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 THE LIBRARY 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 POST-MORTEM 
 
 AND 
 
 OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 REGINALD A, BECKETT. 
 
 -•S5"t^-*^ 
 
 I^ONDON : 
 
 RixoN & Arnoi^d, 29, Poultry, E.C. 
 1896.
 
 PR 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Dedication : — 
 
 To One Long Dead. 
 
 PACK. 
 
 POKMS :— 
 
 Post-Mortem i 
 
 To the Workers of the World 6 
 
 The Spirit of May 7 
 
 Times and a Time lo 
 
 Springtide ii 
 
 A Daughter of the People 12 
 
 My Love and I 14 
 
 A Weary Journey 16 
 
 Love's Mystery 17 
 
 The Great Musician 18 
 
 Pride in Heaven 19 
 
 The Essex Hills --21 
 
 A IModern Maid 22 
 
 A Question of Character 25 
 
 A Pearl of Great Price 26 
 
 Introspection 27 
 
 Socialist Symbols 28 
 
 The Seeker 29 
 
 Life and Love 3° 
 
 Harvest - - - 31 
 
 Assurances - - - - 32 
 
 SONNETsS : — 
 
 A Sonnet at Sixteen 34 
 
 For a Twenty-first Birthday 35 
 
 Of a Late fcntrney 36 
 
 868789
 
 Sonnets (coutinued) :— 
 
 The Song of Songs 37 
 
 I^ife 38 
 
 Soul and Sense 39 
 
 Love - 40 
 
 To C. H. Unthan 41 
 
 To A. i>. 42 
 
 Bunie-Jones' Pictures - - - - - - • 43 
 
 First Hearing of Wagner 44 
 
 The Hope of the Future 45 
 
 A Cloud like a Man's Hand 46 
 
 For a Conference - 47 
 
 Striking the Rock 48 
 
 The Image-Breaker 49 
 
 Human Evolution 50 
 
 In Canterbury Cathedral 51 
 
 The Commune of Paris .... 52 
 
 Delescluze 53 
 
 A Voice from the West ------ 54 
 
 On a Certain Strike of Unskilled Workmen - - 55 
 
 On the Assassination of Carnot - - - - 56 
 
 The Brute in Man 57 
 
 Innocence 58 
 
 Revelation - • 59 
 
 Man and Nature 60 
 
 Immortality - 61
 
 TO ONE LONG DEAD. 
 
 Sweet soul thai died for love of a man and a cause. 
 Do you look with reanimate eyes on the life you knew f 
 
 At the edge of the dark with an outstretched hand I pause 
 Ere I offer the world what I hoped to have given to you.
 
 POST-MORTEM. 
 
 J\/TADE in the image of God" 
 1 Vm The legend of Genesis saith ; 
 Formed by his hands from a clod, 
 Brought into life by his breath ; 
 Yet here is the crown of creation struck down in 
 the stupor of death. 
 
 Naked here lying at length, 
 Two corpses — a man and a boj^ ; 
 
 One seeming shorn of his strength 
 By a world that is strong to destroy ; 
 The other with infantine limbs that can hardly 
 
 have tasted of joy. 
 
 What little their lives were worth 
 The world has cruelly wrecked ; 
 Sad Pity in vain stepped forth, 
 And the doom has taken effect. 
 Who cares for their bodies, unclaimed, unlaiovv-n ? 
 — They will serve to dissect.
 
 Brain, be thou steady and still, 
 
 Heart, be thou hard as a stone ; 
 Grasp in the vice of the will 
 
 The sickness and sorrow unknown ; 
 Forget that the blood in those veins is the same 
 that is bursting thine own. 
 
 The surgeon draws with his knife 
 
 A long line skilfully planned 
 In the late habitation of life, 
 
 And deep in it plunges his hand ; 
 Then calmly explains the disease that the students 
 may understand. 
 
 So strange a phenomenon still 
 
 Seems death, that I watch with surprise 
 For the dead man handled so ill 
 To turn in his torment and rise 
 With scorn on those motionless lips and wrath in 
 those lustreless eyes. 
 
 Do I deem that he should not have died ? 
 
 Nay, I doubt not that death is a boon ; 
 And life may not ever abide 
 
 In the splendour of morning and noon : 
 But here was a life without sunshine, and the 
 darkness has fallen too soon.
 
 What is it you doctors expect ? 
 
 Do you call that a man lying there ? 
 A man walks free and erect, 
 
 With a countenance open and fair. 
 Your knife is at fault : there is tissue and blood 
 but the spirit is — where ? 
 
 'Tis the mission of Science to heal, 
 And to sla}' is the mission of war — 
 
 The commonest cant — yet I feel 
 That Science is bloodier far ; — 
 So calm in pursuit of its object of seeing all things 
 
 as they are. 
 
 Full manj' a soldier who stood 
 
 Half dead with abhorrence and fright 
 Has looked on the shedding of blood 
 Till he suffered no more at the sight, 
 And at length with a blood-thirsty fury has 
 plunged in the thick of the fight. 
 
 But the raw scientific recruits 
 
 And dexterous doctors derive 
 Much wisdom from innocent brutes 
 
 Stretched out and unable to strive, 
 That are tortured and flayed and cut open and 
 poisoned and roasted alive.
 
 Tliis butchery benefits us? 
 
 I will die in a gutter instead ! 
 Is humanit}' happier thus 
 
 For the river of blood that is shed ? 
 And still 3'ou demand living victims, and scratch 
 at the bones of the dead. 
 
 WHien myriads daily endure 
 
 An existence with pestilence rife 
 Which nothing but Nature can cure, 
 And you mock them with poison and knife. 
 This is but a science of death — can 30U teach 
 us no science of life? 
 
 To live is to labour and rest, 
 To swim and to ride and to run. 
 
 To delight whom c^elighteth us best, 
 To rejoice in the wind and the sun, 
 To learn all the lessons of wisdom lluit bod}' and 
 
 soul mav be one. 
 
 There are forests and uplands of grass. 
 Rich orchards and valleys of wheat, 
 
 Still pools, and swift rivers that pass 
 The impatient green billows to meet, 
 Where tlie da\s and tlie nights and the varying 
 
 seasons are wholesome and sweet.
 
 And sometimes in Nature I scan 
 A shadow of longing and pain, 
 As if she were waiting for man 
 
 And feared that she waited in vain. 
 As a bride well-adorned for her husband who 
 knoweth not yet he is slain. 
 
 And Avhat is it holds them apart ? 
 
 Make answer, thou hideous foe 
 That drainest the blood from the heart 
 
 Of the people of earth lying low, 
 Thou vampire of Social Oppression, thou vv'orker 
 of ruin and woe ! 
 
 But at thee iu the pride of thy strength 
 Shall a fearless defiance be hurled 
 
 From the people awakened at length 
 With P'ellowship's banner unfurled, 
 And the wrath of a just retribution sliall smite 
 
 and destroy thee, O World. 
 
 And sages, when thou art destroyed, 
 Shall scan thee, but they shall be few ; 
 
 For the children of men, overjo3-td 
 At the vision of ages come true. 
 Shall forget all the shame of the old in the fulness 
 
 of life in the new.
 
 TO THE WORKERS OF THE WORLD. 
 
 O SLAVES of these laborious years, 
 O freemen of the years to be, 
 Shake off your blind and selfish fears, 
 
 And hail the truth that makes you free! 
 Arise from sleep ; the night is gone ; 
 
 Across the world the day is breaking ; 
 And whosoever slumbers on 
 Will suffer soon a rude awaking. 
 
 Thousands have pierced the mines of thought 
 
 In toilsome gloom to give you light : 
 Millions life's battle vainly fought 
 
 That ye at length might win the fight. 
 The ceaseless growth of endless time, 
 
 And all mankind's immense endeavour, 
 Have brought at last this hour sublime ; — 
 
 And shall it now go by for ever? 
 
 O think of those who braveh- bore 
 
 Through persecution, death, and shame, 
 The flag of Freedom on before, 
 
 That you that heritage might claim ! 
 Was it a dream for which they bled ? 
 
 Lo, its fulfilment we inherit ! 
 Nor need we mourn that they are dead 
 
 If we who live but breathe their spirit. 
 
 Yet, patience, brothers ! If the power 
 
 Of tyrants tread you down to-day, 
 Be generous in your triumph-hour 
 
 And act a nobler part than they! 
 To your oppressors comes at length 
 
 The dreaded day of retribution : 
 Deal wisely, therefore, with your strength, 
 
 O giants of the Revolution !
 
 THE SPIRIT OF MAY. 
 
 (From the German of Andreas Scheu.J 
 
 THE Man of Labour toiled forlorn 
 In slavery unsparing, 
 And suiFered greivous pain and scorn 
 
 With mute and patient bearing. 
 His heart was sick, his ej'es were dim, 
 
 His breast with care was ridden, 
 For Hate was even as Love to him, 
 
 And ever}'' jo3^ forbidden. 
 But May on balmy pinions soared, 
 
 And thither softly stealing 
 With sweetest blossom-scents restored 
 His soul to life and feeling 
 In the May, in the budding and blossoming May ! 
 
 The giant's limbs, so stiff and stark. 
 
 Begin to stretch and shiver. 
 And show full many a cruel mark 
 
 His body bears for ever. 
 The sadly-shrunken human breast 
 
 Is arching and expanding 
 With joy of growth and strange unrest 
 
 Of needs past understanding. 
 He gasps : the ancient vault of death 
 
 Still o'er him frowns and darkens • 
 But yet he scents the newer breath. 
 
 And the new songs he hearkens 
 Of the May, the awakening, musical May
 
 New blood aroused by new desires 
 
 Towards his heart is flowing, 
 Where now the fierce pulsating fires 
 
 Of Hate and I,ove are glowing : 
 Hate for all wrong that men may do, 
 
 Deceiving and oppressing, 
 But lyove for all things fair and true. 
 
 Enrapturing and blessing ! 
 The throbbing heart and flushing face 
 
 Of glad new life give token, 
 For lo ! the Springtide's wondrous grace 
 
 The evil spell has broken 
 In the May, in the teeming and quickening May ! 
 
 And now man's dimmed and darkened eyes 
 
 Full bright the sunbeams render : 
 He sees with gladness and surprise 
 
 The earth in all its splendour ; 
 And wheresoe'er his glances stray. 
 
 The banded Sons of I^abour 
 Keep universal holiday, 
 
 Each heart linked to its neighbour : — 
 " Though ill we to ourselves have done, 
 
 Made blind by superstition. 
 The glory of the Springtide sun 
 
 Has cleared our clouded vision " 
 In the May, in the shining, enlightening May !
 
 " Our tongue is loosed ; and now we hold 
 
 For children's idle chatter 
 What once of Fatherland we told, 
 
 And tell a weightier matter. 
 Wide round the world our voice grown strong 
 
 Rings fearless and defiant — 
 The lips that have been locked so long 
 
 Once more are free and pliant." 
 Each cries aloud a common cry — 
 
 On ever}- tongue it quivers 
 Where'er the Spring its summons high 
 
 With whispered breath delivers 
 In the May, in the tongue-loosing, voice-giving May ! 
 
 The cr>' for bread and freedom speaks 
 
 A tongue all lands take heed of — 
 The cry of a great world that seeks 
 
 The great things it has need of. 
 It grows and swells and gathers might 
 
 From yearning deeps of spirit, 
 Shrill as the stormy wind of night. 
 
 Till even the deaf may hear it. 
 When their eyes too are once aglow, 
 
 Their hands to us extended. 
 All man's unutterable woe 
 
 For ever will be ended — 
 In the May, in the fetter-dissevering May !
 
 s 
 
 lO 
 
 TIMES AND A TIME. 
 
 TILIv, like the ruder races, we bow down 
 To senseless idols which our hands have made. 
 Before our gods of gold and wood and stone 
 Innumerable lives are hourly laid 
 For sacrifice, and yet it is not sta)'ed ; 
 Neither will men their public sins forsake 
 Though heaven grows dark, and thrones and altars 
 shake. 
 
 Now crafty rulers, ceasing ancient strife, 
 
 Conspire to crush the people's quickening will 
 
 That gropes, half-conscious, toward a nobler life ; 
 While hireling priests, the tools of tyrants still, 
 Strive with soft words to stem the stream of ill : 
 
 So pass the days of our probation by. 
 
 While the inevitable Day draws nigh. 
 
 Alas ! It may be that the fateful day 
 
 Shall find us unprepared for change so vast ; 
 
 That we thenceforth shall wither and decay 
 Till but a wreck remain of us at last 
 Amid the buried empires of the past ; 
 
 A monument to ages yet to come 
 
 To warn them of our doom when we are dumb. 
 
 Yet midst of violent hates and noisy cries 
 One truth waits ever to be understood : — 
 
 That all is well if men will be but wise 
 
 To make the lowest serve the highest good. 
 And seek not bread alone, but brotherhood ; 
 
 That ever one eternal justice waits 
 
 To judge by one sole law both men and states.
 
 II 
 
 SPRINGTIDE. 
 
 NOW, O my love, you know our English Spring 
 As I have known it, cold but not unkind ; 
 And this sweet air that quickens everything 
 Shall strengthen us in body and in mind 
 After the weary life we leave behind ; 
 Shall give us peace to know our inmost needs, 
 And power to clothe our thoughts in noble deeds. 
 
 Burned not our hearts within us, when at even 
 We reached the summit of the gabled steep, 
 
 And watched the sun sink in the cloudless heaven, 
 Flooding the fruitful vale's green wooded sweep 
 And shadowed stream in radiance rich and deep : 
 
 Did not our hearts make answer to our eyes — 
 
 The world is fair : O would that men were zvisc ! 
 
 Then on the windy hill at twilight hour, 
 
 When the round moon rose in the cold clear sky 
 
 O'er castle ruin and cathedral tower 
 Above the ancient city lifted high, 
 While countless lights were twinkling peacefully 
 
 Down by the winding river and the ships, — 
 
 Your eyes were wet, love, as I kissed your lips. 
 
 B
 
 12 
 
 A DAUGHTER OF THE PEOPLE. 
 
 STRANGE that I seek for lielp from her, 
 The child of an untutored race ; 
 Yet while amid the stress and stir 
 Of schools and creeds, I've learned to err, 
 She lives with Nature face to face : 
 My roots of being widely creep, 
 Withered and starved, o'er rock and sand ; 
 She grows and blossoms, draining deep 
 A narrower field of fruitful land ; 
 And thus there lives within her mind 
 The secret I have failed to find. 
 
 Yes, she for whom in early dreams 
 
 I blindl)' longed, now strangely seems 
 
 Brought to my heart whence hope had fled, 
 
 As for dead kings the feast is spread. 
 
 Or as a tardy summer beams 
 
 On cheerless boughs that droop as dead. 
 
 Yet now, by quickening sunbeams smit. 
 
 New sap of joy my heart distils. 
 
 And all my frame so subtly fills 
 
 I hardly know myself from it. 
 
 Art thou then taken in the net 
 
 Wherein like babes strong men lie bound, 
 
 Full of fierce strife and vain regret? — 
 
 Nay, rather on the solid ground 
 
 Thy feet at length are firmly set, 
 
 And Nature's strong arm girds thee round.
 
 13 
 
 lyift up your head, O fainting one, 
 And mark how sweetly light on you 
 The gladness of the morning sun, 
 The freshness of the early dew : 
 Freely accept as freely given 
 This grateful rain of happy tears, 
 Nor with dark mists of formless fears 
 Blot out the blessed sun from heaven. 
 
 P2
 
 14 
 
 MY LOVE AND I. 
 
 WHEN the wind and the rain were spent, 
 And the sky showed fairer weather, 
 Away from the weary world we went, 
 My love and I together. 
 
 We wandered away from all, 
 
 And lingered long to listen 
 To the tinkling sound of the tinj'' fall 
 
 Where the glancing waters glisten 
 
 In the cleft in the heart of the cliff. 
 
 That a mist of verdure covers 
 And bathes in a soft green light, as if 
 
 For twilight-haunting lovers. 
 
 She climbed the path with me 
 
 By tenderly-given assistance. 
 And we sat and looked at the shore and the sea 
 
 And the long white cliffs in the distance. 
 
 Then a hope in my heart awoke 
 That nothing our lives might sever. 
 
 And I asked her at last, growing pale as I spoke, 
 To love me for ever and ever.
 
 ^5 
 
 On a sudden my love grew grave, 
 
 Till I thought she would never have spoken, 
 But afterwards sweetly, stedfastly gave 
 
 The promise that ne'er shall be broken. 
 
 And each drew nearer to each 
 
 As the strange new bliss came o'er us, 
 
 And we cheered our hearts with loving speech 
 And spoke of the days before us. 
 
 Till at last when the light was spent. 
 In that exquisite summer weather, 
 O back to the beautiful world we went, 
 With our hearts on happy thoughts iuteni. 
 My love and I together.
 
 i6 
 
 A WEARY JOURNEY. 
 
 O EEN once more ere lost for ever, her familiar face 
 
 >-^ and form 
 
 My before me, faintly shining on the dark wings of 
 
 the storm. 
 Smiles and tears yet strive together in her face : I see 
 
 her still 
 As she stands and waves her kerchief from the pines 
 
 upon the hill. 
 Like the memory of a vision fades my happinCvSS away 
 As I speed with sickening swiftness to the waking 
 
 world of day ; 
 To the bitter spring of sorrow, to the stagnant pool of 
 
 care, 
 To the wear}', hard, and hateful, loveless life that waits 
 
 me there. 
 
 To the sum of my existence gathered up in this one 
 
 hour ! 
 Borne along in idle languor by an over-mastering 
 
 power : 
 As the flying train now bears me, irresistible as fate. 
 Throbbing as with all the heart-beats of its helpless 
 
 human freight ; 
 That with boding shrieks of terror, and a glare of lurid 
 
 light, 
 flashes past the ghostlj- hedges deep into llie blacketi- 
 
 iiig night.
 
 ^7 
 
 LOVE'S MYSTERY. 
 
 DEAREST, I dared not touch your lips, 
 And so I kissed j-our finger-tips ; 
 Yet 3'ou could read in my restraint 
 A passion clear yet far from faint 
 That throned 3'ou as its guardian saint. 
 
 But now my passion freely sips 
 
 Its life-elixir from your lips. 
 
 Now that my feet have ventured o'er 
 The threshold of your temple door, 
 Am I to worship there no more ? 
 
 Nay, not by touching of the lips 
 
 Can true love undergo eclipse ; 
 My longing heart is lost in thee, 
 In whom there must for ever be 
 An element of mj^stery.
 
 iS 
 
 THE GREAT MUSICIAN. 
 
 AT Life's great organ while I sate and played, 
 And knew how oft my fingers failed and erred, 
 Yet marvelled at the music that they made, — 
 Even while I felt my soul within me stirred 
 For fuller glories than I 3'et had heard, 
 Love, leaning o'er me, woke the slumbering keys 
 To unknown depths of heavenly harmonies.
 
 19 
 
 PRIDE IN HEAVEN. 
 
 THE mighty doors of Fate rushed back,- 
 I stood upon a height : 
 Far downward stretched a starrj^ track, 
 Above, heaven blazed with light. 
 
 Faintly we felt the earthly storms 
 Strike out vain sparks beneath. 
 
 While calmly our transfigured forms 
 Drew in ethereal breath. 
 
 I looked on her I love, and saw 
 
 A halo round her head ; 
 And while I gazed in joyful awe, 
 
 A voice cried out and said : — 
 
 The fo7'incr things are passed away. 
 
 Since Love hath cast out fear ; 
 O blessed eyes that see this day, 
 
 O blessed ears that hear ! 
 
 My saying. Ye are gods, endnres : 
 
 In this new heaven and earth 
 All things arc lawful, all things yours ; 
 
 This is the second birth.
 
 20 
 
 Then, like the seraph that fell first, 
 Pride pierced my soul with sin : 
 
 The lightning flashed, the thunder burst, 
 And darkness hemmed me in. 
 
 Out of the hell where I was hurled 
 When God let loose his wrath. 
 
 I seek again that wondrous world 
 Up a steep, toilsome path. 
 
 I
 
 21 
 
 THE ESSEX HILLS. 
 
 O HEIGHTS, revealing new depths of feeling, 
 Fresh founts of healing for worldly ills. 
 What strange pent fire of deep desire 
 Yet draws me higher, O lonely hills ? 
 
 From Danbuiy's crest has the eye no rest 
 
 From the east to the west, from the north to the south ; 
 
 Lo, wood and meadow in sun and shadow 
 
 From Witham and Baddow to Maldon's mouth. 
 
 O'er Langdon's shoulder the glad beholder 
 Gains sweeps yet bolder o'er hill and lea, 
 
 Where widening ever with long endeavour 
 The glistening river o'ertakes the sea. 
 
 Long musing over green mounds that cover 
 
 Some wild sea-rover of ruder days, 
 I hear the rattle of swords in battle 
 
 Where only the cattle now calmly graze. 
 
 Here gables cluster in shapes that muster 
 
 Past years whose lustre the church enshrines ; 
 
 Or downward gazing, lo ! watch-fires blazing, 
 
 And the Romans raising these grass-grown lines. 
 
 With the dying da}- grow the woodlands gre}-, 
 
 As I thread my way through the whispering wheat, 
 
 Till the moon hangs fair in the soft warm air, 
 And the church stands square o'er the silent street. 
 
 O hills, though hoarj' with ancient story, 
 Yet bright with the glory that knows no past, 
 
 That bond unspoken these hours betoken 
 Shall ne'er be broken while life shall last !
 
 22 
 
 A MODERN MAID. 
 
 DAUGHTER of Ages, holding sway 
 O'er near and distant times and lands, 
 Firm-poised upon the Past, she stands 
 Amid the ferment of To-Day, 
 
 The Future in her hands. 
 
 But yesterday a child she seemed, 
 Whose fancies, meet for tender age, 
 Deserv-ed indulgent tutelage ; 
 
 And lo ! a Woman (have we dreamed ?) 
 Steps forth upon the stage. 
 
 But still her fragrant chestnut locks 
 Float free, and frame with girlish grace 
 Her kind grey eyes and thoughtful face ; 
 
 Still absent from her simple frocks 
 Is Fashion's tiresome trace. 
 
 She speaks but little— listens much ; 
 Yet 'mid the general buzz a word 
 From her soft voice may oft be heard, 
 
 Whereby with swift and vivid touch 
 Her thought is charactered.
 
 23 
 
 To her no knowledge comes amiss : 
 All books she reckons lief and dear. 
 Yet less than life ; her eye sees clear ; 
 
 Instruct her, and you fain would kiss 
 Her shapeh' eager ear. 
 
 No institution, old or new. 
 Escapes her challenge, how it fits 
 With proper use of mortal wits ; 
 
 Yet in her parents' solemn pew 
 She dutifully sits. 
 
 Homer and Shakspeare have good hap 
 In such a student, undefiled 
 By Dryasdusts, yet oft beguiled 
 
 To take a kitten in her lap 
 
 Or prattle with a child. 
 
 What cold propriety must praise 
 Is joy to her ; the vigorous art 
 Of old Beethoven warms her heart ; 
 
 Yet in Chevalier's lightsome lays 
 She gladly bears a part. 
 
 Her thirst and hunger stand confessed ; 
 The dainty fare before her spread 
 She takes with grace devoutly said ; 
 
 But yet reser^'es a keener zest 
 For water and dry bread,
 
 -'4 
 
 On festive floors from dusk to dawn 
 Her ankles twinkle in the dance ; 
 Yet, as the chill small hours advance, 
 
 Her elders catch no stifled yawn 
 Or dimming of her glance. 
 
 At tennis, she can hold her own ; 
 
 At whist, beware her endless wiles ! 
 
 And though the landscape weeps or smiles, 
 She deems it naught to walk alone 
 A score of Scottish miles. 
 
 The critics crush me ; yet I find 
 Her artless judgments stricter far : 
 She weighs my deeds for what they are ; 
 
 And oft in journeys of the mind 
 I plead before her bar. 
 
 She is but young, and T but old ; 
 Yet once when in her praise I said 
 A word straight from m>' heedless head. 
 
 It touched me strangely to behold 
 Her face with roses red.
 
 25 
 
 A QUESTION OF CHARACTER. 
 
 NURTURED in kindness, choicely taught, 
 Sincere and innocent in thought. 
 Protected from the world, she leads 
 A life of kindly words and deeds ; 
 As in some lovely house she dwelt 
 Wherein no angry storms are felt ; 
 Soft radiance through the windows falls. 
 And pictured hangings clothe the walls. 
 
 If now her eyes be brought to know 
 The dungeoned horrors hid below. 
 The \\dne-press where from anguished veins 
 Is wrung the draught she idly drains, — 
 Will all her joyous fairness shrink 
 Appalled by thoughts she dare not think, 
 Or will she thirst for generous strife. 
 And drink from deeper wells of life ?
 
 26 
 
 A PEARL OF GREAT PRICE. 
 
 WE crowded in to see the play ; 
 Our Spartan seats we chose, 
 And talked to while the time away 
 Until the curtain rose. 
 
 What starr>' influence shaped our speech 
 
 To such unlooked-for ends, 
 And taught our old constraint to reach 
 
 The closest right of friends ? 
 
 How calm I slept that night, and woke 
 
 To think on many a thing- 
 While May-Day morning shyly broke 
 
 And the sweet birds 'gan sing !
 
 27 
 
 INTROSPECTION. 
 
 WHEN with the joy of outward things 
 Our answering spirits rise, 
 How oft some brooding passion brings 
 A mist before the eyes ! 
 
 How oft amid the friendliest throng 
 
 We move with alien mind 
 Because some cherished grief or wrong 
 
 Divides us from our kind ! 
 
 Dost wish th}^ sickly chamber's gloom 
 
 O'er man and nature thrown ? 
 Nay, let thy life in theirs find room. 
 
 And make their joy thine own.
 
 2S 
 
 SOCIALIST SYMBOLS. 
 
 A SINGLE bud in bursting shows 
 A million ready to unclose. 
 
 The earliest song-bird falleth chilled, 
 Yet soon with song the world is filled. 
 
 Dead leaves that rot in rain and cold 
 Shall feed fresh shoots with fruitful mould. 
 
 The hard frost breaks the iron earth 
 That rain and grain may bring to birth. 
 
 Of life relinquished joyoush' 
 
 Who shall measure the force set free ? 
 
 Ere one through hope may find death fair 
 How many perish in despair ? 
 
 Like many a fool of poison fain, 
 
 The rich man's passion proves his bane. 
 
 A false step on a darkened stair, 
 And lo ! the highest step is there.
 
 29 
 
 THE SEEKER. 
 
 (SongJ. 
 
 TEIylv me, O beautiful brooding dove, 
 What grieveth thy tear- worn cheek ? 
 Wide through the ways of the zvorld I rove. 
 Till my heart and my strefigth are weak. 
 
 Maiden, why lift you yoyxr eyes above 
 To the glow of the distant peak ? 
 
 Yonder, it may be, abides my love 
 Whom ever I vainly seek. 
 
 Have you a word in } our heart to move 
 The heart of the one you seek ? 
 
 Nay, for I kjiozu, zvhcn T meet my love. 
 No words shall we 7ieed to speak. 
 
 C2
 
 .■)' 
 
 ,o 
 
 LIFE AND LOVE. 
 
 OXH sailli : 
 "This life is nothing worlh ; 
 I long for death." 
 
 Yea, can there be such dearth 
 Of joy in this fair earth? 
 
 Yet when love entereth, 
 
 'Tis perfect rapture even to draw breath 
 
 In that new birlh.
 
 31 
 
 HARVEST. 
 
 LO, a windmill on the hill, 
 In the vale a watermill : 
 Winds and waters, work your will, 
 Man grinds corn and prospers still. 
 
 Now a spell of vital heat 
 Makes the year's glad task complete : 
 Shine, O sun, and ripen, wheat, 
 Brows must sweat ere bread be sweet.
 
 32 
 
 ASSURANCES. 
 
 IWIIvIy not cavil or complain, 
 Nor yield to fear or doubt, 
 While the great sun yet hangs in space, 
 While simple growth is perfect grace, 
 And from the wondrous human face 
 The human soul looks out.
 
 SONNETS.
 
 34 
 
 A SONNET AT SIXTEEN. 
 
 THERE dwells a magic in the printed sheet 
 That doth communicate itself to all 
 Who read ; now holds a nation's mind in thrall 
 Or makes the 3'oung heart thrill with impulse sweet : 
 So potent, too, it is, that none can cheat 
 The letters of their meaning, or recall 
 That subtle power until the fabric fall 
 To fragments, fading slow, in loss complete. 
 
 I long for this strange power, to create 
 An audience for my voice, mankind among ; 
 
 Then must my life be pure, my purpose great, 
 And pondering oft what earnest men have sung 
 
 I will in quietness and patience wait 
 
 Till inspiration shall unloose my tongue.
 
 35 
 
 FOR A TWENTY-FIRST BIRTHDAY. 
 
 SOFTLY as blossoms in the spring appear, 
 As night's last star in morning's twilight dies, — 
 Or as the mariner under tropic skies 
 Passeth from hemisphere to hemisphere, — 
 So reachest thou thy most momentous )-ear ; 
 
 Save that thy smile may seem more grave and \v\se, 
 The look of love grow deeper in thine eyes, 
 And by that token thou thyself more dear. 
 
 O womanhood ! O wondrous mj^stery ! 
 
 Love, teach me still, as thou hast ever taught, 
 That love from all but love its secret keeps 
 For ever sacred. All in vain we try 
 With the bewildering plummet-line of thought 
 To sound the heart's unfathomable deeps.
 
 36 
 
 OF A LATE JOURNEY. 
 
 I WENT not forth from the uneasy throng 
 Scorning its senseless strife and needless noise, 
 Nor seeking new and unfamiliar joys 
 vSweeter than those that fed my heart so long ; 
 But lest life's gall or nectar, seething strong. 
 Should work in me the palsy that destroys 
 The inward calmness requisite to poise 
 The fluctuating scales of Right and Wrong. 
 
 So I went forth ; and for a season dwelt 
 Beneath the quiet roofs of simple worth ; 
 
 Worshipped upon the lonely hills, and felt 
 
 Caught up to heaven, yet strangely knit with earth ; 
 
 Then at a narrower human altar knelt 
 To seal a second spiritual birth.
 
 6J 
 
 THE SONG OF SONGS. 
 
 LEARN thou that love, from wheiicesoe'er it springs, 
 Is one and indivisible ; as the light 
 Floods earth by da}'' and sprinkles it by night. 
 Mid storms at strife its flaming javelin flings, 
 Then spreads the rainbow's soft ethereal wings 
 Proclaiming peace ; or concentrates to smite 
 Prismatic splendours from a wand of white, 
 And radiates through the infinity of things. 
 
 Thus varying voices of the past we hear 
 That bid us joyousl}' as love hath need 
 
 Pour out life's choicest wine or noblest blood ; 
 Till in love's light that scattereth shame and fear 
 lyife is transfigured, and becomes indeed 
 A taking of the manhood into God,
 
 LIFE. 
 
 THE mysten'' of life lies here enshrined : — 
 He that will lose his life his life shall save ; 
 Who seeks it save it finds a living grave 
 And enters into life both halt and blind : 
 Yea, if he lose it with intent to find 
 A greater gift of life than that he gave, 
 He seeks in vain what he alone can have 
 Who gives himself, and casts no look behind. 
 
 And thus the humblest of the learned throns: 
 Gains deepest knowledge of this earth of ours ; 
 
 The pilgrim on the path most lone and long 
 
 vShall reach the coolest shade and sweetest flowers ; 
 
 And he who out of weakness is made strong 
 Hath leagued himself with the eternal powers.
 
 39 
 
 SOUL AND SENSE. 
 
 THE sense is sei-vant to the soul : its aim 
 All needful things before its lord to lay ; 
 Till, taught by tyranny to disobey, 
 It manifests a madness hard to tame : 
 Or, if the spirit abdicate its claim 
 To rule the flesh, the flesh usurps its swa}'-, 
 And doth its rightful master burn and slay, 
 Then dies itself a fearful death of shame. 
 
 See that thou keep then perfect peace between 
 Thy soul and sense, and wisely each emplo}'- ; 
 
 And call thou nothing common or unclean, 
 
 Nor sense with soul, nor soul with sense destro}' ; 
 
 Then shall the wisdom of that word be seen — 
 All things are given thee richly to enjoy.
 
 40 
 
 LOVE. 
 
 JOVE that is asked and given of God is such 
 — / As sees the world still as its Maker saw ; 
 
 And finding there, save love's defect, no flaw 
 Rescues its fairest realms from Satan's clutch : 
 Fearing to love too little, not too much, 
 It seeks from sense its inmost sweet to draw, 
 Blends body and soul in freedom's perfect law, 
 Enkindling thought, transmuting sight and touch. 
 
 As a strong swimmer smiles upon the sea. 
 
 So trust thyself on Love's broad heaving breast ; 
 
 Strive not to know what Fate shall bring to thee, 
 But calmly take its gifts of worst and best ; 
 
 For so thou dost fulfil thy destiny. 
 And in fulfilling it thou shalt have rest.
 
 41 
 
 TO CARL HERRMANN UNTHAN. 
 
 (The Armless MusiciauJ. 
 
 C^ OOD friend, though Fate upon th}^ cradle frowned 
 y And seemed to bar thee from the joys of earth, 
 Yet by occult inheritance of birth 
 Thou hadst a spirit, eager but profound. 
 Whose patient upward growth the years have crowned 
 With music, language, learning, wisdom, worth, 
 Courtes}', courage, freedom, health and mirth, 
 A home most happy, and a name renowned : 
 
 Whence all may learn how wondrous is the will, 
 That, thus provoked by Fortune, makes men great; 
 
 For oft the favoured use her gifts but ill 
 Or learn to read her riddle all too late ; 
 
 Whilst thou, though seeming helpless, hast found skill 
 To pluck such trophies from the hands of Fate.
 
 42 
 
 TO A. S. 
 
 IF earthly happiness can compass more 
 Than after years of restless youth to find 
 A perfect mate in body, heart, and mind, — 
 Then to find friends, yea, comrades to the core, 
 Pass hand in hand that blissful fateful door, — 
 I ask it not : fate could not prove more kind, 
 Nor could the fulness of the days behind 
 Give fairer promise of what lies before. 
 
 Shall love not lead us, as it points above 
 
 This maze of darkness, and foretells the time 
 When love and lifelike equal friends shall meet? 
 Yea, for its own sake will we cherish love, 
 Holding it fast through all with faith sublime 
 Though the earth tremble and burst beneath 
 our feet.
 
 43 
 
 BURNE-JONES' PICTURES. 
 
 I marvelled, maidens, why you seemed so sad, 
 Amid such woods and streams, such houses wrought 
 In wondrous handiwork ; why so distraught, 
 Being strangely fair, and exquisitely clad ; 
 Then was I shamed to think you could be glad, 
 Held captive in the enchanted house of thought, 
 And evermore past hope to win back aught 
 Of that warm breathing life which once you had. 
 
 No recognition greets us in your gaze 
 
 Of dreamlike, still, and passionless despair. 
 
 Degenerate mortals, what avails our praise 
 Of vanished loveliness ye breathed like air? 
 
 Yet hold ye out amid these hurrying days 
 The witness of a world where all is fair.
 
 44 
 
 FIRST HEARING OF WAGNER. 
 
 WHAT wonder-working power could thus invest 
 Music with vast new meanings, and has bound 
 One all-embracing consonance around 
 Our age's discords ? Its divine unrest, 
 Foreshadowed gleams of good yet unpossessed. 
 
 Old myths new-prized, — shine fused in fires of sound 
 As in a crucible : the time has found 
 Interpretation, ne'er till now expressed. 
 
 For not in words as in a formal chart 
 
 Can the swift currents and deep tides be scanned 
 That stir to-day humanity's great heart ; 
 
 But boldly outlined by a master-hand 
 In glowing colours of immortal art, 
 
 That men may note, and haply understand.
 
 45 
 
 THE HOPE OF THE FUTURE. 
 
 OUR English Alfred (saith the chronicler) 
 With ills of mind and body to withstand, 
 Waged war with foreign foes, and wisely planned 
 The foes of his own household to deter ; 
 So that the realm had peace, and none would stir 
 To take another's gold into his hand, 
 And though a woman wandered through the land 
 From sea to sea, no harm should hap to her. 
 
 Well mayst thou wish for that old time again ! 
 Yet if by righteousness thou wilt be led. 
 Even yet thy heel shall crush the serpent's head, 
 
 When no harsh laws need human hearts restrain ; 
 
 Nor shall the curse of covetousness remain 
 To give us lust for love, and stones for bread. 
 
 C2
 
 46 
 
 A ClyOUD LIKE A MAN'S HAND. 
 
 A fierce drought wastes the land : no sign is given 
 To save the famine-stricken tribes that crowd 
 Round priests that cut themselves and cry aloud: 
 Sick unto death, men's weary ej'es have striven 
 With burning skies each morning, noon, and even ; 
 Only the seer above with body bowed 
 Prays, and his servant sees a wisp of cloud 
 Float from the sea into the gaping heaven. 
 
 A strong wind stirs the stagnant air and hot, 
 And stormy music shakes the groves again ; 
 
 The black cloud spreads and spreads, and ceases not — 
 The lonely prophet hath not prayed in vain. 
 
 O slavish king, prepare thy chariot — 
 There comes a sound of an abundant rain.
 
 47 
 
 FOR A CONFERENCE. 
 
 THOUGH Pentecost but faintly now recall 
 The rushing mighty wind and tongues of flame 
 Wherewith the spirit of devotion came 
 Upon the faithful at the festival, 
 When all the crowd of strangers in the hall 
 
 Heard them in divers tongues one faith proclaim, 
 And in the concord of a common aim 
 They gave their goods each for the good of all : 
 
 Yet if like them we seek the highest good 
 In earnest union, and cast out to-day 
 The evil spirit of mistrust and strife. 
 Our tidings shall be told and understood 
 Through every country, and our hands shall lay 
 The new foundation of the house of life. 
 
 Whitsunday, 1S87.
 
 48 
 
 STRIKING THE ROCK. 
 
 " C*PEAK to the rock ;" He smote it with his rod, 
 w3 And cried Ye rebels ! All the people shrank 
 
 From wrath so rare in him ; howbeit they drank, 
 Fiercely forgetful ; and their children trod 
 The Promised Land, crossing the stream dr^-shod ; 
 While his keen eye once from the rocky bank 
 Swept that good land, and into darkness sank, 
 Who mingled curses with the speech of God, 
 
 Now, when the people murmur as of old. 
 
 Heaven sends us forth their wasted lives to save. 
 
 And will accomplish all it hath foretold ; 
 
 Yet if through scorn our mission we deprave. 
 
 Our lives may lose the beauty we behold. 
 Our glory find an undiscovered grave.
 
 49 
 
 THE IMAGE-BREAKER. 
 
 WHEN the traditional gods once trusted most 
 Grow meaningless dull idols to the sight ; 
 When loathing stretches forth its hand to smi 
 Some coveted sweetness secretly engrossed ; 
 When the light fails upon an unknown coast 
 
 And weak limbs vainly wander through the night, 
 What hope of him in the world's van to fight 
 Whose heart is ready to give up the ghost ? 
 
 But he whose soul is resolute yet shall trace 
 Sure paths in sunshine, well-content at last 
 
 To share the joy and sorrow of his race ; 
 
 And seeing the gods (whose sj'mbols in the past 
 
 He ignorantly worshipped) face to face, 
 Become a pitiless iconoclast.
 
 50 
 
 HUMAN EVOLUTION. 
 
 Alvlv life is progress: that which groweth not 
 Is dead or dying. He that would retrace 
 The happy footsteps of the infant race, — 
 Who seeks for man no nobler future lot — 
 Or, scanning o'er the waste one leafy spot, 
 Deems it indeed man's final dwelling place, — 
 Essays to close his hand on time and space ; 
 And when the world stands still the world will rot. 
 
 Fight thou beneath this banner, and be bold. 
 Knowing that Fate, though silent, never sleeps ; 
 
 Though gazing long into the mists of old, 
 And far into the future's boundless deeps, 
 
 For vigil's vision thou mayst but behold 
 One of its slow gigantic spiral sweeps.
 
 51 
 
 IN CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL. 
 
 SUBLIME yet simple, exquisite yet vast, 
 O flower of faith ! what mastery had they 
 That wrought this miracle ! what power to pray 
 Possessed the thronging pilgrims of the past ! 
 Yet now, more dread than zealot's trumpet-blast. 
 Or ever-gnawing tooth of slow decay, 
 Despair and doubt like spectres here display 
 A cold and empty sepulchre at last. 
 
 Will worshippers again be gathered here 
 
 In that new world wherewith Time travaileth ? 
 
 How will their hearts, grown strong and free from fear, 
 Confront the mysteries of life and death ? 
 
 No mortal may foretell — but this is clear, 
 There must be union, and there must be faith.
 
 52 
 
 THE COMMUNE OF PARIS. 
 
 THEN said the rich man, urged by fear to flight, 
 / covet safety for my children^ s sake : 
 The workman, sword in hand, his life at stake, 
 Answered, ' Tzs for my cJiildren that I fight. 
 Full of prophetic fire they stormed the height, 
 Then reeling, dazed with freedom, scarce awake, 
 Fell back and perished, bidding us retake 
 And strongly hold the rock of common right. 
 
 Brothers, they fought our battle ; yet, O shame ! 
 
 We cast upon their ashes lies and scorn : 
 How then shall we make good that glorious claim 
 
 For which they strove amid their lives forlorn ? 
 Yet when we share their ardour and their aim 
 
 The life they died to bear us will be born.
 
 53 
 
 DEIvESCLUZE. 
 
 HEAR how he kept the solemn vow he made 
 To live and die with those he loved and led. 
 When all was lost, brave words of hope he said ; 
 Then pressing friendly hands that would have stayed 
 His steadfast steps, he reached the barricade ; 
 With loose white locks against the sunset red 
 He stood aloft a moment, and fell dead 
 Amid the thunder of the cannonade. 
 
 After long j^ears heroically passed 
 
 In poverty, imprisonment, and pain, 
 After the die of fortune boldly cast 
 
 For visionar}' hopes the world calls vain, 
 He calmly welcomes his reward at last — 
 
 The swift dark death, the bullet in the brain.
 
 54 
 
 A VOICE FROM THE WEST. 
 
 •^ UR silence will be mightier than our speech — 
 K^ Speech foully stifled by the hangman's rope ; 
 
 Speech ever sounding through its furthest scope 
 The watchword Each for all and all for each ; 
 Silence, yea death's, electric, swift to reach 
 Through sundering seas, telling how men could cope 
 With mortal hate, for human love and hope ; 
 Silence proclaiming more than words could teach. 
 
 Therefore we mourn not, rather we rejoice 
 
 For them and for the cause they died for there ; 
 
 Since many now bethink them, and make choice 
 The hardships of the pilgrim's life to share. 
 
 And follow through the dawn their distant voice 
 Toward a future infinitely fair.
 
 55 
 
 ON A CERTAIN STRIKE OF UNSKILLED 
 
 WORKMEN. 
 
 CLUTCHING his one precarious hold on life, 
 The rich man's grudging leave to toil for bread, 
 He hears from far his fellows cry for aid 
 Close-locked in weaponless yet deadly strife. 
 He marks the anguish of his mute pale wife, 
 Foresees his children clamouring to be fed, 
 Yet — by a deep scarce-conscious instinct led — 
 Steps forth, and bares his bosom to the knife. 
 
 Thus, as was said of old, the last are first, 
 
 Since from the bitterest root of want and pain 
 
 Sweet flowers of love and fellowship outburst, 
 And all the greatness of man's soul grows plain. 
 
 Now Envy, Hatred, Malice, do your worst : 
 
 Hope's star still shines : I have not lived in vain.
 
 56 
 
 ON THE ASSASSINATION OF CARNOT. 
 
 THE crowded streets of Lyons blaze with light, 
 While ill the theatre the audience wait 
 In gay attire, expectant and elate. 
 Till plaudits bring the President to sight ; 
 And he meanwhile with features ashy- white 
 
 Makes terms with death, the woven threads of state 
 Snatched from his hand by the harsh touch of Fate, 
 His life-blood ebbing with the short-lived night. 
 
 Ah, now might Dives' vengeful heart misgive 
 (But that oppression ever blinds men's eyes. 
 
 Yea, thwarts the instinct self-preservative,) 
 To see that long-withheld yet hollow prize — 
 
 The Right to Life without the Means to Live — 
 Spurned by the suffering race that stings and dies.
 
 57 
 
 THE BRUTE IN MAN. 
 
 WIDE gas-lit walls shut out the eyes of night, 
 While round me here an unfamiliar swarm 
 Of flushed and sensual idlers raise a storm 
 Of frenzied oaths and laughter, and excite 
 To fierce endurance of inglorious fight 
 
 God's offspring and their very flesh— these warm 
 And breathing statues ;— till one lithe young form 
 Ivies crushed and bleeding in the pitiless light. 
 
 "Was it for this that once upon mankind 
 The Holy Ghost descended as a dove ? — 
 
 Comes my hot question. I look round, and find 
 In that hard crowd the face of one I love, 
 
 Pale, sad, yet patient ; and I bring to mind 
 The ever-watchful tranquil stars above.
 
 58 
 
 INNOCENCE. 
 
 NAKED and not ashamed, of old the man 
 Dwelt with the woman, in a world most fair 
 And fruitful, free from labour and from care, 
 Till fore-ordained self-consciousness began : 
 But when they tasted knowledge, then they ran 
 To hide themselves, and made them garments there, 
 Fled forth in wild amazement and despair 
 And bowed in toil and tears beneath the ban. 
 
 And still that dread inalienable gift 
 
 Strikes ever deeper, yea, with anguish sore. 
 
 Till Time, to us so slow, to God so swift, 
 A nobler innocence at length restore, 
 
 When man to heaven unclouded eyes shall lift 
 And be ashamed of nakedness no more.
 
 59 
 
 REVELATION. 
 
 I MARKED the intricate immense design 
 Framed in this universe of time and space ; 
 And looking earnestly in Nature's face 
 Beheld a Soul that seemed akin to mine : 
 I watched historic progress intertwine 
 All complex interests that stir the race 
 Through all diversities of age and place 
 To one great end, predestined and divine : 
 
 Yet finding none the less my spirit void 
 Of life from Him I sought to understand, 
 
 Which many poor and ignorant oft enjoyed, — 
 I craved a sign. In pity of my demand 
 
 God for one moment light and life destroyed 
 And held me in the hollow of his hand. 
 
 E
 
 6o 
 
 MAN AND NATURE. 
 
 FROM Nature's calm and radiant self-control 
 Man views with envious eyes his dire divorcer 
 Sun, moon, and stars, the seasons in their course. 
 Trees, rocks, and running rivers, seas that roll, 
 Birds, beasts and fishes, all in part and whole 
 Grow perff;ct by inherent laws, whose source 
 Is secret, but whose all-pervading force 
 Nought may withstand a moment, save the soul. 
 
 Would man but claim his elemental right 
 To live by his own laws, like Nature wise, 
 
 With clear-eyed, constant, well-directed might,— 
 Fresh natural joy within his soul should rise, 
 
 The world lie spread before him, filled with lights. 
 And destinies undreamed-of meet his eyes I
 
 6i 
 
 IMMORTALITY. 
 
 AS myriads of minute unconscious lives 
 Build in the midst of ocean's restless gloom 
 Firm land whereon a bright new life may bloom> 
 Even so the race its permanence derives 
 From that unchanging law of change, which drives 
 All mortals issuing from earth's teeming womb 
 Swiftly through brief experience to the tomb, 
 To serve one Purpose, which alone survives : 
 
 Yet since man suffers, being born to feel, 
 
 And, that the world may prosper, tastes of woe ; 
 
 Since, though athirst for knowledge, he may steal 
 But one faint glimpse of all he longs to know, — 
 
 God will at last all truth to each reveal, 
 On each the fulness of his joy bestow.
 
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