ! 
 What could I do but scream ? He groan'd 
 
 to hear, 
 Jump'd to his feet, and gripp'd me by the 
 
 wrist ; 
 ' Be still, or I shall kill thee, Nell ! ' he hiss'd. 
 And 1 was still, for fear. 
 ' They're after me — I've knifed a man ! ' he 
 
 said. 
 ' Be still ! — the drink^drink did it — he is 
 
 dead!' 
 And as he said the word, the wind went by 
 With a whistle and cry — 
 The room swam round — the babe unborn 
 
 seem'd to scream out, and die ! 
 
 Then we grew still, dead still. I couldn't 
 
 weep — 
 All I could do was cling to Ned and heark — 
 And Ned was cold, cold, cold, as if asleep. 
 But breathing hard and deep. 
 The candle flicker'd out — the room grew 
 dark— 
 And — Nan ! — although my heart was true 
 and tried, — 
 When all grew cold and dim, 
 I shudder' d — not for fear of them outside. 
 
 But just afraid to be alone with him. 
 For winds were wailing —the wild rain 
 
 cried, — 
 Folk's footsteps sounded down the court 
 
 and died — 
 What could I do but cla?p his knees and 
 cUng? 
 And call his name beneath my breath in 
 pain? 
 Until he threw his head up, listening, 
 And gave a groan, and hid his face again ; 
 
 ' Ned ! Ned I ' I whisper' d — and he moan'd 
 
 and shook — 
 But did not heed or look 1 
 ' Ned ! Ned ! speak, lad ! tell me it is not 
 true ! ' 
 At that he raised his head and look'd so 
 wild ; 
 Then, with a stare that froze my blood, he 
 threw 
 His arms around me, crying like a child. 
 And held me close — and not a word was 
 spoken — 
 While I clung tighter to his heart and 
 press'd him — 
 And did not fear him, though my heart was 
 broken — 
 But kiss'd his poor stain'd hands, and 
 cried, and bless'd him 1 
 
 Then, Nan, the dreadful daylight, coming 
 
 cold 
 With sound o' falling rain, — 
 Wlien I could see his face, and it look'd 
 old. 
 Like the pinch'd face of one that dies in 
 pain ; 
 Well, though we heard folk stirring in the 
 
 sun. 
 We never thought to hide away or run. 
 Until we heard those voices in the street, 
 That hurrying of feet. 
 
 And Ned leap'd up, and knew that they 
 had come. 
 ' Run, Ned ! ' I cried, but he was deaf 
 and dumb ! 
 ' Hide, Ned ! ' I scream'd, and held him — 
 
 ' hide thee, man ! ' 
 He stared with bloodshot eyes, and 
 
 hearken'd. Nan ! 
 And all the rest is like a dream — the sound 
 
 Of knocking at the door — 
 A rush of men — a struggle on the ground — 
 
 A mist— a tramp — a roar ; 
 For when I got my senses back again, 
 I'he room was empty — and my head went 
 round ! 
 The neighbours talk'd and stirr'd about the 
 lane. 
 And Seven Dials made a moaning sound ; 
 And as I listen'd, lass, it seem'd to me 
 Just like the murmur of the great dark Sea, 
 And Ned a-lying somewhere, stiff and 
 drown'd I
 
 NELL. 
 
 151 
 
 God help him ? God will help him ! Ay, 
 
 no fear ! 
 It was the drink, not Ned — he meant no 
 
 wrong ; 
 So kind ! so good ! — and I am useless here, 
 Now he is lost that loved me true and 
 
 long. 
 Why, just before the last of it, we parted. 
 And Ned was calm, though I was broken- 
 hearted ; 
 And ah, my heart was broke ! and ah, I 
 
 cried 
 And kiss'd him, — till they took me from his 
 
 side ; 
 And though he died thai way, (God bless 
 
 him !) Ned 
 Went through it bravely, calm as any 
 
 there : 
 They've wrought their fill of spite upon his 
 
 head. 
 And — there's the hat and clothes he used 
 
 to wear ! 
 
 . . . That night before he died, 
 1 didn't cry— my heart was hard and dried ; 
 But when the clocks went ' one,' I took my 
 shawl 
 To cover up my face, and stole away. 
 And walk'd along the silent streets, where all 
 
 Look'd cold and still and gray, — 
 Only the lamps o" London here and there 
 
 Scatter'd a dismal gleaming ; 
 And on I went, and stood in Leicester 
 Square, 
 Ay, like a woman dreaming : 
 But just as ' three ' was sounded close at 
 hand, 
 I started and turn'd east, before I knew, — 
 Then down Saint Martin's Lane, along the 
 Strand, 
 And through the toll-gate, on to Water- 
 loo. 
 How I remember all I saw, although 
 
 'Twas only like a dream ! — 
 The long still lines o' lights, the chilly 
 gleam 
 Of moonshine on the deep black stream 
 below ; 
 While far, far, far away, along the sky 
 
 Streaks soft as silver ran, 
 And the pale Moon look'd paler up on 
 high. 
 And little sounds in far-off streets began ! 
 
 Well, while I stood, and waited, and look'd 
 
 down. 
 And thought how sweet 'twould be to drop 
 
 and drown. 
 Some men and lads went by, 
 And turning round, I gazed, and watch'd 
 'em go. 
 Then felt that they were going to see him die, 
 And drew my shawl more tight, and fol- 
 
 low'd slow. 
 How clear I feel it still ! 
 The streets grew light, but rain began to 
 
 fall; 
 1 stopp'd and had some coffee at a stall, 
 
 Because I felt so chill ; 
 A cock crew somewhere, and it seem'd a 
 call 
 To wake the folk who kill ! 
 The man who sold the coffee stared at 
 
 me ! 
 I must have been a sorry sight to see ! 
 More people pass'd — a country cart with 
 hay 
 Stopp'd close beside the stall, — and two or 
 three 
 Talk'd about ill I moan'd, and crept 
 away ! 
 
 Ay, nearer, nearer to the dreadful place, 
 
 AU in the falling rain, 
 I went, and kept my shawl upon my face. 
 
 And felt no grief or pain — 
 Only the wet that soak'd me through and 
 through 
 Seem'd cold and sweet and pleasant to 
 the touch — 
 It made the streets more drear and silent, 
 too. 
 And kept away the light I fear'd so much. 
 Slow, slow the wet streets fill'd, and all 
 seem'd going, 
 Laughing and chatting, the same way, 
 And grayer, sadder, lighter, it was grow- 
 ing. 
 Though still the rain fell fast and dark- 
 en'd day ! 
 Nan ! — every pulse was burning — I could 
 
 feel 
 My heart was made o' steel — 
 As crossing Ludgate Hill, I saw, all 
 blurr'd, 
 Saint Paul's great clock and heard it 
 slowly chime.
 
 152 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 And hadn't power to count the strokes I 
 heard, 
 But strain'd my eyes and saw it wasn't 
 time. 
 Ah ! then I felt I dared not creep more 
 near, 
 But went into a lane oif Ludgate Hill, 
 And sitting on a doorstep, I could hear 
 
 The people gathering still ! 
 And still the rain was falling, falling. 
 And deadening the hum I heard from 
 there ; 
 And wet and stiif, I heard the people call- 
 ing, 
 And watch'd the rain-drops glistening 
 down my hair. 
 My elbows on my knees, my fingers dead, — 
 My shawl thrown off, now none could see, — 
 my head 
 Dripping and wild and bare. 
 I heard the crpng of a crowd of men, 
 
 And next, a hollow sound I knew full well. 
 For something gripp'd me round the heart ! 
 — and then 
 There came the solemn toUing of a bell ! 
 O God ! O God ! how could I sit close by, 
 And neither scream nor cry ? 
 As if I had been stone, all hard and cold, 
 
 I hsten'd, listen d, hsten'd, still and dumb, 
 While the folk murmur'd, and the death- 
 bell toU'd, 
 And the day brighten'd, and his time had 
 come. . . . 
 . . . Till — Nan ! — all else was silent, but 
 
 the knell 
 Of the slow bell ! 
 
 And I could only wait, and wait, and wait. 
 And what I waited for I couldn't tell, — 
 At last there came a groaning deep and 
 
 great — 
 Saint Paul's struck ' eight ' — 
 
 I scream'd, and seem'd to turn to fire, 
 and feU ! 
 
 God bless him, live or dead ! 
 Oh, he was kind and true — 
 They've %vrought their fill of spite upon his 
 head — 
 ■Why didn't they be kind, and take me 
 too? 
 And there's the dear old things he used to 
 
 wear, 
 And here's a lock o' hair ! 
 
 And Ned ! my Ned ! 
 
 Is fast asleep, and cannot hear me 
 call;— 
 God bless you. Nan, for all you've done 
 and said. 
 But don't mind me! My heart is broke, 
 that's all ! 
 
 ATTORNEY SNEAK. 
 
 Sharp like a tyrant, timid like a slave, 
 A little man, with yellow, bloodless cheek ; 
 
 A snappish mingling of the fool and knave, 
 Resulting in the hybrid compound— Sneak. 
 
 Put execution in on Mrs. Hart — 
 
 If people will be careless, let them smart : 
 
 Oh, hang her children ! just the common 
 
 cry ! 
 Am I to feed her family ? Not I. 
 I'm tender-hearted, but I dare be just, — 
 I never go beyond the law, I trust ; 
 I've work'd my way, plotted and starved 
 
 and plann'd. 
 Commenced without a penny in my hand. 
 And never howl'd for help, or dealt in 
 
 sham — 
 No ! I 'm a man of principle, I am. 
 
 What's that you say? Oh, father has 
 
 been here ? 
 Of course, you sent him packing? Dear, 
 
 oh, dear 1 
 When one has work'd his weary way, like 
 
 me, 
 To comfort and respectability, 
 Can pay his bills, and save a pound or 
 
 two, 
 And say his prayers on Sunday in a pew, 
 Can look the laws of England in the face, 
 'Tis hard, 'tis hard, 'tis shame, and 'tis dis- 
 grace. 
 That one's own father — old and worn and 
 
 gray- 
 Should be the only hindrance in his way. 
 Swore, did he? Very pretty ! Threaten'd? 
 
 Oh! 
 Demanded money? You, of course, said 
 
 'No'? 
 'Tis hard — my hfe will never be secure — 
 He'll be my ruin some day, I am sure.
 
 ATTORNEY SNEAIC. 
 
 tS3 
 
 I don't deny my origin was low — 
 All the more credit to myself, you know ; 
 Mother (I never saw her) was a tramp, 
 Father half tramp, half pedlar, and whole 
 
 scamp, 
 Who travell'd over England with a pack. 
 And carried me about upon his back. 
 Trudging from door to door, to feasts and 
 
 fairs. 
 Cheating the silly women with his wares, 
 Stealing the farmers' ducks and hens for 
 
 food, 
 Pilfering odds and ends where'er he could, 
 And resting in a city now and then, 
 Till it became too hot, — and off again. 
 Beat me? No, he knew better. I confess 
 He used me vdth a sort of tenderness ; 
 But would have warp'd my nature into sin, 
 Had I been weak, for lack of discipline. 
 Why, even now, I shudder to the soul. 
 To think how oft I ate the food he stole, 
 And how I wore upon my back the things 
 He won by cheats and lawless bargainings. 
 Oh, he had feelings, that I freely say ; 
 But, without principle, what good are they? 
 He swindled and he stole on every hand. 
 And I was far too young to reprimand ; 
 And, for the rest, why, he was circumspect, 
 And might have been committed for neg- 
 lect. 
 
 Ah ! how I managed, under stars so ill. 
 To thrive at all, to me is mystery still. 
 In spite of father, though, I got along, 
 And early learn'd to judge the right from 
 
 wrong ; 
 At roadsides, when we stopp'd to rest and 
 
 feed, 
 He gave me lessons how to write and read, 
 I got a snack of schooling here and there. 
 And learn'd to sum by instinct, as it were. 
 Then, latterly, when I was seventeen, 
 All sorts of evil I had heard and seen ; 
 Knew father's evil ways, bemoan'd my fate, 
 Long'd to be wealthy, virtuous, and great ; 
 Swore, with the fond ambition of a lad. 
 To make good use of what poor gifts I had. 
 
 At last, tired, sick, of wandering up and 
 down. 
 Hither I turn'd my thoughts, — to London 
 town ; 
 
 And finally, with little doubt or fear, 
 Made up my mind to try my fortune here. 
 Well, father stared at first, and shook his 
 
 head ; 
 But when he found I held to what I said. 
 He clasp'd me tight, and hugg'd me to his 
 
 heart. 
 And begg'd and pray'd tha I would not 
 
 depart ; 
 Said I was all for whom he had to care, 
 His only joy in trudging here and there ; 
 Vow'd, if I ever left him, he would die, — 
 Then, last of all, of course, began to cry. 
 You know how men of his position feel ? 
 Selfish, at best, even when it is real 1 
 I tried to smooth him over, and, ne.xt day, 
 I pack'd what things I had, and ran away. 
 
 I need not tell you all my weary fight, 
 To get along in life, and do aright — 
 How often people, when I sought a place. 
 Still push'd my blessed father in my face ; 
 Until, at last, when I was almost stark. 
 Old Lawyer Hawk made me his under- 
 
 clerk ; 
 How from that moment, by avoiding wrong. 
 Possessing principle, I got along ; 
 Read for the law, plotted, and dream'd, 
 
 and plann'd. 
 Until — I reach' d the height on which I 
 
 stand. 
 
 'Twas hard, 'twas hard ! Just as my 
 business grows. 
 In father pops his miserable nose, 
 Steps in, not sober, in a ragged dress. 
 And worn tenfold with want and wicked- 
 ness ; 
 Calls me hard names because I wish'd to 
 
 rise ; 
 Here, in the office, like a baby cries ; 
 Smothers my pride with shatue and with 
 
 disgrace. 
 Till, red as fire, I coax'd him from the place. 
 What could I do under so great a blow ? 
 I gave him money, tried to make him go ; 
 But ah ! he meant to rest, I plain could see, 
 His ragged legs 'neath my mahogany ! 
 No principle ! When I began complaining, 
 How he would be my ruin by remaining, 
 He turn'd upon me, white and wild, and 
 
 swore. 
 And would have hit me, had I utter'd more''
 
 tS4 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 'Tommy,' he dared to say, 'you've done 
 
 amiss ; 
 I never thought to see you come to this. 
 I would have stopp'd you early on the 
 
 journey. 
 If I had ever thought you'd grow attorney, 
 Sucking the blood of people here in London ; 
 But you have done it, and it can't be 
 
 undone. 
 And, Tommy, I will do my best to see 
 You don't at all disgrace yourself and me.' 
 
 I rack'd my brains, I moan'd and tore my 
 
 hair, 
 Saw nothing left but ruin and despair ; 
 Father at hand, why, all would deem me 
 
 low : 
 ' Sneak's father ? humph ! ' — the business 
 
 would go. 
 The labour of long years would come to 
 
 nought ! 
 At last I hit upon a happy thought : 
 Why should not father, if he pleased to be, 
 Be decent and respectable like me ; 
 He would be glad and grateful, if a grain 
 Of principle were settled in his brain. 
 I made the offer, — proud he seem'd and 
 
 glai— 
 There rose a hope he'd change to good 
 
 from bad. 
 Though, ' Tommy, 'tis a way of getting 
 
 bread 
 I never thought to come upon,' he said ; 
 And so I placed him in the office here, 
 A clerk at five and thirty pounds a year. 
 
 I put it to you, could a man do more? 
 I felt no malice, did not close my door, 
 Gave him the chance to show if he was wise : 
 He had the world before him, and could 
 
 Well, for a month or more, he play'd no 
 
 tricks. 
 Writ-drawing, copying, from nine to six, 
 Not smart, of course, or clever, like the 
 
 rest. 
 But trying, it appear'd, to do his best ; 
 But by and by he changed — old fire broke 
 
 out — 
 He snapp'd when seniors order'd him 
 
 about— 
 
 Came late to office, tried to loaf and shirk — 
 Would sit for precious hours before his 
 
 work, 
 And scarcely lift a pen, but sleepily stare 
 Out through the window at the empty air. 
 And watch the sunshine lying in the lane. 
 Or the bluebottles buzzing on the pane. 
 And look as sad and worn and grieved and 
 
 strange 
 As if he ne'er had had a chance to change ; 
 Came one day staggering in a drunken fit ; 
 Flatly refused one day to serve a writ. 
 I talk'd, appeal'd, talk'd of my honest 
 
 name. 
 He stared, turn'd pale, swore loud, and out 
 
 it came : 
 He hated living with that monkey crew. 
 Had tried his best and found it would not 
 
 do ; 
 He could not bear, forsooth, to watch the 
 
 tears 
 Of people with the Law about their ears. 
 Would rather steal his meals from place to 
 
 place, 
 Than bring the sorrow to a poor man's 
 
 face — 
 In fact, you see, he hated all who pay. 
 Or seek their moneys in the honest way ; 
 Moreover, he preferr'd a roadside crust, 
 To cleanly living with the good and just : 
 Old, wild, and used to roaming up and 
 
 down, 
 He could not bear lo stagnate in a town ; 
 To stick in a dark office in a street. 
 Was downright misery to a man with feet ; 
 Serving the law was more than he could 
 
 bear, 
 Give him his pack, his freedom, and fresh 
 
 air. 
 
 Mark that ! how base, ungrateful, gross, 
 and bad ! 
 His want of principle had made him mad. 
 I gave him money, sent him off by train, 
 And trusted ne'er to see his face again. 
 
 But he came back. Of course. Look'd 
 wan and ill. 
 More ragged and disreputable still. 
 Despairing, groaning, wretchedest of men, 
 I granted him another trial then. 
 Still the old story — the same vacant stare 
 Out through the window at the empty air,
 
 ATTORNEY SNEAK— BARBARA GRAY. 
 
 15S 
 
 More watching of the sunshine in the lane, 
 And the bluebottles buzzing on the pane, 
 Then more of tipsiness and drunken dizzi- 
 ness. 
 And rage at things done in the way of busi- 
 ness. 
 I saw the very office servants sneer, 
 And I determined to be more severe. 
 At last, one winter morn, I went to him. 
 And found him sitting, melancholy, grim. 
 Sprawling like any schoolboy on his seat, 
 And scratching drawings on a foolscap 
 
 sheet : 
 Here, an old hag, with half-a-dozen chits, 
 Lash'd with a cat-o'-nine-tails, labell'd 
 
 ' Writs ; ' 
 There, a young rascal, ragge 1 as a daw, 
 Drinkin:; a cup of poison, labell'd ' Law ;' 
 Elsewhere, the Devil, looking o'er a pile 
 Of old indictments with a crafty smile. 
 And sticking Lawyers on an office file ! 
 And in a corner, wretchedly devised, 
 A shape in black, that kick'd and agonised, 
 Strung by a pauper to a gallows great, 
 And underneath it written, ' Tommie's 
 
 FATE ! ' 
 
 I touch'd his arm, conducted him aside, 
 Produced a bunch of documents, and 
 
 cried : 
 ' Now, father, no more nonsense ! You 
 
 must be 
 No more a plague and a disgrace to me — 
 If you won't work hke others, you must 
 
 quit ; 
 See, here are two subpoenas, there a writ. 
 Serve these on Such-a-one and So-and-so. 
 Be sharp, — and mind your conduct, or you 
 
 go.' 
 He never said a word, but with a glare 
 All round him, drew his thin hand through 
 
 his hair, 
 Turn'd white, and took the paper silently. 
 Put on his hat, and puup'd again at me. 
 Then quietly, not like a man in ire. 
 Threw all the precious papers on the fire ! 
 And turning quickly, crying with a shout, 
 'You, and your documents, be dairmd/' 
 
 went out. 
 
 He came again ! Ay, after wandering o'er 
 The country as of old, he came once more. 
 T gave him money, off he went ; and then, 
 After a little year, he came again ; 
 
 Ay, came, and came, still ragged, bad, and 
 
 poor, 
 And he will be my ruin, I am sure. 
 He tells the same old tale from year to year. 
 How to his heart I ever will be dear ; 
 Or oft into a fit of passion flies. 
 Calls me ungrateful and unkind, — then 
 
 cries. 
 Raves of his tenderness and suffering, 
 And mother's too and all that sort of 
 
 thing ! 
 He haunts me ever like a goblin grim. 
 And — to be candid — I 'm afraid of him ; 
 For, ah ! all now is hopeless, to my cost, — 
 Through want of principle the man is lost. 
 
 — That 's Badger, is it ? He must go to 
 Vere, 
 The Bank of England clerk. The writ is 
 
 here. 
 Say, for his children's sake, we may relent, 
 If he '11 renew at thirty-five per cent. 
 
 BARBARA GRAY. 
 
 A mourning woman, robed in black. 
 Stands in the twilight, looking back ; 
 Her hand is on her heart, her head 
 Bends musingly above the Dead, 
 Her face is plain, and plnch'd, and thin, 
 But splendour strikes it from within. 
 
 • Barbara Gray 1 
 
 Pause, and remember what the world will 
 
 say,' 
 I cried, and turning on the threshold fled. 
 When he was breathing on his dying bed ; 
 
 But when, with heart grown bold, 
 
 I cross'd the threshold cold, 
 Here lay John Hamerton, and he was dead. 
 
 H. 
 
 And all the house of death was chill and 
 
 dim. 
 The dull old housekeeper was looking grim. 
 The hall-clock ticking slow, the dismal rain 
 Splashing by fits against the window-pane. 
 The garden shivering in the twilight dark. 
 Beyond, the bare trees of the empty park. 
 And faint gray light upon the great cold 
 
 bed. 
 And 1 alone ; and he 1 turu'd from,— dead
 
 »S6 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 III. 
 Ay, ' dwarf they called this man who sleep- 
 ing lies ; 
 No lady shone upon him with her eyes, 
 No tender maiden heard his true-love vow, 
 And pressed her kisses on the great bold 
 
 brow. 
 What cared John Hamerton? With light, 
 
 light laugh. 
 He halted through the streets upon his 
 
 staff; 
 Halt, lame, not beauteous, yet with winning 
 
 grace 
 And sweetness in his pale and quiet face ; 
 Fire, hell's or heaven's, in his eyes of 
 
 blue ; 
 Warm words of love upon his tongue 
 
 thereto ; 
 Could win a woman's Soul with what he 
 
 said. 
 And I am here ; and here he lieth dead. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I would not blush if the bad world saw 
 
 now 
 How by his bed I stoop and kiss his brow ! 
 Ay, kiss it, kiss it, o'er and o'er again. 
 With all the love that fills my heart and 
 
 brain. 
 
 V. 
 For where was man had stoop'd to me 
 
 before, 
 Though I was maiden still, and girl no 
 
 more ? 
 Where was the spirit that had deign'd to 
 
 prize 
 The poor plain features and the envious 
 
 eyes? 
 What lips had whisper'd warmly in mine 
 
 ears? 
 When had I known the passion and the 
 
 tears ? 
 Till he I look on sleeping came unto me. 
 Found me among the shadows, stoop'd to 
 
 woo me. 
 Seized on the heart that flutter'd \\ithering 
 
 here. 
 Stung it and wrung it with new joy and 
 
 fear. 
 Yea, brought the rapturous light, and 
 
 brought the day, 
 Waken'd the dead heart, withering away, 
 
 Put thorns and roses on the unhonour'd 
 
 head. 
 That felt but roses till the roses fled ! 
 Who, who, but he crept unto sunless 
 
 ground, 
 Content to prize the faded face he found ? 
 John Hamerton, I pardon all — sleep sound, 
 
 my love, sleep sound 1 
 
 VI. 
 
 What fool that crawls shall prate of shame 
 
 and sin ? 
 Did he not think me fair enough to win ? 
 Yea, stoop and smile upon my face as none. 
 Living or dead, save he alone, had done? 
 Bring the bright blush unto my cheek, when 
 
 ne'er 
 The full of life and love had mantled there? 
 And I am all alone ; and here lies he, — 
 The only man that ever smiled on me. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Here, in his lonely dwelling-house he Ues, 
 The light all faded from his winsome eyes : 
 Alone, alone, alone, he slumbers here, 
 With wife nor httle child to shed a tear ! 
 Little, indeed, to him did nature give ; 
 Nor was he good and pure as some that 
 
 live. 
 But pinch'd in body, warp'd in limb. 
 He hated the bad world that loved not him ! 
 
 VIII. 
 Barbara Gray ! 
 
 Pause, and remember how he turn'd away ; 
 Think of your wrongs, and of your sorrows. 
 
 Nay! 
 Woman, think rather of the shame and 
 
 v^Tong 
 Of pining lonely in the dark so long ; 
 Think of the comfort in the grief he brought. 
 The revelation in the love he taught. 
 Then, Barbara Gray ! 
 Blush not, nor heed what the cold world 
 
 will say ; 
 But kiss him, kiss him, o'er and o'er again. 
 In passion and in pain. 
 With all the love that fills your heart and 
 
 brain ! 
 Yea, kiss him, bless him, pray beside his 
 
 bed. 
 For you have lived, and here your love lies 
 
 dead.
 
 THE BLIND LINNET-' TIGER BAY: 
 
 IS7 
 
 THE BLIND LINNET. 
 
 Soph. CEd. Tyr. 
 
 The sempstress's linnet sings 
 At the window opposite me ; — 
 
 It feels tlie sun on its wings, 
 Though it cannot see. 
 
 Can a bird have thoughts ? May be. 
 
 II. 
 The sempstress is sitting, 
 
 High o'er the humming street, 
 The little blind hnnet is flitting 
 
 Between the sun and her seat. 
 All day long 
 
 She stitches wearily there. 
 And I know she is not young. 
 
 And I know she is not fair ; 
 For I watch her head bent down 
 
 Throughout the dreary day, 
 And the thin meek hair o' brown 
 
 Is threaded with silver gray ; 
 And now and then, with a start 
 At the fluttering of her heart. 
 
 She hfts her eyes to the bird, 
 And I see in the dreary place 
 The gleam of a thin white face. 
 
 And my heart is stirr'd. 
 
 III. 
 
 Loud and long 
 
 The linnet pipes his song ! 
 
 For he cannot see 
 
 The smoky street all round. 
 But loud in the sun sings he, 
 
 Though he hears the murmurous sound ; 
 For his poor, blind eyeballs blink, 
 
 While the yellow sunlights fall. 
 And he thinks (if a bird can think) 
 
 He hears a waterfall. 
 Or the broad and beautiful river 
 
 Washing fields of corn. 
 Flowing for ever 
 
 Through the woods where he was Ijorn; 
 And his voice grows stronger, 
 
 While he thinks that he is there, 
 And louder and longer 
 
 Fa'ls his song on the dusky air, 
 
 And oft, in the gloaming still. 
 
 Perhaps (for who can tell?) 
 
 The musk and the muskatel. 
 That grow on the window sill, 
 
 Cheat him with their smell. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But the sempstress can see 
 
 How dark things be ; 
 
 How black through the town 
 
 The stream is flowing ; 
 And tears fall down 
 Upon her sewing. 
 So at times she tries, 
 
 When her trouble is stirr'd 
 To close her eyes, 
 
 And be blind like the bird. 
 And fAen, for a minute, 
 As sweet things seem, 
 As to the linnet 
 
 Piping in his dream 1 
 For she feels on her brow 
 
 The sunlight glowing, 
 And hears nought now 
 But a river flowing — 
 A broad and beautiful river. 
 
 Washing fields of corn. 
 Flowing for ever 
 Through the woods where she was 
 born — 
 And a wild bird winging 
 Over her head, and singing ! 
 And she can smell 
 The musk and the muskatel 
 
 That beside her grow, 
 And, unaware, 
 She murmurs an old air 
 That she used to know ! 
 
 'TIGER BAY: 
 
 A STORMY night's DREAM. 
 I. 
 
 The Tigress. 
 
 A Dream I had in the dead of night ; 
 Darkness— the Jungle— a black Man 
 
 sleeping — 
 Head on his arm, with the moon-dew 
 creeping 
 Over his face in a silvern light :
 
 158 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 The Moon was driving-, the Wind was cry- 
 ing ; 
 Two great lights gleam'd, round, horrid, 
 
 and red, 
 Two great eyes, steadfast beside the bed 
 Where the man was lying. 
 Hark! hark! 
 What wild things cry in the dark ? 
 Only the Wind as it raves, 
 Only til-? Beasts in their caves, 
 Where the Jungle waves. 
 
 The man slept on, and his face was bright, 
 Tender and strange, for the man was 
 
 dreiming — 
 Coldly the light on his limbs was gleam- 
 ing, 
 On his jet-black limbs and their folds of 
 
 white ; — 
 Leprous-spotted, and gaunt, and hated. 
 With teeth protruding and hideous head, 
 Her two eyes burning so still, so red. 
 The Tigress waited. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! 
 The wild things cry in the dark ; 
 The Wind whistles and raves, 
 The Beasts groan in their caves, 
 And the Jungle waves. 
 
 From cloud to cloud the cold Moon crept, 
 The silver light kept coming and going — 
 The Jungle under was bleakly blowing, 
 The Tigress watch'd, and the black Man 
 
 slept. 
 The Wind was wailing, the Moon was 
 gleaming : 
 He stirr'd and shiver'd, then raised his 
 
 head : — 
 Like a thunderbolt the Tigress sped, 
 And the Man fell screaming — 
 Hark ! hark ! 
 The wild things cry in the dark ; 
 The wild Wind whistles and raves. 
 The Beasts groan in their caves. 
 And the Jungle waves. 
 
 II. 
 
 • Ratci.iffe Meg. 
 
 Then methought I saw another sight : 
 Darkness — a Garret — a rushlight dying- 
 On the brokcn-dowTi bed a Sailor lying, 
 
 Sleeping fast, in the feeble light ; — 
 
 The Wind is wailing, the Rain is weeping • 
 She croucheth there in the chamber dim, 
 She croucheth there with her eyes on hira 
 As he lieth sleeping — 
 Hark ! hark ! 
 Who cries outside in the dark ? 
 Only the Wind on its way. 
 Only the wild gusts astray, 
 In Tiger Bay. 
 
 Still as a child the Sailor lies : — 
 She waits — she watches — is she human? 
 Is she a Tigress ? is she a Woman ? 
 Look at the gleam of her deep-set eyes ! 
 Bloated and stain 'd in every feature, 
 With iron jaws, throat knotted and bare. 
 Eyes deep sunken, jet black hair, 
 Crouches the creature. 
 Hark ! hark ! 
 Who cries outside in the dark ? 
 Only the Wind on its way, 
 Only the wild gusts astray. 
 In Tiger Bay. 
 
 Hold her ! scream ! or the man is dead ; 
 A knife in her tight-clench'd hand is 
 
 gleaming ; 
 She will kill the man as he lieth dream- 
 ing ! 
 Her eyes are fixed, her throat swells red. 
 The Wind is wailing, the Rain is weeping ; 
 She is crawling closer — O Angels that 
 
 love him ! 
 She holds her breath and bends above 
 him. 
 While he stirreth sleeping. 
 Hark ! hark ! 
 Who cries outside in the dark? 
 Only the Wind on its way. 
 Only the wild gusts astray 
 In Tiger Bay. 
 
 A silken purse doth the sleeper clutch, 
 And the gold peeps through with a fatal 
 
 glimmer ! 
 She creepeth near — the light grows 
 dimmer — 
 Her thick throat swells, and she thirsts to 
 
 touch. 
 She looks — she pants with a feverish 
 hunger — 
 She dashes the black hair out of her eyes —
 
 'TIGER BAV—THE CITY ASLEEP. 
 
 IS9 
 
 She glares at his face ... he smiles and 
 
 Mark ! mark ! 
 
 sighs— 
 
 Doth it not burn in the dark ? 
 
 And the face looks younger. 
 
 Spite of the curse and the stain, 
 
 Hark ! hark ! 
 
 Where the Jungle darkens the plain. 
 
 Who cries outside in the dark? 
 
 And in street and lane.' 
 
 Only the Wind on its way, 
 
 
 Only the wild gusts astray 
 
 God said, moreover: 'The spark shall 
 
 In Tiger Bay. 
 
 grow— 
 
 
 'Tis blest, it gathers, its flame sha 
 
 She gazeth on, — he doth not stir — 
 
 lighten. 
 
 Her fierce eyes close, her brute lip quivers ; 
 
 Bless it and nurse it — let it brighten ! 
 
 She longs to strike, but she shrinks and 
 
 'Tis scatter'd abroad, 'tis a Seed I sow. 
 
 shivers : 
 
 And the Seed is a Soul, and the Soul is the 
 
 The light on his face appalleth her. 
 
 Human ; 
 
 The Wind is wailing, the Rain is weeping : 
 
 And it lighteth the face with a sign and a 
 
 Something holds her — her wild eyes roll ; 
 
 flame. 
 
 His Soul shines out, and she fears his 
 
 Not unto beasts have I given the same. 
 
 Soul, 
 
 But to man and to woman. 
 
 Tho' he lieth sleeping. 
 
 Mark ! mark ! 
 
 Hark ! hark ! 
 
 The light shall scatter the dark : 
 
 Who cries outside in the dark ? 
 
 Where murmur the Wind and the Rain, 
 
 Only the Wind on its way, 
 
 Where the Jungle darkens the plain, 
 
 Only the wild gusts astray 
 
 And in street and lane.' 
 
 In Tiger Bay. 
 
 
 
 ... So faint, so dim, so sad to seeing. 
 
 III. 
 
 Behold it burning ! Only a spark ! 
 
 Intercession. 
 
 So faint as yet, and so dim to mark, 
 
 
 In the tigress-eyes of the human being. 
 
 I saw no more, but I woke, — and prayed : 
 
 Fan it, feed it, in love and duty, 
 
 ' God ! that made the Beast and the 
 
 Track it, watch it in every place, — 
 
 Woman ! 
 
 Till it burns the bestial frame and face 
 
 God of the tigress ! God of the human ! 
 
 To its own dim beauty. 
 
 Look to these things whom Thou hast made! 
 
 Mark ! mark ! 
 
 Fierce and bloody and famine-stricken, 
 
 A spark that grows in the dark ; 
 
 Knitted with iron vein and thew — 
 
 A spark that burns in the brain ; 
 
 Strong and bloody, behold the two ! — 
 
 Spite of the Wind and the Rain, 
 
 We see them and sicken. 
 
 Spite of the Curse and the Stain ; 
 
 Mark ! mark ! 
 
 Over the Sea and the Plain, 
 
 These outcasts fierce of the dark ; 
 
 And in street and lane. 
 
 Where murmur the Wind and the Rain, 
 
 
 Where the Jungle darkens the plain, 
 
 
 And in street and lane.' 
 
 s 
 
 
 THE CITY ASLEEP. 
 
 God answer' d clear, ' My will be done ! 
 
 
 Woman-tigress and tigress-woman — 
 
 Still as the Sea serene and deep. 
 
 I made them both, the beast and the 
 
 When all the winds are laid. 
 
 human. 
 
 The City sleeps— so still, its sleep 
 
 But I struck a spark in the brain of the one. 
 
 Maketh the soul afraid. 
 
 And the spark is a fire, and the fire is a 
 
 
 spirit ; 
 
 Over the living waters, see ! 
 
 Tho' ye may slay it, it cannot die — 
 
 The Seraphs shining go, — 
 
 Nay, it shall grow as the days go by. 
 
 The Moon is gliding hushfully 
 
 For my Angels are near it — 
 
 Through stars like flakes of snow.
 
 t6o 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 In pearl-white silver here and there 
 
 The fallen moon-rays stream -. 
 Hark ! a dull stir is in the air, 
 
 Like the stir of one in dream. 
 
 Through all the thrilling waters creep 
 Deep throbs of strange unrest, 
 
 Like washings of the windless Deep 
 When it is peacefullest. 
 
 A little while— God's breath will go, 
 
 And hush the flood no more ; 
 The dawn will break — the wind will blow, 
 
 The Ocean rise and roar. 
 
 Each day with sounds of strife and death 
 
 The waters rise and call ; 
 Each midnight, conquer'd by God's breath, 
 
 To this dead calm they fall. 
 
 Out of His heart the fountains flow, 
 
 The brook, the running river, 
 He marks them strangely come and go. 
 
 For ever and for ever. 
 
 Till darker, deeper, one by one, 
 
 After a weary quest. 
 They, from the light of moon and sun, 
 
 Flow back, into His breast. 
 
 Love, hold my hand ! be of good cheer ! 
 
 For His would be the cost. 
 If, out of all the waters here, 
 
 One little drop were losi. 
 
 Heaven's eyes above the waters dumb 
 
 Innumerably yearn ; 
 Out of His heart each drop hath come. 
 
 And thither mzai return. 
 
 UP IN AN ATTIC. 
 
 ' Do you dream yet, on your old rickety sofa, 
 in the dear old ghastly bankrupt garret at No. 
 66V— Gray ia BucAanan(see The Life of David 
 Gray). 
 
 Half of a gold-ring bright, 
 
 Broken in days of old. 
 One yellow curl, whose light 
 Gladden'd my gaze of old ; 
 A sprig of thyme thereto, 
 Pluckt on the mountains blue, 
 When in the gloaming-dew 
 We roamed erratic ; 
 
 Last, an old Book of Song, — 
 These have I treasured long. 
 Up in an Attic. 
 
 Held in one little hand, 
 
 They gleam in vain to me : 
 Of Love, Fame, Fatherland, 
 
 All that remain to me ! 
 Love, with thy wounded wing, 
 Up the skies lessening, 
 Sighing, too sad to sing ! 
 
 Fame, dead to pity ! 
 Land, — that denied me bread ! 
 Count me as lost and dead, 
 
 Tomb'd, in the City. 
 
 Daily the busy roar. 
 
 Murmur and motion here ; 
 Surging against its shore. 
 
 Sighs a great Ocean here ! 
 But night by night it flows 
 Slowly to strange repose, 
 Calm and more calm it grows 
 
 Under the moonshine : 
 Then, only then, I peer 
 On each old souvenir 
 
 Shut from the sunshine. 
 
 Half of a ring of gold, 
 
 Tarnish'd and yellow now, 
 Broken in days of old. 
 
 Where is thy fellow now ? 
 Upon the heart of herl 
 Feeling the sweet blood stir, 
 Still (though the mind demur) 
 
 Kept as a token ? 
 Ah ! doth her heart forget? 
 Or, with the pain and fret. 
 
 Is that, too, broken ? 
 
 Thin threads of yellow hair, 
 
 Clipt from the brow of her, 
 Lying so faded there, — 
 
 Why whisper now of her ? 
 Strange lips are press'd vmto 
 The brow o'er which ye grew. 
 Strange fingers flutter through 
 
 The loose long tresses. 
 Doth she remember still, 
 Trembling, and turning chill 
 
 From his caresses ?
 
 UP IN AN ATTIC— TO THE MOON. 
 
 ic 
 
 Sprig from the mountains blue 
 
 Long left behind me now, 
 Of moonlight, shade, and dew, 
 
 Wherefore remind me now? 
 Cruel and chill and gray, 
 Looming afar away. 
 Dark in the light of day, 
 
 Shall tlie Heights daunt me ? 
 My footsteps on the hill 
 Are overgrown, — yet still 
 
 Hill-echoes haunt me ! 
 
 Book of Byronic Song, 
 
 Put with the dead away. 
 Wherefore wouldst thou prolong 
 
 Dreams that have fled away ? 
 Thou art an eyeless skull. 
 Dead, fleshless, cold, and null, 
 Complexionless, dark, dull, 
 
 And superseded ; 
 Yet, in thy time of pride, 
 How loudly hast thou lied 
 
 To all who heeded 1 
 
 Now, Fame, thou hollow Voice, 
 
 Shriek from the heights above ! 
 Let all who will rejoice 
 
 In those wild lights above ! 
 When all are false save you. 
 Yet were so beauteous too, 
 O Fame, canst thou be true, 
 
 And shall I follow? 
 Nay ! for the song of Man 
 Dies in his throat, since Pan 
 
 Hath slain Apollo ! 
 
 O Fame, thy hill looks tame. 
 
 No vast wings flee from thence, 
 Were / to climb, O Fame, 
 
 What could I see from thence? 
 Only, afar away, 
 The mountains looming gray, 
 Crimson'd at close of day, 
 
 Clouds swimming by me ; 
 And in my hand a ring 
 And ringlet glimmering, — 
 
 And no one nigh me ! 
 
 Better the busy roar. 
 
 Best the mad motion here ! 
 Surging against its shore. 
 
 Groans a great Ocean here. 
 
 O Love, — thou wouldst not wait ! 
 O Land, — thou art desolate ! 
 
 Fame, — to others prate 
 Of flights ecstatic ! 
 
 Only, at evenfall, 
 
 Touching these tokens small, 
 
 1 think about you all. 
 
 Up in an Attic ! 
 
 TO THE MOON. 
 
 The wind is shrill on the hills, and the 
 plover 
 Wlieels up and down with a windy 
 scream ; 
 The birch has loosen'd her bright locks 
 over 
 The nut-brown pools of the mountain 
 stream ; 
 Yet here I linger in London City, 
 
 Thinking of meadows where I was bom — 
 And over the roofs, like a face of pity, 
 Up comes the Moon, with her dripping 
 horn. 
 
 Moon, pale Spirit, with dim eyes drink- 
 
 ing 
 The sheen of the Sun as he sweepeth 
 
 by, 
 
 1 am looking long in those eyes, and think- 
 
 ing 
 Of one who hath loved thee longer than 
 
 I: 
 
 I am asking my heart if ye Spirits cherish 
 The souls that ye witch with a harvest 
 call ?— 
 If the dream must die when the dreamer 
 perish ? — 
 If it be idle to dream at all? 
 
 The waves of the world roll hither and 
 thither. 
 The tumult deepens, the days go by. 
 The dead men vanish — we know notwhither, 
 The live men anguish — wc know not 
 why ; 
 The cry of the stricken is smother'd never. 
 
 The Shadow passes from street to street ; 
 And — o'er us fadeth, for ever and ever, 
 The still white gleam of thy constant 
 feet. 
 
 M
 
 !§2 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 Tlie hard men struggle, the students ponder, 
 
 Pedlar breathing deeply, 
 
 The world rolls round on its westward 
 
 Toiling into town. 
 
 way ; 
 
 With the dusty highway 
 
 Tlie gleam of the beautiful night up yonder 
 
 Thou art dusky brown, — 
 
 Is dim on the dreamer's cheek all day ; 
 
 Hast thou seen by daisied leas. 
 
 Tlie old earth's voice is a sound of weeping, 
 
 And by rivers flowing. 
 
 Round her the waters wash wild and 
 
 Lilac ringlets which the breeze 
 
 vast, 
 
 Loosens lightly blowing ? 
 
 There is no calm, there is little sleeping, — 
 
 
 Yet nightly, brightly, thou glimmerost 
 
 Out of yonder waggon 
 
 past ! 
 
 Pleasant hay-scents float, 
 
 
 He who drives it carries 
 
 Another summer, new dreams departed. 
 
 A daisy in his coat : 
 
 And yet we are lingering, thou and I ; 
 
 Oh, the English meadows, fair 
 
 I on the earth, with my hope proud-hearted. 
 
 Far beyond all praises ! 
 
 Thou, in the void of a violet sky ! 
 
 Freckled orchids everywhere 
 
 Thou art there ! I am here ! and the reaping 
 
 Mid the snow of daisies ! 
 
 and mowing 
 
 
 Of the harvest year is over and done, 
 
 Now in busy silence 
 
 And the hoary snow-drift will soon be 
 
 Broods the nightingale. 
 
 blowing 
 
 Choosing his love's dwelling 
 
 Under the wheels of the whirling Sun. 
 
 In a dimpled dale ; 
 
 
 Round the leafy bower they raise 
 
 While tower and turret lie silver'd under. 
 
 Rose-trees wild are springing ; 
 
 When eyes are closed and lips are dumb. 
 
 Underneath, thro' the green haze. 
 
 In the nightly pause of the human wonder. 
 
 Bounds the brooklet singing. 
 
 From dusky portals I see thee come ; 
 
 
 And whoso wakes and beholds thee yonder, 
 
 And his love is silent 
 
 Is witch'd like me till his days shall 
 
 As a bird can be, 
 
 cease, — 
 
 For the red buds only 
 
 For in his eyes, wheresoever he wander. 
 
 Fill the red rose-tree, — 
 
 Flashes the vision of God's white Peace ! 
 
 Just as buds and blossoms blow 
 
 
 He'll begin his tune, 
 
 
 When all is green and roses glow 
 
 
 Underneath the Moon ! 
 
 SPRING SONG IN THE CITY. 
 
 
 Who remains in London, 
 
 Nowhere in the valleys 
 
 In the streets with me. 
 
 Will the wind be still. 
 
 Now that Spring is blowing 
 
 Everything is waving. 
 
 Warm winds from the sea ; 
 
 Wagging at his will : 
 
 Now that trees grow green and tall. 
 
 Blows the milkmaid's kirtle clean. 
 
 Now the Sun shines mellow, 
 
 With her hand prest on it ! 
 
 And with moist primroses all 
 
 Lightly o'er the hedge so green 
 
 English lanes are yellow? 
 
 Blows the ploughboy's bonnet ! 
 
 Little barefoot maiden, 
 
 Oh, to be a-roaming 
 
 Selling violets blue, 
 
 In an English dell ! 
 
 Hast thou ever pictured 
 
 Every nook is wealthy, 
 
 Where tlie sweetlings grexv ? — 
 
 All the world looks well. 
 
 Oh, the warm wild woodland ways. 
 
 'linted soft the Heavens glow, 
 
 Deep in dewy grasses, 
 
 Over Earth and Ocean, 
 
 Where the wind-blown shadow strays, 
 
 Brooks flow, breezes blow. 
 
 Scented as it passes 1 
 
 All is light and motion t
 
 IN LONDON, MARCH 1866 ~A LARK'S FLIGHT. 
 
 163 
 
 IN LONDON, MARCH 1866. 
 
 To-day the streets are dull and dreary, 
 
 Heavily, slowly the Rain is falling, 
 I hear around me, and am weary. 
 
 The people murmuring and calling ; 
 The gloomy room is full of faces, 
 
 Firelight shadows are on the floor. 
 And the deep Wind cometh from country 
 places. 
 And the Rain hath a voice I would hear 
 no more. 
 Ah ! weary days of windy weather ! 
 
 And will the Rain cease never, never! 
 A summer past we sat together, 
 In that lost life that lives for ever ! 
 
 Ah ! sad and slow the Rain is falling, — 
 
 And singing on seems sad without him. 
 Ah ! wearily the Wind is calling ! 
 Would that mine arms were round about 
 him ! 
 For the world rolls on with air and ocean 
 
 Wetly and windily round and round. 
 And sleeping he feeleth the sad still motion. 
 And dreameth of me, though his sleep be 
 sound ! 
 Ah ! weary days of windy weather ! 
 
 And will the Rain cease never, never! 
 A summer past we sat together, 
 In that lost life that lives for ever ! 
 
 I sing, because my heart is aching. 
 
 With hollow sounds around me ringing : 
 Ah I nevermore shall he awaking 
 
 Yearn to the Singer and the Singing ! 
 Yet sleep, my father, calm and breathless, 
 And if thou dreamest, dream on in joy ! 
 While over thy grave walks Love the death- 
 less. 
 Stir in the darkness, and bless thy boy ! 
 Ah ! weary days of windy weather ! 
 
 And will the Rain cease never, never! 
 A summer past we sat together. 
 In that lost life that hves for ever i 
 
 A LARK'S FLIGHT. 
 
 In the quiet City park. 
 Between the dawn and the dark, 
 
 Loud and clear, 
 
 That all may hear. 
 Sings the Lark. 
 
 Beyond the low black line 
 
 Of trees the dawn peeps red, — 
 Clouds blow woolly and fine 
 
 In the ether overhead. 
 Out of the air is shaken 
 
 A fresh and glistening dew. 
 And the City begins to awaken 
 
 And tremble thro' and thro' ; 
 See ! (while thro' street and lane 
 The people pour again. 
 And lane and alley and street 
 Grow hoarse to a sound of feet, ) 
 Here and there 
 
 A human Shape comes, dark 
 Against the cool white air. 
 
 Flitting across the park — 
 While over the dew-drench'd green. 
 
 Singing his ' Hark ! Oh, hark ! " 
 Hovering, hovering, dimly seen, 
 
 Rises the Lark. 
 
 ' Mystery ! Oh, mystery ! ' 
 Clear he lilts to lightening day. 
 
 ' Mystery ! Oh, mystery ! 
 
 Up into the air with me. 
 Come away, come away ! ' 
 
 Who is she that, wan and white. 
 Shivering in the chilly light, 
 Shadeth weary eyes to see 
 Him who makes the melody ? 
 She is nameless, she is dull, 
 She has ne'er been beautiful, 
 She is stain'd in brain and blood. 
 Gross with mire, and foul with mud,- 
 Thing of sorrow, what knows she 
 Of the mighty mystery? 
 
 The Lark sings sad and low, — 
 ' The City is dull and mean — 
 
 There is woe ! there is woe ! 
 Never a soul is clean ; 
 
 The City is dark, the wrong is deep ; 
 
 Too late to moan, too late to weep ! 
 
 Tired, tired ! sleep, sleep ! ' 
 
 Who is he, the stooping one. 
 Smiling coldly in the sun. 
 Arms behind him lightly thrown. 
 Pacing up and down alone ? 
 'Tis the great Philosopher, 
 Smoothly wrapt in coat of fur, 
 Soothly pondering, man-wit wise, 
 At his morning exercise. 
 
 M 2
 
 164 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 He has weigh'd the winds and floods, 
 
 He is rich in gather'd goods, 
 
 He is crafty, and can prove 
 
 God is Brahma, Christ, nor Jove ; 
 
 He is mighty, and his soul 
 
 Fhts about from pole to pole, 
 
 Chasing signs of God about, 
 
 In a pleasant kind of doubt ; — 
 
 What, to help the mystery, 
 
 Sings the Lark to such as he? 
 
 The Lark cries : - 
 
 ' Praise to Nature's plan ! 
 Year on year she plies 
 Her toil of sun and skies. 
 
 Till the beast flowers up in Man, 
 Lord of effect and cause, 
 
 Proud as a King can be ; 
 But a Voice in the cloud cries, ' ' Pause! " 
 
 And he pauses, even he. 
 
 On the verge of the Mystery.' 
 
 Oh, loud and clear, that all may hear, 
 Rising higher, with ' Hark ! Oh, hark!' 
 
 Higher, higher, higher, higher. 
 
 Quivering as the dull red fire 
 
 Of dawn grows brighter, cries the Lark : 
 
 And they who listen there while he 
 
 Singeth loud of Mystery, 
 
 Interpret him in under-tone 
 
 With a meaning of their own. 
 
 Measuring his melody 
 
 By their own soul's quality. 
 
 Tall and stately, fair and sweet, 
 
 Walketh maiden Marguerite, 
 
 Musing there on maid and man, 
 
 In her mood patrician ; 
 
 To all she sees her eyes impart 
 
 The colour of a maiden heart ; 
 
 Heart's chastity is on her face. 
 
 She scents the air with nameless grace. 
 
 And where she goes with heart astir, 
 
 Colour and motion follow her. 
 
 What should the Singer sing 
 Unto so sweet a thing. 
 But, ' Oh, my love loves me ! 
 And the love I love best is guarding the neat. 
 
 While I cheer her merrily, — 
 Come up high ! come up high I to a cloud 
 in the sky ! 
 And sing of your love with me 1 ' 
 
 Elbows on the grassy green, 
 Scowling face his palms between, 
 Yonder gaunt Thief meditates 
 Treason deep against his mates ; 
 For his great hands itch to hold 
 Both the pardon and the gold. 
 Still he listens unaware, 
 Scowling round with sullen stare, 
 Gnawing at his under-liu, 
 Pond'ring friends and fellowship, 
 Thinking of a friendly thing 
 Done to him in suffering, 
 .A.nd of happy days and free 
 Spent in that rough companie : 
 Till he seeks the bait no more, — 
 And the Lark is conqueror. 
 
 For the Lark says plain, 
 
 ' Who sells his pal is mean : 
 Better hang than gain 
 
 Blood-money to save one's skin — 
 A whip for the rogue who'd tell,' 
 
 He hears the Singer say, — 
 ' Better the rope and the cell — 
 Better the devils of Hell ! 
 
 Come away ! come away ! ' 
 
 O Lark ! O Lark ! 
 
 Up, up, for it is light — 
 The Souls stream out of the dark, 
 
 And the City's spires gleam bright ; 
 The living world is awake agam. 
 
 Each wanders on his way. 
 The wonderful waters break again 
 
 In the white and perfect Day. 
 Nay ! nay ! descend not yet. 
 
 But higher, higher, higher ! 
 Up thro" the air, and wet 
 
 Thy wings in the solar fire ! 
 There, hovering in ecstacy. 
 Sing, ' Mystery ! Oh, mystery I ' 
 
 O Lark I O Lark ! hadst thou the might 
 
 Beyond the cloud to wing thy way, 
 To sing and soar in ceaseless flight. 
 
 It might be well for men this day. 
 Beyond that cloud there is a zone, 
 
 And in that zone there is a land, 
 And in that land, upon a throne, 
 A mighty Spirit sits alone. 
 
 With musing cheek upon His hand.
 
 A LARICS FLIGHT- DR BERNY. 
 
 165 
 
 And all is still and all is sweet 
 Around the silence of His seat, — 
 
 Beneath, the waves of wonder flow, — 
 And melted on His shining feet 
 
 The years flash down as falling snow. 
 
 O Lark ! O Lark ! 
 
 Up ! for thy wings are strong ; 
 While the Day is breaking. 
 And the City is waking, 
 
 Sing a song of wrong — 
 Sing of the weak man's tears, 
 
 Of the strong man's agony ; 
 The passion, the hopes, the fcnrs, 
 The heaped-up pain of the years. 
 
 The human mystery. 
 O Lark ! we might rejoice, 
 
 Could'st reach that distant land. 
 For we cannot hear His voice, 
 
 And we often miss His hand ! 
 And the lips of each are ice 
 
 To the kiss of sister and brother ; 
 And we see that one man's vice 
 
 Is the virtue of another. 
 Yea, each that hears thee sing 
 
 Translates thy song to speech. 
 And, lo ! the rendering 
 
 Is so different with each ! 
 The gentle are oppress'd, 
 The foul man fareth best ; 
 Wherever we seek, our gain 
 Is full of a poisonous pain. 
 In one soft note and long 
 Gather our sense of wrong ; 
 Rise up, O Lark I from the sod. 
 
 Up, up, with soundless wings, — 
 Rise up to God ! rise up, rise up, to God! 
 
 Tell Him these things ! 
 
 DE BERNY. 
 
 You knew him slightly. We, who knew 
 
 him well. 
 Saw something in his soul you could not 
 
 see : 
 A strength wherein his very vices throve, 
 A power that darken'd much the outer man. 
 Strange, yet angelically innocent. 
 His views were none of ours ; his morals — 
 
 well, 
 Not English morals at the best ; and yet 
 We loved him and we miss him ; — the old 
 
 haunts 
 
 Seem dull without that foolish full-grown 
 child ; 
 
 The world goes on without him :— London 
 throngs 
 
 With sport and festival ; and something less 
 
 Than poor De Berny haunts us every- 
 where — 
 
 The buying and the selling, and the strife 
 
 Of little natures. 
 
 What a man was that I — 
 Just picture him as you perceived him, Noel, 
 Standing beyond his circle. Spare and tall. 
 Black-bearded and black-eyed; a sallow face, 
 With lines of idle humour round the lips ; 
 A nose and eyebrow proudly curved ; an eye 
 Clear as a child's. But thirty summers old ! 
 Yet wearied out, save only when he warm'd 
 His graces in the sunshine. What an air 
 Was his, when, cigarette in mouth, and hands 
 Thrust in the pockets of his pantaloons, 
 He took his daily walk down Regent Street, 
 Stared at the pretty girls, saluted friends, 
 And, pleased as any lady, stopp'd to study 
 The fashions in the windows of the shops ! 
 Did he not walk as if he walk'd on thrones, 
 With smiles of vacant patronage for all ? 
 And who could guess he had not break- 
 fasted, 
 Had Httle chance of dining, since his purse 
 Held just the wherewithal to buy a loaf — 
 Change from the shilling spent in purchasing 
 The sweet post-prandial cigar ! 
 
 He lived — ■ 
 Ah ! Heaven knew how — for 'twas a mystery ! 
 While the sun shone, he saunter'd in the 
 
 sun ; 
 But late at night sat scribbling, by the light 
 Of a wax-candle. Wax ? De Berny's way ; 
 For, mark, this wanderer let his body suffer, 
 Hunger'd and pinch'd, rather than bate a jot 
 Of certain very useless luxuries : 
 Smoked nought but real Havannah, 'tis 
 
 averr'd. 
 And sat at night within his dingy lodging. 
 Wrapt, king-like, in a costly dressing-gown 
 His mother gave him ; slippers on his feet ; 
 His cat, Mignonne, the silken-hair'd 
 
 Chinese, 
 Seated upon his shoulder, purring low ; 
 And sonicihing royal in his look, despite 
 His threadbare pantaloons I
 
 i66 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 A clever man ! 
 A nature sparkling o'er ^'xihjeux d' esprit I 
 Well read in certain light philosophies 
 Down from Voltaire ; and, in his easy way, 
 A sceptic — one whose heart belied his brain. 
 Oft, leaning back and puffing his cigar, 
 Pushing his wan white fingers through his 
 
 hair — 
 His cat Mignonne, the velvet-paw'd 
 
 Chinese, 
 Rubbing her soft white cheek against his 
 
 beard, 
 And purring her approval — he would sit. 
 Smiling his sad, good-humour'd, weary 
 
 smile, 
 And lightly launch his random, reckless 
 
 shafts 
 At English thrift, the literary cant. 
 The flat, unearnest living of the world. 
 And (last and lightest) at the tender sex, 
 Their little virtue and their mighty vows. 
 
 This was the man whose face went pale 
 
 with pain, 
 When that shrill shriek from Poland fill'd 
 
 his ear ; 
 This was the man who pinch'd himself to 
 
 send 
 A mite to Garibaldi and the Cause ; 
 Who cried, or nearly cried, o'er Lamartine, 
 And loved the passionate passages of Sand ; 
 Who would have kiss'd the ground beneath 
 
 the feet 
 Of any shape called ' Woman,' plain or fair ; 
 Gave largess royal to children in the streets ; 
 Treated an unclean beggar seeking alms 
 To a clean shirt, and sent him off amazed ; 
 And when he heard sweet voice or instru- 
 ment, 
 Breath'd passionate breath, like one that 
 
 drinks with pain 
 An atmosphere too heavenly rare and sweet. 
 Pleasure ? Ah me ! what pleasure gamer'd 
 
 he. 
 Who fasted oftener than ate ; who pawn'd 
 His coat to serve a neighbour, and was cold ; 
 Whose only httle joy was promenading 
 On sunny summer days in Regent Street ? 
 His talk ? Why, how he talk'd, as I have 
 
 said ; 
 Incubus could not prove his neighbours 
 
 worue. 
 Or himself blacker, or the cold world colder; 
 
 His jests so oft too broad for decent ears, 
 His impiousness so insolently strong, 
 His languid grace so callous unto all 
 Save the sad sunshine that it flutter'd in. 
 Yet, Noel, I could swear that Spirits — those 
 Who see beneath the eyes, and hear the 
 
 breathing 
 The Soul makes as it stirs within the breast — 
 Bent not unlovingly, not angrily, 
 Above that weary, foolish, full-grown Child ! 
 
 Weary — of what ? Weary, I think, for want 
 Of something whose existence he denied ; 
 Not sick of life, since he had never felt 
 The full of living — wearied out, because 
 The world lookd falsehood, and his turn 
 was truth. 
 
 Well, late one morning in the summer time, 
 They found him lying in his easy-chair, 
 Wrapt royally in the costly dressing-gown 
 His mother gave him, slippers on his feet, 
 And something royal in his look, — cold, 
 
 dead I 
 A smell of laudanum sicken'd all the air 
 Around him ; on the table at his side 
 A copy of De Musset's Elle et Lui ; 
 And close at hand a crumpled five-pound 
 
 note. 
 On which was written in his round clear 
 
 hand 
 ' Pour Garibaldi. Vive la Liberie /' 
 
 THE IVAKE OF TIM O'HARA. 
 
 (SEVEN DIALS.) 
 
 To the Wake of O'Hara 
 Came company ; 
 
 All St. Patrick's Alley 
 Was there to see, 
 
 With the friends and kinsmen 
 Of the family. 
 On the long deal table lay Tim in white, 
 And at his pillow the burning light. 
 Pale as himself, with the tears on her cheek. 
 The mother received us, too full to speak ; 
 But she heap'd the fire, and on the board 
 Set the black bottle with never a word. 
 While the company gather'd, one and all. 
 Men and women, big and small — 
 Not one in the Alley but felt a call 
 
 To the Wake of Tim O'Hara.
 
 THE WAKE OF TIM O'HARA. 
 
 167 
 
 At the face of O'Hara. 
 All white with sleep, 
 
 Not one of the women 
 But took a peep, 
 
 And the wives new-wedded 
 Began to weep. 
 The mothers gather'd round about, 
 And praised the linen and lying-out, — 
 For white as snow was his winding-sheet. 
 And all was peaceful, and clean, and sweet ; 
 And the old wives, praising the blessed dead. 
 Were thronging around the old press-bed. 
 Where O'Hara's widow, tatter'd and torn. 
 Held to her bosom the babe new-born. 
 And stared all round her, with eyes forlorn, 
 
 At the Wake of Tim O'Hara. 
 
 For the heart of O'Hara 
 Was good as gold. 
 
 And the life of O'Hara 
 Was bright and bold. 
 
 And his smile was precious 
 To young and old ! 
 Gay as a guinea, wet or dry. 
 With a smiling mouth, and a twinkling eye ! 
 Had ever an answer for i haff and fun ; 
 Would fight like a lion, with any one ! 
 Not a neighbour of any trade 
 But knew some joke that the boy had made ; 
 Not a neighbour, dull or bright. 
 But minded some/hing—hoWc or fight. 
 And whisper'd it round the fire that night. 
 
 At the Wake of Tim O'Hara ! 
 
 ' To God be glory 
 
 In death and life, 
 He's taken O'Hara 
 
 From trouble and strife ! ' 
 Said one-eyed Biddy, 
 The apple-wife. 
 ' God bless old Ireland ! ' said Mistress Hart, 
 Mother to Mike of the donkey-cart ; 
 ' God fjless old Ireland till all be done. 
 She never made wake for a better son ! ' 
 And all join'd chorus, and each one said 
 ■Something kind of the boy that was dead ; 
 And the bottle went round from lip to lip. 
 And the weeping widow, for fellowship, 
 Took the glass of old Biddy and had a sip. 
 At the Wake of Tim O'Hara. 
 
 Then we drank to O'Hara, 
 With drams to the brim, 
 
 While the face of O'Hara 
 Look'd on so grim 
 
 In the corpse-light shining 
 Yellow and dim. 
 The cup of liquor went round again. 
 And the talk grew louder at every drain , 
 Louder the tongues of the women grew ! — 
 The lips of the boys were loosening too ! 
 The widow her weary eyelids closed. 
 And, soothed by the drop o' drink, she 
 
 dozed ; 
 The mother brighten'd and laugh'd to hear 
 Of O'Hara's fight with the grenadier, 
 And the hearts of all took better cheer, 
 
 At the Wake of Tim O'Hara. 
 
 Tho' the face of O'Hara 
 
 Lookt on so wan. 
 In the chimney-corner 
 
 The row began — 
 Lame Tony was in it. 
 The oyster-man ; 
 For a dirty low thief from the North came 
 
 near. 
 And whistled ' Boyne Water ' in his ear. 
 And Tony, with never a word of grace. 
 Flung out his fist in the blackguard's 
 
 face ; 
 And the girls and women scream'd out for 
 
 fright. 
 And the men that were drunkest began to 
 
 fight,— 
 Over the tables and chairs they threw, — 
 The corpse-light tumbled, — the trouble 
 
 grew, — 
 The new-born joined in the hullabaloo, — 
 At the Wake of Tim O'Hara. 
 
 ' Be still ! be silent ! 
 
 Ye do a sin ! 
 Shame be his portion 
 Who dares begin ! ' 
 'Twas Father O'Connor 
 Just enter'd in ! — 
 All look'd down, and the row was done — 
 And shamed and sorry was every one ; 
 liut the Priest just smiled quite easy and 
 
 free — 
 ' Would ye wake the poor boy from his 
 
 sleep?' said he ; 
 And he said a prayer, with a shining face. 
 Till a kind of a brightness filled the place ;
 
 1 68 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 The women lit up the dim corpse-light, 
 The men were quieter at the sight, 
 And the peace of the Lord fell on all that 
 night 
 At the Wake of Tim O' tiara I 
 
 KITTY KEMBLE. 
 
 ' All the world's a stage.' 
 
 Draw softly back the curtains of the bed — 
 Aye, here lies Kitty Kemble cold and dead : 
 Poor Kitty Kemble, if I steal a kiss, 
 Who deems the deed amiss ? 
 
 Cold bloodless cheek whereon there lingers 
 
 faint 
 The crimson dye of a life's rouge and 
 
 paint ; 
 Cold lips that fall, since thy false rows of 
 
 teeth 
 No longer prop the toothless gums beneath ; 
 Cold clammy brow that lies there bald and 
 
 bare 
 No longer screen'd and shadow'd by false 
 
 hair ; 
 Poor Kitty Kemble I is it truly ^/lou 
 On whom I look so very sadly now ? 
 Lightest of ladies, is thy mortal race 
 Run out indeed, thy luminous laughing face 
 Turn'd to this mindless mask of marble 
 
 dead? 
 And even thy notes of tinkling laughter fled. 
 Which, when all other charms to please 
 
 were past, 
 Stay'd with thee till the last ? 
 
 God bless thee, Kitty Kemble !— and God 
 
 love thee ! 
 Warm be the kindred earth that lies above 
 
 thee — 
 Lightest of ladies, never sad or sage, 
 A glad coquette at sixty years of age. 
 And even with thy last expiring breath 
 Flirting thy fan at thy lean Lover, Death ! 
 
 Tho' nature made you volatile and witty, 
 Your parents were most vulgar people, 
 
 Kitty ; 
 Hard work was daily yours, and trouble 
 
 maybe 
 To mind the wretched house and nurse the 
 
 baby. 
 
 While to the third-class Theatre hard by 
 Your father and your mother both did hie, 
 Mother as dresser, while with surly mien 
 Toil'd father as a sliifter of the scene ; 
 And thus it happen'd that you early grew 
 Familiar with the British drama too, 
 And thro' the dusty stage-door you would 
 
 steal 
 With father's midday beer or evening meal, 
 Until that blissful day when to your glee 
 The keen-eyed ballet-master noticed thee. 
 And quickly, being a bright and clever girl, 
 You learnt from him to dance and twist and 
 
 twirl, 
 Leaping ere long before the garish lights, 
 A smiling spangled creature in pink tights. 
 Aye, Kitty, and the common scandal says 
 The ballet-master in those early days, 
 Finding you quick and rapidly advancing. 
 Taught you love's dalliance as well as 
 
 dancing I 
 But you were very clever ; and ere long 
 Were brightest, smartest of the ballet 
 
 throng ; 
 No lighter trimmer leg was to be seen 
 When you were only rising seventeen. 
 And from the stalls t6 your sweet guileless 
 
 eyes 
 Ogles and nods and smiles began to rise. 
 Then later, like a wise girl and a pretty. 
 You chose to bless a close man from the 
 
 City, 
 Quiet, respectable, and most demure 
 With a stiff salary and prospects sure ; 
 And him, my dear, you used for your am- 
 bition 
 Still bent of course to better your position. 
 For tho' so light and merry, you were ever 
 Ambitious, Kitty, quick and bright and 
 
 clever ; 
 And now you got your educated lover 
 To hear you read the British drama over, 
 To criticise your clever imitations 
 Of the tall leading lady's declamations. 
 And to correct your tone, and guide your 
 
 tongue. 
 Whenever you pronounced ) our English 
 
 wrong ; 
 And tho' the fellow was in soul a bore, 
 And had no intellect to help you more. 
 You got in this Bohemian sort of college 
 Some gleams of grace and scraps of solid 
 
 knowledge ;
 
 KITTY KEMBLE. 
 
 169 
 
 And while your silly sisters took repose 
 You grew grammatical, as grammar goes. 
 
 O Kitty, what a lavish little elf 
 
 Thou wast, yet economic of thyself ! 
 
 So free, so merry, and innocent of guile ; 
 
 And yet at heart so biisy, all the while 
 
 You danced and dallied with those sparkling 
 
 eyes, 
 In weighty sptculations how to rise I 
 Yes, Kitty, and you rose ; ere long you 
 
 made 
 The prettiest, wittiest sort of chambermaid 
 (That saucy female elf of the stage-inn, 
 Chuck'd by each handsome guest beneath 
 
 the chin ; 
 A nymph oft carrying a warming-pan. 
 And sweetheart of the comic waiting-man) 
 Or haply, on extravaganza nights. 
 As a slim fairy prince in trunks and tights, 
 You pertly spake a dozen lines or so. 
 While just behind you, glaring in a row, 
 Your sillier sisters of the ballet stood. 
 With spleen and envy raging in their blood ! 
 Thus, Kitty Kemtale, on and up you went, 
 Merry, yet ill content ; 
 And soon you cast, inflated still with pride. 
 Your City man aside, 
 Cut him stone dead to his intense annoy. 
 And, like a maiden coy, 
 Dropt, blushing crimson, in the arms scarce 
 
 vital 
 Of an old man of title ! 
 A sad dyspeptic dog, the worn and yellow 
 Wreck of a handsome fellow, 
 And tho" the lord of boundless rolls and 
 
 lands. 
 Just a mere puppet in your pretty hands. 
 
 O Kitty Kemble, how you coaxed and 
 
 teased him, 
 Nursed him and pain'd him, petted him 
 
 and pleased him. 
 Drove him nigh crazy, made his slow blood 
 
 start 
 With the glad beating of your burnmg 
 
 heart. 
 Until he vowed, you managed him so 
 
 neatly. 
 To marry you completely ; 
 And with this view transmitted you, poor 
 
 fool. 
 To a French boarding-school ; 
 
 And there you taught, I fear, your power 
 
 being such. 
 More than you learnt tho' what you learnt 
 
 was much ! 
 
 you were still and patient as a mouse, 
 Much as your spirit hated the strict house. 
 The teachers grim, the insipid simpering 
 
 misses, 
 The walks — so different from the coulisses I 
 
 There learning patiently did you abide. 
 Till one fine morning your protector died. 
 And once again, alas ! as in times past. 
 On the hard world your gentle lot was cast. 
 But, Kitty, what a change in you was made 
 By those few seasons wintering in the 
 
 shade ; 
 In like a common moth you crept full sly, 
 But out you came a perfect butterfly 1 
 A pretty little sparkling weu' h. 
 Prattling so prettily in French, 
 Or dashing off, with fingers white. 
 Gay little scraps of music bright ; 
 Merry and wicked, and not wise, 
 With babies dancing in her eyes, 
 Most apt at quoting saw and joke 
 From Shakespeare and less famous folk, 
 Making the ignorant listener stare 
 With charming moti from Moli^^re ! 
 
 But, Kitty Kemble, 'tis not given to me 
 To write in full your fair biography. 
 About this very time from English sight 
 Your pretty little figure vanished quite ; 
 And dainty rivals came and conquered here, 
 And the false world forgot you quite, I fear. 
 
 1 think your next appearance in our view 
 Was in a blaze of splendour bright and new, 
 When, after many years of preparation. 
 Provincial trial, trouble, and vexation. 
 Out you emerged on the astonish'd City, 
 The town's delight, the beaux', the critics', 
 
 Kitty 1 
 The brightest wonder human eye could see 
 In good old Comedy : 
 A smile, a voice, a lau<;h, a look, a form. 
 To take the world by storm ! 
 A dainty dimpling intellectual treasure 
 To give old stagers pleasure ! 
 A rippling radiant cheek — a roguish eye — 
 That made the youngsters sigh I 
 And thus beneath a tinsel'd pasteboard Star 
 At once you mounted your triumphant car,
 
 170 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 O'er burning hearts your chariot wheels were 
 
 driven, 
 Bouquets came rolling down like rain from 
 
 heaven, 
 And on we dragged you, Kitty, while you 
 
 stood 
 Roguish and great, not innocent and good, 
 1 he Queen Elect of all Light Womanhood 1 
 
 Yes, Kitty Kemble, let the preacher cry 
 His word of ' Vanity. O Vanity ! ' 
 But those, I think, were happy, happy days. 
 Indeed, yours was a life that throve with 
 
 praise. 
 And brighten'd ; passionate and eager ; 
 
 made 
 To love the lamp-light and to hate the 
 
 shade ; 
 To play with happiness and drink the beam 
 Till it suffused your substance gleam by 
 
 gleam. 
 Making of elements past your control 
 The smiling semblance of a living Soul. 
 In sooth, you were a summer creature, one 
 Who never really throve save in the sun ; 
 And take away its perfect self-content, 
 Your very beauty grew indifferent. 
 Further, you did not crave for love or fame, 
 Or that still colder shadow — a good name ; 
 You were not even avaricious (tho' 
 'Twas sweet, of course, to see the guineas 
 
 grow). 
 Nay, Kitty, all your care and your delight 
 Was to gleam past upon the public sight. 
 To gleam, to smile, to sparkle, and depart 
 Ere sympathy could reach your little heart ; 
 To let the flanung footlights underneath 
 Light up your rouge, whiten your spotless 
 
 teeth, 
 And to those eyes, so luminous and bright, 
 Dart beams of glorious artificial light ; 
 To feel your bright and lissom body free 
 In brightly-hued theatric drapery ; 
 And on your skin, as white as morning milk, 
 The cHnging satin and the slippery silk. 
 In private life 'twas your delight to be 
 The beauty of Bohemian revelry ; 
 To the smart little literary man 
 Whispering wicked jests behind your fan, 
 And not at all too nice in modesty 
 As to reject a dinner vis-a-vis 
 At Kew or Richmond, freely sipping port 
 With hirsute critics of the heavier sort, 
 
 And oft enough on such a holiday 
 Opening at last your own small purse to 
 
 pay! 
 Beneath your beauty, rouged, and ring'd, 
 
 and pearled. 
 You were at heart the woman of the world, 
 Not quite forgetting yet (tho' well content 
 Quite to forget) your very low descent ; 
 And having gained your little life's en- 
 deavour, 
 You could, I know, have deemed it bliss 
 for ever. 
 
 For ever, Kitty Kemble? Ah, my child! 
 
 (Surely thou art a child at last ?) 
 When days and nights are glad and wild. 
 
 They whirl the quicklier past I 
 To Sorrow's faintest funeral symphony 
 Time lingers darken'd steps dejectedly 
 With sad eyes heavenward ; but how fleet 
 
 he flies 
 When Revel sings and Mirth doth melo- 
 dize ! 
 Thy merry laughter and thy gay delight 
 Quicken'd the Greybeard's footsteps day and 
 
 night. 
 And Kitty, suddenly, to thy surprise, 
 The cruel crowsfeet gather'd 'neath thine 
 eyes. 
 
 But paint is bright, and powder pearly 
 
 white, 
 And many merry years, in that fierce light 
 Whicli beats on thrones and faces like to 
 
 thme, 
 Thy ways were witching and thy lot divine. 
 Thy life was surely glad. The need was 
 
 fled 
 Long since of choosing lovers for thy bread 
 Or thine advancement, and thou now wert 
 
 free 
 To pick at will thy male society. 
 All that is dark. We laymen cannot tell 
 What amatory happiness befell ; 
 We only know for certain Cupid's dart 
 Ne'er struck so deadly deep into thy heart. 
 As to befool our Kitty into passion 
 Of the mad vulgar fashion. 
 We only know thou, Kitty, ever wert 
 Lightest of ladies, delicate and pert. 
 Clever and quick, and horribly well read. 
 And as the happy seasons o'er thee fled 
 Thy bust swelled out, thy body fresh and fair
 
 KITTY KEMBLE. 
 
 171 
 
 Grew plumper, and thcu didst assume thine 
 
 air, 
 Round, roguish, royal, dazzling, plump, and 
 
 good. 
 Of most delicious demi-matronhood. 
 I think we loved thee even better then 
 Than ever, Kitty ; all the older men, 
 I know, adored thee ! and thou wert 
 
 supreme, 
 Yea, grand above all modern guess or 
 
 dream, 
 In wanton Widows, those we love to see 
 In unctuous Shakespearian comedy. 
 Great wast thou also, Kitty, great and true. 
 As the bold Beatrice in ' Much Ado ' ; 
 And all the mighty Town went raving mad 
 To see thy ' Lady Teazle.' 
 
 Wild and glad 
 Rolled the years onward, and thy little 
 
 heart 
 (Tho' certainly thy stoniest, toughest part) 
 Was just enough at least to act with. 
 
 Well! 
 At forty summers still thy fortune fell 
 On pleasant places ; for a little yet 
 The fickle British public loved its pet. 
 True, here and there, thy features, still so 
 
 pretty, 
 Were sharpening into shrewish lines, my 
 
 Kitty ; 
 And nose and chin, though still most soft 
 
 and sweet, 
 Seem'd slowly journeying on the way to 
 
 meet ! 
 A certain shrillness in the voice's tone, 
 Which from the very first had been thine 
 
 own. 
 But rather pleased the ear than otherwise 
 When thou hadst fleeter feet and younger 
 
 eyes, 
 Grew harsher and more harsh upon the ear. 
 Never, indeed, in any earlier year 
 Hadst thou performed so perfectly as now. 
 And yet the cruel British Critic's brow 
 Grew cloudy. Vain were trick of tone or 
 
 smile 
 To hide the artful, artificial style. 
 The superficial tones, the airs capricious, 
 That in thy younger days had been delicious. 
 O Kitty, all thy being's constant pain 
 To win the heart once more was wholly vain ; 
 Most vain, most piteous ! Thy famihar airs 
 
 Were met by only vacant shrugs and stares, 
 Thy tricks, thy jokes, thy jests, thy wanton 
 
 ways, 
 Awakened only pity and amaze ; 
 And presently, when thou didst rashly try 
 A fair young pai t, as in the days gone by, 
 Down on thee came the cruel Critic's blud- 
 geon. 
 Out spoke at last the oracular Curmudgeon, 
 Hinting out openly, in accents cold. 
 That thou wert pais^e, past thy prime, and 
 
 old. 
 The ghost of loveliness and lightness, fit 
 To play old women, — better still to quit 
 The Stage for ever. O poor thing ! poor 
 
 thing ! 
 The cruel knife cut deep enough to bring 
 The sad blood from your very heart at last; 
 You winced, you smirked, you struggled, 
 
 and at last 
 You seem'd to triumph ; and the bitter truth 
 That thou hadst spent thy previous years 
 
 of youth 
 Was taken home indeed to thy fair breast, 
 And there, like to a very viper's nest, 
 It bred and flourish'd. Kitty, tho' thy face 
 Was merry still in many a public place. 
 Thy shrill laugh loud, thy manner brazen 
 
 bold. 
 Black was thy soul and piteously cold. 
 Anon into the country thou didst fare. 
 And spend a brighter, happier season there; 
 Bearing about with thee from year to year 
 The shadow of thine earlier triumphs here. 
 That passed, like all the rest. Ah me ! ah 
 
 me ! 
 Even the provinces deserted thee. 
 As we had done ; so our poor Kitty came 
 To be the lonely ghost of a great name — 
 A worn and wanton woman, not yet sage 
 Nor wearied out, tho' sixty years of age. 
 Wrinkled and rouged, and with false teeth 
 
 of pearl, 
 And the shrill laughter of a giddy girl ; 
 Haunting, with painted cheek and powder' d 
 
 brow. 
 The private boxes, as spectator now ; 
 I'oth day and night, indeed, invited out 
 To private picnic and to public rout, 
 Because thy shrill laugh and thy ready joke 
 Ever enlivened up the festal folk ; 
 Nor did such people woo thy service less 
 Because of tales of thy past wickedness
 
 172 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 Oh, thou wert very clever, keen, and bright, 
 Most gay, mo^t scandal-loving, and most 
 
 light ! 
 Still greatly given to French literature, 
 And foreign feuilletons not over pure ; 
 Still highly rouging up thy cheek so dead 
 Into a ghostly gleam of rosy red : 
 Still ever ready talking with a man, 
 To tap his naughty knuckles with thy fan 
 Coquettishly, and meanwhile with thy dim 
 Yet lustrous eyes to smile and ogle him ! 
 Yet ever with a lurking secret sense 
 Of thine own beauty's utter impotence, 
 With hungry observation all the while 
 To catch the covert sneer or lurking smile— 
 A helpless fear, a pang, a sharp distress, 
 Curdling thy choicest mirth to bitterness. 
 
 Sad years, my child, sad years of lonely 
 
 gloom ! 
 Nor let the hasty Moralist assume 
 Neglect and age and agony could be 
 God's ruthless instruments to chasten thee. 
 Nay, Kitty Kemble, tho' thy spirit grew 
 Still bitterer as the seastns tlash'd and flew, 
 Thy bright face ne'er one moment turned 
 
 away 
 From the glad gaudy world of every day. 
 I know religion never moved thy thought. 
 Comfort in God was neither found nor 
 
 sought. 
 Still thou wert happiest, happiest and best 
 By the old gaslight, rouged and gaily drest. 
 At each new play thy well-known face was 
 
 seen. 
 Merry and quick, yet hiding secret spleen ; 
 At each new brilliant debutante's success 
 Thy soul did wince for very bitterness ; — 
 And all the taste of thy departed power 
 Was gall and wormwood on thy soul each 
 
 hour ; 
 And never, Kitty, till thy latest breath, 
 Didst thou remember God, the Soul, and 
 
 Death. 
 
 Yet very quietly, one wintry day. 
 
 Death's pale and unseen footsteps past thy 
 
 way. 
 And as Death swiftly sail'd upon the air. 
 He lightly breathed one breath upon thee 
 
 there 
 As a reminder ;— after that tiiy face 
 Changed very strangely ; shrivell'd in its 
 
 place ; 
 
 One helpless eyelid fluttered, and thy faint 
 Dark cheek contracted underneath thy 
 
 paint : 
 And after that same day thy speech was 
 
 ne'er 
 Quite constant to thy thought, or wholly 
 
 clear ; 
 And ev'n thy very thought at times would 
 
 seem 
 Suddenly to dissolve away in dream ! 
 
 Yet, Kitty Kemble, to the last we found 
 
 thee 
 Constant to the old haunts of life around 
 
 thee. 
 Still in the public gaslight thou wert seen, 
 Tho' now upon a staff compelled to lean, 
 Thine eyes still black and quick, thy tones 
 
 and words 
 Still gay, thy laugh shrill as a mocking 
 
 bird's ! 
 Ah ! but I think th)' heavenly Sire was near 
 His daughter's dwelling-place at last, my 
 
 dear ! 
 That quiet day I looked upon thee last, 
 I had called at midday as thy porch I 
 
 passed. 
 Found thee ' from home,' and past the quiet 
 
 door 
 Away was turning, when, from the first floor, 
 Thy quick voice called me ; and upstairs I 
 
 went, 
 To find my lady lying indolent, 
 Pillow'd in state upon her stately bed, 
 A pretty ribbon'd night-cap on her head. 
 While on her hollow cheeks false hectic 
 
 bloom 
 Strange shade fell sadly from the darken'd 
 
 room. 
 And there upon thy pillow, partly read, 
 Feydeau's last fever-piece ; around thee 
 
 spread 
 Old playbills, pink and yellow, white and 
 
 green. 
 Whereon in mighty capitals was seen 
 Thine own triumphant name. Alas ! alas ! 
 Shall I forget till life and memory pass 
 Thy look of blended pleasure, pride, and 
 
 pain. 
 Thy eager laughter, garrulous and vain, 
 Thy tremulous, feverish voice and fretful 
 
 glee. 
 As thou didst prattle, pointing out to me.
 
 KITTY KEMBLE—THE SWALLOWS. 
 
 173 
 
 With a lean, palsied finger, dead and cold, 
 Thy mighty triumphs in the days of old ? 
 And suddenly (my child, shall I forget?— 
 The voice, the tone, the look, all linger 
 
 yet!) 
 The feverish emotion grew too much ; 
 And with a passionate, spasmodic clutch, 
 Thou didst against my shoulder wildly press 
 Thy cheek, once warm with life and loveli- 
 ness. 
 And moaning madly over thy lost years 
 Hysterically break to bitterest tears ! 
 What comfort could I give ? ere, once more 
 
 gay, 
 Thou with light hand didst sweep the tears 
 
 away. 
 And break, with fretful wish and eager will, 
 To laughter sadder still ; 
 Prattling, in thy most artificial tone, 
 Words to make Angels moan ! 
 
 And here 's the end of all. And on thy bed 
 Thou liest, Kitty Kcmble, lone and dead ; 
 And on thy clammy cheek there lingers 
 
 faint 
 The deep dark stain of a life's rouge and 
 
 paint ; 
 And, Kitty, all thy sad days and thy glad 
 Have left thee lying for thy last part clad, 
 Cold, silent, on the earthly Stage ; and 
 
 while 
 Thou liest there with dark and dreadful 
 
 smile. 
 The feverish footlights of the World flash 
 
 bright 
 Into thy face with a last :. hastly light ; 
 And while thy friends all sighing rise to go. 
 The great black Curtain droppeth, slow, 
 
 slow, slow. 
 
 God help us ! We spectators turn away ; 
 Part sad, we think, part merry, was the 
 
 Play. 
 God help the lonely player now she stands 
 Behind the darken'd scenes with wondering 
 
 face, 
 And gropes her way at last, with clay-cold 
 
 hands, 
 Out of the dingy place, 
 Turning towards Home, poor worn and 
 
 weary one, 
 Now the last scene is done. 
 
 THE SWALLOWS. 
 
 O Churchyard in the city's gloom, 
 
 What charm to please hast thou, 
 That, seated on a broken tomb, 
 I muse so oft, as now? 
 The dreary autumn wind goes murmuring 
 
 by, 
 
 And in the distant streets the ragged urchms 
 cry. 
 
 Thou boldest in thy sunless land 
 Nought I have seen or known, 
 No lips I ever kissed, no hand 
 That ever clasped mine own ; 
 And all is still and dreary to the eye, — 
 The broken tombs, dark walls, roofed by a 
 sunless sky. 
 
 Now to the murmur that mine ears 
 
 Catch from the distant lanes. 
 Dimming mine eyes with dreamy tears, 
 Slow, low, my heart refrains ; 
 And the live grass creeps up from thy dead 
 
 bones, 
 And crawls, with slimy stains, over thy gray 
 gravestones. 
 
 The cries keep on, the minutes pass, 
 
 Mine eyes are on the ground. 
 The silent many-fingered grass 
 
 Winds round, and round, and round : 
 I seem to see it live, and stir, and wind. 
 And gaze, until a weight is heavy on my 
 mind. 
 
 II. 
 
 O Churchyard in the shady gloom. 
 What charm to please hast thou. 
 That, seated on a broken tomb, 
 I muse so oft, as now ? 
 Haply because I learn, with sad content. 
 How small a thing can make the whole 
 world different ! 
 
 Among the gravestones worn and old, 
 
 A sad sweet hour 1 pass. 
 Where thickest from thy sunless mould 
 
 Upsprings the sickly grass ;
 
 174 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 For, though the earth holds no sweet smell- 
 
 And here Tom said his say. 
 
 ing flower, 
 
 And prophesied Tyranny's death ; 
 
 The Swallows build their nests up in thy 
 
 And the tallow burned all day. 
 
 square gray tower. 
 
 And we stitch'd and stitch'd away 
 
 
 In the thick smoke of our breath. 
 
 While, burthened by the life we bear, 
 
 Weary, weary were we. 
 
 The dull and creeping woe, 
 
 Our hearts as heavy as lead ; 
 
 The mystery, the pain, the care, 
 
 But • Patience ! she's coming ! ' said he ; 
 
 I watch thy grasses grow. 
 
 ' Courage, boys ! wait and see ! 
 
 Sighing, I look to the dull autumn skies, 
 
 Freedom 's ahead ! ' 
 
 And, lo ! my heart is cheered, and tears are 
 
 
 in mine eyes. 
 
 III. 
 
 
 And at night, when we took here 
 
 For here, where stillness, death, and 
 
 The rest allowed to us. 
 
 dream. 
 
 The Paper came, with the beer, 
 
 Brood above creeping things, 
 
 And Tom read, sharp and clear. 
 
 Over mine eyes with quick bright gleam 
 
 The news out loud to us ; 
 
 Shine little flashing wings. 
 
 And then, in his witty way. 
 
 And a strange comfort takes thy shady air. 
 
 He threw the jests about : 
 
 And the deep life I breathe seems sweetened 
 
 The cutting things he'd say 
 
 unaware ! 
 
 Of the wealthy and the gay ! 
 
 
 How he turn'd 'em inside out ! 
 
 
 And it made our breath more free 
 
 
 To hearken to what he said — 
 
 TOM DUNSTAN; OR, THE 
 
 ' She's coming ! she's coming ! ' said he 
 ' Courage, boys ! wait and see ! 
 
 POLITICIAN. 
 
 Freedom 's ahead ! ' 
 
 'How long, O Lord, how long?' 
 
 IV. 
 
 r. 
 
 But grim Jack Hart, with a sneer. 
 
 Would mutter, ' Master ! 
 
 Now poor Tom Dunstan's cold. 
 
 If Freedom means to appear, 
 
 Our shop is duller ; 
 
 I think she might step here 
 
 Scarce a tale is told, 
 
 A little faster ! ' 
 
 And our talk has lost its old 
 
 Then, 'twas fine to see Tom flame. 
 
 Red-republican colour ! 
 
 And argue, and prove, and preach, 
 
 Though he was sickly and thin, 
 
 Till Jack was silent foi shame, — 
 
 'Twas a sight to see his face, — 
 
 Or a fit of coughing came 
 
 While, sick of the country's sin, 
 
 O' sudden, to spoil Tom's speech. 
 
 With bang of the fist, and chin 
 
 Ah ! Tom had the eyes to see 
 
 Thrust out, he argued the case ! 
 
 When Tyranny should be sped : 
 
 He prophesied men should be free ! 
 
 ' She's coming ! she's coming ! ' said he 
 
 And the money-bags be bled ! 
 
 ' Courage, boys ! wait and see ! 
 
 ' She's coming, she's coming ! ' said he ; 
 
 Freedom 's ahead ! ' 
 
 ' Courage, boys ! wait and see ! 
 
 
 Freedom 's ahead ! ' 
 
 V. 
 
 
 But Tom was little and weak. 
 
 II. 
 
 The hard hours shook him ; 
 
 All day we sat in the heat, 
 
 Hollower grew his cheek. 
 
 Like spiders spinning, 
 
 And when he began to speak 
 
 Stitching full fine and fleet. 
 
 The coughing took him. 
 
 Willie old Moses on his seat 
 
 Ere long the cheery sound 
 
 Sat greasily grinning ; 
 
 Of his chat among ns ceased.
 
 TOM DUNSTAN; OR, THE POLITICIAN-^O'MURTOGH. 175 
 
 And we made a purse, all round, 
 That he might not starve, at least. 
 
 His pain was sorry to see, 
 Yet there, on his poor sick-bed, 
 
 ' She's coming, in spite of me ! 
 
 Courage, and wait ! ' cried he ; 
 ' Freedom 's ahead ! ' 
 
 VI. 
 
 A little before he died, 
 
 To see his passion ! 
 ' Bring me a Paper ! ' he cried, 
 And then to study it tried. 
 
 In his old sharp fashion ; 
 And with eyeballs glittering, 
 
 His look on me he bent, 
 And said that savage thing 
 
 Of the Lords o' the Parliament. 
 Then, dying, smiling on me, 
 ' What matter if one be dead ? 
 She's coming at last ! ' said he ; 
 ' Courage, boy ! wait and see ; 
 
 Freedom 's ahead ! ' 
 
 VII. 
 
 Ay, now Tom Dunstan's cold, 
 
 The shop feels duller ; 
 Scarce a tale is told. 
 And our talk has lost the old 
 
 Red-republican colour. 
 But we see a figure gray, 
 
 And we hear a voice of death, 
 And the tallow burns all day. 
 And we stitch and stitch away 
 
 In the thick smoke of our breath ; 
 Ay, while in the dark sit we, 
 
 Tom seems to call from the dead — 
 • She's coming ! she's coming ! ' says he ; 
 ' Courage, boys ! wait and see ! 
 
 Freedom 's ahead ! ' 
 
 How long, O Lord ! how long 
 
 Must thy Handmaid linger — 
 She who shall right the wrong, 
 Make the poor sufferer strong ? 
 
 Sweet morrow, bring her ! 
 Hasten her over the sea, 
 
 O Lord ! ere Hope he fled ! 
 Bring her to men and to me ! . , 
 O Slave, pray still on thy knee, 
 
 ' Freedom 's ahead I ' 
 
 O'MURTOGH. 
 
 (nkwgate, 18 — ) 
 
 ' It's a sight to see a bold man die !' 
 
 To-night we drink but a sorrowful cup . . 
 Hush ! silence ! and fill your glasses up. 
 Christ be with us ! Hold out and say : 
 ' Here's to the Boy that died this day ! ' 
 
 Wasn't he bold as the boldest here? 
 Red coat or black did he ever fear ? 
 With the bite and the drop, too, ever free? 
 He died like a man. ... I was there to see ! 
 
 The gallows was black, our cheeks were 
 
 white 
 All underneath in the morning light ; 
 The bell ceased tolling swift as thought. 
 And out the murdered Boy was brought. 
 
 There he stood in the daylight dim, 
 With a Priest on either side of him ; 
 Each Priest look'd white as he held his book. 
 But the man between had a brighter look ! 
 
 Over the faces below his feet 
 His gray eye gleam'd so keen and fleet : 
 He saw us looking ; he smiled his last . . . 
 He couldn't wave, he was pinioned fast. 
 
 This was more than one could bear, 
 
 For the lass who loved him was with us 
 
 there ; 
 She stood in the rain with her dripping shawl 
 Over her head, for to see it all. 
 
 But when she met the Boy's last look, 
 Her lips went white, she turned and shook ; 
 She didn't scream, she didn't groan. 
 But down she dropt as dead as stone. 
 
 He saw the stir in the crowd beneath. 
 And I saw him tremble and set his teeth ; 
 But the hangman came with a knavish grace 
 And drew the nightcap over his face. 
 
 Then I saw the Priests, who still stood near. 
 Pray faster and faster to hide their fear ; 
 They closed their eyes, I closed mine too. 
 And the deed was over before I knew.
 
 176 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 The crowd tliat stood all round of me 
 Gave one dark plunge like a troubled sea ; 
 And I knew by that the deed was done, 
 And I opened my eyes and saw the sun. 
 
 The gallows was black, the sun was white, 
 There he hung, half hid from sight ; 
 The sport was over, the talk grew lou'l , 
 And they sold their wares to the mighty 
 crowd. 
 
 We walked away with our hearts full sore, 
 And we met a hawker before a door. 
 With a string of papers an arm's-length long, 
 A dying speech and a gallows song. 
 
 It bade all people of poor estate 
 B.nvare of O'Murtogh's evil fate ; 
 It told how in old Ireland's name 
 He had done red murther and come to 
 shame. 
 
 Never a word was sung or said 
 
 Of the murder'd mother, a ditch her bed. 
 
 Who died with her newborn babe that 
 
 night, 
 While the blessed cabin was burning bright. 
 
 Nought was said of the years of pain, 
 The starving stomach, the madden'd brain. 
 The years of sorrow and want and toil. 
 And the murdering rent for the bit of soil. 
 
 Nought was said of the murther done 
 On man and woman and little one, 
 Of the bitter sorrow and daily smart 
 Till he put cold lead in the traitor's heart. 
 
 But many a word had the speech beside : 
 How he repented before he died ; 
 How, brought to sense by the sad event, 
 He prayed for the Queen and the Parlia- 
 ment ! 
 
 What did we do, and mighty quick, 
 But tickle that hawker's brains with a stick; 
 And to pieces small we tore his flam, 
 And left him quiet as any lamb ! 
 
 Pass round your glasses ! now lift them up! 
 Powers above, 'tis a bitter cup ! 
 Christ be with us ! Hold out and say : 
 ' Here's to the Boy that died this day ! ' 
 
 Here's his health ! — for bold he died ; 
 Here's his health ! — and it's drunk in pride: 
 The finest sight beneath the sky 
 Is to see how bravely a man can die. 
 
 THE BOOKWORM. 
 
 With spectacles upon his nose, 
 
 He shuffles up and down ; 
 Of antique fashion are his clothes. 
 
 His napless hat is brown. 
 A mighty watch, of silver wrought, 
 
 Keeps time in sun or rain 
 To the dull ticking of the thought 
 
 Within his dusty brain. 
 
 To see him at the bookstall stand 
 
 And bargain for the prize, 
 With the odd sixpence in his hand 
 
 And greed in his gray eyes ! 
 Then, conquering, grasp the book hall 
 blind. 
 
 And take the homeward track. 
 For fear the man should change his mind. 
 
 And want the bargain back ! 
 
 The waves of life about him beat. 
 
 He scarcely lifts his gaze, 
 He hears within the crowded street 
 
 The wash of ancient days. 
 If ever his short-sighted eyes 
 
 Look forward, he can see 
 Vistas of dusty Libraries 
 
 Prolonged eternally. 
 
 But think not as he walks along 
 
 His brain is dead and cold ; 
 His soul is thinking in the tongue 
 
 Which Plato spake of old ; 
 And while some grinning cabman sees 
 
 His quaint shape with a jeer, 
 He smiles, — for Aristophanes 
 
 Is joking in his ear. 
 
 Around him stretch Athenian walks, 
 
 And strange shapes under trees ; 
 He pauses in a dream and talks 
 
 Great speech, with Socrates. 
 Then, as the fancy fails— still mesh'd 
 
 In thoughts that go and come — 
 Feels in his pouch, and is refresh'd 
 
 At touch of some old tome.
 
 THE BOOKWORM -THE LAST OF THE HANGMEN. 
 
 177 
 
 The mighty world of humankind 
 
 Is as a shadow dim, 
 He wall<s through hfe hke one half blind, 
 
 And all looks dark to him ; 
 But put his nose to leaves antique. 
 
 And hold before his sight 
 Some press'd and withered flowers of Greek, 
 
 And all is life and light. 
 
 A blessing on his hair so gray, 
 
 And coat of dingy brown ! 
 May bargains bless him every day, 
 
 As he goes up and down ; 
 Long may the bookstall-keeper's face, 
 
 In dull times, smile again, 
 To see him round with shuffling pace 
 
 The corner of the lane ! 
 
 A good old Ragpicker is he, 
 
 Who, following morn and eve 
 The quick feet of Humanity, 
 
 Searches the dust they leave. 
 He pokes the dust, he sifts with care, 
 
 He searches close and deep ; 
 Proud to discover, here and there, 
 
 A treasure in the heap ! 
 
 THE LAST OF THE HANGMEN. 
 
 A GROTESQUE. 
 
 What place is snugger and more pretty 
 Than a g.iy green Inn outside the City, 
 To sit in an arbour in a garden, 
 With a pot of ale and a long churchwarden ! 
 
 Amid the noise and acclamation, 
 
 He sits unknown, in meditation : 
 
 'Mid church-bells ringing, jingling glasses, 
 
 Snugly enough his Sunday passes. 
 
 Beyond the suburbs of the City, where 
 Cheap stucco'd villas on the brick-field 
 
 stare, 
 Where half in town, half country, you 
 
 espy 
 The hay-cart standing at tlie hostelry, — 
 Strike from the higiivvay down a puddly 
 
 lane. 
 Skirt round a market-garden, and you 
 
 gain 
 A pastoral footpath, winding on for miles 
 By fair green fields and over country stiles ; 
 
 And soon, as you proceed, the busy sound 
 Of the dark City at your back is drowned, 
 The speedwell with its blue eye looks at 
 
 you, 
 The yellow primrose glimmers through the 
 
 dew ; 
 Out of the sprouting hedgerow at your side, 
 Instead of the town sparrow starveling-eyed. 
 The blackbird whistles and the finches sing; 
 Instead of smoke, you breathe the pleasant 
 
 Spring ; 
 And shading eyes dim from street dust you 
 
 mark, 
 With soft pulsations soaring up, the Lakk, 
 Till o'er your head, a speck against the 
 
 gleam. 
 He sings, and the great City fades in dream ! 
 
 Five miles the path meanders ; then again 
 You reach the road, but like a leafy lane 
 It wanders now ; and lo ! you stand before 
 A quaint old country Inn, with open door. 
 Fresh-watered troughs, and the sweet smell 
 of hay. 
 
 And if, perchance, it be the seventh day — 
 Or any feast-day, calendar'd or not — 
 Merry indeed will be this smiling spot ; 
 For on the neighbouring cominon will be 
 
 seen 
 Groups from the City, romping on the 
 
 green ; 
 The vans with gay pink curtains empty 
 
 stand. 
 The horses graze unharness'd close at hand; 
 Bareheaded wenches play at games in rings. 
 Or, strolling, swing their bonnets by the 
 
 strings ; 
 'Prentices, galloping with gasp and groan. 
 On donkeys ride, till out of breath, or 
 
 thrown ; 
 False gipsies, with pale cheeks by juice 
 
 stain'd brown, 
 And hulking loungers, gather from the 
 
 town. 
 The fiddle squeaks, they dance, they sing, 
 
 they play. 
 Waifs from the City casting care away. 
 And with the country smells and sights are 
 
 blent 
 Loud town-bred oaths and urban merri- 
 ment. 
 
 N
 
 I7S 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 Ay ; and behind the Inn are gardens 
 green, 
 
 And arbours snug, where families are seen 
 
 Tea-drinking in the shadow ; some, glad 
 souls, 
 
 On the smooth-shaven carpet play at bowls; 
 
 And half-a-dozen, rowing round and round. 
 
 Upon the shallow skating-pond are found, 
 
 And ever and anon will one of these 
 
 Upset, and stand there, wading to the 
 knees. 
 
 Righting his crank canoe ! Dowti neigh- 
 bouring walks 
 
 Go 'prentice lovers in delightful talks ; 
 
 While from the arbour-seats smile plea- 
 santly 
 
 The older members of the company ; 
 
 And plump round matrons sweat in Paisley 
 shawls, 
 
 And on the grass the crowing baby sprawls. 
 
 Now hither, upon such a festal day, 
 I from my sky-high lodging made my way, 
 -^nd followed straggling feet with summer 
 
 smile ; 
 'Jog on," I sung, 'and merrily hent the 
 
 stile," 
 Until I reached the place of revelry ; 
 And there, hard by the groups who sat at 
 
 tea, 
 But in a quiet arbour, cool and deep. 
 Around whose boughs white honeysuckles 
 
 creep, 
 A Face I saw familiar to my gaze, 
 In scenes far different and on darker days: — 
 An aged man, with w hite and reverent hair. 
 Brow patriarchal yet deep-lined with care. 
 His melancholy eye, in a half dream, 
 Watching the groups with philosophic 
 
 gleam ; 
 Decent his dress, of broadcloth black and 
 
 clean, 
 Clean-starch'd his front, and dignified his 
 
 mien. 
 His right forefinger busy in the bowl 
 Of a long pipe of clay, whence there did roll 
 A halo of gray vapour round his face. 
 He sat, like the wise Genius of the place ; 
 And at his left hand on the table stood 
 A pewter-pot, filled up with porter good, 
 Which ever and anon, with dreamy gaze 
 And arm-sweep proud, he to his lips did 
 
 raise. 
 
 'Twas Sunday ; and in melancholy swells 
 Came the low music of the soft church-bells, 
 Scarce audible, blown o'er the meadows 
 
 green. 
 Out of the cloud of London dimly seen — 
 Whence, thro' the summer mist, at in- 
 tervals, 
 We caught the far-off shadow of St. Paul's. 
 
 Silent he sat, unnoted in the crowd. 
 With all his greatness round him like a 
 
 cloud. 
 Unknown, unwelcomed, unsuspected quite. 
 Smoking his pipe like any common wight ; 
 Cheerful, yet distant, patronising here 
 The common gladness from his prouder 
 
 sphere. 
 Cold was his eye, and ominous now and 
 
 then 
 The look he cast upon those merry men 
 Around him ; and, from time to time, sad- 
 eyed. 
 He rolled his reverent head from side to 
 
 side 
 With dismal shake ; and, his sad heart to 
 
 cheer, 
 Hid his great featiu-es in the pot of beer. 
 
 When, with an easy bow and lifted hat, 
 I enter'd the green arbour where he sat, 
 And most politely him by name did greet. 
 He went as white as any winding-sheet ! 
 Yea, trembled like a ;nan whose lost eyes 
 
 note 
 A pack of wolves upk aping at his throat ! 
 But when, in a respectful tone and kind, 
 I tried to lull his fears and soothe his 
 
 mind, 
 And vowed the fact of his identity 
 Was as a secret wholly safe with me — 
 Explaining also, seeing him demur. 
 That / too was a public character — 
 The Great Unknown (as I shall call him 
 
 here) 
 Grew calm, replenish'd soon his pot of beer 
 At my e.xpense, and in a little while 
 His tongue began to wag, his face to smile; 
 And in the simple self-revealing mode 
 Of all great natures heavy with the load 
 Of pride and power, he edged himself more 
 
 near. 
 And poured his griefs and wrongs into mine 
 
 ear.
 
 THE LAST OF THE HANGMEN. 
 
 179 
 
 ' Well might I be afraid, and sir to you ! 
 They 'd tear me into pieces if they knew, — 
 For quiet as they look, and bright, and 
 
 smart. 
 Each chap there has a dger in his heart ! 
 At play they are, but wild beasts all the 
 
 same — 
 Not to be teased although they look so 
 
 tame ; 
 And many of them, plain as eye can trace, 
 Have got my 'scutcheon figured on the face. 
 It 's all a matter of mere destiny 
 Whether they go all right or come to me : 
 Mankind is bad, sir, naturally bad ! ' 
 
 And as he shook his head with omen sad, 
 I answered him, in his own cynic strain : 
 
 ' Yes, 't is enough to make a man com- 
 plain. 
 This world of ours so vicious is and low, 
 It always treats its Benefactors so. 
 If people had their rights, and rights were 
 
 clear. 
 You would not sit unknown, unhonour'd, 
 
 here ; 
 But all would bow to you, and hold you 
 
 great. 
 The first and mightiest member of the 
 
 State. 
 Who is the inmost wheel of the machine ? 
 Who keeps the Constitution sharp and 
 
 clean ? 
 Who finishes what statesmen only plan. 
 And keeps the whole game going ? You 're 
 
 the Man ! 
 At one end of the State the eye may view 
 Her Majesty, and at the other — you ; 
 And of the two, both precious, I aver, 
 Tliey seem more ready to dispense with 
 
 her ! ' 
 
 The Great Man watched me with a solemn 
 look, 
 TliL-n from his lips the pipe he slowly took, 
 And answered gruffly, in a whisper hot : 
 
 ' I don't know if you 're making game or 
 
 not ! 
 But, dash my buttons, though you put it 
 
 strong. 
 It 's my opinion you're more right than 
 
 wrong ! 
 
 There 's not another man this side the sea 
 Can settle off the State's account like me. 
 The work from which all otlier people 
 
 shrink 
 Comes natural to me as meat and drink, — 
 All neat, all clever, all perform'd so pat. 
 It 's quite an honour to be hung like that ! 
 People don't howl and bellow when they 
 
 meet 
 The Sheriff or the Gaoler in the street ; 
 They never seem to long in their mad fits 
 To tear the Home Secretary into bits ; 
 When Judges in white hats to Epsom Down 
 Drive gay as Tom and Jerry, folk don't 
 
 frown ; 
 They cheer the Queen and Royal Family, 
 But only let them catch a sight of me. 
 And like a pack of hounds they howl and 
 
 storm ! 
 And that 's their gratitude ; 'cause I per- 
 form. 
 In genteel style and in a first-rate way, 
 The work they're making for me night and 
 
 day ! 
 Why, if a mortal had his rights, d' ye see, 
 I should be honour'd as I ought to be — 
 They 'd pay me well for doing what I do. 
 And touch their hats whene'er I came in 
 
 view. 
 Well, after all, they do as they are told ; 
 They 're less to blame than Government, I 
 
 hold. 
 Government sees my value, and it knows 
 I keep the whole game going as it goes. 
 And yet it holds me down and makes me 
 
 cheap. 
 And calls me in at odd times like a sweep 
 To clean a dirty chimney. Let it smoke. 
 And every mortal in the State must choke ! 
 And yet, though always ready at the 
 
 call, 
 1 get no gratitude, no thanks at all. 
 Instead of rank, I get a wretched fee. 
 Instead of thanks, a sneer or scowl may-be, 
 Instead of honour such as others win. 
 Why, I must hide away to save my skin. 
 When I am sent for to perform my duty. 
 Instead of coming in due state and beauty. 
 With outriders and dashing grays to draw 
 (Like any other mighty man of law). 
 Disguised, unknown, and with a guilty 
 
 cheek, 
 The gaol I enter like an area sneak ! 
 
 N 2
 
 i8o 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 And when all things have been perform'd 
 
 with art 
 (With my young man to do the menial 
 
 part) 
 Again out of the dark, when none can see, 
 I creep unseen to my obscurity ! ' 
 
 His vinous cheek with virtuous wrath was 
 
 flushed, 
 And to his nose the purple cuirent rushed. 
 While with a hand that shook a little now. 
 He mopp'd the perspiration from his brow. 
 Sighing ; and on his features I descried 
 A sparkling tear of sorrow and of pride. 
 Meantime, around him all was mirth and 
 
 May, 
 The sport was merry and all hearts were 
 
 gay. 
 
 The green boughs sparkled back the merri- 
 ment. 
 The garden honeysuckle scatter' d scent, 
 The warm girls giggled and the lovers 
 
 squeezed, 
 The matrons drinking tea look'd on full 
 
 pleased. 
 And far away the church-bells sad and slow 
 Ceased on the scented air. But still the 
 
 woe 
 Grew on the Great Man's face — the smiling 
 
 sky. 
 The light, the pleasure, on his fish-like eye 
 Fell colourless ; — at last he spoke again, 
 Growing more philosophic in his pain : 
 
 ' Two sorts of people fill this mortal 
 
 sphere, 
 Those who are hung, and those who just 
 
 get clear ; 
 And I 'm the schoolmaster (though you may 
 
 laugh). 
 Teaching good manners to the second half. 
 Without my help to keep the scamps in awe, 
 You 'd have no virtue and you 'd know no 
 
 law ; 
 And now they only hang for blood alone, 
 Ten times more hard to rule the mob have 
 
 grown. 
 I 've heard of late some foolish folk have 
 
 plann'd 
 To put an end to hanging in the land ; 
 But, Lord ! how little do the donkeys know 
 This world of ours, when they talk non- 
 sense so 1 
 
 It 's downright blasphemy ! You might as 
 
 well 
 Try to get rid at once of Heaven and Hell I 
 Mankind is bad, sir, naturally bad, 
 Both rich and poor, man, woman, sad, or 
 
 glad ! 
 While some to keep scot-free have got the 
 
 wit 
 (Not that they're really better— devil a 
 
 bit !), 
 Others have got my mark so plain and fair 
 In both their eyes, I stop, and gape, and 
 
 stare. 
 Look at that fellow stretch' d upon the 
 
 green, 
 Strong as a bull, though only seventeen ; 
 Bless you, I know the party every hmb, 
 I 've hung a iew fac-similes of him ! 
 And cast your eye on that pale wench who 
 
 sips 
 Gin in the corner ; note her hanging lips, 
 The neat-shaped boots, and the neglected 
 
 lace : 
 There 's baby-murder written on her face ! — 
 Tho' accidents may happen now and then, 
 I know my mark on women and on men, 
 And oft I sigh, beholding it so plain. 
 To think what heaps of labour still remain ! ' 
 
 He sigh'd, and yet methought he smackt 
 his lips. 
 As one who in anticipation sips 
 A feast to come. Then I, with a sly thought, 
 Drew forth a picture 1 had lately bought 
 In Regent Street, and begged the man of 
 
 fame 
 To give his criticism on the same. 
 First from their case his spectacles he took. 
 Great silver-rimm'd, and with deep search- 
 ing look 
 The picture's lines in silence pondered he. 
 
 ' This is as bad a face as ever I see ! 
 This is no common area-sneak or thief. 
 No stealer of a pocket-handkerchief. 
 No ! deep's the word, and knowing, and 
 
 precise. 
 Afraid of nothing, but as cool as ice. 
 Look at his ears, how very low they lie, 
 Lobes far below the level of his eye. 
 And there's a mouth, like any rat-trap's 
 
 tight. 
 And at the edges bloodless, close, and white.
 
 THE LAST OF THE HANGMEN. 
 
 i8i 
 
 VVlio is the party ? Caught, on any charge i 
 There's mischief near, if he remains at 
 large ! ' 
 
 (iasping with indignation, angry-eyed, 
 'Silence ! 'tis very blasphemy,' I cried ; 
 ' Misguided man, whose insight is a sham, 
 These noble features you would brand and 
 
 damn, 
 This saintly face, so subtle, calm, and high, 
 Are those of one who would not wrong a 
 
 fly- 
 A friend of man, whom all man's sorrows 
 
 stir, 
 'Tis Mk. Mill, the great Philosopher ! ' 
 
 Then for a moment he to whom I spake 
 Seemed staggered, but, with the same 
 
 ominous shake 
 O' the head, he, rallying, wore a smile half 
 
 kind. 
 Pitying my simphcity of mind. 
 
 'Sir,' said he, 'from my word I will not 
 stir — 
 I 've seen that look on many a murderer ; 
 But don't mistake — it stands to common 
 
 sense 
 That education makes the difference ! 
 
 I 've heard the party's name, and know that 
 
 he 
 Is a good pleader for my trade and me ; 
 And well he may be ! for a clever man 
 Sees pretty well what others seldom can, — 
 That those mark'd qualities which make 
 
 him great 
 In one way, migJU by just a turn of fate 
 Have raised him in aiiolher ! Ah, it's sad — 
 Mankind is bad, sir, naturally bad! 
 
 I I takes a genius in our busy time 
 To plan and carry out a bit of crime 
 That shakes the land and raises up one's 
 
 hair ; 
 Most murder now is but a poor affair — 
 No art, no cunning, just a few blind blows 
 Struck by a bullet-headed rough Nvho knows 
 No better. Clever men now see full plain 
 That crime don't answer. Thanks to me, 
 
 again ! 
 Ah, when I think what would become of 
 
 men 
 Without my bit of schooling now and 
 
 then, — 
 
 To teach the foolish they must mind their 
 
 play. 
 And keep the clever under every day, — 
 I shiver ! As it is, they 're kept by me 
 To decent sorts of daily villany — 
 Law, money-lending, factoring on the land, 
 Share-broking, banking with no cash in 
 
 hand. 
 And many a sort of weapon they may use 
 Which never brings their neck into the 
 
 noose ; 
 For if they 're talented they can invent 
 Plenty of crime that gets no punishment. 
 Do lawful murder with no sort of fear 
 As coolly as I drink this pot of beer ! ' 
 
 The Great Man paused and drank ; his 
 face was grim. 
 Half buried in the pot ; and o'er its rim 
 His eye, like the law's bull's-eye, flashing 
 
 bright 
 To deepen darkness round it, threw its light 
 On the gay scene before him, and it seemed 
 Rendered all wretched near it as it gleamed. 
 A shadow fell upon the merry place, 
 Each figure grew distorted, and each face 
 Spake of crime hidden and of evil thought. 
 Darkling I gazed, sick-hearted and dis- 
 traught, 
 In silence. Black and decent at my side. 
 With reverend hair, sat melancholy-eyed 
 The Patriarch. To my head I held my 
 
 hand. 
 And ponder'd, and the look of the fair land 
 Seemed deathlike. On the darkness of my 
 
 brain 
 The voice, a little thicker, broke again : 
 
 'Ah, things don't thrive as they throve 
 
 once,' he said, 
 ' And I'm alone now my old woman's 
 
 dead. 
 I find the Sundays dull. First, I attend 
 The morning service, then this way I wend 
 To take my pipe and drop of beer ; and 
 
 then. 
 Home to a lonely meal in town again. 
 'Tis a dull world ! — and grudges me my 
 
 hire — 
 I ought to get a pension and retire. 
 What living man has served his country so? 
 But who's to take my place I scarcely 
 
 know !
 
 l82 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 Well, Heaven will punish their neglect 
 
 anon : — 
 They'll know my merit, when I'm dead 
 
 and gone ! ' 
 
 He stood upon his legs, and these, I 
 
 think, 
 Were rather shaky, part with age, part 
 
 drink, 
 And with a piteous smile, full of the sense 
 Of human vanity and impotence. 
 Grimly he stood, half senile and half sly, 
 A sight to make the very angels cry ; 
 Then lifted up a hat with weepers on — 
 (Worn for some human creature dead and 
 
 gone) 
 Placing it on his head (unconsciously 
 A little on one side) held out to me 
 His right hand, and, though grim beyond 
 
 belief, 
 Wore unaware an air of rakish grief — 
 Even so we parted, and with hand-wave 
 
 proud 
 He faded like a ghost into the crowd. 
 
 Home to the mighty City wandering. 
 Breathing the freshness of the fields of 
 
 Spring, 
 Hearing the Lark, and seeing bright winds 
 
 run 
 Between the bending rye-grass and the sun, 
 I mused and mused ; till with a solemn 
 
 gleam 
 My soul closed, and I saw as in a dream, 
 Apocalyptic, cutting heaven across. 
 Two mighty shapes— a Gallows and a Cross. 
 And these twain, with a sea of lives that 
 
 clomb 
 Up to their base and struck and fell in foam, 
 Moved, trembled, changed ; and lo ! the 
 
 first became 
 A jet-black Shape that bowed its head in 
 
 shame 
 Before the second, which in turn did change 
 Into a luminous Figure, sweet and strange. 
 Stretching out mighty arms to bless the 
 
 thing 
 Which hushed its breath beneath Him 
 
 wondering. 
 And lo ! those visions vanished with no 
 
 word 
 In brightness ; and like cue that wakes I 
 
 heard 
 
 The church bells chime and the cathedrals 
 
 toll, 
 Filling the mighty City like its Soul. 
 
 Then, like a spectre strange and woe- 
 begone, 
 Uprose again, with mourning weepers on, 
 His hat a little on one side, his breath 
 Heavy and hot, the gray-hair'd Man of 
 
 Death, 
 Tottering, grog-pimpled, with a trembling 
 
 pace 
 Under the Gateway of the Silent Place, 
 At whose sad opening the great Puppet 
 
 stands 
 The rope of which he tugs with palsied 
 hands. 
 
 Christ help me ! whither do my wild 
 
 thoughts run ? 
 And Christ help thee, thou lonely aged one ! 
 Christ help us all, till all 's that dark grows 
 
 clear — 
 Are those indeed the Sabbath bells I hear ? 
 
 LONDON, 1S64. 
 
 Why should the heart seem stiller. 
 
 As the song grows stronger and surer ? 
 Why should the brain grow chiller, 
 
 And the utterance clearer and purer ? 
 To lose what the people are gaining 
 
 Seems often bitter as gall, 
 Though to sink in the proud attaining 
 
 Were the bitterest of all. 
 I would to God I were lying 
 
 Yonder 'mong mountains blue, 
 Chasing the morn with flying 
 
 Feet in the morning dew ! 
 Longing, and aching, and burning 
 
 To conquer, to sing, and to teach, 
 A passionate face upturning 
 
 To visions beyond my reach, — 
 But with never a feeling or yearning 
 
 I could utter in tuneful speech ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Yea! that were a joy more stable 
 Than all that my soul hath found, — 
 
 Than to see and to know, and be able . 
 To utter the seeing in sound ;
 
 LONDON, \%(ii,— rHE MODERN WARRIOR. 
 
 183 
 
 For Art, the Angel of losses, 
 
 Comes, with her still, gray eyes. 
 Coldly my forehead crosses. 
 
 Whispers to make me wise ; 
 And, too late, comes the revelation, 
 
 After the feast and the play, 
 That she works God's dispensation 
 
 By cruelly taking away : 
 By burning the heart and steeling. 
 
 Scorching the spirit deep. 
 And changing the flower of feeling. 
 
 To a poor dried flower that may keep ! 
 What wonder if much seems hollow, 
 
 The passion, the wonder dies ; 
 And I hate the angel I follow. 
 
 And shrink from her passionless eyes, — 
 Who, instead of the rapture of being 
 
 I held as the poet's dower — 
 Instead of the glory of seeing, 
 
 The impulse, the splendour, the power — 
 Instead of merrily blowing 
 
 A trumpet proclaiming the day. 
 Gives, for her sole bestowing, 
 
 A pipe whereon to play ! 
 While the spirit of boyhood hath faded, 
 
 And never again can be, 
 And the singing seemeth degraded. 
 
 Since the glory hath gone from me, — 
 Though the glory around me and under. 
 
 And the earth and the air and the sea. 
 And the manifold music and wonder. 
 
 Are grand as they used to be ! 
 
 in. 
 Is there a consolation 
 
 For the joy that comes never again ? 
 Is there a reservation ? 
 
 Is there a refuge from pain ? 
 Is there a gleam of gladness 
 
 To still the grief and the stinging? 
 Only the sweet, strange sadness, 
 
 That is the source of the singing. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For the sound of the city is weary, 
 
 As the people pass to and fro. 
 And the friendless faces are dreary, 
 
 As they come, and thrill through us, 
 and go ; 
 And the ties that bind us the nearest 
 
 Of our error and weakness are born ; 
 And our dear ones ever love dearest 
 
 Those parts of ourselves that we scorn ; 
 
 And the weariness will not be spoken, 
 
 And the bitterness dare not be said. 
 The silence of souls is unbroken. 
 
 And we hide ourselves from our Dead ! 
 And what, then, secures us from madness? 
 
 Dear ones, or fortune, or fame ? 
 Only the sweet singing sadness 
 
 Cometh between us and shame. 
 
 And there dawneth a time to the Poet, 
 
 When the bitterness passes away, 
 With none but his God to know it, 
 
 He kneels in the dark to pray ; 
 And the prayer is turn'd into singing. 
 
 And the singing findeth a tongue. 
 And Art, with her cold hands clinsinsr, 
 
 Comforts the soul she has stung. 
 Then the Poet, holding her to him, 
 
 Findeth his loss is his gain : 
 The sweet singing sadness thrills through 
 him. 
 
 Though nought of the glory remain ; 
 And the awful sound of the city, 
 
 And the terrible faces aiound, 
 Take a'truer, tenderer pity, 
 
 And pass into sweetness and sound ; 
 The mystery deepens to thunder. 
 
 Strange vanishings gleam from the 
 cloud. 
 And the Poet, with pale lips asunder, 
 
 Stiicken, and smitten, and bow'd, 
 Starteih at times from his wonder. 
 
 And sendeth his Soul up aloud I 
 
 THE MODERN WARRIOR. 
 
 O Warrior for the Right, 
 Though thy shirt of mail be white 
 
 .•\s the snows upon the breast of The Adored, 
 Though the weapon thou mayest claim 
 Hath been tempei'd in the flame 
 
 Of the tire upon the Allar of the Lord, 
 Krc the coming of the night. 
 Thy mail shall be less Ijright, 
 
 .'\nd the taint of sin may settle on the 
 Sword ! 
 
 For the foemen thou must meet 
 Are the phantoms in the street, 
 And thine armour shall be foul'd in many a 
 place,
 
 1 84 
 
 LONDON POEMS. 
 
 And the shameful mire and mud, 
 With a grosser stain than blood, 
 Shall be scatter'd 'mid the fray upon thy 
 face ; 
 And the helpless thou dost aid 
 Shah shrink from thee dismayed. 
 Till thou coniest to the knowledge of things 
 base. 
 
 Ah, mortal, with a brow 
 
 Like the gleam of sunrise, thou 
 May'st wander from the pathway in thy 
 turn, 
 
 In the noontide of thy strength 
 
 Be stricken down at length. 
 And cry to God for aid, and live, and learn ; 
 
 And when, with many a stain. 
 
 Thou arisest up again, 
 The lightning of thy look wiU be less stern. 
 
 Thou shalt see with humbler eye 
 
 The adulteress go by. 
 Nor shudder at the touch of her attire ; 
 
 Thou shalt only look with grief 
 
 On the liar and the thief. 
 Thou shalt meet the very murtherer in the 
 mire — 
 
 And to which wouldst thou accord, 
 
 O thou Warrior of the Lord ! 
 The vengeance of the Sword and of the 
 
 Fire? 
 
 Nay ! batter'd in the fray. 
 
 Thou shalt quake in act to slay. 
 And remember thy transgression and be 
 meek ; 
 
 And the thief shall grasp thy hand. 
 
 And the liar blushing stand. 
 And the harlot if she list shall kiss thy 
 cheek ; 
 
 And the murtherer, unafraid. 
 
 Shall meet thee in the shade, 
 And pray thee for the doom thou wilt not 
 
 wreak. 
 
 Yet thou shalt help the frail 
 From the phantoms that assail. 
 Yea, the strong man in his anger thou shalt 
 dare ; 
 Thy voice shall be a song 
 Against wickedness and wrong. 
 But the wicked and the wronger thou shalt 
 spare. 
 
 And while thou lead'st the van, 
 The ungrateful hand of man 
 Shall smite thee down and slay thee un- 
 aware. 
 
 With an agonised cry 
 Thou shalt shiver down and die, 
 With stained shirt of mail and broken 
 brand ; 
 And the voice of men shall call, 
 ' He is fallen like us all. 
 Though the weapon of the Lord was in his 
 hand ; ' 
 And thine epitaph shall be, 
 ' He was wretched ev'n as we ; ' 
 And thy tomb may be unhonoured in the 
 land. 
 
 But the basest of the base 
 Shall bless thy pale dead face 
 
 And the thief shall steal a bloody lock of 
 hair ; 
 And over thee asleep. 
 The adulteress shall weep 
 
 Such tears as she can never shed elsewhere. 
 Shall bless the broken brand 
 In thy chiU and nerveless hand. 
 
 Shall kiss thy stained vesture with a prayer. 
 
 Then, while in that chiU place 
 Stand the basest of the base, 
 
 Gather'd round thee in the silence of the 
 dark, 
 A white Face shall look down 
 On the silence of the town. 
 
 And see thee lying dead with those to mark, 
 And a voice shall fill the air, 
 ' Bear my Warrior lying there 
 
 To his sleep upon my Breast ! ' and they 
 shall heark. 
 
 Lo, then those fallen things 
 
 Shall perceive a rush of wings 
 Growing nearer down the azure gulfs un- 
 trod, 
 
 And around them in the night 
 
 There shall grow a wondrous light. 
 While they hide affrighted faces on the sod. 
 
 But ere again 'tis dark. 
 
 They shall raise their eyes, and mark 
 White arms that waft the Warrior up to 
 
 God!
 
 PAN : EPILOGUE— VEN vol TO LONDON POEMS. 
 
 185 
 
 PAN: EPILOGUE. 
 
 ' Pan, Pan is dead ! '— E. B. Browning. 
 
 The broken goblets of the Gods 
 
 Lie scatter'd in the Waters deep, 
 Where the tall sea-flig blows and nods 
 
 Over the shipwreck'd seamen's sleep ; 
 The gods like phantoms come and go 
 
 Amid the wave-wa>h'd ocean-hall. 
 Above their heads the bleak winds blow ; 
 They sigh, they shiver to and fro— 
 
 ' Pan, Pan ! ' those phantoms call. 
 
 O Pan, great Pan, thou art not dead. 
 
 Nor dost thou haunt that weedy place, 
 Tho' blowing winds hear not thy tread. 
 
 And silver runlets miss thy face ; 
 Where ripe nuts fall thou hast no state, 
 
 Where eagles soar, thou now art dumb, 
 By lonely meres thou dost not wait ; — 
 But here 'mid living waves of fate 
 
 We feel thee go and come ! 
 
 O piteous one ! — In wintry days 
 
 Over the City falls the snow, 
 And, where it whitens stony ways, 
 
 I see a Shade flit to and fro ; 
 Over the dull street hangs a cloud — 
 
 It parts, an ancient Face flits by, 
 'Tis thine ! 'tis thou ! Thy gray head 
 
 bowed, 
 Dimly thou fluttercst o'er the crowd, 
 
 With a thin human cry. 
 
 Ghost-like, O Pan, thou glimmcrcst still, 
 
 A spectral Face with sad dumb stare ; 
 Oil rainy nights thy breath blows chill 
 
 In the street-walker's dripping hair ; 
 Thy ragged woe from street to street 
 
 Goes mist-like, constant day and night ; 
 But often, where the black waves beat. 
 Thou hast a smile most strangely sweet 
 
 For honest hearts and light I 
 
 Where'er thy shadowy vestments fly 
 1 here comes across the waves of strife, 
 
 Across the souls of all close by, 
 The gleam of some forgotten life : 
 
 There is a sense of waters clear, 
 An odour faint of flowery nooks ; 
 
 istrange-plumaged birds seem flitting near 
 
 The cold brain blossoms, lives that hear 
 Ripple like running brooks. 
 
 And as thou passest, human eyes 
 
 Look in each other and are wet — 
 Simple or gentle, weak or wise, 
 
 Alike are full of tender fret ; 
 And mean and noble, brave and base 
 
 Raise common glances to the sky ; — 
 And lo ! the phantom of thy Face, 
 While sad and low thro' all the place 
 
 Thrills thy thin human cry ! 
 
 Christ help thee. Pan ! canst thou not go 
 
 Now all the other gods are fled? 
 Why dost thou flutter to and fro 
 
 When all the sages deem thee dead ? 
 Or, if thou still must live and dream. 
 
 Why leave the fields of harvest fair — 
 Why quit the peace of wood and stream — 
 And haunt the streets with eyes that gleam 
 
 Through white and holy hair? 
 
 V ENVOI TO LONDON POEMS. 
 
 I DO not sing for Maidens. They are roses 
 
 Blowing along the pathway I pursue : 
 No sweeter things the wondrous world dis- 
 closes. 
 And they are tender as the morning dew. 
 Blessed be maids and chi'dren : day and 
 
 night 
 Their holy scent is with me as I write. 
 
 I do not sing for Scliool-l)oys or School- 
 men. 
 To give them ease I have no languid 
 theme 
 When, weary witli the wear of book and 
 pen, 
 They seek their trim poetic Academe ; 
 Nor can I sing them amorous ditties, bred 
 Of too much Ovid on an empty head. 
 
 I do not sing aloud in measured tone 
 Of those fair paths the easy-soul'd pursue ; 
 
 Nor do I sing for Lazarus alone, 
 I sing for Dives and the Devil too. 
 
 Ah ! would the feeble song I sing might 
 swell 
 
 As high as Heaven, and as deep as Hell !
 
 1 86 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 I sing of the stain'd outcast at Love's feet, — 
 Love with his wild eyes on the evening 
 light ; 
 
 I sing of sad lives trampled down like wheat 
 Under the heel of Lust, in Love's despite; 
 
 I glean behind those wretched shapes ye see 
 
 In the cold harvest-fields of Infamy. 
 
 I sing of death-beds (let no man rejoice 
 Till that last piteous touch of all is 
 given !) ; 
 I sing of Death and Life with equal voice, 
 Heaven watching Hell, and Hell illumed 
 by Heaven. 
 I have gone deep, far down the infernal 
 
 stair — 
 And seen the spirits congregating there. 
 
 I sing of Hope, that all the lost may hear ; 
 I sing of Light, that all may feel its ray ; 
 I sings of Soul, that no one man may fear ; 
 I sing of God, that some perchance may 
 pray. 
 Angels in Hosts have praised Him loud and 
 
 long. 
 But Lucifer's shall be the harvest song. 
 
 Oh, hush a space the sounds of voices light 
 Mix'd to the music of a lover's lute. 
 
 Stranger than dream, so luminously bright, 
 The eyes are dazzled and the mouth is 
 mute. 
 
 Sits Lucifer ; singing to sweeten care, 
 
 He twines immortelles in his hoary hair ! 
 
 Miscellaneous Poems. 
 
 (1866-70.) 
 
 THE DEATH OF ROLAND. 
 
 De Karlemane et de Rolant, 
 Et d'Olivier, et des vassaus, 
 Qui moururent a Rainscevaux ! 
 
 Dead was Gerard the fair, the girl-mouth'd, 
 
 the gay, 
 Who jested with the foe he slung his sword 
 
 to slay ; 
 Dead was the giant Guy, big-hearted, small 
 
 of brain ; 
 Dead was the hunchback Sanche, his red 
 
 hunch slit in twain ; 
 Dead was the old hawk Luz, and sleeping 
 
 by his side 
 His twin-sons, Charles the fleet, and Pierre 
 
 the serpent-eyed ; 
 Dead was Antoine, the same who swore to 
 
 speak no word 
 Till five score heathen heads fell by his 
 
 single sword ; 
 Dead was the wise Gerin, who gript both 
 
 spear and pen ; 
 Sansun was dead, Gereir was dead !— dead 
 
 were the mighty men ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Then Roland felt his sense return, and 
 
 stin''d, and cried. 
 Felt down if Adalmar lay safe against his 
 
 side, 
 And smiled most quietlie, for joy the Sword 
 
 was there ; 
 With heavy-mailed hand brush'd back his 
 
 bloody hair, 
 And lying prone upon his back, beheld on 
 
 high 
 The stars like leopard-spots strewn in the 
 
 sapphire sky. 
 He turn'd his head, and lo ! the large hills 
 
 looming dim. 
 In the wan west the Moon with red and 
 
 wasting rim ; 
 Then sighing sore, swung round his head 
 
 as in a swoon. 
 And met the hunchback's eyne, glazed 
 
 beneath the Moon. 
 Chill was the air, and frostv vapours to and 
 
 fro. 
 Like sheeted shapes, in dim moonshine, 
 
 were stealing slow ; 
 And Roland thought, because his wound 
 
 had made him weak.
 
 THE DEATH OF ROLAND. 
 
 T87 
 
 The cold shapes breathed alive their breath 
 
 upon his cheek. 
 Crawling unto his knees, shivering in the 
 
 cold, 
 He loosed his helm, and dimly gleaming 
 
 down it roU'd ; 
 And darkly his dim eyes distinguish'd things 
 
 around, — 
 The mute and moveless shapes asleep upon 
 
 the ground, 
 A helm glittering dim, a sword-hilt twink- 
 ling red, 
 A white steed quivering beside a warrior 
 
 dead, 
 And in one moonlit plaoe, a ring on a white 
 
 hand, 
 When Roland thought, ' Gerard ! the 
 
 brightest of the band ! ' 
 And no one stirr'd ; behind, the hills 
 
 loom'd large and dim ; 
 And in the west the waning Moon with red 
 
 and wasting rim. 
 
 III. 
 
 Then Roland cried aloud, ' If living man 
 
 there be 
 Among these heapi of slain, let that man 
 
 answer me ! ' 
 And no soul spake. The wind crept chilly 
 
 over all, 
 And no man felt it creep, or heard the 
 
 leader call. 
 ' Ho, Olivier ! Gerin ! speak, an' ye be not 
 
 slain ! ' 
 The voices of the hills echoed the cry 
 
 again, — 
 Only a heathen churl rose cursing on his 
 
 side. 
 And spat at him who spake, and curl'd his 
 
 limbs, and died. 
 Then Roland's mighty heart was heavy 
 
 with its woes, — 
 When fitfully, across the fields, faint ra- 
 diance rose, 
 First a faint spark, and then a gleam, and 
 
 then a glare, 
 Then smoke and crimson streaks that 
 
 mingled in the air. 
 And as the thick flame clear'd, and the 
 
 black smoke swam higher, 
 'I'hcre loom'd beyond a Shape like one girt 
 
 round with fire ! 
 
 And Roland cried aloud, because his joy 
 
 was great, 
 And brandish'd Adalmar, and fell beneath 
 
 the weight. 
 But lying prone strain'd eyes, and, gazing 
 
 through the night. 
 Still saw the glittering Shape circled with 
 
 spectral light. 
 He seem'd in a dark dream, he could not 
 
 think at all, 
 Until his heart rose up, and he had strength 
 
 to crawl : 
 Then, hke a bruised worm weary he slipt 
 
 and slow. 
 Straining his fever'd eyes lest the sweet 
 
 ghost should go, 
 And oft he paused to breathe, feeling his 
 
 pulses fail, 
 'Mong heathens foul to smell and warriors 
 
 clad in mail, 
 But coming near the gleam beheld the godly 
 
 man, 
 Turpin the Archbishop, unhelm'd and gaunt 
 
 and wan, — 
 Gripping with skinny hand the ivory Cross 
 
 sat he, 
 Clad head to heel in frost-white mail and 
 
 propt against a tree. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And when on hands and knees the stricken 
 
 Chief came near. 
 The Bishop raised the Cross, and knew his 
 
 comrade dear ; 
 And Roland's heart swell'd up, and tears 
 
 were on his cheek. 
 He touch'd the blessed Cross, and smiled 
 
 and did not speak ; 
 While, ' Glory be to God ! ' the Bishop 
 
 faintly said, 
 ' Thou livest, kinsman dear, though all the 
 
 rest be dead ! 
 For while I linger'd here and listen'd for a 
 
 sound. 
 And in the dim red Moon beheld the dead 
 
 around. 
 Thinking I heard a cry, I sought to cry again, 
 But all my force had fled, and I was spent 
 
 with pain ; 
 When, peering round, I sa^v this hcuthcn 
 
 at my liecl. 
 And scarch'd his leathern scrip and gat me 
 
 flint and steel,
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Then crawl'd, though swooning-sick, and 
 
 found 'his charger gray, 
 And searching in the bags found wither'd 
 
 grass and hay, 
 And made a fire, a sign for thee, whoe'er 
 
 thou wert, 
 But fainted when it blazed, for I am sorely 
 
 hurt ; 
 And waken'd to behold thee near, wounded 
 
 and weak, 
 The red fire flaming on thy face, thy breath 
 
 upon my cheek.' 
 
 Then those brave ( hiefs wrung hands, 
 
 and as the crimson flare 
 Died out, and all was dark, the Bishop said 
 
 a prayer ; 
 And shadows loora'd out black against the 
 
 frosty shine. 
 While Turpin search'd his pouch and mur- 
 
 mur'd, ' Here is wine ! ' 
 And Roland on his elbows raised himself 
 
 and quaff' d, 
 Yea, till his head reel'd round, a great and 
 
 goodly draught. 
 And quickly he felt strong, his heart was 
 
 wild and light, 
 He placed his dear Sword softly down, and 
 
 rose his height, 
 Loosening his mail, drew forth the shirt 
 
 that lay beneath. 
 And took the blood-stain'd silk and tore it 
 
 with his teeth. 
 Dressing the Bishop's wounds witli chilly 
 
 hand and slow. 
 Then, while the Bishop pray'd, bound up 
 
 his own wide wound alsoe. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then Roland search'd around, dipping 
 
 his hands in blood, 
 Till in a henchman's pack he found a torch 
 
 of wood. 
 And taking flint and steel, blew with his 
 
 mouth, and lo ! 
 The torch blazed bright, and all grew 
 
 crimson in the glow. 
 Then into Turpin's hands he set that beacon 
 
 bright 
 Who glittering hke fire, sat looming in its 
 
 light, 
 
 And crept across the inead, into the dark 
 
 again. 
 And felt the faces of the dead, seeking the 
 
 mighty men. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Blest be thy name. White Mary, for thy 
 
 breath and might. 
 Like vapour cold, did fill the nostrils of thy 
 
 knight ! 
 Yea, all his force came back, his red wound 
 
 ceased to bleed, 
 And he had hands of strength to do a blessed 
 
 deed ! 
 For one by one he found each well-beloved 
 
 head. 
 Sought out the mighty Chiefs, among the 
 
 drifts of dead, 
 Softly unloosed their helms, let the long 
 
 tresses flow, 
 Trail'd them to Turpin's feet and set them 
 
 in a row ; 
 And underneath the tree the pine-torch 
 
 blazing bright 
 Lit shapes in silvern mail and faces snowy 
 
 white : 
 Sansun, who grasp'd his sword with grip 
 
 that ne'er unloosed ; 
 Gerin, with chin on breast, as if he breathed 
 
 and mused ; 
 Great Guy, with twisted limbs, and bosom 
 
 gash'd and bare. 
 And blood-clots on his arms the frost had 
 
 frozen there ; 
 Old Luz, his skinny hands filled with a foe- 
 man's beard ; 
 Charles with his feet lopp'd oft", Pierre with 
 
 his green eye spear'd ; 
 Sanche, the fierce woman's foe, and round 
 
 his neck, behold ! 
 A lock of lady's hair set in a ring of gold ; 
 Antoine, with crafty smile, as if new fights 
 
 he plann'd ; 
 Gerard, still smiling on the ring that deckt 
 
 his hand ; 
 And, brightest of the host, our Roland's 
 
 comrade dear, 
 The iron woman-shape, the long-lock'd 
 
 Olivier, 
 Who gript the bladeless hilt of Durandal 
 
 his pride. 
 And held it to his kissing lips, as when he 
 
 droop'd and died.
 
 THR DEATH OF ROLAND. 
 
 189 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And Turpin raised the torch, counted them, 
 
 one by one : 
 ' Ah, woe is me, sweet knights, for now your 
 
 work is done ! ' 
 Then, reaching with the Cross, he touch'd 
 
 their brows and cried : 
 ' White Mary take your souls, and place 
 
 them at her side. 
 White Mary take your souls, and guard 
 
 them tenderlie, — 
 For ye were goodly men as any men that 
 
 be!' 
 And Roland stooping touch'd the brow of 
 
 Olivier, 
 Smoothing the silken hair behind the small 
 
 white ear. 
 And cried, ' Ah, woe is me, that we should 
 
 ever part ! ' 
 And kiss'd him on the clay-cold lips, and 
 
 swoon'd, for ache of heart. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then Turpin dropt the torch, that flamed 
 
 upon the ground. 
 But drinking blood and dew, died out with 
 
 drizzlie sound ; 
 I le groped for Roland's heart, and felt it 
 
 faintly beat, 
 And, feeling on the earth, he found the 
 
 wine-tiask sweet, 
 And fainting with the toil, slaked not his 
 
 own great drouth. 
 But, shivering, held the flask to Roland's 
 
 gentle mouth : 
 L'en then, his Soul shot up, and in its shirt 
 
 of steel 
 The Corse sank back, with crash like ice 
 
 that cracks beneath the heel 1 
 
 The frosty wind awaken'd Roland from his 
 
 swound, 
 And, spitting salt foam from liis tongue, he 
 
 look'd around. 
 And saw the Bishop dear lying at length 
 
 close by, — 
 Touch'd him, and found him cold, and 
 
 utter'd a great cry : 
 ' Now, dead and cold, alas ! lieth the noblest 
 
 wight 
 
 For preaching sermons sweet and wielding 
 sword in fight ; 
 
 His voice was as a trump that on a moun- 
 tain blows, 
 
 He scatter'd oils of grace and wasted 
 heathen-foes, — 
 
 White Mary take his soul, to join our com- 
 rades dear, 
 
 And let him wear his Bishop's crown in 
 heaven above, as here 1 ' 
 
 XI. 
 
 Now it grew chiller far, the grass was moist 
 
 with dew, 
 The landskip glimmer'd pale, the frosty 
 
 breezes blew. 
 The many stars above melted like snow- 
 flakes white. 
 Behind the great blue hills the East was 
 
 laced with hght, 
 The dismal vale loom'd clear against a 
 
 crimson glow, 
 Clouds spread above like wool, pale steam 
 
 arose below. 
 And on the faces dead the frosty Morning 
 
 came, 
 On mighty men of mark and squires un- 
 known to fame, 
 And golden mail gleam'd bright, and broken 
 
 steel gleam'd gray. 
 And cold dew filled the wounds of those 
 
 who sleeping lay ; 
 And Roland, rising, drank the dawn with 
 
 lips apart, 
 But scents were in the air that sicken'd his 
 
 proud heart ! 
 Yea, all was deathly still ; and now, though 
 
 it was day, 
 The Moon grew small and pale, but did 
 
 not pass away. 
 The white mist wreath'd and curl'dover the 
 
 glittering dead ; 
 A cock crew, far among the hills, and 
 
 echoes answered. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Then peering to the Fast, through the tliick 
 
 vaporous steam, 
 He spied a naked wood, hard by a running 
 
 stream ;
 
 I90 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Thirsting full sore, he rose, ;ind thither did 
 
 he hie, 
 Faintly, and panting hard, because his end 
 
 was nigh ; 
 But first he stooping loosed from Turpin's 
 
 fingers cold 
 The Cross inlaid with gems and wrought 
 
 about with gold, 
 And bare the holy Cross aloft in one weak 
 
 hand. 
 And with the other trail'd great Adalmar his 
 
 brand. 
 Thus wearily he came into the woody place, 
 And stooping to the stream therein did dip 
 
 his face, 
 And in the pleasant cold let swim his gn at 
 
 black curls, 
 Then swung his head up, damp with the 
 
 dim dewy pearls ; 
 And while the black blood spouted in a 
 
 burning jet, 
 He loosed the bandage of his wound and 
 
 made it wet, 
 Wringing the silken folds, making them 
 
 free from gore. 
 Then placed them cool upon the wound, 
 
 and tightened them once more. 
 
 xrii. 
 
 Eastward rose cloudy mist, drifting like 
 
 smoke in air. 
 Ghastly and round the Sun loom'd with a 
 
 lurid glare. 
 High overhead the Moon shrivell'd with 
 
 sickle chill, 
 The frosty wind dropp'd down, and all was 
 
 deathlier still, 
 Wlien Roland, drawing deep the breath of 
 
 vapours cold 
 Beheld three marble steps, as of a Ruin 
 
 old, 
 And at the great tree-bolls lay many a 
 
 carven stone, 
 Thereto a Dial quaint, where slimy grass 
 
 had grown ; 
 And frosted were the boughs that gatherd 
 
 all around. 
 And cold the runlet crept, with soft and 
 
 soothing sound, 
 And sweetly Roland smiled, thinking, 
 
 ' Since death is nigh. 
 In sooth, I know no gentler place where 
 
 gentle man could die i ' 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Whereon he heard a cry, a crash of 
 
 breaking boughs. 
 And from the thicket wild leapt one with 
 
 painted brows ; 
 Half-naked, glistening grim, with oily limbs, 
 
 he came, 
 His long-nail'd fingers curl'd, his bloodshot 
 
 eyes aflame, 
 Shrieking in his own tongue, as on the 
 
 Chief he flew, 
 ' Yield thee thy sword of fame, and thine 
 
 own flesh thereto ! ' 
 Then Roland gazed and frown'd, though 
 
 nigh unto his death. 
 Sat still, and drew up all his strength in one 
 
 great breath, 
 Pray'd swiftly to the Saints he served in 
 
 former days, 
 With right hand clutch'd the Sword he was 
 
 too weak to raise, 
 And in the left swung up the Cross ! — and, 
 
 shrieking hoarse. 
 Between the eyebrows smote the foe with 
 
 all his force. 
 Yea, smote him to the brain, crashing 
 
 through skin and bone, 
 And prone the heathen fell, as heavy as a 
 
 stone, — 
 While gold and gems of price, unloosen'd 
 
 by the blow, 
 Ev'n as he fell rain'd round the ringlets of 
 
 the foe ; 
 But Roland kiss'd the Cross, and, laughing, 
 
 backward fell, 
 And on the hollow air the laugh rang heavy, 
 
 like a knell. 
 
 XV. 
 
 And Roland thought : ' I surely die ; but, 
 
 ere I end, 
 Let me be sure that thou art ended too, O 
 
 friend ! 
 For should a heathen hand grasp thee when 
 
 I am clay. 
 My ghost would grieve full sore until the 
 
 Judgment Day ! ' 
 Then to the marble steps, under the tall 
 
 bare trees. 
 Trailing the mighty Sword, he crawl'd on 
 
 hands and knees, 
 And on the slimy stoue he struck the blade 
 
 with might —
 
 THE DEATH OF ROLAND. 
 
 191 
 
 The bright hilt sounding shook, the blade 
 
 flash'd sparks of light ; 
 Wildly again he struck, and his sick head 
 
 went round, 
 Again there sparkled fire, again rang hollow 
 
 sound ; 
 Ten times he struck, and threw strange 
 
 echoes down the glade, 
 Yet still unbroken, sparkling fire, ghtter'd 
 
 the peerless blade ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Then Roland wept, and set his face 
 
 against the stone — 
 ' Ah, woe ! 1 shall not rest, though cold be 
 
 flesh and bone ! ' 
 And sickness seized his soul to die so cheer- 
 less death ; 
 When on his naked neck he felt a touch, 
 
 like breath, — 
 And did not stir, but thought, 'O God, 
 
 that madest me, 
 And shall my sword of fame brandish'd by 
 
 heathens be ? 
 And shall I die accursed, beneath a 
 
 heathen's heel ? 
 Too spent to slay the slave whose hated 
 
 breath I feel ! ' 
 Then, clenching teeth, he turn'd to look 
 
 upon the foe, 
 His bright eyes growing dim with coming 
 
 death ; and lo 1 
 His life shot up in fire, his heart arose 
 
 again. 
 For no unhallow'd face loom'd on his dying 
 
 ken, 
 No heathen-breath he felt, — though he 
 
 beheld, indeed, 
 The white arch'd hcnd and round brown 
 
 eyes of Veillintif, his Steed ! 
 
 XVII. 
 
 And pressing his moist cheek on his who 
 
 gazed beneath. 
 Curling the upper lip to show the large 
 
 white teeth, 
 The white horse, quivering, look'd with 
 
 luminous liquid eye. 
 Then waved his streaming mane, and 
 
 utter'd up a cry ; 
 And I^oland's bitterness was spent — he 
 
 laugh'd, he smiled, 
 
 He clasp'd his darling's neck, wept like a 
 
 little child ; 
 He kiss'd the foam-fleck'd lips, and clasp'd 
 
 his friend and cried : 
 ' Ah, nevermore, and nevermore, shall we 
 
 to battle ride ! 
 Ah, nevermore, and nevermore, shall we 
 
 sweet comrades be, 
 And Veillintif, had I the heart to die for- 
 getting thee? 
 To leave thy brave bright heart to break, in 
 
 slavery to the foe? 
 I had not rested in the grave, if it had 
 
 ended so ! 
 Ah, never shall we conquering ride, with 
 
 banners bright unfurl'd, 
 A shining light 'mong lesser lights, a 
 
 wonder to the world ! ' 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 And Veillintif neigh'd low, breathing on 
 
 him who died. 
 Wild rock'd his strong sad heart beneath 
 
 his silken side. 
 Tears roU'd from his brown eyes upon his 
 
 master's cheek. 
 While Roland, gathering strength, though 
 
 wholly worn and weak, 
 Held up the ghttering point of Adalmar the 
 
 brand. 
 And at his comrade's heart drave with his 
 
 dying hand ; 
 And the black blood sprang forth, while 
 
 heavily as lead. 
 With shivering, silken side, the mighty 
 
 Steed fell dead. 
 Then Roland, for his eyes with frosty film 
 
 were dim, 
 Groped lor his friend, crept close, and 
 
 smiled, embracing him ; 
 And, pillow'd on his neck, kissing the pure 
 
 white hair, 
 Clasp'd Adalmar the brand, and tried to 
 
 say a prayer : 
 And that he conquering died wishing all 
 
 men to know. 
 Set firm his lips, and turn'd his face towards 
 
 the foe, 
 Then closed his eyes, and slept, and never 
 
 woke again. 
 
 Roland is dead, the gentle knight I dead is 
 the crown of men !
 
 192 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 
 
 THE GIFT OF EOS. 
 
 Not in a mist of loveless eyes dies he, 
 
 Who loveth truly nobler light than theirs ; 
 To him, nor weariness nor agony. 
 
 Purblind appeals, nor prayers ; 
 To Ithn, the priceless boon 
 
 To 7iiatck from lieights divine till all be done ; 
 Calm ill each dteaiiiy rising of the Moon, 
 
 Glad in each glorious coming of tlie Sun. 
 
 CHORUS OF HOURS. 
 I. 
 
 Lo ! here at the portal, awaiting new light, 
 We linger with pinions dripping dew-light, 
 Our faces shadow'd, our heads inchning, 
 The bright star-frost on our tresses shining ; 
 Our eyes turn'd earthward in vigil holy, 
 Sinking our voices and singing slowly. 
 
 The dark Earth sleepeth to our intoning, 
 The Ocean only is gleaming and moaning ; 
 Our eyelids droop in a still devotion, 
 Yet we see the skies in the glass of Ocean, — 
 The void, star-lighted, is mirror'd faintly, 
 Slow slides the shade of Selene saintly. 
 
 Eos ! Eos ! thou canst not hear us. 
 
 Yet we feel thee breathing in slumber near 
 
 us : 
 Dark is thy cloud-roof'd temple solemn, 
 Shadows deepen round arch and column ; 
 But a quiet light streams round thee, lying 
 In the feeble arms of thy love undying. 
 
 4- 
 Eos ! Eos ! thy cheek faint-gleaming 
 Sendeth a joy through the old man's dream- 
 ing ; 
 His white hair poureth in frosty showers 
 Round a wreath fresh-woven of lily flowers, 
 And the flowers are fading and earthward 
 
 snowing. 
 Save those thou breathest against unknow- 
 ing ! 
 
 TITHONOS. 
 
 What low, strange music throbs about my 
 brain ? 
 I hear a motion as of robes — a moaning. 
 
 EOS. 
 
 'Tis the three sisters and their shadowy 
 train. 
 Beating the right foot solemnly, and in- 
 toning. 
 Ah 1 weary one, and have thy dreams been 
 ill, 
 That thou upheavest thus a face so pale? 
 
 TITHONOS. 
 
 Methought that I was dead, and cold, and 
 still, 
 Deep in the navel of a charmed dale ! 
 Ah, love, thy gift doth heavy burthen bring, 
 
 Now I grow old, grow old, 
 And these weird songs the sisters nightly 
 sing 
 Haunt me with memories strange and 
 manifold ; 
 For every eve, when Phoibos fades away 
 
 Yonderacross Parnassos' snow-tipt height, 
 These halls feel empty, and the courts grow 
 
 gray, 
 The sisters lose the radiance of the day, 
 And thy bright hair fades to a silvern 
 light ; 
 And nothing seems that is not sad though 
 sweet ! 
 But Heaven, this East, yea, and the earth 
 below 
 Are silenced to the ditties these repeat, 
 Sinking their voices sad and singing 
 slow : 
 Yea, Ocean moans with many waters ! sleep 
 Is troublous even upon eyes that weep ! 
 The monsters of the earth are in their lairs 
 Moonlit and cold ; the owl sits still and 
 
 stares 
 Through woody nooks with round white 
 eye ; the vdnd 
 Breatheth and gropeth blind ; 
 The burthen and the mystery and the dream. 
 The sense of things that are and yet may 
 be. 
 The strife between what is and what doth 
 seem, 
 Is weary then on all, and most on me ! 
 
 EOS. 
 
 It is enough to know thou canst not die. 
 Like those of vshom thou 'plainest, drowsy 
 one I
 
 THE GIFT OF EOS. 
 
 193 
 
 TITHONOS. 
 
 The seasons come and go, the moments fly 
 
 Like snow-flakes falling, melting in the 
 
 sun. 
 
 Nothing abideth— all must change the 
 
 earth 
 
 Puts on fresh raiment every dawn of day — 
 
 What seems most precious turns to little 
 
 worth — 
 Our love, whose face was an auroral birth, 
 Steps in the shade an instant, — and is 
 clay. 
 Is it enough to know I cannot die ? 
 
 Further than deathless hfe, can I implore? 
 Ah, but to know, as the slow years sweep 
 
 by, 
 
 That life is worthy to be lived, is more. 
 Wherefore the burthen and the dream 
 
 below ? 
 Wherefore the happiness, the hope, the 
 
 woe? 
 Wherefore the slimy sense of evil things 
 That draws the adder round the young 
 man's eyes? 
 Wherefore the yearnings and imaginings. 
 The songs of bards, the broodings of the 
 wise? 
 Have the gods written only on their scroll : 
 ' Man striveth merely for a little space, — 
 1 hen there is slumber, and the death-bells 
 toll. 
 The children cry, the widow hides her 
 face, 
 The foolish dream is o'er, 
 And all is done for ever evermore ? ' 
 Oh, wherefore life at all, if life be such, — 
 
 A joy, a weariness, a growing gray ! 
 If life be more, how may man hve too 
 much ? 
 
 EOS. 
 Nothing, be sure, can wholly pass awa)'. 
 
 HOURS. 
 
 Crow's-nest on a yew-tree, swing slow in 
 
 sad weather, 
 A lock o' wet hair pastes thy brown sides 
 
 together ! — 
 Rlood-red were her lips till she paled and 
 
 grew thin. 
 As the pink undcr-eyelid of snakes was her 
 
 skin. 
 
 Crow's-nest on a yew-tree that grows on a 
 
 tomb, 
 The little black fledghngs croak low in the 
 
 gloom ; 
 O maiden below, canst thou hear how they 
 
 cry? 
 Dost thou stir in thy sleep as the adder 
 
 goes by ? 
 A worm crawl'd away with the little gold 
 
 ring 
 He placed on thy finger that summer 
 
 morning ; 
 Then thy hand became bone, then was 
 
 turn'd into clay, 
 While thy heart wither'd slowly ; but cheerly, 
 
 to-day 
 Thy fingers are leaves on the tree, in whose 
 
 shade 
 He sits with as tender a maid ! 
 
 TITHONOS. 
 
 Of death, corruption, change, and mystery, 
 They chant their chime to which the old 
 world sleeps ! 
 Why not for ever stand they bright and free. 
 Flinging a glad song over dales and deeps. 
 As morn by mom they do, when from my 
 breast 
 With rosy footsteps thou dost bright'ning 
 go. 
 Blue-winged, to Parnassos? 
 
 EOS. 
 
 Be at rest ! 
 The sense of things is dark on these also ! 
 And e'en immortal gods grow pale at times 
 To hear their world-old rhymes. 
 Yea, Zeus the Sire himself beholds and 
 hears, 
 Stares vacantly into the blue profound. 
 What time a rainbow drawn from all earth's 
 tears 
 Fades on Olumpos with a weeping sound ! 
 
 TITHONOS. 
 
 What then remains, my soul, if this be so? 
 
 EOS. 
 
 Around my neck I wind thy beard of 
 gray, 
 And kiss thy quivering eyelids till they glow, 
 And thy face lightens on me, and I say, 
 ' Look in mine eyes and know ! ' 
 
 O
 
 194 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 HOURS. 
 
 O clod of green mould, that wast lately a 
 
 man, 
 Time was thou wert footsore and weary 
 
 and wan, 
 When thy brain was as fire, when thine eyes 
 
 were as lead, 
 "WTien thy hair was as white as the bones of 
 
 the dead ! 
 Dust in the urn, on a shelf, in a shrine. 
 Hast thou ears, hast thou eyes, canst thou 
 
 feel, or divine? 
 Bones in the ground, can ye guess what ye 
 
 be? 
 Brain, in the midst of the bones, canst thou 
 
 see? 
 Corse, in a clod-gown clammy with dew, 
 Skull, with a hole where the arrow went 
 
 through, 
 Do ye dream, are ye troubled, remember ye 
 
 there 
 The life and the light that ye were? 
 
 TITHONOS. 
 
 Thine eyes are lit with passion strong enew 
 To melt a mortal's heart to fiery dew ! 
 The burthen and the wonder and the dream. 
 Yea, aU I am or was, and all I seem, 
 Are dwarf d within these hquid orbs of thine 
 To the blue shadow of a love divine ! 
 Yea, sweetest, love is surest, truest, best ! 
 And dearest, knowing it must last for long ! 
 
 EOS. 
 Now, close thine eyes, lean heavy on my 
 breast, 
 And let my lips rain over thee in song ! — 
 Thou wert a mortal who with fearless eyes 
 Dared seek the love of an immortal thing; 
 Plead low thou didst, and strive and 
 agonise. 
 Yet time ebb'd on, and little peace did 
 bring ; 
 And the immortal joy seem'd far away. 
 Lessening and lessening to a speck of 
 gold 
 Against the gates of sunrise, — till that day 
 I came upon thee where thou sleeping lay. 
 Breathed smoothness on thy wrinkled 
 forehead old, 
 And woke thee to these wondrous halls, 
 from whence 
 
 Thou seest the glimmering tract of earth 
 below. 
 And tranced thee to nuptials so intense 
 Thy flesh and blood seem'd melting off 
 like snow, 
 Leaving thy soul in its eternal hues 
 Clear, strong, and pale, as yonder crystal 
 sphere 
 That swings above my threshold, sprinkling 
 dews 
 Immortal over all who enter here ! — 
 And still thy corporal semblance ages on. 
 Thy hair dries up, thy bones grow chill 
 and bare. 
 A little while, my love, and all is gone, 
 Drunk by the lips of a diviner air 1 
 
 TITHONOS. 
 
 Ah woe ! ah woe ! — and I am lost for aye ! 
 
 EOS. 
 Nothing, be sure, can wholly pass away ! 
 
 And nothing suffers loss if love remains ! 
 The motion of mine air consumes thy clay. 
 My breath dries up the moisture of thy 
 
 veins ; 
 Yet have I given thee immortal being, 
 
 Thereto immortal love, immortal power. 
 Consuming thy base substance till thy see- 
 ing 
 Grows clearer, brighter, purer, hour by 
 hour ; — 
 Immortal honour, too, is thine, for thou 
 Hast sought the highest meed the gods 
 can give — 
 Immortal Love hath stoop'd to kiss thy 
 brow ! 
 Immortal Love hath smiled, and bade 
 thee live ! 
 Wherefore the gods have given thee mighty 
 meed. 
 And snatch'd thee from the death-pyres 
 of thy race. 
 To wear away these weary mortal weeds 
 
 In a serener and a purer place, — 
 Not amid warriors on a battle plain, 
 
 Not by the breath of pestilence or woe. 
 But here, at the far edge of earth and 
 main, 
 Whence light and love and resurrection 
 flow — 
 And I upon thy breast, to soothe the pain 1
 
 THE GIFT OF EOS. 
 
 »95 
 
 Immortal life assured, what mattereth 
 That it be not the old fond life of breath ! 
 Immortal life assured, the soul is free — 
 It is enough to be ! 
 
 For lo ! the love, the dream, to which is 
 given 
 Divine assurance by a mortal peace, 
 Mix with the wonders of supremest heaven, 
 Become a part of that which cannot 
 cease. 
 And being eternal must be beauteous too, 
 And being beauteous, surely must be 
 glad ! 
 O love, my love, thy wildest dreams were 
 true, 
 Though thou were footsore in thy quest, 
 and sad ! 
 Not in a mist of hungry eyes dies he 
 Who loveth purely nobler light than 
 theirs ; 
 For him nor weariness nor agony, 
 Purblind appeals, nor prayers ; 
 But circled by the peace serene and holy 
 
 Of that divinest thought he loved so long, 
 Pensive, not melancholy, 
 He mingles with those airs that made 
 him strong, — 
 A little loath to quit 
 
 The old familiar dwelling-house of clay. 
 Yet calm, as the warm wind dissolveth it. 
 And leaf by leaf it droppeth quite away. 
 To him the priceless boon 
 To watch from heights serene till all be 
 done ; 
 Calm in each dreamy rising of the Moon, 
 Glad in each glorious coming of the Sun i 
 
 HOURS. 
 
 The stars are fading away in wonder, 
 Small sounds are stirring around and 
 
 under, 
 Far away, from beneath the ocean, 
 We hear a murmur of wheels in motion, 
 And the wind that brings it along rejoices, — 
 Our hearts beat quicker, we lift our voices ! 
 
 EOS. 
 
 It is Apollo ! Hitherward he urges 
 
 His four steeds, steaming odorous fumes 
 of day ; 
 Along his chariot-wheels the white sea 
 surges. 
 As up he drives his fiery-footed way. 
 
 TITHONOS. 
 
 Ye brighten, O ye columns round about ! 
 Ye melt in purple shades, arches and 
 towers ! 
 Cloud-roof, thou partest, and white hands 
 shp out. 
 Scattering pearls and flowers ! 
 Brighter and brighter, blazing red and gold, 
 Purple and amethyst, that float and 
 fly !— 
 While, creeping in, a dawn-wind fresh and 
 cold 
 Pours silver o'er the couch whereon I lie ! 
 Afar the coming of Apollo grows ! 
 
 His breath lifts up my hair ! my pulses 
 
 beat ! 
 My beard is moist with dews divinely 
 sweet, 
 My lap is fill'd with sparkling leaves of 
 
 rose, 
 Wherein my fingers, withered and sere. 
 Grope palsiedly in joy ! — Afar I hear 
 The low, quick breathing that the earth is 
 
 making — 
 Eastward she turns her dewy side, awaking. 
 But thou ! but thou ! 
 
 Insufferably brightening ! 
 Thy feet )'et bathed in moist still shade, thy 
 brow 
 Glistening and lightening, 
 Thy luminous eyes enlarging, ring in ring 
 
 Of liquid azure, and thy golden hair 
 Unfolding downward, curl on curl, to cling 
 Around thy naked feet rose-tipt and 
 bare ! 
 Thy hands stretch'd out to catch the flowers 
 down-flowing, 
 Thy blushing look on mine, thy light 
 green vest 
 In balmy airs of morning backward blowing 
 
 From one divine white breast ! 
 The last star melts above thee in the blue. 
 The cold moon shrinks her horn, as thou 
 dost go 
 Parnassos-ward, flower-laden, drippingdew. 
 Heralding him who cometh from below 1 
 
 HOURS. 
 
 Our hearts beat quicker, we lift our voices. 
 The east grows golden, the earth rejoices, 
 
 O 2
 
 igfi 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 White clouds part with a radiant motion, 
 Moist sails glimmer beneath on Ocean, 
 And downward tripping, the sweet Immortal 
 Blushingly pauses without the portal ! 
 
 2. 
 
 Eos ! Eos ! the sound from under 
 Deepens in music and might and wonder : 
 Thou standest now on Parnassos' moun- 
 tain. 
 Thy feet drip pearls from the sacred foun- 
 tain. 
 And the Sisters nine, to thy bright skirt 
 
 clinging. 
 Greet thee with smiling and mystic singing ! 
 
 Eos ! Eos ! all earth beholds thee, 
 The light of the sunrise there infolds thee, 
 A cry comes up from the earth below thee. 
 Mountains and forests and waters know 
 
 thee, 
 Fresh airs thy robe are backward blowing. 
 Under thy footprints flowers are growing ! 
 
 Eos ! Eos ! the sound is louder ! 
 
 Behinds reams radiance fiercer and 
 
 prouder ! 
 A moment thou blushest, and glad we view 
 
 thee, 
 Then Apollo the Fire-God speeds unto thee, 
 Speeding by with a smile he hails thee, — 
 And the golden cloud of his breathing veils 
 
 thee ! 
 
 CLARI IN THE WELL. 
 
 O MY fountain of a maiden, 
 
 Sweet to hear and bright to see, 
 Now before mine eyes love-laden 
 Dancing, thrilling, flashing free, — 
 Still thy sparkling bliss a moment, sit thee 
 down, and look at me. 
 
 Gaze into my face, my dearest ! 
 
 Through thy gleaming, golden hair ; 
 Meet mine eyes— ah ! thine are clearest 
 When my image floateth there ; 
 Now, they still themselves, like waters when 
 the windless skies are fair. 
 
 In those depths of limpid azure 
 See my baby hkeness beam ! 
 Deep blue with reflected pleasure 
 From some heavenly dome of dream. 
 Crystal currents of thy spirit swim around 
 it, glance, and gleam I 
 
 Hold my hand, and heark'ning to me 
 
 For a space, be calm and cold. 
 While that liquid look flows through me 
 And I love thee twenty-fold, 
 I am smiling at a story thy dead mother 
 often told. 
 
 When thou wast a httle blossom 
 Blown about thy village home. 
 Thou didst on that mother's bosom 
 Put a question troublesome : 
 'Mother, please, where did you find me? 
 whence do little children come ? ' 
 
 And the dame with bright beguiling 
 Kiss'd her answer first, my dear ! 
 But, still prest, she answer'd smiling — 
 ' In the orchard Well so clear. 
 Thou wert seen one sunny morning, sleep- 
 ing, and we brought thee here.' 
 
 With a look as grave as this is 
 
 Thou didst ponder thoughts profound ; 
 On the ne.xt day with fond kisses 
 Clinging mother's neck around — 
 ' Mother ! mother ! I've been looking in the 
 Well where I was found ! 
 
 ' Bright and clear it is ! but — mother ! ' 
 (Here thine eyes look'd wonderingly) 
 ' In the well there is another — 
 Just the very same as me ! — 
 And it is awake and moving— and its pretty 
 eyes can see ! 
 
 ' When I stretch my arms unto it, 
 
 Out its little arms stretch too ! 
 Apple-blossoms red I threw it. 
 And it broke away from view- 
 Then again it look'd up laughing through 
 the waters deep and blue ! ' 
 
 Then thy gentle mother kiss'd thee, 
 
 Clari, as I kiss thee now, 
 With a wondering fondness bless'd thee, 
 Smoolh'd the bright hair from thy 
 brow — 
 Saying, ' 'Tis a little Sister, happy-eyed and 
 sweet as thou !
 
 CLARl IN THE WELL— SERENADES. 
 
 197 
 
 ' Underneath the deep pure water 
 
 Dwell its parents in green bowers — 
 Yes, it is their little daughter, 
 Just the same as thou art ours ; 
 And it loves to lie there, looking at the 
 pleasant orchard flowers. 
 
 ' Every day, while thou art growing, 
 
 Thou wilt find thy Sister fair — 
 Even when the skies are snowing 
 And the water freezes there. 
 Break the blue ice, — through the water with 
 a cold cheek she vnll stare ! 
 
 ' As thou changest, growing taller, 
 
 She will change, through all the years — 
 Well thou may'st thy Sister call her. 
 She will share thy hopes and fears, 
 She will wear the face thou wearest, sweet 
 in smiles and sad in tears. 
 
 'Ah, my darling ! may'st thou ever 
 
 See her look as kind and bright. 
 Find her woeful-featured never 
 In the pleasant orchard light — 
 May you both be glad and happy, when 
 your golden locks are white ! ' 
 
 Golden locks ! — what, these grow hoary? 
 
 Wrinkles mar a face like this ? 
 Break the charm of the old story 
 With the magic of a kiss — 
 Here thou art, my deep-eyed darling, as 
 thou wast, — a thing of bliss. 
 
 Does she love thee ? does she miss thee ? 
 
 Thy sweet Sister in the well ? 
 Does she mourn because I kiss thee — 
 Fearing what she cannot tell ? — 
 For you both are link'd together by a truth 
 and by a spell. 
 
 Darling, be my love and duty 
 Judged by her I and prove me so ; 
 
 When upon her mystic beauty 
 Thou perceivest shame or woe ; 
 When she changes into sadness, may God 
 judge, and strike me low ! 
 
 Thou and thy sweet Sister move in 
 
 A diviner element, 
 Clear as light, more sweet to love in 
 
 Than my world so turbulent ; 
 Holy waters bathe and bless you, peaceful, 
 
 bright, and innocent. 
 
 And within those eyes of azure 
 See ! my baby image beam, 
 Deep blue with reflected pleasure 
 From some heavenly dome of dream. 
 Crystal currents of thy spirit swim around 
 it, glance, and gleam. 
 
 O my fountain of a maiden, 
 
 Be thy days for ever blest. 
 Dancing in mine eyes love-laden, 
 
 Lying smiling on my breast, — 
 Brighter than a fount, in motion, deeper 
 
 than a well, at rest. 
 
 SERENADES. 
 
 Sleep on thine eyes, peace in thy breast, 
 White-limb'd lady, be at rest ! 
 Near the room wherein you lie. 
 Broods the owl with luminous eye. 
 
 Midnight comes ; all fair things sleep. 
 While all dark things vigil keep ; 
 Round thy bed thy scented bower 
 Foldeth like a lily-flower. 
 
 All so still around thee lies. 
 
 Peace in thy breast, sleep on thine eyes ! 
 
 All without is dark as death. 
 
 But thy lover wakeneth. 
 
 Underneath thy bower I pace, 
 Star-dew sparkling on my face ; 
 All around me, swift of flight. 
 Move the creatures of the night. 
 
 Hark, the great owl cries again 
 With an echo in the brain ; 
 And the dark earth in her sleep 
 Stirs and trembles, breathing deep. 
 
 .'^lecp on thine eyes, peace in thy breast 1 
 Fold thy hands and take thy rest ; 
 All the night, till morning break, 
 Spirits walk and lovers wake ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Sleep sweet, beloved one, sleep sweet ! 
 
 Without here night is growing, 
 The dead leaf falls, the dark boughs meet, 
 
 And a chill wind is blowing.
 
 198 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 Strange shapes are stirring in the night, 
 To the deep breezes wailing, 
 
 And slow, with wistful gleams of light, 
 The storm-tost moon is sailing. 
 
 Sleep sweet, beloved one, sleep sweet ! 
 
 Fold thy white hands, my blossom ! 
 Thy warm limbs in thy lily sheet, 
 
 Thy hands upon thy bosom. 
 Though evil thoughts may walk the dark, 
 
 Not one shall near thy chamber ; 
 But shapes divine shall pause to mark, 
 
 Singing to lutes of amber. 
 
 Sleep sweet, beloved one, sleep sweet ! 
 
 Though, on thy bosom creeping. 
 Strange hands are laid, to feel the beat 
 
 Of thy soft heart in sleeping. 
 The brother angels, Sleep and Death, 
 
 Stoop by thy couch and eye thee ; 
 And Sleep stoops down to drink thy breath, 
 
 While Death goes softly by thee 1 
 
 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 HE. 
 
 Seest thou two waifs of cloud on the dim 
 blue 
 Wandering in the melancholy light? 
 Methinks they seem hke spirits bright and 
 
 true. 
 Blending their gentle breaths, and born 
 anew, 
 In the still rapture of this heavenly 
 night ! 
 See ! how the flowering stars their path be- 
 strew, 
 Till the moon turns, and smiles, and looks 
 them through. 
 And breathes upon them, when with 
 
 bosoms white 
 They blend on one another, and unite. 
 Now they are gone, they vanish from our 
 view. 
 Lost in that radiance exquisitely 
 bright! . . . 
 O love ! my love ! methinks that thou and I 
 Resemble those thin waifs in Heaven 
 astray ; 
 We meet, we blend, grow bright I 
 
 SHE. 
 
 And we must die ! 
 
 HE. 
 
 Nay, sweet, for Love can never pass 
 away ! 
 
 SHE. 
 
 Are they not gone ? and, dear, shall we not 
 go? 
 O Love is Life, but after Life comes 
 Death ! 
 
 HE. 
 
 No flower, no drop of rain, no flake of 
 
 snow, 
 No beauteous thing that blossometh below, 
 May perish, though it vanish ev'n as 
 
 breath ! 
 The bright moon drinks those wanderers of 
 
 the west, 
 They melt in her warm breathing, and are 
 
 blest. 
 We see them not, but in that light divine 
 Upgather'd, they are happy, and they shine : 
 Not lost, but vanish'd, grown ev'n unawares 
 A part of a diviner light than theirs ! 
 
 NIGHTINGALES SING. 
 
 Thrcuigh our throats the raptures rise, 
 
 In the scented air they swim ; 
 
 From the skies, 
 
 With their own love-lustre dim, 
 
 Gaze innumerable eyes I — 
 
 Sweet, O sweet. 
 
 Thrills the music from each throat. 
 
 Thick and fleet, 
 
 Note on note, 
 
 Till in ecstasy we float I 
 
 SHE. 
 
 How vast looks Heaven ! how solitary and 
 
 deep I 
 Dost thou believe that Spirits walk the 
 
 air. 
 Treading those azure fields, and downward 
 
 peep 
 With great sad eyes when Earth is fast 
 
 asleep ? 
 
 HE. 
 
 One spirit, at least, immortal Love, is 
 there I
 
 IN THE GARDEN. 
 
 199 
 
 A SHOOTING STAR. 
 
 Swift from my bliss, in the silence above, 
 I slip to thy kiss, O my star ! O my love ! 
 
 SPIRITS IN THE LEAVES. 
 
 Who are these twain in the garden-bowers? 
 They glide with a rapture rich as ours. 
 Touch them, feel them, and drink their sighs, 
 Brush their lips and their cheeks and eyes ! 
 
 How their hearts beat ! how they glow i 
 Brightly, lightly, they come and go ; 
 Upward gazing they look in bliss. 
 Save when softly they pause, to kiss. 
 
 Kiss them also, and share the light 
 
 That fills their breathing this golden night. 
 
 Touch them 1 clasp them ! round them 
 
 twine. 
 Their lips are burning with breath divine. 
 
 HE. 
 
 Love, tread this way with rosy feet ; 
 And resting on the shadowy seat 
 'Neath the laburnum's golden rain, 
 Watch how with murmurous refrain 
 The fountain leaps, its basin dark 
 Flashing with many a starry spark. 
 With such a bliss, with such a Light, 
 With such an iteration bright. 
 Our souls upbubbling from the clay. 
 Leap, sparkle, blend in silvern spray. 
 Gleam in the Moon, and, falUng still. 
 Sink dusldly with tremulous thrill. 
 Together blent with kiss and press. 
 In dark surcease of happiness. 
 Yet there they pause not, but, cast free 
 After deep pause of ecstasy, 
 Heavenward they leap, together clinging, 
 And like the fountain flash, upspringing ! 
 
 THE FOUNTAIN LEAPING. 
 
 Higher, still higher ! 
 
 With a trembling and gleaming 
 
 Still upward streaming. 
 In the sparkling fire 
 Of a dim desire ; 
 Still higher, higher. 
 
 With a bright pulsation 
 
 Of asi)iration, — 
 Higher I 
 
 Higher, still higher I 
 
 To the lights above me ; 
 
 They gleam, they love me, 
 They beckon me nigher, 
 And my waves aspire. 
 Still higher, higher ; — 
 
 But I fall down failing. 
 
 Still wildly wailing — 
 Higher ! 
 
 NIGHTINGALES SING. 
 
 Deeper now our raptures grow ; 
 
 Softlier let our voices croon ! 
 
 Yet more slow, 
 
 Let our happy music flow. 
 
 Sweet and slow, hush'd and low. 
 
 Now the dark cloud veils the Moon. 
 
 Sweet, O sweet ! 
 
 Watch her as our wild hearts beat ! . . 
 
 See ! she quits the clasping cloud, 
 
 Forth she sails on shining feet, 
 
 Smihng, with her bright head bow'd ! 
 
 Pour the living rapture loud ! 
 
 Thick and fleet, 
 
 Sweet, O sweet. 
 
 Now the notes of rapture crowd 1 
 
 SHE (to herself). 
 
 And this is Love ! — Until this hour 
 
 I never lived ; but like a flower 
 
 Close prest i' the bud, with sleeping senses 
 
 I drank the dark dim influences 
 
 Of sunhght, moonlight, shade, and dew. 
 
 At last I open, thrilling thro' 
 
 With Love's strange scent, which seemeth 
 
 part 
 Of the warm life within my heart, 
 Part of the air I breathe . . . O bliss ! 
 Was ever night so sweet as this ? 
 It is enough to breathe, to be, 
 As if one were a flower, a tree, 
 A leaf o' the bough, just stirring light 
 With the warm breathing of the night ! 
 
 SPIRITS IN THE LEAVES. 
 
 Whisper ! what are they doing now ? 
 He is kissing her white, white brow, 
 Turning it sofdy to the light. 
 Like a beautiful tablet marble white. 
 
 The Moon is shining upon it— lo I 
 Whiter it is than driven snow. 
 He kisseth again and speaketh gay ; 
 Whisper, whisper ! what doth he say?
 
 20C 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 HE. 
 
 For ever and ever ! for ever and ever ! 
 As the fount that upleaps, as the breezes 
 that blow, 
 
 Love thou me ! 
 For ever and ever, for ever and ever, 
 While the nightingales sing and the rose 
 garlands glow, 
 
 Love I thee ! 
 For ever and ever, with all things to prove 
 
 us. 
 In this world, in that world that bendeth 
 
 above us, 
 Asleeping, awaking, in earth, as in Heaven, 
 By this kiss, this other, by thousands un- 
 
 given. 
 By the hands which now touch thee, the 
 
 arms that enfold thee. 
 By the soul in my eyes that now swoons to 
 
 behold thee. 
 By starlight, by moonlight, by scented rose- 
 blossoms, 
 By all things partaking the joy of our 
 
 bosoms. 
 By the rapture within us, the raptiu-e around 
 
 us. 
 By God who has made us and Love who 
 
 hath crown'd us. 
 One sense and one soul we are blent, ne'er 
 
 to sever. 
 For ever and ever ! for ever and ever ! 
 More kisses to seal jt * * * • For ever and 
 
 ever ! 
 
 THE WOOD ECHOES. 
 
 For ever and ever ! 
 
 THE ASRAL 
 
 (prologue to the CHANGELING.) 
 
 'Tis midnight, and the light upon my desk 
 Burns dim and blue, and flickers as I read 
 The gold-clasp'd tome, whose stained yellow 
 
 leaves 
 Feel spongy to the touch yet rough with 
 
 dust. 
 When Clari, from her chamber overhead, 
 Her bright hair flowing brighter' from the 
 
 brush, 
 Steals in, and peeps, and sits upon my 
 
 knee, 
 
 And winds her gentle arms around my 
 
 neck. 
 Then sidelong peeping, on the page antique 
 Rains her warm looks, and kisses as I read. 
 
 ' Before man grew of the four elements. 
 The Asrai grew of three — fire, water, air — 
 Not earth, — they were not earthly. That 
 
 was ere 
 The opening of the golden eye of day : 
 The world was silvern, — moonlight mystical 
 Flooded her silent continents and seas, — 
 And in green places the pale Asrai walked 
 To deep and melancholy melody. 
 Musing, and cast no shades. 
 
 ' These could not die 
 As men die ; Death came later ; pale yet 
 
 fair. 
 Pensive yet happy, in the lonely light 
 The Asrai wander'd, choosing for their 
 
 homes 
 All gentle places— valleys mossy deep, 
 Star-haunted waters, yellow strips of sand 
 Kissing the sad edge of the shimmering 
 
 sea. 
 And porphyry caverns in the gaunt hill- 
 sides. 
 Frosted with gems and dripping diamond 
 
 dews 
 In mossy basins where the water black 
 Bubbled with wondrous breath. The world 
 
 was pale. 
 And these were things of pallor ; flowers 
 
 and scents. 
 All shining things, came later ; later still, 
 Ambition, with thin hand upon his heart, 
 Crept out of night and hung the heights of 
 
 heaven 
 With lights miraculous ; later still, man 
 
 dug 
 Out of the caves the thick and golden glue 
 That knits together the stone ribs of earth ; 
 Nor flowers, nor scents, the palhd Asrai 
 
 knew. 
 Nor burning aspiration heavenward. 
 Nor blind dejec.ion downward under earth 
 After the things that glitter. Their desires 
 Shone stationary — gentle love they felt 
 For one another — in their sunless world 
 Silent they walked and mused, knowing no 
 
 guile. 
 With lives that flow'd within as quietly
 
 THE ASRAl—THE CHANGELTNG. 
 
 20 1 
 
 As rain-drops dripping with bright measured 
 
 beat 
 From mossy cavern-eaves.' 
 
 O Love ! My love ! 
 How thy heart beats ! how the fond kisses 
 
 rain ! 
 We cannot love hke those— ours is a pain, 
 A tumult, a delirium, a dream. 
 O little one of four sweet elements. 
 Fire on thy face, and moisture in thine 
 
 eyes, 
 Thy white breast heaving vkith the balmy 
 
 air, 
 And in thy heart and on thy kissing mouth 
 The warmth, the joy. the impulse, and 
 
 delight 
 Of the enamour'd gentle-hearted earth 
 Bright with the flowery fulness of the sun ! 
 
 THE CHANGELING. 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE MOONLIGHT. 
 I, 
 
 The Asrai. 
 
 ' O LET him smile as Mortals may, 
 
 And be like Mortals fair, 
 And let him tread the wondrous way 
 
 Of golden earth and air ; 
 And let the sun's celestial ray 
 Shine on his sense from day to day, 
 
 Far from these waters wan. 
 Strew flowers and fruits upon his way. 
 
 And make him blest,— like Man ! ' 
 
 Who prays? Who cries? Who is kneeling 
 
 by night 
 Down in the Mere in the pale moonlight. 
 Where pensive Spirits come and go 
 In gleaming raiments as white as snow. 
 Walking with silent and solemn tread 
 That darkling bottom of silvern sands? 
 Like an azure heaven, far overhead, 
 The surface smooth of the Mere expands. 
 Strewn thick with glimmers of starry dew 
 Reflected down from the ether blue 
 Those Spirits behold not. 
 
 Strangely fair. 
 With flashing fingers and flowing hair. 
 
 Her face upturned in the rippling rays, 
 Down in the Mere the Spirit prays ; 
 And on her bosom there waking lies 
 Her Asrai babe with glittering eyes, — 
 Silent, as white as a marble stone. 
 It lies, but utters a feeble moan. 
 
 For ere of the earth, and the air, and the 
 dew. 
 And the fire, that fuseth all these to one. 
 Bright Man was fashion'd, and lived and 
 grew. 
 And walked erect in the shining sun, 
 When the sun itself was eyeless and dark. 
 And the earth was wrapped in a starry 
 night. 
 And the only lights that the eyes might 
 mark 
 Were the cold still spheres of a moon 
 snow-white ; 
 Ev'n then, of the dew and the crystal air. 
 And the moonray mild, were the Asrai 
 made ; 
 And they walked and mused in the midnight 
 air, 
 But they had no souls and they cast no 
 shade. 
 They knew no hunger and mad desire. 
 
 No bitter passion of mortal birth. 
 For they were not fashion'd, like Man, from 
 fire. 
 They were not leavened, like Man, with 
 earth — 
 Cold they were as the pale moonbeam, 
 Cold and pure as a vestal's dream. 
 Serene they dwelt in a silvern world. 
 
 Where throbbing waters stole dusky- 
 white, 
 Washing the feet of dark capes star-pearl'd, 
 And arch'd by rainbows of rippling light 
 
 And when to the paean of living things. 
 To the cry of the new-bom worlds 
 
 around. 
 Out rolled the Sun, like a shape with 
 
 wings. 
 Mighty with odour, and flame, and 
 
 sound ; 
 As the dim dew shaken from Earth's dark 
 
 hair. 
 While she woke and gladdened supremely 
 
 fair,
 
 202 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 In the glorious gleam of the natal ray, 
 
 The pallid Asrai faded away ! 
 
 And when with the sunlight's fiery breath 
 
 Bright Man was moulded, and stood 
 supreme, 
 Royal, the monarch of life and death, 
 
 Shadow'd with slumber and dower'd with 
 dream. 
 Their trace was lost ; on the human shore 
 Those sad pale Spirits were seen no more ! 
 
 . . . Yet far away in the darkened places. 
 Deep in the mountains and under the 
 meres, 
 A few fair Spirits with sunless faces 
 
 Lingered on with the rolling years, 
 And listened, listened, luminous-eyed, 
 WTiile the generations arose and died, 
 And watch'd, watch'd, with sad surprise. 
 The gleaming glory of earth and skies. 
 Beyond their darkness. But ever, by night, 
 When the moon arose with her gentle light, 
 The Asrai, hidden from human seeing, 
 Drank the moonlight that was their being, — 
 Stirring about with a stealthy tread 
 On the mountain side, on the water's bed, 
 Or singing low and clasping hands, 
 Shadowless moving on shining sands. 
 
 But Earth with the snows of time was gray, 
 
 When one of this race so meek and mild. 
 An Asrai mother, knelt down to pray. 
 
 To heaven uplifting her little child ; 
 For the Asrai with passionless chilly kiss 
 
 Still mingled darkly as mortals do. 
 And on their bosoms bare babes like this. 
 
 With hair soft golden and eyes of blue, 
 Like the eyes of stars ! 
 
 And she cried that night — 
 ' Blessed indeed is the beauteous light. 
 And blessed are those sun-phantoms fair. 
 For the light turns golden on their hair. 
 And their faces are flowers and their breath 
 
 is a fire, 
 And they move about with a sweet desire 
 In the amber day ; and each night they lie 
 Quietly smiling beneath the sky. 
 Till the rubies of morning again are shaken 
 Upon their eyelids, and they awaken ! " 
 And she prayed moreover — ' Could this 
 
 thing be ! 
 Could the child I nurse upon my knee, 
 
 My own pale little one, blend with clay. 
 And grow a thing of divinest day, 
 Like those fair mortals ! ' 
 
 Then out of the air 
 There came in answer unto her prayer 
 A gentle voice ; and it whispered, ' Rise ! 
 Steal from the water, and under the skies 
 Find a dead Mother, and on her bed 
 A nezv-born Babe that is also dead; 
 Blend thy Babe with the mortal clay. 
 And the thing shall be as thoti hast prayed — 
 Thy Child shall walk in the golden day. 
 Shall find a Soul, and cast a Shade!' 
 
 II. 
 
 The Changeling's Birth. 
 
 She rises up from the depths of the Mere 
 And floats away on the surface clear. 
 Like a swan she sails to the shadowy 
 
 sands. 
 And soon on the moonlit earth she stands. 
 Moonbeam-like in the moonbeams bright, 
 
 A space she lingers upon the shore. 
 Then steals along through the dusky light 
 
 Up the hill and across the moor. 
 She sees a light that flashes afar 
 Through the dark hke a crimson star, 
 Now it glimmers, and now is gone. 
 For shadows come and go thereon. 
 It comes from the shepherd's dwelling lone, 
 Rudely fashioned of turf and stone ; 
 And the sheep dog barks, and the sheep o" 
 
 the fold 
 Huddle together in wintry cold ; 
 But within the hut the light burns low, 
 And mortals whispering come and go ; 
 For there on the wretched truckle bed 
 The wife of the shepherd lieth dead, 
 And her babe new born by her side doth lie 
 Closing its eyes with a last faint cry. 
 
 . . . The Spirit trembles, as on her hair 
 Flasheth the firelight's crimson glare ; 
 Trembles and fades ; but she draweth near, 
 Eager to see, eager to hear. 
 Close to the window-pane she flees. 
 And looketh in 1 
 
 In the room she sees. 
 None stir : 'tis empty ; but on the bed 
 The child and mother are lying dead.
 
 THE CHANGELING. 
 
 203 
 
 The light burns low ; the clock ticks slow ; 
 Spectral shadows come and go ; 
 From the room without a murmur creeps 
 Of whispered words, and one that weeps. 
 
 O Moon ! still Moon ! 
 
 Sweet and white as a lily in June, 
 
 In the garden of heaven bend thy brows 
 
 And waft thy breathing into the house ! 
 
 For the pallid creature of thy breath 
 
 The cottage window openeth, 
 
 And stealeth in. Like a moonray bright, 
 
 Holding her own babe in her hands. 
 And bending above that bed, snow white 
 
 She stands ! 
 
 Find a dead Mother, and on her bed 
 A new-born Babe that is also dead. 
 Blend thy Babe with the mortal clay 
 find the thing shall pass as thou hast 
 
 frayed : 
 Thy child shall walk in the golden day. 
 Shall find a Soul, and shall cast a Shade. 
 
 O Moon ! still Moon ! 
 
 The wonderful spell is woven soon ! 
 
 Breathe again on her hair and eyes. 
 
 As she creepeth out, and under the skies 
 
 Listens ! O hark ! from within is blown 
 
 A child's low murmur, an infant's moan ! 
 
 Shadows darken across the pane. 
 
 For the peasants gather wondering-eyed — 
 The child of the shepherd lives again. 
 
 Smiling awake by the corpse's side. 
 
 III. 
 
 His Mortal Life. 
 
 Weary to tell and weary to hear 
 
 Were the mortal life for many a year 
 
 Of that changeling child ; but he grew on 
 
 earth. 
 Knowing nought of his mystic birth. 
 And ever waxed more strong and fair. 
 With the glory of daylight on eyes and 
 
 hair. 
 
 And the poor pale Mother Spirit smiled 
 From far away on her happy child. 
 Thinking, ' He thrives, and the golden 
 
 hours 
 Fill his lap with their fruit and flowers. 
 
 And he feels the sun, and he drinks its 
 
 light. 
 Growing on to a mortal s height. 
 And ever nightly unseen she came 
 And kiss'd him asleep, to her heart's 
 
 desire, 
 Though his breath met hers with the fever'd 
 
 flame 
 Of a fatal fire. 
 
 She watched him still with a hunger keen, 
 
 Stronger than mortal mothers know ; 
 She hover'd o'er him, unheard, unseen, 
 
 Wherever his feet might come and go, 
 In the sunless hours ; and all the day 
 She marked his motion from far away, 
 And heard his voice, through the shine and 
 
 the shower. 
 Like the voice of a bird ! 
 
 But there came an hour 
 Wlien the Shepherd who called him son lay 
 
 dead, 
 And when he was buried the Changeling 
 
 said — 
 'I wi'l take my staff, and will leave this 
 
 place, 
 And seek new fortunes— God give me grace 
 That I prosper well ! ' And away he went. 
 Humming an old tune, well-content, 
 Hopeful and fearless, merry and gay, 
 Over the hills and far away ; 
 And all alone ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 His Sorrow and Sin. 
 
 Yet not alone. 
 For step by step, and stone by stone, 
 Where'er he rested — fleet as wind. 
 His Spirit Mother came behind ; 
 Creeping to darkness all the day. 
 But ever in the cold moonray 
 Finding his footprints, kissing them, 
 And often where his raiment hem 
 Had brushed the warm dew from the grass, 
 Strewing pale flowers. Thus did she pass 
 Till brazen city gates by night 
 She saw him enter. Still and white. 
 She followed. 
 
 Weary to tell and hear 
 Were the Changeling's doings for many a 
 year.
 
 204 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 But the Spirit saw as the time fled on 
 That his cheek grew paler, his bright eye 
 
 shone 
 Less happy and bright ; for he dwelt, be- 
 
 h Id! 
 Where men and women were heaping gold 
 And counting gems ; and a yellow gleam 
 Shadowed the sight and darkened the 
 
 dream 
 Of his gentle face ; and by lamplight now 
 He read and pondered with pallid brow 
 O'er parchment scrolls, and tomes which told 
 Of mystic manners of finding gold. 
 
 Then, even then, across him came 
 
 So strange a change, so fierce a flame, 
 
 That he, forgetting fever-fraught 
 
 All things but that one thing he sought. 
 
 Was wrapt all round with light of dread ! 
 
 And ever tossing on his bed 
 
 He named a woman's name, and cried 
 
 That God would bring her to his side. 
 
 His and none other's ; and all day 
 
 He fevered in the hot sunray 
 
 Behind her footprints. Ne'ertheless 
 
 His thirst was turned to bitterness, 
 
 His love to pain ; and soon by night 
 
 The Spirit saw him standing white. 
 
 Transfigured in a dumb despair, 
 
 And his wild shriek rose on the air, 
 
 While from a far off bridal room 
 
 Came wafted through the summer gloom 
 
 The sound of harps and lutes ! 
 
 Then came 
 Long days and nights of sin and shame. 
 For in his agony the Man 
 Kept hideous orgies, and his wan 
 Wild features gleamed in ghastly mirth. 
 While naked women-snakes of earth 
 Twined round him fawning ; and he drew 
 Dark curtains, shutting out the blue. 
 And the sweet sun ; and all the nights, 
 In feverish flash of ghastly lights. 
 He slew pure sleep vvnth sounds of sin. 
 Then the pale Mother peeping in 
 B'. held his mad distorted face. 
 And knew it not I 
 
 Time sped apace, 
 And lo ! he changed, and forth again 
 He fared, amid a mighty train, 
 A Warrior now ; and to the sound 
 Of martial strains his head swam round. 
 
 His heart kept time ; while overhead 
 Strange suns of sorrow glimmered red. 
 
 . . . Weary to tell and weary to hear 
 The Changeling's doings for many a year ! 
 Weary to tell how the Spirit dim 
 Moaning in misery followed him, 
 For whene'er she gazed on his features now, 
 On the bearded chin and the branded brow, 
 She shuddered, and often, when she crept 
 Into the tent where the warrior slept, 
 She saw on his hand a blood-red stain. 
 
 And she kissed the stain again and again 
 With her cold pure lips,— but it would not 
 gol 
 
 V. 
 
 The Battle-Field. 
 
 One night she walked with a foot of snow 
 Thro' a battle-field ; and the Moon on high 
 Swam thro' the film of a starry sky. 
 And the breath of the Moon, like hoar-frost 
 
 shed. 
 Gleamed on the dreadful drifts of dead. 
 Then she saw him standing amid it all 
 Living and bloody, ghastly and tall. 
 With a hand on his moaning horse's mane ! 
 And his face was awful with hate and pain, 
 And his eyes were mad — for beneath him 
 
 lay, 
 Quivering there in the pale moonray, 
 A wounded foe — while with red right hand 
 He held in the air a bloody brand 
 To cleave him down ! 
 
 Before his look 
 One moment the Spirit Mother shook ; 
 He could not hear her, he could not see. 
 But she shriek'd aloud in her agony 1 
 He glared all round him Hke one in dread 
 Of a voice from heaven or a ghost from the 
 
 dead, 
 And he sheathed his sword wdth a shudder 
 
 soon, 
 Alone in the light of the lonely Moon . . . 
 O Moon 1 immortal Moon I 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Abbot Paul. 
 
 Fourscore years have come and gone. 
 Since the Asrai Mother knelt down and 
 prayed,
 
 THE CHANGELING. 
 
 205 
 
 Since the boon was gained, and her little 
 one 
 
 Found a soul and cast a shade ; 
 And now by the side of the same still Mere, 
 
 A mighty Monastery stands, 
 And mom and even its bell rings clear, 
 
 Tinkling over the silver sands ; 
 And the Asrai as they come and go 
 Hear the sounds in the waters below, 
 And ever to them the sweet sounds seem 
 Like distant music heard in a dream, 
 And they pause and smile, and they mur- 
 mur ' Hark," 
 With uplifted fingers I 
 
 Old, old, old, 
 With hoary hair and beard snow-white. 
 With vacant vision and senses cold, 
 Crawling out to feel the light- 
 Like a man of marble, gaunt and tall. 
 Heavy with years, is the Abbot Paul. 
 Fourscore years have slowly shed 
 Their snows on the mighty Abbot's head — 
 But not so white are his thoughts within, 
 That tell of a long dark life of sin. 
 Ever he totters and grows to the ground. 
 And ever by night he hears a sound 
 Of voices that whisper his name and weep ; 
 And he starteth up in his nightly sleep 
 With a touch like a hand upon his hair, 
 And he looketh around in a sick despair. 
 But he seeth nought. And he prayeth low : 
 • Pity me, God ; and let me go 
 Out of the sunlight,— shaking away 
 This form fire-fashioned out of clay ! ' 
 And often his dark beads counteth he : 
 ' Maria Madonna, come for me ! 
 For I am sick of the sinful light.' 
 
 Now ever he readeth low each night 
 
 In a parchment scroll, with pictures quaint 
 
 Of many a shining-headed Saint 
 
 Smiling, each 'mid his aureole, 
 
 O'er tlie dark characters of the scroll ; 
 
 And ever when he totters abroad 
 
 He bears this parchment scroll of God 
 
 Against his heart ; or in the sun 
 
 He spells its letters one by one 
 
 With dim dark eyes, as he creepcth slow. 
 
 . . 'Tis a summer even. The sun sinks 
 low. 
 And the light of its solemn setting lies 
 Oolden and crimson on the skies. 
 
 Purple over the brow of the hill, 
 And violet dim on the waters still 
 Of the glassy Mere. In the zenith blue. 
 Already, dim as drops of dew. 
 Twinkle the stars ! 
 
 In his great arm-chair. 
 Carried out to the open air, 
 On the edge of a promontory sweet. 
 With the waters rippling at his feet, 
 Sits the Abbot Paul ; and his fingers cold 
 Still grip that parchment holy and old. 
 Behind his chair there standeth grim 
 With cold black eyeball fix'd on him, 
 A serving-monk. 
 
 The air is chill. 
 The light is low, but he readeth still. 
 Mumbling the sacred words aloud ; 
 And ever his weary neck is bowed 
 At the names of Mary and every Saint ; 
 While ever fainter and more faint 
 His voice doth grow, as he murmureth : 
 ' Holy of Hohes, drink my breath ! 
 For I am sick of the sinful light ! ' 
 
 . . . The sun hath sunken out of sight 
 In the cloudy west afar away — 
 Chilly it groweth, chilly and gray- 
 But who is this with steps so still 
 Coming yonder across the hill ? 
 Over the peaks with a silvern tread 
 Flashing, then rising overhead 
 In the open heaven of a golden June ? 
 
 O Moon ! white Summer Moon ! 
 
 Down the mountain and into the Mere 
 
 The pale ray falleth, so silvern clear. 
 
 And it craepeth silently over all. 
 
 Till it shincth full on the Abbot Paul, 
 
 Where he sits and prays. O see ! O see ! 
 
 Sadder, stiller, groweth he. 
 
 But his eyes still burn with a dying gleam ; 
 
 While faint, far otf, as in a dream. 
 
 He hears a murmur, he sees a light. 
 
 Silently, coldly, marble white. 
 Pale and pure as the moonray dim, 
 Smiling, outstretching her arms to him, 
 His Spirit Mother upriseth now ! 
 
 A light not human is on his brow, 
 A liglit no human is in his eyes — 
 Fold by fold, like a dark disguise,
 
 2o6 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 
 
 The mortal dress is dropping away ; 
 Silently, slowly, sinks the clay ; 
 His eyes see clear by some mystic spell, 
 And he knoweth the gentle presence well. 
 
 ' O Mother I Mother ! ' 
 
 She answereth low : 
 ' Come from the gleam of the golden glow, 
 From the wicked flush of the fever'd strife. 
 Back to the mystical moonlight life ! 
 Thy heart is heavy, thy sense is drear, 
 Weary with wandering many a year — 
 Come from the sorrows of the Sun ! 
 My own pale darling, my little one ! ' 
 
 ' O Mother ! Mother ! ' 
 
 Her arms so dim 
 Are round his neck, and she kisseth him ! 
 She smoothes his hair with a gentle hand, 
 And she sings a song of the moonlight land. 
 He listens and listens, but still in a dream 
 Looking afar off his dark eyes gleam. 
 Beyond her, through her, at some strange 
 
 thing 
 There on the hilltops, beckoning ! . . . 
 
 Dead in his chair lies the Abbot Paul, 
 But a Shape stands by him, stately and tall, 
 And another Shape upon her knee 
 Is looking up in her agony. 
 
 • O Mother ! Mother ! ' the tall Shape cries, 
 Gazing on her with gentle eyes — 
 ' O Mother, Mother, I cannot stay — 
 A voice is summoning me away — 
 Up the shining track of the sun. 
 
 Past the sphere of the spectral moon, 
 Further, higher, my path must run — 
 
 I have found a Soul, and thou hast thy 
 boon ; 
 And the Soul is a scourge, and the scourge 
 a fire. 
 
 And it shoots me onward to strive and 
 soar, 
 For this is the end of thy heart's desire — 
 
 I rest not, stay not, for evermore. 
 O kiss me. Mother, before I go I ' 
 
 They kiss each other, those shapes of snow, 
 They cling in the moonlight, they kiss each 
 
 other — 
 ' Child, my child ! ' and ' Mother ! Mother ! ' 
 
 Silently, swiftly, through the air 
 Riseth one like a meteor fair, 
 Riseth one with a last wild cry. 
 
 While the other sinks in a silent swoon. 
 And whiter, brighter, over the sky, 
 
 Bumeth the hght of that night of June ! 
 
 O Moon 1 sad Summer Moon ! 
 
 TO CLARL 
 
 WITH THE PRECEDING POEM. 
 
 Though on the dullest dust we tread, 
 Our days are closed about with dread ; 
 Before our footsteps and behind 
 Burns the white Light that keeps us blind. 
 
 If Life were all, if Love were clay, 
 
 If the great Dream could pass away. 
 
 If thou or I could cease to be. 
 
 That Light would fade, and we should see : 
 
 Yea, see and know, and swiftly pass. 
 Like shapes from a magician's glass ; — 
 But girt by godhead we remain. 
 Though human systems wax and wane. 
 
 Enough ! we fear not, thou and I, 
 Knowing we were not born to die, 
 Because, at every step we tread. 
 Our days are closed about with dread.
 
 MEG BLANK. 
 
 207 
 
 North Coast, and other Poems. 
 
 (1867-68.) 
 
 MEG BLANE. 
 
 Storm. 
 
 ' Lord, hearken to me ! 
 
 Save all poor souls at sea ! 
 Thy breath is on their cheeks, — 
 
 Their cheeks are wan wi' fear ; 
 Nae man speaks, 
 
 Vox wha could hear ? 
 The wild white water screams, 
 
 The wind cries loud ; 
 The fireflaught gleams 
 
 On tattered sail and shroud ! 
 Under the red mast-light 
 
 The hissing surges slip ; 
 Thick reeks the storm o" night 
 
 Round him that steers the ship,— 
 And his een are blind, 
 
 And he kens not where they run. 
 Lord, be kind ! 
 
 Whistle back Thy wind, 
 For the sake of Christ Thy Son ! ' 
 
 , . . And as she prayed she knelt not on 
 
 her knee. 
 But, standing on the threshold, looked to 
 Sea, 
 Where all was blackness and a watery 
 roar, 
 Save when the dead hght, flickering far 
 away, 
 Flash'd on the line of foam upon the 
 shore, 
 And showed the ribs of reef and surging 
 bay I 
 There was no sign of life across the dark. 
 No piteous light from fishing-boat or 
 bark. 
 Albeit for such she hush'd her heart to 
 
 pray. 
 With tattered plaid wrapt tight around her 
 form, 
 She stood a space, spat on by wind and 
 rain, 
 
 Then, sighing deep, and turning from the 
 Storm, 
 She crept into her lonely hut again. 
 
 'Twas but a wooden hut under the height. 
 
 Shielded in the black shadow of the crag : 
 
 One blow of such a wind as blew that 
 
 night 
 
 Could rend so rude a dwelling like a rag. 
 
 There, gathering in the crannies overhead, 
 
 Down fell the spouting rain heavy as lead, — 
 
 So that the old roof and the rafters thin 
 Dript desolately, looking on the surf, 
 While blacker rain-drops down the walls of 
 turf 
 Splash'd momently on the mud-floor 
 within. 
 There, swinging from the beam, an earthen 
 
 lamp 
 Waved to the wind and glimmered in the 
 damp. 
 And shining in the chamber's wretched- 
 ness. 
 Illumed the household things of tlie poor 
 
 place. 
 And flicker'd faintly on the woman's face 
 Sooted with rain, and on her dripping 
 dress. 
 
 A miserable den wherein to dwell. 
 And yet she loved it well. 
 
 ' O Mither, are ye there ? ' 
 A deep voice filled the dark ; she thrill'd to 
 hear; 
 With hard hand she pushed back her wild 
 wet hair. 
 And kissed him. ' Whisht, my bairn, for 
 Mithcr's near.' 
 Then on the shuttle bed a figure thin 
 
 Sat rubbing sleepy eyes : 
 A bearded man, with heavy hanging chin, 
 And on his face alight not over-wise. 
 ' Water ! ' he said ; and deep his thirst was 
 
 quelled 
 Out of the broken pitcher she upheld.
 
 208 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 And yawning sleepily, he gazed around, 
 And stretched his limbs again, and soon 
 
 slept sound. 
 Stooping, she smooth'd his pillow 'neath 
 his head, 
 Still looking down with eyes liquid and 
 mild, 
 And while she gazed, softly he slumbered. 
 That bearded man, her child. 
 And a child's dreams were his ; for as he 
 
 lay. 
 He uttered happy cries as if at play, 
 And his strong hand was lifted up on 
 
 high 
 As if to catch the bird or butterfly ; 
 And often to his bearded lips there came 
 
 That lonely woman's name ; 
 And though the wrath of Ocean roared 
 so near. 
 That one sweet word 
 Was all the woman heard. 
 And all she cared to hear. 
 
 Not old in years, though youth had passed 
 
 away. 
 And the thin hair was tinged with silver 
 
 gray, 
 Close to the noontide of the day of life, 
 She stood, calm featured like a wedded 
 
 wife; 
 And yet no wedded wife was she, but one 
 Whose foot had left the pathways of the 
 
 just, 
 Yet meekly, since her penance had been 
 
 done, 
 Her soft eyes sought men's faces, not the 
 
 dust. 
 Her tearful days were over : she had found 
 Firm footing, work to do upon the ground ; 
 The Elements had welded her at length 
 To their own truth and strength. 
 
 This woman was no slight and tear-strung 
 
 thing, 
 ■Wliose easy sighs fall soft on suffering, 
 But one in whom no stranger's eyes would 
 
 seek 
 
 For pity mild and meek. 
 Man's height was hers— man's strength and 
 
 will thereto. 
 Her shoulders broad, her step man-like 
 
 and long ; 
 
 Mong fishermen she dwelt, a rude, rough 
 crew. 
 
 And more than one had found her hand 
 was strong. 
 And yet her face was gentle, though the sun 
 Had made it dark and dun ; 
 Her silver-threaded hair 
 Was combed behind her ears with cleanly 
 
 care ; 
 And she had eyes liquid and sorrow-fraught, 
 And round her mouth were delicate lines, 
 that told 
 She was a woman sweet with her own 
 thought, 
 Though built upon a large, heroic mould. 
 
 Who did not know Meg Blane ? 
 What hearth but heard the deeds that Meg 
 had done? 
 
 What fisher of the main 
 But knew her, and her little-witted son ? 
 For in the wildest waves of that wild coast 
 Her b'ack boat hover'd and her net was tost, 
 And lonely in the watery solitude 
 The son and mother fished for daily food. 
 When on calm nights the herring hosts 
 went by. 
 
 Her frail boat followed the red smacks 
 from shore 
 And steering in the stem the man would lie 
 While Meg was hoisting sail or plying 
 oar ; 
 Till, a black speck against the morning sky, 
 The boat came homeward, with its silver 
 store. 
 And Meg was cunning in the ways of 
 things, 
 Watching what every changing lineament 
 Of wind and sky and cloud and water 
 
 meant. 
 Knowing how Nature threatens ere she 
 
 springs. 
 She knew the clouds as shepherds know 
 their sheep, 
 To eyes unskilled alike, yet different 
 each ; 
 She knew the wondrous voices of the Deep ; 
 The tones of sea-birds were to her a 
 speech. 
 Much faith was hers in God, who was her 
 guide ; 
 Courage was hers such as God gives to 
 few,
 
 MEG BLANE. 
 
 209 
 
 For she could face His terrors fearless-eyed, 
 Yet keep the still sane woman's nature 
 
 true. 
 Lives had she snatched out of the waste 
 by night, 
 
 When wintry winds were blowing ; 
 To sick-beds sad her presence carried 
 
 light, 
 When (like a thin sail lessening out of 
 sight) 
 Some rude, rough life to the unknown Gulf 
 was going ; 
 For men who scorned a feeble woman's 
 wail 
 Would heark to one so strong and brave as 
 she, 
 Whose face had braved the lightning and 
 the gale. 
 And ne'er grown pale, 
 Before the shrill threat of the murderous 
 Sea. 
 
 Yet often, as she lay a-sleeping there. 
 This woman started up and blush'd in 
 shame, 
 Stretching out arm embracing the thin air, 
 
 Naming an unknown name ; 
 There was a hearkening hunger in her 
 face 
 If sudden footsteps sounded on her ear ; 
 And when strange seamen came unto the 
 place 
 She read their faces in a wretched fear ; 
 And finding not the object of her quest, 
 Her hand she held hard on her heaving 
 
 breast. 
 And wore a white look, and drew feeble 
 breath, 
 
 Like one that hungereth. 
 
 It was a night of summer, yet the wind 
 Had wafted from God's wastes the rain- 
 clouds dank, 
 Blown out Heaven's thousand eyes and left 
 
 it blind, 
 Though now and then the Moon gleamed 
 moist behind 
 The rack, till, smitten by the drift, she 
 sank. 
 
 But the Deep roared ; 
 Sucked to the black clouds, spumed the 
 foam-fleck'd main, 
 
 While lightning rent the storm-rack like 
 a sword. 
 And earthward rolled the gray smoke of the 
 Rain. 
 
 'Tis late, and yet the woman doth not rest. 
 But sitteth with chin drooping on her 
 
 breast : 
 Weary she is, yet will not take repose ; 
 Tired are her eyes, and yet they cannot 
 
 close ; 
 She rocketh to and fro upon her chair. 
 And stareth at the air ! 
 
 Far, far away her thoughts were travelling : 
 They could not rest — they wandered far 
 and fleet. 
 As the storm-petrels o'er the waters wing. 
 And cannot find a place to rest their 
 feet; 
 And in her ear a thin voice murmured, 
 
 ' If he be dead — be dead ! ' 
 Then, even then, the woman's face went 
 white 
 And awful, and her eyes were fixed in 
 fear, 
 For suddenly all the wild screams of night 
 Were huslied : the Wind lay down ; and 
 she could hear 
 Strange voices gather round her in the 
 
 gloom. 
 Sounds of invisible feet across the room. 
 And after that the rustle of a shroud. 
 
 And then a creaking door, 
 And last the coronach, full shrill and 
 loud. 
 Of women clapping hands and weeping sore. 
 
 Now Meg knew well that ill was close at 
 hand. 
 
 On water or on land. 
 Because the Glamour touched her lids like 
 breath, 
 And scorch'd her heart : but in a waking 
 swoon. 
 Quiet she stayed, — not stirring, — cold as 
 death, 
 And felt those voices croon ; 
 Then suddenly she heard a human shout, 
 Tiie hurried falling of a foot without. 
 Then a hoarse voice — a knocking at the 
 door — 
 
 ' Me^, Meg ! A Ship ashore I '
 
 210 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 Now mark the woman ! She hath risen 
 
 her height, 
 Her dripping plaid is wrapt around her 
 
 tight, 
 Tight clenched in her palm her fingers are 
 Her eye is steadfast as a fixed star. 
 One look upon her child— he sleepeth on — 
 One step unto the door, and she is gone : 
 Barefooted out into the dark she fares, 
 And comes where, rubbing eyelids thick 
 
 with sleep, 
 The half-clad fishers mingle oaths and 
 
 prayers. 
 And look upon the Deep. 
 
 . . . Black was the oozy lift, 
 Black was the sea and land ; 
 Hither and thither, thick with foam and 
 drift. 
 Did the deep Waters shift, 
 Swinging with iron clash on stone and 
 sand. 
 Fainther the heavy Rain was falling, 
 Faintlier, faintlier the Wind was calling. 
 With hoUower echoes up the drifting 
 dark! 
 While the swift rockets shooting through 
 
 the night 
 Flash'd past the foam-flecked reef with 
 phantom light, 
 And showed the piteous outline of the 
 bark, 
 Rising and falling like a living thing. 
 
 Shuddering, shivering, 
 While, howling beastlike, the white breakers 
 
 there 
 Spat blindness in the dank eyes of despair. 
 Then one cried, ' She has sunk ! ' — and on 
 the shore 
 Men shook, and on the heights the 
 women cried ; 
 But, lo ! the outUne of the bark once more ! 
 While flashing faint the blue light rose 
 and died. 
 Ah, God, put out Thy hand ! all for the 
 
 sake 
 Of little ones, and weary hearts that wake 
 Be gentle ! chain the fierce waves with a 
 chain ! 
 Let the gaunt seaman's little boys and girls 
 Sit on his knee and play with his black 
 curls 
 
 Yet once again I 
 
 And breathe the frail lad safely through the 
 
 foam 
 Back to the hungry mother in her home ! 
 And spare the bad man with the frenzied 
 
 eye ; 
 Kiss him, for Christ's sake, bid Thy 
 
 Death go by — 
 
 He hath no heart to die 1 
 
 Now faintlier blew the wind, the thin rain 
 ceased, 
 The thick cloud cleared like smoke from 
 off the strand. 
 For, lo ! a bright blue ghmmer in the 
 East, — 
 God putting out His hand ! 
 And overhead the rack grew thinner too, 
 
 And through the smoky gorge 
 The Wind drave past the stars, and faint 
 they flew 
 
 Like sparks blown from a forge ! 
 And now the thousand foam-flamei o' the 
 Sea 
 
 Hither and thither flashing visibly ; 
 And gray lights hither and thither came 
 
 and fled, 
 Like dim shapes searching for the drowned 
 
 dead ; 
 And where these shapes most thickly glim- 
 mer'd by, 
 Out on the cruel reef the black hulk 
 lay. 
 And cast, against the kindling eastern sky, 
 Its shape gigantic on the shrouding 
 spray. 
 
 Silent upon the shore, the fishers fed 
 
 Their eyes on horror, waiting for the 
 
 close. 
 When in the midst of them a shrill voice 
 rose : 
 
 ' The boat ! the boat ! ' it said. 
 Like creatures startled from a trance, they 
 turned 
 To her who spake ; tall in the midst stood 
 she, 
 With arms uplifted, and with eyes that 
 yearned 
 Out on the murmuring Sea. 
 Some, shrugging shoulders, homeward 
 turned their eyes. 
 And others answered back in brutal 
 speech \
 
 MEG BLANK. 
 
 211 
 
 But some, strong-hearted, uttering shouts 
 and cries. 
 Followed the fearless woman up the 
 beach. 
 A rush to seaward — black confusion — 
 then 
 A struggle with the surf upon the strand — 
 'Mid shrieks of women, cries of desperate 
 men, 
 The long oars smite, the black boat 
 springs from land ! 
 Around the thick spray flies ; 
 The waves roll on and seem to overwhelm. 
 With blowing hair and onward-gazing 
 eyes 
 The woman stands erect, and grips the 
 helm. . . . 
 
 Now fearless heart, Meg Blane, or all must 
 
 die ! 
 Let not the skiU'd hand thwart the steadfast 
 
 eye 
 The crested wave comes near, — crag-like it 
 
 towers 
 Above you, scattering round its chilly 
 
 showers : 
 One flutter of the hand, and all is done ! 
 Now steel thy heart, thou woman-hearted 
 
 one ! 
 
 Softly the good helm guides ; 
 Round to the liquid ridge the boat leaps 
 
 light,— 
 Hidden an instant, — on the foaming height, 
 Dripping and quivering like a bird, it 
 
 rides. 
 Athwart the ragged rift the Moon looms 
 
 pale. 
 
 Driven before the gale. 
 And making silvern shadows with her 
 
 breath, 
 Where on the sighing Sea it shimmereth ; 
 And, lo ! the light illumes the reef ; 'tis 
 
 shed 
 Full on the wreck, as the dark boat draws 
 
 nigh. 
 A crash ! — the wreck upon the reef is fled ; 
 A scream ! — and all is still beneath the 
 
 sky, 
 Save the wild waters as they whirl and 
 
 cry. 
 
 II. 
 
 Dead Calm. 
 
 Dawn ; and the Deep was still. From the 
 
 bright strand, 
 Meg, shading eyes against the morning sun. 
 Gazed seaward. After trouble, there was 
 
 peace. 
 
 Smooth, many-coloured as a ring-dove's 
 
 neck 
 Stretch'd the still Sea, and on its eastern 
 
 rim 
 The dewy light, with liquid yellow beams, 
 Gleamed hke a sapphire. Overhead, soft 
 
 airs 
 To feathery cirrus flecked the lightening 
 
 blue. 
 Beneath, the Deep's own breathing made a 
 
 breeze ; 
 And up the weedy beach the blue waves 
 
 crept, 
 Falling in one thin line of cream-white foam. 
 
 Seaward the woman gazed, with keen eye 
 
 fixed 
 On a dark shape that floated on the calm. 
 Drifting as seaweed ; still and black it lay, — 
 The oudine of a hfeless human shape : 
 And yet it was no drowned mariner. 
 For she who looked was smiling, and her 
 
 face 
 Looked merry ; still more merry when a 
 
 boat, 
 With pale and timorous fishermen, drew 
 
 nigh ; 
 And as the fearful boatmen paused and 
 
 gazed, 
 A boat's length distant, leaning on their 
 
 oars. 
 The shape took life— dash'd up a dripping 
 
 head. 
 Screaming — flung up its limbs with flash of 
 
 foam. 
 And, with a shrill and spirit-thrilling cry, 
 Dived headlong, as a monster of the main 
 Plunges deep down when startled on its 
 
 couch 
 Of glassy waters. 'Twas the woman's child. 
 The witless water-haunter — Angus Blane. 
 
 For Angus Blane, not fearful as the wise 
 Are fearful, loved the Ocean like a thing 
 
 V7,
 
 212 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 Bom amid algae of the slimy ooze. 
 
 A child, he sported on its sands, and 
 
 crept 
 Splashing with little feet amid the foam ; 
 And when his limbs were stronger, and he 
 
 reached 
 A young man's stature, the great Gulf had 
 
 grown 
 Fair and familiar as his mother's face. 
 Far out he swam, on windless summer 
 
 days, 
 Floating like fabled mermen far from land, 
 Plunging away from startled fishermen 
 With eldrich cry and wild phantasmic glare, 
 And in the untrodden halls below the sea 
 Awaking wondrous echoes that had slept 
 Since first the briny Spirit stirred and 
 
 breathed. 
 On nights of summer in the gleaming bay 
 He glistened like a sea-snake in the moon, 
 Splashing with trail of glistening phosphor- 
 fire. 
 And laughing shrill till echo answer'd him, 
 And the pale helmsman on the passing 
 
 boat, 
 Thinking some Demon of the waters cried. 
 Shivered and prayed. His playmates were 
 
 the waves, 
 The sea his playground. On his ears were 
 
 sounds 
 Sweeter than human voices. On his sense, 
 Though sadden'd with his silent life, there 
 
 stole 
 A motion and a murmur that at times 
 Brake through his lips, informing witless 
 
 words 
 With strange sea-music. In his infancy. 
 Children had mocked him : he had shunned 
 
 their sports. 
 And haunted lonely places, nurturing 
 The bright, fierce, animal splendour of a 
 
 soul 
 That ne'er was clouded by the mental mists 
 That darken oft the dreams of wiser m.en. 
 Only in winter seasons he was sad ; 
 For then the loving Spirit of the Deep 
 Repulsed him, and its smile was mild no 
 
 more ; 
 And on the strand he wandered ; from dark 
 
 caves 
 Gazed at the Tempest ; and from day to 
 
 day 
 Jtloaned to his mother for the happy time 
 
 When swifts are sailing on the wind o' the 
 
 South, 
 And summer smiles afar off through the 
 
 rain. 
 Bringing her golden circlet to the Sea. 
 
 And as the deepening of strange melody, 
 Caught from the unknown shores beyond 
 
 the seas, 
 Was the outspreading of his life to her 
 Who bare him ; yea, at times, the woman's 
 
 womb 
 Seemed laden with the load of him unborn. 
 So close his being clave unto her flesh, 
 So link'd was his strange spirit with her 
 
 own. 
 The faint forebodings of her heart, when 
 
 first 
 She saw the mind-mists in his infant eyes. 
 And knew him witless, turned as years wore 
 
 on 
 Into more spiritual, less selfish love 
 Than common mothers feel ; and he had 
 
 power 
 To make her nature deeper, more alive 
 Unto the supernatural feet that walk 
 Our dark and troubled waters. Thence 
 
 was bom 
 Much of her strength upon the Sea, her 
 
 trust 
 In the Sea's Master ! thence, moreover, 
 
 grew 
 Her faith in visions, warnings, fantasies. 
 Such as came ever thronging on her heart 
 When most her eyes looked inward — to the 
 
 place 
 Fraught with her secret sorrow. 
 
 As she gazed. 
 Smiling, the beardtd face of Angus rose 
 Nearer to shore, and panting in the sun. 
 Smiled at the fishers. Then the woman 
 
 turned. 
 And took, with man-like step and slow, a 
 
 path 
 That, creeping through the shadows of the 
 
 cliffs. 
 Wound to the clachan. In the clear, bright 
 
 dawn 
 Lay Thomock glittering, while, thin and 
 
 blue, 
 Curl'd peat-smoke from the line of fisher-huts 
 That parted the high shingle from the land.
 
 MEG BLANE. 
 
 213 
 
 The tide was low : amid the tangled weeds 
 The many-colourtd rocks and sparkling 
 
 pools, 
 Went stooping men and women, seeking 
 
 spoil, 
 Treasure or drift-wood floating from the 
 
 wreck ; 
 Beyond, some stood in fish-boats, peering 
 
 down, 
 Seeking the drowned dead ; and, near at 
 
 hand, 
 So near, a tall man might have waded 
 
 thither 
 With a dry beard, the weedy reef loom'd 
 
 red. 
 And there the white-fowl ever and anon 
 Rose like a flash of foam, whirl'd in the 
 
 air, 
 And, screaming, settled. But not thither- 
 ward 
 Now look'd Meg Blane. Along the huts 
 
 she went — 
 Among the rainy pools where played and 
 
 cried 
 Brown and barefooted bairns— among the 
 
 nets 
 Stretch'd steaming in the sun — until she 
 
 reached 
 The cottage she was seeking. At the door. 
 Smoking his pipe, a grizzly Fisher sat, 
 Looking to sea. With him she spake 
 
 awhile. 
 Then, with a troubled look, entered the 
 
 hut. 
 And sought the inner chamber. 
 
 Faint and pale 
 Light glimmer'd through a loop-hole in the 
 
 wall, 
 A deep white streak across the sand-strewn 
 
 floor. 
 All else in shadow ; and the room was still. 
 Save for a heavy breathing, as of one 
 In quiet sleep. Within the wall's recess. 
 On the rude bed of straw the sleeper lay, 
 His head upon his arm, the sickly light 
 Touching his uptum'd face ; while Meg 
 
 drew near. 
 And gazed upon him with a stranger's eyes, 
 Quiet and pitying. Though his sleep was 
 
 sound, 
 His dreams were troubled. Throwing up 
 
 his arms. 
 
 He seemed to beckon, muttering ; then his 
 teeth 
 
 Clench'd tight, a dark frown wrinkled on 
 his brow. 
 
 And still he lay like one awaiting doom ; 
 
 But suddenly, in agony supreme. 
 
 He breathed like one who struggles, sinks, 
 and drowns ; 
 
 Strangling, with wavering arms and quiver- 
 ing limbs. 
 
 And screaming in his throat, he fought for 
 hfe ; 
 
 Till, half-awakeniog with the agony. 
 
 His glazed eyes he opened, glarmg round. 
 
 While Meg drew shivering back into the 
 shade ; 
 
 Again, with deeper breath, as if relieved. 
 
 He dropp'd his bearded face upon his arm, 
 
 And dream'd again. 
 
 Then Meg stole stilly forth. 
 And in the outer chamber found a lamp. 
 And lit the same in silence, and returned 
 On tiptoe to the sleeper. As she went, 
 White as a murdered woman's grew her 
 
 face. 
 Her teeth were clench'd together ; and her 
 
 eyes 
 With ring on ring of widening wonder 
 
 glared 
 In fever' d fascination upon him 
 Who slumbered. Closer still she crept, 
 Holding the lamp aloft, until his breath 
 Was hot upon her cheek, — so gaunt, so 
 
 white, 
 It seemed her time was come. Yet in her 
 
 look 
 Was famine. As one famish'd looks on food 
 After long agony, and thinks it dream. 
 She gazed and gazed, nor stirred, nor 
 
 breathed, nor lived. 
 Save in her spirit's hunger flashing forth 
 Out of her face ; till suddenly the man. 
 Half-opening his eyes, reached out his arms 
 And gript her, crying, ' Silence ! pray to 
 
 God ! 
 She's sinking ! ' then, with shrill and awful 
 
 groan, 
 Awakened. 
 
 And the woman would have fled, 
 Had he not gript her. In her face he 
 gazed.
 
 214 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 Thnisting one hand into his silvered hair, 
 Seeking to gather close his scattered 
 
 thoughts, 
 And his eye brightened, and he murmured 
 
 low, 
 'Where am I? Dead or living? Ah, I 
 
 live ! 
 The ship? the ship?' Meg answered not, 
 
 but shrank 
 Into the shadow ; till she saw the mists 
 Pass from his bearded face and leave it 
 
 clear. 
 And heard his voice grow calmer, measured 
 
 now 
 By tranquil heart-beats. Then he asked 
 
 again, 
 'The ship? How many live of those 
 
 aboard ? ' 
 And when she answered he alone was 
 
 saved. 
 He groaned ; but with a sailor's fearless 
 
 look, 
 ' Thank God for that ! ' he said ; ' and yet 
 
 He might 
 Have spared a better man. Where am I, 
 
 friend ? ' 
 • On the north coast,' said Meg, ' upon the 
 
 shore 
 At 'I'hornock.' 
 
 Could the seaman, while she spake, 
 Have marked the lurid light on that pale 
 
 face. 
 All else,— the Storm, the terrible fight for 
 
 life,— 
 Had been forgotten ; but his wearied eye 
 Saw dimly. Grasping still her quivering 
 
 wrist, 
 Hequestion'don ; and, summoning strength 
 
 of heart, 
 In her rude speech she told him of the 
 
 storm : 
 How from the reef the rending Ship had 
 
 rolled 
 As aid drew nigh ; how, hovering near its 
 
 tomb. 
 The fishers from the whirling waters dragged 
 Two drowned seamen, and himself, a corpse 
 In seeming ; how by calm and tender 
 
 care. 
 They wound his thin and bloody thread of 
 
 life 
 Out of the slowly -loosening hands of Death. 
 
 III. 
 A Troubled Deep. 
 
 Then, with strange trouble in her eyes, 
 
 Meg Blane 
 Stole swiftly back unto her hut again. 
 Like one that fiyeth from some fearful 
 
 thing ; 
 Then sat and made a darkness, covering 
 Her face with apron old, thinking apart ; 
 And yet she scarce could think, for ache of 
 
 heart, 
 But saw dead women and dead men go by, 
 And felt the wind, and heard the waters cry. 
 And on the waters, as they washed to shore, 
 Saw one Face float alone and glimmer hoar 
 Through the green darkness of the breaking 
 
 brine. 
 
 And Meg was troubled deep, nor could 
 
 divine 
 The wherefore of her trouble, since 'twas 
 
 clear 
 The face long wearied for at last was near, 
 Since all her waiting on was at an end. 
 Ay, Meg was dull, and could not compre- 
 hend 
 How God put out His breath that day, and 
 
 blew 
 Her lover to her feet before she knew. 
 Yet misted the dull future from her sight ; 
 Wherefore she stared stark down on her 
 
 delight 
 As on a dead face washing in from sea. 
 But when she understood full certainly 
 The thing had come according to her 
 
 prayer, 
 Her strength came back upon her unaware. 
 And she thank'd GoD, albeit the pleasure 
 
 seemed 
 Less absolute a bliss than she had dreamed 
 When it was a sweet trouble far away ; 
 For she was conscious how her hair was 
 
 gray. 
 Her features worn, her flesh's freshness 
 
 gone. 
 Through toiling in the sun and waiting on ; 
 And quietly she murmur'd, weeping not, 
 ' Perchance— for men forget — he hath for- 
 got ! ' 
 
 And two long days she was too dazed 
 and weak 
 To step across the sands to him, and speak;
 
 MEG BLANE. 
 
 215 
 
 But on the third day, pale with her intent, 
 She took the great hand of her son, and 
 
 went. 
 Not heeding while the little-witted one, 
 Mouth'dat the sea and muttered in the sun, 
 And firmly stepping on along the shore. 
 She saw, afar off at the cottage door. 
 The figure of her shipwrecked mariner ; 
 When, deeply troubled by a nameless fear, 
 She lingered, and she lingered, pale and 
 
 wan. 
 
 Then, coming near, she noted how the 
 man 
 Sat sickly, holding out his arm to please 
 A fisher child he held between his knees, 
 Whose eyes looked on the mighty arm and 
 
 bare. 
 Where ships, strange faces, anchors, pic- 
 tured were, 
 Prick'd blue into the skin with many a stain ; 
 And, sharply marking the man's face, Meg 
 
 Blane 
 Was cheered and holpen, and she trembled 
 
 less, 
 Thinking, ' His heart is full of kindliness.' 
 And, feeling that the thing if to be done 
 Must be done straight, she hastened with 
 
 her son, 
 And, though she saw the man's shape grow- 
 ing dim. 
 Came up with sickly smile and spake to 
 
 him, 
 Pausing not, though she scarce could hear 
 
 or see — 
 ' Has Angus Macintyre forgotten me ? ' 
 And added quickly, ' I am Maggie Blane ! ' 
 
 Whereat the man was smit by sudden pain 
 And wonder — yea, the words he heard her 
 
 speak 
 Were like a jet of fire upon his cheek ; 
 And, rising up erect, ' Meg Blane 1 ' he cried, 
 And, white and chilly, thrust the bairn 
 
 aside. 
 And peered upon the woman all amazed. 
 While, pressing hard upon her heart, she 
 
 ga^ed 
 Blankly at the dim mist she knew was he. 
 
 For a short space both stood confusedly. 
 In silence ; but the man was first to gain 
 Calmness to think and power to speak 
 again ; 
 
 And, though his lips were bloodless and 
 
 prest tight. 
 Into his eyes he forced a feeble light, 
 Taking her shivering hand, naming her 
 
 name 
 In forced kind tones, yet with a secret 
 
 shame ; — 
 Nor sought to greet her more with touch or 
 
 kiss. 
 But she, who had waited on so long for this, 
 Feeling her hand between his fingers rest, 
 Could bear no more, but fell upon his 
 
 breast, 
 Sobbing and moaning like a little bairn. 
 
 Then, with her wild arms round him, he 
 
 looked stern, 
 With an unwelcome burden ill at ease, 
 While her full heart flowed out in words 
 
 like these — 
 • At last ! at last ! O Angus, let me greet ! * 
 God 's good I 1 ever hoped that we would 
 
 meet 1 
 Lang, lang hae I been waiting by the Sea, 
 Waiting and waiting, praying on my knee ; 
 And God said I should look again on you. 
 And, though I scarce beheved, God's word 
 
 comes true. 
 And He hath put an end to my distress I ' — 
 E'en as she spoke, her son plucked at her 
 
 . dress, 
 Made fierce grimaces at the man, and tried 
 To draw her from the breast whereon she 
 
 cried ; 
 But looking up, she pointed to her child, 
 And look'd into her lover's eyes, and smiled. 
 ' God help him, Angus ! 'Tis the Bairn !' 
 
 she said ; — 
 Nor noted how the man grew shamed and 
 
 red. 
 With child and mother ill at ease and wroth. 
 And wishing he were many a mile from both. 
 
 For now Meg's heart was wandering far 
 away. 
 And to her soul it seemed but yesterday 
 That, standing inland in a heathery dell, 
 At dead of night, she bade this man fare- 
 well, 
 And heard him swear full fondly in her ear 
 Sooner or late to come with gold and gear, 
 
 ' To greet ; Anglice, to weep.
 
 2l6 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 And marry her in church by holy rite ; 
 And at the memory a quiet light, 
 Rose-like and maiden, came upon her face, 
 And softened her tall shape to nameless 
 
 grace, 
 As warm winds blowing on a birk-tree 
 
 green 
 Make it one rippling sheet of radiant sheen. 
 
 But soon from that remembrance driven 
 
 again 
 By the man's silence and his pallid pain. 
 She shivered for a moment as with cold. 
 And left his bosom, looking grieved and 
 
 old, 
 Yet smiling, forcing a strange smile, and 
 
 seeking 
 For tokens in his face more sweet than 
 
 speaking. 
 But he was dumb, and with a pallid 
 
 frown, 
 Twitching his fingers quick, was looking 
 
 down. 
 ' What ails thee, Angus ? ' cried the woman, 
 
 reading 
 His face with one sharp look of interceding; 
 Then, looking downward too, she paused 
 
 apart, 
 With blood like water slipping through her 
 
 heart. 
 Because she thought, ' Alas, if it should be 
 That Angus cares no more for mine and 
 
 me, 
 Since I am old and worn with sharp dis- 
 tress, 
 And men like pretty looks and daintiness ; 
 And since we parted twenty years have 
 
 past. 
 And that, indeed, is long for a man's love 
 
 to last ! ' 
 
 But, agonised with looking at her woe, 
 And bent to end her hope with one sharp 
 
 blow, 
 The troubled man, uplifting hands, spake 
 
 thus. 
 In rapid accents, sharp and tremulous : 
 • Too late, Meg Blane ! seven years ago I 
 
 wed 
 Another woman, deeming you were dead, — 
 And I have bairns ! ' And there he paused, 
 
 for fear. 
 
 As when, with ghostly voices in her ear, 
 While in her soul, as in a little well 
 The silver moonlight of the Glamour fell, 
 She had been wont to hark of nights alone, 
 So stood she now, not stirring, still as stone, 
 While in her soul, with desolate refrain. 
 The words, ' Too late I' rang o'er and o'ei 
 
 again ; 
 Into his face she gazed with ghastly stare ; 
 Then raising her wild arms into the air, 
 Pinching her face together in sharp fear, 
 She quivered to the ground without a 
 
 tear. 
 And put her face into her hands, and thrust 
 Her hair between her teeth, and spat it 
 
 forth like dust. 
 
 And though, with pity in his guilty heart, 
 The man spake on and sought to heal her 
 
 smart, 
 She heard not, but was dumb and deaf in 
 
 woe; 
 But when, in pain to see her grieving so, 
 Her son put down his hand, and named her 
 
 name. 
 And whispered, ' Mither ! mither ! let us 
 
 hame ! ' 
 She seized the hand, and smoothed her 
 
 features wan. 
 And rose erect, not looking at the man. 
 But, gazing down, moved slowly from the 
 
 spot. 
 
 Over this agony I linger not. 
 Nor shall I picture how on that sad shore 
 They met and spoke and parted yet once 
 
 more. 
 So calmly that the woman understood 
 Her hope indeed had gone away for good. 
 But ere the man departed from the place 
 It seemed to Meg, contemplating his face. 
 Her love for him had ne'er been so intense 
 As it had seemed when he was far from 
 
 thence ; 
 And many a thing in him seemed little- 
 hearted 
 And mean and loveless ; so that ere they 
 
 parted 
 She seemed unto her sorrow reconciled. 
 And when he went away, she almost smiled. 
 But bitterly, then turned to toil again. 
 And felt most hard to all the world of men.
 
 Meg blane. 
 
 217 
 
 IV. 
 
 ' And the Spirit of God moved upon the waters.' 
 
 Lord, with how small a thing 
 Thou canst prop up the heart against the 
 grave 1 
 
 A little glimmering 
 
 Is all we crave ! 
 The lustre of a love 
 That hath no being, 
 The pale point of a little star above 
 Flashing and fleeing, 
 Contents our seeing. 
 The house that never wiU be built ; the gold 
 
 That never will be told ; 
 The task we leave undone when we are 
 
 cold ; 
 The dear face that returns not, but is lying, 
 Lick'd by the leopard, in an Indian cave ; 
 The coming rest that cometh not, till, sigh- 
 ing, 
 We turn our tremulous gaze upon the 
 grave. 
 
 And, Lord, how should we dare 
 Thither in peace to fall, 
 But for a feeble glimmering even there — 
 Falsest, some sigh, of all ? 
 We are as children in Thy hands indeed, 
 And Thou hast easy comfort for our need, — 
 The shining of a lamp, the tinkling of a 
 beU, 
 
 Content us well. 
 
 And even when Thou bringest to our eyes 
 A thing long-sought, to show its worth- 
 lessness, 
 Anon we see another thing arise, 
 
 And we are comforted in our distress ; 
 And, waiting on, we watch it glittering, 
 Till in its turn it seems a sorry thing ; 
 
 And even as we weep 
 Another rises, and we smile again ! 
 Till, wearied out with watching on in vain. 
 We fall to sleep. 
 
 And oft one little light that looks divine 
 Is all some strong Soul seeks on mortal 
 ground ; 
 
 There are no more to shine 
 When that one thing is found. 
 If it be worthless, then what shall suffice ? 
 The lean hand grips a speck that was a 
 spark, 
 
 The heart is turned to ice. 
 And all the world is dark. 
 Hard are Thy ways when that one thing is 
 sought. 
 Found, touch'd, and proven nought. 
 Far off it is a mighty magic, strong 
 
 To lead a life along. 
 But, lo ! it shooteth thitherward, and now 
 Droppeth, a rayless stone, upon the 
 sod. — 
 The world is lost : perchance not even 
 Thou 
 
 Survivest it, Lord God ! 
 
 In poverty, in pain, 
 For weary years and long, 
 One faith, one fear, had comforted Meg 
 Blane, 
 Yea, made her brave and strong ; 
 A faith so faint it seemed not faith at all. 
 Rather a trouble and a dreamy fear, — 
 A hearkening for a voice, for a footfall, 
 She never hoped in sober heart to hear ; 
 This had been all her cheer 1 
 Yet with this balm 
 Her Soul might have slept calm 
 For many another year. 
 In terror and in desolation, she 
 
 Had been sustained. 
 And never felt abandoned utterly 
 While that remained. 
 Lord, in how small and poor a space can 
 
 hide 
 The motives of our patience and our pride, — 
 The clue unto the fortunate man's distress. 
 The secret of the hero's fearlessness 1 
 What had sustained this Woman on the 
 sea 
 
 When strong men turned to flee ? 
 Not courage, not despair. 
 Not pride, not household care. 
 Not faith in Thee I 
 Nought but a hungry instinct blind and 
 dim — 
 A fond pathetic pain : 
 A dreamy wish to gaze again on him 
 She never wholly hoped to see again ! 
 
 Not all at once, — not in an hour, a day 
 Did the strong Woman feel her force 
 depart. 
 Or know how utterly had passed away 
 The strength of her sad heart.
 
 2i8 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 It was not Love she missed, for Love was 
 dead, 
 And surely had been dead Long ere she 
 knew ; 
 She did not miss the man's face when it fled, 
 
 As passionate women do. 
 She saw him walk into the world again, 
 
 And had no pain ; 
 She shook him by the hand, and watched 
 him go, 
 
 And thought it better so. 
 She turned to her hard task-work as of old, 
 Tending her bearded child with love ten- 
 fold. 
 Hoisted the sails and plied the oar. 
 
 Went wandering out from shore, 
 And for a little space 
 Wore an imruffled face. 
 Though wind and water helped her heart 
 
 no more. 
 But, mark : she knelt less often on her 
 knees. 
 
 For, labour as she might. 
 By day or night. 
 She could not toil enough to give her ease. 
 And presently her tongue, with sharper 
 chimes, 
 
 Chided at times ; 
 And she who had endured such sharp dis- 
 tress 
 Grew peevish, pain'd at her own peevish- 
 ness ; 
 And though she did not weep, 
 Her features grew disfigurd, dark, and 
 dead. 
 And in the night, when bitterest mourners 
 sleep, 
 She feverishly tossed upon her bed. 
 
 Slowly the trouble grew, and soon she found 
 Less pleasure in the fierce yet friendly 
 Sea ; 
 The wind and water had a wearier sound, 
 The moon and stars were sick as corpse- 
 lights be ; 
 Then more and more strange voices filled 
 her ear. 
 And ghostly feet came near, 
 And strange fire blew her eyelids down, and 
 then 
 
 Dead women and dead men 
 Dripping with phosphor, rose, and ere she 
 wist 
 
 Went by in a cold mist ; 
 Nor left her strengthen'd in her heart and 
 bold. 
 
 As they had done of old ; 
 But ever after they had stolen away 
 She had no heart to pray : 
 Bitter and dull and cold. 
 Her Soul crawl'd back into the common 
 day. 
 
 Out of the East by night 
 
 Drew the dark drifting cloud ; 
 The air was hushed with snow-flakes 
 wavering white. 
 
 But the seas below were loud ; 
 And out upon the reef the rapid light 
 Rose from a shipwrecked bark 
 Into the dark ! 
 Pale stood the fishers, while the wind wail'd 
 
 by, 
 
 Till suddenly they started with one cry, 
 And forth into the foam the black boat 
 
 flew. 
 And fearless to their places leapt the crew. 
 Then one called out, ' Meg Blatie I ' 
 
 But Meg stood by, and trembled and was 
 dumb. 
 Till, smit unto the heart by sudden pain, 
 Into her hair she thrust her fingers numb, 
 And fell upon the sands, 
 Nor answer'd while the wondering fishers 
 called, 
 But tore the slippery seaweed with her 
 hands. 
 
 And screamed, and was appalled. 
 
 For, lo ! the Woman's spiritual strength 
 
 Snapt like a thread at length, 
 And tears, ev'n such as suffering women 
 cry. 
 
 Fell from her eyes anon ; 
 And she knew well, although she knew not 
 ■why. 
 The charm she had against the deep was 
 gone ! 
 
 And after that dark hour, 
 
 She was the shadow of a strong 
 Soul dead. 
 All terrible things of power 
 Turned into things of dread. 
 And all the peace of all tlie world had 
 fled.
 
 MEG BLANE. 
 
 ±i^ 
 
 Then only in still weather did she dare 
 
 To seek her bread on Ocean, as of old, 
 And oft in tempest time her shelf was bare, 
 
 Her hearth all black and cold ; 
 Then very bitterly, with heart gone wild, 
 
 She clung about her child, 
 And hated all the earth beneath the skies, 
 Because she saw the hunger in his eyes. 
 For on his mother's strength the witless 
 wight 
 
 Had leant for guide and light. 
 And food had ever come into his hand, 
 And he had known no thought of suffer- 
 ing ; 
 Yea, all his life and breath on sea and land 
 
 Had been an easy thing. 
 And now there was a change in his sole 
 friend 
 
 He could not comprehend. 
 Yet slowly to the shade of her distress 
 His nature shaped itself in gendeness ! 
 And when he found her weeping, he too 
 wept, 
 And, if she laughed, laughed out in com- 
 pany ; 
 Nay, often to the fisher-huts he crept, 
 And begged her bread, and brought it 
 tenderly, 
 Holding it to her mouth, and till she ate 
 Touching no piece, although he hungered 
 sore. 
 And these things were a solace to her fate, 
 But wrung her heart the more. 
 
 Thus to the bitter dolour of her days 
 In witless mimicry he shaped his ways ! 
 They fared but seldom now upon the Sea, 
 But wandered 'mid the marshes hand in 
 hand, 
 Hunting for faggots on the inland lea, 
 Or picking dulse for food upon the 
 strand. 
 Something had made the world more sad 
 
 and strange, 
 But easily he changed with the change. 
 For in the very trick of woe he clad 
 His features, and was sad since she was sad. 
 Yea, leant his chin upon his hands like her. 
 Looking at vacancy ; and when the Deep 
 Was troublous, and she started up from 
 sleep, 
 He too awoke, with fearful heart astir ; 
 And still, the more her bitter tears she shed 
 
 Upon his neck, marking that mimic-woe, 
 The more in bhnd deep love he fashioned 
 His grief to hers, and was contented so. 
 
 But as a tree inclineth weak and bare 
 Under an unseen weight of wintry air, 
 Beneath her load the weary Woman bent. 
 And, stooping double, waver'd as she went ; 
 And the days snow'd their snows upon her 
 head 
 
 As they went by. 
 And ere a year had fied 
 She felt that she must die. 
 
 Then like a thing whom very witlessness 
 
 Maketh indifferent, she lingered on, 
 Not caring to abide with her distress, 
 
 Not caring to be gone ; 
 But gazing with a dull and darkening eye, 
 
 And seeing Dreams pass by. 
 Not speculating whither she would go. 
 But feeling there was nought she cared to 
 know. 
 And meldng even as snow. 
 Save when the man's hand slipped into her 
 own. 
 
 And flutter'd fondly there, 
 And she would feel her life again, and 
 
 groan, 
 ' O God ! when I am gone, how will he 
 fare ? ' 
 And for a little time, for Angus' sake. 
 
 Her hopeless heart would ache, 
 
 And all Ufe's stir and anguish once again 
 
 Would swoon across her brain. 
 
 ' O bairn, when I am dead. 
 
 How shall ye keep frae harm? 
 What hand will gie ye bread ? 
 What fire will keep ye warm ? 
 Itow shall ye dwell on earth awa' frae 
 me?" — 
 
 • O Mither, dinna dee ! ' 
 
 'O Ijairn, by nigh or day 
 I hear nae sounds ava'. 
 But voices ot winds that blaw, 
 And the voices of ghaists that say 
 "Come awa ! come awa 1 " 
 Tlie Lord that made the Wind, and made 
 the Sea, 
 
 Is sore on my son and me. 
 And 1 melt in His breath like snaw,' — 
 'O Mither, dinna dee I
 
 :2d 
 
 NORTH COAST, AMD OTHER POEMS. 
 
 'O bairn, it is but closing up the een, 
 And lying down never to rise again. 
 Many a strong man's sleeping hae I 
 seen, — 
 
 There is nae pain 1 
 I m weary, weary, and I scarce ken why ; 
 My summer has gone by. 
 And sweet were sleep, but for the sake o' 
 thee.' — 
 ' O Mither, dinna dee ! ' 
 
 When summer scents and sounds were on 
 the Sea, 
 And all night long the silvern surge 
 
 plash'd cool. 
 Outside the hut she sat upon a stool. 
 And with thin fingers fashion'd carefully. 
 While Angus leant his head against her 
 knee, 
 
 A long white dress of wool. 
 ' O Mither,' cried the man, 'what make ye 
 there ? ' 
 
 ' A blanket for our bed ! ' 
 ' O Mither, it is like the shroud folk wear 
 When they are drown'd and dead ! ' 
 And Meg said nought, but kissed him on 
 the lips. 
 And looked with dull eye seaward, where 
 the moon 
 Blacken'd the white sails of the passing 
 ships, 
 Into the Land where she was going soon. 
 
 And in the reaping-time she lay abed, 
 And by her side the dress unfinished. 
 And with dull eyes that knew not even her 
 
 child 
 She gazed at vacancy and sometimes smiled; 
 And ever her fingers work'd, for in her 
 
 thought 
 Stitching and stitching, still the dress she 
 
 wrought ; 
 And then a beldame old, with blear-eyed 
 
 face, 
 For Christ and Charity came to the place. 
 And stilly sewed the woollen shroud herself. 
 And set the salt and candle on a shelf. 
 And like a dumb thing crouching moveless 
 
 there, 
 
 Gripping the fingers wan. 
 Marking the face with v«ld and wondering 
 
 stare. 
 And whining beast-like, watch'd the wit- 
 less maa 
 
 Then like a light upon a headland set, 
 In winds that come from far-off waters 
 blowing, 
 The faint light glimmered — fainter — 
 fainter yet ! 
 But suddenly it brighten'd, at its going ; 
 And Meg sat up, and, lo ! her features wore 
 The stately sweetness they had knovra of 
 
 yore ; 
 And delicate lines were round her mouth, 
 mild rest 
 Was in her eyes, though they were waxing 
 dim ; 
 And when the man crept close unto her 
 breast, 
 
 She brighten'd kissing him. 
 And it was clear 
 She had heard tidings it was sweet to hear, 
 And had no longer any care or fear. 
 ' I gang, my bairn, and thou wilt come to 
 me ! ' 
 
 ' O Mither, dinna dee ! ' 
 But as he spake she dropt upon the bed. 
 And darken'd, while the breath came thick 
 
 and fleet : 
 ' O Jessie, see they mind my Bairn ! ' she 
 said. 
 And quivered, — and was sleeping at God's 
 Feet. 
 
 When on her breast the plate of salt was 
 laid, 
 And the corse-candle burned with sick 
 blue light. 
 The man crouch'd, fascinated and afraid. 
 
 Beside her, moaning through the night ; 
 And answered not the women who stole 
 near. 
 
 And would not see nor hear ; 
 And when a day and night had come and 
 
 gone, 
 Ate at the crusts they brought him, gazing 
 
 on ; 
 And when they took her out upon a bier. 
 He followed quietly without a tear ; 
 And when on the hard wood fell dust and 
 stone. 
 He murmur'd a thin answer to the sound, 
 And in the end he sat, with a dull moan. 
 Upon the new-made mound. 
 
 Last, as a dog that mourns a master dead. 
 The man did haunt that g[rave in dull 
 dumb pain ;
 
 MEG SLANE-THE BATTLE OF DRUMLIEMOOR. 
 
 221 
 
 Creeping away to beg a little bread, 
 
 Then stealing back again ; 
 And only knaves and churls refused to give 
 The gift of bread or meal that he might 
 live — 
 
 Till, pale and piteous-eyed, 
 He moan'd beneath a load too hard to bear. 
 
 ' Mither ! ' he cried, — 
 And crawled into the Dark, to seek her 
 there. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF DRUMLIE- 
 MOOR, 
 
 (covenant period.) 
 
 Bar the door ! put out the light, for it 
 gleams across the night, 
 And guides the bloody motion of their 
 feet ; 
 Hush the bairn upon thy breast, lest it 
 guide them in their quest. 
 And with water quench the blazing of the 
 peat. 
 Now, Wife, sit still and hark 1 — hold my 
 hand amid the dark ; 
 O Jeanie, we are scattered — e'en as sleet ! 
 
 It was dovra on Drumliemoor, where it 
 slopes upon the shore. 
 And looks upon the breaking of the bay. 
 In the kirkyard of the dead, where the 
 heather is thrice red 
 With the blood of those asleep beneath 
 the clay ; 
 And the Howiesons were there, and the 
 people of Glen Ayr, 
 And we gathered in the gloom o' night — 
 to pray. 
 
 How ! Sit at home in fear, when God's 
 Voice was in mine ear. 
 When the priests of Baal were slaughter- 
 ing His sheep? 
 Nay ! there I took my stand, with my reap- 
 hook in my hand, 
 For bloody was the sheaf that I might 
 reap; 
 And the Lord was in His skies, with a 
 thousand dreadful eyes, 
 And His breathing made a trouble on the 
 
 Deep. 
 
 Each mortal of the band brought his 
 weapon in his hand, 
 Though the chopper or the spit was all 
 he bare ; 
 And not a man but knew the work he had 
 to do, 
 If the Fiend should fall upon us unaware. 
 And our looks were ghastly white, but it 
 was not with affright, — 
 The Lord our God was present to our 
 prayer. 
 
 Oh, solemn, sad, and slow, rose the stem 
 voice of Monroe, 
 And he curst the curse of Babylon the 
 Whore ; 
 We could not see his face, but a gleam was 
 in its place, 
 Like the phosphor of the foam upon the 
 shore ; 
 And the eyes of all were dim, as they fixed 
 themselves on him, 
 And the Sea filled up the pauses with its 
 roar. 
 
 But when, with accents calm, Kilmahoe 
 gave out the psalm, 
 The sweetness of God's Voice upon his 
 tongue. 
 With one voice we praised the Lord of the 
 Fire and of the Sword, 
 And louder than the winter wind it rung ; 
 And across the stars on high went the 
 smoke of tempest by, 
 And a vapour roll'd around us as we sung. 
 
 'Twas terrible to hear our cry rise deep and 
 clear. 
 Though we could not see the criers of the 
 cry. 
 But we sang and gript our brands, and 
 touched each other's hands, 
 While a thin sleet smote our faces from 
 the sky ; 
 And, sudden, strange, and low, hissed the 
 voice of Kilmahoe, 
 ' Grip your weapons ! Wait in silence ! 
 They are nigh ! ' 
 
 And heark'ning, with clonch'd teeth, we 
 could hear, across the heath, 
 The tramping of the horses as they flew, 
 And no man breathed a breath, but all were 
 still as death.
 
 222 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 And close together shivering we drew ; 
 And deeper round us fell all the eyeless 
 
 gloom of Hell, 
 And — the Fiend was in among us ere we 
 
 knew! 
 
 Then our battle-shriek arose, mid the 
 cursing of our foes — 
 No face of friend or foeman could we 
 mark; 
 But I struck and kept my stand (trusting 
 God to guide my hand), 
 And struck, and struck, and heard the 
 hell-hounds bark ; 
 And I fell beneath a horse, but I reached 
 with all my force, 
 And ript him with my reap-hook through 
 the dark. 
 
 As we struggled, knowing not whose hand 
 was at our throat, 
 Whose blood was spouting warm into our 
 eyes, 
 We felt the thick snow-drift swoop upon us 
 from the lift. 
 And murmur in the pauses of our cries ; 
 But, lo ! before we wist, rose the curtain of 
 the mist, 
 And the pale Moon shed a glimmer from 
 the skies. 
 
 O God ! it was a sight that made the hair 
 turn white, 
 That wither'd up the heart's blood into 
 woe, 
 To see the faces loom in the dimly lighted 
 gloom. 
 And the butcher'd lying bloodily below ; 
 While melting, with no sound, fell so peace- 
 fully around 
 The whiteness and the wonder of the 
 Snow ! 
 
 Ay, and thicker, thicker, poured the pale 
 Silence of the Lord, 
 From the hollow of His hand we saw it 
 shed. 
 And it gather'd round us there, till we 
 groan'd and gasp'd for air. 
 And beneath was ankle-deep and stained 
 red ; 
 And soon, whatever wight was smitten down 
 in fight 
 Was buried in the drift ere he was dead ! 
 
 Then we beheld at length the troopers in 
 their strength. 
 For faster, faster, faster up they streamed. 
 And their pistols flashing bright showed 
 their faces ashen white. 
 And their blue steel caught the driving 
 Moon, and gleamed. 
 But a dying voice cried, ' Fly ! ' And be- 
 hold, e'en at the cry, 
 A panic fell upon us, and we screamed ! 
 
 Oh, shrill and awful rose, 'mid the splashing 
 blood and blows. 
 Our scream unto the Lord that let us die ; 
 And the Fiend amid us roared his defiance 
 at the Lord, 
 And his servants slew the strong man 
 'mid his cry ; 
 And the Lord kept still in Heaven, and the 
 only answer given 
 Was the white Snow falling, falling, from 
 the sky. 
 
 Then we fled 1 the darkness grew ! 'mid the 
 driving cold we flew. 
 Each alone, yea, each for those whom he 
 held dear ; 
 And I heard upon the wind the thud of 
 hoofs behind. 
 And the scream of those who perish'd in 
 their fear. 
 But 1 knew by heart each path through the 
 darkness of the strath, 
 And I hid myself aU day, — and I am 
 here. 
 
 Ah ! gathered in one fold be the holy men 
 and bold. 
 And beside them the accursed and the 
 proud ; 
 The Howiesons are there, and the Wylies 
 of Glen Ayr, 
 Kirkpatrick, and Macdonald, and Mac- 
 leod. 
 And while the widow groans, lo ! God's 
 Hand around their bones 
 His thin ice windeth whitely, as a shroud 
 
 On mountain and in vale our women will 
 
 look pale, 
 And palest where the ocean surges boom: 
 Buried 'neath snow-drift white, with no holy 
 
 prayer or rite,
 
 BATTLE OF DRUMLIEMOOR—THE NORTHERN WOOING. 223 
 
 Lie the loved ones they look for in the 
 
 gloom ; 
 And deeper, deeper still, spreads the Snow 
 
 on vale and hill, 
 And deeper and yet deeper is their 
 
 Tomb! 
 
 THE NORTHERN WOOING. 
 
 Skies are dusky, winds are keen, 
 Round Lallan Farm this Hallowe'en. 
 
 All is dark across the night. 
 
 But see ! one glimmer of pink light ! 
 
 What are those that in the air 
 Flit against the window-glare? 
 
 Falling flakes of snow they seem, 
 
 Or night-moths gather'd by the gleam. 
 
 Round and round they wind and wind, — 
 Tiny shades against the blind. 
 
 Child, wish now ! while thou canst see ! 
 'Tis the faery companie ! 
 
 Once a year, on Hallowe'en, 
 Are the faery people seen. 
 
 Thus round happy farms they fly, 
 While the peat-fire blazes high. 
 
 Lad and lass, to-night beware ! 
 There is magic in the air ! 
 
 'Ah, bairns, my bairns, forbear on Hallow 
 
 Night 
 To mock the faery people and their might. 
 For though ye deem these things are all 
 
 untrue. 
 Yourselves may be the first to see and rue ! 
 Hark! now the winds a moment cease to 
 
 roar, 
 A sound like some one breathing at tlic 
 
 door ! 
 And hark aj^ain ! faint pattings on the pane 
 Of little finger-taps, like fluttering rain ! 
 Ay I 'tis the faery people hovering nigh : 
 Draw back the blind to peep, and they will 
 
 fly! 
 
 But serve them solemnly, with charm and 
 
 spell. 
 And the old customs that they love so well, 
 And they will show you all you wish to 
 
 see, — 
 Your true love's face, his country and 
 
 degree, — 
 All, all a lass with pleasure asks and learns, 
 Down to the number of her unborn bairns ! 
 
 ' Ay, please the fays ! 'tis easy if ye wrill ; 
 But woe be yours if they should wish you 
 
 ill: 
 Your jo will take to drink, or drown at 
 
 sea. 
 Or find another sweeter companie ; 
 Your cheeks will droop, your looks wiU lose 
 
 their light ; 
 Ye'll marry an old man, and freeze at night I 
 In vain, in vain ye try to change your fate. 
 When ihey have fix'd your lot and future 
 
 mate : 
 In vain ye seek to frown and turn aside, — 
 They make your heart consent in spite of 
 
 pride. 
 'Twas so with me, when I was young and 
 
 gay. 
 
 Though I was loth to hearken and obey. 
 They led me to their choice by spells and 
 
 charms ; 
 They closed my een, and drew me to his 
 
 arms ! 
 Or grandfather had ne'er prevailed on me 
 To droop my pride, and smile as low as he ! 
 
 ' For, though I say it, bairns, my face 
 
 was fair. 
 And I was Farmer Binnie's child and heir ; 
 A widowed father's pet, I ruled the place. 
 Right proud, be sure, of fortune and of 
 
 face. 
 My hair was golden then, like Maggie's 
 
 here. 
 And I had een as sly, yet crystal clear, 
 And I could look as bright when pleased 
 
 and fain. 
 Or toss my curls with just as sweet disdain ! 
 What wonder, then, if half the country-side 
 Looked love into my face, and blush'd and 
 
 cried, 
 lilcating behind me, hke a flock of sheep 
 Around a shepherd-lass, who, half asleep,
 
 224 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 Counts them in play, leads them with pretty 
 
 speech, 
 Rates all alike, and scarce kens each from 
 
 each? 
 One found me coy, another found me gleg. 
 Another skittish as the gray mare Meg ; 
 Just as the humour took me, I was wild 
 Or gentle, — one day cross, the next day 
 
 mild ; 
 But cared no more for handsome Jamie 
 
 West, 
 When he came o'er the heather in his 
 
 best, 
 Jinghng his silver spurs at our fire-end, 
 In breeks so tight 'twas near his death to 
 
 bend, 
 Than for the grim old Laird of Glumlie 
 
 Glen, 
 Who rode on solemn sheltie now and then 
 Over the moors, — and, making mouths at 
 
 me. 
 With father cracked of crops o'er barley- 
 
 bree, — 
 While Jock the groom, who knew I loved 
 
 such fun, 
 Ginger'd the sheltie for a homeward run ! 
 
 ' Yet oft I tried to picture in my brain 
 What kind of laddie in the end would gain. 
 And vainly sought 'mong those around to 
 
 find 
 The substance of the shadow in my mind. 
 But, bairns, in vain I pictured ; and anew 
 Will you and children's children picture 
 
 too : — 
 The bonnie shadow flies, and in its place 
 The chilly substance steals to our embrace. 
 I swore he should be stately, dark, and 
 
 tall,— 
 His hair was fiery-red and he was small ! 
 I swore he should be rich in gold and 
 
 lands, — 
 His fortune was the strength of his two 
 
 hands ! 
 I swore he should be meek and ruled by 
 
 me, — 
 The De'il himself is easier led than he ! " 
 
 Round the happy farm they flee, — 
 Faery folk in companie. 
 
 Near the peat-blaze range in ring ; 
 Fiddler, twang the fiddle-string. 
 
 In the great tub duck the head 
 After apples rosy red ! 
 
 Slyly let each pair by turn 
 Watch the magic chestnuts bum ! 
 
 Love who never loved before, — 
 Kiss me quick behind the door ! 
 
 Lad and lass, to-night beware ! 
 There is magic in the air ! 
 
 ' O bairns, we gathered round the blazing 
 
 peat. 
 And lad and lass sat close and whispered 
 
 sweet, 
 While ancient women spake of wonders 
 
 seen 
 On many a long-forgotten Hallowe'en, 
 And old men nodded snowy polls the while. 
 Passing the snuff-box round with sceptic 
 
 smile. 
 Tall in the midst my father had his place. 
 Health and a golden harvest in his face ; 
 And, hand in his, full rosy and full sly, 
 Surrounded by my silly sheep sat I. 
 Loud rang the laughter ! fearless grew the 
 
 fun! 
 Happy and warm at heart was every one ! 
 The old, old shepherd, worn with rain and 
 
 wind, 
 Blink'd in the ingle-nook with eyes half 
 
 blind. 
 While at his feet his tired old dog slept 
 
 deep, 
 And, starting, dream'd of gathering the 
 
 sheep. 
 
 'James West was there, the Laird, and 
 
 many more. 
 Wooers both old and young, and rich and 
 
 poor ; 
 And, though I say it, bairns, that night I 
 
 smiled 
 My sweetest, and their wits were fairly 
 
 wild. 
 Braw with new ribbons in my hair lint-light, 
 Clean as a guinea, newly minted, bright, 
 I sat and hearkened to their silly speech, 
 Happy, and with a careless smile for each ; 
 And yet, though some were fine and fair to 
 
 see, 
 Not one had power to steal my heart froni 
 
 me.
 
 THE NORTHERN WOOING. 
 
 225 
 
 •Oh, Hallowe'en in those old times, I 
 
 vow, 
 Was thrice as merry, thrice as sweet, as 
 
 now ! 
 The benches drawn aside, the supper o'er. 
 Fresh sand was strewn upon this very floor; 
 The fiddle played — the fiddler gave a 
 
 squeal — 
 Up stood the folk, and father led the reel ! 
 The lads loup'd up and Idck'd the beam for 
 
 fun! 
 The crimson lassies screamed to see it 
 
 done ! 
 Meantime the old men, with contented 
 
 look, 
 Smoked clean new cutties in the chimney 
 
 nook. 
 And thought of days when they were young 
 
 and gay, 
 And pleased the lassies, too, with feats of 
 
 play. 
 Yet one was there, my bairns, amid the 
 
 throng. 
 Who, though his years were young, his 
 
 limbs full strong, 
 Danced not that night ; but pale and 
 
 gloomy, stayed 
 Among the gaffers, in the chimney shade, — 
 Hugii Scott his name, an orphan lad, 
 
 whose hand 
 Guided the ploughshare on my father's 
 
 land, 
 But one my father prized and trusted best 
 For cunning and for skill o'er all the rest. 
 Full well I knew the rogue esteemed me 
 
 sweet, 
 But I was gentry, and his masters' meat ! 
 And oft I smiled on him full fond and 
 
 free, 
 As ne'er I smiled on those who courted me, 
 Pleased that my smiles sank sweet to his 
 
 heart's core. 
 But certain he would never hope for more. 
 
 • There in the chimney shadow, pale and 
 
 sad. 
 Clad in his clothes of Sabbath, sat the lad : 
 In vain, to catch his look, the lassies leered, 
 In vain the old folk saw his sulks, and 
 
 sneered, 
 But aye his dim and melancholy e'e 
 Turned flashing in the shade and followed 
 
 Whene'er I danced with some fine wooer 
 
 there, 
 I saw his fist clench and his eyeballs 
 
 glare, — 
 Red as a rick on fire I watched him grow 
 Whene'er my partner whispered light and 
 
 low, 
 And had a kiss been stolen in his sight, 
 I swear he would have ta'en revenge in fight. 
 Half pleased, half careless, to increase his ill, 
 I marked him kindly, as a lassie will. 
 And sent him many a smile of tender light 
 To cheer him in his nook, that Hallow night. 
 
 ' Louder the fiddler, gay with many a 
 glass. 
 
 Shouted to stir the hearts of lad and lass ! 
 
 Faster and faster on his strings he skirled ! 
 
 Faster and faster round the dancers whirled ! 
 
 Close by, the young folks duck'd for apples 
 red. 
 
 Splashing, with puffing cheek and dripping 
 head, 
 
 Into the washing-bine, or, in a ring, 
 
 With gaping mouths, they played at cherry- 
 string. 
 
 But in the parlour, from the turmoil free. 
 
 Father sat now with antique companie — 
 
 Cronies who mixed their tumblers strong 
 and deep 
 
 Twelve times, and toddled, sober, off to 
 sleep. 
 
 ' But, bairns, 'twas near the hour when 
 
 ghaists are said 
 To rise white-sheeted from their kirkjard 
 
 bed, 
 When the owl calls, and blinks his e'eljall 
 
 white 
 In ruins, where the fairies flit by night. 
 And now my heart beat fast and thick foi 
 
 fear. 
 Because the time of spells and charms was 
 
 near. 
 And I was bent that very night to fly 
 Out o'er the meadow to the kiln, — and try 
 The twining charm, the spell of fairy fate, 
 And hear the name of him that 1 should 
 
 mate.' 
 
 Lad and lass, to-night beware ! 
 There is magic in the air ! 
 
 Winds are crying shrill, and, hark 
 Ghosts are groaning in the dark. 
 
 Q
 
 226 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 Who will dare this Hallow Night 
 Leave the happy ingle-light ? 
 
 WHio will dare to stand alone, 
 While the fairy thread is thrown ? 
 
 Who this night is free from fear ? 
 Let her ask, -and she shall hear ! 
 
 • Dark, dark was all, as shivering and 
 
 alone 
 I set my foot upon the threshold-stone, 
 And, trembling close, with twitching fingers 
 
 caught 
 The great horn-lanthorn from the stables 
 
 brought. 
 And leant against the door to keep it wide, 
 And peer'd into the solemn gloom, and 
 
 sighed. 
 Black was the lift, and faintly fell the 
 
 rain. 
 The wind was screeching like a sprite in 
 
 pain ; 
 And, while I paused, pinching my e'en to 
 
 mark, 
 The wind swung-to the door, and left me 
 
 in the dark 1 
 
 ' O bairns ! what would my foolish heart 
 
 have gi'en 
 To let the fairies be, that Hallowe'en ! 
 But I had sworn, and all the lassies knew, 
 And I was shamed, and fain must see it 
 
 through. 
 Oh ! where were all my boasts, my laughter 
 
 light, 
 Now I was there alone amid the night ? 
 While faintly ben the farm the fiddle cried, 
 And far away the sound of dancing died. 
 
 ' Thud, thud against my breast my wild 
 heart leapt, 
 
 As out across the misty yard I crept, 
 
 Holding the lanthorn up ; — its flickering 
 ray 
 
 Made darkness doubly deep along the way. 
 
 Then in my ears I seem'd to hear strange 
 screams. 
 
 And fearful faces flashed with lightning- 
 gleams. 
 
 And, as I wandered, fingers sharp and wee 
 
 Pinched me and pulled my garter o'er the 
 knee. 
 
 Out of the yard, across the field, the dew 
 Still drizzling damply in my face, I flew. 
 Till, breathless, panting hard against the 
 
 wind, 
 Fearful to look before me or behind, 
 I reached the kiln, — and, standing dizzy 
 
 there. 
 Heard softer voices round me in the air, 
 A sound like little feet along the gloom. 
 And hummings faint as of a fairy loom. 
 Then setting dovm the lanthorn on the 
 
 ground 
 I entered in, nor paused to look around. 
 But faint and fast began to say the charm 
 All northern lassies know, and reached my 
 
 arm. 
 Casting the twine, and catching one end 
 
 tight - 
 Flinging the other loose into the night. 
 O bairns ! O bairns ! scarce had I uttered 
 
 thrice 
 The secret spell, with lips as cold as ice, 
 ^Vhen through my blood a sick'ning shudder 
 
 spread, 
 For ghaistly fingers tighten' d at the thread ! 
 Then in a hollow voice, to know my doom, 
 "Who holds? who holds?" I cried into 
 
 the gloom ; — 
 And ere the echo of my voice had died, 
 "Hugh Scott! Hugh Scott!" a hollow 
 
 voice replied : 
 And, screaming out, and covering up my 
 
 face. 
 Kicking the lanthorn o'er, I fled the place. 
 Stumbling and tripping, flew across the 
 
 field, 
 Till, white as any lamb, 1 reached thebield. 
 And crept up to my room, and hid my 
 
 head. 
 Moaning, among the blankets of the bed I ' 
 
 Lightly soon shall rise the sun ! 
 Fays, begone ! your work is done. 
 
 Fiddler, put your tools away, 
 Take a nap among the hay. 
 
 Lads and lassies, flush'd and red. 
 Yawn no more, but off to bed. 
 
 Maiden, thou hast heard and seen 
 Wonders strange at Hallowe'en.
 
 THE NORTHERN WOOING— AN ENGLISH ECLOGUE. 227 
 
 Thou hast wisli'd to hear and see — 
 And thy fate is fixed for thee. 
 
 Sad or merry, ill or well, 
 
 Fairy looms have spun the spell. 
 
 In among the blankets creep — 
 Dream about him in your sleep. 
 
 Wake and smile with heart resigned ! 
 Kiss and cuddle, and be kind ! 
 
 'Oh, bitter was my heart, my wits 
 
 amazed ; 
 Wildly I pondered like a lassie crazed : 
 Hugh Scott my mate ! Hugh Scott, of all 
 
 around ! 
 A pauper lad, a tiller of the ground ! 
 When wealthy men came lilting o'er the lea, 
 In shining braws, and sought to marry me ! 
 " Nay, nay 1" I cried, and frowning raised 
 
 my face, 
 "No force shall make me choose a lot so 
 
 base : 
 The spirits of the air but wish this night 
 To try my heart, and fill my soul with 
 
 fright ; 
 Yet they shall know full soon they rate me 
 
 ill,— 
 1 fear them not, nor shall I work their will ! " 
 But as I spoke, I shook, and unaware 
 Keek'd o'er my shoulder at the glass, and 
 
 there, 
 In the faint lamplight burning by the bed, 
 His face, a moment niirror'd, flash'd and 
 
 fled! 
 
 ' O bairns ! — what further tale have I to 
 
 tell? 
 How could I fight against a fate so fell ? 
 Strive as I might, awaking or asleep, 
 I found my eyes in fascination deep 
 Follow Hugh Scott, and, till my heart went 
 
 wild, 
 He haunted me from spot to spot, and 
 
 smiled. 
 Then, unaware, to notice I began 
 That he was trim and stout, and like a man, 
 That there were tender tones upon his 
 
 tongue. 
 And that his voice was sweet whene'er he 
 
 sung. 
 Nay, more, full soon his manners seemed to 
 
 me 
 More fine than those of loftier degree. 
 
 And as for gold, though he was humble, 
 
 still 
 He had a fortune in his farming skill. 
 Ay, bairns ! before another Hallow Night 
 The fairies to their wish had worked me 
 
 quite ; 
 And, since his heart had ever favoured 
 
 Hugh, 
 Full easily they won my father too — 
 And when at last Hugh craved me to be 
 
 his, 
 I — fell upon his heart and blush'd for bliss ! 
 
 'Ah! heed not, bairns, though grand- 
 father should swear 
 
 That, when I tried the spell, himscl' was 
 there, 
 
 And, when I saw the phantom in the room, 
 
 Again, was near me, keeking through the 
 gloom ; 
 
 And that his craft and cunning were the 
 charms 
 
 Which cheated me and drew me to his 
 arms. 
 
 Nay ! nay I right solemnly, with song and 
 spell. 
 
 And the old customs that they love so well. 
 
 Serve the good fays this night — be bold ! 
 be brave ! 
 
 And though they may not give you all ye 
 crave, 
 
 Be sure that you will find, as I have found. 
 
 Their choice right wise, and all their coun- 
 sels sound. 
 
 And bless for many a year the love and 
 light 
 
 They spin for happy hearts, on Hallow 
 Night.' 
 
 AN ENGLISH ECLOGUE. 
 
 ' He crept close to Creation's brim, and heard a 
 roar like water.' 
 
 TIMOTHY. 
 
 Well, here's the cuckoo come again, after 
 
 the barley sowing, 
 Down on the duck-pond in the lane the 
 
 white-weed is a-blowing, 
 The gorse has got its coat of gold, and 
 
 smells as sweet as clover, 
 The lady-smocks are blowing bold, the 
 
 primroses nigh over, 
 
 y 2
 
 228 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 On field and fold all things look fair, and 
 
 lambkins white are leaping, 
 The speckled snakes crawl here and there, 
 
 — but Holy Tommie's sleeping. 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 Ah, him that used to work with Crew ! 
 
 Crewe told me how he blundered. 
 He used to preach. I heard him too. 
 
 Lord ! how he groaned and thundered ! 
 The women shrieked like sucking-swine, 
 
 the men roared out like cattle. 
 But seem'd to think it mighty fine ! 
 
 TIMOTHY. 
 
 All trash and stuff and tattle ! 
 He lost his head through meddling so with 
 
 things that don't concern us ; 
 When questioning too close we go, 'tis little 
 
 God will learn us ; 
 To squeeze the crops 'tis hard enough from 
 
 His dry ground abo it us. 
 But sowing t'other world is stuff, — it gets its 
 
 crops without us ! 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 That's wliere it lies ! We get no good by 
 
 asking questions, neighbour : 
 'Tis Parsons cook our Sunday food, while 
 
 we are hard at labour : 
 This world needs help upon its way, for 
 
 men feed one another, 
 And why do we give Parsons pay ? — if not 
 
 to manage t'other-? 
 
 TIMOTHY. 
 
 You're right ! No man as grunts and grides 
 
 at this here world has thriven ; 
 Mutton won't drop in our insides though 
 
 we do gape at heaven ! 
 Why, Tommie's cheek was ruddy red, as 
 
 rosy as an apple. 
 Till Methodism filled his head, and he was 
 
 seen at chapel, 
 Found out that he'd received a call, grew 
 
 dismal, dull, and surly, 
 Read tracts at work, big tracts and small, 
 
 went praying late and early. 
 And by and by began, poor fool, to argue 
 
 with the doubting, 
 And though he'd scarcely been to school, 
 
 began his public spouting. 
 1 wasn't blind — and soon I found how he 
 
 let matters go here, — 
 
 While he was tilling heavenly ground things 
 
 suffered down below here : 
 Through want of feed, the hens did die, the 
 
 horses next grew useless, 
 For lack o' milking by and by the very cows 
 
 grew juiceless ; 
 And when I sought him out, and swore in 
 
 rage and consternation, 
 Why, Tommie sigh'd, and snivell'd sore, 
 
 and talk'd about salvation ! 
 ' Salvation's mighty well,' says I, right mad 
 
 witli my disaster, 
 ' I want to save my property ; so find 
 
 another master ! ' 
 He didn't grumble or resist, though he 
 
 seemed broken-hearted, 
 But slipped a tract into my fist the morning 
 
 he departed ; 
 Ay, got a place next day with Crewe, who 
 
 knew the lad was clever, 
 But dawdled as he used to do, and preached 
 
 as much as ever. 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 But Crewe soon sent him packing too — he's 
 
 just the sort of fellow ; 
 Wliy, ev'n when Parson calls, old Crewe 
 
 grunts, grumbles, and looks yellow ! 
 
 TIMOTHY. 
 
 He got another master, though, but soon 
 began to tire him ; 
 
 His wages sank and sank, and so no farmer 
 here would hire him ; 
 
 And soon, between that world and this, 
 poor Tommie grew more mournful, 
 
 His worldly ways went all amiss — the coun- 
 try folk looked scornful — 
 
 And last the blessed Methodists grew tired, 
 and would not hear him, 
 
 And wouldn't heed his talk inspired, and 
 shrank from sitting near him. 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 With Methodists 'tis just the way. Give me 
 the High Churcli, neighbour. 
 
 TIMOTHY. 
 
 ' Why don't you be a man ? ' said theyj 
 ' keep clean and do your labour ? ' 
 
 And what d'ye think that Tommie cried ? — 
 ' I don't play shilly-shally ; 
 
 If I'm to serve my Lord and Guide, 'twill 
 be continually :
 
 AN ENGLISH ECLOGUE- A SCOTTISH ECLOGUE. 
 
 229 
 
 You think that you can cheat and scoff from 
 
 Sunday on to Sunday, 
 And put the Lord Almighty off by howl- 
 ing out on one day ; 
 But if you seek salvation, know, your 
 
 feelings must be stronger.' 
 And holy Tommie would not go to chapel 
 
 any longer. 
 Learned sense? Not he! Reformed? Pooh, 
 
 pooh ! but moped and fretted blindly. 
 Because the precious praying crew had used 
 
 him so unkindly. 
 His back grew bare, his life grew sore, his 
 
 brain grew dreadful airy, 
 He thought of t'other world the more 'cause 
 
 this seemed so contrary ; 
 Went wandering on the river-side, and in 
 
 the woods lay lurking, 
 Gaped at the sky in summer-tide when other 
 
 men were working, 
 And once (I saw him) watch'd the skies, 
 
 where a wild lark was winging, 
 With tears a-shining in his eyes, — because 
 
 the lark was singing ! 
 Last harvest-time to me became, and begged 
 
 for work so sadly, 
 Show'd for his former ways such shame, 
 
 and look'd so sick and badly, 
 I had not heart to give him pain, but put 
 
 him out a-reaping. 
 But, Lord ! the same tale o'er again — he 
 
 worked like one half-sleeping. 
 ' Be off ! ' says I, ' you lazy lout," and all the 
 
 rest stood sneering. 
 'Master,' says he, ' you're right, I doubt, — 
 
 the Lord seems hard o' hearing ! 
 I thouglit I could fulfil full clear the call 
 
 that I had gotten. 
 But here's another harvest here, and all my 
 
 life seems rotten. 
 The Methodists are dull as stone, the High 
 
 Church folk arc lazy. 
 And even when I pray alone, the ways of 
 
 Heaven seem hazy. 
 Religion don't appear to me to keep a lad 
 
 from sad things, 
 And thougli the world is fine to see, 'tis full 
 
 of cruel bad things. 
 Why, I can't walk in woodland ways, and 
 
 see the flowers a-growing, 
 And on the light green meadows gaze, or 
 
 watch the river flowing, 
 But even here, where things look tine, out 
 
 creeps the speckled adder, 
 
 Or snakes crawl in the golden shine, and all 
 
 creation's sadder. 
 The better I have seemed to grow, the worse 
 
 all things have gone with me. 
 It beats me out and out, and so — I wish the 
 
 Lord was done with me ! ' 
 And after these same words were said, 
 
 Tommie grew paler, stiller, 
 And by and by he took to bed, and quickly 
 
 he grew iUer : 
 And when the early new-year rain was 
 
 yellowing pool and river. 
 He closed his eyes, and slipt his chain, and 
 
 fell to sleep for ever. 
 
 JACOB. 
 
 'Tis clear enough, he'd lost his wit— the 
 chapel set it turning. 
 
 TIMOTHY. 
 
 Now. this is how I look at it, although I've 
 
 got no learning : 
 In this here world, to do like him is nothing 
 
 but self-slaughter, — 
 He crept close to Creation's brim, and 
 
 heard a roar like water. 
 His head went round, his limbs grew .stilf, 
 
 his blood lost life and motion, — 
 Like one who stands upon a cliff and sees 
 
 the roaring Ocean. . . . 
 But there's the Parson at his gate, with 
 
 Doctor Barth, his crony ; 
 Some of these days the old chap's weight 
 
 will kill that precious pony ! 
 Ah, he s the man whose words don't fail to 
 
 keep one sage and steady ! 
 Wife, here be Parson ! Draw some ale, and 
 
 set the table ready. 
 
 A SCOTTISH ECLOGUE. 
 ' The Lord on him forgot to put His vtark' 
 
 SANDIE. 
 O Lord above, swift is Thy wrath and deep! 
 And yet by grace Thou sanctioncst Tliy 
 
 sheep ; 
 And blest are they who till the day o' doom 
 Like haddocks bear the marking of Thy 
 
 thoomb ; 
 And curst, in spite of works and prayers, 
 
 are they 
 On whom "Thy mark has ne'er been printed 
 
 sae.
 
 i!30 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 For while the non-elected lie beneath, 
 And fast in flaming fire, and gnash their 
 
 teeth. 
 Above their heads, where streams of honey 
 
 spring. 
 Thine Elders stand in shining sarks, and 
 
 sing, 
 Blessing Thy Name for present gifts and 
 
 past . . . 
 O wife, John Galloway is gone, at last ! 
 
 JEANIE. 
 
 Dead? Weel, we all are bound to God's 
 abode. 
 
 And John has started first upon the road. 
 
 A Christian man and kind was John, in- 
 deed, 
 
 And free of siller unto folk in need : 
 
 Ay, many a hearth will want now John is 
 cold ! 
 
 But God will give him back his gifts 
 tenfold. 
 
 SANDIE. 
 
 Jeanie Gourlay ! keep thy clapper still ; 
 It talks o' things you understand but ill : 
 
 1 doubt, I sorely doubt, John Galloway 
 Is 'neath the oxter * o' the De'il this day ! 
 True, in the way of sinful flesh, his mind 
 Was charitable, and his heart was kind ; 
 But Light he lacked as long as he drew 
 
 breath. 
 And lost the Eldership before his death ; 
 And he had many a ghostly whispering 
 To tell he was a miserable thing, 
 Doom'd by the Wisdom of the Just to be 
 Condemn'd with those who graceless live 
 
 and dee. 
 Ay, grace, I fear, John Galloway was 
 
 denied, 
 Though loud and oft for grace he groaned 
 
 and cried. 
 •Sandie,' he used to say, • I fear, I fear 
 I have no right among the holy here ; 
 I fear, I fear that I am in the dark— 
 The Lord on me forgot to put His mark ! 
 I canna steel my heart to folk who sin, 
 1 canna put my thoughts to discipline ; 
 Oft when I pray, I hear lliin whisper plain, 
 "Jock Galloway, pray awa', but 'tis in 
 
 vain ; " — 
 
 * Armpiu 
 
 Nae sweet assurance arms me 'gainst the 
 
 De'il, 
 Nae happy faith, like that my fellows feel ; 
 I long for God, I beg Him on my knee. 
 But fear He hath to wrath prevision'd me 1 ' 
 
 JEANIE. 
 
 Poor man ! his strife was sore ; but, Sandie, 
 mind, 
 
 Nae man can icll what folks are pre- 
 destined ; 
 
 Ev'n Sandie Gourlay may be one the De'il 
 
 Hath liberty to catch within his creel ! 
 
 SANDIE. 
 
 Oh, blasphemy ! Thou fool, forbear and 
 
 cease ! 
 The sign o grace is perfect faith and peace, 
 Such as the Lord, in spite o' many a cross. 
 Vouchsafes to men like me and neighbour 
 
 Ross. 
 But Galloway ever was a braxie sheep, 
 A whining thing who dug his doubts too 
 
 deep. 
 Why, mind ye, when old Robin Caird 
 
 himsel' — 
 A heretic, a rogue, a man o' Bel, 
 Averring written Scripture was a lee. 
 And doubting God, stretch'd out his limbs 
 
 to dee, 
 John by the sinner knelt and offered pravers: 
 'Lord God,' he said, 'pity his old white 
 
 hairs ! 
 Be kind unto him ! Take him unto Thee ! ' 
 And bought the coffin, paid the burial 
 
 fee. 
 'Sandie,' he said, when Caird was in his 
 
 grave, 
 ' I doubt I am less holy than the lave : f 
 My blood is water, I am weak o' brain, — 
 
 Lord, it broke my heart to see his 
 
 pain ! 
 
 1 thought— I dared to think— if / were 
 
 God, 
 Poor Caird should never gang so dark a 
 
 road ; 
 I thought— ay, dared to think, the Lord 
 
 forgi'e ! — 
 The Lord was crueller than I could be ; 
 Forgetting God is jus:, and knoweth best 
 What folk should burn in fire, what folk be 
 
 blest." 
 
 i Ihc rest.
 
 A SCOTTISH ECLOGUE. 
 
 231 
 
 Such was his nature, neither strong nor 
 
 deep, — 
 Unhke the stern strong shepherds of His 
 
 sheep. 
 We made an Elder of John Galloway ! 
 Large seemed his heart, he ne'er was known 
 
 to stray ; 
 But he had little strength or wrath severe- 
 He soften'd at the sinful pauper's tear ; 
 He push'd his purse and pleaded like a 
 
 fool 
 For every lassie on the cuttie-stool. 
 
 JEANIE. 
 Where had the parish bairns sae kind a 
 friend ? 
 
 SANDIE. 
 
 Bairns ? did he teach them ^race, and make 
 
 them tnend ? 
 At Sunday School what lad or lass had 
 
 care 
 For fear of flaming Hell, if John was 
 
 there, — 
 Questioning blushing brats upon his knees. 
 And slyly shpping in their hands— baw- 
 bees ? * 
 Once while he talked to me o' life and 
 
 death, 
 I smelt the smell o' whisky in his breath. 
 'Drinking again, John Galloway?' I 
 
 said ; 
 As gray as this pipe-reek, he hung his 
 
 head. 
 ' O Sandie. Sandie ! ' he replied, ' I ken 
 1 am indeed the weakest man of men. 
 Strange doubts torment me daily, and, 
 
 alas ! 
 I try to drown them in the poison'd glass. 
 By fits I fear, and in my soul I say. 
 Loud, is Thy mark on poor John Gallo- 
 way? 
 And sorely troubled, stealing slyly out, ^ 
 1 try in drink to drown the imp o' Doubt.' 
 Woman, is this the man ye would defend? 
 Nay, whecsht awhile, and hearken to his 
 
 end. 
 When he fell sick in Martinmas, his fears 
 Grew deeper far ; I found him oft in tears ; 
 Though from the Prophets of God's wrath 
 
 I read. 
 He hearken'd, but was little comforted, 
 
 * Halfpence. 
 
 And even ' Revelations ' had no power 
 To soothe the pangs of his departing 
 
 hour. 
 A week before he left this vale of woe, 
 He at his window sat, and watched the 
 
 Snow 
 Falling and falling down without a sound, 
 Poured slowly from God's hand upon the 
 
 ground : 
 ' See, Sandie, how it snaws ! ' I heard him 
 
 say ; 
 ' How many folk are cold, cold, cold this 
 
 day 1 
 How many want the fire that's warming 
 
 me ! 
 How many starve !— and yet— why should 
 
 it be ? ' 
 And when I took the Book, explained, and 
 
 read. 
 He only gave a groan and shook his 
 
 head. 
 ' Clearer and clearer I perceive my sin, 
 How I to grace may never enter in ; 
 That Book is for the strong, but I am 
 
 weak,' 
 And trembled, and a tear was on his cheek. 
 
 JEANIE. 
 
 Poor man I poor man ! small peace on earth 
 he found. 
 
 SANDIE. 
 
 The day he died, he called the Elders 
 
 round. 
 Shook hands, and said, ' Friends, though I 
 
 gang from here, 
 Down under earth, all will at last be 
 
 clear. 
 Too long have I been dwelling in the 
 
 dark. 
 The LoKD on me forgot to put His mark, 
 God help me ! ' And, till he was cold as 
 
 clay. 
 His foolish lips had little more to say ; 
 Yet after we had laid him down in dust, 
 Weak to the last we found him, and un- 
 i just; 
 
 I For when his will was read, unto our 
 I shame, 
 
 I No holy man was mentioned in the same I 
 But he had left whai little gold he had 
 To Caird's sick widow and her lass and 
 lad!
 
 233 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 THE SCAITH O' BARTLE. 
 
 Fathoms deep the ship doth lie, 
 
 Wreath'd with ocean weed and shell. 
 Still and deep the shadows lie, 
 
 Dusky as a forest dell : 
 Tangled in the twisted sail. 
 
 With the breathing of the Sea, 
 Stirs the Man who told this tale, 
 
 Staring upward dreamilie. 
 
 I LAID him here, and scarcely wept ; but 
 
 look! 
 His grave is green and wild and like a 
 
 wave, 
 And strewn with ocean-shells instead of 
 
 flowers. 
 
 You saw him long ago, on board the 
 
 Erne, 
 Cod-fishing in Newfoundland, and (you 
 
 mind ?) 
 We drank a gill, all three, the very day 
 Before the Ernevie.n\. down off Fitful Head, 
 And all the crew were drownd but brother 
 
 Dan. 
 Strange, that a man who faced so many a 
 
 storm, 
 And stood on splitting planks and never 
 
 quail'd, 
 And swam to save his life a dozen times. 
 Should ever die ashore ! Why, from the 
 
 first, 
 We twins were meant for sailors : — God 
 
 Himself 
 Planted a breeze in both our brains to blow 
 Oiu' bodies up and down His calms and 
 
 storms. 
 Never had wilder, stormier year been 
 
 known 
 Here in the clachan, than the very year 
 When Dan and I were born ; — waters and 
 
 winds 
 Roar'd through the vnntry season, and the 
 
 sounds 
 And sights weigh'd on our Highland 
 
 mother's heart, 
 Giving her whims and moods in which the 
 
 clay 
 Beneath her heart was fashion'd ; and in 
 
 March 
 The Scaith came down the valley, scream- 
 ing pait 
 Her ears the very hour that we were born. 
 
 When other boys were mumping at the 
 
 school, 
 I went as cabin-lad on board a whaler, 
 And Dan took up his canvas-bag, tied up 
 His serk and comb and brush, with two or 
 
 three 
 Big home-baked bannocks and a lump ot 
 
 cheese, 
 Kiss'd mother, (that's her grave beside his 
 
 own,) 
 And walk'd to Aberdeen, where soon he 
 
 found 
 A berth on board a brig — the Jessie Gj-ay, 
 Bound south for Cadiz. After that for 
 
 years 
 We drifted up and down ; — and when we met 
 Down m the Forth, and journey'd home 
 
 together. 
 We both were twenty, Dan was poor as 
 
 ever, 
 But I had saved. How changed he look'd ! 
 
 hovfc' fine ! 
 Brown cheek and bit o' whisker, hands like 
 
 steel, 
 A build as sturdy as a mountain fir's, — 
 Ay, every inch a sailor ! Then, the tales 
 We had for one another ! — tales of storms 
 And sights on land, pranks play'd and 
 
 places seen ! — 
 But, ' Bob, I'm tired of being on the seas. 
 The life's a hard one at the best,' says Dan ; 
 And I was like a fool and thought the 
 
 same. 
 So home we came, found father dead and 
 
 gone. 
 And mother sorely push'd ; and round her 
 
 neck 
 We threw our arms, and kiss'd her, and 
 
 she cried, 
 And we cried too, and I took out my pay 
 And pour'd it in her lap ; but Dan look'd 
 
 grieved. 
 And, glancing from the pay to mother. 
 
 cried, 
 ' I'll never, never go to sea again I ' 
 
 'Tis thirty years ago, and yet right well 
 I mind it all. How pleasant for a time 
 Was life on land : the tousling with the 
 
 girls, 
 The merry-making in the public-house. 
 The cosy bed on winter nights. We 
 work'd —
 
 THE SCAITH O BARTLE. 
 
 233 
 
 I at the fishing, Dan at making nets — 
 And kept old mother for a year and more. 
 But ere the year was out, the hfe grew dull : 
 We never heard the wind blow, but we 
 
 thought 
 Of sailing on the sea, — we got a knack 
 Of lying on the beach and listening 
 To the great waters. Still, for mother's 
 
 sake. 
 Ashore we had to tarry. By and by, 
 The restlessness grew worse, and show'd 
 
 itself 
 In other ways, — taking a drop too much. 
 Fighting and cutty-stooling — and the folk 
 Began to shake their heads. Amid it all, 
 One night when Dan was reading out 
 
 God's Book, 
 (That bit about the Storm, where Peter tries 
 To walk on water, and begins to sink,) 
 Old mother sigh'd and seem'd to go to 
 
 sleep, 
 And when we tried to wake her, she was 
 
 dead. 
 
 With sore, sore hearts we laid poor 
 
 mother down ; 
 And walk'd that day up yonder cliffs, and 
 
 lay 
 A hearkening to the Sea that wash'd be- 
 neath : 
 Far, far away we saw a sail gleam wet 
 Out of a rainy spot below the line 
 Where sky and water meet ; the Deep was 
 
 calm. 
 And overhead went clouds whose shadows 
 
 floated 
 Slowly beneath, and here and there were 
 
 places 
 Purple and green and blue, and close to 
 
 land 
 The red-sail'd fish-boats in a violet patch. 
 I look'd at brother Dan, Dan look'd at 
 
 me, — 
 And that same morning, off we went 
 
 again ! 
 
 No rest for us on land from that day 
 
 forth. 
 We grew to love the waters ; they became 
 Part of our flesh and blood ; the Sea, the 
 
 Sea, 
 The busy whistling round the foam-girt 
 
 world, 
 
 Was all our pleasure. Now and then we 
 
 met, — 
 Once in a year or two, and never came 
 To Scotland but we took a journey here 
 To look on mother's grave, and spend a day 
 With old companions. But we never 
 
 thought 
 Of resting long, and never hoped to die 
 Ashore, like mother : we had fix'd it. Jack, 
 That we must drown some day. At last, 
 
 by luck. 
 We ran together. Dan had got a place 
 As captain of a brig, and, press'd by him, 
 They made me mate. Ten years we sail'd 
 
 together. 
 From Liverpool to New South Wales and 
 
 back ; 
 And we were lads no more, but staid, strong 
 
 men, 
 Forty and upward, — yet with kibble arms. 
 Brown cheeks, and cheerful hearts. Then 
 
 the ill wind 
 That blows no good to anyone began, 
 And brouj^ht us back to Scotland, to this 
 
 place 
 Where we were born and bred. 
 
 Now, mark you, Jack, 
 Even a sailor is but flesh and blood, 
 Though out upon the water he can laugh 
 At women and their ways ; a run on shore, 
 A splash among the dawties and the drink. 
 Soon tires, soon tires — then hey ! away 
 
 again 
 To the wild life that's worthy of a man ! 
 At forty, though, a sailor should be wise. 
 And 'ware temptation : whole a sailor, free, 
 But only half a sailor, though afloat, 
 When wedded. Don't you guess? Though 
 
 Dan was old. 
 His head was turn'd, while in the clachan 
 
 here, 
 And by a woman, — Effie Paterson, 
 The daughter of a farmer on the hills, 
 And only twenty. Bonnie, say you ? Ay \ 
 As sweet a pout as ever grew on land ; 
 But soft and tender, with a quiet face 
 That needed the warm hearth to light it up, 
 And went snow-pallid at a puff of wind 
 Or whiff of danger. When I saw the trap, 
 I tried my best to wheedle Dan away, 
 Back to the brig ; but, red as ricks on fire, 
 He glinted with those angry eyes of his.
 
 234 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 And linger'd. Tfien, 'twas nearly time to 
 sail ; 
 
 I talk'd of going, and it all came out : 
 
 He meant to marry. Jack ! — and not con- 
 tent 
 
 With marrying; he meant to stop ashore ! 
 
 Why, if a lightning flash had split our 
 
 craft, 
 I should have wonder'd less. But, ' Bob," 
 
 says he, 
 ' I love this lassie as I never thought 
 'Twas in my heart to love ; and I have 
 
 saved ; 
 And I am tired of drifting here and there 
 On yonder waters : I have earn'd my rest. 
 And mean to stop ashore until I die." 
 'Twas little use to argue things with Dan 
 When he had settled aught within his 
 
 mind ; 
 So all I said was vain. What could 1 do 
 But put a sunny face upon it all, 
 And bid him hasten on the day, that I 
 Might see his wedding, and be off again ? 
 
 Yet soon I guess'd, before the wedding 
 
 day. 
 That Effie did not care a cheep for Dan, 
 But scunner'd at his brave rough ways and 
 
 tales 
 Of danger on the deep. His was a voice 
 Meant for the winds, with little power to 
 
 whisper 
 The soft sleek things that make the women 
 
 blush. 
 And tingle, and look sweet. Moreover, 
 
 Dan 
 Was forty, and the lassie but a child. 
 I saw it all, but dared not speak my thought ! 
 For Dan had money, Effie's folks were 
 
 poor, 
 And Dan was blind, and Eftie gave consent, 
 And talk was no avail. The wedding guests 
 Went up to Effie's home one pleasant day. 
 The minister dropp'd in, the kirk-bells rang, 
 And all was over. 'Twas a summer morn, 
 The blue above was fleck' d with feathery 
 
 down. 
 The Sea was smooth, and peaceful, and the 
 
 kirk 
 Stood mossy here upon the little hill, 
 And seem'd to smile a blessing over all. 
 
 And Effie ? Ah ! keep me from women, 
 Jack! 
 Give them a bit o' sunshine — and they 
 
 smile. 
 Give them a bit o' darkness — and they 
 
 weep ; 
 But smiles and tears with them are easy 
 
 things. 
 And cheat ye like the winds. On such a 
 
 day, 
 With everybody happy roundabout, 
 Effie look'd happy too ; and if her face 
 Flush'd and was fearful, that was only joy ; 
 For when a woman blushes, who can tell 
 Whether the cause be gladness, pride, or 
 
 shame ? 
 And Dan (God bless him !) look'd as young 
 
 as you. 
 Trembled and redden'd lass-like, and I 
 
 swear. 
 Had he not been a sailor, would have cried. 
 So I was cheer'd, next day, when off I 
 
 went 
 To take his post as captain of the brig, 
 And 1 forgot my fears, and thought them 
 
 wrong, 
 And went across the seas with easy heart, 
 Thinking I left a happy man behind. 
 
 But often, out at sea, I thought of Dan, 
 Wonder'd if he was happy. When the 
 
 nights 
 Were quiet, still, and peaceful, I would lie 
 And listen to the washing of the waves, 
 And think : ' I wonder if this very light 
 Is dropping far away on poor old Dan? 
 And if his face looks happy in it, while 
 He sleeps by Effie's side?' On windy 
 
 nights 
 I used to think of Dan with trouble and 
 
 fear ; 
 And often, when the waves were mountains 
 
 high. 
 And we were lying-to before the wind, 
 The screaming surges seem'd to take the 
 
 shape 
 Of this old clachan, and I seem'd to hear 
 Dan calling me ; and I would drink the salt, 
 And pace the deck with all my blood on fire. 
 Thinking — ' If Dan were driving on out 
 
 here. 
 Dashing and weather-beaten, never still, 
 He would be happier ! '
 
 THE SCAITH O' BARTLE. 
 
 235 
 
 Ay ! though the Storm 
 RoH'd on between us, voices came from Dan 
 To tell me he was lonely on the land. 
 Often, when I was sailing in the ship, 
 He crept about these caves and watch'd 
 
 the Moon 
 Silv'ring the windless places of the sea. 
 And thought of me ! or on the beach he 
 
 lay, 
 And wearied to the breaking of the waves ! 
 Or out from land he row'd his boat, and 
 
 gazed 
 Wistfully eastward ! or on windy nights 
 He speel'd yon cliffs above the shore, and 
 
 set 
 His teeth together in the rain and wind. 
 Straining eyes seaward, seeking lights at 
 
 sea. 
 And pacing up and down upon the brink 
 As if he trode the decks ! Why, things 
 
 like those 
 Saved him from sinking, salted all his blood. 
 And soothed his heartache. Wind and 
 
 wave are far 
 More merciful than a young woman's heart ! 
 
 Why, had she been a bickering hizzie, 
 
 fill'd 
 With fire and temper, stubborn as a whin. 
 And cushlingmushling o'er a cheerless fire, 
 Dan might have brought her round : that 
 
 was the work 
 He understood full well ; and, right or 
 
 wrong, 
 He would have been the Skipper to the end. 
 But though a man who has been train'd at 
 
 sea, 
 Holding a hard strong grip on desperate 
 
 men, 
 Can sink his voice and play a gentle part 
 In sunny seasons, he lias little power 
 To fight with ■women' s weapons. Dan, be 
 
 sure. 
 Loved Effie with a love the deeper far 
 And tenderer because he had been bred 
 On the rough brine ; but when, from day 
 
 to day. 
 He met a weary and a waning face. 
 That tried to smile, indeed, but could not 
 
 smile. 
 And saw the tears where never tears should 
 
 be, 
 Yet never met an angry look or word, 
 
 What could he do ? He loved the lass too 
 
 well 
 To scold ; tried soothing words, but they 
 
 were spent 
 Upon a heart where the cold crancreuch 
 
 grew; 
 And, when the sorrow grew too sharp to 
 
 bear, 
 Stole sicken'd from the dwelling. Plain he 
 
 saw 
 The lass was dreary, though she kept so 
 
 still. 
 And loved him not, though nothing harsh 
 
 was said. 
 Rut fretted, and grew thin, and haunted him 
 With a pale face of gentleness and grief. 
 
 Jack, Jack, Jack ! of all the things 
 
 accurst. 
 Worse than a tempest and the rocks ahead, 
 Is misty weather, not a breath of wind. 
 And the low moaning of some unseen shore ! 
 Homeless and sad and troubled by her face. 
 If Dan had let his heart and brain keep still. 
 Let the sick mildew settle on his soul. 
 He would have shrunk into a wretched thing 
 The rains might beat on, and the winds 
 
 might lash, 
 And ne'er have had the heart to stand erect. 
 And set his teeth, and face them, and sub- 
 due. 
 What could he do, but try to ease his heart 
 By haunting yonder beach, and glorying 
 In stormy seasons, thinking of the life 
 He used to lead, with ocean-sound fou ever 
 Making a second life within his blood, 
 Thinking of me, and feeling that his soul 
 Was soothed a bit by his old friend the 
 Sea? 
 
 And Efifie, as the dawn look'd down each 
 
 day, 
 Turn'd from the happy shining of the sun, 
 In wanrest and in tears ; and jsoor old Dan 
 Dree'd bitterly the dreary life on land. 
 No stanchgrass ever heal'd a wound so 
 
 deep 1 
 
 'Twas comfort dwelling in so wild a place. 
 So near to open water ; but for that, 
 
 1 do not think he could have borne to dwell 
 Pining ashore. His trouble grew and grew: 
 No corsy-belly warni'd at Effie's fire. 
 
 No doctor's watch tick'd by the jizzcn-bed,
 
 236 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 No sound of tiny footfalls fill'd the house 
 With happy cheer ; the dull and lifeless 
 
 mood 
 Grew on the wife ; her sense of shame 
 
 seem'd gone ; 
 She paid no heed to dress, or to the house, 
 But faded, like a pale-faced, lisdess flower, 
 Grown in a weedy garden. Then, indeed. 
 To see all household goods neglected so. 
 The crowsfeet gathering round Effie's eyes, 
 The ingleside so cheerless and so cold, 
 Dan clench'd his fists, and storm'd with 
 
 thunder-voice ; 
 But Effie only trembled, and was still, 
 Or threw her apron o'er her face and wept ; 
 And Dan, who never in his life could bear 
 To see a woman weep, pleaded and 
 
 begg'd,— 
 Without avail. Then many and many a 
 
 night 
 He roam'd the silent cliffs till peep of day, 
 Or join'd the fishers, out upon the sea ; 
 And many and many a night he thought he 
 
 heard 
 My voice a-calling him. One night of storm, 
 WTien the sky murmur'd, and the foam- 
 fleck' d sea 
 Flash'd in the fireflaught round the shadov/y 
 
 cliffs. 
 He fix'd to run away ; — but could not go, 
 Until he gazed on Effie's face once more ; 
 And when he stole into her room unheard. 
 He saw her sleeping with a happy smile, 
 So still, so sweet, so bonnie in her dream. 
 So like the shining lass she used to be, 
 That his heart sank, he swaver'd forth again, 
 And lay upon the waterside and wept, 
 And tho' the wind was whistling in his eyes, 
 Tho' the still fireflaught flash'd upon the 
 
 foam, 
 He felt too weak, too timid, and too sad. 
 To quit her in the httle cottage here, 
 And dree again the dangers of the deep. 
 
 The house is yonder — ay, the slated 
 
 house. 
 With little patch of garden. Mark the pool 
 Of water at the door. Beyond you see 
 The line of boats, drawn high and dry, and 
 
 yonder 
 The dull, green water, with the purple stain 
 Out eastward, and the sunlight slanting 
 
 through 
 
 Upon a sail. Mark how the clachan lies 
 Down in the gully, with the barren hills. 
 Where never ran-tree waves its silver hair, 
 On either side. Look backward, now ! 
 
 The glen, 
 Hollow'd between the hills, goes inland, far 
 As eye can see— with yellow pools of rain. 
 And cattle looking shadowy in the mists 
 Upon the slopes. How still and dull looks 
 
 all! 
 'Tis plain you gather, with a sailor's eye. 
 The danger. When the rains have lasted 
 
 long. 
 The yellow Waters (rightly christen'd here 
 The Scaith o' Bartle) gather up the glen. 
 Suck in the strength of flying mist and cloud, 
 And, bursting from the hollows where they 
 
 meet. 
 Rush seaward, with a roaring like the sea, 
 O'erwhelming all. Thrice has the mischief 
 
 come 
 In one-and-twenty years. 
 
 When I came home, 
 A month ago, and walk'd across the hills 
 From Cardy town, 1 paused on yonder cliffs, 
 And saw the clachan lying at my feet, — 
 The setting sun shining upon the house 
 Where Dan was dwelling. Nought was 
 
 alter'd there 1 
 The very smacks and fish-boats just the 
 
 same 
 As when I quitted. While I stood and 
 
 gazed, 
 I saw a stooping figure with a staff, 
 Standing hard by me on the cliffs, and gazing 
 Silently seaward. As I look'd, he turn'd. 
 And though the face was haggard, worn, 
 
 and old, 
 And every hair upon the head was gray. 
 And the fresh hfe about the hmbs was lost, 
 I knew old Dan, and, shouting blithely, ran 
 To hug him to my heart ; and he turn'd 
 
 white. 
 Shaking like straw in wind, to find 'twas me. 
 Then, when the shock was over, and we 
 
 talk'd. 
 He brighten'd, — as an icicle turns bright 
 When shone on. But my heart was shock'd 
 
 and sore 1 
 He was the ghost of what he once had been ; 
 His voice was broken, and his welcome 
 
 seem'd
 
 THE SCAITH O' BARTLE. 
 
 237 
 
 Like one's who, sinking on his pillow, 
 
 smiles 
 To see a face he loves before he dies ; 
 And when his air grew cheerier, and at last 
 His love for me came lighter on his look, 
 His cheeriness seeni'd sadder far than all. 
 Swavering down the path, he took my arm, 
 Leant heavily on his staff, as if he dream'd, 
 Talk'd of old times, and friends aUve and 
 
 dead, 
 Until we halted at his cottage door ; 
 And, while he lifted up the latch, he cast 
 His eyes to windward, read the v/eather 
 
 signs. 
 After old habit, ere he enter'd in. 
 
 Effie was there, — changed too ; she wel- 
 comed me, 
 Moved but and ben the house with a light 
 
 step, 
 And smiled a bit : — all women have a smile, 
 A happiness, a kind of second self, 
 Kept for fresh faces. Yet I saw full soon 
 The bield was homeless ; little love was 
 
 there ; 
 Ah, that was common talk aroundabout ! 
 The first flush faded soon from Effie's face. 
 Leaving it dull and wan ; she moved about 
 Like a sick lassie risen from a dream ; 
 And oft, when we were seated in the lowe, 
 She started, and her colour went and came ; 
 And though her features wore a kind of fear. 
 There was a light of youth there : she would 
 
 keek 
 At Dan, whose eyes were fix'd upon the fire, 
 Hang o'er her knitting, breathing deep, and 
 
 then 
 Hearken and hearken, till the soft bright 
 
 blush 
 Died by degrees, her face became composed 
 To pallor, and the light had gone away. 
 Leaving her sick and soopit once again. 
 
 At last, when we were smoking in the 
 
 bield 
 Oik: dull day in November, Dan arose 
 And took his stick, and, beckoning me, 
 
 went out : 
 I follow'd ; and he never spake a word. 
 Rut gript me by the arm, and walk'd along, 
 Until we left the clachan far behind, 
 And took a pathway winding up the hills. 
 For many weeks, at intervals, the rain 
 
 Had fallen ; and the hills were dreeping 
 
 damp. 
 And down their sides ran many streams 
 
 new-born. 
 Making an eerie murmur. Far away 
 Ben Callachan was glimmering through a 
 
 mist. 
 And all round Bartle rose a vaporous steam 
 Silent and white, with cattle here and there 
 Dismally looming. Still and dull was all — 
 So still, so chill ; only the faint sharp stir 
 That is a sound, but seems a click within 
 The ear itself ; — save when from far away 
 A cow would low, and echoes faint and 
 
 far 
 Died inland, or when, blowing on the wind, 
 A cry came from the sea, whose waves we 
 
 saw 
 Beyond us, breaking in a shadowy cloud, 
 With gleams of glittering foam. But Dan 
 
 walk'd on, 
 Scarce heeding ought ; and yet his sailor's 
 
 eye 
 Took in the signs, and glinted up and down 
 With the old cunning ; but his heart was full. 
 His voice was broken hke a weeping wean's, 
 And as we went along he told me all. 
 
 All that you guess ! but somewhat more 
 
 — a thought 
 Of later growth, a nettle in his heart — 
 That Eftie was not true, as wives should be ; 
 And that her fairest thoughts were fallen 
 
 things 
 That clung around a fresh young lover's 
 
 knees. 
 I stared at Dan, and hearken'd in amaze ! 
 His grip was tight upon my arm, his face 
 White as the snow on Callachan, his voice 
 Shrill as a sea-gull's shriek ; and all at once 
 He waved his arms, turn'd his wild face 
 
 away. 
 And cried aloud with a full heart — ' O God ! 
 Why did I ever cease to sail the Sea?' 
 
 I tried to argue with him — he was dumb ! 
 And yet I saw, had I been daft enough 
 To echo him, he would have hated me. 
 He only half believed the things he said. 
 And would have turn'd in wrath on any man 
 Who could believe them true, and say the 
 
 same. 
 He loved the braxie still, as few can love.
 
 238 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 Save the Good Shepherd, who has love for 
 
 all! 
 Could not have tholed to hear another's 
 
 thoughts 
 Condemn her ! blamed hims'^U for all his 
 
 grief! 
 And gladly would have died beneath her 
 
 feet, 
 To win one word, one kiss, one shining look. 
 To show his love had not been quite in vain ! 
 
 But on we fared, so fiU'd with our own 
 
 thoughts, 
 We scarcely saw how far away we wander'd. 
 How mirk all grew, how close the gather- 
 ing clouds 
 Drew to the hill-tops, while the cattle raised 
 Their heads into the dismal air and cried. 
 Then, suddenly, there came a lightning 
 
 gleam 
 That for a moment lighted up the hills, 
 The far off cliffs, and the far flash of foam, 
 And faded, — to a sound as if the earth 
 And heavens were torn asunder. Soon the 
 
 storm 
 Deepen'd— the thunder and the lightning 
 
 came 
 Ofter than dark or silence ; and I felt 
 Far less mjself on those dull endless 
 
 heights, 
 Than seeing, hearing, from my ship at sea. 
 But Dan said little ; only, as the drops 
 Of rain began to fall, he led the way 
 Into a mountain shieling, roof'd with turfs, 
 Where we in shelter crouch'd, and still 
 
 talk'd on 
 Of his dull ingleside, his darken'd days, 
 The terror and the pain he had to dree. 
 And • All I care for now is ended, Bob ! 
 I want to die, but not to leave the lass 
 Untended and unhappy. After all, 
 I cannot blame her for her crancreuch 
 
 face, — 
 She is so young — mid-eild is past with me — 
 Be sure that she would love me if she 
 
 could ! ' 
 And then he glower'd out on the dark, and 
 
 groan' d, 
 ' Would I were in my grave ! — would I 
 
 were doom'd 
 Among the waves ! — would I were far out 
 
 yonder. 
 Praying and sinking in a boat at sea 1 ' 
 
 And I was silent ; but the elements 
 Made answer. With a clash like iron fell 
 The headlong torrent of the soot-black 
 
 clouds. 
 Drowning the thunders with its dreesome 
 
 cry, 
 Birming above, around, and smiting earth 
 With strength of stone. Never for many a 
 
 year 
 Had such a fall been known : it seem'd the 
 
 Lord 
 UnloclJng all His waters to destroy 
 The bad world o'er again. No rainbow 
 
 there 
 To promise sunshine and a speedy end ! 
 For 'twas the Black Rain, which had once 
 
 or twice 
 Gone southward, making frighted Elders 
 
 groan, 
 And which old wives in Bartle often call 
 The ' Dell's rain,' thinking Satan files him- 
 self. 
 Dropping the dreadful blackness from 
 
 above. 
 Silent we waited, watching, and the air 
 Was full of a great roar — the sods beneath 
 Seem'd shaking — and the rain-wash forced 
 
 a way 
 Through the thick turf above our heads, 
 
 and fell 
 Upon us, splashing, as with watery ink, 
 Our hands and faces. But I saw Dan's 
 
 eye 
 Had kindled. He was younger. For the 
 
 sounds 
 Quicken'd his sense of life, brought up his 
 
 strength, 
 And minded him of former fearsome days 
 Upon the Ocean ; and his other self- - 
 The sickly self that lived the life on land — 
 Forsook him. Then there was a lull, a 
 
 pause — 
 Not broken by the further fall of rain, 
 Nor by the thunder-claps, but by a sign 
 More terrible than all— a roar, a groan, 
 A motion as of waters, and a souud 
 Like the dread surging of an angry Sea. 
 
 And Dan threw up his arms, screaming 
 
 aloud, 
 'The Scaith ! the Scaith!'— and 
 
 groan'd, and rushd away, — 
 I following close behind him in the mirk.
 
 THE SCAITff a BARTLE. 
 
 239 
 
 And on he tore, until he gain'd a craig, 
 Above the glen, yonder between the hills ; 
 And cattle huddled round him, lowing loud. 
 And the Scaith thicken'd, and the murmur 
 
 grew, 
 While we gazed down. The mists hung 
 
 round the heights. 
 The rain still fell, but faintly, — and below. 
 Roaring on seaward, snatching in its course 
 Boulders and trees and cattle, rush'd the 
 
 Scaith, 
 A blacken'd yellow wash of waters, foaming 
 Where'er it touched the feet of stone or 
 
 steep. 
 And dizzily whirling round the great tree- 
 roots 
 To twist them from their beds. White, 
 
 scared, and stunn'd, 
 Dan groan'd, and sank upon his knees, and 
 
 sobbed. 
 Done was the thunder ; but the waters made 
 Another thunder, and the lireflaught came 
 Fainter and fainter. Then we heard from 
 
 far 
 A sound more awful — shrieks of living men. 
 Children and women ; while the thinning 
 
 clouds 
 Parted to westward, brightening at the rims. 
 And rays of misty sunset slanted down 
 On Bartle, and the Scaith had seized its 
 
 prey. 
 
 ' Effie ! ' cried Dan ; and sped along the 
 
 hills. 
 And would have rush'd right downward to 
 
 his death 
 Had I not gript him. Rut we found a way 
 O'er the hillside, and gain'd the northern 
 
 height 
 Above the clachan. Jack, until I die. 
 That hour will haunt me ! For the village 
 
 lay 
 Naip-deep beneath the moaning rain-dyed 
 
 flood, 
 And bields sank shatter'd, and the sunset 
 
 cold 
 Gleam'd upon Bartle and the sea beyond ; 
 And on the slopes on either side there 
 
 gather'd 
 Women and men : some screeching as they 
 
 saw 
 The Scaith drink up tlicir houses and their 
 
 goods, 
 
 Some crying for the friends they could not 
 
 see, 
 Some sitting still, and looking on their 
 
 bairns. 
 As if they had gone wild. Then Dan glared 
 
 round. 
 Seeking for Effie, — but he saw her not ; 
 And the damp sunset gleaming on his face. 
 Grimed with the rain-drops, show'd it 
 
 ghastly pale. 
 But he was cool as he had often been 
 On graesome nights at sea. ' She is not 
 
 here ! ' 
 He whispered ; ' yet she cannot but be 
 
 saved. 
 Perchance she gathers with the folk that 
 
 stand 
 Waving their arms yonder across the flood: 
 Oh ! would my eyes were young that I 
 
 might see." 
 That way / gazed ; but all tliat I could see 
 Were mists beyond the clachan ; down 
 
 below. 
 The wildly washing waters ; here and there. 
 Women and children screaming on the 
 
 roofs. 
 While punts and skiffs were gliding here 
 
 and there. 
 Piloting slowly through the rocks and walls. 
 To succour those unsaved ; at intervals 
 A leafless tiee-top peering through the 
 
 water. 
 While frighted birds lit on its twigs, or 
 
 wheel'd 
 Around it crying. Then, ' A boat ! a 
 
 boat ! ■ 
 Dan cried ; but he was crying to the air : 
 The folk around him heard and made a 
 
 stir, — 
 But some scarce raised their wild and watery 
 
 eyes. 
 And some stopp'd moaning, look'd at him 
 
 who cried, 
 And then again sat rocking to and fro. 
 Gazing straight downward, and with eerie 
 
 groans 
 Bewailing their own sorrow. 
 
 Then the place 
 Blacken'd in gloaming — mists rose from the 
 
 flood— 
 The sky turn'd black, with neither stars nor 
 
 moon,
 
 240 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 And douTi below, flashing from place to 
 
 place, 
 The lights, like corpse-lights warning folk 
 
 of death, 
 Flitted and faded, showing where the boats 
 Still moved about upon their weary work 
 And those who grieved were stiller all 
 
 around ; 
 The solemn moaning of the Scaith was 
 
 hush'd, 
 Your ears could hear the sobbing of the 
 
 Sea ; 
 And only now and then a hollow splash 
 Spake plain of walls that yielded and slipt 
 
 down 
 Into the waters. Then a light came near, 
 And to the water's edge a fishing-boat 
 Brought a dead fisher, and a little child 
 Who cried for ' mither ' ; and as he who 
 
 row'd 
 Handed the bairn to hungry outstretch'd 
 
 arms. 
 And landed with the corpse, old Dan leapt 
 
 in. 
 Snatching the lanthorn from the fisher's 
 
 hand, 
 Push'd off ere I could follow, and had 
 
 flown 
 Into the darkness . . . 
 
 Jack, — I never again 
 Saw poor old Dan, alive ! Yet it was well 
 His woes were ended ; for that very day. 
 Ere the Scaith came, Effie had crept from 
 
 home, — 
 Ay, with a man ; — and ere I knew the 
 
 truth 
 Why, she was out upon the ocean waves. 
 And fleeing with the loon to Canada. 
 Ill winds pursue her ! God will find her 
 
 out ! 
 He sent His water down to free old Dan, 
 And He is after her across the Deep ! 
 
 Next dawning, when the Scaith was part 
 
 subdued. 
 And sinking slowly through the seams of 
 
 earth , 
 Pouring in bright brown burns to join the 
 
 sea. 
 Fouling with mud the line of breaking 
 
 foam, 
 Twas a most piteous sight to see the folk, 
 
 With spade and mattock, digging at the 
 
 graves 
 Of their own dwellings ; taking what wa3 
 
 saved 
 With bitter thankless faces. Fallen walls, 
 And trees uprooted from the waste hill- 
 sides. 
 And boulders swept from far along the 
 
 glen. 
 And household lumber gather'd everywhere, 
 Mingled in ruin ; and the frailer bields 
 Were swept away for ever. As for me, 
 I had my work in hand. I took a spade 
 And waded through the thick and muddy 
 
 pools, 
 ('Twas still waist-deep,) right onward to the 
 
 place 
 Where Dan had dwelt. For something 
 
 drew me there. 
 Foremost of all. The bield was standing 
 
 still. 
 Though doors and windows had been 
 
 beaten in ; 
 And as I splash' d along the passage, bits 
 Of household lumber tripped me ; but I 
 
 went 
 Right on to Effie's room, and there the 
 
 flood 
 Was lying black and cold ; — and there lay 
 
 Dan. 
 
 Washing upon the water, with his face 
 Drawn downward, his hands clench'd, his 
 
 long gray hair 
 Rippling around him — stiff, and cold, and 
 
 dead 
 And when I turn'd his face up to the hght, 
 I did not scunner much — it look'd so strong. 
 So seaman-like, and fine. I saw it all ! 
 How he had drifted thither in the dark. 
 And found the water low around the bield. 
 But slowly rising ; how he fought his way, 
 Search'd but and ben, and last, in Effie's 
 
 room, 
 Stood ghastly in the lanthorn light, and 
 
 saw 
 The place was empty ; how, while there he 
 
 stood, 
 Staring in horror, with an eldritch cry 
 The wild Scaith struck the crashing 
 
 window panes, 
 Dash'd down the lanthorn, gript him in the 
 
 dark.
 
 THE SCAITH 0' BARTLE—THE GLAMOUR. 
 
 241 
 
 Roar'd in his ear?, and while it struck him 
 
 down. 
 Out of his nostrils suck'd the breath of life. 
 Jack, Jack, we know there comes to men 
 
 who drown 
 A sudden flashing picture of the past, — 
 And ah ! how pitiful, how pitiful, 
 In that last mirjute did the picture come : 
 A vision of the sounding Sea afar, 
 A ghaistly ship upon it, — Effie's face. 
 Coming and going like to floating foam, — 
 The picture of the kirk upon the hill, 
 And sunshine smiling on the wedding 
 
 guests, — 
 The shadowy cliffs where he had paced in 
 
 pain. 
 The waves, the sun, the moon, the thought 
 
 of me. 
 All thicken'd on him as he scream'd her 
 
 name. 
 And struggled with the cruel Scaith, and 
 
 died! 
 
 Ay ! God Almighty's water, e'en ashore. 
 More merciful than women, found him out ; 
 And here he lies, but should have lain else- 
 where. 
 Had Scots law, and the blethering women's 
 
 tongues, 
 Not hinder'd me, — I would have ta'en a 
 
 boat, 
 And sewn his body in a sheet, with stones 
 Fastcn'd beneath his soles to sink him 
 
 down. 
 And row'd out yonder, westward, where the 
 
 sun 
 Dips red beneath the straight blue water 
 
 line. 
 Then said a prayer, and softly sent him 
 
 down 
 Where he could sleep in peace, and hear 
 
 for ever 
 The washing of the waters through the 
 
 depths : 
 With flag-flowers o'er his head, great weeds 
 
 all round. 
 And white salt foam-bells hanging in his 
 
 ears. 
 His would have been a sailor's sleep indeed ! 
 But as it is, he slumbers here on land. 
 In shade of Bartle Kirk, 'niong country 
 
 loons 
 And fishermen that shrink at open Sea. 
 
 THE GLAMOUR. 
 
 The hills close round her — everywhere 
 Strange voices deepen in the air ; 
 'I'he pain, the hope, the agony, 
 Flash to a sense of my:jtery ; 
 The shapes of earth and air and skifs 
 Catch glamour in her weary eyes ; 
 Worn with the pain, worn with the pain, 
 She would lie down, and sleep again 1 
 
 Lord my God, draw not Thy hand away — 
 The sleep-stoure fills my eyes — I feel my 
 
 grave — 
 And I would reach a painless end, like those 
 Thy glamour ne'er hath troubled. I have 
 
 been 
 O'er long a shadow on the paths ot nitii. 
 O'er long a screeching bird in happy bidds. 
 O'er long a haunted wanderer day and 
 
 night. 
 Lord, let me die ! Lord, let me die ! Lord 
 
 God, 
 Pity and spare me 1 Draw Thy hand away ! 
 Thy breath is on me in the mirk, and ah I 
 
 1 sicken sore, while yonder through the pane 
 Corpse-candles, blowing blue against the 
 
 wind. 
 Flit slowly to the kirkyard, down Glen-Earn. 
 
 What had I done, that Thou shouldst 
 
 pick me out. 
 To breathe Thy glamour on ? I was a lass 
 Happy and heartsome, till that dreesome 
 
 day 
 I walk'd from kirk by moonlight down the 
 
 glen. 
 And saw Maccaskill of Craig-Dhonil pass, 
 Sewn to the middle in his winding-sheet, 
 And waving hairy arms until I svvoon'd ; — 
 And ere a year was run Maccaskill died ; 
 And then I kenn'd I had the bitter gift 
 My father and my father's father had. 
 Yet I was young, and felt a kind o' pride, 
 To see so far into Thy mysteries, — 
 To ken when man or wife was doom'd to 
 
 die ; 
 To sue the young life in a lassie's wame, 
 Although her snood was whole ; to prophesy 
 Teini)ests and human losses. Many a man 
 Then turn'd away ; but Kenneth married 
 
 me — 
 
 R
 
 242 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 Kenneth Macdonald, sheep-herd on the 
 
 hills, 
 A holy man and kind ; and for a time 
 The glamour came no more, and I was gay, 
 Feeling the young bairn underneath my 
 
 breast 
 Breathe softly with the rocking of my heart. 
 But in the winter gloaming, when the drift 
 Was thick around the door, and winds were 
 
 blowing. 
 And I was lying on the jizzen-bed. 
 And Jean the howdie wash'd my paps with 
 
 salt, 
 I saw a strange thing lying on her knee — 
 A span-long body in a blood-stain'd sowe — 
 And scream'd and cried, 'Jean, Jean, the 
 
 bairn will die ! ' 
 And so it was. For while old mother slipt 
 Out to the kitchen lowe, where Kenneth sat, 
 To drop a cinder through the wee white 
 
 sark. 
 The bairn came dead into the chilly mirk ; 
 And in the snowy dawning I beheld 
 The span-long body of my sweet first-born. 
 Wrapt in its sowe, upon the howdie's knee. 
 
 But Angus lived — my white-faced sickly 
 
 bairn. 
 The last I bore ; for, ere I rose from bed, 
 I heard, one gloaming dark, from but the 
 
 house, 
 A sound of sawing, hewing with an adze, 
 Mi.x'd with a sound of weeping, clapping 
 
 hands ; 
 And all the bield was empty, — and I knew 
 A shell was being made for some one near ; 
 And ah ! before the moon was full again 
 Just as the season of the lambing came. 
 My bonnie man was sheeted in the house. 
 And stiff, and cold ; and I was left alone, 
 Shadow'd and sad, with hot tears dropping 
 
 down 
 On Angus, pulling feebly at my breast. 
 
 I never bedded with another man, 
 Never bare wean again ; but I could earn 
 Both food and drink, and all my pride and 
 
 joy 
 Was Angus. Lord, he was the bonniest 
 
 bairn 
 The sweetest, gentlest, ever wrought in 
 
 flesh. 
 To gladden mother's eyes. The very day 
 
 That he was born, I call'd the minister, 
 Who gave him baptism, that the glamour 
 
 ne'er, 
 Might come on him or his ; and ah ! he grew, 
 Pale like a lily — for this solemn world 
 O'er gentle ; and the glamour brought no 
 
 fear 
 To mirk our dwelling. Nay, for many a 
 
 year. 
 The eerie light seem'd gone away from me. 
 For never ghaist or burial cross'd my path. 
 Corpse-light or wraith. Then Angus on 
 
 the hills 
 Grew sheep-herd, like his father, though he 
 
 lack'd 
 His father's fearless heart ; and, as he grew, 
 Turn'd weaker, whiter — bonnie still, but 
 
 thin 
 And bloodless ; and he lack'd the heart to 
 
 face 
 Darkness and danger : ringing of a bell 
 At midnight, sudden footsteps in the dark, 
 A hand placed on his shoulder suddenly, 
 Would strike him down into aswooningfit, 
 Dreesome to see ; and when his eighteenth 
 
 year 
 Was o'er, he sometimes sicken'd at my face. 
 And shiver'd though he knew me. All at 
 
 once 
 The glamour came across my Soul again. 
 One night, while we were seated in the bield, 
 I heard a wailmg come from but the house. 
 And horror gript me. ' Mother ! ' Angus 
 
 cried, 
 Glow'ring full fear'd into my burning eyes, 
 ' What ails thee ? ' ' Wheesht ! ' I whis- 
 
 per'd ; ' hear ye nought ? ' 
 ' Nought ! Angus said. And then I heard 
 
 a sound 
 Of groans, and clapping hands ; and sud- 
 denly 
 I saw my Angus shrink until he grew 
 As small as any babe new-born, and turn. 
 Swift as the fireflaught, to himself again ? — 
 And while I scream'd, and fell upon his 
 
 neck. 
 Weeping, and kissing him, and moaning 
 
 low. 
 He sicken'd at my face, and swoon'd away. 
 
 For, though I hid the trouble from my 
 bairn. 
 Long had he known his mother was a seer,
 
 THE GLAMOUR. 
 
 243 
 
 Whose eyes were troubled by mysterious 
 
 things ; 
 And every shade he saw upon my face 
 Distraught him, lest I saw before his path 
 Mishap or death. My white-faced, fearful 
 
 bairn ! 
 My drooping Angus, with his soft, wide 
 
 eyes, 
 And fluttering mouth ! Alone upon the 
 
 hills, 
 He trembled — fear'd the lightning and the 
 
 storm — 
 Tholed not to lie within the dark alone — 
 And would have wither'd in his bairndom's 
 
 time, 
 Had I not cheer'd him with a smiling face. 
 
 Lord, Thou wert sore upon me ! I was 
 
 lone. 
 And Angus was my pleasure. I was 
 
 haunted, 
 And Angus was my help. Yet, once again, 
 Thy glamour struck me, and I knew, I 
 
 knew, 
 Angus must die. Hard, hard, both day 
 
 and night, 
 I tried to cheat myself and hope, and smiled 
 On Angus, till his heart grew still once more. 
 But it was all in vain. Thrice Angus 
 
 shrunk, 
 Three several gloamings, seated in his chair. 
 And I kept down my fear, and did not 
 
 scream ; 
 And oft I heard the wailing in the house, 
 And sounding of the kirk-bells down Glen- 
 Earn 
 At midnight. Then I sicken'd and grew 
 
 thin. 
 And hunger'd o'er my bairn, and pray'd, 
 
 and pray'd, — 
 And what to me was light of sun or star 
 If Angus went away ? 
 
 ... It was a night 
 Quiet and cold. The moon and stars were 
 
 out. 
 The moon-dew glittering on the hills. 
 
 Alone, 
 I sat, awaiting Angus. It grew late, 
 And Angus came not ; and the low winds 
 
 blew. 
 And the clock tick'd, and ah ! my heart was 
 
 dark. 
 
 Then, last, I took my cloak, and wander'd 
 
 forth, 
 To see if he was coming down the Glen, 
 And took the cold wet pathway in the moon 
 Until I reach'd the foot of Cawmock Craig, 
 And saw the straight rock rise into the lift. 
 Its side all dark, but on its top the Moon 
 Shining full bright and chilly. As I stood. 
 I heard a shout, and saw, far, far above, 
 A figure dark between me and the lift, 
 Threading the narrow paths around the 
 
 Craig 
 Wlience many a man hath fallen and been 
 
 slain ; 
 And even then — Lord, Lord ! — Thy glamour 
 
 dropt 
 Upon me, and I saw before my face 
 The wraith of Angus wrapt in bloody sowe 
 Gliding before me in the ghaistly light. 
 Shrill as an owl, I screech'd ! — and up above 
 My Angus heard, and sicken'd, and swam 
 
 round. 
 And, swooning on the sharp edge of the 
 
 Craig, 
 Dash'd downward to his death ! — 
 
 . . . O bonnie, bonnie 
 Look'd Angus, lying in his sowe asleep. 
 Quiet like moonlight on his face, his hair 
 Kaim'd back and shining round his cold 
 
 white ears. 
 And yonder in the cold kirkyard he lies ; 
 And, Lord, I want to slumber at his side. 
 And cheer him in the darkness of the 
 
 grave,— 
 For he was ever fearful, weak, and pale — 
 A young man with a white bairn's timorous 
 
 soul. 
 And, Lord, I think that Thou at las> art 
 
 kind. 
 For oft the white wraitn, glimmering at my 
 
 side. 
 Hath waved its arms, and moan'd, and 
 
 look'd like me : 
 And I have watched it ever, not afraid, 
 But sad and smiling, and what dress I 
 
 wore 
 The wraith hath worn ; and when I turn'd 
 
 my gown 
 And let the grey hairs hang all down my 
 
 neck, 
 The wraith too, turn'd its gown, and loosd 
 
 its hair ;
 
 244 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 And yonder, yonder, yonder through the 
 pane 
 
 The blue corpse-candles, blowing in the 
 wind, 
 
 Flit slowly to the kirkyard, down Glen- 
 Earn. 
 
 SIGURD OF SAXONY. 
 (MEDIEVAL.) 
 
 The sedgy shores of this enchanted lake 
 Are dark with shadows of the swans which 
 make 
 
 Their nests along its marge ; 
 And on the hither side, where silver waves 
 Curl with low music into hollow caves. 
 
 Waiting for that bright barge 
 Which beareth sleepers to the silent land, 
 T, Sigurd, in my ghostly sorrow, stand. 
 
 I stand alone beneath heaven's silent arch, 
 Shaded both night and day by clouds that 
 
 march 
 And countermarch above ; 
 A sombre suit of perfect mail I wear, 
 A gloomy plume, that troubles the thin air 
 
 To murmurs if I move ; 
 My sword is red and broken ; and my 
 
 shield 
 Bears a gold anchor on a sable field. 
 
 This is a place where mortals find not 
 
 speech ; 
 Save the small murmurous waves that crawl 
 
 the beach. 
 All is as still as death : 
 I hear my heart against my ribs of stone. 
 Like to a wild bird in the net, make moan ; 
 
 My slow and frozen breath 
 Curls like a vapour o'er the silent spot ; 
 My shadow seeks my feet, and moveth not. 
 
 Nought can redeem her. Wherefore I seek 
 
 grace 
 To join her in her distant dwelling-place 
 
 Of pastoral repose ; 
 And I would make this heart that aches and 
 
 grieves 
 As white and perfect as a lily's leaves 
 And fragrant as a rose, 
 
 That with a stainless spirit I may take 
 The solemn barge across the enchanted 
 lake. 
 
 For, having worn her stainless badge in 
 
 fight. 
 Thrice conquering in her name, by day and 
 
 night 
 
 I rode with vizor down. 
 Meeting and slaying honourable foes. 
 Wounded in flesh, giving and taking blows 
 
 To compass her renown. 
 Thus, warring a sweet war without reprieve, 
 I, Sigurd, wore her badge upon my sleeve. 
 
 Armed from head to heel, with spear in 
 
 hand, 
 I cried her praises through the wondering 
 
 land. 
 
 And few her praise refused ; 
 Then flushing with my victory complete, 
 I hastened back and knelt me at her feet. 
 
 Battered, and maimed, and bruised ; 
 And then I wooed her in a secret place, 
 With light upon me from her shining face. 
 
 She bathed my bloody brow, with red 
 
 wounds striped, 
 And with a kerchief white as snow she 
 
 wiped 
 
 The foam from off my mouth ; 
 She set my unhelmed head upon her knee. 
 And wound white arms about me tenderly. 
 
 And slaked the thirsty drouth 
 That ebbed in sluggish fire through blood 
 
 and brain. 
 From a full cup of cool white porcelain. 
 
 Wherefore my soul again was strong. 1 
 
 caught 
 The voiceless music of her form and 
 
 thought. 
 
 I knelt upon my knee. 
 Saying, ' I love thee more than life or 
 
 fame ; 
 I love thee only less than my good name, 
 
 Which is a part of thee ; 
 And I adore thy beauty undefiled ! ' 
 Whereat she looked into mine eyes and 
 
 smiled. 
 
 I wooed her night and day with virtuous 
 
 deeds, 
 And that humility which intercedes
 
 SIGURD OF SAXONY. 
 
 245 
 
 With ladies for true men. 
 I took her hly of a hand in mine, 
 Drinking her breath, as soft as eglantine. 
 
 And wooing well ; and then 
 She toyed with my great beard, and gave 
 
 consent : 
 So down the flowery path of love we went. 
 
 Twined closely, down the soft descent of 
 
 love 
 We wandered on, with golden stars above. 
 
 And many flowers below, 
 Until we came to this dark lake or sea. 
 Which openeth upon eternity, 
 
 And could no farther go ; 
 For beyond life and death, and these dark 
 
 skies. 
 The place of sleep, the Silent Valley, lies. 
 
 Here on the beach we stood, and hand in 
 
 hand 
 Waited to wander to that silent land. 
 
 And all the shore was dark ; 
 Saying, ' We yearn to see the Happy Vale, 
 And hand in hand together we will sail 
 
 In the enchanted barque.' 
 Too late to turn : one passage we must 
 
 take 
 Across the gleaming silence of the lake. 
 
 She said, ' The waters make such threaten- 
 ing moan. 
 Neither can pass across their waste alone ; 
 
 We cannot, cannot part ; 
 We will together cross these waves of death. ' 
 But the dark v/aves grew darker, and the 
 breach 
 
 Came colder from the heart ; 
 And by each face a quiet cloud was worn. 
 Small as the shadow of a lamb new born. 
 
 Then in the distant waves we could behold 
 A radiance like the blowing autumn gold 
 
 Of woodland forests deep ; 
 And my sweet lady trembled, growing 
 
 white 
 As foam of ocean on a summer night. 
 
 When the wild surges leap ; 
 And falling very cold upon my breast, 
 bhe faltered, ' I am weary, — ^let me rest. ' 
 
 I laid her down upon a flowery bed. 
 
 And put soft mosses underneath her head. 
 
 And kissed her, and she slept ; 
 And the air brightened round her, as the 
 
 far 
 Blue ether burns like silver round a star. 
 
 And round her slumber crept 
 A trouble of the air, and silver clear 
 The ghostly light upon the lake grew near. 
 
 Yea, nearer, nearer grew the light, and 
 
 soon, 
 Shaped like the sickle of the early moon. 
 The barge drew shoreward slow — 
 A vapour and a radiance all around, 
 A gleaming of fair faces, and a sound 
 
 Of flutes and lute-strings low. 
 And round my lady crept a shadowy crowd. 
 Fading and brightening like a moonlit 
 
 cloud. 
 
 They clustered with a ghostly light around 
 IVIy lady dear, and raised her from the 
 
 ground. 
 
 And bare her to the barque : 
 Whereon I would have followed, but a 
 
 hand 
 Held me like iron to the hated land. 
 
 Then all again was dark ; 
 And from the breathing darkness came a 
 
 hum 
 Of voices sweet, ' Thy time has not yet 
 
 come." 
 
 And then I shrieked in utter agony ; 
 V/hile fading far away upon the sea, 
 
 I saw the light again ; 
 And with a cry into the waves I sprung. 
 And sought to follow, but the waters clung 
 
 Al)out me like a chain ; 
 And thrice I fought amid their rage and 
 
 roar, 
 And thrice they hurled me bleeding on the 
 
 shore. 
 
 Long have I waited here, alone, alone, 
 Hearing the melancholy waves make moan 
 
 Upon the pebbly beach : 
 With eyes upon the pitiless stars above 
 Here have 1 waited in my homeless love, 
 
 Pale, patient, deaf to speech, 
 With the salt rheum upon me, pale and 
 
 bent. 
 And breathless as a marble monument.
 
 246 
 
 NORTH COAST, AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 This lonely watching would invite despair 
 Did I not oft catch glimpses of my fair 
 
 Lady, so sadly lost, 
 Making, with radiance round her like a star, 
 A luminous pathway on the hill afar, 
 
 Then fading like a ghost ; 
 What time I shout aloud, and at the shout 
 Pause, shuddering at the echoes round 
 about. 
 
 Twice has the barge returned : once for a 
 bent 
 
 Old servitor, who, down the soft descent 
 That leads to this dim land, 
 
 Had wandered from the towns that lie 
 behind. 
 
 And, groping in the cold, had fall'n stone- 
 blind 
 
 Upon the shifting sand ; 
 
 Once for a little gold-haired cliild astray. 
 
 Who, wandering hither, fell to sleep at 
 play. 
 
 Twice has the mystic barge returned, and 
 
 twice 
 Have I been frozen to the earth in ice. 
 
 Helpless to move or speak ; 
 Thrice have I fought with the relentless 
 
 roar 
 Of water, and been flung upon the shore 
 Battered, and maimed, and weak ; 
 But now I wait with quiet heart and brain. 
 Grown patient with unutterable pain. 
 
 And I will wait. To slay myself were sin, 
 And I, self-slaughter'd, could not hope to 
 
 win 
 
 My solitary boon ; 
 But if the barge should come again, and 
 
 leave 
 Me still in lonely watch without reprieve, 
 
 Under the silver moon 
 I will lie down upon my back and rest, 
 With mailc'd hands crossed praying on my 
 
 breast ; 
 
 And fall to slumber on a bed of weeds, 
 A knight well worn in honourable deeds. 
 
 Yet lost to life, and old ; 
 And haply I may dream before I wake 
 That I am floating o'er the pathless lake 
 
 In that bright barge of gold ; 
 And, waking, I may see with sweet surprise 
 Light shining on me from my lady's eyes. 
 
 A POEM TO DAVID* 
 
 I WOULD not be lying yonder, 
 Where thou, belovtJd, art lying, 
 
 Though the nations should crown me living. 
 And murmur my praises dying. 
 
 Better this fierce pulsation, 
 
 Better this aching brain, 
 Than dream, and hear faintly above me 
 
 The cry of the wind and the rain ; 
 
 Than lie in the kirkyard lonely, 
 With fingers and toes upcurled, 
 
 And be conscious of never a motion 
 
 Save the slow rolling round of the world. 
 
 I would not be lying yonder. 
 
 Though the seeds I had sown were 
 springing ! 
 I would not be sleeping yonder. 
 
 And be done with striving and singing ! 
 
 For the eyes are blinded with mildew. 
 The lips are clammy with clay. 
 
 And worms in the ears are crawling, — 
 But the brain is the brain for aye ! 
 
 The brain is warm and glowing, 
 
 Whatever the body be ; 
 It stirs like a thing that breatheth, 
 
 And dreams of the Past and To be ! 
 
 Ay ! down in the deep damp darkness 
 The brains of the dead are hovelled ! 
 
 They gleatn on each other with radiance. 
 Transcending the eye that is shrivelled ! 
 
 Each like a faint lamp lighteth 
 
 The skull wherein it dwelleth ! 
 Each like a lamp turneth brighter 
 
 Whenever the kirk-bell knelleth 1 
 
 I would not be lying yonder 
 Afar from the music of things. 
 
 Not were my green grave watered 
 By the tears of queens and kings. 
 
 '■■ David Gray, Author of The Liiggie, and 
 other Poetns.
 
 A POEM TO DAVID— HAKON. 
 
 ?47 
 
 If the brain like a thing that breatheth 
 
 Is full of the Past and To be, 
 The silence is far more awful 
 
 Than the shriek and the agony ; 
 
 And the hope that sweetened living 
 Is gone with the light of the sun, 
 
 And the struggle seems wholly over, 
 And nothing at all seems done ; 
 
 And the dreams are heavy with losses, 
 And sins, and errors, and wrongs. 
 
 And you cannot hear in the darkness 
 If the people are singing your songs ! 
 
 There's only the slow still rolling 
 Of the dark world round and round, 
 
 Making the dream more wondrous, 
 Though it render the sleep more sound. 
 
 'T is cold, cold, cold and weary, 
 
 Cold in a weary place : 
 The sense of the sin is present 
 
 Like the gleam of a demon's face ! 
 
 What matter the tingling fingers 
 That touch the song above you ? 
 
 What matter the young nkan's weeping. 
 And longing to know you and love you ? 
 
 Nought has been said and uttered, 
 Nought has been seen or known, — 
 
 Detraction, the adder above you, 
 Is sunned on the cold grave-stone, 
 
 II. 
 Yet 't is dark here, dark. 
 
 And the voices call from below ! 
 'Tisso dark, dark, dark. 
 
 That it seems not hard to go ! 
 
 'T is dark, dark, dark. 
 
 And we close our eyes and are weary ! 
 'T is dark, dark, dark, 
 
 And the waiting seems bitter and dreary ! 
 
 And yonder the sun is shining. 
 
 And the green, long grass hath grown. 
 
 And the cool kirk-shade looks pleasant, 
 And you lie so alone, so alone ! 
 
 The world is heartless and hollow, 
 And singing is sad without you. 
 
 And I think I could bear the dreaming 
 Were mine arms around about you ; 
 
 Were thy lips to mine, beloved. 
 And thine arms around me too, 
 
 I think I could he in silence. 
 And dream as we used to do ! 
 
 The flesh and the bones might wither, 
 The blood be dried like dew. 
 
 The heart might crumble to ashes. 
 Till dust was dust anew ; 
 
 And the world with its slow still motion 
 Might roll on its heavenward way, — 
 
 And our brains upon one another 
 Would gleam till the Judgment Day ! 
 
 HAICON. 
 
 Hakon of Thule, ere he died. 
 Summoned a Priest to his bed-side. 
 
 ' Ho, Priest ! ' with blackening brow quoth 
 
 he, 
 ' What comfort canst thou cast to me?' 
 
 Tlie young Priest, with a timorous mouth. 
 Told of the new gods of the South, — 
 
 Of Mary Mother and her Child, 
 And holy Saints with features mild ; 
 
 Of those who hate and those who love, 
 Of Hell beneath and Heaven above. 
 
 Then Hakon laughed full loud and shrill — 
 ' Serve thy puny gods who will ! ' 
 
 Then, roaring to his henchman red, 
 
 'Slit me the throat o" the Priest,' he said; 
 
 ' His red heart's blood shall flow before, 
 As steaming sacrifice to Thor ! 
 
 ' Bring me my mighty drinking-cup : 
 With fiery wine now fill it up ! ' 
 
 Then, though so faint his life's blood ran, 
 ' Let me die standing, Uke a man ! ' 
 
 He swore, and staggered to his legs. 
 And drained the goblet to the dregs. 
 
 ' Skaal be to the gods ! ' he said — 
 
 His great heart burst, and he was dead f
 
 248 
 
 CORUISKEN SONNETS. 
 
 Sonnets 
 
 WRITTEN BY LOCH CORUISK,* ISLE OF SKYE. 
 
 (1870.) 
 
 Late in the gloaming of the year, 
 1 haunt the melancholy Mere ; 
 A Phantom I, where phantoms brood, 
 In that soul-searching solitude. 
 Hiding my forehead in the dim 
 Hem of His robe, I question Him I 
 
 CORUISKEN SONNETS. 
 
 Lord, is it Thou? 
 
 Lord, is it Thou? Gou, do I toucli in- 
 deed 
 Thy raiment hem, that rolls like vapour 
 dark? 
 
 homeless Spirit, that fleest us in our 
 
 need. 
 Pause ! answer ! while I kneel, remain 
 
 and mark. . . 
 Father I . . . Ere back they bear me, 
 cold and stark. 
 Across Thy darken'd threshold, — ere I 
 plead 
 For love no longer, pity me, and hark ! 
 Surviving the long tale of craft and creed, 
 The dumb Hills gather round me, gaunt 
 and gray, — 
 The Waters utter their monotonous 
 
 moan, — 
 The immemorial Heavens, with no groan. 
 Bend dim eyes down, as on their natal day : 
 Cold are all these as snow, and still as 
 stone ; 
 But / have found a voice— to plead, to 
 pray. 
 
 n. 
 
 We are Fatherless. 
 
 1 FOUND Thee not by the starved widow's 
 
 bed, 
 Nor in the sick-rooms where my dear 
 ones died ; 
 
 ' For a detailed description of Loch Coruisk, 
 see the writer's Prose Works, Volume v. 
 
 In Cities vast I hearken'd for Thy tread. 
 And heard a thousand call Thee, wretched- 
 eyed, 
 Worn out, and bitter. But the Heavens 
 denied 
 Their melancholy Maker. From the 
 
 Dead ! 
 Assurance came, nor answer. Then I 
 fled 
 Into these wastes, and raised my hands, 
 
 and cried : 
 ' The seasons pass — the sky is as a pall — 
 Thin wasted hands on withering hearts 
 we press — 
 There is no God — in vain we plead and 
 call. 
 In vain with weary eyes we search and 
 guess — 
 Like children in an empty house sit all, 
 Cast-away children, lorn and fatherless.* 
 
 HI. 
 
 We are Children, 
 
 Children indeed are we — children that 
 wait 
 Within a wondrous Dwelling, while on 
 
 high 
 Stretch the sad vapours and the voiceless 
 sky ; 
 The House is fair, yet all is desolate 
 Because our Father comes not ; clouds of 
 fate 
 Sadden above us — shivering we espy 
 The passing rain, the cloud before the gate, 
 
 And cry to one another, ' He is nigh ! ' 
 At early morning, with a shining Face, 
 He left us innocent and lily-crown'd ;
 
 CORUISKEN SONNETS. 
 
 249 
 
 And now 'tis late — night cometh on apace — 
 We hold each other's hands and look 
 around, 
 Frighted at our own shades ! Heaven send 
 us grace ! 
 When He returns, all will be sleeping 
 sound. 
 
 IV. 
 
 When we are all Asleep. 
 
 When He returns, and finds the World so 
 drear — 
 All sleeping, — young and old, unfair and 
 fair. 
 Will He stoop down and whisper in each 
 ear, 
 ' Awaken ! ' or for pity's sake forbear, — 
 Saying, ' How shall I meet their frozen 
 stare 
 Of wonder, and their eyes so full of fear ? 
 How shall I comfort them in their de- 
 spair. 
 If they cry out, "Too late ! let us sleep 
 
 here " ?' 
 Perchance He will not wake us up, but 
 when 
 He sees us look so happy in our rest. 
 Will murmur, ' Poor dead women and 
 dead men ! 
 Dire was their doom, and weary was their 
 quest. 
 Wherefore awake them unto life again ? 
 Let them sleep on untroubled— it is best.' 
 
 But the Hills will bear Witness. 
 
 Bur ye, — ye Hills that gather round this 
 day, 
 Ye Mountains, and ye Vapours, and ye 
 Waves, 
 Ye will attest the wrongs of men of clay. 
 When, in a World all hush'd, sits on our 
 
 graves 
 The melancholy Maker. From your 
 caves 
 Strange echoes of our old lost life shall 
 come ; 
 With still eyes fixed on your vast archi- 
 traves. 
 Nature shall speak, though mortal lips be 
 dumb. 
 
 Then God will cry: 'Sadly the Waters 
 fall. 
 Sadly the Mountains keep their snowy 
 state. 
 The Clouds pass on, the Winds and Echoes 
 call, 
 The World is sweet, yet wearily I wait. 
 Though all is fair, and I am Lord of all. 
 Without my Children I am desolate.' 
 
 VI. 
 
 Desolate ! 
 
 Desolate ! How the Peaks of ashen gray. 
 The smoky Mists that drift from hill to 
 hill. 
 The Waters dark, anticipate this day 
 That sullen desolation. Oh, how still 
 The shadows come and vanish, with no 
 will ! 
 How still the Waters watch the heaven's 
 
 array ! 
 How still the melancholy vapours stray, 
 Mirror'd below, and drifting on, fulfil 
 Thy mandate as they mingle ! — Not a 
 sound, 
 Save that deep nmrmiu- of a torrent near, 
 Deepening silence. Hush ! the dark pro- 
 found 
 Groans, as some gray crag loosens and 
 falls sheer 
 To the abyss. Wildly I look around, 
 O Spirit of the Human, are Thou /lefef 
 
 VII. 
 Lord, art Thou here? 
 
 Lord, art Thou here? far from the citied 
 zones, 
 Brooding in melancholy solitude ; 
 Hushing Thy breath to awful undertones. 
 Darkening Thy face, if mortal foot in- 
 trude. 
 Father, how shall I meet Thee in this 
 mood ? 
 How shall I ask Thee why Thou dwell'st 
 
 with stones. 
 While far away the world, like Lazarus, 
 groans. 
 Sick for Thy healing. Father, if 1 hou 
 be'st good,
 
 250 
 
 CORUISKEN SONNETS. 
 
 And wise, and gentle, oh come down, come 
 down ! 
 Come like an Angel with a human face. 
 Pass through the gates into the hungry 
 Town, 
 Comfort the weary, send the afflicted 
 grace, 
 Shine brighter on the Graves where we lay 
 down 
 Our dear ones, cheer them in the narrow 
 place ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 God is Beautiful. 
 Oh, Thou art beautiful ! and Thou dost 
 bestow 
 Thy beauty on this stillness — still as 
 
 sheep 
 The Hills lie under Thee ; the Waters 
 deep 
 Murmur for joy of Thee ; the voids below 
 Mirror Thy strange fair Vapours as they 
 flow ; 
 And now, afar upon the barren height, 
 Thou sendest down a radiant look of light 
 So that the still Peaks glisten, and a glow 
 Rose-colour'd tints the little snowy cloud 
 That poises on the highest peak of all. 
 Oh, Thou art beautiful! — the Hills are 
 bowed 
 Beneath Thee ; on Thy name the soft 
 Winds call — 
 The monstrous Ocean trumpets it aloud. 
 The Rains and Snows intone it as they 
 faU. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Motion of the Mists. 
 
 Here by the sunless Lake there is no air, 
 Yet with how ceaseless motion, Uke a 
 
 shower 
 Flowing and fading, do the high Mists 
 lower 
 Amid the gorges of the Mountains bare. 
 Some weary breathing never ceases there, — 
 The barren peaks can feel it hour by 
 
 hour ; 
 The purple depths are darken'd by its 
 power ; 
 A soundless breath, a trouble all things 
 share 
 
 That feel it come and go. See ! onward 
 swim 
 The ghostly Mists, from silent land to 
 land, 
 From gulf to gulf; now the whole air 
 grows dim — 
 Like living men, darkling a space, they 
 stand. 
 But lo ! a Sunbeam, like the Cherubim, 
 Scatters them onward with a flaming 
 brand. 
 
 X. 
 
 CORUISK. 
 
 I THINK this is the very stillest place 
 On all God's earth, and yet no rest is 
 here. 
 The Vapours mirror'd in the black loch's 
 face 
 Drift on Uke frantic shapes and dis- 
 appear ; 
 A never-ceasing murmur in mine ear 
 Tells me of Waters wild that flow and 
 flow. 
 There is no rest at all afar or near. 
 Only a sense of things that moan and go. 
 And lo 1 the still small life these limbs 
 contain 
 I feel flows on like those, restless and 
 proud ; 
 Before that breathing nought within my 
 brain 
 Pauses, but all drifts on hke mist and 
 cloud ; 
 Only the bald Peaks and the Stones remain. 
 Frozen before Thee, desolate and bowed. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But Whithep? 
 
 And whither, O ye Vapours ! do ye 
 wend ? 
 Stirred by that weary breathing, whither 
 
 away? 
 And whither, O ye Dreams ! that night 
 and day 
 Drift o'er the troiiblous life, tremble, and 
 
 blend 
 To broken lineaments of that far Friend, 
 Whose strange breath's come and go ye 
 must obey ?
 
 CORUISKEN SONNETS. 
 
 251 
 
 O sleepless Soul ! in the world's waste 
 astray, 
 Whither? and will thy wanderings ever 
 
 end? 
 All things that be are full of a quick pain ; 
 Onward we fleet, swift as the running 
 rill,— 
 The vapours drift, the mists within the 
 brain 
 Float on obscuringly and have no will. 
 Only the bare Peaks and the Stones remain ; 
 These only, — and a God sublimely stilL 
 
 XII. 
 
 God is Pitiless. 
 
 Oh, Thou art pitiless ! They call Thee 
 Light, 
 Law, Justice, Love ; but Thou art 
 pitiless. 
 What thing of earth is precious in Thy 
 sight, 
 But weary waiting on and soul's distress? 
 When dost Thou come with glorious 
 hands to bless 
 The good man that dies cold for lack of 
 Thee ? 
 When bring'st Thou garlands for our 
 happiness ? 
 Whom dost Thou send but Death to set us 
 
 free? 
 Blood runs like wine— foul spirits sit and 
 rule — 
 The weak are crushed in every street and 
 lane — 
 He who is generous becomes the fool 
 
 Of all the world, and gives his life in 
 vain. 
 Wert Thou as good as Thou art beautiful. 
 Thou couldst not bear to look upon such 
 pain. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 ■Yea, P1TILES.S. 
 
 Yea, Thou art pitiless — Thou dost permit 
 The Priest to use Thee as a hangman's 
 cord — 
 Thou proppest up the Layman's shallow 
 wit, 
 Driving the Beggar fiom the laden board — 
 Thou art the easy text of those who hoard 
 Their gifts in secret chests for Death to see. 
 
 ' Mighty and strong and glorious is the 
 
 Lord ! ' 
 The Prophet cries, gone mad for lack of 
 
 Thee! 
 While good men dying deem Thy grace a 
 
 dream. 
 While sick men wail for Thee and mad 
 
 blaspheme, 
 A thousand forms of Thee the foolish 
 
 preach — 
 Fair stretch Thy temples over all the lands, 
 In each of these some barbarous Image 
 
 stands, 
 And men grow atheists in the shrine of 
 
 each. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Could God be Judged. 
 
 Can I be calm, beholding everywhere 
 Disease and Anguish busy, early and 
 
 late? 
 Can I be silent, nor compassionate 
 The evils that both Soul and Body bear ? 
 Oh, what have sickly Children done, to 
 share 
 Thy cup of sorrows? yet their dull, sad 
 pain 
 Makes the earth awful ; — on the tomb's 
 dark stair 
 Moan Idiots, with no glimmer in the 
 brain. 
 No shrill Priest with his hangman's cord 
 can beat 
 Thy mercy into these — ah nay, ah nay ! 
 The Angels Thou hast sent to haunt the 
 street 
 Are Hunger and Distortion and Decay. 
 Lord ! that mad'st Man, and send'st him 
 foes so fleet. 
 Who shall judge Thee upon Thy judg- 
 ment-day ? 
 
 XV. 
 
 The Hills on their Thrones. 
 
 Ghostly and livid, robed with shadow, 
 see ! 
 Each mighty Mountain silent on its 
 
 throne. 
 From foot to scalp one stretch of livid 
 stone. 
 Without one gleam of grass or greenery.
 
 252 
 
 CORUISKEN SONNETS. 
 
 Silent they take the immutable decree — 
 Darkness or sunlight come, — they do not 
 stir ; 
 Each bare brow lifted desolately free, 
 
 Keepeth the silence of a death-chamber. 
 Silent they watch each other until-doom ; 
 They see each other's phantoms come 
 and go, 
 Yet stir not. Now the stormy hour brings 
 gloom. 
 Now all things grow confused and black 
 below, 
 Specific through the cloudy Drift they loom, 
 And each accepts his individual woe. 
 
 xvr. 
 King Blaabhein. 
 
 Monarch of these is Blaabhein. On his 
 height 
 The lightning and the snow sleep side by 
 side. 
 Like snake and lamb ; he waiteth in a white 
 
 And wintry consecration. All his pride 
 Is husht this dimly-gleaming autum.n dav — 
 He broodeth o'er the things he hath be- 
 held— 
 Beneath his feet the Rains crawl still and 
 gray. 
 Like phantoms of the mighty men of eld. 
 A quiet awe the dreadful heights doth fill. 
 The high clouds pause and brood above 
 their King ; 
 The torrent murmurs gently as a rill ; 
 
 Softly and low the winds are murmuring ; 
 A small black speck above the snow, how 
 still 
 Hovers the Eagle, with no stir of wing ! 
 
 xvir. 
 Blaabhein in the Mists. 
 
 Watch but a moment— all is changed ! A 
 moan 
 Breaketh the beauty of that noonday 
 dream ; 
 The hoary Titan darkens on his throne. 
 And with an indistinct and senile scream 
 Gazes at the wild Rains as past they 
 stream, 
 Through vaporous air wild-blowing on his 
 brow ; 
 
 All black, from scalp to base there is no 
 gleam, 
 Even his silent snows are faded now. 
 Watch yet !— and yet !— Behold, and all i.s 
 done — 
 'Twas but the shallow shapes that come 
 and go. 
 Troubling the mimic picture in the eye. 
 Still and untroubled sits the kingly one. 
 Yonder the Eagle floats— there sleeps the 
 Snow 
 Against the pale green of the cloudless 
 sky. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 The Fiery Birth of the Hills. 
 
 O hoary Hills, though ye look aged, ye 
 Are but the children of a latter time — 
 Methinks I see ye in that hour sublime 
 When from the hissing cauldron ot the Sea 
 Ye were upheaven, while so terribly 
 
 The Clouds boiled, and the Lightning 
 scorched ye bare. 
 Wild, new-born, blind. Titans in agony, 
 Ye glared at heaven through folds of fiery 
 hair ! . . . 
 Then, in an instant, while ye trembled thus 
 A Hand from heaven, white and luminous, 
 Pass'd o'er your brows, and husht your 
 fiery breath. 
 Lo ! one by one the still Stars gather'd 
 
 round. 
 The great Deep glass'd itself, and with no 
 sound 
 A cold Snow fell, and all was still as 
 death. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The Changeless Hills. 
 
 All power, all virtue, is repression— ye 
 
 Are stationary, and God keeps ye great ; 
 Around your heads the fretful winds play 
 free ; 
 Ye change not— ye are calm and desolate. 
 What seems to us a trouble and a 'ate 
 Is but the loose dust streaming from your 
 feet 
 And drifting onward— early ye sit and 
 late, 
 While unseen Winds waft past the things 
 that fleet
 
 CORUISKEN SONNETS. 
 
 253 
 
 So sit for ever, still and passionless 
 As He that made you !— thought and soul's 
 distress 
 Ye know not, though ye contemplate the 
 strife ; 
 Better to share the Spirit's bitterest aches — 
 Better to be the weakest Wave that breaks 
 On a wild Ocean of tempestuous Life. 
 
 XX. 
 
 O Mountain Peak of a God. 
 
 Father, if Thou imperturbable art, 
 
 Passive as these, lords of a lonely 
 land — 
 If, having laboured. Thou must sit apart — 
 If having once open'd the Void, and 
 
 planned 
 This tragedy. Thou must impassive stand 
 Spectator of the scenic flow of things, 
 
 Then I — a drop of dew, a grain of 
 sand — 
 Pity Thy lot, poor palsied King of Kings. 
 Better to fail and fail, to shriek and shriek, 
 Better to break, like any Wave, and 
 go,— 
 Impotent godhead, let Thy slave be weak! — 
 Yea, do not freeze my Soul, but let it 
 flow — 
 Oh, wherefore call to Thee, a mountain 
 Peak 
 Impassive, beautiful, serene with snow ? 
 
 XXI. 
 
 God the Image. 
 
 Impassive, beautiful, and desolate, 
 
 Is this the Lord my God, whom I en- 
 treat? 
 Powerless to stay the ravages of fate — 
 Jove with his right hand palsied, Jove 
 
 effete, 
 Fetter'd by frost upon a stony seat — 
 O dreadful apparition ! Can this be ? 
 Yonder He looms, where never a heart 
 doth beat. 
 In the cold ether of theology. 
 Come down ! come down ! O Souls that 
 
 wander there ! 
 Cold arc the snows, chill is the dreadful 
 air — 
 
 Come down ! come down into the Valleys 
 deep ; 
 Leave the wild Image to the stars, that 
 
 rise 
 Around about it with affrighted eves ; 
 Come to green under-glooms, and sink, 
 and sleep. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The Footprints. 
 
 Come to green under-glooms, — and in your 
 hair 
 Weave nightshade, fo.xglove red, and 
 
 rank wolfsbane, 
 And slumber and forget Him ; if in vain 
 Ye try to slumber off your sorrow there, 
 Arise once more and openly repair 
 
 To busy haunts where men and women 
 sigh. 
 And if all things but echo back your care, 
 Cry out aloud, ' There is no God ! ' and 
 die. 
 But if upon a day when all is dark. 
 Thou, stooping in the public ways, shalt 
 mark 
 Strange luminous footprints as of feet 
 that shine — 
 Follow them ! follow them ! O soul be- 
 
 reaven ! 
 God had a Son — He hath pass'd that way 
 to heaven : 
 Follow, and look upon the Face divine 1 
 
 XXIIt. 
 
 We are Deathless. 
 
 Yet hear me. Mountains ! echo me, O 
 Sea! 
 Murmur an answer. Winds, from out 
 
 your caves ; 
 Cry loudly. Torrents, Mountains, Winds, 
 and Waves — 
 Hark to my crying all, and echo me — 
 All things that hve are deathless — I and 
 ye. 
 The Father could not slay us if He would ; 
 The lilements in all their multitude 
 Will rise against their Master terribly, 
 If hut one hair upon a human head 
 Should perish I . . . Darkness grows on 
 crag and steep,
 
 254 
 
 CORUISKEN SONNETS. 
 
 A hollow thunder fills the torrent's bed ; 
 The wild Mists moan and threaten as 
 they creep ; 
 And hush ! now, when all other cries are 
 fled, 
 The warning murmur of the white-haird 
 Deep. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 A Voice in the Whirlwind. 
 
 I HEARD a Whirlwind on the mountain 
 peak 
 Pause for a space its furious flight and 
 cry — 
 •There is no Death !' loudly it seemed to 
 shriek ; 
 ' Nothing that is, beneath the sun, shall 
 
 die.' 
 The frail sick Vapours echoed, drifting 
 by- 
 ' There is no Death, but change early and 
 
 late ; 
 Powerless were God's right Hand, full 
 arm'd with fate. 
 To slay the meanest thing beneath the 
 sky.' 
 Yea, even as tremulous foam-bells on the 
 sea, 
 Coming and going, are all things of 
 breath ; 
 But evermore, deathless, and bright, and 
 free. 
 We re-emerge, in spite of Change or 
 Death. 
 Hearken, O Mountains ! Waters, echo 
 me ! 
 O wild Wind, echo what the Man-Wind 
 saith ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Cry of the Little Brook. 
 
 Christ help me ! whither would my dark 
 thoughts run, 
 I look around me, trembling fearfully ; 
 The dreadful silence of the Silent One 
 Freezes my lips, and all is sad to sec. 
 Hark ! hark ! what small voice murmurs 
 ' God made me .' ' 
 It is the Brooklet, singing all alone. 
 Sparkling with pleasure that is all its own, 
 And running, self-contented, sweet, and 
 tree. 
 
 O Brooklet, born where never grass is green, 
 
 Finding the stony hill and flowing fleet, 
 Thou comest as a Messenger serene. 
 
 With shining wings and silver-sandall'd 
 feet ; 
 Faint falls thy music on a Soul unclean, 
 And, in a moment, all the World looks 
 sweet ! 
 
 XXVL 
 
 The Happy Hearts of Earth. 
 
 Whence thou hast come, thou knowest 
 not, little Brook, 
 Nor whither thou art bound. Yet wild 
 and gay. 
 Pleased in thyself, and pleasing all that 
 look, 
 Thou wendest, all the seasons, on thy 
 
 way; 
 The lonely glen grows gladsome with thy 
 play, 
 Thou glidest lamb-like through the ghostly 
 
 shade ; 
 To think of solemn things thou wast not 
 made. 
 But to sing on, for pleasure, night and 
 day. 
 Such happy hearts are wandering, crystal 
 clear. 
 In the great world where men and women 
 dwell ; 
 Earth's mighty shows they neither love nor 
 fear, 
 They are content to be, while I rebel. 
 Out of their own delight dispensing cheer, 
 And ever softly whispering, ' All is well ! ' 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Father, forgive Thy Child. 
 
 Oh sing, clear Brook, sing on, while in a 
 dream 
 I feel the sweetness of the years go by ! 
 The crags and peaks are softened now, and 
 seem 
 Gently to sleep against the gentle sky ; 
 Old scenes and faces glimmer up and die. 
 With outlines of sweet thought obscured 
 too long ; 
 Like boys that shout at play far voices 
 cry; 
 Oh sing ! for I am weeping at the song.
 
 CORUISKEN SONNETS. 
 
 255 
 
 I know not what I am, but only know 
 I have had glimpses tongue may never 
 speak ; 
 No more I balance human joy and woe, 
 But think of my transgressions, and am 
 meek. 
 Father! forgive the child who fretted 
 so, — 
 His proud heart yields, — the tears are on 
 his cheek ! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 God's Loneliness. 
 
 When, in my strong affection, I have 
 
 sought 
 
 To play at Providence with men of clay. 
 
 How hath my good come constantly to 
 
 nought. 
 
 How hath my light and love been cast 
 
 away, — 
 How hath my light been light to lead 
 astray. 
 How hath my love become of sorry worth. 
 How feeble hath been all my soul's 
 essay 
 To aid one single man on all God's earth ! 
 Father in Heaven, when I think these 
 things. 
 Helpless Thou seemest to redeem our 
 plight— 
 Thy lamp shines on shut eyes — each Spirit 
 springs 
 To its own stature still in Thy despite — 
 While haggard Nature round Thy footstool 
 clings. 
 Pale, powerless, sitt'st Thou, in a Lonely 
 Light. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 The Cup of Tears. 
 
 My God 1 my God ! with passionate appeal. 
 Pardon I crave for these mad moods of 
 mine, — 
 Can I remember, with no heart to feel. 
 The gift of Thy dear Son, the Man 
 
 Divine — 
 My God ! what agonies of love were 
 Thine, 
 Sitting alone, forgotten, on Thy height, 
 Pale, powerless, awful in that Lonely Light, 
 While 'neath Thy feet the cloudy hyaline 
 
 Rain'd blood upon the darkness, — where 
 Thine Own 
 Held the black Cup of all earth's tears, 
 and cried ! 
 Ev'n then, tho' Thou wert conscious of his 
 groan. 
 Pale in that Lonely Light Thou did'st 
 abide, 
 Nor dared, even then, tho' shaken on Thy 
 throne. 
 To reach Thy hand and dash the Cup 
 aside. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The Light of the World. 
 
 On the dark waters of man's thought still 
 gleams 
 Softly and silvernly, from night to night. 
 That starlight Legend, though its substance 
 seems 
 Consuming in the melancholy light 
 It sheddeth. Father, do I see aright? 
 Is it a truth or most divine of dreams ? 
 That He, Thy Child, walk'd once in rai- 
 ment white 
 With mortal men, and mused by Syrian 
 streams ? 
 
 Life that puts our noblest life to shame, 
 Was it a Star, or light to lead astray ? 
 
 Thought's waves grow husht beneath that 
 silvern flame. 
 Our hopes pursue it and our doubts obey ; 
 And whether truth or phantom, it became 
 The sweetest sphere that lights the 
 World's black way. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Earth's Eldest Born. 
 
 But He, the only One of mortal birth 
 Who raised the Veil and saw the Face 
 behind. 
 While yet He wander'd footsore on the 
 earth. 
 Beheld His Father's Eyes, — that they 
 
 were kind. 
 Here in the dark I grope, confused, pur- 
 bhnd ; 
 
 1 have not seen the glory and the peace ; 
 
 But on the darken'il mirror of the mind 
 Strange glimmers fall, and shake me till 
 they cease —
 
 256 
 
 CO RU IS KEN SONNETS. 
 
 Then, wondering, dazzled, on Thy name I 
 call, 
 And, like a child, reach empty hands and 
 moan. 
 And broken accents from my wild lips fall. 
 And I implore Thee in this human 
 tone ; — 
 If such as I can follow Him at all 
 Into Thy presence, 'tis by love alone. 
 
 xxxir. 
 
 What Spirit Cometh? 
 
 Who Cometh wandering hither in my need ? 
 What gentle Ghost from Heaven cometh 
 now? — 
 Oh, I am broken to the rod indeed — 
 Father, my earthly father, is it thou ? 
 The stooping shape with piteous human 
 brow. 
 The dear quaint gesture, and the feeble 
 
 pace. 
 The weary-eyed, world-worn, beloved face, 
 Ev'n as they wildly faded, meet me now. 
 A gentle voice flows softly, saying plain : 
 ' From death comes light, from pain 
 beatitude ; 
 Chide not at loss, for out of loss comes 
 gain ; 
 Chide not at grief, for 'tis the .Soul's best 
 food — 
 Out of my death-chamber, out of wrong 
 and pain, 
 Cometh a hfe and odour. God is good.' 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Stay, O Spirit! 
 
 Father, my earthly father, stay, oh stay ! 
 
 1 know thou wert a man as others be ; 
 Sore were thy feet upon the World's cold 
 day. 
 
 And thou didst stumble oft, and on thy 
 
 knee 
 Knelt little ; but thy gentle heart gleamed 
 free 
 In cloud and shadow, giving its best cheer; 
 Thou had'st an open hand, and laugh'd 
 for glee 
 When happy men or creatures dumb played 
 
 near. 
 But in thy latter years God's scourge was 
 sore 
 Upon thee — weary were thy wrongs and 
 dire, — 
 Yet blessings on thee — until all was o'er, 
 
 Cheery thou wert beside a cheerless fire — 
 Till one red dawn the mark was on the 
 door. 
 And thou wert dead to all the world's 
 desire. 
 
 XXXIV, 
 
 Quiet Waters. 
 
 O Rainbow, Rainbow, on the livid height, 
 
 Softening its ashen outlines into dream. 
 Dewy yet brilliant, delicately bright 
 
 As pink wild-roses' leaves, why dost thou 
 gleam 
 So bejkoningly ? Whom dost thou invite 
 Still higher upward on the bitter quest? 
 What dost thou promise to the weary sight 
 In that strange region whence thou is- 
 suest ? 
 Speakest thou of pensive runlets by whose 
 
 side 
 Our dear ones wander sweet and gentle- 
 eyed, 
 In the soft dawn of some diviner Day? 
 Art thou a promise ? Come those hues and 
 
 dyes 
 From heavenly Meads, near which thou 
 dost arise, 
 Irisd from Quiet Waters, far away 1
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 ^ii 
 
 The Book of Orm. 
 
 (1870.) 
 
 'This also we humbly beg,— that Human things may not prejudice such as are Divine, neither 
 that from the unlocking of the Gates of Sense, and the kindling of a greater Natural Light, any- 
 thing of incredulity or intellectual night may arise in our minds towards Divine Mysteries.'— 
 Student's Prayer, Bacon. 
 
 'To vindicate the ways of God to man.'— Milton. 
 
 ' God's Mystery will I vindicate, the Mystery of the Veil and of the Shadow ; yea, also Death 
 and Sorrow, God's divine Angels on all earths ; and I will vindicate the Soul, that the Soul may 
 vindicate the Flesh ; and all these things shall vindicate Evil, proving God's mercy to His creatures, 
 great and small.'— A Rune found in the Starlight. 
 
 INSCRIPTION. 
 
 To F. W. C. 
 
 Flowers pluckt upon a grave by moonlight, pale 
 
 And suffering, from the spiritual light 
 
 They grew in : these, with all the love and 
 
 blessing 
 That prayers can gain of God, I send to thee ! 
 
 PROEM. 
 
 (to book of orm and 
 political mystics.) 
 
 When in these songs I name the Name of 
 
 God, 
 I mean not Him who ruled with brazen 
 
 rod 
 The rulers of the Jew ; nor Him who calm 
 Sat reigning on Olympus ; nay, nor Brahm, 
 Osiris, Allah, Odin, Balder, Thor, 
 (Though these I honour, with a hundred 
 
 more) ; 
 Menu I mean not, nor the Man Divine, 
 The pallid Kainbow lighting Palestine ; 
 Nor any lesser of the gods which Man 
 Hath conjured out of Night since Time 
 
 began. 
 I mean the primal Mystery and Light, 
 The most Unfathomable, Infinite, 
 The Higher Law, Impersonal, Supreme, 
 The Life in Life, the Dream within the 
 
 Dream, 
 
 The Fountain which in silent melody 
 
 Feeds the dumb waters of Eternity, 
 
 The Source whence every god hath flown 
 
 and flows, 
 And whither each departs to find repose. 
 
 THE BOOK OF THE VISIONS SEEN 
 BY ORM THE CELT. 
 
 There is a mortal, and his name is 
 
 Orm, 
 Born in the evening of the world, and 
 
 looking 
 Back from the sunset to the gates of 
 
 morning. 
 
 And he is aged early, in a time 
 When all are aged early, — he was born 
 In twilight times, and in his soul is twilight. 
 
 O brother, hold me by the hand, and 
 
 hearken, 
 For these things I shall phrase are thine and 
 
 mine, 
 And all men's, — all are seeking for a sign. 
 
 Thou wert bom yesterday, but thou art 
 
 old. 
 Weary to-day, to-morrow thou wilt sleep — 
 Take these for kisses on thy closing 
 
 eyelids.
 
 258 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORAL 
 
 I, 
 
 FIRST SONG OF THE VEIL. 
 
 How God in the beginning drew 
 Over his face the Veil of blue, 
 Wherefore no soul of mortal race 
 
 Hath ever look'd upon the Face ; 
 Children of earth whose spirits fail 
 
 Heark to the First Song of the Veil. 
 
 The Veil Woven. 
 
 In the beginning, 
 
 Ere Man grew, 
 The Veil was woven 
 
 Bright and blue ; 
 Soft mists and vapours 
 Gather'd and mingled 
 Over the black world 
 
 Stretched below, 
 While winds of heaven 
 Blew from all places, 
 Shining luminous, 
 
 A starry snow. 
 Blindly, dumbly, 
 Darken'd under 
 Ocean and river. 
 
 Mountain and dale, 
 While over his features, 
 Wondrous, terrible. 
 The beautiful Master 
 
 Drew the Veil : 
 Then starry, luminous. 
 Rolled the Veil of azure 
 O'er the first dwellings 
 
 Of mortal race ; 
 — And since the beginning 
 No mortal vision, 
 Pure or sinning, 
 
 Hath seen the Face 
 
 Yet mark me closely I 
 
 Strongly I swear. 
 Seen or seen not, 
 
 The Face is there ! 
 When the Veil is clearest 
 
 And sunniest, 
 Closest and nearest 
 
 The Face is prest ; 
 But when, grown weary 
 With long downlooking, 
 The Face wilhrawing 
 
 For a time is gone, 
 
 The great Veil darkens. 
 And ye see full clearly 
 Ghttering numberless 
 
 The gems thereon. 
 For the lamp of his features 
 Divinely burning, 
 Shines, and suffuses 
 
 The Veil with light, 
 And the Face, drawn backward 
 With that deep sighing 
 Ye hear in the gloaming, 
 
 Leaveth the Night. 
 
 Thus It befell to men 
 Graveward they journeyed, 
 From waking to sleeping, 
 
 In doubt and in fear, 
 Evermore hoping, 
 Evermore seeking. 
 Nevermore guessing 
 
 The Master so near : 
 Making strange idols, 
 Rearing fair Temples, 
 Crying, denying, 
 Questioning, dreaming, 
 Nevermore certain 
 
 Of God and His grace, — 
 Evermore craving, 
 To look on a token, 
 
 To gaze on a Face. 
 
 Now an Evangel, 
 
 Whom God loved deep, 
 Said, ' See ! the mortals, 
 
 How they weep ! 
 They grope in darkness. 
 They blunder onward 
 
 From race to race. 
 Were it not better. 
 Once and for ever, 
 
 To unveil the Face ? ' 
 God smiled. 
 
 He said — ' Not yet ? 
 Much is to remember, 
 
 Much to forget ; 
 Be thou of comfort ! 
 How should the token 
 
 Silence their wail ? ' 
 
 And, with eyes tear-clouded, 
 He gazed through tlie luminous, 
 Star-inwrought, beautiful. 
 Folds of the Veil.
 
 FIRST SONG OF THE VEIL. 
 
 259 
 
 II. 
 Earth the Mother. 
 
 Beautiful, beautiful, she lay below. 
 
 The mighty Mother of humanity, 
 Turning her sightless eyeballs to the glow 
 
 Of light she could not see, 
 Feeling the happy warmth, and breathing 
 slow 
 As if her thoughts were shining tran- 
 quilly. 
 Beautiful, beautiful the Mother lay, 
 Crowned with silver spray, 
 The greenness gathering hushfully around 
 The peace of her great heart, while on 
 her breast 
 The wayward Waters, with a weeping sound. 
 
 Were sobbing into rest. 
 For all day long her face shone merrily, 
 And at its smile the waves leapt mad and 
 
 free : 
 But at the darkening of the Veil, she drew 
 The wild things to herself, and husht 
 their cries. 
 Then, stiller, dumber, search'd the deepen- 
 ing Blue 
 With passionate blind eyes ; 
 And went the old life over in her thought, 
 Dreamily praying as her memory wrought 
 The dimly guessed at, never utter'd ,tale, 
 While, over her dreaming, 
 Deepen'd the luminous, 
 Star-inwrought, beautiful, 
 Folds of the wondrous Veil. 
 
 For more than any of her children of clay 
 The beautiful Mother knows — 
 She is so old ! 
 Ye would go wild to hearken, if this day 
 Her dumb lips should unclose. 
 
 And the tale be told : 
 Such unfathomable things, 
 Such mystic vanishings, 
 
 She knoweth about God — she is so old. 
 
 For oft, in the beginning, long ago. 
 Without a Veil looked down the Face ye 
 
 know, 
 And Earth, an infant happy-eyed and 
 
 bright, 
 Look'd smiling up, and gladden'd in its 
 
 sight. 
 
 But later, when the Man Flower from her 
 
 vi'omb 
 Burst into brightening bloom, 
 In her glad eyes a golden dust was blown 
 Out of the Void, and she was blind as 
 
 stone. 
 
 And since that day 
 
 She hath not seen, nor spoken, — lest her 
 say 
 Should be a sorrow and fear to mortal 
 race, 
 And doth not know the Lord hath hid 
 away. 
 But tumeth up blind orbs— to feel the 
 Face. 
 
 HI. 
 
 Children of Earth. 
 
 So dumbly, blindly, 
 So cheerly, sweetly, 
 The beautiful Mother 
 
 Of mortals smiled ; 
 Her children marvell'd 
 And looked upon her — 
 Her patient features 
 
 Were bright and mild ; 
 And on her eyeballs 
 
 Night and day, 
 A sweet light glimmer'd 
 
 From far away. 
 Her children gather'd 
 
 With sobs and cries, 
 To see the sweetness 
 
 Of sightless eyes ; 
 But though she held them 
 
 So dear, so dear. 
 She could not answer, 
 
 She could not hear. 
 She felt them flutter 
 
 Around her knee, 
 She felt their weeping, 
 Yet knew not wherefore — 
 
 She could not see. 
 ' O Mother ! Mother 
 
 Of mortal race ! 
 Is there a Father? 
 
 Is there a Face?" 
 She felt their sorrow 
 
 Against her cheek, — 
 She could not hearken, 
 
 She could not speak ; 
 With thin lips fluttering, 
 
 s 3
 
 26o 
 
 THE BOOK 
 
 ' OF ORM. 
 
 With blind eyes tearful, 
 
 Wearily they wander" d, 
 
 And features pale, 
 
 Reaching the desolate 
 
 She clasp'd her children, 
 
 Regions of snow. 
 
 And looked in silence 
 
 Looming there lonely. 
 
 Upon the Veil. 
 
 They searched the Veil wonderful 
 
 
 With tubes fire-fashion'd 
 
 Her hair grew silvern, 
 
 In caverns below . . . 
 
 The swift days fled. 
 
 God withdrew backward, 
 
 Her lap was heavy 
 
 And darker, dimmer. 
 
 With children dead ; 
 
 Deepen" d the day : 
 
 To her heart she held them. 
 
 O'er the philosophers 
 
 But could not warm them — 
 
 Looming there lonely 
 
 The life within them 
 
 Night gather'd gray. 
 
 Was gone Uke dew. 
 
 Then the wise men gazing 
 
 Whiter, stiller. 
 
 Saw the lights above them 
 
 The Mother grew. 
 
 Thicken and thicken. 
 
 
 And all went pale — 
 
 The World grew hoary, 
 
 Ah ! the lamps numberless. 
 
 The World was weary, 
 
 The mystical jewels of God, 
 
 The children cried at 
 
 The luminous, wonderful, 
 
 The empty air : 
 
 Beautiful lights of the Veil 1 
 
 ' Father of mortals ! ' 
 
 
 The children murmured. 
 
 Alas for the Wise Men ! 
 
 ' Father ! Father ! 
 
 The snows of the mountain 
 
 Art Thou there ? ' 
 
 Drifted about them. 
 
 Then the Master answer'd 
 
 And the wind cried round them. 
 
 From the thunder-cloud : 
 
 As the lights of wonder 
 
 * I am God the Maker ! 
 
 Multiplied 1 
 
 I am God the Master ! 
 
 The breath of the mountain 
 
 I am God the Father ! ' 
 
 Froze them into stillness, — 
 
 He cried aloud. 
 
 They sighed and died. 
 
 Further, the Master 
 
 Still in the desolate 
 
 Made sign on sign — 
 
 Heights overhead. 
 
 Footprints of his spirits. 
 
 Stand their shapes frozen. 
 
 Voices divine ; 
 
 Frozen and dead. 
 
 His breath was a water. 
 
 But a weary few. 
 
 His cry was a wind. 
 
 Weary and dull and cold. 
 
 
 Crept faintly down again. 
 
 But the people heard not, 
 
 Looking very old ; 
 
 The people saw not, — 
 
 And when the people 
 
 Earth and her children 
 
 Gather'd around them. 
 
 Were deaf and blind. 
 
 The heart went sickly 
 
 
 At their dull blank stare — 
 
 IV. 
 
 ' Wise Men answer ! 
 
 
 Is there a Father? 
 
 The Wise Men. 
 
 Is there a beautiful 
 
 • Call the great philosophers ! 
 
 Face up there ? ' 
 
 Call them all hither, — 
 
 The Wise Men answer'd and said : 
 
 The good, the wise ! ' 
 
 ' Bury us deep when dead — 
 
 Their robes were snowy. 
 
 We have travelled a weary road, 
 
 Their hearts were holy. 
 
 We have seen no more than ye. 
 
 They had cold still eyes. 
 
 'Twere better not to be — 
 
 To the mountain-summits 
 
 There is no God ! '
 
 FIRST SONG OF THE VEIL -THE MAN AND THE SHADOW. 261 
 
 And the people, hearkening, 
 Saw the Veil above them. 
 And the darkness deepen'd, 
 
 And the Lights gleamed pale. 
 Ah ! the lamps numberless, 
 The mystical jewels of God, 
 The luminous, wonderful, 
 
 Beautiful Lights of the Veil ! 
 
 II. 
 
 THE MAN AND THE SHADOW. 
 
 On the high path where few men fare, 
 Orm meeteth one with hoary hair, 
 And speaketh, solemn and afraid, 
 Of that which haunteth him — a Shade. 
 Slowly, with weary feet and weak, 
 They wander to a mountain peak ; 
 And to the man with hoary hair 
 A Bridge of Spirits riseth fair, 
 Whereon his Soul with gentle moan 
 Passeth unto the Land Unknown. 
 
 The Shadow. 
 
 AGED Man who, clad in pilgrim's garb, 
 With staff of thorn and WjUet lying near, 
 Sittest among the weeds of the wayside, 
 Gazing with hollow eyeballs, in a dream. 
 On that which sleeps — a Shadow — at thy 
 
 feet ! 
 Hearest thou? 
 
 By the fluttering of thy lips, 
 
 1 know thou hearest ; yet, with downcast 
 
 eyes, 
 Thou broodest moveless, letting yonder sun 
 Make thee a Dial, worn and venerable. 
 To show the passing hour. All things 
 
 around 
 Share stillness with thee ; for behold they 
 
 keep 
 The gloaming of the year. To russet 
 
 brown 
 The heather fadeth ; on the treeless hills, 
 O'er rusted with the slow-decaying bracken, 
 The sheep crawl slow with damp and red- 
 
 stain'd wool ; 
 Keen cutting winds from the Cold Clime 
 
 begin 
 To frost the edges of the cloud— the Sun 
 Upriseth slow and silvern— many Rainbows 
 
 People the desolate air with flowers that 
 
 fade 
 Through pallor unto tears ; - and though 
 
 these flash 
 Ever around thee, here thou sittest alone, — 
 Best Dial of them all, old, moveless, dumb, 
 Ineffably serene with aged eyes. 
 Still as a stone, — yet with some secret spell 
 Pertaining to the human, some faint touch 
 Of mystery in that worn face, to show 
 Thy wither' d flesh is scented with a SouL 
 
 Nay, then, with how serene and sad a light 
 Thy face, strange gleams of spiritual pain 
 Fading there, turneth up to mine ! Yea, 
 
 smile ! 
 Tender as sunlight on the autumn hills, 
 Cometh that kindly lustre ! Aye, thy hand — 
 Something mysterious streameth from thy 
 
 palm — 
 Spirit greets spirit — scent is mixed with 
 
 scent — 
 Sweet is the touch of hands. Behold me, — 
 
 Orm, 
 Thy brother ! 
 
 Brother, we are surely bound 
 On the same journey, — and our eyes alike 
 Turn up and onward : wherefore, now thou 
 
 risest. 
 Lean on mine arm, and let us for a space 
 Pursue the path together. Ah, 'tis much, 
 In this so weary pilgrimage, to meet 
 A royal face like thine ; to touch the hand 
 Of such a soul-fellow ; to feel the want, 
 The upward-crying hunger, the desire. 
 The common hope and pathos, justified 
 By knowledge and gray hairs. Come on ! 
 
 come on ! 
 Up yonder ! Slowly, leaning on my strength, 
 And I will surely pick my steps with 
 
 thine, — 
 While at our backs the secret Shadows 
 
 creep. 
 And imitate our motions with no sound. 
 
 Dost thou remember more than I? My 
 
 Soul 
 Reniembereth no beginning. 
 
 One still day, 
 I saw the Hills around me, and beheld 
 The Hills had shadows, — for beyond their 
 rim
 
 262 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 The fiery Sun was setting ;— then I saw 
 My Ghost upon the gr unci, a' d as I ran 
 Eastward, the melancholy semblance ran 
 Before my footsteps ; and I felt afraid. 
 
 Could I have shaken off this grievous thing, 
 Much had been spared me. Since that day 
 
 I ran. 
 And saw it run before me in the sun, 
 It hath been with me in the day and night, 
 The sunlight and the starlight— at the board 
 Hath joined me, darkening the festal cup — 
 Hath risen black against the whitening wall 
 On lonely midnights, when by the wind's 
 
 shriek 
 Startled from terrible visions seen in dream, 
 Rising upon my couch, and with quick 
 
 breath 
 Lighting the lamp, I hearkened — it hath 
 
 track' d 
 My footsteps into pastoral churchyards. 
 And suddenly, when I was very calm, 
 Look'd darkly up out of the gentle graves, 
 So that I clench'd my teeth, or should have 
 
 scream' d ; 
 And still behind me— see !— it creeps and 
 
 creeps, 
 Dim in the dimness of this autumn day. 
 
 Higher ! yet higher ! Though the path 
 is steep, 
 And all around the withering bracken rusts. 
 Up yonder on the crag, a mossy spring. 
 Frosted with silver, glistens, and around 
 Grasses as green as hedgerows in the May 
 Cushion the lichen'd stones. 
 
 Here let us pause : 
 Here, where the grass gleams emerald, and 
 
 the spring 
 b'pbubbling faintly secmeth as a sound, 
 A drowsy hum, heard in the mind itself — 
 Here, in this stillness, let us pause and 
 
 mark 
 The many-colour'd Picture. Far beneath 
 Sleepeth the glassy Ocean like a sheet 
 Of liquid mother-o'-pearl, and on its rim 
 A Ship sleeps, and the shadow of the ship ; 
 Astern the reef juts darkly, edged with foam, 
 Through the smooth brine : oh, hark, how 
 
 loudly sings 
 A wild, weird ditty to a watery tune, 
 The fisher among his nets upon the shore ; 
 
 And yonder, far away, his shouting bairns 
 Are running, dwarf'd by distance small as 
 
 mice. 
 Along the yellow sands. Behind us, see 
 The immeasurable Mountains, rising silent 
 Against the fields of dreamy blue, wherein 
 The rayless crescent of the mid-day Moon 
 Lies like a reaper's sickle ; and before us 
 The immeasurable Mountains, rising silent 
 From bourne to bourne, from knolls of 
 
 thyme and heather, 
 To leafless slopes of granite, from the 
 
 slopes 
 Of granite to the dim and dusky heights, 
 Wi.ere, with a silver glimmer, silently 
 Pausing, the white cloud sheds miraculous 
 
 Snow 
 On the heights untravell'd, whither we are 
 
 bound. 
 
 O perishable Brother, what a World ! 
 How wondrous and how fair ! Look I look I 
 
 and think ! 
 What magic mixed the tints of yonder west, 
 Wherein, upon a cushion soft as moss, 
 A heaven pink-tinted like a maiden's flesh. 
 The dim Star of the Ocean lieth cool 
 In palpitating silver, while beneath 
 Her image, putting luminous feelers forth. 
 Bathes liquid, like a living thing o' the Sea. 
 What magic? What Magician? O my 
 
 Brother, 
 What strange Magician, mixing up those 
 
 tints, 
 Pouring the water down, and sending forth 
 The crystal air like breath, snowing the 
 
 heavens 
 With luminous jewels of the day and night, 
 Look'd down, and saw thee lie a lifeless 
 
 clod. 
 And lifted thee, and moulded thee to shape. 
 Colour' d thee with the sunlight till thy 
 
 blood 
 Ran ruby, poured the chemic tints o' the 
 
 air 
 Through eyes that kindled into azure, stole 
 The flesh-tints of the lily and the rose 
 To make thee wondrous fair unto thyself. 
 Knitted thy hmbs with ruby bands, and 
 
 blew 
 Into thy hollow heart until it stirr'd, — 
 Then to the inner chamber of his Heaven 
 Withdrawing, left in midst of such a world
 
 THE MAN AND THE SHADOW. 
 
 263 
 
 The living apparition of a Man, — 
 
 A mystery amid the mysteries, — 
 
 A lonely Semblance, with a wild appeal 
 
 To which no form that lives, however dear, 
 
 Hath given a tearless answer, — a Shape, a 
 
 Soul, 
 Projecting ever as it ageth on 
 A SHADE which is a silence and a sleep. 
 
 Yet not companionless, within this waste 
 Of splendour, dwellest thou — here by thy 
 
 side 
 I linger, girdled for the road like thee. 
 With pilgrim's staff and scrip ; and through 
 
 the vales, 
 Below, a Storm of people like to thee 
 Drifts with thee westward darkly, cloud on 
 
 cloud. 
 Uttering a common moan, and to our eyes 
 Casting one common shadow ; yet each 
 
 Soul 
 Therein now seeketh, with a want like thine, 
 The inevitable bourne. Nor those alone. 
 Thy perishable brethren, share thy want, 
 And wander haunted through the world ; 
 
 but Beasts, 
 With that dumb hunger in their eyes, pro- 
 ject 
 Their darkness — by the yeanling Lambkin's 
 
 side 
 Its shade plays, and the basking Lizard 
 
 hath 
 Its image on the flat stone in the sun, — 
 And these, the greater and the less, like 
 
 thee 
 Shall perish in their season : in the mere 
 The slender Water-Lily sees her shape. 
 And sheddeth softly on the summer air 
 Her last chill breathing ; and the forest 
 
 Tree 
 That, standing glorious for a hundred years. 
 Lengthens its shadow daily from the sun, 
 Fulfilleih its own prophecy at last, 
 And falleth, falleth. Art thou comforted ? 
 Nay, then,— behold the Shadows of the 
 
 Hills, 
 Attesting these are perishable too, 
 And cry no more thou art companionless. 
 
 How, like a melancholy bell, thy voice 
 Echoes the word ! ' Companionless ! ' Thine 
 
 eyes 
 butler with light and tears, and wearily 
 
 Thou searchest all the picture beautiful 
 For vanished faces. Still, 'companionless!' 
 
 Brother, let me hold thy hand again — 
 Spirit greets spirit— scent is mi.xed with 
 
 scent — 
 
 Sweet is the touch of hands. Look on me ! 
 Orm ! 
 
 Thy Brother i 
 
 And no nearer? O 'tis sad 
 
 That here, hke dumb Beasts, yearning with 
 blank eyes. 
 
 Wringing each other's hands, pale, passion- 
 ate. 
 
 Full of immortal likeness, wild with thirst 
 
 To mingle, yet we here must stand asunder. 
 
 Two human Shapes, two Mansions built 
 apart. 
 
 Two pale Men, — and two Ghosts upon the 
 ground ! 
 
 Tread back my footsteps with me in thy 
 mind : 
 
 1 have wander'd long and far, and O I 
 
 have seen 
 Strange visions ; for my Soul resembles not 
 The miserable souls of common men — 
 Mere Lamps to guide the Body to the 
 
 board 
 And lustful bed— say, rather, 'tis a Wind 
 Prison'd in flesh, and shrieking to be free 
 To blow on the high places of the Lord ! 
 Hither and hither hath its pent-up struggle 
 Compelled my footsteps — o'er the snowy 
 
 Steeps, 
 Through the green Valleys - into huts of 
 
 hinds 
 And palaces of princes. It hath raved 
 Loud as the wind among the pines for rest, 
 Answered by all the winds of all the world 
 Gather'd like howling wolves bene.ith the 
 
 Moon ; 
 And it hath lain still as the air that broods 
 On meres Coruisken on dead days of frost. 
 In supreme moments of unearthly bliss. 
 Feeling the pathos and exceeding peace 
 Of thoughts as delicate and far removed 
 As starligiit. But in stormy times and calm, 
 In pain or pleasure, came the Shadow too. 
 Meeting the Soul in its superbest hour. 
 And making it afraid. 
 
 These twain have dwelt 
 Together, haunting one another's bliss, —
 
 264 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 The Wind, that would be on the extremest 
 
 peaks, 
 And the strange Shadow of the prison- 
 house, 
 Wherein 'tis pent so very cunningly. 
 Nay, how they mock each other ! ' Shade 
 
 accursed, ' 
 The Wind moans, ' yet a Uttle while, and 
 
 thou 
 Shalt perish with the poor and mean abode 
 That casts thee — follow and admonish 
 
 that,— 
 To vie thine admonition promiseth 
 The crumbling of the ruin chain'd wherein 
 I cry for perfect freedom. ' Then methinks 
 The wild Shade waves its arms grotesque 
 
 and says. 
 In dumb show, ' Peace, thou unsubstantial 
 
 Wind ! 
 Bred of the peevish humour of the flesh. 
 Born in the body and the cells o' the brain ; 
 With these things shalt thou perish, — foul 
 
 as gas 
 Thou senseless shalt dissolve upon the air. 
 And none shall know that thou hast ever 
 
 been." 
 Thus have they mock'd each other mom 
 
 and mirk 
 In speech not human. When I lay at 
 
 night. 
 Drunk with the ichor of the form I clasp'd, 
 How hath the sad Soul, mocking the brute 
 
 bliss, 
 The radiant glistening play o' the sense, 
 
 withdrawn 
 Unto the innermost chamber of the brain, 
 And moan'd in shame ; while in the taper 
 
 light, 
 The Shades, with clasping arms and waving 
 
 hair, 
 Seem'd saying, ' Gather roses while thou 
 
 mayst, 
 
 royal purple Body doom'd to die ! 
 
 And hush, O Wind, for thou shalt perish 
 too !' 
 
 1 saw a Hind at sunrise — dumb he stood, 
 And saw the Dawn press with her rosy feet 
 The dew)' sweetness from the fields of hay, 
 Felt the World brighten — leaves and flowers 
 
 and grass 
 Grow luminous — yet beside the pool he 
 stood, 
 
 Wherein, in the gray vapour of the marsh. 
 His mottled oxen stood with large blank 
 
 eyes 
 And steaming nostrils : and his eyes like 
 
 theirs 
 Were empty, and he humm'd a surly song 
 Out of a hollow heart akin to beast's : 
 Yea, sun nor star had little joy for him. 
 Nor tree nor flower, — to him the world was 
 
 all 
 Mere matter for a ploughshare. On the 
 
 hiU 
 Above him, with loose jerkin backward 
 
 blown 
 By winds of morning, and his white brow 
 
 bare 
 Like marble, stood a Singer — one of those 
 Who write in heart's-blood what is blotted 
 
 out 
 With ox-gall ; and his Soul was in his eyes 
 To see the coming of the beautiful Day, 
 His lips hung hea\'y with beauty, and he 
 
 looked 
 Down on the surly clod among the kine. 
 And sent his Soul unto him through his 
 
 eyes. 
 Transfiguring him with beauty and with 
 
 praise 
 Into the common pathos. Of such stuffs 
 Is mankind shapen, both, like thee and 
 
 me. 
 Wear westward, to the melancholy Realm 
 Where all the gather' d Shades of all the 
 
 world 
 Lie as a cloud around the feet of God. 
 
 This darkens all my seeking. O my friend ! 
 If the whole world had royal eyes like 
 
 thine, 
 I were much holpen ; but to look upon 
 Eyes like the ox-herd's, blank as very 
 
 beast's, 
 Shoots sorrow to the very roots of life. 
 Aye ! there were hope indeed if each Man 
 
 seemed 
 A Spirit's habitation, — but the world 
 Is curst with these blank faces, still as 
 
 stone. 
 And darkening inward. Have these dumb 
 
 things Souls ? 
 If they be tenantless, dare thou and I 
 Christen by so sublime a name the Wind 
 Bred in the wasting body?
 
 THE MAN AND THE SHADOW. 
 
 265 
 
 Yestermorn, 
 In yonder city that afar away 
 Staineth the peaceful blue with its foul 
 
 breath, 
 I passed into a dimly-lighted hall, 
 And heard a lanthorn-jaw'd Philosopher, 
 Clawing his straw-Uke bunch of yellow hair, 
 With skeletonian periods and a voice 
 Shrill as the grating of two bones. ' O 
 
 Soul,' 
 Quoth he, ' O beauteousness we name the 
 
 Soul, 
 Thou art the Flower of all the life o' the 
 
 World, 
 And not in every clod of flesh shoots forth 
 The perfect apparition of thy tints 
 Immortal ! Flower and scented bloom of 
 
 things 
 Thou growest on no dunghill in the sun ! ' 
 A flower, a flower immortal? How I 
 
 laugh'd ! 
 Clip me the hly from its secret roots. 
 And farewell all the wonder of the flower ! 
 
 That self-same day, in that same city of 
 
 souls, 
 I saw the King, a man of flesh and blood. 
 In gorgeous raiment. O the httle eyes 
 Glimmering underneath the golden crown. 
 While sitting on a throne in open court, 
 Fountains of perfume sprinkling him with 
 
 spray, 
 He heard the gray men of his kingdom 
 
 speak 
 Of mighty public matters solemnly, 
 And nodding grave approval, all the while 
 Crack'd filberts Mke a Monkey ; yet at 
 
 times 
 His shadow, and the shadow of his throne, 
 FaUing against a grand sarcophagus 
 That filled one corner of the fountain'd 
 
 court, 
 Awoke a nameless trouble, and the more 
 The sun shone, deeper on the tomb close 
 
 by 
 The double shadow linger'd. Then me- 
 
 thought 
 I was transported to a marvellous land, 
 A mighty forest of primaeval growth 
 Brooding in its own darkness — underwood 
 Breast-deep, and swarming thick with mon- 
 strous shapes ; 
 And from a bough above me, by his tail 
 
 A Man-beast swung and glimmer'd down 
 
 at me 
 With little eyes and shining ivory teeth. 
 Laugh with me ! Brute-beast and the small- 
 eyed King 
 Seem'd brethren — face, eyes, mouth, and 
 
 lips the same — 
 Only the brute-beast was the happier. 
 Since never nameless trouble filled his eyes, 
 Because his ghost upon the glimmering 
 
 grass 
 Beneath him quivered, while he poised 
 
 above 
 With philosophic swing by claws and tail. 
 'O Soul the Flower of all the life o' the 
 
 World, 
 O perfect Flower and scented bloom of 
 
 things ! ' 
 O birth betoken'd in that windy hour. 
 When, sloughing off the brute, we stand 
 
 and groan, 
 First frighten'd by the Shadow that has 
 
 chased 
 Our changes up through all the grooves of 
 
 Time ! 
 
 Lift up thine eyes, old man, and look on 
 
 me : 
 Like thee, a dark point in the scheme of 
 
 things. 
 Where the dumb Spirit that pervadeth all — 
 Grass, trees, beasts, man — and hves and 
 
 grows in all- 
 Pauses upon itself, and awe-struck feels 
 The shadow of the next and imminent 
 Transfiguration. So, a living Man ! 
 That entity within whose brooding brain 
 Knowledge begins and ends — that point in 
 
 time 
 When Time becomes the Shadow of a 
 
 Dial,— 
 That dreadful living and corporeal Hour, 
 Who, wafted by an unseen Hand apart 
 From the wild rush of temporal things that 
 
 pass. 
 Pauses and listens, — listening sees his face 
 Glassed in still waters of Eternity, — 
 Gazes in awe at his own loveliness, 
 .'\nd fears it, — glanceth with affrighted eyes 
 Backward and forward, and beholds all 
 
 dark. 
 Alike the place whence he unconscious 
 
 came.
 
 266 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 And that to which he conscious drifteth 
 
 on, — 
 Yet seeth before him, wheresoe'er he turn. 
 The Shadow of himself, presaging doom. 
 
 II. 
 The Rainbow. 
 
 the old man speaks. 
 Mine eyes are dim. Where am I ? Is this 
 
 Snow 
 Falling in the cold air? All darkeneth, — 
 As if between me and the light there stood 
 Some shape that lived. My God, is this the 
 end? 
 
 ORM. 
 
 Not yet ! not yet ! Look up ! Thou livest 
 
 yet ! 
 'Tis but a little faintness, and will pass. 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Pass? All things pass. The light, the 
 morning dew. 
 
 The power that plotted and the foot that 
 clomb ; 
 
 And dehcate bloom of life upon the flesh 
 
 Fading like peach-bloom 'neath a finger- 
 press. 
 
 O God, to blossom like a flower in a day, 
 
 Then wear a winter in slow withering. . . . 
 
 Why not with sun-flash, Lord, or bolt of 
 fire? . . . 
 
 Where am I ? 
 
 ORM. 
 
 On the lonely heights of Earth ; 
 Beneath thee lies the Ocean, and above 
 
 thee 
 The Hills stand silent in the setting Sun. 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 What forms are these that come and change 
 and go ? 
 
 ORM. 
 
 Desolate Shadows of the gathering Rain. 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 What sound is that I hear ? 
 
 ORM. 
 
 The homeless Wind 
 Shivering behind the Shadows as they ghde, 
 And moaning. 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Ah! 
 
 ORM. 
 
 Some phantom of the brain 
 Appalleth thee ! Cling to me ! Courage ! 
 
 Hark! 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 Dost thou not hear? 
 
 ORM. 
 
 What? 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Voices of the shapes 
 That yonder, with their silvern robes wind- 
 blown. 
 All faint and shadowless against the light. 
 Beckon me. Hush ! They sing a lullaby ! 
 They are the spirits that so long ago 
 Sung round my cradle, — and they sing the 
 
 same, — 
 Though I am grown the ghosts of that fair 
 
 time. 
 No ! faces ! These are faces I remember ! 
 A fair face that, sweet in its golden hair — 
 And lower, see ! a httle pale-faced child's. 
 Sad as a star. ' Father ! ' A voice cried 
 
 ' Father ! ' 
 Lift me up ! Look ! How they are 
 
 gathering ! 
 All sing ! All beckon ! 
 
 ORM. 
 
 . . . 'Tis the end indeed. 
 Within his breast the life-blood of the 
 
 heart 
 Swells like a breaking wave, as, clinging 
 
 round me, 
 He yearneth, fascinated yet afraid, 
 With wild dim eyes that look on vacancy ! 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 What gleameth yonder in the brightening 
 air? 
 
 ORM. 
 The Spirit of the Rainbow hovering faint 
 Amid the wind-blown shadows of the Rain. 
 
 OLD MAN. 
 
 Shadows ! I see them— all the Shadows- 
 see ! 
 Uprising from the wild green sea of graves
 
 THE MAN AND THE SHADOW. 
 
 267 
 
 That beats forlorn about the shores of 
 
 earth. 
 Shadows— behold them !— how they gather 
 
 and gather, 
 More and yet more, darker and darker yet ; 
 Drifting with a low moan of mystery 
 Upward, still upward, till they almost touch 
 The bright dim edge of the Bow, but there 
 
 they pause, 
 Struggling in vain against a breath from 
 
 heaven. 
 And blacken. Hark ! their sound is like a 
 
 Sea ! 
 Above them, with how dim a light divine, 
 Burneth the Bow, — and lo ! it is a Bridge, 
 Dim, many-colour'd, strangely brightening, 
 Whereon, all faint and fair and shadowless. 
 Spirits hke those, with faces I remember, 
 With a low sound like the soft rain in 
 
 spring, 
 With a faint echo of the cradle song, 
 Coming and going, beckon me ! I come ! 
 Who holds me ? Touch me not. O help ! 
 
 I am called ! 
 Ah ! [Dies. 
 
 OKM. 
 
 Gone ! Dead ! Something very cold 
 
 past by 
 And touched my cheek like breath ; even 
 
 then, O God, 
 My comrade heard Thy summons, and 
 
 behold ! 
 Here lieth, void and cold and tenantless, 
 His feeble habitation. Poor gray hairs, 
 Thin with long blowing in the windy cold, 
 At last ye sadden ruin 1 poor sweet lips, 
 Ye are dewless, ye are silent ! poor worn 
 
 heart, 
 No more shalt thou, like to a worn-out 
 
 watch. 
 Tick feebly out the time ! 
 
 O Shadow sad. 
 Monitor, haunter, waiter till the end, 
 Brother of that which darkencth at my feet, 
 Hast thou too fled, and dost thou follow 
 
 still 
 The Spirit's quest divine? Nay, thou dark 
 
 Ghost ! 
 Thy work is done for ever — thou art 
 
 doom'd — 
 A breath from heaven holds thee to the 
 
 ground ; 
 
 And here unto the ruin thou art chained. 
 Moveless, and dark, no more the ghost of 
 
 life. 
 But dead, the Shadow of a thing of stone. 
 
 Thus far, no further, Shadow !— but, O 
 
 brother, 
 O Spirit, where art thoul From what far 
 
 height 
 Up yonder, pausing for a moment's space, 
 Lookest thou back thy blessing ? Art thou 
 
 free? 
 Dost thou still hunger upward seeking rest, 
 Because some new horizon, strange as ours, 
 Shuts out the prospect of the place of 
 
 peace ? 
 Art thou a wave that, having broken once, 
 Gatherest up a glorious crest once more. 
 And glimmerest onward,— but to break 
 
 again ; 
 Or dost thou smooth thyself to perfect 
 
 peace 
 In tranquil sight of some Eternal Shore ? 
 
 From the still region whither thou hast 
 
 fled, 
 No answer cometh ; but with dewy wings 
 Brightening before it dieth, how divine 
 Burneth the Rainbow, at its earthhest edge 
 Now fading like a flower ! Is it indeed 
 A Bridge whereon fair Spirits come and go? 
 O Brother, didst thou glide to peace that 
 
 way ? 
 Silent— all silent — dimmer, dimmer yet, 
 Hue by hue dying, creeping back to 
 
 heaven — 
 O let me too pass by it up to God ! 
 Too late— it fadeth, faint and far away ! 
 
 T'he Shadows gather round me — from the 
 
 ground 
 i\1v dark familiar looketh silently. 
 O .Shadows, be at peace, for ye shall rest, 
 Yea, surely ye shall cease ; for now, as even 
 Out of your cloudy being springs serene 
 The Bow of Mystery that spans the globe ! 
 
 The beautiful Bow of thoughts ineffable, 
 Last consequence of this fair cloud of flesh ! 
 The dim miraculous Iris of sweet Dream ! 
 Kainbow of promise ! Colour, Light, and 
 Soul I
 
 268 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 That comes, dies, comes again, and ever 
 
 Her eyes are withered, 
 
 draws 
 
 Her breath is dried hke dew ;— 
 
 Its strangest source from tears— that lives, 
 
 The sound of my weeping ' 
 
 that dies — 
 
 Disturbeth her not ; 
 
 That is, is not — now here, now faded 
 
 Thy shadow, O Phantasy, 
 
 wholly — 
 
 Lieth like moonhght 
 
 Ever assuring, ever blessing us. 
 
 Upon her features, 
 
 Ever eluding, ever beckoning ; 
 
 And the hues of her mouth 
 
 Bom of our essence, yet more strange than 
 
 Are very sweet. 
 
 As human, yet more beautiful tenfold, — 
 
 In the night 
 
 Rising in earth out of our cloudy being, 
 
 I heard my pale wife moaning, 
 
 Touching forlornest places with its tints. 
 
 Yet did not know 
 
 Strewing the Sea with opal, scattering 
 
 What made her afraid. 
 
 roses 
 
 My pale wife said. 
 
 Across the hollow pathways of the Wind, 
 
 ' I am very cold,' 
 
 Fringing the clouds with flowers of crimson 
 
 And shrank away from thee, 
 
 fire, 
 
 Though I saw thee not ; 
 
 And melting, melting (whither our wild 
 
 And she kissed me and went to sleep. 
 
 eyes 
 
 And gave a little start upon my arm 
 
 Follow imploring, whither our weak feet 
 
 When on her Uving Hps 
 
 Totter for ever), melting far away, 
 
 Thy freezing finger was laid. 
 
 Yonder ! upon the dimmest peak of Heaven ! 
 
 
 
 What art thou — 
 
 
 Art thou God's Angel ? 
 
 III. 
 
 Or art thou only 
 
 
 The chilly night-wind. 
 
 SONGS OF CORRUPTION. 
 
 Jo t 
 
 Stealing downward 
 
 Songs of Corruption, woven thus, 
 
 From the regions where the sun 
 
 With tender thoughts and tremulous, 
 
 Dwelleth alone with his shadow 
 
 Sitting with a solemn face 
 
 On a waste of snow ? 
 
 In an island burj'ing-place, 
 
 Art thou the water or earth ? 
 
 While weary waves broke sad and slow 
 
 Or art thou the fatal air ? 
 
 O'er weedy wastes of sand below, 
 
 Or art thou only 
 
 And stretch'd on every side of me 
 
 The rainy grief of the gray Sea. 
 
 An apparition 
 Made by the mist 
 
 r. 
 
 Of mine own eyes weeping ? 
 
 Phantasy. 
 
 She is very cold. 
 
 If thou art an Angel, 
 
 My wife is very cold ! 
 
 Who hath seen thee, 
 
 I will kiss her. 
 
 O Phantasy, brooding 
 
 And the silver-haired mother will kiss 
 
 Over my pale wife's sleeping? 
 
 her, 
 
 In the darkness 
 
 And the little children will kiss her ; 
 
 I am listening 
 
 And then we will wrap her warm, 
 
 For the rustle of thy robe ; 
 
 And hide her in a hollow space ; 
 
 Would I might feel thee breathing, 
 
 And the house will be empty 
 
 Would I might hear thee speaking, 
 
 Of thee, O Phantasy, 
 
 Would 1 might only touch thee 
 
 Cast on the unhappy household 
 
 By the hand ! 
 
 By the strange white clay. 
 
 She is very cold. 
 
 Much I marvel, O Phantasy, 
 
 My wife is very cold. 
 
 That one so gentle,
 
 SONGS OF CORRUPTION. 
 
 269 
 
 So sweet, when living, 
 Should cast a Shadow as vast as thine ; 
 
 For, lo 1 thou loomest 
 
 Upward and heavenward. 
 
 Hiding the sunlight 
 
 Blackening the snow. 
 And the pointing of thy finger 
 
 Fadeth far away 
 On the sunset-tinged edges, 
 Where Man's company ends. 
 And God's loneliness begins. 
 
 "• 
 
 The Dream of the World 
 
 WITHOUT Death. 
 
 Now, sitting by her side, worn out with 
 
 weeping. 
 Behold, I fell to sleep, and had a vision. 
 Wherein I heard a wondrous Voice in- 
 toning : 
 
 Crying aloud, ' The Master on His throne 
 Openeth now the seventh seal of wonder, 
 And beckoneth back the angel men name 
 Deat'i. 
 
 And at His feet the mighty Angel kneeleth. 
 Breathing not ; and the Lord doth look 
 
 upon him. 
 Saying, ' Thy wanderings on earth are 
 
 ended." 
 
 And lo ! the mighty Shadow sitteth idle 
 Even at the silver gates of heaven. 
 Drowsily looking in on quiet waters. 
 And puts his silence among men no longer. 
 
 The world was very quiet. Men in traffic 
 Cast looks over their shoulders ; pallid 
 
 seamen 
 Shivered to walk upon the decks alone ; 
 
 And women barred their doors with bars of 
 iron, 
 
 In the silence of the night ; and at the sun- 
 rise 
 
 Trembled behind the husbandmen afield. 
 
 I could not see a kirkyard near or far ; 
 I thirsted for a green grave, and my vision 
 Was weary for the white gleam of a tomb- 
 stone. 
 
 But hearkening dumbly, ever and anon 
 I heard a cry out of a human dwelling. 
 And felt the cold wind of a lost one's going. 
 
 One struck a brother fiercely, and he fell. 
 And faded in a darkness ; and that other 
 Tore his hair, and was afraid, and could 
 not perish. 
 
 One struck his aged mother on the mouth. 
 And she vanished with a gray grief from his 
 
 hearthstone. 
 One melted from her bairn, and on the 
 
 groiuid 
 
 With sweet unconscious eyes the bairn lay 
 smiling. 
 
 And many made a weeping among moun- 
 tains. 
 
 And hid themselves in caverns, and were 
 drunken. 
 
 I heard a voice from out the beauteous 
 
 earth, 
 '\^Tiose side rolled up from winter into 
 
 summer. 
 Crying, ' I am grievous for my children.' 
 
 I heard a voice from out the hoary ocean. 
 Crying, ' Burial in the breast of me were 
 
 better. 
 Yea, burial in the salt flags and green 
 
 crystals. ' 
 
 I heard a voice from out the hollow ether. 
 Saying, ' The thing ye cursed hath been 
 
 abolished — 
 Corruption, and decay, and dissolution !' 
 
 And the world shrieked, and the summer- 
 time was bitter. 
 
 And men and women feared the air behind 
 them ; 
 
 And for lack of its green graves the world 
 was hateful. 
 
 Now at the bottom of a snowy mountain 
 I came upon a woman thin with sorrow. 
 Whose voice was like the crying of a sea- 
 guU. 
 
 Saying, ' O Angel of the Lord, come hither, 
 And bring me him I seek for on thy bosom, 
 That I may close his eyelids and embrace 
 him.
 
 270 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 '\ curse thee that I cannot look upon him ! 
 I curse thee that I know not he is sleeping ! 
 Yet know that he has vanished upon God ! 
 
 ' I laid my little girl upon a wood-bier, 
 And very sweet she seemed, and near unto 
 
 me ; 
 And slipping flowers into her shroud was 
 
 comfort. 
 
 ' I put my silver mother in the darkness. 
 And kissed her, and was solaced by her 
 
 kisses, 
 And set a stone, to mark the place, above 
 
 her. 
 
 •And green, green were their quiet sleeping- 
 places. 
 So green that it was pleasant to remember 
 That I and my tall man would sleep beside 
 them. 
 
 ' The closing of dead eyelids is not dreadful. 
 For comfort comes upon us when we close 
 
 them, 
 And tears fall, and our sorrow grows 
 
 familiar ; 
 
 'And we can sit above them where they 
 
 slumber. 
 And spin a dreamy pain into a sweetness, 
 And know indeed that we are very near 
 
 them. 
 
 ' But to reach out empty arms is surely 
 dreadful, 
 
 And to feel the hollow empty world is 
 awful, 
 
 And bitter grow the silence and the dis- 
 tance. 
 
 ' There is no space for grieving or for 
 
 weeping ; 
 No touch, no cold, no agony to strive with. 
 And nothing but a horror and a blankness ! ' 
 
 Now behold I saw a woman in a mud-hut 
 Raking the white spent embers with her 
 
 fingers. 
 And fouling her bright hair with the white 
 
 ashes. 
 
 Her mouth was very bitter with the ashes ; 
 Her eyes with dust were blinded ; and her 
 
 sorrow 
 Sobbed in the throat of her hke gurgling 
 
 water. 
 
 And all around the voiceless hills were 
 
 hoary. 
 But red light scorched their edges ; and 
 
 above her 
 There was a soimdless trouble of the 
 
 vapours. 
 
 ' Whither, and O whither,' said the woman, 
 ' O Spirit of the Lord, hast Thou conveyed 
 
 them. 
 My little ones, my little son and daughter ? 
 
 ' For, lo ! we wandered forth at early 
 
 morning. 
 And winds were blowing round us, and 
 
 their mouths 
 Blew rose-buds to the rose-buds, and their 
 
 eyes 
 
 ' Looked violets at the violets, and their 
 
 hair 
 Made sunshine in the sunshine, and their 
 
 passing 
 Left a pleasure in the dewy leaves behind 
 
 them ; 
 
 ' And suddenly my little son looked up- 
 ward, 
 
 And his eyes were dried like dew-drops ; 
 and his going 
 
 Was like a blow of fire upon my face. 
 
 'And my little son was gone. My little 
 
 daughter 
 Looked round me for him, clinging to my 
 
 vesture ; 
 But the Lord had drawn him from me, and 
 
 I knew it 
 
 • By the sign He gives the stricken, that the 
 
 lost one 
 Lingers nowhere on the earth, on hill or 
 
 valley. 
 Neither underneath the grasses nor the 
 
 tree-roots.
 
 SONGS OF CORRUPTION. 
 
 271 
 
 ' And my shriek was like the splitting of an 
 
 ice-reef, 
 And I sank among my hair, and all my 
 
 palm 
 Was moist and warm where the little hand 
 
 had filled it. 
 
 ' Then I fled and sought him wildly, hither 
 
 and thither — 
 Though I knew that he was stricken from 
 
 me wholly 
 By the token that the Spirit gives the 
 
 stricken. 
 
 ' I sought him in the sunlight and the star- 
 light, 
 I sought him in great forests, and in waters 
 Where I saw mine own pale image looking ! 
 at me. 
 
 • And I forgot my little bright - haired 
 
 dauglue. , 
 Though her voice was like a wild-bird's far 
 
 behind me. 
 Till the voice ceased, and the universe was 
 
 silent. 
 
 ' And stilly, in the starlight, came I back- 
 ward 
 
 To the forest where I missed him ; and no 
 voices 
 
 Brake the stillness as I stooped down in the 
 starlight, 
 
 ' And saw two little shoes filled up with dew. 
 And no mark of little footsteps any farther. 
 And knew my little daughter had gone 
 
 also.' 
 • • • . • 
 
 But beasts died ; yea, the cattle in the 
 
 yoke, 
 The milk-cow in the meadow, and the 
 
 sheep, 
 And the dog upon the doorstep : and men 
 
 envied. 
 
 And birds died ; yea, the eagle at the sun- 
 gate. 
 
 The swan upon the waters, and the farm- 
 fowl, 
 
 .^nd the swallows on th;- housetops : and 
 men envied. 
 
 And reptiles ; yea, the toad upon the road- 
 side, 
 The shmy, speckled snake among the grass. 
 The lizard on the ruin : and men envied. 
 
 The dog in lonely places cried not over 
 The body of his master ; but it missed 
 
 him, 
 And whined into the air, and died, and 
 
 rotted. 
 
 The traveller's horse lay swollen in the 
 
 pathway, 
 And the blue fly fed upon it ; but no 
 
 traveller 
 Was there ; nay, not his footprint on the 
 
 ground. 
 
 The cat mewed in the midnight, and the 
 
 blind 
 Gave a rustle, and the lamp burnt blue and 
 
 faint. 
 And the father's bed was empty in the 
 
 morning. 
 
 The mother fell to sleep beside the cradle. 
 Rocking it, while she slumbered, with htr 
 
 foot, 
 And wakened, — and the cradle there was 
 
 empty. 
 
 I saw a two-years' child, and he was 
 
 playing ; 
 And he found a dead white bird upon the 
 
 doorway, 
 And laughed, and ran to show it to his 
 
 mother. 
 
 The mother moaned, and clutched him, and 
 
 was bitter. 
 And flung the dead white bird across the 
 
 threshold ; 
 And another white bird flitted round and 
 
 round it, 
 
 And uttered a sharp cry, and twittered and 
 
 t\\ ittered, 
 And lit beside its dead mate, and grew 
 
 busy, 
 Strewing it over with green leaves and 
 
 yellow. 
 
 So far, so far to seek for were the limits
 
 272 
 
 THh BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 Of affliction ; and men's terror grew a 
 
 homeless 
 Terror, yea, and a fatal sense of blankness. 
 
 There was no little token of distraction. 
 There was no visible presence of bereave- 
 ment, 
 Such as the mourner easeth out his heart 
 on. 
 
 There was no comfort in the slow farewell, 
 Nor gentle shutting of beloved eyes, 
 Nor beautiful broodings over sleeping 
 features. 
 
 There were no kisses on familiar faces. 
 No weaving of white grave-clothes, no last 
 
 pondering 
 Over the still wax cheeks and folded fingers. 
 
 There was no putting tokens under pillows. 
 There was no dreadful beauty slowly fading, 
 Fading like moonlight softly into darkness. 
 
 There were no churchyard paths to walk on, 
 
 thinking 
 How near the well-beloved ones are lying. 
 There were no sweet green graves to sit and 
 
 muse on, 
 
 Till grief should grow a summer meditation. 
 The shadow of the passing of an angel, 
 And slepping should seem easy, and not 
 cruel. 
 
 Nothing but wondrous parting and a blank- 
 ness. 
 
 But I awoke, and, lo ! the burthen was 
 
 uplifted, 
 And I prayed within the chamber where she 
 
 slumbered. 
 And my tears flowed fast and free, but were 
 
 not bitter. 
 
 I eased my heart three days by watching 
 
 near her. 
 And made her pillow sweet with scent and 
 
 flowers. 
 And could bear at last to put her in the 
 
 darkness. 
 
 And I heard the kirk-bells ringing very 
 slowly, 
 
 And the priests were in their vestments, and 
 
 the earth 
 Dripped awful on the hard wood, yet I 
 
 bore it. 
 
 And I cried, ' O unseen Sender of Corrup 
 
 tion, 
 I bless Thee for the wonder of Thy mercy, 
 Which softeneth the mystery and the 
 
 parting. 
 
 ' 1 bless Thee for the change and for the 
 comfort, 
 
 The bloomless face, shut eyes, and waxen 
 fingers, — 
 
 For Sleeping, and for Silence, and Corrup- 
 tion.' 
 
 III. 
 
 Soul and Flesh. 
 
 My Soul, thou art wed 
 To a perishable thing. 
 But death from thy strange mate 
 Shall sever thee full soon, 
 If thou wilt reap wings 
 Take all the Flesh can give : 
 
 The touch of the smelling dead. 
 The kiss of the maiden's mouth. 
 The sorrow, the hope, the fear. 
 That floweth along the veins : 
 Take all, nor be afraid ; 
 Chng close to thy mortal Mate ! 
 
 So shalt thou duly wring 
 
 Out of thy long embrace 
 
 The hunger and thirst whereof 
 
 The Master maketh thee wings, — 
 
 The beautiful, wondrous yearning. 
 
 The mighty thirst to endure. 
 
 Be not afraid, my Soul, 
 To leave thy Mate at last. 
 Thou ye shall learn in time 
 To love each other well ; 
 But put her gently dovra 
 In the earth beneath thy feet. 
 
 And dry thine eyes and hasten 
 To the imperishable springs ; 
 And it shall be well for thee 
 In the beautiful Master's sight. 
 If it be found in the end 
 Thou hast used her tenderly,
 
 THE SOUL AND THE DWELLING. 
 
 273 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE SOUL AND 
 DWELLING. 
 
 THE 
 
 A House miraculous of breath 
 The royal Soul inhabiteth. 
 Alone therein for evermore, 
 It seeks in vain to pass the door ; 
 But through the windows of the eyne 
 Signalleth to its kin divine. . . . 
 This is a song Orm sang of old 
 To Oona witli the locks of gold. 
 
 Come to me ! clasp me ! 
 Spirit to spirit ! 
 Bosom to bosom ! 
 Tenderly, clingingly. 
 Mingle to one ! . , . 
 
 Now, from my kisses 
 Withdrawing, and blushing, 
 \\'hy dost thou gaze on mo ? 
 Why dost thou weep ? 
 Why dost thou cling to me, 
 Imploring, adoring? 
 What are those meanings 
 That flash from thine eyes ? 
 
 Pitiful ! pitiful ! 
 Now I conceive thee ! — 
 Yea, it were easier 
 Striking two swords. 
 To weld them together. 
 Than spirit with spirit 
 To mingle, though rapture 
 
 Be perfect as this. 
 Shut in a tremulous 
 Prison, each spirit 
 Hungers and yearns — 
 Never, ah never. 
 Beloved, beloved. 
 Have these eyes look'd on 
 
 The face of thy Soul. 
 
 Ours are two dwellings, 
 Wondrously beautiful. 
 Made in the darkness 
 
 Of soft-tinted flesh : 
 In the one dwelling, 
 Prison'd I dwell. 
 And lo ! from the other 
 
 Thou bcckonest me ! 
 I am a Soul 1 
 
 Thou art a Soul ! 
 These are our dwellings ! 
 O to be free ! 
 
 Beauteous, beloved, 
 Is thy dear dwelling ; 
 All o'er it blowing 
 The roses of dawn — 
 Bright is the portal, 
 The dwelling is scented 
 
 Within and without ; 
 Strange are the windows, 
 So clouded with azure. 
 The faces are hidden 
 
 That look from within. 
 
 Now I approach thee, 
 
 Sweetness and odour 
 Tremble upon nie — 
 Wild is the rapture ! 
 Thick is the perfume ! 
 Sweet bursts of music 
 
 Thrill from within ! 
 Closer, yet closer ! 
 Bosom to bosom ! 
 Tenderly, clingingly, 
 
 Mingle to one. . . , 
 Ah ! but what faces 
 
 Are those that look forth ! . . . 
 
 Faces ? What faces ? As I speak they die 
 And all my gaze is empty as of old. 
 O love ! the world was fair, and everywhere 
 Rose wondrous human dwellings like mine 
 
 own. 
 And many of these were foul and dark with 
 
 dust. 
 Haunted by things obscene, not beautiful. 
 But most were very royal, meet to serve 
 Angels for habitation. All alone 
 Brooded my Soul by a mysterious fire 
 Dim-burning, never-dying, from tlie first 
 Lit in the place by God ; the winds and 
 
 rains 
 Struck on the abode and spared it ; day and 
 
 night 
 Above it came and went ; and in the night 
 My Soul gazed from the threshold silently. 
 And saw the congregated lamps that swung 
 Above it in the dark and dreamy blue ; 
 And in the day my Soul gazed on the earth, 
 And sought the dwellings there for signs, 
 
 and lo 1 
 
 T
 
 274 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 None answer'd ; for the Souls inhabitant 
 Drew coldly back and darken'd ; and I said, 
 ' In all the habitations I behold, 
 Some old, some young, some fair, and 
 
 some not fair. 
 There dwells no Soul I know.' But as I 
 
 spake, 
 I saw beside me in a dreamy light 
 Thy habitation, so serene and fair, 
 So stately in a rosy dawn of day, 
 That all my Soul look'd forth and cried, 
 
 ' Behold, 
 The sweetest dwelling in the whole wide 
 
 world ! ' 
 And thought not of the inmate, but gazed 
 
 on, 
 Lingeringly, hushfully ; for as I gazed 
 Something came glistening up into thine 
 
 eyes, 
 And beckon'd, and a murmur from the 
 
 portal, 
 A murmur and a perfume, floated hither, 
 ThriU'd through my dwelling, making every 
 
 chamber 
 
 Tremble with mystical, 
 DazzUng desire ! 
 
 . . . Come to me ! close to me ! 
 Bosom to bosom ! 
 Tenderly, clingingly, 
 
 Mingle to one ! 
 Wildly within me 
 Some eager inmate 
 Rushes and trembles, 
 Peers from the eyes 
 And calls in the ears, 
 Yearns to thee, cries to thee ! 
 Claiming old kinship 
 In hves far removed ! . . 
 Vainly, ah vainly ! 
 Pent in its prison 
 Must each miraculotis 
 
 Spirit remain, — 
 Yet inarticulate. 
 Striving to language 
 Music and memory, 
 • Rapture and dream ! 
 
 Rapture and dream ! Beloved one, in vain 
 
 My spirit seeks for utterance. Alas, 
 
 Not yet shall there be speech. Not yet, 
 
 not yet. 
 One dweller in a mortal tenement 
 
 Can know what secret faces hide away 
 Witliin the neighbouring dwelling. Ah 
 
 beloved, 
 The mystery, the mystery ! We cry 
 For God's face, who have never looked 
 
 upon 
 The poorest Soul's face in the wonderful 
 Soul-haunted world. A spirit once there 
 
 dwelt 
 Beside me, close as thou — two wedded 
 
 souls, 
 We mingled — flesh was mixed with flesh — 
 
 we knew 
 All joys, all unreserves of mingled hfe — 
 Yea, not a sunbeam filled the house of one 
 But touched the others threshold. Hear 
 
 me swear 
 I never knew that Soul ! All touch, all 
 
 sound, 
 All light was insufficient. The Soul, pent 
 In its strange chambers, cried to mine in 
 
 vain — 
 We saw each other not : but oftentimes 
 When I was glad, the windows of my 
 
 neighbour 
 Were dark and drawn, as for a funeral ; 
 And sometimes, when, most weary of the 
 
 world, 
 My Soul was looking forth at dead of night, 
 I saw the neighbouring dwelling brightly 
 
 lit. 
 The happy windows flooded fuU of light, 
 As if a feast were being held within. 
 Yet were there passing flashes, random 
 
 gleams. 
 Low sounds, from the inhabitant divine 
 I knew not ; and I shrunk from some of 
 
 these 
 In a mysterious pain. At last, Beloved, 
 The frail fair mansion where that spirit 
 
 dwelt 
 Totter'd and trembled, through the won- 
 drous flesh 
 A dim sick glimmer from the fire within 
 Grew fainter, fainter. ' I am going away,' 
 The Spirit seemed to cry ; and as it cried, 
 Stood still and dim and very beautiful 
 Up in the windows of the eyes — there 
 
 linger' d. 
 First seen, last seen, a moment, silently 
 So different, more beautiful tenfold 
 Than all that I had dreamed — I sobbed 
 aloud
 
 THE SOUL AND THE DWELLING. 
 
 275 
 
 ' Stay ! stay 1 ' but at the one despairing 
 word 
 
 The spirit faded, from the hearth witlun 
 
 The dim fire died with one last quivering 
 gleam — 
 
 The house became a ruin ; and I moaned 
 
 ' God help me ! 'twas herself that look'd at 
 me ! 
 
 First seen ! I never knew her face be- 
 fore ! . . 
 
 Too late ! too late ! too late ! ' 
 
 . . . Yea, from my forehead 
 Kiss the dark fantasy ! 
 Tenderly, chngingly, 
 
 Mingle to one ! 
 Is not this language ? 
 Music and memory, 
 
 Rapture and dieam ? — 
 O in the dewy-bright 
 
 Day-dawn of love, 
 Is it not wondrous, 
 Blush-red with roses. 
 The beautiful, mystical 
 
 House of the Soul ! 
 Lo in my innermost 
 Chambers is floating 
 Soft perfume and music 
 
 That tremble from thee. . . 
 Ah, but what faces 
 
 Are these, that look forth ? 
 
 . . . Sit, still, Beloved, while I search thy 
 
 looks 
 For memories. O thou art beautiful ! 
 Crowned with silken gold, — soft amber 
 
 tints 
 Coming and going on thy peach-hued 
 
 flesh,— 
 Thy breath a perfume, — thy blue eyes twain 
 
 stars — 
 Thy lips like dewy rosebuds to the eye, 
 Though living to the touch. O royal 
 
 abode, 
 Flooded with music, light, and precious 
 
 scent, 
 Curtained soft with subtle mystery ! 
 Nay, stir not, but gaze on, still and 
 
 serene, 
 Possessing me with thy superb still sweep 
 Of eyes ineffable — sit still, my queen. 
 
 And let me, cUnging on thee, court the 
 
 ways 
 Wherein I know thee. Nay, even now, 
 
 Beloved, 
 When all the world like some vast tidal 
 
 wave 
 Withdraws and leaves us on a golden 
 
 shore 
 Alone together — when thou most art 
 
 mine — 
 When the winds blow for us, and the soft 
 
 stars 
 Are shining for us, where we dream apart, — 
 Now our two dwellings in a dizzy hour 
 Have mingled their foundations — clinging 
 
 thus 
 And hungering round me in mine ecstasy, — 
 Beloved, do I know thee? Hath my 
 
 Soul 
 Spoken to thine the imperial speech of 
 
 Souls, 
 Perfect in meaning and in melody? 
 Tell me. Beloved, while thou sittest so. 
 Mine own, my queen, my palace of de- 
 lights, 
 What lights are these that pass and come 
 
 again 
 Within thee? Is the Spirit looking forth, 
 Or is it but the glittering gleams of 
 
 time 
 Playing on vacant windows ? Can I swear 
 Thou thinkest of me now at all ? Behold 
 Now all thy beauty is suffused with bright- 
 ness — 
 Thou blushest and thou smilest. TeU me 
 
 true, 
 Thou then wast far within, and with that 
 
 cry 
 I woke thee out of dream. O speak to 
 
 me ! — 
 Soul's speech, Beloved ! Do not smile that 
 
 way — 
 A flood of brightness issues from tliy 
 
 door, 
 But mine is scarcely bright. Lovest thou 
 
 me. 
 Beloved, my beloved? Soul beloved. 
 Do I possess thee? Sight and scent and 
 
 touch 
 Are insufficient. Open ! let me in 
 To the strange chambers I have never 
 
 seen ! 
 Heart of the rose, unopen ! or I die ! 
 
 T3
 
 276 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 SONGS OF SEEKING. 
 
 Songs of Seeking, day by day 
 Sung while wearying on the way, — 
 Feeble cries of one who knows 
 Nor whence he comes, nor whither goes. 
 Yet of his own free will doth wear 
 The bloody Cross of those who fare 
 Upward and on in sad accord, — 
 The footsore Seekers of the Lord. 
 
 I. 
 
 THOU whose ears incline unto my singing, 
 Woman or man, thou surely bearest thy 
 
 burden. 
 And I who sing, and all men, bear their 
 burdens. 
 
 Even as a meteor-stone from suns afar, 
 
 1 fell unto the ways of life and breathed. 
 Wherefore to much on earth I feel a 
 
 stranger. 
 
 I found myself in a green norland valley, 
 A place of gleaming waters and gray 
 
 heavens. 
 And weirdly woven colours in the air. 
 
 A basin round whose margin rose the 
 
 mountains 
 Green-based, snow-crown'd, and windy 
 
 saeters midway, 
 And the thin line of a spire against the 
 
 mountains. 
 
 Around were homes of peasants rude and 
 
 holy. 
 Who look'd upon the mountains and the 
 
 forests, 
 On the waters, on the vapours, without 
 
 wonder ; 
 
 Who, happy in their labours six days 
 
 weekly, 
 Were happy on their knees upon the 
 
 seventh. 
 But I wonder'd, being strange, and was not 
 
 happy. 
 
 For I cried : 'O Thou Unseen, how shall 
 
 I praise Thee— 
 How shall I name Thee glorious whom I 
 
 know not — 
 If Thou art as these say, I scarce conceive 
 
 Thj;. 
 
 ' Unfold to me the image of Thy features. 
 Come down upon my heart, that I may 
 
 know Thee ; ' — 
 And I made a song of seeking, on a moun- 
 tain. 
 
 II. 
 
 Quest. 
 
 As in the snowy stillness. 
 
 Where the stars shine greenly 
 In a mirror of ice. 
 The Reindeer abideth alone, 
 And speedeth swiftly 
 From her following shadow 
 
 In the moon, — 
 I speed for ever 
 From the mystic shape 
 That my life projects. 
 And my Soul perceives ; 
 And I loom for ever 
 Through desolate regions 
 Of wondrous thought. 
 And I fear the thing 
 That follows me. 
 And cannot escape it 
 Night or day. 
 
 Doth Thy winged lightning 
 Strike, O Master ! 
 The timid Reindeer 
 
 Flying her shade? 
 Will Thy wrath pursue me, 
 Because I cannot 
 Escape the shadow 
 
 Of the thing I am ? 
 
 I have pried and pondered, 
 
 I have agonised, 
 I have sought to find Thee, 
 
 Yet still must roam, 
 Affrighted, fleeing Thee, 
 Chased by the shadow 
 Of the thing I am. 
 Through desolate regions 
 Of wondrous thought ! 
 
 III. 
 The Happy Earth. 
 
 Sweet, sweet it was to sit in leafy Forests, 
 In a green darkness, and to hear the stirring 
 Of strange breaths hither and thither in the 
 branches ;
 
 SONGS OF SEEKING. 
 
 277 
 
 And sweet it was to sail on crystal Water*, 
 Between the dome above and the dome 
 
 under, 
 The Hills above me and the Hills beneath 
 
 me ; 
 
 And sweet it was to watch the wondrous 
 
 Lightning 
 Spring flashing at the earth, and slowly 
 
 perish 
 Under the falling of the summer Rain. 
 
 I loved all grand and gentle and strange 
 
 things, — 
 The wind-flower at the tree-root, and the 
 
 white cloud, 
 The strength of Mountains, and the power 
 
 of Waters. 
 
 And unto me all seasons utter'd pleasure : 
 Spring, standing startled, listening to the 
 
 skylark. 
 The wild flowers from her lap unheeded 
 
 falling ; 
 
 And Summer, in her gorgeous loose ap- 
 parel , 
 
 And Autumn, with her dreamy drooping 
 lashes ; 
 
 And Winter, with his white hair blown 
 about him. 
 
 Yea, everywhere there stirred a deathless 
 
 beauty, 
 A gleaming and a flashing into change. 
 An under-stream of sober consecration. 
 
 Yet nought endured, but all the glory 
 faded. 
 
 And power and joy and sorrow were inter- 
 woven ; 
 
 Tbere was no single presence of the Spirit. 
 
 IV. 
 
 O Unseen One I 
 
 Because Thou art beautiful. 
 Because Thou art mysterious, 
 
 Because Thou art strong. 
 Or because Thou art pitiless. 
 Shall my Soul worship Thee, 
 
 O Thou Unseen One ? 
 
 As men bow to monarchs, 
 As slaves to their owners, 
 
 Shall I bow to Thee ? 
 As one that is fearful. 
 As one that is slavish, 
 
 Shall I pray to Thee? 
 
 Wert Thou a demigod, 
 Wert Thou an angel. 
 
 Lip-worship might serve ; 
 To Thee, most beautiful, 
 Wondrous, mysterious, 
 
 How shall it avail? 
 
 Thou art not a demigod, 
 Thou art not a monarch, — 
 
 Why should I bow to Thee ? 
 I am not fearful, 
 I am not slavish, — 
 
 Why should I pray to Thee ? 
 
 Spirit of Mountains ! 
 Strong Master of Waters ! 
 
 Strange Shaper of Clouds ! 
 When these things worship Thee 
 
 1 too will worship Thee, 
 O Maker of Men ! 
 
 World's Mystery. 
 
 The World was wondrous round me — 
 
 God's green World — 
 A World of gleaming waters and green 
 
 places, 
 And weirdly woven colours in the air. 
 
 Yet evermore a trouble did pursue me — 
 A hunger for the wherefore of my being, 
 A wonder from what regions I had fallen. 
 
 I gladdened in the glad things of the 
 
 World, 
 Yet crying always, ' Wherefore, and oh, 
 
 wherefore ? 
 What am I ? Wherefore doth the World 
 
 seem happy? ' 
 
 I saddened in the sad things of the World, 
 Vet crying, ' Wherefore are men bruised 
 
 and beaten ? 
 Whence do I grieve and gladden to no 
 
 end?"
 
 278 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Cities. 
 
 I TOOK my staff and wandered o'er the 
 
 mountains, 
 And came among the heaps of gold and 
 
 silver, 
 The gorgeous desolation of the Cities. 
 
 My trouble grew tenfold when I beheld 
 The agony and burden of my fellows, 
 The pains of sick men and the groans of 
 hungry. 
 
 I saw the good man tear his hair and weep ; 
 I saw the bad man tread on human necks 
 Prospering and blaspheming : and I 
 wondered. 
 
 The silken-natured woman was a bond- 
 slave ; 
 
 The gross man foul'd her likeness in high 
 places ; 
 
 The innocent were heart-wrung : and I 
 wondered. 
 
 The gifts of earth are given to the base ; 
 The monster of the Cities spurned the 
 
 martyr ; 
 The martyr died, denying : and I wondered. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Priests. 
 
 Three Priests in divers vestments passed 
 and whispered : 
 
 ' Worship the one God, stranger, or thou 
 diest ; 
 
 Yea, worship, or thy tortures shall be end- 
 less. ' 
 
 1 cried, ' Which God, O wise ones, must I 
 
 worship ? ' 
 And neither answer' d, but one showed a 
 
 Picture, 
 A fair Man dying on a Cross of wood. 
 
 And this one said, 'The others err, O 
 
 stranger ! 
 Repent, and love thy brother, — 'tis enough ! 
 The Doom of Dooms is only for the wicked.' 
 
 I turned and cried unto him, ' Who is 
 
 wicked ? ' 
 He vanish'd, and within a house beside me 
 I heard a hard man bless his httle children. 
 
 My heart was full of comfort for the wicked. 
 Mine eyes were cleared with love, and 
 
 everywhere 
 The wicked wore a piteousness like star- 
 light. 
 
 I felt my spirit foul with misconceivings, 
 I thought of old transgressions and was 
 
 humble ; 
 I cried, 'O God, whose doom is on the 
 
 wicked ! 
 
 'Thou art not He for whom my being 
 
 hungers ! 
 The Spirit of the grand things and the 
 
 gentle. 
 The strength of mountains and the power 
 
 of waters ! ' 
 
 And lo ! that very night I had a Vision. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The Lamb of God. 
 
 I SAW in a vision of the night 
 The Lamb of God, and it was white ; 
 White as snow it wander'd through 
 Silent fields of harebell-blue. 
 Still it wandering fed, and sweet 
 Flower' d the stars around its feet 
 
 I heard in vision a strange voice 
 Cry aloud, ' Rejoice ! rejoice 1 
 Dead men rise and come away, 
 Now it is the Judgment Day ! ' 
 And I heard the host intone 
 Round the footstool of the Throne. 
 
 Then the vision pained my sight, 
 All I saw became so bright — 
 All the Souls of men were there. 
 All the Angels of the air ; 
 God was smiling on His seat, 
 And the Lamb was at His feet.
 
 SONGS OF SEEKING. 
 
 279 
 
 4. 
 Then I heard a voice — ' 'Tis done ! 
 Blest be those whom God hath won ! ' 
 And the loud hosannah grew, 
 And the golden trumpets blew, 
 And around the place of rest 
 Rose the bright mist of the Blest. 
 
 Then suddenly I saw again. 
 Bleating like a thing in pain, 
 The Lamb of God ;— and all in fear 
 Gazed and cried as it came near. 
 For on its robe of holy white 
 Crimson blood-stains glimmer'd bright. 
 
 6. 
 
 O the vision of the night ; 
 
 The Lamb of God ! the blood-stains bright! 
 
 In quiet waters of the skies 
 
 It bathed itself with piteous eyes — 
 
 Vainly on its raiment fell 
 
 Cleansing dews ineffable ! 
 
 All the while it cried for pain. 
 
 It could not wash away the stain — 
 
 All the gentle blissful sky 
 
 Felt the trouble of its cry — 
 
 All the streams of silver sheen 
 
 Sought in vain to make it clean. 
 
 Where'er it went along the skies 
 
 The Happy turned away their eyes ; 
 
 Where'er it past from shore to shore 
 
 All wept for those whose blood it bore — 
 
 Its piteous cry filled all the air, 
 
 TiU the Dream was more than I could bear. 
 
 And in the darkness of my bed 
 Weeping I awakened — 
 In the silence of the night. 
 Dying softly from my sight, 
 Melted that pale Dream of pain 
 Like a snow-flake from thy brain. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Doom. 
 
 Master, if there be Doom, 
 
 All men are bereaven ! 
 If, in the universe, 
 
 One Spirit receive the curse, 
 
 Alas for Heaven ! 
 If there be Doom for one, 
 Thou, Master, art undone. 
 
 Were I a Soul in heaven, 
 
 Afar from pain. 
 Yea, on Thy breast of snow, 
 At the scream of one below 
 
 I should scream again. 
 Art Thou less piteous than 
 The conception of a Man? 
 
 X. 
 
 God's Dream. 
 
 I HEAR a voice, ' How should God pardon 
 
 sin? 
 How should He save the sinner with the 
 
 sinless ? 
 That would be ill : the Lord my God is 
 
 just." 
 
 Further I hear, ' How should God pardon 
 
 lust ? 
 How should He comfort the adulteress ? 
 That would be foul : the Lord my God is 
 
 pure. ' 
 
 Further I hear, ' How should God pardon 
 
 blood? 
 How should the murtherer have a place in 
 
 heaven 
 Beside the innocent life he took away ? ' 
 
 And God is on His throne ; and in a dream 
 Sees mortals making figures out of clay, 
 Shapen like men, and calling them God's 
 angels. 
 
 And sees the shapes look up into His eyes. 
 Exclaiming, ' Thou didst ill to save this 
 
 man ; 
 Damn Thou this woman, and curse this 
 
 cut-throat. Lord ! ' 
 
 God dreams this, and His dreaming is the 
 
 world ; 
 And thou and I are dreams within His 
 
 dream ; 
 And nothing dieth God hath dreamt or 
 
 thought.
 
 28o 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Flower of the World. 
 
 Wherever men sinned and wept, 
 I wandered in my quest ; 
 At last in a Garden of God 
 I saw the Flower of the World. 
 
 This Flower had human eyes, 
 
 Its breath was the breath of the mouth ; 
 
 Sunlight and starlight came, 
 
 And the Flower drank bliss from both. 
 
 Whatever was base and unclean. 
 Whatever was sad and strange, 
 Was piled around its roots ; 
 It drew its strength from the same. 
 
 Whatever was formless and base 
 Pass'd into fineness and form ; 
 Whatever was lifeless and mean 
 Grew into beautiful bloom. 
 
 Then I thought, • O Flower of the World, 
 Miraculous Blossom of things. 
 Light as a faint wreath of snow 
 Thou tremblest to fall in the wind. 
 
 • O beautiful Flower of the World, 
 Fall not nor wither away ; 
 He is coming — He cannot be far — 
 The Lord of the Flow'rs and the Stars. 
 
 And I cried, ' O Spirit divine ! 
 That walkest the (Jarden unseen. 
 Come hither, and bless, ere it dies. 
 The beautiful Flower of the World. ' 
 
 XII. 
 
 O Spirit! 
 
 Weary with seeking, weary with long 
 
 waiting, 
 I fell upon my knees, and wept, exclaiming, 
 ' O Spirit of the grand things and the gentle! 
 
 ' Thou hidest from our seeking— Thou art 
 
 crafty — 
 Thou wilt not let our hearts admit Thee 
 
 wholly — 
 Believing hath a core of unbelieving — 
 
 ' A coward dare not look upon Thy features, 
 But museth in a cloud of misconceiving ; 
 The bravest man's conception is a coward's. 
 
 ' Wherefore, O wherefore, art Thou veil'd 
 
 and hidden? 
 The world were well, and wickedness were 
 
 over, 
 If Thou upon Thy throne were one thing 
 
 certain.' 
 
 And lo ! that very night I had a Vision. 
 
 VI, 
 
 THE LIFTING OF THE VEIL. 
 
 Thou who the Face Divine wouldst see, 
 Think,— couldst thou bear the sight, and be? 
 O waves of life and thought and dream, 
 Darkening in one mysterious Stream, 
 Flow on, flow loudly ; nor become 
 A glassy Mirror sad and dumb, 
 Whereon for evermore might shine 
 The dread peace of the Face Divine !— 
 Children of earth whose spirits fail, 
 Beware the Lifting of the Veil ! 
 
 Orm's Vision. 
 
 My Soul had a vision, 
 And in my Soul's vision 
 The Veil was lifted. 
 And the Face was there I 
 
 There was no portent 
 Of fire or thunder, 
 The wind was sleeping, 
 Above and under 
 
 All things lookt fair. 
 And the change came softly 
 
 Unaware ; 
 On a golden morrow 
 The Veil was lifted. 
 And yea ! the ineffable Face was there. 
 
 My Soul saw the vision 
 
 From a silent spot — 
 Nay, of its likeness 
 
 Ask me not — 
 How should my Soul fathom 
 The formless features ? 
 Gaze at the Master 
 
 How should it dare? 
 Only I flutter'd 
 To my knees and mutte/d 
 
 A moan, a prayer —
 
 THE LIFTING OF THE VEIL 
 
 281 
 
 Silent, ineffable, 
 Gazing downward, 
 The Face was there ! 
 
 This let me whisper : 
 It stirred not, changed not, 
 Though the world stood still, amazed ; 
 But the Eyes within it, 
 Like the eyes of a painted picture, 
 Met and followed 
 The eyes of each that gazed. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Face and the World. 
 
 Then my Soul heard a voice 
 
 Crying — ' Wander forth 
 O'er hill and valley. 
 
 O'er the earth — 
 Behold the mortals 
 
 How they fare 
 Now the great Father 
 
 Grants their prayer ; 
 Now every spirit 
 
 Of mortal race, 
 Since the Veil is lifted, 
 
 Beholds the Face ! 
 
 I awoke my body, 
 And up the mountains. 
 With the sweet sun shining 
 
 1 wander'd free — 
 And the hills were pleasant, 
 Knee-deep in heather, 
 And the yellow eagle 
 
 Wheel'd over me — 
 And the streams were flowing, 
 And the lambs were leaping 
 
 Merrily ! 
 
 But on the hill-tops 
 The shepherds gather' d, 
 Up gazing dreamily 
 
 Into the silent air. 
 And close beside them 
 The eagle butcher'd 
 The crying lambkin. 
 
 But they did not see, nor care. 
 I saw the white flocks of the shepherds, 
 Like snow wind-lifted and driven. 
 
 Blow by, blow by ! 
 And the terrible wolves behind them. 
 As wild as the winds, pursuing 
 
 With a rush and a tramp and a cry ! 
 
 I passed the places 
 
 Of ice and snow, 
 And I saw a Hunter 
 Lying frozen, — 
 His eyes were sealed — 
 
 He did not know ; 
 Drinking his heart's-blood. 
 Not looking upward. 
 Sat the soot-black raven 
 
 And the corby crow. 
 
 Then I knew they linger'd. 
 Though the Veil was lifted. 
 
 Death and Decay, 
 And my Spirit was heavy 
 
 As I tm-ned away ; 
 But my Spirit was brighter 
 As I saw below me 
 The glassy Ocean 
 
 Glimmering, 
 With a white sail dipping 
 Against the azure 
 
 Like a sea-bird's wing — 
 And all look'd pleasant. 
 
 On sea and land. 
 The white cloud brooding, 
 And the white sail dipping, 
 And the village sitting 
 
 On the yellow sand. 
 
 And beside the waters 
 My Soul saw the fishers 
 Staring upward. 
 
 With dumb desire, 
 Though a mile to seaward. 
 With the gulls pursuing. 
 Shot past the herring 
 
 With a trail like fire ; 
 Though the mighty Sea-snake 
 With her young was stranded 
 In the fatal shallows 
 
 Of the shingly bay — 
 Though their bellies hunger'd — 
 
 What cared they ? 
 
 Hard by I noted 
 Little children, 
 Toddling and playing 
 
 In a field o' hay — 
 The Face was looking. 
 But they were gazing 
 At one another. 
 
 And what cared they f
 
 282 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 But one I noted, 
 A little Maiden, 
 Look'd up o' sudden 
 
 And ceased her play, 
 And she dropt her garland 
 And stood upgazing, 
 With hair Uke sunlight. 
 
 And face like clay. 
 
 All was most quiet 
 
 In the air. 
 Save the children's voices 
 And the cry of dumb beasts, — 
 'Twas a weary Sabbath 
 
 Everj'where — 
 Each soul an eyeball, 
 
 Each face a stare ; — 
 And I left the place, 
 
 And I wander'd free, 
 And the Eyes of the Face 
 
 Still followed me ! 
 
 At the good Priest's cottage 
 The gray-hair'd grandsire 
 Lay stiff in the garden — 
 
 For his Soul had fled — 
 And I cried in passing, 
 ' Oh ye within there. 
 Come forth in sorrow 
 
 And bury your dead. ' 
 With his flock around him 
 Praying bareheaded. 
 The pale Priest, kneeling 
 
 All gaunt and gray. 
 Answer' d, ' Look upward ! 
 I^eave the dead to heaven 1 
 God is yonder ! 
 
 Behold, and pray 1 ' 
 
 I was sick at heart 
 
 To hear and see, 
 And to feel the Face 
 
 Still following me, 
 And all seemed darkening, 
 
 And my heart sank down, — 
 As I saw afar off 
 
 A mighty Town — 
 When with no warning. 
 Slowly and softly 
 
 The beautiful Face withdrew, 
 And the whole world darken'd, 
 And the silence deepen'd. 
 And the Veil fell downward 
 
 With a silver glimmer of dew. 
 
 And I was calmer 
 
 As, slowly and sweetly, 
 
 Gather'd above me 
 
 Mysterious Light on Light, — 
 And weary with watching 
 I lay and slumber'd 
 In the mellow stillness 
 
 Of the blessed night. 
 
 . . When my Soul awaken'd 
 
 In the lonely place. 
 The Veil was lifted. 
 
 And, behold ! the Face — 
 And sick, heart-weary. 
 
 Onward I ran. 
 Through fields of harvest 
 Where the wheat hung wither' d. 
 
 Unreapt by man ; 
 And a ragged Idiot 
 Went gibbering gaily 
 
 Among the wheat. 
 In moist palms rubbing 
 The ears together ; 
 And he laugh'd, and beckon'd 
 
 That I should eat. 
 
 At the city gateway 
 The Sentinels gather'd, 
 Fearful and drunken 
 
 With eyes like glass — 
 Look up they dared not, 
 Lest, to their terror. 
 Some luminous Angel 
 
 Of awe should pass ; 
 And my Soul passed swiftly 
 
 With a prayer. 
 And entered the City : — 
 Still and awful 
 
 W^ere street and square. 
 'Twas a piteous Sabbath 
 
 Everywhere — 
 Each soul an eyeball. 
 
 Each face a stare. 
 
 In pale groups gather'd 
 
 The Citizens, 
 The rich and poor men. 
 The lords, the lepers 
 
 From their loathsome dens. 
 There was no traffic, 
 The heart of the City 
 
 Stood silently ; 
 How could they barter,
 
 THE LIFTING OF THE VEIL. 
 
 283 
 
 How could they traffic, 
 
 With the terrible Eyes to see. 
 Nay ! each man brooded 
 
 On the Face alone : 
 Each Soul was an eyeball, 
 
 Each Shape was a stone ; 
 And I saw the faces, 
 
 And some were glad, 
 And some were pensive, 
 
 And some were mad ; 
 But in all places, 
 
 Hall, street, and lane, — 
 'Twas a frozen pleasure, 
 
 A frozen pain. 
 
 I passed the bearers 
 
 Of a sable bier. 
 They had dropped their burthen 
 
 To gaze in fear ; 
 From under the trappings 
 
 Of the death-cloth grand, 
 With a ring on the finger, 
 Glimmer'd the corpse's 
 
 Decaying hand. 
 I passed the bridal. 
 
 Clad bright and gay, 
 Frozen to marble 
 
 Upon its way. 
 
 Freely I wandered 
 
 Everywhere — 
 No mortal heeded 
 The passing footstep. 
 Palace and hovel 
 
 Were free as the mountain air. 
 Aye ! softly I entered 
 
 The carven court of stone. 
 And the fountains were splashing. 
 And the pale King sitting 
 
 Upon his jevvell'd throne — 
 And before him gathcr'd 
 The Frail and Sickly, 
 
 The Poor and Old ; 
 And he open'd great coffers, 
 And gave thence freely 
 
 Fine gear and gold,^ 
 Saying, ' 'Tis written, 
 Who giveth freely 
 Shall in sooth be blessed 
 
 Twenty-fold ! ' 
 But he look'd not upward, 
 And seem'd unconscious 
 
 Of the strange Eyes watching 
 
 O'er sea and land ; 
 Yet his eyehds quiver'd. 
 And his eyes look'd sidelong, 
 And he hid in his bosom 
 
 A blood-stained hand ; 
 But the beggar people 
 Let the gold and raiment 
 Lie all unheeded ; 
 
 While with no speech. 
 Upward they lifted 
 Their wild pale features. 
 For the Face was mirror'd 
 
 In the eyes of ea^h. 
 
 With the Face pursuing 
 I wandered onward. 
 
 Heart-sick, heart-sore. 
 And entered the fretted 
 
 Cathedral door ; 
 And I found the people 
 Huddled together. 
 Hiding their faces 
 
 In shame and sin. 
 For througli the painted 
 Cathedral windows 
 The Eyes of Wonder 
 
 Were looking in ! 
 And on the Altar, 
 The wild Priest, startled. 
 Was gazing round him 
 
 With sickly stare. 
 And his limbs were palsied, 
 And he moaned for mercy, 
 More wonder-stricken 
 
 Than any there. 
 
 Then I fell at the Altar, 
 
 And wept, and murmur'd, 
 ' My Soul, how fares it, 
 
 This day, with thee ? 
 Art thou contented 
 
 To live and see. 
 Or were it better 
 
 Not to be ? ' 
 And my pale Soul whisper'd 
 ' Like a band that boldest 
 And keepeth from growing 
 
 A goodly tree, — 
 A terror hath me — 
 I feel not, stir not — 
 'Twere surely better 
 
 Not to be !'
 
 284 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 Then a rush of visions 
 
 Went wildly by ! 
 My Soul beheld the mart Is World, 
 
 And the luminous Fac on high. 
 And methought, affrighted, 
 
 That the mortal race 
 Built cover'd cities 
 
 To hide the Face ; 
 And gather'd their treasures 
 
 Of silver and gold, 
 And sat amid them 
 
 In caverns cold ; 
 And ever nightly, 
 When the Face of Wonder 
 
 Withdrew from man, 
 Many started, 
 And hideous revel 
 
 Of the dark began. 
 And men no longer 
 Knew the common sorrow, 
 The common yearning, 
 The common love, 
 But each man's features 
 Were turn'd to marble, 
 Changelessly watching 
 
 The Face above — 
 A nameless trouble 
 
 Was in the air — 
 The heart of the World 
 Had no pulsation — 
 'Twas a piteous Sabbath 
 
 Everywhere ! 
 
 III. 
 
 Orm's Awakening. 
 
 I AWOKE. And rising, 
 
 My Soul look'd forth — 
 'Twas the dewy darkness, 
 And the Veil was glittering 
 
 Over the earth ; 
 But afar off eastward 
 The Dawn was glimmering, 
 
 All silver pale. 
 And slowly fading 
 With a mystic tremor, 
 The Lights gleam'd beautiful 
 
 In the wondrous Veil 
 Yea, Dawn came cheerily. 
 And the hill-tops brighten'd. 
 And the shepherds shouted. 
 
 And a trumped blew. 
 And the misty Ocean 
 
 Caught silver tremors, 
 
 With the brown-sail'd fish-boatS 
 
 Glimmering through — 
 And the City murmur'd 
 As I ran unto it. 
 And my heart was merry, 
 
 And my fears were few ; 
 And singing gaily 
 The lark rose upward, 
 Its brown wings gleaming 
 
 With the morning dew ! 
 
 VII. 
 THE DEVILS MYSTICS. 
 
 A scroll antique, with weeds behung, 
 Writ in a mystic pagan tongue, 
 Wash'd to Orm's feet by the wan Main 
 After long nights of wind and rain : 
 Translating this at dead of night, 
 The Celt beholds with dazzled sight 
 Strange gods stalk past, and in their train, 
 Supreme, the King of Sin and Pain. 
 
 The Inscription Without. 
 
 The Moral Law : all Evil is Defect ; 
 The limb deform'd for common use of life 
 Defect, — but haply in the Ifne of growth. 
 
 11. 
 
 The Tree of Life. 
 
 The Master said : 
 
 ' I have planted the Seed of a Tree, 
 It shall be strangely fed 
 With white dew and with red. 
 
 And the Gardeners shall be three — 
 
 Regret, Hope, Memory ! ' 
 
 The Master smiled : 
 
 For the Seed that He had set 
 Broke presently through the mould. 
 With a glimmer of green and gold. 
 
 And the Angels' eyes were wet — 
 
 Hope, Memory, Regret. 
 
 The Master cried : 
 
 ' It liveth — breatheth — see 1 
 Its soft lips open wide — 
 It looks from side to side —
 
 THE DEVIVS MYSTICS. 
 
 28s 
 
 How strange they gleam on me, 
 The little dim eyes of the Tree ! ' 
 
 The Master said : 
 
 ' After a miUion years, 
 The Seed I set and fed 
 To itself hath gathered 
 
 All the world's smiles and tears — 
 
 How mighty it appears ! ' 
 
 The Master said : 
 
 ' At last, at last, I see 
 A Blossom, a Blossom o' red 
 From the heart of the Tree is shed. 
 
 Fairer it seems to be 
 
 Than the Tree, or the leaves o' the Tree. ' 
 
 The Master cried : 
 
 ' O Angels, that guard the Tree, 
 A Blossom, a Blossom divine 
 Grows on this greenwood of mine : 
 
 What may this Blossom be ? 
 
 Name this Blossom to me ! ' 
 
 The Master smiled ; 
 
 For the Angels answered thus : 
 ' Our tears have nourish'd the same, 
 We have given it a name 
 
 That seemeth fit to us — 
 
 We have called it Spirit us.' 
 
 The Master said : 
 
 ' This Flower no Seed shall bear 
 But hither on a day 
 My beautiful Child shall stray, 
 
 And shall snatch it unaware, 
 
 And wreath it in his hair. ' 
 
 The Master smiled : 
 
 ' The Tree shall never bear — 
 Seedless shall perish the Tree, 
 But the Flower my Child's shall be ; 
 
 He will pluck the Flower and wear, 
 
 Till it withers in his hair ! ' 
 
 III. 
 
 The Seeds. 
 
 When all that puzzles sense was planned. 
 When the first seeds of being fell, 
 
 In reverence bent, / stood at hand, 
 And heard a part of the spell : 
 
 'Grow, Seed! blossom, Brain! 
 
 Deepen into power and pain ! ' 
 
 Shoots of the seed, I saw them grow, 
 Green blades of vegetable sheen, 
 
 They darken'd as with wind, and so 
 The Earth's black ball grew green— 
 
 ' Grow, Seed ! blossom, Brain ! 
 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain ! ' 
 
 Then starry-bright out of the ground 
 The firstling flowers sprang dewy-wet ; 
 
 I pluckt one, and it felt no wound — 
 There was no pain as yet. 
 
 ' Grow, Seed ! blossom. Brain ! 
 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain ! ' 
 
 Next in His Hand He hfted thus 
 
 Bright bubbling water from the spring — 
 
 And in that crystal tremulous 
 Quicken'd a living thing. 
 
 ' Grow, Seed ! blossom, Brain ! 
 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain!' 
 
 And suddenly ! ere I was 'ware, 
 
 (So fast the dreadful spell was tried), 
 
 O'er Earth's green bosom everywhere 
 Crawl'd hving things, and cried. 
 
 ' Grow, Seed ! blossom. Brain ! 
 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain ! ' 
 
 On every grass-blade glittering bright 
 A shining Insect leapt and played, 
 
 By every sea, on every height, 
 A Monster cast its shade — 
 
 * Grow, Seed ! blossom. Brain ! 
 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain ! ' 
 
 The most was lingering in the least. 
 The least became the most anon ; 
 
 From plant to fish, from fish to beast. 
 The Essence deepen'd on. 
 
 ' Grow, Seed ! blossom, Brain ! 
 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain ! ' 
 
 And deeper still in subtle worth 
 
 The Essence grew, from gain to gain. 
 
 And subtler grew, with each new birth. 
 The creature's power of pain. 
 
 'Grow, Seed ! blossom, Brain ! 
 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain ! ' 
 
 Paler I saw the Master grow, 
 
 Faint and more faint His breathing fell, 
 And strangely, lower and more low, 
 
 He mutter'd o'er the spell :
 
 286 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 ' Grow, Seed ! blossom, Brain ! 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain ! ' 
 
 Now the deep murmur of the Earth 
 Was mingled with a painful cry, 
 
 The yeanling young leapt up in mirth, 
 But the old lay down to die. 
 
 ' Grow, Seed ! blossom, Brain ! 
 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain ! ' 
 
 When standing in the perfect light 
 I saw the first-bom Mortal rise — 
 
 The flower of things he stood his height 
 With melancholy eyes. 
 
 ' Grow, Seed ! blossom, Brain ! 
 
 Deepen, deepen, irito pain ! ' 
 
 From all the rest he drew apart, 
 And stood erect on the green sod, 
 
 Holding his hand upon his heart. 
 And looking up at God ! 
 
 ' Grow, Seed ! blossom, Brain ! 
 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain ! ' 
 
 He stood so terrible, so dread, 
 
 With right hand lifted pale and proud, 
 God feared the thing He fashioned, 
 
 And fled into a cloud. 
 ' Grow, Seed ! blossom, Brain ! 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain ! ' 
 
 And since that day He hid away 
 
 Man hath not seen the Face that fled. 
 
 And the wild question of that day 
 Hath not been answered. 
 
 ' Grow, Seed ! blossom, Brain ! 
 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain ! ' 
 
 And since that day, with cloudy face. 
 Of His own handiwork afraid, 
 
 God from His heavenly hiding-place 
 Peers on the thing He made. 
 
 ' Grow, Seed ! blossom, Bram ! 
 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain ! ' 
 
 Crown of things, O good and wise, 
 O mortal Soul that would'st be free, 
 
 1 weep to look into thine eyes — 
 Thou art so like to we / 
 
 ' Grow, Seed ! blossom. Brain I 
 Deepen, deepen, into pain ! ' 
 
 IV. 
 
 Fire and Water ; or, a Voicb 
 OF THE Flesh. 
 
 ' Two white arms, a moss pillow, 
 
 A curtain o' green ; 
 Come love me, love me, 
 
 Come clasp me unseen ! ' 
 
 As red as a rose is, 
 
 I saw her arise. 
 Fresh waked from reposes, 
 
 With wild dreamy eyes. 
 
 I sprang to her, ciasp'd her 
 
 I trembled, I prest, 
 I drank her warm kisses, 
 
 I kiss'd her white breast. 
 
 With a ripple of laughter, 
 
 A dazzle of spray, 
 She melted, she melted, 
 
 And glimmer'd away ! 
 
 Down my breast runs the water. 
 In my heart burns the fire, 
 
 My face is hke crimson 
 With shame and desire ! 
 
 V. 
 Sanitas. 
 
 Dreamily, on her milk-white Ass, 
 
 Rideth the maiden Sanitas — 
 
 With zone of gold her waist is bound. 
 
 Her brows are vrith immortelles crown'd ; 
 
 Dews are falling, song-birds sing. 
 
 It is a Christian evening — 
 
 Lower, lower, sinks the sun. 
 
 The white stars glimmer, one by one ! 
 
 Who sitteth musing at his door ? 
 Silas, the Leper, gaunt and hoar ; 
 Though he is curst in every limb, 
 Full whitely Time hath snowed on him — 
 Dews are falling, song-birds sing. 
 It is a Christian evening — 
 The Leper, drinking in the air. 
 Sits like a beast, with idiot stare. 
 
 How pale ! how wondrous ! doth she pass, 
 The heavenly maiden Sanitas ; 
 She looketh, and she shuddereth, 
 She passeth on with bated breath—
 
 THE DEVIVS MYSTICS. 
 
 287 
 
 Dews are falling, song-birds sing, 
 It is a Christian evening — 
 His mind is like a stagnant pool, 
 She passeth o'er it, beautiful ! 
 
 Brighter, whiter, in the skies, 
 
 Open innumerable eyes ; 
 
 The Leper looketh up and sees. 
 
 His aching heart is soothed by these — 
 
 Dews are falling, song-birds sing, 
 
 It is a Christian evening — 
 
 He looketh up with heart astir, 
 
 And every Star hath eyes like her ! 
 
 Onward on her milk-white Ass 
 
 Rideth the maiden Sanitas. 
 
 The boughs are green, the grain is pearl'd, 
 
 But 'tis a miserable world — 
 
 Dews are falling, song-birds sing, 
 
 It is a Christian evening — 
 
 All o'er the blue above her, she 
 
 Beholds bright spots of Leprosy. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Philosophers. 
 
 We are the Drinkers of Hemlock ! 
 
 Lo ! we sit apart, 
 Each right hand is uplifted. 
 
 Each left hand holds a heart ; 
 At our feet rolls by the tumult. 
 
 O'er our heads the still stars gleam — 
 We are the Drinkers of Hemlock ! 
 
 We drink and dream ! 
 
 We are the Drinkers of Hemlock ! 
 
 We are worn and old. 
 Each hath the sad forehead. 
 
 Each the cup of gold. 
 In our eyes the awe-struck Nations 
 
 Look, and name us wise, and go — 
 We are the Drinkers of Hemlock ! 
 
 We drink and know ! 
 
 We are the Drinkers of Hemlock I 
 
 Silent, kingly, pure ; 
 Who is wise if we be foolish? 
 
 Who, if we die, shall endure? 
 The Bacchanals with dripping vine-leaves, 
 
 Blushing meet our eyes, and haste — 
 We are the Drinkers of Hemlock ! 
 
 Bitter to uste ! 
 
 We are the Drinkers of Hemlock ! 
 
 Spirits pure as snow ; 
 White star-frost is on our foreheads — 
 
 We are weary, we would go. 
 Hark ! the world fades with its voices, 
 
 Fades the tumult and the cry — 
 We are the Drinkers of Hemlock ! 
 
 We drink and die ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Devil's Praver. 
 
 Father which art in Heaven, — not here 
 below ; 
 Be Thy name hallowed, in that place of 
 worth ; 
 And till Thy Kingdom ccmeth, and we 
 know. 
 Be Thy will done more tenderly on 
 Earth ; 
 Since we must live — give us this day our 
 bread ; 
 Forgive our stumblings — since Thou 
 mad'st us blind ; 
 If we offend Thee, Sire, at least forgive 
 As tenderly as we forgive our kind ; — 
 Spare us temptation, — human or divine ; 
 
 Deliver us from evil, now and then ; 
 The Kingdom, Power, and Glory all are 
 Thine 
 For ever and for evermore. Amen. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 homunculus ; or, the song of 
 Deicides. 
 
 I. 
 
 Now all the mystic Lamps that shed 
 Light on the living world are fled ; 
 Now the swart digger rinses gold, 
 Under a starless heaven and cold ; 
 Now every God, save one, is dead, 
 Now that last God is almost sped ; 
 Cold falls the dew, chill rise the tides, 
 To this still Song of Deicides. 
 
 Honiunculus ! Homunculus ! 
 Not ever shalt thou conquer us ! 
 Zeus, Astaroth, Brahm, and Mem'i, 
 With all the gods, white, black, and blue,
 
 288 
 
 THE BOOK OF OEM. 
 
 Are fallen, and while I murmur thus, 
 Strong, and more strong, Homunculus 
 Upon a Teuton Jackass rides. 
 Singing the Song of Deicides. 
 
 It seems but yesterday the dim 
 
 And solitary germ of him 
 
 Glimmer'd most strangely on my sense, 
 
 While, with my microscope intense, 
 
 I search'd a Beast's brain-cavern dark :- 
 
 A germ — a gleam — a cell — a spark — 
 
 Grown to Homunculus, who rides 
 
 To my sad Song of Deicides. 
 
 Oh had I then so far foreseen, 
 
 This day of doom had never been, 
 
 For with a drop of fire from Hell 
 
 I would have killed the feeble Cell. 
 
 Too late ! too late 1 for slow and strange 
 
 He has passed the darker sphere of change, 
 
 Lo ! he emerges — shouts — derides, 
 
 Singing the Song of Deicides ! 
 
 Black is his raiment, top to toe. 
 His flesh is white and warm below. 
 All through his silent veins flow flee 
 Hunger, and Thirst, and Venery ; 
 But in his eye a still small flame, 
 I.ike the first Cell from which he came. 
 Burns round and luminous, — as he rides 
 To my still Song of Deicides ! 
 
 With Obic Circle he began. 
 
 Swift through the Phallic rites he ran, 
 
 He watch'd until his head went round 
 
 The Memphian Sphinx's stare profound ; 
 
 All these by turn he overcast. 
 
 And suck'd the Orphic Egg at last ; 
 
 Now laughing low he westward strides, 
 
 Singing the Song of Deicides ! 
 
 He drives the Gods o' the north to death — 
 The Sanctus Spiritus is breath — 
 He plucks down Thammuz from his joy. 
 And kneads him to a huswife's toy ; 
 He stares to shame the Afric spheres ; 
 He strikes — he overturns — he sneers — 
 Oven the fallen Titans strides. 
 And squeaks the Song of Deicides ! 
 
 8. 
 
 Homunculus ! Homunculus 
 Wretched, degenerate, impious ! 
 He will not stay, he will not speak — 
 Another blow ! another shriek ! 
 Lo ! where he hacketh suddenly 
 At the red Cross of Calvary ! 
 All darkens — faintly moan the tides — 
 Sing low the Song of Deicides ! 
 
 Gigantic, in a dark mist, see ! 
 Loometh the Cross of Calvary ; 
 With rayless eyes the Skeleton 
 Quivers through all its bones thereon. 
 Deep grows the mist, faint falls the wind, 
 The bloodshot sun setteth behind . . . 
 A crash ! a fall— The Cross he strides, 
 Singing the Song of Deicides ! 
 
 lo. 
 
 Now he hath conquered godhead thus, 
 Whither will turn Homunculus ? 
 / am the only God let be — 
 All but my fiends believe in me ; 
 (Though all the Angels deem me prince, 
 My kith and kin I can't convince.) 
 Christ help me now ! Hither he rides. 
 Singing my song of Deicides ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Silent I wait— (how stand the odds?) 
 I am the Serpent of the Gods,— 
 Wait !— draw the forked tongue in slow. 
 Hoard up my venom for the blow. 
 Crouch in my cave— of all the host 
 I know he feareth me the most — 
 Then strike and crush that thing accurst 
 I should have stifled at the first ! . . . 
 All Earth awaits ! Hither he rides ! 
 Cold fall the dews, chill rise the tides, 
 To this still Song of Deicides ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Roses. 
 
 ' Sad, and sweet, and wise.. 
 
 Here a child reposes. 
 Dust is on his eyes. 
 Quietly he lies, — 
 
 Satan, strew Roses I'
 
 THE DEVIVS MYSTICS. 
 
 289 
 
 Weeping- low, creeping slow, 
 Came the Weary-winged ! 
 
 Roses red over the dead 
 Quietly he flinged. 
 
 ' I am old,' he thought, 
 
 ' And the world's day c]osc=: ; 
 
 Pale and fever-fraught, 
 
 Sadly have I brought 
 These blood-red Roses.' 
 
 By his side the mother came 
 Shudderingly creeping ; 
 
 The Devil's and the woman's heart 
 Bitterly were weeping. 
 
 ' Swift he came and swift he flew, 
 
 Hopeless he reposes ; 
 Waiting on is weary too, — 
 Wherefore on his grave we strew 
 
 Bitter, withering Roses.' 
 
 The Devil gripped the woman's heart, 
 With gall he staunched its bleeding ; 
 
 Far away, beyond the day, 
 The Lord heard interceding. 
 
 ' Lord'God, One in Three ! 
 
 Sure Thy anger closes ; 
 Yesterday I died, and see 
 The Weary-winged over me 
 
 Bitterly streweth Roses.' 
 
 The voice cried out, ' Rejoice ! rejoice ! 
 
 There shall be sleep for evil ! ' 
 And all the sweetness of God's voice 
 
 Passed strangely through the Devil. 
 
 Hermaphroditus. 
 
 Tins is a section of a Singer's Rrain — 
 How delicately run the granular lines ! 
 By what strange chemic could I touch this 
 
 thing, 
 That it again might quicken and dissolve. 
 Changing and blooming, into glittering 
 
 gleams 
 Of fancy ; or what chemic could so quicken 
 The soft soil backward that it might put 
 
 forth 
 Green vegetable shoots, — as long ago ? 
 Upon what lieadland did it blow of oid 
 
 And ripen hitherward ! Surely 'twas a place 
 Flowery and starry ! 
 
 Cast it back to the grave ! 
 Look down no more, but raise thine eyes 
 
 and see 
 Who standeth glorious in the brightening 
 
 Dawn 1 
 
 Behold him, on the apex of the cone. 
 The perfect blossom of miraculous life, 
 Hermaphroditus. With how subtle shade 
 Male into female beauty mingleth — thews 
 Of iron coated o'er with skin of silk ; — 
 There, on the crown he stands, the perfect 
 
 one. 
 Witching the world with sterile loveliness, — 
 Beyond him, darkness and the unknown 
 
 change, 
 The next uncurtain'd and still higher scene 
 That is to follow. Are those pinions, — 
 
 peeping 
 Under the delicate-flesh'd white shoulder- 
 blades ? 
 
 xr. 
 
 After. 
 
 I SEE, as plain as eyes can see, 
 P'rom this dark point of mystery. 
 Death sitting at his narrow Gate, — 
 While all around, disconsolate, 
 The wretched weep, the weary wait. 
 God pity i/s who iveep and wait! 
 
 But, better still, if sadder, I 
 From this dark corner can descry 
 What is well-veil'd from human view : 
 Beyond the Gate I can pursue 
 The flight of those who have passed thro'. 
 God pity xis who have passed thro' ! 
 
 In at the portal, one by one. 
 
 They creep, they crawl, with shivering 
 
 moan — 
 Nobles and Beggars, Priests and Kings ; 
 Out at the further gate each springs 
 A Spirit, — with a pair of wings ! 
 
 God pity us nmu we have wings ! 
 
 All round the starry systems stir. 
 Each silent as a death-chamber ; 
 There is no sound of melody, 
 Only deep space and mvstery ; 
 
 U
 
 290 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 And each hath wings to wander free. 
 God pity us who wander free ! 
 
 Some cannot use their wings at all ; 
 Some try a feeble flight and fall ; 
 A few, like larks in earthly skies, 
 Wiih measured beat of wings uprise, 
 And make their way to Paradise. 
 God help us on to Paradise ! 
 
 If ever in their flight through space 
 They chance to reach that resdng-place, 
 I do not think these creatures dim 
 Will find the Lord of Cherubim 
 Exactly what they picture Him. 
 
 May God be luhal -we picture Him I 
 
 Out of the fiery Sun is thrown 
 To other worlds the meteor-stone ; 
 Back to the Sun, in season right, 
 The meteor-stone doth take its flight. 
 Lost in that melancholy light. 
 
 We fade in melancholy light. 
 
 I see, as plain as eyes can see. 
 From this dark point of mystery, 
 Those fledgling Spirits everywhere ; 
 They sing, they lessen, up the air ; 
 The go to God — Christ help them there ! 
 We go to God — Christ help us there ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 His Prayer. 
 
 In the time of transfiguration, 
 
 Melt me, Master, like snow ; 
 
 Melt me, dissolve me, inhale me 
 
 Into Thy wool-white cloud ; 
 
 With a warm wind blow nie upward 
 
 Over the hills and the seas, 
 
 And upon a summer morning 
 
 Poise me over the valley 
 
 Of Thy mellow, mellow realm ; 
 
 Then, for a wondrous moment, 
 
 Watch me from infinite space 
 
 With Thy round red Eyeball of sunlight, 
 
 And melt and dissolve me downward 
 
 In the beautiful silver Rain 
 
 That drippeth musically. 
 
 With a glea.n like Starlight and Moonlight, 
 
 On the footstool of Thy Throne. 
 
 vin. 
 
 THE VISION OF THE MAN 
 ACCURST. 
 
 How in the end the Judgment dread 
 Shall by the Lord thy God be said, — 
 While brightly in a City of Rest 
 Shall flash the fountains of the Blest, 
 And gladdening around the Throne 
 All mortal men shall smile, — save one. . . . 
 Children of Earth, hear, last and first, 
 The Vision of the Man Accurst. 
 
 Judgment was over ; all the world re- 
 
 deem'd 
 Save one Man, — who had sinned all sins, 
 
 whose soul 
 Was blackness and foul odour. Last of all. 
 When all was lamb-white, through the 
 
 summer Sea 
 Of ministering Spirits he was drifted 
 On to the white sands ; there he lay and 
 
 writhed. 
 Worm-like, black, venomous, with eyes 
 
 accurst 
 Looking defiance, dazzled by the light 
 That gleam'd upon his clench'd and blood- 
 
 stain'd hands ; 
 While, with a voice low as a funeral bell. 
 The Seraph, sickening, read the sable 
 
 scroll, 
 And as he read the Spirits ministrant 
 Darken'd and murmur'd, ' Cast him forth, 
 
 O Lord ! ■ 
 And, from the Shrine where unbeheld He 
 
 broods, 
 The Lord said, ' 'Tis the basest mortal 
 
 born — 
 Cast him beyond the Gate ! ' 
 
 The wild thing laugh'd 
 Defiant, as from wave to wave of light 
 He drifted, till he swept beyond the Gate, 
 Past the pale Seraph with the silvern eyes ; 
 And there the wild Wind, that for ever 
 
 beats 
 About the edge of brightness, caught him 
 
 up. 
 And, like a straw, whirl'd round and lifted 
 
 him. 
 And on a dark shore in the Underworld 
 Cast him, alone and shivering ; for the 
 
 Clime
 
 THE VISION OF THE MAN ACCURST. 
 
 291 
 
 Was sunless, and the ice was like a sheet 
 Of glistening tin, and the faint glimmering 
 
 peaks 
 Were twisted to fantastic forms of frost, 
 And everywhere the frozen moonlight 
 
 steam'd 
 Foggy and blue, save where the abysses 
 
 loom'd 
 Sepulchral shadow. But the Man arose, 
 With teeth gnash'd beast-like, waved wild 
 
 feeble hands 
 At the white Gate (that ghmmer'd far away. 
 Like to the round ball of the Sun beheld 
 Through interstices in a wood of pine), 
 Cast a shrill curse at the pale Judge within 
 Then groaning, beast-like crouch'd. 
 
 Like golden waves 
 That break on a green island of the south. 
 Amid the flash of many plumaged wings, 
 Passed the fair days in Heaven. By the 
 
 side 
 Of quiet waters perfect Spirits walked. 
 Low singing, in the star-dew, full of joy 
 In their own thoughts and pictures of those 
 
 thoughts 
 Flash'd into eyes that loved them ; while 
 
 beside them. 
 After exceeding storm, the Waters of Life 
 With soft sea-sound subsided. Then God 
 
 said, 
 ' 'Tis finished — all is well ! ' But as He 
 
 spake 
 A voice, from out the lonely Deep beneath, 
 Mock'd ! 
 
 Then to the Seraph at the Gate, 
 Who lookcth on the Deep with steadfast 
 
 eyes 
 For ever, God cried, ' What is he that 
 
 mocks ? ' 
 The Seraph answered, ' 'Tis the Man 
 
 accurst ! ' 
 And, with a voice of most exceeding peace, 
 God ask'd, ' What doth the Man?" 
 
 The Seraph said : 
 ' Upon a desolate peak, with hoar-frost 
 
 hung. 
 Amid the steaming vapours of the Moon, 
 He sitteth on a tlirone, and hideously 
 Playelh at judgment ; at his feet, with eyes 
 Slimy and luminous, squats a monstrous 
 
 Toad ; 
 
 Above his head pale phantoms of the S'ars 
 Fulfil cold ministrations of the Void, 
 And in their dim and melancholy lustre 
 His shadow, and the shadow of the Toad 
 Beneath him, linger. Sceptred, thron'd, 
 
 and crown'd. 
 The fouljudgeth the foul, and sitting grim, 
 Laughs ! ' 
 
 With a voice of most exceeding peace 
 The Lord said, ' Look no more ! ' 
 
 The Waters of Life 
 Broke with a gentle sea-sound gladdening — 
 God turn'dand blest them ; as He blest the 
 
 same, 
 A voice from out the lonely Void beneath, 
 Shriek'd ! 
 
 Then to the Seraph at the Gate, 
 Who looketh on the Deep with steadfast 
 
 eyes 
 For ever, God cried, ' What is he that 
 
 shrieks ? ' 
 The Seraph answered, ' 'Tis the Man 
 
 accurst ! ' 
 And, with a voice of most exceeding peace, 
 God ask'd, ' What doth the Man ? ' 
 
 The Seraph said : 
 • Around him the wild phantasms of the 
 
 fog 
 Moan in the rheumy hoar-frost and cold 
 
 steam. 
 Long time, crown'd, sceptred, on his 
 
 throne he sits 
 Playing at judgment ; then with shrill voice 
 
 cries — 
 "'Tis finished, thou art judged!" and, 
 
 fiercely laughing. 
 He thrusteth clown an iron heel to crush 
 The foul Toad, that with dim and luminous 
 
 eyes 
 So stareth at his Soul. Thrice doth he lift 
 His foot up fiercely — lo ! he shrinks and 
 
 cowers — 
 Then, with a wild glare at the far-off Gate, 
 Rushes away, and, rushing through the dark. 
 Shrieks ! ' 
 
 With a voice of most exceeding peace 
 The Lord said, ' Look no more ! ' 
 
 U 2
 
 292 
 
 THE BOOK OF ORM. 
 
 The Waters of Life, 
 The Hving, spiritual Waters, broke. 
 Fountain-like, up against the Master's 
 
 Breast, 
 Giving and taking blessing. Overhead 
 Gathcr'd the shining legions of the Stars, 
 Led by the ethereal Moon, with dewy eyes 
 Of lustre : these have been baptised in fire, 
 Their raiment is of molten diamond. 
 And 'tis their office, as they circling move 
 In their blue orbits, evermore to turn 
 Their faces heavenward, drinking peace 
 
 and strength 
 From that great Flame which, in the core 
 
 of Heaven, 
 Like to the white heart of a violet burns. 
 Diffusing rays and odour. Blessing all, 
 God sought their beauteous orbits, and 
 
 behold ! 
 The Eyes innumerably glistening 
 Were turned away from Heaven, and with 
 
 sick stare, 
 I^ike the blue gleam of salt dissolved in fire, 
 They searched the Void, as human faces 
 
 look 
 On horror. 
 
 To the Seraph at the Gate, 
 WTio looketh on the Deep with steadfast 
 
 eyes, 
 God cried, ' What is this thing whereon 
 
 they gaze ? ' 
 The Seraph answered, ' On the Man 
 
 accurst.' 
 And, with a voice of most exceeding peace, 
 God ask'd, ' What doth the Man?' 
 
 The Seraph said : 
 ' O Master ! send Thou forth a tongue of 
 
 fire 
 To wither up this worm ! Serene and cold, 
 Flooded with moon-dew, hes the World, 
 
 and there 
 The Man roams ; and the image of the 
 
 Man 
 In the wan waters of the frosty sphere 
 Falleth gigantic. Up and down he drifts. 
 Worm-like, black, venomous, with eyes 
 
 accursed, 
 Waving his bloody hands in fierce appeal, 
 So that the gracious faces of Thy Stars 
 Are troubled, and the stainless tides of 
 
 light 
 
 Shadow pollution. With wild, ape-like 
 
 eyes. 
 The wild thing whining peers through 
 
 horrent hair. 
 And rusheth up and down, seeking to find 
 A face to look upon, a hand to touch, 
 A heart that beats ; but all the World is 
 
 void 
 And beauteous. All alone in the Cold 
 
 Clime, 
 Alone within the lonely universe, 
 Crawleth the Man accurst ! ' 
 
 Then said the Lord, 
 'Doth he repent?' And the fair Seraph 
 
 said, 
 ' Nay he blasphemeth ! Send Thou forth 
 
 Thy fire ! ' 
 But with a voice of most exceeding peace. 
 Out of the Shrine where unbeheld He 
 
 broods, 
 God said, ' What I have made, a living 
 
 Sotll, 
 Cannot be unmade, but endures for ever.' 
 Then added, ' Call the Man ! * 
 
 The Seraph heard. 
 And in a low voice named the lost one's 
 
 name ; 
 The wild Wind that for ever beats the Gate 
 Caught up the word, and fled through the 
 
 cold Void. 
 'Twas niurmur'd on, as a lorn echo fading, 
 From peak to peak. Swift as a wolf the 
 
 Man 
 Was rushing o'er a waste, with shadow 
 
 streaming 
 Backward against a frosty gleaming wind, 
 When like a fearful whisper in his ear 
 'Twas wafted ; then his blanch'd lips shook 
 
 like leaves 
 In that chill wind, his hair was lifted up. 
 He paused, his shadow paused, hke stone 
 
 and shadow. 
 And shivering, glaring round him, the Man 
 
 moaned, 
 ' Who calls ? ' and in a moment he was 
 
 'ware 
 Of the white light streaming from the far 
 
 Gate, 
 And looming, blotted black against the 
 
 light. 
 The Seraph with uplifted forefinger, 
 Naming his name !
 
 THE VISION OF THE MAN ACCURST. 
 
 293 
 
 And ere the Man could fly, 
 The wild Wind in its circuit swept upon 
 
 him, 
 And, like a straw, whirled him and lifted 
 
 him, 
 And cast him at the Gate, — a bloody 
 
 thing — 
 Mad, moaning, horrible, obscene, unclean ; 
 A body swollen and stained like the wool 
 Of sheep that in the rainy season crawl 
 About the hills, and sleep on foul damp beds 
 Of bracken rusting red. There, breathing 
 
 hard. 
 Glaring with fiery eyes, panted the Man, 
 With scorch'd lips drooping, thirsting as he 
 
 heard 
 The flowing of the Fountains far within. 
 
 Then said the Lord, ' Is the Man there ? ' 
 
 and ' Yea," 
 Answered the Seraph pale. Then said the 
 
 Lord, 
 'What doth the Man?" The Seraph, 
 
 frowning, said : 
 • O Master, in the belly of him is fire. 
 He thirsteth, fiercely thrusting out his 
 
 hands, 
 And threateneth, seeking water ! ' Then 
 
 the Lord 
 Said, ' Give him water — let him drink ! ' 
 
 The Seraph, 
 Stooping above him, with forefinger bright 
 Touched the gold kerbstone of the Gate, 
 
 and lo ! 
 Water gush'd forth and gleamed ; and 
 
 lying prone 
 The Man crawl'd thither, dipt his fever'd 
 
 face. 
 Drank long and deeply ; then, his thirst 
 
 appeased. 
 Thrust in his bloody hands unto the wrist, 
 And let the gleaming Fountain play upon 
 
 them, 
 And looking up out of his dripping hair, 
 Grinned mockery at the giver. 
 
 Then the Lord 
 Said low, ' How doth the Man ? ' The 
 
 Seraph said : 
 ' It is a snake ! He mocketh all Thy gifts, 
 And, in a snake's voice half-articulate, 
 Rlasphemeth ! ' Then the Lord : ' Doth 
 
 the Man crave 
 
 To enter in ? ' ' Not so,' the Seraph said, 
 ' He saith ' ' What saith he ? ' ' That 
 
 his Soul is filled 
 With hate of Thee and of Thy ways ; he 
 
 loathes 
 Pure pathways where the fruitage of the 
 
 Stars 
 Hangeth resplendent, and he spitteth hate 
 On all Thy Children. Send Thou forth 
 
 Thy fire ! 
 In no wise is he better than the beasts. 
 The gentle beasts, that come like morning 
 
 dew 
 And vanish. Let him die ! ' Then said the 
 
 Lord : 
 ' What I have made endures ; but 'tis not 
 
 meet 
 This thing should cross my perfect work for 
 
 ever. 
 Let him begone ! " Then cried the Seraph 
 
 pale : 
 ' O Master ! at the frozen Clime he glares 
 In awe, shrieking at Thee ! ' ' What doth 
 
 he crave ? 
 ' Neither Thy Heaven nor by Thy holy 
 
 ways. 
 He murmureth out he is content to dwell 
 In the Cold Clime for ever, so Thou sendest 
 A face to look upon, a heart that beats, 
 A hand to touch — albeit like himself. 
 Black, venomous, unblest, exiled, and 
 
 base : 
 Give him this thing, he will be very still. 
 Nor trouble Thee again.' 
 
 The Lord mused. 
 
 Still, 
 Scarce audible trembled the Waters of 
 
 Life- 
 Over all Heaven the Snow of the same 
 
 Thought 
 Which rose within the Spirit of the Lord 
 Fell luishedly ; the innumerable Eyes 
 Swam in a lustrous dream. 
 
 Then said the Lord : 
 ' In all the waste of worlds there dwelleth 
 
 not 
 Another like himself — behold he is 
 The basest Mortal born. Yet 'tis not meet 
 His cruel cry, for ever piteous. 
 Should trouble my eternal Sabbath-day. 
 Is there a Spirit here, a human thing,
 
 294 
 
 THE BOOK OF OEM. 
 
 Will pass this day from the Gate Beautiful 
 To share the exile of this Man accurst, — 
 That he may cease the shrill pain of his cry, 
 And 1 have peace ? ' 
 
 Hushedly, hushedly, 
 
 Snow'd down the Thought Divine— the 
 living Waters 
 
 Murmured and darkened. But hke mourn- 
 ful mist 
 
 That hovers o'er an autumn pool, two 
 Shapes, 
 
 Beautiful, human, glided to the Gate 
 
 And waited. 
 
 ' What art thou ? ' in a stern voice 
 
 The Seraph said, with dreadful forefinger 
 
 Pointing to one. A gentle voice replied, 
 
 ' I will go forth with him whom ye call curst! 
 
 He grew within my womb — my milk was 
 white 
 
 Upon his lips. I w\\\ go forth with him ! ' 
 
 ' And i/iou ? ' the Seraph said. The second 
 Shape 
 
 Answered, ' I also will go forth with him ; 
 
 I have kist his lips, I have lain upon his 
 breast, 
 
 I bare him children, and I closed his eyes ; 
 
 I will go forth with him ! ' 
 
 Then said the Lord, 
 ' What Shapes are these who speak ? ' The 
 
 Seraph answered : 
 ' The woman who bore him and the wife he 
 
 wed — 
 The one he slew in anger— the other he 
 
 stript. 
 With ravenous claws, of raiment and of 
 
 food.' 
 Then said the Lord, ' Doth the Man hear? ' 
 
 ' He hears,' 
 Answer'd the Seraph ; ' like a wolf he lies. 
 Venomous, bloody, dark, a thing accurst. 
 And hearkeneth, with no sign ! ' Then said 
 
 the Lord : 
 ' Show them the Man," and the pale Seraph 
 
 cried, 
 • Behold ! ' 
 
 Hushedly, hushedly, hushedly, 
 
 In heaven fell the Snow of Thought Divine, 
 
 (ileaming upon the Waters of Life beneath. 
 
 And melting, — as with slow and lingering 
 
 pace, 
 
 The Shapes stole forth into the windy cold, 
 And saw the thing that lay and throbbed 
 
 and lived. 
 And stooped above him. Then one reach'd 
 
 a hand 
 And touch'd him, and the fierce thing 
 
 shrank and spat, 
 Hiding his face. 
 
 ' Have they beheld the Man ? ' 
 The Lord said ; and the Seraph answer'd 
 
 ' Yea ; ' 
 And the Lord said again, ' What doth the 
 
 Man ? ' 
 
 ' He lieth like a log in the wild blast, 
 And as he lieth, lo ! one sitting takes 
 His head into her lap, and moans his name. 
 And smoothes his matted hair from off his 
 
 brow. 
 And croons in a low voice a cradle song ; 
 And lo ! the other kneeleth at his side, 
 Half-shrinking in the old habit of her fear. 
 Yet hungering with her eyes, and passion- 
 ately 
 Kissing his bloody hands.' 
 
 Then said the Lord, 
 ' Will they go forth with him ? ' A voice 
 
 replied, 
 ' He grew within my womb — my milk was 
 
 white 
 Upon his lips. I will go forth with him ! ' 
 And a voice cried, ' I will go forth with 
 
 him ; 
 I have kist his hps, I have lain upon his 
 
 breast, 
 I bare him children, and I closed his eyes ; 
 I will go forth with him ! ' 
 
 Still hushedly 
 Snowed down the Thought Divine, the 
 
 Waters of Life 
 Flow'd softly, sadly ; for an alien sound, 
 A piteous human cry, a sob forlorn 
 Thrill'd to the heart of Heaven. 
 
 The Man wept. 
 
 And in a voice of most exceeding peace 
 The Lord said (while against the Breast 
 
 Divine 
 The Waters of Life leapt, gleaming, glad- 
 dening) : 
 ' The Man is saved ; let the Man enter in 1 '
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 295 
 
 Political Mystics. 
 
 (1871.) 
 
 Shades of the living Time, 
 
 Phantoms men deem real, 
 Rise to a runic rhyme, 
 
 Cloak'd from head to heel I 
 One by one ye pass 
 As in a magician's glass, 
 One by one displace 
 The hood which veils the face ; 
 And ever we recognise, 
 
 With terrible deep-drawn breath, 
 Christ's inscrutable eyes, 
 
 And the bloodless cheeks of Death ! 
 
 TITAN AND AVATAR. 
 
 A CHORAL MYSTIC. 
 I. 
 
 Ode of Nations. 
 
 'TwAS the height of the world's night, there 
 was neither warmth nor light, 
 And the heart of Earth was heavy as a 
 stone ; 
 Yet the nations sick with loss saw the surge 
 of heaven toss 
 Round the meteor of the Cross ; and with ! 
 a moan 
 All the people desolate gazed thereon and j 
 question'd fate, 
 And the wind went by and bit them to the 
 bone. 
 
 Hope was fled and Faith was dead, and the 
 black pell overhead 
 Hung like Death's, for doom was heavy 
 everywhere, — 
 V\'hen there rose a sudden gleam, then a 
 thunder, then a scream, 
 Then a lightning, stream on stream aslant 
 the air ! 
 And a dreadful ray was shed around the 
 Cross, and it grew red. 
 And the pallid people leapt to see the 
 glare. 
 
 Fire on the heights of France ! Fire on the 
 heights of France ! 
 Fire flaming up to heaven, streak on 
 streak ! 
 
 How on France Kings look't askance ! how 
 the nations join'd in dance ! 
 To see the glory glance from peak to 
 peak ! 
 How the chain'd lands curst their chance, 
 as they bent their eyes on France ! 
 Earth answer'd, and her tongues began 
 to speak. 
 
 Now hark ! — who lit the spark in the 
 miserable dark ? 
 O Washington, men miss thee and 
 forget. 
 Where did the light arise, in answer to 
 man's cries ? 
 In the West ; in those far skies it rose 
 and set. 
 Who brought it in his breast from the 
 liberated West ? 
 Speak his name, and kneel and bless 
 him : Lafayette. 
 
 O Sire, that madest Fire ! How with 
 
 passionate desire 
 Leapt the nations while it gather'd and 
 
 up-streamed ; 
 Then they fed it, to earth's groans, with 
 
 Man's flesh and blood and bones, 
 And with Altars and with Thrones ; and 
 
 still it screamed. 
 Then they cast a King thereon— but a 
 
 flash, and he was gone. 
 Then they brought a Queen to feed it :— 
 
 how it gleam'd !
 
 296 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 Then it came to pass, Earth's frame seem'd 
 dissolving in the flame, 
 Tlien it seem'd the Soul was shaken on 
 its seat, 
 And the pale Kings with thin cries look'd 
 in one another's eyes, 
 Saying, ' Hither now it flies, and O how 
 fleet! 
 Sound lond the battle-cry, we must trample 
 France or die, 
 Strike the Altar, cast it down beneath 
 our feet.' 
 
 Forth they fared. The red fire flared on 
 the heights of France, and glared 
 On the faces of the free who kept it fed ; 
 Came the Kings with blinded eyes, but with 
 baffled prayers and cries 
 They beheld it grow and rise, still bloody- 
 red ; 
 When lo ! the Fire's great heart, like a 
 red rose cloven apart 
 Open'd swiftly, to deep thunder overhead. 
 
 And lo, amid the glow, while the pale 
 Kings watched woe. 
 Rose a single shape, and stood upon the 
 pyre. 
 Its eyes were deeply bright, and its face, in 
 their sad sight. 
 Was pallid in a white-heat of desire, 
 And the cheek was ashen hued ; and with 
 folded arms it stood 
 And smiled bareheaded, fawn'd on by 
 the Fire ! 
 
 Forehead bare, the Shape stood there, in 
 the centre of the glare. 
 And cried, 'Away ye Kings, or ye shall 
 die.' 
 And it drave them back with flame, o'er the 
 paths by which they came. 
 And they wrung iheir hands in shame as 
 they did fly. 
 As they fled it came behind fleeter-footed 
 than the wind, 
 And it scatter'd them, and smote them 
 hip and thigh. 
 
 All amazed, they stood and gazed, while 
 their crying kingdoms blazed, 
 With their fascinated eyes upon the 
 Thing ;— 
 
 When lo, as clouds dilate, it grew greater 
 and more great. 
 And beneath it waited Fate with triple 
 sting ; 
 All collossus-like and grand, it bestrode the 
 sea and land, 
 And behold tlie crowned likeness of a 
 King! 
 
 Then the light upon the height, that had 
 burned in all men's sight 
 Was absorb'd into the creature where he 
 smiled. 
 O his face was wild and wan — but the burn- 
 ing current ran 
 In the red veins of the Man who was its 
 child :— 
 To the sob of the world's heart did the 
 meteor-light depart. 
 Earth darken, and the Altar fall defiled. 
 
 The aloud the Phantom vow'd, ' Look 
 upon me, O ye proud ! 
 Kiss my footprints ! I am reaper, 3 e are 
 wheat I 
 Ye shall tremble at my name, ye shall eat 
 my bread in shame, 
 I will make ye gather tame beneath my 
 Seat. ■ 
 And the gold that had been bright on the 
 hair of Kings at night. 
 Ere dawn was shining dust about his 
 feet. 
 
 At this hour behold him tower, in the dark- 
 ness of his power, 
 Look upon him, search his features, O 
 ye free 1 
 Is there hope for living things in this fiery 
 King of Kings, 
 Doth the song that Freedom sings fit 
 such as he? 
 Is it night or is it day, while ye bleed be- 
 neath his sway? 
 It is night, deep night on earth and air 
 and sea. 
 
 Still the height of the world's night. There 
 is neither warmth nor light. 
 And the heart of Earth is heavy as a 
 stone ; 
 And within the night's dark core where the 
 sad C ross gleam'd before 
 Sits the Shape that Kings adore, upon a 
 Throne ;
 
 TITAN AND AVATAR. 
 
 297 
 
 And the nations desolate crawl beneath and 
 curse their fate, 
 And the wind goes by and bites them to 
 the bone. 
 
 Sire that mad'st the Fire, and the Shape 
 
 that dread and dire 
 Came from thence, the first and last born 
 of the same, 
 To Thee we praying throng, for Thou alone 
 art strong, 
 To right our daily wrong and liitter 
 shame : 
 From the aching breast of earth, lift the red 
 Fire and its birth ! 
 Consume them— let them vanish in one 
 flame ! 
 
 II. 
 
 The Avatar's Dream. 
 
 (Buonaparte loquitur, at Erfurt.) 
 
 The cup is overflowing. Pour, pour yet. 
 My Famulus— pour with free arm-sweep 
 
 still. 
 And when the wine is running o'er the brim. 
 Sparkling with golden bubbles in the sun, 
 
 1 will stoop down and drink the full great 
 
 draught 
 Of glory, and as did those heroes old 
 Drinking ambrosia in the happy isles. 
 Dilate at once to perfect demigod. 
 Meantime, 1 feast my eyes as the wine runs 
 And the cup fills. Fill up, my Famulus ! 
 Pour out the precious juice of all the earth. 
 Pour with great arm-sweep, that the world 
 
 may see. 
 
 Famulus— O Spirit— O good Soul, 
 Come close to me and listen — curl thyself 
 Up in my breast — let us drink ecstasy 
 Together ; for the charm thou taughtest 
 
 me 
 
 1 working like slow poison in the veins 
 Of the great Nations : each, a wild-beast 
 
 tamed. 
 Looks mildly in mine eyes and from my 
 
 hand 
 Eats gently ; and this day I speak the 
 
 charm 
 To Russia, and, behold ! the crafty eyes 
 Blink sleepily, while on the fatal lips 
 Hovers the smile of appetite half-fed, 
 
 Half-hungry : he being won, all else is won, 
 
 And at our feet, our veritable slave. 
 
 Lies Europe. Whisper now, Soul of my 
 
 Soul, 
 Since we have won this Europe with the 
 
 sword, 
 How we shall portion it to men anew. 
 
 First, in the centre of the West, I set 
 My signet like a star, and on a rock 
 Base the imperial Throne : seated whereon. 
 The royal crown of France upon my head, 
 At hand the iron crown of Lombardy, 
 And in my sceptre blended as a sign 
 The hereditary gems of Italy, 
 Spain, Holland, I shall see beneath my feet 
 My Puppets sit with strings that reach my 
 
 hand : 
 Murat upon the throne of Italy, 
 Jerome upon new-bom Westphalia, 
 Louis the lord of Holland, and perchance 
 A kinsman in the Prussian dotard's place ; 
 And, lower yet, still puppets to my hand, 
 .Saxony, Wtirtemberg, Bavaria, 
 The petty principalities and powers. 
 All smiling up in our hot thunderous air ; — 
 And all the thrones, the kingdoms, and the 
 
 powers 
 That break to life beneath them, murmtir- 
 
 ing 
 ' Hail, King of Europe — Emperor of the 
 
 West.' 
 
 Thus far. Still farther ? Driven to the East, 
 First by fond cunning, afterwards by blows. 
 The Russian's eyes bloodshot with greed 
 
 will watch. 
 While still our flood-tide inexhaustible 
 Of Empire washes to the Danube, rolls 
 Into the Baltic, and with one huge wave 
 Covers the plains of Poland. Then at last 
 The mighty Empires of the East and West 
 Shall clash together in the final blow. 
 And that which loses shall be driven on 
 To lead the heathen on in Asia, 
 And that which hurls the other to such 
 
 doom 
 .Shall be the chosen Regent of the World. 
 Shall this be so, O Spirit? Pour, O pour - 
 Yea, let me feast mine eyes upon the wine. 
 Albeit I drink not. See 1 — Napoleon, 
 Waif from the island in the southern sea.
 
 298 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 Sun to whom all the Kings o' the earth are 
 
 stars, 
 Sword before which all earthly swords are 
 
 straws, 
 Child of the Revolution, Crown and Head, 
 Heart, Soul, Arm, King, of all Humanity ! 
 
 O Famulus — in God's name keep my soul 
 From swooning to vain-glory. I believe 
 God (not the other) sends thee, that thy 
 
 mouth 
 May fill me with a message for the race, 
 And purge the peevish and distemper'd 
 
 world 
 Of her hereditary plague of Kings. 
 y or Man, I say, all in due season grow 
 Back to the likeness hat he wore at first, 
 One mighty nation pHng the green earth. 
 One equal people with one King and head, 
 One Kingdom with one Temple, and 
 
 therein 
 No priest, no idol, no ark sacrifice. 
 But spheric music and the dreamy light 
 Of heaven's mild azure and the changeless 
 
 stars. 
 The curse of earth hath been the folly of 
 
 peace 
 Under vain rulers, so dividing earth, 
 That twenty thousand kings of Lilliput 
 Strutted and fretted heaven and teased tlie 
 
 time. 
 Kept nature's skin for ever on the sting 
 Like vermin, and perplex'd Humanity 
 With petty pangs and peevish tyranny. 
 While the soul sickened of obscure disease. 
 And the innumerable limbs of state 
 Moved paralysed, most inert, or dead. 
 Came Revolution like avenging fire ; 
 And in the red flash miserable men 
 Beheld themselves and wondered — saw their 
 
 Kings 
 Still strutting Lilliputian in the glare, — 
 And laugh'd till heaven rung, — gave one 
 
 fierce look 
 To heaven, and rose. Outraged Columbia 
 Breath'd o'er the sea, and scorch'd the in- 
 solent cheek 
 Of Albion. Albion paled before the flame. 
 The darken'd embers faded in tlie West, 
 And all was still again ; when one mad 
 
 mom 
 Men wakening, saw the heights of France 
 
 afire 1 
 
 Earth shook to her foundation, and the 
 
 light 
 Illumed the hemispheres from west to east, 
 And men that walk beneath and under us, 
 Holding their heads to other stars, belield 
 The glory flaming from the underworld. 
 The little K ings of Europe, lily-pale, 
 Scream'd shrill to one another. Germany 
 In her deep currents of philosophy 
 Mirror'd the fiery horror. Russia groaned. 
 Sheeted in snows that took the hue of blood 
 Under the fierce reflection. Italy, 
 Spain and the Tyrol, wild Helvetia, 
 Caught havoc ; and even on the white 
 
 English crags 
 A few strong spirits, in a race that binds 
 Its body in chains and calls them Liberty, 
 And calls each fresh link Progress, stood 
 
 erect 
 With faces pale that hunger'd to the light. 
 Then, like a hero in his anguish, burnt 
 Poor gentle Louis, whom the stars destined 
 To be a barber and who was a King, 
 And as he flamed and went like very 
 
 straw, 
 Earth shriek'd and fever'd France grew 
 
 raving mad. 
 
 Pass o'er the wild space of delirium, 
 When France upon her stony bed of pain 
 Raved, screamed, blasphemed, was me- 
 
 dicinedwith blood. 
 Forgot all issues and the course of time ; 
 And come to that supremer, stiller hour 
 When, facing these fierce wasps of Kings 
 
 who flocked 
 To sting the weary sufferer to death, 
 /rose and stood behind her, drove them 
 
 back. 
 So! with a sword sweep. Those were 
 
 merry days. 
 My Spirit ! These were spring days, winds 
 
 of war 
 Sharp-blowing, but the swallow on the way 
 Already bringing summer from the south ! 
 Then one by one I held these little Kings 
 Between my fingers and inspected them 
 Like curious insects, while with buzz and 
 
 hiss 
 Their tiny stings were shooting in and out ; 
 And how I laugh'd 
 
 To think such wretched vermin had so long 
 Tortured unhappy Man, and to despair
 
 TITAN AND AVATAR. 
 
 299 
 
 Driven him and his through infinite ways 
 
 of woe ! 
 When, with one sweep of his great arm, 
 
 one blow 
 Of his sharp pahn, he might annihilate 
 Such creatures by the legion and in sooth 
 Exterminate the breed ! O Spirit of Man ! 
 A foolish Titan ! foolish now as then. 
 Guided about the earth hke a blind man 
 By any hand that leads. 
 And then and now unconscious of a frame 
 Whose strength, into one mighty effort 
 
 gathered, 
 Might shake the firmament of heaven itself ! 
 . . . Well, we have done this service. We 
 
 have freed 
 Earth from its pest of Kings, so that they 
 
 crawl 
 Powerless and stingless ; we have medicined 
 Desperate disease with direful remedies ; 
 And lo, the mighty Spirit of mankind 
 Hath stagger'd from the sick-bed to his 
 
 feet. 
 And feebly totters, picking darken'd steps, 
 And while I lead him on scarce sees the 
 
 sun, 
 But questions feebly ' Whither? " Whither? 
 
 Indeed 
 I am dumb, and all Earth's voices are as 
 
 dumb — 
 God is not dumber on His throne. In vain 
 I would peer forward, but the path is black. 
 Ay, — whither? 
 
 O what peevish fools are mortals, 
 Tormented by a raven on each shoulder, 
 ' Whither ? ' and ' wherefore ? ' Shall I 
 
 stand and gape 
 At heaven, straining eyes into the tomb, 
 Like some purblind philosopher or bard 
 Asking stale questions of the Infinite 
 Dumb with God's secret? questioning the 
 
 winds, 
 The waves, the stars, all things that live 
 
 atid move, 
 Ail signs, all augurs ? Never yet hath one 
 Accorded answer. ' Whither ? ' Death re- 
 plies 
 With dusky smile. 'Wherefore?' The 
 
 echoes laugh 
 Their 'wherefore? wherefore?" Of the 
 
 time unborn, 
 And of the inevitable Law, no voice 
 
 Bears witness. The pale Man uipon the 
 
 Cross 
 Moan'd, — and beheld no further down the 
 
 Void 
 Than those who gather'd round to see Him 
 
 die. 
 
 Ay, — but the Soul, being weather-wise, can 
 
 guess 
 The morrow by the sunset, can it not ? 
 And there are signs about the path whereon 
 I guide the foolish Titan, that imply 
 Darkness and hidden dangers. All these 
 
 last 
 I smile at ; but, O Soul within my Soul, 
 'Tis he, the foolish Titan's self, I fear : 
 For, though I have a sp;ll upon him now, 
 And say it, and he follows, any morn 
 (Awakening from his torpor as he woke 
 One bloody morn in Paris and wen: wild), 
 He may put out his frightful strength 
 
 again. 
 And with one mighty shock of agony 
 Bring down the roof of Empire on my 
 
 head. 
 He loves me now, and to my song of war 
 Murmurs deep undertone, and as he goes 
 Fondles the hand that leads ; but day by 
 
 day 
 Must I devise new songs and promises, 
 More bloody incantation, lest he rouse 
 And rend me. Oftentimes it seems he 
 
 leads, 
 I follow, — he the Tyrant, I the Slave, — 
 And it, perchance, were better had I paused 
 At Amiens, nor with terrible words and 
 
 ways 
 Led him thus far, still whispering in his 
 
 ear 
 That he at last shall look on ' Liberty. ' 
 
 Liberty ? Have I luU'd him with a Lie? 
 Or shall the Titan Spirit of man be led 
 To look again upon the face of her. 
 His first last love, a spirit woman-shaped, 
 Whom in the sweet beginning he beheld, 
 Adored, loved, lost, pur.sucd, whom still in 
 
 tears 
 He yearns for ; in whose name alone all 
 
 Kings 
 Have led and guided him a space and 
 
 throve, 
 Denying whom all Kings have died in turn,
 
 300 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 Whose memory is perfume, light and 
 
 dream, 
 Whose hope is incense, music, bliss, and 
 
 tears, 
 To him whose great heart with immortal 
 
 beat 
 Measures the dark march of Humanity. 
 I do believe this Shape he saw and loved 
 Was but a Phantasm, unsubstantial, strange, 
 A vision never to be held and had, 
 A spectral woman ne'er to be enjoyed ; 
 But such a thought whisper'd into his ear 
 Were rank as blasphemy cried up at God. 
 The name is yet a madness, a supreme 
 Ecstasy and delirium ! All things 
 That cry it, move the tears into the eyes 
 Of the sad Titan. Echoed from the heights 
 Of France, it made him mad, and in his 
 
 rage 
 He tore at Earth's foundations. Evermore 
 He turns his suffering orbs upon the dark. 
 Uplifts his gentle hands to the chill stars, 
 Pauses upon the path, and in the ear 
 Of him who leadeth cries with broken voice, 
 ' How long, how long, how long?' 
 
 And unto him. 
 This Titan, I, supreme of all the earth, 
 Am but a pigmy (let me whisper it !) 
 And I have won upon him with strange 
 
 lies. 
 And he has suffered all indignities, 
 Bonds, chains, a band to blindfold both his 
 
 eyes. 
 Patient and meek, since I have sworn at 
 
 last 
 To lead him to the trysting-place where 
 
 waits 
 His constant love and most immortal 
 
 Bride. 
 Still in mine ears he murmureth her name, 
 And follows. I have le him on through 
 
 fire. 
 Blood, darkness, tears, and still he hath 
 
 been tame. 
 Though ofitimes shrinking from things 
 
 horrible. 
 And on ai.d on he follows even now, 
 Blindfold, with slower and less willing 
 
 feet— 
 I fear with slower and less willing feet — 
 And still I ead, through lurid light from 
 
 heaven, 
 
 Whither I know not. * Whither ! ' Often- 
 times 
 
 My great heart fails, lest on some morn we 
 reach 
 
 That poital o'er which flaming Arch is 
 writ, 
 
 ' All hope abandon ye who enter here ! ' 
 
 And he, perceiving he hath been befool'd. 
 
 Will cast me from him with his last fierce 
 breath 
 
 Down through the gate into some pit of 
 doom. 
 
 Meantime he follows smiling. O Famulus ! 
 Could I but dream that she, the Shape he 
 
 seeks. 
 Whom men name Liberty, and gods name 
 
 Peace, 
 Were human, could inhale this dense dark 
 
 air. 
 Could live and dwell on earth, and rear the 
 
 race, 
 'Twere well, — for by Almighty (jod I 
 
 swear 
 I would find out a means to join their 
 
 hands 
 And bless them, and abide their grateful 
 
 doom. 
 But she he seeks I know to be a dream, 
 A vision of the rosy morning mist, 
 A creature foreign to the earth and sea, 
 Ne'er to be look'd upon by mortal soul 
 Out of the mortal vision. Wherefore still 
 I fear this Titan. I can never appease 
 His hungry yearning wholly. He will bear 
 No future chains, no closer blindfolding. 
 And if a fatal whisper reach his ear, 
 I and all mine are wholly wreck'd and lost. 
 Yet is this Titan old so weak of wit, 
 So senile-minded though so huge of frame, 
 So deaf to warning voices when they cry, 
 That, should no angel light from heaven 
 
 an speak 
 The mad truth in his ear, he will proceed 
 Patiently as a lamb. He counteth not 
 The weary years ; his eyes are shut indeed 
 With a half-smile, to see the mystic Face 
 Pictured upon his brain ; only at times 
 He lifteth lids and gazeth wildly round, 
 Clutching at the cold hand of him that 
 
 guides, — 
 But with a whisper he is calm'd again, 
 Relapsing back into his gentle dream.
 
 TITAN AND AVATAR. 
 
 301 
 
 he is patient, and he will await 
 Century after century in peace, 
 
 So that he hears sweet songs of her he 
 
 seeks, 
 So that his guides do speak to him of her, 
 So that he thinks to clasp her in the end. 
 
 The end ? Sweet sprite, the end is what I 
 
 fear — 
 If I might live for ever, Famulus !^ 
 Why am I not immortal and a god ? 
 
 1 have caused tears enough, as bitter tears 
 As ever by the rod divine were struck 
 Out of this rock of earth. O for a spell 
 Wherewith to cheat old Death, whose feet 
 
 I hear 
 Afar off, for I hate the bony touch 
 Of hands that change the purple for the 
 
 shroud ! 
 Yet I could go in peace (since all must go) 
 So that my seed were risen and in its eyes 
 I saw assurance of imperial thoughts, 
 Strength, and a will to grasp the thunder- 
 bolt 
 I leave unhurl'd beside the Olympian 
 
 throne. 
 Ah God, to die, and into the dark gloom 
 Drag that throne with me, to the hollow 
 
 laugh 
 Of the awakening Titan ! All my peers 
 Are ciphers, all my brethren are mere 
 
 Kings 
 Of the old fashion, only strengthen'd now 
 By my strong sunshine ; reft of that, they 
 
 die. 
 Like sunflowers in the darkness. Death, 
 
 old Death, 
 Touch me this day, or any dark day soon. 
 And I and mine are like the miser's hoard, 
 A glorious and a glittering pile of gold 
 Changed to a fluttering heap of wither'd 
 
 leaves. 
 
 This must not be. No, I must have a 
 
 child. 
 I must be firm and from my bed divorce 
 The barren woman. Furthermore, to link 
 My throne with all the lesser thrones of 
 
 earth, 
 I must wed the seed of Kings. Which seed, 
 
 which child ? 
 Which round ripe armful of new destiny ? 
 Which regal mould for my imperial issue ? 
 
 Thine, fruitful house of Hapsburg ? Russia, 
 
 thine ? 
 The greater, not the lesser. I must wed 
 Seed of the Czar, and so with nuptial rites 
 Unite the empires of the East and West. 
 
 Fill, fill, my Famulus, the golden cup 
 I thirst for ; all the peril as I gaze 
 Hath faded. I no more with fluttering lips 
 Cry ' Whither? ' but with hands outstretch'd 
 
 I watch 
 Rubily glistening glory. It shall thrive ! 
 King of the West, sowing the seed of 
 
 Kings 
 First of the Empire of the Golden Age, 
 The sleeping Titan, and the quiet Sea ; 
 Light of the Lotus and all mortal eyes, 
 Whose orbit nations like to heliotropes 
 Shall follow with lesser circle and sweet 
 
 sound ! 
 
 in. 
 
 The Elemental Quest. 
 
 semi-chokus l 
 
 Form of her the Titan full of patience 
 Sees amid the darkness of the nations ; 
 Voice of her whose sound in the beginning 
 Came upon him desolate and sinning ; 
 Face and fairest form of her whose gleam- 
 ing 
 Soothes his gentle spirit into dreaming ; 
 Spirit ! whom the Titan sees above him ! 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS n. 
 
 Gentle eyes that shine and seem to love 
 
 him ! 
 Tender touch, the thrill of her sweet fingers. 
 Thrill that reach'd his soul and burns and 
 
 lingers ; 
 Breath of her, and scent of her, and bliss 
 
 of her ; 
 Dream of her, and smile of her, and kiss of 
 
 her! 
 Come again, and speak, and bend above 
 
 him, 
 Spirit that came once and seemed to love 
 
 him. 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 How long, how long ? 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS L 
 
 Courage, great heart and strong, 
 Break not, but beat low chime
 
 302 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS, 
 
 To the dark flow of Time ; 
 Follow the path foot-worn, 
 Sad night and dewy morn, 
 Under the weary sun 
 Follow, O mighty one ; 
 Under dim moon and star ! 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 Whither? How fiir, how far? 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 Spirit of the fathomless abysses, 
 Spirit that he looked upon and misses, 
 Free and fair and perfect, more than 
 
 human. 
 Bringing love and peace-gifts like a woman ; 
 Come unto him, lessen to his pleading. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS 11. 
 
 Mark his patience, hear his gentle inter- 
 ceding ; 
 
 O'er mountain upon mountain left behind 
 thee. 
 
 He hath cheerly climb'd in vain to find 
 thee : 
 
 Wild waters he hath cross'd, wild sea and 
 river, 
 
 All countries he hath traversed, faithful ever, 
 
 Ever hoping, ever waiting, never seeing. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Spirit seen in some long darken'd being, 
 .Spirit that he saw at the world's portal, 
 Saw, and knew, and loved, and felt im- 
 mortal. 
 Spirit that he wearies for and misses, 
 Answer from the fathomless abysses ! 
 
 THE TITAN, 
 
 How long, how long ? 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 Courage, O Titan strong ! 
 Courage, from place to place 
 Still follow the voice and the face ! 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 Whither? 
 
 A VOICE AFAR. 
 
 O hither ! 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 Voice of her he follows in dumb pleasure, 
 Camest thou from the earth or from the 
 
 azure ; 
 Camest thou from the pastures on the 
 
 mountains. 
 From the ocean, from the rivers, from the 
 
 fountains. 
 From the vapours blowing o'er him while 
 
 he hearkens, 
 From the ocean hoar that beats his feet and 
 
 darkens, 
 From the star that on the sea-fringe melts 
 
 and glistens ? 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS II. 
 
 O homeless voice, he maddens as he 
 
 listens, 
 O voice divine, his wild lips part asunder ; 
 He speaketh, and his words are a low 
 
 thunder. 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 Whither, O whither ? 
 
 VOICE AFAR. 
 
 Hither ! 
 
 Whither? 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 Whither? Wherefore, while I wait in 
 patience, 
 
 Mock her voice, O voices of the nations ; 
 Wherefore by night and day. 
 Where'er my slow feet stray, 
 
 Trouble all hours with wild reverberations? 
 
 Mountain winds, ye name her name unto 
 
 me ! 
 Flowing rivers glance and thrill it through 
 me ! 
 Earth, water, air, and sky, 
 Name her as I go by ! 
 With her dim ghost the floating clouds 
 pursue me. 
 
 All of these have seen her face and love 
 
 her. 
 Earth beneath and heaven that bends above 
 her ; 
 The rain-wreck and the storm 
 Mimic the one fair form. 
 The whirlwind knows her name and cries it 
 over.
 
 TITAN AND A VA TAR. 
 
 303 
 
 Flowers are sown by her bright foot, wher- 
 ever 
 They are flashing past by mere and river ; 
 Birds in the forest stir, 
 Singing mad praise of her ; 
 All green paths know her, though she flies 
 for ever. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Joy of wind and wave and cloud and 
 
 blossom, 
 Pause at last, and fall upon his bosom ! 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 None behold her twice, but having conn'd 
 
 her 
 While she flashes past with feet that 
 wander. 
 
 Remember the blest gleam. 
 And grow by it, and dream. 
 And fondle the sweet memory, and ponder. 
 
 All have known her, and yet none possess 
 
 her ; 
 None behold her, yet all things caress her ; 
 The warmth of her white feet. 
 Where it doth fall so sweet. 
 Abides for ever there, and all things bless 
 her. 
 
 Faster than the prophesying swallow. 
 Fast by wood and sea and hill and hollow. 
 
 Sought by all things that be. 
 
 But most of all by me. 
 She flieth none know whither, and I follow. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 O wherefore, radiant one, 
 Under the moon and sun, 
 Glimmer away? 
 
 VOICE AFAR. 
 
 Here on the heights I stay ; 
 Come hither. 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 Whither? 
 
 VOICE AKAR. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 O hither ! 
 
 Form of her the Titan full of patience 
 Sees amid the darkness of the nations ; 
 
 Voice of her whose song in the beginning 
 
 Came upon him desolate and sinning ; 
 
 Face and fairest form of her whose gleam- 
 ing 
 
 Soothes his gentle spirit into dreaming ; 
 
 Touch of her, the thrill of her quick fingers. 
 
 Thrill that reach'd his soul and burns and 
 lingers ; 
 
 Soul beyond his soul, yet ever near it, 
 
 His heart's home, and haven of his spirit ; 
 
 Joy of wind and wave and cloud and 
 blossom. 
 
 Pause at last, and fall upon his bosom ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Elemental Doom. 
 chorus of spirits. 
 
 Strange hands are passing across our 
 
 eyes. 
 Before our souls strange visions rise 
 
 And dim shapes flash and flee. 
 The mists of dream are backward roll'd — 
 As from a mountain, we behold 
 
 What is, and yet shall be. 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 Speak, while the depths of dream unfold, 
 What is it that ye see ? 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 'Tis vision. Lo, before us stands. 
 Casting his sha^'e on many lands, 
 The mighty Titan, by the sea 
 Of tempest-tost humanity ; 
 And to the earth, and sea, and sky, 
 He uttereth a thunder-cry 
 
 Out of his breaking heart. 
 And the fierce elements reply, 
 
 And earth is cloven apart. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS 11. 
 
 Like sparks blown from a forge, the spheres 
 Drift o'er us ;— all our eyes and ears 
 
 Are full of fire and sound. 
 With blood about him blown like rain, 
 We see how on a darken'd plain 
 
 Stands the Avatar, crown'd. 
 Silent he waits, and white as death, 
 
 Looks in the litan's eyes. 
 Tliey stand — the black sky holds its breath — 
 
 The deep Sea stills its cries. 
 The mad storm hushes driving past.
 
 304 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 The sick stais pause and gaze — the blast, 
 The wind-rent rain, the vapours dark. 
 Like dead things crouch, and wait, and 
 
 hark ; 
 And lo ! those twain alone and dumb 
 Loom desolate and strange. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 lb the time come? 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS II. 
 
 The time is come. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 Titan, to thy revenge ! 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 O look and listen ! 
 
 His great eyes glisten. 
 
 Like an oak the storm rendeth 
 
 He swayeth and bendeth. 
 
 With lips torn asunder 
 
 He shakes, but no thunder 
 
 Comes thence. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS II. 
 
 While still nigh him. 
 With smiles that defy him. 
 The crown'd one is standing, — 
 His pale look commanding 
 A tigress, that crouching 
 Beneath him and touching 
 
 His feet with low cries. 
 Waits, fiercely betraying 
 Blood's thirst yet obeying 
 
 His eyes ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Is he doom'd? 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 He is doom'd. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Oh, bv whom? 
 
 VOICE. 
 By the child yet unborn in the womb, 
 By the dead laid to sleep in the tomb, 
 He is doom'd, he is doom'd. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Speak his doom 1 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 Napoleon ! Napoleon ! 
 
 THE AVATAR. 
 
 Who cries ? 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 I, child of the earth and the skies, 
 I, Titan, the mystical birth. 
 Whose voice since the morning of earth 
 Hath doom'd such as thou in the end. 
 Speak thy doom ! 
 
 THE AVATAR. 
 
 Speak ! I smile and attend. 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 Because thou hast with lies and incanta- 
 tions. 
 With broken vows and false asseverations^. 
 For thine own ends accurst, 
 Betrayed me from the first, 
 I speak, and doom thee, in the name of 
 nations. 
 
 Because I have wander' d like a great stream 
 
 flowing 
 From its own channel and through strange 
 gulfs going. 
 So that for years and years 
 I must retrace in tears 
 The black and barren pathway of thy 
 showing. 
 
 Because one further step after thy leading 
 Had hurl'd me down to doom past inter- 
 ceding, 
 
 So that I never again, 
 
 In passion or in pain. 
 Might look upon the face I follow pleading. 
 
 Because thou hast led me blind, knee-deep 
 
 through slaughter, 
 Through fields of blood that wash'd our 
 way like water. 
 Because in that divine 
 Name I adore, and mine. 
 Thou hast bruised Earth, and to desolation 
 brought her. 
 
 Because thou hast been a liar and blas- 
 phemer, 
 Deeming me triply dotard and a dreamer.
 
 TITAN AND AVATAR. 
 
 305 
 
 Because thy hand at length 
 Would strike me in my strength, 
 Me, deathless ! me, diviner and supremer ! 
 
 Because all voices of the earth and azure, 
 All things that breathe, all things curst for 
 thy pleasure, 
 All poor dead men who died 
 To feed thy bitter pride, 
 All living, all dead, cry — mete to him our 
 measure ! 
 
 Because thou hast slain Kings, and as a 
 
 token 
 Stolen their crowns and worn them, having 
 spoken 
 My curse against the same ; 
 Because all things proclaim 
 That thou didst swear a troth, and that 'tis 
 broken. 
 
 By her whom thou didst swear under God's 
 
 heaven 
 To find ; by her who being found was 
 driven 
 O'er earth, air, sky, and sea. 
 Through desolate ways, by thee, 
 With voice appealing and with raiment 
 riven ! 
 
 Because thou hast turned upon and violated 
 Her soul to whom thou first wert conse- 
 crated. 
 Because, thro' thy soul's lie 
 And life's delusion, I 
 Must wait more ages, who have wept and 
 waited 
 
 Since the beginning. By the soul of 
 
 Patience, 
 Sick of thy face and its abominations, 
 I speak on thine and thee 
 The doom of Destiny, 
 Hear it, and die, hear in the name of 
 nations 1 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 Is he doom'd ? 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS II. 
 
 He is doom'd. 'Tis the end. 
 
 Napoleon I 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 THE AVATAR. 
 
 Speak ! I attend. 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 Utter the doom thou dost crave. 
 
 THE AVATAR. 
 
 'Tis spoken. A shroud and a grave. 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 O voices of earth, air, and sky. 
 Hear ye his doom, and reply. 
 
 HUMAN VOICES. 
 
 Death is sleep. Let him wake and not die. 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 Because by thee all comfort hath been 
 
 taken. 
 So that the Earth rocks still forlorn and 
 shaken, 
 Staring at the sad skies 
 With sleepless aching eyes, 
 Thou shalt not die, but wait and watch ana 
 waken. 
 
 This is thy doom. Lone as a star thy being 
 Shall see the waves break and the drift-cloud 
 fleeing. 
 Hear the wind cry and grow. 
 Watch the great waters flow. 
 And seeing all, shine hid from all men's 
 seeing. 
 
 Here on this Isle amid a sea of sorrow 
 I cast thee down. Black night and weary 
 morrow, 
 Lie there alone, forgot, 
 .So doom'd and pitied not ; 
 Let all things watch thy face, and thy face 
 borrow 
 
 The look of these mad elements that ever 
 Strike, scream, and mingle, sever and dis- 
 sever ; 
 Gather from air and sea 
 The thirst of all things free, 
 The up-looking want, the hunger ceasing 
 never. 
 
 All shall forget thee. Thou shalt hear the 
 
 nations 
 Flocking with music light and acclamations" 
 
 X
 
 3o6 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 To kiss his royal feet 
 Who sitteth in thy Scat, 
 Surrounded by the slaves of lofty stations. 
 
 A rock in the lone Sea shall be thy pillow. 
 In the wide waste of gray wave and green 
 billow, 
 The days shall rise and set 
 In silence, and forget 
 To sun thee,— a black shape beneath a 
 willow 
 
 Watching the weary waters with heart 
 
 bleeding ; 
 Or dreaming cheek upon thy hand ; or 
 reading 
 The book upon thy knee ; 
 And ever as the sea 
 Moans, raising eyes to the still heavens, 
 and pleading : 
 
 Till like a wave worn out with silent break- 
 ing 
 Or like a wind blown weary ; thou, for- 
 saking 
 Thy tenement of clay, 
 Shalt wear and waste away. 
 And grow a portion of the ever-waking 
 
 Tumult of cloud and sea. Feature by 
 
 feature 
 Losing the likeness of the living creature. 
 Returning back thy form 
 To its elements of storm, 
 Thou Shalt dissolve in the great wreck of 
 Nature. 
 
 Is it done ? 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 SEMI-CHORUS II. 
 
 It is done. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 Took again. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS 11. 
 
 I see on the rock in the main 
 The Shape sitting dark by the sea, 
 And his shade, and the shade of the tree, 
 Where he sitteth, are pencil'd jet-black 
 On the luminous sky at his back ; 
 But lo ! while 1 gaze, from the sky 
 Like phantoms they vanish and die : — 
 All is dark. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 Look again. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS II. 
 
 Hark, O hark ! 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 A shrill cry is piercing the dark — 
 Like the multitudinous moan 
 Of the waves as they clash, comes a groan 
 From afar — 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 What is this, O ye free ? 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS II. 
 
 He has gone like a wave of the sea — 
 Day dieth, the light falleth red, — 
 O Titan, behold he is dead ! . . . 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Strange hands are passed across our eyes, 
 Before our souls strange visions rise. 
 
 And dim shapes flash and flee ; 
 The mists of dream are backward rolled — 
 As from a mountain we behold 
 
 That Island in the sea. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 Now bow thy face upon thy breast, 
 O Titan, and bemoan thy quest ! 
 O look not thither with thine eyes, 
 But lift them to the constant skies 1 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 What do ye see that thus to me 
 Ye turn and smile so bitterly ? 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 'Tis vision. On that island bare 
 Sits one with face divinely fair, 
 
 And pensive smiling lips ; 
 And on her lap the proud head lies. 
 Pale with the seal on its proud eyes 
 
 Of Death's divine eclipse ; 
 All round is darkness of the sea. 
 And sorrow of the cloud. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS II. 
 
 Yet she 
 Is making with her heavenly face 
 Sweetness hke sunlight ; and the place
 
 TITAN AND AVATAR—THE FOOL OF DESTINY. 
 
 307 
 
 Grows luminous ; and the world afar 
 I^ooks thither as to some new star, 
 All wondering ; and with lips of death 
 Men name one name beneath their breath, 
 Not cursing as of yore, for now 
 All the inexorable brow 
 Is mouldering marble. 
 
 SEMI-CHORUS I. 
 
 Hark, O hark ! 
 A silver voice divides the dark ! 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 Hither, O hither ! 
 
 ANOTHER VOICE. 
 
 Whither ? 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 sweet is sleep if sleep be deep, 
 And sweetest far to eyes that weep ; 
 He who upon my breast doth creep 
 Shall close his weary eyes and sleep. 
 
 Yet he who seeks me shall not find, 
 And he who chains me shall not bind ; 
 For fleeter-footed than the wind 
 
 1 still elude all human kind. 
 
 But when, soul-weary of the chase, 
 Falleth some man of mortal race, 
 1 pause — I find him in his place, 
 I pause — I bless his dying face ! 
 
 Whatsoever man he be, 
 I take his head upon my knee, 
 I give him words and kisses three. 
 Kissing I whisper, ' Thou art free ! 
 
 free is sleep if sleep be deep ! — 
 
 1 soothe them sleeping, and I heap 
 Greenness above them, and they weep 
 No longer, but are free, and sieep. 
 
 O royal face and royal head ! 
 
 lips that thunder'd ! O eyes red 
 
 With nights of watch ! O great soul dead ! 
 Thy blood is water, thy heart lead ! 
 
 They doom'd thee in my name, but see ! 
 
 1 doom thee not, but set thee free ; 
 Balm for all hearts is shed by me, 
 &.nd for all spirits, liberty. 
 
 He finds me least who loves me best, 
 His Soul in an eternal quest 
 W^ails still, while one by one are prest 
 Tyrants that hate me, to my breast. 
 
 The sad days fly — the slow years creep. 
 And he alone doth never sleep. 
 Would he might slumber and not weep. 
 O free is sleep, if sleep be deep. 
 
 THE TITAN. 
 
 Irene 1 
 
 THE FOOL OF DESTINY. 
 
 A CHORIC DRAMA. 
 
 Scene. — The ChAteau of Wilhelms- 
 
 HOHE, IN CASSEL. 
 
 German Citizens -walking in the Gardens 
 without. 
 
 first citizen. 
 How fine it is to lounge in talk 
 Together, down this long green walk 
 While russet trees to left and right 
 Snaring the rosy shafts of light 
 Shade them to silver, till they glow 
 There on the roof of the chateau 
 Gleaming bright ruby ! 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 Not too near — 
 The place is private. 
 
 first CITIZEN. 
 
 Didst thou hear 
 The news ? Another glorious blow 
 For Fatherland ! 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 To-night at five 
 I saw the courier arrive. 
 Bringing the news to him who waits 
 Yonder. — O he may thank the fates 
 I le sits so snug, the man of sin ! — 
 How cuiuiingly, before the end. 
 The Snake contrived to save his skin ! 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Thou art too hard upon him, friend. 
 He saw that all his cards were played, 
 
 X 2
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 308 
 
 And so, to save more bloodshed, strayed 
 Into the cage. 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 A cage, indeed ! 
 Where from a gold plate he may feed 
 Of all earth's dainties, while afar 
 France, neath the tramping feet of War, 
 Bleeds like a winepress. There he lolls, 
 Butcher of bodies and of souls. 
 Smiling, and sees the storm blow by ! 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 What could he do ? 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 Could he not die? 
 
 FIRST CITIZEN. 
 
 Die? Sentiment! If I were he 
 I'd bless the stars which set me free 
 From that foul-hearted Whore's embrace, 
 France, wth her fickle painted face. 
 Better in Germany to dine, 
 Smoke one's cigar, and sip one's wine ; 
 And in good time, like most, no doubt, 
 Who have worn their wicked members out, 
 Repent, and be absolved, and then 
 Die in one's bed, like smaller men ! 
 
 SECOND CITIZEN. 
 
 Thou cynic ! 
 
 FIRST citizen's WIFE. 
 
 Dost thou think that he 
 Is happy? 
 
 FIRST citizen. 
 
 Why not? . . . Possibly, 
 My dear, 'tis something after all 
 To know the worst that can befall ; 
 To know, whatever joy or sorrow 
 Fate is preparing for the morrow. 
 It cannot make more dark the lot 
 One bears to-night. Happy ! Why riot ? 
 Happy as most of our poor kind. 
 
 WIFE. 
 
 He hath so much upon his mind ! 
 
 FIRST citizen. 
 
 A woman's thought ;— but hark to me, 
 And take this for philosophy — 
 
 Beyond a given amount of pain, 
 The spirit suffers not a grain. 
 What stuff we humble folk are taught 
 Of monarchs and their weight of thought I 
 Why, thou and I, and Jack and Jill, 
 Feel just as much of good and ill. 
 Of life and strife, of thought and care, 
 As he who sitteth musing there ! 
 
 SECOND citizen. 
 
 I saw him walking, yesterday. 
 He is much aged of late, they say- 
 He stoops much, and his features are 
 Gray as the ash of the cigar 
 He smokes for ever. 
 
 first citizen {to wife). 
 
 Come, my dear. 
 Let's home ! 'Tis growing chiUy here ; 
 So !— take my arm. Yes, I contend 
 It matters little in the end 
 If one be Beggar, Priest, or King— 
 The whip's for all— the pang, the sting ! 
 Dost thou remember— canst forget ? 
 When all our goods were seized for deb;. 
 In Friedberg? Claim was heap'd on claim- 
 Blow came on blow— shame follow'd shame • 
 And last to crown our dire distress, 
 Thy brother Hans' hard-heartedness. 
 Think you / felt a whit less sad, 
 Less thunderstruck, less fierce, less mad, 
 Than yonder melancholy Man, 
 When, through the dark cloud of Sedan. 
 He, as a star that shoots by night. 
 Swept from his sphere of lonely light. 
 And at the feet of Wilhelm lay 
 Glow-worm-like, in the garish day 
 Of conquest? Well, well! wait and see— 
 I rose again, and so may he. 
 The world is but a Play, tho' ye , 
 Dear creatures take it seriously I 
 I cannot pity from my heart 
 The player of the Monarch's part, 
 For at the worst he never knows 
 The famish'd Body's bitter throes. 
 I pity more with all my soul 
 The filler of the Soldier's role. 
 Who feels the ball, and with a groan 
 Sinks in the bloody ranks unkno^vn. 
 And while the far-off cannon cries, 
 Kisses his sweetheart's hair, and dies. 
 
 [Exeunt.
 
 THE FOOL OF DESTINY. 
 
 309 
 
 Napoleon. A Physician. 
 
 PHYSICIAN. 
 
 The sickness is no sickness of the flesh, 
 No ailment such as common mortals feel, 
 But spiritual : 'tis thy fiery thought 
 Drying the wholesome humom^ of the veins, 
 Consuming the brain's substance, and from 
 
 thence, 
 As flame spreads, through each muscle, 
 
 vein, and nerve. 
 Reaching the vital members. If your High- 
 ness 
 Could stoop from the tense strain of great 
 
 affairs 
 To books and music, or such idle things 
 As wing the weary hours for lesser men ! 
 Turn not thine eyes to France ; receive no 
 
 news : 
 Shut out the blinding gleam of battle : rest 
 From all fierce ache of thought ; and for a 
 
 time 
 Let the wild world go by. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Enough, old friend : 
 Thine is most wholesome counsel. I will 
 
 seek 
 To make this feverish mass of nerve and 
 
 thevv, 
 This thing of fretful heart-beats. 
 Fulfil its functions more mechanically. 
 Farewell. 
 
 PHYSICIAN. 
 
 Farewell, Sire. Brighter waking thoughts. 
 And sweeter dreams, attend thee 1 [Exil, 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 All things change 
 Their summer livery for the autumn tinge 
 Of wind-blown withering leaves. That 
 
 man is faithful, — 
 I have been fed from his cold palm for 
 
 years. 
 And I believe, so strongly use and wont 
 Fetter such natures, he would die to serve 
 
 me ; 
 Yet do I see in his familiar eyes 
 The fatal pain of pity. I have lain 
 At Death's door divers times, and he hath 
 
 slowly, 
 With subtle cunning and most confident 
 
 skill, 
 
 Woo'd back my breath, but never even 
 
 then. 
 Though God's Hand held me down, did he 
 
 regard me 
 With so intense a gaze as now, when 
 
 smitten 
 By the mail'd hand of Man. I am not 
 
 dead ! 
 Not dying ! only sick,— as all are sick 
 Who feel the mortal prison-house too weak 
 For the free play of Soul ! I eat and 
 
 drink — 
 I laugh — I weep, perchance — I feel — 
 
 I think — 
 I still preserve all functions of a man — 
 Yet doth the free wind of the fickle world 
 Blow on me with as chilly a respect 
 As on a nameless grave. Is there so sad 
 A sunset on my face, that all beholding 
 Think only of the morrow ? — other minds. 
 Other hearts, other hands ? Almighty 
 
 God, 
 If I dare pray Thee by that name of God, 
 Strengthen me ! blow upon me with Thy 
 
 breath ! 
 Let one last memorable flash of fire 
 Burst from the blackening brand ! — 
 
 Yes, sick — sick — sick : 
 Sick of the world ; sick of the fitful fools 
 That I have played with ; sick, forsooth, of 
 
 breath. 
 Of thought, of hope, of Time. I staked 
 
 my Soul 
 Against a Crown, and won. I wore the 
 
 Crown, 
 And 'twas of burning fire. I btaked my 
 
 Crown 
 Against a Continent, and lost. I am h'.;re ; 
 Fallen, unking'd, the shadow of a power, 
 Yet not heart-broken — no, not heart- 
 broken — 
 But surely with more equable a pulse 
 Than when I sat on yonder lonely .Seat 
 Fishing for wretched souls, and for my 
 
 sport. 
 Although the bait was dainty to the taste. 
 Hooking the basest only. I am nearer 
 To the world's heart than then ; 'tis bitter 
 
 bread. 
 Most bitter, yea, most bitter ; yet I eat 
 More freely, and sleep safer. I could die 
 
 now : 
 And vet I dare not die.
 
 310 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 Maker of men \ 
 Thou Wind before whose strange breath 
 
 we arc clouds 
 Driving and changing ! — Thou who dost 
 
 abide 
 While all the laurels on the brows of Kings 
 Wither as wreaths of snow ! — Thou Voice 
 
 that dwellest 
 In the high sleeping chambers of the great, 
 When council and the feverish pomp are 
 
 hush'd, 
 And the dim lamp burns low, and at its 
 
 side 
 The sleeping potion in a cup of gold : — 
 Hear me, O God, in this my travail hour ! 
 From first to last. Thou knowest — yea, 
 
 Thou knowest— 
 I have been a man of peace : a silent man. 
 Thought-loving, most ambitious to appease 
 Self-chiding fears of mental littleness, 
 A planner of delights for foolish men — 
 In all, a man of peace. I struck one blow, 
 And saw my hands were bloody ; from that 
 
 hour 
 I knew myself too delicately wrought 
 For crimson pageants ; yea, the sight of 
 
 pain 
 Sicken'd me like a woman. Day and night 
 I felt that stain on my immortal soul, 
 And gloved it from the world, and diligently 
 Wrought the red sword of empire to a 
 
 scythe 
 For the swart hands of husbandmen to reap 
 Abundant harvest. — Nay, but hear me 
 
 swear, 
 I never dreamed such human harvests blest 
 As spring from that red rain which pours 
 
 this day 
 On the fair fields I sowed. Never, O God, 
 Was I a butcher or a thing of blood ; 
 Always a man of peace : — in mine ambition 
 Peace-seeking, peace-engendering; — till that 
 
 day 
 I saw the half-unloosen'd hounds of War 
 Yelp on the chain and gnash their bloody 
 
 teeth. 
 Ready to rend mine unoffending Child, 
 In whose weak hand the mimic toy of 
 
 empire 
 Trembled to fall. Then feverishly I 
 
 wrought 
 A weapon in the dark to smite those 
 
 hounds 
 
 From mine imperial seat ; and as I wrought 
 One of the fiends that came of old to Cain 
 Found me, and since I thirsted gave to me 
 A philtre, and in idiocy I drank : 
 When sudden'y I heard as in a dream 
 Trumpets around me silver-tongued, and 
 
 saw 
 The many-colour'd banners gleam in the 
 
 sun 
 Above the crying legions, and I rode 
 Royal before them, drunk with light and 
 
 power. 
 My boy beside me blooming like a rose 
 To see the glorious show. Yet God, my 
 
 God, 
 Even then I swear the hideous lust of life 
 Was far from me and mine ; nay, I rode 
 
 forth, 
 As to a gay review at break of day, 
 A student dazzled with the golden glare. 
 Half conscious of the cries of those he ruled. 
 Half brooding o'er the book that he had 
 
 left 
 Open within his chamber. ' Blood may 
 
 flow,' 
 I thought, ' a little blood — a few poor 
 
 drops, — 
 A few poor drops of blood : but they shall 
 
 prove 
 Pearls of gjeat price to buy my people 
 
 peace ; 
 The hounds of War shall turn from our 
 
 fair fields, 
 .And on my son a robe like this I wear 
 Shall fall, and make him royal for all time ! 
 
 fool, fool, fool ! What was I but a 
 
 child, 
 Pleased beyond understanding with a toy. 
 Till in mine ears the scream of murther'd 
 
 France 
 Rang like a knell. I had slain my best 
 
 beloved ! 
 The curse of blood was on mine hands 
 
 again ! 
 My gentle boy, with wild affrighted gaze, 
 Turn'd from his sire, and moaned ; the 
 
 hounds of War 
 Scream'd round me, glaring v(dth their 
 
 pitiless eyes 
 Innumerable as the eyes of heaven ; 
 
 1 felt the sob of the world's woe ; I saw 
 The fiery rain fill all the innocent air ; 
 And, feeble as a maid who hides her face
 
 THE FOOL OF DESTINY. 
 
 3ii 
 
 In terror at a sword-flash, conscience- 
 struck, 
 Sick, stupefied, appalled, and all alone, 
 I totter' d, grasped the empty air, — and 
 fell! 
 
 CHORUS OF SPIRITS. 
 
 Vast Sea of Life that, 'neath the arc 
 
 Of yonder glistening sky, 
 RoUest thy waters deep and dark, 
 
 While windy years blow by : 
 On thy pale shore this night we stand, 
 And hear thy wash upon the sand. 
 
 Calm is thy sheet and wanly bright, 
 
 Low is thy voice and deep ; 
 There is no child on earth this night 
 
 Wrapt in a gentler sleep ; 
 Crouch'd like a hound thou liest now, 
 With eye upcast and dreadful brow. 
 
 O Sea, thy breast is deep and blest 
 
 After a dreadful day ; 
 And yet thou listenest in thy rest 
 
 For some sign far away ; 
 Watching with fascinated eyes 
 'I'he upUfted Finger in the skies ! 
 
 A hundred years thy still tides go 
 And touch the self-same mark — 
 
 Thus far, no farther, may they flow 
 And fall in light and dark ; 
 
 The mystic water-line is drawn 
 
 By moonlit night and glimmering dawn. 
 
 Sure as a heart-beat year by year. 
 Though winds and thunders call. 
 
 Be it storm or calm, the tides appear, 
 Touch the long line and lall, 
 
 Liquid and luminously dim ; 
 
 And men build dwellmgs on their brim. 
 
 O well may this man wring his hands. 
 
 And utter a wild prayer. 
 He built above thy lonely sands 
 
 A Feast-house passing fair ; 
 It rose above thy sands, O Sea, 
 
 In a fail' nook of greenery. 
 
 For he had watched thee many days, 
 
 And mark'd thy weedy line. 
 And far above the same did raise 
 
 His Temple undivine. 
 Throng'd with fair shapes of sin and guilt 
 It rose most magically built. 
 
 Not to the one eternal Light, 
 Lamp of both quick and dead, 
 
 Did he uprear it in thy sight, 
 But with a smile he said : 
 
 ' To the unvarying laws of Fate, 
 
 This Temple fair I dedicate. 
 
 ' To that sure law by which the Sea 
 
 Is driven to come and go 
 Within one mystic boimdary, 
 
 And can no further flow ; 
 So that who knoweth destiny 
 May safely build, nor fear the Sea ! ' 
 
 O fool ! O miserable clod ! 
 
 O creature made to die ! 
 Who thought to mark the might of God 
 
 And mete it with his eye ; 
 Who measured God's mysterious ways 
 By laws of common nights and days. 
 
 O worm, that sought to pass God by. 
 Nor feared that Gods revenge : 
 
 The law within the law, whereby 
 All things work on to change ; 
 
 Who guessed not how the still law's course 
 
 Accumulates superfluous force ; — 
 
 How for long intervals and vast 
 SU'ange secrets hide from day. 
 
 Till Nature's womb upheaves to cast 
 The gather'd load away ; 
 
 How deep the very laws of life 
 
 Deposit elements of strife. 
 
 O many a year in sun and shower 
 
 The quiet waters creep ! — 
 But suddenly on some dark hour 
 
 Strange trouble shakes the deep : 
 Silent and monstrous thro' the gloom 
 Rises the Tidal Wave for doom. 
 
 Then woe for aU who, like this Man, 
 
 Have built so near the Sea, 
 For what avails the human plan 
 
 When the new force flows free ? 
 Over their bonds the waters stream, 
 And Empires crash and despots scream. 
 
 O, is it earthquake far below 
 
 Where the still forces sleep? 
 Doth the volcano shriek and glow. 
 
 Unseen beneath the deep ? 
 We know not ; suddenly as death 
 Comes the great Wave with fatal breath.
 
 3X2 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 God works His ends for ever thus, 
 
 And lets the great plan roll 
 He wrought all things miraculous, 
 
 The Sea, the Earth, the Soul ; 
 And nature from dark sjarings doth draw 
 Her fatal miracles of law. 
 
 O well may this Man wring his hands. 
 
 And utter a wild prayer ; 
 He built above the shifting sands 
 
 A Feast-house passing fair. 
 Long years it stood, a thing oT shame : 
 At last the mighty moment came. 
 
 Crashing like grass into its grave. 
 
 Fell down the fair abode ; 
 The despot struggled in the wave. 
 
 And swimming screamed to God. 
 And lo, the waters with deep roar 
 Cast the black weed upon the shore. 
 
 Then with no warning, as they rose, 
 Shrunk back to their old bounds : 
 
 Tho' still with deep volcanic throes 
 And sad mysterious sounds 
 
 They quake. The Man upon their brim 
 
 Sees wreck of Empire washed to him. 
 
 Vast Sea of life, that 'neath the arc 
 
 Of yonder glistening sky, 
 Spreadest thy waters strange and dark 
 
 While windy years blow by, 
 Creep closer, kiss his feet, O Sea, 
 Poor baffled worm of Destiny ! 
 
 Fain would he read with those dull eyes 
 
 What never man hath known, 
 The secret that vs'ithin thee hes 
 
 Seen by Gods sight alone ; 
 Thou watchest Heaven all hours ; but he. 
 Praying to Heaven, watches thee. 
 
 So will he watch with weary breath, 
 
 Musing beside the deep, 
 Till on thy shore he sinks in death. 
 
 And thy still tides upcreep, 
 Raise him with cold forgiving kiss, 
 And wash his dust to the Abyss. 
 
 Napoleon. A Bishop. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 Speak out thy tidings quickly, 
 How fares it with the Empress and my son ? 
 
 bishop. 
 Well, Sire. They bid thee look thy fate in 
 
 the face. 
 And be of cheer. 
 
 napoleon. 
 Where didst thou part with them ? 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 In England, Sire, where they have found a 
 
 home 
 Among the frozen-blooded islanders. 
 Who yesterday called blessings on thy 
 
 brow. 
 And now rejoice in thy calamity. 
 1 bus much thy mighty lady bade me say. 
 If I should find thee private in thy woe : — 
 With thy great name the streets are gar- 
 rulous : 
 Mart, theatre, and church, palace and 
 
 prison, 
 Down to the very commons by the road 
 Where Egypt's bastard children pitch their 
 
 tents. 
 Murmur ' Napoleon ' ; but, alas ! the sound 
 Is an echo that with no refrain, 
 No loving echo in a living voice, 
 Dies a cold death among the mountain 
 snow. 
 
 napoleon. 
 
 Old man, I never looked for friendship 
 
 there, 
 I never loved that England in my heart ; 
 Tho' 'twas by such a sampler I believed 
 To weave our France's fortunes thriftily 
 With the gold tissues of prosperity. 
 
 bishop. 
 Ah, Sire, if I dare speak — 
 
 napoleon. 
 
 Speak on. 
 bishop. 
 
 Too much 
 Thine eyes to that cold isle of heretics 
 Turn'd from thy throne for use and pre- 
 cedent ; 
 Too little did they look, and that too late, 
 On that strong rock whereon the Lord thv 
 
 God 
 Hath built His Holv Church.
 
 THE FOOL OF DESTmY. 
 
 313 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Something of this 
 I have heard in happier seasons. 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 Hear it now 
 In the dark day of thine adversity. 
 
 Sire, by him who holds the blessed Keys, 
 Christ's Vicar on the earth for blinded men, 
 
 1 do conjure thee, hearken — with my mouth. 
 Though I am weak and low, the Holy 
 
 Church 
 Cries to her erring son ! 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Well, well, he hears. 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 Thou smilest, Sire. With such a smile, so 
 
 grim. 
 So bitter, didst thou mock our blessed 
 
 cause 
 In thy prosperity. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 False, Bishop, false ! 
 I made a bloody circle with my sword 
 Round the old Father's head, and so 
 
 secured him 
 Safe on his tottering Seat against the world, 
 When all the world cried that his time was 
 
 come. 
 What then ? He totter'd on. I could not 
 
 prop 
 His Seat up with my sword, that Seat being 
 
 built, 
 Not on a rock, but sand. 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 The world is sick 
 
 And old indeed, when lips like thine blas- 
 pheme. 
 
 Whisper such words out on the common 
 air, 
 
 And, as a child. 
 
 Blow thy last hopes away. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Hopes, hopes ! What hopes ? 
 What knowest thou of hopes ? 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 Thy throne was rear'd 
 (Nay hear me, Sire, in patience to the end) 
 
 Not on the vulgar unsubstantial air 
 Which men call Freedom, not on half con- 
 sent 
 Of unbelievers — tho', alas ! thou hast 
 
 stoop'd 
 To smile on unbelievers — not on lives 
 That saw m thee one of the good and 
 
 wise, 
 Not wholly on the watchword of thy name ; 
 But first on this — the swords thy gold could 
 
 buy. 
 And most and last, upon the help of those 
 Who to remotest corners of our land 
 Watch o'er the souls of men, sit at their 
 
 hearths. 
 Lend their solemnity to birth and death. 
 Guide as they list the motions of the mind. 
 And as they list with darkness or with light 
 Appease the spiritual hunger. Where 
 Had France been, and thou, boasted Sun 
 
 of France, 
 For nineteen harvests, save for those who 
 
 crept 
 Thme agents into every cottnge-door, 
 Slowly diffusing thro' each vein of France 
 The sleepy wine of empire ? Like to slaves 
 These served thee, used thy glory for a 
 
 charm, 
 Hung up thine image in a peasant's room, 
 Beside our blessed Saints, and cunningly, 
 As shepherds drive their sheep unto the fold, 
 Gather'd thy crying people where thy hand 
 Might choose them out for very butchery. 
 Nay, more ; as fearful men may stamp out 
 
 fire. 
 They in the spirits of thy people killed 
 The sparks of peril left from those dark 
 
 days. 
 When France being drunk with blood and 
 
 mad with pain 
 Sprang on the burning pyre, and with her 
 
 raiment 
 Burning and streaming crimson in the wind. 
 Curst and denied her God. They made 
 
 men see. 
 Yea, in the very name of Liberty, 
 A net of Satan's set to snare the soul 
 From Christ and Christ's salvation : in their 
 
 palms 
 They welded the soft clay of popular 
 
 thought 
 To this wish'd semblance yet more cun- 
 ningly ;
 
 )I4 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 Till not a peasant heir of his own fields, 
 And not a citizen that own'd a house, 
 And not a man or woman who had saved. 
 But when some wild voice shriek'd out 
 
 ' Liberty ! " 
 Trembled as if the robber's foot were set 
 Already on his threshold, and in fear 
 Clutch'd at his little store. These things 
 
 did they, 
 Christ's servants serving thee ; they were 
 
 as veins 
 Bearing the blood through France from 
 
 thee its heart 
 Throbbing full glorious in the capital. 
 And thou, O Sire, in thine own secret mind 
 Knowest what meed thou hast accorded 
 
 them. 
 Who, thy sworn liegemen in thy triumph- 
 hour. 
 Are still thy props in thy calamity. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Well ; have you done ? 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 Not yet. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 What more ? 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 Look round 
 This day on Europe, look upon the World, 
 Which iike a dark tree o'er the river of Time 
 Hangeth with fruit of races, goodly some. 
 Some rotten to the core. Out of the heart 
 Of what had seem'd the sunset of the west, 
 Rises the Teuton, silent, subtle, and sure, 
 Gathering his venom slowly like a snake 
 Wrapping the sleepy lands in fold by fold ; 
 Then springing up to stab his prey with fangs 
 Numerous as spears of wheat in harvest time. 
 O, he is wise, the Teuton, he is deep 
 As Satan's self in perilous human lore. 
 Such as the purblind deem philosophy ! 
 But, be he cunning as the Tempter was, 
 Christ yet shall bruise his head ; for in him- 
 self 
 He bears, as serpents use, 
 A brood of lesser snakes, cunning things too 
 But lesser, and of these many prepare 
 Such peril as in his most glorious hour 
 May strike him feebler than the wretched 
 worms 
 
 That crawl this day on the dead lambs of 
 
 France. 
 Meantime, he to his purpose moves most 
 
 slow. 
 And overcomes. Note how, upon her rock 
 The sea-beast Albion, swollen %vith idle 
 
 years 
 Of basking in the prosperous sunshine, rolls 
 Her fearful eyes, and murmurs. See how 
 
 wildly 
 The merciless Russian paceth like a bear 
 His lonely steppes of snow, and wth deep 
 
 moan 
 Calling his hideous young, casts famished 
 
 eyes 
 On that worn Paralytic in the East, 
 Whom thou of old didst save. Call thou 
 
 to these 
 For succour ; shall they stir ? Will the sea- 
 beast 
 Budge from her rock ? Will the bear leave 
 
 his wilds ? 
 Then mark how feebly in the wintry cold 
 Old Austria ruffles up her plumage. Sire, 
 Covering the half-heal'd wound upon her 
 
 neck ; 
 See how on Spain her home-bred vermin 
 
 feed, 
 As did the worms on Herod ; Italy 
 Is as a dove-cote by a battle-field, 
 Abandoned to the kites of infamy , 
 Belgium, Denmark, and Helvetia, 
 Like plovers watching while the wind-hover 
 Strikes down one of their miserable kind. 
 Wheeling upon the wind cry to each other ; 
 And far away the Eagle of the West, 
 Poised in the luU of her own hurricane. 
 Sits watching thee with eyes as blank of love 
 As those grey seas that break beneath her 
 
 feet. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 This is cold comfort, yet I am patient. 
 WeU? 
 
 To the issue ! Dost thou keep behind the 
 salve 
 
 Whose touch shall heal my wounds ? or dost 
 thou only. 
 
 As any raven on occasion can. 
 
 Croak out the stale truth, that the day is 
 lost. 
 
 And that the world's slaves knee the con- 
 queror ?
 
 THE FOOL OF DESTINY. 
 
 31S 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 Look not on these, thy crowned peers, for 
 
 aid, 
 But inward. Read thy heart. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 It is a book 
 
 I have studied somewhat deeply. 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 In thine heart, 
 Tho' the cold lips might sneer, the dark 
 
 brow frown, 
 Wert thou not ever one beheving God ? 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 I have believed, and do believe, in God. 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 For that, give thanks to God. He shall 
 uplift thee. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 How? 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 By the secret hands of His great Church. 
 Even now in darkness and on tilths remote 
 They labour in thy service ; one by one 
 They gather up the fallen reins of power 
 And keep them for thy grasp ; so be thou 
 
 sure, 
 When thou hast woven round about thy soul 
 The robe of holiness, and from the hands 
 Of Holy Church demandest thy lost throne. 
 It shall be hers to give thee. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 In good truth, 
 I scarce conceive thee. What, degenemte 
 
 Rome, 
 With scarce the power in this strong wind 
 
 of war 
 To hold her ragged gauds about her limbs ; 
 Rome, reft of the deep thunder in her voice. 
 The dark curse in her eye; Rome, old, 
 
 dumb, blind, — 
 Shall Rome give Kingdoms? — Why, she 
 
 hath already 
 Transferred her own to Heaven. 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 Canst thou follow 
 The coming and the going of the wind, 
 Fathom the green abysses of the sea ? 
 
 For such as these, is Rome :— the voice of 
 
 God 
 Sounding in darkness and a silent place ; 
 The morning dew scarce seen upon the 
 
 flowers. 
 Yet drawn to heaven and grown the thunder- 
 bolt 
 That shakes the earth at noon. When 
 
 man's wild soul 
 Clutches no more at the white feet of Christ ; 
 When death is not, nor spiritual disease ; 
 When atheists can on the black mountain 
 
 tops 
 Walk solitary in the light of stars, 
 And cry, ' God is not ' ; when no mothers 
 
 kneel 
 Moaning on graves of children ; when no 
 
 flashes 
 Trouble the melancholy dark of dream ; 
 When prayer is hush' d, when the Wise Book 
 
 is shut — 
 Then Rome shall fall indeed : meantime she 
 
 is based 
 Invulnerable on the soul of man. 
 Its darkest needs and fears ; she doth dis- 
 pense 
 What soon or late is better prized than 
 
 gold,— 
 Comfort and intercession ; for all sin 
 She hath the swiftest shrift, wherefore her 
 
 clients 
 Are those that have sinned deeply, and of 
 
 such 
 Is half the dreadful world ; all these she 
 
 holds 
 By that cold eyeball which hath read their 
 
 souls. 
 So that they look upon her secretly 
 And tremble, — while in her dark book of 
 
 Fate 
 E'en now she dooms the Teuton. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Well, what news ? 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 'Tis brief and sad. The mighty Prussian 
 
 chiefs, 
 Gathering their fiery van in silence, close 
 Toward the imperial City — in whose walls 
 I'reason and Rage and Fear contend toge- 
 ther
 
 3i6 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 Like hunger-stricken wolves ; and at their 
 
 cry, 
 Echoed from Paris to the Vosges, France, 
 Calhng her famish'd children round her 
 
 knees, 
 Looks at the trembling nations. All is still. 
 Like to that silence which precedes the 
 
 storm, 
 And shakes the forest leaves without a 
 
 breath ; 
 But surely as the vaporous storm is woven. 
 The German closes round the heart of 
 
 France 
 His hurricane of lives. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 ( To Bishop) The Teuton thrives 
 Under the doom we spake of. 
 {To Messenger) Well, speak on ! 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 Meantime, like kine that see the gathering 
 
 clouds 
 And shelter 'neath the shade of rocks and 
 
 trees. 
 Thy timorous people fly before the sound 
 Of the approaching footsteps, seeking woods 
 For shelter, snaring conies for their food, 
 And sleeping Mke the beasts ; some fare in 
 
 caves. 
 Fearing the wholesome air, hushing the cries 
 Of infants lest the mmderous foe should 
 
 hear ; 
 Some scatter west and south, their frighted 
 
 eyes 
 Cast backward, with their wretched house- 
 hold goods ; 
 And where these dwelt, most blest beneath 
 
 thy rule, 
 The German legions thrive, let loose hke 
 
 swine 
 Amid the fields of harvest, in their track 
 Leaving the smoking ruin, and the church 
 Most desecrated to a sleeping-sty ; — 
 So that the plenteous lands that rolled in 
 
 gold 
 Round thy voluptuous City, lie full bare 
 To shame, to rapine, to calamity. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 for one hour of empire, that with life 
 
 1 might consume this sorrow ! 'Tis a spell 
 By which we are subdued ! 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 Strasbourg still stands, 
 Stubborn as granite, but the citadel 
 Is falling. Within, Famine and Horror 
 
 nest, 
 And rear their young on ruin. \Exit. 
 
 Enter a Messenger. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 How, peal on peal ! 
 Like the agonising clash of bells when flame 
 Hath seized on some fair city. News, more 
 
 news ? 
 Dost thou too catch the common trick o" 
 
 the time. 
 And ring a melancholy peal ? 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 Strasbourg still stands. 
 
 My liege, 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 And then ? 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 Pent up in Metz, 
 Encircled by a river of strong hves, 
 Bazaine is faithful to the cause and thee. 
 And from his prison doth proclaim himself. 
 And all the host of Frenchmen at his back. 
 Thy hegemen to the death. 
 
 N.-\POLEON. 
 
 Why, that last peal 
 Sounds somewhat blither. Well ? 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 From his lone isle 
 The old Italian Red-shirt in his age 
 Hath crawl' d, tho' sickly and infirm, to 
 
 France, 
 And slowly there his leonine features breed 
 Hope in the timid people, who 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Enough ! \_Exit Messenger. 
 That tune is flat and tame. 
 
 Enter a MESSENGER. 
 
 What man art thou 
 Speak ! 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 Better I had died at Weissenburg, 
 Where on the bloody field I lay for dead.
 
 THE FOOL OF DESTINY. 
 
 317 
 
 Than live to bring this woe. Ungenerous 
 
 France, 
 Forgetful of thy gracious years of reign, 
 Pitiless as a sated harlot is 
 When ruin overtaketh him whose hand 
 Hath loaded her with gems, shameless and 
 
 mad, 
 France, like Delilah, now betrays her lord. 
 The streets are drunken— from thy palace- 
 gate 
 They pluck the imperial eagles, trampling 
 
 them 
 Into the bloody mire ; thy flags and pennons, 
 Torn from their vantage in the wind, are 
 
 wrapt 
 In mockery round the beggar's ragged 
 
 limbs ; 
 And thine imperial images in stone, 
 Dash'd from their lofty places, strew the 
 
 ground 
 In shameful ruin. All the ragged shout. 
 While Trochu from the presidential seat 
 Proclaims the empire dead, and calleth up 
 A new Republic, in whose chairs of office 
 Thine enemies, scribblers and demago.gues, 
 Simon, Gambetta, Favre, and linked with 
 
 these 
 The miserable Rochefort, trembling grasp 
 The reins of power, unconscious of the scorn , 
 That doth already doom them. To their 
 
 feet 
 Come humming back, vain-drunken, all the 
 
 wasps 
 Whom in thine hour of glory thou didst 
 
 brush 
 With careless arm-sweep from thy festal cup; 
 Shoulder'd by mobs the pigmy Blanc de- 
 claims. 
 The hare-brain'd Hugo shrieks a maniac 
 
 song 
 In concert, and the scribblers, brandishing 
 Their pens hke valiant lilliputians 
 Against the Teuton giant, frantically 
 Scream chorus. Coming with mock-humble 
 
 eyes 
 To the Republic, this sham shape of straw, 
 This stuff'd thing of a harlot's carnival, 
 The dilettante sons of Orleans, kneeling. 
 Proffer forsooth their swords, which being 
 
 disdain'd 
 They sheathe chapfallen and with bows 
 
 withdraw 
 Back to their pictures and perfumery. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Why, thine is news indeed ! Nor do I 
 
 weep 
 For mine own wrong, but for the woes of 
 
 France, 
 Whose knell thou soundest. With a tongue 
 
 of fire 
 Our enemy shall like the ant-eater 
 Devour these insect rulers suddenly. 
 [Aside] Now, may the foul fiend blacken 
 
 all the air 
 Above these Frenchmen, with revolt and 
 
 fear 
 Darken alike the wits of friends and foes. 
 With swift confusion and with anarchy 
 Disturb their fretful counsels, till at last, 
 Many-tongued, wild-hair'd, mad, and hor- 
 rible 
 With fiery eyes and naked crimson limbs, 
 Upriseth the old Spectre of the Red, 
 And as of yore lifts up the shameful knife 
 To stab unhappy France ; then, in her 
 
 need. 
 Fearful and terror-stricken, France shall 
 
 call 
 On him who gave her nineteen plenteous 
 
 years — 
 And he may rise again. [Exeunt 
 
 CHORUS OF SPIRITS. 
 
 Who in the name of France curses French 
 
 souls this day ? 
 How! shall the tempter curse? Silence; 
 
 and turn away ; 
 Turn we our faces hence white with a wild 
 
 desire. 
 Westward we lift our gaze till the straining 
 
 balls flash fire. 
 Westward we look to France, sadly we watch 
 
 and mark : — 
 Far thro' the pitch-black air, like breaking 
 
 foam in the dark, 
 Cometh and goeth a light across the 
 
 stricken land. 
 And we hear a distant voice like the wash 
 
 of waves on the sand. 
 
 VOICES. 
 
 Set the cannon on the heights, and under 
 Let the black moat gape, the black graves 
 grow ! 
 
 Now let thunder 
 Answer back the thunder of the foe !
 
 3iS 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 France has torn her cerements asunder, 
 France doth live, to strike the oppressor 
 low. 
 
 CHORUS, 
 
 O hark ! O hark ! a voice arises wild and 
 
 strong, 
 Loud as a bell that rings alarm it lifts the 
 
 song. 
 See ! see ! the dark is lit, fire upon fire 
 
 upsprings, 
 I.oudly from town to town the fiery tiding 
 
 rings. 
 Now the red smithies blaze and the blue 
 
 steel is sped. 
 They twist bright steel for guns, they cast 
 
 the fatal lead ; 
 Cannon is dra%vn to the gate, — and lo, the 
 
 bravest stand 
 Bare to the shoulder there, smoke-begrim'd, 
 
 fuse in hand ; 
 Xow to the winds of heaven the Flag of 
 
 Stars they raise. 
 While those sing martial songs who are too 
 
 frail for frays. 
 France is uprisen again ! France the sworn 
 
 slayer of Kings ! 
 With bleeding breast and bitter heart at 
 
 the Teuton's throat she springs. 
 
 VOICES. 
 
 Now like thunder 
 
 Be our voice together while we cry ! 
 Kings shall never hold our spirits under. 
 Kings shall cast their crowns aside and 
 
 fly: 
 Latin, Sclav, or Teuton, they shall wonder; 
 The soul of man hath doom'd them — let 
 
 them die. 
 We have slain Kings of old, they were our 
 
 own to slay, 
 But now we doom all Kings until the 
 
 Judgment day. 
 Raise ye tlie Flag of Stars ! Tremble, O 
 
 Kings, and behold ! 
 Raise ye the Flag of man, while the knell 
 
 of anarchs is tolled. 
 This is a festal day for all the seed of Eve ; 
 France shall redeem the world, and heal all 
 
 hearts that grieve ; 
 France with her sword this day shall free 
 
 all human things. 
 With blood drain'd from her heart our 
 
 France shall write the doom of Kings. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Silence and hearken yet ! O but it is .i 
 
 cry 
 Heard under heaven of old, tho' the terrible 
 
 day blew by. 
 The red fire flames to heaven, and in the 
 
 crimson glow 
 Black shapes with prayers and cries, arc 
 
 gliding to and fro. 
 
 VOICES, 
 
 Fill each loophole with a man ! and finding 
 
 Each a foe, aim slowly at the brain. 
 While the blinding 
 
 Lightnings flash, and the great guns 
 
 refrain. 
 To the roofs ! and while beneath the foe 
 
 are winding, 
 Dash ye stones and missiles down like 
 
 rain. 
 Watch for the gray-beard King : to drink 
 
 his blood were great. 
 Watch for the Cub thereto — aim at his 
 
 brain full straight. 
 Watch most for that foul Knave who crawls 
 
 behind the crown, 
 Who smiles befooling all with crafty eyes 
 
 cast down ; 
 Sweeter than wine indeed his wretched 
 
 blood would flow. 
 Curst juggler \vith our souls, he who hath 
 
 wrought this woe. 
 France hath uprisen again ! Let the fierce 
 
 shaft be sped 
 Till all the foul satanic things that flatter 
 
 Kings be dead ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Echo the dreadful prayer, let the fierce 
 
 shaft be sped, 
 Till all the foul satanic things that flatter 
 
 Kings be dead ! 
 
 VOICES. 
 
 Send the light balloon aloft with singing, 
 Let our hopes rise with it to the sky. 
 
 Let our voices like one fount upspringing 
 Tell the mighty realm that hope is 
 nigh ! 
 
 See, in answer, from the distance winging 
 Back unto our feet the swift doves fly !
 
 THE FOOL OF DESTINY. 
 
 319 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 We see Uie City now, dark square and 
 
 street and mart, 
 The muffled drum doth sound reveille in its 
 
 heart, 
 The chain'd balloon doth swing, while men 
 
 stand murmuring by. 
 Then with elastic bound upleaps into the 
 
 sky. 
 We see the brightening dawn, the dimly 
 
 dappled land, 
 The shapes with arms outstretch'd that on 
 
 the housetops stand. 
 The eyes that turn to meet with one quick 
 
 flash of fear 
 The birds that sad and slow wing nearer 
 
 and more near. 
 O courage I all is well — yea, let your hearts 
 
 be higher, 
 North, south, east, west, the souls of 
 
 Frenchmen are as fire. 
 The reaper leaves the wheat, the workman 
 
 leaves his loom, 
 Tho' the black priest may frown, who heeds 
 
 his look of gloom ? 
 Flash the wild tidings forth ! ring them from 
 
 town to town, 
 Till like a storm of scythes ye rise, and the 
 
 foe like wheat go down. 
 
 VOICES. 
 
 See ! how northward the wild heavens 
 lighten. 
 Red as blood the fierce aurora waves, 
 Let it bathe us strong in blood and brighten 
 
 Sweet with resurrection on our graves. 
 Lighten, lighten. 
 
 Scroll of God I — unfold above and brighten. 
 Light the doom of monarchs and their 
 
 slaves. 
 This is a day indeed — be sure that God can 
 
 see. 
 Raise the fierce cry again, ' Liberty ! 
 
 IJberty ! ' 
 Courage ! No man dies twice, and he 
 
 shall live in death. 
 Who for the Flag of Stars strikes with his 
 
 latest breath. 
 Nay, not a foe shall live to tell if France be 
 
 slain : 
 If the wild cause be lost, only the grave 
 
 shall gain. 
 
 Teuton and Frank in fierce embrace shall 
 
 strew the fatal sod. 
 And they shall live indeed who died to 
 
 save their souls for God. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 O Spirits, turn and look no more and hark 
 
 not to their cry ; 
 A Hand is flashed before our eyes, a Shape 
 
 goes sadly by. 
 And as it goes, it looks on us with eyes that 
 
 swim in tears, 
 And bitter as the death-cry sounds the echo 
 
 in our ears. 
 O look no more and seek no more to read 
 
 the days unborn, 
 'Tis storm this night on the world's sea, 
 
 and 'twill be storm at morn. 
 The Lord hath sent His breath abroad, and 
 
 all the waves are stirr'd : 
 Amid the tempest Liberty flies like a white 
 
 sea-bird, 
 .'\nd, while the heavens are torn apart and 
 
 the fierce waters gleam. 
 Doth up and down the furrcw'd waves dart 
 
 with a sea-bird's scream. 
 O bow the head, and close the eyes, and 
 
 pray a quiet prayer. 
 But let the bitter curse of Man go by upon 
 
 the air. 
 
 Napoleon. An Officer, 
 napoleon. 
 Is there no hope for France ? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 None. Yet I know not ! 
 A nation, thus miraculously strengthen'd. 
 And acting in the fiercest wrath of love, 
 Hath risen ere this above calamity, 
 Yea out of anguish conjured victory. 
 If strength and numbers, if the mighty 
 
 hands 
 Of the Briareus, shall decide the day, 
 Then surely as the sun sets France must 
 
 fall; 
 If love or prayer can make a miracle 
 And bring an angel down to strike for her, 
 Then France may rise again.
 
 ^20 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Have we not proved 
 Her children cowards? Yea, by God! 
 
 Like dogs 
 That rend the air with wTath upon the 
 
 chain, 
 And being loosen'd sb'nk before the thief. 
 They fail'd me — those who led and those 
 
 who follow'd ; 
 Scarce knowing friend from foe, while inch 
 
 by inch 
 The Germans ate their ranks as a slow fire 
 Devoureth wind-blown wheat. I cannot 
 
 trust 
 In France or Frenchmen. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Sire 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Why dost thou hang 
 Thy head, old friend, and look upon the 
 
 ground ? 
 Nay, if all Frenchmen had but hearts like 
 
 thine, 
 Then France were blest in sooth, and I, its 
 
 master, 
 Were safe against the swords of all the 
 
 world. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Sire, 'twas not that I meant — my life is 
 
 yours 
 To give or take, to blame or praise ; I 
 
 blush'd 
 Not for myself, but France, 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Then hadst thou cause 
 For crimson cheeks indeed. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Sire, as I live. 
 Thou wrongest her ! The breast whereon 
 
 we grew 
 Suckled no cowards. For one dizzy hour 
 France totter'd, and look'd back ; but now 
 
 indeed 
 She hath arisen to the very height 
 Of her great peril. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 'Tis too late. She is lost ; 
 She did betray her master, and shall die. 
 
 OFFICICR. 
 
 Not France betrayed thee, Sire ; but rather 
 
 those 
 Whom thy most noble nature, royally 
 
 based 
 Above suspicion and perfidious fear, 
 Welcom'd unto thy council ; not poor 
 
 France, 
 Whose bleeding wounds speak for her loud 
 
 as tongues, 
 Bit at the hand that raised her up so high ; 
 Not France, but bastard Frenchmen, doubly 
 
 damn'd 
 Alike by her who bare them, and by thee 
 Who fed them. These betrayed thee to 
 
 thy doom, 
 And falling clutch'd at thine imperial crown, 
 Dragging it with them to the bloody dust ; 
 But these that held her arms like bands of 
 
 lead 
 Being torn from off her, France, unchain'd 
 
 and free. 
 Uplifts her pale front to the stars, and 
 
 stands 
 Serene in doom and danger, and sublime 
 In resurrection. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 How the popular taint 
 Corrupts the wholesome matter of thy mind ! 
 This would be treason, friend, if we were 
 
 strong — 
 Now 'tis less perilous ■. the commonest 
 
 wind 
 Can blow its scorn upon the fallen. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Sire, 
 
 Behold me on my knees, tears in mine eyes. 
 And sorrow in my heart. My life is thine, 
 My life, my heart, my soul are pledged to 
 
 thine ; 
 And triply now doth thy calamity 
 Hold me thy slave and servant. If I pray, 
 "lis that thou mayst arise, and thou shalt 
 
 rise ; 
 .'\nd if I praise our common mother, France, 
 Who for the moment hath forgot her lord, 
 'Tis that my soul rejoices for thy sake. 
 That when thou coniest to thine own again 
 Thy realm shall be a realm regenerate. 
 Baptised a fair thing worthy of thy love 
 In its own blood of direful v-"ctory.
 
 THE FOOL OF DESTINY. 
 
 321 
 
 NAPOLEON, 
 
 Sayest thou? — Rise ! — Friend, thou art little 
 
 skilled 
 In reading that abstruse astrology 
 Whereby our cunning politicians cast 
 The fate of Kings. France robed in victory 
 Is France for ever lost to our great house. 
 France fallen, is France that with my secret 
 
 hand 
 I may uplift again. But tell thy tale 
 Most freely : let thy soul beat its free wings 
 Before me as it lists. Come ! as thou 
 
 sayest, 
 France is no coward ; — she hath at last 
 
 arisen ; 
 Nay, more — she is sublime. Proceed. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 My liege, 
 God, ere He made me thy most loving ser- 
 vant, 
 Made and baptised me, Frenchman ; and 
 
 my heart, 
 A soldier's heart, yearns out this day in 
 
 pride 
 To her who bare me, and, both great and 
 
 low. 
 My brethren. Courage is a virtue, Sire, 
 Even in a wretched cause. In Strasbourg 
 
 still 
 Old Uhrich with his weight of seventy 
 
 years 
 Starves unsubdued, while the dull enemy 
 Look on in wonder at such strength in 
 
 woe ; 
 Bazaine still keeps the glittering hosts at 
 
 bay. 
 And holds them with a watchful hand and 
 
 eye ; 
 The captain of the citadel at Laon, 
 Soon as the foeman gather'd on his walls. 
 Illumed the hidden mine, and Frank and 
 
 Teuton, 
 With that they strove for, strew'd the path 
 
 in death ; 
 From Paris to the Vosges, loud and wild 
 The tocsin rings to arms, and on the fields 
 The fat ripe ear empties itself unreapt, 
 While every man whose hand can grasp a 
 
 sword 
 Flocks to the petty standard of his town ; 
 The many looms of the great factory 
 Stand silent, but the fiery moulds of clay 
 
 Are fashioning cannon, and the blinding 
 
 wheels 
 Are sharpening steel. In every market- 
 place 
 Peasant and prince are drilling side by 
 
 side ; 
 Roused from their wine-fed torpor, changed 
 
 from swine 
 To men. the very country burghers arm, 
 Nay, what is more to them than blood, 
 
 bleed gold. 
 Bounteously, freely. I have heard that 
 
 priests. 
 Doffing the holy cassock secretly. 
 Shouting uphft the sword, and crying 
 
 Christ 
 To aid them strike for France. Only the 
 
 basest. 
 Only the scum, shrink now ; for even women, 
 Catching the noble fever of the time, 
 Buckle the war-belts round their lovers' 
 
 waists. 
 And clapping hands, with mingled cries 
 
 and sobs. 
 Urge young and old against the enemy. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Of so much thunder may the lightning 
 
 spring ! 
 I know how France can thunder, and I 
 
 have felt 
 How women's tongues can urge. But 
 
 what of Paris ? 
 What of the City of Light ? How doth it 
 
 bear 
 The terror and the agony ? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Most bravely. 
 As doth become the glorious heart of 
 
 France : 
 Strong, fearless, throbbing with a martial 
 
 might. 
 Dispensing from its core the vital heat 
 Which fillelh all the members of the land ; 
 Though even now the sharp steel pricks the 
 
 slvin, 
 To stab it in its strength. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Who holds the reins 
 Within the gates ? 
 
 y
 
 323 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 Trochu. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Still ? Why, how long 
 
 Have the poor fools been constant ? Favre 
 also? 
 
 Gambetta ? Rochefort ? All these gentle- 
 men 
 
 Still flourish? And Thiers? Hath the 
 arch-schemer 
 
 A seat among the gods, a place of rank 
 
 With the ephemera ? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Not so, my liege. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Well, being seated on Olympus' top. 
 What thunderbolts are France's punyjoves 
 Casting abroad ? Or do they sit and quake 
 For awe of their own voices, which in 
 
 France, 
 As in the shifting glaciers of the Alps, 
 May bring the avalanche upon their heads? 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 The men, to do them justice, use their 
 
 power 
 Calmly and soldierly, and for a time 
 Forget the bitter humours of the senate 
 In the great common cause. Paris is 
 
 strong, 
 And full of noble souls. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Paris must fall. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Not soon, my liege— for she is belted round 
 And arm'd impregnable on every side. 
 Hunger and thirst may slay her, not the 
 
 sword ; 
 And ere the foeman's foot is heard within, 
 Paris will spring upon her funeral pyre 
 And follow Hope to heaven. Last week I 
 
 walk'd 
 P eading men's faces in the silent streets. 
 And, as I am a soldier, saw in none 
 Fear or capitulation : very harlots 
 Cried in their shame the name of Liberty, 
 And, hustled from the gates, shriek'd out a 
 
 curse 
 
 Upon the coming Teuton : all was still 
 And dreadful ; but the citizens in silence 
 Drilled in the squares ; on the great boule- 
 vard groups 
 Whisper' d together, with their faces pale 
 At white heat ; in the silent theatre. 
 Dim lit by lamps, were women, wives and 
 
 mothers. 
 Silently working for their wounded sons 
 And husbands ; in the churches too they 
 
 sat 
 And wrought, while ever and anon a foot 
 Rung on the pavement, and vnth sad red 
 
 eyes 
 They turn'd to see some armed citizen 
 Kneel at his orisons or vespers. Nightly, 
 Ere the moon rose, the City slept like 
 
 death : 
 Yet as a lion sleeps, with half-shut eyes, 
 Hearing each murmur on the weary wind. 
 Crouching and ready for the spring. Each 
 
 dawn 
 I saw the country carts come rumbling in. 
 And the scared country-folk, with large 
 
 wild eyes 
 And open mouths, who flock'd for shelter, 
 
 bringing 
 Horrible tidings of the enemy 
 Who had devoured their fields and happy 
 
 homes. 
 Then suddenly like a low earthquake came 
 The rumour that the foe was at the gates ; 
 And climbing a cathedral roof that night, 
 I saw the pitch-black distance sown with fire 
 Gleam phosphorescent like the midnight 
 
 sea. 
 And heard at intervals mysterious sounds, 
 Like far-off thunder, or the Atlantic waves 
 Clashing on some gfreat headland in a 
 
 storm. 
 Come smother'd from afar. But, Hngering 
 
 yet, 
 I haunted the great City in disguise. 
 While silently the fatal rings were wound 
 Around about it by the Teuton hosts : 
 Still, as I am a soldier, saw no face 
 That look'd capitulation : rather saw 
 The knitted eyebrow and the clenched 
 
 teeth, 
 The stealthy hand that fingered with the 
 
 sword. 
 The eye that glanced as swift as Hunger'9 
 doth
 
 THE FOOL OF DESTINY. 
 
 323 
 
 Towards the battlements. Then (for at last 
 A voice was raised against my life) I sought 
 Trochu, my schoolfellow and friend in 
 
 arms, 
 And, though his brow darkened a moment's 
 
 space, 
 He knew me faithful and reached out his 
 
 hand 
 To save me. By his secret help I found 
 A place in a balloon, that in the dusk 
 Ere daylight rose upon a moaning wind 
 And drifted southward with the drifting 
 
 clouds ; 
 And as the white and frosty daylight grew, 
 And opening crimson as a rose's leaves 
 The clouds to eastward parted, I beheld 
 The imperial City, gables, roofs, and spires, 
 White and fantastic as a city of dream, 
 Gleam orient, while the muffled drums 
 
 within 
 Sounded reveille ; then a red flash and 
 
 wreath 
 Of vapour broke across the outer line, 
 Where the back fortifications frowning rose 
 Ring above ring around the imperial gates. 
 And flash on flash succeeded with a sound 
 Most faint and lagging wearily behind. 
 Still all without the City seemed as husht 
 As sleep or death. But as the reddening 
 
 Scatteied the mists, the tiny villages 
 Loomed dim ; and there were distant 
 
 glimmerings, 
 And far-off muffled sounds : yet scarce a 
 
 sign 
 Showed the innumerable enemy, — 
 Who snugly housed and canopied with 
 
 stone 
 Lay hidden in their strength ; only the 
 
 watch-fire 
 Gleam'd here and there, only from place to 
 
 place 
 Masses of shadow seem'd to move, and 
 
 light 
 Was glimmered dimly back from hidden 
 
 steel ; 
 And, woefullest sight of all, miles to the 
 
 west, 
 Along the dark line of the foe's advance, 
 On the straight rim where earth and heaven 
 
 meet. 
 The forests blazed, and to the driving 
 
 clouds 
 
 Cast blood-red phantoms growing dim in 
 
 day. 
 Meantime, like one whirl'd in a dizzy 
 
 dream. 
 Onward we drove below the driving cloud, 
 And from the region of the burning fire 
 And smouldering hamlet rose still higher, 
 
 and saw 
 The white stars like to tapers burning out 
 Above the region of the nether storm, 
 And the illimitable ether growing 
 Silent and dark in the deep wintry dawn. 
 
 Enter a MESSENGER. 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 Most weighty news, my liege, from Italy. 
 
 Yes? 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 MESSENGER. 
 
 Rome is taken. The imperial walls 
 Yawn where the cannon smote ; in the red 
 
 street 
 Romans embracing shout for Liberty ; 
 From Florence to Messina bonfires blaze. 
 And rockets rise and wild shouts shake the 
 
 air ; 
 And v«th the thunder in his aged ears, 
 Surrounded by his cold-eyed Cardinals, 
 Clutching his spiritual crown more close. 
 Trembling with dotage, sits the grey-haired 
 
 Pope 
 Anathematising in the Vatican. [Exit. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Woe to the head on whom his curse shall 
 
 fall, 
 For in the day of judgment it shall be 
 Better with Sodom and Gomorrah. Wait ! 
 This is the twilight ; red will rise the dawn. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Peace, friend ; yet if it ease thy heart, 
 
 speak on. 
 I would to God, I did believe in God 
 As thou dost. Twilight surely — 'tis indeed 
 A twilight — and therein from their fair 
 
 spheres 
 Kings shoot like stars. How many nights 
 
 of late 
 The heavens have troubled been with fiery 
 
 signs, 
 
 y 8
 
 324 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 With characters likn monstrous hieroglyphs, 
 And the aurora, brighter than the day 
 And red as blood, has burst from west to 
 east. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 I do believe the melancholy air 
 Is full of pain and portent. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Would to God 
 1 had more faith in God, for in this work 
 I fail to trace His hand ; but rather feel 
 The nether-shock of earthquake everywhere 
 Shaking old thrones and new, those rear'd 
 
 on rock 
 As well as those on sand. All darkens yet, 
 And in that darkness, while with cheeks of 
 
 snow 
 The affrighted people gaze at one another, 
 The Teuton still, mouthing of Deity, 
 Works steadfastly to some mysterious end. 
 My heart was never Rome's so much as now. 
 Now, when she shares my cup of agony. 
 Agony ! Is this agony ? then indeed 
 All life is agony. 
 
 OFFICER. 
 
 Your Imperial Highness 
 Is suffering ! Take comfort. Sire. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 It is nought — 
 Only a passing spasm at the heart — 
 'Tis my disease, comrade ; 'tis my disease ! 
 So leave me : it is late ; and I would rest. 
 
 OFFICEHi. 
 
 God in his gracious goodness give thee 
 health ! 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Pray that He may ; for I am deeply sick — 
 Too sick for surgery — too sick for drugs — 
 Too sick for man to heal. 'Tis a complaint 
 Incident to our house ; and of the same 
 Mine imperial uncle died. \^Exit Officer. 
 France in the dust, 
 With the dark Spectre of the R»,'d above 
 
 her! 
 Rome fallen ! Aye me, well may the face 
 
 of heaven 
 Burn like a fiery scroll. Had I but eyes 
 To read whose name is written next for 
 
 dooml 
 
 The Teuton's? Oh the Serpent, that has 
 
 bided 
 His time so long, and now has stabbed so 
 
 deep ! 
 Would I might bruise his head before I die 1 
 
 [Exit. 
 
 NioJit. Napoleon sleeping. Chorus of 
 Spirits. 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 What shapes are ye whose shades darken 
 his rest this night? 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Cold from the grave we come, out of the 
 dark to the light. 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 Voices ye have that moan, and eyes ye have 
 
 that weep. 
 Ah ! woe for him who feels such shadows 
 
 round his sleep ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Tho' thou wert buried and dead. 
 
 Still would we seek thee and find thee, 
 Ever there follows the tread 
 
 Of feet from the tomb behind thee ; 
 Sleep, shall thy soul have sleep ? 
 
 Nay, but be broken and shaken. 
 Gather around him and weep. 
 
 Trouble him till he awaken. 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 Who, in imperial raiment, darkly frowning 
 
 stand, 
 Laurel-leaves in their hair, sceptred, yet 
 
 sword in hand ? 
 
 ANOTHER VOICE. 
 
 Who in their shadow looms, woman eyed, 
 
 woe-begone, 
 And bares his breast to show the piteous 
 
 wounds thereon ? 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Peace, they are Kings, they are crowned ; 
 
 Kings, tho' their realms have departed, 
 Realms of the grave they have found. 
 
 And they walk in the same heavy-hearted. 
 Sleep? did their souls have sleep? 
 
 Nay, for hke his was their being.
 
 THE FOOL OF DESTINY. 
 
 325 
 
 Gather around him and weep, 
 
 Awake him to hearing and seeing. 
 
 SPIRIT OF C^SAR. 
 
 Greater than thou I fell. Die ; for thy day 
 
 is o'er. 
 Thou reap the world with swords? thou 
 
 wear the robe I wore ? 
 Up like the bird of Jove, I rose from height 
 
 to height, 
 Poised on the heavenly air, eyes to the 
 
 blood-red light ; 
 Swift came the flash of wrath, one long- 
 avenging glare — 
 Down like a stone I fell, down thro' the 
 
 dizzy air ; 
 Dark burnt the heaven above, red ran the 
 
 light of day. 
 In the great square of Rome, bloody I fell, 
 
 and lay. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Kings of the realms of fear. 
 
 Each the sad ghost of the other. 
 One by one step near, 
 
 Look in the eyes of a brother. 
 Hush ! draw nearer and speak — 
 
 And ere he waketh each morrow 
 Blow on his bloodless cheek 
 
 With the chilly wind of your sorrow. 
 
 SPIRIT OK BUONAPARTE. 
 
 Greater than thou I fell. Die, Icarus, and 
 
 gfive place. 
 Thou take from my cold grave the glory and 
 
 the grace ! 
 Out of the fire I came, onward thro' fire I 
 
 strode ; 
 Under my path earth burnt, o'er it the pale 
 
 stars glow'd ; 
 Sun of the earth, I leapt up thro' the won- 
 dering sky. 
 Naming my name with God's, Kings knelt 
 
 as I went by. 
 Aye ; but my day declined ; — to one glad 
 
 cry of the free 
 My blood-red sunset died on the eternal Sea. 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 What spirit art thou, with cold, still smile 
 and face like snow ? 
 
 SPIRIT. 
 
 Oisini ; and avenged. Too soon I struck 
 the blow. 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 And thou, with bleeding breast and eyes 
 that roll in pain ? 
 
 SPIRIT. 
 
 I am that Maximilian, miserably slain. 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 And ye, O shadowy things, featureless 
 wild, and stark ? 
 
 VOICES. 
 
 We are the nameless ones whom he hath 
 slain in the dark. 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 Ye whom this man hath doom'd, Spirits, 
 are ye all there ? 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Not yet ; they come, they come— they 
 darken all the air. 
 
 A VOICE. 
 
 O latest come, and what are ye ? Why do 
 ye moan and call ? 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 O hush ! O hush ! they come to speak the 
 bitterest curse of all. 
 
 SPIRITS. 
 
 With Sin and Death our mothers' milk 
 
 was sour, 
 The womb wherein we grew from hour 
 
 to hour 
 Gather'd pollution dark from the polluted 
 
 frame — 
 Beside our cradles naked Infamy 
 Caroused, and Lust sat smihng hide- 
 ously — 
 We grew like evil weeds apace, and knew 
 
 not shame. 
 Willi incantations and with spells most 
 
 rank, 
 The fount of Knowledge where we might 
 
 have drank. 
 And learnt to love the taste, was hidden 
 
 from our eyes ; 
 And if we learn'd to spell out written 
 
 speech, 
 Thy slaves were by, and we had books to 
 
 teach 
 Falsehood and Filth and Sin, Blasphemies, 
 
 Scoffs, and Lies.
 
 326 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 We drank of poison, ev'n as flowers drink 
 
 dew ; 
 We ate and drank of poison till we grew 
 Noxious, polluted, black, like that whereon 
 we fed ; 
 We never felt the light and the free 
 
 wind — 
 Sunless we grew, and deaf, and dumb, 
 and blind — 
 How should we dream of God, souls that 
 were slain and dead ? 
 Love with her sister Reverence passed 
 
 our way 
 As angels pass, unseen, but did not stay — 
 We had no happy homes wherein to bid 
 them dwell ; 
 We turn'd from God's blue heaven with 
 
 eyes of beast, 
 We heard alike the atheist and the priest, 
 And both these lied alike to smooth our 
 hearts for Hell. 
 Of some, both Soul and Body died ; of 
 
 most, 
 The Body fatten'd on, while the poor 
 ghost, 
 Prison'd from the sweet day, was withering 
 in woe ; 
 Some robed in purple quaff'd their fatal 
 
 cup. 
 Some out of rubied goblets drank it 
 up— 
 We did not know God was ; but now, O 
 God, we know. 
 Lambs of thy flock, but oh ! not white 
 
 and fair ; 
 Beasts of the field, tamed to thy hand, we 
 \\ ere ; 
 Not men and women— nay, not heirs to 
 hght and truth : 
 Some fattening ate and fed ; some lay at 
 
 ease ; 
 Some fell and linger'd of a long disease ; 
 But all look'd on the ground — beasts of the 
 field forsooth. 
 
 Ah woe, ah woe, for those thy sceptre 
 
 swayed, 
 Woe most for those whose bodies, fair 
 
 arrayed, 
 Insolent, sat at ease, smiled at thy feet of 
 
 pride ; 
 Woe for the harlots with their painted 
 
 bliss 1 
 
 Woe for the red wine-oozing lips they kiss ! 
 Woe for the Bodies that lived, woe for the 
 Souls that died ! 
 
 SEMI-CHOKUS I. 
 
 Tho' thou wert buried and dead, 
 
 Still would they seek thee and find thee. 
 
 Ever there follows the tread 
 Of feet from the grave behind thee, 
 
 SPIRIT OF HORTENSE. 
 
 Woe 1 woe ! woe 1 
 
 SEMI-CHOKUS II. 
 
 Ye who saw sad light fall, 
 
 Thro' the chink of the dungeon gleaming, 
 And watch'd your shade on the wall 
 
 Till it took a sad friend's seeming ; 
 Ye who in speechless pain 
 
 Fled from the doom and the danger, 
 And dragging a patriot's chain 
 
 Died in the land of the stranger ; 
 Men who stagger'd and died. 
 
 Even as beasts in the traces, 
 Women he set aside 
 
 For the trade of polluting embraces, 
 Say, shall his soid have sleep. 
 
 Or shall it be troubled and shaken ? 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Gather around him and weep, 
 Trouble him till he awaken. 
 
 NAPOLEON [awakeni)ig). 
 Who's there? Who speaks?— All silent. 
 
 O how slowly 
 Moveth the dark and melancholy night ! 
 I cannot rest — I am too sick at heart — 
 I have had ill dreams. The inevitable Eyes 
 Are watching, and the weary void of sleep 
 Hath voices strangely sad. 
 
 \He rises, and paces the chamber. 
 
 O those dark years 
 
 Of Empire ! He who tames the tiger, and 
 
 lies 
 Pillow'd upon its neck in a lone cave. 
 Is safer. Who could sleep on such a bed? 
 Mine eyes were ever dry of the pure dew 
 God scatters on the lids of happy men ; 
 Watching with fascinated gaze the orbs. 
 Ring within ring of blank and bestial light, 
 Where the wild fury slept : seeking all arts 
 To soothe the savage instinct in its throes 
 Of passionate unrest. One cold hand held
 
 THE FOOL OF DESTINY. 
 
 327 
 
 Sweet morsels for the furious thing to lap, 
 And with the other, held behind my back, 
 I clutch'd the secret steel : oft, lest its teeth 
 Should fasten on its master, cunningly 
 Turning its wrath against the shapes that 
 
 moved 
 Outside its splendid lair ! until at last. 
 Let forth to the mad light of War, it sprang 
 Shrieking and sought to rend me. O thou 
 
 beast ! 
 Art thou so wild this day ? and dost thou 
 
 thirst 
 To fix on thine imperial ruler's throat ? 
 Why, have I bidden thee ' down," and thou 
 
 hast crouch'd 
 Tamely as any hound ! Thou shalt crouch 
 
 yet. 
 And bleed with shamefuller stripes ! 
 
 Let me be calm, 
 Not bitter. 'Tis too late for bitterness. 
 Yet I could gnaw my heart to think how 
 
 France 
 Hath fail'd me ! nay, not France, but rather 
 
 those 
 Whom to high offices and noble seats 
 In France's name I raised. I bought their 
 
 souls — 
 What soul can power not buy? — and, 
 
 having lost 
 The blessed measure of all human truth, 
 Being soulless, these betrayed me ; yea, 
 
 became 
 A brood of lesser tigers hungering 
 With their large eyes on mine. I did not 
 
 build 
 My throne on sand ; no, no, — on Lies and 
 
 Liars, 
 Weaker than sand a thousandfold ! 
 
 In this 
 I did not work for evil. The' my means 
 Were dark and vile perchance, the end I 
 
 sought 
 Was France's weal, and underneath my care 
 She grew as tame as any fatted calf. 
 I never did believe in that stale cry 
 Raised by the newsman and the demagogue, 
 Though for mine ends I could cry 'Liberty ! ' 
 As loud as any man. The draff of men 
 Are as mere sheep and kine, with heads 
 
 held down 
 Grazing, or resting blankly ruminant. 
 These must be tended, must be shepherded. 
 
 But Frenchmen are as wild things scarcely 
 
 tamed, 
 Brute like yet fierce, mad too with some 
 
 few hours 
 Of rushing freely with an angry roar. 
 These must be awed and driven. By a 
 
 scourge 
 Dripping with sanguine drops of their own 
 
 blood, 
 I awed them : then I drove them : then in 
 
 time 
 I tamed them. Fool ! deeming them 
 
 wholly mine, 
 I sought to snatch a little brief repose ; 
 But with a groan they found me, and I 
 
 woke ; 
 And since they seem'd to suffer pain I said 
 ' Loosen the yoke a little,' and 'twas done. 
 And they could raise their heads and gaze 
 
 at me 
 And the wild hunger deepen'd in their eyes, 
 While fascinated on my throne I sat 
 Forcing a melancholy smile of peace. 
 O had I held the scourge in my right hand, 
 Tighten'd the yoke instead of loosening, 
 It had not been so ill with me as now ! 
 But Pity found me with her sister Fear, 
 And lured me. He who sitteth on a throne 
 Should have no counsellors who come in 
 
 tears ; 
 But rather that still voice within his brain. 
 Imperturbable as his own cold eyes 
 And viewless as his coldly-flowing blood ; 
 Rather a heart as strong as the great heart 
 Driving the hot life through a lion's thews ; 
 Rather a will that moves to its desire 
 As steadfast as the silent-footed cloud. 
 What peevish humour did my mother mix 
 With that immortal ichor of our race 
 Which unpolluted fiU'd mine uncle's veins ? 
 He lash'd the world's Kings to his triumph- 
 car 
 And sat like marble while the fiery wheels 
 Dript blood beneath him : tho' the live 
 
 earth shriek'd 
 Below him, he was calm, and like a god 
 Cold to the eloquence of human tears, 
 Cold to the quick, cold as the light of stars, 
 Cold as the hand of Death on the damp 
 
 brow. 
 Cold as Death brooding on a battle-field 
 In the white after-dawn, — from west to east 
 Royal he moved as the red wintry sun.
 
 ?28 
 
 POLITICAL M VSTICS. 
 
 He never flattcr'd Folly at his feet ; 
 He never sought to syrup Infamy ; 
 He, when the martyrs curst him, drew 
 
 around him 
 The puri)le of his glory and passed on 
 Indifferently like Olympian Jove. 
 There was no weak place in the steel he 
 
 wore, 
 Where women's tongues might reach his 
 
 mighty heart 
 As they have reach'd at mine. O had I kept 
 A heart of steel, a heart of adamant ; 
 Had I been deaf to clamour and the peal 
 Of peevish fools ; had I for one strong hour 
 Conjured mine uncle's soul to mix with 
 
 mine, 
 Sedan had never slain me ! I am lost 
 B) the damn'd implements mine own hands 
 
 wrought — 
 Things that were made as slavish tools of 
 
 peace, 
 Never as glittering weapons meet for war. 
 He never stoop' d to use such peaceful tools ; 
 But, for all uses, 
 Made the sword serve him — yea, for sceptre 
 
 and scythe ; 
 Xay more, for Scripture and for counsellor ! 
 
 Yet he too fell. Early or late, all fall. 
 No fruit can hang for ever on the tree. 
 Daily the tyrant and the martyr meet 
 Naked at Death's door, with the fatal mark 
 Both brows being branded. Doth the world 
 
 then slay 
 Only its anarchs ? Doth the lightning flash 
 Smite Caesar and spare Brutus? Nay, by 
 
 heaven ! 
 Rather the world keeps for its paracletes 
 Torture more subtle and more piteous doom 
 Than it dispenses to its torturers. 
 Tiberius, with his foot on the world's neck, 
 Smileth his cruel smile and gro\vcth grey, 
 Half dead already with the weight of years 
 Drinking the death he is too frail to feel. 
 While in his noon of life the Man Divine 
 Hath died in anguish at Jerusalem. 
 
 [He opens a Life of Jesus and reads. 
 A lo7ig pause. 
 
 Here too the Teuton works, crafty and slow, 
 Anatomising, gauging, questioning. 
 Till that fair Presence which redeem'd the 
 world 
 
 Dwindles into a phantom and a name. 
 Shall he slay Kings, and spare the King of 
 
 Kings ? 
 In her fierce madness France denied her 
 
 God, 
 But still the Teuton doth destroy his God 
 Coldly as he outwits an enemy. 
 Yet doth he keep the Name upon his lips. 
 And coldly dedicating the dull deed 
 To the abstraction he hath christen'd ' God,' 
 To the creation of his cogent brain. 
 Conjures against the blessed Nazarene, 
 That pallid apparition masculine. 
 That shining orb hemm'd in with clouds of 
 
 flesh ; 
 Till, darken'd with the woe of his own 
 
 words, 
 The fool can turn to Wilhelm's wooden 
 
 face 
 And Bismarck's crafty eyes, and see therein 
 Human regeneration, or at least 
 The Teuton's triumph mightier than 
 
 Christ's. 
 Lie there. Iconoclast ! Thou art thrice a 
 
 fool. 
 Who, having nought to set within its place 
 But civic doctrine and a naked sword. 
 Would tear from out its niche the piteous 
 
 bust 
 Of Him whose face was Sorrow's morning 
 
 star. 
 
 [ Takes up a second Book, and reads. 
 
 Mark, now, how speciously Theology, 
 Leaving the broken fragments of the Life 
 Where the dull Teuton's hand hath scatter'd 
 
 them. 
 Takes up the cause in her high fields of air. 
 ' Darkness hath lain upon the earth like 
 
 blood, 
 And in the darkness human things had 
 
 shriek'd 
 And felt for God's soft hand, and agonised. 
 But overhead the awful Spirit heard, 
 Yet stirr'd not on His throne. Then lastly, 
 
 One 
 Dro]3t like a meteor stone from suns afar. 
 And stirred and strctch'd out hands, and 
 
 lived, and knew 
 That He indeed had dropt from suns afar. 
 That He had fallen from the Father's breast 
 Wlierc He had slumber'd for eternities. 
 Hither in likeness of a Man He came —
 
 THE FOOL OF DESTINY. 
 
 329 
 
 He, Jesus, wander'd forth from heaven and 
 
 said, 
 " Lo, I, the deathless one, will live and 
 
 die! 
 Evil must suffer — Good ordains to suffer — 
 Our point of contact shall be suffering. 
 There will we meet, and ye will hear my 
 
 voice ; 
 And my low tones shall echo on tliro' time. 
 And one salvation proved in fatal tears 
 Be the salvation of Humanity." ' 
 
 Ah. old Theology, thou strikest home ! 
 ' Evil must suffer — Good ordains to suffer ' — 
 Sayst thou? Did He then quaff His cup 
 
 of tears 
 Freely, who might have dash'd it down, and 
 
 ruled ? 
 The world was ready with an earthly crown, 
 And yet He wore it not. Ah, He was wise. 
 Had He but sat upon a human throne. 
 With all the kingdom's beggars at His feet. 
 And all its coffers open at His side. 
 He had djed more shameful death, yea, He 
 
 had fallen 
 Even as the Caesars. Rule the world with 
 
 Love ? 
 Tame savage human nature with a kiss ? 
 Turn royal cheeks for the brute mob to 
 
 smite? 
 He knew men better, and He drew aside, 
 Ordain'd to do and suffer, not to reign. 
 
 My good physician bade me search in 
 
 books 
 For solace. Can I find it? Verily, 
 I-"rom every page of all man's hand hath 
 
 writ 
 A dark face frowns, a voice moans ' Vanity ! ' 
 There is one Book — one only — that for ever 
 Passeth the understanding and appeaseth 
 The miserable hunger of the heart — 
 Heboid it — written with the light of stars 
 By God in the beginning. 
 
 {Looks forth. A starry night. 
 
 I believe 
 God is, but more I know not, save but 
 
 this— 
 He passeth not as men and systems pass, 
 For while all change the Law by which they 
 
 change 
 Survives and is for ever, being God. 
 
 Our sin, our loss, our misery, our death. 
 Are but the shadows of a dream : the hum 
 Within our ears, the motes within our eyes ; 
 Death is to us a semblance and an end. 
 But is as nothing to that Central Law 
 Whereby we cannot die. 
 
 Yone'.er blue dome. 
 Gleaming with meanings mystically wrought. 
 Hath been from the beginning, and shall be 
 Until the end. How many awe-struck eyes 
 Have look'd and spelt one word — the name 
 
 of God, 
 And call'd it as they hsted. Law, Fate, 
 
 Change, 
 And marvell'd for its meaning till they died, 
 And others came and stood upon their 
 
 graves 
 And read in their turn, and marvelling gave 
 
 place. 
 The Kings of Israel watch'd it with wild 
 
 orbs, 
 Madden'd, and cried the Name, and drew 
 
 the sword. 
 Above the tented plain of Troy it bent 
 After the sun of day had set in blood. 
 The superstitious Roman look'd by night 
 And trembled. All these faded phantom- 
 like. 
 And lo ! where it remaineth, watch'd with 
 
 eyes 
 As sad as any of those this autumn night, — 
 The Higher Law writ with the light of 
 
 Stars 
 By God in the beginning. . . . 
 
 Let me sleep ! 
 Or I shall gaze and gaze till I grow wild 
 And never .sleep again. Too much of God 
 Maketh the heart sick. Come then forth, 
 
 thou charm, 
 Thou silent spell wrung from the blood-red 
 
 flower. 
 With power to draw the curtains of tlie soul 
 And shut the inevitable Eyes away. 
 
 Dead mother, at thy knees I said a prayer — 
 Lead me not into temptation, and, O God, 
 Deliver me from evil. Is it too late 
 To murmur it this night? This night, O 
 
 God, 
 Whatc'er Thou art and whercsoe'cr Thou 
 
 art.
 
 io 
 
 .0 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 This night at least, when I am sick and 
 
 fallen, 
 Deliver me from evil ! 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 Under the Master's feet the generations 
 Like ants innumerably come and go : 
 
 He leans upon a Dial, and in patience 
 Watches the hours crawl slow. 
 
 In His bright hair the eternal stars are 
 burning. 
 Around His face Heaven's glories burn 
 sublime : 
 He heeds them not, but follows with eyes 
 yearning 
 The Shadow men call Time. 
 
 Some problem holds Him, and He follows 
 dreaming 
 The lessening and lengthening of the 
 shade. — 
 Under His feet, ants from the dark earth 
 streaming, 
 Gather the men He made. 
 
 He heeds them not nor turns to them His 
 features — 
 They rise, they crawl, they strive, they 
 run, they die ; 
 How should He care to look upon such 
 creatures, 
 Who lets great worlds roll by ? 
 
 He shall be nowise heard who calls unto 
 Him, 
 He shall be nowise seen who seeks His 
 face ; 
 The problem holds Him — no mere man 
 may woo Him, 
 He pauseth in His place. 
 
 So hath it been since all things were created, 
 No change on the immortal Face may 
 faU, 
 Having made all, God paused, and fasci- 
 nated, 
 Watch'd Time, the shade of alL 
 
 Call to the Maker in thine hour of trial, 
 Call with a voice of thunder like the sea : 
 
 He watches living shadows on a Dial, 
 And hath no ears for thee. 
 
 He watches on — He feels the still hours 
 fleeing, 
 He heeds thee not, but lets the days 
 drift by ; 
 And yet we say to thee, O weary being, 
 Blaspheme not, lest thou die. 
 
 Rather, if woe be deep and thy soul wander. 
 Ant among ants that swarm upon a sod, 
 
 Watching thy shadow on the grass-blade, 
 ponder 
 The mystery with God. 
 
 So may some comfort reach thy soul way- 
 faring. 
 While the days run and the swift glories 
 shine, 
 And something God-like shall that soul 
 grow, sharing 
 The attitude divine. 
 
 Silent, supreme, sad, wondering, quiescent. 
 Seeking to fathom with the spirit-sight 
 
 The problem of the Shadow of the Present 
 Born of eternal Light 
 
 THE TEUTON MONOLOGUE. 
 (1870.) 
 
 To stand this night alone with Destiny, 
 Alone in all the world beneath the stars, 
 And hold the string that makes the puppets 
 
 dance. 
 Is something ; but to feel the steadfast will 
 Deepen, the judgment clear itself, the gaze 
 Grow keener, all the purpose that was dim 
 Brighten distinct in the serene still light 
 Of conquest— that is more ; more than all 
 
 power. 
 More than lip-homage, more than crowns 
 
 and thrones, 
 More than the world ; for it is life indeed. 
 O how the dreams and hopes and plans 
 
 cohere ! 
 How the great phalanx broadens ! Like a 
 
 wave 
 It washes Europe, and before its sweep 
 The lying idols, based on quicksand, shift. 
 Totter, and fall : strewn with the wreck'd 
 
 and dead. 
 It shrieks and gathers up a flashing crest 
 In act to drown the lingering hfe of France.
 
 THE TEUTON MONOLOGUE. 
 
 33t 
 
 Tide of the Teuton, is it wonderful 
 The grand old King sees in thy victory 
 The strength and wrath of God ? 
 
 Here then I pause, 
 And (let me whisper it to mine own heart) 
 I tremble. I have played witli fire ; behold. 
 It hath devour'd God's enemy and mine ; 
 And tamely at my bidding croucheth now 
 With luminous eyes half closed. This fire 
 
 is Truth, 
 And by it I shall rise or fall. This fire 
 Is very God's — I know it ; and thus far 
 God to my keeping hath committed it. 
 What next ? and next ? There at my feet 
 
 lies France, 
 Bound, stricken, screaming, — yonder, good 
 
 as dead. 
 Pluckt of his fangs, the imperial Adder 
 
 crawls. 
 Tame as a mouse. I have struck down 
 
 these twain, 
 The Liar, and the creature of the Liar ; 
 I have slain these twain with an avenging 
 
 flame ; 
 And while I stand victorious comes a Voice 
 Out of the black abysses of the earth 
 Whereat I pause and tremble. 'Tis so 
 
 easy 
 To cast down Idols ! The tide so pitilessly 
 Washes each name from the waste sands of 
 
 time ! 
 'Twas yestermorn the Man of Mysteries 
 
 fell— 
 Whose turn comes next ? . . . 
 From Italy to the blue Baltic rolls 
 A voice, a wind, a murmur in the air, 
 A tone full of the sense of wind and waters 
 And the faint whispers from ethereal fields, 
 A cry of anguish and of mystery 
 Echoed by the Volcano in whose depths 
 The monarchs one by one have disappeared. 
 And men who hear it answer back one 
 
 word, 
 ' Liberty ! ' — Cities echo through their 
 
 streets ; 
 The word is wafted on from vale to vale : 
 Heart-drowsy Albion answers with a cheer, 
 Feeble yet clear ; the great wild West 
 
 refrains ; 
 Italy thunders, and Helvetia 
 Blows the wild liorn high up among her 
 
 hills ; 
 
 France, wounded, dying, stretch'd beneath 
 
 my feet, 
 Gnaws at her bonds and shrieks in mad 
 
 accord 
 (For she indeed first gave the thing a name), 
 And even the wily Russian, with his yoke 
 Prest on innumerable groaning necks, 
 Sleek like the serpent, smooths his frosty 
 
 cheek 
 To listen, fiercely smiling hisses back 
 The strange word ' Liberty ! ' between his 
 
 teeth. 
 And shivers with a bitterer sense of cold 
 Than ever seized him in that lonely realm 
 O'er which he paceth hungry and alone. 
 What is this thing that men call ' Liberty ' ? 
 Not force, not tumult, not the wind and 
 
 rain 
 And tempest, not th ■ spirit of mere Storm, 
 Not Earthquake, not the Lightning, not 
 
 swift Fire, 
 Not one of these ; but mightier far than 
 
 these, — 
 The everlasting principle of things. 
 Out of whose silence issue all, the rock 
 Whereon the mountain and the crater stand, 
 The adamantine pillars of the Earth, 
 Deep-based beneath the ever- varying air 
 And under the wild changes of the Sea, 
 The Inevitable, the Unchangeable, 
 The secret law, the impulse, and the 
 
 thought, 
 Whereby men live and grow. 
 
 Then I, this night 
 As ever, dare with a man's eyes and soul 
 Hold by this thing whereof the foolish rave, 
 And cry, ' In God's name, peace, ye winds 
 
 and waves, 
 Ye froths and bubbles on the sea, ye voices 
 Haunting the fitful region of the air ! 
 God is above ye all, and next to God 
 The Son and Holy Spirit, and beneath 
 These twain the great anointed Kings of 
 
 Earth, 
 And underneath the Kings the Wise of 
 
 Wit, 
 And underneath the Wise the merely 
 
 Strong, 
 And least of all, clay in the hands of all. 
 The base, the miserable, and the weak.' 
 What, then, is this that ye name ' Liberty'? 
 There is evermore a higher. Not like waves
 
 332 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 Beating about in a waste sea are men, 
 But great, small, fair, foul, strong, weak, 
 
 miserable ; — 
 And Liberty is law creating law 
 Wherein each corporal member of the world 
 Filleth his function in the place ordain'd. 
 Child at the knee, look in thy mother's 
 
 face ! 
 Boy-student, reverence the philosopher ! 
 Clown, till the earth, and let the market 
 
 thrive ! 
 Citizen, doff to beauty and to grace, 
 To antique fame and holy ancestry ! 
 Nobles, blood purified from running long. 
 Circle of sanctity, surround the King ! 
 King, stand on the bare height and raise 
 
 thine eyes. 
 For there sits God above thee, reverencing 
 The perfect Mirror of the soul of things, 
 Wherein He gazes calmly evermore, 
 And knows Himself divine ! 
 
 Thus stands for ever 
 The eternal Order like a goodly Tree, 
 The root of which is deep within the soil. 
 And lo ! the wind and rain are beating 
 
 on it, 
 And lightning rends its branches ; yet anon 
 It hangs in gorgeous blossom still-renewed, 
 And shoots its topmost twig up through the 
 
 cloud 
 To touch the changeless stars. Herr 
 
 Democrat 
 Comes with his blunt rough axe, and at 
 
 its root 
 Strikes shrieking ; the earth's parrots echo 
 
 him ; 
 Blow follows blow ; the air reverberates ; 
 But the Tree stands. Come winds and 
 
 waves and lightnings, 
 Come axe-wielders, come ye iconoclasts, 
 And spend your strength in vain. What ! 
 
 ye would stretch 
 This goodly trunk, this very Iggdrasil, 
 Down to the dusty level of your lives. 
 Would strew the soil with the fair blooms 
 
 thereof, 
 Would tear away the succulent leaves and 
 
 make 
 A festal chaplet for Silcnus' hair, 
 A drunken garland for the Feast of Fools, 
 bee, yonder blow the branches where the 
 
 Great 
 
 Tremble like ripen'd fruit ; yonder the Holy 
 Gleam in the silvern foliage, sweet and fair ; 
 There just beneath the cloud, most dim 
 
 in height. 
 The flowers of monarchy open their buds 
 And turn their starry faces upward still. 
 Strike at the root, my little democrat, 
 Down with them ! Down with the whole 
 
 goodly Tree ! 
 Down even with that fair shoot beyond the 
 
 cloud, 
 Down with the unseen bloom of perfect 
 
 height, 
 Down with the blossom on the topmost 
 
 twig, 
 Down with the light of God ! 
 
 I compare further 
 This Order to a Man, body and brain, 
 Heart, lungs, eyes, feet to stand on, hands 
 
 to strike. 
 The King is to the realm what conscience is 
 To manhood : the true statesman is the 
 
 brain ; 
 And under these subsist, greater and less, 
 The members of the body politic. 
 Behold now, this alone is majesty : 
 The incarnate Conscience of the people, 
 
 fixed 
 Beyond the body, higher than the brain, 
 Yet perfect fruit of both, — the higher sense 
 That flashes back through all the popular 
 
 frame 
 The intuitions and the lights divine 
 Whereby the world is guided under God. 
 Nor are all Kings ancestral, though these 
 
 same 
 Are highest. Yonder in the stormy West 
 The plain man Lincoln rose to majesty. 
 Incarnated the conscience and the will 
 Of the strong generation, moved to his end, 
 Struck, triumph'd in the name of Con- 
 science, fell, 
 And like a sun that sets in bloody light, 
 In dying darken'd half earth's continents. 
 . . . What, art thou there, old Phantom 
 
 of the Red ? 
 Urge on thy dreadful legions, for in truth 
 There is no face in France this day with 
 
 light 
 So troublous to the eyes of victory. 
 O brave one, wert tlwu France's will and 
 
 soul,
 
 THE TEUTON I\10N0L0GUE~THE REPLY. 
 
 333 
 
 Why we might tremble. Let there rise a 
 
 land, 
 As strong in conscience and as stem in soul 
 As we have been to follow a living truth, 
 And it might slay us even as we have slain 
 Imperial France and the Republic. Now 
 Supreme we stand, our symbol being the 
 
 Sword, 
 Our King the hand that wields ; in that 
 
 one hand 
 I strike, all strike, yea every Teuton strikes. 
 Reason and conscience knitted in accord 
 Are deathless, and must overcome the 
 
 world. 
 The higher law will shape them. I believe 
 There is evermore a higher ! 
 
 THE REPLY. 
 
 Blue arc of heaven whose lattices 
 Are throng'd with starry eyes ; 
 
 Vast dome that over land and seas 
 Dost luminously rise, 
 
 With mystic characters enwrought 
 
 More strange than all poetic thought ! 
 
 Hear, Heaven, if thou canst hear ! and see, 
 
 O stars, if see ye can ! 
 Mark, while your speechless mystery 
 
 Flows to a Voice in man : 
 He stands erect this solemn hour 
 In reverent insolence of power. 
 
 Order divine, whose awful show 
 
 Dazzles all guess or dream ; 
 Sequence unseen, whose mystic flow 
 
 Fulfils the immortal scheme ; 
 Thou Law whereby all stand or stir, — 
 Here breathes your last interpreter ! 
 
 Because one foolish King hath slain 
 
 Another foolish King ; 
 Because a half-born nation's brain 
 
 With dizzy joy doth ring ; 
 Because at the false Shepherd's cry 
 The silly sheep still throng to die ; 
 
 Because purblind Philosophy 
 
 Out of her cobweb'd cave 
 Croaks in a voice of senik; glee 
 
 While empty patriots rave ; 
 Because humanity is still 
 The gull of any daring will ; 
 
 Because the Tinsel Order .'.tands 
 
 A little longer yet ; 
 Because in each crown'd puppet's hands 
 
 A laurel-sprig is set. 
 While the old lame device controls 
 The draff of miserable souls ; 
 
 Because man's blood again bathes bright 
 
 The purple and the throne, 
 And gray fools gladden at the sight, 
 
 And maiden choirs intone ; 
 Because once more the puppet Kings 
 Dance, while Death's lean hand pulls the 
 strings ; 
 
 Because these things have been and are. 
 
 And oft again may be. 
 Doth this man swear by sun and star. 
 
 And oh our God by Thee, 
 Framing to cheat his own shrewd eyes 
 His fair cosmogony of lies. 
 
 O Lord our God whose praise we sing. 
 
 Behold he deemeth Thee 
 A little nobler than the King, 
 
 And greater in degree, 
 Set just above the monarch's mind. 
 Greater in sphere but like in kind ! 
 
 O calm Intelligence divine. 
 
 Transcending life and death. 
 
 He deems these bursting bubbles Thine, 
 Blown earthward by Thy breath, — 
 
 He marks Thee sitting well content. 
 
 Like some old King at tournament. 
 
 The lists are set ; upon the sod 
 The gleaming columns range ; 
 
 The sign is given by Thee, O God, 
 From Thy Pavilion strange : 
 
 The trumpets blow, the champicjns meet. 
 
 One screams — Thou smilest on Thy seat. 
 
 Behold, O God, the Order blest 
 
 Of Thy great chivalry ! 
 See tinsel crown and glittering crest. 
 
 Cold heart and empty eye ! 
 The living shout, the dying groan. 
 All reddens underneath Thy throne ! 
 
 Accept Thy chosen ! great and good, 
 Vouchsafe them all they seek ! 
 
 Deepen their purple in man's blood ! 
 Trumpet them with man's shriek ! 
 
 Paint their escutcheons fresh, O Sire; 
 
 With heart's blood bright and crini'on fire !
 
 334 
 
 POLITICAL MYSTICS. 
 
 And further, from the fire they light 
 Protect them with Thy hand, 
 
 Beyond the bright hill of the fight 
 Let them in safety stand ; 
 
 For 'twere not well a random blow 
 
 Should strike Thy next-of-kin below. 
 
 O God ! O Father ! Lord of All ! 
 
 Spare us, for we blaspheme, 
 See, — for upon our knees we fall, 
 
 And hush our mocking scream — 
 Let us pray low ; let us pray low ; 
 Thy will be done ; Thy Kingdom grow ! 
 
 Blue arc of heaven whose lattices 
 Are throng'd with starry eyes, 
 
 Still dome that over earth and seas 
 Doth luminously rise ; 
 
 Fair Order mystically wrought, 
 
 More strange than all poetic thought. 
 
 He fears ye all, this son of man, 
 
 To his own soul he lies, 
 Lo ! trembling at his own dark plan 
 
 He contemplates the prize : 
 He has won all, and lo ! he stands 
 Clutching the glory in his hands ! 
 
 To one, to all, on life's dark way, 
 
 Sooner or late is brought 
 The silent solemnising ray 
 
 Illuminating thought; 
 It shines, they stand on some lone spot, 
 Its light is strange, they know it not. 
 
 Sleeps, like a mirror in the dark. 
 The Conscience of the Soul, 
 
 Unknown, where never eye may mark. 
 While days and seasons roll ; 
 
 But late or soon the walls of clay 
 
 Are loosening to admit the day. 
 
 Light comes — a touch — a streak — a beam- 
 Child of the unknown sky — 
 
 And lo ! the Mirror with a gleam 
 Flashes its first reply : 
 
 Light brighteneth : and all things fair 
 
 Flow to the glass and tremble there. 
 
 O Lord our God, Thou art the Light, 
 
 We shine by Thee alone ; 
 Tho' Thou hast made us mirrors bright, 
 
 'i"he gleam is not our own ; 
 Until Thy ray shines sweet and plain 
 All shall be dark as this man's brain. 
 
 Thro' human thought as thro 'a cave 
 Creep gently, Light, this hour ; 
 
 Tho' now 'tis darker than the grave, 
 
 There lies the shining power ; 
 Come ! let the Soul flash back to Thee 
 The million lights of Deity ! 
 
 THE CITY OF MAN; 
 
 Comfort, O free and true ! 
 
 Soon shall there rise for you 
 A City fairer far than all ye plan ; 
 
 Built on a rock of strength, 
 
 It shall arise at length. 
 Stately and fair and vast, the City meet for 
 Man ! 
 
 Towering to yonder skies 
 
 Shall the fair City rise. 
 Dim in the dawning of a day more pure : 
 
 House, mart, and street, and square, 
 
 Yea, and a Fane for prayer — 
 Fair, and yet built by hands, strong, for it 
 shall endure. 
 
 In the fair City then 
 ■ • -• Shall walk white-robed men, 
 Wash'd in the river of peace that watereth it ; 
 Woman with man shall meet 
 Freely in mart and street — 
 At the great council-board woman with man 
 shall sit. 
 
 Hunger and Thirst and Sin 
 Shall never pass therein ; 
 Fed with pure dews of love, children shall 
 grow. 
 Fearless and fair and free, 
 Honour'd by all that see. 
 Virgins in golden zones shall walk as white 
 as snow. 
 
 There, on the fields around, 
 All men shall till the ground, 
 Corn shall wave yellow, and bright rivers 
 stream ; 
 Daily, at set of sun. 
 All, when their work is done. 
 Shall watch the heavens yearn down and the 
 strange starlight gleam. 
 
 In the fair City of men 
 
 All shall be silent then. 
 While, on a reverent lute, gentle and low, 
 
 Some holy Bard shall play 
 
 Music divine, and say 
 Whence those that hear have come, whither 
 in time they go.
 
 THE CITY OF MAN-^ODE TO AUGUSTE COMTE. 
 
 53? 
 
 No man of blood shall dare 
 Wear the white mantle there ; 
 No man of lust shall walk in street or 
 mart ; — 
 Yet shall the Magdalen 
 Walk with the citizen ; 
 Yet shall the sinner stand gracious and pure 
 of heart. 
 
 Now, while days come and go, 
 
 Doth the fair City grow, 
 Surely its stones are laid in sun and moon. 
 
 Wise men and pure prepare 
 
 Ever this City fair. 
 Comfort, O ye that weep ; it shall arise full 
 soon. 
 
 When, stately, fair, and vast. 
 
 It doth uprise at last. 
 Who shall be King thereof, say, O ye 
 wise ? — 
 
 When the last blood is spilt. 
 
 When the fair City is built. 
 Unto the throne thereof the Monarch shall 
 
 Flower of blessedness. 
 Wrought out of hearts distress. 
 Light of all dreams of saintly men who died. 
 
 He shall arise some morn 
 One Soul of many born. 
 Lord of the realms of peace, Heir of the 
 Crucified ! 
 
 O but he lingereth, 
 Drawing mysterious breath 
 
 In the dark depths where he was cast as seed. 
 Strange was the seed to sow. 
 Dark is the growth and slow ; 
 
 Still hath he lain for long — now he grows 
 quick indeed. 
 
 Quicken, O Soul of Man ! 
 Perfect the mystic plan — 
 Come from the flesh where thou art darkly 
 wrought ; 
 Wise men and pure prepare 
 Ever thy City fair — 
 Come when the City is built, sit on the 
 Throne of Thought. 
 
 Earth and all things that be. 
 Wait, watch, and yearn for thee. 
 To thee all loving things stretch hands 
 bereaven ; — 
 Perfect and sweet and bright. 
 Lord of the City of Light, 
 Last of the flowers of Earth, first of the 
 fruits of Heaven ! 
 
 Songs of the Terrible Year. 
 
 (1870.) 
 
 '»• These ' Songs,' inasmuch as they formed a portion of the 'Drama of Kings,' preceded by a 
 long period the publication of Victor Hugo's series under the same admirable title. The ' Drama 
 of Kings' was written under a false conception, which no one discarded sooner than the author; 
 but portions of it are preserved in the present collection, because, although written during the same 
 feverish and evanescent excitement, they are the distinct lyrical products of the author's mind, and 
 perfectly complete in themselves. — R. B. 
 
 ODE TO THE SPIRIT OF 
 
 AUGUSTE COMTE. 
 
 (1871.) 
 
 Spirit of the great brow ! 
 Fire hath thy City now : 
 She shakes the sad world with her troubled 
 scream ! 
 O spirit who loved best 
 This City of the West, 
 Hark I loud she shattered cries — great 
 Queen of thy great Dream. 
 
 -But, as she passes by 
 To the earth's scornful cry, 
 What are those Shapes who walk behind so 
 wan? — 
 Martyrs and prophets born 
 Out of her night and morn : 
 Have we forgot them yet ? — these, the great 
 friends of Man. 
 
 We name them as they go. 
 Park, soleiun-faced, and slow^
 
 336 
 
 SOXGS OF THE TERRIBLE YEAR. 
 
 \'oltaire, with saddened mouth, but eyes 
 still bright, 
 Turgot, Malesherbes, Rousseau, 
 Lafayette, Mirabeau — 
 These pass and many more, heirs of large 
 realms of Light. 
 
 Greatest and last pass thou I 
 Strong heart and mighty brow. 
 Thine eyes surcharged with love of all 
 things fair ; 
 Facing with those grand eyes 
 The light in the sweet skies. 
 While thy shade earthward falls, darkening 
 my soul to prayer. 
 
 • Sure as the great sun rolls, 
 The crown of mighty souls 
 Is martyrdom, and lo ! thou hast thy 
 crown. 
 On her pale brow there weighed 
 Another such proud shade — 
 O, but we know you both, risen or stricken 
 down. 
 
 Sinful, mad, fever-fraught. 
 At war with her own thought, 
 Great-soul'd, sublime, the heir of constant 
 pain, 
 France hath the dreadful part 
 To keep ahve Man's heart. 
 To shake the sleepy blood into the slug- 
 gard's brain ; 
 
 Ever in act to spring, 
 
 Ever in suffering. 
 To point a lesson and to bear the load, 
 
 Least happy and least free 
 
 Of all the lands that be, 
 Dying that all may live, first of the slaves 
 of God. 
 
 To try each crude desire 
 By her own soul's fierce fire, 
 To wait and watch with restless brain and 
 heart, 
 To quench the fierce thirst never. 
 To feel supremely ever. 
 To rush where cowards crawl — this is her 
 awful part. 
 
 Ever to cross and rack, 
 Along the same red track, 
 Genius is led, and speaks its soul out plain; 
 
 Blessed are those that give — 
 They die that man may live, 
 Their crown is martyrdom, their privilege is 
 pain. 
 
 Spirit of the great brow ! 
 
 I see thee, know thee now — 
 Last of the flock who die for man each day. 
 
 Ah, but / should despair 
 
 Did I not see up there 
 A Shepherd heavenly-eyed on the heights 
 far away. 
 
 No cheat was thy vast scheme 
 Tho' in thy gentle dream 
 Thou saw'st no Shepherd watching the wild 
 throng — 
 Thou, walking the sad road 
 Of all who seek for God, 
 Blinded became at last, looking at Light so 
 long. 
 
 Yet God is multiform. 
 Human of heart and warm. 
 Content to take what shape the Soul loves 
 best ; 
 Before our footsteps still, 
 He changeth as we will — 
 Only, - with blood alone we gain Him, and 
 are blest. 
 
 O, latest son of her, 
 Freedom's pale harbinger, 
 I see the Shepherd whom thou could'st not 
 find ; 
 But on thy great fair brow, 
 As thou didst pass but now. 
 Bright burnt the patient Cross of those who 
 bless mankind. 
 
 And on her brow, who flies 
 
 Bleeding beneath the skies. 
 The mark was set that will not let her rest — 
 
 Sinner in all men's sight, 
 
 Mocker of very Light, 
 Yet is s'le chosen thus, martyr'd— and shall 
 be blest. 
 
 Go by, O mighty dead ! 
 My soul is comforted ; 
 The Shepherd on the summit needs no 
 prayers ; 
 Best worshipper is he 
 Who suffers and is free — 
 That Soul alone blasphemes which trembles 
 and despairs,
 
 A DIRGE FOR KINGS. 
 
 337 
 
 A DIRGE FOR KINGS. 
 
 Strange are the bitter things 
 God wreaks on cruel Kings ; 
 Sad is the cup drunk up 
 
 By Kings accurst. 
 In secret ways and strong 
 God doth avenge man's wrong. 
 The least, God saith, is Death, 
 
 And Life the worst. 
 
 Sit under the sweet skies ; 
 Think how Kings set and rise. 
 Think, wouldst thou know the woe 
 
 In each proud breast ? 
 Sit on the hearth and see 
 Children look up to thee — 
 Think, wouldst thou own a throne. 
 
 Or lowly rest ? 
 
 Ah, to grow old, grow old. 
 Upon a throne of gold— 
 Ah, on a throne, so lone, 
 
 To wear a crown ; 
 To watch the clouds, the air. 
 Lest storm be breeding there — 
 Pale, lest some blast may cast 
 
 Thy glory down. 
 
 He who with miser's ken 
 Hides his red gold from men, 
 And wakes and grieves, lest thieves 
 
 Be creeping nigh ; 
 He who hath murder done, 
 And fears each rising sun, 
 Lest it say plain ' O Cain, 
 
 Rise up and die ! ' 
 
 These, and all underlings. 
 Are blesseder than Kings, 
 For ah ! by weight of fate 
 
 Kings' hearts are riven ; 
 With blood and gold they too 
 Reckon their sad days tliro' — 
 They fear the plan of man, 
 
 The wrath of heaven. 
 
 In the great lonely bed, 
 
 Hung round with gold and red, 
 
 While the dim light each night 
 
 Burns in the room, 
 They lie alone and see 
 The rustling tapestry, 
 
 Lest Murther's eyes may rise 
 Out of the gloom. 
 
 Dost thou trust any man ? 
 Thou dost what no King can. 
 Friend hast thou near and dear ? 
 
 A King hath none. 
 Hast thou true love to kiss ? 
 A King hath no such bliss, 
 On no true breast may rest 
 
 Under the sun. 
 
 Ah, to sit cold, sit cold, 
 Upon a throne of gold. 
 Forcing the while a smile 
 
 To hide thy care ; 
 To taste no cup, to eat 
 No food, however sweet. 
 But with a drear dumb fear, 
 
 Lest Death be there ! 
 
 Ah, to rule men, and know 
 How many wish thee low — 
 That 'neath the sun, scarce one 
 
 Would keep thee high : 
 To watch in agony 
 The strife of all things free. 
 To dread the mirth of Earth 
 
 When thou shalt die ! 
 
 Hast thou a hard straw bed ? 
 Hast thou thy crust of bread ? 
 And hast thou quaffed thy draught 
 
 Of water clear? 
 And canst thou dance and sing ? — 
 O blesseder than a King ! 
 O happy one whom none 
 
 Doth hate or fear ! 
 
 Wherefore, though from the strong 
 Thou sufferest deep wrong, 
 Tho' Kings, with ire and fire, 
 
 Have wrought thee woe : 
 Pray for them ! for I swear 
 Deeply they need thy prayer — 
 Most in their hour of power, 
 
 Least when cast low. 
 
 And when thou castest down 
 King, sceptre, throne, and crown, 
 Pause that sanie day, and pray 
 
 For the accurst ; 
 Since in strange ways and strong, 
 God doth avenge man's wrong — 
 The least, God saith, is Death, 
 
 And Life tlic worst. 
 
 Z
 
 33S 
 
 SONGS OF THE TERRIBLE YEAR. 
 
 THE PERFECT STA TE. 
 
 Where is the perfect State 
 Early most blest and late, 
 
 Perfect and bright ? 
 'Tis where no Palace stands 
 Trembling on shifting sands 
 
 Morning and night. 
 'Tis where the soil is free, 
 Where, far as eye may see, 
 Scattered o'er hill and lea. 
 
 Homesteads abound ; 
 Where clean and broad and sweet 
 (Market, square, lane, and street, 
 Belted by leagues of wheat), 
 
 Cities are found. 
 
 Where is the perfect State 
 Early most blest and late, 
 
 Gentle and good? 
 *Tis where no lives are seen 
 Huddling in lanes unseen. 
 
 Crying for food ; 
 'Tis where the home is pure, 
 ■Tis where the bread is sure, 
 'Tis where the wants are fewer, 
 
 And each want fed ; 
 Where plenty and peace abide, 
 Where health dwells heavenly-eyed, 
 "Where in nooks beautified. 
 
 Slumber the Dead. 
 
 iVhere is the perfect State 
 Unve.xed by Wrath and Hate, 
 
 Quiet and just ? 
 Where to no form of creed 
 Fetter' d are thought and deed. 
 
 Reason and trust. 
 'Tis where the great free mart 
 Broadens, while from its heart 
 Forth the great ships depart. 
 
 Blown by the wind ; 
 'Tis where the wise men's eyes. 
 Fixed on the earth and skies, 
 Seeking for signs, devise 
 
 Good for mankind. 
 
 Where is the perfect State, 
 Holy and consecrate. 
 
 Blessedly wrought ? 
 'Tis where all waft abroad 
 Wisdom and faith in God, 
 
 Beautiful thought. 
 
 'Tis where the Poet's sense 
 Deepens in reverence. 
 While to his truths intense 
 
 Multitudes turn. 
 Where the bright sons of art, 
 Walking in street or mart. 
 Feel mankind's reverent heart 
 
 Tremble and yearn. 
 
 Say, is the perfect State, 
 Strong and self-adequate. 
 
 There where it stands. 
 Perfect in praise of God, 
 Casting no thoughts abroad 
 
 Over the lands ? 
 Nay : for by each man's side 
 Hangeth a weapon tried ; 
 Nay : for wise leaders guide 
 
 Under the Lord. 
 Nor, when a people cries. 
 Smiling with half-shut eyes, 
 Waiteth this State,— but flies, 
 
 Lifting the Sword. 
 
 Where is the perfect State ? 
 Not where men sit and wait, 
 
 Selfishly strong ; 
 While some lost sister State 
 Crieth most desolate, 
 
 Ruin'd by wrong ; 
 Not where men calmly sleep, 
 Tho" all the world should weep 
 Not where they merely heap 
 
 Gold in the sun : 
 Not where in charity 
 Men with mere dust are free, 
 When o'er the weary sea 
 
 Murder is done. 
 
 Which is the perfect State? 
 Not the self-adequate 
 
 Coward and cold ; 
 Not the brute thing of health, 
 Swollen with gatherd wealth. 
 
 Sleepy and old. 
 Nay, but the mighty land 
 Ever with helping hand. 
 Ever with flaming brand. 
 
 Rising in power : 
 This is the fair and great, 
 This the evangel State, 
 Letting no wrong'd land wait 
 
 In the dark hour.
 
 THE PERFECT STATE— THE TWO VOICES. 
 
 339 
 
 This is the perfect State, 
 Early in arms and late ; 
 
 Blessed at home ; — 
 Ready at Freedom's cry 
 Forward to fare and die, 
 
 Over the foam. 
 Loving States great and small. 
 Loving home best of all, 
 Yet at the holy call 
 
 Springing abroad : 
 This is the royal State, 
 Perfect and adequate. 
 Equal to any fate, 
 
 Chosen of God ! 
 
 THE TWO VOICES. 
 
 (January 1S71.) 
 
 I. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Fly to me, England ! Hie to me, 
 
 Now in mine hour of woe ; 
 Haste o'er the sea, ere I die, to me ; 
 Swiftly, my Sister ! stand nigh to me. 
 
 Help me to strike one blow ! 
 Over the land and the water, 
 Swifter than winds can go, 
 Up the red furrow of slaughter, 
 Down on the lair of the foe ! 
 Now, when my children scream madly and 
 
 cling to me ; 
 Now, when I droop o'er the dying they 
 
 bring to me ; 
 Come to me, England ! O speak to me, 
 spring to me ! 
 Hurl the assassin low ! 
 
 II. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Woe to thee ? I would go to thee 
 
 Faster than wind can flee ; 
 Doth not my fond heart flow to thee ? 
 Would I might rise and show to thee 
 
 All that my love would l)c ! 
 But behold, they bind me and blind me ; 
 
 Cowards, yet born of nie ; 
 They fasten my hands behind me, 
 
 I am chain'd to a rock in the sea. 
 
 Alas, what availeth my grief while I sigh for 
 
 thee? 
 Traitors have trapt me— I struggle— I cry 
 
 for thee — 
 Come to thee, Sister ? Yea, were it to die 
 
 for thee ! — 
 O that my hands were free ! 
 
 III. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Pray for me. Sister ! say for me 
 
 Prayers until help is nigh ; 
 Send thy loud voice each way for me. 
 Trouble the night and the day for me, 
 
 Waken the world and the sky : 
 Say that my heart is broken. 
 Say that my children die ; 
 With blood and tears for thy token. 
 Plead till the nations reply. 
 Plead to the sea, and the earth, and the air 
 
 for me ! 
 Move the hard heart of the world till it care 
 
 for me — 
 Come to me, England ! — at least say a 
 prayer for me, 
 Waken the winds with a cry ! 
 
 IV. 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Doom on me, Hell's own gloom on me, 
 
 Blood and a lasting blame ! 
 Already the dark days loom on me. 
 Cold as the shade of the tomb on me ; 
 
 I am call'd by the coward's name. 
 Shall I hark to a murder'd nation? 
 
 Shall I sit unarm'd and tame ? 
 Then woe to this generation, 
 
 Tho' out of my womb they came. 
 Betrayed by my children, I wail and I call 
 
 for thee ; 
 Not tears, but my heart's blood, O Sistc , 
 
 should fall for thee. 
 My children are slaves, or would strike one 
 and all for thee : 
 Shame on them, shame ! shame ! shame 1 
 
 V. 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Pain for thee ! all things wane for thee 
 In truth, if this be so, 
 
 Z2
 
 340 
 
 SONGS OF THE TERRIBLE YEAR. 
 
 Fatal will be the stain for thee, 
 Dying, I mourn and 'plain for thee, 
 
 Since thou art left so low : 
 For Death can come once only, 
 The" bitterly comes the blow ; 
 But Shame abideth, and lonely 
 Feels a sick heart come and go. 
 Homeless and citiless, yet I can weep for 
 
 thee ; 
 Fast comes the morrow with anguish most 
 
 deep for thee ; 
 Dying, I mourn for the sorrow they heap 
 for thee : 
 Thine is the bitterest woe. 
 
 VI. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Mourn me not. Sister ! scorn me not ! 
 
 Pray yet for mine and me ; 
 Tho' the old proud fame adorn me not. 
 The sore grief hath outworn me not ; 
 
 Wait ; I will come to thee. 
 1 will rend my chains asunder, 
 
 I will tear my red sword free, 
 I will come with mine ancient thunder, 
 I will strike the foe to his knee. 
 Yea ! tho' the knife of the butcher is nigh 
 
 to thee ; 
 Yea ! while thou screamest and echoes 
 
 reply to thee ; 
 Comfort, O France ; for in God's name, I 
 fly to thee — 
 Sword in hand, over the sea ! 
 
 ODE BEFORE PARIS. 
 
 (December 1870.) 
 
 City of loveliness and light and splendour. 
 City of Sorrows, hearken to our cry ; 
 O Mother tender, 
 O Mother marvellously fair. 
 And lairest now in thy despair, 
 Look up ! O be of comfort ! Do not 
 die! 
 Let the black hour blow by. 
 
 Cold is the night, and colder thou art lying. 
 Gnawing a stone sits Famine at thy feet 
 Shivering and sighing ; 
 
 Blacker than Famine, on thy breast, 
 Like a sick child that will not rest, 
 Moans Pestilence ; and hard by, with 
 fingers fleet. 
 Frost weaves his winding-sheet. 
 
 Snow, snow ! the wold is white as one cold 
 lily. 
 Snow : it is frozen round thee as hard 
 as lead ; 
 
 The wind blows chilly ; 
 Thou liest white in the dim night, 
 And in thine eyes there is no light, 
 And the Snow falleth, freezing on thy 
 head. 
 And covering up thy dead. 
 
 Ah, woe ! thy hands, no longer flower- 
 bearin.;. 
 Press stony on thy heart ; and that 
 heart bleeds ; 
 Thine eyes despairing 
 Watch while the fierce Fire clings and 
 
 crawls 
 Through falling roofs and crumbling 
 walls. 
 Ah, woe ! to see thee thus, the wild 
 soul pleads. 
 The wild tongue intercedes. 
 
 O, we will cry to God, and pray and plead 
 for thee ; 
 We, with a voice that troubles heaven 
 and air, 
 
 Will intercede for thee : . 
 We will cry for thee in thy pain, 
 Louder than storm and wind and 
 rain ; 
 What shape among the nations may 
 compare 
 With thee, most lost, most fair? 
 
 Yea, thou hast sinned and fallen, O City 
 splendid. 
 Yea, thou hast passed through days of 
 shamefullest woe — 
 And lo ! they are ended — 
 Famine for famine, flame for flame, 
 Sorrow for sorrow, shame for shame. 
 Verily thou hast found them all ;— and 
 lo! 
 Night and the falluig snow.
 
 ODE BEFaRE PARIS- A DIALOGUE IN THE SNOW. 341 
 
 Let Famine eat thy heart, let Fire and 
 
 Lo, we are women, yet we shiver cold 
 
 Sorrow 
 
 To look upon so infamous a thing. 
 
 Hold thee, but turn thy patient eyes 
 
 
 and see 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 The dim sweet morrow. 
 
 Nay, look your fill, I care not — stand and 
 
 Better be thus than what thou wast, 
 
 see. 
 
 Better be stricken and overcast. 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 Martyr'd once more, as when to all 
 
 horror ! horror ! who hath done this deed ? 
 
 things free 
 
 
 Thy lips cried ' Liberty ! ' 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 
 What say ye ? am I fair to look upon ? 
 
 Let the Snow fall ! thou shalt be sweeter 
 
 
 and whiter ; 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 Let the Fire burn ! under the morning 
 
 The dead are fairer. O unhappy one ! 
 
 sky 
 
 
 Thou shalt look brighter. 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 Comfort thy sad soul through the 
 
 Why do ye shudder } Am I then so foul ? 
 
 night ; 
 
 
 Turn to the east and pray for light ; 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 Look up ! be of comfort ! Do not 
 
 die! 
 Let the black hour blow by ! 
 
 There is no living flesh upon thy bones. 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 
 Famine hath fed upon my limbs too long. 
 
 A DIALOGUE IN THE SNOW. 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 
 And thou art rent as by the teeth of hounds. 
 
 (Before Paris, December 1870.) 
 
 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 Fire tore me, and what blood I have I bleed. 
 
 0, I AM spent ! My heart fails, and my 
 limbs 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 Are palsied. Would to God I were dead ! 
 
 Thine eyes stare like the blank eyes of a 
 
 
 corpse. 
 
 SISTERS OF MERCY. 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 Stand ! What art thou, who like a guilty 
 
 They have look'd so close on horror and so 
 
 thing 
 
 long. 
 
 Creepest along the shadow, stooping low ? 
 
 I cannot shut them from it till I die. 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 A man. Now stand aside, and let me pass. 
 
 Thou crawlest like a man whose sick limbs 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 fail. 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 Not yet. Whence fleest thou? Whither 
 
 Ha ! Frost is there, and numbs me like a 
 
 dost thou go ? 
 
 snake. 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 From Famine and Fire. From Horror. 
 
 God help thee, miserable one ; and yet, 
 
 From Frost and Death. 
 
 Better if thou hadst pcrish'd in thy place 
 
 
 Than live inglorious, tainted with thy 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 shame. 
 
 coward ! traitor to unhappy France ! 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 Stand forward in the moon, that it may light 
 
 Shame ? I am long past shame. I know 
 
 The blush of shame uoon thy guilty cheek ! 
 
 her not.
 
 342 
 
 .SONGS OF THE TERRIBLE YEAR. 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 Is there no sense of honour in thy soul ? 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 Honour? Why see, she hath me fast 
 
 enough : 
 These are her other names, Fire, Famine, 
 
 and Frost, — 
 Soon I shall hear her last and sweetest, — 
 
 Death. 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 Hast thou no care for France, thy martyr'd 
 land ? 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 What hath she given me ? Curses and blows. 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 O miserable one, remember God ! 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 God ? Who hath look'd on God ? Where 
 doth He dwell ? 
 
 fools, with what vain words and empty 
 
 names 
 Ye sicken me. Honour, France, God ! All 
 
 these — 
 Hear me — I curse. Why, look you, there's 
 
 the sky. 
 Here the white earth, there, with its bleed- 
 ing heart. 
 The butcher'd City ; here half dead stand I. 
 A murder' d man, grown grey before my 
 
 time, 
 Forty years old — a husband, and a father — 
 An outcast flying out of Hell. Who talks 
 To me of ' honour ' ? The first tears I wept 
 When standing at my wretched mother's 
 
 knee, 
 Because her face was white, and she wore 
 
 black. 
 That day the bells rang out for victory. 
 Then, look you, after that my motlier sat 
 Weeping and weary in an empty house. 
 And they who look'd upon her shrunken 
 
 cheeks 
 Fed her with ' honour. ' 'Twas too gentle 
 
 fare, — 
 She died. Nay, hearken ! Left to seek for 
 
 bread, 
 
 1 like a wild thing haunted human doors 
 Searching the ash for food. I ate and lived. 
 I grew. Then, wretched as I was, I felt 
 
 Strange stirs of manhood in my flesh and 
 
 bones. 
 Dim yearnings, fierce desires, and one pale 
 
 face 
 Could still them as the white moon charms 
 
 the sea. 
 Oh, but I was a low and unclean thing, 
 And yet she loved me, and I stretch'd these 
 
 hands 
 To God, and blest Him for His charity. 
 Mark that : — I blest Him, I. Even as I 
 
 stood, 
 Bright in new manhood, the drums beat, — 
 
 a hand 
 Fell on my shoulder, and, ' in France's 
 
 name,' 
 A voice cried, ' Follow.' To my heart they 
 
 held 
 Cold steel : — I followed ; following saw her 
 
 face 
 Fade to a bitter cry — hurl'd on with blows, 
 Curs'd, jeer'd at, scorn'd, went forth as in 
 
 a dream, 
 And, driven into the bloody flash of war, 
 Struck like a blinded beast I knew not whom 
 Blows for I knew not what. The fierce 
 
 years came 
 Like ulcers on my heart, and heal'd, and 
 
 went. 
 Then 1 crept back, a broken sickly man. 
 To seek her, and I found her — dead ! She 
 
 had died. 
 Poor worm, of hunger. She had ask'd for 
 
 bread, 
 And ' France ' had given her stones. She 
 
 had pray'd to ' God ' ; 
 He had given her a grave. The day she 
 
 died, 
 The bells rang for another victory. 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 do not weep ! Yet we are weeping too. 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 Now mark, I was too poor a worm to grieve 
 Too long and deeply. The years passed. 
 
 My heart 
 Heal'd, and as wounds heal, harden'd. 
 
 Once again 
 
 1 join'd the wolves that up and down the 
 
 earth 
 Rush tearing at men's lives and women's 
 hearts.
 
 A DIALOGUE IN THE SNOW-PRAYER IN THE NIGHT. 343 
 
 That passed, and I was free. One morn I 
 
 saw 
 Another woman, and I hunger'd to her, 
 And we were wedded. Hard days follow'd 
 
 that ; 
 And children — she was fruitful — all your 
 
 worms 
 Are fruitful, mark — that is God's blessing 
 
 too ! 
 Well, but we throve, and farm'd a bit of land 
 Out yonder by the City. I learn'd to love 
 The mother of my little ones. Time sped ; 
 And then I heard a cry across the fields, 
 The old cry, ' Honour,' the old cry, ' For 
 
 France ! ' 
 And like a wolf caught in his lair I shrunk 
 And shudder'd. It grew louder, that curst 
 
 cry ! 
 Day follow'd day, no bells rung victory, 
 But there were funeral faces everywhere ; 
 And then I heard the far feet of the foe 
 Trampling the field of France and coming 
 
 nearer 
 To that poor field I sow'd. I would have 
 
 fled, 
 But that they thrust a weapon in mine hands 
 And bade me stand and strike ' for France. ' 
 
 I laugh'd ! 
 But the wolves had me, and we screaming 
 
 drew 
 Into the City. Shall I gorge your souls 
 With horror ? Shall I croak into your ears 
 What I have suffer'd there, what I have 
 
 seen? 
 I was a worm, ever a worm, and starved 
 While the plump coward cramm'd. Look 
 
 at me, women. 
 Fire, Famine, and Frost have got me ; yet 
 
 I crawl. 
 And shall crawl on ; for hark you, yester- 
 night, 
 Standing within the City, sick at heart, 
 I gazed up eastward, thinking of my home 
 And of the woman and children desolate, 
 And lo ! out of the darkness where I knew 
 Our hamlet lay there shot up flames and 
 
 cast 
 A bloody light along the arc of heaven ; 
 And all my heart was sicken'd unaware 
 With hunger such as any wild thing feels 
 To crawl again in secret to the place 
 Whence the fierce hunter drove it, and to 
 
 see 
 
 If its young live ; and thither indeed I fare ; 
 And yonder flame still flareth, and I crawl, 
 And I shall crawl unto it though I die ; 
 And I shall only smile if they be dead. 
 If I may merely see them once again, — 
 For come what may, my cup of life is full, 
 And I am broken from all use and will. 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 Pass on, unhappy one ; God help thee 
 now ! 
 
 DESERTER. 
 
 If ye have any pity, give me bread. 
 
 SISTERS. 
 
 Lean on us ! Oh thou lost one, come this 
 way. 
 
 THE PRAYER IN THE NIGHT. 
 
 Stars in heaven with gentle faces. 
 Can ye see and keep your places ? 
 Flowers that on the old earth blossom, 
 Can ye hang on such a bosom ? 
 Canst thou wander on for ever 
 Through a world so sad, O River ? 
 O ye fair things 'neath the sun, 
 Can ye bear what Man hath done ? 
 
 This is Earth. Heaven glimmers yonder, 
 use a little space and ponder ! 
 
 This is Earth. Heaven glimmei 
 Pause a little space and ponder I 
 
 Day by day the fair world turneth 
 
 Dewy eyes to heaven and yearneth, 
 
 Day by day the mighty Mother 
 
 Sees her children smite each other . 
 
 She moans, she pleads, they do not hear 
 
 her — 
 She prays - the skies seem gathering near 
 
 her — 
 Yearning down diviner, bluer. 
 Baring every star unto her, — 
 Each strange light with swinging censer 
 Sweeter seeming and in tenser, — 
 Yet she ceaseth not her cry. 
 Seeing how her children die. 
 
 On her bosom they arc lying, 
 Clinging to her, dead and dying — 
 Dead eyes frozen in imploring 
 Yonder heaven they died adoring,
 
 344 
 
 SOA'GS OF THE TERRIBLE YEAR. 
 
 Dying eyes that upward glimmer 
 Ever growing darker, dimmer ; 
 And her eyes, too, thither turning, 
 Asking, praying, weeping, yearning. 
 Search the blue abysses, whither 
 He who made her, brought her hither, 
 Gave her children, bade them grow, 
 Vanished from her long ago. 
 
 Ah, what children ! Father, see them ! 
 Never word of hers may free them — 
 Never word of love may win them. 
 For there bumeth fierce within them 
 Fire of thine ; soul-sick and sinning, 
 As they were in the beg jining. 
 Here they wander. Father, see ! 
 Generations bom of Thee ! 
 
 Blest was Earth when on her bosom 
 First she saw the double blossom. 
 Double sweetness, man and woman, 
 One in twain, divine and human. 
 Leaping, laughing, crying, clinging. 
 To the sound of her sweet singing— 
 Flesh like lily and rose together, 
 Eyes as blue as April weather. 
 Golden hair with golden shadows, 
 In the face the light of meadows. 
 In the eyes the dim soul peeping 
 Like the sky in water sleeping. 
 ' Guard them well ! ' the Father said, 
 Set them in her arms, — and fled. 
 
 Countless worlds around Him yearning, 
 Vanish'd He from her discerning ; — 
 Then she drooped her fair face, seeing 
 On her breast each gentle being : 
 And unto her heart she prest them, 
 Raised her look to heaven and blest them ; 
 And the fountains leapt around her. 
 Leaves and flowers shot up and crown'd 
 
 her, 
 Flowers bloom'd and streams ran gleaming. 
 Till with bliss she sank to dreaming ; — 
 And the darkness for a cover 
 Gently drew its veil above her. 
 And the new-bom smiled reposing, 
 And a million eyes unclosing 
 Yeam'd through all the veil to see 
 That new fruit of mystery. 
 
 Father ! come from the abysses ; 
 Come, Thou light the Mother misses ; 
 
 Come ; while hungry generations 
 Pass away, she sits in patience. 
 Of the children Thou didst leave her, 
 Millions have been bom to grieve her. 
 See ! they gather, living, d}'ing. 
 Coming, going, multipl>'ing ; 
 And the Mother, for the Father, 
 Though like waves they rise and gather, 
 Though they blossom thick as grass'is. 
 Misses every one that passes, 
 Flashes on them peace and Mght 
 Of a love grown infinite. 
 
 Father ! see them : hath each creature 
 Something in him of Thy nature ? 
 Bom of Thee and of no other. 
 Bom to Thee by a sweet Mother, 
 Man strikes man, and brother brother. 
 Hearts of men from Thy heart fashioned 
 Bleed and anguish bloody-passion'd ; 
 Beast-Uke roar the generations ; 
 Tiger-nations spring on nations ; 
 Though the stars yearn downward nightly, 
 Though the days come ever brightly. 
 Though to gentle holy couches 
 Death in angel's g^ise approaches. 
 Though they name Thee, though they woo 
 
 Thee, 
 Though they dream of, yeam unto Thee, 
 111 they guess the guise Thou bearest, 
 111 they pictiire Thee, Thou Fairest ; — 
 Come again, O Father wise. 
 Awe them with those loving eyes ! 
 
 Stars in heaven with tender faces. 
 Can ye see and keep yoiu" places ? 
 Flowers that on the E^arth will blossom. 
 Can ye deck so sad a bosom ? 
 Canst thou singing flow for ever 
 Through a world so dark, O River? 
 Father, canst Thou calmly scan 
 All that Man hath made of Man ? 
 
 THE SPIRIT OF FRANCE. 
 
 Who passeth there 
 
 Naked and bare, 
 A bloody sword upraising? 
 
 Who with thin moan 
 
 Glides past alone. 
 At the black heaven gazing ?
 
 THE SPIRIT OF FRANCE— APOTHEOSIS OF THE SWORD. 345 
 
 Limbs thin and stark, 
 
 Eyes sunken and dark, 
 The hghtning round her leaping? 
 
 \Vhat shape floats past 
 
 Upon the blast, 
 Crouching in pain and creeping? 
 
 Behold ! her eyes to heaven are cast. 
 And they are red with weeping. 
 
 Say a prayer thrice 
 
 With lips of ice : 
 'Tis she — yea, and no other ; 
 
 Look not at me 
 
 So piteously, 
 O France — O martyr mother ! 
 
 O whither now. 
 
 With branded brow 
 And bleeding heart, art flying ? 
 
 Whither away ? 
 
 O stand ! O stay ! 
 Tho' winds, waves, clouds are crA'ing — 
 
 Dawn cometh swift — 'twill soon be day- 
 The Storm of God is djing. 
 
 She will not speak, 
 
 But, spent and weak. 
 Droops her proud head and goeth ; 
 
 See ! she crawls past, 
 
 Upon the blast. 
 Whither no mortal knoweth — 
 
 O'er fields of fight. 
 
 Where glimmer white 
 Death's steed and its gaunt rider — 
 
 Thro' storm and snow 
 
 Behold her go, 
 With never a friend beside her — 
 
 O Shepherd of all winds that blow, 
 To Quiet Waters guide her ! 
 
 There, for a space. 
 
 Let her sad face 
 Fall in a tranquil mirror — 
 
 There spirit-sore 
 
 May she count o'er 
 Her sin, her shame, her error, — 
 
 And read with eyes 
 
 Made sweet and wise 
 What her strong God hath taught her, 
 
 With face grown fair 
 
 And bosom bare 
 And hands made clean from slaughter — 
 
 O Shepherd, seek and find her there, 
 Beside some Quiet Water ! 
 
 THE APOTHEOSIS OF THE 
 SWORD. 
 
 (Versailles, 1871.) 
 
 PRIEST. 
 Hark to the Song of the Sword ! 
 In the beginning, a Word 
 Came from the hps of the Lord ; 
 And He said, ' The Earth shall be, 
 And around the Earth and Sea, 
 And over these twain the Skies ; 
 And out of the Earth shall rise 
 Man, the last and the first ; 
 And Man shall hunger and thirst, 
 And shall eat of the fruits in the sun, 
 And drink of the streamlets that run. 
 And shall find the wild yellow grains. 
 And, opening earth, in its veins 
 Sow the seeds of the same ; for of bread 
 I have written that he shall be fed.' 
 Thus at the first said the Lord. 
 
 CHOIR. 
 
 Hark to the Song of the Sword ! 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Then Man sowed the grain, and to bread 
 
 Kneaded the grain, and was fed, 
 
 He and his household indeed 
 
 To the last generation and seed : 
 
 Then the children of men, young and old. 
 
 Sat by the waters of gold, 
 
 And ate of the bread and the fruit, 
 
 And drank of the stream, but made suit 
 
 For blessing no more than the brute. 
 
 And God said, ' 'Twere better to die 
 
 Than eat and drink merely, and lie 
 
 Beast-like and foul on the sod. 
 
 Lusting, forgetful of God ! ' 
 
 And he whispered, ' Dig deeper again. 
 
 Under the region of grain. 
 
 And bring forth the thing ye find there 
 
 Shapeless and dark ; and prepare 
 
 Fire, — and into the same 
 
 Cast what ye find — let it flame — 
 
 And when it is burning blood-bright, 
 
 Pluck it forth, and with hammers of might 
 
 Beat it out, beat it out, till ye mark 
 
 The thing that was shapeless and dark 
 
 Grown beautiful, azure, and keen, 
 
 Puri^ed in the fire and made clean.
 
 546 
 
 SONGS OF THE TERRIBLE YEAR. 
 
 Beautiful, holy, and bright. 
 
 Gleaming aloft in the light ; — 
 
 Then lift it, and wield ! ' said the Lord. 
 
 CHOIR. 
 
 Hark to the Song of the Sword ! 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Then Man with a brighter desire 
 Saw the beautiful thing from the fire, 
 And the slothful arose, and the mean 
 Trembled to see it so keen, 
 And God, as they gather'd and cried, 
 Thunder' d a World far and wide : 
 ' This Sword is the Sword of the Strong ! 
 It shall strike at the life's blood of wrong ; 
 It shall kill the unclean, it shall wreak 
 My doom on the shameful and weak ; 
 And the strong with this sign in their hands 
 Shall gather their hosts in the lands, 
 And strilce at the mean and the base, 
 And strengthen from race on to race ; 
 And the weak shall be wither'd at length, 
 For the glory of Man is his strength. 
 And the weak man must die,' saith the 
 Lord. 
 
 CHOIR. 
 
 Hark to the Song of the Sword ! 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Sire, whom all men of thy race 
 Name as their hope and their grace ; 
 King of the Rhine-water'd land. 
 Heart of the state and its hand, 
 Thou of the purple and crown, 
 Take, while thy servants bow down. 
 The Sword in thy grasp. 
 
 KAISER. 
 
 It is done. 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Uplift ! let it gleam in the sun — 
 Uplift in the name of the Lord I 
 
 CHOIR. 
 
 Hail to the King and the Sword ! 
 
 KAISER. 
 
 Lo ! how it gleams in the light, 
 Beautiful, bloody, and bright — 
 Such in the dark days of yore 
 The monarchs of Israel bore ; 
 .Such by the angels of heaven 
 To Charles the Mighty was given — 
 
 Yea, I uplift the Sword, "^ 
 
 Thus in the name of the Lord ! 
 
 THE CHIEFS. 
 
 Form ye a circle of fire 
 Around him, our King and our Sire — 
 While in the centre he stands. 
 Kneel with your swords in your ha:.»is, 
 Then with one voice deep and free 
 Echo like waves of the sea — 
 ' In the name of the Lord ! ' 
 
 CHANCELLOR. 
 
 Sire, while thou liftest the Sword, 
 
 Thus in the name of the Lord, 
 
 I too, thy slave, kneel and blend 
 
 My voice with the hosts that attend — 
 
 Yea, and while kneeling I hold 
 
 A scroll writ in letters of gold, 
 
 With the names of the monarchs who bow 
 
 Thy liegemen throned lower than tliou ; 
 
 Moreover, in letters of red. 
 
 Their names who ere long must be led 
 
 To thy feet, while thou liftest the Sword, 
 
 Thus in the name of the Lord. 
 
 VOICES WITHOUT. 
 
 Where is he ? — he fades from our sight ! 
 Where the Sword? — all is blacker ihan night. 
 Is it finish'd, that loudly ye cry? 
 Doth he sheathe the great Sword while we 
 
 die? 
 O bury us deep, most deep ; 
 Write o'er us, wherever we sleep, 
 ' In the name of the Lord ! ' 
 
 KAISER. 
 
 While I uplift the Sword, 
 
 Thus in the name of the Lord, 
 
 Why, with mine eyes full of tears. 
 
 Am 1 sick of the song in mine ears ? 
 
 God of the Israelite, hear ; 
 
 God of the Teuton, be near ; 
 
 Strengthen my pulse lest I fail. 
 
 Shut out these slain while they wail — 
 
 For they come with the voice of the grave 
 
 On the glory they give me and gave. 
 
 CHORUS. 
 
 In the name of the Lord ? Of what Lord ? 
 Where is He, this God of the Sword? 
 Unfold Him ; where hath He his throne? 
 Is he Lord of the Teuton alone?
 
 APOTHEOSIS OF THE SWORD -CHAUNT BY THE RHINE. 347 
 
 Doth He walk on the earth ? Doth He tread 
 On the hmbs of the dying and dead ? 
 Unfold Him ! We sicken, and long 
 To look on this God of the strong ! 
 
 PRIEST. 
 
 Hush ! In the name of the Lord, 
 Kneel ye, and bless ye the Sword ! 
 Bless it with soul and with brain, 
 Bless it for saved and for slain, 
 For the sake of the dead in the tomb, 
 For the sake of the child in the womb, 
 For the sake of these Kings on the knee, 
 For the sake of a world it shall free ! 
 Bless it, the Sword ! bless the Sword ! 
 Yea, in the name of the Lord ! 
 
 CHIEFS. 
 
 Deepen the circle of Fire 
 Around him, our King and our Sire ! 
 While in our centre he towers, 
 Kneeling, ye spirits, ye powers, 
 Bless it and bless it again. 
 Bless it for saved and for slain, 
 Bltss ye the beautiful Sword, 
 Aloud in the name of the Lord 1 
 
 KAISER. 
 
 In the name of the Lord ! 
 
 ALL. 
 
 In the name of the Lord ! 
 
 THE CHAUNT BY 
 RHINE. 
 
 (1871.) 
 
 THE 
 
 Te vero appello sanctissimum Flumen, 
 tibique futura pr;cdico : torrenti sanguine plenus 
 ad ripas usque erumpes, undjeque divintc non 
 solum polhientur sanguine, sed totse rumpentur, 
 et viris multo major erit Humerus sepultoruni. 
 Quid fles, O Asclepi ?— The Asclepian Dia- 
 logue. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 (From Germany.) 
 
 Flash the sword ! — and even as thunaer 
 
 Utter ye one living voice, — 
 While the watching nations wonder, 
 Hills of Fatherland, rejoice : 
 Echo !— echo back our prayers and accla- 
 mations 1 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 (From France.) 
 
 France, O Mother ! lie and hearken, 
 
 Make no bitterer sign of woe. 
 Here within thee all things darken. 
 All things brighten with thy foe : 
 Hush thy weeping ; still thy bitter lamen- 
 tations. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Flash the sword ! — A voice is flowing 
 
 From the Baltic bound in white. 
 Though 'tis blowing chill and snowing. 
 Blue-eyed Teutons see the light. 
 And the far white hills of Norway hear the 
 crying. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Thou too hearkenest, Mother dearest. 
 
 Thou too hearkenest through thy tears, 
 And thou tremblest as thou hearest. 
 For 'tis thunder in thine ears ; 
 And thou gazest on the dead and on the 
 dying. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Ltibeck answers and rejoices, 
 
 Though her dead are brought to her ; 
 Potsdam thunders ; there are voices 
 In the fields of Hanover ; 
 And the spirits of the lonely Hartz awaken. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 And in France's vales and mountains 
 
 Hands are wrung and tears are shed ; 
 Women sit by village fountains, 
 And the water bubbles red. 
 O comfort, O be of comfort -ye forsaken ! 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 O'er Bavarian woods and rivers, 
 
 Where the Brunswick heather waves, 
 On the glory goes and quivers 
 Through the Erzgebirge caves ; 
 And the swords of Styria gleam like moonlit 
 water. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 There is silence, there is weeping. 
 
 On the bloody banks of Seine, 
 And the unburied dead are sleeping 
 In the fields of trampled grain ; 
 While the roadside Christs stare down on 
 fields of slaughter.
 
 348 
 
 SOA'GS OF THE TERRIBLE YEAR. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Flash the sword ! Where need is sorest, 
 
 Sitting in the lonely night. 
 While the wind in the Black Forest 
 Moans, the woodman sees the light ; 
 And the hunters wind the horn and hail 
 each other. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Strasbourg sits among her ashes 
 
 With a last despairing cry ; 
 East and west red ruin flashes 
 With a red light on the sky. 
 Not a word ! Sit yet and hearken, O my 
 Mother 1 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Flash the sword ! The glades of Baden 
 
 Echo ; Jena laughs anon ; 
 Dresden old and Stuttgart gladden, 
 
 There is mirth in Ratisbon : — 
 And underneath the Linden there is leaping. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 In thine arms the horror tarries, 
 
 And the sword-flash gleams on thee, 
 Hide thy funeral face, O Paris, 
 Do not hearken ; do not see ; 
 Electra, clasp thine urn, and hush thy 
 weeping. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Hamburg kindles, and her women 
 
 Sadly smile remembering all ; 
 There are bitter smiles in Bremen, 
 Where Vandamme's fierce feet did fall ; 
 But the Katzbach, O the Katzbach laugheth 
 loudly ! 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Comfort, Mother ! hear not, heed not ; 
 
 Let the dead bury the dead ! 
 Fold thy powerless hands and plead not, 
 They remember sorrows fled, 
 And their dead go by them, silently and 
 proudly. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 O that Fritz's soul could hear it 
 
 In the walks of Sans Souci ! 
 O to waken Liitzow's spirit, 
 
 Bliicher's too, the grim and free ; 
 And the Jager, the wild Jagcr, would they 
 listen'd 1 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Comfort, Mother ! O cease weeping ! 
 
 Let the past bury the past : 
 Faces of the slain and sleeping 
 Gleam along upon the blast. 
 Yea, 'twas ' Leipsic' that they murmur'd as 
 they glisten'd. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 All the land of the great River 
 
 Slowly brightens near. and far ; 
 Lost for once, and saved for ever, 
 Korner's spirit like a star 
 Shooteth past, and all remember the 
 beginning. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 They are rising, they are winging. 
 
 Spirits of her singers dead : 
 'Tis an old song they are singing. 
 Fold thy hands and bow thy head. 
 But they sing for thee too, gentle to thy 
 sinning. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 And the River to the ocean 
 
 Rolls ; and all its castles dim 
 Gleam ; and with a shadowy motion. 
 Like a mist upon its brim. 
 Rise the Dead, — and look this way with 
 shining faces. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Thine, too, rise ! — and darkly cluster, 
 
 Moaning sad around thee now, 
 In their eyes there is no lustre, 
 They are cold as thy cold brow — 
 Let them vanish ; let them sleep in their 
 dark places. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Flash the sword ! In the fair valleys 
 
 Where the scented Neckar flows, 
 Fair-hair'd Teutons lift the chalice, 
 And the winter vineyard grows, 
 And the almond forests tremble into blos- 
 som. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 On thy vineyards the cold daylight 
 
 Gleams, and they are deadly chill ; 
 Women wander in the grey light. 
 And the lean trees whistle shrill ; 
 Hold thine urn, O martyr Mother, to thy 
 bosom.
 
 7 HE CHAUNT BY THE RHINE. 
 
 349 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Flash the sword ! Sweet notes of pleasure 
 
 O'er the Rhenish upland swell, 
 And the overhanging azure 
 Sees itself in the Moselle. 
 All the land of the great River gleams and 
 hearkens ! 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Dost thou hear them? dost thou see them? 
 
 There 'tis gladness, here 'tis pain ; 
 One great Spirit comes to free them. 
 But he holds thee with a chain. 
 All the land of the great City weeps and 
 darkens ! 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 River of the mighty people, 
 Broaden to the sea and flow. 
 
 Mirror tilth and farm and steeple, 
 Darken with boats that come and go. 
 Smile gently, like a babe that smiles and 
 prattles. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Yea ! and though thou flow for ever. 
 
 Bright and bloodless as to-day. 
 Scarcely wilt thou wash, O River, 
 Thy dark load of dead away, 
 O bloody River ! O field of many battles ! 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 On with great immortal waters 
 Brightening to a day divine. 
 Through the fields of many slaughters 
 Freely roll, O German Rhine. 
 Let the Teuton drink thy wine and wax the 
 stronger. 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 On and on, O mighty River, 
 
 Flow through lands of corn and vine^ 
 Turn away, O France, for ever, 
 Look no more upon tlie Rhine ; 
 On the River of many sorrows look no 
 longer. 
 
 FIRST VOICE. 
 
 Lo ! the white Alps for a token 
 With the wild aurora gleam, 
 And the Spectre of the Brocken 
 
 Stands aloft with locks that stream, — 
 All the land of the great River can behold it ! 
 
 SECOND VOICE. 
 
 Hide thine eyes and look not thither ! 
 
 For, in answer to their cries, 
 Fierce the Phantasm gazeth hither 
 With an Avenging Angel's eyes ; 
 It is fading, and the mists of storm enfold it ! 
 
 Saint Abe and his Seven Wives. 
 
 A TALE OF SALT LAKE CITY. 
 
 DEDICATION : TO OLD DAN 
 CHAUCER. 
 
 Maypole dance and Whitsun ale, 
 Sports of peasants in the dale, 
 Harvest mirth and junketting, 
 Fireside play and kiss-in-ring, 
 Ancient fun and wit and ease, — 
 Gone are one and all of these ; 
 All the pleasant pastime planned 
 In the green old Mother-land : 
 Gone are these and gone the time 
 Of the breezy English rhyme, 
 Sung to make men glad and wise 
 By great Bards with twinkling eyes : 
 
 Gone the tale and gone the song 
 Sound as nut-brown ale and strong, 
 Freshening the sultry sense 
 Out of idle impotence, 
 Sowuig features dull or bright 
 With deep dimples of delight ! 
 
 Thro' the Mother-land I went, 
 Seeking these, half indolent : 
 Up and down, I saw them not ; 
 Only found them, half-forgot, 
 Buried in long-darken'd nooks 
 With thy barrels of old books. 
 Where the light and love and mirth 
 Of the morning days of earth
 
 350 
 
 SAINT ABE AND IIJS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 Sleeps, like light of sunken suns 
 Brooding deep in cob-webb'd tuns ! 
 Everywhere I found instead, 
 Hanging her dejected head, 
 Karbing shafts of bitter v/it. 
 The pale Modern Spirit sit — 
 While her shadow, great as Gog's, 
 Cast upon the island fogs. 
 In the midst of all things dim 
 Loom'd, gigantically grim. 
 
 Honest Chaucer, thee I greet 
 In a verse with blithesome feet. 
 And, tho' modern bards may stare, 
 Crack a passing joke with Care ! 
 Take a merry song and true 
 Fraught vv-ith inner meanings too ! 
 Goodman Dull may croak and scowl : 
 Leave him hooting to the owl ! 
 Tight-laced Prudery may turn 
 Angry back with eyes that burn, 
 Reading on from page to page 
 Scrofulous novels of the age ! 
 Fools may frown and humbugs rail, 
 Not for them I tell the Tale ; 
 Not for them, but souls like thee, 
 Wise old English Jollity ! 
 
 Newport, October, 1S71. 
 
 APPROACHING UTAH. — THE 
 BOSS'S TALE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Passing the Ranche. 
 
 ' Grrr ! " shrieked the b&ss, with teeth 
 
 clench'd tight, 
 Just as the lone ranche hove in sight, 
 And with a face of ghastly hue 
 He flogg'd the horses till they flew, 
 As if the devil were at their back, 
 Along the wild and stony track. 
 I'Vom side to side the waggon swung, 
 While to the quaking seat I clung. 
 Dogs bark'd ; on each side of the pass 
 The cattle grazing on the grass 
 Raised heads and stared ; and with a cry 
 Out the men rush'd as we roll'd by. 
 'Grrr I' shriek'd the boss; and o'er and o'er 
 He flogg'd the foaming steeds and swore ; 
 Harder and harder grew his face 
 As by the ranche we swept apace, 
 And faced the hill, and past the pond, 
 And gallop'd up the height beyond, 
 Nor tighten'd rein till field and farm 
 Were hiddta by the mountain's arm 
 
 A mile behind ; when, hot and spent, 
 The horses paused on the ascent, 
 And mopping from his brow the sweat, 
 The boy glanced round with teeth still set, 
 And panting, with his eyes on me, 
 Smil'd with a look of savage glee. 
 
 Joe Wilson is the boss's name, 
 
 A Western boy well known to fame. 
 
 He goes about the dangerous land 
 
 His life for ever in his hand ; 
 
 Has lost three fingers in a fray, 
 
 Has scalp'd his Indian too they say ; 
 
 Between the white man and the red 
 
 Four times he hath been left for dead ; 
 
 Can drink, and swear, and laugh, and brawl. 
 
 And keeps his big heart thro' it all 
 
 Tender for babes and women. 
 
 He 
 Turned, smiled, and nodded savagely ; 
 Then, with a dark look in his eyes 
 In answer to my dumb surprise, 
 Pointed with jerk of the whip's heft 
 Back to the place that we had left. 
 And cried aloud, 
 
 ' I guess you think 
 I'm mad, or vicious, or m drink. 
 But theer you're wrong. 1 never pass 
 The ranche down theer and bit of grass, 
 I never pass 'em, night nor day. 
 But the fit takes me just that way I 
 The hosses know as well as me 
 What's coming, miles afore we see 
 The dern'd old corner of a place. 
 And they git ready for the race ! 
 Lord I if I didn't iash and sweer, 
 And ease my rage out passing theer, 
 Guess I should go clean mad, that's all. 
 And thet's the reason why I call 
 This turn of road where I am took 
 Jest Old Nick's Gallop ! ' 
 
 Then his look 
 Grew more subdued yet darker still ; 
 And as the horses up the hill 
 With loosen'd rein toil'd slowly, he 
 Went on in half soliloquy, 
 Indifferent almost if I heard. 
 And grimly grinding out each word. 
 
 II. 
 
 Joe Wilson goes a-Courting. 
 
 ' There was a time, and no mistake, 
 When thet same ranche down in the brake
 
 THE BOSS'S TALE. 
 
 351 
 
 Was pleasanter a heap to me 
 
 Than any sight on land or sea. 
 
 The hosses knew it hke their master, 
 
 Smelt it miles orf, and spank'd the faster ! 
 
 Ay, bent to reach thet very spot, 
 
 Flew till they halted steaming hot 
 
 Sharp opposite the door, among 
 
 The chicks and children old and young ; 
 
 And down I'd jump, and all the go 
 
 Was ' Fortune, boss ! ' and ' Welcome, 
 
 Joe!' 
 And Cissy with her shining face, 
 Tho' she was missus of the place. 
 Stood larfing, hands upon her hips ; 
 And when upon her rosy lips 
 I put my mouth and gave her one, 
 She'd cuff me, and enjy the fun ! 
 She was a widow young and tight. 
 Her chap had died in a free fight, 
 And here she lived, and round her had 
 Two chicks, three brothers, and her dad. 
 All making money fast as hay, 
 And doing better every day. 
 Waal ! guess tho' I was peart and swift. 
 Spooning was never much my gift ; 
 But Cissy was a gal so sweet. 
 So fresh, so spicy, and so neat. 
 It put your wits all out o' place, 
 Only to star' into her face. 
 Skin whiter than a new-laid egg. 
 Lips full of juice, and sech a leg ! 
 A smell about her, morn and e'en. 
 Like fresh-bleach'd linen on a green ; 
 And from her hand when she took mine. 
 The warmth ran up Hke sherry wine ; 
 And if in liquor I made free 
 To pull her larfing on my knee, 
 Why, there she'd sit, and feel so nice. 
 Her heer all scent, her breath all spice ! 
 Sec ! women hate, both young and old, 
 A chap that's over shy and cold, 
 And fire of all sorts kitches quick, 
 And Cissy seem'd to feel full slick 
 The same fond feelings, and at last 
 Grew kinder every time I passed ; 
 And all her face, from eyes to chin. 
 Said ' Bravo, Joe ! You're safe to win ! ' 
 And tho' we didn't fix, d'ye see. 
 In downright words that it should be, 
 Ciss and her fam'ly understood 
 That she and me would jine for good. 
 Guess I was like a thirsty boss 
 Dead beat for days, who comes across 
 
 A fresh clear beck, and on the brink 
 
 Scoops out his shaky hand to drink ; 
 
 Or like a gal or boy of three, 
 
 With eyes upon a pippin-tree ; 
 
 Or like some Injin cuss who sees 
 
 A bottle of rum among the trees. 
 
 And by the bit of smouldering log, 
 
 Where squatters camp'd and took their grog 
 
 The night afore. Waal ! ' (here he ground 
 
 His teeth again with savage sound) 
 
 ' Waal, stranger, fancy, jest for fun, 
 
 The feelings of the thirsty one, 
 
 If, jest as he scoop'd out his hand, 
 
 The water turn'd to dust and sand ! 
 
 Or fancy how the lad would scream 
 
 To see thet fruit-tree jest a dream ! 
 
 Or guess how thet poor Injin cuss. 
 
 Would dance and swear, and screech and 
 
 fuss, 
 If when he'd drawn the cork and tried 
 To get a gulp of rum inside, 
 'Twarn't anything in thet theer style. 
 But physic stuff or stinking ile ! 
 Ah 1 you've a notion now, I guess, 
 Of how all ended in a mess. 
 And how when I was putting in 
 My biggest card and thought to win, 
 The Old One taught her how to cheat. 
 And yer I found myself, clean beat ! ' 
 
 III. • 
 
 Saint and Disciple. 
 
 Joe Wilson paused, and gazed straight 
 
 down. 
 With gritting teeth and bitter frown. 
 And not till I entreated him 
 Did he continue, — fierce and grim, 
 With knitted brow and teeth clench'd tight. 
 
 ' Along this way one summer night. 
 Jest as I meant to take the prize. 
 Passed an Apostle — dern his eyes ! — 
 On his old pony, gravel-eyed. 
 His legs a-dangling down each side, 
 With twinkling eyes and wheedling smile. 
 Grinning beneath his broad-brimm'd tile. 
 With heer all scent and shaven face, 
 He came a-trotting to the place. 
 My luck was bad, I wasn't near, 
 But busy many a mile from yer ; 
 And what I tell was told to me 
 By them as were at hand to see.
 
 i52 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 'Twarn't every day, I reckon, they 
 
 Saw an Apostle pass their way ! 
 
 And Cissy, being kind o' soft, 
 
 And empty in the upper loft. 
 
 Was full of downright joy and pride 
 
 To hev that saint at her fireside — 
 
 One of the seventy they call 
 
 The holiest holy — dern 'em all ! 
 
 O he was 'cute and no mistake, 
 
 Deep as Salt Lake, and wide awake ! 
 
 Theer at the ranche three days he stayed. 
 
 And well he knew his lying trade. 
 
 'Twarn't long afore he heard full free 
 
 About her larks and thet with me. 
 
 And how 'twas quite the fam'ly plan 
 
 To hev me for her second man. 
 
 At fust thet old Apostle said 
 
 Little, but only shook his head ; 
 
 But you may bet he'd no intent 
 
 To let things go as things had went. 
 
 Three nights he stayed, and every night 
 
 He squeezed her hand a bit more tight ; 
 
 And every night he didn't miss 
 
 To give a loving kiss to Ciss ; 
 
 And tho' his fust was on her brow, 
 
 He ended with her mouth, somehow. 
 
 O, but he was a knowing one. 
 
 The Apostle Hiram Higginson ! 
 
 Grey as a badger's was his heer, 
 
 His age was over sixty year 
 
 (Her grandfather was little older), 
 
 So short, his head just touch'd her 
 
 shoulder ; 
 His face all grease, his voice all puff. 
 His eyes two currants stuck in duff: — 
 Call thet a man !— then look at me ! 
 Thretty year old and six foot three, 
 Afear'd o' nothing morn nor night, 
 The man don't walk I wouldn't fight ! 
 Women is women I Thet's their style — 
 Talk reason to them and they'll bile ; 
 But baste 'em soft as any pigeon. 
 With lies and rubbish and religion ; 
 Don't talk of ilesh and blood and feeling, 
 But Holy Ghost and blessed h--aling ; 
 Don't name things in too plain a way, 
 Look a heap warmer than you say. 
 Make 'em believe they're serving true 
 The Holy Spirit and not you. 
 Prove all the world but you's damnation. 
 And call your kisses jest salvation ; 
 Do this, and press 'em on the sly. 
 You're safe to win 'em. Jest you try ! 
 
 ' Fust thing I heerd of all this game. 
 
 One night when to the ranche I came, 
 
 Jump'd down, ran in, saw Cissy theer. 
 
 And thought her kind o' cool and queer ; 
 
 For when I caught her with a kiss, 
 
 'Twarn't that she took the thing amiss, 
 
 But kept stone cool and gev a sigh, 
 
 And wiped her mouth upon the sly 
 
 On her white milkin' -apron. " Waal," 
 
 Says \, "you're out o' sorts, my gel ! " 
 
 And with a squeamish smile for me. 
 
 Like folks hev when they're sick at sea. 
 
 Says she, " O, Joseph, ere too late, 
 
 I am awaken'd to my state — 
 
 How pleasant and how sweet it is 
 
 To be in sech a state of bliss ! " 
 
 I stared and gaped, and turned to Jim 
 
 Her brother, and cried out to him, 
 
 " Hullo, mate, what's the matter here ? 
 
 What's come to Cissy ? Is she qiieerl" 
 
 Jim gev a grin and answered, " Yes, 
 
 A trifle out o' sorts, I guess." 
 
 But Cissy here spoke up and said, 
 
 " It ain't my stomach, nor my head. 
 
 It ain't my flesh, it ain't my skin. 
 
 It's holy spirits here within ! ' ' 
 
 " Waal," says I, meanin' to be kind, 
 
 " I must be off, for I'm behind ; 
 
 But next time that I pass this way 
 
 We'll fix ourselves without delay. 
 
 I know what your complaint is, Ciss, 
 
 I've seen the same in many a miss. 
 
 Keep up your spirits, thet's your plan, 
 
 You're lonely here without a man. 
 
 And you shall hev as good a one 
 
 As e'er druv hoss beneath the sun ! " 
 
 At that I buss'd her with a smack, 
 
 Turn'd out, jump'd up, and took the track, 
 
 And larfing druv along the pass. 
 
 ' Theer ! Guess I was as green as grass ! ' 
 
 IV, 
 
 The Book of Mormon. 
 
 ' 'Twas jest a week after thet day 
 When down I druv again this way. 
 My heart was light ; and 'neath the box 
 I'd got a shawl and two fine frocks 
 For Cissy. On in spanking style 
 The bosses went mile arter mile ; 
 The sun was blazing golden bright, 
 The sunflowers burning in the light,
 
 THE BOSS'S TALE. 
 
 353 
 
 The cattle in the golden gleer 
 Wading for coolness everywheer 
 Among the shinin' ponds, with flies 
 As thick as pepper round their eyes 
 And on their heads. See ! as I went 
 Whistling like mad and waal content, 
 Altho' 'twas broad bright day all round, 
 A cock crow'd, and I thought the sound 
 Seem'd pleasant. Twice or thrice he crow'd, 
 And then up to the ranche I rode. 
 Since then I've often heard folk say 
 When a cock crows in open day 
 It's a bad sign, announcin' clear 
 black luck or death to those thet hear. 
 
 ' When I drew up, all things were still. 
 
 I saw the boys far up the hill 
 
 Tos in' the hay ; but at the door 
 
 No Cissy stood as oft afore. 
 
 No, not a soul there, left nor right, 
 
 Her very chicks were out o' sight. 
 
 So down I jump'd, and " Ciss ! " I cried, 
 
 But not a sign of her outside. 
 
 With thet into the house I ran. 
 
 But found no sight of gel or man — 
 
 All empty. Thinks I, " This is queer ! " — 
 
 Look'd in the dairy — no one theer ; 
 
 Then loiter'd round the kitchen track 
 
 Into the orchard at the back : 
 
 Under the fruit-trees' shade I pass'd, . . . 
 
 Thro' the green bushes, . . . and at last 
 
 Found, as the furthest patli I trode, 
 
 The gel I wanted. Ye ... s ! by ! 
 
 ' The gel I wanted— ay, I found 
 
 More than I wanted, you'll be bound ! 
 
 Theer, seated on a wooden cheer. 
 
 With bows and ribbons in her heer, 
 
 Her hat a-swinging on a twig 
 
 Close by, sat Ciss in her best rig, 
 
 And at her feet that knowing one, 
 
 The Apostle Hiram Higginson ! 
 
 They were too keen to notice me, 
 
 So I held back behind a tree 
 
 And watch'd 'em. Never night nor day 
 
 Did I see Cissy look so gay. 
 
 Her eyes all sparkling blue and bright. 
 
 Her face all sanctified delight. 
 
 She hed her gown tuck'd up to show 
 
 Embrider'd petticoat below, 
 
 And jest a glimpse, below the white. 
 
 Of dainty leg in stocking tight 
 
 With crimson clocks ; and on her knee 
 
 She held an open book, which he. 
 
 Thet dern'd Apostle at her feet, 
 With her low milking-stool for seat 
 Was reading out all clear and pat 
 K eeping the place with finger fat ; 
 Creeping more close to book and '. jtter 
 To feel the warmth of his text better 
 His crimson face like a cock's hea""! 
 With his emotion as he read, 
 And now and then his eyes he'd closf* 
 Jest like a cock does when he crov s 
 Above the heads of thet strange iwo 
 The shade was deep, the sky was blue, 
 The place was full of warmth and sinell. 
 All round the fruit and fruit-leaves fell, 
 And that Saint's voice, when all was still, 
 Was like the groanin' of a mill. 
 
 ' At last he stops for lack of wind, 
 And smiled with sarcy double-chinn'd 
 F"at face at Cissy, while she cried. 
 Rocking herself from side to side, 
 " O Bishop, them are words of bliss ! " 
 And then he gev a long fat kiss 
 On her warm hand, and edged his stool 
 Still closer. Could a man keep cool 
 And see it? Trembling thro' and thro' 
 I walked right up to thet theer two. 
 And caught the dern'd old lump of duff 
 Jest by the breeches and the scruff, 
 And chuck'd him off, and with one kick 
 Sent his stool arter him right slick — 
 While Cissy screani'd with frighten'd face, 
 " Spare him ! O spare that man of grace ! ' 
 
 ' " .Spare him ! " I cried, and gev a shout, 
 " What's tliis yer shine you air about — 
 Wiiat cuss is this that I jest see 
 Wiih that big book upon your knee, 
 Cuddling up close and making sham 
 To read a heap of holy flam ? " 
 Tiien Cissy clasp'd her hands, and said, 
 Wliile that dern'd Saint sat fierce and red. 
 Mopping his brow with a black frown. 
 And squatting where I chuck'd him down, 
 "Joe Wilson, stay your hand so bold, 
 Come not a wolf into the fold ; 
 l'"orbcar to touch that holy one — 
 The Apostle Hiram Higginson." 
 "Touch him ! " said I ; "for half a pin 
 I'd flay and quarter him and skin ! 
 Waal may he look so while and skecr'd, 
 Kor of his doings I have heerd ; 
 Five wives he hev already done, 
 And him — not half the man for one ! " 
 
 A A
 
 354 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 ' And then I stoop'd and took a peep 
 
 At what they'd studied at so deep, 
 
 And read, for I can read a bit, 
 
 "The Book of Mormon " — what was writ 
 
 By the first Saint of all the lot, 
 
 Mad Joseph, him the Yankees shot. 
 
 ' ' What's the contents of this yer book ? " 
 
 Says I, and fixed her with a look. 
 
 " O Joe," she answered, " read aright. 
 
 It is a book of blessed light — 
 
 Thet holy man expounds it clear ; 
 
 Edification great is theer ! " 
 
 Then, for my blood was up, I took 
 
 One kick at thet infernal book. 
 
 And iho' the Apostle guv a cry. 
 
 Into the well I made it fly. 
 
 And turning to the Apostle cried, 
 
 " Tho' thet theer Scriptur' is your guide, 
 
 You'd best depart without delay, 
 
 Afore you sink in the same way ! 
 
 And sure as fate you'll wet your skin 
 
 If you come courting yer agin 1 " 
 
 ' At first he stared and puff 'd and blew, — 
 ' ' Git out ! " I cried, and off he flew. 
 And not till he was out o' reach 
 Shook his fat fist and found his speech. 
 I turned to Cissy. "Cicely Dunn," 
 Ses I, "is this a bit of fun 
 Or earnest?" Reckon 'twas a sight 
 To see the way she stood upright. 
 Rolled her blue eyes up, tried to speak, 
 Made fust a giggle, then a squeak, 
 And said half crying, " I despise 
 Your wicked calumnies and lies. 
 And what you would insinuate 
 Won't move me from my blessed state. 
 Now I perceive in time, thank hiven, 
 You are a man to anger given. 
 Jealous and vi'lent. Go away ! 
 And when you recollect this day, 
 And those bad words you've said to me, 
 Blush if you kin. Tehee ! tehee ! " 
 And then she sobbed, and in her cheer 
 Fell crying : so I felt quite queer, 
 And stood like a dem'd fool, and star'd 
 Watchin' the pump a-going hard ; 
 And then at last, I couldn't stand 
 The sight no more, but slipt my hand 
 Sharp into hers, and said quite kind, 
 " Say no more. Cissy — never mind ; 
 I know how queer you women's ways is — 
 Let the Apostle go to blazes ! " 
 
 Now thet was plain and fair. With this 
 I would have put my arm round Ciss. 
 But Lord ! you should have seen her face, 
 When I attempted to embrace ; 
 Sprang to her feet and gev a cry. 
 Her back up like a cat's, her eye 
 All blazing, and cried fierce and clear, 
 " You villain, touch me if you deer ! " 
 And jest then in the distance, fur 
 From danger, a voice echoed her, — 
 The dern'd Apostle's, from some place 
 Where he had hid his ugly face, — 
 Crying out faint and thick and clear, 
 ' ' Yes, villain, touch her if you deer ! " 
 
 ' So riled I was, to be so beat, 
 I could have struck her to my feet. 
 I didn't tho', tho' sore beset — 
 I never struck a woman yet. 
 
 ' But off I walked right up the pass. 
 And found the men among the grass. 
 And when I came in sight said flat, 
 ' ' What's this yer gatne Cissy is at ? 
 She's thrown me off, and taken pity 
 On an Apostle from the City. 
 Five wives already, too, has he — 
 Poor cussed things as e'er I see — 
 Does she mean viischiefor a lark}" 
 Waal, all the men at thet look'd dark, 
 And scratch'd their heads and seem'd in 
 
 doubt. 
 At last her brother Jim spoke out — 
 "Joe, don't blame us — by George, it's true, 
 We're chawed by this as much as you ; 
 We've done our best and tried and tried. 
 But Ciss is off her head with pride. 
 And all her thoughts, both night and day, 
 Are with the Apostles fur away. 
 ' O that I were in bliss with them 
 Theer in the new Jerusalem ! ' 
 She says ; and when we laugh and sneer, 
 Ses we're jest raging wolves down here. 
 She's a bit dull at home d'ye see, 
 .\llays liked heaps of company. 
 And now the foolish critter paints 
 A life of larks among the Saints. 
 We've done our best, don't hev a doubt. 
 To keep the old Apostle out : 
 We've trained the dogs to seize and bite him, 
 We've got up ghosts at night to fright him, 
 Doctor'd his boss and so upset him. 
 Put tickle-grass in bed to fret him,
 
 THE BOSS'S TALE. 
 
 355 
 
 Jalap'd his beer and snuffed his tea too, 
 Gunpowder in his pipe put free too ; 
 A dozen times we've well-nigh kill'd him, 
 We've skeer'd him, shaken him, and spill'd 
 
 him ; 
 In fact, done all we deer," said Jim, 
 "Against a powerful man like him ; 
 But all in vain we've hed our sport ; 
 Jest like a cat that cant be hurt, 
 With nine good lives if he hev one, 
 Is this same Hiram Higginson ! " ' 
 
 Joe ends his Story— First Glimpse 
 OF Utah. 
 
 Joe paused, for down the mountain's brow, 
 
 His hastening horses trotted now. 
 
 Into a canyon green and light, 
 
 Thro' which a beck was sparkling light, 
 
 Quickly we wound. Joe Wilson lit 
 
 His cutty pipe, and suck'd at it 
 
 In silence grim ; and when it drew. 
 
 Puff after puff of smoke he blew, 
 
 With blank eye fixed on vacancy. 
 
 At last he turned again to me, 
 
 And spoke with bitter indignation 
 
 The epilogue of his narration. 
 
 ' Waal, stranger, guess my story's told. 
 
 The Apostle beat and I was bowl'd. 
 
 Reckon I might have won if I 
 
 Had allays been at hand to try ; 
 
 But I was busy out of sight. 
 
 And he was theer, morn, noon, and night, 
 
 Playing his cards, and waal it weer 
 
 For him I never caught him theer. 
 
 To cut the story short, I guess 
 
 He got the Prophet to say "yes," 
 
 And Cissy without much ado 
 
 Gev her consent to hev him too ; 
 
 And one fine morning off they druv 
 
 To what he called the Abode of Love — 
 
 A dern'd old place, it seems to me. 
 
 Jest like a dove-box on a tree, 
 
 Where every lonesome woman soul 
 
 Sits shivering in her own hole, 
 
 And on the outside, free to choose. 
 
 The old cock-pigeon struts and coos. 
 
 I've heard from many a one that Ciss 
 
 Has found her blunder out by this, 
 
 And she'd prefer for eom[)any 
 
 A brisk young chap, tho' poor, like me, 
 
 Than the sixth part of him she's won — 
 
 The holy Hiram Higginson. 
 
 I've got a peep at her since then, 
 
 When she's crawl'd out of thet theer 
 
 den, 
 But she's so pale and thin and tame 
 I shouldn't know her for the same. 
 No flesh to pinch upon her cheek. 
 Her legs gone thin, no voice to speak, 
 Dabby and crush'd, and sad and flabby, 
 Sucking a wretched squeaking baby ; 
 And all the fun and all the light 
 Gone from her face, and left it white. 
 Her cheek '11 take a feeble flush. 
 But hesn't blood enough to blush ; 
 Tries to seem modest, peart and sly, 
 And brighten up if I go by, 
 But from the corner of her eyes 
 Peeps at me quietly, and sighs. 
 Reckon her luck has been a stinger ! 
 She'd bolt if I held up my finger ; 
 But tho' I'm rough, and wild, and free, 
 Take a Saint's leavings — no not me ! 
 You've heerd of Vampires — them that rise 
 At dead o' night with flaming eyes. 
 And into women's beds '11 creep 
 To suck their blood when they're asleep. 
 I guess these Saints are jest the same. 
 Sucking the life out is their game ; 
 And tho' it ain't in the broad sun 
 Or in the open streets it's done. 
 There ain't a woman they clap eyes on 
 Their teeth don't touch, their touch don't 
 
 pison ; 
 Thet's their dern'd way in this yer spot — 
 Grrr ! git along, hoss ! dern you, trot ! ' 
 
 From pool to pool the wild beck sped 
 Beside us, dwindled to a thread. 
 With mellow verdure fringed around 
 It sang along with summer sound : 
 Here gliding into a green glade ; 
 Here darting from a nest of shade 
 With sudden sparkle and quick cry, 
 As glad again to meet the sky ; 
 Here whirling off with eager will 
 And quickening tread to turn a mill ; 
 Then stealing from the busy place 
 With duskier depths and wearier pace 
 In the blue void above the beck 
 Sailed with us, dwindled to a speck, 
 The hen-hawk ; and from pools below 
 The blue- wing' d heron oft rose slow, 
 
 A A 2
 
 556 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 And upward pass'd with measured beat 
 Of wing to seek some new retreat. 
 Blue was the heaven and darkly bright, 
 Suffused with throbbing golden light, 
 And in the burning Indian ray 
 A million insects hummed at play. 
 Soon, by the margin of the stream, 
 We passed a driver with his team 
 Bound for the City ; then a hound 
 Afar off made a dreamy sound ; 
 And suddenly the sultry track 
 Left the green canyon at our back, 
 And sweeping round a curve, behold ! 
 We came inio the yellow gold 
 Of perfect sunlight on the plain ; 
 And Joe abruptly drawing rein. 
 Said quick and sharp, shading his eyes 
 With sunburnt hand, ' See, theer it lies— 
 Theer's Sodom ! ' 
 
 And even as he cried. 
 The mighty Valley we espied. 
 Burning below us in one ray 
 Of liquid light that summer day ; 
 And far away, 'mid peaceful gleams 
 Of flocks and herds and glistering streams. 
 Rose, fair as aught that fancy paints, ■ 
 The wondrous City of the Saints ! 
 
 THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 O Saints that shine around the heavenly Seat ! 
 
 What heaven is this that opens at my feet ? 
 
 What flocks are these that thro' the golden gleam 
 
 Stray on by freckled fields and shining stream? 
 
 What glittering roofs and white kiosks are these 
 
 Up-peeping from the shade of emerald trees? 
 
 Whose City is this that rises on the sight 
 Fair and fantastic as a city of light 
 Seen in the sunset? What is yonder sea 
 Opening beyond the City cool and free, 
 Large, deep, and luminous, looming thro' the 
 
 heat, 
 And lying at the darkly shadowed feet 
 Of the Sierras, which with jagged line 
 Burning to amber in the light divine, 
 Close in the Valley of the happy land, 
 With heights as barren as a dead man's hand ? 
 
 O pilgrim, halt ! O wandering heart, give praise ! 
 Behold the City of these Latter Days ! 
 Here raay'st thou leave thy load and be for- 
 given. 
 And in anticipation taste of Heaven 1 
 
 Among the Pastures— Summf.r 
 Evening Dialogue. 
 
 Rhhop Pete. Bishop Joss. Stranger. 
 
 BISHOP pete. 
 
 Ah, things down here, as you observe, are 
 
 getting more pernicious. 
 And Brigham's losing all his nerve, altho' 
 
 the fix is vicious. 
 Jest as we've rear'd a prosperous place and 
 
 fiU'd our holy quivers. 
 The Yankee comes with dem'd long face to 
 
 give us all the shivers ! 
 And on his jaws a wicked grin prognosti- 
 cates disaster. 
 And, jest as sure as sin is sin, he means to 
 
 be the master. 
 • Pack up your traps,' I hear him cry, ' for 
 
 here there's no remainin',' 
 And winks with his malicious eye, and 
 
 progues us out of Canaan. 
 
 BISHOP JOSS. 
 
 It ain't the Yankee that / fear, the neigh- 
 bour, nor the stranger — 
 No, no, it's closer home, it's here, that I 
 
 perceive the danger. 
 The wheels of State has gather'd rust, the 
 
 helm wants hands to guide it, 
 'Tain't from without the biler'U bust, but 
 
 'cause of steam inside it ; 
 Yet if we went falootin' less, and made less 
 
 noise and flurry. 
 It isn't Jonathan, I guess, would hurt us in 
 
 a hurry. 
 But there's sedition east and west, and 
 
 secret revolution, 
 There's canker in the social breast, rot in 
 
 the constitution ; 
 And over half of us, at least, are plunged 
 
 in mad vexation. 
 Forgetting how our race increased, our very 
 
 creed's foundation. 
 What's our religion's strength and force, its 
 
 substance, and its story ? 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Polygamy, my friend, of course ! the law of 
 love and glory !
 
 THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 357 
 
 BISHOP PETE. 
 
 Stranger, I'm with you there, indeed : — it's 
 
 been the best of nusses ; 
 Polygamy is to our creed what meat and 
 
 drink to vs is. 
 Destroy that notion any day, and all the 
 
 rest is brittle, 
 And Mormondom dies clean away like one 
 
 in want of vittle. 
 It's meat and drink, it's life, it's power ! to 
 
 heaven its breath doth win us ! 
 It warms our vitals every hour ! it's Holy 
 
 Ghost within us ! 
 Jest lay that notion on the shelf, and all 
 
 life's springs are frozen ! 
 I've half a dozen wives myself, and wish I 
 
 had a dozen ! 
 
 BISHOP JOSS. 
 
 If all the Elders of the State like yoii were 
 sound and holy, 
 
 P. Shufflebotham, guess our fate were far 
 less melancholy. 
 
 You air a man of blessed toil, far-shining 
 and discerning, 
 
 A heavenly lamp well trimm'd with oil, 
 upon the altar burning. 
 
 And yet for every one of us with equal re- 
 solution. 
 
 There's twenty samples of the Cuss, as 
 mean as Brother Clewson. 
 
 STRANGER, 
 
 St. Abe? 
 
 BISHOP JOSS. 
 
 Yes, him — the snivelling sneak — his very 
 
 name provokes me, — 
 Altho' my temper's milky-meek, he sours 
 
 me and he chokes me. 
 To see him going up and down with tliose 
 
 meek lips asunder. 
 Jest like a man about to drown, with lead 
 
 to sink him under. 
 His grey hair on his shoulders shed, one 
 
 leg than t'other shorter. 
 No end of culeness in his head, and him — 
 
 as weak as water 1 
 
 BISHOP PETE. 
 
 And yet how well I can recall the time 
 
 when Abe was younger — 
 Why not a chap among us all went for the 
 
 notion stronger. 
 
 When to the mother-country he was sent 
 
 to wake the sinning. 
 He shipp'd young lambs across the sea by 
 
 flocks — he was so winning ; 
 O but he had a lively style, describing 
 
 saintly blisses ! 
 He made the spirit pant and smile, and 
 
 seek seraphic kisses ! 
 How the bright raptures of the Saint fresh 
 
 lustre seemed to borrow. 
 While black and awful he did paint the 
 
 one-wived sinner's sorrow ! 
 Each woman longed to be his bride, and by 
 
 his side to slumber — 
 ' The more the blesseder ! ' he cried, still 
 
 adding to the number. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 How did the gentleman contrive to change 
 his skin so quickly ? 
 
 BISHOP JOSS. 
 
 The holy Spirit couldn't thrive because the 
 
 Flesh was sickly ! 
 Tho' day by day he did increase his flock, 
 
 his soul was shallow, 
 His brains were only candle-grease, and 
 
 wasted down like tallow. 
 He stoop'd a mighty heap too much, and 
 
 let his household rule him, 
 The weakness of the man was such that 
 
 any face could fool him. 
 Ay ! made his presence cheap, no doubt, 
 
 and so contempt grew quicker, — 
 Not measuring his notice out in smallish 
 
 drams, like liquor. 
 His house became a troublous house, with 
 
 mischief overbrimmin', 
 And he went creeping like a mouse among 
 
 the cats of women. 
 Ah, womenfolk are hard to rule, their tricks 
 
 is most surprising. 
 It's only a dcrnd spoony fool goes senll- 
 
 mentalising I 
 But give 'em now and then a bit of notice 
 
 and a present. 
 And lor, they're just like doves, that sit on 
 
 one green branch, all pleasant ! 
 But Abe's love was a queer complaint, a 
 
 sort of tertian fever, 
 Each case he cured of thought the Saint a 
 
 thorough-paced deceiver ;
 
 358 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 And soon he found, he did indeed, with all 
 
 their wliims to nourish, 
 I'hat Mormonism ain't a creed where 
 
 fleshly follies flourish. 
 
 BISHOP PETE. 
 
 Ah, right you air ! A creed it is demandin' 
 
 iron mettle ! 
 A will that quells, as soon as riz, the failing 
 
 of the kettle ! 
 With wary eye, with manner deep, a spirit 
 
 overbrimiTiin', 
 Like to a shepherd 'mong his sheep, the 
 
 Saint is 'mong his women ; 
 And unto him they do uplift their eyes in 
 
 awe and wonder ; 
 His notice is a blessed gift, his anger is 
 
 blue thunder. 
 No n'ises vex the holy place where dwell 
 
 those blessed parties ; 
 Each missus shineth in her place, and 
 
 blithe and meek her heart is ! 
 They sow, they spin, they darn, they hem, 
 
 their blessed babes they handle. 
 The Devil never comes to the?n, lit by that 
 
 holy candle ! 
 When in their midst serenely walks their 
 
 Master and their Mentor, 
 They're hush'd, as when the Prophet stalks 
 
 down holy church's centre ! 
 They touch his robe, they do not move, 
 
 those blessed wives and mothers, 
 And, when on one he shineth love, no envy 
 
 fills the others ; 
 They know his perfect saintliness, and 
 
 honour his affection — 
 And, if they did object, I guess he'd settle 
 
 that objection ! 
 
 BISHOP JOSS. 
 
 It ain't a passionate flat like Abe can 
 
 manage things in your way ! 
 They teased that most etarnal babe, till 
 
 things were in a poor way. 
 I used to watch his thorny bed, and bust 
 
 my sides with laughter. 
 Once give a female boss her head you'll 
 
 never stop her after. 
 It's one thing getting seal'd, and he was 
 
 mighty fond of Sealing, 
 He'd all the human heat, d'ye see, without 
 
 the saintly feeling. 
 
 His were the wildest set of gals that ever 
 
 drove man silly, 
 Each full of freaks and fal-de-lals, as frisky 
 
 as a filly. 
 One puU'd this way, and t'other that, and 
 
 made his life a mockery, 
 They'd all the feelings of a cat scampaging 
 
 'mong the crockery. 
 I saw Abe growing pale and thin, and well 
 
 I knew what ail'd him — 
 The skunk went stealing out and in, and 
 
 all his spirit failed him ; 
 And tho' the tanning-yard paid well, and 
 
 he was money-making. 
 His saintly home was hot as Hell, and, ah ! 
 
 how he was baking ! 
 Why, now and then at evening-time, when 
 
 his day's work was over, 
 Up this here hill he used to chmb and squat 
 
 among the clover, 
 And with his fishy eye he'd glare across the 
 
 Rocky Mountains, 
 And wish he was away up there, among 
 
 the heavenly fountains ! 
 I had an aunt, Tabitha Brooks, a virgin 
 
 under fifty. 
 She warn't so much for pretty looks, but 
 
 she was wise and thrifty : 
 She'd seen the vanities of life, was good at 
 
 'counts and brewin' — 
 Thinks I, ' Here's just the sort of Wife to 
 
 save poor Abe from ruin.' 
 So, after fooling many a week, and showing 
 
 him she loved him. 
 And seeing he was shy to speak, whatever 
 
 feelings moved him. 
 At last I took her by the hand, and led her 
 
 to him straightway. 
 One day when we could see him stand jest 
 
 close unto the gateway. 
 My words were to the p'int and brief : says 
 
 I, ' My brother Clewson, 
 There'll be an end to all your grief, if 
 
 you've got resolution. 
 Where shall you find a house that thrives 
 
 without a head that's ruling? 
 Here is the paragon of wives to teach those 
 
 others schooling ! 
 She'll be to you not only wife, but careful 
 
 as a mother — 
 A little property for life is hers ; you'll 
 
 share it, brother.
 
 THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 359 
 
 I've seen the question morn and eve within 
 
 your eyes unspoken, 
 You're slow and nervous I perceive, but 
 
 now — the ice is broken. 
 Here is a guardian and a guide to bless a 
 
 man and grace him ; ' 
 And then I to Tabitha cried, ' Go in, old 
 
 gal — embrace him ! ' 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Why, that was acting fresh and fair ; — but 
 Abe, was he as hearty ? 
 
 BISHOP JOSS. 
 
 We . . 11 ! Abe was never anywhere 
 
 against 2^. female party ! 
 At first he seemed about to run, and then 
 
 we might have missed him ; 
 But Tabby was a tender one, she collar' d 
 
 him and kissed him. 
 And round his neck she blushing hung, 
 
 part holding, part caressing, 
 And niurmur'd, with a faltering tongue, 
 
 ' O, Abe, I'll be a blessing.' 
 And home they walk'd one morning, he 
 
 just reaching to her shoulders. 
 And sneaking at her skirt, while she stared 
 
 straight at all beholders. 
 Swinging her bonnet by the strings, and 
 
 setting her lips tighter, 
 In at his door the old gal springs, her grini 
 
 eyes growing brighter ; 
 And, Lord ! there was the devil to pay, 
 
 and lightning and blue thunder. 
 For she was going to have her way, and 
 
 hold the vixens under ; 
 They would have torn old Abe to bits, they 
 
 were so anger-bitten, 
 But Tabby saved him from their fits, as a 
 
 cat saves her kitten. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 It seems your patriarchal life has got its 
 
 botherations. 
 And leads to much domestic strife and 
 
 infinite ve.xations ! 
 But when the ladies couldn't lodge in peace 
 
 one house-roof under, 
 I thought that 'twas the saintly dodge to 
 
 give them homes asunder ? 
 
 BISHOP JOSS. 
 
 And you thought right ; it is a plan by 
 
 many here affected — 
 Never by 7nc — I ain't the man — I'll have 
 
 my will respected. 
 If all the women of my house can't fondly 
 
 pull together. 
 And each as meek as any mouse, look out 
 
 for stormy weather ! — 
 No, no, I don't approve at all of humour- 
 ing my women, 
 And building lots of boxes small for each 
 
 one to grow grim in. 
 I teach them jealousy's a sin, and soHtude's 
 
 just bearish, 
 They nuss each other lying-in, each other's 
 
 babes they cherish ; 
 It is a family jubilee, and not a selfish 
 
 pleasure. 
 Whenever one presents to me another infant 
 
 treasure ! 
 All ekal, all respected, each with tokens of 
 
 affection, 
 They dwell together, soft of speech, beneath 
 
 their lord's protection ; 
 And if by any chance I mark a spark of 
 
 shindy raising, 
 I set my heel upon that spark, — before the 
 
 house gets blazing ! 
 Now that's what Clewson should have done, 
 
 but couldn't, thro' his folly, 
 For even when Tabby's help was won, he 
 
 wasn't much more jolly. 
 Altho' she stopt the household fuss, and 
 
 husht the awful riot, 
 The old contrairy stupid Cuss could not 
 
 enj'y the quiet. 
 His house was peaceful as a church, all 
 
 solemn, still, and saintly ; 
 And yet he'd tremble at the porch, and 
 
 look about him faintly ; 
 And tho' the place was all his own, with 
 
 hat in hand he'd enter, 
 Like one thro' public buildings shown, soft 
 
 treading down the centre. 
 Still, things were Ijctter than before, though 
 
 somewhat trouble -laden. 
 When one fine day unto his door there 
 
 came a Yankee maiden. 
 'Is Brother Clewson in?' she says; and 
 
 when she saw and knew him.
 
 36o 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 The stranger gal to his amaze scream'd out 
 
 and clung unto him. 
 Then in a voice all thick and wild, exclaim'd 
 
 that gal unlucky, 
 ' O Sir, I'm Jason Jones's child — he's dead 
 
 — stabb'd in Kentucky ! 
 And father's gone, and O I've come to you 
 
 across the mountains.' 
 And then the little one vt'as dumb, and 
 
 Abe's eyes gushed like fountains. . . . 
 lie took that gal into his place, and kept 
 
 her as his daughter — 
 Ah, mischief to her wheedling face and the 
 
 bad wind that brought her ! 
 
 BISHOP PETE. 
 
 I knew that Jones ; — used to faloot about 
 
 Emancipation — 
 It made your very toe-nails shoot to hear 
 
 his declamation. 
 And when he'd made all bosoms swell witli 
 
 wonder at his vigour, 
 He'd get so drunk he couldn't tell a white 
 
 man from a nigger ! 
 Was six foot high, thin, grim, and pale, — 
 
 his troubles can't be spoken — 
 Tarred, feathered, ridden on a rail, left 
 
 beaten, bruised, and broken ; 
 But nothing made his tongue keep still, or 
 
 stopt his games improper. 
 Till, after many an awkward spill, he came 
 
 the final cropper. 
 
 BISHOP JOSS. 
 
 . . . That gal was fourteen years of age, 
 
 and sly with all her meekness ; 
 It put the fam'ly in a rage, for well they 
 
 knew Abe's weakness. 
 But Abe (a cuss, as I have _sa;id, that any 
 
 fool might sit on) 
 Was stubborn as an ass's head, when once 
 
 he took the fit on ! 
 And, once he fixed the gal to take, in spite 
 
 of their vexation. 
 Not all the rows on earth would break his 
 
 firm determination. 
 He took the naggings as they came, he 
 
 bowed his head quite quiet. 
 Still mild he was and sad and tame, and 
 
 ate the peppery diet ; 
 But tho' he seemed so crush'd to be, when 
 
 this or that one blew up. 
 
 He stuck to Jones's Legacy and school'd 
 
 her till she grew up. 
 Well ! there ! the thing was said and done, 
 
 and so far who could blame liim ? 
 But O he was a crafty one, and sorrow 
 
 couldn't shame him ! 
 That gal grew up, and at eighteen was 
 
 prettier far and neater — 
 There were not many to be seen about these 
 
 parts to beat her ; 
 Peart, brisk, bright-eyed, all trim and tight, 
 
 like kittens fond of playing, 
 A most uncommon pleasant sight at pic-nic 
 
 or at praying. 
 Then it became, as you'll infer, a simple 
 
 public duty. 
 To cherish ancl look after her, considering 
 
 her beauty ; 
 And several Saints most great and blest 
 
 now offer'd their protection. 
 And I myself among the rest felt something 
 
 of affection. 
 But O the selfishness of Abe, all things it 
 
 beats and passes ! 
 As greedy as a two-year babe a-grasping at 
 
 molasses ! 
 When once those Shepherds of the flock 
 
 began to smile and beckon. 
 He screamed like any fighting cock, and 
 
 raised his comb, I reckon ! 
 First one was floor'd, then number two, she 
 
 wouldn't look at any ; 
 Then viy turn came, although I knew the 
 
 maiden's faults were many. 
 'My brother Abe,' says I, ' I come untoe 
 
 your house at present 
 To offer sister Anne a home which she will 
 
 find most pleasant. 
 You know I am a saintly man, and all my 
 
 ways are lawful ' — 
 And in a minute he began abusing me most 
 
 awful. 
 'Begone,' he said, 'you're hke the rest, — 
 
 wolves, wolves with greedy clutches ! 
 Poor little lamb, but in my breast I'll shield 
 
 her from your touches ! ' 
 'Come, come,' says I, * a gal can't stay a 
 
 child like that for ever, 
 You'l! hev to seal the gal some day ; ' but 
 
 Abe cried fiercely, ' Never ! ' 
 Says I, ' Perhaps its in your view yourself 
 
 this lamb to gather ? '
 
 THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 361 
 
 And ' If it is, what's that to you ? ' he cried ; 
 
 ' but I'm her father ! 
 You get along, I know your line, it's crush- 
 ing, bullying, wearing, 
 You'll never seal a child of mine, so go, and 
 
 don't stand staring ! ' 
 This was the man once mild in phiz as any 
 
 farthing candle — 
 A hedgehog now, his quills all riz, whom 
 
 no one dared to handle ! 
 But O I litde guessed his deal, nor tried to 
 
 circumvent it, 
 1 never thought he'd dare to seal another ; 
 
 but he meant it ! 
 Yes, managed Brigham on the sly, for fear 
 
 his plans miscarried, 
 And long before we'd time to cry, the two 
 
 were sealed and married, 
 
 BISHOP PETE. 
 
 Well, you've your consolation now — he's 
 
 punish'd clean, I'm thinking, 
 He's ten times deeper in the slough, up to 
 
 his neck and sinking. 
 There's vinegar in Abe's pale face enough 
 
 to sour a barrel, 
 Goes crawling up and down the place, 
 
 neglecting his apparel. 
 Seems to have lost all heart and soul, has 
 
 fits of absence shocking — 
 His home is like a rabbit's hole when 
 
 weasels come a-knocking. 
 And now and then, to put it plain, wliilo 
 
 falling daily sicker, 
 I think he tries to float his pain by copious 
 
 goes of liquor. 
 
 BISHOP JOSS. 
 
 ^■es, that's the end of selfishness, it leads to 
 
 long vexation — 
 No man can pity Abe, I guess, who knows 
 
 his situation ; 
 And, Stranger, if this man you meet, don't 
 
 take him for a sample. 
 Although he speaks you fair and sweet, he's 
 
 set a vile example. 
 Because you see liim ill at ease, at home, 
 
 and never hearty, 
 Don't think these air the tokens, please, of 
 
 a real saintly party ! 
 No, he's a failure, he's a sham, a scandal 
 
 to our nation, 
 
 Not fit to lead a single lamb, unworthy of 
 
 his station ; 
 No ! if you want a Saint to see, who rules 
 
 lambs when he's got 'em. 
 Just cock your weather-eye at me, or Brother 
 
 Shufflebotham. 
 We don't go croaking east and west, afraid 
 
 of women's faces. 
 We bless and we air traly blest in our 
 
 domestic places ; 
 We air religious, holy men, happy our folds 
 
 to gather. 
 Each is a loyal citizen, also a husband — 
 
 rather. 
 But now with talk you're dry and hot, and 
 
 weary with your ride here, 
 Jest come and see my fam'ly lot, — they're 
 
 waiting tea inside here. 
 
 n. 
 
 Within the City. 
 
 St. Abe and the Seven. 
 
 Sister Tabitha, thirty odd. 
 
 Rising up with a stare and a nod ; 
 
 Sister Amelia, sleepy and mild, 
 
 freckled, Dudu-ish, suckhng a child ; 
 
 Sister Fanny, pert and keen. 
 
 Sister Emily, solemn and lean. 
 
 Sister Mary, given to tears. 
 
 Sister Sarah, with wool in her ears ; — 
 
 All appearing like tapers wan 
 
 In the mellow sunlight of Sister Anne. 
 
 With a tremulous wave of his hand, the 
 Introduces the household quaint. 
 And sinks on a chair and looks around. 
 As the dresses rustle with snakish sound. 
 As curtsies are bobb'd, and eyes cast 
 Some with a simper, some with a frown. 
 And Sister Anne, with a fluttering breast. 
 Stands trembling and peeping behind the 
 rest. 
 
 Every face but one has been 
 Pretty, perchance, at the age of eighteen 
 Pert and pretty, and plump and bright 
 But now their fairness is faded quite, 
 And every feature is fashion'd here 
 To a flabby smile, or a snappish sneer. 
 Before the stranger they each assume 
 A false fine flutter and feeble bloom,
 
 362 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 And a little colour comes into the cheek 
 When the eyes meet mine, as I sit and speak ; 
 But there they sit and look at me, 
 Almost withering visibly, 
 And languidly tremble and try to blow — 
 Six pale roses all in a row ! 
 
 Six? ah, yes ; but at hand sits one, 
 
 The seventh, still full of the light of the sun. 
 
 Though her colour terribly conies and goes. 
 
 Now white as a lily, now red as a rose, 
 
 So sweet she is, and so full of light. 
 
 That the rose seems soft, and the lily bright. 
 
 Her large blue eyes, with a tender care, 
 
 Steal to her husband unaware. 
 
 And whenever he feels them he flushes red, 
 
 And the trembling hand goes up to his head ! 
 
 Around those dove-like eyes appears 
 
 A redness as of recent tears. 
 
 Alone she sits in her youth's fresh bloom 
 
 In a dark corner of the room, 
 
 And folds her hands, and does not stir. 
 
 And the others scarcely look at her, 
 
 But crowding together, as if by plan. 
 
 Draw further and further from Sister Anne. 
 
 I try to rattle along in chat. 
 
 Talking freely of this and that — 
 
 The crops, the weather, the mother-land. 
 
 Talk a baby could understand ; 
 
 And the faded roses, faint and meek, 
 
 Open their languid lips to speak. 
 
 But in various sharps and flats, all low. 
 
 Gave a lazy ' yes ' or a sleepy ' no. ' 
 
 Yet now and then Tabitha speaks, 
 
 Snapping her answer with yellow cheeks, 
 
 And fixing the Saint who is sitting by 
 
 With the fish-hke glare of her glittering eye, 
 
 Whenever the looks of the weary man 
 
 Stray to the comer of Sister Anne. 
 
 Like a fountain in a shady place 
 Is the gleam of the sadly shining face— 
 A fresh spring whither the soul might turn, 
 When the road is rough, and the hot sands 
 
 burn ; 
 Like a fount, or a bird, or a blooming tree, 
 To a weary spirit is such as she ! 
 And Brother Abe, from his easy chair, 
 Looks thither by stealth with an aching care, 
 And in spite of the dragons that guard the 
 
 brink 
 Would stoop to the edge of the fount, I think, 
 And drink 1 and drink 1 
 
 ' Drink? Stuff and fiddlesticks,' you cry. 
 
 Matron reader with flashing eye : 
 
 ' Isn't the thing completely his, 
 
 His wife, his mistress, whatever you please? 
 
 Look at her ! Dragons and fountains ! 
 
 Absurd ! ' 
 Madam, I bow to every word ; 
 But truth is truth, and cannot fail, 
 And this is quite a veracious tale. 
 More like a couple of lovers shy. 
 Who flush and flutter when folk are by, 
 Were man and wife, or (in another 
 And holier parlance) sister and brother. 
 As a man of the world I noticed it, 
 And it made me speculate a bit, 
 For the situation was to my mind 
 A phenomenon of a curious kind — 
 A person in love with his wife, 'twas clear, 
 But afraid, when another soul was near, 
 Of showing his feelings in any way 
 Because— there would be the Devil to pay ! 
 
 The Saint has been a handsome fellow, 
 Clear-eyed, fresh-skinn'd, if a trifle yellow. 
 And his face, though somewhat soft andplain, 
 Ends in a towering mass of brain. 
 
 His locks, though still an abundant crop, 
 Are thinning a little at the top, 
 But you only notice here and there 
 The straggling gleam of a silver hair. 
 A man by nature rolled round and short, 
 Meant for the Merry Andrew's sport. 
 But sober'd down by the wear and tear 
 Of business troubles and household care : 
 Quiet, reticent, gentle, kind, 
 Of amorous heart and extensive mind, 
 A Saint devoid of saintly sham, 
 Is little Brother Abraham. 
 
 Brigham's right hand he used to be — 
 
 Mild though he seems, and simple, and free ; 
 
 Sound in the ways of the world, and great 
 
 In planning potent affairs of state ; 
 
 Not bright, nor bumptious, you must know, 
 
 Too retiring for popular show, 
 
 But known to conceive on a startling scale 
 
 Gigantic plans that never fail ; 
 
 To hold with a certain secret sense 
 
 The Prophet under his influence. 
 
 To be, I am led to understand. 
 
 The Brain, while the Prophet is the Hand, 
 
 And to see his intellectual way
 
 THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 563 
 
 Thro' moral dilemmas of every day, 
 By which the wisest are led astray. 
 
 Here's the Philosopher ! — here he sits, 
 Here, with his vaguely wandering wits, 
 Among the dragons, as 1 have said, 
 Smiling, and holding his hand to his head. 
 What mighty thougiits are gathering now 
 Behind that marble mass of brow? 
 What daring schemes of polity 
 To set the popular conscience free. 
 And bless humanity, planneth he ? 
 His talk is idle, a surface-gleam. 
 The ripple on the rest of the stream, 
 But his thoughts — ah, his tlwughts — where 
 
 do they fly. 
 While the wretched roses under his eye 
 Flutter and peep ? and in what doth his plan 
 Turn to the counsel of Sister Anne ? 
 For his eyes give ever a questioning look. 
 And the little one in her quiet nook 
 Flashes an answer, and back again 
 The question runs to the Brother's brain. 
 And the lights of speculation flit 
 Over his face and trouble it. 
 
 Follow his eyes once more, and scan 
 The fair young features of Sister Anne : 
 Frank and iimocent, and in sooth 
 Full of the first fair flush of youth. 
 Quite a child — nineteen years old ; 
 Not gushing, and self-possessed, and bold, 
 Like our Yankee women at nineteen, 
 But low of voice, and mild of mien — 
 More like the fresh young fruit you see 
 In the mother-land across the sea — 
 More like that rosiest flower on earth, 
 A blooming maiden of English birth, 
 Such as we find them yet awhile 
 Scatter'd about the homely Isle, 
 Not yet entirely eaten away 
 By the canker-novel of the day. 
 Or curling up and losing their scent 
 In a poisonous dew from the Continent. 
 
 There she sits, in her quiet nook, 
 SliU bright tho' sadden'd ; and while I look, 
 My heart is filled and my eyes are dim. 
 And I hate the Saint when I turn to him ! 
 Ogre ! Blue Beard ! Oily and sly ! 
 I lis meekness a cheat, his quiet a lie ! 
 A roaring lion he'll walk the house 
 Tho' now he crouches like any mouse ! 
 
 Had not he pluck'd enough and to spare 
 
 Of roses like these set fading there. 
 
 But he must seek to cajole and kiss 
 
 Another yet, and a child like this ? 
 
 A maid on the stalk, just panting to prove 
 
 The honest joy of a virgin love ; 
 
 A girl, a baby, an innocent child. 
 
 To be caught by the first man's face that 
 
 smiled ! 
 Scarce able the difference to fix 
 Of polygamy and politics ! 
 Led to the altar like a lamb. 
 And sacrificed to the great god Sham ! 
 Deluded, martyr'd, given to woe. 
 Last of seven who have perish'd so ; 
 For who can say but the flowers I see 
 Were once as rosy and ripe as she? 
 
 Already the household worm has begun 
 To feed on the cheeks of the little one ; 
 Already her spirit, fever-fraught. 
 Droops to the weight of its own thought ; 
 Already she saddens and sinks and sighs, 
 Watched by the jealous dragonish eyes. 
 Even Amelia, sleepy and wan, 
 Sharpens her orbs as she looks at Anne ; 
 While Sister Tabby, when she can spare 
 Her gaze from the Saint in his easy-chair, 
 Fi.xes her with a gorgon glare. 
 
 All is still and calm and pohte, 
 
 The Sisters bolster themselves upright, 
 
 And try to smile, but the atmosphere 
 
 Is charged with thunder and lightning here. 
 
 Heavy it seems, and close and warm. 
 
 Like the air before a summer storm ; 
 
 And at times, — as in that drowsy dream 
 
 Preluding thunder, all sounds will seem 
 
 Distinct and ominously clear, 
 
 And the far-off cocks seem crowing near ; — 
 
 Ev'n so in the pauses of talk, each breast 
 
 Is strangely conscious of the rest. 
 
 And the tick of the watch of Abe the Saint 
 
 Breaks on the air, distinct though faint, 
 
 Like the ticking of his heart ! 
 
 I rise 
 To depart, still glancing with piteous eyes 
 On Sister Anne ; and I find her face 
 Turn'd questioning still to the same old 
 
 place — 
 The face of the Saint. I stand and bow, 
 Curtsies again are bobbing now,
 
 364 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 Dresses rustling ... I know no more 
 Till the Saint has led me to the door, 
 And I find myself in a day-dream dim, 
 Just after shaking hands with him, 
 Standing and watching him sad and slow 
 Into the dainty dwelling go, 
 With a heavy sigh, and his hand to his head. 
 
 . . . Hark, distant thunder \ — 'tis as I said : 
 The air was far too close ; — at length 
 The Storm is breaking in all its strength. 
 
 III. 
 Promenade— Main Street, Utah. 
 
 the stranger. 
 Along the streets they're thronging, walking, 
 Clad gaily in their best and talking, 
 
 Women and children, quite a crowd ; 
 The bright sun overhead is blazing, 
 The people sweat, the dust they're raising 
 
 Arises like a golden cloud. 
 Still out of every door they scatter. 
 Laughing and light. Pray what's the 
 matter, 
 
 That such a flock of folks I .see ? 
 
 A LOUNGER. 
 
 They're off to hear the Prophet patter. 
 This yer's a day of jubilee. 
 
 VOICES. 
 
 Come along, we're late I reckon. . . 
 There's our Matt, I see him beckon. . . 
 How d'ye do, marm ? glad to meet you. . . 
 Silence, Hiram, or I'll beat you. . . 
 Emm, there's brother Jones a-looking. . . 
 Here's warm weather, how I'm cooking ! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 Afar the hills arise with cone and column 
 Into a sky of brass serene and solemn ; 
 And underneath their shadow in one haze 
 Of limpid heat the great salt waters blaze, 
 While faint and filmy through the sultry 
 
 veil 
 The purple islands on their bosom sail 
 Like floating clouds of dark fantastic air. 
 How strangely sounds (while 'mid the 
 
 Indian glare 
 Moves the gay crowd of people old and 
 
 young) 
 The bird-like chirp of the old Saxon tongue! 
 
 The women seem half weary and half gay, 
 Their eyes droop in a melancholy way, — 
 I have not seen a merry face to-day. 
 
 A BISHOP. 
 
 Thet's a smart boss you're riding, brother ! 
 How are things looking, down with you? 
 
 SECOND BISHOP. 
 
 Not over bright with one nor 'tother, 
 Taters are bad, tomatoes blue. 
 
 You've heer'dof Brother Simpson'slosses? — 
 Buried his wife and spiled his hay. 
 
 And the three best of Hornby's bosses 
 Some Injin cuss has stol'n away. 
 
 VOICES. 
 
 Zoe, jest fix up my gown. , . 
 There's my hair a-coming down. . . 
 Drat the babby, he's so crusty — 
 It's the heat as makes him thusty. . . 
 Come along, I'm almost sinking. . . 
 There's a stranger, and he's winking. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 That was a fine girl with the grey-hair'd 
 
 lady, 
 How shining were her eyes, how true and 
 
 steady, 
 Not drooping down in guilty Mormon 
 
 fashion, 
 But shooting at the soul their power and 
 
 passion. 
 That's a big fellow, six foot two, not under, 
 But how he struts, and looks as black as 
 
 thunder, 
 Half glancing round at his poor sheep to 
 
 scare 'em — 
 Six, seven, eight, nine, — O Abraham, what 
 
 a harem ! 
 All berry brown, but looking scared as may 
 
 be, 
 And each one but the oldest with a baby. 
 
 Phoebe ! 
 
 A GIRL. 
 ANOTHER. 
 
 Yes, Grace ! 
 
 FIRST GIRL. 
 
 Don't seem to notice, dear. 
 That Yankee from the camp again is here. 
 Making such eyes, and following on the sly. 
 And coughing now and then to show he's 
 nigh.
 
 THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 365 
 
 SECOND GIRL. 
 
 Who's that along with him— the little scamp 
 Shaking his hair and nodding with a 
 smile ? 
 
 FIRST GIRL. 
 
 Guess he's some new one just come down 
 to camp. 
 
 SECOND GIRL. 
 
 Isn't he handsome? 
 
 FIRST GIRL. 
 
 No ; the first's my style ! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 If my good friends, the Saints, could get 
 
 their will, 
 These Yankee officers would fare but ill ; 
 Wherever they approach the folk retire. 
 As if from veritable coals of fire ; 
 With distant bow, set lips, and half-hid 
 
 frown. 
 The Bishops pass them in the blessed town ; 
 The women come behind hke trembling 
 
 sheep, 
 Some freeze to ice, some blush and steal a 
 
 peep. 
 And often, as a band of maidens gay 
 Comes up, each maid ceases to talk and 
 
 play. 
 Droops down her eyes, and does not look 
 
 their way ; 
 But after passing where the youngsters pine, 
 All giggle as at one concerted sign. 
 And tripping on with half-hush'd merry 
 
 cries, 
 Look boldly back with laughter in their 
 
 eyes ! 
 
 VOICES. 
 Mure we are, . . how folk are pushing ! . . 
 Mind the babby in the crushing. . . 
 Pheemy ! . . Yes, John ! . . Don't go 
 
 staring 
 At that Yankei^— it's past bearing. 
 Draw your veil down while he passes, 
 Reckon you're as bold as brass is. 
 
 AliE CLEWSON. 
 
 (Passingwith his hand to his head, attended 
 
 by his Wives.) 
 
 Head in a whirl, and heart in a flutter. 
 Guess I don't know the half that I utter. 
 
 Too m-uch of this life is beginning to try me, 
 I'm like a dern'd miller the grind always 
 
 nigh me ; 
 Praying don't soothe me nor comfort mc any. 
 My house is too full and my blessings too 
 
 many — 
 The ways o' the wilderness puzzle me 
 
 greatly. 
 
 SISTER TABITHA. 
 
 Do walk like a Christian, and keep kind o' 
 
 stately ! 
 And jest keep an eye on those persons 
 
 behind you, 
 You call 'em your Wives, but they tease 
 
 you and blind yon ; 
 Sister Anne's a disgrace, tho' you think her 
 
 a martyr. 
 And she's tuck'd up her petticoat nigh to 
 
 her garter. 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 What group is this, begrim'dwith dust and 
 
 heat. 
 Staring like strangers in the open street? 
 The women, ragged, wretched, and half 
 
 dead. 
 Sit on the kerbstone hot and hang the head. 
 And clustering at their side stand children 
 
 brown, 
 Weary, with wondering eyes on the fair 
 
 town. 
 Close by in knots beside the unhorsed team 
 The sunburn'd men stand talking in a 
 
 dream. 
 For the vast tracts of country left behind 
 Seem now a haunting mirage in the mind. 
 Gaunt miners folding hands upon their 
 breasts. 
 Big-jointed labourers looking ox-like 
 down. 
 And sickly artizans with narrow chests 
 Still pallid from the smoke of English 
 town. 
 Hard by to these a group of Teutons stand, 
 Light hair'd, blue-eyed, still full of Father- 
 land, 
 With water-loving Northmen, who grow gay 
 To see the mimic sea gleam far away. 
 Now to this group, with a sharp question- 
 ing face, 
 Cometh a holy magnate of the place 
 In decent black ; shakes hands with some ; 
 and then
 
 366 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 Begins an eager converse witli the men : 
 All brighten ; even the children hush their 
 
 cries, 
 And the pale women smile with sparkling 
 
 eyes. 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 The Prophet welcomes you, and sends 
 His message by my mouth, my friends ; 
 He'll see you snug, for on this shore 
 There's heaps of room for millions more ! . . 
 Scotchman, I take it? . . Ah, I know 
 Glasgow — was there a year or so. . . 
 And \{you don't from Yorkshire hail, 
 I'll— ah, I thought so ; seldom fail. 
 Make yourselves snug and rest a spell, 
 There's liquor coming — meat as well. 
 All welcome ! We keep open door — 
 Ah, -we don't push away the poor ; 
 Tho' he's a fool, you understand, 
 ■Who keeps poor long in this here land. 
 The land of honey you behold — 
 Honey and milk— silver and gold ! 
 
 AN ARTIZAN. 
 
 Ah, that's the style— Bess, just you hear it ; 
 Come, come, old gal, keep up your spirit : 
 Silver and gold, and milk and honey. 
 This is the country for our money ! 
 
 A GERMAN. 
 
 Es lebe die Stadt ! es lebe dran ! 
 Das heilige Leben steht mir an ! 
 
 A NORTHMAN. 
 
 Taler du norske ? 
 
 BISHOP. 
 
 (Shaking his head, and Utrning -with a 
 ■wink to the English. ) 
 
 No, not me ! 
 Saxon's the language of the free ! 
 The language of the great Evangels ! 
 The knguage of the Saints and Angels ! 
 The only speech that Joseph knew ! 
 The speech of him and Brigham too ! 
 Only the speech by which we've thriven 
 Is comprehended up in Heaven ! . . 
 Poor heathens ! but we'll make 'em spry. 
 They'll talk like Christians by-and-by. 
 
 STR ANGER. [Strolling out of the streets. ) 
 From east, from west, from every worn-out 
 
 land. 
 Yearly they stream to swell this busy band. 
 
 Out of the fever'd famine of the slums. 
 From sickness, shame, and sorrow, Lazarus 
 
 comes, 
 Drags his sore limbs o'er half the world and 
 
 sea. 
 Seeking for freedom and felicity. 
 The sewer of ignorance and shame and 
 
 loss, 
 Draining old Europe of its dirt and dross, 
 Grows the great City by the will of God ; 
 While wondrously out of the desert sod, 
 Nourished with lives unclean and weary 
 
 hearts. 
 The new faith like a splendid weed upstarts. 
 A splendid weed ! rather a fair wild-flower. 
 Strange to the eye in its first birth of 
 
 power, 
 But bearing surely in its breast the seeds 
 Of higher issues and diviner deeds. 
 Changed from Sahara to a fruitful vale 
 Fairer than ever grew in fairy tale. 
 Transmuted into plenteous field and glade 
 By the slow magic of the white man's 
 
 spade, 
 Grows Deseret, filling its mighty nest 
 Between the eastern mountains and the west, 
 While— who goes there ? What shape 
 
 antique looks down 
 From this green mound upon the festive 
 
 town, 
 With tall majestic figure darkly set 
 Against the sky in dusky silhouette ? 
 Strange his attire : a blanket edged with red 
 Wrapt royally around him ; on his head 
 A battered hat of the strange modern sort 
 Which men have christened 'chimneypots' 
 
 in sport ; 
 Mocassins on his feet, fur-fringed and grand, 
 And a large green umbrella in his hand. 
 Pensive he stands with deep-lined dreamy 
 
 face. 
 Last living remnant of the rhighty race 
 Who on these hunting-fields for many a year 
 Chased the wild buflalo, and elk, and deer 
 Heaven help him ! In his mien grief and 
 I despair 
 
 I Seem to contend, as he stands musing there ; 
 Until he notices that I am nigh, 
 And lo ! with outstretched hands and 
 
 glistening eye 
 Swift he descends— Does he mean mischief? 
 
 No; 
 He smiles and beckons as I turn to go.
 
 THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 367 
 
 INDIAN. 
 
 Me Medicine Crow. White man gib drinlc 
 
 to me. 
 Great chief ; much squaw ; papoose, sah, 
 
 one, two, three ! 
 
 STRANGER. 
 
 With what a leer, half wheedling and half 
 
 winking. 
 The lost one imitates the act of drinking ; 
 His nose already, to his woe and shame, 
 Carbuncled with the white man's liquid flame ! 
 Well, I pull out my flask, and fill a cup 
 Of burning rum— how quick he gulps it up ; 
 And in a moment in his trembling grip 
 Thrusts out the cup for more with thirsty lip. 
 But no !— already drunken past a doubt, 
 Degenerate nomad of the plains, get out ! 
 \_A railway whistle sounds in lite far 
 distance. 
 Fire-hearted Demon tamed to human hand, 
 Rushing with smoky breath from land to 
 
 land. 
 Screaming aloud to scare with rage and wrath 
 Primaeval ignorance before his path. 
 Dragging behind him as he runs along 
 His hlliputian masters, pale and strong, 
 With melancholy sound for plain and hill 
 Man's last Familiar Spirit whistles shrill. 
 
 Poor devil of the plains, now spent and frail. 
 Hovering wildly on the fatal trail, 
 Pass on ! — there lies thy way and thine abode. 
 Get out of Jonathan thy master's road. 
 Where? anywhere !— he's not particular 
 
 where. 
 So that you clear the road, he does not care ; 
 Off, quick ! clear out ! ay, drink your fifl 
 
 and die ; 
 And, since the Earth rejects you, try the Sky! 
 And see if He, who sent your white-faced 
 
 brother 
 To hound and drive you from this world 
 
 you bother, 
 Can find a corner for you in another ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Within tub Synagogue. 
 Sermonizkth the Prophet. 
 
 THE prophet. 
 Sisters and brothers who love the right. 
 Saints whose hearts are divinely beating. 
 
 Children rejoicing in the light, 
 
 I reckon this is a pleasant meeting. 
 Where's the face with a look of grief? — 
 
 Jehovah's with us and leads the battle ; 
 We've had a harvest beyond belief. 
 
 And the signs of fever have left the cattle ; 
 All still blesses the holy life 
 
 Here in the land of milk and honey. 
 
 FEMININE whispers. 
 
 Brother Shuttleworth's seventeenth wife, . . 
 Her with the heer brushed up so funny ! 
 
 THE PKOPIIET. 
 
 Out of Egypt hither we flew. 
 
 Through the desert and rocky places ; 
 The people murmur'd, and aU look'd blue. 
 The bones of the martyr'd filled our traces. 
 Mountain and valley we crawl'd along. 
 And every morning our hearts beat 
 quicker. 
 Our flesh was weak, but our souls were 
 strong. 
 And we'd managed to carry some kegs of 
 liquor. 
 At last we halted on yonder height. 
 Just as the sun in the west was bhnking. 
 
 FEMININE whispers. 
 
 Isn't Jedge Hawkins's last a fright ? . . . 
 I'm suttin that Brother Abe's been drink- 
 ing ! 
 
 THE prophet. 
 
 That night, my lambs, in a wondrous dream, 
 
 I saw the gushing of many fountains ; 
 Soon as the morning began to beam, 
 
 Down we went from yonder mountains, 
 Found the water just where I thought. 
 
 Fresh and good, though a trifle gritty, 
 Pitch'd our tents in the plain, and wrought 
 
 The site and plan of the Holy City. 
 ' Pioneers of the blest,' I cried, 
 
 ' Dig, and the Lord will bless each 
 spadeful. 
 
 FEMININE WHISPERS. 
 
 Brigham's sealed to another Bride . . . 
 How worn he's gittin' ! he's aging dread- 
 ful. 
 
 THE PROPHET, 
 
 This is a tale so often told. 
 
 The theme of every eventful meeting ; 
 Yes ! you may smile and think it old ; 
 
 But yet it's a talc that wiU bear repeating.
 
 368 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 That's how the City of Light began, 
 
 That's how wc founded the saintly nation, 
 
 All by the spade and the arm of man, 
 And the aid of a special dispensation. 
 
 ■ Work ' was the word when we begun, 
 ' Work ' is the word now we have plenty. 
 
 FEMININE WHISPERS. 
 
 Heard about Sister Euphemia's son ? . . . 
 Sealing already, though only twenty ! 
 
 THE PROPHET. 
 
 I say just now what I used to say, 
 Though it moves the heathens to mock 
 and laughter, 
 From work to prayer is the proper way- 
 Labour first, and Religion after. 
 Let a big man, strong in body and limb, 
 Come here inquiring about his Maker, 
 This is the question I put to him, 
 
 • Can you grow a cabbage, or reap an 
 acre ? ' 
 What's the soul but a flower sublime. 
 
 Grown in the earth and upspringing 
 surely ? 
 
 FEMININE WHISPERS. 
 
 O yes ! she's hed a most dreadful time ! 
 "Twins, both thriving, though she's so 
 poorly. 
 
 THE PROPHET. 
 
 Beauty, my friends, is the crown of life. 
 
 To the young and foolish seldom granted ; 
 After a youth of honest strife 
 
 Comes the reward for which you've 
 panted. 
 O blessed sight beyond compare. 
 
 When life with its halo of light is 
 rounded, 
 To see a Saint with reverend hair 
 
 Sitting like Solomon love-surrounded ! 
 One at his feet and one on his knee, 
 
 Others around him, blue-eyed and dreamy! 
 
 FEMININE WHISPERS. 
 
 All very well, but as for me, 
 
 My man had better ! — I'd pison him, 
 Pheemy ! 
 
 THE PROPHET. 
 
 There in the gate of Paradise 
 
 The Saint is sitting serene and hoary, 
 
 Tendrils of arms, and blossoms of eyes. 
 Festoon him round in his place of glory ; 
 
 Little cherubs float thick as bees 
 
 Round about him, and murmur ' father ! ' 
 
 The sun shines bright and he sits at ease, 
 Fruit all round for his hand to gather. 
 
 Blessed is he and for ever gay. 
 
 Floating to Heaven and adding to it ! 
 
 FEMININE WHISPERS. 
 
 Thought I should have gone mad that day 
 He brought a second ; I made him rue it 1 
 
 THE PROPHET. 
 
 Sisters and Brothers by love made wise. 
 
 Remember, when Satan attempts to quell 
 you. 
 If this here Earth isn't Paradise 
 
 You'll never see it, and so I tell you. 
 Dig and drain, and harrow and sow, 
 
 God will bless you beyond all measure ; 
 Labour, and meet with reward below. 
 
 For what is the end of all labour? 
 Pleasure ! 
 Labour's the vine, and pleasure's the grape. 
 
 The one delighting, the other bearing. 
 
 FEMININE WHISPERS. 
 
 Higginson's third is losing her shape. 
 She hes too many — it's dreadful wearing. 
 
 THE PROPHET. 
 
 But I hear some awakening spirit cry, 
 
 ' Labour is labour, and all men know it ; 
 But what is pleasure?' and I reply, 
 
 Grace abounding and Wives to show it ! 
 Holy is he beyond compare 
 
 Who tills his acres and takes his blessing, 
 Who sees around him everywhere 
 
 Sisters soothing and babes caressing. 
 And his delight is Heaven's as well. 
 
 For swells he not the ranks of the chosen ? 
 
 FEMININE WHISPERS. 
 
 Martha is growing a handsome gel. . . . 
 Three at a birth ? — that makes the dozen. 
 
 THE PROPHET. 
 
 Learning's a shadow, and books a jest, 
 One Book's a Light, but the rest are 
 human. 
 The kind of study that I think best 
 
 Is the use of a spade and the love of a 
 woman. 
 Here and yonder, in heaven and earth. 
 By big Salt Lake and by Eden river,
 
 THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 369 
 
 The finest sight is a man of worth, 
 Never tired of increasing his quiver. 
 
 He sits in the hght of perfect grace 
 With a dozen cradles going together ! 
 
 FEMININE WHISPERS. 
 
 The babby's growing black in the face ! 
 Carry him out — it's the heat of the 
 weather ! 
 
 THE PROPHET, 
 
 A faithful vine at the door of the Lord, 
 
 A shining flower in the garden of spirits, 
 A lute whose strings are of sweet accord, 
 
 Such is the person of saintly merits. 
 Sisters and brothers, behold and strive 
 
 Up to the level of his perfection ; 
 Sow, and harrow, and dig, and thrive. 
 
 Increase according to God's direction. 
 This is the Happy Land, no doubt. 
 
 Where each may flourish in his voca- 
 tion. . . . 
 Brother Bantam will now give out 
 
 The hymn of love and of jubilation. 
 
 V. 
 
 The Falling of the Thunderbolt. 
 
 Deep and wise beyond expression 
 Sat the Prophet holding session, 
 And his Elders, round him sitting 
 With a gravity befitting. 
 Never rash and never fiery, 
 Chew'd the cud of each inquiry, 
 Weigh'd each question and discussed it. 
 Sought to settle and adjust it, 
 Till, with sudden indication 
 Of a gush of inspiration. 
 The grave Prophet from their middle 
 Gave the answer to their riddle, 
 And the lesser lights all holy, 
 Round the Lamp revolving slowly. 
 Thought, with eyes and lips asunder, 
 ' Right, we reckon he's a wonder I ' 
 
 Whether Boyes, that blessed brother. 
 Should be sealed unto another. 
 Having, tho' a Saint most steady, 
 Very many wives already ? 
 Whether it was held improper. 
 If a woman drank, to drop her? 
 Whether unto Brother Fleming 
 
 Formal praise would be beseeming, 
 
 Since from three or four potatoes 
 
 (Not much bigger than his great toes) 
 
 He'd extracted, to their wonder. 
 
 Four stone six and nothing under ? 
 
 Whether Bigg be reprimanded 
 
 For his conduct underhanded. 
 
 Since he'd packed his prettiest daughter 
 
 To a heathen o'er the water? 
 
 How, now Thompson had departed. 
 
 His poor widows, broken-hearted. 
 
 Should be settled ? They were seven. 
 
 Sweet as cherubs up in heaven ; 
 
 Three were handsome, young, and pleasant, 
 
 And had ofiers on at present — 
 
 Must they take them ? . . . These and other 
 
 Questions proffer'd by each brother. 
 
 The great Prophet ever gracious, 
 
 Free and easy, and sagacious, 
 
 Answer'd after meditation 
 
 With sublime deliberation ; 
 
 And his answers were so clever 
 
 Each one whisper'd, ' Well, I never ! ' 
 
 And the lesser lights all holy, 
 
 Round the Prophet turning slowly. 
 
 Raised their reverend heads and hoary. 
 
 Thinking, ' To the Prophet, glory ! 
 
 Hallelujah, veneration ! 
 
 Reckon that he licks creation ! ' 
 
 Suddenly as they sat gleaming, 
 
 On them came an unbeseeming 
 
 Murmur, tumult, and commotion, 
 
 Like the breaking of the ocean ; 
 
 And before a word was utter'd, 
 
 In rush'd one with voice that fluttered. 
 
 Arms uplifted, face the colour 
 
 Of a bran-new Yankee dollar, 
 
 Like a man whose wits are addled. 
 
 Crying — ' Brother Abe's skedaddled !' 
 
 Then those Elders fearful-hearted 
 
 Raised a loud cry and upstarted. 
 
 But the Prophet, never rising, 
 
 Said, ' Be calm ! this row's surprising ! ' 
 
 And as each Saint sank unsinew'd 
 
 In his arm-chair he continued : 
 
 • Goodman Jones, your cheeks are yellow. 
 
 Tell thy tale, and do not bellow ! 
 
 What's the reason of your crying — 
 
 Is our brother deadl—ox dyiiig'i ' 
 
 As the Prophet spake, supremely 
 Hushing all the strife unseemly, 
 
 BB
 
 370 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 Sudden in the room there entered 
 Shapes on whom all eyes were centred — 
 Six sad female figures moaning, 
 Trembling, weeping, and intoning, 
 ' We are widows broken-hearted — 
 Abraham Clewson has departed ! ' 
 
 While the Saints again upleaping 
 Joined their voices to the weeping, 
 For a moment the great Prophet 
 Trembled, and look'd dark as Tophet. 
 But the cloud pass'd over lightly. 
 ' Cease ! ' he cried, but sniffled shghtly, 
 • Cease this murmur and be quiet — 
 Dead men won't awake with riot. 
 'Tis indeed a loss stupendous — 
 When will Heaven his equal send us? 
 Speak, then, of our brother cherish'd, 
 Was \\.fits by which he perish'd? 
 Or did Death come even quicker, 
 Thro' a bolting horse or kicker? ' 
 
 At the Prophet's question scowling, 
 
 All the Wives stood moaning, howling, 
 
 Crying wildly in a fever, 
 
 ' O the villain ! the deceiver 1 ' 
 
 But the oldest stepping boldly, 
 
 Curtseying to the Session coldly. 
 
 Cried in voice hke cracking thunder, 
 
 ' Prophet, don't you make a blunder ! 
 
 Abraham Clewson isn't dying — 
 
 Hasn't died, as you're implying ; 
 
 No ! he's not the man, my brothers. 
 
 To die decently like others ! 
 
 Worse ! he's from your cause revolted — 
 
 Run away ! skedaddled ! bolted ! ' 
 
 Bolted ! run away ! skedaddled ! 
 Like to men whose wits are addled. 
 Echoed all those Lights so holy. 
 Round the Prophet shining slowly 
 And the Prophet, undissembling. 
 Underneath the blow sat trembling, 
 While the perspiration hovered 
 On his forehead, and he covered 
 With one trembling hand his features 
 From the gaze of smaller creatures. 
 Then at last the high and gifted 
 Cough'd and craved, with hands uplifted, 
 Silence. When 'twas given duly, 
 ' This,' said he, ' 's a crusher truly ! 
 Brother Clewson falln from glory ! 
 I can scarce believe your story. 
 
 O my Saints, each in his station, 
 Join in prayer and meditation ! ' 
 
 Covering up each eyelid saintly 
 
 With a finger-tip, prayed faintly, 
 
 Shining in the church's centre. 
 
 Their great Prophet, Lamp, and Mentor ; 
 
 And the lesser Lights all holy. 
 
 Round the Lamp revolving slowly, 
 
 Each upon his seat there sitting, 
 
 With a gravity befitting, 
 
 Bowed their reverend heads and hoary, 
 
 Saying, ' To the Prophet glory ! 
 
 Hallelujah, veneration ! 
 
 Reckon that he licks creation ! " 
 
 Lastly, when the trance was ended, 
 And, with face where sorrow blended 
 Into pity and compassion. 
 Shone the Light in common fashion ; 
 Forth the Brother stept who brought them 
 First the news which had distraught them, 
 And, while stood the Widows weeping, 
 Gave into the Prophet's keeping 
 A seal'd paper, which the latter 
 Read, as if 'twere solemn matter — 
 Gravely pursing lips and nodding. 
 While they watch'd in dark foreboding, 
 Till at last, with voice that quivered. 
 He these woeful words delivered : — 
 
 ' Sisters, calm your hearts unruly, 
 
 'Tis an awful business truly ; 
 
 Weeping now will save him never, 
 
 He's as good as lost for ever ; 
 
 Yes, I say with grief unspoken. 
 
 Jest a pane crack'd, smash'd, and broken 
 
 In the windows of the Temple — 
 
 Crack'd 's the word— so take example I 
 
 Had he left ye one and all here. 
 
 On our holy help to call here. 
 
 Fled alone from every fetter, 
 
 I could comprehend it better ! 
 
 Flying, not with some strange lady, 
 
 But with her he had already. 
 
 With his own seal'd Wife eloping — 
 
 It's a case of craze past hoping ! 
 
 List, O Saints, each in his station. 
 
 To the idiot's explanation ! ' 
 
 Then, while now and then the holy 
 Broke the tale of melancholy 
 With a grunt contempt expressing, 
 And the Widows made distressing
 
 THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 371 
 
 Murmurs of recrimination 
 Here and there in the narration, 
 The great Prophet in affliction 
 Read this awful Valediction. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Last Epistle of St. Abe to the 
 poi.ygamists. 
 
 Brother, Prophet of the Light !— don't 
 
 let my state distress you, 
 Wliile from the depths of darkest night I 
 cry, ' Farewell ! God bless you ! ' 
 
 1 don't deserve a parting tear, nor even a 
 
 malediction. 
 Too weak to fill a saintly sphere, I yield to 
 
 my affliction ; 
 Down like a cataract I shoot into the depths 
 
 below you ; 
 While you stand wondering and mute, my 
 
 last adieu I throw you ; 
 Commending to your blessed care my well- 
 beloved spouses. 
 My debts (there's plenty and to spare to 
 
 pay them), lands, and houses. 
 My sheep, my cattle, farm and fold, yea, 
 
 all by which I've thriven : 
 These to be at the auction sold, and to my 
 
 widows given. 
 Bless them ! to prize them at their worth 
 
 was far beyond my merit, 
 Just make them think me in the earth, a 
 
 poor departed spirit. 
 I couldn't bear to say good-bye, and see 
 
 their tears up-starting ; 
 I thought it best to pack and fly without 
 
 the pain of parting ! 
 O tell Amelia, if she can, by careful educa- 
 tion. 
 To make her boy grow up a man of strength 
 
 and saintly station ! 
 Tell Fanny to beware of men, and say I'm 
 
 still her debtor — 
 Tho' she cut sharpish now and then, I 
 
 think it made me better ! 
 Let Emily still her spirit fill with holy con- 
 solations- 
 Seraphic soul, I hear her still a-reading 
 
 ' Revelations ! ' 
 Bid Mary now to dry her tears — she's free 
 
 of her chief bother ; 
 And comfort Sarah — I've my fears she's 
 
 going to be a mother ; 
 
 And to Tabitha give for me a tender kiss of 
 
 healing — 
 Guilt wrings my soul — I seem to see that 
 
 well-known face appealing ! 
 
 And now, — before my figure fades for ever 
 
 from your vision. 
 Before I mingle with the shades beyond 
 
 your light Elysian, 
 Nmv, while your faces all turn pale, and 
 
 you raise eyes and shiver. 
 Let me a round unvarnish'd tale (as Shak- 
 
 spere says) deliver ; 
 And let there be a warning text in my most 
 
 shameful story. 
 When some poor sheep, perplext and vext, 
 
 goes seeking too much glory. 
 
 Brigham, thinkof my poor fate, a scandal 
 
 to beholders, 
 And don't again put too much weight before 
 you've tried the shoulders ! 
 
 Though I'd the intellectual gift, and knew 
 
 the rights and reasons ; 
 Though I could trade, and save, and shift, 
 
 according to the seasons ; 
 Though I was thought a clever man, and 
 
 was at spouting splendid, — 
 Just think how finely I began, and see how 
 
 all has ended ! 
 \t\ principle unto this hour I'm still a hcly 
 
 being — 
 But oh, how poorly is my power propor- 
 
 tion'd to my seeing ! 
 You've all the logic on your side, you're 
 
 right in each conclusion. 
 And yet how vainly have I tried, with eagei 
 
 resolution ! 
 My will was good, I felt the call, although 
 
 my strength was meagre, 
 There wasn't one among you all to serve 
 
 the Lord more eager ! 
 
 1 never tired in younger days of drawing 
 
 lambs unto me. 
 My lot was one to bless and praise, the fire 
 
 of faith thrill'd through me. 
 And you, believing I was strong, smiled on 
 
 me like a father, — 
 Said, ' Blessed be this man, though young, 
 
 who the sweet lambs doth gather ! ' 
 At first it was a time full blest, and all my 
 
 earthly pleasure 
 Was gathering lambs unto my breast to 
 
 cherish and to treasure ; 
 
 S B 2
 
 372 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 Ay, one by one, for heaven's sake, my 
 
 female flock I found me. 
 Until one day I did awake and heard them 
 
 bleating round me, 
 And there was sorrow in their eyes, and 
 
 mute reproach and wonder, 
 For they perceived to their surprise their 
 
 Shepherd was a blunder. 
 O Brigham, think of it and weep, my firm 
 
 and saintly Master — 
 The Pastor trembled at his Sheep, the Sheep 
 
 despised the Pastor ! 
 
 listen to the tale of dread, thou Light 
 
 that shines so brightly — 
 Virtue's a horse that drops down dead if 
 
 overloaded slightly ! 
 She's all the zi'ill, she wants to go, she'd 
 
 carry every tittle ; 
 But when you see her flag and blow, just 
 
 ease her of a little ! 
 07ie wife for me was near enough, two 
 
 might have fixed me neatly. 
 Three made me shake, foitr made me puff, 
 
 five settled me completely, — 
 But when the sixth came, though I still was 
 
 glad and never grumbled, 
 
 1 took the staggers, kick'd, went ill, and 
 
 in the traces tumbled ! 
 
 Ah, well may I compare my state unto a 
 
 beast's position — 
 Unfit to bear a saintly weight, I sank and 
 
 lost condition ; 
 I lack'd the moral nerve and thew, to fill so 
 
 fine a station — 
 Ah, if I'd had a head like you, and your 
 
 determination ! 
 Instead of going in and out, like a superior 
 
 party, 
 I was too soft of heart, no doubt, too open, 
 
 and too hearty. 
 When I began with each young sheep I was 
 
 too free and loving. 
 Not being strong and wise and deep, I set 
 
 her feelings moving ; 
 And so, instead of noticing the gentle flock 
 
 in common, 
 I waken'd up that mighty thing — the Spirit 
 
 of a Woman. 
 Each got to think me, don't you see, — so 
 
 foolish was the feeling, — 
 Her own especial property, which all the 
 
 rest were stealing ! 
 
 And, since I could not give to each the 
 
 whole of my attention, 
 All came to grief, and parts of speech too 
 
 delicate to mention ! 
 Bless them ! they loved me far too much, 
 
 they erred in their devotion, 
 I lack'd the proper saintly touch, subduing 
 
 mere emotion : — 
 The solemn air sent from the skies, so cold, 
 
 so tranquillising, 
 That on the female waters lies, and keeps 
 
 the same from rising, 
 But holds them down all smooth and bright, 
 
 and, if some wild wind storms 'em, 
 Comes like a cold frost in the night, and 
 
 into ice transforms 'em ! 
 
 And there, between ourselves, I see the 
 
 difficulty growing. 
 Since most men are as meek as me, too 
 
 passionate and glowing ; 
 They cannot in your royal way dwell like a 
 
 guest from Heaven 
 Within this tenement of clay, which for the 
 
 Soul is given ; 
 They cannot like a blessed guest come calm 
 
 and strong into it, 
 Eating and drinking of its best, and calmly 
 
 gazing thro' it. 
 No, every mortal's not a Saint, and truly 
 
 very few are, 
 So weak they are, they cannot paint what 
 
 holy men like you are. 
 Instead of keeping well apart the Flesh and 
 
 Spirit, brother. 
 And making one with cunning art the 
 
 nigger of the other, 
 They muddle and confuse the two, they 
 
 mix, and twist and mingle, 
 So that it takes a cunning view to make out 
 
 either single. 
 The Soul gets mingled with the Flesh 
 
 beyond all separation, 
 The Body holds it in a mesh of animal 
 
 sensation ; 
 The poor bewilder'd Being, grown a thing 
 
 in nature double. 
 Half light and soul, half flesh and bone, is 
 
 given up to trouble. 
 He thinks the instinct of the clay the glow- 
 
 ings of the Spirit, 
 And when the Spirit has her say, inclines 
 
 the Flesh to hear it.
 
 THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 373 
 
 The slave of every passing whim, the dupe 
 
 of every devil. 
 Inspired by every female limb to love, and 
 
 light, and revel, 
 Impulsive, timid, weak, or strong, as Flesh 
 
 or Spirit makes him. 
 The lost one wildly moans along till mis- 
 chief overtakes him ; 
 And when the Soul has fed upon the Flesh 
 
 till life's spring passes, 
 Finds strength and health and comfort 
 
 gone— the way of last year's grasses, 
 And the poor Soul is doom'd to bow, in 
 
 deep humiliation. 
 Within a place that isn't now a decent 
 
 habitation. 
 
 No ! keep the Soul and Flesh apart in pious 
 
 resolution, 
 Don't let weak fiutterings of the heart lead 
 
 you to my confusion ! 
 But let the Flesh be as the horse, the Spirit 
 
 as the rider, 
 And use the snaffle first of course, and ease 
 
 her up and guide her ; 
 And if she's going to resist, and won't let 
 
 none go past her, 
 Just take the ctirb and give a twist, and 
 
 show her you're the Master. 
 The Flesh is but a temporal thing, and 
 
 Satan's strength is in it. 
 Use it, but conquer it, and bring its vice 
 
 down every minute ! 
 Into a woman's arms don't fall, as if you 
 
 meant to stay there. 
 Just come as if you'd made a call, and 
 
 idly fo2ind your way there : 
 Don't praise her too much to her face, but 
 
 keep her calm and quiet, — 
 Most female illnesses take place thro' far 
 
 too warm a diet ; 
 Unto her give your fleshly kiss, calm, kind, 
 
 and patronising, 
 Then— soar to your own sphere of bliss, 
 
 before her heart gets rising ! 
 Don't fail to let her see full clear, how in 
 
 your saintly station 
 The Flesh is but your nigger here obeying 
 
 your dictation ; 
 And tho' the Flesh be e'er so warm, your 
 
 Soul the weakness smothers 
 Of loving any female form much better than 
 
 the others 1 
 
 O Brigham, I can see you smile to hear 
 
 the Devil preaching ; — 
 Well, I can praise your perfect style, tho' 
 
 far beyond my reaching. 
 Forgive me, if in shame and grief I vex you 
 
 with digression, 
 And let me come again in brief to my own 
 
 dark confession. 
 
 The world of men divided is into two 
 
 portions, brother. 
 The first are Saints, so high in bliss that 
 
 they the Flesh can smother ; 
 God meant them from fair flower to flower 
 
 to flutter, smiles bestowing, 
 Tasting the sweet, leaving the sour, just 
 
 hovering, — and going. 
 The second are a different set, just halves 
 
 of perfect spirits. 
 Going about in bitter fret, of uncompleted 
 
 merits, 
 Till they discover, here or there, their 
 
 other half (or woman), 
 Then these two join, and make a Pair, and 
 
 so increase the human. 
 The second Souls inferior are, a lower spirit- 
 order, 
 Born 'neath a less auspicious star, and taken 
 
 by soft sawder ; — 
 And if they do not happen here to find their 
 
 fair Affinity, 
 They come to grief and doubt and fear, and 
 
 end in asininity ; 
 And if they try the blessed game of those 
 
 superior to them, 
 They're very quickly brought to shame, — 
 
 their passions so undo them. 
 In some diviner sphere, perhaps, they'll 
 
 look and grow more holy, — 
 Meantime they're vessels Sorrow taps and 
 
 grim Remorse sucks slowly. 
 
 Now, Brigham, / was made, you see, one 
 
 of those lower creatures, 
 Polygamy was not for me, altho' I joined 
 
 its preachers. 
 Instead of, with a wary eye, seeking the one 
 
 who waited. 
 And sticl'Mig to her, wet or dry, because 
 
 the thing was fated, 
 1 snatch'd the first whose beauty stirred my 
 
 soul with tender feeling ! 
 And then another ! then a third ! and so 
 
 continued Sealing !
 
 374 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES, 
 
 And duly, after many a smart, discovered, 
 
 sighing faintly, 
 I hadn't found my missing part, and wasn't 
 
 strong and saintly ! 
 
 they were far too good for me, altho' their 
 
 zeal betrayed them ; — 
 Unfortunately, don't you see, heaven for 
 
 some other made them : 
 Each would a downright blessing be, and 
 
 Peace would pitch the tent for her, 
 If ' she ' could only find the ' he ' originally 
 
 meant for her ! 
 
 Well, Brother, after many years of bad 
 
 domestic diet. 
 One morning I woke up in tears, still weary 
 
 and unquiet. 
 And (speaking figuratively) lo ! beside my 
 
 bed stood smiling 
 The Wo7?ian, young and virgin snow, but 
 
 beckoning and beguiling. 
 
 1 started up, my wild eyes rolled, I knew 
 
 her, and stood sighing. 
 My thoughts throng'd up like bees of gold 
 
 out of the smithy flying. 
 And as she stood in brightness there, 
 
 familiar, tho' a stranger, 
 1 looked at her in dumb despair, and 
 
 trembled at the danger. 
 
 But, Brother Brigham, don't you think 
 
 the Devil could so undo me, 
 That straight I rushed the cup to drink too 
 
 late extended to me. 
 No, for I hesitated long, ev'n when I found 
 
 she loved me. 
 And didn't seem to think it wrong when 
 
 love and passion moved me. 
 O Brigham, you're a Saint above, and know 
 
 not the sensation 
 The ecstasy, the maddening love, the 
 
 rapturous exultation. 
 That fills a man of lower race with wonder 
 
 past all speaking. 
 When first he finds in one sweet face the 
 
 Soul he has been seeking ! 
 When two immortal beings glow in the first 
 
 fond revealing, 
 And their inferior natures know the luxury 
 
 of feeling ! 
 But ah, I had already got a quiver-full of 
 
 blessing, 
 Had blundered, tho' I knew it not, six 
 
 times beyond redressing, 
 
 And surely it was time to stop, tho' still my 
 
 lot was lonely : 
 My house was like a cobbler's shop, full, 
 
 tho' with ' misfits ' only. 
 
 And so I should have stopt, I swear, the 
 
 wretchedest of creatures. 
 Rather than put one mark of care on her 
 
 beloved features : 
 But that it happen'd Sister Anne (ah, now 
 
 the secret's tlitted!) 
 Was left in this great world of man unto 
 
 my care committed. 
 Her father, Jason Jones, was dead, a man 
 
 whose faults were many, 
 ' O, be a father, Abe,' he said, ' to my poor 
 
 daughter Annie ! ' 
 And so I promised, so she came an Orphan 
 
 to this city, 
 And set my foolish heart in flame with 
 
 mingled love and pity ; 
 And as she prettier grew each day, and 
 
 throve 'neath my protection, 
 / saw the Saints did cast her way some 
 
 tokens of affection. 
 O, Brigham, pray forgive me now ; — envy 
 
 and love combining, 
 I hated every saintly brow, benignantly in- 
 clining ! 
 Sneered at their motives, mocked the cause, 
 
 went wild and sorrow-laden. 
 And saw Polygamy's vast jaws a-yawning 
 
 for the maiden. 
 Why not, you say? Ah, yes, why not, 
 
 from your high point of vision ; 
 But I'm of an inferior lot, beyond the light 
 
 Elysian. 
 I tore my hair, whined like a whelp, I loved 
 
 her to distraction, 
 I saw the danger, knew the help, yet 
 
 trembled at the action. 
 At last I came to you, my friend, and told 
 
 my tender feeling ; 
 You said, 'Your grief shall have an end — 
 
 this is a case for Sealing ; 
 And since you have deserved so well, and 
 
 made no heinous blunder. 
 Why, brother Abraham, take the gel, but 
 
 mind you keep her under. ' 
 Well ! then I went to Sister Anne, my in- 
 most heart unclothing. 
 Told her my feelings like a man, conceal- 
 ing next to nothing.
 
 THE CITY OF THE SAINTS. 
 
 375 
 
 Explain'd the various characters of those I 
 
 had already, 
 The various tricks and freaks and stirs 
 
 peculiar to each lady, 
 And, finally, when all was clear, and hope 
 
 seem'd to forsake me, 
 ' There ! it's a wretched chance, my dear — 
 
 you leave me, or you take me. ' 
 Well, Sister Annie look'd at me, her inmost 
 
 heart revealing 
 (Women are very weak, you see, inferior, 
 
 full of feeling), 
 Then, thro' her tears outshining bright, 
 
 ' I'll never, never leave you ! 
 ' O Abe,' she said, ' my love, my light, why 
 
 should I pain or grieve you ? 
 I do not love the way of life you have so 
 
 sadly chosen, 
 I'd rather be a single wife than one in half 
 
 a dozen ; 
 But now you cannot change your plan, 
 
 tho' health and spirit perish, 
 And I shall never see a man but you to love 
 
 and cherish. 
 Take me, I'm yours, and O, my dear, don't 
 
 think I miss your merit, 
 I'll try to help a little here your true and 
 
 loving spirit.' 
 'Reflect, my love,' I said, 'once more,' 
 
 with bursting heart, half crying, 
 • Two of the girls cut very sore, and most 
 
 of them are trying ! ' 
 And then that gentle-hearted maid kissed 
 
 me and bent above me, 
 ' O Abe,' she said, ' don't be afraid, — I'll 
 
 try to make them love me 1 ' 
 
 Ah well ! I scarcely stopt to ask myself, till 
 all was over, 
 
 How precibus tough would be her task who 
 made those dear souls love her ! 
 
 But I was seal'd to Sister Anne, and straight- 
 way, to my wonder, 
 
 A series of events began which show'd me 
 all my blunder. 
 
 Brother, don't blame the souls who erred 
 
 thro' their excess of feeling — 
 So angrily their hearts were stirred by my 
 
 last act of sealing ; 
 But in a moment they forgot the quarrels 
 
 they'd been wrapt in. 
 And leagued togetlier in one lot, with 
 
 Tabby for the Captain. 
 
 Their little tiffs were laid aside, and all 
 
 combined together. 
 Preparing for the gentle Bride the blackest 
 
 sort of weather. 
 It wasn't feeling made them flout poor 
 
 Annie in that fashion. 
 It wasn't love turn'd inside out, it wasn't 
 
 jealous passion. 
 It wasn't that they cared for me, or any 
 
 other party. 
 Their hearts and sentiments were free, 
 
 their appetites were hearty. 
 But when the pretty smiling face came 
 
 blossoming and blooming. 
 Like sunshine in a shady place the fam'ly 
 
 Vault illuming, 
 It naturally made them grim to see its sunny 
 
 colour. 
 While like a row of tapers dim by daylight, 
 
 they grew duller. 
 She tried her best to make them kind, she 
 
 coaxed and served them dumbly. 
 She watch'd them with a willing mind, 
 
 deferred to them most humbly ; 
 Tried hard to pick herself a friend, but 
 
 found her arts rejected. 
 And fail'd entirely in her end, as one might 
 
 have expected. 
 But, Brother, tho' I'm loth to add one word 
 
 to criminate them, 
 I think their conduct was too bad, — it 
 
 almost made me hate them. 
 
 Ah me, the many nagging ways of women 
 
 are amazing. 
 Their cleverness solicits praise, their cruelty 
 
 is crazing ! 
 And Sister Annie hadn't been a single day 
 
 their neighbour, 
 Before a baby could have seen her life would 
 
 be a labour. 
 Rut bless her little loving heart, it kept its 
 
 sorrow hidden, 
 And if the tears began to start, suppressed 
 
 the same unbidden. 
 She tried to smile, and smiled her best, till 
 
 I thought sorrow silly. 
 And kept in her own garden nest, and lit 
 
 it like a lily. 
 O I should waste your time for days with 
 
 talk like this at present, 
 If I described her thousand ways of making 
 
 things look pleasant !
 
 576 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 But, blesiiyou, 'twere as well to try, when 
 
 thunder's at its dire work, 
 To clear the air, and light the sky, by 
 
 pennyworths of firework. 
 These gentle ways to hide her woe and make 
 
 my hfi; a blessing, 
 Just made the after darkness grow more 
 
 gloomy and depressing. 
 Taunts, mocks, and jeers, coldness and 
 
 sneers, insult and trouble daily, 
 A thousand stabs that brought the tears, all 
 
 these she cover'd gaily ; 
 But when her fond eyes feU on me, the 
 
 light of love to borrow. 
 And Sister Anne began to see / knnv her 
 
 secret sorrow. 
 All of a sudden like a mask the loving 
 
 cheat forsook her. 
 And reckon I had all my task, for illness 
 
 overtook her. 
 She took to bed, grew sad and thin, seeni'd 
 
 like a spirit flying. 
 Smiled thro' her tears when I went in, but 
 
 when I left fell crying ; 
 And as she languish'd in her bed, as weak 
 
 and wan as water, 
 I thought of what her father said, ' Take 
 
 care of my dear daughter ! ' 
 Then I look'd round with secret eye upon 
 
 her many Sisters, 
 And close at hand I saw them lie, ready 
 
 for use — hke blisters ; 
 They seemed with secret looks of glee, to 
 
 keep their wifely station ; 
 They set their lips and sneer'd at me, and 
 
 watch'd the situation. 
 
 Brother, I can scarce express the agony 
 
 of those moments, 
 
 1 fear your perfect saintliness, and dread 
 
 your cutting comments ! 
 I prayed, I wept, I moan'd, I cried, I 
 
 anguish'd night and morrow, 
 I watch'd and waited, sleepless-eyed, beside 
 
 that bed of sorrow. 
 
 At last I knew, in those dark days of sorrow 
 
 and disaster, 
 Mine wasn't soil where you could raise a 
 
 Saint up, or a Pastor ; 
 In spite of careful watering, and tilling 
 
 night and morning. 
 The weeds of vanity would spring without 
 
 a word of warning. 
 
 I was and ever must subsist, labell'd on 
 
 every feature, 
 A wretched poor Monogamist, a most in- 
 ferior creature — 
 Just half a soul, and half a mind, a blunder 
 
 and abortion, 
 Not finish'd half till I could find the other 
 
 missing portion ! 
 And gazing on that missing part which I at 
 
 last had found out, 
 I murmur'd with a burning heart, scarce 
 
 strong to get the sound out, 
 ' If from the greedy clutch of Fate I save 
 
 this chief of treasures, 
 I will no longer hesitate, but take decided 
 
 measures ! 
 A poor monogamist Uke me can not love 
 
 half a dozen. 
 Better by far, then, set them free, and take 
 
 the Wife I've chosen ! 
 Their love for me, of course, is small, a 
 
 very shadowy tittle, 
 They will not miss my face at all, or miss 
 
 it very little. 
 I can't undo what I have done, by my for- 
 lorn embraces. 
 And call the brightness of the sun again 
 
 into their faces ; 
 But I can save one spirit true, confiding and 
 
 unthinking. 
 From slowly curdling to a shrew or into 
 
 swinedom sinking.' 
 These were my bitter words of woe, my 
 
 fears were so distressing. 
 Not that I would reflect — O no ! — on any 
 
 living blessing. 
 
 Thus, Brother, I resolved, and when she 
 
 rose, stiU frail and sighing, 
 I kept my word like better men, and bolted, 
 
 — and I'm flying. 
 Into oblivion I haste, and leave the world 
 
 behind me, 
 Afar unto the starless waste, where not a 
 
 soul shall find me. 
 I send my love, and Sister Anne joins cor- 
 dially, agreeing 
 I never was the sort of man for your high 
 
 state of being ; 
 Such as I am, she takes me, though ; and 
 
 after years of trying, 
 From Eden hand in hand we go, like our 
 
 first parents flying ;
 
 CITY OF THE SAINTS— FARM IN THE VALLEY. 
 
 377 
 
 And like the bright sword that did chase 
 
 the first of sires and mothers, 
 Shines dear Tabitha's flaming face, sur- 
 rounded by the others : 
 Shining it threatens there on high, above 
 
 the gates of Heaven, 
 And faster at the sight we fly, in naked 
 
 shame, forth-driven. 
 Nothing of all my worldly store I take, 
 
 'twould be improper, 
 I go a pilgrim, strong and poor, without a 
 
 single copper. 
 Unto my Widows I outreach my property 
 
 completely. 
 There's modest competence for each, if it 
 
 is managed neatly. 
 That, Brother, is a labour left to your 
 
 sagacious keeping ; — 
 Comfort them, comfort the bereft ! I'm 
 
 good as dead and sleeping ! 
 A fallen star, a shooting light, a portent 
 
 and an omen, 
 A moment passing on the sight, thereafter 
 
 seen by no men ! 
 I go, with backward-looking face, and spirit 
 
 rent asunder. 
 O may you prosper in your place, for you're 
 
 a shining wonder ! 
 So strong, so sweet, so mild, so good ! — by 
 
 Heaven's dispensation. 
 Made Husband to a iiiultitude and Father 
 
 to a nation! 
 IVIay all the saintly life ensures increase 
 
 and make you stronger ! 
 Humbly and penitendy yours, 
 
 A. Clewson [Saint no longer) 
 
 THE FARM IN THE VALLEY- 
 SUNSET. 
 (1871.) 
 
 Still the saintly City stands, 
 Wondrous work of busy hands ; 
 Still the lonely City thrives. 
 Rich in worldly goods and wives, 
 And with thrust-out jaw and set 
 Teeth, the Yankee threatens yet^ 
 Half admiring and half riled, 
 ■ Oft by bigger schemes beguiled, 
 Turning off his curious stare 
 To communities elsewhere, 
 
 Always with unquiet eye 
 Watching Utah on the sly. 
 
 Long the City of the Plain 
 Left its image on my brain : 
 White kiosks and gardens bright 
 Rising in a golden light ; 
 Busy figures everywhere 
 Bustling bee-like in the glare ; 
 And from dovecotes in green places, 
 Peep'd out weary women's faces, 
 Flushing faint to a thin cry 
 From the nursery hard by. 
 And the City in my thought 
 Slept fantastically wrought. 
 Till the whole began to seem 
 Like a curious Eastern dream, 
 Like the pictures strange we scan 
 In the tales Arabian : 
 Tales of magic art and sleight. 
 Cities rising in a night, 
 And of women richly clad. 
 Dark-eyed, melancholy, sad. 
 Ever with a glance uncertain. 
 Trembling at the purple curtain, 
 Lest behind the black slave stand 
 With the bowstring in his hand ; — 
 Happy tales, within whose heart 
 Founts of weeping eyes upstart. 
 Told, to save her pretty head, 
 By Scheherazad in bed ! 
 
 All had faded and grown faint, 
 Save the figure of the Saint 
 Who that memorable night 
 Left the Children of the Light, 
 Flying o'er the lonely plain 
 From his lofty sphere of pain 
 Oft his gentle face would flit 
 O'er my mind and puzzle it. 
 Ever waking up meanwhile 
 Something of a merry smile. 
 Whose quick light illumined me 
 During many a reverie, 
 When I puffed my weed alone. 
 
 Faint and strange the face had grown, 
 Tho' for five long years or so 
 I had watched it come and go. 
 When, on busy thoughts intent, 
 I into New England went. 
 And one evening, riding slow 
 By a River that I know,
 
 378 
 
 SAINT ABE AND BIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 (Gentle stream ! I hide thy name, 
 
 Far too modest thou for fame !) 
 
 I beheld the landscape swim 
 
 In the autumn hazes dim, 
 
 And from out the neighbouring dales 
 
 Heard the thumping of the flails. 
 
 All was hush'd ; afar away 
 (As a novelist would say) 
 Sank the mighty orb of day. 
 Staring with a hazy glow 
 On the purple plain below. 
 Where (like burning embers shed 
 From the sunset's glowing bed, 
 Dying out or burning bright, 
 Every leaf a blaze of light) 
 Ran the maple swamps ablaze ; 
 Everywhere amid the haze, 
 Floating strangely in the air. 
 Farms and homesteads gather'd fair ; 
 And the River rippled slow. 
 Thro' the marshes green and low, 
 Spreading oft as smooth as glass 
 As it fringed the meadow grass, 
 Making 'mong the misty fields 
 Pools like golden gleaming shields. 
 
 Thus I walked my steed along. 
 Humming a low scrap of song, 
 Watching with an idle eye 
 White clouds in the dreamy sky 
 Sailing uilh me in slow pomp. 
 In the bright flush of the swamp. 
 While his dogs bark'd in the wood. 
 Gun in hand the sportsman stood ; 
 And beside me, wading deep, 
 Stood the angler half asleep, 
 Figure black against the gleam 
 Of the bright pools of the stream ; 
 Now and then a wherry brown 
 With the current drifted down 
 Sunset-ward, and as it went. 
 Made an oar-splash indolent ; 
 While with solitary sound. 
 Deepening the silence round. 
 In a voice of mystery 
 Faintly cried the chickadee. 
 
 Suddenly the River's arm 
 Rounded, and a lonely Farm 
 Stood before me blazing red 
 To the bright blaze overhead ; 
 In the homesteads at its side, 
 
 Cattle loW'Cd and voices cried. 
 And frorj out the shadows dark 
 Came a mastiff's measured bark. 
 Fair and fat stood the abode 
 On the path by which I rode. 
 And a mighty orchard, strown 
 Still with apple-leaves wind-blown, 
 Raised its branches gnarl'd and bare 
 Black against the sunset air, 
 And with greensward deep and dim, 
 Wander'd to the River's brim. 
 
 Close beside the orchard walk 
 Linger'd one in quiet talk 
 With a man in workman's gear. 
 As my horse's feet drew near, 
 The labourer nodded rough 'good-day, 
 Turned his back and loung'd away. 
 Then the first, a plump and fat 
 Yeoman in a broad straw hat. 
 Stood alone in thought intent. 
 Watching while the other went, 
 And amid the sunlight red 
 Paused, with hand held to his head. 
 
 In a moment, like a word 
 Long forgotten until heard, 
 Like a buried sentiment 
 Born again to some stray scent, 
 Like a sound to which the brain 
 Gives familiar refrain. 
 Something in the gesture brought 
 Things forgotten to my thought ; 
 Memory, as I watched the sight, 
 Flashed from eager light to light. 
 Remember'd and remember'd not. 
 Half familiar, half forgot. 
 Stood the figure, till at last. 
 Bending eyes on his, I passed. 
 Gazed again, as loth to go, 
 Drew the rein, stopt short, and so 
 Rested, looking back ; when he. 
 The object of my scrutiny. 
 Smiled and nodded, saying, ' Yes ! 
 Stare your fill, young man ! I guess 
 You'll know me if we meet again ! ' 
 
 In a moment all my brain 
 
 Was illumined at the tone. 
 
 All was vivid that had grown 
 
 Faint and dim, and straight I knew him. 
 
 Holding out my hand unto him, 
 
 Smiled, and called him by his name.
 
 THE FARM IN THE VALLEY—SUNSET. 
 
 379 
 
 Wondering, hearing me exclaim, 
 Abraham Clewson (for 'twas he) 
 Came more close and gazed at me. 
 As he gazed, a merry grin 
 Brighten'd down from eyes to chin : 
 In a moment he, too, knew me, 
 Reaching out his hand unto me. 
 Crying ' Track'd, by all that's blue ! 
 Who'd have thought of seeing jcw ?' 
 
 Then, in double quicker time 
 1 han it takes to make the rhyme, 
 Abe, with face of welcome bright, 
 Made me from my steed alight ; 
 Call'd a boy, and bade him lead 
 The beast away to bed and feed ; 
 And, with hand upon my arm, 
 Led me off into the Farm, 
 Where, amid a dwelling-place 
 Fresh and bright as her own face, 
 With a gleam of shining ware 
 For a background everywhere. 
 Free as any summer breeze, 
 With a bunch of huswife's keys 
 At her girdle, sweet and mild 
 Sister Annie bluih'd and smiled, — 
 While two tiny laughing girls. 
 Peeping at me through their curls, 
 Hid their sweet shamefacedness 
 In the skirts of Annie's dress. 
 
 That same night the Saint and I 
 
 Sat and talked of times gone by. 
 
 Smoked our pipes and drank our grog 
 
 By the slowly smouldering log, 
 
 While the clock's hand slowly crept 
 
 To midnight, and the household slept. 
 
 ' Happy?' Abe said with a smile, 
 
 ' Yes, in my inferior style, 
 
 Meek and humble, not like them 
 
 In the New Jerusalem.' 
 
 Here his hand, as if astray, 
 
 F"or a moment found its way 
 
 To his forehead, as he said, 
 
 ' Reckon they believe I'm dead ! 
 
 Ah, that life of sanctity 
 
 Never was the life for me. 
 
 Couldn't stand it wet nor dry. 
 
 Hated to see women cry ; 
 
 Couldn't bear to be the cause 
 
 Of tiffs and squalls and endless jaws ; 
 
 Always felt amid the stir 
 
 Jest a whited sepulchre ; 
 
 And I did the best I could 
 When I ran away for good. 
 Yet, for many a night, you know 
 (Annie, too, would tell you so), 
 Couldn't sleep a single wink. 
 Couldn't eat, and couldn't drink. 
 Being kind of conscience-cleft 
 For those poor creatures I had left. 
 Not till I got news from there. 
 And I found their fate was fair, 
 Could I set to work, or find 
 Any comfort in my mind. 
 Well (here .\be smiled quietly). 
 Guess they didn't groan for me ! 
 Fanny and Amelia got 
 Sealed to Brigham on the spot ; 
 Emmy soon consoled herself 
 In the a-rms of Brother Delf ; 
 And poor Mary one fine day 
 Packed her traps and tript away 
 Down to Fresco with Fred Bates, 
 A young player from the States ; 
 While Sarah, 'twas the wisest plan, 
 Pick'd herself a single man — 
 A young joiner fresh come down 
 Out of Texas to the town — 
 And he took her with her baby, 
 And they're doing well as maybe.' 
 
 Here the Saint with quiet smile. 
 Sipping at his grog the while. 
 Paused as if his tale was o'er. 
 Held his tongue and said no more. 
 ' Good,' I said, ' but have you done? 
 You have spoke of all save one — 
 All your Widows, so bereft, 
 Are most comfortably left. 
 But of one alone you said 
 Nothing. Is the lady (/^(Zfi? ? • 
 
 Then the good man's features broke 
 
 Into brightness as I spoke, 
 
 And with loud guffaw cried he, 
 
 ' What, Tabitha? Dead! Not she. 
 
 All alone and doing splendid — 
 
 Jest you guess, now, how she's ended! 
 
 Give it up ? This very week 
 
 I heard she's at Oneida Creek, 
 
 All alone and doing hearty, 
 
 Down with Brother Noycs's party 
 
 Tried the Sliakers first, they say. 
 
 Tired of them and went away, 
 
 Testing with a deal of bother 
 
 This community and t'other»
 
 38o 
 
 SAINT ABE AND HIS SEVEN WIVES. 
 
 Till she to Oneida flitted, 
 And with trouble got admitted. 
 Bless you, she's a shining lamp, 
 Tho' I used her like a scamp, 
 And she's great in exposition 
 Of the Free Love folk's condition, 
 Vowing, tho' she found it late, 
 'Tis the only happy slate. . . . 
 
 'As for me," added the speaker, 
 ' I'm lower in the scale, and weaker ; 
 Polygamy's beyond my merits, 
 Shakerism wears the spirits. 
 And as for Free Love, why you see 
 (Here the Saint wink'd wickedly) 
 With my whim it might have hung 
 Once, when I was spry and young ; 
 
 But poor Annie's love alone 
 Keeps my mind in proper tone. 
 And tho' my spirit mayn't be strong. 
 I'm lively — as the day is long.' 
 
 As he spoke, with half a yawn, 
 Half a smile, I saw the dawn 
 Creeping faint into the gloom 
 Of the quickly-chilling room. 
 On the hearth the wood-log lay, 
 With one last expiring ray ; 
 Draining off his glass of grog, 
 Clewson rose and kick'd the log ; 
 As it tumbled into ashes. 
 Watched the last expiring flashes. 
 Gave another yawn and said, 
 ' Well ! I guess it's time for bed ! ' 
 
 White Rose and Red. 
 
 A LOVE STORY. 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 To Walt Whitman and Alexander Gardiner, with all fiieuds in Washington, 
 
 I dedicate this Poem. 
 
 INVOCA TION. 
 
 'KNOW'ST THOU THE LAND?' 
 I. 
 
 Know'st thou the Land, where th^^ lian- 
 
 flower 
 Burgeons the trapper's forest bower. 
 Where o'er his head the acacia sweet 
 bhaketh her scented locks m the heat. 
 Where the hang-bird swings to a blossom- 
 cloud, 
 And the bobolink sings merry and loud ? 
 Know'st thou the Land? 
 
 O there ! O there. 
 Might I with thee, O friend of my heart, 
 repair ! 
 
 ir. 
 
 Know'st thou the Land where the golden 
 
 Day 
 Flowers into glory and glows away. 
 
 While the Night springs up, as an Indian girl 
 Clad in purple and hung with pearl ! 
 And the white Moon's heaven rolls apart. 
 Like a bell-shaped flower with a golden 
 
 heart, — 
 Know'st thou the Land ? 
 
 O there ! O there. 
 Might I with thee, O Maid of my Soul, 
 
 repair ! 
 
 nr. 
 
 Know'st thou the Land where the woods 
 
 are free. 
 And the prairie rolls as a mighty sea. 
 And over its waves the sunbeams shine, 
 While on its misty horizon-line 
 Dark and dim the buffaloes stand. 
 And the hunter is gliding gun in hand ? 
 Know'st thou it well ? 
 
 O there ! O there. 
 Might I, with those whose Souls are free, 
 
 repair !
 
 INVOCATION-TEE CAPTURE OF EUREKA HART. 381 
 
 IV. 
 
 Know'st thou the Land where the sun-birds 
 
 song 
 Filleth the forest all day long, 
 Where all is music and mirth and bloom, 
 Where the cedar sprinl<les a soft perfume, 
 Where life is gay as a glancing stream, 
 And all things answer the Poet's dream? 
 Know'st thou the Land ? 
 
 O there ! O there. 
 Might I, with him who loves my lays, 
 
 repair ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Know'st thou the Land where the swampy 
 brakes 
 
 Are full of the nests of the rattlesnakes, 
 
 Where round old Grizzly the wild bees 
 hum. 
 
 While squatting he sucks at their honey- 
 comb, 
 
 Where crocodiles crouch and the wild cat 
 springs. 
 
 And the mildest ills are mosquito stings? 
 
 Know'st thou the Land? 
 
 O there ! O there. 
 
 Might I, with adverse Critics, straight 
 
 repair ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Know'st thou the Land where wind and 
 
 sun 
 Smile on all races of men— save one : 
 Where (strange and wild as a sunset proud 
 Streak'd with the bars of a thunder-cloud) 
 Alone and silent the Red Man lies. 
 Sees the cold stars coming, and sinks, and 
 
 dies? 
 Know'st thou the Land? 
 
 O there ! O there. 
 Might I to wet his poor parch'd lips repair ! 
 
 vri. 
 
 Lock up thy gold, and take thy flight 
 To the mighty Land of the red and white ; 
 A ditty I love I would have thee hear. 
 While daylight dies, and the Night comes 
 
 near 
 With her black feet wet from the western sea, 
 And the Red Man dies, with his eyes 011 
 
 thee ! 
 Fast to that Land, ere his last footprints there 
 Are beaten down by alien feet, repair ! 
 
 PART I. 
 
 THE CAPTURE OF EUREKA 
 HART. 
 
 I. 
 
 Natura Natukans. 
 Dawn breaking. Thro' his dew-veil smiles 
 the sun, 
 And under him doth run 
 On the green grass and in the forest brake 
 
 Bright beast and speckled snake ; 
 Birds on the bough and insects in the ray 
 Gladden ; and it is day. 
 
 Wliat is tliis lying on the thymy steep. 
 
 Where yellow bees hum deep, 
 And the rich air is warm as living breath ? 
 
 What soft shape slumbereth 
 Naked and dark, and glows in a green nest, 
 
 Low-breathing in bright rest? 
 Is it the spotted panther, lying there 
 
 Lissome and hght and fair? 
 Is it the snake, with glittering skin coil'd 
 round 
 
 And gleaming on the ground ? 
 Is it some wondrous bird whose eyrie lies 
 
 Between the earth and skies ? 
 'Tis none of these, but something stranger 
 far- 
 Strange as a fallen star ! 
 A mortal birth, a marvel heavenly-eyed, 
 
 With dark pink breast and side ! 
 And as she lies the wild deer comes most 
 meek 
 
 To smell her scented cheek, 
 And creeps away ; the yeanling ounce lies 
 near. 
 
 And watches with no fear ; 
 The serpent rustles past, witti touch as light 
 
 As rose-leaves, rippling bright 
 Into the grass beyond; while yonder, onhigh, 
 
 A black speck in the sky, 
 The crested eagle hovers, with sharp sight 
 
 Facing the flood of liglit. 
 
 What living shape is this who sleeping lies 
 Watch'd by all wondering eyes 
 
 Of beast and speckled snake and flying bird ? 
 Softly she sleeps, unstirr'd 
 
 Ry wind or sun ; and since she first fell there 
 Her raven locks of hair
 
 382 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Have bosen'd, shaken round her in a 
 shower, 
 
 Whence, hke a poppy flower 
 With dark leaves and a tongue to brightness 
 tipt. 
 
 She lies vermilion-lipt. 
 Bare to the waist, her head upon her arm, 
 
 Coil'd on a couch most wami 
 Of balsam and of hemlock, whose soft scent 
 
 With her warm breath is blent. 
 Around her brow a circlet of pure gold, 
 
 With antique letters scroll'd. 
 Burns in the sun-ray, and with gold also 
 
 Her wrists and ankles glow. 
 Around her neck the threaded wild cat's 
 teeth 
 
 Hang white as pearl ; beneath 
 Her bosoms heave, and in the space between, 
 
 Duskly tattoo'd, is seen 
 A figure small as of a pine-bark brand 
 
 Held blazing in a hand. 
 Her skirt of azure, wrought with braid and 
 thread 
 
 In quaint signs yellow and red, 
 Scarce reaches to her dark and dimpled knee. 
 
 Leaving it bare and free. 
 Below, mocassins red as blood are wound, 
 
 With gold and purple bound ; — 
 So that red-footed like the stork she lies. 
 
 With softly shrouded eyes. 
 Whose brightness seems with heavy lustrous 
 dew 
 
 To pierce the dark lids thro'. 
 Her eyelids closed, her poppied lips apart. 
 
 And her quick eager heart 
 Stirring her warm frame, as a bird unseen 
 
 Stirs the warm lilac-sheen. 
 She slumbers, — and of all beneath the skies 
 
 Seemeth the last to rise. 
 
 She stirs— she wakens — now, O birds, sing 
 loud 
 Under the golden cloud ! 
 She stirs— she wakens — now, O wild beast, 
 spring. 
 Blooms grow, breeze blow, birds sing ! 
 She wakens in her nest and looks around. 
 
 And listens to the sound ; 
 Her eyelids blink against the heavens' bright 
 beam. 
 Still dim and dark with dream. 
 Her breathing quickens, and her cheek 
 gleams red, 
 
 And round her shinmg head 
 Glossy her black hair glistens. Now she 
 stands. 
 And with her little hands 
 Shades her soft orbs and upward at the sky 
 
 She gazeth quietly ; 
 Then at one bound springs with a sudden 
 song 
 The forest-track along. 
 
 Thro' the transparent roof of twining leaves. 
 
 Where the deep sunlight weaves 
 Threads like a spider's-web of silvern 
 white. 
 Faint falls the dreamy light 
 Down the gray bolls and boughs that 
 mtervene, 
 On to the carpet green 
 Prinkt with all wondrous flowers, on emerald 
 brakes 
 Where the still speckled snakes 
 Crawl shaded ; and above the shaded 
 ground. 
 Amid the deep-sea sound 
 Of the high branches, bright birds scream 
 and fly 
 And chattering parrots cry ; 
 And everywhere beneath them in the bowers 
 
 Float things like living flowers, 
 Hovermi; and settling ; and here and there 
 
 The blue gleams deep and fair 
 Thro' the high parted boughs, while serpent- 
 bright 
 Slips thro" the golden light. 
 Startling the cool deep shades that brood 
 around, 
 And floating to the ground, 
 With multitudinous living motes at play 
 Like dust in the rich ray. 
 
 Hither for shelter from the burning sun 
 
 Hath stolen the beauteous one. 
 And thro' the ferns and flowers she runs, 
 and plucks 
 Berries blue-black, and sucks 
 The fallen orange. Where the sunbeams 
 blink 
 She lieth down to drink 
 Out of the deep pool, and her image sweet 
 
 Floats dim below her feet. 
 Up-peering thro' the lilies yellow and 
 white 
 And green leaves where the bright
 
 THE CAPTURE OF EUREKA HART. 
 
 383 
 
 Great Dragon-fly doth pause. With burning 
 breath 
 
 She looks and gladdeneth. 
 She holds her hands, the shape holds out 
 hands too ; 
 
 She stoops more near to view, 
 And it too stoopeth looking wild and sly ; 
 
 Whereat, with merry cry, 
 She staretth up, and fluttering onward flics 
 
 With gladness in her eyes. 
 
 But who is this who all alone lies deep 
 
 In heavy-lidded sleep? 
 A dark smile hovering on his bearded lips. 
 
 His hunter's gun he grips. 
 And snores aloud where snakes and lizards 
 run. 
 
 His mighty limbs i' the sun 
 And his fair face within the shadow. See ! 
 
 His breath conies heavily 
 Like one's tired out with toil ; and when in 
 fear 
 
 The Indian maid comes near. 
 And bendeth over him most wondering. 
 
 The bright birds scream and sing. 
 The motes are madder in the ray, the snake 
 
 Glides luminous in the brake. 
 The sunlight flashes fiery overhead, 
 
 The wood-cat with eyes red 
 Crawleth close by, with her lithe crimson 
 tongue 
 
 Licking her clumsy young, 
 And, deep within the open prairie nigh. 
 
 Hawks swoop and struck birds cry ! 
 
 Dark maiden, what is he thou lookest on? 
 
 O ask not, but begone ! 
 Go ! for his eyes are blue, his skin is white, 
 
 And giant-like his height. 
 To him thou wouldst appear a tiny thing. 
 
 Some small bird on the wing. 
 Some small deer to be kill'd ere it could fly, 
 
 Or to be tamed, and die ! — 
 O look not, look not, in the hunter's face, 
 
 Thou maid of the red race, 
 He is a tame thing, thou art weak and wild, 
 
 Thou lovely forest-child ! 
 How should the deer by the great deer- 
 hound walk. 
 
 The wood-dove seek the hawk ? — 
 Away ! away ! lest he should wake from rest. 
 
 Fly, sun-bird, to thy nest ! 
 
 Why doth she start, and backward softly 
 creep ? 
 
 He stirreth in his sleep — 
 Why doth she steal away with wondering 
 eye^? 
 
 He stretches limbs, and sighs. 
 Peace ! she hath fled — and he is all alone. 
 
 While, with a yawn and groan, 
 The man sits up, rubs eyehds, grips his gun. 
 
 Stares heavenward at the sun. 
 And cries aloud, stretching himself anew : 
 
 ' Broad day, — by all that's blue ! ' 
 
 II. 
 
 Eureka. 
 
 On the shores of the Atlantic, 
 Where the surge rolls fierce and frantic. 
 Where the mad winds cry and wrestle 
 With each frail and bird-like vessel, — 
 Down in Maine, where human creatures 
 Are amphibious in their natures, 
 And the babies, sons or daughteis. 
 Float like fishes in the waters, — 
 Down in Maine, by the Atlantic, 
 Grew the Harts, of race gigantic. 
 And the tallest and the strongest 
 Was Eureka Hart, the youngest. 
 
 Like a bear-cub as a baby, 
 
 Rough, and rear'd as roughly as may be, 
 
 He had rudely grown and thriven 
 
 Till, a giant, si.x foot seven. 
 
 Bold and ready for all comers, 
 
 He had reach'd full thirty summers. 
 
 All his brethren, thrifty farmers, 
 
 Had espoused their rural charmers. 
 
 Settling down once and for ever 
 
 By the Muskeosquash River : 
 
 Thrifty men, devout believers. 
 
 Of the tribe of human beavers ; 
 
 Life to them, with years increasing. 
 
 Was an instinct never-ceasing 
 
 To build dwellings multifarious 
 
 In the fashion called gregarious. 
 
 To be honest in their station, 
 
 And increase the population 
 
 Of the beavers ! They, moreover, 
 
 Tho' tlicir days were cast in clover, 
 
 I lad the instinct of secreting ; 
 
 Toiling hard while time was fleeting, 
 
 To lay by in secret places, 
 
 [Like the bee and squirrel races,]
 
 3S4 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Quiet stores of yellow money, 
 [Which is human nuts and honey.] 
 
 The' no flowers of dazzling beauty 
 In their ploughshare line of duty 
 Rose and bloom'd, still, rural daisies, 
 Such as every village raises, 
 From the thin soil of their spirits 
 Grew and throve. Their gentle merits, 
 Free of any gleam of passion, 
 Flower'd in an instructive fashion. 
 Quite convinced that life was fleeting 
 Every week they went to meeting. 
 Met and prayed to God in dozens. 
 Uncles, nephews, nieces, cousins. 
 Joining there in adoration. 
 All the beaver population ! 
 From this family one creature, 
 Taller and more fair of feature, 
 Err'd and wander'd, slightly lacking 
 In the building, breeding, packing. 
 Tribal-instinct ; and would never 
 Settle down by wood or river. 
 Build a house or take a woman 
 In the pleasant fashion common 
 To his race ; evincing rather 
 Traces of some fiercer father, 
 Panther-like, to hunting given 
 In the eye of the blue heaven ! 
 When beneath the mother's bosom 
 His great life began to blossom, 
 Haply round her winds were crying. 
 O'er her head the white clouds fl\ ing. 
 At her feet the wild waves flowing. 
 All thmgs moving, coming, going, 
 And the motion and vibration 
 Reach'd the thing in embryoation, 
 On its unborn soul conferring 
 Endless impulse to be stirring, — 
 To be ever wandering, racing. 
 Bird-like, wave-like, chased or chasing ! 
 Bom beside the stormy ocean, 
 'Twas the giant's earliest notion 
 To go roaming on the billow. 
 With a damp plank for a pillow. 
 In his youth he went as sailor 
 With the skipper of a whaler ; 
 But in later life he better 
 Loved to feel no sort of fetter, 
 All his own free pathway mapping 
 In the forest,— hunting, trapping. 
 By great rivers, thro' vast valleys, 
 As thro' some enchanted palace 
 
 Ever bright and ever changing, 
 Many years he went a-ranging, — 
 Free as any wave, and only 
 Lonely as a cloud is lonely. 
 Floating in a void, surveying 
 Endless tracts for endless straying. 
 
 Pause a minute and regard him ! 
 Years of hardships have not marr'd him. 
 Limbs made perfect, iron-solder'd, 
 Narrow-hipp'd and mighty-shoulder' d, 
 Whisker'd, bearded, strong and stately, 
 With a smile that lurks sedately 
 In still eyes of a cold azure. 
 Never lighting to sheer pleasure. 
 Stands he there, 'mid the green trees 
 Like the Greek god, Herakles. 
 
 Stay, nor let the bright allusion 
 Lead your spirit to confusion. 
 Tho' a wanderer, and a creature 
 Almost as a god in feature. 
 This man's nature was as surely 
 Soulless and instinctive purely, 
 As the natures of those others, 
 His sedater beaver-brothers ; 
 Nothing brilliant, bright, or frantic. 
 Nothing maidens style romantic. 
 Flash' d his slow brain morn or night 
 Into spiritual light ! 
 
 As waves run, and as clouds wander. 
 With small power to feel or ponder, 
 Roam'd this thing in human clothing, 
 Intellectually — nothing ! 
 Further in his soul receding. 
 Certain signs of beaver-breeding 
 Kept his homely wits in see-saw ; 
 Part was Jacob, part was Esau ; 
 No revolter ; a believer 
 In the dull creed of the beaver ; 
 Strictly moral ; seeing beauty 
 In the ploughshare line of duty ; 
 Loving nature as beasts love it, 
 Eating, drinking, tasting of it, 
 With no wild poetic gleaming, 
 Seldom shaping, never dreaming ; 
 Beaver with a wandering craze, 
 Walked Eureka in God's ways. 
 
 Now ye know him, now ye see him ; 
 Nought from beaver-blood can free him ; 
 Yet stand by and shrewdly con him, 
 While a wild light strikes upon him.
 
 THE CAPTURE OF EUREKA HART. 
 
 385 
 
 While a gleam of glory finds him, 
 Flashes in his eyes and bhnds him, 
 Shapes his mind to its full measure, 
 Raising him, in one mad pleasure, 
 'Spite the duller brain's control, 
 To the stature of a SoUL 1 
 
 III. 
 The Capture. 
 
 The wild wood rings, the wild wood gleams, 
 The wild wood laughs with echoes gay ; 
 Thro' its green heart a bright beck streams, 
 Sparkling like gold in the sun's beams. 
 But creeping, like a silvern ray, 
 Where hanging boughs make dim the day. 
 Hush'd, hot, and Eden-hke all seems, 
 And onward thro' the place of dreams 
 Eureka Hart doth stray. 
 
 Strong, broad-awake, and happy-eyed. 
 With the loose tangled hght for guide, 
 He wanders, and at times doth pass 
 Thro' open glades of gleaming grass. 
 With spiderwort and larkspur spread, 
 And great anemones blood-red ; 
 On every side the forest closes. 
 
 The myriad trees are interlaced, 
 Starr'd with the white magnolia roses. 
 
 And by the purple vines embraced. 
 Beneath on every pathway shine 
 The fallen needles of the pine ; 
 Around are dusky scented bowers. 
 Bridged with the glorious lian-flowers. 
 Above, far up thro' the green trees. 
 
 The palm thrusts out its fan of green. 
 Which softly stirs in a soft breeze. 
 
 Far up again,''t the heavenly sheen. 
 
 And all beneath the topmost palm 
 Is sultry shade and air of balm. 
 Where, shaded from the burning rays. 
 Scream choirs of parroquets and jays ; 
 Where in the dusk of dream is heard 
 The shrill cry of the echo-bird ; 
 And on the grass, as thick as bees, 
 
 Run mocking-birds and wood doves small 
 Pecking the blood-red strawberries. 
 
 And fruits that from the branches fall ; 
 All rising up with gleam and cry. 
 When the bright snake glides hissing by, 
 Springs froin the grass, and, swift as light, 
 Slips after the chameleons bright 
 
 From bough to bough, and here and there 
 Pauses and hangs in the green air, 
 Festoon'd in many a glistening fold. 
 Like some loose chain of gems and gold. 
 
 Smoke from a mortal pipe is blent 
 With cedar and acacia scent : 
 Phlegmatically relishing. 
 
 Eureka smokes ; from every tree 
 The wood-doves brood, the sun-birds sing, 
 The forest doth salute its King, 
 
 The monarch Man, — but what cares he ? 
 His eyes are dull, his soul in vain 
 Hears the strange tongues of his domain, 
 No echo comes to the soft strain 
 From the dull cavern of his brain. 
 
 But hark ! what quick and sparkling cry 
 Darts like a fountain to the sky ? 
 How, human voices ! strangely clear, 
 They burst upon the wanderer's ear. 
 He stops, he listens — hark again. 
 Wild rippling laughter rises plain ! 
 
 O'er his fair face a look of wonder 
 
 Is spreading — ' Injins here — by thunder ! ' 
 
 He cocks his gun, and stands to hear, 
 Sets his white teeth together tight. 
 
 Then, silent-footed as the deer. 
 Creeps to the sound. The branches bright 
 Thicken around him ; with quick flight 
 The doves and blue-birds gleam away, 
 Shooting in showers from spray to spray. 
 A thicket of a thousand blooms, 
 
 Green, rose, white, blue, one rainbow glow, 
 Closes around him ; strange perfumes, 
 Crush'd underfoot in the rich glooms. 
 
 Load the rich air as he doth go ; 
 
 The harmless snakes around him glow 
 With emerald eyes ; lithe arms of vine 
 Trip him and round his neck entwine, 
 Bursting against his stained skin 
 Their grapes of purple glossy-thin. 
 But still the rippling laughter flows 
 Before him as he creeps and goes. 
 Till suddenly, with a strange look. 
 He crouches down in a green nook, 
 Crouches and gazes from the bowers, 
 Curtain'd and cover'd up in flowers. 
 
 O, what strange sight before him lies? 
 Why doth he gaze with sparkling eyes 
 And beating heart ? Deep, bright, and cool, 
 Before him gleams a crystal pool, 
 
 CC
 
 386 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Fed by the beck : and o'er its brim 
 Festoons of roses mirror'd dim 
 Hang drooping low on every side ; 
 
 And glorious moths and dragon-flies 
 Hover above, and gleaming-eyed 
 
 The stingless snake hangs blossom-wise, 
 In loose folds sleeping. Not on these 
 Gazes Eureka thro' the trees : 
 Snake never made such smiles to grace 
 His still blue eyes and sun-tann'd face, 
 And never flower, howe'er so fair, 
 Would fix that face to such a stare. 
 And yet like gleaming water-snakes 
 
 They wind and wanton in the pool. 
 Above their waists in flickering flakes 
 The molten sunlight slips and shakes ; 
 
 Beneath, their gleaming limbs bathe cool. 
 One floats above with laughter sweet. 
 And splashes silver with her feet ; 
 One clinging to the drooping boughs 
 
 Leans back, and lets her silken hair 
 Rain backward from her rippling brows, 
 
 While on her shoulders dark and bare 
 
 Blossoms fall thick and linger there 
 Nestling and clinging. To the throat 
 Cover'd, one dark-eyed thing doth float, 
 Her face a flower, her locks all wet, 
 Tendrils and leaves around it set ; 
 O sight most strangely beautiful, 
 Three Indian Naiads in a pool ! 
 
 Eureka, be it understood. 
 
 Though beaver-born, is flesh and blood, 
 
 And what he saw in day's broad gold 
 
 Was stranger far a thousand fold. 
 
 Than that wild scene bold Tam O'Shanter 
 
 In Scotland saw one winter night, 
 (Ah with the Scottish Bard to canter, 
 On Pegasus to Fame instanter, 
 
 Singing one song so trim and tight !) 
 He look'd, and look'd, like Tam ; like 
 
 him, 
 On the most fair of face and limb 
 Fixing most long his wondering eye ; 
 For I like greater bards should lie, 
 If I averr'd that all and one 
 Who sported there beneath the sun. 
 Were gloriously fair of face ; 
 But they were women of red race. 
 Clad in the most bewitching dress, 
 Their own unconscious loveliness ; 
 And tho' their beauty might not be 
 
 Perfect and flawless, they were fine, 
 
 Bright-eyed, red-lipp'd, made strong and free 
 In many a cunning curve and line 
 A sculptor would have deem'd divine. 
 
 Not so the rest, who all around 
 
 With fierce eyes squatted on the ground. 
 
 Nodding approval : — squaws and crones 
 
 Clapping their hands with eager groans. 
 
 These were the witches, I might say, 
 
 Of this new tropic Alloway. 
 
 [As for the Devil — even he 
 
 Was by the Serpent represented 
 
 Swinging asleep from a green tree, — 
 Reflected, gloriously painted. 
 
 In the bright wa'er where the three 
 
 Laugh'd and disported merrily.] 
 
 But chiefly poor Eureka gazed. 
 Trembling, dumb-stricken, and amazed, 
 On the most beautiful of all, 
 
 Who standing on the water-side, 
 A perfect shape queenly and tall 
 
 Stood in the sun erect, and dried 
 Her gleaming body head to feet 
 In one broad ray of golden heat. 
 Naked she stood, but her strange sheen 
 Of beauty clad her like a queen, 
 And beaming rings of yellow gold 
 Were round her wrists and ankles roll'd. 
 And on her skin Eureka scann'd 
 A symbol bright as of a brand 
 Held burning in a human hand. 
 
 Smiling, she spake in a strange tongue. 
 
 And eager laughter round her rung. 
 
 While wading out all lustrous-eyed 
 
 She sat upon the water-side. 
 
 And pelted merrily the rest 
 
 With blossoms bright and flowers of jest. 
 
 Ah, little did Eureka guess. 
 While wondering at her loveliness, 
 The same fair form had softly crept 
 And look'd upon him while he slept. 
 And thought him [him! the man of Maine! 
 Civilizee with beaver-brain !) 
 Beauteous, in passion's first wild beam. 
 Beyond all Indian guess or dream ! 
 
 Eureka Hart, though tempted more 
 Than e'er was mortal man before, 
 Did not like Tam O'Shanter break 
 
 The charm with mad applause or call ; 
 Too wise for such a boor's mistake. 
 
 He held his tongue, observing all ;
 
 THE CAPTURE OF EUREKA HART. 
 
 387 
 
 But while the hunter forward leant, 
 Sharing the glorious merriment, 
 He moved a little unaware 
 
 The better to behold the sport. 
 And lo ! upon the heavy air 
 
 Off went his gun with sharp report, 
 And while the bullet past his ear 
 
 Whizz'd quick, he stagger'd with the 
 shock, 
 And with one scream distinct and clear 
 
 Rose the red women in a flock. 
 The naked bathers stood and scream'd, 
 The brown squaws cried, their white teeth 
 
 gleam' d ; 
 And ere he knew, with startled face 
 He stagger'd to the open space ; 
 The sharp vines tript him, and, confounded, 
 He stumbled, grasping still his gun, — 
 And, by the chattering choir surrounded. 
 
 Half dazed, lay lengthways in the sun. 
 
 As when a clumsy grizzly bear 
 
 Breaks on a dove-cot unaware, 
 
 As when some snake, unwieldy heap. 
 
 Drops from a pine-bough, half asleep, 
 
 Plump in the midst of grazing sheep ; — 
 
 Even so into the women-swarm 
 
 Suddenly fell the giant's form ! 
 
 They leapt, they scream'd, they closed, they 
 
 scattered, 
 Some fled, some stood, all call'd and 
 
 chatter'd. 
 And to the man in his amaze 
 Innumerable seem'd as jays 
 And parroquets in the green ways. 
 Had they been men, despite their throng, 
 In sooih he had lain still less long ; 
 But somehow in the stars 'twas fated, 
 He for a space -^zs fascinated ! 
 And ere he knew what he should do. 
 All round about him swarm'd the crew. 
 Sharp-eyed, quick-fmger'd, and, despite 
 His struggling, clung around him tight ; 
 Half choked, half smother'd by embraces. 
 In a wild mist of arras and faces. 
 He stagger'd up ; in vain, in vain ! 
 Hags, squaws, and maidens in a chain 
 Clung round him, and with quicker speed 
 Than ye this running rhyme can read. 
 With tendrils tough as thong of hide, 
 Torn from the trees on every side. 
 In spite of all his strength, the band 
 Had bound the Giant foot and hanc}. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thro' the Wood. 
 
 Through the gleaming forest closes. 
 Where on white magnolia-roses 
 Light the dim-draped queen reposes, 
 Lo, they lead the captive Giant 
 
 Shrieking shrill as jays around him. 
 They have led him, they have bound him, 
 With a wreath of vine-leaves crown' d him, 
 Which he weareth, half defiant. 
 
 If their ears could hear him swearing ! 
 Of his oaths he is not sparing, 
 While, with hands sharp-claw'd for tearing. 
 Hags and beldams bum to rend him. 
 
 If the younger, prettier creatures 
 Heard that tallest of beseechers. 
 While he pleads with frantic features I 
 But they do not comprehend him. 
 
 In their Indian tongue they're crying, 
 From the forest multiplying, 
 Mocking, murmuring, leaping, flying, 
 While he shouts out, ' D the women 1 ' 
 
 All his mighty strength is nothing : 
 Like a ship, despite his loathing. 
 Mid these women scant of clothing 
 He is tossing, struggling, screaming. 
 
 Crown'd like Bacchus on he passes. 
 O'er deep runlets, through great grasses, 
 While [like flies around molasses] 
 
 Fair and foul are round him humming I 
 
 Half a day they westward wander. 
 Stopping not to rest or ponder ; 
 Then the forest ends ; and yonder 
 Wild dogs bark to hear them coming. 
 
 Cluster'd in an open clearing 
 Stand the wigwams they are nearing. 
 Bark the dogs, a strange foot fearing. 
 Low the cattle,— straight before them. 
 
 Out into the sunlight leaping. 
 There they see the wigwams sleeping. 
 With a blue smoke upward creeping. 
 And the burning azure o'er them 1 
 
 C C 3
 
 388 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 All is still, save for the screaming 
 Children from the wigwams streaming, 
 All is still and sweet to seeming, 
 Not a man's face forward thrusting. 
 
 Thinks Eureka, ' This looks stranger — 
 Ne'er a man — then double danger ; 
 Many a year I've been a ranger, — 
 Woman's mercy put no trust in ! ' 
 
 As he speaks in trepidation, 
 All his heart in palpitation, 
 He is fill'd with admiration 
 At a vision wonder-laden. 
 
 From the largest wigwam, slowly, 
 While the women-band bow lowly. 
 Comes an old man white and holy. 
 Guided gently by a maiden ! 
 
 The Red Tribe. 
 
 Ninety long years had slowly shed 
 Their snows upon the patriarch's head, 
 And on a staff of ash he leant, 
 Shaking and bending as he vs^ent. 
 His face, sepulchral, long, and thin, 
 Was shrivell'd like a dried snake's skin, 
 And on the cheeks and forehead dark 
 Tattoo'd was many a livid mark. 
 And in the midst his eyeballs white 
 Roll'd blankly, seeing not the light ; 
 And when he listen'd in his place 
 
 You saw at once that he was blind. 
 For with a visionary grace 
 
 Dim mem'ries moved from his own mind, 
 And the wild waters of his face 
 
 Waved in a wondrous wind. 
 
 From an artistic point of sight. 
 The aged man was faultless quite ; 
 Albeit the raiment he did wear 
 
 Was somewhat hybrid ; for example, 
 A pair of pantaloons threadbare 
 Match'd strangely with his Indian air, 
 
 And blanket richly wrought and ample ; 
 And, though perchance not over clean. 
 He had a certain gentle mien 
 Kindly and kingly ; and a smile 
 Complacent in the kingly style. 
 Yet fraught with strangely subtle rays. 
 The lingering light of other days : — 
 Brightness and motion such as we 
 Trace in the trouble of the Sea, 
 
 When the long stormy day is sped. 
 And in the last light dusky-red 
 The waves are sinking, one by one. 
 
 But she who led him ! — In the sun 
 
 She gleam'd beside him, like a rose 
 
 That by a dark sad water grows 
 
 And trembles. In a moment's space 
 
 Eureka recognised the face ! 
 
 'Twas hers, who stood most beautiful, 
 
 Queen of those bathers in the pool ! 
 
 But her bright locks were braided now 
 
 Around her clear and glistening brow, 
 
 And on her limbs she wore a dress 
 
 Less rich than her own loveliness. 
 
 From the artistic point of view. 
 
 The maiden's dress was faultless too. 
 
 But, look'd at closely, not so rare 
 
 As white-skinn'd maid would wish to wear ; 
 
 'Twas coarsest serge of sullen dye, 
 
 Albeit embroider' d curiously ; 
 
 And the few ornaments she wore 
 
 Were trifles valueless and poor ; — 
 
 Their merit, let us straight confess. 
 
 And all the merit of her dress, 
 
 Was that they form'd for eyes to see 
 
 Nimbus enough of drapery 
 
 And ornament, just to suggest 
 
 Tlie costume that became her best — 
 
 Her own brave beauty. She just wore 
 
 Enough for modesty— no more. 
 
 She was not, as white beauties seem, 
 
 Smother'd, like strawberries in cream. 
 
 With folds of silk and linen. No ! 
 
 The Indians wrap their babies so. 
 
 And we our women ; who, alas ! 
 
 Waddle about upon the grass. 
 
 Distorted, shapeless, smother'd, choking. 
 
 Hideous, and horribly provoking, 
 
 Because we long, without offence, 
 
 To tear the mummy-wrappings thence, 
 
 And show the human form enchanting 
 
 That 'neath the fatal folds is panting ! 
 
 She was a shapely creature, tall. 
 And slightly form'd, but plump withal, — 
 Shapely as deer are — finely fair 
 As creatures nourish'd by warm air, 
 And luscious fruits that interfuse 
 Something of their own glorious hues, 
 And the rich odour that perfumes them, 
 Into the body that consumes them. 
 She had drank richness thro' and thro' 
 As the great flowers drink light and dew ;
 
 THE CAPTURE OF EUREKA HART. 
 
 385 
 
 And she had caught from wandering streams 
 Their restless motion ; and strange gleams 
 From snakes and flowers thatglow'd around 
 Had stolen into her blood, and fotmd 
 Warmth, peace, and silence ; and, in brief. 
 Her looks were bright beyond belief 
 Of those who meet in the green ways 
 The rum- wreck' d squaws of later days. 
 
 [[ would be accurate, nor essay 
 
 Again in Cooper's pleasant way 
 
 A picture highly wrought and splendid 
 
 Of the red race whose pride has ended. 
 
 Nor here by contrast err : indeed, 
 
 The red man is of Esau's seed, 
 
 Hath Esau's swiftness, and, I guess, 
 
 Much, too, of Esau's loveliness. 
 
 A thousand years in the free wild 
 
 He fought and hunted, leapt and smiled ; 
 
 A miUion impulses and rays 
 
 Shot thro' his spirit's tangled ways, 
 
 Working within his dusky frame 
 
 As in a storm-cloud worketh flame, 
 
 Shaping his strength as years did roll 
 
 Into the semblance of his soul. 
 
 Slowly his shape and spirit caught 
 
 The living hkeness wonder-fraught. 
 
 The golden, many-coloured moods 
 
 Of those free plains and pathless woods ; 
 
 Those blooms that burst, those streams that 
 
 run 
 One changeless rainbow in the sun 1 
 Unto the hues of this rich chme 
 His nature was subdued in time ; 
 And he became as years increased 
 A glorious animal, at least.] 
 
 Soon hke a mist did disappear 
 
 Eureka Hart's first foolish fear, 
 
 For courteously the chief address'd him, 
 
 In English speech distinct tho' broken, 
 Bade them unloose and cease to pest him. 
 
 And further, smiling and soft spoken. 
 Inquired his country and his name, 
 Whither he fared and whence he came. 
 Eureka, from the withes released. 
 Shook himself like a bright-eyed beast, 
 And mutter'd ; then, meeting the look 
 Of that bright naiad of the brook, 
 Blush'd like a shamefaced boy, while she 
 Stood gazing on him silently. 
 With melancholy orbs whose flame 
 Confused his soul with secret shame. 
 
 In a brief answer and explicit, 
 
 He told the cause of his strange visit. 
 
 The old chief smiled and whisper'd low 
 
 Into the small ear of the maiden ; 
 Her large eyes fell, and with a glow 
 
 Of dark, deep rose her face was laden. 
 Then, like a sound of many waters. 
 Innumerable screams and chatters, 
 The voices of the women-band 
 
 Broke out in passion and in power ; 
 But, at the raising of his hand. 
 
 Ceased, hke the swift cease of a shower. 
 
 Full soon Eureka saw and knew 
 
 That the Dark Dame who favours few 
 
 Had brought him to a friendly place, 
 
 Where, far from cities, a mild race 
 
 Of happy Indians spent their days 
 
 'Mid pastures and well-water'd ways. 
 
 An ancient people strong and good. 
 
 With something sacred in their blood ; 
 
 Scatter'd and few, to strangers kind ; 
 
 Wise in the ways of rain and wind ; 
 
 Peaceful when pleased, bloody when roused, 
 
 They dwelt there comfortably housed ; 
 
 And in those gardens ever fair. 
 
 Hunted and fish'd with little care. 
 
 Just then their braves were roaming bound 
 
 On an adjacent hunting-ground ; 
 
 And aU the population then 
 
 Were women wild and aged men. — 
 
 But he, that old man blind and tall, 
 
 Was a great King, and Chief of all ; 
 
 And she who led him was by birth 
 
 His grandchild, dearest thing on earth 
 
 To his dusk age ; and dear tenfold 
 
 Because no other kin had she, — 
 Since sire and mother both lay cold 
 
 Under Death's leafless Upas-tree. 
 
 Enough ! here faltereth my first song : 
 Eureka, still in secret captured. 
 
 In that lost Eden lingers long, 
 And his big bosom beats enraptured. 
 
 Long days and nights speed o'er him there ; 
 
 What binds him tiow ? a woman's hair ! 
 
 What doth he see ? a woman's eyes 
 
 Above him luminously rise ! 
 
 What doth he kiss ? a woman's mouth 
 
 Sweeter than spice-winds of the south ! 
 
 By golden streams he lies full blest, 
 
 And Red Rose blossoms on his breast
 
 390 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 O love ! love ! love ! whose spells are shed 
 On bodies black, white, yellow, red — 
 Flame of all matter,— flower of clay, — 
 Star of pangenesis ;— but stay 1 
 A theme of so divine a tone 
 Must have a canto of its own I 
 
 PART II. 
 RED ROSE. 
 
 I. 
 Erycina Ridens. 
 
 O LOVE ! O spirit of being ! 
 
 O wonderful secret of breath, 
 Sweeter than hearing or seeing. 
 
 Sadder than sorrow or death. 
 
 Earth with its hohest flavour, 
 Life with its lordliest dower, 
 
 The fruit's strange essence and flavour, 
 Bloom and scent of the flower. 
 
 [Thus might a modern poet, 
 
 O Aphrodite, uptake 
 His fanciful flute and blow it. 
 
 And wail the echoes awake !] 
 
 love, love, Aphrodite, 
 Cytherea divine, 
 
 1 hold you fever'd and flighty, 
 And seek a pleasanter shrine. 
 
 Yet hither, O spirit fervent. 
 
 Just to help me along. 
 Forget I am not thy servant. 
 
 And blow in the sails of my song. 
 
 For lo ! 'tis a situation 
 
 Caused by thyself, 'twould seem ; 
 The old, old foolish sensation. 
 
 Two lovers lost in a dream. 
 
 O the wonder and glory, 
 Bright as Creations burst ! 
 
 O the ancestral story, 
 Old as Adam the first ! 
 
 Flame, and fervour, and fever, 
 Flashing from morning to night, 
 
 Alliteration for ever 
 
 Of love, and longing, and light. 
 
 How should the story vary ? 
 
 How the song be new? 
 Music and meaning marry? 
 
 'Tis love, love, love, all thro' I 
 
 As it was in the beginning, 
 
 Is, and ever shall be 1 
 Loving, and love for the winning. 
 
 Love, and the soul set free. 
 
 [An invocation like this is 
 
 Need not be over-wise ; 
 Who shall interpret kisses? 
 
 What is the language of eyes?] 
 
 Again a man and a woman 
 Feeling the old blest thing, 
 
 Better than voices human 
 A bird on the bough could sing. 
 
 Only a sound is wanted. 
 
 Merry, and happy, and loud, — 
 
 Such as the lark hath panted 
 Up in the golden cloud. 
 
 Lips, and Ups to kiss them ; 
 
 Eyes, and eyes to behold ; 
 Hands, and hands to press them ; 
 
 Arms, and arms to enfold. 
 
 The love that comes to the palace. 
 That comes to the cottage door ; 
 
 The ever-abundant chahce 
 Brimming for rich and poor ; 
 
 The love that waits for the winning. 
 The love that ever is free. 
 
 That was in the world's beginning. 
 Is, and ever shall be 1 
 
 II. 
 
 Log and Sunbeam. 
 
 As a pine-log prostrate lying. 
 
 Slowly thro' its knotted skin 
 Feels the warm revivifying 
 
 Spring-time thrill and tremble in ; 
 As a pine-log, strong and massive, 
 Feels the light and heth passive. 
 While a Sunbeam, coming daily. 
 Creeps upon its bosom gaily ; 
 Warms the bark with quick pulsations. 
 Warms and waits each day in patience. 
 While the green begins to brighten, 
 And the sap begins to heighten,—
 
 RED ROSE. 
 
 391 
 
 nil at last from its hard bosom 
 Suddenly there slips a blossom 
 Green as emerald ! — then another ! 
 
 Then a third ! then more and more ! 
 Till the soft green bud-knots smother 
 
 What was sapless wood before ; 
 Till the thing is consecrated 
 
 To the spirit of the Spring, 
 Till the love for all things fated 
 
 Burns and beautifies the thing ; — 
 And the wood-doves sit and con it, 
 
 And the squirrels from on high 
 Fluttering drop their nuts upon it. 
 
 And the bee and butterfly 
 Find it pleasant to alight there, 
 And taps busy morn and night there 
 
 Many a bird with golden beak ; 
 Till, since all has grown so bright there, 
 
 It would cry (if Logs could speak), 
 ' Sunbeam, sunbeam, I'm your debtor ! 
 
 I was fit for firewood nearly. 
 I'm considerably better. 
 
 And I love you, Sunbeam, dearly ! ' 
 
 . . . Thou, Eureka, wast the wood ! 
 
 She, the Sunbeam of the Spring, 
 Vivifying thy dull blood 
 
 Past thy mind's imagining ! 
 Till the passion of her loving, 
 
 Seething forth with ardours frantic, 
 Brought the buds forth, set thee moving. 
 
 Made thee almost look romantic. 
 
 ' O would some power the giftie gie us 
 To see oursels as others see us ! ' 
 
 Sang the wise ploughman in his power. 
 And yet. Eureka, had sweet Heaven 
 To thee her wondrous ' giftie ' given 
 
 To see thyself as seen that hour. 
 To know thy features as she knew them. 
 
 To see thy shape as she perceived it ; 
 To see thine eyes, and thro' and thro' them, 
 
 Into thy Soul as she conceived it ; 
 Either thy blood had run mad races, 
 
 And driven thee to some maniac action ; 
 Or (what more likely in the case is) 
 
 Thy wits had frozen to stupefaction ! 
 
 For never god in olden story, 
 When the gods had honour due, 
 
 Gather'd brighter guise and glory. 
 In an adoring mortal's view. 
 
 Let me own it, though thy nature 
 Was sedate and beaver-bred. 
 
 As a god thou wert in stature, 
 
 Fair of face and proud of tread ; 
 And thina eyes were luminous glasses. 
 
 And thy face a glorious scroll. 
 And the radiant light that passes 
 O'er the dumb flowers and the grasses. 
 
 Caught thy gaze and look' d like Soul ; 
 And the animal vibration 
 
 Throbbing in thee at her touch. 
 The wild earthly exaltation. 
 
 Beasts and birds can feel as much, 
 Radiating and illuming 
 
 Every fibre of thy flesh, 
 Made thee beautiful and blooming, 
 
 Great and glorious, fair and fresh ; 
 Fit it seem'd for love to yearn to. 
 
 For a fairer Soul than thine, 
 Morning, noon, and night to burn to. 
 
 In a flash that felt divine. 
 Her tall white chief, whom God had brought 
 
 her 
 From the far-off Big-Sea Water ! 
 Her warrior of the pale races. 
 With wise tongues and paintless faces ; 
 More than mortal, a great creature. 
 Soft of tongue, and fine of feature ; 
 As the wind that blew above her 
 
 O'er the hunting-fields of azure. 
 As the stately clouds that hover 
 
 In the air that pants for pleasure. 
 Full of strength and motion stately. 
 
 Were thy face and form unto her ; 
 And thy blue eyes pleased her greatly, 
 
 And thy clear voice trembled thro' her ; 
 And for minute after minute 
 
 She did pore upon thy face. 
 Read the lines and guess within it 
 
 The great spirit of thy race ; 
 And thou seemedst altogether 
 
 A great creature, fair of skin, 
 Born in scenes of softer weather, 
 
 Nobler than her savage kin ! 
 
 As a peasant maiden homely 
 
 Might regard some lordly wooer, 
 Find each feature trebly comely 
 
 From the pride it stoops unto her ; 
 Thus, Eureka, she esteem'd thee 
 
 Fairer for thy finer blood ; 
 She revered thee, loved thee, dcem'd thee 
 
 Wholly beautiful and good ! 
 And her day-dream ne'er was broken. 
 
 As some mortal day-dreams are,
 
 392 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 By a word or sentence spoken 
 
 In thy coarse vernacular. 
 For she could not speak a dozen 
 
 Words as used by the white nation I 
 And thy speech seem'd finely chosen, 
 
 Since she made her own translation, 
 Scarce a syllable quite catching, 
 
 Yet, upon thy bosom leaning, 
 Out of ever sentence snatching 
 
 Music with its own sweet meaning. 
 
 Powers above ! the situation's 
 
 Psychological, I swear ! 
 How express the false relations 
 
 Of this strange-assorted pair ? 
 Happy, glorious, self-deluded, 
 On the handsome face she brooded. 
 Ne'er by word or gesture driven 
 From her day-dream sweet as heaven. 
 In her native language for him 
 
 She had warrior's names most sweet : 
 And she loved and did adore him, 
 
 Falling fawn-like at his feet ; 
 More, the rapturous exultation 
 
 Struck hi7n \ bUnded him, in turn ! 
 Till with passionate sensation 
 
 Body and brain began to bum ; — 
 And he yielded to the bursting. 
 Burning, bhnding, hungering, thirsting, 
 
 Passion felt by beasts and men ! 
 And his eyes caught love and rapture, 
 And he held her close in capture, 
 
 Kissing hps— that kiss'd again ! 
 
 III. 
 Nuptial Song. 
 
 Where were they wedded ? In no Temple 
 of ice 
 Built up by human fingers ; 
 The floor was strewn with flowers of fair 
 device, 
 The wood-birds were the singers. 
 
 Who was the Priest ? The priest was the 
 stiU Soul, 
 
 Calm, gentle, and low-spoken ; 
 He read a running brooklet like a scroll. 
 
 And trembled at the token. 
 
 What was the service? 'Twas the service read 
 When Adam's faith was plighted ! 
 
 The tongue was silent, but the lips rose-red 
 In silence were imited. 
 
 Who saw it done ? The million starry eyes 
 
 Of one ecstatic Heaven. 
 Who shared the joy? The flowers, the 
 trees, the skies 
 
 Thrill'd as each kiss was given. 
 
 Who was the Bride ? A spirit strong and 
 true, 
 
 Beauteous to human seeing, — 
 Soft elements of flesh, air, fire, and dew, 
 
 Blent in one Rose of being. 
 
 What was her consecration ? Innocence ! 
 
 Pure as the wood-doves round her, 
 Nothing she knew of rites— the strength 
 intense 
 
 Of God and Nature found her. 
 
 As freely as maids give a lock away, 
 
 She gave herself unto him. 
 What was the Bridegroom? Clay, and 
 common clay, 
 
 Yet the wild joy slipt through him. 
 
 Hymen, O Hymen ! By the birds was shed 
 
 A matrimonial cadence ! 
 Da nuces! Squirrels strew'd the nuts, in- 
 stead 
 
 Of rosy youths and maidens i 
 
 Eureka, yea. Eureka was to blame — 
 
 He was an erring creature : 
 Uncivihsed by one wild flash of flame 
 
 He waver'd back on Nature. 
 
 He kiss'd her lips, he drank her breath in 
 bliss, 
 
 He drew her to his bosom : 
 As a clod kindles at the Spring's first kiss 
 
 His being burst to blossom ! 
 
 Who rung the bells? The breeze, the 
 merry breeze. 
 Set all in bright vibration : 
 Clear, sweet, yet low, there trembled 
 through the trees 
 The nuptial jubilation 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 Arretez ! 
 
 O'er this joy I dare not linger : 
 Stands a Shape with lifted fingei 
 Crying in a low voice, ' Singer ! 
 Far too much of Eve and Adam,
 
 kED kOSE. 
 
 593 
 
 ' Details of this dark connection 
 I desire not for inspection 1 ' 
 And the Bard, with genuflexion, 
 Answers, ' I obey thee, Madam I ' 
 
 Stands the Moral Shape reproving, 
 While I linger o'er this loving ; 
 Cries the voice, ' Pass on ! be moving ! 
 We are virtuous, here to nor' ward 1 ' 
 
 Constable, I force cessation 
 To my flood of inspiration ; 
 Such a theme for adumbration ! 
 I resign it, and move forward. 
 
 The Farewell. 
 
 Love, O love ! thou bright and burning 
 Weathercock for ever turning ; 
 Gilded vane, fix'd for our seeing 
 On the highest spire of being ; 
 Symbol, indication ; reeling 
 Round to every wind of feeling ; 
 Only pointing some sad morrow, 
 In one sudden gust of sorrow. 
 Sunset-ward, where redly, slowly, 
 Passion sets in melancholy. 
 
 In the wood-ways, roof'd by heaven, 
 Were the nuptial kisses given ; 
 In the dark green, moonbeam-haunted 
 Forest ; in the bowers enchanted 
 Where the fiery specks are flying. 
 And the whip-poor-will is crying ; 
 Where the heaven's open blue eye 
 Thro' the boughs broods dark and dewy. 
 And the white magnolia glimmers 
 Back the light in starry tremors ; 
 Where the acacia in the shady 
 Silence trembles like a lady 
 Scented sweet and softly breathing ; 
 There, amid the brightly wreathing. 
 Blooming branches, did they capture 
 IvOve's first consecrated rapture. 
 
 Pure she came to him, a maiden 
 Innocent as Eve in Eden, 
 Tho' in secret ; for she dreaded 
 Wrath of kinsmen tiger-headed. 
 In whose vision, fierce and awful. 
 Love for white men was unlawful. 
 Yet in this her simple reason 
 Knew no darker touch of treason 
 
 Than dost thou, O white and dainty 
 English maid of sweet-and-twenty. 
 When from guardian, father, brother, 
 [Harsh protectors, one or t'other,] 
 Off you trip, self-handed over 
 To your chosen lord and lover. 
 Tears of love and rapture shedding 
 In the hush of secret wedding. 
 
 Now from these lost days Elysian, 
 Modestly I drop my vision ! 
 Rose the wave supreme and splendid, 
 To a tremulous crest, and ended, 
 Falling, falling, one sad morrow, 
 In a starry spray of sorrow. 
 
 Whether 'twas by days or hours. 
 Weeks or months, in those bright bowers, 
 They their gladness counted,— whether 
 Like the one day's summer weather 
 At the pole, their bliss upstarted, 
 Brighten'd, blacken'd, and departed, — 
 I relate not ; all my story 
 Is, that soon or late this glory 
 Fell and faded. After daylight 
 Came an eve of sad and gray light ; 
 There were tears — wild words w ere spokeH; 
 Down the cup was dash'd, and broken. 
 
 First came danger, — eyeballs fiery 
 Watch'd the pair in fierce inquiry ; 
 Secret footsteps dodged the lovers ; 
 As a black hawk slowly hovers 
 O'er the spot amid the heather 
 Where the gray birds crouch together. 
 Hung Suspicion o'er the places 
 Where they sat with flaming faces. 
 Next came— what d'ye call the dreary 
 Heavy-hearted thing and weary, 
 In old weeds of joy bedizen'd? 
 By the shallow French 'tis christen'd 
 Ennui I Ay, the snake that grovels 
 In a host of scrofulous novels. 
 Leper even of the leprous 
 Race of serpents vain and viprous, 
 Bred of slimy eggs of evil. 
 Sat on by the printer's devil. 
 Last, to gladden absinthe-lovers. 
 Born by broods in paper covers ! 
 
 After the great wave of madness, 
 Ennui came ; and tho' in gladness 
 Still the Indian maiden's nature 
 Clung round the inferior creature.
 
 394 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Though with burning, unconsuming, 
 Deathless love her heart was blooming, 
 He grew weary, and his passion 
 In a dull evaporation 
 Slowly lessen'd, till caressing 
 Grew distracting and distressing. 
 Conscience waken'd in a fever, 
 Just a day too late, as ever ; 
 He remember'd, one fine day, 
 His relations far away. 
 
 All the beavers ! the deceiver I 
 After all, he was a beaver 
 Born and bred, the' the unchanging 
 Dash of wild blood kept him ranging ; 
 Beaver-conscience, now awaken'd, 
 Since the first true bliss had slacken'd, 
 Whisper'd with a sad affection, 
 ' Fie ! it is a strange connection ! 
 Is it worthy ? Can it profit ? 
 Sits the world approving of it ? ' 
 While another whisper said, 
 ' Yoiixe. a white man ! She is red ! ' 
 Ne'ertheless he seem'd to love her, 
 Watch'd her face and bent above her. 
 Fondly thinking, ' Now, I wonder 
 If the world would blame my blunder ? 
 If her skin were only whiter. 
 If her manners were politer, 
 I would take her with me nor' ward, 
 Wed her, cUng to her thenceforward, 
 Clothe her further, just a tittle, 
 Live respectable and settle ! " 
 She was silent, as he brooded 
 Handsome-faced and beaver-mooded. 
 Thinking, ' Now my chief is seeming 
 Where the fires of fight are streaming ! 
 O, how great and grand his face is. 
 Lit with light of the pale races ! ' 
 And she bent her brows before him, 
 Kiss'd his hands, and did adore him. 
 And she waited in deep duty ; 
 While her eyes of dazzling beauty, 
 Like two jewels ever streaming 
 
 Broken yet unceasing rays, 
 Watch'd him as in beaver-dreaming 
 
 He would walk in the green ways. 
 
 StiU he seem'd to her a splendid 
 Creature, but his trance had ended ; 
 More and more, thro' ever seeing 
 
 Red skins round him, he lost patience. 
 More and more the hybrid being 
 
 Sigh'd for civiUsed relations ; 
 
 For Eureka Hart, tho' wholly 
 
 Of a common social mind, 
 Narrow-natured, melancholy, 
 
 Hated ties of any kind ; — 
 Yet if any tie could hold him 
 
 To a place or to a woman, 
 'Twould be one the world had told him 
 
 Was respectable and common. 
 Here, then, hemm'd in by a double 
 Dark dilemma, he found trouble. 
 And with look a Grecian painter 
 
 Would have given to a god. 
 Feeling passion still grow fainter, 
 
 Thought, ' I reckon things look odd ! 
 Wouldn't Parson Pendon frown. 
 If he knew, in Drowsietown ? ' 
 
 As he spoke he saw the village 
 Rising up with tilth and tillage, 
 Saw the smithy, like an eye 
 Flaming bloodshot at the sky, 
 Saw the sleepy river flowing, 
 
 Saw the swamps burn in the sun. 
 Saw the people coming, going. 
 
 All familiar, one by one. 
 ' There the plump old Parson goes. 
 Silver buckles on his toes. 
 Broad-brimm'd beaver on his head, 
 Clean-shaved chin, and cheek as red 
 As ripe pippins, kept in hay, 
 Polish'd on Thanksgiving day ; 
 Black coat, breeches, all complete, 
 On the old mare he keeps his seat. 
 Jogging on with smiles so bright 
 To creation left and right. 
 There's the Widow Abner smiling 
 
 At her door as he goes past. 
 Guess she thinks she looks beguiling. 
 
 But he cuts along more fast. 
 There's Abe Sinker drunk as ever, 
 
 There's the pigs all in the gutter, 
 There's the miller by the river. 
 
 Broad as long and fat as butter. 
 See it all, so plain and pleasant, 
 
 Justhke life their shadows pass. 
 Wonder how they are at present? 
 
 Guess they think /'m gone to grass I ' 
 While this scene he contemplated. 
 
 Sighing like a homeless creature, 
 Round him, brightly concentrated, 
 
 Glow'd the primal fire of Nature 1 
 Rainbow-hued and rapturous-colour'd. 
 
 With one burning brilliant look
 
 RED ROSE. 
 
 395 
 
 Flaming fix'd upon the dullard, 
 
 Nature rose in wild rebuke ! 
 Shower'd her blossoms round him, o'er him, 
 
 Breathed warm breath upon his face, 
 Flash'd her flowers and fruits before him, 
 
 Follow'd him from place to place ; 
 With wild jasmine and with amber 
 She perfumed his sleeping chamber, 
 Hung around him happy hours 
 With her arms of lustre-flowers, 
 Held to his in blest reposes 
 Her warm breasts of living roses ; 
 Bade a thousand dazzling, crying. 
 
 Living, creatures do him honour, 
 Stood herself, naked and sighing, 
 
 With an aureole upon her ; 
 Then, with finger flashing brightly 
 
 Pointing to her prime creation, — 
 Fruits and flowers and scents blent lightly 
 
 In one dazzhng adumbration, — 
 Cried unto him over and over, 
 ' See my child ! O love her, love her ! 
 / eternal am, no comer 
 In a feeble flush of summer. 
 Like the hectic colour flying 
 Ot a maid love-sick and dying ; 
 Here no change, but ever burning 
 Quenchless fire, and ceaseless yearning : 
 Endless exquisite vibration 
 
 Sweet as love's first nuptial kiss. 
 One soft sob of strange sensation 
 
 Flowering into shapes of bliss ; 
 And the brightest, O behold her 
 
 With a changeless warmth like mine — 
 Love her ! In thy soul enfold her ! 
 
 Blend with us, and be divine i ' 
 All in vain that fond entreating ! 
 
 Still Eureka's beaver-brain 
 Thought — -'This climate's rather heating — 
 
 Weather's cooler up in Maine 1 ' 
 
 Yet no wonder Nature loved him. 
 
 Sought to take his soul by storm. 
 Gloried when her meaning moved him. 
 
 Clung in fondness round his form ; 
 For, in sooth, tho' unimpassion'd, 
 Gloriously the man was fashion'd : 
 One around whose strength and splendour 
 
 Women would have pray'd to twine, 
 As the lian loves to blend her 
 
 Being with the beech or pine. 
 And his smile when she was present 
 
 Was seraphic, full of spirit. 
 
 And his voice was low and pleasant, 
 
 And her soul grew bright to hear it ! 
 And when tall he strode to meet her. 
 And his handsome face grew sweeter. 
 In her soul she thought, ' O being. 
 Fair and gracious and deep-seeing, 
 White man, great man, far above me. 
 What am /, that thou shouldst love me?" 
 
 She had learnt him with lips burning 
 (O for such a course of learning !) 
 Something of her speech, — 'twas certain 
 Quite enough to woo and flirt in ; 
 Words not easy of translation 
 They transfused into sensation, 
 Soon discovering and proving, 
 
 As a small experience teaches, 
 ' Bliss ' and ' kiss,' and other loving 
 
 Words, are common to all speeches ! 
 Ah, the rapture ! ah, the fleeting 
 FoUies of each fond, mad meeting ! 
 Smiling with red lips asunder. 
 Clapping hands at each fond blunder, 
 She instructed him right gaily 
 In her Indian patois daily. 
 Sweetly from his hps it sounded, 
 
 Help'd with those great azure eyes. 
 Till upon his heart she bounded 
 
 Panting praise with laughs and cries. 
 'Twas a speech antique and olden. 
 
 Full of gurgling notes, it ran 
 Like some river rippling golden 
 
 Down a vale Arcadian ; 
 Like the voices of doves brooding ; 
 
 Like a fountain's gentle moan ; 
 Nothing commonplace intruding 
 
 On its regal monotone : 
 Sounds and symbols interblending 
 
 Like the heave of loving bosoms ; 
 Consonants like strong boughs bending, 
 
 Snowing vowels down like blossoms ! 
 Faltering in this tongue, he told her. 
 
 Sitting in a secret place. 
 While with bright head on his shoulder, 
 
 Luminous-eyed, she watch'd his face, 
 How, tho' every hour grown fonder, 
 
 Tho' his soul was still aflame. 
 Still, he sigh'd once more to wander 
 
 To the clime from whence he came ; 
 Just once more to look upon it. 
 Just for one brief hour to con it. 
 Just to see his kin and others 
 
 In the Tov/n where they did dwell.
 
 396 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Just to say to his white brothers 
 
 One farewell, a last farewelL 
 Then to hasten back unto her, 
 
 And to hve with her and die. . . , 
 Sharp as steel his speech stabb'd thro' her, 
 
 Cold she sat without a cry. 
 On her heart her small hand pressing, 
 
 Breathing like a bird in pain. 
 Silent, tho' he smiled caressing, 
 
 Kiss'd, but kissing not again. 
 
 Then she waken'd, like one waking 
 From a trance, and with heart aching 
 Clung around him, as if dreading 
 
 Lest some hand should snatch him thence ! 
 Then, upon his bosom shedding 
 
 Tears of ecstacy intense, 
 By her gods conjured him wildly 
 
 Never, never to depart ! 
 O how meekly, O how mildly. 
 
 Answer' d back Eureka Hart ! 
 
 Bat by slow degrees he coax'd her, 
 
 Night by night, and day by day. 
 With such specious spells he hoax'd her 
 
 That her first fear fled away. 
 Slow she yielded, still believing 
 
 Not for long he'd leave her lonely ; 
 For he told her, still deceiving, 
 
 'Twas a little journey only. 
 Poor, dark bird ! nought the7i knew she 
 Of this world's geography ! 
 
 Troubled, shaken, half-demented. 
 
 Broken-hearted — she assented. 
 
 Since, by wind, and wave, and vapour. 
 
 By the shapes of earth and skies ; 
 By the white moon's ghostly taper. 
 
 By the stars that like dead eyes 
 Watch it burning ; by the mystic 
 
 Motion of the winds and woods ; 
 By all dark and cabalistic 
 
 Shapes of tropic solitudes ; 
 By the waters melancholy ; 
 
 By God's hunting-fields of blue ; 
 By all things that she deem'd holy 
 
 He had promised to be true ! 
 Just to pay a flying visit 
 
 To connections close at hand, 
 Then to haste with love undying 
 
 Back unto that happy land. 
 'Twas enough ! the Maid assented, 
 
 Thinking sadly, in her pain, 
 
 ' He wiU never be contented 
 Till he sees them once again. 
 
 Thither, thither let him wander ; 
 When once more I feel his kiss, 
 
 His proud spirit will be fonder 
 Since my love hath granted this 1 ' 
 
 ' Go ! ' she cried, and her dark features 
 
 Kindled like a dying creature's, 
 And her heart rose, and her spirit 
 
 Cried as if for God to hear it — 
 Wildly in her arms she press'd him 
 
 To her bosom broken-hearted — 
 Call'd upon her gods, and blest him ! 
 
 And Eureka Hart departed. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Paper. 
 
 Here should my second canto end — yet stay 
 Listen a little ere ye turn away. 
 
 By night they parted ; and she cut by night 
 One large lock from his forehead, which 
 
 with bright. 
 Warm lips she kiss'd ; then kiss'd the lock 
 
 of hair, 
 With one quick sob of passionate despair ; 
 And he, with hand that shook a little now, 
 Still with that burning seal upon his brow, 
 While in that bitter agony they embraced. 
 He in her little hand a paper placed. 
 Whereon, at her fond prayer, he had writ 
 
 plain, 
 ' Eureka Hart, Drowsietown, State oj 
 
 Maitie.' 
 ' For,' thought he, ' I have promised soon 
 
 or late 
 Hither to come again to her, my mate ; 
 And I will keep my promise, sure, some day. 
 Unless I die or sicken by the way. 
 But no man knows what pathway he may 
 
 tread, — 
 To-morrow — nay, ere dawn — I may be 
 
 dead! 
 And she shall know, lest foul my fortune 
 
 proves. 
 The name and country of the man she loves ; 
 And since she wishes it, to cheer her heart, 
 It shall be written down ere I depart.' 
 And so it was ; and while his kiss thrill'd 
 
 thro' her. 
 With that loved lock of hair he gave it ta 
 
 her.
 
 RED ROSE— WHITE ROSE. 
 
 397 
 
 Aye, so it was ; for in the woods at dawn 
 He from his pouch had an old letter dra\vn, 
 One leaf of which was blank, and this he 
 
 took, 
 And smiling at the woman's wondering look, 
 While quietly she murmur'd, ' 'Tis a charm 1' 
 In hunter's fashion he had prick'd his arm, 
 And, having pen nor ink, had ta'en a spear 
 Of thorn for stylus, and in crimson clear. 
 His own heart's blood, had writ the words 
 
 she sought. 
 And in that hour deep pity in him wrought, 
 And he believed that he his vows would 
 
 keep, 
 Nor e'er be treacherous to a love so deep. 
 ' See ! ' said he, as the precious words he 
 
 gave, 
 ' Keep this upon thy bosom, and be brave. 
 As sure as that red blood belong'd to me, 
 I shall. If I live on, return to thee. 
 If death should find me while thou here 
 
 dost wait. 
 Thou canst at least make question of my fate 
 Of any white man whose stray feet may fare 
 Down hither, showing him the words writ 
 
 there. ' 
 All this he said to her with faltering voice 
 In broken Indian, and in words less choice ; 
 And quite persuaded of his good intent, 
 Shoulder'd his gun with a gay heart, and 
 
 went. 
 
 And in that paper, while her fast tears fell, 
 She wrapt the lock of hair she loved so well. 
 And thrust it on her heart ; and with sick 
 
 sight, 
 Watch'd his great figure fade into the night ; 
 Then raised her hands to her wild gods, 
 
 that sped 
 Above her in a whirlwind overhead, 
 Andthepinesrock'd in tempest, and herform 
 Bent broken with the breathing of the storm. 
 
 O little paper ! Rlurr'd with secret tears ! 
 O blood-red charm ! O thing of hopes and 
 
 fears ! 
 Between two worlds a link, so faint, so slight. 
 The two worlds of the red man and the 
 
 white ! 
 Lie on her heart and soothe her soul's sad 
 
 pain ! 
 
 'Eureka Hart, Drowsietown, State 
 OF Maine.' 
 
 PART III. 
 WHITE ROSE. 
 
 I. 
 
 Drowsietown. 
 
 O so drowsy ! In a daze 
 Sweating 'mid the golden haze, 
 With its smithy like an eye 
 Glaring bloodshot at the sky, 
 And its one white row of street 
 Carpetted so green and sweet, 
 And the loungers smoking still 
 Over gate and window-sill ; 
 Nothing coming, nothing going, 
 Locusts grating, one cock crowing. 
 Few things moving up or down, 
 All things drowsy — Drowsietown ! 
 
 Thro' the fields with sleepy gleam, 
 Drowsy, drowsy steals the stream. 
 Touching with its azure arms 
 Upland fields and peaceful farms. 
 Gliding with a twilight tide 
 Where the dark elms shade its side ; 
 Twining, pausing sweet and bright 
 Where the lilies sail so white ; 
 Winding in its sedgy hair 
 Meadow-sweet and iris fair ; 
 Humming as it hies along 
 Monotones of sleepy song ; 
 Deep and dimpled, bright nut-brown, 
 Flowing into Drowsietown. 
 
 Far as eye can see, around, 
 Upland fields and farms are found. 
 Floating prosperous and fair 
 In the mellow misty air : 
 Apple-orchards, blossoms blowing 
 Up above, — and clover growing 
 Red and scented round the knees 
 Of the old moss-silvered trees. 
 Hark ! with drowsy deep refrain. 
 In the distance rolls a wain ; 
 As its dull sound strikes the ear. 
 Other kindred sounds grow clear — 
 Drowsy all — the soft breeze blowings 
 Locusts grating, one cock crowing, 
 Cries like voices in a dream 
 Far away amid the gleam. 
 Then the waggons rumbling down 
 Thro' the lanes to Drowsietown.
 
 39S 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Drowsy? Yea! — but idle' Nay! 
 Slowly, surely, night and day. 
 Humming low, well greased with oil, 
 Turns the wheel of human toil. 
 Here no grating gruesome cry 
 Of spasmodic industry ; 
 No rude clamour, mad and mean. 
 Of a horrible machine ! 
 Strong yet peaceful, surely roll'd. 
 Winds the wheel that whirls the gold. 
 Year by year the rich rare land 
 Yields its stores to human hand — 
 Year by year the stream makes fat 
 Every field and meadow-flat — 
 Year by year the orchards fair 
 Gather glory from the air, 
 Redden, ripen, freshly fed. 
 Their bright balls of golden red. 
 Thus, most prosperous and strong, 
 Flows the stream of life along 
 Six slow days ! wains come and go. 
 Wheat-fields ripen, squashes grow, 
 Cattle browse on hiU and dale. 
 Milk foams sweetly in the pail. 
 Six days : on the seventh day. 
 Toil's low murmur dies away — 
 All is husht save drowsy din 
 Of the waggons rolling in, 
 Drawn amid the plenteous meads 
 By small fat and sleepy steeds. 
 Folk with faces fresh as fruit 
 Sit therein or trudge afoot, 
 Brightlj drest for all to see, 
 In their seventh-day finery : 
 Farmers in their breeches tight. 
 Snowy cuffs, and buckles bright ; 
 Ancient dames and matrons staid 
 In their silk and flower'd brocade. 
 Prim and tall, with soft brows knitted. 
 Silken aprons, and hands mitted ; 
 Haggard women, dark of face, 
 Of the old lost Indian race ; 
 Maidens happy-eyed and fair, 
 With bright ribbons in their hair. 
 Trip along, wiih eyes cast down. 
 Thro' the streets of Drowsietown. 
 Drowsy in the summer day 
 In the meeting-house sit they ; 
 'Mid the high-back'd pews they doze, 
 Like bright garden-flowers in rows ; 
 And old Parson Pendon, big 
 In his gown and silver'd wig. 
 Drones above in periods fine 
 
 Sermons like old-flavour'd wine — 
 Crusted well with keeping long 
 In the darkness, and not strong. • 
 O I so drowsily he drones 
 In his rich and sleepy tones, 
 While the great door, swinging wide. 
 Shows the bright green street outside. 
 And the shadows as they pass 
 On the golden sunlit grass. 
 Then the mellow organ blows. 
 And the sleepy music flows. 
 And the folks their voices raise 
 In old unctuous hymns of praise, 
 Fit to reach some ancient god 
 Half asleep with drowsy nod. 
 Deep and lazy, clear and low, 
 Doth the oily organ grow ! 
 Then with sudden golden cease 
 Comes a silence and a peace ; 
 Then a murmur, all alive. 
 As of bees within a hive ; 
 And they swarm with quiet feet 
 Out into the sunny street ; 
 There, at hitching-post and gate 
 Do the steeds and waggons wait. 
 Drawn in groups, the gossips talk, 
 Shaking hands before they walk : 
 Maids and lovers steal away. 
 Smiling hand in hand, to stray 
 By the river, and to say 
 Drowsy love in the old way — 
 Till the sleepy sun shines down 
 On the roofs of Drowsietown. 
 In the great marsh, far beyond 
 Street and building, hes the Pond, 
 Gleaming like a silver shield 
 In the midst of wood and field ; 
 There on sombre days you see 
 Anglers old in reverie. 
 Fishing feebly morn to night 
 For the pickerel so bright. 
 From the woods of beech and fir, 
 DuU blows of the woodcutter 
 Faintly sound ; and haply, too. 
 Comes the cat-owl's wild ' tuhoo ! ' 
 Drown'd by distance, dull and deep. 
 Like a dark sound heard in sleep ; — 
 And a cock may answer, down 
 In the depths of Drowsietown. 
 
 Such is Drowsietown — but nay t 
 Was, not is, my song should say—.
 
 WHITE ROSE. 
 
 399 
 
 Such -was summer long ago 
 
 so drowsy ! In a gleam. 
 
 In this town so sleepy and slow. 
 
 Far too steady to be Dream, 
 
 Change has come : thro' wood and dale 
 
 Flows their slow humanity 
 
 Runs the demon of the rail, 
 
 Winding, stealing, to the Sea. " 
 
 And the Drowsietown of yore 
 
 
 Is not drowsy any more ! 
 
 Sea ? What Sea ? The Waters vast. 
 
 
 Whither all life flows at last. 
 
 O so drowsy ! In the haze 
 
 Where all individual motion 
 
 Of those long dead summer days, 
 
 Lost in one imperious ocean 
 
 Underneath the still blue sky 
 
 Fades, as yonder river doth 
 
 I can see the hamlet lie — 
 
 In the great Sea at its mouth. 
 
 Like a river in a dream 
 
 Ah ! the mighty wondrous Deep, 
 
 Flows the little nut-brown stream ; 
 
 'Tis so near ;— yet half asleep. 
 
 Yet not many a mile away 
 
 Deaf to all its busy hum. 
 
 Flashes foam and sprinkles spray, 
 
 These calm people go and come ; — 
 
 Close at hand the green marsh flows 
 
 Quite forgetting it is nigh. 
 
 Into brackish pools and sloughs. 
 
 Save when hurricanes go by 
 
 And with storm-wave fierce and frantic 
 
 With a ghostly wail o'erhead 
 
 Roars the wrath of the Atlantic. 
 
 Shrieking shrill—' Bury your dead ! ' 
 
 
 For a moment, wild-eyed, caught 
 
 Waken Drowsietown ? — The Sea ? 
 
 In a sudden gust of thought. 
 
 Break its doze and reverie ? 
 
 Panting, praying, wild of face. 
 
 Nay, for if it hears at all 
 
 Stand the people of the place ; 
 
 Those unresisting waters call, 
 
 But, directly all is done. 
 
 They are far enough, I guess. 
 
 They are smiling in the sun — 
 
 Just to soothe and not distress. 
 
 Drowsy, yet busy as good bees 
 
 When the wild nor' wester breaks, 
 
 Working in a sunny ease, 
 
 And the sullen thunder shakes. 
 
 To and fro, and up and dovra. 
 
 For a space the Town in fear, 
 
 Move the folks of Drowsietown. 
 
 Dripping wet with marsh and mere. 
 
 
 Quakes and wonders, and is found 
 
 ir. 
 
 With its ear against the ground 
 
 After Meeting. 
 
 Listening to the sullen war 
 
 
 Of the flashing sea afar ! 
 
 DEACON JONES. 
 
 But the moment all is done 
 
 Well, winter's over altogether ; 
 
 On its tear-drops gleams the sun. 
 
 The loon's come back to Purley Pond ; 
 
 Each rude murmur dies ; and lo ! 
 
 It's all green grass and pleasant weather 
 
 In a sleepy sunny glow, 
 
 Up on the marsh and the woods beyond. 
 
 'Mid the moist rays slanting down. 
 
 It's God Almighty's meaning clear 
 
 Once more dozes Drowsietown. 
 
 To give us farmers a prosperous year ; 
 
 
 Tho' many a sinner that I could mention 
 
 As the place is, drowsy-eyed 
 
 Is driving his ploughshare nowadays 
 
 Are the folks that there abide ; 
 
 Clean in the teeth of the Lord's intention. 
 
 Strong, phlegmatic, calm, revealing 
 
 And spiling tho land he ought to raise. 
 
 No wild fantasies of feeling ; 
 
 
 Loving sunshine ; on the soil 
 
 DEACON HOLMES. 
 
 Basking in a drowsy toil. 
 
 I've drained the marsh by Simpson's build- 
 
 Mild and mellow, calm and clear. 
 
 ing. 
 
 Flows thoir life from year to year — 
 
 Cleared out the rushes, and (Ing, and 
 
 Each fulfils his drowsy labour, 
 
 weed. 
 
 Each the picture of his neighbour, 
 
 The ground's all juicy, and looks like yield- 
 
 Each exactly, rich or poor. 
 
 ing, 
 
 ■What his father was before—^ 
 
 And I'm puttin' it down in pip corn seed.
 
 400 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 I low's Father Abel ? Comin" round ? 
 Glad the rheumatics have left him now. 
 
 « DEACON JONES. 
 
 Summer's his med'cine ; he'll soon be sound, 
 And spry as a squirrel on a bough. 
 
 BIRD CHORUS. 
 
 Chickadee ! chickadee ! 
 Green leaves on every tree ! 
 Over field, over foam, 
 All the birds are coming home. 
 Honk ! honk ! sailing low. 
 Cried the gray goose long ago. 
 Weet ! weet ! in the light 
 Flutes the phosbe-bird so bright. 
 Chewink, veery, thrush o' the wood, 
 
 Silver treble raise together ; 
 All around their dainty food 
 
 Ripens with the ripening weather. 
 Hear, O hear ! 
 In the great elm by the mere 
 Whip-poor-will is crying clear. 
 
 MOTHER ABNER. 
 
 And so it is ! And so the news is true ! 
 And your Eureka has returned to you ; 
 I saw him in the church, and took a stare. 
 A Hart, aye every inch, the tallest there. 
 You'll hold the farm-land now, and keep 
 
 things clear ; 
 You wanted jest a man — Eureka's here. 
 
 WIDOW HART. 
 
 Well, I don't know. Eureka ain't no hand 
 At raising crops or looking after land ; 
 It's been a bitter trial to me, neighbour. 
 To see his wandering ways and hate o' 
 
 labour. 
 He's been abroad too much to care jest now 
 For white men's ways, and following the 
 
 plough. 
 
 MOTHER ABNER. 
 
 He's a fine figure and a handsome face ; 
 There ain't his ekal this day in the place. 
 And if he'd take a wife and settle down, 
 There's many a wench would jump in 
 
 Drowsietown. 
 Ah ! that's the only way to tie your son, 
 And now he's got the farm 'tis easy done ; 
 There's Jez'bel Jones, and there's Euphe- 
 
 mia Clem, 
 
 And Sarah Snowe, — they're all good 
 
 matches, them. 
 And there's — why, there he goes, right 
 
 down the flat, 
 Looks almost furrin' in that queer straw 
 
 hat ; 
 And who's that with him in the flower'd 
 
 chintz dress ? 
 Why, Phoebe Anna Cattison, I guess ! 
 That little mite ! How tiny and how prim 
 Trips little Phcebe by the side of him ! 
 And when she looks up in his face, tehee ! 
 It's like a chipmunk looking up a tree ! 
 
 THE RIVER SINGS. 
 
 O willow loose lightly 
 Your soft long hair ! 
 I'll brush it brightly 
 With tender care ; 
 And past you flowing 
 
 I'll softly uphold 
 Great lilies bloviring 
 
 With hearts of gold. 
 For spring is beaming, 
 
 The wind's in the south, 
 And the musk-rat's swimming, 
 
 A twig in its mouth, 
 To built its nest 
 Where it loves it best, 
 In the great dark nook 
 By the bed o' my brook. 
 It's spring, bright spring. 
 And blue-birds sing ! 
 And the fern is pearly 
 
 All day long, 
 And the lark rises early 
 To sing a ^ong. 
 The grass shoots up like fingers of fire, 
 And the flowers awake to a dim desire. 
 So willow, willow, shake down, shake down 
 Your locks so silvern and long and slight ; 
 For lovers are coming from Drowsietown, 
 And thou and I must be merry and 
 bright ! 
 
 PHCEBE ANNA. 
 
 This is the first fine day this year : 
 The grass is dry and the sky is clear ; 
 The sun's out shining ; up to the farm 
 It looks like summer ; so bright and warm ; 
 There's apple blooms on the boughs al- 
 ready, 
 Long as your finger the corn-blade§ 
 shoot,
 
 WHITE ROSE. 
 
 401 
 
 And father thinks, if the sun lieeps steady, 
 
 'Twill be a wonderful fall for fruit. 
 How do you like being here at home again? 
 Reckon you'd rather pack up and roam 
 sgain ! 
 
 EUREKA, 
 
 I'm sick o' roaming, I hate strange places ; 
 
 I've slep' too long in the woods and 
 brakes ; 
 It's pleasure seeing white folks' faces 
 
 After the b'ars, and the birds, and the 
 snakes. 
 This yer life is civilisation, 
 T'other's a heathen dissipation ! 
 One likes to die where his father before him 
 Died, with the same sky shinin' o'er him. 
 I've been a wastrel and that's the truth. 
 
 Earning nought but a sneer and a frown ; 
 I've wasted the precious days o' youth, 
 
 Instead of stopping and settling down. 
 
 PHCEBE ANNA. 
 
 But now the farm is your own to dwell in, 
 You'll ne'er go back to the wilderness ? 
 
 EUREKA. 
 
 Waal 1 that's a question ! There's no 
 tellin' ; 
 
 I ain't my own master quite, I guess. 
 Think I shall have to go some day. 
 And fi.x some business far away. 
 I — there's your mother beckonin' yonder. 
 
 Looks kind o' hufiish, you'd better run ; 
 [Alone, sotto voce) That girl's a sort of a 
 shinin' wonder. 
 
 The prettiest pout beneath the sun. 
 
 BIRD CHORUS. 
 
 Chickadee ! chickadee 1 
 Green leaves on every tree ; 
 Winter goes, spring is here ; 
 Little mate, we loved last year. 
 Cheewink, veery, robin red. 
 
 Shall we lake another bride ? 
 We have plighted, we are wed. 
 
 Here we gather happy-eyed. 
 Little bride, little mate. 
 Shall I leave you desolate ? 
 Men change ; shall we change too ? 
 Men change ; but we are true. 
 If I cease to love thee best. 
 May a black boy take iny nest 
 
 EUREKA. 
 
 Soothin" it is, after so many a year. 
 To hear the Sabbath bells a-ringing clear. 
 The air so cool and soft, the sky so blue. 
 The place so peaceful and so well-to-do. . . . 
 Wonder what she is doing this same day ? 
 Thinkin' o' me in her wild Injin way, 
 Listenin' and waitin', dreaming every 
 
 minute 
 The door will open, and this child step in it. 
 Poor gal ! I seem to feel her eyes so bright 
 A-followin' me about, morn, noon, and 
 
 night ! 
 Sometimes they make me start and thrill 
 
 right thro' — 
 She was a splendid figure, and that's true ! 
 Not jest hke Christian women, fair and 
 
 white, 
 A heap more startlin' and a deal more 
 
 bright ; 
 And as for looks, why many would prefer 
 That Phoebe Ann, or some white gal like 
 
 her! 
 Don't know 1 /'ve got no call to judge ; 
 
 but see ! 
 The little white wench is so spry and free ! 
 And tho' she's but a mite, small as a mouse, 
 She'd look uncommon pretty in a house. 
 No business, tho', of mine — I've made my 
 
 bed. 
 And I must lie in it, as I have said. 
 Ye . . . s, I'll go back— and stay — or bring 
 
 her here, 
 But there's no call to hurry yet, that's clear. 
 She'll fret and be impatient for a while, 
 And go on in the wild mad Injin style ; 
 But she can't know, for a clear heathen's 
 
 sake. 
 The sort o' sacrifice I'm fix'd to make. 
 Some wouldn't do it ; Parson there would 
 
 say 
 It's downright throwing next world's chance 
 
 away ; 
 But I've made up my mind — it's fix'd at 
 
 present ; 
 And— there, let's try to think of something 
 
 pleasant 1 
 
 THE CAT-OWL. 
 
 Boohoo ! boohoo I 
 White man is not true ; 
 1 have seen such wicked ways 
 That I hide me all the days, 
 
 D D
 
 402 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 And come from my hole so deep 
 While the white man lies asleep. 
 A misanthrope am I, 
 
 And, tho' the skies are blue, 
 I utter my warning cry — 
 
 Boohoo ! 
 Boohoo ! boohoo ! boohoo ! 
 
 THE LOON. 
 
 (Chuckling to himself on the fond.) 
 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! back again, 
 Thro' the frost and fog and rain ; 
 Winter's over now, that's plain. 
 Ha ! ha ! ha ! back again ! 
 And I laugh and scream, 
 
 For I love so well 
 The bright, bright bream, 
 
 And the pickerel ! 
 And soft is my breast. 
 And my bill is keen, 
 And I'll build my nest 
 'Mid the sedge unseen. 
 I've travell'd — I've fish'd in the sunny south. 
 In the mighty mere, at the harbour mouth ; 
 I've seen fair countries, all golden and gay ; 
 I've seen bright pictures that beat all 
 wishing ; 
 I've found fine colours far away — 
 
 But give me Purley Pond, for fishing ; 
 Of all the ponds, north, south, east, west. 
 This is the pond I love the best ; 
 For all is quiet, and few folk peep, 
 
 Save some of the innocent angling people ; 
 And I like on Sundays, half asleep, 
 All alone on the pool so deep. 
 
 To rock and hear the bells from the 
 steeple. 
 And I laugh so clear that all may hear 
 The loon is back, and summer is near. 
 Ha 1 ha ! ha ! so merry and plain 
 I laugh with joy to be home again. 
 {A shower passes over ; all things sing.) 
 
 The swift is wheeling and gleaming. 
 
 The brook is brown in its bed. 
 
 Rain from the cloud is streaming. 
 
 And ihe Bow bends overhead. 
 
 The charm of the winter i.-i broken ! the 
 
 last of the spell is said ! 
 
 The eel in the pond is quick' ning. 
 The grayling leaps in the stream — 
 
 What if the clouds are thick'ning ? 
 See how the meadows gleam 1 
 The spell of the winter is shaken ; the 
 world awakes from a dream 1 
 
 The fir puts out green fingers, 
 
 The pear-tree softly blows. 
 The rose in her dark bower lingers. 
 But her curtains will soon unclose. 
 The lilac will shake her ringlets over the 
 blush of the rose. 
 
 The swift is wheeling and gleaming. 
 The woods are beginning to ring, 
 Rain from the cloud is streaming ; — 
 There, where the Bow doth cling. 
 Summer is smiling afar off, over the 
 shoulder of Spring I 
 
 III. 
 PiicEBE Anna. 
 
 Dimpled, dainty, one-and-twenty, 
 
 Rosy-faced and round of limb, 
 Warm'd with mother-wit in plenty, 
 
 Prudent, modest, spry yet prim, 
 Lily-handed, tiny-footed. 
 
 With an ankle clean and neat, 
 Neatly gloved and trimly booted, 
 
 Looking nice and smelling sweet ! 
 Self-possess'd, subduing beauty 
 To a sober sense of duty. 
 Chaste as Dian, plump as Hebe, 
 Such I guess was httle Phoebe. 
 O how different a creature 
 
 From that other wondrous woman ! 
 Not a feeling, not a featme. 
 
 Had these two fair flowers in conunon. 
 One was tall and moulded finely. 
 
 Large of limb, and grand of gaze, 
 Rich with incense, and divinely 
 
 Throbbing into passionate rays, — 
 Lustrous-eyed and luscious-bosom'd. 
 
 Beautiful, and richly rare. 
 As a passion-flower full blossom'd. 
 
 Born to Love and Love's despair. 
 Such was Red Rose ; and the other? 
 
 Tiny, prudish, if you please. 
 Meant to be a happy mother. 
 
 With a bunch of huswife's keys. 
 Prudent, not to be deluded, 
 Happy-eyed and sober-mooded, 
 Dainty, mild, yet self-reliant. 
 
 She, as I'm a worthy singer,
 
 WHITE ROSE. 
 
 403 
 
 Wound our vacillating giant 
 Round her little dimpled finger. 
 
 Bit by bit, a bashful wooer, 
 
 Fascinated unaware, 
 Did Eureka draw unto her. 
 
 Tame as any dancing bear. 
 Not a finger did she stir, 
 Yet he glow'd and gazed at her ! 
 Not a loving look she gave. 
 Yet he watch'd her like a slave ! 
 He, who had been used to having 
 Pleasures past all human craving. 
 Who had idly sat and taken 
 Showers of kisses on him shaken, 
 Who had fairly tired of passion 
 Ever felt in passive fashion, 
 Now stood blushing like a baby 
 In the careless eyes of Phoebe ! 
 
 Fare ye well, O scenes of glory. 
 One bright sheet of golden sheen ! 
 Love, the spirit of my story. 
 
 Wakens in a different scene. 
 Down the lanes, so tall and leafy, 
 
 Falls Eureka's loving feet, 
 Following Phoebe's, but in chief he 
 
 In the kitchen loves to sit, — 
 Loves to watch her, tripping ruddy 
 
 In the rosy firelight glow, 
 Loves to watch, in a brown study, 
 
 The warm figure come and go. 
 
 Half indilTerent unto him. 
 Far too wise to coax and woo him, 
 Ill-disposed to waste affection, 
 Full of modest circumspection. 
 Quite the bright superior being, 
 Tho' so tiny to the seeing, 
 With a mind which penetrated, 
 
 In a sly and rosy mirth. 
 Thro' the face, and estimated 
 
 Grain by grain the spirit's worth, 
 Phoebe Anna, unenraptured, 
 Led the creature she had captured. 
 
 What is Love ? A shooting star. 
 Flying, flashing, lost afar. 
 What is Man ? A fretful boy, 
 Ever seeking some new toy. 
 What is Memory ? Alas ! 
 'Tis a strange magician's glass. 
 Where you pictures bright may mark 
 If you hold it /// the dark. 
 
 Thrust it out into the sun. 
 All the picturing is done, 
 And the magic dies away 
 In the golden glow of day I 
 
 Coming back to civilisation, 
 
 Petted, feted, shone on daily, 
 W.iS a novel dissipation. 
 
 And Eureka reveU'd gaily. 
 Friendly faces flash'd around him. 
 
 Church-bells tinkled in his ear, 
 Cosy cronies sought and found him, 
 
 Drowsietown look'd bright and clear. 
 Parson Pendon and his lady 
 
 ( Respectability embodied) 
 Welcom'd the stray sheep alr^sdy, 
 
 ^iatrons smiled, and deacons nodded. 
 Uncle Pete had left him lately 
 
 Maiden Farm and all its store. 
 And he found himself prized greatly 
 
 As a worthy bachelor. 
 All his roaming days seem'd over ! 
 
 Like a beast without a load. 
 Grazing in the golden clover, 
 
 In the village he abode ! 
 And he loved the tilth and tillage, 
 All the bustle of the village — 
 Loved the reaping and the sowing, 
 
 Loved the music of the mill, 
 Loved to see the mowers mowing, 
 And the golden grasses growing. 
 
 Breast-deep, near the river still. 
 Civilisation altogether 
 
 Seem'd exactly to his notion ! 
 Life was like good harvest weather, 
 
 Faintly flavoured with devotion. 
 Ruefully he cogitated, 
 
 With the peaceful spire in sight : — 
 ' Waal, I guess the thing was fated. 
 
 And it's hard to set it right. 
 Seems a dream, too ! now, I wonder 
 
 If it seems a dream to her ! 
 After that first parting stunn'd her, 
 
 For a time she'd make a stir ; 
 P'raps, tho', when the shock was over, 
 Other sentiments might move her ! 
 First she'd cry, next, she'd grow fretful, 
 Thirdly, riled, and then forgetfuL 
 After all that's done and said, 
 
 Injin blood is Injin ever 1 
 I'm a white skin she's a red ; 
 Providence just made us sever. 
 
 u D 3
 
 404 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Parson says that sort of thing 
 
 Isn't moral marrying ! 
 The" the simple creature yonder 
 
 Had no better education — 
 Ignorance jest made her fonder, 
 
 And / yielded to temptation. 
 Here's the question : I've been sinning— 
 Wrong, clean wrong, from the beginning ; 
 Can I make ray blunder better 
 
 By repeating it again? 
 When mere Nature, if I let her, 
 
 Soon can cure the creature's pain ; 
 She'll forget me fast enough — 
 
 And she's no religious feeling ; 
 Injin hearts are always tough, 
 
 And their wounds are quick of healing. 
 Heigho ! '—here he sighed ; then seeing 
 
 Phoebe Ann trip by in laughter, 
 Brightening up, the bother'd being 
 
 Shook off care, and trotted after 1 
 
 Had this final complication 
 
 Not been added to the rest ; 
 Had not Fate with new temptation 
 
 Drugg'd the conscience of his breast. 
 Possibly his better nature 
 
 Might have triumph'd o'er the treason ; 
 But the passions of the creature 
 
 Rose in league with his false reason ; 
 On the side of civilisation 
 
 Rose the pretty Civilisee : 
 In a flush of new sensation. 
 
 Conscience died, and Shame did flee. 
 That bright picture, many-colour'd. 
 Nature had flash'd before the dullard ; 
 That wild ecstasy and rapture 
 She had tamed unto his capture — 
 That grand form, intensely burning 
 To a lightning-flash of yearning — 
 That fair face transfigur'd brightly 
 Into starry rapture nightly — 
 Those large limbs of living lustre, 
 
 Moving with a flower-like grace — 
 Those great joys which hung in cluster, 
 
 Like ripe fruit in a green place- 
 All had faded from his vision. 
 
 And instead, before his sight, 
 Tript the pretty-faced precisian, 
 
 Deep and dimpled, warm and white ! 
 
 In her very style of looking 
 There was cognisance of cooking I 
 From her very dress were peeping 
 Indications of housekeeping 1 
 
 You might gather in a minute, 
 
 As she lightly passed you by, 
 She could (with her whole heart in it !) 
 
 Nurse a babe or make a pie. 
 Yet her manner and expression 
 
 Shook the foolish giant's nerve. 
 With their quiet self-possession 
 
 And their infinite reserve. 
 In his former time the wooing 
 Had been all \h& females doing ; 
 He had waited while the other 
 Did his soul with raptures smother ! 
 But 'twas quite another matter. 
 
 Here in civilisation's school ! 
 And his heart went pitter-patter, 
 
 And he trembled like a fool. 
 Thro' the church the road lay to her ; — 
 
 That was written on her face. 
 Lawfully the man must woo her 
 
 In the manner of her race. 
 So by slow degrees he enter' d 
 Courtship's Maze so mystic-centred ! 
 Round and round the pathways wander'd. 
 Made his blunders, puzzled, ponder'd ; 
 Laugh'd at, laughing, scom'd, imploring, 
 Mad, enraged, distraught, adoring ; 
 This way, that way, turning, twisting ; 
 Yielding oft, and oft resisting : 
 Gasping while the voice of Cupid 
 Madden'd him with ' Hither, stupid ! ' 
 Seeking ever for the middle 
 Of the green and golden riddle — 
 Oft, just as he cried, ' I've got it !' 
 Finding culs de sac, and not it ! 
 Till at last his blunders ended 
 On a summer morning splendid. 
 When with vision glad and hazy. 
 
 Seeing Phoebe blushing falter. 
 In the centre of the Maze, he 
 Found himself before— an Altar 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 Nuptial Song. 
 
 Where were they wedded? In the holy 
 house 
 
 Built up by busy fingers. 
 All Drowsietown was quiet as a mouse 
 
 To hear the village singers. 
 
 Who was the Priest ? 'Twas Parson Pendon, 
 dress'd 
 In surpUce to the knuckles,
 
 WHITE ROSE -THE GREAT SNOW. 
 
 405 
 
 Wig powder'd, snowy cambric on his breast, 
 Silk stockings, pumps, and buckles. 
 
 What was the service? 'Twas the solemn, 
 stale. 
 Old-fashioned, English measure : 
 • Wilt thou this woman take ? and thou this 
 male ? ' 
 • I will ' — ' I will ■ — with pleasure. 
 
 Who saw it done? The countless rustic 
 eyes 
 Of folk around them thronging. 
 Who shared the joy? The matrons with 
 soft sighs. 
 The girls with bright looks longing. 
 
 Who was the bride ? Sweet Phoebe, dress'd 
 in clothes 
 As white as she who wore 'em, 
 Sweet-scented, self-possess'd, — one bright 
 White Rose 
 Of virtue and decorum- 
 
 Her consecration ? Peaceful self-control, 
 
 And modest circumspection — 
 The sweet old service softening her soul 
 
 To formulised affection. 
 
 Surveying with calm eyes the long, straight 
 road 
 Of matrimonial being. 
 She wore her wedding clothes, trusting in 
 God, 
 Domestic, and far-seeing. 
 
 With steady little hand she sign'd her name, 
 
 Nor trembled at the venture. 
 What did the Bridegroom ? Blush'd with 
 sheepish shame. 
 
 Endorsing the indenture, 
 
 O Hymen, Hymen ! In the church so calm 
 
 Began the old sweet story. 
 The parson smiled, the summer fields 
 breathed balm, 
 
 The crops were in their glory. 
 
 Out from the portal came the wedding crew. 
 
 All smiling, palpitating ; — 
 And there was Jacob with the cart, bran 
 new. 
 
 And the white pony, waiting. 
 
 The girls waved handkerchiefs, the village 
 boys 
 Shouted, around them rushing, 
 And off they trotted thro' the light and 
 noise. 
 She calm, the giant blushing. 
 
 Down the green road, along by glade and 
 grove. 
 
 They jog, vidth rein-bells jingling, 
 The orchards pink all round, the sun above. 
 
 She cold. Eureka tingling. 
 
 And round her waist his arm becomes 
 entwined. 
 But still her ways are coolish — 
 ' There's old Dame Dartle looking ! Don't 
 now ! Mind 
 The pony 1 Guess you're foolish ! ' 
 
 Who rang the bells? The ringers with a 
 will 
 Set them in soft vibration. 
 Hark ! loud and clear, there chimes o'er 
 vale and hiU 
 The nuptial jubilation. 
 
 PART IV. 
 THE GREAT SNOW. 
 
 I. 
 
 The Great Snow. 
 
 'TviTAS the year of the Great Snow. 
 
 First the East began to blow 
 Chill and shrill for many days, 
 On the wild wet woodland ways. 
 Then the North, with crimson cheeks, 
 Blew upon the pond for weeks, 
 Chill'd the water thro" and thro", 
 Till the first thin ice-crust grew 
 Blue and filmy ; then at last 
 All the pond was frosted fast, 
 Prison'd, smother'd, fettcr'd tight, 
 L.et it struggle as it might. 
 And the first Snow drifted down 
 On the roofs of Drowsietown. 
 
 First the vanguard of the Snow ; 
 Falling flakes, whirling slow. 
 Drifting darkness, troubled dream ; 
 Then a motion and a gleam ;
 
 4,o6 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Sprinkling with a carpet white 
 
 Orchards, swamps, and woodland ways. 
 Thus the first Snow took its flight, 
 
 And there was a hush for days. 
 
 'Mid that hush the Spectre dim. 
 Faint of breath and thin of hmb, 
 Hoar-frost, hke a maiden's ghost. 
 Nightly o'er the marshes crost 
 In the moonhght : where she flew, 
 
 At the touch of her chill dress 
 Cobwebs of the glimmering dew 
 
 Froze to silvern loveliness. 
 
 All the night, in the dim light, 
 Quietly sh>' took her flight ; 
 Thro' the streets she crept, and stayed 
 In each silent window shade, 
 With her finger moist as rain 
 Drawing flowers upon the pane ; — 
 On the phantom flowers so drawn 
 
 With her frozen breath breath'd she ; 
 And each window-pane at dawn 
 
 Turn'd to crystal tracery 1 
 
 Then the Phantom Fog came forth. 
 Following slowly from the North ; 
 Wheezing, coughing, blown, and damp. 
 He sat sullen in the swamp, 
 Scowling with a blood-shot eye ; 
 As the canvas-backs went by ; 
 Till the North-wind, with a shout, 
 Thrust his pole and poked him out ; 
 And the Phantom with a scowl, 
 
 Black'ning night and dark'ning day. 
 Hooted after by the owl, 
 
 Lamely halted on his way. 
 
 Now in flocks that ever increase 
 Honk the armies of the geese, 
 'Gainst a sky of crimson red 
 Silhouetted overhead. 
 After them in a dark mass. 
 Sleet and hail hiss as they pass, 
 Rattling on the frozen lea 
 With their shrill artillery. 
 Then a silence : then comes on 
 Frost, the steel-bright Skeleton ! 
 Silent in the night he steals. 
 With wolves howling at his heels, 
 Seeing to the locks and keys 
 On the ponds and on the leas. 
 Touching with his tingling wand 
 Trees and shrubs on every hand. 
 
 Till they change, transform'd to sight, 
 Into dwarfs and druids white, — 
 Icicle-bearded, frosty-shrouded 
 Underneath his mantle clouded ; 
 And on many of their shoulders, 
 Chill, indifferent to beholders. 
 Sits the barr'd owl in a heap. 
 Ruffled, dumb, and fast asleep. 
 Tliere the legions of the trees 
 Gather ghost-like round his knees ; 
 While in cloudy cloak and hood, 
 Cold he creeps to the great wood : — 
 Lying there in a half-doze. 
 While on finger-tips and toes 
 Squirrels turn their wheels, and jays 
 Flutter in a wild amaze. 
 And the foxes, lean and foul. 
 Look out of their holes and growl. 
 There he waiteth, breathing cold 
 On the white and silent wold. 
 
 In a silence sat the Thing, 
 Looking north, and listening ! 
 And the farmers drave their teams 
 Past the woods and by the streams, 
 Crying as they met together. 
 With chill noses, ' Frosty iveather !' 
 And along the iron ways 
 Tinkle, tinkle, went the sleighs. 
 And the wood-chopper did hie. 
 Leather stockings to the thigh. 
 Crouching on the snow that strew'd 
 Every corner of the wood. 
 Still Frost waited, very still ; 
 Then he whistled, loud and shrill ; 
 Then he pointed north, and lo ! 
 The main Army of the Snow. 
 
 Black as Erebus afar. 
 
 Blotting sun, and moon, and star. 
 
 Drifting, in confusion driven. 
 
 Screaming, straggling, rent and riven, 
 
 Whirhng, wailing, blown afar 
 
 In an awful wind of War, 
 
 Dragging drifts of death beneath. 
 
 With a melancholy groan. 
 While the fierce Frost set his teeth. 
 
 Rose erect, and waved them on ! 
 
 All day long the legions passed 
 On an ever-gathering blast ; 
 In an ever-gathering night. 
 Fast they eddied on their flight.
 
 THE GREAT SNOW. 
 
 407 
 
 With a tramping and a roar, 
 Like the waves on a wild shore ; 
 With a motion and a gleam, 
 Whirling, driven in a dream ; 
 On they drave in drifts of white, 
 Burying Drowsietown from sight, 
 Covering ponds, and woods and roads, 
 Shrouding trees and men's abodes ; 
 While the great Pond loaded deep, 
 Turning over in its sleep. 
 Groaned; — but when night came, forsooth, 
 
 Grew the tramp unto a thunder ; 
 Wind met wind with wail uncouth. 
 Frost and Storm fought nail and tooth. 
 
 Shrieking, and the roofs rock'd under. 
 Scared out of its sleep that night, 
 Drowsietown awoke in fright ; 
 Chimney-pots above it flying, 
 
 Windows crashing to the ground. 
 Snow-flakes blinding, multiplying, 
 
 Snow-drift whirling round and round ; 
 While, whene'er the strife seemed dying. 
 The great North-wind, shrilly crying, 
 
 Clash'd his shield in battle-sound ! 
 
 Multitudinous and vast, 
 Legions after legions passed. 
 Still the air behind was drear 
 With new legions coming near; 
 Still they waver'd, wander'd on, 
 Ghmmer'd, trembled, and were gone. 
 While the drift grew deeper, deeper. 
 
 On the roofs and at the doors. 
 While the wind awoke each sleeper 
 
 With its melancholy roars. 
 Once the Moon looked out, and lo ! 
 Blind against her face the Snow 
 Like a wild white grave-cloth lay. 
 Till she shuddering crept away. 
 Then thro' darkness like the grave. 
 On and on the legions drave. 
 
 When the dawn came, Drowsietown 
 
 Smother'd in the snow-drift lay. 
 Still the swarms were drifting down 
 
 In a dark and dreadful day. 
 On the blinds the whole day long 
 
 Thro' the red light shadows flitted. 
 At the inn in a great throng 
 
 Gossips gather'd drowsy-witted. 
 All around on the white lea 
 Farm-lamps twinkled drearily ; 
 Not a road was now revealed, 
 
 Drift, deep drift, at every door ; 
 
 Field was mingled up with field. 
 
 Stream and pond were smother'd o'er, 
 Trees and fences fled from sight 
 In the deep wan waste of white. 
 
 Many a night, many a day, 
 Pass'd the wonderful array, 
 Sometimes in confusion driven, 
 Pjy the dreadful winds of heaven ; 
 Sometimes gently wavering by 
 With a gleam and smothered sigh. 
 While the lean Frost still did stand 
 Pointing with his skinny hand 
 Northward, with the shrubs and trees 
 Buried deep below his knees. 
 Still the Snow passed ; deeper down 
 In the snow sank Drowsietown. 
 Not a bird stayed, big or small. 
 Not a team could stir at all. 
 Round the cottage window-frame 
 Barking foxes nightly came, 
 Scowling in a spectral ring 
 At the ghostly glimmering. 
 Old Abe Sinker at the Inn 
 Heap'd his fire up with a grin. 
 For the great room, warm and bright, 
 Never emptied morn or night. 
 Old folks shiver'd with their bones 
 Full of pains and cold as stones. 
 Nought was doing, nought was done, 
 From the rise to set of sun. 
 Yawning in the ale-house heat. 
 Shivering in the snowy street. 
 Like dream-shadows, up and down. 
 
 With their footprints black below, 
 Moved the folk of Drowsietown, 
 
 In the Year of the Great Snow 1 
 
 II. 
 The Wanderer. 
 
 Snowing and blowing, roaring and rattle. 
 
 Frost, snow, and wind are all busy at battle ! 
 
 O what a quaking, and shaking, and call- 
 ing, 
 
 Whitely, so whitely, the snow still is falling ; 
 
 Stone-dead the earth is, shrouded all over. 
 
 White, stiff, and hard is the snow-sheet 
 above her. 
 
 Deep, deep the drift is ; and tho' it is snow- 
 ing, 
 
 Blacker, yet blacker, the heavens are 
 growing.
 
 4o8 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Oh, what a night ! gather nearer the fire ! 
 
 Pile the warm pine-logs higher and higher ; 
 
 Shut the black storm out, close tight the 
 shutters. 
 
 Hark ! how without there it moans and it 
 mutters. 
 
 Tearing with teeth, claws, and fingers 
 tremendous. 
 
 Roof, wall, and gable !— now Angels de- 
 fend us ! 
 
 There was a roar ! — how it crashes and 
 darkens ! 
 
 No wonder that Phoebe stops, trembles, 
 and hearkens. 
 
 For black as the skies are, tho' hueless and 
 
 ghastly. 
 Stretches the wold, 'mid the snow falling 
 
 fastly, 
 Here in the homestead by Pheebe made cosy, 
 All is so pleasant, so ruddy, and rosy. 
 All by herself in the tile-paven kitchen, 
 In white huswife's gown, and in apron be- 
 witching, 
 Flits little Phoebe, so busily making 
 Corn bread and rye bread for Saturday's 
 
 baking. 
 See ! in the firelight that round her is 
 
 gleaming, 
 How she is glowing, and glancing, and 
 
 beaming, 
 WTiile all around her, in sheer perspiration 
 Of an ecstatic and warm admiration, 
 Plates, cups, and dishes, delightedly glow- 
 ing, 
 Watch her sweet shade as 'tis coming and 
 
 going. 
 Catch her bright image as lightly she 
 
 passes, 
 Shine it about in plates, dishes, and glasses ! 
 Often in wonder all trembling and quaking. 
 To feel how the homestead is swaying and 
 
 shaking, 
 All in a clatter they cry out together, 
 • The roof will be off in a minute ! What 
 weather ! ' 
 
 , . , . A face in the darkness, a foot on 
 
 the Snow, 
 I it there? Dost thou hear? Doth it 
 
 come? Doth it go? 
 Hush ! only the gusts as they gather and 
 
 grow. 
 
 O Phoebe is busy !— with little flour'd 
 
 fingers. 
 Like rosebuds in snow, o'er her labour she 
 
 lingers ; 
 And oft when the tumult is loudest she 
 
 listens, 
 Her eyes are intent, and her pretty face 
 
 glistens 
 So warm in the firelight. Despite the 
 
 storm's crying, 
 Sound, sound in their slumbers the farm- 
 maids are lying ; 
 The clock with its round face perspiring 
 
 and blinking. 
 Is pointing to bed-time, and sleepily winking. 
 The sheep-dog lies basking, the grey cat is 
 
 purring. 
 Only the tempest is crying and stirring. 
 The minutes creep on, and the wind still is 
 
 busy. 
 And Phoebe still hearkens, perplex'd, and 
 
 uneasy. 
 
 . . , . A face in the wold where the snow- 
 drift lies low. 
 
 A footfall by night ? — or the winds as they 
 blow? 
 
 O hush ! it comes nearer, a foot on the 
 Snow. 
 
 Phoebe's fond heart is beginning to flutter. 
 She harks for a footfall, a tap on the 
 
 shutter ; 
 She lists for a voice while the storm gathers 
 
 shriller, 
 The drift's at the door, and the frost groweth 
 
 chiller. 
 She looks at the clock, and she starteth 
 
 back sighing, 
 While the cuckoo leaps out from his hole 
 
 in it, crying 
 His name ten times over ; past ten, little 
 
 smger 
 
 ' O what keeps Eureka? and where can he 
 
 linger?' 
 The snow is so deep, and the ways are so 
 
 dire. 
 She thinks ; and a footfall comes nigher 
 
 and nigher. 
 
 . . . . A face in the darkness, a face full ol 
 
 woe, 
 A face and a footfall— they come and they go,
 
 THE GREAT SNOW. 
 
 409 
 
 Still nearer and nearer — a foot on the 
 Snow ! 
 
 Eureka's abroad in the town, — but 'tis later 
 Than Drowsietown's bed-time. Still greater 
 
 and greater 
 The fears of poor Phoebe each moment are 
 
 growing ; 
 And sadder and paler her features are 
 
 glowing. 
 She steps to the door — lifts the latch — with 
 
 wild scolding 
 The door is dashed open, and torn from 
 
 her holding. 
 While shivering she peers on the blackness, 
 
 vibrating 
 Withatroubleof whiteness within it pulsat- 
 ing ! 
 The wind piles the drift at the threshold 
 
 before her, 
 The snow swarms upon her, around her, 
 
 and o'er her, 
 But melts on the warmth of her face and 
 
 her hands. 
 A moment in trouble she hearkens and 
 
 stands. 
 
 All black and all still, save the storm's wild 
 
 tabor ! 
 And she closes the door, and comes back 
 
 to her labour. 
 In vain — she grows paler— her heart sinks 
 
 within her, 
 The cuckoo bursts out in a flutter (the 
 
 sinner), 
 And chimes the half-hour — she sits now 
 
 awaiting. 
 Her heart forebodes evil, her mind still 
 
 debating ; 
 The drift is so deep— could a false step 
 
 within it 
 Have led to his grave in one terrible 
 
 minute? 
 Could his foot have gone wand' ring away 
 
 in the wold there, 
 While frozen and feeble he sank in the cold 
 
 there ? 
 'Tis his foot ! . . . Nay, not yet ! . . . 
 
 There he's tapping, to summon 
 His wife to the door ! Nay, indeed, little 
 
 woman ! 
 'Tis his foot at the door !— and he listens to 
 
 hear her I 
 
 Nay, not yet ; yet a footfall there is, com- 
 ing nearer. ' 
 
 A face in the darkness, a foot on the Snow, 
 Nearer it comes to the warm window-glow ; 
 O hush ! thro' the wind, a foot-fall on the 
 Snow. 
 
 Nowheark, Phoebe, heark ! — But shehearks 
 
 not ; for dreaming. 
 Her soft eyes are fixed on the fire's rosy 
 
 gleaming ; 
 Hands crossed on her knees she rocks to 
 
 and fro ; 
 O heark ! Phoebe, heark ! 'tis a foot on the 
 
 Snow. 
 O heark ! Phoebe, heark ! and flit over the 
 
 floor, 
 'Tis a foot on the Snow ! 'tis a tap at the 
 
 door ! 
 Low, faint as hail tapping. . . Upstarting, 
 
 she hearkens. 
 It ceases. The firelight sinks low, the 
 
 room darkens. 
 She listens again. All is still. The wind 
 
 blowing. 
 The thrill of the tempest, the sound of the 
 
 snowing. 
 Hush again ! something taps — a low mur- 
 mur is heard. 
 •Come in,' Phoebe cries; but the latch is 
 
 not stirred. 
 
 Her heart's failing fast ; superstitious and 
 mute 
 
 She stands and she tremMcs, and stirs not 
 a foot. 
 
 She hears a low breathing, a moaning, a 
 knock. 
 
 Between the wind's cry and the tick of the 
 clock : 
 
 Tap ! tap ! . . with an effort she shakes 
 off her fear, 
 
 Makes one step to the door ; again pauses 
 to hear. 
 
 The latch stirs ; in terror and desperate 
 haste 
 
 She opens the door, shrinking back pallid- 
 faced, 
 
 And sees at the porch, with a thrill of 
 affright, 
 
 'MxA the gleaming of snow and the dark- 
 ness of night, 
 
 A shape like a Woman's, a tremulous form
 
 4IO 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 White with the snow-flakes and bent with 
 
 the storm ! 
 Great eyes looking out through a black 
 
 tatter'd hood, 
 With a gleam of wild sorrow that thrills 
 
 through the blood, 
 A hand that outreaches, a voice sadly strung, 
 That speaks to her soul in some mystical 
 
 tongue ! 
 
 The face in the darkness, the foot on the Snow, 
 They have come, they are here, with their 
 
 weal and their woe : 
 O long was the journey ! the wayfarer slow ! 
 
 Now Phcebe hath courage, for plainly the 
 
 being 
 She looks on is mortal, though wild to the 
 
 seeing — 
 Tall, spectral, and strange, yet in sorrow so 
 
 human — 
 And the eyes, though so wild, are the eyes 
 
 of a woman. 
 Her face is all hid ; but her brow and her 
 
 hands. 
 And the quaint ancient cloak that she 
 
 wears as she stands, 
 Are those of the red race who still wander 
 
 scatter'd — 
 The gipsies of white towns, dishonour'd, 
 
 drink-shatter' d. 
 And strange, too, she seems by her tongue ; 
 
 yet her words are 
 As li(|uid and soft as the notes of a bird are. 
 All this in a moment sees Phoebe ; then lo ! 
 She sees the shape staggering in from the 
 
 snow, 
 Revealing, as in to the fire-gleam she goes, 
 A face wild with famine, and haggard with 
 
 woes, 
 For her hood falls away, and her head 
 
 glimmers bare, 
 And loosen'd around falls her dank drip- 
 ping hair. 
 And her eyes gleam Uke death — she would 
 
 fall to the earth. 
 But the soft little hands of kind Phoebe 
 
 reach forth. 
 And lead her, half swooning, half con- 
 scious, until 
 She sinks in a chair by the fire and is still ; 
 Still, death-like, — while Phoebe kneels down 
 
 by her chair, 
 
 And chafes her chill hands with a motherly 
 
 The face is upon her, it gleams in the glow, 
 She hears a voice warning, still dreadful 
 
 and low. 
 Far b.nck lies the footprint, a track in the 
 
 Snow. 
 
 The woman was ghost-like, yet wondrously 
 
 fair 
 Through the gray cloud of famine, the dews 
 
 of despair, 
 Her face hunger'd forth — 'twas a red 
 
 woman's face. 
 Without the sunk eyeball, the taint of the 
 
 race ; 
 With strange gentle lines round the mouth 
 
 of her, cast 
 By moments of being too blissful to last. 
 Her cloak fallen wide, as she sat there 
 
 distraught. 
 Revealed a strange garment with figures 
 
 en wrought 
 In silk and old beads — it had once been 
 
 most bright — 
 But frayed with long wearing by day and 
 
 by night. 
 Mocassins she wore, and they, too, had 
 
 been gay, 
 And now they were ragged and rent by the 
 
 way ; 
 And bare to the cold was one foot, soft and 
 
 red. 
 And frozen felt both, and one trickled and 
 
 bled. 
 
 The face of the stranger, 'tis worn with its 
 
 woe, 
 It comes to thee, Phoebe, but when shall it 
 
 go? 
 Far back go the footprints ; see ! black in 
 
 the Snow. 
 
 But look ! what is that ? lo ! it lies on her 
 
 breast, 
 A small living creature, an infant at rest ! 
 So tiny, so shrivell'd, a mite of red clay. 
 Warm, mummied, and wrapt in the Indian 
 
 way. 
 It opens its eyes, and it shrivels red cheeks ; 
 It thrusts out its hand to the face, and it 
 
 speaks
 
 THE GREAT SNOW. 
 
 411 
 
 With a cry to the heart of the mother ; and 
 
 lo! 
 She stirs from her swoon, and her famish'd 
 
 cheeks glow, 
 She rolls her wild eyes at the cry of distress, 
 And her weak hands instinctively open her 
 
 dress 
 That the babe may be fed ; and the touch 
 
 of the child 
 When it comes to her bosom, warm, milky, 
 
 and mild, 
 Seems blissful— she smiles — O, so faindy ! 
 
 — is blest 
 To feel its lips draw at the poor weary breast. 
 She closes her eyes, she is soothed, and her 
 
 form 
 Within the great firelight grows happy and 
 
 warm. 
 She hears not the wind, and she seems in a 
 
 dream, 
 Till her orbs startle open amid the glad 
 
 gleam ; 
 Her looks fall on Phcebe, who trembles for 
 
 pity; 
 She holds out her hands with a cry of 
 
 entreaty ; 
 Her thoughts flow together — she knows the 
 
 bright place, 
 She feels the sweet firelight, she sees the 
 
 kind face — 
 For Phoebe unloosens her poor dripping 
 
 cloak. 
 And its damp rises up in the kitchen like 
 
 smoke ; 
 And Phcebe, with tender and matronly 
 
 grace. 
 Is wiping the snow and the wet from her 
 
 face. 
 She looks, sinks again, speaks with quick 
 
 birdlike cries, 
 In her own thrilling speech ; but her voice 
 
 breaks and dies, 
 And her tears, through shut eyelids, ooze 
 
 slowly and blindly 
 On the white little hands that are touching 
 
 her kindly. 
 
 A face i'.i the darkness, a face full of woe. 
 Deep, deep, are the white ways, and bleak 
 
 the winds blow ; 
 O, long was the journey, the wayfarer slow, 
 O, look ! black as death, stretch the prints 
 
 in the Snow. 
 
 III. 
 Retrospect : the Journey. 
 
 A footprint — trace it back. O God ! 
 
 The bleeding feet, the weary road. 
 
 Fly, Fancy, as the eagle flies. 
 
 With beating heart and burning eyes, 
 
 Fly on the north-wind's breath of power, 
 
 Beat mile by mile, and hour by hour, 
 
 Southward, still southward : shouldst thou 
 
 tire. 
 Rest with the solar sphere of fire. 
 Then rise again and take thy flight 
 Across the continent in white, 
 And track, still track, as thou dost go 
 This bleeding footprint in the snow ! 
 Fly night by night, or day by day. 
 Count the long hours, watch the wild way ; 
 Then see, beneath thee sailing swift 
 The white way melteth, and the drift 
 Gathers no longer ; and instead 
 Of snow a dreary rain is shed. 
 On grassy ways, on dreary leas, 
 And sullen pools that do not freeze. 
 Now must thy keen eye look more near 
 To trace the bloody footprint here ; 
 But see ! still see ! it can be traced 
 On the wet pastures of the waste ; 
 On ! on, still on ! still southward sail, 
 While tall trees shake in the shrill gale. 
 And great streams gather, and things green 
 Begin to show thro' the dim sheen. 
 Here thro' a mighty wood the track 
 Errs hke a silk thread slowly back, 
 And here birds singing go and come, 
 Tho' far away the world is dumb. 
 A river, and the track is lost. 
 But when the stream is safely cross'd 
 Again, upon the further brim. 
 The drop of blood, the footprint dim ! 
 O winged thought, o'er half a world 
 Thou sailest with great wings unfurl'd,' 
 From white to dark, from dark to bright, 
 From north to south, thou takest flight, 
 Passing with constant waft of wing 
 From winter climes to climes of spring, 
 Swiftly thou goest, and still thy gaze 
 Follows the footprint thro' wild ways ; 
 Swiftly thou speedest south — O God ! 
 A thousand leagues of weary road ! 
 
 A thousand leagues ! O see, the track, 
 Clear to the soul's eye, wavers back
 
 412 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Dim yet unbroken, linking slow 
 
 Winter with spring, sunshine with snow. 
 
 The dead leaf with the leaf still blowing. 
 
 The frozen stream with the stream i^owing ; 
 
 Linking and binding silently 
 
 Forgetfulness with memory, 
 
 Love living with love long at rest, 
 
 A burning with a frozen breast, 
 
 A Sunbeam Soul all light and seeing; 
 
 With a mere Beaver of a being. 
 
 Turn back, my Spirit, turn and trace 
 The woman from her starting place, 
 Whence with fix'd features and feet free 
 She plunged into the world's great Sea, — 
 A fair sweet swimmer, strong of limb, 
 Most confident in God, and him. 
 And found herself by wild winds blown. 
 In a great waste, alone, alone ! 
 
 Long with the patience of her race, 
 Had Red Rose waited for the face 
 That came not, listen'd for the voice 
 That made her soul leap and rejoice. 
 They came not : all was still. For days, 
 She like a fawn in the green ways 
 Wander'd alone ; and night by night 
 She watch'd heaven's eye of hquid hght 
 With eyes as luminous as theirs, 
 'Mid tremulous sighs and panted prayers. 
 He came not : all was still : her tread 
 Grew heavier on the earth, her head 
 Hung sadder, and her weeping eyes 
 Look'd more on earth than on the skies : 
 Like a dead leaf she droop'd in woe. 
 Until one day, with a quick throe, 
 She turn'd to crimson as she wept, 
 And lo ! within her something leapt ! 
 
 Flesh of her flesh, the blossom broke. 
 
 Blood of her blood, she felt it stir, 
 Within her life another woke 
 
 With still small eyes, and look'd at her ! 
 And with a strange ecstatic pain, 
 She breathed, and felt it breathe again. 
 She seem'd to see it night and day, 
 Coming along from far away 
 Down a green path, and with fierce flame 
 She rush'd to meet it as it came, 
 But as she rush'd the shape did seem 
 Suddenly to dissolve in dream. 
 And daily she stood hungering sore. 
 Till far off it arose once more. 
 
 But as the life within her grew 
 
 A horror took away her breath, 
 Lest when her cruel kinsmen knew 
 
 Her secret, they should deal her death. 
 For now the aged Chief, with whom 
 Her happy life had broke to bloom. 
 Along the dark deep path had wound 
 That leads to God's great hunting-ground ; 
 And a young brave of the red band 
 Was proudly wooing for her hand ; — 
 Not in white fashion fervendy. 
 Not with wild vows and on his knee ; 
 Rather a proud majestic wooer 
 Who felt his suit an honour to her. 
 And who his formal presents sent 
 In calm assumption of consent, 
 And never dream' d the maid would dare 
 To turn her tender eyes elsewhere ; — 
 Nor dared she openly disdain 
 A suit so solemn and so plain ; 
 But with a smile half agonized 
 She (as we whites say) temporized ! 
 
 She found two friendly women, who, 
 
 Tho' hags in form, were kind and true. 
 
 And with their aid, when the hour came, 
 
 She bare her child and hid her shame. 
 
 As Eve bare Cain, upon a bed 
 
 Of balsam and of hemlock, spread 
 
 By those kind hands, in the deep woods. 
 
 Amid the forest solitudes. 
 
 With myriad creatures round her flying, 
 
 And every creature multiplying ; 
 
 In the warm greenwood, hid from sight. 
 
 She held her babe to the glad light. 
 
 And brighten'd. As she linger'd there. 
 
 She had a dream most sadly fair : 
 
 She seem'd upon a river-side. 
 
 Gazing across a crystal tide. 
 
 And o'er the tide in dying swells 
 
 There came a burthen as of bells 
 
 Out of a mist ; then the mist clear'd, 
 
 And on the further bank appeard 
 
 A dim shape fondly beckoning — 
 
 Her warrior tall, her heart's white King ! 
 
 She cried, and woke; the dream was nought; 
 
 But ever after her wild thought 
 
 Yearn'd with an instinct mad and dumb 
 
 To seek him, since he did not come. 
 
 She thought, ' My warrior beckons me ! 
 
 He would be here if he were free. 
 
 And if I stay my kinsmen wild 
 
 Will surely slay me and the child ;
 
 THE GREAT SNOW. 
 
 413 
 
 But there, with him in that fair place, 
 
 Where he is chief of his own race, 
 
 All will be well ; for he is good, 
 
 Of milder race and gentler blood ; 
 
 And tho' I die upon the way 
 
 'Twill not be worse than if I stay, 
 
 Butcher'd and shamed in all men's sight 
 
 When my sad secret comes to light. 
 
 'Tis well ! this paper in my hand 
 
 Will guide my footsteps thro' the land. 
 
 And when I strengthen I will fly, 
 
 And I will find my lord, or die ! ' 
 
 'Twas thought, 'twas done ; at dead of night. 
 
 She clasp'd her infant and took flight. 
 
 One guide she had — the luminous star, 
 On the horizon line afar ; 
 For thither oft Eureka's hand 
 Had pointed, telling her his land 
 Lay thitherward : gazing thereon. 
 That night she busied to be gone. 
 It seem'd a lamp that he had placed 
 To guide her footsteps o'er the waste. 
 She gather'd food, then to her back 
 Attach'd the babe, and took the track. 
 Waving her hands in wild ' adieu ' 
 To those kind women dark of hue. 
 Who crouching on a dark ascent 
 Moan'd low, and watch'd her as she went. 
 There shone the star hquid and clear, 
 His voice seem'd calling in her ear. 
 The night was warm as her desire. 
 And forth she fled on feet of fire. 
 
 One guide ; she had another too : 
 A crumpled paper coarse to view, 
 Wherein she had kept with tender care 
 A little lock of precious hair. 
 And on the paper this was written plain : 
 • Eureka Hart, Drowsietown, State 
 OF Maine." 
 
 O poor dark bird, nought still knew she 
 Of this wild world's geography ! 
 Less than the swallow sailing home, 
 Less than the petrel 'mid the foam. 
 Less than the mallard winging fast, 
 O'er solitary fens and vast, 
 To seek his birthplace far away 
 In regions of the midnight day. 
 She only knew that somewhere there. 
 
 In some strange land afar or near, 
 Under that star serene and fair. 
 
 He waited ; and her soul could hear 
 
 His summons ; even as a dove 
 
 Her soul's wild pinions she unfurl'd. 
 
 And sought in constancy and love 
 Her only refuge in the world ! 
 
 A footprint— trace it on ! — 
 
 For days 
 Her path was on great pasture ways : 
 League after league of verdurous bloom 
 Of star-like flowers and faint perfume, 
 And from her coming leapt in fear 
 The antelope and dappled deer ; 
 And everywhere around her grew 
 Ripe fruit and berries that she knew, 
 While glistening in the golden gleam 
 Glanced many a mere and running stream. 
 A happy land of flocks and herds, 
 And many-colour'd water-birds ! 
 Oft, sailing with her as she went. 
 The eagle eddied indolent 
 On soft swift wing ; and with his wild 
 Dark dewy eye glanced at her child. 
 Nor till she scream'd and arms upthrew, 
 Turn'd, and on sullen wing withdrew. 
 But sweet it was by night to rest 
 And give her little babe the breast, 
 And O each night with eyes most dim 
 She felt one night more near to him : 
 And all ihe pains of the past day. 
 With all the perils of the way, 
 Seem'd as a dream ; and lo ! afar 
 She saw the smiling of the Star. 
 
 'Twere but a weary task to trace 
 Her footprint on from place to place. 
 From day to day ; to sing and tell 
 What daily accidents befell. 
 What dangers threaten'd her, what eyes 
 Watch'd her go by in wild surprise. 
 What prospects blest her, where and when 
 She look'd on life and met with men. 
 Enough to say, tho' light and dark, 
 Straight, as an arrow to its mark, 
 The woman flew ; wise in the ways 
 Of her own race, she hid from gaze 
 When flitting forms against the sky 
 Warn'd her that Indians might be nigh ; 
 And when the wild beast dreadful-eyed 
 Approach'd her, with shrill shriek she cried, 
 Until the bloody coward shook 
 Before the red rage of her look. 
 And tho' the prospect changed all days. 
 It did not change to her ; w hose gaze
 
 414 
 
 WhITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Saw these things only : the white star 
 On the horizon hne afar, 
 And the quick beckoning of a hand 
 Out of another, sweeter land. 
 
 The long sad road — the way so dreary 
 
 The very Fancy falters weary ! 
 
 The very soul is dazed, and shows 
 
 Only a gleam of wild tableaux : 
 
 In midst of each that shape of woe 
 
 Still straggling northward — slow, slow, slow. 
 
 ... A river deep. She cannot find 
 A vvading-place to suit her mind ; 
 But on the bank sets quietly, 
 Amid the sunflowers tall as she. 
 Her litde babe : then slips her dress 
 And stands in mother-nakedness ; 
 Then in a bundle on her head 
 She ties her raiment yellow and red. 
 And swimming o'er the waters bright, 
 With ghstening limbs of liquid light. 
 Sets down her burden dry, and then, 
 With swift stroke sailing back again, 
 Seeks the small babe where it doth lie. 
 And with her right hand holds it high, 
 While with the other slow she swims. 
 Trailing her large and hquid limbs ; 
 Then dripping wades to the far shore, 
 And clothes her lovehness once more . ,- . 
 
 . . . On a lone plain she now is found, 
 Where troglodytes dwell underground. 
 Wild settlers peering from their caves, 
 Like dead men moving in their graves, 
 Rise round her as she comes, and glare 
 With hungry eyes thro' horrent hair ; 
 But they are gentle, and they give 
 Herbs and black bread that she may live. 
 And in their caves the w-eary one 
 Rests till the rising of the sun ; 
 Then the wild shapes around her stand 
 Reading the paper in her hand, 
 And point her northward ; and she flies 
 Fleet-footed, while with wandering eyes 
 They stand and watch her shape fade dim 
 Across the dark horizon-rim . . , 
 
 . . . She stands on a great river's bank, 
 'Mid noxious weeds and sedges dank ; 
 A.nd on the yellow river's track. 
 Jagged with teeth like snags jet black, 
 The ferryman in his great boat, 
 A spjck on the broad waste, doth float, 
 
 Approaching to the water's side. 
 But lengthways drifting with the tide. 
 She leaps into the boat, and o'er 
 The waste to the dark further shore. 
 Slowly they journey ; as he rows 
 The paper to the man she shows. 
 Who reads ; and as she springs to land. 
 He too points northward with his hand . . 
 
 . . . See, with a crimson glare of light, 
 A log-town burneth in the night ! 
 And flying forth with all their goods 
 Into the sandy solitudes. 
 The people wild, with bloodless cheeks. 
 Glare at a wanderer who speaks 
 In a strange tongue ; but as they fly 
 Are dumb, and answer not her cry . . . 
 
 . . . Now thro' a land by the red sun 
 Scorch'd as with fire, the lonely one 
 Treads slowly ; and ere long she hears 
 The sharp cry of shrill overseers. 
 Driving black gangs that toiling tramp 
 Thro' cotton fields and sugar swamp. 
 Here first the hand of man is raised 
 To harm her — for with eyes amazed 
 She nears a City, and is cast 
 Into a slave-pen foul and vast, 
 Seized as an Ethiop slave. From thence 
 She in an agony intense 
 Is thrust ; but not ere eager eyes 
 Have mark'd her beauty as a prize. 
 But God is good, and one blest day 
 She hears upon the burning way 
 An aged half-caste burnt and black 
 Speak in her tongue and answer back. 
 These twain wring hands upon the road. 
 And in the stranger's poor abode 
 She sleeps that night ; but with the sun 
 She wakens, and is pointed on . . . 
 
 . . . Now in a waggon great she lies, 
 And shaded from the brazen skies. 
 Slowly she jogs, and all at rest 
 She gives her little babe the breast. 
 Happy she rests ; hears in her dream 
 The driver's song, the jingling team. 
 With jet black cheek and bright red lip, 
 The negro drives and cracks his whip. 
 Singing plantation hymns to God, 
 And grinning greetings with a nod . . , 
 
 . . . Now, toiling on a dusty way. 
 She begs her bread from day to day,
 
 THE GREAT SNOW. 
 
 41? 
 
 And some are good to her and mild, 
 And most are soften'd by the child. 
 Once, as she halts at a great door, 
 Hungry and weary, sick and sore, 
 A lovely lady white as milk 
 Glides past her in her rustling silk ; 
 Then pauses, questioning, and sees 
 The sleeping babe upon her knees, 
 And takes the paper from her hand. 
 And reading it doth understand ; 
 Then stoops to kiss the child with cold 
 Kind lips, and gives the mother gold . . . 
 
 . . . Now in a mighty boat, among 
 A crowd of people strange of tongue. 
 She saileth slow, with wandering sight, 
 On a vast river day and night ; 
 All day the prospect driftelh past — 
 Swamp, wood, and meadow, fading fast, — 
 With lonely huts, and shapes that stand 
 On the stream's bank, and wave the hand ; 
 All night with eyes that look aloft. 
 Or close in sleep, she sails ; but oft 
 The blackness takes a deeper frown, 
 And the wild eyeballs of a town 
 Flash open as the boat goes by, 
 And she awakens with a cry . . . 
 
 On, on, and on— O the Wind quest. 
 The throbbing heart, the aching breast ! 
 And O the faith, more steadfast far 
 Than aught on earth, or any star ; 
 The faith that never ceased to shine. 
 The strength of constancy divine. 
 The will that warm'd her as she went 
 Across a mighty continent, 
 Unknown, scarce help'd, from land to land. 
 With that poor paper in her hand ! 
 
 The vision falls. The figure fades 
 Amid the lonely forest glades, 
 Fringing the mightly inland seas. 
 I see her still ; and still she flees 
 "Onward, still onward ; tho' the wind 
 Blows cold, and nature looks unkind : 
 The dead leaves fall and rot ; the chill 
 Damp earth-breath clings to vale and hill. 
 The birds are sailing south ; and hark ! 
 As she fares onward thro' the dark, 
 The honking wild geese swiftly sail 
 Amid a slowly gathering gale. 
 All darkens ; and around her flow 
 The cold and silence of the Snow. 
 
 There, she is lost ; in that white gleam 
 She fadeth, let her fade, in dream ! 
 Poor bird of the bright summer, now 
 She feels the kisses on her brow 
 Of Frost and Fog ; and at her back 
 Another Shadow keeps the track. 
 'Tis winter now ; and birds have flown 
 Southward, to seek a gladder zone ; 
 One, only one, doth northward fare. 
 And dreams to find her summer there. 
 God help her ! look not ! let her go 
 Into the realm of the Great Snow ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Journey's End. 
 
 Back in a swoon, with haggard face, 
 Falleth the woman of wild race. 
 Dumb, cold as stone, her weary eyes 
 Fix'd as in very death she lies — 
 While little Phoebe trembhng stands. 
 Wetting her lips, chafing her hands, 
 Trembling, almost afraid to stir 
 For wonder, as she looks at her : 
 So weird, so wild a shape, she seems 
 Like some sad spirit seen in dreams ; 
 Beauteous of face beyond belief. 
 And yet so worn with want and grief. 
 
 The clock ticks low within. Without 
 The wind still wanders with shrill shout. 
 The cuckoo strikes the \\o\\x^7nidnight\ 
 And Phoebe starteth in affright. 
 
 ' O what can keep Eureka still ? ' 
 She thinks, and listens with a thrill 
 For his foot's sound. It doth not come. 
 The clock ticks low. All else is dumb. 
 And still the woman lieth there, 
 Down drooping in the great arm-chair. 
 With hanging hands, chin on her breast. 
 And 'neath her cloak the babe at rest. 
 She doth not breathe, she doth not moan. 
 But lieth like a thing of stone. 
 ' O God,' thinks Phcebe, deadly white, 
 ' If she be dead ! ' and faint with fright, 
 Chafeth the fingers marble cold 
 That seem to stiffen in her hold. 
 She cannot stir, she cannot move. 
 To wake the maids who sleep above ; 
 Her heart is fluttering in its fear, 
 ' Eureka ! O that he were here ! ' 
 
 \He hurries not ! Perchance some sense 
 Of danger may detain him hence.
 
 4l6 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 He would not hasten, if he knew 
 The curious sight he has to view. 
 Few mortal husbands, red or white, 
 Would care to wear his shoes this night.] 
 
 ' What can she be ? ' thinks little Phoebe, 
 
 • Some Indian tramp — a beggar maybe — 
 
 And yet she's got a different mien 
 
 To such of these as I have seen. 
 
 Her face is like a babe's — she's young. 
 
 And she can speak no other tongue 
 
 Than Indian. When she spoke her words 
 
 Came like the gurgling notes of birds. 
 
 Poor thing ! and out on such a night, 
 
 When all the world is wild and white 
 
 With the Great Snow. And O, to see 
 
 The little babe upon her knee ! 
 
 I wonder now, if I should take it 
 
 From her cold bosom, I should wake it — 
 
 Poor little child ! ' And as she spake 
 
 Those words she saw the baby wake. 
 
 Sweet-smiling in the fire's red streaks, 
 
 With beaded eyes and rosy cheeks. 
 
 Then Phoebe started. ' Why,' thought she, 
 
 ' The babe is near as fair as me ! 
 
 With just one dark flush on its face 
 
 To show the taint of Indian race. 
 
 That's strange ! Poor little outcast mite ! 
 
 I guess h\s father s skin is white.' 
 
 Then, for a moment, Phoebe's mien 
 
 Wore an expression icy-keen. 
 
 As now in scrutiny amazed 
 
 The sleeping woman's hand she raised, 
 
 And dropt it quickly, murmuring — 
 
 ' She is no wife ! she wears no ring 1 ' 
 
 So for a space her features took 
 
 Pure matronhood's Medusa-look, — 
 
 That look, so pitiless and lawful, 
 
 Which oft makes little women awful ; 
 
 And which weak women, when they fall. 
 
 Dread in their sisters worst of all ! 
 
 But bless thee, Phcebe, soon the child 
 
 Soften'd thy face and made it mild ; 
 
 To see it lie so bright and pretty, 
 
 Thy woman's eyes were moist for pity. 
 
 And soon thy tears began to flow — 
 
 ' Poor soul ! and out in the Great Snow ! ' 
 
 E'en as she spake the stranger stirr'd. 
 
 The cold lips trembled with no word. 
 The fingers quiver'd, the great eyes 
 Open'd in stupefied surprise. 
 
 A deep sigh tore her lips apart, 
 
 And with a thickly-throbbing heart 
 
 She gazed around. The ruddy light. 
 
 The cosy kitchen warm and bright. 
 
 The clock's great shining face, the human 
 
 Soft kindly eyes of the white woman. 
 
 Came like a dreaiu — her eyes she closed 
 
 A moment with a moan, and dozed. 
 
 Then suddenly her soul was 'ware 
 
 Of the wild quest that brought her there ! 
 
 She open'd eyes — a flush of red 
 
 Flash' d to her cheeks so chill and dead — 
 
 She murmur'd quick with quivering lips. 
 
 And, trembling to the finger tips. 
 
 Thrust her chill hand into her breast, 
 
 Under the ragged cloak, in quest 
 
 Of something precious hidden there ! — 
 
 'Tis safe, — she draws it forth with care ; 
 
 A wretched paper, torn and wet, 
 
 Thumb-mark'd with touch of many a 
 hand, 
 'Tis there— 'tis safe — she has it yet. 
 Her heart's sole guide, the amulet. 
 
 That led her lone feet thro' the land ! 
 But first, unto her lips of ice 
 She holds it eagerly, and thrice 
 She kisses it ; then, with wild eyes 
 And unintelligible cries, 
 Holds it to Phoebe. ' Read ! ' cries she, 
 In her own tongue, distractedly ; 
 And little Phoebe understands, 
 And takes the paper in her hands, 
 And on the hearth she stoopeth low. 
 To read it in the firelight glow. 
 
 Now courage, Phcebe ! steel thy spirit ! 
 A blow is coming— thou must bear it 1 
 
 .Slowly, so vilely it is writ, 
 
 Her unskill'd eyes decipher it ; 
 
 So worn it is with snow and rain, 
 
 That scarce a letter now is plain, 
 
 And every red and ragged mark 
 
 Is smudged with handhng, dim, and dark, 
 
 ' E-U-R-E '—in letters blurr'd 
 
 She spells. ' Eureka /' that's the word. 
 
 But why does little Piiuebe start 
 
 As she reads on ? ' Eureka Hari/' — 
 
 His name, her husband's name ; and now 
 
 The red blood flames on cheek and brow ! 
 
 She stops — she quivers — glares wild-eyed 
 
 At the red woman at her side.
 
 THE GREAT SNOW. 
 
 417 
 
 Who watches her with one sick gaze 
 Of wild entreaty and amaze : 
 Then she spells on— her features turn 
 To marble, though her bright eyes burn, 
 For all the bitter truth grows plain. 
 
 ' Eureka Hart, Urowsietovvn, State 
 OF Maine.' 
 
 First lightning flash of fierce surprise ! 
 It burns her cheek, and blinds her eyes 
 Again she looks on the strange creature's 
 Tall, ragged form and beauteous features. 
 Next lightning flash, and muffled thunder — 
 ' The baby's skin is white — no wonder ! ' 
 And she perceives, as plain as may be, 
 All the event— down to the baby ! 
 Last flash, the whole dark mystery light- 
 ing,— 
 ' Why, it's Eureka's own handwriting ! ' 
 
 Ay, little wife ! — and these dim stains 
 Are life-blood from Eureka's veins ; 
 In blood the words were writ by him, 
 And see ! how faded and how dim ! 
 
 The woman took her hand. She shook 
 
 l"he touch away with tiger-look, 
 
 And trembling gazed upon her. So. 
 
 She stagger'd underneath the blow, 
 
 Watch'd by the stranger's luminous eyes 
 
 In mingled stupor and surprise ; 
 
 Ah ! little did the stranger guess 
 
 The situation's bitterness. 
 
 But in her own wild tongue did say, 
 
 ' Where is my love ? show me the way ! ' 
 
 A hand upon the latch. Both start, — 
 The door swings wide— the drift sweeps 
 in. 
 
 Footsteps : and lo ! I-"ureka Hart, 
 Snow-cover'd, muffled to the chin. 
 
 V. 
 
 Face to Face. 
 
 Warmly muffled to the chin there. 
 
 Blind with snow-drift, stamping, waiting, 
 Dazzled by the light within there. 
 
 Stood the giant oscillating. 
 Then he closed the door, and turning 
 
 His great back against it, smiled I 
 Slightly tipsy, not discerning 
 
 The red woman and her child. 
 
 By the great eyes dimly blinking, 
 
 Feebly leering at his mate, 
 Phoebe saw he had been drinking, 
 
 While he hiccup'd, ' Guess I'm late ! ' 
 So he stood ; when, wildly ringing. 
 
 Rose a scream upon the air, 
 'Twas the Indian woman, springing, 
 
 Gasping, gazing, from her chair. 
 
 Round her face the black hair raining. 
 To her heart the baby straining. 
 Gasping, gazing, half believing 
 'Twas some phantom soul-deceiving, 
 Bound as by a spell she linger'd, 
 Pointing at him fiery-finger'd ; 
 And the giant mighty-jointed, 
 Groan'd and stagger'd as she pointed. 
 Thinking, while his heart beat quicker, 
 'Twas some phantom born of liquor ! . , 
 While he rubb'd his eyes and mutter'd, 
 
 While he roll'd his eyes distress'd. 
 O'er the floor a thin form flutter'd. 
 
 Cried, and sank upon his breast ! 
 
 Phoebe screams. Stagger'd and blinded, 
 Stands the creature beaver-minded, 
 While upon his heart reposes 
 Cheeks he knows full well— Red Rose's ! 
 Half repulsing and half holding, 
 While her arms are round him folding. 
 Gaunt he stands in pain afflicted. 
 An impostor self-convicted ! 
 While her great eyes, upward-looking, 
 Not reproaching, not rebuking. 
 Trusting, loving, lustre-pouring, 
 Happy now, and still adoring. 
 Barn on his ; and her dark passion 
 Masters her in the old fashion. 
 Thrills the frail thin figure, burning 
 With a lightning flash of yearning, 
 Lights the worn cheeks and the faded 
 Forehead with her dark locks shaded, 
 Thrills, transfigures, seems to lend her 
 All the soul of her old splendour ;— 
 So that all the rags upon her. 
 All the anguish and dishonour. 
 All the weary days of wandering, 
 All the weeping, plaining, pondering, 
 All the sorrow, all tlie striving 
 Ne'er a man could face surviving. 
 All the Past, burns iridescent 
 In one Rainbow of the Present. 
 See ! she feasts on every feature 
 Madly, like a famish'd creature, 
 
 EE
 
 4i8 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Reads each line in rapture, reeling 
 With the frantic bliss of feeling ; 
 Kindling now her arms are round him, 
 Murmuring madly, she hath found him. 
 He is folded close unto her, 
 And the bliss of God thrills thro' her ! 
 
 Her white Chief, whom God had brought her 
 
 From the shining Big Sea Water, 
 
 Her great Cliief of the pale races. 
 
 With wise tongues and paintless faces ! 
 
 More than mortal in her seeing. 
 
 Glorious, grand, a god-like being ! 
 
 Nor, tho' Phoebe stands there, looking 
 
 Most distractedly rebuking, 
 
 Doth this child of the red nation 
 
 Comprehend the situation ! 
 
 Not a thought hath she to move her, 
 
 Save that all the quest is over ! 
 
 He is living, he is near her, 
 
 Grander, greater, braver, dearer ! 
 
 No reproach in her fixed gaze is 
 
 While her eyes to his she raises — 
 
 Only hungering and thirsting 
 
 Of a heart with pleasure bursting ; 
 
 Only a supreme sensation 
 
 Of ecstatic admiration, 
 
 Melting in one soul-flush splendid 
 
 Years of heart-ache past and ended. 
 
 Her white Warrior, her fair Master ! 
 Hers, all hers, despite disaster ! 
 Hers, her own, that she may cry for. 
 Cling to, smile to, trust in, die for ! 
 Is she bli7idl Hath the glad wonder 
 Stmck her to the soul and stunn'd her? 
 Sees she not on every feature 
 The sick horror of the creature ? 
 Sober now, and looking ghastly. 
 Trembling while his breath comes fastly, 
 With the cold sweat on his forehead. 
 Shrinking as from something horrid. 
 Paralysed with guilt, despairing, 
 Not at her but Phoebe glaring, 
 Speechless, helpless, and aghast. 
 Stands the giant, pinion'd fast. 
 
 Yes, her eyes are blindly gleaming 
 Thro' the warm tears wildly streaming — 
 Yes, her soul is blind (God guide her !) ; 
 Hunger, thir.-;t, and grief have tried her. 
 She is feeble, not perceiving 
 Cause for bitterness or grieving ; 
 
 She is foolish, never guessing 
 That her visit is distressing. 
 She is mad, mad, mad, presuming 
 He has waited for her coming ! 
 
 No, she will ftot see the horror 
 
 Fate hath been preparing for her — 
 
 All the little strength remaining 
 
 She will wildly spend in straining, 
 
 In a rapturous confusion. 
 
 To her breast the old delusion. 
 
 Hark ! her lips speak, words are springing 
 
 Like the notes of a bird singing, 
 
 Like a fountain sunward throbbing 
 
 With a silvern song of sobbing ; 
 
 Not a word is clear, but all 
 
 Rise in rapture, blend, and fall ! 
 
 Suddenly the rapture falters. 
 Her hands loosen, her face alters. 
 Drawing from him softly, quickly. 
 While he staggers white and sickly, 
 She, with grace beyond all beauty. 
 
 Doth her ragged cloak unloose. 
 Then, with looks of loving duty, 
 
 Shows Eureka — the papoose ! 
 
 Tiny, pink-cheek'd, blushing brightly, 
 Like a mummy roll'd up tightly ; 
 Puffing cheeks, and fat hands spreaning i 
 In an ecstasy unmeaning ; 
 Blinking, his pink cheeks in gathers, 
 With blue eyes just like his father's ! 
 In his pretty face already 
 Just the image of his daddy ! 
 Stolid, stretching hands to pat him, 
 Lies the baby, smiling at him ! 
 
 Still stands little Phoebe, panting, 
 This, and only this, was wanting ; 
 Now, with all her courage rallied. 
 She between them — panting, pallid — 
 Stands ; and, keen-eyed as an eagle, 
 
 Tho' as fluttering as a linnet, 
 Folds her virtue, like a regal 
 
 Robe, around her ; frowning in it. 
 Yet so wildly doth she flutter, 
 Not a sentence can she utter ; 
 Stately, speechless, with eyes blazing. 
 Stands the little White Rose, gazing ! 
 
 ' The Printer's Devil queries this, but he 
 does not know the Old Poets. See (f.^.) Michael 
 Drayton's Moses,' Birth and Miracles— ' hnd 
 sprcans the pretty hands.'
 
 THE: GREAT SNOW. 
 
 419 
 
 Suddenly, with acclamation, 
 
 On that group of desperation 
 
 Bursts the Storm !— With one wild rattle 
 
 Of the elements at battle, 
 
 With one horrid roar and yelling, 
 
 Tearing, tugging at the dwelling, 
 
 Strikes the Wind ; the latch is lifted, 
 
 With a crash wide swings the door ; 
 In the blinding Snow is drifted, 
 
 With a melancholy roar ! 
 'Tis tlie elements of Nature 
 Flocking round the weary creature, 
 Crying to her, while they blind her, 
 ' Come to us ! for we are kinder ! 
 Cross the cruel, fatal portal 
 Of the miserable mortal ; 
 Come, our hands are cold but loving ! 
 Back into the midnight moving. 
 In some spot of silence creeping. 
 Find a quiet place for sleeping. 
 We, the Winds, will dig it straightway. 
 Far beyond the white man's gateway. 
 I, the Snow, will place above it 
 My soft cheek, and never move it ; 
 With my beauty, white and chilly, 
 Lying o'er thee like a lily, 
 Dress'd for sleep in snowy clothing 
 Thou shalt slumber, hearing nothing. 
 We will freeze thine ears from hearing 
 His hard foot when it is nearing ; 
 We will close thine ears from conning 
 His that look upon thee shunning. 
 Wc will keep thee, we will guard thee. 
 Till the idss of God reward thee. 
 Come, O come 1 ' Thus, unavailing, 
 Sounds the elemental wailing. 
 
 Peace, O Winds, your weary voices 
 'J 'each her nothing : she rejoices ! 
 Hush, O Snow, let your chill hands not 
 Touch her cheek ; .she understands not ; 
 Hush ! But God, who is that other. 
 
 Standing beckoning unto her? 
 Winds and Snows, 'tis your pale brother. 
 
 And his chilly breath thrills thro' her. 
 Ay, the Shadow there is looming 
 Thro' the tempest and the glooming ! 
 O'er each pn th her feet have cho.sen— 
 Mountains, valleys, rivers frozen ; 
 Creeping near, with eyes that glisten 
 When her cold foot flagg'd, to listen ; 
 As a bloodhound, ever flitting, 
 Night-time, day-time, never quitting ; 
 
 Sure of scent, with thin foot trailing 
 In the snowdrift, never failing. 
 He has follow'd, follow'd slow, 
 That red footprint in the Snow ! 
 Now he finds her white and wan, — 
 'Tis the Winter, Peboan.' 
 
 Spare her ! Who would bid him spare her? 
 
 Let him trance her and upbear her 
 
 In his arms, and softly place her 
 
 Where no cruel foot can trace her. 
 
 Let her die ! See, his eyes con her, 
 
 And his icy hand is on her ; 
 
 Thro' her form runs the quick shiver, 
 
 Light as leaves her eyelids quiver, 
 
 And with quick, spasmodic touches, 
 
 The beloved form she clutches ; 
 
 From the cruelty of man, 
 
 Take her gently, Peboan ! 
 
 Phoebe shivers. To her reaching, 
 With an agony beseeching. 
 Red Rose holds the babe ; one moment, 
 With a shrug of bitter comment, 
 Phoebe shrinks ; then, being human, 
 
 Frighten'd, thinking Death is there, 
 Quietly the httle woman 
 
 Takes the burden unaware. 
 Not a breath too soon ; for, rocking 
 
 In the roaring of the storm, 
 With the snow flakes round her flocking, 
 
 And the wild wind round her form, 
 With a cry of anguish, prone 
 Falls the wanderer, cold as stone ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Pauguk. 
 
 O poor Red Rose ! rent by the storm ! 
 The flame still flickered in her form. 
 
 Moveless she lay ; but in her breast 
 The tumult was not quite at rest 
 
 They raised her up, and, with soft tread, 
 They bore her slowly to a bed. 
 
 And little PhfKbe's heart did ache. 
 Despite her wrongs, for pity's sake ; 
 
 Anfl little Phcebe's own kind hands 
 (God bless them !) loos'd the wand'rcr'3 
 bands, 
 
 ' See the American-Indian Mythology. 'Pe- 
 boan ' is the personification of extreme Cold. 
 
 £ E2
 
 420 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Took softly off the dripping dress, 
 With eyes that wept for kindliness, 
 
 Wrung the wet hair, and smoothed it right, 
 And clad the Red Rose all in white, 
 
 There, all in white, on a white bed, 
 The Red Rose hung her heavy head. 
 
 Around her was a roar, a gleam. 
 And she was struggling in a dream. 
 
 Faces round her went and came, 
 
 Her great eyes flash'd with fading flame. 
 
 For all the time, fever'd and sore. 
 She did her journey yet once more ; 
 
 Once again her Soul's feet trod 
 The pathless wild, the weary road ; 
 
 Onee again she sail'd along 
 
 The mighty meres and rivers strong ; 
 
 Once again, with weary tread. 
 
 She stagger'd on, and begged her bread ; 
 
 Once again she falter'd slow 
 Into the realm of the Great Snow. 
 
 Oh, the roaring in her brain ! 
 
 Oh, the wild winds that moan again ! 
 
 Against her, as she clasps her child, 
 The hail is driven, the drift is piled. 
 
 She sees a light that shines afar ; 
 It beckons her— a hand, a Star. 
 
 She hears a voice afar away ; 
 
 It calls to her ; she must not stay. 
 
 Around her clouds of tempest roll. 
 And, oh ! the storm within her soul ! 
 
 But now and then, amid the snow, 
 There comes a silence and a glow ; 
 
 And white she lies, in a white room, 
 And some one watches in the gloom. 
 
 Close by the bed where she doth rest. 
 Sits, with the babe upon her breast, 
 
 A little woman, waiting there, 
 Despite her wrongs, so kind, so fair ! 
 
 E'en as she wakens, wild and weak, 
 Red Rose sits up, and tries to speak, 
 
 And reaching out, with a thin moan, 
 
 She tiikes a white hand in her own ; | 
 
 But swoons once more, and hears again 
 The tempest roaring in her brain ! 
 
 Now as she dreams, with fever'd cries, 
 Phoebe looks on with quiet eyes ; 
 
 And Phcebe and her maidens go 
 Softly and lightly to and fro. 
 
 Downstairs by the great fire of wood, 
 Alone, Eureka Hart doth brood ; 
 
 And when his little wife descends 
 He scowls, and eyes his finger-ends. 
 
 She scarcely looks into his face, 
 But orders him about the place-; 
 
 And at her will he flies full meek, 
 With red confusion 0:1 his cheek. 
 
 Her eyes are swoU'n with tears ; to him 
 Her face is pitiless and grim. 
 
 But as she reascends the stairs 
 Her pale cheek flushes unawares. 
 
 In pity half, and half in scorn. 
 She sees again that shape forlorn. 
 
 She cannot love her ; yet her heart 
 Flutters, and takes the wand'rer's part. 
 
 Her thoughts are angry, weak and wild. 
 Yet carefully she tends the child. 
 
 Often she prays, with heart astir. 
 
 The white man's God to strengthen her. 
 
 And thus, despite her heart's distress, 
 She doth a deed of blessedness. 
 
 Silent for days by that bedside 
 She waiteth, watching, weary-eyed : 
 
 Not all alone ; by her unseen, 
 Sitteth another, strange of mien. 
 
 He squatteth in the corner there, 
 And looketh on through his thin hair. 
 
 Clad in fantastic Indian weeds. 
 With calumet and skirt of beads. 
 
 Gaunt, haggard, hungry, woebegone, 
 Waiteth Pauguk, 1 the Skeleton ! 
 
 For wintry Peboan haih fled. 
 Leaving this shadow in his stead. 
 
 ' In the same mythology, Pauguk is, as re- 
 presented in the poem, the Indian spirit of Death.
 
 THE GREAT SNOW. 
 
 421 
 
 And there he waits, unseen, unheard ; 
 And as a serpent on a bird 
 
 Fixeth his glittering gaze, Pauguk 
 Watchelh the bed with huni^rv look. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The Melting of the Snow. 
 
 A sound of streamlets flowing, flowing ; 
 
 A cry of winds so bleakly blowing ; 
 
 A stir, a tumult ever growing ; 
 
 Deep night ; and the Great Snow was going. 
 
 Underneath her death-shroud thick. 
 
 Like a body buried quick, 
 
 Heaved the Earth, and thrusting hands 
 
 Crack'd the ice and brake her bands. 
 
 Heaven, with face of watery woe. 
 
 Watched the resurrection grow. 
 
 All the night, bent to be free, 
 
 In a sickening agony. 
 
 Struggled Earth. With silent tread 
 
 From his cold seat at her head 
 
 Rose the Frost, and northward stole 
 
 To his cavern near the pole. 
 
 When the bloodshot eyes of Mom 
 
 Opened in the east forlorn, 
 
 'Twas a dreary sight to see 
 
 Blotted waste and watery lea. 
 
 All the beautiful white plains 
 
 Blurr'd with black'ning seams and stains, 
 
 AH the sides of every hill 
 
 Scarr'd with thaw and dripping chiil, 
 
 All the cold sky scowling black 
 
 O'er the soaking country track ; 
 
 There a sobbing everywhere 
 
 In tlie miserable air, 
 
 And a thick fog brooding low 
 
 O'er the black trail of the snow ; 
 
 While the Earth, amid the gloom 
 
 Still half buried in her tomb. 
 
 Swooning lay, and could not rise, 
 
 With dark film upon her eyes. 
 
 In the farmhouse (where a light 
 Glimmer'd feebly day and night 
 From the sick-room) Red Rose heard 
 Earth's awakening, and stirr'd, 
 Gazed around her, and descried 
 Pha?be sitting at her side, 
 Knitting, while the little child, 
 Sleeping on the pillow, smiled. 
 
 Little Phoebe's face was still, 
 Calm with quiet strength and will. 
 And the lamplight round her flitted 
 Faintly, feebly, as she knitted. 
 Full confession had she brought 
 From Eureka's soul distraught. 
 WTiat he hid, in desperation. 
 She supplied, by penetration. 
 So she traced from the beginning 
 All the story of the sinning. 
 Had her spirit felt perchance 
 Just a little more romance ; 
 Had the giant in her sight 
 Seem'd a paragon more bright ; 
 Had the married love she bore 
 Been a very little more — 
 Why, perchance poor Phoebe's heart 
 Might have taken the man's part, 
 Heaping fiercely, as is common, 
 All its hate upon the woman. 
 Not so Phoebe ! cold and pale 
 Did she listen to the tale ; 
 Ne'er relenting, scarcely heeding. 
 Heard the man's excusing, pleading ; 
 Felt her blood boil, and her face 
 Crimson for a moment's space, 
 Thinking darkly, in dismay, 
 ' What will Parson Pendon say?' 
 But at last the httle soul 
 Back to the sick chamber stole ; 
 Saw the wanderer lying there, 
 Wildly, marvellously fair ; 
 Saw the little baby too 
 Blinking with big eyes of blue ; 
 And she murmured, with a sigh, 
 ' She's deceived, as well as I. 
 Hers is far the bitterest blow, 
 'Cause she seems to love him so.' 
 So thought Phoebe, calmly sitting 
 By the bedside at her knitting. 
 While the fog hung thick and low 
 O'er the black trail of the Snow. 
 
 Thus she did her duty there, 
 Tending with a bitter care 
 Her sick rival ; spite her pain, 
 Able, with a woman's brain, 
 To discern as clear as day 
 On whose side the sinning lay; 
 Able to compassionate 
 Her deluded rival's fate, 
 All the weariness and care 
 Of the fatal journey there ;
 
 422 
 
 WHIT^ ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Able to acknowledge (this 
 Far the most amazing is) 
 On how dull and mean a thing 
 Wasted was this passioning ; 
 On how commonplace a chance 
 Hung the wanderer's romance ; 
 Round how mere a Log did twine 
 The wild tendrils of this vine. 
 
 Screen'd thus from the wintry blast, 
 Droopt the Red Rose, fading fast ; 
 While the White Rose, hanging near, 
 Trembled in a pensive fear. 
 So the snow had nearly fled, 
 And upon her dying bed 
 Earth was quick'ning ; damp and chill 
 Streamed the fog on vale and hill. 
 Like a slimy crocodile 
 Weltering on banks o' Nile, 
 Everywhere, with muddy maw, 
 Crawl'd tlie miserable Thaw. 
 On the pond and on the stream 
 Loosen'd lights began to gleam, 
 And before the snow could fleet 
 Drizzly rains began to beat. 
 
 Here and there upon the plain, 
 'Mid the pools of thaw and rain, 
 Linger'd in the dismal light 
 Patches of unmelted white. 
 As these melted, very slowly, 
 In a quiet melancholy. 
 Vacant gleams o' the clouded blue 
 Through the dismal daylight flew. 
 And the wind, with a shrill clang, 
 Went into the west, and sang. 
 
 A sound of waters ever flowing ; 
 .A. stir, a tumult, ever growing ; 
 A gleam o' the blue, a west wind blowing ; 
 Warmth, and the last snow wreath was 
 going. 
 
 Not alone ! ah ! not alone ! 
 
 Waking up with fever'd moan. 
 Red Rose started and looked round. 
 Listening for a voice, a sound, 
 And the skeleton, Pauguk, 
 Crouching silent in his nook, 
 Panted, like a famish'd thing, 
 In the very act to spring. 
 
 "Twas at sunset ; on the bed 
 Crimson shafts of light were shed, 
 
 And the face, famish'd and thin, 
 Flash'd to sickly flame therein. 
 While the eyes, with fevered glare. 
 Sought a face they saw not there. 
 Then she moan'd, and with a cry, 
 Reckoning little Phoebe nigh, 
 Whisper' d ; bnt the words she said 
 Perish'd uninterpreted. 
 Still, in biticrest distress. 
 Clinging to poor Phoebe's dress. 
 With wild gestures, she in vain 
 Tried to make her meaning plain. 
 Then did little Phcebe see 
 How the face changed suddenly ! 
 For invisible Pauguk, 
 Creeping swiftly from his nook. 
 Stood erect, and hung the head 
 O'er the woman on the bed. 
 Still the woman, glaring round, 
 Listen'd for a voice, a sound. 
 Crying wildly o'er and o'er, 
 With her great eyes on the door. 
 
 Pale, affrighted, and aghast, 
 Phoebe understood at last — 
 Knew the weary wanderer cried 
 To behold hivi ere she died ; 
 So, without a word of blame, 
 Phoebe called him, and he came. 
 
 The sun was set, the night was growing, 
 Softly the wind o' the west was blowing. 
 The gates of heaven were overflowing ; 
 With the last snow Red Rose was going. 
 
 vui. 
 The Last Look. 
 
 To the bedside, white and quaking. 
 
 Came Eureka, with a groan. 
 Conscience-stricken now, and taking 
 
 Her thin hand into his own. 
 At the touch she kindled, rallied, 
 
 With a look of gentle grace ; 
 Clung about him deathly pallid, 
 
 And, uplooking in his face. 
 Stniled/ Ah, God! that smile of parting 
 From her soul's dim depths upstarting ! 
 'Twas a smile of awful beauty. 
 Full of fatal love and duty ; 
 Such a smile as haunts for ever 
 Any being but a beaver. 
 Ev'n Eureka's stolid spirit 
 Was half agonized to bear it.
 
 THE GREAT SNOW— EPILOGUE. 
 
 423 
 
 Smiling thus, and softly crooning 
 Words he could not understand, 
 
 Sank she on the pillow, swooning, 
 Clutching still her hero's hand. 
 
 Silent Spii its, shapes that love her, 
 
 Is she resting ? is all over ? 
 
 Nay ; for while Eureka, quaking, 
 
 Heart-sick, soul-sick to behold her. 
 From the bed her worn form taking, 
 
 Leans her head upon his shoulder ; 
 Once again, the spirit flying, 
 
 With a last expiring ray. 
 Waves a message, dimly dying. 
 
 From its tenement of clay. 
 Those great eyes upon liim looking. 
 Not reproaching, not rebuking. 
 Brighten into bliss— perceiving 
 Nought of shame or of deceiving : 
 Only for the last time seeing 
 Her great Chief, a god-hke being ; 
 Only happy, all at rest. 
 To be dying — on his breast. 
 
 See ! her hand points upward, slowly. 
 With an awful grace and holy. 
 And her eyes aie saying clearly, 
 ' Master, lord, beloved so dearly. 
 We shall meet, with souls grown fonder, 
 In God's happy prairies yonder ; 
 Where no Snow falls ; where, for ever. 
 Flows the shining Milky River, 
 On whose banks, divinely glowing. 
 Shapes like ours are coming, going, 
 In the happy star-dew moving. 
 Silent, smiling, loved, and loving ! 
 Fare thee well, till then, my Master ! ' 
 Hark, her breath comes fainter, faster. 
 While, in love man cannot measure, 
 
 Kissing her white warrior's hand. 
 She sinks, with one great smile of pleasure — 
 
 Last flash upon the blackening brand ! 
 
 EPILOGUE. 
 
 In a dark corner of the burial-place. 
 Where sleep apart the creatures of red race. 
 Red Rose was laid, cold, beautiful, and 
 
 dead. 
 With all the great white Snow above her 
 
 bed. 
 And soon the tiny partner of her quest. 
 The little babe, was laid upon her breast ; 
 
 For, though the heart of Phoeb'e had been 
 kind, 
 
 And sought to save the infant left behind, 
 
 It wither'd when the mother's kiss with- 
 drew — 
 
 The Red Rose faded, and the Blossom too. 
 
 There sleeps their dust, but 'neath another 
 sky. 
 
 More kind than this, their Spirits sleeping 
 lie. 
 
 Sleeping, or waking? There, with eyes 
 
 tear-wet, 
 Is her soul homeless ? doth she wander yet, 
 Silent by those still pathways, with bent 
 
 head. 
 Still listening, listening, for her warrior's 
 
 tread ? 
 It came not, comes not— tho' the ages roll, 
 .Still with that life-long hunger in her soul. 
 She must wait on, and thousand others too. 
 If waking Immortality be true. 
 But, no ; God givcth his beloved sleep ; 
 Rose of the wilderness, may thine be deep ! 
 Not [near the white man's happy Death- 
 domains, 
 But in the red man's mighty hunting-plains ; 
 Amid the harmless shades of flocks and 
 
 herds. 
 Amid the hum of bees, the song of birds. 
 With fields and woods all round, and skies 
 
 above 
 Dark as thine eyes, and deathless as thy 
 
 love ! 
 
 Here ends my tale ; what further should I 
 
 state? 
 Save that poor Phoebe soon forgave her 
 
 mate, 
 As small white wives forgive ; with words 
 
 outspoken 
 The peace was patch'd almost as soon as 
 
 broken ; 
 For Phoebe argued, after a good cry, 
 ' 'Tis a bad job ; but break my heart — 
 
 not I ! 
 All the men do it — that's a fact confess'd, 
 And my great stupid's only like the rest. 
 But what's the good of fretting more than 
 
 need ? 
 I've got the cows to mind, the hens to feed. 
 I 'spose it's dreadiul, hut 'tis less a sin 
 Than if the wench had a white woman's 
 
 skin ! '
 
 424 
 
 WHITE ROSE AND RED. 
 
 Oft at his head her mocking shafts she 
 
 aim'd, 
 While by the hearth he hung the head 
 
 ashamed, 
 Pricking his moral hide right thro' and 
 
 thro', 
 As viituous little wives so well can do. 
 Till out he swagger'd, cursing, sorely hit, 
 And puzzled by the liule woman's wit. 
 Indeed, for seasons of domestic strife. 
 She kept this rod in pickle all her life. 
 
 As for Eureka, why, he felt, of course. 
 Some conscience-prick, some tremor of 
 
 remorse. 
 Not deep enough to cause him many groans. 
 Or keep the fat from growing on his bones. 
 
 He throve, he prosper'd, was esteem'd by 
 
 all,— 
 At fifty, he w-as broad as he was tall ; 
 Loved much his pipe and glass, and at 
 
 the inn 
 Spake oft— an oracle of double chin. 
 Did he forget her ? Never! Often, while 
 He sat and puff'd his pipe with easy smile, 
 Surveying fields and orchards from the 
 
 porch. 
 And far away the little village church, 
 While all seem'd peaceful — earth, and air, 
 
 and sky, — 
 A twinkle came into his fish-hke eye ; 
 ' Poor critter ! " sigh'd he, as a cloud he blew, 
 • She was a splendid figure, and that's 
 
 true ! ' 
 
 Faces on the Wall. 
 
 (1876.) 
 
 LONE HOUSE. 
 
 Lone House amid the Main, where I 
 abide, 
 Faces there are around thy walls ; and 
 see 
 With constant features, fair and faithful- 
 eyed, 
 In solemn silence these admonish me. 
 They are the Faces of the strong and 
 free ; 
 Prophets who on the car of Tempest ride ; 
 Martyrs who drift amid the waters wide 
 On some frail raft, and pray on bended 
 knee. 
 Stay with me, Faces ! make me free and 
 strong 1 
 On other walls let flush'd Bacchantes 
 leer ; 
 In quainter rooms of snugger sons of 
 song 
 Let old fantastic tapestries appear. 
 Lone House ! for comfort, when the nights 
 are long, 
 Let none but future-seeking eyes be here ! 
 
 STORM AND CALM. 
 
 The lone House shakes, the wild waves 
 leap around. 
 Their sharp mouths foam, their frantic 
 hands wave high ; 
 I hear around me a sad soul of sound, — 
 A ceaseless sob, — a melancholy cry. 
 Above, there is the trouble of the sky. 
 On either side stretch waters with no 
 bound. 
 Within, my cheek upon my hand, sit I, 
 Oft startled by sick faces of the drown'd. 
 Yet are there golden dawns and glassy 
 days 
 When the vast Sea is smooth and sunk in 
 rest, 
 And in the sea the gentle heaven doth 
 gaze. 
 And, seeing its own beauty, smiles its 
 best ; 
 With nights of peace, when, in a virgin 
 haze, 
 God's Moon wades thro' the shallows of 
 the West.
 
 FACES ON THE WALL. 
 
 425 
 
 WITHOUT AND WITHIN. 
 
 The Sea without, the silent room within, 
 
 The Mystery above, tlie Void below ! 
 I watch the storms die and the storms begin ; 
 I see the white ships ghost-lil<e come 
 
 and go ; 
 I wave a signal they may see and know, 
 As, crowding up on deck with faces thin. 
 The seamen pass, — some sheltered creek to 
 win, 
 Or drift to whirling pools of pain and woe. 
 What prospect, then, on midnights dark 
 and dead, 
 When the room rocks and the wild water 
 calls ? — 
 Only to mark the beacon I have fed, 
 Whose cold streak glassily on the black 
 sea falls ; 
 Only, while the dim lamp burns overhead. 
 To watch the glimmering Faces on the 
 walls. 
 
 NAPOLEON. 
 
 Look on that picture, and on this. . . . 
 Behold 
 The Face that frown'd the rights of 
 realms away ; 
 The imperial forehead, filleted with gold ; 
 The arrogant chin, the lips of frozen clay. 
 This is the later Ceesar, whose great day 
 Was one long sunset in blood-ruby rolled, 
 Till, on an ocean-island lone and gray, 
 It sank unblest, forgotten, dead, and cold. 
 Yea, this is he who swept from plain to 
 
 plain. 
 Watering the harvest-fields with crimson 
 rain ; 
 This is the Eagle who on garbage fed. 
 Turn to the wall the pitiless eyes. Art, 
 
 Thought, 
 Law, Science, owed the monster less than 
 nought ; 
 And Nature breath' d again when he was 
 dead. 
 
 ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 
 
 Turn ; and, behold the sad Soul of the West 
 Passing behind a Rainbow bloodily ! 
 Conscience incarnate, steadfast, strong, 
 and free. 
 Changeless thro' change, blessing and ever 
 blessed. 
 
 Sad storm-cloud with God's Iris on his 
 breast, 
 
 Across the troubled ocean travelled he, — 
 Sad was his passing ! gentle be his rest ! 
 
 God's Bow sails with him on another sea ! 
 
 At first no larger than a prophet's hand, 
 
 Against the dense insufferable blue 
 Cloud-like he came ; and by a fierce wind 
 fanned. 
 Didst gather into greatness ere we knew. 
 Then, flash by flash, most desolately grand. 
 Passed away sadly heavenward, dropping 
 dew ! 
 
 WALT WHITMAN 
 
 Friend Whitman 1 wert thou less serene 
 and kind. 
 Surely thou mightest (like our Bard sub- 
 lime, 
 Scom'd by a generation deaf and blind). 
 Make thine appeal to the avenger. Time ; 
 For thou art none of those who upward 
 climb. 
 Gathering roses with a vacant mind, 
 Ne'er have thy hands for jaded triflers 
 twined 
 Sick flowers of rhetoric and weeds of 
 rhyme. 
 Nay, thine hath been a Prophet's stormier 
 
 fate. 
 While Lincoln and the martyr'd legions 
 wait 
 In the yet widening blue of yonder sky. 
 On the great strand below them thou art 
 
 seen, — 
 Blessing, with something Christ-like in thy 
 mien, 
 A sea of turbulent lives that break and 
 die! 
 
 O FACES! 
 
 O Faces 1 that look forward, eyes that 
 
 spell 
 
 The future time for signs, what see yc 
 
 there ? 
 
 On what far gleams of portent do ye dwell ? 
 
 Whither, with lips like quivering leaves 
 
 and hair 
 Back-blowing in the whirlwind, doycstare 
 So steadfast and so still ? Oh speak and tell I
 
 426 
 
 FACES ON THE WALL. 
 
 Is the soul safe? shall the sick world be 
 well? 
 Will morning glimmer soon, and all be 
 fair ? 
 
 Faces ! ye are pale, and somewhat sad. 
 And in your eyes there swim the fatal 
 
 tears ; 
 But on your brows the dawn gleams cold 
 and hoar. 
 I, too, gaze forward, and my heart grows 
 glad ; 
 
 1 catch the comfort of the golden years ; 
 
 I see the Soul is safe for evermore ! 
 
 TO TRIFLERS. 
 
 Go, triflers with God's secret. Far, oh far 
 Be your thin monotone, your brows 
 flower-crown' d, 
 Your backward-looking faces ; for ye mar 
 The pregnant time with silly sooth of 
 
 sound. 
 With flowers around the feverish temples 
 bound. 
 And withering in the close air of the feast. 
 Take all the summer pleasures ye have 
 found. 
 While Circe-charm'd ye turn to bird and 
 beast. 
 Meantime I sit apart, a lonely wight 
 On this bare rock amid this fitful Sea, 
 
 And in the wind and rain I try to light 
 A little lamp that may a Beacon be. 
 Whereby poor ship-folk, driving thro' the 
 night. 
 May gain the Ocean-course, and think 
 of me ! 
 
 THE WANDERERS. 
 
 God's blessing on poor ship-folk ! Peace 
 and prayer 
 Fall on their eyelids till they close in 
 sleep ! 
 God send them gentle winds and summer 
 air, 
 For the great sea is treacherous and 
 
 deep. 
 Light me up lamps on every ocean- 
 steep, — 
 Beacon the shallows with a loving care. 
 
 Ay me ! the wind cries and the wild 
 waves leap, 
 And on they drive — God knows— /Acj' know- 
 not — where. 
 Come Poets ! come, O Prophets ! yea, 
 disown 
 The phantasies and phantoms ye pursue ! 
 Lights ! lights ! with fatal snares the sea 
 is sown. 
 Guide the poor ship-foik lone beneath the 
 blue. 
 Nay, do not light for Lazarus alone, 
 But licrht for Dives and the Devil too. 
 
 THE WATCHER OF TLIE 
 BEACON. 
 
 Lone is his life who, on a sea-tower blind, 
 Watcheth all weathers o'er the beacon- 
 light. 
 Ah ! wo» to him if, mad with his own mind. 
 He groweth sick for scenes more sweet 
 
 and bright ; 
 For round him, in the dreadful winter 
 night, 
 The snow drifts, and the waves beat, and 
 the wind 
 Shrieks desolately, while with feeble sight 
 He readeth some old Scripture left behind 
 By those who sat before him in that 
 place, 
 And in their season perish'd, one and 
 
 all. . . . 
 Wild raves the wind : the Faces on the 
 wall 
 Seem phantoms : features dark and dim 
 to trace. 
 He starteth up — he tottereth— he would fall, 
 When, lo ! the gleam of one Diviner 
 Face ! 
 
 'AND THE SPIRIT OF GOD 
 MOVED UPON THE WATERS.' 
 
 O Faces ! fade upon the wall, and leave 
 
 This only, for the watcher to implore. 
 Dim with the peace that starry twilights 
 weave, 
 It riseth, and the storm is hush'd and 
 o'er.
 
 FACES ON THE WALL. 
 
 427 
 
 Tremblinj^ I feed my feeble lamp once 
 more, 
 Tho' aU be placid as a summer eve. 
 See there it moves where weary waters 
 grieve, — 
 O mariners ! look yonder and adore ! 
 Spirit, grow brighter on my nights and 
 days ; 
 
 Shine out of heaven • my guide and comfort 
 be: 
 Pilot the wanderers through the ocean 
 ways ; 
 Keep the stars steadfast, and the waters free : 
 Lighten thy lonely creature while he 
 prays : 
 Keep his Soul strong amid the mighty Sea ! 
 
 Balder the Beautiful. 
 
 A SONG OF DIVINE DEATH. 
 
 di 0avaT€ FTaia^ / 
 
 ' For as in Adam all die, even so in Christ shall all be made alive. . . . But some rnan will say, 
 How are the dead raised up? and with what body do they come? Thou fool, that which thou 
 sowest is not quickened, except it die. . . . Behold, I show you a mystery ; we shall not all sleep, 
 but we shall all be changed.' — Paul, Cor. ist Ep. chap. xv. 
 
 NOTE. 
 
 It may be well for readers of the following poem to dismiss from their minds all recollection 01 
 the Eddas, Ewald's Balder, Oehlenschlager's Balder hiin Godc, and even Mr. Arnold's Balder 
 Dead. With the hero of these familiar works my Balder has little in common ; he is neither the 
 shadowy god of the Edda, nor the colossal hero of Ewald, nor the good principle of Oehlenschlager, 
 nor the Homeric demigod of Mr. Arnold. In the presentation of both the Father and Son, I have 
 reverted to the lines of the most primitive mythology : discovering in the one the northern Messiah 
 as well as the northern Apollo, in the other (instead of the degraded Odin of later superstition) the 
 Alfadur, or temporarily omnipotent godhead, who, despite his darker features, has affinity with both 
 the Zeus of the Eleusinian mysteries and the Jehovah of the Bible. It is unnecessary, however, 
 further to explain the spirit of a poem which each competent reader will interpret in his own way, 
 and which, if it fulfils its purpose at all, should have many meanings for many minds. 
 
 A portion oi Balder the Beanti/iilh-jL?, already been printed in the pages of the Coniein^orary 
 Review. 
 
 I O whose is this hand on my forehead bare. 
 And whose are these eves that look in 
 
 PROEM TO - — . 
 A SCNG OF A DREAM. 
 
 WHAT is this cry in our burning cars, 
 And what is this light on our eyes, dear 
 
 love? 
 The cry is the cry of the rolling years, 
 
 As they break on the sun-rock, far above ; 
 And the light is the light of that rock of gold 
 
 As it burneth bright in a starry sea ; 
 And the cry is clearer a hundredfold, 
 
 And the light more bright, when I gaze 
 on thee. 
 My weak eyes dazzle beneath that glcnm, 
 
 My sad ears deafen to hear that cry : 
 
 1 was born in a dream, and I dwell in a 
 
 dream, 
 And I go in a dream to die ! 
 
 mine ? 
 The hand is the Earth's soft hand of air, 
 
 The eyes are the Earth's — thro' tears they 
 shine ; 
 And the touch of the hand is so soft, so light, 
 
 As the ray of the blind orbs blesseth me ; 
 But the touch is softest, tlie eyes most bright, 
 
 When I sit and smile by the side of thee. 
 For the mortal Mother's blind eyes beam 
 
 With the long-lost love of a life gone by, 
 On her breast I woke in a beauteous dream. 
 
 And I go in a dream to die i 
 
 O what are the voices around my way, 
 And what are these shadows that 
 below? 
 
 stir
 
 428 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 The voices of waifs in a world astray, 
 
 The shadows of souls that come and go. 
 And I hear and see, and I wonder more, 
 For their features are fair and strange as 
 mine. 
 But most I wonder when most I pore 
 
 On the passionate peace of tliis face of 
 thine. 
 We walk in silence by wood and stream. 
 
 Our gaze upturned to the same blue sky : 
 We move in a dream, and we love in a 
 dream. 
 And we go in our dream to die ! 
 
 what is this music of merry bells, 
 
 And what is this laughter across the wold ? 
 'Tis the mirth of a market that buys and 
 
 sells, 
 'Tis the laughter of men that are counting 
 
 gold. 
 
 1 walk thro' Cities of silent stone. 
 And the public places alive I see ; 
 
 The wicked flourish, the weary groan. 
 
 And I think it real, till I turn to thee ! 
 And I smile to answer thine eyes' bright 
 
 beam. 
 For I know all's vision that darkens by : 
 That they buy in a dream, and they sell in 
 a drep.m, 
 And they go in a dream to die. 
 
 what are these shapes on their thrones of 
 
 gold. 
 
 And what are those clouds around their 
 feet? 
 The shapes are kings with their hearts clay- 
 cold, 
 
 The clouds are armies that ever meet ; 
 
 1 see the flame of the crimson fire, 
 
 I hear the murdered who moan 'Ah me!' — 
 My bosom aches with its bitter ire. 
 
 And I think it real, till I turn to thee ! 
 And I hear thee whisper, 'These shapes 
 but seem — 
 They are but visions that flash and fly. 
 While we move in a dream, and love in a 
 dream. 
 And go in our dream to die ! ' 
 
 O what are these Spirits that o'er us creep, 
 And touch our eyelids and drink our 
 breath ? 
 
 The first, with a flower in his hand, is ! 
 Sleep ; 
 The next, \vith a star on his brow, is ^ 
 Death. 
 We fade before them whene'er they come, 
 
 (And never single those spirits be !) 
 A little season my lips are dumb, 
 
 But I waken ever, — and look for thee, 
 ■^ea, ever each night when the pale stars 
 gleam 
 And the mystical Brethren pass me by, 
 This cloud of a trance comes across my 
 dream. 
 As I seem in my dream to die ! 
 
 what is this grass beneath our feet, 
 And what are these beautiful under- 
 
 blooms? 
 The grass is the grass of the churchyard. 
 Sweet, 
 The flowers are flowers on the quiet 
 tombs. 
 
 1 pluck them sofily, and bless the dead. 
 Silently o'er them I bend the knee. 
 
 But my tenderest blessing is surely said, 
 rho' my tears fall fast, when I turn to 
 thee. 
 For our lips are tuned to the same sad 
 theme, 
 We think of the loveless dead, and sigh ; 
 Dark is the shadow across our dream. 
 For we go in that dream to die ! 
 
 O what is this moaning so faint and low, 
 
 And what is this crying from night to 
 morn? 
 The moaning is that of the souls that go. 
 
 The crying is that of the souls new-born. 
 The life-sea gathers with stormy calls. 
 
 The wind blows shrilly, the foam flies 
 free. 
 The great wave rises, the great wave falls, 
 
 I swim to its height by the side of thee ! 
 With arms outstretching and throats that 
 scream. 
 
 With faces that flash into foam and fly, 
 Our beings break in the light of a dream, 
 
 As the great waves gather and die. 
 
 O what is this Spirit with silvern feet. 
 His bright head wrapt in a saffron veil ? 
 
 Around his raiment our wild arms beat. 
 We cling unto them, but faint and fail.
 
 PROEM TO 
 
 429 
 
 'Tis the Spirit that sits on the twilight star, 
 And soft to the sound of the waves sings 
 he, 
 He leads the chaunt from his crystal car. 
 And I join in the mystical chaunt with 
 thee, 
 And our beings burn with the heavenly 
 
 theme. 
 For he sings of wonders beyond the sky, 
 Of a god-like dream, and of gods in a dream, 
 Of a dream that cannot die ! 
 
 O closer creep to this breast of mine ; 
 
 We rise, we mingle, we break, dear love ! 
 A space on the crest of the wave we shine. 
 
 With light and music and mirth we move ; 
 Before and behind us (fear not, sweet !) 
 
 Blackens the trough of the surging sea — 
 A little moment our mouths may meet, 
 
 A little moment I cling to thee ; 
 Onward the wonderful waters stream, 
 
 'Tis vain to struggle, 'tis vain to cry — 
 We wake in a dream, and we ache in a 
 dream. 
 
 And we break in a dream, and die ! 
 
 But who is this other with hair of flame, 
 
 The naked feet, and the robe of white ? 
 A Spirit, too, with a sweeter name, 
 
 A softer smile, a serener light. 
 He wraps us both in a golden cloud. 
 
 He thrills our frames with a fire divine. 
 Our souls are mingled, our hearts beat loud, 
 
 My breath and being are blent with thine : 
 And the sun-rock flames with a flash 
 supreme. 
 
 And the starry waves have a stranger cry — 
 We climb to the crest of our golden dream, 
 
 For we dream that we cannot die ! 
 
 Aye ! the cry rings loud in our burning ears. 
 And the light flames bright on our eyes, 
 dear love, 
 And we know the cry of the rolling years 
 
 As they break on the sun-rock far above ; 
 And we know the light of the rock of gold. 
 
 As it burnetii bright in a starry sea. 
 And the glory deepens a thousandfold 
 
 As I name the immortal gods and thee ! 
 We shrink together beneath that gleam. 
 
 We cling together before that cry ; 
 We were made in a dream, and we fade in 
 a dream, 
 And if death be a dream, we die ! 
 
 Balder the Beautiful. 
 The gods are brethren. Wheresoe'er 
 They set their shrines of love or fear, 
 In Grecian woods, by banks of Nile, 
 Where cold snows sleep or roses smile, 
 The gods are brethren. Zeus the Sire 
 Was fashion'd of the self-same fire 
 As Odin ; He whom Ind brought forth 
 Hath his pale kinsmen east and north ; 
 And more than one since life began 
 Hath known Christ's agony for Man. 
 The gods are brethren. Kin by fate. 
 In gentleness as well as hate, 
 'Mid heights that only Thought may climb 
 
 They come, they go ; they are, or seem ; 
 Each, rainbow'd from the rack of Time, 
 
 Casts broken Hghts across God's Dream. 
 
 I. 
 
 THE BIRTH OF BALDER. 
 
 Balder's Birth-Song. 
 
 There blent with his growing 
 
 The leaf and the flower, 
 The wind lightly blowing 
 
 Its balm from afar, 
 The smile of the sunshine, 
 
 The sob of the shower, 
 The beam of the moonshine. 
 
 The gleam of the star. 
 'Mid shining of faces 
 
 And waving of wings, 
 With gifts from all places 
 
 Came beautiful things ; 
 The blush from the blossom. 
 
 The bloom from the corn. 
 Blent into his bosom. 
 
 Ere Balder was born. 
 
 As a rainbow in heaven 
 
 Was woven the rune. 
 The colours were seven 
 
 Most dim and divine : 
 Thro' regions of thunder 
 
 Serene swam the moon, 
 With white rays of wonder 
 
 Completing the sign. 
 The snow-star was gleaming 
 
 Cold, silent, and clear, 
 Its bright image beaming 
 
 Deep down in the mere ; 
 The night grew profounder, 
 
 The earth slept forlorn,
 
 43° 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 With the drift wrapt around her 
 Ere Balder was born. 
 
 Beside a waste water 
 
 Lay Frea alone, 
 In Asgard they sought her, 
 
 To earth she had crept ; 
 The Father was sitting 
 
 Snow-white on his throne, 
 The night-clouds were flitting, 
 
 The wind-harps were swept. 
 No eyes divine found her — • 
 
 She lay as one dead — 
 Vast forests around her. 
 
 Black vapours o'erhead, — 
 She saw not, — she heard not, — 
 
 But weary and worn, 
 Snow-shrouded, she stirred not, 
 
 Ere Balder was born. 
 
 There, hid from the Father, 
 
 She brooded below, 
 In realms where pines gather 
 
 Ice-robed and ice-crown'd, 
 And the great trees were drooping. 
 
 Struck down by the snow. 
 With chilly arms stooping 
 
 To touch the white ground. 
 While whirlwinds were weaving 
 
 Their raiment of cloud, 
 She sat there conceiving, 
 
 Dark, brooding, and bow'd ; 
 But where the boughs thicken'd 
 
 A bird sang one morn, — 
 And she kindled and quicken'd. 
 
 Ere Balder was born. 
 
 Then by that great water. 
 
 Within the dark woods, 
 The dawn broke, and brought her 
 
 A glimmer of Spring ! 
 The gray geese came crying 
 
 Far over the floods, 
 The black crane pass'd, flying 
 
 With slow waft of wing. 
 And when the moon's silver 
 
 Was shed on the mere, 
 The cry of the culver 
 
 Was heard far and near, 
 And the owls to each other 
 
 Made answers forlorn, — 
 And she smiled, the sad Mother, 
 
 Ere Balder was born. 
 
 Then the peace and the splendour 
 
 Of powers of the night, 
 And the strength that grows tender 
 
 Where dusk rivers nm. 
 The beam of the moonshine. 
 
 The soft starry light, 
 And the first smile of sunshine, 
 
 Were woven in one. 
 And they mingled within her 
 
 With motions of earth 
 To strengthen and win her 
 
 To mystical birth ; — 
 By the pangs of a woman 
 
 The goddess was torn, 
 Ere, with heart of the human, 
 
 God Balder was born. 
 
 The wind-gods were blowing 
 
 Their trumpets of might, 
 The skies were still snowing, 
 
 And dark was the wold, — 
 With a rock for her pillow 
 
 Lay Frea that night. 
 Beneath a great willow 
 
 All leafless and cold — 
 But the earth to strange motion 
 
 Was stirring around, 
 And the ice of the ocean 
 
 Had split with shrill sound ; — 
 When coldly upspringing 
 
 Arose the red morn, 
 To a sound as of singing 
 
 Bright Balder was born ! 
 
 His hair was as golden 
 
 As lily-hearts be. 
 When, softly unfolden, 
 
 From black tarns they rise, — 
 The lights of the azure, 
 
 The shades of the sea. 
 Blent into the pleasure 
 Of beautiful eyes , 
 Like the aspen that lingers 
 
 Where waters run fleet 
 Was the touch of his fingers, 
 
 The thrill of his feet ; 
 White, white as the blossom 
 
 That blows on the thorn, 
 On Frea's fair bosom 
 
 Bright Balder was born. 
 
 While soften'd and sadden'd 
 With love shone her face.
 
 THE BIRTH OF BALDER. 
 
 431 
 
 Uplooking he gladden'd 
 
 And clung to her breast, 
 For a light as of summer 
 
 Swept over the place, 
 When the shining new-comer 
 
 Awoke from his rest ! 
 And the willow and alder 
 
 Thrill'd out unto bloom, 
 And the lilac brought Balder 
 
 Its light and perfume, 
 While the merle sable-suited 
 
 Sang merry by morn. 
 And with bill of gold fluted 
 
 That Balder was born 1 
 
 At the notes of the singer 
 
 The sun glimmer'd gay, 
 And touch'd with bright finger 
 
 The child as he stirred 1 
 For the snow from the mountains 
 
 Was melting away, 
 And the sound of the fountains 
 
 Upleaping was heard ; 
 And the black soil was broken 
 
 To radiance of flowers. 
 While the Bow for a token 
 
 Gleam'd down thro' the showers 
 Deep under the fallow 
 
 Now sprouted the corn, 
 And swift flash'd the swallow, 
 
 For Balder was born ! 
 
 Yea, again up in heaven 
 
 Was rainbow'd the rune, 
 And the colours were seven 
 Most dim and divine : 
 Sweet creatures work'd under 
 
 The sun and the moon. 
 Completing the wonder 
 
 With whisper and sign. 
 With eyes brightly gleaming 
 
 The squirrel came near, 
 In flocks swam the lemming 
 
 Across the great mere. 
 And the gold-speckled spider 
 
 Found Frea that morn, 
 And was busy beside her 
 
 When Balder was born. 
 
 And with him came waking 
 
 The leaf and the flower, 
 The wind lightly shaking 
 Its balm from afar. 
 
 The smile of the sunshine. 
 
 The sob of the shower, 
 The beam of the moonshine. 
 
 The gleam of the star. 
 'Mid shining of faces 
 
 And waving of wings. 
 With gifts from all places 
 
 Came beautiful things ; 
 By night-time and day-time 
 
 No hfe was forlorn, 
 'Twas leaf-time, 'twas May-time, / 
 
 And Balder was born. f 
 
 Yet the spell had been woven 
 
 Long ages ago. 
 That the clouds should be cloven, 
 
 The Father undone. 
 When the light of the sunshine, 
 
 The white of the snow, 
 And the starshine and moonshine. 
 
 Were mingled in one ; 
 When the wind and the water, 
 
 The star and the flower, 
 Found a goddess, and brought her 
 
 Their strength for a dower ; 
 Yea, in runes it was written. 
 
 With letters forlorn, 
 That the gods should be smitten 
 
 When Balder was born. 
 
 Then roar'd the mad thunder 
 
 From regions afar, 
 And the world darken'd under 
 
 That wrath of the skies. 
 But the new-born, upleaping 
 
 As bright as a star, 
 Awoke from his sleeping 
 
 With love in his ears ; — 
 And the dark rain ceased falling, 
 
 With slow silvern thrills. 
 And the cuckoo came, calHng 
 
 Aloud on the hills, 
 And the glad Earth uplifted 
 
 Her face to the morn. 
 And past the storm drifted, 
 
 For Balder was born. 
 
 ... In the sedge of the river 
 The swan makes its nest ; 
 
 In the mere, with no quiver. 
 Stands shadow'd the crane ; 
 
 Earth happy and still is. 
 Peace dwells in her breast,
 
 432 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 V 
 I 
 
 And the lips of her lilies 
 
 Drink balm from the rain ; 
 The lamb in the meadow 
 
 Upsprings with no care, 
 Deep in the wood's shadow 
 
 Is born the young bear ; 
 The ash and the alder, 
 
 The flowers and the corn, 
 All waited for Balder, — 
 
 And Balder is born ! 
 
 11. 
 His Growth and Godhead. 
 
 Lovely as light and blossoms are, 
 
 And gende as the dew, 
 A white god stainless as a star. 
 
 Deep-hidden, Balder grew. 
 
 For in the time when violets grow. 
 And birds sing thro' the showers. 
 
 Pale Frea left the child below, 
 Upon a bank of flowers. 
 
 And heavenward now on weary feet 
 
 The mighty goddess flies, 
 And kneeleth at the Father's seat. 
 
 And gazeth in his eyes. 
 
 Around her in those shadowy halls 
 The great gods darkly tread. 
 ' WTiere is thy child ? ' each cold voice calls ; 
 Calmly she answereth, ' Dead. 
 
 ' The arrows of the gods are keen, 
 
 An infant's heart is mild ; 
 Buried within the forest green, 
 
 Now slumbereth my child. 
 
 ' The robin strewed him o'er with leaves. 
 
 And closed his eyes of blue. 
 And overhead the spider weaves 
 
 Her rune of silk and dew.' 
 
 Pale at the mighty banquet board 
 
 The Mother sat in pain : 
 The great gods smiling, with no word, 
 
 Drank deep, and breathed again. . . . 
 
 But down within the forest dim 
 
 The child divine lies quick ! 
 The slanted sunlight comes to him 
 
 Thro' branches woven thick. 
 
 He drinks no nurture of the breast, 
 
 No mother's kiss he knows ; 
 Warm as a song bird in its nest 
 
 He feels the light, and grows. 
 
 Around him flock all gentle things 
 
 Wliich range the forest free : 
 Each shape that blooms, each shape tl\at 
 sings. 
 
 Looks on him silently. 
 
 The light is melted on his lips 
 
 And on his eyes of blue. 
 And from the shining leaves he sips 
 
 The sweetness of the dew. 
 
 And slowly like an earthborn child 
 He learns to walk and run — 
 
 A forest form, with laughter wild. 
 He wanders in the sun. 
 
 And now he knows the great brown bear. 
 
 And sitteth with its young. 
 And of their honey takes his share. 
 
 Sucking with thirsty tongue. 
 
 Around him as he comes and goes 
 
 There clings a golden mist, 
 And in his bright hair blooms a rose, 
 
 And a bird sings on his wrist ! 
 
 And wheresoe'er he sets his feet 
 Fair ferns and flowers spring. 
 
 And honeysuckles scented sweet 
 Grow where his fingers cling. 
 
 He calls, and wood-doves at the cry 
 
 Come down to be caress'd ; 
 Curl'd in his arms the lynx will lie, 
 
 Its lips against his breast. 
 
 O look into his happy eyes, 
 
 As lustrous as the dew ! 
 A light like running water lies 
 
 Within their depths of blue ; 
 
 .■\nd there the white cloud's shadow dim 
 Stirs, mirror'd soft and gray. 
 
 And far within the dream-dews swim 
 With melancholy ray. 
 
 Ev'n thus in beauteous shape he grows, 
 Unknown, unseen, unheard. 
 
 And night by night he takes repose 
 Like any flower or bird.
 
 THE BIRTH OF BALDER— THE FINDING OF BALDER. 433 
 
 He drinks the balmy breath of Earth, 
 
 He feels the light and rain, 
 Till, like a thing of mortal birth, 
 
 He shares her peace or pain. 
 
 A wild white shape with wondering eyes 
 He walks by wood and stream. 
 
 And softly on his spirit lies 
 The burthen of a dream. 
 
 His hair is like the midnight sun's. 
 
 All golden-red and bright ; 
 But radiance as of moonrise runs 
 
 Upon his limbs of white. 
 
 And now the wood without a sound 
 
 Hushes its leaves in dread : 
 Beauty and mystery surround 
 
 The silence of his tread. 
 
 Quietly as a moonbeam creeps 
 He moves from place to place ; 
 
 Soft steals the starlight, as he sleeps. 
 To breathe upon his face. 
 
 The ground grows green beneath his feet, 
 While, trembling on the stem. 
 
 The pale flowers drink again, full sweet, 
 The breath he draws from them. 
 
 Now brightly gleams the soft green sod, 
 
 The golden seeds are sown ; 
 O pale white lily of a god, 
 
 Thou standest now full blown ! 
 
 II. 
 
 THE FINDING OF BALDER. 
 
 I. 
 
 Frea in thk Wood. 
 
 Blue night. Along the lonely forest way 
 The goddess, mighty-limb'd and marble 
 
 white. 
 Tall in the shadow of the pines that waved 
 Their black arms in the moonrise overhead. 
 Stole silent-footed. Round lier naked feet 
 The dews were luminous, and the breath of 
 
 flowers 
 Rose from the scented path of grass and 
 
 fern, 
 ^nd all w.is stiller than a maiden's dream. 
 
 From grove to grove she went, like one that 
 
 knew 
 Each shadow of that silent forest old, 
 And ever as she went the tangled light 
 That trembled on her thro' the woven 
 
 boughs 
 Grew deeper and more dewy, until at last 
 She knew by chilly gleams upon the grass 
 That dawn was come. Still did that um- 
 brage deep 
 Remain in dimness, tho' afar away 
 The hills were kindling with dull blood-red 
 
 fires ; 
 But when the trumpet of the day was blown 
 From the great golden gateways of the sun. 
 When leaf by leaf the crimson rose o' the 
 
 east 
 Open'd, and leaf by leaf illumed in turn 
 Glitter'd the snowy lily of the north. 
 She left the shelter of those woods, and stood 
 Under the shining canopy of heaven. 
 
 Hetore her lay a vast and tranquil lake, 
 
 And wading in its shallows silently 
 
 Great stoiks of golden white and light 
 
 green cranes 
 Stood sentinel, while far as eye could see, 
 Swam the wild water-lily's oiled leaves. 
 Still was that place as sleep, yet evermore 
 A stir amid its stillness ; for behold. 
 At every breath of the warm summer wind 
 Blown on the beating bosom of the lake, 
 The white swarms of the new-born lily- 
 flowers, 
 A pinch of gold-dust in the heart of each. 
 Rose from the bubbling depths, and open'd 
 
 up. 
 And floated luminous with cups of snow. 
 Across that water came so sweet an air. 
 It fell upon the immortal mother's brow 
 Like coolest morning dew, and tho' she 
 
 stood 
 Beneath the open arch of heaven, the light 
 Stole thro' the gauze of a soft summer mist 
 Most gentle and subdued. Then while she 
 
 paused 
 Close to the rippling shallows sown with 
 
 reeds, 
 Tliose cranes and storks arose above her 
 
 head 
 In one vast cloud of flying green and gold ; 
 And from the under-heavcn innumerable 
 The lilies upward to the surface snow'd, 
 
 F F
 
 434 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Till all the waters glitter'd gold and white ; 
 And lo ! the sun swept shining up the east, 
 And thro' the cloud of birds, and on the 
 
 lake. 
 Shot sudden rays of light miraculous, — 
 Until the goddess veil'd her dazzled eyes, 
 And with the heaving whiteness at her feet 
 Her bosom heaved, till of that tremulous 
 
 life 
 She seem'd a throbbing part I 
 
 Tall by the marge 
 The goddess tower'd, and her immortal face 
 Was shining as anointed ; then she cried, 
 ' Balder ! ' and like the faint cry of a bird 
 That passeth overhead, the sound was borne 
 Between the burning ether and the earth. 
 Then once again she called, outstretching 
 
 arms, 
 ' Balder ! ' Upon her face the summer 
 
 light 
 Trembled in benediction, while the voice 
 Was lifted up and echoed till it died 
 Far off amid the forest silences. 
 
 A space she paused, smiling and listening. 
 Gazing upon the lilies as they rose 
 Large, luminously fair, and new-baptized ; 
 And once again she would have call'd aloud, 
 When far across the waters suddenly 
 There shone a light as of the morning star ; 
 Which coming nearer seem'd as some bright 
 
 bird 
 Floating amid the lilies and their leaves. 
 And presently, approaching closer still, 
 Assumed the likeness of a shining shape, 
 Who, with white shoulders from the waters 
 
 reaching. 
 And sunlight burning on his golden hair. 
 Swam like a swan. Upon his naked arms 
 The amber light was melted, while they 
 
 clove 
 The crystal depths and softly swept aside 
 The glittering lilies and their clustering 
 
 leaves ; 
 And on the forehead of him burnt serene 
 A light as of a pearl more wonderful 
 Than ever from the crimson seas of Ind 
 Was snatch'd by human hand ; for pearl it 
 
 seem'd, 
 Tho' blood-red, and as lustrous as a star. 
 Him Frea breathless watch'd, for all the air 
 Was golden with his glory as he cpme ; 
 
 And o'er his head the bird-cloud hover'd 
 
 bright 
 With murmurs deep ; and thro' the lake he 
 
 swam 
 With arm-sweeps swift, till in the shallows 
 
 bright. 
 Still dripping from the kisses of the waves. 
 He rose erect in loveliness divine. 
 The lustre from his ivory arms and limbs 
 Stream'd as he stood, and from his yellow 
 
 hair 
 A glory rain'd upon his neck and breast, 
 While burning unextinguish'd on his brow 
 Shone that strange star. 
 
 Then as he shining rose, 
 And on her form the new effulgence fell. 
 The goddess, with her face beatified, 
 Yet gentle as a mortal mother's, cried 
 ' Balder ! my Balder ! ' — and while from all 
 
 the woods. 
 And from the waters wide, and from the air 
 Still rainbow'd with the flashing flight of 
 
 birds. 
 Innumerable echoes answer'd, ' Balder ! ' — 
 Clad in his gentle godhead Balder stood, 
 Bright, beautiful, and palpably divine. 
 
 The Shadow in the Wood. 
 
 ' Mother 1 ' he said, and on that mother's 
 
 face 
 Fixing the brightness of his starry eyes, 
 He kiss'd her, smiling. E'en as sunlight falls 
 Upon the whiteness of some western cloud, 
 Irradiadng and illuming it, 
 His beauty smote her sadness : silently 
 She trembled ; and her large immortal orbs 
 Were raised to heaven. For a space she 
 
 stood 
 O'er-master'd by that splendour, but at last. 
 While softly from her forehead and her 
 
 cheeks 
 The loving rapture ebb'd, and once again 
 Her face grew alabaster calm and cold. 
 Her soul found speech. 
 
 • O Balder ! best beloved ! 
 God of the sunlight and the summer stars, 
 White Shepherd of the gentle beasts and 
 
 birds. 
 Benign-eyed watcher of all beauteous things,
 
 THE FINDING OF BALDER. 
 
 435 
 
 Thou know' St me ! thou rememberest ! thou 
 
 art here, 
 Supreme, a god, my Son ! — Within thine 
 
 eyes 
 Immortal innocence and mortal peace 
 Are blent to love and gentleness divine ; 
 And tho' I left thee in these woods a babe, 
 Fair and unconscious as a fallen (lower, 
 And tho' I have not watch'd thy beauty grow, 
 I come again to seek thee, and behold 
 Thou know'st me — thou rememberest ! thou 
 
 art here, 
 Supreme, a god, my Son ! Blest be those 
 
 powers 
 To whose lone keeping I committed thee ! 
 The heavens have shone upon thee, and 
 
 the boughs 
 Have curtain'd thee for slumber, and the 
 
 rain 
 Hath smooth'd thy soft limbs with its 
 
 silvern fingers. 
 And gently ministrant to thee have been 
 The starlight and the moonlight and the 
 
 dew. 
 And in their seasons all the forest flowers ; 
 And from the crimson of divine deep dawns 
 And from the flush of setting suns, thy 
 
 cheeks 
 Have gather'd such a splendour as appals 
 The vision, even mine. Balder ! beloved ! 
 Speak to 'me ! tell me how thy soul hath 
 
 fared 
 Alone so long in these green solitudes.' 
 
 She ceased, and Balder smiled again, and 
 
 took 
 Her hand and held it as he answer'd her ; 
 And ne'er was sound of falHng summer 
 
 showers 
 On boughs with lilac laden and with rose. 
 Or cuckoo-crics o'er emerald uplands heard, 
 Or musical murmurs of dark summer dawns, 
 More sweet than Raider's voice. ' O 
 
 Mother, Mother,' 
 It answer'd, ' when I saw thee from afar, 
 Silent, stone-still, with shadow at thy feet, 
 I knew thee well, for nightly evermore 
 I have seen thy shape in sleep.' And while 
 
 the face 
 Of the great goddess kindled once again 
 With its maternal love ineffable. 
 He added, 'Thou shalt read me all my 
 
 dream I 
 
 For in a dream here have I grown and 
 
 thriven. 
 With such dim rapture as those lilies feel 
 Awakening and uprising mystically 
 From darkness to the brightness of the air ; 
 And growing in a dream I have beheld 
 All things grow gladder with me, sun and 
 
 star, 
 Strange fronds, and all the wonders of the 
 
 wood ; 
 Till round me, with me, soul and part of 
 
 me, 
 This world hath kindled like an opening 
 
 rose. 
 And happy had I been as any bird 
 Singing full-throated in the summer light. 
 But for some dark and broken images 
 Which come to me in sleep— yea come 
 
 each night 
 When from the starlight and the silvern 
 
 moon 
 I fade with closed eyes. But thou art here, 
 And in the love of thy celestial looks 
 I read the answer to the mystery 
 Of my dim earthly being.' 
 
 As he spake. 
 Across the goddess' face and thro' her frame 
 There pass'd the wind of an old prophecy. 
 Bending her downward as a storm-swept 
 
 bough. 
 ' In sleep ! what shapes have come to thee 
 
 in sleep?' 
 She cried, and Balder answer'd, ' It were 
 
 long 
 To tell thee all, my Mother ! but meseems 
 I have dream'd nightly of mysterious forms 
 White-brow'd like thee and very beautiful — 
 Strange spirits, each more bright than is a 
 
 star, 
 In robes of linen and of whitest wool. 
 And some all raimentless as leaf or flower, 
 And in their nakedness the more divine.' 
 Then Frea smiled and answer'd, ' That is 
 
 well — 
 These, Balder, are thy sisters and my kin, 
 Less beautiful than thou, yet very fair.' 
 And Balder said, ' Ofttimes mine eyes have 
 
 seen 
 Great shapes caparison'd in burning gold. 
 Tall as the tallest pine within these woods. 
 Who flash'd red brands together, or uphold 
 Bright cups of ruby, gazing on each other 1 ' 
 
 FF2
 
 436 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 And Frea smiled and said, ' That too is 
 
 well— 
 Those, Balder, are thy brethren and thy 
 
 peers, 
 Great gods, yet less than thou.' Then 
 
 Balder's voice 
 Sank lower, saying, ' Three times in my 
 
 sleep 
 I have seen my Father ! ' 
 
 Frea's cheek was blanch'd. 
 And pressing one white hand upon her 
 
 heart, 
 ' How seem'd he in thy sleep ? ' the goddess 
 
 sigh'd, 
 'Frownd he or smiled he? speak !' And 
 
 Balder said. 
 In solemn whispers, sinking ever lower, 
 ' My soul perceived a darkness and a sound 
 Of many voices wailing, and I seem'd 
 As one that drifts upon a sunless water. 
 Amid the washing of a weary rain — 
 ■Wet were my locks and dripping, and my 
 
 limbs 
 Hung heavily as lead — while wave by wave 
 I floated to some vapour-shrouded shore. 
 At last, wash'd in upon the slippery weeds, 
 I saw before me on a mountain top 
 One brooding like a cloud ; and as a cloud 
 At first he seem'd, yet ever as I look'd 
 Grew shapen to an image terrible, 
 'With eyes eternal gazing down at mine. 
 And as I rose a voice came from the cloud 
 Like far-off muffled thunder, crying " Raider! 
 Come hither, my son Balder!" — when in 
 
 fear 
 I scream'd and woke, and saw the daylight 
 
 dance 
 Golden upon the forests and the meres. ' 
 
 He ceased ; and utter pity fill'd his soul 
 To see across his beauteous Mother's face 
 The scorching of unutterable pain ; 
 Then thrice the troubled goddess raised her 
 
 eyes 
 And gazed up northward where the rose-red 
 
 shafts 
 Of dawn were trembling on the cloud-capt 
 
 towers 
 Of Asgard ; thrice the sorrow master'd her ; 
 But soon her strong soul conquer'd, and 
 
 she forced 
 A strange sad look of calm. ' If that be all. 
 
 Take courage — and I do conjure thee now, 
 Fear not thy Father. If that Father ever 
 Hath cherish'd dread of thee, the loveliness 
 Of thy completed godhead shall disarm 
 His wrath, — yea, win his love.' Her gentle 
 
 hand 
 Clasp'd his with more than mortal tender- 
 ness. 
 And in his eyes she gazed again and drank 
 The solace of his beauty while the dawn 
 Encrimson'd both and all the heavens and 
 
 air, 
 Rut Balder trembled shrinking to her side. 
 And cried, with quick eyes glancing all 
 
 around, 
 ' Mother, that is not all ! ' 
 
 • O speak no more,' 
 The goddess said, ' if aught else terrible 
 Thine eyes have vision'd or thy. sense hath 
 
 dream'd, 
 Speak, speak, no more ! ' but Balder 
 
 answer'd, ' Mother ! 
 A weight is on my heart, and I must speak. 
 Last night I dream'd the strangest dream 
 
 of dreams I 
 Methought I in the summer woodland 
 
 walk'd 
 And pluck'd white daffodils and pansies 
 
 blue, 
 hx\A as I went I sang such songs as sing 
 The spirits of the forest and the stream ; 
 And presently the golden light went in. 
 But balmy darkness follow'd, for the rain 
 Patter'd with diamond dews innumerable 
 On the green roof of umbrage overhead. 
 I stood and waited, listening. Then me- 
 thought 
 I heard a voice from far away — thy voice 
 It seem'd, my Mother — murmur three times 
 
 " Balder!" 
 And as it ceased, there pierced the wood's 
 
 green heart 
 A shriek so sharp and shrill that all my 
 
 blood 
 Turn'd cold to listen ! Suddenly I felt 
 My brow was damp with chilly drops of 
 
 rain, 
 And looking up I saw that every leaf 
 Had wither'd from the branches overhead. 
 Leaving them black against a sunless 
 
 heaven 
 Of dark and dreary gray. Again I heard
 
 THE FINDING OF BALDER. 
 
 437 
 
 Thy voice moan " Balder," and methought 
 
 the boughs 
 Toss'd their wild arms above and echoed 
 
 "Balder," 
 ■WTien lo, the black and miserable rain 
 Came slower and slower, wavering through 
 
 the dark. 
 Till every drop was as a flake of white 
 Falling upon the ground as light as wool ! 
 And terror seized me, and I felt my heart 
 Cold as a stone, and from my hands the 
 
 flowers 
 Dropt, wither'd, with that whiteness on the 
 
 ground. 
 I tried to stir, and could not stir ; I sought 
 To shake the chilly flakes from off my neck. 
 But could not ; and each time I sought to 
 
 cry, 
 My cries were frozen in my throat. Now 
 
 mark ! 
 O mark, my mother, for these things are 
 
 strange ! 
 As thus I stood, mine eyes were 'ware of 
 
 One, 
 A .Shape with shadowy arms outspread like 
 
 wings. 
 Which, hovering o'er me even as a hawk, 
 Fix'd on my face its fatal luminous eyes. 
 O Mother, that wan shape ! The forcstholds. 
 In form of beast or bird or glittering snake. 
 No likeness of its awful lineaments ! 
 For ever as its features seem'd to take 
 Clearness and semblance, they did fade 
 
 away 
 Into a swooning dimness ; and it seem'd 
 Now shapen and now shapeless, blowing 
 
 amid 
 The wonder of that wan and sunless shower. 
 Yet ever as I gazed it gazed again, 
 And ever circling nearer seem'd in act 
 To swoop upon me with cold claws and 
 
 clutch 
 The heart that flutter'd wildly in my breast. 
 At last that look became too much to bear : 
 Answering at last thy scream, I scream'd 
 
 aloud ; 
 And as I scream'd, I woke — and saw again 
 The sunlight on the forests and the meres." 
 
 Now ev'n as Balder spake llic goddess' face 
 Was like a shrouded woman's : once again 
 She gazed at heaven, and her eyes were 
 glazed 
 
 With agony and despair, for now she knew 
 That shape which Balder had beheld in 
 
 dream 
 Was he whom mortal man have christen'd 
 
 Death. 
 At last she spake, and all her proud soul 
 
 flash'd. 
 Rebuking its own terror. ' Unto all, 
 Yea even unto gods upon their thrones. 
 Such shadows come in sleep ; thy Father 
 
 even 
 Hath had his visions, and I too have mine ; 
 But be of comfort since thou art my Son, 
 For he who hover'd o'er thee in thy dream 
 Is impotent against the strength of gods. 
 Haunter is he of this sad nether sphere, 
 And on the little life of bird and beast. 
 And on the life of flowers and falling leaves. 
 His breath comes chill, but to the Shapes 
 
 divine 
 He is as wind that bloweth afar below 
 The silence of the peaks. ' 
 
 Ev'n as she spake. 
 On her bright Balder gazed not, but with 
 
 eyes 
 Fix'd as in fascination, cried aloud 
 ' Look ! look ! ' — and pointed. 
 
 Close to that bright spot 
 Whereon they stood in the full flame of 
 
 day. 
 The forest open'd, flashing green and gold. 
 Sparkling wi'n quick and rapturous thrill of 
 
 leaves 
 And rainbow-flush of flowers. Upon a 
 
 bough 
 That reach'd its heavy-laden emerald arm 
 Into the summer light beyond the shade. 
 There cJung, with panting breast and 
 
 fluttering wings, 
 A trembling ringdove whose soft iris"d eyes 
 Were fix'd like Balder's on some shdpe of 
 
 dread 
 Just visible in the shadow, lying low 
 Under the scented umbrage of the wood. 
 A Form, yet indistinct as the green sheen ; 
 A Face, yet featureless ; a head with eyes 
 Now faint as drops of dew, now strangely 
 
 bright 
 As lustrous gems. Crouch'd on the under- 
 
 grass, 
 It watch'd in serpent fashion every thrill
 
 438 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Of that bright bird ; \\ hile all around, the 
 
 air 
 Was mad and merry with the summer song 
 Of choirs that sat alive on leafy boughs, 
 Singing aloud ! 
 
 Then came a hush, wherein 
 Every faint pulse of life in those great 
 
 woods 
 Was heard to beat ; and then the fated 
 
 bird 
 Cooing and quivering fluttered from the 
 
 bough, 
 And 'mid the summer sheen beyond the 
 
 shade. 
 With one last dying tremor of the wings, 
 Lay stricken still. . . . Among the darken- 
 ing leaves 
 There was a stir, as creeping thro' the 
 
 gloom. 
 Scarce visible, fixing eyes on that dead 
 
 dove, 
 Forth from his lair the form began to crawl. 
 And Balder sicken'd, and his sense grew 
 
 cold. 
 But \\ith a queenly gesture Frea rose. 
 And pointed with her white imperious hand 
 Into the forest. Suddenly the shape 
 Was 'ware of that pale goddess and her 
 
 son 
 More beauteous and insufferably bright. 
 A moment in the dimness of his lair 
 He paused, uprearing, as in act to spring, 
 A head half human, with a serpent's eyes ; 
 Then, conscious of some presence that he 
 
 feared, 
 All swift and silent, like a startled snake, 
 He faded back into the shadowy woods. 
 
 II. 
 
 Full Godhead. 
 
 O whither are they wending side by side 
 
 Thro' that green forest wide ? 
 Down the deep dingles, amid ferns and 
 flowers. 
 
 They wander hours and hours. 
 Bright-loci. 'd, with limbs of alabaster white. 
 
 Now gleaming in the light. 
 Now 'mong the dusky umbrage of the glade 
 
 Deep'ning to amber shade. 
 Their eyes on one another, whither away 
 
 Do these Immortals stray ? 
 
 She murmurs, ' Thou shalt mark aU things 
 that be ; 
 The rivers and the sea, 
 The mountains that for ever crimson'd lie 
 
 Against the arctic sky, 
 The meteors that across the pale pole flit. 
 
 Strangely illuming it ; 
 And thou shalt look on gods, thy kin and 
 mine. 
 Since thou too art divine.' 
 Divine ! — The forest glimmers where he goes 
 
 To crimson and to rose ! 
 And wheresoe'er he comes no creature fears ; 
 
 Each lingers, sees, and hears. 
 The boughs bend down to touch his yellow 
 hair ; 
 Around his white feet bare 
 The grass waves amorous ; on his shoulder 
 white 
 The singing birds alight, 
 Singing the sweeter ; and in spaces clear 
 
 The brown-eyed dappled deer 
 With tremulous ear and tail around him 
 stand, 
 Licking his outstretch'd hand 
 With warm rough tongues. He sings — all 
 things around 
 Are husht to hear the sound ! 
 He smiles— all things are smiling — wood 
 and stream 
 With some new glory gleam. 
 Dark branches blossom, and the greensward 
 nigh 
 Is sunnier than the sky ! 
 
 She murmurs, ' They have cherish'd thee 
 indeed. 
 In answer to thy need. 
 Ere thou wast born, into thy veins they 
 grew, 
 Earth, sunlight, air, and dew. 
 The flower, the leaf, star's glimmer and 
 bird's song ; 
 And these have made thee strong 
 With other strength than ours ; for ne'er 
 till now. 
 On any immortal brow 
 Have I beheld such living splendour shine 
 
 As lies this hour on thine. 
 O sunbeam of the gods ! O fairer far 
 
 Than ev'n Immortals are ! 
 Divinest, gentlest, by the glad Earth given 
 To be a lamp in heaven ! '
 
 THE FINDING OF BALD Eli. 
 
 439 
 
 Divine! — The boughs shook down their 
 shafts of green 
 And gleam'd to golden sheen ; 
 The silvern snake stole from the dark tree- 
 root 
 And twined round Balder's foot 
 With happy eyes ; the tiger-moth and bee 
 
 About him hover' d free ; 
 With yellow aureole his head was crown'd, 
 
 And his bright body around 
 There swam a robe of sunsliine scented 
 sweet, 
 Clothing him head to feet. 
 
 She crieth, ' Could the Father see thee there, 
 
 While on thy silken hair 
 The soft light trembles like a shining hand! 
 
 Couldst thou before him stand, 
 Flowers round thy feet, a dove upon thy 
 wrist. 
 Earth-blest and heaven-kist, 
 Would he not smile? would he not scorn 
 full soon 
 The wearily woven rune 
 Which said that sorrow should be born 
 when thon 
 Didst break with orient brow 
 The night-cloud of the Earth ? O Son ! my 
 Son! 
 The crimson thread is spun, 
 The snow-white bud is blown, and now, 
 behold ! 
 The branch with fruit of gold 
 Hath grown full straight and swings i' the 
 summer shine 
 Ineffably divine.' 
 
 He questions, 'Whither go we?' She 
 replies, 
 ' To that dim Land which lies 
 Evn as a cloud around the Father's feet ! ' 
 
 He smiles, his pulses Ijeat 
 With brighter rapture. ' Shall mine eyes 
 then see 
 My Father?' crieth he ; 
 • Where dwells he? and my brethren, where 
 dwell they?" 
 She answereth, ' Far away ! ' 
 Then, her face darken'd by some dreamy 
 dread. 
 She moves with sadder tread. 
 
 The shadow s grow around them as they stray 
 From glade to glade ; their way 
 
 Winds still 'mong flowers and leaves, where 
 day and night, 
 Both sleepless and both bright. 
 One golden and one silvern, come and go. 
 
 Nor, when dark twilights sow 
 Their asphodels in the broad fields of blue. 
 
 And a cold summer dew 
 Gleams on the grass, and moths with fiery 
 eyes 
 Flit, and the night-jar cries. 
 Doth Balder glimmer less divine. Ah, nay ! 
 
 Dim things that know not day 
 Find him and love him ; drinking his pure 
 breath 
 The white owl hovereth ; 
 About his footprints in the faint moon-ray 
 
 Wild lynxes leap and play ; 
 The ringdoves on the branches brood ; meek 
 hares 
 Creep from their grassy lairs 
 To look upon him. So he goeth by 
 
 Of all things that descry 
 Beloved, and missed ; around him like a 
 veil 
 The moonbeams cluster pale. 
 And all the eyes of heaven with soft dev,'s 
 swim. 
 As they gaze down on him. 
 
 But now they leave the miglily woods, and 
 pass 
 Thro' valleys of deep grass. 
 Sprinkled with saxifrage and tormentil ; 
 
 And many a mountain rill 
 Leaps by them, singing. Far away, on 
 high, 
 They mark against the sky 
 Blue-shadow'd mountains crown'd with 
 sparkling snow ; 
 And thitherward they go. 
 
 Tliro' lonely mountain valleys in whose 
 breast 
 Tlie white grouse makes its nest. 
 And where in circles wheel the goshawk 
 keen 
 And fleet-wing'd peregrine ; 
 Past torrents gashing the dark heathery 
 height 
 With gleams of hoary white. 
 Their shining feet now fall, and where they 
 fare 
 Faint rainbows fill the air
 
 438 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Of that bright bird ; while all around, the 
 
 air 
 Was mad and merry with the summer song 
 Of choirs that sat alive on leafy boughs, 
 Singing aloud ! 
 
 I'hen came a hush, wherein 
 Every faint pulse of life in those great 
 
 woods 
 Was heard to beat ; and then the fated 
 
 bird 
 Cooing and quivering fluttered from the 
 
 bough, 
 And 'mid the summer sheen beyond the 
 
 shade, 
 With one last dying tremor of the wings. 
 Lay stricken still. . . . Among the darken- 
 ing leaves 
 There was a stir, as creeping thro' the 
 
 gloom, 
 Scarce visible, fixing eyes on that dead 
 
 dove, 
 Forth from his lair the form began to crawl. 
 And Balder sicken'd, and his sense grew 
 
 cold. 
 But with a queenly gesture Frea rose. 
 And pointed with her while imperious hand 
 Into the forest. Suddenly the shape 
 Was 'ware of that pale goddess and her 
 
 son 
 More beauteous and insufferably bright. 
 A moment in the dimness of his lair 
 He paused, uprearing, as in act to spring, 
 A head half human, with a serpent's eyes ; 
 Then, conscious of some presence that he 
 
 feared. 
 All swift and silent, like a startled snake. 
 He faded back into the shadowy woods. 
 
 II. 
 
 Full Godhead. 
 
 O whither are they wending side by side 
 
 Thro' that green forest wide ? 
 Down the deep dingles, amid ferns and 
 flowers, 
 
 They wander hours and hours. 
 Bright-loci.' J, with limbs of alabaster white, 
 
 Now gleaming in tlie light. 
 Now 'mong the dusky umbrage of the glade 
 
 Deep'ning to amber shade, 
 Their eyes on one another, whither away 
 
 Do these Immortals stray ? 
 
 She murmurs, ' Thou shalt mark all things 
 that be ; 
 The rivers and the sea. 
 The mountains that for ever crimson'd lie 
 
 Against the arctic sky. 
 The meteors that across the pale pole flit, 
 
 Strangely illuming it ; 
 And thou shalt look on gods, thy kin and 
 mine. 
 Since thou too art divine.' 
 Divine ! — The forest glimmers where he goes 
 
 To crimson and to rose ! 
 And wheresoe'er he comes no creature fears ; 
 
 Each lingers, sees, and hears. 
 The boughs bend down to touch his yellow 
 hair ; 
 Around his white feet bare 
 The grass waves amorous ; on his shoulder 
 white 
 The singing birds alight. 
 Singing the sweeter ; and in spaces clear 
 
 The brown-eyed dappled deer 
 With tremulous ear and tail around him 
 stand. 
 Licking his outstretcli'd hand 
 With warm rough tongues. He sings — all 
 things around 
 Are husht to hear the sound ! 
 He smiles— all things are smiling — wood 
 and stream 
 With some new glory gleam. 
 Dark branches blossom, and the greensward 
 nigh 
 Is sunnier than the sky ! 
 
 She murmurs, ' They have cherish'd thee 
 indeed. 
 In answer to thy need. 
 Ere thou wast born, into thy veins they 
 grew, 
 Earth, sunlight, air, and dew. 
 The flower, the leaf, star's glimmer and 
 bird's song ; 
 And these have made thee strong 
 With other strength than ours ; for ne'er 
 till now, 
 On any immortal brow 
 Have I beheld such living splendour shine 
 
 As lies this hour on thine. 
 O sunbeam of the gods ! O fairer far 
 
 Than ev'n Immortals are ! 
 Divinest, gendest, by the glad Earth given 
 To be a lamp in heaven ! '
 
 THE FINDING OF BALDER. 
 
 439 
 
 Divine ! — The boughs shook down their 
 shafts of green 
 And gleam"d to golden sheen ; 
 The silvern snake stole from the dark tree- 
 root 
 And twined round Balder's foot 
 Uith happy eyes ; the tiger-moth and bee 
 
 About him hover' d free ; 
 With yellow aureole his head was crown'd, 
 
 And his bright body around 
 There swam a robe of sunshine scented 
 sweet, 
 Clothing him head to feet. 
 
 She crieth, ' Could the Father see thee there, 
 
 While on thy silken hair 
 The soft light trembles like a shining hand! 
 
 Couldst thou before him stand, 
 Flowers round thy feet, a dove upon thy 
 wrist. 
 Earth-blest and heaven-kist. 
 Would he not smile? would he not scorn 
 full soon 
 The wearily woven rune 
 Which said that sorrow should be born 
 when thou 
 Didst break with orient brow 
 The night-cloud of the Earth ? O Son ! my 
 Son! 
 The crimson thread is spun, 
 The snow-white bud is blown, and now, 
 behold ! 
 The branch with fruit of gold 
 Hath grown full straight and swings i' the 
 summer shine 
 Ineffably divine. ' 
 
 He questions, ' Whither go we ? ' She 
 replies, 
 ' To that dim Land which lies 
 Ev'n as a cloud around the Father's feet ! ' 
 
 He smiles, his pulses beat 
 With brighter rapture. ' Shall mine eyes 
 then see 
 My Father?' crielh he ; 
 • Where dwells he? and my brethren, where 
 dwell they ? ' 
 She answereth, ' Far away ! ' 
 Then, her face darken'd by some dreamy 
 dread. 
 She moves with sadder tread. 
 
 The shado\\ s grow around iheni as they stray 
 From glade to glade ; their way 
 
 Winds still 'mong flowers and leaves, where 
 day and night, 
 Both sleepless and both bright. 
 One golden and one silvern, come and go. 
 
 Nor, when dark twilights sow 
 Their asphodels in the broad fields of blue. 
 
 And a cold summer dew 
 Gleams on the grass, and moths with fiery 
 eyes 
 Flit, and the night-jar cries. 
 Doth Balder glimmer less divine. Ah, nay 1 
 
 Dim things that know not day 
 Find him and love him ; drinking his pure 
 breath 
 The white owl hovereth ; 
 About his footprints in the faint moon-ray 
 
 Wild lynxes leap and play ; 
 The ringdoves on the branches brood ; meek 
 hares 
 Creep from their grassy lairs 
 To look upon him. So he goeth by 
 
 Of all things that descry 
 Beloved, and missed ; around him like a 
 veil 
 The moonbeams cluster pale. 
 And all the eyes of heaven with soft dews 
 swim, 
 As they gaze down on him. 
 
 But now they leave the mighty woods, and 
 pass 
 Thro' valleys of deep grass. 
 Sprinkled with sa.xifrage and tormentil ; 
 
 And many a mountain rill 
 Leaps by them, singing. Far away, on 
 high. 
 They mark against the sky 
 Blue-shadow'd mountains crown'd with 
 sparkling snow ; 
 And tliilherward they go. 
 
 'I'liro' lonely mountain valleys in whose 
 breast 
 The white grouse makes its nest, 
 And where in circles wheel the goshawk 
 keen 
 And fleet-wing'd peregrine ; 
 Past torrents gashing the dark heathery 
 height 
 With gleams of hoary white. 
 Their shining feet now fall, and where they 
 fare 
 Faint rainbows fill the air
 
 442 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Shapen like gods, yet perishable ; born 
 
 For ever night and morn, 
 And night and morn for ever vanishing. 
 
 An old dark doom doth cling 
 Around them and all kindred things that 
 bloom 
 
 Out of the green world's womb. 
 Heed them not thou ! To gods they are no 
 more 
 
 Than singing birds that soar 
 A httle flight, and fall. Tho' for a space, 
 
 Rear'd in a lowly place, 
 Thou hast known, as mortals know, Earth's 
 shade and shine, 
 
 Another lot is thine ! — 
 To sit among the gods, on heights supreme. 
 
 Beyond Man's guess or dream ! ' 
 
 III. 
 
 THE HE A VENWARD 
 JOURNEY. 
 
 The Goddesses. 
 
 There is a valley by the northern sea, 
 O'ershadow'd softly by eternal hills 
 And canopied by the ethereal blue. 
 Above it silently for ever gleam 
 Cold peaks of ice and snow, and over these 
 The wind goes, and the shadows of the 
 
 wind; 
 While far below, the hollows of the vale 
 Are strewn most deep with heather and with 
 
 thyme. 
 And weeping willows hang their silken hair 
 O'er dusky tarns with summer lilies sown ; 
 And from these tarns smooth tracts of 
 
 greensward slope 
 Until they blend with silvern sands that kiss 
 The foam-white lips of the still sleeping sea. 
 
 Into that valley by a secret way, 
 The goddess guided her immortal sop. 
 Long had they wander'd, o'er the realms of 
 
 snow, 
 Thro" forests vast, down desolate ravines ; 
 And still, where'er they slept, before their 
 
 feet 
 A wind of brightness like a river ran, 
 And rippled softly into grass and flowers, — 
 
 So that they walked on rainbows with no 
 
 rain. 
 And under heaven made heaven beneath 
 
 their feet. 
 At last their path wound upward, while 
 
 again 
 They trod the white snows of the topmost 
 
 peaks, 
 And saw beneath them, faint and far away, 
 The secret valley : purple woods of pine, 
 Crags of wild umbrage lit by flashing falls, 
 Smooth emerald lawns ; and beyond all, 
 
 the sea. 
 
 And lo ! as Balder gazed, that valley fair 
 Grew fairer — on its sleep his brightness fell 
 As benediction — and in saffron light 
 It swam below him like a sunset cloud. 
 Down from the lonely heights whereon he 
 
 stood 
 A snow-white cataract, like a naked god 
 With plumes of silver plunging from a peak 
 Into a purple ocean, headlong flash'd ; 
 Then, lost among the dark green pine-tree 
 
 tops. 
 Sounded unseen, mingling its far-off voice 
 With the deep murmur of the wind-swept 
 
 boughs. 
 From rocky shelf to shelf, with golden moss 
 Env\Tought and fringed with dwarf willow 
 
 trees. 
 They now descended in the torrent's track. 
 And plunging swiftly downward found a path 
 Thro' the cool darkness of the shadowy 
 
 woods ; 
 But as they went the dusky forest way 
 Grew brighter, ever flash'd to softer green 
 The green leaves, and the sward to sunnier 
 
 hues. 
 Till from the leafy umbrage they emerged, 
 And Balder saw a vision fairer far 
 Than ever poet fabled in a dream. 
 
 Beside those waters, on those emerald 
 
 lawns 
 Basking in one eternal summer day. 
 Lay goddesses divine with half-closed eyes 
 Gazing out seaward on the crimson isles 
 Sown in the soft haze of the summer deep. 
 And there they wove white runes to win the 
 
 hearts 
 Of gods and men, while o'er their happy 
 
 heads
 
 THE HEAVENWARD JOURNEY. 
 
 443 
 
 Eternity hung steadfast as a star. 
 
 Some stretch'd upon the scented greensward 
 
 lay 
 Moveless and wonderfully robed in white ; 
 Some sitting silent by the dusky tarns 
 Look'd upward, with their faces dim as 
 
 dream ; 
 Some musing stood, their eyes upon the sea. 
 Their thoughts afar ; and many up and 
 
 down 
 Along the quiet greensward paced and 
 
 mused. 
 There was no laughter as of maiden voices, 
 No sound like human singing : all was 
 
 still- 
 Still as a heartbeat, silent as a sleep. 
 
 But when from the green shadow of the 
 
 woods 
 Immortal Balder in his beauty came, 
 And stood irresolute in light divine 
 Gazing upon that wonder of white life. 
 There was a cry of startled handmaidens 
 Flocking round goddesses most marble pale. 
 All to their feet had risen, and one supreme 
 Tall shape with mailed plates upon her 
 
 breast, 
 A skirt blood-red, and in her hand a spear. 
 Stood, while pale virgins crouch'd around 
 
 her feet. 
 Confronting Balder with black eyes of fire. 
 Lithe was she as a serpent, lithe and tall, 
 Her dark skin glimmering bronzed in the 
 
 sun. 
 Her eyebrows black drawn down, and as 
 
 the beam 
 Of Haider's beauty struck upon her frame, 
 She raised her spear, and seem'd in act to 
 
 strike ; 
 But Frea, coming stately from the shade, 
 Cried, ' Hold ! ' and Rota (for 'twas she 
 
 whose sou] 
 Delights in sowing strife 'mong weary men) 
 Paused frowning, and the virgins at her feet 
 Look'd up amazed. 
 
 ' Whom bring'st thou here ? ' she cried — 
 'What shape is this, with pale blue human 
 
 eyes. 
 Yet more than human brightness, venturing 
 Where never foot of earthborn thing hath 
 
 fared?' 
 And Frea answer'd gently, ' Harm him not ! 
 
 Nor give him chilly greeting, sister mine — 
 Kin is he to immortal gods and thee — 
 'Tis Balder I my son Balder ! ' At the w ord 
 The wind of that old prophecy arose 
 And for a moment like a fever'd breath 
 Faded across those lawns and sleeping 
 
 pools ; 
 And blown from group to group of white- 
 robed forms. 
 From goddess on to goddess, echoed low 
 The name of ' Balder,' till it reached the 
 
 sands. 
 And on the far-off foam did die away 
 In low sad echoes of the mighty main. 
 
 Then Balder with a heavenly look advancing 
 Shone on the place, and Rota dropt her 
 
 spear, 
 Still darkening, as in wonder and in scorn 
 She gazed upon him, crying, ' Then he 
 
 lives ! 
 Woe to the race of Asa since he hves ! 
 Why comes he here?' And Balder, with 
 
 a voice 
 As sweet as fountains falling, made reply, 
 ' I seek my sisters and my kin divine, 
 And thou art of them ! ' and he reach'd out 
 
 hands, 
 Smiling ! 
 
 As Rota stood irresolute, 
 Half-angry, half-disarm'd by his sweet eyes. 
 Another shape most fair and wonderful 
 In snow-white robe array 'd thro' which her 
 
 hmbs 
 Shone with a rosy and celestial ray. 
 Cried ' Balder ! ' in a voice so strange and 
 
 deep 
 It fell upon the fountains of his heart 
 Like sudden light ; and two serene large 
 
 eyes 
 Shone clear as clearest stars before his 
 
 sight. 
 • Who speaketh ? ' Balder cried, and the 
 
 deep voice 
 Made answer, ' O thou foster-child of earth, 
 With eyes like tender harebells, and with 
 
 flesh 
 Bright as the body of a mort.il man. 
 Dost thou not know nie?— I am Gcfion, 
 Whose touch could make thee fruitful as a 
 
 tree 
 That drops ripe fruit at every kiss o' the 
 
 wind.'
 
 444 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 And Balder would have answer'd eagerly, 
 But Froa now uplifting a white hand 
 With queenly gesture, raised her voice and 
 
 said, 
 ' O sisters ! goddesses ! O lilies fair 
 Blown in the still pools of eternity ! 
 Be silent for a space, and for a space 
 Gaze on my son whom to your bowers I 
 
 bring 
 For benediction ; now, behold, he lives, 
 Immortal as yourselves and beautiful 
 As any star that in the heaven of heavens 
 Hangs luminous, a lamp for mortal eyes. 
 Him in the secret furrows of the Earth 
 I cast like seed, while far away the storm 
 Flath'd to a portent, and I wove my rune : 
 That neither wind nor snow nor any touch 
 Of god or goddess might disturb his growth 
 From season unto season, while he rose 
 Ev"n as a flower from the sweet-soiled earth. 
 There came unto his making leaf and flower. 
 The soft rain and the shadow of the rain. 
 The sundew and the moondew, and the 
 
 gleam 
 Of starlight, and the glowlight on the grass. 
 To secret things my hands committed him. 
 And strangely he hath thriven since that 
 
 hour, 
 Ev'n as a leaf is fashion'd, ev'n as the hair 
 Of the long grass is woven, wondrously ! 
 And thus, his brow bright with the balms 
 
 of Earth, 
 He stands complete, his Father's child, my 
 
 son. 
 O look upon him ! See his happy eyes ! 
 And tell me that ye love him, and in turn 
 Will bless him, shielding him upon your 
 
 breasts 
 If ever evil hour to him should come. 
 Oh, that sad rune we fear'd of old is false ! 
 For gentle is he as the gentle things 
 Which foster'd him, too blest and beautiful 
 To be a terror or a grief to gods.' 
 
 She ceased ; and Gefion thro' her loosen'd 
 
 hair 
 Smiled, and stern Rota's look grew tenderer. 
 Then, stretch'd her listless length upon the 
 
 grass, 
 Her dark face glowing biightly in the sun. 
 Upon one elbow leaning, sun-tanned Eir 
 Raised with quick wicked laugh her root 
 
 and knife, 
 
 Saying, 'O Frea, had I found him there 
 Fall'n like a flower in the dark arms of 
 
 Earth, 
 This knife had made an end ; but since he 
 
 stands 
 Full-grown and fair, immortal, and thy son, 
 I bid him welcome ! ' — As she spake, the 
 
 eyes 
 Of Balder fell upon the root and knife. 
 And lo, the knife gleam'd as a brand of 
 
 gold. 
 While the black root, moist with the dews 
 
 of earth, 
 Trembled, and blossom'd into light green 
 
 leaves ! 
 Then trembling, Eir arose, and stood her 
 
 height. 
 While gazing full into h^r troubled eyes, 
 Bright Balder moved to embrace her 
 
 silently. 
 
 But as he gently came there interposed 
 A wonder of new brightness, — such a shape. 
 So perfect in divine white loveliness. 
 As never mortal yet beheld and lived. 
 And Balder trembled, and his bosom heaved 
 With an exceeding sweetness strange and 
 
 new, 
 While close to his there came a shining 
 
 face, 
 Still as a sunbeam, dimmer than a dream. 
 And Freya, for 'twas she whose touch is 
 
 life 
 To happy lovers and to loveless men 
 Is sickness and despair, said, breathing 
 
 warm, 
 While on her alabaster arms love's light 
 Was flushing faint as thro' a rose's leaves, 
 ' Let all my sisters greet thee as they will, 
 I love thee. Balder ! since of lovely things 
 Thou art the brightest and the loveliest ! ' 
 And lo ! ere he was ware of her intent. 
 Unto his cheek she presta warm red mouth 
 Kings of great empires would have swoon'd 
 
 to tourh. 
 And poets heavenly-dower'd would have 
 
 died 
 To dream of kissing. Then thro' Balder 
 
 ran 
 A new miraculous rapture such as feels 
 The dark Earth when the scented Summer 
 
 leaps 
 FuU-blossom'd as a bridegroom to her arms ;
 
 THE HEAVENWARD JOURNEY. 
 
 445 
 
 Such as musk-roses know when blown apart 
 By sunbeams in mid-June ; and Balder's 
 
 sense 
 Swoon'd, and he seem'd strewn o'er with 
 
 fruit and flowers, 
 And on his lids were touches hke warm 
 
 rain, 
 And on his nostrils and his parted lips 
 Delicious balm and spicy odours fell, 
 And all his soul was like a young maid's 
 
 frame 
 Bathed in the warmth of love's first virgin 
 
 dream. 
 
 Then, as he trembled thro' and thro' his 
 
 form 
 With the last flush of that celestial fire. 
 The goddesses around him flocking came. 
 All giving welcome. Some into his eyes 
 Gazed in such awe as pallid virgins feel 
 For some mysterious splendour masculine 
 They seek yet fear and shrink from as they 
 
 touch. 
 For Balder's loveliness in that bright place 
 Was as the soft sheen of the summer moon 
 Arising silvern in the cloudless west 
 Above the sunset seas of orange gold ; 
 And there was trouble in his human eyes 
 Most melancholy sweet, — trouble like tears, 
 Of starli"iit, or the tremor of the dew. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Fruit of Life. 
 
 They led him to a bank with moss inlaid, 
 Close to the tranquil mirror of the sea, 
 And thither came pale ocean handmaidens 
 Singing to lutes of amber and of pearl. 
 While ' Lo\e him, love him,' cried the god- 
 desses, 
 ' O love him, love him, he is beautiful ! ' 
 But Frca lifted up her hand, and cried, 
 ' Love is not all — swear against all things ill 
 To watch him and protect him ; ' — and they 
 
 cried, 
 ' We swear ! we swear ! ' Then bending 
 
 over him 
 With bright black eyeballs burning into his. 
 Pale Rota touched his forehead with her 
 
 spear. 
 Crying ' Live on ! No touch of time shall 
 
 cause 
 One wrinkle on thy smooth unruffled brow! ' 
 
 And Eir, low-laughing, held with tender 
 
 teeth. 
 Not bruising the fair skin, his naked arm. 
 And murmur'd, ' Strength and subtle force 
 
 be thine, 
 Drunk from my breath into thy deepest 
 
 veins. ' 
 And Gefion, with her large, sad, heavenly 
 
 eyes 
 Upgazing in his face, and one white hand 
 Laid softly on his side, cried, ' As a tree 
 Be fruitful ! Wheresoe'er thou wanderest. 
 Fruitage go with thee and a thousand 
 
 flowers ! ' 
 But Freya kiss'd him calmly on the brow, 
 And whisper'd to him lower than the rest, 
 ' O Balder ! my soul's gift is best of all — 
 They bring thee life, but I have given thee 
 
 love.' 
 
 And Balder sank into a dream. Much joy 
 Made his sense drowsy, and with happy 
 
 eyes 
 He saw that mist of light and loveliness 
 Enclose him, while he seem'd as one who 
 
 swims 
 Among the shallows of an orient sea. 
 A voice like music woke him, and he saw 
 Standing before him in light azure robes 
 A shape that 'midst those others seem'd as 
 
 dim 
 And unsubstantial as a summer shade. 
 Tall was she, and her wondrous sheen of 
 
 hair 
 Rain'd downward like the silvern willow's 
 
 leaves, 
 And on her mystic raiment blue as heaven 
 There glimmer'd dewy drops like shining 
 
 stars. 
 Pale was she, with the pallor of wan waters 
 That wash for evermore the cold white feet 
 Of spectral polar moons ; and when she 
 
 spake, 
 'Twas low as sea-wash on the starlit sands 
 And strange and far-away as sounds in 
 
 sleep. 
 ' Balder ! ' she sigh'd ; and like a man who 
 
 hears, 
 Upstarting on his bed, some wondrous cry, 
 Balder upstarted wildly listening. 
 ' Balder ! O brother Balder, whose fair face, 
 Ere yet I gazed upon it shining here, 
 I knew ».hro' dark 'Eternities of dream,
 
 446 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 See what / give thee ! see what gentle gift 
 Thy sister Ydun brings thee ; more divine 
 Than hfe's sweet breath, or the fair flame 
 of love. ' 
 
 So saying, from her veiled breast she drew 
 Mystical apples like to diamond seeds, 
 So small to seeming that a score might lie 
 In the pink hollow of an infant's hand. 
 Each shone complete and pure as mother- 
 
 o'-pearl 
 Touch'd with prismatx gleams of wondrous 
 
 light. 
 And unto each on the scarce visible stem 
 There clung two perfect little leaves of gold. 
 This secret fruit the gods and goddesses 
 For ever feed on, evermore renewed ; 
 And in a garden desolate and dim 
 Wash'd by the wild green sea of human 
 
 graves, 
 Pale Ydun plucks it, and none other may. 
 ' Eat ! ' Ydun murmur'd — ' Balder, eat and 
 
 live — 
 This fruit shall slay the Hngering taint of 
 
 Earth 
 Within thee, and preserve thee all divine.' 
 
 Then Balder reaching out his open'd 
 
 hand 
 Did take the fruit, and eating of the same, 
 Which melted on his tongue like flakes of 
 
 snow. 
 He felt thro' all his limbs the rapturous 
 
 thrill 
 Of some supreme and unfamiliar life. 
 So leaving all those luminous shapes behind. 
 He took the hand of Ydun, kissing her 
 As moonlight kisses dew ; and side by side 
 They wended down across the yellow 
 
 sands, — 
 And many hours they wander'd whispering 
 
 low 
 Close to the bright edge of that sleeping Sea. 
 
 III. 
 The City of the Gods. 
 
 So Balder knew what mystical delights, 
 What slumberous idleness and peace su- 
 preme 
 Belong to the immortal goddesses ; 
 And not a goddess in those golden walks 
 But loved the human light in Balder's face. 
 
 At last there came a day (if day might come 
 Where suns sank never in the crystal sea) 
 When mighty Frea said, ' The time is nigh 
 To say farewell— much yet remains to do, 
 A weary path to follow, ere thy seat 
 Among immortal creatures is secure." 
 And Balder smiled, for of those shining 
 
 groves 
 His soul was weary tho' he knew it not ; — 
 Ev'n Freya's kiss was chiller on his cheek, 
 And Gefion's face seem'd less serenely fair, 
 And only Ydun still had power to soothe 
 His spirit with her weirdly-woven runes. 
 And Balder said, ' O Mother, sweet it is 
 To dwell among the immortals in these 
 
 bowers. 
 But to fare on is better, and I seem 
 Ev'n as a cloud whose feet may never rest. 
 But still must wander, and it knows not 
 
 whither. ' 
 
 And so from that fair valley silently 
 
 They pass'd, and up the mountain sides, 
 
 and down 
 Thro' other prospects less divinely fair. 
 
 And from the valley they had left the face 
 Of Balder slowly faded like a star. 
 Forgotten, dwindled from the drowsy dream 
 Of those great slumberous-lidded goddesses. 
 From that bright realm's serene eternity 
 All forms that are not present fade away 
 Like shadows stealing o'er a summer stream. 
 Yea even Freya did forget his eyes. 
 And gazed straight out at the unchanging 
 
 sea 
 Smiling all calm as if he had not been ; 
 And only Ydun did remember \jim. 
 Writing his name upon the yellow sands 
 And weaving it all round with subtle runes. 
 
 . . . But far away beyond those secret 
 
 realms. 
 Still northward, thro' the wastes where 
 
 nothing lives, 
 The goddess guided Balder, till at last 
 Into their faces flash'd the polar fires ; 
 So that the streams were purpled and the 
 
 heights 
 Took deeper crimson gleams, and overhead 
 The stars were quench'd in amethyst and 
 
 gold. 
 Then Frea pointed with her hand, and cried, 
 ' Behold the City of the Gods ! '
 
 THE HEAVENWARD JOURNEY. 
 
 447 
 
 They stood 
 Upon the verge of a vast Sea of Ice, 
 So rough, so sown with berg and drift, it 
 
 seem'd 
 An ocean frozen in the midst of storm 
 Before the surge could break, the waves 
 
 could fall. 
 Still was it 'neath the gleaming lights of 
 
 heaven, 
 Silent and awful, sleeping with no stir, 
 In one vast gleam of crimson bright as blood 
 Cast on it from afar. For lo ! beyond, 
 Rose Asgard, the great City of the Gods, 
 For ever burnt to ashes night by night 
 And dawn by dawn for evermore renew'd. 
 And mortals when they see from out their 
 
 caves 
 The City crumbling with a thousand fires 
 Cry, ' Lo, the Sunset!' — and when ever- 
 more 
 They mark it springing up miraculous 
 From its own ashes strewn beside the sea. 
 Cry, ' Lo, the Sunrise ! ' There, within its 
 
 walls 
 The great gods strive in thickening fumes 
 
 of fight, 
 Gathering together bloody ghosts of men ; 
 And when the great towers tremble and the 
 
 spires 
 Shoot earthward and the fiery ashes smoke, 
 The gods exult a little space, and wave 
 Their brands for all the vales of earth to 
 
 see ; 
 Rut when the ashes blacken, and the moon 
 Shines on the City's embers, silently 
 They creep into their starry tents and 
 
 sleep, — 
 Till like a rose unfolding leaf by leaf. 
 The immortal City rises ! 
 
 And l)chold ! 
 There, far across the silent frozen Deep, 
 They saw the glimmer of the topmost 
 
 towers, 
 Fading and changing in the lurid light 
 Of their own terrible consuming flame ; 
 And shadows to and fro amid the gleam 
 Pass'd, smiting shadows, and from out the 
 
 heavens 
 There came a far-off sound as of a sea. 
 
 Still onward, walking now with wearier feet 
 The ice of that great Ocean, they pursued 
 
 Their solitary way, and as they went. 
 With shadows ever lengthening to the 
 
 south, 
 The City sank consuming, till its towers 
 Just touch'd with gold the red horizon 
 
 fringe ; 
 And in the darkening ether over it 
 A star sprang like a spirit clad in mail, 
 And sat without a sound upon its throne, 
 Down-gazing ; and the empty heavens and 
 
 air 
 Were troubled still with melancholy light, 
 Wherein the opening lamps of night were 
 
 swung 
 Pure golden, twinkling without beams. 
 
 At last, 
 When of that City iittle more remain'd 
 Than splendour from its ashes fading slow, 
 They reach'd one mighty gateway crumb- 
 ling down 
 Ev'n as a cloud that clings upon a crag. 
 And passing in they found the golden streets 
 All chill and desolate and strewn with shade ; 
 For no quick foot of any living thing, 
 Mortal or god, trod there ; but all around 
 Grew silence, and the luminous eyes of stars. 
 
 Then Frea said, ' Call now upon the 
 Father ! ' 
 
 And Balder, standing bright and beautiful 
 Like to a marble column wrought with gold, 
 All kindled with the shadows of the fire. 
 Rose on the ashes of the City and cried, 
 ' Father ! ' when glory grew about his brow. 
 And on his breast and arms the light was 
 
 shed. 
 Staining their alabaster. So he stood, 
 Tall-statured, luminous, supremely fair, 
 Watch'd by the closing eyes of all the world. 
 And suddenly, in answer to his cry, 
 A fierce aurora of pale faces fiash'd 
 Out of the night of the extremest north. 
 
 And Frea cried aloud, ' Almighty gods ! 
 Behold your brother Balder ! Father in 
 
 Heaven, 
 Behold thy Son ! ' 
 
 From out the north there came 
 A murmur, and across the skies there swept 
 A trouble as of wildly waving hands. 
 
 Then Frea cried to Balder, ' Call again I '
 
 448 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 And Balder, shining still most beautiful, 
 And stretching out his arms to the black 
 
 north, 
 Cried ' Father ! ' 
 
 Suddenly the stars were quench'd, 
 And heavy as a curtain fell the night. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Voice of the Father. 
 
 Then Frea said, 'O Balder, best beloved, 
 My heart fails, and my weary spirit swoons. 
 Fare on alone, and enter unafraid 
 The presence of the Father. ' 
 
 As she spake, 
 Her face he saw not, but he felt her hands 
 Clinging around him, while his own fair 
 
 face, 
 Amid that sudden darkness, shone serene. 
 Fearless and gentle, and his beauteous limbs 
 Gleam'd with the lustre of celestial life. 
 ' Mother,' he answer'd, ' why is all so dark ? 
 And where is he thou namest, that mine 
 
 eyes 
 May look upon him ? ' 
 
 From the blacken'd ground 
 Her voice sobbed answer, saying, ' Even 
 
 now 
 His shadow is upon us. Pass thou on. 
 Glide silent thro' the phantom groves of 
 
 gods, 
 And stand in thine immortal loveliness, 
 With eyes divine on his, before the throne. 
 Here will I linger, praying close to the 
 
 earth. 
 Till thou returnest." 
 
 Shining like a star. 
 Spake Balder, ' All is dim, and I discern 
 No pathway and no bourne ; ' but with 
 
 clear voice 
 Uplifted like a swan's that flies thro' storm, 
 He call'd, 'Where art thou. Father? It 
 
 is I, 
 Balder thy Son ! ' 
 
 As when the great seas roar 
 Suck'd in thro' weedy rocks and under- 
 
 caves 
 With surging sorrow drearily prolong'd 
 In hoarse and billowy breaths of solemn 
 
 sound, 
 Ev'n so that darkness murmur'd and a voice 
 
 Came thund'rous out of heaven with no 
 
 words. 
 And Frea cried, ' Thou hearest ! Hark, he 
 
 calls — 
 Follow that murmur out into the dark. 
 And it shall guide thee to the Father's feet." 
 
 Silently, softly smiling, with no fear. 
 Balder pass'd on ; and as one gropes his way 
 Oceanward guided by the ocean's voice, 
 He faded slowly forth into the night. 
 
 Balder's Return. 
 
 There close to the earth she waited, crouch- 
 ing down 
 'Mid the cold ashes of the sunken City, 
 While closing round her like to prison walls 
 The deep impenetrable darkness grew. 
 And soon it shed a heavy, weary rain. 
 That clung upon her, chilling soul and sense, 
 Cold as a corpse's lips ; and all the while, 
 As a bird listens from its folded wings, 
 She listen' d ! 
 
 But the only sound she heard 
 Was the low murmur of that weary rain. 
 Which spread wet fingers o'er the shudder- 
 ing heavens, 
 And drearily drew down the rainy lids 
 Over the gentle eyes of all the stars. 
 
 Silent she lay and hearken'd, till her soul 
 Had lost all count of time and faded back 
 Into its own sad, dumb eternity. . . . 
 
 At last she stirred like one that wakes from 
 
 sleep. 
 The rain had ceased, the darkness to the 
 
 north 
 Had lifted, and her eyes beheld afar, 
 Beneath the glimmer of the northern night, 
 I'he brightness of the god's returning feet. 
 
 Slowly, like one whose heart is heavy ; 
 
 slowly, 
 Like one that muses sadly as he moves ; 
 Slowly, with darkness brooding at his back. 
 Came Balder, and his coming far away 
 Was ev'n as moonlight when the moon is 
 
 sad 
 On misty nights of March ; and when again
 
 THE HEAVENWARD JOURNEY. 
 
 449 
 
 He pass'd across the ashes of the City, 
 And she who bare him could behold his face, 
 'Twas spectral white, and in his heavenly 
 
 eyes 
 There dwelt a shadowy pain. Ev'n as a man 
 Who passing thro' the barrows of the slain 
 Hath seen the corpses sit at dead of night 
 Gazing in silence from their own green 
 
 graves ; 
 Or as a maiden who hath seen a wraith 
 And knoweth that her shroud is being 
 
 woven, 
 Came Balder out of heaven : still divine, 
 And beautiful, but ah ! how sorrowful ; 
 Still bright, but with a light as sadly fair, 
 Compared to that first splendour of the 
 
 dawn, 
 As moonshine is to sunshine ; on his brow 
 The shade of some new sorrow, in his eyes 
 The birth of some new pity ; as a god, 
 Yet ghost-like, with deep glamour in his 
 
 gaze, 
 Slowly, with faltering footsteps, Balder 
 
 Then Frea rose in silence, very pale, 
 For on her soul beholding Balder's face 
 Some desolate anticipation fell. 
 And turn'd her eyes on his, stretching her 
 
 hands 
 To hold him and to embrace him, keen to 
 
 hear 
 His message ; but he spake not when her 
 
 arms 
 Were wound about him and upon his brow 
 Her soft kiss fell ; vacant his sad eyes 
 
 secm'd, 
 As if they gazed on something far away. 
 Then Frea sobbed in agony of heart, 
 'Son, hast thou seen thy brethren?' and 
 
 again, 
 'Son, hast thou seen thy Father?' Yet a 
 
 space 
 His lips were silent, and his eyes were 
 
 blank, 
 But when again and yet again her tongue 
 Had framed the same fond question. Balder 
 
 said. 
 In a low voice and a weary, ' I have seen 
 My brethren and my Father ! ' Like a man 
 Smit ihro' and thro' with sudden sense of 
 
 cold. 
 He shivcr'd. 
 
 Then the goddess, mad to see 
 The light of agony on that well-loved face. 
 Clung to him wailing, ' Balder ! my Son 
 
 Balder ! 
 Why is thy look so sick, thy soul so weary? 
 What hast thou done and seen ? what sight 
 
 of heaven 
 Hath made thee sad?' — and Balderanswer'd 
 
 low, 
 ' O Mother ! I have dream'd another 
 
 dream — 
 I have seen my brethren in a dream — have 
 
 seen 
 My brethren and my Father ; and it seems 
 From that strange trance I have not waken'd 
 
 yet. 
 But that I still am darkling in my dream. 
 The breath of gods about me, and the eyes 
 Of gods upon me ! Patience — question 
 
 not — 
 The light is coming, and my soul is waking — 
 My dream grows clear, and I shall soon 
 
 remember 
 All that mine eyes have seen, mine ears 
 
 have heard. ' 
 
 Then on that City's ashes side by side 
 Sat son and mother, two colossal shapes, 
 Silent, in shadow ; but the eyes of heaven 
 Were opening above, and to the south 
 They saw the white seas flash with glittering 
 
 bergs 
 In fitful glimmers _to the windy night. 
 And when a little space had pass'd away 
 The god spake softly, saying, ' All is clear, 
 My sorrow and my dream ; and Motlier, 
 
 now 
 I know those things which seem'd so sad 
 
 and dark. 
 Ah ! woe is me that I was ever born 
 To be a terror and a grief to gods ! ' 
 
 Then I*'rea cried, ' O Balder, unto whom 
 Can all the promise of thy beauty bring 
 Terror or grief? Nay, 'twas with looks 
 
 serene 
 To win the heart of heaven, that its wrath 
 Might never turn against thee, and to mock 
 With glory of thy human gentleness 
 The prophecy of that ancestral rune, 
 I bade thee go up beauteous and alone 
 liefore the darkness of the Father's face. 
 Yet thou relumes, barren of such joy 
 
 GG
 
 450 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 As thou a god shouldst snatch from gods 
 
 thy kin, 
 First in thy plenitude beholding them ; 
 And on thy brow is sadness, not such peace 
 As comes from consecration of a kiss 
 Given by a Father to a son beloved 
 In whom he is well pleased ! ' 
 
 Then once again 
 Like a man smitten to the bone with cold, 
 Bright Balder shiver'd, and his beautiful face 
 Grew gray as any mortal's fix'd in death ; 
 And suddenly he cried, ' O come away ! 
 Come back to those green woods where I 
 
 was born. 
 The ways of heaven are dreary, and the 
 
 winds 
 Of heaven blow chilly, and I fain would find 
 A refuge and a home ! ' 
 
 But Frea moan'd, 
 Turning her fair face northward in quick 
 
 wrath, 
 'Ay me thy dream — I read it, from mine own 
 Most bitterly awaking. Woe to them ! 
 Woe to the Father and the gods thy kin ! 
 Out of thy mansion have they cast thee forth. 
 Denying thee thy birthright and thy seat 
 Up yonder at thy heavenly Father's side ! ' 
 But Balder, in a feeble voice and low. 
 Said, ' They denied me nought, those 
 
 Shapes I saw 
 Strangely as in a sleep ; nay, but meseem'd 
 They pointed at me with their spectral hands 
 And waved me back, some with their rai- 
 ment hems 
 Hiding their faces ; in their eyes I saw 
 Not love but protestation absolute ; 
 And when I rose and named my Father's 
 
 name. 
 It seem'd creation rock'd beneath my feet 
 And all the cloudy void above my head 
 Trembled ; and when I named my name, a 
 
 voice 
 Shriek'd " Balder ! " and the naked vaults of 
 
 heaven 
 Prolong'd in desolation and despair 
 The echoes of the word till it became 
 As thunder ! Then meseem'd I saw a hand. 
 Gripping the fiery lightning suddenly. 
 Strike at my head as if to smite me down ; 
 But tho' my frame was wrapt about with fire, 
 I stood unscathed ; and as I paused I saw. 
 
 Confused as stormy shadows in the sea. 
 Thrones gleaming, faces fading, starry 
 
 shapes 
 Coming and going darkly ; and each time 
 I call'd upon my Father, that great hand 
 Flash'd down the fierce darts of the crimson 
 
 levin. 
 And from that darkness which I knew was he 
 A voice came, and a cry that seem'd a curse. 
 Until my soul was sicken'd and afraid. 
 Then, for my heart was heavy, yearning still 
 To look upon him and to feel at last 
 The welcome of his consecrating kiss, 
 I fell upon my knees, folded my hands 
 Together, and I blest him ;— when me- 
 
 thought 
 The voice wail'd, and the cry that seem'd a 
 
 curse 
 Re-echoed. Then came blackness more 
 
 intense ; 
 And for a space my sense and sight seem'd 
 
 lost. 
 And when I woke I stood beside thee here. 
 Holding thy hand and looking in thine 
 
 eyes. ' 
 
 Then Frea wail'd, ' 'Tis o'er ! my hope is 
 
 o'er ! 
 Thy Father loves thee not, but casts thee 
 
 forth— 
 Where wilt thou find a place to rest thy 
 
 feet ? ' 
 But Balder answer'd, ' Where the cushat 
 
 builds 
 Her nest amid green leaves, and where 
 
 wild roses 
 Hang lamps to light the dewy feet of dawn. 
 And where the starlight and the moonlight 
 
 slumber, 
 Ev'n there, upon the balmy lap of Earth, 
 Shall I not sleep again? O Motlier, 
 
 Mother ! 
 Pray to my Father that his soul may learn 
 To love me in due season, while again 
 Earthward we fare ; and Mother, bless thou 
 
 me, 
 Me whom my heavenly Father blesseth not, 
 With ministering hands before we go ! ' 
 
 Then Frea cried, blessing and kissing 
 
 Balder, 
 'Go thou,—\h& green Earth loves thee, and 
 
 thy face
 
 BALDER' S RETURN TO EARTH. 
 
 451 
 
 Is as a lamp to all the gentle things 
 Which mingled in thy making — Go thou 
 
 down, 
 But I will journey upward till I find 
 The footstool of the Father. Night and day 
 Withpra)fers, with intercession of deep tears, 
 With ministering murmurs, I will plead. 
 Low-lying like a cloud around his feet. 
 Thy cause, and the green Earth's which 
 
 foster' d thee : 
 That in a later season love may come 
 In answer, and the Father fear no more 
 To seat thee "mong Immortals at his side. 
 Go down, my child, my sunbeam, my best- 
 bom, 
 My Balder, who art still deem'd beautiful 
 Save only in the heavenly Father's sight ! 
 And when all things have blest thee ; when 
 
 all forms 
 Have gladden'd in thy glory ; when all 
 
 voices. 
 The mountains and the rivers and the seas. 
 The white clouds and the stars upon their 
 
 thrones, 
 Have knovra thy face and syllabled thy 
 
 name ; 
 Come back again under the arch of heaven, 
 Not as a suppliant but a conqueror, 
 And take thy throne ! ' 
 
 The darkness far away 
 Groan'd : and the great void answer d ; 
 
 overhead 
 Cluster'd the countless spheres of night, 
 
 like eyes 
 Downgazing ; but beneath the goddess' feet 
 Shot up dim gleams of dawn. 
 
 Then bright as day 
 Grew Balder, while his face, composed to 
 
 peace, 
 Turn'd earthward ; and he stretch'd out 
 
 eager arms 
 To that beloviid land where he was born. 
 ' Farewell ! ' he said, and softly kiss'd the 
 
 mother ; 
 Then, while the goddess glided like a cloud 
 Up heavenward, down to the dim Earlli he 
 
 pass'd 
 Slowly, with luminous feet. 
 
 . . . And when he came 
 To that cold realm which belts the Frozen 
 Sea, 
 
 Behind his back the trumpets of the light 
 Were faintly blown ; a sudden sheen was 
 
 thrown 
 Behind him and around him, wondrously ; 
 Bright shone the lonely waste of plain and 
 
 berg; 
 And reaching that great cape of porphyry 
 Which points with shadowy finger at the 
 
 pole. 
 He turn'd his shining face once more, and 
 
 watch'd ; 
 While far away in the remotest north 
 Bright Asgard, mystic City of the Gods, 
 Was rising from its ashes till its spires 
 Burnt golden in the rose-red arch of heaven. 
 
 IV. 
 
 B ALDER'S RETURN TO 
 EARTH. 
 
 • Balder is Here.' 
 
 O WHO Cometh sweetly 
 
 With singing of showers? — 
 The wild wind runs fleetly 
 Before his soft tread. 
 The sward stirs asunder 
 
 To radiance of flowers, 
 While o'er him and under 
 
 A glory is spread — 
 A white cloud above him 
 
 Moves on thro' the blue, 
 And all things that love him 
 
 Are dim with its dew : 
 The lark is upspringing. 
 
 The merle whistles clear. 
 There is sunlight and singing, 
 
 For Balder is here 1 
 
 He walks on the mountains. 
 
 He treads on the snows ; 
 He loosens the fountains 
 
 And quickens the wells ; 
 He is filling the chalice 
 
 Of lily and rose. 
 He is down in the valleys 
 
 And deep in the dells — 
 He smiles, and buds spring to him. 
 
 The bright and the dark ; 
 He speaks, and birds sing to him. 
 
 The finch and the lark, — 
 
 G G2
 
 452 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 He is down by the river, 
 
 He is up by the mere, 
 Woods gladden, leaves quiver, 
 
 For Balder is here. 
 
 There is some divine trouble 
 
 On earth and in air — 
 Trees tremble, brooks bubble. 
 
 Ants loosen the sod ; 
 Warm footfalls awaken 
 
 Whatever is fair ; 
 Sweet rain-dews are shaken 
 To quicken each clod. 
 The wild rainbows o'er him 
 
 Are melted and fade. 
 The grass runs before him 
 
 Thro' meadow and glade ; 
 Green branches close round him. 
 
 The leaves whisper near — 
 ' He is ours — we have found him — 
 
 Bright Balder is here ! ' 
 
 The forest glows golden 
 
 Where'er he is seen. 
 New flowers are unfolden, 
 
 New voices arise ; 
 Flames flash at his passing 
 
 From boughs that grow green, 
 Dark runlets gleam, glassing 
 
 ■ The stars of his eyes. 
 The Earth wears her brightest 
 
 Wherever he goes. 
 The hawthorn its whitest. 
 
 Its reddest the rose ; 
 The days now are sunny, 
 
 The white storks appear, 
 And the bee gathers honey. 
 
 For Balder is here. 
 
 He is here on the heather, 
 
 And here by the brook, 
 And here where together 
 
 The lilac boughs cling ; 
 He is coming and going 
 
 With love in his look, 
 His white hand is sowing 
 
 Warm seeds, and they spring ! 
 Ho has touch'd with new silver 
 
 The lips of the stream. 
 And the eyes of the culver 
 
 Are bright from his beam, 
 He has lit the great lilies 
 
 Like lamps on the mere ; 
 
 All happy and still is, 
 For Balder is here. 
 
 Still southward with sunlight 
 
 He w anders away — 
 The true light, the one light. 
 
 The new light, is he ! 
 With music and singing 
 
 The mountains are gay. 
 And the peace he is bringing 
 
 Spreads over the sea. 
 All night, while stars twinkling 
 
 Gleam down on the glade, 
 His white hands are sprinkling 
 
 With harebells the shade ; 
 And when day hath broken. 
 
 All things that dwell near 
 Will know, by that token, 
 
 That Balder is here. 
 
 In the dark deep dominions 
 
 Of pine and of fir. 
 Where the dove with soft pinions 
 
 Sits still on her nest. 
 He sees her, and by her 
 
 The young doves astir, 
 And smiling sits nigh her. 
 
 His hand on her breast ; 
 The father-dove lingers 
 
 With love in its eyes, 
 Alights on his fingers, 
 
 And utters soft cries, 
 And the sweet colours seven 
 
 Of the rainbow appear 
 On its neck, as in heaven. 
 
 Now Balder is here. 
 
 He sits by a fountain 
 
 Far up near the snow, 
 And high on the mountain 
 
 The wild reindeer stand ; 
 On crimson moss near to him 
 
 They feed walking slow, 
 Or come with no fear to him. 
 
 And eat from his hand. 
 He sees the ice turning 
 
 To columns of gold, 
 He sees the clouds burning 
 
 On crags that were cold ; 
 The great snows are drifting 
 
 To cataracts clear. 
 All shining and shifting, 
 
 For Balder is here.
 
 B ALDER'S RETURN TO EARTH. 
 
 453 
 
 O who sitteth singing, 
 
 Where sunset is red, 
 A.nd wild ducks are winging 
 Against the darlc gleam ? 
 It is he, it is Balder, 
 
 He hangeth his head 
 Where willow and alder 
 
 Droop over the stream ; 
 And the purple moths find him 
 
 And hover around, 
 And from marshes behind him 
 
 He hears a low sound : 
 The frogs croak their greeting 
 
 From swamp and from mere. 
 And their faint hearts are beating. 
 
 For Balder is here. 
 
 The round moon is peeping 
 
 Above the low hill ; 
 Her white light, upcreeping 
 Against the sun's glow. 
 On the black shallow river 
 
 Falls silvern and chill, 
 Where bulrushes quiver 
 And wan lilies grow. 
 The black bats are flitting, 
 
 Owls pass on soft wings. 
 Yet silently sitting 
 
 He lingers and sings — 
 He sings of the Maytime, 
 
 Its sunlight and cheer. 
 And the night like the daytime 
 
 Knows Balder is here. 
 
 He is here with the moonlight, 
 
 With night as with day, 
 The true light, the one light. 
 
 The new light, is he ; 
 The moon-bows above him 
 
 Are melted away. 
 And the things of night love him, 
 
 And hearken and see. 
 He sits and he ponders. 
 
 He walks and he broods. 
 Or singing he wanders 
 
 'Neath star-frosted woods ; 
 And the spheres from afar, light 
 
 His face shining clear : 
 Yea, the moonlight and starlight 
 
 Feel Balder is here. 
 
 He is here, he is moving 
 On mountain and dale, 
 
 Aiid all things grow loving. 
 
 And all things grow bright : 
 Buds bloom in the meadows. 
 
 Milk foams in the pail. 
 There is scent in the shadows. 
 
 And sound in the light : 
 O listen I he passes 
 
 Thro' valleys of flowers. 
 With springing of grasses 
 
 And singing of showers. 
 Earth wakes — he has called her. 
 
 Whose voice she holds dear ; 
 She was waiting for Raider, 
 
 And Balder is here I 
 
 II. 
 
 'Mid mountains white by rainbows 
 spanned. 
 
 Upon his knees he sank. 
 And melted in his hollow'd hand 
 
 The stainless snows, and drank. 
 
 And far beneath in mists of heat 
 
 Great purple valleys slept. 
 And flashing bright beneath his feet 
 The loosen'd cataracts leapt. 
 
 Down to those happy vales he drew 
 Where men and women dwell, 
 
 And white snow melted, green grass grew, 
 Where'er his footprints fell. 
 
 Then night by night and day by day 
 
 His deepest joy was found 
 In watching happy things of clay 
 
 And hearing human sound. 
 
 All human eyes to him were sweet, 
 He loved the touch of hands, 
 
 He kissed the print of human feet 
 Upon the soft sea-sands. 
 
 Most silently he went and came. 
 With mild and blissful mien. 
 
 Bright as a beam his face would flame 
 Amid the forests green. 
 
 To timid mortals passing by 
 
 He seemed a vision fair, 
 But little children oft drew nigh, 
 
 And let him smooth their hair ; 
 
 And witless men would come to him 
 
 With wild and eldritch cries. 
 And lying in the moonbeams dim 
 
 Would gaze into his eyes 1
 
 454 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 His voice was in the lonely wood, 
 And by the nameless stream, — 
 
 He shed in silent solitude 
 The peaceful rays of dream. 
 
 From vale to vale he went, and blest 
 The wild beast and the bird, — 
 
 While deep within the glad Earth's breast 
 The founts of being stirred. . . . 
 
 He sat down in a lonely land 
 Of mountain, moor, and mere, 
 
 And watch'd, with chin upon his hand, 
 Dark maids that milk'd the deer. 
 
 And while the sun set in the skies. 
 
 And stars shone in the blue. 
 They sang sweet songs, tiU Balder's eyes 
 
 Were sad with kindred dew. 
 
 He passed along the hamlets dim 
 With twilight's breath of balm, 
 
 And whatsoe'er was touch'd by him 
 Grew beautiful and calm. 
 
 The old man sitting on the grass 
 Look'd up 'neath hoary hair, 
 
 And felt some heavenly presence pass 
 And gladden'd unaware 1 
 
 He came unto a hut forlorn 
 
 As evening shadows fell, 
 And saw the man among the corn, 
 
 The woman at the well. 
 
 And entering the darken'd place. 
 
 He found the cradled child ; 
 Stooping he lookt into its face, 
 
 Until it woke and smiled ! 
 
 Then Balder passed into the night 
 
 With soft and shining tread. 
 The cataract called upon the height, 
 
 The stars gleam'd overhead. 
 
 He raised his eyes to those cold skies 
 
 Which he had left behind, — 
 And saw the banners of the gods 
 
 Blown back upon the wind. 
 
 He watch'd them as they came and fled. 
 
 Then his divine eyes fell. 
 'I love the green Earth best,' he said, 
 
 •And I on Earth will dwell 1 ' 
 
 III. 
 
 All Things Blest by Balder. 
 
 So when his happy feet had wander'd far. 
 When all the birds had brighten'd and his 
 
 hand 
 Had linger'd on the brows of all the beasts, 
 He came among the valleys where abode 
 Mortals that walk erect upon the ground. 
 First, southward passing, he beheld those 
 
 men 
 Who, where the snow for ever lieth, dwell 
 In caverns of the ground and swathe their 
 
 hmbs 
 In skins of beasts : these felt his glory pass. 
 But knew it not, because their eyes were dim 
 With many nights of darkness. Round 
 
 their doors 
 Sorrel blood-red he cast and saxifrage, 
 And singing passed away ! Then roam'd 
 
 he on. 
 Past porphyry and greenstone crags that 
 
 hne 
 Limitless oceans of unmelting ice, 
 Until he enter'd valleys kindlier 
 That redden'd into ruby as he came ; 
 And in among the countless deer he stole. 
 Marking their horns with golden moss, and 
 
 singing 
 A strange soft song their souls could under- 
 stand. 
 
 Then as the Earth grew fairer, presently 
 He came beneath the shade of forest 
 
 leaves, — 
 And deep among the emerald depths he 
 
 found 
 Those mortal men who dwell in woods and 
 
 build 
 Their dwellings of the scented boughs of 
 
 trees. 
 And often, with his cheek upon his hand. 
 Balder would sit and watch the smoke of 
 
 fire 
 Upcurling thro' the branches heavenward, 
 While to and fro in sunshine passed the 
 
 shapes 
 Of men and women. Most he loved to 
 
 mark 
 Those forms which gods made fairest, and 
 
 to hear 
 Those voices gods m i Ic sweetest ; but his 
 
 hand,
 
 B ALDER'S RETURN TO EARTH. 
 
 455 
 
 Falling unseen, was gentlest on the hair 
 Of children and of hoary aged men. 
 
 Then Balder said, ' The Earth is fair, and 
 
 fair, 
 Yea fairer than the stormy lives of gods. 
 The lives of gentle dwellers on the Earth ; 
 For shapen are they in the likenesses 
 Of goddesses and gods, and on their Umbs 
 Sunlight and moonlight mingle, and they lie 
 Happy and calm in one another's arms 
 O'er-canopied with greenness ; and their 
 
 hands 
 Have fashion'd fire that springeth beautiful 
 Straight as a silvern lily from the ground, 
 Wondrously blowing ; and they measure 
 
 out 
 Glad seasons by the pulses of the stars. 
 
 Spirit whom I know not, tho' I fear 
 Thy shadow on my soul where'er I go, 
 Almighty Father, tho' thou lov'st me not, 
 
 1 love thy children I I could sit all hours, 
 Just looking into their still heavenly eyes. 
 Holding their hands ! Most dear they are 
 
 to me, 
 Because they are my brethren ; — beautiful, 
 My brethren and thy children ! ' 
 
 O'er his head 
 
 The blue sky darken'd, and a thund'rous 
 voice 
 
 Murmur'd afar off,— and in great black 
 drops 
 
 Came out of heaven the blind and desolate 
 rain. 
 
 But Balder gazing upward reach'd out arms 
 
 And bless'd it as it fell ; and lo, it grew 
 
 Silvern and lovely as an old man's hair ! 
 
 And scents came out of the rich-soiled 
 earth. 
 
 And all the boughs were glad and jewel- 
 hung. 
 
 Till very softly, very silently, 
 
 Tiic shower ceased, with kisses tremulous 
 
 On Haider's lifted hands 1 
 
 Even so he turn'd 
 The saddest things to beauty. With his 
 
 face 
 Came calm and consecration ; and the 
 
 Earth 
 Uplifting sightless eyes in a new joy, 
 Answer'd the steadfast smile of the still 
 
 heavens 
 
 With one long look of peace. In those 
 
 strange days 
 The wild wind was his playmate,— yea, the 
 
 blast 
 New-loosen'd by the very hands of gods 
 Leapt to him like a lamb, and at his smile 
 Fell at his feet, and slept. Then out of 
 
 heaven 
 Came lightnings, from whose terror every 
 
 face 
 Of humankind was hidden,— meteors, 
 
 flames. 
 Forms of the fiery levin, such as wait 
 For ever at the angry beck of gods. 
 But Balder stood upon a promontory, 
 And saw them shining o'er the open sea. 
 And on the fields of ether crimson'd red ; 
 And lo, he Ifted up a voice and cried, 
 ' O beautiful wild children of the fire, 
 Whence come ye ? whither go ye ? Be at 
 
 peace. 
 Come hither ! ' and like soft white stingless 
 
 snakes 
 That crawl on grass, the fiery meteors came, 
 Licking his feet in silence, looking up 
 With luminous eyes ! 
 
 Ev'n as he conquer'd these, 
 Heaven's fiery messengers, he tamed the 
 
 hearts 
 Of human things, and in the sun they sat 
 Weaving green boughs, or wooing in the 
 
 shade. 
 Or leading home the white and virgin bride. 
 For as the holy hunger and desire 
 Came quickening in the hearts of birds and 
 
 beasts, 
 Ev'n so woke love within the hearts of men ; 
 And out of love came children ; and the 
 
 Earth 
 Was merry with new creatures thronging 
 
 forth 
 Like ants that quicken on the sun-kist sod. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Cry from the Ground. 
 
 And Balder bends above them, glory- 
 
 crown'd. 
 Marking them as they creep upon the 
 
 ground. 
 Busy as ants that toil without a sound. 
 With only gods to mark.
 
 456 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Rut list ! O list ! what is that cry of pain, 
 Faint as the far-off murmur of the main? 
 Stoop low and hearken, Balder ! List 
 again ! 
 ' Lo ! Death makes all things dark ! ' 
 
 Ay me, it is the earthbom souls that sigh. 
 Coming and going underneath the sky ; 
 They move, they gather, clearer grows their 
 cry — 
 O Balder, bend, and hark ! 
 
 The skies are still and calm, the seas asleep, 
 In happy light the mortal millions creep, 
 Yet listen, Balder ! — still they murmur deep, 
 ' Lo ! Death makes all things dark." 
 
 [Oh, listen 1 listen !] ' Blessed is the light. 
 We love the golden day, the silvern night, 
 The cataracts leap, the woods and streams 
 are bright. 
 We gladden as we mark. 
 
 ' Crying we come, but soon our cheeks are 
 
 dried — 
 We wander for a season happy-eyed, 
 And we forget how our gray sires have 
 
 sigh'd, 
 " Lo ! Death makes all things dark." 
 
 ' For is the sun not merry and full of cheer? 
 Is it not sweet to live and feel no fear ? 
 To see the young lambs leaping, and to 
 hear 
 The cuckoo and the lark ? 
 
 ' Is toil not blest, is it not blest to be ? 
 To climb the snows, to sail the surging sea. 
 To build our saeters where our flocks roam 
 free? 
 But Death makes all things dark. 
 
 ' Is love not blest, is it not brave and gay 
 With strong right hand to bear one's bride 
 
 away. 
 To woo her in the night time and the day 
 With no strange eyes to mark ? 
 
 'And blest are children, springing fair of 
 
 face 
 Like gentle blossoms in the dwelling-place ; 
 We clasp them close, forgetting for a space 
 Death makes the world so dark. 
 
 ' And yet though life is glad and love divine, 
 This Shape we fear is here i' the summer 
 
 shine, — • 
 He blights the fruit we pluck, the wreath 
 
 we twine, 
 And soon he leaves us stark. 
 
 ' He haunts us fleetly on the snowy steep, 
 He finds us as we sow and as we reap. 
 He creepeth in to slay us as we sleep, — 
 Ah ! Death makes all things dark ! 
 
 ' Yea, when afar over our nets hang we, 
 He walks unto us even on the sea ; 
 The wind blows in his hair, the foam flics 
 free 
 O'er many a sinking bark ! 
 
 ' Pity us, gods, and take this god away, 
 Pity us, gods, \\ho made us out of clay, 
 Pity us, gods, that our sad souls may say, 
 " Bright is the world, which Death a space 
 made dark." ' 
 
 V. 
 
 The Shadow on the Earth. 
 
 Now all his peace was poison'd and he 
 
 found 
 No solace in the shining eyes of day, 
 Starlight and moonlight now seem'd sor- 
 row ful, 
 And in his soul there grew the sense of tears. 
 For wheresoe'er he wander'd, whatsoe'er 
 He gazed on, whether in the light or dark. 
 Was troubled by a portent. 
 
 Evermore, 
 Listening to nature's sad unceasing moan, 
 Balder remember'd that pale haunting 
 
 Shape 
 Which he had seen in those primaeval woods 
 Where he was foster'd by the happy Earth ; 
 And those sad tales the mother-goddess told 
 Of mortal men, and how they waste and 
 
 wane. 
 Came back upon his life with fearful gleams. 
 Yea, Balder's heart was heavy. All in vain 
 He wove wild runes around the flowers and 
 
 trees. 
 And round the necks of beasts and gentle 
 
 birds ; 
 For evermore the cold hand found them 
 
 out. 
 And evermore they darkly droop'd and died.
 
 B ALDER'S RETURN TO EARTH. 
 
 457 
 
 This direful thing was on the helpless 
 
 Earth, 
 Unprison'd, unconfined. Before his face 
 It faded, and before his eager touch 
 Melted and changed, but evermore again 
 It gather'd into dreadful lineaments. 
 And passed with arms outreaching on its 
 
 way. 
 
 Then Balder lifted up his trembling hands 
 To heaven, crying, 'Father!' and no 
 
 sound 
 Came from the frozen void ; and once again, 
 ' O Mother, Mother ! ' but pale Frea lay 
 Stone-still in anguish at the Father's feet. 
 And dared not answer ; and he cried once 
 
 more, 
 ' Gods, gods, immortal gods ! ' when sud- 
 denly 
 He saw across the open arctic heaven 
 The hosts of Asgard, ev'n as sunset clouds 
 That drift confusedly in masses bright. 
 Trooping, with blood-red rays upon their 
 
 heads, 
 To fight against the meteor snakes that flash 
 Far northward in the white untrodden 
 
 wastes. 
 They passed, they saw not, but he heard 
 
 their feet 
 Afar as muffled thunder, and he cried, 
 ' O blayers of the snake, immortal gods. 
 Come hither and slay the slayer, that the 
 
 world 
 May rest in peace ! ' 
 
 If ever his faint cry 
 Reach'd to their ears, the dark gods only 
 
 smiled, 
 With smiles like sullen lightning on the lips 
 Of tempest ; and he found no comfort there. 
 Nor from the mouths of flower, or bird, or 
 
 tree. 
 Sea-fern, or sighing shell upon the shore. 
 Came any answer when he (juesliou'd low, 
 'What is this thing ye fear? who sent it 
 
 hither. 
 This shape which moaning mortals christen 
 
 Death ? " 
 But from the darkness of his own heart's 
 
 pity, 
 And from all things in unison — the gloom 
 Of midnight, and the trouble of the clouds, 
 From sunless waters, solitary woods. 
 
 There came a murmur, ' None can answer 
 
 thee, 
 Save him thou followest with weary feet ! ' 
 
 Wherefore he wander'd on, and still in 
 
 vain 
 Sought Death the slayer. Into burial-places, 
 Heapen with stones and seal'd with slime 
 
 of grass. 
 He track'd him, found him sitting lonely 
 
 there 
 Like one that dreams, his dreadful pitiless 
 
 eyes 
 Fix'd on the sunset star. Or oftentimes 
 Beheld him runnmg swiftly like a wolf 
 Who scents some stricken prey along the 
 
 ground. 
 Or saw him into empty huts crawl slow. 
 And while the man and woman toiled i' the 
 
 field. 
 Gaze down with stony orbs a little space 
 Upon the sickly babe, which open'd eyes, 
 And laugh'd, and spread its little faded 
 
 hands 
 In elfin play. Nay, oft in Balder's sight 
 The form seem'd gentle, and the fatal 
 
 face 
 Grew beautiful and very strangely fair. 
 Yet evermore while his swift feet pursu d. 
 Darkling it fled away, and evermore 
 Most pitiful rose cries of beasts and birds. 
 Most desolate rose moans of stricken men. 
 Till Balder wept for sorrow's sake, and 
 
 cried, 
 ' Help me, my Father 1 ' 
 
 Even as he spake, 
 A gray cloud wept upon the Earth, which 
 
 wore 
 A gentle darkness ; and the wastes and 
 
 woods. 
 The mountains trembling in their hoary 
 
 hair. 
 The mighty continents and streams and seas. 
 Uplifted a low voice of mystery 
 And protestation. Then a winged wind 
 Caught up the sound and bore it suddenly 
 To the great gates of Asgard, so that all 
 Witliin the shadowy City heard ; and He 
 Who sitteth far beyond upon his throne, 
 Immortal, terrible, and desolate. 
 Heard, but was silent ; and no answer came, 
 No help or answer, from the lips of heaven.
 
 458 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 VI. 
 
 On the Heights — Evening, 
 mountain girl. 
 
 Art thou a god ? thy brow is shining so ! 
 O thou art beautiful ! What is thy name ? 
 
 Balder, 
 
 Look. 
 
 BALDER. 
 
 GIRL. 
 
 Now let me look into thy face. 
 
 BALDER. 
 GIRL. 
 
 How I love thee I 
 
 BALDER. 
 
 And thy name ? 
 
 GIRL. 
 
 Snow-blossom. 
 That is my mother standing at the door, 
 Shading her face and gazing up the hill. 
 I keep my mother's reindeer, and each night 
 Milk them, and drive them to their pastur- 
 age. 
 How clear thine eyes are ! They are like 
 
 that star 
 Up yonder, twinkling on the snow 1 
 
 BALDER. 
 
 Come hither ! 
 Thou hast bright hair like mine, and starry 
 
 eyes, 
 Snow-blossom, and a voice like falling 
 
 water ; 
 Thy flesh is like the red snow and the white 
 Mingled together softly, and thy breath 
 Is scented like the fragrant thyme in flower. 
 Mine eyes have look'd on many shapes Uke 
 
 thine — 
 Yet thou art fairest. 
 
 GIRL. 
 
 1 am call'd Snow-blossom 
 Because I am not brown hke other maids. 
 And when a little child I was so white ! 
 
 Snow-lily ! 
 
 BALDER. 
 GIRL. 
 
 They are calling — I must go — 
 Come down with me, and by our saeter's 
 fire 
 
 Slumber this night, and ere thou liest down 
 I'll sing to thee the strange old songs I know 
 Of Death, and of the batde-fields of gods, 
 And of the wondrous City where they dwell 
 Yonder afar away 1 
 
 BALDER. 
 
 What knowest thou 
 Of Death or gods ? 
 
 GIRL. 
 
 Only last winter tide 
 I saw my father die : he drew one breath, 
 Then went to sleep ; but when we touch'd 
 
 his hands 
 They had no warmth, and his twain eyes 
 
 were glazed, 
 Gazing at something that we saw not. Then 
 We wrapt him warm in skins and in his 
 
 hands 
 We set his seal-spear and his seal-hide thong. 
 And placed him sitting in the sunless earth, 
 Crouch'd resting on the ground with knees 
 
 drawn up 
 As many a night he sat beside the fire. 
 And that the fierce white bear might find 
 
 him not. 
 We wall'd him up with earth and mighty 
 
 stones, 
 Seal'd tight with snow and water : then we 
 
 said 
 A prayer to the good gods, and left him 
 
 there 
 Where they might find him. 
 
 BALDER. 
 
 Hast thou seen that Death 
 Which smote thy father ? 
 
 GIRL. 
 
 Nay ! — no mortal thing 
 Sees him and lives. He walks about the 
 
 Earth 
 At his good will, and smites whate'er he 
 
 hsts. 
 Both young and old. There is no spirit 
 
 at all 
 More strong than he I 
 
 BALDER, 
 
 Is he a god ? 
 
 GIRL. 
 
 I know not
 
 BALDER' S RETURN TO EARTH. 
 
 459 
 
 BALDER. 
 
 And will thy father waken ? 
 
 GIRL. 
 
 When the gods 
 Find out his grave, and open up the stones, 
 Then he will waken, and will join the hosts 
 Of Hermod and of Thor ; for he was brave, 
 My father : he could keep his own, and ere 
 He took my mother, with his spear he slew 
 Her father and her brother, who were wroth 
 Because they hated him ; and evermore 
 When he shed blood, he made his offering 
 To Hermod and the rest. 
 
 BALDER. 
 
 And thou. Snow-blossom, 
 Thou in thy turn wilt wed a mighty man. 
 And bear strong children ? 
 
 GIRU 
 
 Yes ! — a man of strength, 
 Fair like my father. I would have him fierce 
 As bears are, bearded, a seal-strangler, swift, 
 And a great hunter with a boat and dogs. 
 But I would have him very cunning too. 
 Knowing old songs and wise at weaving 
 
 runes, 
 That in the season when the sun is fled 
 We might be merry thro' the long cold 
 
 nights 
 Waiting for summer ! 
 
 BALDER. 
 
 Hark! 
 
 Calling again ! 
 
 GIRL. 
 
 It is my mother 
 Wilt thou not come ? 
 
 BALDER. 
 
 Go thou ! 
 I shall fare further o'er the summer hills. 
 Snow-blossom ! Let me kiss thee ere thou 
 goest 1 
 
 GIRL. 
 Yes! 
 
 BALDER. 
 
 Now farewell ! . . . 
 
 How lightly down the height 
 She leapeth with the leaping cataract, 
 And now she turns and waves her little hand. 
 And plunging down she fades. And in the 
 world 
 
 Dwell countless thousands beautiful as she, 
 Happy and virgin, drinking with no pain 
 The vital air of heaven ! O pink flesh 
 Over the warm nest of a singing heart 
 Heap'd soft as blossoms ! O strange starry 
 
 eyes 
 Of mortals, beautiful as mine ! O flame 
 Out of soft nostrils trembling, like the light 
 From lips of flowers ! O wonder of Earth's 
 
 life, 
 V7hy is it that the great gods chase thee 
 
 down ? 
 Why is it that thou fallest evermore 
 When thou art fairest ? Up and down the 
 
 world 
 Each creature walks, and o'er each red 
 
 mouth hangs 
 Breath hke a little cloud, faint smoke of 
 
 breath 
 Blown from the burning of the fire within. 
 Great gods, if as they say ye fashion'd them. 
 Why do ye suffer this wild wind of doom 
 To wither what ye made so wonderful ? 
 
 The vale is dark, the snow-fields on the 
 
 height 
 Are purpled with the midnight 
 
 Steadfastly 
 One lamp shines in the valley, and above 
 The still star shines an answer. Slumber 
 
 well, 
 Snow-blossom ! May no shadow of the gods 
 Come near to trouble thee in thy repose ! 
 Sleep hke immortal raiment wrap thee 
 
 round, 
 To charm away the rayless eyes of Death 1 
 
 vn. 
 The Vow of Balder. 
 
 Bright Balder cried, ' Curst be this thing 
 
 Which will not let man rest. 
 Slaying with swift and cnicl sting 
 
 The very babe at breast ! 
 
 • On man and beast, on flower and bird, 
 
 He creepeth evermore ; 
 Unseen he haunts the Earth ; unhearc 
 
 He crawls from door to door. 
 
 ' I will not pause in any land, 
 
 Nor sleep beneath the skies, 
 Till I have held him by the hand 
 
 And gazed into his eyes ! '
 
 i6o 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 BALDER' S QUEST FOR 
 DEA TH. 
 
 Hi, sought him on the mountains bleak and 
 bare 
 
 And on the windy moors ; 
 He found his secret footprints everjrwhere, 
 
 Yea, ev'n by human doors. 
 
 All round the deerfold on the shrouded 
 height 
 The starlight glimmer'd clear ; 
 Therein sat Death, wrapt round with 
 vapours white 
 Touching the dove-eyed deer. 
 
 And thither Balder silent-footed flew, 
 
 But found the phantom not ; 
 The rain-wash'd moon had risen cold and 
 blue 
 
 Above that lonely spot. 
 
 Then as he stood and listen'd, gazing round 
 
 In the pale silvern glow, 
 He heard a wailing and a weeping sound 
 
 From the wild huts below. 
 
 He mark'd the sudden flashing of the lights, 
 He heard cry answering cry — 
 
 And lo ! he saw upon the silent heights 
 A shadowy form pass by. 
 
 Wan was the face, the eyeballs pale and 
 wild, 
 
 The robes like rain wind-blown, 
 And as it fled it clasp'd a naked child 
 
 Unto its cold breast-bone. 
 
 And Balder clutch'd its robe with fingers 
 weak 
 
 To stay it as it flew — 
 A breath of ice blew chill upon his cheek. 
 
 Blinding his eyes of blue. 
 
 *Twas Death! 'twas gone !— All night the 
 shepherds sped, 
 Searching the hills in fear ; 
 At dawn they found their lost one lying 
 dead 
 Up by tlie lone black mere ; 
 
 And lo ! they saw the fatal finger-mark. 
 Which reacheth young and old, 
 
 Seal'd, livid still, upon its eyelids dark 
 And round its nipples cold. 
 
 Then Balder moan'd aloud and smote his 
 breast, 
 
 ' O drinker of sweet breath. 
 Curst be thy cruel lips ! I shall not rest 
 
 Until 1 clasp thee, Deaih ! ' 
 
 He track'd the footprints in the morning 
 gray 
 From rocky haunt to haunt. 
 Far up the heights a wolf had crost Death's 
 way ; 
 It lay there, lean and gaunt. 
 
 He reach'd the highest snows and found 
 them strewn 
 With bleaching bones of deer. . . . 
 Night came again,— he listen'd 'neath the 
 moon 
 Shining most cold and clear. 
 
 Beneath him stretch'd vast valleys green 
 and fair. 
 Still in the twilight shine. 
 With great waste tarns and cataracts hung 
 in air, 
 And woods of fir and pine ; 
 
 And on the tarns lay dim red dreams of day 
 The midnight sun cast there, — 
 
 Sunlight and moonlight blending in one rav 
 Of mother-o'-pearl most fair. 
 
 He wander'd down thro' woods that finged 
 the snows, 
 Down cliffs with ivy crown'd. 
 He passed by lonely tarns whence duskly 
 rose 
 Great cranes, and hover' d round. 
 
 He paused upon a crimson crag, and lo ! 
 
 Deep down at the crag's foot, 
 The Shape he sought, in shadow, far below, 
 
 With folded wings, sat mute ! 
 
 Ev'n as a vulture of the east it seem'd 
 
 Brooding on something dead ; 
 Dark was the form on which its cold eyes 
 gleam'd, 
 1 And still and heavy as lead.
 
 B ALDER'S QUEST FOR DEATH. 
 
 461 
 
 Then Balder swung himself from tree to 
 tree, 
 
 And reach'd the fatal place ! . . , 
 The phantom fled as silent wild things flee, 
 
 But a white human face 
 
 Gleam'd from the ground ; and Balder's 
 glory shone 
 On a wild cowherd's hair ! 
 Too late — his cheeks were chill— his breath 
 was gone — 
 His bosom torn and bare. 
 
 The Shape unseen had cast him o'er the 
 steep, 
 
 Down, down, the abysses dim, — 
 Then, as an eagle followeth a sheep, 
 
 Had flutter'd after him ! 
 
 His bearskin dress was bloody ; in his grip 
 He clutch'd a cowherd's horn ; 
 
 His eyes were glazed, and on his stained lip 
 Death's kisses lay forlorn. 
 
 But Balder touch'd him and his face grew 
 fair, 
 Shining beneath the skies. 
 Yea, Balder crost his hands, and smooth'd 
 his hair. 
 And closed his piteous eyes. . . . 
 
 Not resting yet, the bright god wander'd 
 soon 
 
 Down by the torrent's track ; 
 And lo ! a sudden glory hid the moon. 
 
 And dawn rose at his back. 
 
 ir. 
 
 Dawn purple on the peaks, and pouring in 
 floods 
 Into the valleys fair, 
 Encrimsoning the lakes and streams and 
 woods. 
 Illuming heaven and air. 
 
 And every creature gladdcn'd, and the 
 Earth 
 Turn'd on her side and woke : 
 There came sweet music ; sunny gleams of 
 mirth 
 Across the landscape broke. 
 
 And when a thousand eyes of happy things 
 Had open'd all around, 
 
 And when each form that blooms, eaf/'i 
 form that sings. 
 Saw Balder glory-crown'd, 
 
 Standing like marble bathed in liquid flame, 
 
 Perfect of face and limb. 
 Infinite voices syllabled his name, 
 
 And Earth smiled up at him ! 
 
 All shapes that knew him (and all shapes 
 that be 
 
 Knew Balder's face that hour) 
 Grew glorified — the torrent and the tree, 
 
 The white cloud and the flower. 
 
 The meres flash'd golden mirrors for his 
 face ; 
 
 The forests saw and heard ; 
 The cataracts brighten'd ; in its secret place 
 
 The sunless runlet stirred. 
 
 A light of green grass ran before his feet. 
 His brow was bright with dew, 
 
 Where'er he trod there sprang a flower full 
 sweet. 
 Rose, crimson, yellow, or blue. 
 
 But Balder's face was pale, altho' his frame 
 
 Its natal splendour wore ; 
 Altho' the green Earth gladdcn'd as he 
 came, 
 
 God Balder's soul was sore. 
 
 ' O happy Earth ! O happy beams of day ! 
 
 O gentle things of breath ! 
 Blest were ye, if some hand divine might 
 slay 
 
 The slayer, even Death ! ' 
 
 He spake, and he was answer'd. By his side 
 
 A crimson river ran, 
 Out of the cloven mountains spreading wide 
 
 It water'd vales for man. 
 
 Amid its shallows flowers and sedge did 
 twine. 
 
 But in the midst 'tw.is deep, 
 And on its sides fed flocks of goats and kinc 
 
 O'er meadows soft as sleep. 
 
 Suddenly, while upon its marge he stood. 
 His heart grew cold as clay, — 
 
 For lo ! the phantom ! sailing down the 
 flood, 
 Dim in the dawn of day ! . , ,
 
 462 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 'Mid drifted foxglove-bells and leaves of 
 green 
 Uptorn and floating light, 
 There came, with face upturn'd, now hid, 
 now seen, 
 A maiden dark as night— 
 
 Her raven hair was loosen'd, her soft breath 
 
 Had fled and left no stir, 
 Her eyes were open, looldng up at Death, 
 
 Who drifted down with her. 
 
 Beside her, tangled 'mid the foxglove-bells, 
 A shepherd's crook was cast. 
 
 While softly on the waters silvern swells 
 Her form was floating past. 
 
 And lo ! with eyes of feverish fatal light 
 
 Fix'd on her face in dream, 
 Death clung unto her 'mid the eddies bright 
 
 Upon the shining stream. 
 
 And Balder wail'd ; and wafted down that 
 way. 
 
 Death saw his shape and knew, — 
 Then, like a falcon startled from its prey, 
 
 Rose, vanishing from view ! 
 
 III. 
 
 The Fight of Ships. 
 
 Now Balder came across the great sea-shore. 
 And saw far out upon the windless waves 
 A fight of water-dragons fierce as fire. 
 Winged and wild and wrought about with 
 
 gold. 
 And dragon unto dragon clash'd and clung, 
 And each shriek'd loud, and teeth in teeth 
 
 were set. 
 Until the sea was crimson'd, and one sank 
 In its own blood. So like to living things 
 They seem'd, but ships they were within 
 
 whose wombs 
 Throbbed many savage hearts. And sud- 
 denly, 
 Amid that clangour of sharp steel and shriek 
 Of living voices, 'mid the thick o' the fight, 
 When in the stained waters all around 
 Men to the brain wore cloven as they swam, 
 Balder saw dimly, hovering on wings, 
 Ev'n as the kestrel hovers poised and still 
 With glittering eyes searching the nether 
 
 ground. 
 The Shape he sought. As the bright 
 dragons rush'd 
 
 This way and that with rapid sweep of oars, 
 And as the tumult passed from wave to 
 
 wave. 
 It follow'd, as the falcon fulloweth 
 Some fearful quarry creeping on the ground. 
 And when the sunset came, and the great 
 
 din 
 Was hush'd, and torn apart from one 
 
 another 
 The dragons darken'd on a fiery sea. 
 The Shape, illumined with a crimson gleam, 
 Still linger'd o'er them very quietly, 
 Scenting the slain that drifted like to weeds 
 On the red waters, shoreward. 
 
 Then aloud 
 Cried Balder, ' FATHER ! ' uttering from his 
 
 heart 
 A bitter moan, and as he spake he saw. 
 All congregating on the brazen walls 
 Of sunset, with their wild eyes looking down. 
 Feeding upon the carnage of the fight. 
 The gods his kin ; and like to evening 
 
 clouds. 
 Crimson and golden in the sunset flame. 
 They would perchance have seem'd to 
 
 human eyes. 
 But his perceived them clearly and discern'd 
 The rapture in their faces as they gazed. 
 Yet neenheless he cried, ' Come down, ye 
 
 gods. 
 And help me, that upon this fatal thing 
 I lay my hand ! ' They laugh'd reply, and 
 
 lo! 
 He saw their banners raised i' the wind, 
 
 their brands 
 Flashing and moving. 
 
 ' Father ! ' 
 
 No reply ; 
 But quiet as a curtain fell the night. 
 Solemn, without a star. 
 
 Then by the sea 
 Silent walk'd Balder, and all sounds were 
 
 still 
 Beyond him on the bosom of the deep. 
 And where he went along the moonless 
 
 sands 
 He made a brightness such as ocean shells 
 Keep in their iris'd ears ; and the soft sea 
 Came singing round his silvern feet ; and 
 
 doves
 
 BALDER' S QUEST FOR DEATH. 
 
 463 
 
 Came out of caves and lit upon his hands. 
 Then Balder thought, ' He answer'd, and 
 
 has sent 
 The darkness as a token ! ' and ev'n then 
 He blest his father. 
 
 . . . What is this that flames, 
 Lurid and awful, out upon the sea? 
 What dusky radiance, tho' the world is dark, 
 Shoots like a comet yonder upon the sky ? 
 Seized in the fangs of fire, a dragon-ship 
 Consumes and shrieks, and as it burns 
 
 illumes 
 The water under and the thunderous rack 
 Blackening above ; and Balder as he stands 
 Pallid upon a headland, on his face 
 Catches the red reflection of the ray ; 
 Ocean and sky are crimson'd, and he sees 
 Black shapes that hither and thither, waving 
 
 arms. 
 Dart 'midst the flame on the consuming 
 
 decks 
 And plunge with shrill scream down into 
 
 the sea. 
 
 What care to call on the Immortals now ? 
 He looks, one hand prest hard in agony 
 Upon his aching heart, and he discerns. 
 Brooding above that brightness, poised i' 
 
 the air, 
 Down gazing, half illumed, half lost in 
 
 light. 
 The Phantom ! As the ship consumes and 
 
 fades, 
 And as the last cry rises on the air, 
 The Shape sinks lower with no waft of 
 
 wing. 
 And when in dumb and passionate despair, 
 Balder looks northward once again, he sees 
 The cloud-rack parted, the cold north on 
 
 fire, 
 And all the gods, with cruel cheeks aflame 
 And bright eyes glittering like cluster'd 
 
 stars. 
 Thronging against the blacken'd bars of 
 
 Heaven. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ydun. 
 
 Then Balder lifted up his voice and cried, 
 ' Curst be this thing and you who sent it 
 
 hither, 
 Tho' ye be gods, immortal, and my kin ; 
 For now I loathe you, deeming lovelier far 
 
 The black hawk, and the fox upon the 
 
 ground. 
 Who slay sweet lives not knowing what 
 
 they do ; 
 But ye, O gods, are wise, yet Death's sick 
 
 scent 
 Is pleasant to your nostrils.' Loudly afar 
 A laugh of thunder answer'd, and the shapes 
 Still congregated in the glistening north 
 Flash'd like the pale aurora one white 
 
 gleam 
 Of earthward-looking eyes, and in the midst 
 A hoary Face like to a moonlit cloud, 
 Silent, and staring down with orbs of stone. 
 And on this last did Balder gaze, and lo ! 
 He shiver'd cold, his cheek divine was 
 
 blanch'd. 
 And with no further word he turn'd away. 
 
 . . . So walk'd he by the Ocean, till that 
 
 gleam 
 Far out upon the crimson waters died ; 
 Till night grew deeper and all sounds were 
 
 still'd. 
 
 And all that night his human heart was 
 turn'd 
 
 Against the gods his kin, against the god 
 
 His father ; for he thought, ' He made this 
 thing. 
 
 He sent it hither to the happy Earth ; 
 
 And when it slays they gladden in the halls 
 
 Of Asgard, and no pity fills their hearts 
 
 For gentle stricken men.' Long hours he 
 paced 
 
 The cold sands of the still black sea ; and 
 where 
 
 His foot fell moonlight lay and live sea- 
 snails 
 
 Crept glimmering with pink horns ; and 
 close to shore 
 
 He saw the legions of the herring flash. 
 
 Swift, phosphorescent, on the surface shin- 
 ing 
 
 Like bright sheet-lightning as they came 
 and went. 
 
 At intervals, from the abyss beyond, 
 
 Came the deep roar of whales. 
 
 Betimes he stood 
 Silent, alone, upon a promontory 
 And now about him like wiiito rain there fell 
 The splendour of the moonlight. All around 
 The calm sea rolled upon the rocks or drew
 
 464 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Dark surges from the caverns, issuing thence 
 Troubled and churn'd to boiling pools of 
 
 foam. 
 Erect he stood, uplifting his white hands ; 
 For round him on the slippery weed-hung 
 
 reefs, 
 Outcreeping from the blackness of the sea, 
 In legions came the flocks of gentle seals 
 And gray sea lions with their lionesses. 
 And o'er the rocks they clomb till all the place 
 Was blacken'd, and the rest upon the sea, 
 Their liquid eyeballs in the moonlight 
 
 burning. 
 Swam round and round with necks out- 
 
 stretch'd to gaze ; 
 And those beneath him touch'd his shining 
 
 feet, 
 And when he raised his hand and blest 
 
 them all. 
 Uplifted heads like happy flocks of sheep 
 Bleating their joy ! 
 
 Ev'n then he heard a voice 
 Cry ' Balder ! ' thrice, and turning he beheld 
 Standing above him on the promontory 
 A spirit he remember'd ; for her hair 
 Swept downward like the silvern willow's 
 
 leaves. 
 And on her mystic raiment blue as heaven 
 There glimmer'd dewy drops like heavenly 
 
 stars. 
 And as he turn'd unto her he perceived 
 Her deathlike pallor, and he straightway 
 
 knew 
 He look'd on Ydun, who had given to him 
 Those mystic apjDles which immortal forms 
 For ever feed on evermore renew'd. 
 
 And Ydun said, ' O Balder, I could hear 
 Thy lone cry yonder in the silent realms 
 Where, gathering golden asphodels in 
 
 meads 
 Of starlight under the dark Tree, I stray'd ; 
 And all my heart was troubled for thy sake. 
 My brother, and I came across the worlds 
 To seek thee, bringing in my veiled breast 
 More fruits to heal thee and to make thee 
 
 strong 
 Despite the gods who love thee not, thy kin ; 
 For I who bring them love thee, knowing 
 
 well 
 There stands no shape in the celestial halls 
 So beautiful as thou 1 ' 
 
 And as she spake 
 She drew the apples forth and proffer'd 
 
 them 
 To Raider's lips ; but on those lips there 
 
 lay 
 An ashen tinge as of mortality. 
 And taking not the gift he answer'd low, 
 ' O Ydun, let me give thy gift to men. 
 That they may eat and live ! ' 
 
 But Ydun said, 
 While on his cheek he felt her breath come 
 
 cold 
 As frosty moonlight, — ' Name them not, 
 
 but eat — 
 Eat thou, and live. O Balder, men were 
 
 born 
 To gather earthly fruit a little space, 
 And then, grown old with sudden lapse of 
 
 years. 
 To wither up and die ; and fruit like this 
 Could never light on any human lip 
 The flame-like breath of immortality. 
 Flesh are they, and must fall ; spirits are we, 
 And fed with life diviner, w-e endure.' 
 
 Then Balder said, ' Dost thou not weep for 
 
 them ? 
 Poor mortals with their shadows on the 
 
 ground, 
 Yet kin to thee and me ! He made them 
 
 fair 
 As we are, the' they sicken and are slain ; 
 Yea, by a god accurst that haunts the world 
 Their hearts are set asunder, and their teeth 
 Devour each other. Lo ! the beautiful 
 
 Earth 
 Is desolate of children, strewn with dead, 
 Sick with a ceaseless moan of stricken 
 
 things 
 For ever coming and for ever going, — 
 Like wild waves darkly driven on a sea 
 Eternally distress'd.' 
 
 Coldly replied 
 The goddess, ' Take no heed for things of 
 
 clay, — 
 For 'twere as well to weep for stricken 
 
 birds, 
 Or flowers that in tlicir season fade and 
 
 fall, 
 Or beasts that mortals slay for food or 
 
 cast 
 Upon thy Father's shrines for sacrifice,
 
 B ALDER'S QUEST FOR DEATH— BALDER AND DEATH. 465 
 
 As mourn for that dark dust beneath thy 
 
 feet 
 Which thou call'st men. O Balder, take 
 
 no held — 
 Be wise— such pity ill beseems a god ! ' 
 
 But Balderwrung his hands and wail'd aloud 
 In a sad human voice, ' Not pity those ? 
 Hath a bird fallen in my sight and fail'd 
 To win some meed of tears ? Doth a beast 
 
 dip, 
 I would not wind in my immortal arms. 
 And kiss into a new and lovelier life ? 
 And on the dead leaves shed i' the weary 
 
 woods 
 Do I not strew my tears divine, like dew ? 
 
 Ydun, listen, for thou know'st me not. 
 The taint of clay is on me and I lack 
 The large cold marble heart befitting gods. 
 
 1 drank strange mercy from the dark Earth's 
 
 breast 
 When she my foster-mother suckled me 
 Close to her leafy heart ; I am not wise, 
 Ay me, I am not wise, if not to love 
 The happy forms below me, and the faces 
 That love my voice and gladden in my 
 
 smile. 
 Be wisdom ; I am of them ; I have learn' d 
 The pathos of the setting sun, the awe 
 Of moonlight and of starlight ; nay, I 
 
 dream 
 That shape which sets its icy hand on all 
 Will find me in my season like the rest. 
 They are my brethren, wanderers in the 
 
 world, 
 Yet fatherless and outcast like myself, 
 And exiled from their home ! ' 
 
 But Ydun said, 
 ' That shape which sets its icy hand on all 
 Need never trouble thee, if thou wilt eat. 
 Eat as I bid, and live ; — nay, Death himself, 
 Tame as a hound some little child may lead. 
 Hath fed from out my hand and from my 
 
 fruits 
 Drank immortality ; and lo, he walks 
 Immortal among mortals, on Earth's ways 
 Shedding the sad leaves of humanity. 
 For this is written, they must die ; and those 
 Who die in battle or with bloody hands 
 The gods redeem and snatch lo deathless 
 
 days 
 Qf terror in \'alhal!a ; but the re^t, 
 
 Weak maiden-hearted men and women 
 
 pale. 
 And children, dying bloodless, find below 
 A nameless and an everlasting sleep." 
 
 ■ O Ydun,' Balder cried, * I have search'd 
 
 the Earth, 
 And have not found him, tho' my spirit pants 
 To look into his face and question him. 
 That Death of whom you speak, that fan- 
 tasy. 
 Immortal, and a god ; but evermore 
 His form eludes me in the light and dark, 
 And evermore beneath my feet I find 
 Only some gentle shape that he hath slain.' 
 
 Then Ydun smiled as pallid starlight smiles 
 On marble, and she answer'd, ' Eat, then 
 
 eat ! 
 And by the gods of Asgard I will swear 
 To lead thee to him and to read a rune 
 Which whisper' d in his ear shall make him 
 
 meek 
 And weak as any lamb to do thy will ; ' 
 And as she spake she held the apples forth 
 And proffer'd them again to Ealder's lips. 
 
 Then hungry for her promise Balder ate, 
 And in his mouth the mingled red and white 
 Melted as snow, and suddenly he seem'd 
 Grown into perfect glory like the moon 
 Springing all silvern from a summer cloud. 
 
 VI. 
 
 BALDER AND DEATH. 
 
 The Altar of Sacrifice. 
 ' Look 1 ' Ydun said ; and pointed. 
 
 Far in the night 
 She had led Balder, — o'er the darken'd 
 
 dales, 
 And by the silence of black mountain tarns, 
 And thro' the slumber of primoeval woods, — 
 Till slic iiad come unto an open plain 
 Covcr'd with ragged heath and strewn with 
 
 stones 
 As with the broken fragments of some world 
 Upheaven, rent by earthquake. And the 
 
 waste 
 All round was lonely and illimitable, 
 A tract of stone and heath without a tree, 
 
 M U
 
 466 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Save where against the blood-red northern 
 
 sky 
 A mountain like the great white hand of 
 
 Earth 
 Pointed at highest heaven. Far out beyond 
 The shadow of the snowy mountain, rose 
 Columns gigantic of red granite rock 
 Scarr'd with the tempest, hung with slimy 
 
 moss, 
 And looming in the cold and spectral light 
 Like living shapes of gods ; and some by 
 
 storm 
 Were cast upon the ground and lay full 
 
 length 
 Like giants slain, but most stood poised on 
 
 end, 
 Not tottering, with their shadows wildly cast 
 Southward, along the sward. High in the 
 
 midst 
 Stones fashion'd as an altar were upraised, 
 And on the altar was a coffin'd space 
 Wherein a man full-grown might lie his 
 
 length 
 And with his pleading eyes upon the stars 
 Make ready for the sacrificial knife. 
 
 • Look ! ■ Ydun said ; and Balder look'd ; 
 
 and saw, 
 Crouching upon the altar, one that loom'd 
 Like to a living shape. And Ydun said, 
 ' That is thy Father s altar, and thereon 
 Blood-offering brighter than the life of 
 
 lambs 
 Is scatterd by his priests ; at sunset here 
 A virgin died, and all the desert air 
 Is sweeter for her breath ; and those black 
 
 birds 
 That hover o'er the altar moaning low 
 Are hungry to come near her and to feed, — 
 But he who lieth yonder hath not fed 
 His own immortal hunger. There he broods 
 Still as a star above her, with one hand 
 Placed on her lifeless breast ! ' 
 
 Then Balder felt 
 His godhead shrink within him like a flame 
 A cold wind blowcth, and for pity's sake 
 His eyes divine were dim ; but, creeping 
 
 close, 
 Within the shadow of a shatter'd column. 
 He gazed and gazed. And lo, the sight he 
 
 saw 
 Was full of sorrow only eyes divine 
 
 Could see and bear. Upon the altar-stone 
 Lay stretched naked and most marble white 
 That gentle virgin, with the slayer's mark 
 Across her throat, her red mouth open wide, 
 And two great sightless orbs upraised to 
 
 heaven. 
 And he who clung unto her, like a hawk 
 With wings outstretch'd, and dim dilated 
 
 eyes 
 Feeding upon the sorrow of her face. 
 Was he whom Balder o'er the world had 
 
 sought 
 And had not found. Ne'er yet, by sea or 
 
 shore. 
 Not ev'n within the silence of the woods 
 When his sad eyes beheld him first of old. 
 Had Balder to that spirit terrible 
 E'er crept so nigh or seen its shape so well. 
 Shadow it seem'd, and yet corporeal. 
 But thro' the filmy substance of its frame 
 The blood-red light of midnight penetrated ; 
 And dreadfully with dreadful loveliness 
 The features changed their shining linea- 
 ments. 
 Now lamb-like, wolf-like now, now like a 
 
 maid's 
 Scarce blossom'd, now deep-wrinkled like a 
 
 man's, 
 Now beautiful and awful like a god's, — 
 But never trae to each similitude 
 Longer than one quick heart-beat 
 
 Thus it hung. 
 So fascinated by the form it watch'd, 
 It saw not, heard not, stirr'd not, though 
 
 the birds 
 Shriek'd wildly overhead. Ev'n as one cast 
 Into a trance mesmeric, it prolong'd 
 The famine of its gaze until its face 
 Was fixed as a star. Then Ydun crept 
 Close unto Balder, whispering, ' Rememler 
 That rune I read thee ! touch him in his 
 
 trance, 
 And name him by his mystic human name. 
 And as I live his lips shall answer thee 
 In human speech ! ' So speaking, Ydun 
 
 smiled 
 And vanish'd, leaving Balder all alone 
 To look and watch and wait. . . . 
 
 . . . Then on his soul, 
 Beholding that great trance of Death, there 
 came *
 
 BALDER AND DEATH. 
 
 467 
 
 Most fatal fascination. For a space 
 He could not stir. Upon the sacred grove 
 Lay darkness ; only on the altar stone 
 The naked victim glinimer'd beautiful, 
 And terrible above her linger'd Death ; — 
 WTien suddenly beyond the snow-white 
 
 peak 
 Rose round and luminous and yellow as 
 
 gold 
 The fuUorb'd moon ; by slow degrees its 
 
 beams 
 Stole down the shrouded mountains, till 
 
 they fell 
 Prone on the altar, turning all things there 
 To brightness :— so that Death himself was 
 
 changed 
 From purple into silvern ;— that dead maid 
 To silvern too from marble ; — the great 
 
 grove. 
 With all the columns looming black therein. 
 New-lit with lunar dawn. Then as the hght 
 Touch'd and illumed him, for a moment 
 
 Death 
 Stirr'd, ev'n as one that stirreth from a sleep, 
 And trembled, looking upward ; and behold ! 
 His face grew beautiful thro' golden hair, 
 His eyes dim heavenly blue, and all hislooks 
 Strange and divinely young ! . . . 
 
 . . . Then, ere that trance 
 Was wholly shaken from him, Balder rose, 
 And crept unto the altar with no sound ; 
 And ere the shape could stir or utter cry. 
 He clutch'd him with one quick and eager 
 
 hand ; 
 And tho' his hand was frozen as it touch'd, 
 Ere Death could fly he gazed into his eyes 
 And named him by his mystic human name. 
 . . . And Death gazed back with looks so 
 
 terrible, 
 They would have wither'd any living man ; 
 Rut Raider only smiled and wove his rune, — 
 And in a little space the shape was charm'd. 
 Looking and listening in a nameless fear. 
 
 II. 
 
 Balder and Df.ath. 
 
 • O Death, pale Death, thro' many a lonely 
 land 
 
 My feet have follow'd thee ; 
 Sisters and brothers stricken by thy hand 
 
 Oft have I stoop'd to see : 
 
 ' To kiss the little children on their biers 
 
 So innocent and sweet, 
 To bless the old men wearied out with years 
 
 Wrapt in thy winding-sheet. 
 
 ' To look into thine eyes, to drink thy breath, 
 I have cried with a weary cry : 
 
 Prayers I have said to the great gods, O 
 Death, 
 While thou hast darken'd by. 
 
 ' Thy mark is on the flower and on the tree, 
 And on the beast and the bird. 
 
 Thy shade is on the mountains, even the sea 
 By thy sad foot is stirred. 
 
 ' Slayer thou art of all my soul deems fair. 
 
 Thou saddenest the sun, — 
 Of all things on the earth and in the air, 
 
 O Death, thou sparest none. 
 
 ' And therefore have I sought with prayers 
 and sighs 
 
 To speak with thee a space ! ' 
 Bright Raider in the hollow rayless eyes 
 
 Look'd with a fearless face. 
 
 The phantom darken'd 'neath the clay cold 
 moon 
 And seem'd to shrink in woe. 
 But Balder named his name and wove the 
 rune. 
 And would not let him go. 
 
 ' O Death ! pale Death ! thou hast a 
 lovelier name. 
 Who gave that name to thee ? 
 By the high gods, by that from which they 
 came, 
 Thy mouth must answer me ! ' 
 
 Death answer'd not, but mystically bright, 
 
 His shadowy features grew. 
 And on his brow the chilly lamps of night 
 
 Sprinkled their glistening dew , 
 
 And Balder wonder'd, for those lights above 
 Seem'd shining down on him. 
 
 And Death's pale face grew as the face of 
 Love, 
 Yet more divinely dim. 
 
 ' O Death, pale Death ! 
 
 Who gave thee that sweet name. 
 Yet sent thee down to slay poor things of 
 breath, 
 And turn men's hearts to flame? 
 
 H II 3
 
 468 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 ' Who gave thee life and cast thy lot below 
 With those sad slaying eyes?' 
 
 Death pointed with a hand as white as snow 
 Up to the moonlit skies. 
 
 ' Who sent thee here where men and beasts 
 have birth ? ' 
 Death trembled and was still. 
 ' What drew thee down on my beloved 
 Earth, 
 To wither up and kill ? ' 
 
 Death answer'd not, but pointed once again 
 
 Up thro' the starry shine ; 
 And Balder question'd with a quiclc new 
 pain, 
 
 ' My kin ? the gods divine ? 
 
 Death answer'd not, but gazed on Balder 
 now 
 
 With strange and questioning gleam — 
 His eyes were soft in sorrow and his brow 
 
 Was wonderful with dream. 
 
 ' Speak to me, brother, if thou art not dumb ; 
 
 Speak to my soul, O Death ! ' 
 The thin lips flutter, but no answer hath 
 come, 
 
 No sigh, no sound, no breath. 
 
 Yet on the brow of Death there lives a light 
 Like starlight shed on snow. 
 
 The fatal face grows beautiful and bright 
 With some celestial woe. 
 
 And round the shadowy cheeks there softly 
 swim 
 Thin threads of silken hair. 
 And Balder sees the form world-worn and 
 dim 
 Hath once been young and fair. 
 
 And as they sit together in the night, 
 Hand in hand, mingling breath, 
 
 The fingers white of the cold starry light 
 Smooth the sad hair of Death. 
 
 III. 
 
 •O Death, pale Death.' 
 
 • O Death ! pale Death ! 
 
 Thy hair is golden, not gray — 
 In the dark mirrors of thine eyes, O Death, 
 
 lAe glimmering dreams of day. 
 
 'O gentle Death ! 
 
 Thy hand is warm, not chill, — 
 Thy touch is soft and living, and thy breath 
 
 Sweet, with no power to kill. 
 
 ' I love thee. Death, for that great heavenly 
 brow 
 
 Still dark from love's eclipse — 
 And lo ! a hundredfold I hunger now 
 
 To hear thy living lips. 
 
 ' O gentle Death ! 
 
 Speak, that mine ears may hear.' 
 Then like a fountain rose the voice of Death, 
 
 Low, sweet, and clear ! 
 
 IV, 
 
 Death sings. 
 
 ' I know not whence my feet have come. 
 Nor whither they must go — 
 
 Lonely I wander, dark and dumb, 
 In summer and in snow. 
 
 ' For on mine eyes there falls a gleam, 
 That keeps them dim and blind, 
 
 Of strange eternities of dream 
 Before me and behind ; 
 
 And ever, ever as I pace 
 Along my lonely track. 
 The light retires before my face, 
 Advancing at my back ; 
 
 ' But ever, ever if I turn 
 
 And would my steps retrace. 
 
 Close to my back that light doth burn, 
 But flies before my face. 
 
 ' I close mine eyes, I fain would sleep, 
 
 I rest with folded wing, 
 Or on my weary way I creep 
 
 Like any harmless thing. 
 
 ' Yet day by day, from land to land. 
 
 From gentle fold to fold, 
 I pass, and lo, my cruel hand 
 
 Leaves all things calm and cold. 
 
 ' Man marketh with his bitterest moan 
 
 My shadow sad and dim ; 
 Of all things hateful, I alone 
 
 Am hatefullest to him ! 
 
 ' Ay me, a brand is on my brow, 
 A fire is in my breast, —
 
 BALDER AND DEATH. 
 
 469 
 
 Ever my bitter breath dotli bow 
 Those flowers I love the best. 
 
 ' i crouch beside the cradled child, 
 
 I look into it-j eyes, 
 I love to watch its slumber mild 
 
 As quietly it lies. 
 
 • I dare not touch it with my hand. 
 Or creep too close to see. 
 
 Yet for a little space I stand 
 And mark it, silently, 
 
 ' Ah, little dream pale human things, 
 At rest beneath the skies, 
 
 How, as they sleep, with gentle wings 
 I shade their cheeks and eyes ! 
 
 ' The maiden with her merry laugh, 
 The babe with its faint cry, 
 
 The old man leaning on his staff, 
 Are mine, and these must die. 
 
 ' I touch them softly with my hand, 
 They turn as still as stone, 
 
 Then looking in their eyes I stand 
 Until their light hath flown. 
 
 ' I set faint gleams around their lips, 
 I smooth their brows and hair, 
 
 I place within their clay-cold grips 
 The lilies of despair. 
 
 ' And verily when they bear them forth 
 
 I follow with the rest ; 
 But when their bones are in the earth 
 
 My gentle task is best. 
 
 ' For there I sit with head bent low 
 For many a dreamy day. 
 
 And watch the grass and flowers grow 
 Out of the changing clay. 
 
 ' O think of this and blame not me, 
 Thou with the eyes divine — 
 
 A Shadow creeps from sea to sea, 
 Stranger than thine or mine. 
 
 ' Who made the white bear and the seal? 
 
 The eagle and the lamb? 
 As these am I — 1 live and feel — 
 
 One made me, and I am." 
 
 Then Balder lifted up his voice and cried. 
 Placing his fingers on Death's heavenly hair, 
 ' Lo, I absolve thee ! ' and the Spirit crouch'd 
 In silence, looking up with wondering gaze 
 At that immortal brightness blessing him 
 With holy imposition of white hands. 
 For beautiful beyond all dream, and bright 
 Beyond all splendour of the summer Earth, 
 Divine, with aureole around his head, 
 God-like, yet fairer far than any god, 
 Stood Balder, hke a thing that could not die! 
 Upon his face the countless eyes of heaven 
 Gazed, with their own exceeding lustre dim ; 
 And moonlight hung around him like a veil 
 Through which his glory trembled para- 
 mount ; 
 And dim sheen showering from a thousand 
 
 worlds. 
 Mingling with moisture of the nether-air, 
 Touch'd his soft body with baptismal dews. 
 
 Then far away in the remotest north, 
 Cloud-like and dark and scarce distinguish- 
 able, 
 The clustering faces of the gods look'd down. 
 And Balder cried, ' Lo, I have ranged tlie 
 
 Earth, 
 And found it good ; yea, hills and vales and 
 
 streams. 
 Forests and seas, all good and beautiful ; 
 And I have gazed in eyes of birds and beasts. 
 And in the gentle orbs of mortal men. 
 And seen in all the light of that dim dream 
 Which grew within my soul when I was born. 
 Only this thing is bitter, O ye gods, 
 Most dark and bitter : that eternal Death 
 Sits by his sad and silent sea of graves. 
 Singing a song that slays the hopes of men. 
 Yet lo, I gaze into the eyes of Death, 
 And they are troubled with that self-same 
 dream. 
 
 ' O gods, on you I cry not, but I cry 
 On him, the Father, who has fashion'd Death 
 To be the sorrow of created things. 
 And set this ceaseless hunger in his heart 
 To wither up and kill. Oh, I have wept 
 Till all my heart is weary, and no voice 
 Makes answer. By thy servant Death, O 
 
 God, 
 By him whom I have sought and found in 
 
 pairi,
 
 470 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Listen ! — Uplift this shadow from the Earth, 
 
 And gladly will I die as sacrifice, 
 
 And all the gentle things I love shall live. 
 
 Far, far away in the remotest north 
 A white face in the darkness of a cloud 
 Gleam'd. Thither, crouching low at 
 
 Balder's feet. 
 Death pointed with his skeleton finger fix'd. 
 Silent. Then, even as a snow-white lamb 
 That on the altar cometh with no fear 
 But looks around with eager innocent eyes, 
 God Balder on the stone of sacrifice 
 Leapt, reaching arms up heavenward ! 
 
 . . . And he pray'd. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Last Prayer. 
 
 • Father in heaven, my dream is over, 
 
 Father in heaven, my day is dark, — 
 I sat in the sun and I sang like a lover 
 
 \\'ho sings sweet songs for a maid to mark ; 
 And the light was golden upon my hair, 
 And the heavens were blue and the Earth 
 
 was fair, 
 And I knew no touch of a human care. 
 
 And I bless'd thy name, my Father ! 
 I sang, and the clarion winds blew clear. 
 And the lilies rose like lamps on the mere. 
 And all the night in the balmy light 
 I lifted up my hands snow-white, 
 
 And the stars began to gather ! 
 
 * Father, Father, which art in heaven, 
 
 Lord of men and master of Earth. 
 The rune was woven of colours seven. 
 
 And out of thy being I had birth ; 
 As a snowdrop wakes on the naked ground. 
 And opens its eye without a sound 
 While the winds are murmuring around, 
 
 I woke on the green Earth's bosom ; 
 And I heard a cry, as the storks went by 
 Sailing northward under the sky, 
 And a cry from the mountains answer'd loud. 
 And the cataract leapt like a corpse from 
 its shroud. 
 
 And the sward began to blossom. 
 
 'White clouds passed over with low sweet 
 thunder, 
 Shaking downward the silvern dew. 
 The soft sods trembled and fell asunder, 
 And the en;crald flame of the grass 
 gleam'd thro', 
 
 And the fire of the young boughs overhead 
 Ran green and amber, golden and red, 
 And the flashing lamps of the leaves were fed 
 
 At the torch of the flaming sunshine : 
 Beautiful, wrapt in a blissful dream, 
 Lay mere and mountain, meadow and 
 
 stream ; 
 And beautiful, when the light was low, 
 Creeping white through the after glow, 
 
 The starshine and the moonshine ! 
 
 ' Father, Father, hearken unto me. 
 
 Then work thy will on the world and me — 
 I walk'd the world, and the glad world 
 knew me. 
 And my feet were kissed by thy slave the 
 Sea. 
 And ever with every happy hour. 
 My love grew deeper for tree and flower. 
 For the beast in the brake, for the bird in 
 the bower. 
 And the deer on the white high places. 
 But ere my golden dream was done, 
 I saw thy Shadow across the sun, 
 I saw thy Shadow that all men see. 
 On beast and bird, on flower and tree. 
 And the flower-sweet human faces ! 
 
 ' The flower-sweet faces of mortal races 
 
 Blossoming sadly under the sky ! 
 I saw my dream on those fading faces, 
 
 I heard my voice in their failing cry. 
 Out of the soil and into the sun 
 Tlieir souls were stirring as mine had done, 
 Their dooms were written, their threads 
 were spun, 
 
 By the hands of the immortals ; 
 They rose in a dream and they lookt around. 
 They saw their shadows upon the ground. 
 And wherever they went beneath the blue 
 The darker Shadow thy Spirit threw 
 
 From the great sun's shining portals. 
 
 ' Thou hadst taken clay and hadst made it 
 
 human. 
 Blown in its nostrils and lent it breath. 
 Thou hadst kindled the beauty of man and 
 
 woman. 
 To hunt them down with thy bloodhound.. 
 
 Death. 
 They did not crave to be born or be. 
 Yet thou gavest them eyes that their souls 
 
 might see.
 
 BALDER AND DEATH. 
 
 47 i 
 
 And thou hatest them as thou hatest me 
 
 And the Earth thy godhead bearing. 
 They shrink and tremble before thy hand, 
 They ask and they do not understand, 
 They bid thee pity who piticst none, 
 And they name thy name, as I, thy Son, 
 Now name it, still despairing. 
 
 ' Father, Father, which art in heaven, 
 
 Why hast thou fashion'd my brethren so? 
 Form'd of fire, with the dust for leaven, 
 
 As thou hast made them, they come and 
 go. 
 Yet ever thy hand is on their hair 
 To seize and to slay them unaware, 
 And ever their faces are pale with prayer 
 
 As round thy fanes they gather. . . . 
 Thou askest blood and they give thee life 
 With sweep of the sacrificial knife ; 
 Thou seekest prai-eand they give thee pain. 
 And their altars smoke with the crimson rain 
 
 Thou lovest, O my Father ! 
 
 ' Father, Father, 'tis sad to falter 
 
 Out of the light and into the dark, 
 Like a wreath of smoke from a burning altar 
 
 To fade and vanish vvhere none may mark. 
 But O my Father, 'tis blest to be 
 A part of the joy of the land and sea, 
 To upleap like a lamb, to be glad and free 
 
 As the stream of a running river. 
 Could'st thou not spare them a longer space 
 With sweeter meed of a surer grace ? 
 Could'st thou not love the light that lies 
 On happy fields and in human eyes, 
 
 And let it shine for ever? 
 
 ' I hear thy voice from the void of heaven. 
 
 It thunders back and it answers ' ' Nay " — 
 The rune was woven of colours seven 
 
 For me, thy Son, and for things of clay. 
 Then mark me now as I rise and swear. 
 By the beasts in the brake, by the birds in 
 
 the air, 
 By Earth, by all those forces fair 
 
 Which mingled in my making ; 
 By men and women who stand supreme 
 Proud and pale with mine own soul's dream, 
 I will drink the cup their lips partake ! 
 I will share their lot, while their sad hearts 
 break 
 
 As mine, thy Son's, is breaking ! 
 
 ' Father in heaven, my heart is human, 
 
 I cast a shade like a human thing. 
 Grant me the doom of man and woman ; 
 
 From the Earth I came, to the Earth I 
 cling. 
 Behold who standeth at my side 1 
 Even Death, thy servant heavenly eyed — 
 I will die, as the children of men have died. 
 
 To the sound of his sad singing. 
 Behold, I look in the face of Death, 
 I look in his eyes and I drink his breath ; 
 The chill light brightens upon his brow, 
 He creepeth close and he smileth now. 
 
 His cold arms round me flinging. 
 
 ' Father, Father, bend down and hearken. 
 
 And place thy hand upon my hair ; 
 Ere yet I wither, ere yet I darken, 
 
 Hear me murmur a last low prayer. 
 As the blood of a sacrifice is shed, 
 Let me die in my brethren's stead — 
 Let me die ; but when I am dead. 
 
 Call back thy Death to heaven ! 
 Ay me, my Father, if this may be, 
 I will go with a prayer for him and thee, 
 I will pass away without a cry. 
 Blessing and praising thee under the sky. 
 
 Forgiving and forgiven. 
 
 ' . . . . Father, Father, my dream is over — 
 
 He folds me close, and I cannot see ; 
 Yet I shall sleep like a quiet lover 
 
 If my boon is granted and this may be. 
 O sweet it is if I may rest 
 Asleep on my foster-mother's breast. 
 If over my grave the flowers blow best 
 
 And happy mortals gather. 
 Yet Father, tho' darkness shrouds my face, 
 Remember me for a little space, 
 Remember, remember, and forgive 
 Thy Son who dies that men may live. . . , 
 
 Accept me, O my Father ! ' 
 
 VII. 
 
 Tin; First Snovvflake— Falling of 
 THE Snow. 
 
 He ceased ; no voice replied ; but round 
 
 his frame 
 Cold arms were woven, and his golden head 
 Droop'd like a lily on the breast of 
 
 Death. . . . 
 Then suddenly a darkness like a veil
 
 472 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL 
 
 Was drawn across the silent void of Heaven, 
 Starlight and moonlight faded mystically, 
 And save for Balder's face, that as a star 
 Still flash'd in pallor on the face of Death, 
 There was no light at all. . . . 
 
 Then Balder cried, 
 ' Lo, he hath answer'd ; I am thine, O Death ; 
 Now let me look into thy loving eyes. 
 And ere I rest, sing low to me again.' 
 Shivering he spake, and sank upon the 
 
 ground ; 
 But Death stoop'd down above him as he lay. 
 And took the shining head into his lap, 
 And smoolh'd with fingers cold the silken 
 
 hair. 
 And murmur'd Balder's name with singing 
 
 lips 
 Soft as the whisper of a wind in June. 
 ' O Death, while Death, all is so cold and 
 
 dark, 
 I cannot see the shining of thy face ! ' 
 Then touching Balder's lips, Death answer'd 
 
 low, 
 •Thy day is ended — thou wilt see no more — 
 Sleep, sleep ! ' . . . 
 
 . . . But what is this that wavers slowly 
 Out of that purple blackness overhead ? 
 Is it a blossom from the silvern boughs 
 O'ershadowing the azure pools of heaven? 
 Or feather from the plume of some sweet star 
 That ever moveth magically on 
 From mansion unto mansion of the sky? 
 Soft as a bloom from the white hawthorn 
 
 spray 
 It wavers earthward thro' the starless dark. 
 Unseen, unfelt, until it gains the light 
 Which Balder breathes around him as he lies. 
 'J'here, as a white moth hovers in the moon, 
 It floats and gleams, then sinking softly 
 
 down, 
 Falls as a seal on Balder's shining brow 
 And melts away. 
 
 ' . . . O Death, upon mine eyes. 
 And on my brow, I feel a touch hke dew, 
 Like cold dew shaken from a morning cloud. 
 Look heavenward— seest thou aught of the 
 
 great gods, 
 Or God my Father ? ' But the form replied, 
 'On heaven and in the air 'tis night, deep 
 
 night ; 
 
 No shape is seen, no star, nor any light. 
 Sleep, Balder, sleep ! ' 
 
 Then bending low he kissed 
 The hps of Balder, yea with kisses calm 
 He drew sweet Balder's breath, and lo ! he 
 
 shone 
 Brighter and brighter with the life he drank. 
 But Balder darken'd ever and grew cold. 
 ' O Death, I feel thee smiling in a dream 
 Serene and still and very beautiful — 
 But ah, thy lips are chill ! ' and Death 
 
 moan'd low. 
 Winding his thin arms tight round Balder's 
 
 frame, 
 ' Sleep, sleep ! ' 
 
 . . . O what are these that waver slowly 
 Out of the purple blackness overhead? 
 Soft as that first white blossom blown from 
 
 heaven. 
 Faltering downward thro' the rayless dark. 
 They come, they gather, falling flake on flake 
 With silvern lapse and silent interchange. 
 Hovering in soft descent as if they hved. 
 Upon the drooping head of Death they fall 
 Like lightly shaken leaves, and looking up 
 He sees the black air troubled into life 
 Of multitudinous waifs that wander down. 
 There is no sound— only the solemn hush 
 Of mystic motions and invisible wings ; 
 There is no lamp, no star ; but lo ! the air 
 Is glimmering dimly with the faint wan light 
 Shed from the blossoms as they melt and 
 
 fade. 
 
 ' Under green boughs, under green boughs, 
 
 O Death, 
 Thou hast borne me, and I see not, but I hear 
 The tremor of the soft trees overhead, 
 A sound like fountains flowing, and a touch 
 Like cool leaves shaken on mine eyes and 
 
 hair ! ' 
 
 And Balder stirred his gentle head and 
 
 smiled^ 
 Then drew one last long breath, and sank 
 
 to sleep. 
 
 Tis over now — the gods may gaze in peace — 
 Balder is dead ! 
 
 Ay me, the light hath passed 
 From that once glorious head : still as a 
 stone
 
 BALDER AND DEATH THE COMING OF THE OTHER. 473 
 
 It lies, not shining, in the lap of Death ; 
 The hair is white, the eyes are glazed and 
 
 dim, 
 There is no red upon the loving lips, 
 And in its cage the singing heart lies cold. 
 Ah, Death, pale Death, thy kisses come in 
 
 vain. 
 Close thou his lids, and by his side stretch 
 
 down 
 The cold white marble arms, and at his head 
 Watch like a mourner, for a little space. 
 
 Death sits and gazes on ; but lo, his looks 
 Are pale as Balder's. . . . All the light he 
 
 wore 
 Hath faded, and his orbs are rayless now. 
 Lifeless he looms in vigil while his eyes 
 Turn upward and his thin cold hand still lies 
 Ev'n as a frozen stone on Balder's heart. 
 Thicker and thicker from the folds of heaven 
 The floating blooms are shaken ; lo, the waste 
 Is with a glittering whiteness carpeted, — 
 While still o'erhead in ever-gathering clouds, 
 Drifting from out the vapours of the dark, 
 The white flakes fall. 
 
 O wonder of the snow ! 
 The world's round ball is wrapt in crystal 
 
 now, 
 And out of heaven there comes a freezing 
 
 breath ; 
 And nothing stirs or lives ; and in his shroud 
 Woven bv frost's swift fingers, Balder lies, 
 And that fair face which made creation glad 
 Is fixed as a rayless mask of ice. 
 
 Crouch at his head, O Death ! and hour b; 
 
 hour 
 Watch the still flakes of heaven wavering 
 
 down. 
 Till thou, and that which lieth at thy feet. 
 And all the world, are clad in wondrovi 
 
 white ! 
 
 VII. 
 THE COMING OF THE OTHER. 
 
 How long he lay in that strange trance ol 
 night 
 
 Might Balder never know ; 
 Silently fell the waifs of stainless white. 
 
 And deeper grew the snow. 
 
 While out of heaven the falling flakes were 
 shed. 
 
 The dark hours grew to days ; 
 And round and round a red moon overhead 
 
 Went circling without rays. 
 
 Therewere no stars, only that cheerless thing 
 
 Treading the wintry round ; 
 There was no light, save Enow-flowers 
 glimmering 
 
 Without a sound. 
 
 Darkness of doom is shed on Balder's eyes, 
 But whiteness shrouds the wold ; 
 
 And still at Balder's head the phantom lies 
 Silent and calm and cold. 
 
 And chill is Balder as some naked man 
 
 Made marble by the frost : 
 His veins are ice ; upon his bosom wan 
 
 His two thin hands are crost. 
 
 But as w ithin some clammy wall of stone 
 The death-watch keeps its chime, — 
 
 The cold heart in that crouching skeleton 
 Ticks out the time. 
 
 All round, a world of snow, and snows 
 that fall. 
 
 Flake upon flake, so white ; 
 .\n empty heaven fluttering like a pall, 
 
 Lit by that one red light. 
 
 All round, the solemn slumber of the snow, 
 
 No sigh, no stir, no breath, — 
 I Jut in the midst, scarce audible, slow, low. 
 
 The throbbing pulse of Death. . . . 
 
 riic hours creep on, the dreary days are shed. 
 
 Measured by that slow beat ; 
 And all the while god Balder lieth dead, 
 
 Wrapt in his winding-sheet. 
 
 II. 
 
 The Light on the Snow. 
 
 O Death, Death, press thy hand so lean 
 and bare 
 
 Upon thy beating heart ! 
 O Death, raise up thy head and scent the air 
 
 With nostrils cold apart ! 
 
 Awaken from thy trance, O Death, and rise, 
 And hearken with thine ears ! . . .
 
 474 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Death stirs, and like a snake with glister.ing 
 eyes 
 His luminous head uprears. . . . 
 
 Awaken ! listen ! Far across the night, 
 
 And down the drifts of snow, 
 There stirs a lonely light, — a blood-red light 
 
 That moveth to and fro. 
 
 Small as a drop of dew, most dim to sight, 
 
 It ghmmereth afar. . . . 
 O Death, it cometh hither, — growing bright 
 
 And luminous as a star. 
 
 O Death, pale Death, 
 
 What do thine e\es behold? 
 What lonely star flasheth afar 
 
 Across the wintry wold? 
 
 The world is folded in its shroud of white ; 
 
 The skies are smother' d deep ; 
 There is no lamp at all in heaven, to hght 
 
 Dead Balder's sleep. 
 
 There is no lamp at Balder's head, no star 
 
 Outlooking from the cloud ; 
 White is the snow-drift woven near and far, 
 
 And white is Balder's shroud. 
 
 O death, pale Death, across the lone white 
 land 
 
 No heavenly rays are shed, — 
 Yet still thou gazest, clutching Balder's hand. 
 
 At yonder gleam blood-red. . . . 
 
 It crawleth as a snail along the ground. 
 
 Still far and faint to see, 
 O Death, it creepeth surely, with no sound, 
 
 Across the night, to thee. 
 
 O gentle Death, 
 
 Why dost thou crouch so low ? 
 A star it seems, a star that travelleth 
 
 From snow to snow. 
 
 Nearer it cometh, and across the night 
 
 Its beams fall crimson red. 
 The drifts beneath it glimmer and grow 
 bright 
 
 Like cheeks lamp-lit and dead. 
 
 O gentle Death, 
 
 Hither it cometh slow ; — 
 A Shadow creepeth with the same, O Death 
 
 Frjm snow to snow. 
 
 iir. 
 The F.vce and the Voice. 
 
 Nearer and nearer o'er the waste of white 
 
 It steals, and doth not fade : 
 A light, and in the glimmer of the light 
 
 A form that casts a shade. 
 
 Nearer and nearer, till Death's eyes behold 
 A semblance strange and gray, 
 
 A silent shape that stoopeth and doth hold 
 The lamp to light its way. 
 
 Bent is he as a weary snow-clad bough. 
 
 Gaunt as a leafless tree. 
 But glamour of moonlight hes upon his 
 brow. 
 
 Most strange to see ! 
 
 And in one hand a silvern lanthorn swings 
 
 Fill'd with a crimson light. 
 And round his frame wind-blown and 
 shivering clings 
 
 A robe of starry white. . . . 
 
 O Death, pale Death, 
 
 Well may thy cold heart beat ! 
 The form that comes hath pierced hands, 
 O Death, 
 
 And bloody pierced feet. 
 
 Slowly he crawleth under the cold skies, 
 
 His limbs trail heavy as lead. 
 Pale fixed blue his eyes are, Uke the eyes 
 
 Of one that sleeps stone-dead. 
 
 Ay me, for never thro' so wan a wold 
 
 Walk'd one so sadly fair — 
 The wild snows drift, the wind blows shrill 
 and cold. 
 
 And those soft feet are bare. . . . 
 
 O \vho is this that walketh the wintry night, 
 
 With naked hands and feet ! 
 O who is this that beareth a blood -red liglit, 
 
 And weareth a winding-sheet ! 
 
 The night is still, no living thing makes 
 moan ; 
 Silent the cold skies loom ; — 
 But hark ! what voice is this, so faintly 
 blown 
 Across the gloom?
 
 THE COMING OF THE OTHER. 
 
 475 
 
 •Balder! Balder!' 
 
 He lifts the lamp— and lo ! its red rays 
 
 Hush ! that cry ! 
 
 glance 
 
 The form stands white i' the chilly night, 
 
 On Balder's sleeping eyes — 
 
 Holding its lamp on high. 
 
 ' Balder ! O Balder ! from thy trance 
 
 
 Arise 1 ' . . . . 
 
 ' Palder ! Balder ! 
 
 
 Where art thou ? ' 
 
 Strange flash'd the wondrous ray 
 
 The snow smooths still with fingers chill 
 
 Aslant the silent snows ; 
 
 Dead Balder's brow. 
 
 Death waii'd— and slowly, gaunt and gray, 
 
 
 Dead Balder rose ! 
 
 gentle Death, 
 
 
 WTiat voice is this that cries ? 
 
 
 What sad shape stands with lifted hands 
 
 IV. 
 
 Alone under the skies ? 
 
 'Wake, Balder I Wake 1' 
 
 ' Balder ! Balder ! 
 
 Silent rose Balder, ev'n as one 
 
 Answer me ! ' 
 
 Who wakens from a swoon. 
 
 He stands and softly sighs, 
 
 Turning his head from side to side 
 
 And vacant are his eyes 
 
 In the red wintry moon. 
 
 As if they cannot see ! 
 
 
 Wrapt in his winding-sheet of snow 
 
 Yet in the weary gloom full faint they glow, 
 
 He loom'd in the dim light, 
 
 And fix themselves at last — 
 
 And marble-pale his cold cheeks gleam'd 
 
 He sees dead Balder sleeping in the snow, 
 
 Under his locks of white. 
 
 And thither he fleeteth fast ! 
 
 
 
 ' Wake, Balder ! wake ! ' the strange voice 
 
 He comes now swifter than a bark 
 
 cried ; 
 
 Which bitter tempests blow, — 
 
 Dead Balder woke and heard, 
 
 Dreadful he flashes down the dark, 
 
 And turn'd his face to his who spake, 
 
 With black prints on the snow ! 
 
 Shiv'ring, but said no word. 
 
 ' Wake, Balder ! wake ! ' 
 
 ' Wake, Balder ! wake ! ' the strange voice 
 
 His voice calls now — 
 
 cried ; 
 
 The shrill cry circles like a snake 
 
 And Balder woke and knew, — 
 
 Round Balder's brow ! 
 
 And lo ! upon his lips and hair 
 
 Oh. who is this th it walketh the wintry night 
 
 A golden glimmer grew ! 
 
 With naked hands and feet ? 
 
 O who art thou with blessed voice, 
 
 O who is this that beareth a blood-red light 
 
 Who biddest my heart beat ? 
 
 And weareth a winding-sheet? 
 
 And wherefore hast thou waken'd me 
 
 There is a gleam upon his brow and hair 
 
 From sleep so heavenly sweet?' 
 
 Ev'n as of luminous hands. 
 
 'I'hen answer'd back that tall slill form, 
 
 Swiftly he comes to Balder's side, and there 
 He stands ! 
 
 In a clear voice and low, 
 Stretching his arms and brightening, 
 
 And Death crawls moaning from his snowy 
 
 Wliite-robed, and pale as snow. 
 
 seat 
 To grasp his raiment hem. 
 
 • I am thine elder Brother 
 
 And toucheth with his mouth the pierced 
 
 Come from beyond the sea ; 
 
 feet. 
 
 For many a weary night and day 
 
 Yea, softly kisseth them. 
 
 I have been seeking thee ! ' 
 
 O Death ! pale Death ! 
 
 Oh, Balder's cheeks are shining bright, 
 
 He gazeth down on thee — 
 
 And smiles are on his face — 
 
 His smile is like no smile of thing of breath. 
 
 ' I dieam'd, and saw one with a lamp 
 
 Yet is it sweet to see. 
 
 Passing from place to place.
 
 476 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 ' And ever, as he wander'd on, 
 
 Softly he cried to me — 
 Art thou mine elder Brother? 
 
 Then shall my lips kiss thee ! ' 
 
 ' I am thine elder Brother, 
 
 Come from beyond the sea ; 
 Balder, my brother Balder, 
 
 Kiss thou me ! ' 
 
 Death moans, and crouching on the snow 
 
 Uplooketh with eyes dim, 
 For Balder on his brother's breast 
 
 Hath fallen, kissing him. 
 
 ' Thou art mine elder Brother, 
 
 The risen Balder cries ; 
 ' I know thee by thy gentle voice 
 
 And by thy tearful eyes. 
 
 ' Thou art mine elder Brother, 
 Most heavenly sad and sweet, 
 
 Yet wherefore hast thou pierced hands 
 And naked pierced feet? 
 
 • O wherefore are thy cheeks so chill, 
 
 Thy lips so cold and blue, 
 And wherefore com'st thou in thy shroud, 
 As if arisen too ? ' 
 
 The white Christ smiled in Balder's face. 
 But softly his tears ran — 
 
 • Like thee I lived, like thee I loved, 
 
 And died, like thee, for Man. ' 
 
 The Birth and Death. 
 
 The white Christ cried, and on the air 
 
 His voice like music rang. 
 And Balder listcn'd silently 
 
 As if an angel sang. 
 
 'Out of the dark Earth was I bom, 
 
 Under the shining blue. 
 And to a human height I rose. 
 
 And drank the light, and grew. 
 
 ' The land was beauteous where I dwelt, 
 
 A still and silent land. 
 Where little pools of heaven fall 
 
 And gleam 'mid wastes of sand. 
 
 • I loved the bright beasts of the earth, 
 And birds both great and small ; 
 
 I loved all God made beautiful. 
 But mortals most of all. 
 
 ' For on their faces framed of clay. 
 
 And in their eyes divine, 
 I saw the shadow of the dream 
 
 Which nightly sadden'd mine. 
 
 ' But when I knew their days were dark, 
 
 And all their spirits sore. 
 Because of this same silent Death 
 
 Creeping from door to door, 
 
 ' I raised my hands to heaven and cried 
 
 On him that fashion' d me. 
 My Father dear who dwells in heaven, 
 
 And suffers Death to be. 
 
 ' And sweet and low this answer came 
 
 Out of the quiet sky — 
 Ali that is beautiful shall abide, 
 
 All that is base shall die I 
 
 ' Take thou thy cross and bear it well. 
 Arid seek my servant Death : 
 
 Thou too shall wither like a flower 
 Before his bitterest breath. 
 
 ' Yea, thou ^halt slumber in his arms 
 
 Three nights and days, and then. 
 With that cold kiss upon thy rips, 
 Awaken once again ! 
 
 ' And when thou wakenest at last 
 
 Thy work is yet undone. 
 For thou shall roam the Earth, and seek 
 
 Thy Brethren one by one! 
 
 ' Yea, 07ie by one unto thy heart 
 
 Thy kin shall gather d be, 
 Each pallid from the kiss of Death 
 
 And beautiful like thee I' 
 
 ' O Balder, when my dark day came, 
 
 And in despair I died, 
 The same sad Death sang low to me, 
 
 Who croucheth at thy side ! 
 
 ' And all my living breath was gone 
 For three long nights and days. 
 
 And by my side the phantom knelt 
 Like one that waits and prays. 
 
 ' But when my Father's voice again 
 
 Came faint and low to me, 
 I rose out of my grave, and sr.w 
 
 Eanh sleeping silently.
 
 THE COMING OF THE OTHER. 
 
 477 
 
 ' He who had hush'd me in his arms 
 Was busy other-where. . . . 
 
 I stood and watch'd my Father's eyes 
 Shine down thro' azure air. 
 
 ' Then softly, with a happy smile, 
 
 Along the land I crept, 
 And found the men that I had loved, 
 
 Who waited, lived, and wept. 
 
 ' And lo, I blessed them one and all, 
 And cried with a human cry, 
 
 "All that is beaudful shall abide. 
 All that is base shall die." 
 
 ' But when my loving task was done, 
 
 My soul took better cheer, 
 And wandering thro' the world unseen 
 
 I sought my Brethren dear. 
 
 ' All in my robe of snowy white 
 
 From realm to realm I trod. 
 Seeking my Brethren who had died, 
 
 The golden Sons of God ! ' 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Paracletes. 
 
 ' I wander'd east, thro' shining realms 
 
 Of bright and brazen day, 
 And there, by a great river's side, 
 
 I saw a Brother pray. 
 
 ' For past his feet the corpses drave 
 
 Along the yellow tide. 
 Chased by the emerald water-snakes 
 
 And vultures crimson-eyed. 
 
 ' And from the banks there rose a wail 
 
 Of women for their dead ; 
 They wept and tore their linen robes. 
 
 And plunged 'neath wheels of dread. 
 
 ' Upon his brow he wore a crown, 
 But his black feet were bare. 
 
 And in his bright and brooding ryes 
 There dwelt a piteous care. 
 
 ' From his red lips there came a sound 
 
 Like music of a psalm, 
 And those who lisien'd ceased their tears 
 
 And grew divinely calm. 
 
 • On his own grave he sat and smiled, 
 
 A spirit dark and sweet, 
 And there were flowers upon his head 
 
 And fruits around his feet. . . . 
 
 ' I wander'd west where eagles soar 
 
 Far o'er the realms gf rains. 
 And there, among pale mountain peaks, 
 
 One hung in iron chains. 
 
 ' His head was hoary as the snow 
 
 Of that serene cold clime. 
 Yet like a child he smiled, and sang 
 
 The cradle song of Time. 
 
 ' And as he sang upon his cross. 
 
 And in no human tones, 
 The cruel gods who placed him there 
 
 Were shaken on their thrones. 
 
 ' I kiss'd him softly on the lips. 
 
 And sighing set him free — 
 He wanders now in the green world. 
 
 Divine, like thee and me. . . . 
 
 ' Then faring on with foot of fire 
 
 I cross'd the windy main. 
 And reach'd a mighty continent 
 
 Wash'd green with dew and rain. 
 
 ' There swift as lightning in the sun 
 Ran beauteous flocks and herds. 
 
 And there were forests flashing bright, 
 And many-colour'd birds. 
 
 ' And there the red-skin'd hunters chased 
 The deer and wild black kine, — 
 
 And lo ! anotler gentle god 
 Was sitting in a shrine ! 
 
 ' His skin enwrought, as if he lived, 
 
 With mystic signs, sat he ; 
 Shaven his forehead, and his face 
 
 Was painted terribly. 
 
 ' Yet was he gentle as the dew, 
 
 And gracious as the rain : 
 With healing gifts he made men glad 
 
 Upon that mighty plain. . . . 
 
 ' I wander'd south, where rivers roll'd 
 
 Yellow with slime and sand, 
 And, black against an orange sky, 
 
 I saw anotlier stand. 
 
 ' Two cymbals held he as he stood, 
 And clash'd them with shrill wail : 
 
 The cl.ish was as the thunder's voice, 
 Heard 'mid the drifting gale.
 
 478 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 ' Black was his skin as blackest night, 
 
 Naked as night each limb, 
 Yet in his eyeballs, on his cheeks, 
 
 The heavenly dew did swim. . . . 
 
 ' O Balder, these thy Brethren were 
 
 Surely as they were mine. 
 I wander north, and thee I find 
 
 The best and most divine 1 
 
 ' Yea, each of these was offer'd up 
 
 As thou hast been, and I ; 
 Their blood was drifted ev'n as smoke 
 
 Up to the silent sky. 
 
 ' All these loved Man and the green Earth 
 
 As thou hast clone, and I ; 
 And each of these by stronger gods 
 
 Was smitten down to die. 
 
 ' Yet ever when I came, and spake 
 
 The word and made the sign, 
 Their souls grew clothed in gentleness 
 
 And rose again with mine ! 
 
 ' Yea, for the love of living men 
 
 They stood renew'd in breath, 
 And smote the great gods from their thrones 
 
 With looks made strong thro' Death. 
 
 ' With faces fair they rose and wrought 
 
 Against the gods with me, 
 To make the green Earth beautiful 
 
 From shining sea to sea. 
 
 • Yea, Balder, these thy Brethren were, 
 
 Surely as they were mine : 
 My Father's blessing on thy lips, 
 
 For //lou, too, art divine ! ' 
 
 VII. 
 
 Beneath his feet the pale Death crouch'd 
 
 Ev'n as a lean white bear, 
 Watching with dark and dreamful eyes 
 
 That face so strangely fair. 
 
 But paler, sadder, wearier. 
 
 Stood Balder in his shroud, 
 While overhead a star's still hand 
 
 Parted the drifting cloud ; 
 
 And from the lattices of heaven 
 The star look'd down on him ; 
 
 But Balder saw not, and his eyes 
 With tearlul dews were dim. 
 
 ' O Brother, on my sense still lies 
 
 The burthen of my sleep, 
 A weight is on me like the weight 
 
 Of winter on the Deep. 
 
 ' For I remember as I wake 
 Mine old glad life of dream — 
 
 The vision of the bridal Earth, 
 The glory and the gleam ! 
 
 ' Oh, beautiful was the bright Earth, 
 
 And round her purple bed 
 The torches of great rivers burnt 
 
 Amber and blue and red ! 
 
 ' And beautiful were living men. 
 
 Wandering to and fro. 
 With sun and moon and stars for lights, 
 
 And flowers and leaves below. 
 
 ' But evermore this phantom T eath 
 
 Was darkening the sun. 
 Seeking the sweetest to destroy. 
 
 Sparing and pitying none, 
 
 ' And lo, I live, and at my feet 
 Death cold and silent lies, — 
 
 While in thine own dear Father's name 
 Thou biddest me arise. 
 
 ' O wherefore should I rise at all 
 
 Since all is black above, 
 And trampled 'neath the feet of gods 
 
 Lie all the shapes I love ? 
 
 ' Ay me, the dead are strewn with snows, 
 
 They sleep and cannot see, 
 With no soft voice to waken ^Aem 
 
 As thine has waken'd me ! 
 
 ' And wherefore should my soul forget 
 
 What cruel kin were mine, 
 Tho' in another Father's name 
 
 Thou grcetest me divine ? ' 
 
 The white Christ gazed in Balder's face, 
 And held his hand, and cried, 
 
 ' Divine thou art and beautiful. 
 And therefore mi^si abide ! 
 
 ' And in mine own dear Father's name 
 
 I greet and bid thee rise. 
 And we shall stand before his throne 
 
 And look into his eyes."
 
 THE COMING OF THE OTHER. 
 
 479 
 
 But Balder moan'd, ' Who made the Earth, 
 
 And all things foul or fair ? 
 Who made the white bear on the berg, 
 
 The eagle in the air? 
 
 •Who made the lightning's forked flame, 
 Who thunder's blacken'd brand? 
 
 Who fashion'd Death, with fatal eyes, 
 Chill breath, and clammy hand?' 
 
 Death stirred and clung to B ilder's feet 
 
 And utter'd forth a cry — 
 A thousand starry hands drew back 
 
 The curtains of the sky ! 
 
 And countless eyes look'd calmly down 
 
 Thro' azure clear and cold, 
 And lo ! the round red moon became 
 
 A shining lily of gold ! 
 
 Then on the wil 'erness of snow 
 
 A lustrous sheen was shed, 
 And splendour as of starlight grew 
 
 Around the white Christ's head. 
 
 And Christ cried, gazing down on Death, 
 Making a mystic sign, 
 
 • Now blessings on my servant Death, 
 
 For he too is divine. 
 
 • O Balder, he who fashion'd us. 
 
 And bade us live and move, 
 Shall weave for Death's sad heavenly hair 
 Imaiortal flowers of love. 
 
 ' Ah ! never fail'd my servant Death, 
 Whene'er I named his name, — 
 
 But at my bidding he hath flown 
 As swift as frost or flame. 
 
 ' Yea, as a sleuth-hound tracks a man, 
 And finds his form, and springs. 
 
 So hath he hunted down the gods 
 As well as human things ! 
 
 • Yet only thro' the strength of Death 
 
 A god shall fall or rise — 
 A thousand lie on the cold snows, 
 Stone still, with marble eyes. 
 
 ' But whosoe'er shall conquer Death, 
 
 Tho' mortal man he be, 
 Shall in his season rise again. 
 
 And live, with tlicc, and me I 
 
 ' And whosoe'er loves mortals most 
 Shall conquer Death the best. 
 
 Yea, whosoe'er grows beautiful 
 Shall gn^ow divinely blest. ' 
 
 The white Christ raised his shining face 
 
 To that still bright'ning sky. 
 ' Only the beautiful shall abide, 
 
 Only the base shall die ! ' 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But Raider moan'd, ' O beauteous Earth 
 
 Now lying cold and dead, 
 Bright flash'd the lamps of flowers and 
 stars 
 
 Around thy golden head ! 
 
 ' And beautiful were beast and bird. 
 And lamb and speckled snake. 
 
 And beautiful were human things 
 Who gladden'd for my sake. 
 
 ' But lo ! on one and all of those 
 Blew the cold blighting breath, 
 
 Until I died that they might live 
 And bought their life with death. 
 
 ' Behold, I live, and afl is dark. 
 
 And wasted is my pain. 
 For glimmering at my feet I see 
 
 The fatal eyes again. 
 
 ' Why stays he here upon the Earth ? 
 
 Why lingers he below ? 
 The empty heavens wait for him, — 
 
 'Tis ended — let him go ! ' 
 
 Death look'd up with a loving face, 
 And smiled from the white ground ; — 
 
 The stars that sat upon their thrones 
 Seem'd singing with low sound. 
 
 The white Christ cried, ' The green Earth 
 lives ! 
 
 She sleeps, but hath not died ! 
 She and all fair things thou hast named 
 
 Shall quicken and abide ! 
 
 ' O Balder, those great gods to whom 
 
 Thy radiant life was given, 
 Were far too frail to keep their plight 
 
 And summon Death to heaven, 
 
 ' There is no god of all thy kin 
 Dare name that name aloud ;
 
 48o 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 When his cold hand was on thy heart, 
 Each crouch'd within his cloud. 
 
 ' Thou couldst not buj the boon of those, 
 They were too weak and poor ; 
 
 Fain would they buy a boon of thee. 
 Now tliy strange sleep is o'er ! 
 
 • Yet now for evermore fulfilled 
 
 Is thine ancestral rune. 
 For thou indeed hast conquer'd Death 
 
 And won thy gentle boon. 
 
 ' Yea, ihou hast died as fair things die 
 
 In earth, and air, and deep, 
 Yet hast thou risen thrice beautiful 
 
 Out of thy solemn sleep. 
 
 ' For life thrice seal'd and sanctified 
 
 Is on thy lips and eyes ; 
 And whatsoe'er grows fair like thee 
 
 By love shall also rise. 
 
 ' Lo ! out of beauty cast away 
 
 Another beauty grows : 
 What Death reaps in the fields of life 
 
 In fairer fields he sows. 
 
 ' And thro" a thousand gates of gloom, 
 
 With tracts of life between. 
 The creatures that the Father made 
 
 Creep on, now hid, now seen ; 
 
 ' And duly out of every doom 
 
 A sweeter issue flows, 
 As out of dreary dooms of gods 
 
 At last thy glory rose ! 
 
 ' So fairer yet, and ever fair. 
 
 Thy soul divine shall gleam, 
 A spirit springing from a tomb 
 
 And rainbow'd into dream ! 
 
 ' O kiss me, Brother, on the mouth. 
 
 Yea, kiss me thrice again ; 
 For when I feel thy kiss, I feel 
 
 The sun, and the wind, and the rain ! 
 
 ' The dead Earth wakens 'neath thy feet. 
 Flame kindles thro' the sod. . . . 
 
 O kiss me with thy human lips, 
 Thou brightest born of Gad ! ' 
 
 VIII. 
 
 THE TWILIGHT OF THE 
 
 GODS. 
 
 I. 
 
 ' Balder ! Balder ! ' 
 
 And Balder said, 
 Turning round his gentle head, 
 ' I hear ! ' 
 
 ' And thou, my servant Death, 
 K neeling low with hushed breath, 
 While my hand is on thy hair ! ' 
 
 Death made answer, kneeling there, 
 ' I hear ! ' 
 
 ' At last the cold snows cease. 
 The white world is hush'd in peace. 
 The sky is clear, the storm has gone, 
 .Stars are rising to light us on — 
 In the north the moon grows gray, — 
 Take my hand and come away ! ' 
 
 'Whither, O Whither?' 
 
 ' To the City strange wherein 
 Dwell the mighty gods thy kin ; — 
 O Balder, lead me thither ! ' 
 
 ' Across the darkness and the day, 
 Long and dreary is the way — 
 O'er chill wastes of misery, 
 Past the silent Frozen Sea, 
 Where the white bears lean and old 
 Run and shiver in the cold — 
 Where the vast ice-mountains rise 
 Violet-blue against the skies, 
 Then across the wondrous Bow 
 
 Only gods and ghosts may tread, — 
 Beyond the sea, above the snow, 
 
 Where the sunfire fadeth red ; 
 There the night lies and no day — 
 Long and weary is the v,ay — 
 O Brother, fare not thither ! ' 
 
 ' Broken is the wintry night. 
 
 Rising yonder is the light ; 
 
 Half our task is yet to do — 
 
 Come ! and thou. Death, follow too — 
 
 O Balder, lead me thither ! ' 
 
 Far away across the gloom, 
 Rose-red like a rose in bloom,
 
 THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS. 
 
 481 
 
 Flashing, changing, ray by ray, 
 Glorious as the ghost of day, 
 Gleam'd in one vast aureole 
 Shifting splendours of the pole. 
 All across the vault of blue 
 Shooting lights and colours flew, 
 And the milky way shone there 
 Like a bosom white and bare, 
 Throbbing, trembling, softly moved 
 By some heart that lived and loved. 
 Night was broken, and grew bright. 
 All the countless lamps of light 
 Swinging, flashing, near and far. 
 Cast their glittering rays below, — 
 While the silvern polar star 
 Throbb'd close down upon the snow. . . . 
 
 ' Take ray hand, and let us go ! ' 
 
 II. 
 
 And so those twain have passed across the 
 night. 
 O'er frozen wilds of white, 
 With eyes still fixed upon the polar star 
 
 That burncth bright afar ; 
 And Death behind them, creeping like a 
 hound. 
 Still follows with no sound. 
 
 O wonders of the cold untravell'd Waste 
 
 Whereon their swift feet haste ! 
 The night is troubled ; on the black pole's 
 pyres 
 
 Flash fierce electric fires. 
 And shadows come and go, phantoms move 
 forth 
 
 Gigantic in the north. 
 Upon the snow a green light glimmereth, 
 
 With phosphorescent breath 
 Flashing and fading ; and from unseen lairs 
 
 Creep hoary ghost-like bears, 
 Crawling across their path without a cry. 
 
 At last against the sky 
 They see the lonely arctic mountains loom, 
 
 Touch'd with a violet bloom 
 From peak to base and wearing on their 
 heights 
 
 Strange ever-shifting lights. 
 Yellow and azure and dark amethyst ; 
 
 But westward they are kissed 
 By the bright beams of a great moon of gold. 
 
 Dead-white and calm and cold 
 Sleeps the great waste, while ever as they go, 
 
 With shadows on the snow. 
 Their shapes grow luminous and silvern fair. 
 
 And in the hush'd chill air 
 The stars of heaven cluster with quick breath 
 
 To gaze on them and Death. 
 Now thro' the trembling sheen of the still sky 
 
 Blue fires and emerald fly 
 With wan reflections on the sheeted white 
 
 Outspread beneath the night, 
 And passing thro' them, Christ and Balder 
 seem 
 
 As spectres in a dream. 
 Until at last their feet come silently 
 
 To the great arctic sea. 
 
 Moveless and boundless, stretching blindly 
 forth 
 
 Into the ptuple north. 
 Rise mountainous waves and billows frozen 
 all 
 
 As if i' the act to fall, 
 .Vnd tho' they stir not, yet they seem to roll 
 
 In silence to the pole. 
 So, lit by countless stars, that Ocean old 
 
 Wrapt in the vapours cold 
 Of its own breath, beneath the lamps of night 
 
 Gleams blue and shadowy white ! 
 Then Balder crieth, — and around his brow 
 
 New glory glimmereth now, — 
 ' Ay me, remote from men are the abode.<i 
 
 Of the immortal gods ; 
 Beyond the ocean of the ice ; afar 
 
 Under the sleepless star ; 
 And o'er theflood of the wild waters spanned. 
 
 From lonely land to land, 
 By the grrat bridge of the eternal Bow.' 
 
 The white Christ answereth low, 
 ' Tho' it were further than the furthest light 
 
 That glimmereth this night, 
 Thither our souls are bound, our feet musf 
 go!' 
 
 III. 
 The Bridge of Ghosts. 
 
 Their feet have passed the frozen Deep 
 
 Whose waves in silence roll. 
 And now they reach that ocean black 
 
 Which beats the inmost pole. 
 
 Before them, on the northern sky 
 Rose-red and far withdrawn, 
 
 II
 
 482 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Mingled with meteors of the night, 
 Gleam golden dews of dawn ; 
 
 And cast across that liquid sea 
 
 Which surges black below, 
 They see the pathway of the gods, 
 
 A many-colour'd Bow. 
 
 [There comes from off its heights a wind 
 
 That blows for endless time. 
 As swift as light, as keen as frost, 
 
 It strikes down souls that climb. ] 
 
 ' O brother, place thy hand in mine,' 
 
 The gentle Balder said ; 
 The rayless waters roar'd beneath. 
 
 The Bridge flash'd overhead. 
 
 Then hand in hand against the wind 
 
 They falter'd upward slow. 
 On stairs of crimson and of gold 
 
 Climbing the wondrous Bow. 
 
 Like a great rainbow of the earth 
 
 It rose with faint hues seven. 
 And thro' the purple of the arch 
 
 Ghnimer'd the lights of heaven. 
 
 When they had reach'd the midmost height. 
 
 In air they stood so high, 
 To one beneath they would have seem'd 
 
 As stars upon the sky. 
 
 The white Christ cried, ' What lonely light 
 
 Burns yonder ruby red ? ' 
 'The mansion of the sun-god Fryer 
 
 Stands yonder,' Balder said. 
 
 ' There ranged in rows with cold hands crost 
 
 The slain in silence he. 
 The face of each ablaze like brass 
 
 Against the burning sky." 
 
 Far under, as they linger'd there, 
 
 The dark deep waters roU'd ; 
 Beyond, the polar mountains flash'd 
 
 With gleams of fiery gold. 
 
 Upon the shores rose hills of ice 
 
 Hewn as in marble white. 
 Inlaid uith opal and with pearl 
 
 And crown'd with chrysolite. 
 
 From stair to stair the brethren trod, 
 And Death crawl'd close behind. 
 
 And ever as they walk'd, the Bridge 
 Shook wavering in the wind. 
 
 And lo ! they seem'd as meteor shapes. 
 White-robed and shod with flame ; 
 
 And to them out of the cold north 
 A threatening murmur came. 
 
 Down in the sullen sea below 
 
 Now ghostly faces clomb, 
 Uplooking with wild eyes to theirs 
 
 And waving hands of foam ! 
 
 So o'er the mighty Bow they moved 
 Snow-vestured and star-crown'd. 
 
 And Death behind them like a shade 
 Follow'd without a sound. 
 
 But as they reach'd the shores and stood, — 
 The bright Bridge at their back, — 
 
 The gods gazed out from the cold north 
 And shriek' d, and all grew black ! 
 
 Deep thunders shook the darken'd heaven, 
 Wild lightning flash'd and fled, 
 
 The frozen shores of ice and snow 
 Trembled beneath their tread. 
 
 Round the ice-mountains of the pole 
 
 Dense smokes of tempest rose. 
 And from their lairs swift whirlwinds leapt 
 
 Wrapt round with drifting snows. 
 
 ' O Brother, hold me by the hand. 
 
 For lo ! the hour is nigh ; — 
 I see the shadows of the gods, 
 
 Yonder upon the sky I ' 
 
 IV. 
 
 'Behold, I am risen." 
 
 They stood in the snow and they clung 
 together, — 
 The air was blacken'd, the snow was 
 driven ; 
 There came a tempest of wintry weather 
 
 Out of the open gates of heaven. 
 The darkness drifted, the dark snows shifted. 
 The winnowing fans of the winds were lifted. 
 
 And the realms of the ice were riven ; 
 The white flakes whirld like a winged cloud 
 
 Round and over and under ; 
 The Earth shriek'd loud from her rending 
 shroud. 
 And the black clouds echoed in thunder I 
 
 ' O Balder ! Balder I '
 
 THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS. 
 
 483 
 
 And Balder replied, 
 Feeling not seeing his face who :ried, 
 
 • I hear ! " 
 
 ' And thou other who crouchest there, 
 Gazing up thro' thy hoary hair, 
 Stir not yet till I bid thee go ! ' 
 
 And Death moan'd answer out of the snow, 
 
 • I hear ! ' 
 
 ' At last the hour hath come. 
 The sky is troubled, the world is shaken, 
 The sleeping gods on their thrones awaken, 
 
 Altho' their lips are dumb. 
 I feel a breath from the frozen north. 
 For the souls of the slain aie faring forth, 
 And their tramp is heard on the frozen ocean, 
 
 And their tread is swift in the vales of snow. 
 
 They come, and the great deep throbs 
 below 
 To the sound of their thund'rous motion. 
 O Balder, Balder ! ' 
 
 ' I hearken, I hearken ! ' 
 
 ' Thro' the flakes that fall and the ways that 
 
 darken. 
 Over the earth or over the sea. 
 North is the way that our feet must flee, 
 lill we find them sitting beyond the pole, 
 Gods without pity, gods without soul, 
 
 Fresh from the slaying of thee. 
 North is the way that our feet must go, 
 Breasting the blasts from the gates of woe. 
 Till we find them there in their sacred places, 
 Gods with their terrible bloodless faces. 
 Writing red-handed for mortal races 
 
 Black runes on the stainless snow ! ' 
 
 . . . Deeper and darker the night is growing. 
 Faster and faster the clouds are snowing — 
 Fleeter and fleeter the Brethren fly 
 With faces silver'd against the sky, 
 Till close before them, beyond the pole. 
 The aurora flashes its fiery scroll. 
 While the winds of the frozen waste are 
 blowing. 
 And the ice is riven asunder ! 
 Lo ! ghastly blue with a dreary gleam 
 The bergs of the pole, like ghosts in a dream, 
 Standing pallid against the heaven, 
 Flash with the forks of the fiery levin, 
 
 And to and fro in the frozen snow, 
 Pass manifold shapes of wonder. 
 Faster, faster, out of the north, 
 The ghosts of Asgard are hurrying forth. 
 And their shields of ice and their spears of 
 
 hail 
 Clash in the heart of the gathering gale, 
 As they come upon feet of thunder. 
 
 ' O Balder ! Balder ! cling unto me ! ' 
 
 ' Lift up thy lamp, for I cannot see— 
 I shiver deep to the bitter bone, — 
 While the chilly seeds of the sleet are sown 
 In my flesh, and I feel not thee 1 ' 
 
 The lamp is lifted : a dreary light 
 It sheddeth out on the northern night ; 
 It comes and goes like the lighthouse ray 
 Lost on the soot-black ocean way. 
 Nought they see and nought they feel. 
 Only the frost with fingers of steel 
 Gripping their throats, so fierce, so fast, 
 Only the breath of the bitter blast 
 Bending their bodies as trees are bent. 
 Rending their garments as clouds are rent. 
 While overhead, with a thund'rous tread. 
 The black heavens frov/n to trample them 
 down, 
 And the vials of storm are spent. 
 
 ' O Balder ! Balder ! what shadows white 
 Stand in the tempest's shrieking flight? 
 There in the darkness I discern 
 Faces that fade and eyes that burn ; 
 They loom in the flash of the thunder-floud. 
 And the tramp of their feet is as surges that 
 
 roar. 
 Rolling around. 
 On some desolate rocky shore." 
 
 Then Balder answer'd with eager cry— 
 ' Cover thy face lest thou droop and d e : 
 'Tis the gods my brethren ! I see them plain, 
 Each sitteth there in a spectral pain ; 
 They search the waste all round for us. 
 And the light in their eyes is trenmlous 
 With the wrath that burns the brain ! ' 
 
 . . . Blacker, blacker, the night is growing, 
 Thicker, faster, the snow is snowing. 
 Silent amid those frozen peaks 
 Sit gods with terrible bloodless cheeks,— 
 
 I I 2
 
 484 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Each like a statue of marble stone, 
 Each alone on a lonely throne, 
 With the red aurora upon their hair, 
 They loom in desolate circles there. 
 
 Silent, with folded wings ; 
 They do not stir tho gh the storm drifts by, 
 They do not speak though the wild winds 
 
 cry. 
 Silent they reign in a starry dream, 
 While the north star flashes its fiery beam, 
 
 And the serpent lightning springs. . . . 
 Silent they sit, — but who is He 
 WTio broods in the centre awfully ? 
 Like a pale blue berg in the frosty light. 
 Solemn, speechle-s, hoary white. 
 Coldly wrapt from head to feet 
 In a robe of snow like a winding-sheet. 
 With a crown of starlight on his hair, 
 He sitteth dreaming with fatal stare, 
 
 Tho' his throne is strangely shaken. 
 Black is his home, and he sits thereon 
 Still as a mortal whose breath is gone. 
 And the waves are frozen around his feet, 
 And faint, far under, the earthquakes beat. 
 
 Yet he broods, and doth not waken. 
 
 ' O Balder ! Balder ! who is he 
 Who sitteth there so silently ? 
 Who sitteth there so hoary and old, 
 A god in the midst of gods so cold. 
 And hears not at all, though the storm 
 winds call, 
 And the ghosts of Asgard gather?' 
 
 Then Balder answer' d, ' The gods creep 
 
 here, 
 Weary with seasons of strife and fear — 
 They come, they go — but for ever and aye 
 He stirreth not, be it night or day ; 
 Still as a stone, he reigneth alone ! ' 
 
 And Balder raising his hands, made moan, 
 ' Behold I am risen, my Father ! ' 
 
 V. 
 
 Alfadur. 
 
 The rune is woven, the spell is spoken, 
 And lo ! the dream of the gods is broken. 
 
 And each pale throne is shaken. 
 They rise, they tremble against the sky. 
 They shriek an answer to Balders cry 
 
 And white as death they waken 1 
 
 Gods they glimmer in frozen mail, 
 Their faces are flashing marble pale, 
 They rise erect, and they wave their hands, 
 They scatter the shifting snows as sands. 
 And gaze in the face of the Father ! . . 
 
 . . . Blacker, blacker, the night is growing. 
 Faster, faster, the snow is snowing — 
 Silently looking thro' the storm. 
 Towers the one gigantic Form, 
 And all around with a trumpet sound 
 
 The wintry winds are blowing. 
 The hght of doom is in his eyes, his arms 
 
 spread wide for slaughter. 
 He sits 'mid gleams of burning skies and 
 
 wails of wind-blown water. 
 Behind the outhne of his cheeks the pale 
 
 aurora flashes, 
 He broods 'mid moveless mountain peaks 
 
 and looks thro' fiery lashes : 
 On heaven and earth that round him float 
 
 in whirls of snowy wonder. 
 He looks, and from his awful throat there 
 
 comes the cry of thunder ! 
 
 ' Balder ! Balder ! ' 
 
 . . . ' He cries on me — 
 He standeth yonder, and beckoneth ! ' 
 ' He looketh around, but he cannot see ! 
 Answer him back with a gentle breath, 
 Now the air is still ! ' . . . 
 
 ' I am here, I am here ! ' 
 . . . The cry went up to the godhead drear, 
 Like the cry of a lamb in the midst of the 
 
 snow. 
 When the voices of tempest have sobbed 
 th^rfill. 
 
 And the clouds are still 
 For a little space, and the winds lie low. 
 Then rose in answer a wail so loud 
 It roll'd as thunder from cloud to cloud, 
 And the gods arose in a winged crowd, 
 As oft 'mid desolate mountain-peaks, 
 With clangour of wings and hungry shrieks. 
 
 Great flocks of eagles gather. 
 Tearing asunder their frozen mail. 
 Smiting their breasts with a woful wail, 
 Looming with faces spectral pale. 
 
 They gazed in the eyes of the Father ! 
 Then even as mighty eagles spread 
 Their wings and soar, they arose and fied
 
 THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS. 
 
 485 
 
 Crossing the gleam of the fiery north, 
 Facing the dark drift hurrying forth, 
 
 They flew on flashing pinions ; 
 As wild clouds scatter'd across the sky. 
 They wing'd their way with a thunder- 
 cry. . . . 
 But moveless there, when the rest had flown, 
 The Father sat on his silent throne, 
 Dreary, desolate, all alone, 
 
 In the midst of the white dominions. 
 
 ' B.iLDER 1 Balder ! ' 
 
 ' He looks on me ! 
 He stirreth now, with a sound like the sea, 
 And he calleth aloud ! ' 
 
 ' Then move no limb. 
 But crouch in thy place and answer him ; — 
 Cry once more full loud and clear. 
 Now he pauseth again ! ' . . . 
 
 ' I am here, I am here ! ' 
 
 Again the thunder rolling near. 
 Again the tumult of wind and ocean ; 
 Around the throne with a serpent motion 
 
 The meteor snakes appear. 
 White in the midst He stands, the Spirit of 
 
 God the Master, 
 Waving his wild white hands, urging his 
 
 snows on faster ; 
 But ever darker yet the troubled air grows 
 
 o'er him, 
 And still with fierce face set he searcheth 
 
 night before him, 
 And then again, all blind, with black robes 
 
 blown asunder, 
 He gropeth down the wind, and calls aloud 
 
 in thunder, 
 
 ' Balder, Balder. 
 
 . . . ' I see him now, 
 The wrath of heaven is on his brow — 
 He stands in the circle of mfctcors white. 
 His white feet glimmer like cold moonlight — 
 I can feel his breath ! ' 
 
 • Now hold my hand — 
 Rise erect on thy feet and stand — 
 Make answer ! ' 
 
 ' My Father, I am here ! ' 
 
 As an infant's cry, so faint, so clear, 
 As a young lamb's cry, so soft, so low, 
 Cometh the voice from the waste of snow, — 
 And silence deep as the sleep of ocean. 
 Stillness with no stir, no motion, 
 
 Follows the sound of the cry. . . . 
 Terrible, desolate, the Form 
 Stands and broods in the midst of the storm, 
 Beneath him wolves of the fierce frost swarm. 
 
 But quiet and hush'd they lie. 
 With his robe wind-rent and his form wind- 
 blown 
 
 He gazeth round and round. 
 He seeth a snow amid the snow 
 
 And heareth a human sound. 
 
 • Balder ! Balder ! ' 
 
 ' O Father dear, 
 Turn thine eyes and behold me here — 
 Ev'n Balder thy Son ! ' 
 
 ' / see thee not — 
 Only a gleam OJi a darken d spot, 
 And the ray of the light iii thy hand !' 
 
 ' Ay me, 
 No light I carry that thou mayst see. 
 What wouldst thou, Father ? ' 
 
 ' Why hast thou risen ? 
 We deenid thee dead, and we slept in peace — 
 We deem d thee dead tvith the sn ow for prison , 
 
 That the old sad fear might cease. 
 We deetn'd thee dead, and our hear.s were 
 
 light. 
 For never more would thy beauty blight 
 The spirit of Me thy Father/ ' 
 
 Then answer'd Balder, ' O Father dear. 
 Turn thine eyes, and behold mc here — 
 Why hatest thou me ? ' 
 
 ' We hate thee all 
 For thy sinnmcr face, for thy soft footfall, 
 For thy beauty blended of star and flower, 
 For thine earthly love, for thine heavenly 
 
 dower ; 
 For the rune that was written, the rune that 
 
 was read, 
 We cursed thee all, but our curse was said 
 Deepest and best when we read that rune 
 By thy love for men I'
 
 486 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 As the rising moon 
 Creeping up from a cloudy place, 
 A glory grew upon Balder's face — 
 Again he murmur'd, ' O Father dear, 
 Turn thine eyes and behold me here — 
 Why hatest thou me ? ' 
 
 ' We hate thee most 
 By the rune that was written, the 7-une that 
 
 was lost, 
 By the doom that above thee hitng sharp as 
 
 a sword. 
 When thy feet stood there and thy voice 
 
 implored 
 For pity of men ; and we loved thee least 
 For loosing the yoke of 7nan and beast. 
 For making the hearts of mortals tame, 
 For calming wild hawk-like tnen who came 
 To thy beck as doves ; then we loathed to see 
 The light of thy name upon floiuer and tree. 
 The peace of thy name upon hill and vale. 
 The love of thy name on the faces pale 
 Of maidens and men; yea, for all these 
 
 things. 
 For all thy life and the light it brings. 
 We have hated and hate thee unto death.' 
 
 But Balder answereth back and saith, 
 ' Why hatest thou me ? ' 
 
 ' For this the most I 
 Because thy coming is as the ghost 
 Uf the coming doom that shall strike us dead. 
 For the rune was written, the 7-une was read, 
 A?id we knexunorcsttillivcbotight our breath 
 With the gentle boon of thy willing death. 
 Why hast thou risen ? how hast thou risen ? 
 We gave thee the frost and the snow for 
 
 prison, 
 We heard thy sigh and we lei thee die. 
 Yet thou criest again with a human cry 
 From the gates of life I . . . But I stoop at 
 
 last 
 To sweep thee hence with my bitterest blast 
 Out to the heavens ofpntiless air. 
 Where nevermore with a human care 
 
 That face of thitie 
 May trouble the eyes of the gods divine I 
 Out 'mong the winged stars, deep down the 
 
 dark abysses, 
 Beyond the black tomb's bars, far from the 
 
 green Earth' s kisses. 
 
 As dust thou shall be cast, as snow thou 
 
 shall be drifted. 
 Seized by my fiercest blast thou shall be now 
 
 uplifted. 
 Call on all living things that stir in sun or 
 
 shadow — 
 White flowers, sweet forms with wings, wild 
 
 deer, or lambs o' the meadow ; 
 Call on the moonlight now that mingled v- 
 
 thy making ; 
 To heaven uplift thy brow, where the pale 
 
 spheres are waking ; 
 On water, air, and fire, on snow and on 
 
 witid and on forest. 
 Call with a wild desire, now when thy need 
 
 is sorest I 
 Call now on flower or bird to fill the plight 
 
 they gave thee ! 
 Call, let thy voice be heard, and see if Earth 
 
 can save thee/' 
 
 I'ehind the back of the Shadow hoar, 
 I'here grew a trouble, a sullen roar. 
 Roar as of beasts that prepare to come, 
 Trouble like surges that flash to foam ; 
 Faster and faster the drift whirl'd round, 
 Deeper and direr grew the sound. 
 And the four fierce winds are blowing ! 
 Yet brighter, calmer grew Balder's face. 
 Till a light and a glory fill'd the place. 
 And he rose his height, like a lily white, 
 Like a lily white in the heart of the night, 
 With the flakes around him snowing ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 The Brethren. 
 
 ' Father, Father, why hatest thou me, 
 Whom the green Earth loves, and the cir- 
 cling sea, 
 And the pure blue air, and the light of the 
 
 sun, 
 And the birds of the air, and the flowers 
 
 each one ? 
 Hatest thou me thro' my love for these ? 
 For the swift deep rivers, the fronded trees, 
 The golden meres and the mountains white, 
 The cataracts leaping from height to height, 
 And the deer that feed on the snowy steeps 
 Where the rainbow hangs and the white 
 
 mist creeps ? 
 Hatest thou me the most of all
 
 THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS. 
 
 487 
 
 For my care of mortals whom thou hast 
 made, 
 My blessing on lovers whose soft footfall 
 
 Soimdeth still in the flowery shade? 
 Father, Father, hatest thou me. 
 Because of my light on humanity ? 
 Because with a holy anointing balm 
 I have heal'd their hearts and kept them 
 
 calm ; 
 Because I have sown in forest and grove 
 The roses of beauty, the lilies of love. 
 That men might gather, and sweeten away 
 The taint of the perishable clay ? 
 Father, Father, listen to me — 
 I will not call upon bird or tree, 
 I will not call upon lamb or dove, 
 On the flowers below or the stars above ; 
 I will call alou(;J, and thine ears shall know, 
 I will call aloud in the midst of the snow. 
 On a mortal thing of mortal breath 
 Who has gazed and smiled in the eyes of 
 
 Death, 
 Who has loosen'd his shroud and his feet 
 
 made free 
 To follow and find me over the sea. 
 .... My brother Jesus, hearest thou me ! ' 
 
 Sweet as a star that opens its lids of silver 
 and amber, 
 Soft as a hly that rises out of a water still, 
 Pure as a lamp that burns in a virgin's 
 vestal chamber 
 When winds with folded wings sleep on 
 the scented siU, 
 Pale as the moving snow, yet calmer, clearer, 
 and whiter, 
 Holding the light in his hand, and flash- 
 ing a ray blood-red, 
 Robed in a silvern robe that ever grew 
 stranger and brighter. 
 Robed in a robe of the snow, with a 
 glory around his head, 
 Christ now arose ! and upstanding held the 
 cold hand of his Brother, 
 Turning his face to the storm like the 
 wrath of some beautiful star, — 
 And the sound of the storm was hush'd, 
 and pale grew the face of that Other. 
 He, Alfadur supreme, most direful of all 
 gods that are ! 
 
 ' Balder ! Balder ! ' 
 
 ' O Father, I listen 1 ' 
 
 ' What shape is this whose sad eyes glisten 
 Bright as the lamp he is tiplifting ? 
 Round and o'er him snoivs are drifting, 
 Yet as a still star shine th he. 
 Pale and beautiful like thee. 
 Who is this that standeth there 
 Even as a mortal man. 
 Thin and weary and wan, 
 A Ian thorn in his hold. 
 His feet bloody and bare. 
 And a ring of brightest gold 
 Hound his hair ?' 
 
 ' O Father, 'tis he and none other 
 
 Who woke me from my tomb ; 
 The Christ it is, my Brother, 
 
 Tho' bom of a woman's womb. 
 He has conquer'd the grave, for lo ! 
 
 He died and he rose again ! 
 He comes to the silence of snow. 
 
 From the beautiful regions of rain ; 
 And his hair is bright with a peaceful light 
 As the yellow moon's on a summer night. 
 And the flesh on his heart is heapen white 
 
 To cool an immortal pain ! ' 
 
 Blacker, blacker the night is growing. 
 Deeper, deeper the snow is snowing. . . . 
 As the rigid wave of the ocean-storm 
 Towereth the gigantic Form, 
 And he lifts his hand with a cold command, 
 And the shrill winds answer blowing ! 
 
 A ghastly gleam is on his cheeks, his white 
 
 robes roll asunder. 
 He raises up his arms and shrieks in his 
 
 old voice of thunder, 
 ' The rune was ivrit, the rune is read — Son, 
 
 thoti hast slain thy Father, 
 The frames are quick that late were dead, 
 
 and from the grave they gather. 
 The pale One cometh heavenly eyed, as in 
 
 thy dreams, O Mother / 
 He wakes, he stands by Balder's side as 
 
 brother smiles by brother. 
 O gods, these live, and tnust we die i' tliese 
 
 bloom, and must we wither 9 
 Cry with a loud exceeding cry on Death and 
 
 setid him Iiither ! 
 Come, come, O Death/ I call 07i thee— come 
 
 hither, fleeter, faster I 
 Thou hunter of humanity, thou hound of 
 
 me thy Master !
 
 488 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 Slay thou these tivain, that we may live, 
 
 ■who feed thy throat with slaughter, 
 And blood to quench thee gods will give, 
 
 shedfj-ee as t07-rent ivater I 
 Come thou this night, O Death divine, 
 
 come quickly or come never, 
 And the great Earth shall all be thine for 
 
 ever and for ever I ' 
 
 The snows are blowing, the Earth is crying, 
 The eagles of storm are shrieking and flying; 
 Thunder-cloud upon thunder-cloud 
 Piled, and flashing and roaring aloud, 
 Roll from the north, and the winds rush forth. 
 
 And the billows of heaven are breaking. 
 Hand in hand the Brethren stand, 
 Fair and bright in the midst of the night. 
 Fair and bright and marble white, 
 
 Quiet as babes awaking. . . . 
 But who is he that stirring slow, 
 Wrapt in winding-sheet of snow, 
 Riseth up from the Christ's feet ? 
 His golden hair all white with sleet. 
 His eyes all dim, his face snow-pale. 
 He stands erect in the drifting gale ! 
 Tall and terrible loometh he. 
 Facing the blast like a frozen tree ! 
 
 'Death, Death !' the god shrieks now — 
 Death, Death, is it surely thou ? 
 Death, Death !' and the god laughs loud, 
 Answer'd by every thunder-cloud. 
 
 While the snows are falling faster, — 
 'Death, Death, there is thy prey I — 
 Take them and tear them and rend them 
 
 away. 
 As flakes of snow, as drops of spray. 
 
 In the name of Me thy Master /' . . . 
 
 Like two lilies crown'd with gold, 
 Very beauteous to behold. 
 
 Blown in summer weather. 
 Like two lambs with silvern feet. 
 Very beauteous and sweet, 
 Held together with a chain 
 In some sacrificial fane. 
 
 The Brethren cling together. 
 Ever fairer still they grow 
 While the noise of storm sinks low, 
 And the Father's snow-white hand 
 Pointelh at them as they stand, 
 And the silent shape of Deatii 
 Creepeth close and shuddereth ! 
 
 See, O see, the light they" wear, 
 On their heads and o'er their hair, 
 Falleth on the Phantom now, 
 Lying softly on his brow. . . . 
 Death, O Death, can this be thou ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Father and Son. 
 
 Now hark, one crieth ! 
 
 ' My servant Death, 
 Kneeling there with hushed breath, 
 Listen, ere I bid thee go ! " 
 Death makes answer out of the snow, 
 ■ I hear ! ' 
 
 The Christ hath risen his height, 
 Large and strange in a lonely light. 
 And he lifts his hand and makes the sign 
 Of the blessed cross on his breast divine. 
 And the thrones of the white gods flash like 
 
 fire. 
 And sink in earthquake around the Sire, 
 
 Shaken and rent asunder ! 
 Then he lifts his hand and he makes the sign 
 Once again on his breast divine. 
 And the mountains of ice around the throne 
 Are troubled like breakers rolling on 
 
 To the sound of their own thunder! 
 
 ' Father ! Father ! ' Balder cries. 
 With arms outstretch'd and weeping eyes, 
 ' Father ! ' — but lo ! the white Christ stands. 
 Raising yet his holy hands. 
 And cries, ' O Death, speed on ! speed on I 
 Conquer now and take thy throne — 
 Now all the gods have taken flight. 
 Reign thou there one starless night 
 In the room of him, the Father I ' 
 
 Slowly over the icy ground. 
 
 Slow and low like a lean sleuth-hound, 
 
 Without a breath, without a sound, 
 
 The phantom form is crawling. 
 He makes no shadow, he leaves no trace, 
 Snow on snow he creepeth apace, 
 Nearer, nearer, the fixed Face 
 
 Veil'd with the flakes still falling. 
 ' Father ! Father ! ' Balder cries . . . 
 Silent, terrible, under the skies. 
 Sits the God on his throne, with eyes on his 
 Son 
 
 Whose gentle voice is calling ! 
 As the cuckoo calls in the heart of the May 
 
 Singing the flowers together.
 
 THE TWILIGHT OF THE CODS. 
 
 489 
 
 As the fountain calls thro' its flashing spray, 
 As a lamb calls low 'mid a mountain-doud, 
 As a spirit calls to a corpse in its shroud, 
 The Son cries on the Father ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Twilight. 
 
 The wind is blowing, the skies are snowing. 
 
 The ice is rent and the rocks are riven, 
 But morning light in the north is growing, 
 
 Crimson light of the altars of heaven. 
 Silent, still, amidst the storm, 
 Sitteth there the formless Form, 
 Hearkening out of his hoary hair, 
 Waiting on in a dark despair, 
 
 While the burning heavens flame o'er 
 him 1 . . . 
 Suddenly, wild and wing'd and bright. 
 Towering to heaven in shroud of white, 
 A phantom upriseth against the light 
 
 And standeth vast before him. . . . 
 Is it a Shadow, or only the snow ? 
 The skies are troubled, the light burns low. 
 
 But stars still gather and gather. 
 Is it a Shadow, or only the snow. 
 Uprising there in the blood-red glow. 
 Ever towering higher and higher, 
 In a robe of whiteness fringed with fire. 
 Outstretching wings without a cry 
 From verge to verge of the burning sky, 
 
 With eyes on the eyes of the Father ? 
 
 Now Balder crieth, ' What shape comes 
 
 there, 
 Terrible, troubling the heavens and air ? 
 Is it Noma the arctic swan. 
 The bright and bodiless Skeleton, 
 Bird-shaped, with a woman's breasts and 
 
 eyes. 
 Whose wi ngs are wide as the world and skies ? 
 Is it Noma, or only the snow, 
 Moving yonder against the glow, 
 Ever towering higher and higher, 
 Ever outspreading pinions dire 
 And looking down in a dumb desire. 
 With eyes on the eyes of the Father ! ' 
 
 It is not Noma, it is not the snow. 
 
 The skies are troubled ; the light burns low ; 
 
 Yet stars still gather and gather. 
 • Father ! lather ! awaken, awaken ! 
 One bends above thee with bright hair shaken 
 Over thv throne like a falling flame ; 
 
 One toucheth thy cheek and nameth thy 
 
 name. 
 In a voice I hear, in a tone I know ; 
 It is not Noma, it is not the snow, 
 
 By the face and the voice and the tone. 
 Vaster than these and vaster than thou, 
 Touching the stars wdth a shining brow. 
 Flickering up to the twinlding shades 
 Where the wild aurora flashes and fades, 
 Spreading its wings from east to west. 
 As an eagle that looks on a hawk in its nest 
 
 It hungereth over thy throne ! 
 Father ! my Father ! ' 
 
 ' He cannot hear — 
 Hide thy face, for the hour is near — 
 Hush !'.... 
 
 . . . Who shrieks in the heart of the 
 night ? . . . 
 Terrible, desolate, dumb and blind. 
 
 Like a cloud snow-white 
 Struggling and rent in the claws o' the wind, 
 The Father hath risen with no sound 
 'Mid the wild winds wavering around, 
 
 And his stirring deepens the storm. 
 The ice is shaken beneath his tread. 
 The meteors burn around his head. 
 But faster, thicker, out of the skies, 
 Blotting his shape from Balder's ej-es. 
 
 The wild flakes waver and swarm. 
 Now face to face in the blood-red gleam. 
 Like clouds in the sunset, like shapes in a 
 
 dream. 
 Face to face, vdth outstretch' d hands 
 Like lightning forks that illume the lands, 
 Face to face, and sight to sight. 
 Like vulture and eagle fierce for fight. 
 They rise and they rise against the skies, — 
 Alfadur with his fiery eyes, 
 
 .'\nd the other vaster Form ! 
 
 It is not Noma, but stranger and brighter, 
 It is not the snow, but wilder and whiter ; 
 Ever greater yet it grows 
 Wrapt about with whirling snows. 
 Ever it dilateth on. 
 Till, a crimson Skeleton, 
 With his head against the sky 
 Where the pale lights llickcr and die. 
 Strange, he stands, vdth orbs of fire 
 Looking down upon the Sire. 
 See, O see upon his brow 
 Strangest lustre liveth now,
 
 490 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 On his neck and round his frame 
 Twines a snake of emerald flame. . . . 
 Death, O Death, can it be thou ? 
 
 ' Father, father ! I cannot see — 
 
 The heavens are bright, but the world is 
 
 white, 
 The wings of the wan Form cover thee— 
 Around and around, with no sigh, with no 
 
 sound, 
 Like the mists of a cloud, like the folds of 
 
 a shroud, 
 They enwrap thee, — and hide thee from 
 
 me !' 
 
 IX. 
 'A Cross and a Lily.' 
 
 ' It is over ! O Balder, look up and behold ! ' 
 
 ' Not yet, for I sicken — my sense shrinketh 
 
 cold, 
 And I fear the strange silence that cometh 
 
 at last ! 
 All is hush'd — all is dead — the dew now is 
 
 shed 
 Warm as tears on my hand, but the tempest 
 
 hath pass'd, 
 And the sounds of the tempest are fled ! ' 
 
 ' Arise 1 ' 
 
 ' I am risen ! ' 
 
 ' Behold ! 
 
 ' All is white, 
 But the darkness hath gone, and the stars 
 
 of the night, 
 And down from the north streams the dawn 
 
 flowing free ; 
 But I see not my Father ! ' 
 
 ' Again ! 
 
 ' Woe is me ! 
 His throne standeth there white and cold, 
 
 and thereon 
 Sits another I know, as a King on a throne, 
 Yea, sceptred and crowned . . . and vaster 
 
 tenfold 
 He seems than the Spirit who sat there of old , 
 For his form 'gainst the heavens looms fiery 
 
 and fair, 
 And the dew of the dawn burneth bright on 
 
 his hair ; 
 
 And we twain unto him are as birds in the 
 
 night 
 That sit gazing up at a great snowy height 
 Where the starlight is coming and going like 
 
 breath.' 
 
 ' So strange and so changed, yet 'tis he, 
 even Death, — 
 
 Best and least, last and first. He hath 
 conquer'd his own. 
 
 All gods are as sand round his feet tempest- 
 blown, 
 
 .And lesser yet greater, more weak yet more 
 wise, 
 
 Are we who stand here looking up in his eyes. 
 
 All hail now to Death, since the great gods 
 are dead ! ' 
 
 ' Woe is me — it was written, and lo ! it is 
 read ! ' 
 
 ' Come together, and bless him ! ' 
 
 'My Father?' 
 
 ' The same. 
 On his throne I will mark with a finger of 
 
 flame 
 A cross and a lily for thee and for me ! ' 
 
 They pass o'er the ice, and a sound like the 
 
 sea 
 Grows under their footprints ; and softly 
 
 they come 
 Where Death, with his eyes iTx'don heaven, 
 
 sitteth dumb ; 
 And they pause at his feet, while far o'er 
 
 them he looms 
 With his brow 'mong the stars and the 
 
 amethyst glooms, 
 Yea, they pause far beneath, and with finger 
 
 divine 
 The white Christ hath made on the snow 
 
 for a sign 
 The cross and the hly . . . then rising he 
 
 stands, 
 And looketh at Death with uplifting of hands. 
 
 Still as a star he shineth, brightly his eyes 
 are burning, 
 White as a dovehe seems in the morning's 
 dewy breath, 
 Lifting again his face with a smile of loving 
 and yearning, 
 He looketh gently up at the godlike shape 
 of Death ;
 
 THE TWILIGHT OF THE GODS— THE LAST BLESSING. 491 
 
 And the hair of Death is golden, the face of 
 
 Then, like a ship on the still tide 
 
 Death is glowing, 
 
 That slowly leaveth land, 
 
 While softly around his form he folds his 
 
 His own white isle began to glide 
 
 mighty wings, 
 
 At lifting of his hand. 
 
 And vast as the vast blue heavens the fair 
 
 
 faint form is growing. 
 
 Silently as a flock of sheep 
 
 But the face that all men fear is bright 
 
 The bergs stirred in the sun. 
 
 with beautiful things. 
 
 Shepherded gently down the Deep 
 
 Ev'n so the Brethren wait where the darkest 
 
 By that immortal one. 
 
 snows are drifted, 
 
 
 Small as two doves that light in a wilder- 
 
 For as he raised his snow-white hand. 
 
 ness alone, 
 
 They crept full softly by,— 
 
 While bright on the blood-red skies, with 
 
 Or paused and stood, as fair flocks stand 
 
 luminous head uplifted. 
 
 Under the shepherd's eye. 
 
 In a dream divine upgazing. Death sitteth 
 
 
 upon his throne. 
 
 Far, far away into the north 
 
 
 They stretch'd in legions white. 
 
 
 Trembling and changing, creeping forth 
 
 IX. 
 
 Out of a crimson light. 
 
 THE LAST BLESSING. 
 
 
 
 And all the colours of the Bow 
 
 I. 
 
 Down their bright sides were shed ; 
 
 The Waking of the Sea. 
 
 Above the sky was gold ; below, 
 
 
 The sea all rippling red ! 
 
 ' All that is beautiful shall abide, 
 
 
 All that is base shall die.' 
 
 
 Hark ! birds are singing far and wide. 
 
 IL 
 
 Under the summer sky. . . . 
 
 From Death to Life. 
 
 Southward across the shining Bow 
 
 Bright Balder at his brother's feet 
 
 The blessed Brethren came ; 
 
 Lay looking on the sea. 
 
 They wore soft raiment of the snow 
 
 And sea-birds hover'd white and sweet 
 
 And sandals shod with flame. 
 
 Around him, silently. 
 
 And golden lights and rippling rains 
 
 And white bears crawl'd out of the Deep 
 
 Were on the frozen sea, 
 
 To see him, and were blest ; 
 
 The bergs were melting from their chains. 
 
 .'\nd black seals with their young did creep 
 
 The waters flashing free. 
 
 Upon the berg to rest. 
 
 The white Christ lifted hands above 
 
 Brighter and fairer all around 
 
 The silent wakening Deep, 
 
 The kindling waters shone ; 
 
 And the unseen depths began to move 
 
 And softly, swiftly, with no sound, 
 
 With motions soft as sleep. 
 
 The white flocks glided on. 
 
 Then on an isle of ice he slept. 
 
 An J far away on every side 
 
 Leading his Brother mild. 
 
 The glittering ice-blink grew, — 
 
 And blest tlie waters as they slept, 
 
 Millions of bergs like ships that ride 
 
 And lo, they woke and smiled I 
 
 Upon the waters blue. 
 
 Around him on the melting sea 
 
 Balder, Balder, wherefore hide 
 
 The glittering icebergs stirred, 
 
 Thy face from the blue sky 1 ' 
 
 And glimmcr'd southward silently. 
 
 The voice was music, but it cried 
 
 Like things that Uved and heard. 
 
 Like any human cry.
 
 492 
 
 BALDER THE BEAUTIFUL. 
 
 'O Balder, Balder,' the white Christ said, 
 
 ' Look up and answer me. ' 
 Bright Balder raised his golden head. 
 
 Like sunrise on the sea. 
 
 ' O Brother, I was weeping then 
 For those whom Death o'erthrew. 
 
 Shall L whose eyes have mourn'd for men. 
 Not mourn my brethren too ? ' 
 
 The white Christ answer'd back, and cried, 
 
 Shining under the sky, 
 ' All that is beautiful shall abide, 
 
 All that is base shall die. 
 
 ' And if among thy sleeping kin 
 
 One soul divine there be, 
 That soul shall walk the world and win 
 
 New life, with thee and me. 
 
 ' Death shall not harm one holy hair, 
 Nor blind one face full sweet ; 
 
 Death shall not mar what Love made fair ; 
 Nay, Death shall kiss their feet ! ' 
 
 Then Balder rose his heavenly height, 
 
 And clear as day smiled he ; 
 His smile was bright as noonday light 
 
 Upon the sparkling sea. 
 
 Turning his face unto the north. 
 
 He utter'd up a prayer. 
 He saw ihe great Bridge stretching forth. 
 
 But never a god walk'd there. 
 
 He pray'd for those great gods o'erthrown 
 
 And cast in Death's eclipse, 
 He named the goddesses each one, 
 
 And blest them %vith his lips. 
 
 And lo ! from bright'ning far-off lands 
 
 He saw glad spirits gleam. 
 Gazing to sea, and waving hands, 
 
 And singing in a dream ; 
 
 And far away where earth and air 
 
 Mingled their gentle lights. 
 There stood one marble form most fair 
 
 Upon the cloudless heights. 
 
 Against the calm and stainless blue 
 
 It stood divinely dim. 
 And lo, his mother's form he knew, 
 
 And felt her eyes on him ! 
 
 Silent she paused, serene and crown'd, 
 
 Amid a summer sheen 
 And cataracts flash'd their lights around, 
 
 And woods grew dewy green. 
 
 Softly he sail'd beyond her sight 
 
 Upon the summer sea, 
 And once again with hands snow-white 
 
 He blest all things that be. 
 
 And brighter, brighter, as he blest. 
 
 The loosen'd Ocean grew. 
 And all the icebergs rock'd at rest 
 
 Upon the waters blue. 
 
 Along the melting shores of earth 
 
 An emerald flame there ran. 
 Forest and field grew bright, and mirth 
 
 Gladden'd the flocks of Man. 
 
 Then glory grew on earth and heaven, 
 
 Full glory of full day ! 
 Then the bright rainbow's colours seven 
 
 On every iceberg lay ! 
 
 In Balder's hand Christ placed his own, 
 
 And it was golden weather, 
 And on that berg as on a throne 
 
 The Brethren stood together ! 
 
 And countless voices far and wide 
 
 Sang sweet beneath the sky — 
 ' All that is beautiful shall abide, 
 All that is base shall die ! '
 
 THE STRANGE COUNTRY. 
 
 493 
 
 Miscellaneous Poems and Ballads. 
 
 (1878-83.) 
 
 C/otwk. What hast here ? Ballads? 
 
 Mop. Pray now, buy some : I love a ballad in print o' life, for then we are sure they are true. 
 Atit. Here's one to a very doleful tune. . . . This is a merry ballad, but a very pretty one. 
 
 The Winter s Tale. 
 
 DEDICATION 
 To Harriett. 
 
 Here at the Half-way House of Life I linger, 
 Worn with the way, a weary-hearted Singer, 
 
 Resting a little space ; 
 And lo ! the good God sends me, as a token 
 Of peace and blessing (else my heart were broken), 
 
 The sunbeam of thy face. 
 
 My fear falls from me like a garment ; slowly 
 New strength returns upon me, calm and holy ; 
 
 I kneel, and I atone. . . 
 Thy hand is clasped in mine —we lean together. . 
 Henceforward, through the sad or shining weather, 
 
 I shall not walk alone. 
 
 THE STRANGE COUNTRY. 
 
 I HAVE come from a mystical Land of Light 
 
 To a Strange Country ; 
 The Land I have left is forgotten quite 
 
 In the Land I see. 
 
 The round Earth rolls beneath my feet, 
 
 And the still Stars glow. 
 The murmuring Waters rise and retreat. 
 
 The Winds come and go. 
 
 Sure as a heart-beat all things seem 
 
 In this Strange Country ; 
 So sure, so still, in a dazzle of dream, 
 
 All things flow free. 
 
 'Tis life, all life, be it pleasure or pain, 
 
 In the Field and the Flood, 
 In the beating Meart, in the burning Brain, 
 
 In the Flesh and the Blood. 
 
 Deep as Death is the daily strife 
 
 Of this Strange Country : 
 All thmgs thrill up till they blossom in Life, 
 
 And flutter and flee. 
 
 Nothing is stranger than the rest, 
 
 From the pole to the pole, 
 The weed by the way, the eggs in the nest, 
 
 The Flesh and the Soul. 
 
 Look in mine eyes, O Man I meet 
 
 In this Strange Country ! 
 Lie in mine arms, O Maiden sweet, 
 
 With thy mouth Idss me ! 
 
 Go by, O King, with thy crowned brow 
 
 And thy sceptred hand — 
 Thou art a straggler too, I vow, 
 
 From the same strange Land. 
 
 O wondrous Faces that upstart 
 In this Strange Country ! 
 
 Souls, O Shades, that become a part 
 Of my Soul and me ! 
 
 What are ye working so fast and fleet, 
 
 O Humankind? 
 ' We are building Cities for those whose feet 
 
 Are coming behind ; 
 
 ' Our stay is short, we must fly again 
 
 From this Strange Country ; 
 But others are growing, women and men, 
 
 Eternally 1 ' 
 
 Child, what art thou ? and what am /f 
 
 But a breaking wave ! 
 Rising and rolling on, we hie 
 
 To the shore of the grave. 
 
 1 have come from a mystical Land of Light 
 To this Strange Country ; 
 
 This dawn I came, I shall go to-night. 
 Ay me ! ay me ! 
 
 I hold my hand to my head and stand 
 'Neath the air's blue arc,
 
 494 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 I try to remember the mystical Land, 
 But all is dark. 
 
 And all around me swim Shapes like mine 
 
 Tn this Strange Country ; — 
 They break in the glamour of gleams divine, 
 
 And they moan ' Ay me ! ' 
 
 Like waves in the cold Moon's silvern breath 
 
 They gather and roll, 
 Each crest of white is a birth or a death, 
 
 Each sound is a Soul. 
 
 Oh, whose is the Eye that gleams so bright 
 
 O'er this Strange Country? 
 It draws us along with a chain of light, 
 
 As the Moon the Sea ! 
 
 THE BALLAD OF JUDAS 
 ISC A RIOT. 
 
 'TwAS the body of Judas Iscariot 
 Lay in the Field of Blood ; I 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Beside the body stood. 
 
 2. 
 
 Black was the earth by night, 
 
 And black was the sky ; 
 Black, black were the broken clouds, 
 
 Tho' the red Moon went by. 
 
 'Twas the body of Judas Iscariot 
 Strangled and dead lay there ; 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Look'd on it in despair. 
 
 The breath of the World came and went 
 
 Like a sick man's in rest ; 
 Drop by drop on the World's eyes 
 
 The dews fell cool and blest. 
 
 Then the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Did make a gentle moan — 
 ' I will bury underneath the ground 
 
 My flesh and blood and bone. 
 
 • I will bury deep beneath the soil, 
 
 Lest mortals look thereon, 
 And when the wolf and raven come 
 The body will be gone ! 
 
 • The stones of the field are sharp as steel, 
 
 And hard and cold, God wot ; 
 And I must bear my body hence 
 Until I find a spot 1 ' 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot, 
 So grim, and gaunt, and gray, ^ 
 
 Raised the body of Judas Iicariot, 
 And carried it away. 
 
 And as he bare it from the field 
 
 Its touch was cold as ice. 
 And the ivory teeth within the jaw 
 
 Rattled aloud, like dice. 
 
 As the soul of Judas Iscariot ^ 
 
 Carried its load with pain. 
 The Eye of Heaven, like a lanthorn's eye, 
 
 Open'd and shut again. 
 
 Half he walk'd, and half he seemed 
 
 Lifted on the cold wind ; 
 He did not turn, for chilly hands 
 
 Were pushing from behind. 
 
 i" 
 
 i 
 
 The first place that he came unto 
 
 It was the open wold. 
 And underneath were prickly whins, 
 
 And a wind that blew so cold. 
 
 The next place that he came unto 
 
 It was a stagnant pool. 
 And when he threw the body in 
 
 It floated light as wool. 
 
 He drew the body on his back. 
 And it was dripping chill, "'j 
 
 And the next place he came unto 
 Was a Cross upon a hill. 
 
 A Cross upon the windy hill, 
 
 And a Cross on either side, 
 Three skeletons that swing thereon, 
 
 Who had been crucified. 
 
 And on the middle cross-bar sat 
 
 A white Dove slumbering ; 
 Dim it sat in the dim hght. 
 
 With its head beneath its wing. 
 
 And underneath the middle Cross ^ 
 A grave yawn'd wide and vast, Q^ 
 
 But the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Shiver'd, and glided past. 
 
 The fourth place that he came unto 
 It was the Brig of Dread, a 
 
 And the great torrents rushing down \ 
 Were deep, and swift, and red. 
 
 He dared not fling the body in 
 For fear of faces dim
 
 THE BALLAD OF JUDAS ISC A RIOT. 
 
 495 
 
 And arms were waved in the wild water .^ 
 To tlirust it back to him. /C/ 
 
 Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Turned from the Brig of Dread, 
 
 And the dreadful foam of the wild water 
 Had splashed the body red. 
 
 For days and nights he wandered on 
 
 Upon an open plain, 
 And the days went by hke blinding mist, 
 
 And the nights like rushing rain. 
 
 /' 
 
 For days and nights he wandered on, 
 
 All thro" the Wood of Woe ; 
 And the nights went by like moaningwind, 
 
 And the days hke drifting snow. 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Came with a weary face — 
 Alone, alone, and all alone. 
 
 Alone in a lonely place ! 
 
 He wandered east, he wandered west, 
 
 And heard no human sound ; 
 For months and years, in grief and tears. 
 
 He wandered round and round. 
 
 For months and years, in grief and tears. 
 
 He walked the silent night ; 
 Then the soul of Judas Iscariot i 1, 
 
 Perceived a far-off light. 
 
 A far-off light across the waste, 
 
 As dim as dim might be. 
 That came and went like the lighthouse 
 gleam 
 
 On a black night at sea. 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Crawl'd to the distant gleam ; 
 And the rain came down, and the rain was 
 blown 
 
 Against him with a scream. 
 
 For days and nights he wandered on, i ^ 
 
 Push'd on by hands behind ; 
 And the days went by like black, black rain, 
 
 And the nights like rushing wind. 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot, { 
 
 Strange, and sad, and tall, 1 ^ 
 
 \ Stood all alone at dead of night 
 Before a lighted hall. 
 
 And the wold was white with snow, 
 And his foot-marks black and damp, ' -^ 
 
 1-^ 
 
 And the ghost of the silvern Moon arose, 
 Holding her yellow lamp. 
 
 And the icicles were on the eaves. 
 And the walls were deep with white. 
 
 And the shadows of the guests within 
 Pass'd on the window light. 
 
 The shadows of the wedding guests 
 Did strangely come and go, i / 
 
 And the body of Judas Iscariot ' 
 
 Lay stretch'd along the snow. 
 
 The body of Judas Iscariot 
 Lay stretched along the snow ; 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Ran swiftly to and fro. 
 
 To and fro, and up and down, 
 
 He ran so swiftly there, 
 As round and round the frozen Pole 
 
 Glideth the lean white bear. 
 
 'Twas the Bridegroom sat at the table-head, 
 And the lights burnt bright and clear — 
 
 ' Oh, who is that,' the Bridegroom said, 
 ' Whose weary feet I hear ? ' 
 
 'Twas one look'd from the lighted hall. 
 
 And answered soft and slow, 
 ' It is a wolf runs up and down 
 
 With a black track in the snow.' 
 
 The Bridegroom in his robe of white 
 
 Sat at the table-head — 
 ' Oh, who is that who moans without ? ' 
 
 The blessed Bridegroom said. 
 
 'Twas one looked from the lighted hall, 
 
 And answered fierce and low, 
 ''Tis the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Gliding to and fro.' 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 
 Did hush itself and stand, 
 And saw the Bridegroom at the door 
 
 With a light in his hand. 
 
 The Bridegroom stood in the open door. 
 
 And he was clad in white, 
 And far within the Lord's Supper 
 
 Was spread so broad and bright. 
 
 The Bridegroom shaded his eyes and look'd, 
 
 And his face was bright to see — 
 ' What dost thou here at the Lord's Supper 
 .With thy body's sins?" said he. 
 
 i^ 
 
 /^ 
 
 ^
 
 496 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS FOEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 '> 
 
 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 \ Stood black, and sad, and bare — 
 ^\t ' I have wandered many nights and days ; 
 There is no light elsewhere." 
 
 'Twas the wedding guests cried out within, 
 And their eyes were fierce and bright — 
 '^ ' Scourge the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 ' Away into the night ! ' 
 
 The Bridegroom stood in the open door, 
 And he waved hands still and slow. 
 
 And the third time that he waved his hands 
 The air was thick with snow. 
 
 And of every flake of falling snow, 
 Before it touched the ground, 
 
 There came a dove, and a thousand doves 
 Made sweet sound. 
 
 Twas the body of Judas Iscariot 
 Floated away full fleet, 
 ' ^ And the wings of the doves that bare it off 
 Were hke its winding-sheet. 
 
 'Twas the Bridegroom stood at the open 
 door, 
 And beckon'd, smiling sweet ; 
 y/^ 'Twas the soul of Judas Iscariot 
 Stole in, and fell at his feet. 
 
 ' The Holy Supper is spread within, 
 And the many candles shine. 
 
 And I have waited long for thee 
 Before I poured the wine ! ' 
 
 The supper wine is poured at last. 
 The lights burn bright and fair, 
 
 Iscariot washes the Bridegroom's feet, 
 And dries them with his hair. 
 
 t 
 
 T//E LIGHTS OF LEITH. 
 
 ' The lights o' Leith ! the lights o' Leith ! 
 
 The skipper cried aloud — 
 While the wintry gale with snow and hail 
 
 Blew snell thro' sail and shroud. 
 
 ' The lights o' Leith ! the lights o' Leith ! ' 
 As he paced the deck cried he — 
 
 ' How merrily bright they burn this night 
 Thro' the reek o' the stormy sea ! ' 
 
 As the ship ran in thro' the surging spray 
 Afire seemed all the town ; 
 
 They saw the glare from far away. 
 And, safely steer'd to the land-lock'd bay, 
 They cast their anchor down. 
 
 ' 'Tis sure a feast in the town o' Leith 
 (To his mate the skipper spoke), 
 ' And yonder shadows that come and go, 
 Across the quay where the bonfires glow. 
 Are the merry-making folk. 
 
 ' In right good time we are home once more 
 From the wild seas and rough weather — 
 
 Come, launch a boat, and we'll run ashore. 
 And see the sport together. ' 
 
 But the mate replied, while he shoreward 
 gazed 
 
 With sad and gentle eyes. 
 While the lights of Leith beyond him blazed 
 
 And he heard the landward cries : 
 
 ' 'Tis twenty lang year since I first left here. 
 In the time o' frost and snaw — 
 
 I was only a lad, and my heart was mad 
 To be up, and free, and awa' ! 
 
 ' My mither she prayed me no' to gang, 
 For she had nae bairn but me — 
 
 My father was droon'd, and sleeping amang 
 The weeds o' the northern sea. 
 
 ' I stole awa' in the mirk o' night 
 
 And left my mither asleep, 
 And ere she waken'd, at morning light, 
 
 I was oot on the roaring deep. 
 
 ' Aye, twenty lang year hae past sin' syne, 
 And my heart has aft been sair 
 
 To think o' that puir auld mither o' mine, 
 Alane, in a warld o' care. 
 
 ' When back I cam' frae the salt sea faem 
 
 I was a bearded man, 
 Ae simmer I dwelt in the hoose at hame. 
 
 Then awa' to the sea I ran. 
 
 ' And twice sin' syne hae I left the sea 
 
 To seek the hameward track. 
 And oye my mither had had for me — , 
 The' ne'er a gift had my hands to gie— 
 A tender welcome back. 
 
 ' Then, cast awa' in a soothern land. 
 
 And taen to slaverie, 
 I lang'd for the touch o' a mither's hand 
 
 And the glint o' a mither's e'e.
 
 THE LIGHTS OF LEITH 
 
 497 
 
 ' But noo that my wandering days are done, 
 
 I hae dree'd a penance sad, 
 I am coming hame, like the Prodigal Son, 
 
 But wi' siller to niak' her glad ! 
 
 ' I hae gowden rings for my mither's hand, 
 Bonnie and braw past dream. 
 
 And, fit for a leddy o' the land, 
 A shawl o' the Indian seam. 
 
 ' And I lang, and lang, to seek ance mair 
 The cot by the side o' the sea. 
 
 And to find my gray old mither there. 
 Waiting and watching for me ; 
 
 • To dress her oot like a leddy grand. 
 While the tears o' gladness drap, 
 
 To put the rings on her wrinkled hand, 
 The siller intil her lap 1 
 
 'And to say "O mither, I'm hame, I'm 
 hame! 
 
 Forgie me, O forgie ! 
 And never mair shall ye ken a care 
 
 Until the day you dee 1 " ' 
 
 O bright and red shone the lights of Leith 
 
 In the snowy winter-tide — 
 Down the cheeks of the man the salt tears 
 ran. 
 
 As he stood by the skipper's side. 
 
 ' But noo I look on the lights o' hame 
 My heart sinks sick and cauld — 
 
 Lest I come owre late for her love or blame. 
 For oh 1 my mither was auld ! 
 
 ' For her een were dim when I sail'd awa', 
 
 And snaw was on her held. 
 And I fear — I fear— after mony a year. 
 
 To find my mither — deid ! 
 
 ' Sae I dauma enter the toon o' Leith, 
 Where the merry yule-fires flame. 
 
 Lest I hear the tidings o' dulc and death. 
 Ere I enter the door o' hame. 
 
 ' But ye'U let them row me to yonner shore 
 Beyond the lights o' the quay. 
 
 And I'll climb the brae to the cottage door, 
 A hunnerd yards frae the sea. 
 
 ' If I see a light thro' the mirk o' night, 
 
 I'll ken my mither is there ; 
 111 keek, maybe, through the pane, and see 
 
 Her face in its snawy hair ! 
 
 ' The face sae dear that for mony a year 
 
 I hae prayed to see again, — 
 O a mither's face has a holy grace 
 
 ' Bune a' the faces o' men ! 
 
 ' Then I'll enter in wi' silent feet. 
 
 And safily cry her name — 
 And 111 see the dim auld een grow sweet 
 
 Wi' a heavenly welcome hame ! 
 
 'And I'll cry, "O mither, I'm here, I'm 
 here ! 
 
 Forgie me, O forgie ! 
 And never mair shall ye ken a care ! 
 Your son shall lea' thee never mair 
 
 To sail on the stormy sea 1 " ' 
 
 II. 
 
 They row'd him to the lonely shore 
 Beyond the lights of the quay, 
 
 And he climb'd the brae to the cottage door 
 A hundred yards from the sea. 
 
 He saw no hght thro' the mirk of night. 
 And his heart sank down with dread, 
 
 'But 'tis late,' thought he, 'and she lies, 
 maybe, 
 Soond sleeping in her bed ! ' 
 
 Half-way he paused, lor the blast blew keen, 
 And the sea roar'd loud below. 
 
 And he turn'd his face to the town-lights, 
 seen 
 Thro' the white and whirling snow. 
 
 The lights of Leith ! the lights of Leith ! 
 
 How they flash'd on the night-black 
 bay. 
 White with sullen roar on the rocky shore 
 
 The waters splash'd their spray ! 
 
 When close he came to the lonely cot. 
 He paused m deeper dread, — 
 
 For the gleam that came from the far-off 
 flame 
 Just touch'd the walls with red ; 
 
 Thro' the doorway dark did the bleak wind 
 blow. 
 The windows were black and bare, 
 And the house was floor'd with the cruel 
 snow. 
 And roof 'd with the empty air ! 
 
 ' O mither, mither ! ' he moan'd aloud, 
 ' And are ye deid and ganc? 
 
 K K
 
 498 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 Hae I waited in tears thro' the weary years, 
 And a' in vain, in vain ? ' 
 
 He stood on the hearth, while the snow 
 swam drear 
 Between the roofless walls — 
 ' O mither ! mither ! come here, come 
 here, — 
 'Tis your ain son, Robin, calls ! ' 
 
 On his eager ears, as he stood in tears, 
 There came a faint foot-tread — 
 
 Then out of the storm crept a woman's form 
 With hooded face and head. 
 
 Like a black, black ghost the shape came 
 near 
 Till he heard its heavy breath — 
 •What man," it sighed, 'stands sabbing 
 here. 
 In the wearifu' hoose o" death ? ' 
 
 ' Come hither, come hither, whae'er ye be, ' 
 He answer'd loud and clear — 
 
 ' I am Robin Sampson, come hame frae the 
 sea, 
 And I seek my mither dear ! ' 
 
 ' O Robin, Robin," a voice cried sobbing, 
 
 ' O Robin, and is it yersel' ? 
 I'm Janet Wylie, lame Janet Wylie, 
 
 Your kissen, frae Marywell ! ' 
 
 'O Robin, Robin,' again she cried, 
 
 ' O Robin, and can it be ? 
 Ah, better far had the wind and the tide 
 
 Ne'er brought ye across the sea ! ' 
 
 Wailing she sank on the snow-heap'd hearth , 
 And rocked her body in pain— 
 
 'O Robin, Robin," she cried to him sobbing, 
 Your mither — your mither — is gane ! ' 
 
 The lights of Leith ! the lights of Leith ! 
 
 How brighdy still they glow ! 
 The faint flame falls on the ruined walls, 
 
 On the hearthstone heap'd in snow ! 
 
 'O Janet, Janet, kind cousin Janet, 
 
 If ever ye cared for me, 
 Noo let me hear o' my mither dear, 
 
 And hoo she cam' to dee 1 " 
 
 Wailing she lifted her weeping face, 
 And answer'd in soul's despair — 
 
 ' O Robin, awa' frae the wicked place — 
 Awa'— and ask nae mair 1 ' 
 
 But he grasp'd her arm with a grip of steel 
 And cried ' O Janet, speak ! ' 
 
 * O Robin dear, dinna seek to hear, 
 For oh ! your heart must breik ! ' 
 
 But he pressed her more, and he pleaded sore, 
 Till at last the tale was told, 
 
 And he listened on, till the tale was done, 
 Like a man death-struck and cold. 
 
 in. 
 ' Robin dear, when ye sail'd awa". 
 
 That last time, on the sea. 
 We knew her heart was breiking in twa. 
 
 And we thought that she wad dee. 
 
 ' But after a while she forced a smile — 
 " I'll greet nae mair," said she, 
 
 ' ' But I'll wait and pray that the Lord, ae day, 
 May bring him again to me ! 
 
 ' • ' The Lord is guid, and Robin my son 
 
 As kind as a bairn can be — 
 Aye true as steel, and he loes me weel, 
 
 Tho' he's gane across the sea." 
 
 ' O Robin, Robin, baith late and air' 
 She prayed and prayed for thee, 
 
 But evermair when the blast blew sair, 
 She was langest on her knee ! ' 
 
 The lights of Leith ! the hghts of Leith ! 
 
 That flame o'er sea and skies ! 
 How bright they glow !- while the salt 
 tears flow 
 
 From that bearded mariner's eyes. 
 
 ' But, Robin, your mither was auld and pair, 
 And the season's cauld and keen ; 
 
 "The white, white snaw was on her hair. 
 The frost film ower her een. 
 
 ' And here in the hut beside the sea. 
 The pair auld wife did dwell — 
 
 Her only kin were my mither and me, 
 And we were as pair's hersel'. 
 
 ' She leeved on a handfu' o' barley meal, 
 A drink frae the spring sae cauld — 
 
 O Robin, Robin, a heart o' steel 
 
 IVIight bleed for the weak and auld ! 
 
 ' In twa she was bent, on a staff she leant, 
 
 Wi' ragged duds for claise, 
 And wearifu' up and doon she went, 
 
 Gath'ring her sticks and straes.
 
 THE LIGHTS OF LEITH. 
 
 499 
 
 ' And the weans wad thrang as she creepit 
 alang, 
 And point, and cry sae shrill — 
 " There's Grannie Sampson," was ever their 
 sang, 
 " The wicked witch o' the hill ! " 
 
 ' Ah, mony's the time up the hill she'd climb, 
 While the imps wad scream and craw — 
 
 At the door she'd stand, wi' her staff in hand, 
 And angrily screech them awa' ! 
 
 'Thcnwi' feeble feet creeping ben, she'dgreet 
 That the warld misca'd her sae. 
 
 And wi' face as white as the winding-sheet, 
 She'd kneel by the bed, and pray. 
 
 ' O Robin, Robin, she prayed for him 
 Wha sail'd in the wild sea-rack. 
 
 And the tears wad drap frae her een sae dim, 
 As she prayed for her bairn to come 
 back 1 
 
 ' Then whiles . . . when she thought nae 
 folk were near . . . 
 (O Robin, she thought nae harm ! 
 But stoop your held, lest they hear, lest they 
 hear !) 
 She tried ... an auld-farrant charm. 
 
 •A charm aft tried in the ingleside 
 
 When bairns are blythesome and free, 
 
 A charm (come near, lest they hear, lest 
 they hear 1) 
 To bring her boy hame from the sea 1 
 
 ' And the auld black cat at her elbow sat, 
 (The cat you gied her yersel') 
 
 And the folk, keeking in thro' the pane, saw 
 a sin. 
 And thought she was weaving a spell ! ' 
 
 The lights of I.eith ! the lights of Leith ! 
 
 They flame on the v/intry gale ! 
 With sore drawn breath, and a face like 
 death, 
 
 He hearks to the gruesome tale ! 
 
 'O Robin, Robin, I kenna hoo 
 
 The lee was faither'd first, 
 But (whisper again, lest they ken, lest they 
 ken !) 
 
 They thought the puir body accurst ! 
 
 ' They thought the spell had been wrought 
 in Hell, 
 To kill and curse and blight, 
 
 They thought she flew, when naebody knew, 
 To a Sabbath o' fiends, ilk night ! 
 
 ' Then ane whose corn had wither'dae morn, 
 And ane whose kye sicken'd doon, 
 
 Crept, scared and pale, wi' the leein' tale. 
 To the meenisters, up the toon. 
 
 ' Noo, Robin, jest then, King Jamie the 
 King 
 Was oot at sea in his bark, 
 And the bark nigh sank unner, wi' fire- 
 ilaught and thunner, 
 And they thought — the Deil was at 
 wark ! 
 
 ' The King cam' to land, and loup'd on the 
 strand. 
 
 Pale as a ghaist and afraid, 
 Wi' courtiers and clergy, awildfearfu' band. 
 
 He ran to the kirk, and prayed 
 
 ' Then the clergy made oot 'twas witchcraft, 
 nae doot, 
 And searchit up and doon. 
 And . . . foond your auld mither (wae's 
 me !) and twa ither, 
 And dragg'd them up to the toon ! 
 
 'O Robin, dear Robin, heariven nae mair!' 
 ' Speak on, I'll heark to the en' ! ' 
 
 ' O Robin, Robin, the sea oot there 
 Is kinder than cruel men ! 
 
 ' They took her before King Jamie the King, 
 Whaur he sat wi' sceptre and croon, 
 
 And the cooard coiu-tiers stood in a ring. 
 And the meenisters gather'd roon'. 
 
 ' They bade her tell she hadviTOUght the spell 
 
 That made the tempest blaw ; 
 They strippit her bare as a naked bairn. 
 They tried her wi' pincers and heated aim, 
 Till she shriek'd and swoon'd awa' 1 
 
 ' O Robin, Robin, the King sat there, 
 While the cruel deed was done, 
 
 And the clergy o' Christ ne'er bade him spare 
 For the sake o' God's ain Son ! . . . . 
 
 The lights of Leith ! the lights of Leith ! 
 
 Like Hell's own lights they glow 
 While the sailor stands, with his trembling 
 hands 
 Prest hard on his heart in woe ! 
 
 KK 2
 
 500 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 • O Robin, Robin . . . tliey doom'd her to 
 burn . . . 
 Doon yonner upon the quay . . . 
 Ihis night was the night . . . see the hght ! 
 see the light ! 
 How it burns by the side o' the sea ! ' 
 
 . . . She paused with a moan. . . . He 
 had left her alone, 
 
 And rushing through drift and snow, 
 Down the side of the wintry hill he had flown, 
 
 His eyes on the lights below ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 The lights of Leith ! the lights of Leith ! 
 
 They flame on the eyes of the crowd. 
 Around, up and down, move the folk of the 
 town, 
 
 While the bells of the kirk peal aloud ! 
 
 High up on the quay, blaze the balefires, 
 and see ! 
 Three stakes are deep set in the ground, 
 To each stake smear'd with pitch clings the 
 corpse of a witch. 
 With the fire flaming redly around ! 
 
 What madman is he who leaps in where 
 they gleam, 
 
 Close, close, to the centremost form ? 
 'Omither, Omither!' he cries, with a scream. 
 
 That rings thro' the heart of the storm ! 
 
 He can see the white hair snowing down 
 thro' the glare. 
 The white face upraised to the skies — 
 Then the cruel red blaze blots the thing 
 from his gaze. 
 And he falls on his face,— and dies. 
 
 V. 
 
 The lights of Leith ! the lights of Leith ! 
 
 See, see ! they are flaming still ! 
 Thro' the clouds of the past their flame is cast, 
 
 While the Sabbath bells ring shrill ! 
 
 The lights of Leith ! the lights of Leith ! 
 
 They'll burn till the Judgment Day! 
 Till the Church's curse and the monarch's 
 
 shame, 
 And the sin that slew in the Blessed Name, 
 
 Are burned and purg'd away ! 
 
 Note. — The foundation of this ballad is his. 
 torical, more particularly the part taken by the 
 enlightened pedant, James VI. of Scotland, who, 
 
 on h's accession to the English throne, procured 
 the infamous statute against witchcraft, which 
 actually remained unrepealed till 1736, and even 
 then was repealed under strong protest from the 
 Scottish clergy ! One traveller, as late as 1664, 
 casually notices the fact of having seen nine 
 witches burning together at Leith, and in 1678, 
 nine others were condemned in a single day. — 
 R. B. 
 
 THE WEDDING OF SHON 
 MACLEAN. 
 
 A BAGPIPE MELODY. 
 
 To the wedding of Shon Maclean, 
 
 Twenty Pipers together 
 Came in the wind and the rain 
 
 Playing across the heather ; 
 Backward their ribbons flew. 
 Blast upon blast they blew. 
 Each clad in tartan new. 
 
 Bonnet, and blackcock feather : 
 And every Piper was fou, ' 
 
 Twenty Pipers together ! . . . 
 
 He's but a Sassenach bhnd and vain 
 Who never heard of Shon Maclean — 
 The Duke's own Piper, called ' Shon the Fair," 
 From his freckled skin and his fiery hair. 
 Father and son, since the world's creation, 
 The Macleans had followed this occupation, 
 And played the pibroch to fire the Clan 
 Since the first Duke came and the Earth 
 
 began. 
 Like the whistling of birds, like the humming 
 
 of bees. 
 Like the sough of the south-wind in the trees, 
 Like the singing of angels, the playing of 
 
 shawms, 
 Like Ocean i tself with its storms and its calms, 
 Were the strains of Shon, when with cheeks 
 
 aflame 
 He blew a blast thro' the pipes of fame. 
 At last, in the prime of his playing hfe, 
 The spirit moved him to take a wife — 
 A lassie with eyes of Highland blue. 
 Who loved the pipes and the Piper too. 
 And danced to the sound, with a foot and a 
 
 leg 
 White as a lily and smooth as an egg. 
 So, twenty Pipers were coming together 
 
 ' Vronounce Jbo— i.e. ' half seas over,' intoxi- 
 cated.
 
 THE WEDDING OF SHON MACLEAN. 
 
 501 
 
 O'er the moor and across the heather, 
 
 All in the wind and the rain : 
 Twenty Pipers so brawly dressed 
 Were flocking in from the east and west, 
 To bless the bedding and blow their best 
 At the wedding of Shon Maclean. 
 
 At the wedding of Shon Maclean 
 
 'Twas wet and windy weather ! 
 Yet, thro" the wind and the rain 
 
 Came twenty Pipers together ! 
 Earach and Dougal Dhu, 
 Sandy of Isla too, 
 Each with the bonnet o' blue. 
 
 Tartan, and blackcock feather : 
 And every Piper was fou. 
 
 Twenty Pipers together ! 
 
 The knot was tied, the blessing said, 
 Shon was married, the feast was spread. 
 At the head of the table sat, huge and hoar. 
 Strong Sandy of Isla, age fourscore, 
 Whisker'd, grey as a Haskeir seal. 
 And clad in crimson from head to heel. 
 Beneath and round him in their degree 
 Gathered the men of minstrelsie, 
 With keepers, gillies, and lads and lasses. 
 Mingling voices, and jingling glasses. 
 At soup and haggis, at roast and boil'd. 
 Awhile the happy gathering toil'd, — 
 While Shon and Jean at the table ends 
 Shook hands with a hundred of their 
 
 friends. — 
 Then came a hush. Thro' the open door 
 A wee bright form flash'd on the floor, — 
 The Duke himself, in the kilt and plaid, 
 With slim soft knees, like the knees of a maid. 
 And he took a glass, and he cried out plain 
 • I drink to the health of Shon Maclean ! 
 To Shon the Piper and Jean his wife, 
 A clean fireside and a merry life ! ' 
 Then out he slipt, and each man sprang 
 To his feet, and with ' hooch ' the chamber 
 
 rang ! 
 ' Clear the tables ! ' shriek'd out one — 
 A leap, a scramble, — and it was done ! 
 And then the Pipers all in a row 
 Tuned their pipes and began to blow, 
 
 While all to dance stood fain : 
 Sandy of Isla and Earach More, 
 Dougal Dhu from Kinflannan shore. 
 Played up the company on the floor 
 
 At the wedding of Shon Maclean. 
 
 At the wedding of Shon Maclean, 
 
 Twenty Pipers together 
 Stood up, while all their train 
 
 Ceased to clatter and blether. 
 Full of the mountain-dew, 
 First in their pipes they blew, 
 Mighty of bone and thew, 
 
 Red-cheek'd, with lungs of leather : 
 And every Piper was fou. 
 
 Twenty Pipers together ! 
 
 Who led the dance? In pomp and pride 
 The Duke himself led out the Bride ! 
 Great was the joy of each beholder, 
 For the wee Duke only reach'd her shoulder ; 
 And they danced, and turned, when the reel 
 
 began. 
 Like a giantess and a fairie man ! 
 But like an earthquake was the din 
 When Shon himself led the Duchess in ! 
 And she took her place before him there. 
 Like a white mouse dancing with a bear ! 
 So trim and tiny, so slim and sweet. 
 Her blue eyes watching Shon's great feet. 
 With a smile that could not be resisted, 
 She jigged, and jumped, and twirl'd, and 
 
 twisted ! 
 Sandy of Isla led off the reel. 
 The Duke began it with toe and heel, 
 
 Then all join'd in amain ; 
 Twenty Pipers ranged in a row. 
 From squinting Shamus to lame Kilcroe, 
 Their cheeks like crimson, began to blow. 
 
 At the wedding of Shon Maclean. 
 
 At the wedding of Shon Maclean 
 
 They blew with lungs of leather, 
 And blithesome was the strain 
 
 Those Pipers played to£j(-'ther ! 
 Moist with the mountain-dew. 
 Mighty of bone and thew, 
 Each with the bonnet o' blue. 
 
 Tartan, and blackcock feather : 
 And every Piper was fou. 
 
 Twenty Pipers together ! 
 
 Oh for a wizard's tongue to tell 
 
 Of all the wonders that befell ! 
 
 Of how the Duke, when the first stave died, 
 
 Reached up on tiptoe to kiss the Bride, 
 
 While Sandy's jjipes, as their mouths were 
 
 meeting, 
 Skirl'd, and set every heart a-beating !
 
 502 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 Then Shon took the pipes ! and all was still, 
 As silently he the bags did fill, 
 With flaming cheeks and round bright eyes. 
 Till the first faint music began to rise. 
 Like a thousand laverocks singing in tune, 
 Like countless corn-craiks under the moon, 
 Like the smack of kisses, like sweet bells 
 
 ringing, 
 Like a mermaid's harp, or a kelpie singing. 
 Blew the pipes of Shon ; and the witching 
 
 strain 
 Was the gathering song of the Clan Maclean ! 
 Then slowly, softly, at his side. 
 All the Pipers around replied, 
 And swelled the solemn strain : 
 The hearts of all were proud and light, 
 To hear the music, to see the sight, 
 An d the Duke's own eyes were dim that night, 
 At the wedding of Shon Maclean. 
 
 So to honour the Clan Maclean 
 
 Straight they began to gather, 
 Blowing the wild refrain, 
 
 ' Blue bonnets across the heather ! ' 
 They stamp'd, they strutted, they blew ; 
 They shriek'd ; like cocks they crew ; 
 Blow'ing the notes out true, 
 
 With wonderful lungs of leather : 
 And every Piper was fou, 
 
 Twenty Pipers together ! 
 
 When the Duke and Duchess went away 
 The dancegrew mad and the guests grew gay; 
 Man and maiden, face to face, 
 Leapt and footed and scream'd apace ! 
 Round and round the dancers whirl'd. 
 Shriller, louder, the Pipers skirl'd. 
 Till the soul seem'd swooning into sound. 
 And all creation was whirling round ! 
 Then, in a pause of the dance and glee. 
 The Pipers, ceasing their minstrelsie, 
 Draining the glass in groups did stand, 
 And passed the sneesh-box i from hand to 
 
 hand. 
 Sandy of Isla, with locks of snow, 
 Squinting Shanuis, blind Kilmahoe, 
 Finlay Beg, and liarach More, 
 Dougal Dhu of Kilflannan shore — 
 All the Pipers, black, yellow, and green. 
 All the colours that ever were seen, 
 All the Pipers of all the Macs, 
 Gather'd together and took their cracks. - 
 
 * Snuflf-box. 
 
 • Conversed sociably. 
 
 Then (no man knows how the thing befell, 
 For none was sober enough to tell) 
 These heavenly Pipers from twenty places 
 Began disputing with crimson faces ; 
 Each asserting, like one demented, 
 The claims of the Clan he represented. 
 In vain grey Sandy of Isla strove 
 To soothe their struggle with words of love, 
 Asserting there, like a gentleman. 
 The superior claims of his own great Clan ; 
 Then, finding to reason is despair, 
 He seizes his pipes and he plays an air — 
 The gathering tune of his Clan— and tries 
 To drown in music the shrieks and cries ! 
 Heavens ! F-very Piper, grown mad with ire. 
 Seizes his pipes with a fierce desire. 
 And blowing madly, with skirl and squeak, 
 Begins his particular tune to shriek ! 
 Up and down the gamut they go. 
 Twenty Pipers, all in a row. 
 
 Each with a different strain ! 
 Each tries hard to drown the first, 
 I Each blows louder till hke to burst. 
 Thus were the tunes of the Clans rehearst 
 
 At the wedding of Shon Maclean 1 
 
 At the wedding of Shon Maclean, 
 
 Twenty Pipers together, 
 Blowing with might and main. 
 
 Thro' wonderful lungs of leather ! 
 Wild was the hullabaloo ! 
 They stamp'd, they scream'd, they crew! 
 Twenty strong blasts they blew. 
 
 Holding the heart in tether : 
 And every Piper was fou. 
 
 Twenty Pipers together ! 
 
 A storm of music ! Like w ild sleuth-hounds 
 Contending together, were the sounds ! 
 At last a bevy of Eve's bright daughters 
 Pour'd oil — that's whisky— upon the waters ; 
 And after another dram wen, down 
 The Pipers chuckled and ceased to frown, 
 Embraced like brothers anc kindred spirits, 
 And fully admitted each o'Her's merits. 
 All bliss must end ! For now the Bride 
 Was looking weary and heavy-eyed, 
 And soon she stole from the drinking chorus. 
 While the company settled to deoch-aji- 
 
 dor us. ^ 
 One hour— another — took its flight — 
 The clock struck twelve— the dead of night — 
 
 ' The parting glass ; lit. the cup at the door
 
 TFIE WEDDING OF SHON MACLEAN— HANS VOGEL. 503 
 
 And still the Bride like a rose so red 
 Lay lonely up in the bridal bed. 
 At half-past two the Bridegroom, Shon, 
 Dropt on the table as heavy as stone, 
 But four strong Pipers across the floor 
 Carried him up to the bridal door, 
 Push'd him in at the open portal, 
 And left him snoring, serene and mortal ! 
 The small stars twinkled over the heather, 
 As the Pipers wandered away together, 
 But one by one on the journey dropt. 
 Clutching his pipes, and there he stopt ! 
 One by one on the dark hillside 
 Each faint blast of the bagpipes died, 
 
 Amid the wind and the rain ! 
 And the twenty Pipers at break of day 
 In twenty different bogholes lay, 
 Serenely sleeping upon their way 
 
 From the wedding of Shon Maclean ! 
 
 HANS VOGEL. 
 
 AN EPISODE OF THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAN 
 WAR. 
 
 'Ein achter Deutscher Mann mag keinen 
 Franzen leiden ! ' — Brander in Faust. 
 
 The fight is o'er, the day is done, 
 
 And thro' the clouds o'erhead 
 The fingers of the setting sun 
 
 Are pointing down blood-red, — 
 Beneath, on the white battlefield. 
 
 Lie strewn the drifts of dead. 
 
 No breath, no stir ; but everywhere 
 
 The cold Frost crawleth slow. 
 And Frank and Teuton side by side 
 
 Lie stiffening in the snow, — 
 While piteously each marble face 
 
 Gleams in the ruby glow. 
 
 No sound ; but yonder midst the dead 
 There stands one steed snow-white, 
 
 And clinging to its chilly mane. 
 Half swooning, yet upright. 
 
 Its rider totters, breathing hard, 
 Bareheaded in the light ! 
 
 Hans Vogel. Spectacles on nose, 
 
 He gasps and gazes round — 
 He shivers as his eyes survey 
 
 That wintry battle-ground — 
 Then, parch'd with thirst and chill with cold. 
 
 He sinks, without a sound. 
 
 Be^'ore his vision as he lies 
 1 here gleams a quaint old Town, 
 
 He sees the students in the street 
 Swaggering up and down. 
 
 While at a casement sits a iVlaid 
 In clean white cap and gown. 
 
 Hans Vogel thinks, ' My time hath come ! 
 
 Ne'er shall these eyes of mine 
 Behold poor Annchen, or the trees 
 
 Of dear old Ehbrenstein ! ' 
 He smacks his hps, ' Mein Gott ! for one 
 
 Deep draught of Rhenish wine ! ' 
 
 Then swift as thought his wild eyes gleam 
 
 On something at his side — 
 He stirs— he glares — he sits erect — 
 
 He grips it, eager-eyed : 
 A Flask it is, some friend or foe 
 
 Hath dropt there ere he died ! 
 
 To God he mutters now a prayer, 
 
 Quaking in every limb ; 
 Trembling he holds it to the light ! — 
 
 'Tis full unto the brim ! 
 A flask, a brimming flask of wine ! 
 
 And God hath sent it him ! 
 
 Hans Vogel's heart leaps up in joy, 
 ' Dem Himniel sei Dank !' he cries — ■ 
 
 Then pursing out his thirsty lips 
 Prepares to quaff his prize, — 
 
 When lo ! a sound — he starts— and meets 
 A pair of burning eyes ! 
 
 Propt on a bed of comrades dead, 
 His faint breath swiftly flying. 
 
 His breast torn open by a shell, 
 A Grenadier is lying : — 
 
 Grim as a wolf, with gleaming fangs, 
 The Frenchman gl.ueth, dying ! 
 
 White is his hair, his features worn 
 With many a wild campaign. 
 
 He rocks his head from side to side 
 Like to a beast in pain — 
 
 He groans athirst, with open mouth. 
 Again and yet again. 
 
 Hans Vogel, in the act to drink 
 
 And render God due praise. 
 Drops down his fever'd hand in doubt 
 
 And pauses in amaze. 
 For on the flask that Grenadier 
 
 Fixeth his thirsty gaze !
 
 504 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 Hans Vogel smiles, ' Here lieth one 
 Whose need is more than mine ! ' 
 
 Then, crawling over to his foe, 
 ' Look, Frenchman, here is wine ! 
 
 And by the God that made us both 
 Shall every drop be thine ! ' 
 
 Hast thou beheld a dying boar, 
 Struck bleeding to the ground, 
 
 Spring with a last expiring throe 
 To rip the foremost hound? 
 
 Terrible, fatal, pitiless, 
 
 It slays with one swift bound. 
 
 Ev'n so that grizzly wolf of war. 
 
 With eyes of hate and ire, 
 Sdrs as he hes, and on the ground 
 
 Gropes with a dark desire, — 
 Then lifts a loaded carbine up. 
 
 And lo ! one flash of fire ! 
 
 A flash— a crash ! Hans Vogel still 
 
 Is kneeling on his knee. 
 His heart is beating quick, his face 
 
 Is pale as man's can be ; 
 The ball just grazed his bleeding brow, — 
 
 ' Potsfausend f murmureth he. 
 
 Hans frowns ; and raising to his lips 
 
 The flask, begins to quaff ; 
 Then holds it to the fading light 
 
 With sly and cynic laugh. 
 Deep is his drought — sweet is the wine — 
 
 And he hath drunk the half ! 
 
 But now he glanceth once again 
 Where that grim Frenchman Hes — 
 
 Gasping still waits that wolf of war 
 Like to a beast that dies — 
 
 He groans athirst, with open mouth. 
 And slowly glazing eyes. 
 
 Hans Vogel smiles ; unto his foe 
 
 Again now totters he — 
 So spent now is that wolf of war 
 
 He scarce can hear or see. 
 Hans Vogel holds his hand, and takes 
 
 His head upon his knee ! 
 
 Then down the dying Frenchman's throat 
 
 He sends the liquor fine : 
 ' Half yd remains, old boy,' he cries. 
 
 While pouring down the wine — 
 ' Hadst thou not play'd me such a trick, 
 
 It might have all been thine ! ' 
 
 Hans Vogel speaketh in the tongue 
 
 Of his good Fatherland — 
 The Frenchman hears an alien sound 
 
 And cannot understand. 
 But he can taste the warm red wine 
 
 And feel the kindly hand. 
 
 See ! looking in Hans Vogel's face 
 
 He stirs his grizzly head — 
 Up, smiling, goes the grim moustache 
 
 O'er cheeks as grey as lead — 
 With one last glimmer of the eyes, 
 
 He smiles, — and he is dead. 
 
 PHIL BLOOD'S LEAP. 
 
 A TALE OF THE GOLD-SEEKERS. 
 
 ' There's some think Injins pison . . .' [It 
 
 was Parson Pete who spoke. 
 As we sat there, in the camp-fire glare, Hke 
 
 shadows among the smoke. 
 'Twas the dead of night, and in the light 
 
 our faces bnrn'd bright red, 
 And the wind all round made a screeching 
 
 sound, and the pines roared overhead. 
 
 Ay, Parson Pete was talking ; we called him 
 
 Parson Pete, 
 For you must learn he'd a talking turn, and 
 
 handled things so neat ; 
 He'd a preaching style, and a winning smile, 
 
 and, when all talk was spent. 
 Six-shooter had he, and a sharp bowie, to 
 
 p'int his argyment. 
 
 Some one had spoke of the Injin folk, and 
 
 we had a guess, you bet, 
 They might be creeping, while we were 
 
 sleeping, to catch us in the net ; 
 And half were asleep and snoring deep, 
 
 while the others vigil kept. 
 But devil a one let go his gun, whether he 
 
 woke or slept. ] 
 
 ' There's some think Injins pison, and others 
 
 count 'em scum. 
 And night and day they are melting away, 
 
 clean into Kingdom Come ; 
 But don't you go and make mistakes, like 
 
 many dern'd fools I've known, 
 For dirt is dirt, and snakes is snakes, but 
 
 an Injin's flesh and bone !
 
 PHIL BLOOD'S LEAP. 
 
 505 
 
 We were seeking gold in the Texan hold, 
 
 and we'd had a blaze of luck, 
 More rich and rare the stuff ran there at 
 
 every foot we struck ; 
 Like men gone wild we t'iled and t'iled, 
 
 and never seemed to tire. 
 The hot sun beamed, and our faces streamed 
 
 with the sweat of a mad desire. 
 
 I was Captain then of the mining men, and 
 
 I had a precious life. 
 For a wilder set I never met at derringer and 
 
 knife ; 
 Nigh every day there was some new fray, a 
 
 bullet in some one's brain, 
 And the viciousest brute to slab and to 
 
 shoot, was an Imp of Hell from Maine. 
 
 Phil Blood. Well, he was six foot three, 
 
 with a squint to make you skeer'd. 
 His face all scabb'd, and twisted and stabb'd, 
 
 with carroty hair and beard ; 
 Sour as the drink in Bitter Chink, sharp as 
 
 a grizzly's squeal, 
 Limp in one leg, for a leaden egg had 
 
 nick'd him in the heel. 
 
 No beauty was he, but a sight to see, all 
 
 stript to the waist and bare. 
 With his grim-set jaws, and his panther 
 
 paws, and his hawk's eye all aglare ; 
 With pick and spade in sun and shade he 
 
 labour'd like darnation, 
 But when his spell was over, — well ! he was 
 
 fond of his recreation ! 
 
 And being a crusty kind of cuss, the only 
 
 sport he had, 
 When work was over, seemed to us a bit 
 
 too rough and bad ; 
 For to put some lead in a comrade's head 
 
 was the greatest fun in life. 
 And the sharpest joke he was known to 
 
 poke was the p'int of his precious knife. 
 
 But game to the bone was Phil, I'll own, 
 
 and he always fought most fair. 
 With as good a will to be killed as kill, 
 
 true grit as any there : 
 Of honour too, like me or you, he'd a scent, 
 
 though not so keen. 
 Would rather be riddled thro' and thro", 
 
 than do what he thought mean. 
 
 But his eddication to his ruination had net 
 
 been over nice. 
 And his stupid skull was choking full of 
 
 vulgar prejudice ; 
 With anything white he'd drink, or he'd 
 
 fight in fair and open fray ; 
 Buc to murder and kill was his wicked will, 
 
 if an Injin came his way ! 
 
 ' A sarpent's hide has pison inside, and an 
 
 Injin's heart's the same, 
 If he seems your friend for to gain his end, 
 
 look out for the sarpent's game ; 
 Of the snakes that crawl, the worst of all is 
 
 the snake in a skin of red, 
 A spotted Snake, and no mistake ! ' that's 
 
 what he always said. 
 
 Well, we'd jest struck our bit of luck, and 
 
 were wild as raving men. 
 When who should stray to our camp one 
 
 day, but Black Panther, the Cheyenne ; 
 Drest like a Christian, all a-grin, the old 
 
 one joins our band, 
 And tho' the rest look'd black as sin, he 
 
 shakes me by the hand. 
 
 Now, the poor old cuss had been good to 
 
 us, and I knew that he was true, — 
 I'd have trusted him with life and limb as 
 
 soon as I'd trust yoii ; 
 For tho' his wit was gone a bit, and he 
 
 drank like any fish, 
 His heart was kind, he was well-inclined, 
 
 as even a white could wish. 
 
 Food had got low, for we didn't know the 
 
 run of the hunting-ground. 
 And our hunters were sick, when, jest in 
 
 the nick, the friend in need was found ; 
 For he knew the place like his mother's face 
 
 (or better, a heap, you d say. 
 Since she was a scjuaw of the roaming race, 
 
 and himself a cast-away). 
 
 Well, I took the Panther into camp, and 
 
 the critter was well content. 
 And off with him, on the hunting tramp, 
 
 next clay our huntrrs went, 
 And I reckon that day and the next we 
 
 didn't want for food. 
 And only one in the camp looked vext — that 
 
 Imp of Hell, Phil Blood.
 
 5o6 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 Nothing would please his contrairy idees ! 
 
 an Injin made him rile ! 
 He didn't speak, but I saw on his cheek a 
 
 kind of an ugly smile ; 
 And I knew his skin was hatching sin, and 
 
 I kept the Panther apart, 
 For the Injin he was too blind to see the 
 
 dirt in a white man's heart ! 
 
 Well, one fine day, we a-resting lay at noon- 
 time by the creek, 
 
 The red sun blazed, and we felt half-dazed, 
 too beat to stir or speak ; 
 
 'Neath the alder trees we stretched at ease, 
 and we couldn't see the sky, 
 
 For the lian-flowers in bright blue showers 
 hung through the branches high. 
 
 It was like the gleam of a fairy-dream, and 
 
 I felt hke earth's first Man, 
 In an Eden bower with the yellow flower of 
 
 a cactus for a fan ; 
 Oranges, peaches, grapes, and figs, cluster'd, 
 
 ripen'd, and fell, 
 And the cedar scent was pleasant, blent 
 
 with the soothing 'cacia smell. 
 
 The squirrels red ran overhead, and I saw 
 
 the lizards creep, 
 And the woodpecker bright with the chest 
 
 so white tapt like a sound in sleep ; 
 I dreamed and dozed with eyes half-closed, 
 
 and felt like a three-year child. 
 And, a plantain blade on his brow for a 
 
 shade, even Phil Blood look'd mild. 
 
 Well, back, jest then, came our hunting 
 
 men, with the Panther at their head. 
 Full of his fun was every one, and the 
 
 Panther's eyes were red. 
 And he skipt about with grin and shout, for 
 
 he'd had a drop that day, 
 And he twisted and twirled, and squeal'd 
 
 and skirl'd, in the foolish Injin way. 
 
 To the waist all bare Phil Blood lay there, 
 
 with only his knife in his belt, 
 And I saw his bloodshot eyeballs stare, and 
 
 I knew how fierce he felt, — 
 When the Injin dances with grinning glances 
 
 around him as he lies. 
 With his painted skin and his monkey grin, — 
 
 and leers into his eyes ! 
 
 Then before I knew what I should do Phil 
 
 Bio id was on his feet, 
 And the Injin could trace the hate in his 
 
 face, and his heart began to beat ; 
 And, ' Git out o' the way,' he heard them 
 
 say, ' for he means to hev your life ! ' 
 But before he could fly at the warning cry, 
 
 he saw the flash of the knife. 
 
 ' Run, Panther run ! ' cried each mother's 
 
 son, and the Panther took the track ; 
 With a wicked glare, like a wounded bear, 
 
 Phil Blood sprang at his back. 
 Up the side so steep of the caiion deep the 
 
 poor old critter sped. 
 And the devil's limb ran after him, till they 
 
 faded overhead. 
 
 Now, the spot of ground where our luck 
 
 was found was a queerish place, you'll 
 
 mark. 
 Jest under the jags of the mountain crags 
 
 and the precipices dark ; 
 Far up on high, close to the sky, the two 
 
 crags leant together. 
 Leaving a gap, like an open trap, wdth a 
 
 gleam of golden weather. 
 
 A pathway led from the beck's dark bed up 
 
 to the crags on high. 
 And along that path the Injin fled, fast as a 
 
 man could fly. 
 Some shots were fired, for I desired to keep 
 
 the white beast back ; 
 But I missed my man, and away he ran on 
 
 the flying Injin's track. 
 
 Now all below is thick, you know, with 
 
 'cacia, alder, and pine. 
 And the bright shrubs deck the side of the 
 
 beck, and the Man flowers so fine. 
 For the forest creeps all under the steeps, 
 
 and feathers the feet of the crags 
 With boughs so thick that your path you 
 
 pick, like a steamer among the snags. 
 
 But right above you, the crags, Lord love 
 you ! are bare as this here hand. 
 
 And your eyes you wink at the bright blue 
 chink, as looking up you stand. 
 
 If a man should pop in that trap at the top, 
 he'd never rest arm or leg, 
 
 Till neck and crop to the bottom he'd drop — 
 and smash on the stones like an egg !
 
 PHIL BLOOD'S LEAP. 
 
 507 
 
 ' Come back, you cuss ! come back to us ! 
 
 and let the critter be ! ' 
 I screamed out loud, while the men in a 
 
 crowd stood grinning at them and 
 
 me . . . 
 But up they went, and my shots were spent, 
 
 and at last they disappeared, — 
 One minute more, and we gave a roar, lor 
 
 the Injin had leapt, and cleared ! 
 
 A leap for a deer, not a man, to clear, — and 
 
 the bloodiest grave below ! 
 But the critter was smart and mad with fear, 
 
 and he went like a bolt from a bow ! 
 Close after him came the devil's limb, with 
 
 his eyes as dark as death. 
 But when he came to the gulch's brim, I 
 
 reckon he paused for breath ! 
 
 For breath at the brink ! but — a white man 
 
 shrink, when a red had passed so neat? 
 I knew Phil Blood too well to think he'd 
 
 turn his back dead beat ! 
 He takes one nm, leaps up in the sun, and 
 
 bounds from the slippery Ir-dge, 
 And he clears the hole, but — God help his 
 
 soul ! just touches the tother edge ! 
 
 One scrambling fall, one shriek, one call, 
 
 from the men that stand and stare, — 
 Black in the blue where the sky looks thro', 
 
 he staggers, dwarf d up there ; 
 The edge he touches, then sinks, and 
 
 clutches the rock — our eyes grow dim — 
 I turn away — what's that they say ? — he's a- 
 
 hanging on to the brim ! 
 
 . . . On the very brink of the fatal chink a 
 
 ragged shrub there grew. 
 And to that he clung, and in silence swung 
 
 betwixt us and the blue, 
 And as soon as a man could run I ran the 
 
 way I'd seen them flee, 
 And I came mad-eyed to the chasm's side, 
 
 and — what do you think I see ? 
 
 All up? Not quite. Still hanging ? Right! 
 
 But he'd torn away the shrub ; 
 With lolhng tongue he clutch'd and swung — 
 
 to what ? ay, that's the rub ! 
 I saw him glare and dangle in air,— for the 
 
 empty hole he trode, — 
 Help'd by a. pair of hands up there 1 — The 
 
 Injin's? Yes, by God ! 
 
 Now, boys, look here ! for many a year I've 
 
 roam'd in this here land — 
 And many a sight both day and night I've 
 
 seen that I think grand ; 
 Over the whole wide world I've been, and 
 
 I know both things and men. 
 But the biggest sight I've ever seen was the 
 
 sight I saw jest then. 
 
 I held my breath — so nigh to death Phil 
 
 Blood swung hand and limb. 
 And it seem'd to us all that down he'd fall, 
 
 with the Panther after him. 
 But the Injin at length put out his strength — 
 
 and another minute past, — 
 — Then safe and sound to the solid ground 
 
 he drew Phil Blood, at last ! 1 
 
 Saved ? True for you ! By an Injin too ! — 
 
 and the man he meant to kill 1 
 There all alone, on the brink of stone, I see 
 
 them standing still ; 
 Phil Blood gone white, with the struggle 
 
 and fright, hke a great mad bull at bay. 
 And the Injin meanwhile, with a half-skeer'd 
 
 smile, ready to spring away. 
 
 What'did Phil do ? Well, I watched the two, 
 
 and I saw Phil Blood turn back. 
 Bend over the brink and take a blink right 
 
 down the chasm black, 
 Then stooping low for a moment or so, he 
 
 sheath'd his bowie bright. 
 Spat slowly down, and watch'd with a frown, 
 
 as the spittle sank from sight ! 
 
 Hands in his pockets, eyes downcast, silent, 
 
 thoughtful, and grim. 
 While the Panther, grinning as he passed, 
 
 still kept his eyes on him, 
 Phil Blood strolled slow to his mates below, 
 
 down by the mountain track. 
 With his lips set tight and his face all white, 
 
 and the Panther at his back. 
 
 I reckon they stared when the two appeared ! 
 
 but never a word Phil spoke. 
 Some of them laughed and others jeered, — 
 
 but he let tliem have their joke ; 
 He seemed amazed, hke a man gone dazed, 
 
 the sun in his eyes too bright. 
 And for many a week, in spite of their chedi, 
 
 he never offered to fight.
 
 5o8 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 And after that day he changed his play, and 
 
 kept a civiller tongue, 
 And whenever an Injin came that way, his 
 
 confairy head he hung ; 
 But whenever lie heard the lying word, ' It's 
 
 a Lie !' Phil Blood would groan ; 
 ' A Snake is a Snake, make no mistake ! 
 
 but an Injin' s flesh and bone ! ' 
 
 THE FAERY REAPER. 
 
 IRELAND. 
 
 'Tis on Eilanowen, 
 
 There's laughter nightly 1 
 For the Fays are sowing 
 Their golden grain : 
 It springs by moonlight 
 
 So stilly and brightly, 
 And it drinks no sunlight, 
 
 Or silver rain ; — 
 Tho' the shoots upjreeping 
 
 No man may see, 
 When men are reaping 
 
 It reapt must be ; 
 But to reap it rightly, 
 
 With sickle keen, 
 They must lead there nightly 
 
 A pure colleen ! 
 
 Yes, pure completely 
 
 Must be that maiden. 
 Just feeling sweetly 
 
 Her love's first dream. 
 Should one steal thither 
 
 With evil laden. 
 The crop would wither 
 
 In the pale moon's beam ! 
 For midnights seven. 
 
 While all men sleep, 
 'Neath the silent heaven 
 
 The maid must reap ; 
 And the sweeter and whiter 
 
 Of soul is she. 
 The better and brighter 
 
 Will that harvest be 1 
 
 ... In Lough Bawn's bosom 
 
 The isle is lying, 
 Like a bright green blossom 
 On a maiden's breast — 
 There the water-eagle ' 
 
 ' The osprey {P and ion). 
 
 O'erhead is flying, 
 And beneath the sea-gull 
 Doth bu^ld its nest. 
 And across the water 
 
 A farm gleams fair, 
 And the farmer's daughter 
 
 Dwelt lonely there : — 
 And on Eilanowen 
 
 She'd sit and sing, 
 When the Fays were sowing 
 
 Their seeds in spring, 
 
 She could not hear them, 
 
 Nor see them p epmg ; 
 Tho' she wandered near them 
 
 The spring-tide thro'. 
 When the grouse was crovdng. 
 
 The trout was leaping. 
 And with hare-bells blowing 
 
 The banks were blue. 
 But not by moonlight 
 
 She dared to stay. 
 Only by sunlight 
 
 She went that way. 
 And on Eilanowen 
 
 They walked each night, 
 Her footprints sowing 
 
 With lilies white ! 
 
 When the sun above her 
 
 Was brightly blazing. 
 She'd bare (God love her !) 
 Each round white limb. 
 Unseen, unnoted. 
 
 Save fay-folk gazing. 
 Dark hair'd, white throated. 
 
 She'd strip to swim ! 
 Out yonder blushing 
 
 A space she'd stand. 
 Then falter flushing 
 
 Across the strand, — 
 Till the bright still water 
 
 Would sparkle sweet, 
 As it kissed and caught her 
 
 From neck to feet ! 
 
 There, sparkling round her 
 
 With fond caresses. 
 It clasp'd her, crowned her. 
 
 My maiden fair ! 
 Then, brighter glowing 
 
 From its crystal kisses, 
 The bright drops flowing 
 From her dripping hair,
 
 
 THE FAERY REAPER. 509 
 
 
 Outleaping, running 
 
 And bright grain growing 
 
 
 Beneath the sky, 
 
 I surely see ; 
 
 
 The bright hght sunning 
 
 A golden sickle 
 
 
 Her limbs, she'd fly, — 
 
 My fingers keep, 
 
 
 And 'mid tinkling laughter 
 
 And my slow tears trickle 
 
 
 Of elfin bowers, 
 
 On what I reap ! 
 
 
 The Fays ran after 
 
 
 
 With leaves and flowers ! 
 
 ' The moon is gleaming. 
 The faeries gather. 
 
 
 Could the Fays behold her, 
 
 Like glow-worms gleaming. 
 
 
 Nor long to gain her ? 
 
 Their eyes flash quick ; 
 
 
 From foot to shoulder 
 
 I try while reaping 
 
 
 None pure as she ! 
 
 To name ' ' Our Father ! " 
 
 
 They cried ' God keep her, 
 
 But round me leaping 
 
 
 No sorrow stain her ! 
 
 They pinch and prick — 
 
 
 The Faery Reaper 
 
 On the stalks of amber. 
 
 
 In troth she'll be ! ' . . . 
 
 On the silvern ears, 
 
 
 ■With stalks of amber 
 
 They cling, they clamber, 
 
 
 And silvern ears, 
 
 Till day appears ! 
 
 
 From earth's dark chamber 
 
 And here I'm waking 
 
 
 The grain appears. 
 
 In bed, once more, 
 
 
 'Tis harvest weather ! 
 
 My bones all aching. 
 
 The moon swims high ! 
 And they flock together 
 With elfin cry 1 
 
 Now, long and truly 
 
 I'd loved that maiden ; 
 And served her duly 
 
 With kiss and sign ; 
 And that same season 
 
 My soul love-laden 
 Had found new reason 
 To wish her mine. 
 For her cheek grew paler, 
 
 Her laughter less. 
 And what might ail her 
 
 I could not guess. 
 Each harvest morrow 
 
 We kissing met. 
 And with weary sorrow 
 
 Her eyes seem'd wet. 
 
 'Oh, speak, Mavourneen, 
 What ails ye nightly? 
 
 For sure each morning 
 'Tis sad ye seem ! ' 
 
 Her eyes not weeping 
 
 Looked on me brightly : — 
 
 • Each night when sleeping 
 I dream a Dream. 
 
 "Tis on Eilanowen, 
 I seem to b** 
 
 My heart full sore ! ' 
 
 I kissed her, crying 
 
 ' God bless your reaping ! 
 For sure no sighing 
 
 Can set you free. 
 They'll bless your wedding 
 
 Who vex your sleeping ; 
 So do their bidding. 
 
 Ma cushla chree I 
 But oh, remember ! 
 
 Your fate is cast, 
 And ere December 
 
 Hath fairly past. 
 The Faery Reaper 
 
 Must be a Bride, 
 Or a .sad cold sleepe. 
 
 On the green hill-side ! ' 
 
 ' Sure wedding's better 
 
 Than dying sadly ! ' 
 She smiled, and set her 
 Soft hand in mine. 
 For three nights after 
 
 She labour' d glidly, 
 'Mid fairy laughter, 
 
 And did not pine ; 
 And when the seven 
 
 Long nights were run, 
 Full well 'neath Heaven 
 
 That work was done :
 
 5IO 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 Their sheaves were slanted, 
 
 Then be quickly ready 
 
 Their harvest made, 
 
 To seize her hair. 
 
 And no more they wanted 
 
 And to name Our Lady 
 
 A mortal's aid. 
 
 As she wakens there ; 
 
 
 And tho' clouds may thunder 
 
 'Tis on Eilanowen 
 
 O'er the waters wide. 
 
 There's laughter nightly. 
 
 To the walls of wonder 
 
 When the Fays are sowing 
 
 She'll be your guide. 
 
 Their golden grain ! 
 
 
 God bless that laughter ; 
 
 iir. 
 
 That grain blow brightly 1 
 
 In the year of hunger,^ 
 
 For luck came after 
 
 That's long gone by, 
 
 My Mary's pain. 
 
 . When I was younger 
 
 And when sweet Mary 
 
 Who now am old. 
 
 Was wed to me, 
 
 By the Ocean dreary 
 
 Sure the folk of faery 
 
 Like a taisch^ went I, 
 
 Were there to see : — 
 
 Thin, weak and weary, 
 
 The white board spreading, 
 
 With want and cold. 
 
 Unheard, unseen. 
 
 O sweedy gleaming 
 
 They blest the wedding 
 
 Was the Sea that hour, 
 
 Of a pure colleen 1 
 
 And the sun was streaming 
 
 
 Thro' a golden shower ; 
 
 
 As I wandered sighing 
 
 THE ' midian-mara:^ 
 
 For the famished Land, 
 
 
 I beheld her lying 
 
 I. 
 
 On the yellow strand ! 
 
 There's a sad sea-maiden 
 
 
 Sighs day and night ; 
 
 IV. 
 
 For lack of Eden 
 
 Like the silver shining 
 
 Her eyes weep sore ; 
 
 Was the Maiden's skin. 
 
 If you come upon her 
 
 The red locks twining 
 
 By pale moonlight, — 
 Farewell to honour 
 For evermore ! 
 Tho' her hair is redder 
 
 Than blood fresh spilt, 
 'Tis you must wed her 
 
 And share her guilt ; 
 'Tis you, more pity ! 
 
 Must buried be 
 In her shining City 
 
 Beneath the Sea. 
 
 II. 
 
 But shouldest thou view her 
 
 When shines the sun, 
 And softly unto her 
 On tiptoe creep. 
 You'll find her dozing 
 
 As I have done. 
 Naked reposing 
 
 In a sunny sleep ; 
 
 « Anglice, 'The Mermaid.' 
 
 To the breasts of white, 
 Her cheeks were hueless 
 
 And chill and thin. 
 Her lips were dewless. 
 
 But her eyes were bright. 
 Behind her creeping 
 
 I held her hair, — 
 As she scream'd upleaping 
 
 I said the prayer ; — 
 ' O Midian-Mara I 
 I hold thee mine : 
 Thy help I borrow. 
 By the Cross's sign ! ' 
 
 V. 
 
 Hast thou ever noted 
 
 A wounded seal, 
 As it bleats shrill-throated 
 
 Before it dies? 
 As a seal's eyes turning 
 
 On them that kill, 
 
 The year of Irish famine. ' Ghost or spirit
 
 THE ' midian-mara: 
 
 511 
 
 With a dying yearning, 
 
 On a strand of snow. 
 
 
 Were the maiden's eyes. 
 
 Its bright towers beaming 
 
 
 With those orbs of azure 
 
 All glass and gold ! 
 
 
 She gazed on me : — 
 
 And a sound thrilled thro' me 
 
 
 ' O what's thy pleasure, 
 
 Like the sound of bells. 
 
 
 GilU ma chree ?' 
 
 Upwafted to me 
 
 
 And her tears fell brightly 
 
 On the ocean swells ; 
 
 
 Upon the sands, 
 
 And I saw far under, 
 
 
 As she trembled whitely 
 
 Within those same. 
 
 
 With wringing hands. 
 
 White shapes of wonder 
 
 
 VI. 
 
 That went and came ! 
 
 
 'O take me straightway,' 
 
 IX. 
 
 
 To her said I, 
 
 ' O Mary, mother, 
 
 
 ' To the City's gateway 
 
 That savest me. 
 
 
 That well ye know — 
 
 'Tis the place, no other. 
 
 
 'Tis the hunger kills me, 
 
 Where I would go ; 
 
 
 And that's no lie. 
 
 For 'tis sweet and pleasant, 
 
 
 And a longing fills me 
 
 Set 'neath the Sea 
 
 
 From earth to go.' 
 
 In the bright white crescent 
 
 
 She ceased her crying, 
 
 Of the strand below. 
 
 
 And sadly said. 
 
 'Tis the hunger in me 
 
 
 With the white gulls flying 
 
 That works its will. 
 
 
 Above her head. 
 
 Lest the devil win me 
 
 
 ' Is it there, mavourneen, 
 
 To steal or kill.' 
 
 
 Ye'd wish to stand. 
 
 I held her tighter, 
 
 
 That were bred and born in 
 
 And prayed anew : — 
 
 
 A Christian land?' 
 
 As I spoke, still brighter 
 That vision grew. 
 
 
 VII. 
 
 
 
 I knew her nature 
 
 X. 
 
 
 Was sly and deep, 
 
 Still glassy and shining 
 
 
 Tho' the wicked creature 
 
 Those walls of flame, 
 
 
 Had a heavenly face ; 
 
 With the sea-weeds twining 
 
 
 And I looked below me 
 
 Around their feet ; 
 
 
 At the waves asleep. 
 
 More large the place's 
 
 
 As I answered, ' Show me 
 
 Great' towers became, 
 
 
 That very place ! 
 
 Till I saw the faces 
 
 
 'Tis You must charm me 
 
 In the golden street. 
 
 
 To take the track. 
 
 I saw and knew them 
 
 
 And no hand shall harm me 
 
 (The Lords my guide !) 
 
 
 Till I come back. ' 
 
 As the water drew them 
 
 
 As I spake, deep thunder 
 
 From side to side ; 
 
 
 Was heard that day. 
 
 I saw the creatures, 
 
 
 And I saw, far under, 
 
 And I knew them then— 
 
 
 Where the City lay ! 
 
 The wool-white features 
 
 
 VIII. 
 
 'Neath the green still ocean. 
 
 Far, far, below, 
 With a mystic motion 
 
 That can't be told, 
 I saw it gleaming 
 
 Of drowned men ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 Upright they drifted. 
 
 All wet and cold, 
 By the sea-wash lifted 
 Like the red sea-tang.
 
 512 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 While in wild sad cadence, 
 From the towers of gold, 
 The pale sea-maidens 
 
 Struck harps and sang 
 ' shiile, shtile, 
 
 shiile, aroon !' ^ 
 I tell thee truly, 
 
 1 heard them croon ; 
 Then I heard that thunder 
 
 Roll deep once more, 
 
 And I swooned for wonder 
 
 On the yellow shore ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 When I raised in sorrow 
 
 My fearful face, 
 The Midian-Mara 
 
 Was fled from me ; 
 Without repining 
 
 I left the place. 
 As the Moon rose shining 
 
 Beyond the sea. 
 And my feet went faster 
 
 To see her light. 
 For 1 feared disaster 
 
 If I stayed that night . . 
 When God took pity. 
 
 And brought me bread, 
 I forgot that City 
 
 Of the drowned dead. 
 
 O'CONNOR'S WAKE. 
 
 AN IRISH FIDDLE TUNE. 
 
 To the wake of O'Connor 
 
 What boy wouldn't go ? 
 To do him that honour 
 
 Went lofty and low. 
 Two nights was the waking, 
 Till day began breaking, 
 And frolics past spaking. 
 
 To please him, were done ; 
 For himself in the middle. 
 With stick and with fiddle, 
 Stretch'd out at his ease, was the King of 
 
 the Fun. 
 
 With a dimity curtain overhead, 
 And the corpse-lights shining round his bed, 
 Holding his fiddle and stick, and drest 
 Top to toe in his Sunday best, 
 
 ' ' Come, come, my darling, come ! ' 
 
 For aJl the world he seemd to be 
 
 Playing on his back to the companie. 
 
 On each of his sides was the candle-light ; 
 On his legs the tobacco-pipes were piled ; 
 
 Cleanly wash'd, in a shirt of white, 
 
 His grey hair brush'd, his beard trimm'd 
 right, 
 He lay in the midst of his friends, and 
 smiled. 
 
 At birth and bedding, at fair and feast. 
 
 Welcome as light or the smile of the priest. 
 
 Ninety winters up and down 
 
 O'Connor had fiddled in country and town. 
 
 Never a fiddler was clever as he 
 
 At dance or jig or pater-o -pee ; 
 
 The sound of his fiddle no word could 
 paint — 
 
 "Twould fright the devil or please a saint, 
 
 Or bring the heart, with a single skirl. 
 
 To the very mouth of a boy or girl. 
 
 He played— and his elbow was never done; 
 He drank — and his lips were never dry ; 
 
 Ninety winters his life had run, 
 
 But God's above, and we all must die. 
 
 As she stretch'd him out, quoth Judy 
 O'Roon— 
 
 ' Sure life's like his music, and ended soon — 
 There's dancing and crying. 
 There's kissing, there's sighing, 
 There's smiling and sporting, 
 There's wedding and courting, — 
 
 But the skirl of the wake is the end of the 
 tune ! ■ 
 
 ' Shin siias, O'Connor,'^ 
 
 Cried Kitty O'Bride— 
 Her best gown upon her, 
 
 Tim Bourke by her side — 
 All laughed out to hear her, 
 While Tim he crept near her, 
 To kiss her and cheer her 
 At the back o' the door ; 
 But the corpse in the middle, 
 With stick and with fiddle. 
 All done with diversion, would never play 
 
 more! 
 
 On the threshold, as each man entered there. 
 He knelt on his knee and said a prayer, 
 But first before he took his seat 
 
 Among the company there that night, 
 He lifted a pipe from O'Connor's feet. 
 
 And ht it up by the bright corpse-lighL 
 " 'Play up, O'Connor!'
 
 O'CON.VOR'S WAKE. 
 
 513 
 
 Chattering there in the cloud of smoke, 
 They waked him well with song and joke ; 
 The gray old men and the caidiaghs 1 told 
 Of all his doings in days of old ; 
 The boys and girls till night was done, 
 Played their frolics and took their fun, 
 And many a kiss was stolen sure 
 Under the window and behind the door. 
 Andy Hagan and Kitty Delane 
 
 Hid in a corner and courted there, 
 ' Monamondioul !' cried old Tim Blane, 
 
 Pointing them out, ' they're a purty pair ! ' 
 But when they blushed and hung the head, 
 ' Troth, never be shamed ! ' the old man 
 
 said ; 
 'Sure love's as short as the flowers in June, 
 And life's like music, and ended soon — 
 There's wooing and wedding, 
 There's birth and there's bedding. 
 There's grief and there's pleasure 
 To fill up the measure, — 
 But the skirl of the wake is the end of the 
 tune ! ■ 
 
 At the wake of O'Connor 
 Great matches were made, 
 
 To do him more honour 
 We joked and we played — 
 
 Two nights was the waking, 
 
 Till day began breaking. 
 
 The cabin was shaking 
 Before we were done. 
 
 And himself in the middle, 
 
 ■With stick and with fiddle. 
 As large as in life, was the King of the Fun ! 
 
 'Well, I remember,' said Tony Carduff, 
 Drawing the pipe from his lips with a puff, 
 'Well, I lememberat Ballyslo', — 
 And troth and it's thirty years ago, — 
 In the midst of the fair there fell a fight. 
 
 And who but O'Connor was in the middle? 
 Striking and crying with all his might. 
 
 And with what fur weapon ? the ould 
 black fiddle ! 
 That day would have ended its music straight 
 
 If it hadn't been strong as an iron pot ; 
 Tho' the blood was on it from many a pate, 
 
 Troth, divil a bit of harm it got ! ' 
 Cried Michael na Chauliuy,- 'And troth 
 that's true — 
 
 ' Old women. 
 
 ■■' 'Miuliacl the Ferryman ;' lil. 'belonging to 
 tlie ferry.' 
 
 Himself and the fiddle were matched by few. 
 They went together thro' every weather, 
 Full of diversion and tough as leather, — 
 I thought he'd never think of dying. 
 But Jesus keep us ! — there's he's lying.' 
 Then the cauUaghs squatting round on the 
 
 floor 
 Began to keenagh ' and sob full sore ; 
 ' God be good to the ould gossoon ! 
 Sure life's like music, and ended soon. 
 There's playing and plighting, 
 There's frolic and fighting. 
 There's singing and sighing, 
 There's laughing and crying, — 
 But the skirl of the wake is the end of the 
 tune ! ' 
 
 At the wake of O'Connor, 
 
 The merry old man, 
 To wail in his honour 
 
 The cauliaghs began ; 
 And Rose, Donnell's daughter 
 From over the water. 
 Began (sure saints taught her !) 
 
 The sweet drimiiidliu ; ^ 
 All was still ; — in the middle. 
 With stick and with fiddle, 
 O'Connor, stretched silent, seem'd hearken- 
 ing too ! 
 
 Oh, 'twas sweet as the crooning of fairies 
 
 by night. 
 Oh, 'twas sad, — as you listened, you smiled 
 
 in delight. 
 With the tears in your eyes ; it was like a 
 
 shower falling. 
 When the rainbow shines thro' and the 
 
 cuckoo is calling ; 
 You might feel through it all, as the sweet 
 
 notes were given. 
 The peace of the iiarth and the promise of 
 
 Heaven 1 
 In the midst of it all the sweet singer did 
 
 stand. 
 With a light on her hair, like the gleam of 
 
 a hand ; 
 She seem'd like an angel to each girl and 
 
 boy. 
 But most to 'lim Cregan, who w.itch'd her 
 
 in joy, 
 
 * To cry, as during the corunacli at a funeraL 
 
 * A melancholy diity. 
 
 LL
 
 5>4 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 And when she had ended he led her away,^ 
 And whisper'd his love till the dawning o 
 
 day. 
 After that, cried Pat Rooney, the rogue of 
 
 a lad, 
 'I'll sing something merry— the last was 
 
 too sad ! ' 
 And he struck up the song of the Piper of 
 
 Clare. 
 How the bags of his pipes were beginning 
 
 to tear, 
 And how, when the cracks threaten'd fairly 
 
 to end them, 
 He cut up his own leather breeches to mend 
 
 them ! 
 How we laugh'd, young and old ! ' Well, 
 
 To fill up the measure, — 
 Rut the skirl of the wake is the end of the 
 tune.' 
 
 ' A health to O'Connor t' 
 
 Fat Anthony said : 
 ' We'll drink in the honour 
 
 Of him that is dead.' 
 A two-gallon cag, then, 
 Did Anthony drag then 
 From out his old bag then. 
 
 While all there grew keen. 
 'Twas sweet, strong, and filling — 
 His own best distilling ! 
 Oh, well had the dead man loved Tony's 
 potheen ! ^ 
 beat that if you can, 
 Cried fat Tony Bourke, the potheen-making Then the fun brightened up ; but of all 
 
 man — i that befell 
 
 ' Who sings next ? ' Tony cried, and at j It would take me a long day in summer to 
 
 that who came in, j tell — 
 
 Dancing this way and that way in midst of Of the dancing and singing, the leaping 
 
 the din, 
 But poor Shamus the Fool ? and he gave a 
 
 great spring — 
 ' By the cross, merry boys, 'tis mysilf that 
 
 can sing ! ' 
 Then he stood by the corpse, and he folded 
 
 his hands. 
 And he sang of the sea and the foam on 
 
 the sands, 
 Of the shining skiddawn ^ as It flies to and 
 
 fro. 
 Of the birds of the waves and theii wangs 
 
 like the snow. 
 Then he sank his voice lower and sang with 
 
 strange sound 
 Of the caves down beneath and the beds of 
 
 the drown'd. 
 Till we wept for the boys who lie where the 
 
 wave rolls, 
 With no kinsmen to stretch them and wake 
 
 their poor souls. 
 When he ceased. Shamus looked at the 
 
 corpse, and he said, 
 * Sure a dacenter man never died in his bed ! ' 
 Andat that theoIdca///za^/« began to croon : 
 ' Sure life's like his music, and ended as 
 soon — 
 
 There's dancing and sporting. 
 
 There's kissing and courting, 
 
 There's grief and there's pleasure 
 
 ' Heiriii;;. 
 
 and sporting, 
 And sweetest of all, the sly kissing and 
 
 courting ! 
 Two nights was the waking ; two long 
 
 winter nights 
 O'Connor lay smiling in midst of the lights. 
 In the cloud of the smoke like a cloud of 
 
 the skies, 
 The blessing upon him, to close his old eyes. 
 Oh, when the time comes for myself to 
 
 depart, 
 May I die full of days like the merry old 
 
 man ! 
 I'll be wiUing to go with the peace on my 
 
 heart. 
 Contented and happy, since life's but a 
 
 span ; 
 And O may I have, when my lips cease to 
 
 spake. 
 To help my poor soul, such an elegant wake ! 
 The country all there, friends and kinsmen 
 
 and all. 
 And myself in the middle, with candle and 
 
 pall ! . . . 
 Came the dawn, and we put old O'Connor 
 
 to rest, 
 In his coffin of wood, with his hands on his 
 
 breast. 
 And we followed him all by the hundred 
 
 and more, — 
 
 " Whisky, illicitly distilled
 
 O'CONNOR'S WAKE— HIGHLAND LAMENT— JAMES AVERY. 515 
 
 The boys all in black, and his friends sigh- 
 ing sore. 
 
 We left him in peace, the poor sleeping 
 gossoon. 
 
 Thinking, 'Life's like his music, and ended 
 too soon. 
 
 There's laughing and sporting, 
 There's kissing and courting. 
 There's grief and there's pleasure 
 To fill up the measure, — 
 
 But the wake and the grave are the end ^f 
 the tune ! ' 
 
 'Good-bye to O'Connor,' 
 
 Cried Barnaby Blake, 
 ' May the saints do him honour 
 
 For the ould fiddle's sake ! 
 If the saints love sweet playing — 
 It's the thruth that I'm saying — 
 His sowl will be straying 
 
 And fiddling an air ! 
 He'll pass through their middle. 
 With stick and with fiddle, 
 And they'll give him the cead mile fcalta ' 
 up there ! ' 
 
 Note.— The preceding Poem is a literal de- 
 scription of a wake in the wildest and loneliest 
 part of Connaught. Several of the characters — 
 e.g^. Shamus the Fool — are well known to the 
 mountaineers and fishermen of that untrodden 
 district, where the old Celtic tongue is still 
 spoken in its purity and the old Celtic customs 
 are still practised, and where the author, in almost 
 complete seclusion, passed four happy years. 
 
 HIGHLAND LAMENT. 
 
 ' O MAR tha mi ! 'tis the wind that's blowing, 
 
 O mar tha mi ! 'tis the sea that's white ! 
 'Tis my own brave boatman was up and 
 going, 
 
 From Uist to Rarra at dead of night ; 
 Body of black and wings of red 
 
 His boat went out on thf stormy sea. 
 O mar tha mi ! can I sleep in my bed? 
 
 O gillie dubh ! come back to me I 
 
 ' O mar tha mi ! is it weed out yonder? 
 
 Is it drifting weed or a tangled sail ? 
 On the shore I wait and vvatch and wander. 
 
 It's calm this day, after last night's gale. 
 
 ' ' Hundred thousana welcomes.' 
 
 O this is the skiff with wings so red, 
 And it floats upturned on the glassy sea 
 
 O mar tha mi ! is my boatman dead ? 
 O gillie dubh ! come back to me ! 
 
 ' O mar tha mi ! 'tis a corpse that's sleeping, 
 
 Floating there on the shppery sands ; 
 His face is drawn and his locks are dreeping, 
 
 His arms are stiff and he's clench'd his 
 hands. 
 Turn him up on his slimy bed. 
 
 Clean his face from the weed o' the sea. 
 O mar tha mi ! 'tis my boatman dead ! 
 
 O gillie dubh ! won't you look at me ? 
 
 ' O mar tha mi ! 'tis my love that's tiiken ! 
 
 O mar tha mi I I am left forlorn ! 
 He'll never kiss and he'll never waken. 
 
 He'll never look on the babe unborn. 
 His blood is water, his heart is lead. 
 
 He's dead and slain by the cruel sea. 
 O mar tha mi 1 I am lone in my bed, 
 
 My gilUe dubh is lost to me ! ' 
 
 JAMES AVERY. 
 
 At Portsmouth, in a tavern dark, 
 One day of windy weather, 
 
 A crew of reckless sailors sat. 
 And drank their grog together. 
 
 Loud was the talk, and rude the joke, 
 
 So deep the jovial din 
 They did not mark a lean, wild shape 
 
 Who shivering enter'd in : 
 
 A beggar wight, who hugg'd his rags. 
 And chatter'd with the cold ; 
 
 Lean was his shape, his eyeballs dim, 
 Wrinkled his cheek, and old. 
 
 In a dark corner of the room 
 
 He sat with sorry cheer. 
 Not list'ning, till a word, a lame, 
 
 Fell on his frozen ear. 
 
 'James Avery ! ' and as he i/pake 
 One pointed thro' the pane 
 
 At a great jilaybill on the wall 
 Of the damp and oozy lane. 
 
 On the dead wall the letters great 
 Made tempting bright display : 
 
 L L a
 
 Si6 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 James Avery, the Pirate King, 
 Was posted that night's play. 
 
 ' Ay ! ' cried a tar, reading aloud, 
 ' Well might they call him so ! 
 
 The Pirate King — I grudge his luck 1 ' 
 Then, with an oath, ' I'll go.' 
 
 Another cried, 'Ah, that's the life 
 
 To suit a sailor's style ! 
 Een Conway saw his palace, maces, 
 
 On Madagascar Isle ; 
 
 'And on a throne, in red and gold, 
 
 Jem sat like any king, 
 With dark-eyed donnas all around, 
 
 As fresh as flowers in spring ! 
 
 ' They brought him wine in cups of gold, 
 And each knelt on her knee — 
 
 Each mother-naked, smooth as silk — 
 Ah, that's the life for me ! ' 
 
 Then spake a third, ' I sailed with Jem 
 On board the " Hurricane " ; 
 
 When he deserted 1 ne'er thought 
 To hear of him again. 
 
 ' And now it's long since last I heard 
 His name, and p'raps he's dead.' 
 
 ' Not so ; he only takes a nap ! ' 
 A grizzly war's-man said. 
 
 ' He has a fleet of fighting ships, 
 
 Swifter than ours tenfold ; 
 Last spring he took six Indiamen, 
 
 Laden with gems and gold. 
 
 ' There's not a corner of the main 
 But knows the skull and bones — 
 
 Up goes the flag! and down comes Jem, 
 As sure as Davy Jones. 
 
 ' Rut let him have his fling ; some day 
 We'll catch him at his trade — 
 
 i>hort shrift ! a rope ! and up he goes, 
 And all his pranks are played.' 
 
 All laughed ; ' But not so fast," cried one ; 
 
 ' It's not too late, I vow ; 
 His Majesty would pardon him. 
 
 If he'd surrender now. 
 
 ' The pardon's in the newspapers. 
 In black and white it's there ; 
 
 If pirate Jem will cease his games, 
 They'll spare his life, they swear 
 
 All laugh'd again — 'Jem's wide awake— 
 You don't catch birds with chaff — 
 
 Come back to biscuit and salt junk ? 
 He is too 'cute by half. 
 
 ' Leave all his gold and precious stones. 
 
 His kingdom, and all that, 
 Bid all them dark-eyed girls farewell 
 
 For labour, — and the cat ? ' 
 
 Ev'n as they speak, a wretched form 
 
 Springs up before their eyes. 
 ' Give me the paper ! let me read ! ' 
 
 The famished creature cries. 
 
 They thrust him back with jeer and laugh. 
 So wild and strange is lie. . . . 
 
 ' Why, who's this skeleton ? ' . . . A voice 
 Answers, ' James Avery !' 
 
 Louder they laugh — ' He'smad! he'smad!" 
 
 They round him in a ring. 
 'Jem here in rags ! no, he's in luck. 
 
 As grand as any king 1 ' 
 
 But soon he proves his story true 
 W'ith eager words and tones ; 
 
 Then, as he ends, ' Bread, give me bread ! 
 I'm starving, mates ! ' he moans. 
 
 ' Nay, drink ! ' they cry ; and his lean hands 
 
 Clutch at the fiery cup. 
 ' Here's to the King who pardons me ! ' 
 
 He cries, and drinks it up. 
 
 He tells them of his weary days 
 Since that dark hour he fled, 
 
 A hunted thing, without a home 
 Wherein to lay his head. 
 
 Through some mysterious freak of fate. 
 His name abroad was spread, 
 
 And not a wondrous deed was done 
 But that wild name was said ; 
 
 And all the time James Avery dwelt 
 
 An outcast, gaunt and grim, 
 Till creeping home that day he heard 
 
 His King had pardoned him. 
 
 The wild drink mounted to his brain, 
 
 He revell'd maniac-eyed, 
 ' Come to the playhouse — 'twill be sport 
 
 To see thyself ! ' they cried. 
 
 Between them, down the narrow street 
 They led his scarecrow form —
 
 JAMES AVERY— THE DEVILS PEEPSHOW. 
 
 517 
 
 The wind blew chill from off the sea, 
 Before the rising storm. 
 
 They sat and saw the mimic play, 
 
 Till late into the night : — 
 The happy Pirate, crown'd with gold, 
 
 And clad in raiment bright. 
 
 The actor swagger'd on the stage 
 And drank of glorious cheer, . . . 
 
 James Avery gazed ! his hungry laugh 
 Was pitiful to hear ! 
 
 They parted. ... As the chill white dawn 
 
 Struck down a lonely lane, 
 It flashed upon the rainy wall 
 
 And made the play-bill plain. 
 
 James Avery, the Pirate King ! 
 
 The mocking record said — 
 Beneath, James Avery's famish'd form 
 
 Lay ragged, cold, and dead ! 
 
 THE DEVIL'S PEEPSHOW. 
 
 OLD STYLE. 
 
 As thro' the Town ofVanity I trod, 
 I heard one calling in the name of God, 
 And turning I beheld a wan-eyed wight. 
 Clad in a garment diat had once been bright, 
 Who, while a few pale children gathered round, 
 Did plant his faded Peepshow on the ground. 
 Trembling the childrenlpeep'd; and lingering nigh, 
 E'en thus I heard the ragged Showman cry : — 
 
 I. 
 
 Now first your eye will here descry 
 
 How all the world begun : 
 i The earth green-dight, the ocean bright. 
 
 The moon, the stars, the sun. 
 All yet is dark ; but you will mark, 
 
 While round this sphere is spun, 
 A Hand so bare moves here and there. 
 
 Whence rays of ruby run. 
 I pull a string, and everything 
 
 Is finish'd bright and new. 
 The' dim as dream all yet doth seem ; 
 
 And this, God wot, is true. 
 
 Now this, you see, is Eden Tree, 
 In Eden's soil set deep ; 
 
 Beneath it lies with closed eyes 
 Strong Adam, fast asleep. 
 
 All round, the scene is gold and green, 
 
 And silver rivers creep ; 
 Him on the grass the wild beasts pass. 
 
 As mild and tame as sheep. 
 My bell I ring ; I pull a string ; 
 
 And on the self-same spot. 
 From Adam's side God takes his Bride ; 
 
 And this is true, God wot. 
 
 III. 
 
 There still doth shine the Tree Divine, 
 
 Flush'd with a purple flame, 
 And hand in hand our parents stand, 
 
 Naked, but have no shame. 
 Now Adam goes to take repose 
 
 While musing sits his Dame ; 
 When, over her, the blest boughs stir. 
 
 To show how Satan came. 
 A Snake so bright, with horns of light. 
 
 Green leaves he rustles thro', 
 Fair Eve descries with wondering eyes ; 
 
 And this, God wot, is true. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now pray perceive, how over Eve 
 
 The fruits forbidden grow. 
 With hissing sound the Snake twines round. 
 
 His eyes like rubies glow. 
 ' Fair Eve,' he says (in those old days 
 
 Snakes spoke) and loutelh low, 
 ' This fruit you see upon the Tree 
 
 Shall make you see and know. . . .' 
 My bell I ring ; I pull a string ; 
 
 And on the self-same spot 
 Fair Eve doth eat the Fruit so sweet ; 
 
 And this is true, God wot. 
 
 Please, why did He who made the Tree, 
 
 Our Father in the sky. 
 Let it grow there, so sweet and fair, 
 
 To tempt our Parents' eye? 
 
 SHOWMAN. 
 
 My pretty dear, it is most clear 
 
 He wish'd their strength to try ; 
 And therefore sent, with wise intent, 
 
 The Serpent swift and sly. 
 I pull a string, and there (poor thing !) 
 
 Stands Adam eating too 1 
 And n(>w, you mark, all groweth dark ; 
 
 And this, God wot, is true.
 
 5i8 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Now, you discern, a voice so stern 
 
 Cries 'Adam, wliere art thoul' 
 Tis God tlie Lord, by all adored, 
 
 Walks there ; and all things bow. 
 But with his Bride doth Adam hide 
 
 His guilty, burning brow ; 
 And of fig-leaves each sinner weaves 
 
 A guilty apron now. 
 My bell I ring ; I pull a string ; 
 
 And from that pleasant spot 
 A Sword of Flame drives man and dame ; 
 
 And this is true, God wot. 
 
 VII. 
 
 .N'ow wipe the glass. And we will pass 
 
 To quite another scene : 
 In a strange land two Altars stand. 
 
 One red, the other green ; 
 The one of blood right sweet and good, 
 
 The other weeds, I ween ! 
 And there, full plain, stands frowning Cain, 
 
 And Abel spruce and clean. 
 I pull a string ; and every thing 
 
 Grows dark and sad anew, — 
 There Abel lies with dying eyes ! 
 
 And this, God wot, is true. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The wicked Cain has Abel slain 
 
 All with a burning brand ; 
 And now, sad sight, an Angel bright 
 
 Doth mark him with his hand. 
 
 What specks so red are those that spread 
 Behind them as they stand ? 
 
 SHOWMAN. 
 
 The sparks you see the wild eyes be, 
 
 Countless as grains of sand, 
 Of all those men who have, since then. 
 
 Shed blood in any land ! 
 In grief and pain they look at Cain, 
 
 Aghast on that sad spot ; 
 And all around blood soaks the ground ; 
 
 And this is true, God wot. 
 
 IX. 
 
 My bell I ring ; I pull a string : 
 Now, Father Noah you mark — 
 
 Sleeping he lies, with heavy eyes, 
 All full of wine, and stark. 
 
 But now, behold ! that good man old 
 
 A Voice in dream doth hark ; 
 And the Voice cries, ' O Noah, arise 1 
 
 And build thyself an Ark." 
 Again I ring ; and pull a string ; 
 
 And all is water blue. 
 Where, floating free, the Ark you see ; 
 
 And this, God wot, is true. 
 
 Thus God the Lord, with his great Word, 
 
 Did bid the waters rise. 
 To drown and kill all things of ill 
 
 He made beneath the skies. 
 The Lord saved none, but Noah alone. 
 
 His kith and kin hkewise ; 
 Two of each beast, both great and least ; 
 
 Two of each bird that flies. 
 My bell I ring ; I pull a string ; 
 
 And on the self-same spot. 
 The water sinks, the bright Bow blinks ; 
 
 And this is true, God wot. 
 
 XI. 
 
 day and night, unto your sight 
 Such wonders shown might be, 
 
 But to conclude this Peepshow good, 
 
 You Heaven and Hell shall see : 
 The shining things, with spangled wings. 
 
 Who smile and sing so free ; 
 The crew of shame, who in hell-flame 
 
 Complain eternallie ! 
 My bell I ring ; I pull a string ; 
 
 And you them both may view — 
 The blest on high, the curst who cry :— 
 
 And this, Got wot, is true. 
 
 XII. 
 A CHILD. 
 
 How can they bear, who sit up there 
 
 In shining robes so gay. 
 From Heaven to peer, without a tear, 
 
 On those who scream and pray? 
 
 SHOWMAN. 
 
 Why, those who burn had, you must learn, 
 
 As fair a chance as they — 
 But Adam's fall doth doom them all 
 
 Upon God's judgment day. 
 
 1 thus conclude wth moral good. 
 
 Not soon to be forgot ; 
 And you must own what I have shown 
 Is solemn sooth, Got wot.
 
 THE DEVIL'S PEEPSHOIV^DAYBREAK—EUPHROSYNE. 519 
 
 XIII. 
 A LITTLE BOY. 
 
 O look at him, that showman grim, 
 A frown is on his cheelc ; 
 
 Come away quick, for 1 am sick 
 Whene'er I hear him speak ! 
 
 Along this way, last Holy Day, 
 
 In blessed Wliitsun' week. 
 There passed a wight, so sweet and bright 
 
 He seemetl an Angel meek : 
 He bare, also, an old Peep-show, 
 
 But prettier far to view. 
 And loud cried He ' O look and see ! 
 
 For all, God wot, is true ! ' 
 
 XIV. 
 
 CHILDREN. 
 
 And did you peep? and did yuu weep 
 To see the pictures wild ? 
 
 Ah nay, ah nay, I laughed, full gay, 
 
 I looked and laughed and smiled ! 
 For I discern'd, with bright face turned 
 
 On mine, a little Child ; 
 And round him, bright burn'd many alight, 
 
 And cakes and sweets were piled ; 
 And scents most rare fiU'd all the air 
 
 All round the heavenly spot. 
 While loud and wide that Showman cried — 
 
 ' This is our Lord, God wot I ' 
 
 XV. 
 
 FIRST CHILD. 
 
 "Twas Jesus Child ! so good and mild ! 
 He grew on Mary's breast 1 
 
 GIRL. 
 
 Sweet were his eyes, his look was wise. 
 
 And his red lips were blest ; 
 I longed, I wis, those lips to kiss, 
 
 And by his side to rest. 
 This man's I'eepshow is strange, I know. 
 
 But the other was the best ! 
 Now let us go where daisies blow, 
 
 Sweet ferns, and speedwells blue. 
 And Posies make for Christ His sake, 
 
 For He is bright and true ! 
 
 XV r. 
 
 SHOWMAN {sohis). 
 
 Folk, I'm afraid, are changed ; my trade 
 
 Grows worse each day, I know. 
 How they did throng when I was young, 
 
 To see this very Show ! 
 My rivals pass, and lad and lass 
 
 Follow where'er they go. 
 While up and down, from town to town, 
 
 / creep, most sad and slow. 
 I too must try some novel cry. 
 
 Lest I be quite forgot : 
 These pictures old that I unfold 
 
 Have ceased to please, God wot ! 
 
 DAYBREAK. 
 
 FRAGMKNT. 
 
 But now the first faint flickering ray 
 
 Fell from the cold east far away. 
 
 The birds awoke and twitter'd, hover'd, 
 
 The dim leaves sparkled in the dew- 
 Earth slowly her dark head uncover'd 
 
 And held her blind face up the blue, 
 Till the fresh consecration came 
 In yellow beams of orient flame. 
 Touching her, and she breathed full blest 
 With lilies heaving on her breast. 
 Seas sparkled, dark capes ghmmer'd green, 
 As Dawn crept on from scene to scene, 
 Lifting each curtain of the night 
 With fingers flashing starry-white. 
 
 EUPHROSYNE; OR, THE 
 PROSPECT. 
 
 ' Freed from its tenement of clay 
 (So the prophetic legend ran). 
 
 As pure as dew, as bright as day, 
 Shall rise the Soul of Man.' 
 
 I read ; and in the shade by me 
 
 Sat golden-haired Euphrosyne. 
 
 Above our shaded orchard scat 
 The boughs stirred scented in the light. 
 
 And on the grass beneath our feet 
 Lay blossoms pink and white ; 
 
 I held the book upon my knee. 
 
 Translating to Euphrosyne.
 
 520 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 'Twas an old melancholy rune, 
 Writ by a Norseman long ago — 
 
 Sad with the sense of stars and moon, 
 Sea-wash, and frost, and snow — 
 
 A vision of futurity ! 
 
 And wide-eyed heard Euphrosyne. 
 
 ' Stately and slow the heart shall beat 
 To the low throb of Time's soft tide, 
 
 While, shaded from the solar heat, 
 The Shapes walk heavenly-eyed.' 
 
 All round us burnt the starry lea, 
 
 And warmly sighed Euphrosj^ne. 
 
 • All shall be innocent and fair, 
 
 Dim as a dream the days shall pass- 
 No weed of shame shall blossom there, 
 
 No snake crawl on the grass." — 
 ' How happy such a world will be ! ' 
 Sighed beautiful Euphrosyne. 
 
 ' Flesh shall be fled, sense shall be still, 
 The old grey earth buried and dead ; 
 
 The wicked world, with all things ill — 
 Stone, rock, and tree— be fled.' — 
 
 ' No earth, no \\ orld ! ' softly sighed she, 
 
 The little maid, Euphrosyne. 
 
 She clasped her hands, she cast her eyes 
 Over the landscape bright with May — 
 
 Scented and sweet, 'neath cloudless skies. 
 Smiled the green world that day — 
 
 Loud sang the thrush, low hummed the bee, 
 
 And softly sighed Euphrosyne. 
 
 'Sickness shall perish, grief and pain 
 Be buried with the buried life ; 
 
 The aching heart, the weary brain. 
 At last shall cease their strife.' — 
 
 The gfrey tome trembled on my knee, 
 
 But happy sat Euphros}'ne. 
 
 ' The luminous house wherein we dwell. 
 The haunted house of shame and lust, 
 
 The callow spirit's fleshly shell. 
 Shall crumble into dust ; 
 
 The flower shall fade, the scent fly free ! ' — 
 
 She trembled now, Euphrosyne. 
 
 Her warm, white bosom heaved with sighs, 
 I felt her light breath come and go. 
 
 She drank, with glorious lips and eyes. 
 The summer's golden glow ; 
 
 She felt her life, and sighed ' Ay, me ! ' 
 
 The flower of maids, Euphrosyne. 
 
 ' And with the flower of flesh shall fade 
 The venom'd bloom of earthly love. 
 
 No passion-trance of man and maid 
 Shall taint the life above ; 
 
 Flesh shall be fled, sex shall not be ! ' — 
 
 I paused, and watched Euphrosyne. 
 
 Her hands were folded round her knees. 
 Her eyes were fix'd in a half-dream ; 
 
 She shared the flame of flowers and trees, 
 And drank the summer gleam ; 
 
 ' Kiss sweet, kiss sweet ! ' upon the tree 
 
 The thrush sang, to Euphrosyne. 
 
 A little maid of seventeen Mays, 
 A happy child with golden hair. 
 
 What should she know of Love's wild ways. 
 Its hope, its pain, and prayer? 
 
 ' No lovevci heaven ? — how stra?ige 'twill be ! ' 
 
 Still musing, sighed Euphrosyne. 
 
 ' No thoughts of perishable mould 
 Shall break the rule of heavenly rest. 
 
 But larger light, more still, more cold. 
 More beautiful and blest' — 
 
 Her heart was fluttering close to me. 
 
 And quickly breathed Euphrosyne. 
 
 ' There shall be no more love I ' — but here 
 I paused, for from my side she sprang, 
 
 And in her bird's voice, loud and clear. 
 Of love's young dream she sang — 
 
 ' Oh, close the foolish book ! ' cried she. 
 
 The happy maid Euphrosyne. 
 
 I closed the book, and from my hold 
 She took it with her fingers white, 
 
 Then down the path of green and gold 
 She tripped with laughter light — 
 
 ' The book, not the glad world, shall be 
 
 Deep-buried,' said Euphrosyne. 
 
 W^ithin an elm-tree's hollow bole. 
 Into the darkness damp and green, 
 
 She thrust it, closing up the hole 
 With sprays of lilac sheen — 
 
 Then, all the radiant flush of glee 
 
 Fast faded from Euphrosyne. 
 
 Pensively in the summer shine 
 
 Her blue eyes filled with tears of bliss ; 
 She held her little mouth to mine 
 
 In one long heavenly kiss — 
 ' I love the earth, and life, and t/iee !' 
 She whispered, my Euphrosyne.
 
 EUPHROSYNE—ON A YOUNG POETESS'S GRAVE. 
 
 521 
 
 Sleep, Booli, within thy burial place, 
 With flowers and fruit for epitaph ! 
 
 Kind Heaven, stoop down thy sunny face 
 To hear the Earth's glad laugh ! 
 
 Smile, with your glorious eyes on me, 
 
 O child of joy ! Euphrosyne ! 
 
 STANLEY FARM. 
 
 Come, love, and while the landscape glows 
 
 Red in the setting sun, 
 Let us repair to Stanley Farm, 
 
 Where thou wast wooed and won. 
 
 The river runs through a narrow glen, 
 
 And shooting past the mill, 
 It lingers near the burial-ground 
 
 Where the dark dead lie still. 
 
 Then fresh and free it shooteth through 
 The bridge at headlong speed ; 
 
 But when the village bridge is past, 
 It comes to marsh and mead ; 
 
 And broadening out with slacken'd pace, 
 
 It fringes green flat land, 
 Where, blanched white by frequent floods, 
 
 Long lines of pollards stand. 
 
 And now within its shallow pools, 
 The blue-winged hern doth wade, 
 
 Still as a stone, with crooked neck 
 Above his floating shade. 
 
 And water-lilies fringe the brim, 
 
 And all is sedge and reed, 
 Save one small stream within the midst, 
 
 That winds and winds with speed. 
 
 Then down comes Thornby Beck and gains 
 
 The river with a cry. 
 And on the two together run, 
 
 Under the English sky. 
 
 And strong and deep the stream has grown. 
 
 As well as broad and wide, 
 On reaching Stanley Farm, that sits 
 
 Upon the water's side. 
 
 How still it is ! how bright it is, 
 
 These happy summer weeks, 
 When cattle wade, in the dark blue pools 
 
 Broken to silvern streaks ! 
 
 But, love, hast thou forgot the Yule, 
 
 Twenty long years ago ? 
 The level meads around the stream 
 
 Were white with ice and snow. 
 
 The river was frozen white and blue, 
 
 In its cold weedy bed ; 
 A deep black fog filled all the air, 
 
 And in the fog, o'erhead. 
 
 Just hovering close to earth, as small 
 As a school-boy's pink balloon, 
 
 The wandering sun looked strange and cold 
 As the red wintry moon. 
 
 The fog was dark, and darkest there 
 
 Above the river's bed. 
 And from the windows of the farm 
 
 All day the lights gleamed red. 
 
 But when the sun's ball rolled from sight, 
 
 The wind began to blow. 
 The chilly fog was cleft in twain, 
 
 And the moon lit up the snow ! 
 
 A deep blue flower with a golden heart 
 Hung downwards, was the sky. 
 
 And white and cold in swathes of snow 
 Did mead and hamlet lie. 
 
 And ever and anon the wind 
 
 Blew up a cloud so pale. 
 And held it o'er the yellow moon, 
 
 Like a thin lawny veil. 
 
 And through its folds the bright'ning morn 
 Gazed, breathing soft and slow, 
 
 Till, melted with her breath, the cloud 
 Was shriven into snow. 
 
 Then ever in the bright'ning beam. 
 
 As each soft cloud stole by. 
 We saw dark figures on the stream 
 
 Gliding with merry cry. 
 
 Men and maidens, old and young, 
 
 The skaters frolicked there ; 
 Like shapes within a dream, their forms 
 
 Stole through the mystic air. 
 
 ON A YOUNG POETESS'S 
 GRA VE. 
 
 Under her gentle seeing, 
 
 In her delicate little hand, 
 They placed the Book of Being, 
 
 To read and understand. 
 
 The Book was mighty 
 
 Yea, worn and eaten with age ; 
 Though the letters looked great and golden 
 
 She could not read a page.
 
 ;22 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 With groups of steaming cattle, make 
 A landscape ' after Cuyp.' 
 
 A windmill, and below it 
 
 A cottage near a road, 
 Where some meek pastoral poet 
 
 Might make a glad abode ; 
 A cottage with a garden, where 
 
 Prim squares of pansies grow, 
 And sitting on a garden-chair, 
 
 A Dame with locks of snow. 
 
 In trim black truss'd and bodiced. 
 
 With petticoat of red, 
 And on her bosom modest 
 
 A kerchief white bespread. 
 Alas ! the breast that heaves below 
 
 Is shrivell'd now and thin, 
 Tho' vestal thoughts as white as snow 
 
 Still palpitate within. 
 
 Her hands are mitten'd nicely, 
 
 And folded on her knee ; 
 Her lips, that meet precisely, 
 
 Are moving quietly. 
 She listens while the dreamy bells 
 
 O'er the dark flats intone — 
 Now come, now gone, in dying swells 
 
 The Sabbath sounds are blown. 
 
 Her cheek a withered rose is, 
 
 Her eye a violet dim ; 
 Half in her chair she doses. 
 
 And hums a happy hymn. 
 But soft ! what wonder makes her start 
 
 And hft her aged head, 
 While the faint flutterings of her heart 
 
 Just touch her cheek with red ? 
 
 The latch clicks ; thro' the gateway 
 
 An aged wight steps slow — 
 Then pauses, doffing straightway 
 
 His broad-brim'd gay chapeau ! 
 Swallow-tail'd cot of blue so grand. 
 
 With buttons bright beside. 
 He wears, and in his trembling hand 
 
 A nosegay, ribbon-tied. 
 
 His thin old legs trip lightly 
 
 In breeches of nankeen. 
 His face is shining brightly, 
 
 So rosy, fresh, and clean — 
 Wrinkled he is and old and plain, 
 
 With locks of golden-grey. 
 And leaning on a tassell'd cane 
 
 He gladly comes this way. 
 
 The letters fluttered before her, 
 And all looked darkly wild : 
 
 Death saw her, and bent o'er her, 
 As she pouted her lips and smiled. 
 
 Then, weary a little with tracing 
 The Book, she look'd aside. 
 
 And lightly smiling, and placing 
 A Flower in its leaves, she died. 
 
 She died, but her sweetness fled not, 
 As fly the things of power, — 
 
 For the Book wherein she read not 
 Is the sweeter for the Flower. 
 
 LOVE IN WINTER, 
 
 A GENRE PICTURE. 
 I. 
 
 ' O Love is like the roses. 
 
 And every rose shall fall, 
 For sure as summer closes 
 
 They perish one and all. 
 Then love, while leaves are on the tree, 
 
 And birds sing in the bowers : 
 When winter comes, too late 'twill be 
 
 To f hick the happy /lowers.' 
 
 It is a maiden singing. 
 
 An ancient girl, in sooth ; 
 The dizzy room is ringing 
 
 With her shrill song of youth ; 
 The white keys sob as fast she tries 
 
 Each shrill and shrieking scale : 
 ' O love is like the roses J ' cries 
 
 This muslin'd nightingale. . . . 
 
 In a dark comer dozing 
 
 I close my eyes and ears, 
 And call up, while reposing, 
 
 A glimpse from other years ; 
 A genre-picture, quaint and Dutch, 
 
 I see from this dark seat, — 
 'Tis full of human brightness, such 
 
 As makes remembrance sweet. 
 
 II. 
 
 Flat leagues of endless meadows 
 
 [In Holland lies the scene], 
 Where many poUard-shadows 
 
 O'er nut-brown ditches lean ; 
 Grey clouds above that dimly break. 
 
 Mists that pale sunbeams stripe,
 
 LOVE IN WINTER-- IVILL 0' THE WISP. 
 
 523 
 
 Oh, skylark, singing over 
 
 The silent mill hard by, 
 To this so happy lover 
 
 Sing out writh summer cry ! 
 He hears thee, tho' his blood is cold. 
 
 She hears, tho' deaf and weak ; 
 She stands to greet him, as of old, 
 
 A blush upon her cheek. 
 
 In spring-time they were parted 
 
 By some sad wind of woe ; 
 Forlorn and broken-hearted 
 
 Each faltered, long ago ; 
 They sunder'd,— half a century 
 
 Each took the path of pain — 
 He lived a bachelor, and she 
 
 Was never woo'd again ! 
 
 "".ut when the summer ended. 
 
 When autumn, too, was dead, 
 When every vision splendid 
 
 Of youth and hope was fled. 
 Again these two came face to face 
 
 As in the long ago — 
 They met within a sunless place 
 
 In the season of the snow. 
 
 • O love is like the roses, 
 
 Love comes and love must flee ! 
 Before the summer closes 
 
 Love's rapture and love s glee ! ' 
 O peace ! for in the garden there 
 
 He bows in raiment gay ; 
 Doffs hat, and with a courtly air 
 
 Presents his fond bouquet. 
 
 One day in every seven. 
 
 While church-bells softly ring, 
 The happy, silent Heaven 
 
 Beholds the self-same thing : 
 The gay old boy within the gate, 
 
 With ribbons at his knee ! — 
 ' When winter cuvies, is love too late ?' 
 
 O Cupid, look and see ! 
 
 O, talk not of love's rapture, 
 
 When youthful lovers kiss ; 
 What mortal sight may capture 
 
 A scene more sweet than this ? 
 Beside her now he sits and glows. 
 
 While prim she sits and proud, — 
 Then, spectacles upon his nose. 
 
 Reads the week's news aloud ! 
 
 Pure, with no touch of passion, 
 True, with no tinge of pain ! 
 
 Thus, in sweet Sabbath fashion. 
 They live their loves again. 
 
 She sees in him a happy boy- 
 Swift, agile, amorous-eyed ; 
 
 He sees in her his own heart's joy- 
 Youth, Hope, Love, vivified ! 
 
 Content there he sits smoking 
 
 His long Dutch pipe of wood : 
 Gossiping oft and joking, 
 
 As a gay lover should. 
 And oft, while there in company 
 
 They smile for Love's sweet sake, 
 Her snuff-box black she hands, and he 
 
 A grave, deep pinch doth take ! 
 
 There, gravely juvenescent, 
 
 In sober Sabbath joy. 
 Mingling the past and present, 
 
 They sit, a maid and boy ! 
 ' O love is like the roses ! ' — No ! 
 
 Thou foolish singer, cease ! 
 Love finds the fireside 'mid the snow, 
 
 And smokes the pipe of peace ! 
 
 WILL C THE WISP. 
 
 A BALLAD WRITTEN FOR CLARI, ON 
 A STORMY NIGHT. 
 
 Just an inch high 
 
 With a body all yellow, 
 A bright crimson eye 
 And limbs all awry. 
 
 Wakes the queer httle fellow — 
 Yes, awakes in the night, 
 Rubs his eyes in a fright, 
 
 Yawns, harks to the thunder. 
 While the glowworms all set 
 Round his cradle so wet. 
 
 Stare at him in wonder. 
 How it blows I how it rains 1 
 How the thunder refrains ! 
 While the glowworms so wan, 
 
 As they gather together, 
 Hear the quaint little man 
 
 Squeak faintly, ' What weather I ' 
 
 ' Who is his father? 
 
 Who is his mother ? ' 
 They cry as they gather. 
 
 And puzzle, and pother — 
 Such a queer little chap, 
 Just new-born in a nap I
 
 524 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 And such antics are his 
 
 As he springs on his bed, 
 Such a comical phiz. 
 
 Such a red, 
 
 Shining head I 
 Hark again, 
 'Midst the rain 
 
 How the deep thunder crashes ! 
 And the lightning 
 Is bright'ning 
 
 In fitful blue flashes ! 
 ' Here's fun ! here's a din ! ' 
 Cries Will with a grin — 
 • I'll join in the play — 
 It's darker than pitch 
 In this hole of a ditch. 
 What a place to be born in— I'm off and 
 
 away." 
 
 Out on the heath 
 
 It rains with a will. 
 The Wind sets his teeth 
 
 And whistles right shrill 
 All is darkness and sound. 
 
 All is splishing and splashing ; 
 The pools on the ground 
 
 Glmimer wet in the flashing — 
 Up and down, round and round, 
 With a leap and a bound, 
 
 Goes the little one dashing. 
 ' Oh what fun ! ' out he screams 
 At the wild blue beams 
 
 As they flicker and pass. 
 Then he squats down and seems 
 With his nose's red gleams 
 
 Like a lamp in the grass ; — 
 Then 'mid rain washing down, and the 
 
 thunder still busy, 
 He flies spinning round, till he pauses, half 
 
 dizzy. 
 
 How dark and how still, 
 In the arm of the hill. 
 
 Lies the hamlet asleep — 
 While the wind is so shrill. 
 
 And the darkness so deep I 
 Down the street all is dark, 
 
 And closed is each shutter ; 
 But he pauses to mark, 
 His face like a spark 
 
 In the black polished gutter 1 
 But see ! what a streak 
 
 Gleams out from the inn I 
 
 Overhead with a creak, 
 And a groan and a squeak. 
 
 Shakes the sign ; while the din 
 
 Comes harsh from within. 
 Hark !— the jingling of glasses, 
 
 The singers' refrain 1 
 Will stops as he passes 
 
 And peeps through the pane, 
 
 Dripping, slippery with rain, 
 There they sit and they joke, 
 In the grey cloud of smoke, 
 While the jolly old host. 
 
 With his back to the fire. 
 Stands warm as a toast. 
 
 And doth smile and perspire. 
 Grave, thin, and pedantic. 
 
 The schoolmaster sits. 
 While, in argument frantic 
 
 With riotous wits, 
 The maker of boots 
 
 Still in apron of leather. 
 Thumps the board and disputes, 
 Contradicts and refutes ; 
 And like sparrows collected, all birds of a 
 
 feather. 
 All smoking long pipes, and all nodding 
 
 together, 
 The Wiseacres gather, screen'd snug fioin 
 
 the weather. 
 
 Great, broad, and brown, 
 
 Stands the jug on the board, 
 
 And the ale is poured. 
 And they quaff it down. 
 How it froths, fresh and strong. 
 
 Warm, sweet, full of spice 1 
 Will's beginning to long 
 
 For a sip, — 'tis so nice ! 
 So he whispers the Wind, 
 
 Who runs round from the lane, 
 And they creep in behind, 
 And the Wind tries to find 
 
 An entrance in vain. 
 Then ' The Chimney ! ' cries Will, 
 While the Wind laughs out shrill, 
 And he leaps at one bound 
 
 To the roof up on high. 
 While the chimneys all round 
 
 Tremble and cry. 
 
 One moment he pauses 
 Up yonder, and draws his 
 Breath deep and strong.
 
 WILL 0' THE WISP. 
 
 525 
 
 Then dives like a snake, 
 While the dwelling doth quake, 
 
 To the room where they throng. 
 Ho, ho ! with one blow 
 Out the lights go, 
 
 Dark and silent is all. 
 But the fire burns low 
 
 With its ghost on the wall. 
 ' What a night ! Ah, here's weather ! ' 
 All murmur together 
 
 With voices sunk low. 
 While softly slips Will 
 In the jug, drinks his fiU, 
 
 And is turning to go. 
 When a hand, while none mark, 
 
 Lifts the jug in the dark ; 
 'Tis the cobbler so dry 
 
 Seeks to drink on the sly ! 
 Tarala ! pirouette ! 
 
 Will springs at his nose, 
 The jug is upset. 
 
 And the liquor o'erflows. 
 ' What's that ? ' all exclaim, 
 
 Leaping up with a shout. 
 While the cobbler in shame, 
 With nose all aflame. 
 
 Cries, ' The Devil, no doubt ! ' 
 And as fresh lights are brought 
 
 These birds of a feather 
 Think it quite a new thought 
 
 To nod gravely together. 
 Crying hot and distraught, 
 ' Well, indeed ! this is weather ! ' 
 
 Tarala ! pirouette ! 
 Out again in the wet ! 
 Like a small dancing spa'-k. 
 
 With his face flashing bright 
 In the black dripping dark. 
 
 Goes the eif of the night. 
 Hark ! from the church-tower. 
 Slowly chimeth the hour ! 
 
 Twelve times low and deep, 
 Comes the chime through the shower 
 
 On the village asleep ; — 
 And ulieie ivies enfold 
 
 The belfry, doth sit. 
 Huddled up from the cold, 
 The owl grey and old, 
 
 With ' Toovvhoo ' and ' Tc;owhit ! ' 
 
 ' Heigho ! ' — yawns poor Will — 
 
 ' Time for bed, by the powers I ' 
 And he lights on a sill, 
 
 Among flower-pots and flowers. 
 And just as he seems 
 
 To slumber inclined, 
 A white hand forth-gleams 
 
 From within, and the blind 
 Is drawn back, and oh dear ! 
 
 What a beautiful sight ! 
 Clari's face doth appear 
 
 Looking out at the night. 
 And Clari doth stand. 
 With the lamp in her hand. 
 In her bedgown of white — 
 Her hair runs Uke gold on her shoulders, 
 
 and fills 
 With gleams of gold-shadow her tucks and 
 
 her frills. 
 And her face is as sweet as a star, and below 
 Her toes are like rosebuds that peep among 
 snow. 
 
 Breathless with wonder. 
 
 Quiet and still, 
 He crouches under 
 
 The pots on the sill ; 
 Then the blind closes slow, 
 
 And the vision doth fade, 
 But still to and fro 
 
 On the blind moves the shade — 
 There ! out goes the light ! 
 
 Will lifts up his head. 
 All is darker than night. 
 
 She is creeping to bed. 
 Oh, light be her rest ! 
 She steals into her nest, 
 
 Without a beholder, 
 And the bed, soft and warm. 
 Swells up round her form 
 
 To receive and enfold her 1 
 
 [The wind is increasing, 
 But the rain is ceasing, 
 And blown up from the west 
 
 Comes the moon wan and high. 
 With a cloud on her crest, 
 
 And a tear in her eye. 
 Distraught and opprest. 
 
 She drifts wearily by !] 
 
 ' Heigho ! ' yawns poor Will — 
 Still crouch'd down on the sill — 
 
 ' How sleepy I feel ! 
 There's a cranny up there 
 To let in the fresh air, — 
 
 Here goes ! in I'll steal I '
 
 526 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 So said and so done, 
 And he enters the room 
 ■WTiere the dainty-limb'd one, like a lily in 
 
 bloom, 
 Her face a dim brightness, her breath a 
 
 perfume, 
 Sleeps sofdy. With noiseless invisible tread 
 The wanderer steals to the side of the bed 
 Where she lies, oh how fair ! so sweet and 
 
 so warm, 
 While the white clothes sink round the soft 
 
 mould of her form ; 
 One hand props her cheek, and one unespied 
 Lies rising and falling upon her soft side. 
 Will floats to and fro, and the light ihat he 
 
 throws 
 Just lights this or that as she lies in repose, 
 Leaving all the rest dark. See ! he hops 
 
 'mong her hair 
 And shines like a jewel ; — then leans down 
 
 to stare 
 In her face,— and his ray as he trembles 
 
 and spies 
 Just flashes against the white lids of her 
 
 eyes ; — 
 While her breath— oh her breath is so 
 
 sweet and so fine. 
 Will drinks and turns dizzy — his joy is 
 
 divine. 
 And his light flashing down shows the red 
 
 lips apart. 
 To free the deep fragrance that steals from 
 her heart 
 
 Just an inch high, 
 
 With a body all yellow, 
 A bright crimson eye, 
 And limbs all awry, 
 
 Stands the cjueer little fellow ! 
 And Clari's sweet mouth 
 
 Just a httle asunder. 
 Sweet with spice from the South, 
 
 Fills his spirit with wonder : 
 Such a warm Httle mouth ! 
 Such a red little mouth ! 
 The thin bud above and the plump blossom 
 under ! 
 ' Heigho. heart's alive ! 
 
 Here's a door, here 111 rest ! ' 
 And he takes one quick dive 
 And slips into her breast I 
 And there may he thrive 
 Like a bird in a nest 1 
 
 And Clari turns over 
 
 And flushes and sighs. 
 Pushes back the warm cover, 
 
 Half opens her eyes. 
 Then sinking again 
 
 Warm, languid, and bright. 
 With new bliss in her brain, 
 
 Dreams — such dreams — of delight ! 
 She tosses and turns 
 
 In visions divine ; 
 For within her Will bums 
 
 Like a lamp in a shrine ! 
 
 . . . And now you've the reason that Clari 
 
 is gay, 
 As a bird on the bough or a brooklet at play ; 
 And now you've the reason why Clari is 
 
 bright. 
 Why she smiles all the day and is glad all 
 
 the night ; 
 For the light having entered her bosom 
 
 remains. 
 Darts fire to her glances and warmth thro 
 
 her veins, 
 Makes her tricksy and merry, yet full of the 
 
 power 
 Of the wind and the rain, and the storm 
 
 and the shower ; 
 Half wise in the ways of the world, and 
 
 half simple, 
 As sly as a kiss is, as deep as a dimple, 
 A spirit that sings like a bird on a tree,— 
 ' I love my love, and my love loves me ! ' 
 
 GIANT DESPAIR. 
 
 I. 
 
 His Death. 
 
 Sad is the plight of Giant Despair, 
 In Doubting Castle sick lies he ! 
 
 The castle is built on a headland bare. 
 And looks on the wash of a whirling Sea. 
 
 With the noise in his ears and the gleam in 
 his eyes 
 Of the breaking waves that beneath him 
 beat, 
 Propi on pillows the Giant lies. 
 Pillowed, too, are his gouty feet. 
 
 In and out the Leeches of Souls 
 
 r<un and chatter and prate and pray —
 
 GIANT DESPAIR. 
 
 527 
 
 But tlie great wind wails and the thunder 
 rolls : 
 None may banish his gloom away. 
 
 With parchment cheek and lack-lustre eye 
 
 He looketh out on the stormy scene- 
 Cruel is he and bloody and sly, 
 Lustful and bad his life hath been. 
 
 O Priests who stand and whisper there, 
 While he groans and curses and shrinks 
 for fear, 
 
 What can ye say to Giant Despair 
 To comfort him now his end is near? 
 
 Fat and oily and sweet, cries one : — 
 
 Comfort, O comfort ! for heaven is sure- 
 There the believer shall revel in fun, I 
 And all delight that is plump and pure. 
 
 ' Nothing delicious the Lord denies, 
 Rosy wine he shall drink in bliss ' — 
 
 'Add, moreover," another cries, 
 
 ' Waists to encircle and lips to kiss.' 
 
 With parchment cheek and lack-lustre eye 
 The Giant lies and makes no sign : 
 
 Women's falsehood has made him sigh. 
 He is sick of the very sight of wine. 
 
 I Comfort ! ' another crieth loud, 
 ' Full of music shall be thy breast. 
 
 Thou shalt sit full proud on a rosy cloud, 
 Happy and idle, amongst the blest— 
 
 ' All shall be stainless and sweet and fair ; 
 
 AH shall be merry from night to morn. ' 
 Giant Despair stirred in his chair, 
 
 Scowled at the speaker and grunted scorn. 
 
 Then one said this and one said that, 
 And all were full of the world to be : 
 
 Yet duller and bitter the Giant sat 
 Scowling out at the sullen Sea. 
 
 And all the storm of the wind and rain, 
 And all the rage of the wrathful wave. 
 
 Flowed in and out of the Giant's brain 
 As the surge in and out of a dank sea- 
 cave. 
 
 Forth, at last, slept a shape so grey, 
 
 Crown'd with poppy, and shrouded deep ; 
 
 He touch' d the ijiant with hand of clay. 
 Andheldagoblet— ' Drink this, and sleep. 
 
 Over thy grave the grass shall grow— 
 Roses too, the while and the red — 
 
 The generations shall come and go, 
 But thou shalt slumber,' the spirit said 
 
 ' Many a year shall blossom and fade. 
 Many a life be given and taken, 
 
 Ere from thy sleep in the silent shade 
 Thou, with a thrill of new life, shalt 
 waken. 
 
 The Giant smiled. Still loud and strong 
 Sounded the sob of the weary Sea. 
 
 ' My ears are sick ! — may my sleep be long ! 
 For ever and ever, if that may be.' 
 
 II. 
 
 After 
 
 Who on the Giant's tomb 
 Sits in the twilight gloom, 
 
 With white hands folded ? 
 Her breath comes fresh and warm ; 
 Silent she waits, a form 
 
 Divinely moulded. 
 
 Maiden she is ; with eyes 
 That search the dark still skies 
 
 She sits in shadow ; 
 Strewn scented at her feet 
 Are rue and lilies sweet, 
 
 And flowers o" the meadow. 
 
 And in her wild black hair 
 Are wild weeds passing fair, 
 
 Pluck'd from dark places — 
 Dumb, dead, her sweet lips are, 
 And fi.xed as a star 
 
 Her marble face is. 
 
 Under God's starless cope, 
 Vestured in white sits Hope, 
 
 A musing maiden, 
 Under a yew sits she, 
 Watching most silently 
 
 The gates of Eden. 
 
 Afar away they shine ! 
 While up those depths divine 
 
 Her eyes are turning — 
 And one by one on high 
 The strange lamps of the sky 
 
 Are dimly burning. 
 
 Such sounds as fiU'd with care 
 The dark heart of Despair 
 Disturb her never, —
 
 528 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 Tho' close to her white feet 
 That mighty Sea doth beat, 
 Moaning for ever. 
 
 She sees the foam-flash gleam, 
 She hears, in a half dream. 
 
 The muffled thunder. 
 The salt dew fills her hair ; 
 Her thoughts are otherwhere. 
 
 Watching in wonder. 
 
 There let her sit alone, 
 Ev'n as a shape of stone 
 
 In twilight gleaming ; 
 Despair's pale monument, 
 There let her sit, content. 
 
 Waiting and dreaming. 
 
 Ah ! which were sweetest, best? 
 With dead Despair to rest 
 
 In sleep unbroken ; 
 Or with that marble Maid 
 To watch, to sit in the shade, 
 
 Waiting a token ? 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN WELL. 
 
 Here, on the sultry mountain's face, 
 Altliough the heat broods bright around. 
 
 The runlet, in a mossy place. 
 
 Drips, drop by drop, without a sound. 
 
 Into a basin cool yet bright. 
 
 Half-shaded from the golden light. 
 
 All is as still as sleep ; on high 
 
 The clouds float soft and white as wool ; 
 Fern-fringed crags and boulders lie 
 
 Sun-parch'd around the dewy pool ; 
 Beneath, the mountain pathway twines, 
 Above, peaks rise and sunhght shines. 
 
 How still it is ! nought moves or stirs. 
 
 Afar below, the lake of blue, 
 With purple islands dark with firs, 
 
 Gleams smooth as glass and dim as dew : 
 And mountain, isle, and woodland rest 
 Within the mirror of its breast. 
 
 All motionless on yonder stone 
 
 The white grouse crouches in the light ; 
 On high among the crags, alone, 
 
 The eagle sheathes his piercing sight. 
 Clutching the peak amid the heat, 
 His shadow black'ning at his feet. 
 
 No livirg thing that flies or creeps 
 Comes near the well this noontide hour ; 
 
 The sunlight scorches crags and steeps, 
 The heather shrinks its purple flower ; 
 
 The wild brook glisters in its bed. 
 
 Silent and faded to a thread. 
 
 But when the sun is in the west, 
 
 And sheds soft crimson o'er the place, 
 The grey-hen creeping from her nest, 
 Leaving her dull brown eggs a space. 
 Comes hither, pausing on the brink 
 With quick sharp eyes, and stoops to drink, 
 
 Or from the stones the foumart slim 
 Doth hither steal at eve to cool 
 
 His bloody mouth ; or on the brim 
 The blue hare, shadow'd in the pool. 
 
 Sits up erect, and thro' the rocks 
 
 Springs, at the coming of the fox. 
 
 How many a strange and gentle thing 
 Hath seen its face reflected here ! 
 
 How oft at gloaming hath the spring 
 Mirror'd the moist eyes of the deer. 
 
 While glen and corry, peak and height, 
 
 Were redd'ning in the rosy light ! 
 
 Here stain'd with blood and foamy-lipt. 
 The stag of ten hath paused for breath, 
 
 His blood in the sad pool hath dript 
 Dark, drop by drop, before his death, 
 
 While he has watched, with looks of woe, 
 
 The hunter toiling from below. 
 
 How sweet it lies ! how dark and cool ! 
 
 Half shaded by the crag on high, 
 A tiny place, a shallow pool, 
 
 Yet with its own dark depth of sky — 
 Renewed for ever with no will 
 By the soft trickling of the hill. 
 
 All thro' the dim and dewy night 
 It gathers coolness drop by drop, 
 
 While in the moon the crags gleam white, 
 And on the silent mountain top 
 
 The evening star of liquid dew 
 
 Gleams like a diamond in the blue. 
 
 A never-empty hand, a dim 
 
 Dark eye for dews of love to fill, 
 
 A constant cup full to the brim. 
 Hast thou, O fount upon the hilL 
 
 I stoop and kiss thy lips ; and so, 
 
 Refresh'd, I bless thee as I go.
 
 i HE SONG OF THE SHEALING—THE SECRET OF THE MERE. 529 
 
 THE SONG OF THE 
 S HEALING.^ 
 
 O WHO sits and sings the sad song of the 
 Shealing, 
 Alone on the hill-side, alone in the night ! 
 Dead still through the shadows the moon- 
 light is steahng, 
 The dew's on the heather, the mist on the 
 height. 
 She sitteth in silence, and singeth so slowly ; 
 She milks the dark kine with her fingers 
 so fair. 
 White woe of the lost, may her vigil be holy ! 
 The song of the Shealing is sad on the air. 
 
 Dark strewn on the grass are the stones of 
 the Shealing, 
 The wild leek and nettle grow black over 
 aU; 
 Here morning to gloaming the black hawk 
 is wheeling, 
 And foumart and stoat suckle young in 
 the wall 
 It's lonely by daylight, but nightly, ah ! 
 nightly, 
 She comes from her cave, with her kine, 
 and sits there. 
 Oh, hearken ! she sings, and her face gleams 
 so whitely : 
 The song of the Shealing is sad on the air. 
 
 O who would not hark to the song of the 
 Shealing ! 
 I stand in the shadow, I listen and sigh ; 
 Tlie day comes again, happy voices are 
 pealing, 
 The blue smoke curls up to the sweet 
 summer sky ; 
 O red in the sunset the kine gather yonder. 
 The maidens are milking with rosy feet 
 bare ; 
 The sheep-dog is barking,— I hear it and 
 ponder, — 
 The song of the Shealing is sad on the air. 
 
 O green was the pasture, and sweet was the 
 Shealing, 
 
 ' The rude cluster of huts in the midst of the 
 distant pasturage whither the cattle were driven 
 iti surrimer, and where they grazed for many 
 weeks, attended by the women and maidens of 
 the farm. 
 
 And kind were the maidens barefooted 
 and free. 
 And full of enchantment was Love's tender 
 feeling 
 When the moon rose so silently up from 
 the sea. 
 And on the g^een knolls walked the loved 
 and the lover, 
 Wrapt warm in one plaid, with one 
 thought and one care : 
 I see them 1 I hear them ! my heart's run- 
 ning over, — 
 The song of the Shealing is sad on the air. 
 
 O spirit of whiteness, O Ghost of the 
 Shealing ! 
 Sing on, and sing low in the shade of the 
 hill ; 
 The picture has faded your voice was re- 
 vealing. 
 The white owl looks out through the 
 threshold so chill. 
 There's a star on Ben Rannoch shines softly 
 above you, 
 It sparkles all night on the dew in your 
 hair : 
 White Soul of the Silence, we hear you and 
 love you, — 
 The song of the Shealing is sad on the air. 
 
 THE SECRET OF THE MERE. 
 
 I BUILT a hut beside the Mere, 
 A lowly hut of turf and stone ; 
 
 Therein I thought from year to year 
 To dwell in silence and alone. 
 
 Watching the lights of heaven chase 
 
 The phantoms on the water's face. 
 
 The world of men was far away ; 
 
 There was no sound, no speech, no cry ; 
 All desolate the dark Mere lay 
 
 Under the mountains and the sky — 
 A sullen Mere, where sadly brood 
 Dark shadows of the solitude. 
 
 ' It is an evil world,' I said ; 
 
 'There is no hope, my doom is dark.' 
 And in despair of soul I fled 
 
 Where not another eye might mark 
 My silent pain, my heart's distress, 
 And all my spirit's weariness. 
 
 MM
 
 53° 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 And when I came unto the Mere, 
 
 It lay and gleam'd through days of gloom. 
 
 The hvid mountains gather'd drear 
 All round, hke stones upon a tomb ; 
 
 Around its margin rusted red 
 
 The dark earth crumbled 'neath my tread. 
 
 I said, ' It is a godless place — 
 Dark, desolate, and curst, like me. 
 
 Here, through all seasons, shall my face 
 Behold its image silently." 
 
 And from that hour I linger'd there 
 
 In protestation and despair. 
 
 For mark, the hills were stone and sand. 
 Not strewn with scented red or green — 
 
 All empty as a dead man's hand. 
 And empty lay the Mere between. 
 
 No flocks fed there, no shepherd's cry 
 
 Awoke the echoes of the sky. 
 
 And through a sullen mist I came. 
 And beast-like crept unto my lair ; 
 
 And many days I crouched in shame 
 Out of the sunshine and sweet air. 
 
 I heard the passing wind and rain. 
 
 Like weary waves within the brain. 
 
 But when I rose and glimmer'd forth. 
 Ghost-wise across my threshold cold, 
 
 The clouds had lifted west and north, 
 And all the peaks were touch'd with gold. 
 
 I smiled in scorn ; far down beneath 
 
 The waters lay as dark as death. 
 
 I said, ' Go by, O golden light ! 
 
 Thou canst not scatter darkness here. 
 In two sad bosoms there is night, 
 
 In mine and in the lonely Mere ; 
 Light thou thy lamps, and go thy way.' 
 It went, and all the heavens grew grey. 
 
 And when the lamps of heaven were lit, 
 I did not raise mine eyes to see, 
 
 But watch'd the ghostly glimmers flit 
 On the black waters silently. 
 
 I hid my face from heaven, and kept 
 
 Dark vigil when the bright sun slept. 
 
 And ever when the daylight grew 
 I saw with joy the hills were high ; 
 
 From dawn to dark, the hve day through, 
 Not lighting as the sun went by ; 
 
 Only at noon one finger-ray 
 
 Tcuch'd us, and then was drawn away. 
 
 I cried, ' God cannot find me now ; 
 
 Done now am I with praise or pain.' 
 Beside the Mere, with darken'd brow, 
 
 I walk'd as desolate as Cain. 
 I cried, ' Not even God could rear 
 One seed of love or blessing here ! * 
 
 'Twas Spring that day ; the air was chill ; 
 
 Above the heights white clouds were roll'd, 
 The Mere below was blue as Steel, 
 
 And all the air was chill and cold, 
 When suddenly from air and sky 
 I heard a solitary cry. 
 
 Ah me ! it was the same sweet sound 
 
 That I had heard afar away ; 
 Sad echoes waken'd all around 
 
 Out of the rocks and caverns grey. 
 And looking upward, weary-eyed, 
 I saw the gentle bird that cried. 
 
 Upon a rock sat that sweet bird, 
 
 As he had sat on pale or tree. 
 And while the hills and waters heard, 
 
 He named his name to them and me. 
 I thought, ' God sends the Spring again. 
 But here at least it comes in vain ! ' 
 
 From rock to rock I saw him fly, 
 Silent in flight, but loud at rest ; 
 
 And ever at his summer cry 
 
 The mountains gladden'd and seem'd 
 bless'd. 
 
 And in the hollows of them all 
 
 Faint flames of grass began to crawl I 
 
 Some secret hand I could not see 
 Was busy where I dwelt alone ; 
 
 It touched with tender tracery. 
 
 Faint as a breath, the cliffs of stone ; 
 
 Out of the earth it drew soft moss. 
 
 And lichens shapen like the Cross. 
 
 And lo ! at every step I took 
 
 Some faint life lived, some sweetness 
 stirred. 
 While loosen'd torrents leapt and shook 
 
 Their shining hair to hear the bird, 
 And white clouds ran across the blue. 
 And sweet sights rose, and sweet sounds 
 grew. 
 
 I hated every sight and sound ; 
 
 I hated most that happy cry. 
 I saw the mountains glory-crown'd. 
 
 And the bright heavens drifting by ;
 
 THE SECRET OF THE MERE— MNEMOSYNE. 
 
 531 
 
 I felt the earth beneath my tread, 
 
 Now kindling quick, that late was dead ! 
 
 Daily I stole unto the Mere, 
 And black as ever was its sleep. 
 
 Close to its margin all was drear ; 
 I heard the weary waters creep. 
 
 I laugh' d aloud, ' Though all grow light, 
 
 We twain keep dark, in God's despite ! 
 
 ' We will not smUe nor utter praise ; 
 
 He made us dark, and dark we brood. 
 Sun-hating, desolate of days, 
 
 We dwell apart in solitude. 
 Let Him light lamps for all the land ; 
 We darken and elude His hand.' 
 
 Scarce had I spoken in such wise, 
 When as before I heard the bird. 
 
 And lo ! the Mere beneath mine eyes 
 Was deeply, mystically stirred : 
 
 A sunbeam broke its gloom apart. 
 
 And Heaven trembled in its heart ; 
 
 There, clustering in that under-gloom, 
 Like rising stars that open dim. 
 
 Innumerable, leaf and bloom, 
 I saw the water-lilies swim. 
 
 Still 'neath the surface dark to sight. 
 
 But creeping upward to the light. 
 
 As countless as the lights above. 
 Stirring and glimmering below. 
 
 They gather'd ; and I watched them move, 
 Till on the surface, white as snow, 
 
 One came, grew glad, and open'd up, 
 
 A pinch of gold in its white cup ! 
 
 Then suddenly within my breast 
 Some life of rapture open'd too. 
 
 And I forgot my bitter quest. 
 Watching that glory as it grew ; 
 
 For, leaf by leaf and flower by flower, 
 
 The lilies opened from that hour. 
 
 And soon the gloomy Mere was sown 
 With oiled leaves and stars of white ; 
 
 The trumpet of the wind was blown 
 Far overhead, from height to height, 
 
 And lo 1 the Merc, from day to day. 
 
 Grew starry as the Milky Way. 
 
 I could not bear to dwell apart 
 With so divine and bright a thing ; 
 
 I felt the dark depths of my heart 
 Were stirring, trembling, wakening', 
 
 I watched the Mere, and saw it shine. 
 E'en as the eye of God on mine. 
 
 As one that riseth in his tomb, 
 I rose and wept in soul's distress ; 
 
 I had not fear'd His wrath and gloom ; 
 But now I fear'd His loveliness. 
 
 I craved for peace from God, and then 
 
 Crept back and made my peace with men ! 
 
 MNEMOSYNE; OR, THE 
 RETROSPECT. 
 
 Still were the azure fields, thick strewn 
 With stars, and trod by luminous feet ; 
 
 In the low west the wan white Moon 
 Walked in her winding-sheet — 
 
 Holding her taper up, to see 
 
 Thy cold fair face, Mnemosyne. 
 
 And on that face her lustre feU, 
 Deepening the marble pallor there. 
 
 While by the stream, and down the dell. 
 Thy slow still feet did fare ; 
 
 Thy maiden thoughts were far from me, 
 
 Thy lips were dumb, Mnemosyne. 
 
 I knew thee by a simpler name. 
 Meet for a maid of English birth, 
 
 And though thy beauty put to shame 
 All beauty bom of earth, 
 
 Not till that night could my soul see 
 
 Thy soul's dark depths, Mnemos)me 1 
 
 At last thy voice thrilled soft and low — 
 ' Oh, blessed be the silent night ! 
 
 It brings strange life of long ago 
 Back to the soul's sad sight — 
 
 It trances sense, and thought is free 
 
 To tremble through eternity. 
 
 ' Oh, Ihinkest thou this hfe we live. 
 In this strange haunted planet nurst. 
 
 So mystical, so fugitive. 
 
 Could be the last ? or first ? 
 
 Nay, I retnember I' — Pale stood she. 
 
 Fronting the west, Mnemosyne. 
 
 The moonlight on her cheek of snow. 
 The star-dew on her raven hair. 
 
 Her eyes in one divine dark glow 
 On heaven, she waited there— 
 
 ' Nay, I remember!' murmured she. 
 
 The earthly maid, Mnemosyne. 
 
 M M 2
 
 532 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 And as she spake, it seemed I saw 
 Before me, in the mystic light. 
 
 That old Greek woman's-shape of awe, 
 Large, lustrous-eyed, and white — 
 
 The twilight goddess, fair to see. 
 
 With heavenly eyes — Mnemosyne ! 
 
 The haunter of green moonlit tombs. 
 The reader of old midnight lore, 
 
 The glorious walker through God's glooms, 
 Back-looking evermore. 
 
 I shook, and almost bent the knee. 
 
 Naming the name, ' Mnemosyne ! ' . . . 
 
 ' I can remember ! — all the day 
 Memory is dark, the past is dead. 
 
 But when the sunshine fades away, 
 And in the void o'erhead 
 
 Heaven's eyes flash open, I can see 
 
 That lost life ! " said Mnemosyne. 
 
 ' Before this mortal sphere I trod, 
 
 I breathed sorae strange and heavenly air ; 
 
 Ay, wandered 'mid the glooms of God, 
 A living soul, up there ! 
 
 The old lost life comes back to me 
 
 With starry gleams of memory ! 
 
 ' I can remember !' — In a trance, 
 O love, thou didst upgazing stand, 
 
 Nor turned from heaven thy lustrous glance, 
 While soft I kissed thy hand, 
 
 Whispering that mystic name to thee, 
 
 ' Mnemosyne » Mnemosyne ! ' 
 
 And all the luminous eyes above 
 Concentred one still gaze on thine. 
 
 When warm wild words of earthly love 
 Poured in thine ears divine. 
 
 Till, with thy soft lips kissing me. 
 
 Thy soul saw mine, Mnemosyne I 
 
 A sense of that forgotten life 
 
 Blew on our cheeks like living breath ; 
 Lifted beyond the world's dark strife. 
 
 Above the gates of Death, 
 Hand linked in hand, again lived we 
 That starlight hfe of ecstasy 1 
 
 Go by, bright days of golden blooms ! 
 
 She shrinks and darkens in your gleam ; 
 Come, starry nights and mystic glooms, 
 
 And deepen that sweet dream I 
 Let her remember ; let her be 
 Priestess of peace — Mnemosyne 1 
 
 O child of heaven, the life we Uve, 
 In this strange haunted planet nurst, 
 
 So mystical, so fugitive. 
 Is not the last, or first ; 
 
 That lost life was, new hfe shall be — 
 
 So keep thy name, — ' Mnemosyne ! ' 
 
 VANITY FAIR. 
 
 Here's a babble 
 
 In Vanity Fair ! 
 Here's a rabble 
 
 Of folk on the stare ! 
 Here's a crying. 
 Selling and buying. 
 Groaning and grumbhng, 
 Pushing and stumbhng ! 
 Tootle-te-toot ! 
 
 Rum-ti-tum-tum ! 
 They blow the flute. 
 
 And they beat the drum. 
 And yonder in rows 
 Are the painted shows. 
 Where zany and clown 
 
 With ' Walk in, walk in ! * 
 Stalk up and down. 
 While the people grin. 
 Hold me tighter, my pretty one. 
 We'll elbow our way and see the fun. 
 In we go, where they scramble and 
 
 scream — 
 What a rabble ! it's like a dream ! 
 
 Trip it merrily, 
 
 Pretty one, 
 On we stray cheerily 
 
 Full of the fun : 
 Punch and Judy ; 
 
 Fiddlestring ; 
 Acrobats moody 
 
 Making a ring ; 
 Clowns cutting capers 
 
 At every show ; 
 Bucolic gapers 
 Grinning below ; 
 Quiet conjurers quick and sly 
 Making the public halfpence fly ; 
 Quacks with boluses, nostrums, and pills, 
 Vending cures for the flesh and its ills ; 
 Every one bawling — (O the din !) 
 Every voice calling—' Walk in, walk in.'
 
 VANITY FAIR. 
 
 533 
 
 'Stop the thief I' — how they carry the 
 
 shout ! 
 How the crowd eddies in and out ! 
 Lean and thin with quivering lip 
 The rascal writhes in his captor's grip : 
 He looks all round with a hungry stare ; 
 The mob groans round him and longs to 
 
 tear — 
 Off to the gaol the scarecrow bear ! 
 We're virtuous people in Vanity Fair 1 
 
 All together, 
 
 Christian and Jew, 
 Birds of fine feather. 
 
 And ragged too, 
 Dukes and earls, 
 And ballet girls, 
 Philosophers, 
 And patterers ; 
 The poor from the city, 
 
 The wild sea-rover. 
 The beggar witty 
 Half-seas over, 
 The gipsy pretty 
 
 Red from a romp in the clover. 
 Right foot, left foot, we trip it and toe it, 
 You the pretty girl, I your poet, 
 Rubbing sleeves with great and small, 
 Jostling along through the heart of them 
 
 all. 
 Our hearts are leaping, our heads are 
 
 dizzy. 
 The trade's so merry, the mirth so busy. 
 We squeeze along and we gasp for air. 
 In the hurry and flurry of Vanity Fair. 
 
 II. 
 
 Clari, my sweetest. 
 Trimmest and neatest, 
 
 Why this alarm ? 
 Why are you sighing. 
 Fluttering and crying. 
 
 And gripping my arm? 
 ' Come away I come away ! 
 
 'Tis so sad I 'Tis so loud I 
 My soul swoons away, 
 
 To look at the crowd ! 
 
 hark how they cry — 
 
 1 am sick, let us fly ! ' 
 
 O Clari, sweet blending of fire and of 
 
 air, 
 Come along, come alof\5, out of Vanity 
 
 Fair. 
 
 Out yonder are fields and the sky and the 
 
 trees — 
 And the only sounds there are the birds and 
 
 the breeze. 
 And the water that throbs in its green 
 
 woodland nest. 
 Like the heart that is beating so loud in 
 
 your breast. 
 
 . . . Breathless, flushing, 
 Faint with the crushing. 
 
 Here we are — 
 Night is coming. 
 Droning and humming 
 
 Sounds Vanity Fair afar ; 
 And its light, as the night 
 Cometh down, is«cast bright 
 On the sky far away . . . 
 
 How strange feels this stillness ! 
 Grey and more grey 
 
 Comes the night with its chillness. 
 Clari, where are we ? Outside the Fair, 
 With the great black earth and the sky and 
 
 the air, 
 All alone— Hold me tighter ! The noise of 
 
 the rout 
 Was dreadful within, but more dreadful 
 
 without 
 Seems the silence. O God ! see the pale 
 
 moon arise. 
 And the hills black as ink in the shade, and 
 
 the eyes 
 Of the stars fix'd on ours from the terrible 
 slvies. 
 
 What is this looming 
 
 Against the light. 
 Silent and glooming 
 
 In the chilly night ? 
 And what are these clinging, 
 
 Three in a row, 
 Dismally, swinging 
 
 When the wind doth blow ? 
 I'hree black figures against the light. 
 Their faces white and their legs strapt 
 
 tight. 
 Having a swing in the wind this night ! 
 O hold me faster, who is she 
 That stands at the foot of the cross-shaped 
 
 tree? 
 Cowl'd, barefooted, with hooded face. 
 What doth she in the ghostly place? 
 Silent she stands, a ?-qd beholder ! 
 Stop, let me touch her on the shoulder.
 
 534 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS AND BALLADS. 
 
 The moon shines cold 
 
 See, the poor wounded feet ! 
 
 On the silent place — 
 
 See, the poor pleading hands ! 
 
 O God, I behold 
 
 Is it she ? Kneel and pray ! O my child, 
 
 The dear dead face ! 
 
 have no care, 
 
 She turns unto me 
 
 She is near— Hath she fled? Did we dream ? 
 
 Calm and white, 
 
 Was she there ? 
 
 Her eyes thrill through me 
 
 Ah, cold is the night, and the earth lieth bare. 
 
 With piteous light. 
 
 And, distant and deep, a dull sound fills the 
 
 How cold yet how sweet 
 
 air — 
 
 In the night-wind she stands 1 
 
 The wash of the waters of Vanity Fair. 
 
 PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO. LTD., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 LONDON
 
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