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AMONG THE FLOWERS, 
 anU ©t{)cr ioems. 
 
AMONG THE FLOWERS, 
 
 anb m\n l^mxxs. 
 
 BY ^'^ 
 
 t & 
 , f t 
 
 FRANCIS \V; BOURDILLOX, 
 
 r 
 
 ILontron: 
 
 MARCUS WARD & CO., 67, 68, CHANDOS STREET 
 
 And royal ULSTER WORKS, BELFAST 
 1878 
 

Ea tfjc Xamc, 
 
 THAT FOR ME EMBRACES 
 
 ALL THE INFLUENCES, MEMORIES, AND AFFECTIONS 
 
 THAT FOR ALL MEN HAUNT THE NAME OF HOME, 
 TO 
 
 raooHjctiing, 
 
 AND, THEREIN, TO ALL 
 
 THAT IMPRINTED INFLUENCE AND MEMORY 
 
 AND INSPIRED AFFfCTION, 
 
 I DEDICATE THEIR RESULT — 
 
 ivi2393B6 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/amongflowersotheOObourrich 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 UiONG THE Flowers: 
 
 
 Gathered Roses 
 Waiting . 
 
 Dedication 
 
 . 9 
 
 Forget-me-nots 
 
 Idle Days 
 
 . 12 
 
 Brimham Rocks 
 
 A Valentine's Day Greeting 14 
 
 Under the Limes . 
 
 The East Wind 
 
 . 16 
 
 Clematis 
 
 Spring is Coming . 
 
 . 18 
 
 Autumn Teaching . 
 
 Love-Flowers . 
 
 . 19 
 
 Decay 
 
 Wood-Sorrel . 
 
 . 20 
 
 The Swallows' Farew 
 
 The Difference 
 
 . 21 
 
 Only to Live . 
 
 Primroses 
 
 . 22 
 
 Gertrude's Love . 
 
 Spring's Footsteps . 
 
 • 24 
 
 
 An April Shower . 
 
 . 26 
 
 Light 
 
 A Spring Evening . 
 
 • 27 
 
 Love the "Weaver 
 
 A Soiled Blossom . 
 
 . 28 
 
 In Storm . 
 
 Spring Longings 
 
 • 30 
 
 A Moment 
 
 A New Legend of the Fo 
 
 •get- 
 
 Regions of Love 
 
 me-not 
 
 . 31 
 
 The Fickle Sea 
 
 Queen Lily 
 
 • 33 
 
 The Chestnut Tree . 
 
 To a Water- Lily at Evening 35 
 
 So Long Ago . 
 
 The Legend of the Water- 
 
 Omens 
 
 Lilies 
 
 . 36 
 
 "Annie" 
 
 Voices of the Dead 
 
 • 47 
 
 Cc^li 
 
 The Shadow of Love 
 
 • 48 
 
 Cleopatra's Mirror . 
 
 Farewell 
 
 . 48 
 
 "Alice, my Wife," . 
 
 Angels' Tears . 
 
 . 49 
 
 " Ella ; a Reverie " . 
 
 rell 
 
Contents. 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Valentine Verses 
 
 
 . ii8 
 
 Eden 
 
 
 150 
 
 The Home of my Heart 
 
 . 119 
 
 "Ethereal" . 
 
 
 151 
 
 Sea-Weed 
 
 
 121 
 
 River Deeps 
 
 
 154 
 
 Hopes and Fears 
 
 
 122 
 
 A Hero . 
 
 
 155 
 
 The Troubled Sea 
 
 
 123 
 
 Port Meadow, Oxford 
 
 
 156 
 
 What Do We ? . 
 
 
 124 
 
 Una . ... 
 
 
 157 
 
 The Hill Pass . 
 
 
 127 
 
 The Higher Love 
 
 
 158 
 
 To Meet Again 
 
 
 130 
 
 One Deed of Good . 
 
 
 159 
 
 Seeds of Fire . 
 
 
 131 
 
 Two Robbers . 
 
 
 160 
 
 A Statue . 
 
 
 133 
 
 The Unknown Deity 
 
 
 161 
 
 Ich Grolle Nicht 
 
 
 135 
 
 In Fribourg Cathedral 
 
 
 163 
 
 A Race with Love 
 
 
 136 
 
 "Two that Sleep, and 
 
 One 
 
 
 Love's Reward 
 
 
 m 
 
 that Watcheth " . 
 
 
 167 
 
 The Guerdon of 
 
 Lost 
 
 
 Easter Eve 
 
 
 168 
 
 Labours 
 
 
 138 
 
 Beckenham : Sept. 22, i 
 
 876 
 
 169 
 
 A Nun's Dream 
 
 
 139 
 
 May 23rd, 1876 
 
 
 171 
 
 A Starry Night 
 
 
 144 
 
 The Farewell of the 
 
 Old 
 
 
 One Flight 
 
 
 145 
 
 Year . 
 
 
 172 
 
 The Saint and the Lark 
 
 148 
 
 A Vision . 
 
 
 174 
 
AMONG THE FLOWERS. 
 
AMONG THE FLOWERS. 
 
 DEDICATION. 
 
 1 BRING again thy gifts to thee, 
 O home I held so dear ! 
 Of all thy thousand gifts to me 
 
 The thin first-fruits are here. 
 For, nestling in thy woodlands warm, 
 
 Not one fair flower of Spring 
 Owes more to thee its life and form, 
 •Than these pale blooms I bring. 
 
 I bring again thy gifts ; but not 
 
 As some sad lover brings 
 The pledges of a love forgot, 
 
 The ringlets and the rings. 
 The lover has lost all; but I, 
 
 Till I shall cease to be, 
 Can never lose in earth and sky 
 
 What I have learnt from thee. 
 
 B 
 
a be' ' '.' '^ / ' 'c' ' ^ ' ' / '■ Dedication. 
 
 I bring thy gifts, but not as given, 
 
 Thy river-side along, 
 In woodland flowers or winds of heaven, 
 
 In ecstacies of song. 
 Ah ! could I give one hour's delight 
 
 Of all that fled so swift. 
 Clear as thy stream gives back the light, 
 
 That were a worthier gift ! 
 
 Yet deeper gifts, than deepening joy 
 
 In all things sweet and fair. 
 Grew with me, as I grew from boy 
 
 To man more reasoning there. 
 With love of thee was wov'n a love 
 
 More tender yet, and true ; 
 And faith seemed simple, while above 
 
 Spread such a heaven of blue. 
 
 And though, as life unfolded more, 
 
 Experience, year by year, 
 Grew larger than thy simple lore. 
 
 This only grew more dear. 
 For as strange languages may be 
 
 In our own letters read, 
 Were all new truths and joys to me 
 
 By thine interpreted. 
 
Dedication. 
 
 What gift have I to give again, 
 
 What poor return for all, 
 As roses to the earth are fain 
 
 To give their leaves that fall? 
 
 This verse, that of thy own gift grows, 
 
 For my return I cull, — 
 The faded fallings from a rose 
 
 Whose brightest blooms were dull. 
 
 Yet let not this, so wise an age, 
 
 Despise my woodland themes ! 
 The flowers, that first our eyes engage. 
 
 Bring back our happiest dreams. 
 And earth, though with renown she rings 
 
 Of human pomp and powers. 
 Has been not more the world of kings, 
 
 Than world of simple flowers. 
 
12 Idle Days. 
 
 IDLE DAYS. 
 
 SING me a song of idle days, 
 When rosy and white are the new-blown mays, 
 And rosy and white on the wanton breeze 
 The petals fall from the apple trees, 
 And under the hedge, where the shade lies wet, 
 Are children, picking the violet! 
 Sing me a song of idle days, 
 When Spring is queen over woods and ways ! 
 
 Sing me a song of idle days. 
 
 When half the world in the hay-field strays, 
 
 And white against the woods behind 
 
 The grass is tossed in the idle wind, 
 
 And there by the stream, the world forgot. 
 
 Two lovers are plucking forget-me-not ! 
 
 Sing me a song of idle days, 
 
 When Love in the hay-field laughs and plays ! 
 
 Sing me a song of idle days, 
 When golden languor is on the ways. 
 And far away, where the upland ends. 
 Among red corn the reaper bends, 
 
Idle Days. 13 
 
 And farther the faint line of the sea 
 Lies blue, to mind us our land is free ! 
 Sing me a song of idle days, 
 When Love dreams in a golden haze ! 
 
 But sing no song of the winter time ! 
 Or sing it of soft and southern clime ! 
 For Winter is cruel, and cold, and stern, 
 And we sigh for the gentle Spring's return. 
 And the snow lies drear by the frozen stream. 
 Where Love no longer can stray to dream. 
 Sing me no song of the winter time. 
 For Love flies then to a softer clime ! 
 
14 A Valentine's Day Greeting. 
 
 A VALENTINE'S DAY GREETING. 
 
 NOW, while the tyrant Winter still 
 Keeps back the Spring, that would be forth, 
 W^ith snows, his sentries, on the hill, 
 And winds, his warriors, in the North ; 
 
 I wonder if the world you see 
 
 Is still, as in my memory, green ; 
 Though yet no shoot be on the tree. 
 
 Nor primrose peep its leaves between ! 
 
 Though here the heaven show nought of blue, 
 Nor signs of Spring in earth appear. 
 
 My fancy idly pictures you 
 In glories of the older year. 
 
 I dream of meadows green and lush 
 
 With lavish grasses of the Spring ; 
 I seem to hear the joyous thrush 
 
 Already to his nestlings sing. 
 
 Already, as I dream, you go 
 
 Across the field, along the road, 
 To copses, where untimely blow 
 
 The primroses, to make your load. 
 
A Valentine s Day Greeting, 15 
 
 Already in the wooded Coombe, 
 
 Whose leaves are greener now than March, 
 You tear the mosses from their gloom, 
 
 And pick the pink cones from the larch. 
 
 And even to the hazel lane 
 
 I follow you, and see you find 
 The ferns and foxgloves tall again, 
 
 While budding briars the hazels bind. 
 
 Dreams, these are dreams, — how little worth ! 
 
 Yet were we nearer Paradise, 
 Had every heart one place on earth 
 
 Could bring such dreams to waking eyes. 
 
t6 The East Wind. 
 
 THE EAST WIND. 
 
 AN Angel I come, at the bidding of God, 
 But I leave no bowers of the Blest, 
 With flowers that follow me strewing the sod, 
 As the bountiful win^s of the West. 
 
 ^&" 
 
 Rather a sword in my hand I bring. 
 
 And a blast in my terrible breath, 
 To slay the warm life of the infant Spring, 
 
 With a chill from the presence of Death. 
 
 The bare trees shiver, the budded sigh 
 
 For their first-born, never to blow. 
 While they linger unclad, as the Spring goes by, 
 
 Till a thin late greenery grow. 
 
 The primrose face, and the violet, 
 
 Hide from my cold keen kiss ; 
 And the butterfly droops, and would fain lie yet 
 
 In his late-left chrysalis. 
 
 Yet kindly the forward flowers I keep. 
 
 Lest untimely their day be done; 
 And the blue bright heaven my broad wings sweep 
 
 Of the clouds that grudge them the sun. 
 
The East Wind. 17 
 
 And merrily, merrily, over the sea, 
 
 The sailor to port I bring; 
 And cheerily, cheerily, over the lea. 
 
 In the ploughman's ears I sing. 
 
 And the earth's warm heart, that was softened with 
 And saddened with days of rain, [snows, 
 
 I rouse from her weeping and dreaming of woes, 
 And brace her to bearing again. 
 
 Yet little favour I find of men. 
 
 Or love of the flowers I love, 
 For I linger not to drowse in the glen. 
 
 Nor to dream in the shadowy grove. 
 
 And in vain I woo in the flowery wood ; 
 
 Yet never I bow to despair ; 
 But I break away, as a brave heart should, 
 
 From the places that scorn my care. 
 
 And out and away to the bare bleak downs 
 
 I rush, and the open sky. 
 My only lover that never frowns. 
 
 As my wild wings whistle by. 
 
1 8 Spring is Coming. 
 
 SPRING IS COMING. 
 
 BY the bursting of the leaves, y 
 
 By the lengthening of the eves, 
 Spring is coming. 
 By the flowers that scent the air, 
 By the skies more blue and fair, 
 By the singing everywhere, 
 Spring is coming. 
 
 All the woods and fields rejoice, 
 
 Spring is coming. 
 Only here and there a voice, — 
 Here of buds the worm has worn, 
 Here of birds whose nest is torn, 
 There of those whose life is pent 
 Far from pleasant sight and scent; — 
 Wails, as if their life's distress 
 Won a new wild bitterness. 
 
 Spring is coming. 
 
L ove-Flowers. 1 9 
 
 LOVE-FLOWERS. 
 
 OH, who was watching when Love came by, 
 When Love came here, in the glad Spring hours ? 
 The scarf was torn from his laughing eye, 
 And he wore instead a wreath of flowers. 
 
 The wreath of flowers his head went round, 
 And about his eyes, as the scarf had been ; 
 
 But in vain the flowery band was bound, 
 
 For he peeped the flowers and leaves between. 
 
 He wore no quiver, he bore no bow. 
 And innocent looked, as a blinded boy ; 
 
 With flowers about him, above, below. 
 The Spirit he seemed of Spring and joy. 
 
 But here and there he let fall a flower. 
 The cruel, the bright little blinded god ; 
 
 And, watching, I saw that hour by hour 
 
 These blooms took root in the green Spring sod. 
 
 And whoso plucks the flowers that grow 
 
 From the blooms Love flung from his wreaths above, 
 
 Though sweetest-seeming of blossoms they blow, 
 His heart shall be hot with the madness of Love. 
 
20 Wood- Sorrel. 
 
 WOOD-SORREL. 
 
 BENEATH the towering oak-tree, 
 The frail wood-sorrel grows ; 
 When not a leaf is budded, 
 
 In robe of white she blows, 
 
 And dares to the bright heaven 
 
 Her maiden heart disclose. 
 
 But when the leaves above her 
 O'ershade her faithful eye, 
 
 That dance as happy playmates 
 With her far-worshipped sky. 
 
 She has no hope nor pleasure 
 But all unknown to die. 
 
 So, when I first beheld thee. 
 
 Awhile I dared adore ; 
 But now about thy pathway 
 
 A thousand lovers pour, 
 I droop, like wan wood-sorrel. 
 
 To blossom never more. 
 
The Difference. 21 
 
 THE DIFFERENCE. 
 
 SWEETER than voices in the scented hay, 
 Or laughing children, gleaning ears that stray, 
 Or Christmas songs, that shake the snows above, 
 Is the first Cuckoo, when he comes with Love. 
 
 Sadder than birds on sunless summer eves, 
 
 Or drip of raindrops on the fallen leaves, 
 
 Or wail of wintry waves on frozen shore, 
 
 Is Spring that comes, but brings us Love no more 
 
22 Primroses. 
 
 PRIMROSES. 
 
 QWEET Primroses, I hold you dear, 
 ^ That heedless are of me; 
 You have no ears, my words to hear, 
 No eyes, my gaze to see. 
 
 You love the rain, that swells each bud, 
 The sun, that bids you blow, 
 
 The breeze, that calms your gentle blood, 
 And sways you to and fro. 
 
 But I am least of all to you. 
 
 For what have I to give? 
 What can I add of pleasure new 
 
 To your one joy — to live? 
 
 And yet the sunshine finds no bliss 
 To smile, and win your smiles ; 
 
 The breeze is careless of the kiss, 
 It takes or gives by whiles. 
 
 While I, who love, must yearn in vain, 
 
 For all I take of you. 
 To give to you such joy again. 
 
 As gives one drop of dew. 
 
Primroses. 
 
 23 
 
 And you, fair flowers of joy and light, 
 
 Blessed above all remain, 
 To give such delicate delight, 
 
 And take no gift again. 
 
24 spring's Footsteps. 
 
 SPRING'S FOOTSTEPS. 
 
 SPRING is coming; o'er the meadow 
 Lightly are her footsteps laid, 
 On the leaves in dewy shadow, 
 On the flowers in sunny glade. 
 
 East winds cease, and North winds flee her; 
 
 Gossamer of silken sheen 
 Weaves the robes whereby we see her, 
 
 Else she is not to be seen. 
 
 Yet who with a pure heart gazes, 
 
 Through her robes, that wind and weave, 
 
 Sees her lips in rose-tipped daisies. 
 Sees her eyes in stars of eve. 
 
 Men catch glimpses, few and fewer. 
 Through their toil and strife and din ; 
 
 But the holy flowers view her. 
 And the birds that know not sin. 
 
 Hence the calm-eyed primrose weareth 
 
 Her sweet look of happiness. 
 Hence the violet perfume beareth, 
 
 Daffodils their dazzling dress. 
 
Sprmg's Footsteps. 
 
 25 
 
 Hence the blackbird sings sweet vespers, 
 And the lark loud hymns of praise, 
 
 And the very wind has whispers, 
 That to heaven the heart can raise. 
 
26 An April SJioiver. 
 
 AN APRIL SHOWER. 
 
 'T^HE primrose head is bowed with tears, 
 -■- The wood is rippling through with rain, 
 Though now the heaven once more appears, 
 
 And beams the bounteous sun again. 
 From every blade and blossom cup 
 The earth sends thankful incense up. 
 
 happy hearts of flower and field, 
 That, soon as grief be overpast. 
 
 Your fragrant thankfulness can yield 
 For troubled skies and vainful blast ! 
 
 1 would that I so soon could see 
 The blessings of adversity ! 
 
A Spring Evening. 27 
 
 A SPRING EVENING. 
 To C. G. C. 
 
 ACROSS the glory of the evening skies 
 A veil is drawn of shadowed mists, that rise 
 From lavishness of God's late gift, the rain. 
 
 So, after farewell said, fond memories 
 
 Of words and looks the syeetest come again 
 Across the glowing heart, a veil of pain. 
 
28 A Soiled Blossom. 
 
 A SOILED BLOSSOM. 
 
 BROKEN close off at the head, 
 Withered, and well-nigh dead, 
 Beautiful Primrose, how shall your dirge be said ? 
 
 Finding you fair at the morn, 
 Leaf-bowered, under the thorn, 
 How had we envied you, just to be beautiful born ! 
 
 Finding you faded at eve, 
 With what tears can we grieve. 
 Torn so untimely your life of beauty to leave ? 
 
 Yet in your withering face 
 Lingers a marvellous grace, 
 And a flying, not dying, glory we seem to trace. 
 
 Whither does loveliness go. 
 When the life of it melts as the snow. 
 When the life of the form of it fades as the even-glow ? 
 
 Have not all fair things a soul. 
 Or is this frail beauty the whole, 
 To be utterly marred, if my fingers crumple and roll? 
 
 Can I crush the beauty to death 
 With a finger that compasseth ? 
 What God has made, can man destroy as a breath ? 
 
A Soiled Blossom. 29 
 
 Nay \ we trust that within 
 Ourselves is a soul that can win 
 Through death to a perfect pardon and rest from sin. 
 
 And have not flowers that lie 
 Sinless, turned to the sky, 
 Something akin to the soul, that cannot die? 
 
 Sinless and passionless, 
 Their soul is the loveliness. 
 That has taken awhile for the teaching of man this dress. 
 
 For the spirit of beauty dwells 
 In the heart that never rebels. 
 That knows not the love that is earth's, nor the hate 
 that is hell's. 
 
 So, flower, I mourn no more 
 For the fingers that marred you, and tore 
 Your tender head from the slender stem that bore ! 
 
 Not waste your beauty has been. 
 
 Though now it must fade unseen. 
 
 Till it fill new shapes of yet more marvellous sheen. 
 
 For as man's soul heavenward flies, 
 So the soul of this flower, that dies, 
 May it not blossom in heaven for the angels' eyes? 
 
30 Spring Longings. 
 
 SPRING LONGINGS. 
 
 IF 1 might be, for but one April tide, 
 The blackbird, poet laureate to Queen Spring, 
 And have such music given my lips, to sing 
 Among the woodlands, o'er the meadows wide, 
 How in my song were my queen deified 
 
 In notes of deathless love, that should enring 
 My perch with peering listeners, and bring 
 Spring memories, when Spring's delights had died ! 
 
 For now in vain I sigh for such a voice, 
 To utter ought of all the joys I take. 
 
 Queen Spring, from all thy wonders, — flowers, and 
 leaves. 
 And airs of heaven, and scents ; that bid rejoice 
 The heart, that weeps it knows not why, and wake 
 A love past passion on the lengthening eves. 
 
A New Legend of the Forget-me-not. 31 
 
 A NEW LEGEND OF THE FORGET-ME-NOT. 
 
 WHEN Psyche lost her lord, the lord of Love, 
 Weeping alone she wandered, 
 Listless, by every well-known field and grove, 
 And on her lost Love pondered. 
 
 Lastly by Lethe's stream her footsteps strayed. 
 And " Oh ! " she said in sighing, 
 
 " That I might dip, and my past life be made 
 Like dreams with daylight dying ! " 
 
 The big tears, from her blue eyes raining down, 
 Fell on Earth's pitying bosom ; 
 
 Sudden there sprang, amid the sedges brown, 
 Blue as her eyes, a blossom. 
 
 And o'er her head, soft rustling, quick and low, 
 As though some bird's wing fluttered. 
 
 In those loved tones, whose loss was all her woe, 
 " Forget me not ! " was uttered. 
 
 No more ; no sight, no touch ; these words alone 
 And " Ah ! " she cried, " Forget thee ? 
 
 Nay, but half Love in our glad life was known. 
 Half Love is to regret thee ! 
 
32 A New Legend of the Forget-me-not. 
 
 " Forget thee ? Nay, these flowers, my tears begot. 
 
 Shall be to me a token 
 Of Love, by all men called Forget-me-not, 
 
 Where'er Love's name is spoken." 
 
 So well, sweet river-flowers, we welcome you. 
 Earth with faint sadness scenting, 
 
 Born of the tears from Psyche's eyes of blue. 
 For her lost love lamenting ! 
 
Queen Lily. 33 
 
 QUEEN LILY. 
 
 /^H, to live on the water, 
 ^^ That dances away, 
 With breezes that ripple, 
 
 And sunbeams that play ! 
 Oh, to lie like a lily 
 
 Among my dark leaves. 
 With a cup of white silver, 
 
 And a heart of gold sheaves 
 
 When the fish did obeisance 
 
 My fair head I'd bow. 
 Like a Queen, or a Vestal 
 
 That keepeth her vow. 
 And the dragon-fly near me 
 
 Should hover aglow. 
 But nothing should sully 
 
 My petals of snow. 
 
34 Qneeii Lily. 
 
 The lank water-spiders 
 
 My servants should be, 
 And the gauzy-winged May-flies 
 
 Should dance before me ; 
 And the fish to my broad leaves 
 
 For shelter should fly, 
 When the gleaming kingfisher 
 
 In glory went by. 
 
 For I would be stately, 
 
 As suited my sheen, 
 But I would be gentle, 
 
 As suiteth a Queen. 
 And fishes beneath me, 
 
 And insects above, 
 Should own me Queen Lily, 
 
 For beauty and love. 
 
To a Water- Lily at Evening. 
 
 TO A WATER-LILY AT EVENING. 
 
 SLEEP, Lily on the lake, 
 Without one troubled dream 
 Thy hushed repose to break, 
 
 Until the morning beam 
 Shall open thy glad heart again, 
 To live its life apart from pain ! 
 
 So still is thy repose. 
 So pure thy petals seem, 
 
 As Heaven would here disclose 
 Its peace, and we might deem 
 
 A soul in each white Lily lay. 
 
 Passionless, from the lands of day 
 
 Yet but a flower thou art. 
 For angel ne'er, nor saint, 
 
 Though kept on earth apart 
 From every earthly taint, 
 
 A life so passionless could know 
 
 Amid a world of human woe. 
 
36 The Legend of the Water-Lilies. 
 
 THE LEGEND OF THE WATER-LILIES. 
 
 FAR out from land fair lilies lie, 
 That gaze into the Eastern sky, 
 Upon a mighty river borne. 
 The worship of the lands of morn. 
 Far out from land, like some soft isle, 
 
 The broad green leaves are laid; 
 And over them the lilies smile. 
 Or bow their beauteous heads awhile. 
 
 With sweetness overweighed. 
 Yet perfect though is their repose 
 From morns that ope to eves that close, 
 Something there is, more deep and high, 
 That wins upon the wistful eye; 
 Such holiness as makes men yearn 
 For some forgotten life's return; 
 Ev'n as, when heaven with stars is set, 
 
 The starred snow-flakes would fain 
 Rise to the life remembered yet, 
 
 And float in heaven again. 
 Then, flowers of wonder, let me seek. 
 Not a presumptuous praise to speak, — 
 
The Legend of the Water-Lilies. 37 
 
 Ye need no praise, — but if I may, 
 
 To ease the burden of desire. 
 By wafting lightest verse away, 
 
 Sweet with the sweetness you inspire; 
 As wafts the rich Seringa bloom. 
 To ease her passionate love, perfume. 
 
 The roughest hills take tender haze 
 
 From distance ; so my tale 
 Comes softened down the vista'd days, 
 
 Till passion's self is pale. 
 So not of sadness let it seem, 
 Save like the sorrows of a dream ! 
 
 The sun was halfway to the West, 
 When to the river bank there pressed. 
 So long long back, a band of boys, 
 Intoxicate with summer joys. 
 Fair were they all in face and limb; 
 But one, — all left the prize to him, 
 For loveliness of boyish face, 
 And sinuous body's slender grace. 
 With happy laughter through the sedge 
 They burst, that hemmed the river's edge, 
 Parting with outstretched arms the reeds, 
 And feathered o'er with silken seeds. 
 And one would cast the brittle cane 
 At other, who returned again; 
 
38 TJie Legend of the Water- Lilies. 
 
 Or with the plumy-pointed rush 
 Would seek the warded face to brush. 
 So with their bare limbs rosier grown 
 
 With boyish play, they pass 
 Throughout the fringing river-zone 
 
 Of tall and tangled grass, 
 And came upon a tiny bay, 
 Girt with a shell-set shingle-way. 
 And there were sands that wooed their feet 
 With warm soft kisses; for the beat 
 Of lisping waves had left the form 
 Of carved lips, where the sun lay warm, 
 But now no tiniest wavelet played 
 
 On all the water wide; 
 Nor showed the line, by light or shade. 
 Where first the sand was overlaid 
 
 With crystal of the tide. 
 For not the lightest wind went by 
 To mar that mirror of the sky. 
 But soon with glowing foot and palm 
 Was shivered all the glassy calm. 
 As each on each, with joyous shout, 
 The flashing waters flung about. 
 With spray that, dancing down the air, 
 Made mimic rainbows everywhere. 
 Then down the shining water-floor 
 
 They wandered, seeking deeper waves. 
 
The Legend of the Water-Lilies. 39 
 
 Though scarcely higher than before 
 
 By foot or foot the current laves; 
 And nigh a furlong from the land, 
 Washed only to the waist they stand. 
 But then, as though the water lent 
 
 New life to every limb, 
 No longer listlessly they went, 
 
 But swiftly dive and swim; 
 More like some buoyant water-birth. 
 Than creatures wont to walk the earth. 
 Now silver-ciad one dives below, 
 To seize his fellow ere he know; 
 Now one will stand apart a space, 
 A goal to which the rest shall race, 
 
 But ere they touch him, turns and flies, 
 Like hunted bird, from place to place, 
 
 Till to the dearest in his eyes 
 
 He yields himself an easy prize. 
 
 So gay it was, beneath the smile 
 Of loving skies to play awhile ; 
 When winds above and waves beneath 
 Seemed of a world forgot by Death. 
 
 But deeper still would venture out 
 
 The fairest, bravest boy; 
 The silk-soft waters curled about 
 
 His rosy shape with joy. 
 
40 TJie Legend of the Water- Lilies. 
 
 And leaped to kiss his laughing face, 
 
 And clove to give him close embrace. 
 
 The water seemed itself for him 
 
 To grow more firm, since he would swim, 
 
 Itself to cleave a sliding way 
 
 Before his lithe limbs' easy play ; . 
 
 Until, upon a deeper tide, 
 
 He turns, to see the waters wide, 
 
 That part him from his fellows' side. 
 
 They, in their eager play, forgot 
 
 That he was gone, or noticed not, 
 
 Till far away they heard his shout, 
 
 And gazed the water o'er; 
 There saw his form so far far out, 
 And marked he now has turned about 
 
 And struggles for the shore. 
 For now his limbs a languor held. 
 And with sharp pain the nerves rebelled ; 
 And for his boldness, growing fear 
 Came o'er him, as beneath him clear 
 He saw how far far under lay 
 The sands and shells and fish at play. 
 So not for help, — what help, alas. 
 In time that tedious space could pass! 
 Nor was there one of stronger limb, 
 Nor abler than himself to swim ; — 
 
The Legend of the Water- Lilies. 
 
 But in desire of sympathy 
 
 In danger and distress, 
 Came from his Hps that terror-cry, 
 
 That roused their carelessness. 
 Then heedless of the hopeless length, 
 Forgetting toils and failing strength, 
 Forgetting life, and death, and all, 
 Save their despairing comrade's call, 
 They flung themselves in earnest race. 
 To reach, before he sink, the place. 
 So easily does boyhood bear, 
 
 In hearts that seem so light, 
 Such courage as Death's self will dare, 
 
 Nor count the cost of fight. 
 
 O noble Sun ! if heart benign 
 
 As thy world-cheering smile be thine. 
 
 How dark and sad with grief must seem 
 
 The world to thine unclouded beam ! 
 
 So ceaselessly the rolling earth, 
 
 With every day thou giv'st to birth, 
 
 In every clime, before thine eye 
 
 Bids pageantry of pain pass by. 
 
 How must thou mourn for woes displayed 
 
 Thine eye must see, but cannot aid ! 
 
 What heart can wonder, if thou call 
 
 The soft rain-clouds, with tearful pall, 
 
 D 
 
42 The Legend of the Water- Lilies. 
 
 To veil from thee the sights of pain, 
 More sad, because to see is vain ? 
 What human heart could bear the throne, 
 Whence must his eye behold alone 
 All misery from zone to zone ? 
 Did not thy head untimely hide 
 That day in earlier eventide, 
 When helplessly thine eye beheld, 
 
 From thy lone height above. 
 Those struggling lives ; how long hope swelled 
 In their young breasts, while they rebelled 
 Against the doom the dark waves knelled 
 
 To happy life and love ! 
 For scarce the strongest swimmer came 
 
 There to his fellow's aid. 
 When Death put forth his stronger claim. 
 
 That needs must be obeyed ; 
 And downward the light body sank 
 To sleep upon the sanded bank. 
 There, for their weary limbs, they gain 
 To find their labour waste and vain, 
 And see in deathly rest beneath 
 The form that seemed too fair for death. 
 The water, of such burial proud. 
 Had lent the soft limbs silver shroud, 
 And like a death-flame in calm air. 
 Streamed, shadowing his shut eyes, his hair. 
 
The Legend of the Watei'- Lilies. 
 
 Like birds that, spite of weary wing, 
 
 Long hover round and round, 
 With useless cries, far echoing. 
 
 High o'er the hateful ground, 
 Where taloned hawk, or hunter's shalt 
 The life-blood of their mate has quaffed ; 
 So long and vainly hung the swarm 
 On tired limbs o'er their fellow's form, 
 Nor for spent strength could any dare 
 To dive where each so fain would fare ; 
 Nor yet for love would leave the place, — 
 Gain land and life, but lose his face. 
 So one by one his strength and breath 
 Left powerless to the might of Death ; 
 Till, like a flowered bier, below. 
 The sand lay strewn with forms of snow, 
 As each bestowed lor burial dower 
 
 Upon their best beloved, first dead. 
 His own bright body, fairer flower 
 
 Than blooms in grassy graveyards shed. 
 What god, save Love, could launch such doom, 
 Could crave such cruel hecatomb? 
 
 Ah, who can tell, when even came, 
 Red for such guilty horror's shame, 
 How, one by one, by brake and fen, 
 Through traces of the reeds uptorn. 
 
44 The Legend of the Water-Lilies. 
 
 With eager eyes burst down the men, 
 And women, seeking eldest-born, 
 And fairest-born, and dearest-born. 
 In vain, until the vacant morn ! 
 Then, with the light, each saw their love 
 Laid cold, the cruel depths above, 
 Lapped calmly in the pulseless deep. 
 Like flowers the night-flood drowns in sleep. 
 Then, as his own love each beheld. 
 Cry upon cry the anguish swelled, 
 Till bore the winds so wild a wail. 
 As blanched the blushing morn to pale. 
 And there were tender feet, that tore 
 
 Through the resisting water-way, 
 To the sad spoil the river bore, 
 
 Now careless of its costly prey. 
 And there were lips, whose blood was fled 
 In hopeless kisses of the dead. 
 Some beat in passionate woe their breast. 
 
 Or rent their locks of gold. 
 Or fain beside their dead would rest. 
 As pale as them, and cold. 
 
 In vain, in vain ! What profiteth 
 Love's treasure in the wastes of death ? 
 What profitetli in death the sight 
 Of that, where life was chief delight? 
 The face, where no emotion plays. 
 The eyes, that give not back our gaze, 
 
TJie Legend of the Water-Lilies. 45 
 
 The hands, that cannot clasp again, — 
 Love's old delights, — how all in vain ! 
 And oh, last comfort ! that reveals, — 
 
 As one faint spark but deepens gloom, — 
 How darkly Death all comfort steals, 
 
 Love's hands must deck for Death the tomb 1 
 So by the river bank was raised 
 A monument, whereon was blazed 
 In golden letters all the tale ; 
 And lest in time such record fail, 
 By cunning hands was carved the base, 
 Four-sided, with four scenes, — the race, 
 The lonely swimmer, far from aid, 
 The bodies on the water laid, 
 And last, the weepers on the shore, 
 And white limbs stilled for evermore. 
 But a more fitting monument 
 To those young lives the river lent. 
 For suddenly, above the spot, 
 
 Far in mid-waves, where fell their fate, 
 A cluster of bright lilies shot. 
 
 And burst in blossoms delicate. 
 And all who saw in wonder stood; 
 
 And soon the legend sprung, 
 That human was the lily-brood. 
 
 Born of the souls, that clung 
 In love of boyish life to earth, 
 Till God had given them back to birth. 
 
4^ The Legend of the Water- Lilies. 
 
 New-clothed in shapes as pure as they 
 Had purely lived their passing day. 
 So sweet a grace did fancy twine 
 
 About the tearful tale, 
 As grows around the ruined shrine 
 
 The graceful ivy veil. 
 And when the fancy fits so well, 
 Who on its emptiness would dwell ? 
 
 So, Lilies fair, forgive my verse. 
 
 Nor let the fancy seem 
 O'erclouded with too dark a curse, 
 
 To suit so light a theme! 
 For spite of that your tranquil grace, 
 And simple innocence of face ; 
 Ay, though your petals love to lie 
 All peace, beneath the loving sky, 
 And in the soft waves' stillest spot 
 To find a world that Death knows not; 
 Still seems your peacefulness to be 
 Not from death's tears but terrors free; 
 Nor you from death have gained release, 
 But after death have passed to peace. 
 Hence, in your sight, our hearts, that yet 
 Go on to death, their fears forget ; 
 And in your beauties deem they see, 
 But half unveiled, a Heaven to be. 
 
Voices of the Dead. 47 
 
 VOICES OF THE DEAD. 
 
 A FEW snow-patches on the mountain side, 
 A few white foam-flakes from the ebbing tide, 
 A (e^ remembered words of malice spent, 
 The record of some dead man's ill intent ; — 
 
 They cannot hurt us, all their sting is gone. 
 Their hour of cold and bitterness is done ; 
 Yet deepest snows, and fiercest lashing seas. 
 Bring not such cold and bitter thoughts as these. 
 
 A few soiled lilies, dropped by childish hands, 
 A few dried orange-blooms from distant lands, 
 A few remembered smiles of some lost friend. 
 Few words of love some dear dead fingers penned; — 
 
 They are not beautiful for Love to see. 
 And Death's pale presence seems in them to be; 
 Yet never living blooms, most fresh and gay, 
 Fill us with thoughts of love so sweet as they. 
 
4^ The Shadozv of Love — Farezvell ! 
 
 THE SHADOW OF LOVE. 
 
 THE branching shades, in woodland glades, 
 Seem to the under fern 
 Wide as the night that leaves no light ; 
 No shape can they discern. 
 
 And we, who seek in senses weak 
 
 Love's form to entertain, — 
 So far Love's whole o'erspreads the soul, — 
 
 Too oft see only pain. 
 
 FAREWELL! 
 
 THE water lingers where the leaves 
 Of lilies white are lying; 
 The daylight there, on summer eves, 
 With dim regret is dying. 
 
 Only the shadows noiselessly 
 
 Now brood the white leaves over: 
 
 So, when mine eyes must turn from thee, 
 Each sad thought is thy lover. 
 
Av gels' Tears, 49 
 
 ANGELS' TEARS. 
 
 THE lily weeps at even, 
 For vapours, fall'n anew 
 From the clear vault of heaven, 
 
 Turn at her touch to dew. 
 Tis only so heaven's tearless eyes 
 With mortal woes can sympathize. 
 
 There lives one purest maiden, 
 
 Most like the lily-bell; 
 And when her eyes are laden 
 
 With teardrops, you can tell, 
 The angels' sympathy appears. 
 Distilled in those deep eyes to tears. 
 
50 Gathered Roses — Waiting. 
 
 GATHERED ROSES. 
 
 ONLY a bee made prisoner, 
 Caught in a gathered rose! 
 Was he not 'ware, a flower so fair 
 For the first gatherer grows? 
 
 Only a heart made prisoner, 
 Going out free no more ! 
 
 Was he not 'ware, a face so fair 
 Must have been gathered before? 
 
 WAITING. 
 
 WHEN rose-leaves in the long grass fall, 
 To hide their shattered head. 
 All tenderly the grasses tall 
 Bow down to veil the dead. 
 
 And there are hearts content to wait. 
 
 Still as the grasses lie, 
 Till those they love, however late, 
 
 Turn there at last to die. 
 
Forget- me-nots. 5 ^ 
 
 FORGET-ME-NOTS. 
 
 FORGET-ME-NOTS, forgive the hand 
 That plucks you from the river-side, 
 Where in such dewy peace you stand, 
 
 To soothe our sorrows, holy-eyed! 
 Forget-me-nots, forgive the deed! 
 I crave you for a vaster need. 
 
 Forget-me-nots, 'tis long ago 
 
 We strayed together by the stream, 
 
 And chose you for a sign, to shew 
 
 Our dream-sweet love was not a dream. 
 
 'Tis long ago, but I have not 
 
 Her look of trusting love forgot. 
 
 Forget-me-nots, forgive my need. 
 
 That claims you from the silent sedge, 
 
 To open wounds, too numb to bleed. 
 By thinking on her broken pledge ! 
 
 Nay, rather let me gaze on you. 
 
 And dream awhile she still is true ! 
 
52 Brim ham Rocks. 
 
 BRIMHAM ROCKS. 
 
 OUR feet are winged with happiness, 
 And hardly the gay heather press, 
 To shake the light bloom from the ling. 
 Or toss the bee to his wandering. 
 Our feet are swifter than the bee. 
 For we are on the moorland free. 
 A million petals everywhere 
 Fling up their fragrance on the air; 
 And miles away the rolling heath 
 
 Blushes with blossom still, 
 Here darker in the dips beneath, 
 
 Here rosier on the hill. 
 There, sheer against the shining sky, 
 The broken rock stands stern and high. 
 Seeming an iron crown, above 
 A land that blooms with blushing love. 
 Then fainter swells or sinks the red, 
 
 Till, on the farthest verge. 
 It meets the grey sky overhead. 
 
 And beyond sight they merge. 
 
 Our feet are winged, our thoughts are free, 
 As seabirds on their home, the sea; 
 
Brimhmn Rocks. 53 
 
 And fly from nook to knoll about, 
 Now search each tmiest flou'er-bell out, 
 Now hover o'er, bewildered, 
 The mighty moorland, rolling red. 
 For ever, as our rapt eyes gaze, 
 
 Thought shakes its shackles off 
 Of habits, wrought by days and days 
 Of lifeless will, and loveless ways, 
 Though hard they be to doff; 
 And in such moments of delight, 
 The soul stands freed by each fair sight, 
 And as with new-found wings can go. 
 Unchained, ecstatic, to and fro. 
 And loosed in the soul's freedom, slips 
 The flood of laughter from our lips ; 
 And eyes are bright with dancing smiles. 
 Or grave with deep glad thoughts by whiles. 
 
 So, all unordered, on we stray. 
 Like noontide clouds in disarray; 
 Though, like the swift magnetic tide. 
 Will some mysterious influence guide. 
 Unseen, one to the other's side. 
 For we are set this day to storm 
 
 The rocks that rise before, 
 In all their fastnesses to swarm. 
 
 And all their clefts explore. 
 
54 BrhnJiani Rocks. 
 
 Some careful climb, some careless leap, 
 From rock to rock, and steep to steep; 
 Foot follows foot, and hand helps hand, 
 Till on the jutting crag we stand 
 
 That o'er the moorland towers; — 
 What care we to possess the land, 
 
 If but its view be ours? 
 If we, without a care, may gaze 
 On purpled hill and dreamy haze, 
 More than crowned conquerors we seem, 
 Our conquest less than theirs a dream. 
 
 But we must go, for the sun goes. 
 
 The clouds catch up the heather's rose. 
 
 The light is fled, the laughter past; 
 
 What of a day so sweet can last? 
 
 A gleam of rose, a dream of love. 
 Fading like sunset clouds away? 
 
 Or anything beyond, above, 
 
 That we in years long hence may say. 
 Nor need description more, That day? 
 
Under the Limes. 55 
 
 UNDER THE LIMES. 
 
 HOW sweet in winter time we feign the Spring, 
 How fair b)' night we dream the day shall be I 
 Can any April-tide such freshness bring, 
 
 Our eyes on any morn such brightness see? 
 Half heedlessly we hear the first bird sing, 
 
 Behold the first shoots breaking on the tree; 
 And when we wake, our reason fain would cling 
 Prisoner to fancies, fearing to be free. 
 
 For like the crossing leaves, that day by day 
 Grow larger, till they weave the linden shade, 
 Our pleasures so are woven to a whole; 
 Not in the part we see how glad are they. 
 But after find ev'n fairer than we prayed 
 
 Their dreams and memories left within the soul. 
 
56 Clematis. 
 
 CLEMATIS. 
 
 THERE is no sadness deeper 
 Than memories of Love, 
 Like petals, when the creeper 
 Lies fallen, left above. 
 
 The wind, when from their holding 
 It tore the tendrils down, 
 
 In some frail cobweb's folding 
 Caught not the purple crown. 
 
 And when some tempest sweeping 
 Has laid Love's glory low. 
 
 And torn it lies, and weeping, 
 Amid the mires of woe; 
 
 Oftimes in things the slightest, 
 In idlest mood or thought. 
 
 In looks or laughter lightest, 
 The wrecks of love are caught. 
 
A 11 til m 11 Teaching. 5 7 
 
 AUTUMN TEACHING. 
 
 COME with me where the Hstless shadows linger 
 Beneath the chestnut tree, 
 That Autumn touches with his fiery finger 
 Yellow and brown to seel 
 
 Come with me there, and walk among the shadows. 
 
 Upon the rustling leaves, 
 And watch the calm shades lengthening o'er the 
 
 That sunset interweaves ! [meadows. 
 
 For it may be, that in the glad year's dying, 
 Thou, to whom life seems Spring, 
 
 An endless Spring, whose leaves shall ne'er be lying. 
 Whose birds ne'er cease to sing, 
 
 May'st gather to thy soul the shadowy sorrow 
 
 Of winter days to be ; 
 And find that morrow, following merry morrow, 
 
 Must bring some change to thee. 
 
 Then may'st thou turn, and finding all things moving. 
 
 Amid a world of change, 
 Read the unchanging nature of my loving, 
 
 And seek no wider range. 
 
 E 
 
58 ■ Decay. 
 
 DECAY. 
 
 LUSTRE of decay ! 
 The daylight glides away 
 In glow of richer glory than at noon ; 
 Autumn, that steals the flower, 
 Gives the tree golden dower, 
 And crimsons walls that will be leafless soon. 
 
 O dimness of decay ! 
 
 The sunset hastes away, 
 And leaves the world to lone and darkling night ; 
 
 And Autumn, when he flies, 
 
 Leaves only howling skies. 
 And trees that toss their naked boughs in fright. 
 
The Sivalloivs' Farewell. 59 
 
 THE SWALLOWS' FAREWELL. 
 
 WITH songs and flowers we follow the Spring, 
 Queen Spring, as she flies to her distant lands; 
 Over land, over sea, our restless wing 
 
 Tarries not, save where her footstep stands. 
 
 The sunbeams flash on our flitting breasts. 
 To lighten our beautiful Mistress' way; 
 
 And when for a moment her fleet foot rests. 
 Over her head we hover and play. 
 
 Men cannot see our beautiful Queen, 
 
 But they think Spring follows wherever we fly ; 
 
 And they cry to us, — Stay, that the woods may be green ! 
 And — Rest, that the Winter may come not a-nigh! 
 
 But the beautiful Spring is flying, and we 
 
 Must fly with her, fly with her, over the land. 
 
 And follow her, follow her, over the sea, 
 For her guard, in a vast invincible band. 
 
 P'or see! the Autumn with fiery hand 
 
 Is touching our haunts in the tall green trees ; 
 
 And ruthlessly soon his flaming torch 
 
 Shall bid our bright homes flare in the breeze. 
 
6o TJie Swalloivs' Fareivell. 
 
 And soon the armies of Winter shall march, 
 The legioned frosts, o'er the land below; 
 
 Whose feet the rivers and fountains parch, 
 Whose hands hurl arrows of hail and snow. 
 
 Poor men ! your beautiful Spring should die. 
 Stricken and slain by the Winter, if we 
 
 Did not shield her flying, and with her fly 
 Where never a Winter's breath may be. 
 
 But fear not, far though she fly from you, 
 Long though the tyrant Winter reign ! 
 
 For his forces vainly her feet pursue, 
 
 And safe she shall come to you yet again. 
 
 Far in the lands, where you weep her gone, 
 She shall gather armies and mighty bands. 
 
 She shall borrow the arrowy shafts of the sun, 
 To drive the Winter out of your lands. 
 
 The west wind and south shall her chariots be. 
 When, with force invincible, on the track 
 
 Of the pallid Winter she march, and we 
 
 And Summer and joy in her train come back. 
 
Only to Live. 6i 
 
 ONLY TO LIVE 
 
 ONLY to live, — 'tis passing sweet, 
 When Spring's fresh flowers are at our feet, 
 And round the birds in. rapture sing; 
 Our hearts too leap to hail the Spring, 
 And with unwonted pulses beat. 
 
 But now, amid the driving sleet, 
 With loves like dead leaves at our feet, — 
 Ah, me ! it is too hard a thing. 
 Only to live ! 
 
 We wander in the crowded street ; 
 The only face we fain would meet 
 No opportunity can bring. 
 Ah, me ! it is too hard a thing. 
 When death has robbed us, or deceit, 
 Only to live ! 
 
GERTRUDE'S LOVE, 
 
 OF 
 
 THE "OLD BUILDING S," 
 
 WORCESTER COLLEGE, OXFORD. 
 
DEDICATION. 
 
 To C. A. L. G. 
 
 NOT of his treasures gives the sea, 
 Not gold and jewels, to the land; 
 Nor of all precious things, that he 
 
 Has ravished with his robber hand. 
 With worthless weeds he wreaths her o'er, 
 With shells unvalued lines the shore. 
 
 Ev'n so his reverent love he shews, 
 By giving not his costless pelf, 
 
 But that which of his being grows; 
 True gift it is to give of self. 
 
 For my poor gift let this atone; 
 
 I give thee what is most mine own. 
 
TN music, when the player plays 
 Some strange new air sublime, 
 There seem to us a myriad ways 
 To order tune and time. 
 
 Not till each note and chord we hear 
 
 Fixed from the player's brain, 
 To us his melody is clear, 
 ; In perfect changeless strain. 
 
 So seems it, to the life we live. 
 
 The great world's history, 
 One form God's moving fingers give, 
 
 One ordered melody. 
 
 But there are myriad other ways 
 And orders might have been ; 
 
 'Mid these imagination strays, 
 And paints as real the scene. 
 
 So here from what the world might be, 
 
 My fancied tale I've made, 
 One bar from some world-melody 
 
 God's fmgers have not played. 
 
Gertrudes Love. 67 
 
 WHEREFRO M. 
 
 1 
 
 UST at the end of Beaumont Street, 
 J In front of Worcester walls, 
 Strange shrieks of woe the passer greet, 
 
 As every footstep falls. 
 
 Yet in the bright and busy day, 
 
 How few that pass thereby 
 Have paused to hear the sound, or say, 
 
 Whence comes so wild a cry? 
 
 But when the midnight air is murk, 
 
 And lonely all the ways, 
 And shadows from the lamplight lurk 
 
 In gloomy nooks and bays. 
 
 So loud and fearful comes the sound, 
 It strikes the soul with dread, 
 
 As living men lay underground. 
 And shrieked at every tread. 
 
68 
 
 Gertrudes Love. 
 
 Then list the tale, and should ye find, 
 When there your footsteps fare, 
 
 Ye think on it, I pray be kind. 
 And tread more softly there ! 
 
Gertrudes Love. 69 
 
 I. 
 
 ^1 THERE Thames's waves are br6ad and bright, 
 
 Lie meadows deep and green, 
 And long-leaved willows grudge the light 
 Their chequered boughs between. 
 
 The waters lip the whitened roots, 
 
 Beneath the hanging bank ; 
 And the tall willow-herb upshoots 
 
 Amid the rushes rank. 
 
 Just by a bending river bay, 
 
 Beneath a willow's shade, 
 In shadow-dappled garb of gray 
 
 Two on the bank have stayed. 
 
 Their long dark garb, and close-drawn hood, 
 Should tell the monk; and each 
 
 Bears hung around his neck the rood, 
 His Saviour's death to teach. 
 
yo Gej'trude's Love. 
 
 Yet little like to monks they speak, 
 
 In solemn accents slow; 
 The eye is bright, and hot the cheek, 
 
 The whisper quick and low. 
 
 Scarcely the lovely scene they scan. 
 
 Below, around, above; 
 For one is woman, and one is man. 
 
 And all their talk 's of love. 
 
 Nay, ask not how they met; how first 
 Love sprung, and grew, and spoke; 
 
 How Gertrude priestly barriers burst. 
 How Bernard's vows were broke. 
 
 We know not how the swallow guides 
 
 O'er trackless gulfs her way. 
 The purple moth unerring glides 
 
 To her lord, leagues away. 
 
 We know not how the springing seed 
 
 Leaps into leaf and flower. 
 But Love springs quicker than the weed 
 
 By April shine and shower. 
 
Gertnides Love. 71 
 
 And Love has thousand subtler signs 
 
 Than swallow far from land ; 
 And, lightning-swift are Love's designs, 
 
 All hosts at his command. 
 
 So ask not how,— is 't wrong or right! 
 
 What, is the day not June? 
 And is the land not drunk with light 
 
 This dreamy afternoon? 
 
 See, through the loop-holed leaves the sun 
 Darts many a sunbeam sword ; 
 
 The rays fall rounded every one. 
 Through angled inlets poured. 
 
 So to these lovers life's a dream 
 
 Of light and shade to-day: 
 And rounded all the angles seem. 
 
 And soft the shadows play. 
 
 Their ground is not the common ground, 
 
 Their sky, the common sky ; 
 Nay, every chancest sight and sound 
 
 Is changed to ear and eye. 
 
72 Gertrudes Love. 
 
 Their words are like the running waves, 
 
 Whereof the pulse is past, 
 Long spent in ocean's echoing caves, 
 
 Or broken on the vast. 
 
 And could their words that were so sweet 
 
 Exactly written be, 
 'Twere as a river bright and fleet 
 
 Changed to a lifeless sea. 
 
 Too short wast thou, long summer day, 
 
 Too hasty, lingering sun ! 
 Of all that heart to heart would say 
 
 The tithe was but begun. 
 
 But see, the sun stands o'er the hills ! 
 
 Too long they have delayed ; 
 The dew upon the grass distils. 
 
 Each short bent casts its shade. 
 
 Yet ah ! some token still they seek, 
 Some pledge of frailest flowers. 
 
 That shall, when hours are loveless, speak 
 Of these enraptured hours. 
 
Gertrude's Love. 73 
 
 And slowly as they rise and pass, 
 
 Beside their path's a spot, 
 Where grows beneath the bank of grass 
 
 The blue Forget-me-not. 
 
 They pause to pluck the fairest blooms, 
 
 And each to other gives 
 The bright flowers, breathing faint perfumes, 
 
 Where all love's memory lives. 
 
 A moment silently they stand, 
 
 Turned to the western sky; 
 The sun has left the verge of land, 
 
 The gold clouds blush and die; 
 
 Then with close clasp and burning kiss, 
 
 (Divine it ye who may ! 
 No words can tell so great a bliss;) 
 
 Their fond farewell they say. 
 
 Then slow, as fits the monk's estate, 
 
 They leave the secret spot. 
 Silent, save at the entrance-gate 
 
 One word, "Forget-me-not!" 
 
 F 
 
74 Gertrude's Love. 
 
 II. 
 
 'THERE'S darkness in the dungeon keep 
 
 Of cruel castled lord; 
 But darker is the dungeon deep, 
 The sinning monk's award. 
 
 Few of the brothers know the spot, 
 
 Where, in a dark cell's floor, 
 With oozes thick, and rust and rot, 
 
 There lies a strong trap-door. 
 
 Beneath is hid a noisome den, 
 With damps and death-dews wet, 
 
 A grave where none but living men 
 Are laid, the Oubliette. 
 
 A hole it seems earth's heart amid, 
 Hewn from the slime and clay; 
 
 These damps, these dews here shrank and hid. 
 When shrank the Flood away. 
 
Gertrude^ s Love, 75 
 
 Since o'er the dread dark chaos first 
 God spake, and there was light, 
 
 No ray of light has ever pierced 
 This black eternal night. 
 
 To-day the earth is bright and clear, 
 
 The heav'n is blue o'erhead, 
 The birds sing sweetly to the ear, 
 
 And death and night seem dead. 
 
 To-day, when red was sunset's gleam, 
 
 A man has left the light, 
 There to be laid, where death shall seem 
 
 A sun to end the night. 
 
 Two silent monks, with faces masked. 
 
 Have led him from the air; 
 He passed one door, and piteous asked 
 
 To pause one moment there. 
 
 For there the light, though faint and dim, 
 Still breaks through windows barred ; 
 
 How bright, how dear those rays to him, 
 Before his night unstarred ! 
 
76 Gertrude's Love. 
 
 Another door has swung and closed, 
 And now those fearful three, 
 
 Whose forms but now the sunset rosed, 
 Scarce each can other see. 
 
 Another door, another still, 
 
 Another, and they stand 
 O'er that dark trap-door, to fulfil 
 
 The changeless dread command. 
 
 No light they bear, no lamp may be. 
 
 Nor ray of candle there; 
 And not a mole's eye here could see, 
 
 Nor bat the darkness bear. 
 
 But they have touched the sounding door, 
 Sunk in the sodden ground; 
 
 And one has grasped the key he bore, 
 And one the lock has found. 
 
 They try, they pull, they tug amain; 
 
 At last the hinges groan ; 
 Two-handed now they strive and strain. 
 
 Till back the door is thrown. 
 
Gertrude s Love. 11 
 
 All fearfully the brothers fare, 
 
 Beside that ghastly grave, 
 To thrust their helpless prisoner there, 
 
 Whence not a hand can save. 
 
 Yet must he not by headlong fall 
 
 Into the dark depths, die ; 
 Nor dash to death against the wall. 
 
 To end his misery. 
 
 So hand and foot are tightly bound. 
 
 And with a steady hand, 
 Slow inch by inch beneath the ground 
 
 They lower him where they stand. 
 
 His feet have found the floor beneath, 
 
 Fettered he falls and lies, 
 Alone with darkness left, till death 
 
 Shall end his agonies. 
 
 Ah, hushed his tongue and closed his lips 
 
 Till that last moment were ; 
 But this last blackness, hope's eclipse. 
 
 Body nor soul can bear. 
 
7 8 Gertrude s Love. 
 
 O men, have mercy ! God above, 
 
 Is there no pity, none?" 
 With shuddering haste the brothers move, 
 
 Until their work be done. 
 
 The fatal door has fall'n again. 
 
 The clanging echoes sleep; 
 And now with noiseless steps the twain 
 
 Back to the daylight creep. 
 
 O happy day ! O glorious light ! 
 
 O balmy airs around! 
 With footsteps quick and faces bright 
 
 The stern-faced priest they found. 
 
 u •) 
 
 Tis done? 'Tis well. He lies below? 
 
 A fearful fate it is ! 
 
 But Holy Church has ordered so, 
 
 And fearful sin was his. 
 
 But let them toll the bell, nor fail 
 
 For his poor soul to pray. 
 If prayers, with penance, may prevail 
 
 Such guilt to turn away !" 
 
Gertrudes Love. 79 
 
 III. 
 
 'THE sun is sunk; the vesper bell 
 
 Is pealing sweet and clear; 
 The grey monks steal from cell and cell 
 The summons as they hear. 
 
 One lingers at the chapel door, 
 
 In the last twilight dim; 
 'Tis yet a litde while before 
 
 Begins the vesper hymn. 
 
 Westward this monk is gazing far, 
 Where, o'er the last red ray, 
 
 Like a bright cross, the evening star 
 Shines o'er the tomb of day. 
 
 The hood is close about his head, 
 
 Beneath its shade are eyes 
 Brimming with tears too glad to shed,- 
 
 Stars stol'n from dewy skies. 
 
8o Gertrude's Love. 
 
 The hood is close, yet one large lock 
 
 Of lustrous hair has strayed, 
 Like brown weed on the under rock, 
 
 By dreamy motions swayed. 
 
 The cloak he holds about his face 
 
 With such a delicate hand, 
 With which might match for slender grace 
 
 What lady's in the land? 
 
 And when, one moment, to set back 
 The hair the soft hands shift. 
 
 And falls the hood unholden slack, 
 There, in the sudden rift. 
 
 The blushing cheeks, the lips of fire, 
 
 The heaving breast of snow, 
 Too litde suit the sad attire 
 
 The sober monk to shew. 
 
 'Tis well the brothers all have passed. 
 And their slow prayers begin; — 
 
 But hastily the hood's made fast. 
 This monk too hurries in. 
 
Gertrude's Love. 8i 
 
 Ah, olden tale ! Ah, golden tale 
 
 Of golden love and truth ! 
 Of hearts whose heaving rends the veil 
 
 That hides their golden youth ! 
 
 Gertrude has left her loving home. 
 
 Her pleasure, hope, and pride; 
 Put off her womanhood, and come 
 
 To be her love beside. 
 
 Beside? Nay, only near, no more; 
 
 Perchance one daily sight, 
 One hurried word through grate or door, 
 
 These feed their love's delight. 
 
 But once, — ah, that sweet afternoon ! 
 
 'Twas but two days ago : 
 The cherished flowers have faded soon. 
 
 The love-words live and glow. 
 
 Not since has she beheld the face. 
 
 Nor heard the voice so dear ; 
 Yet still she feels his long embrace. 
 
 His whisper in her ear. 
 
82 Gertrude s Love. 
 
 Well might this monk behind the rest 
 
 Linger in dreams of love, 
 Might find love's colours in the West, 
 
 And love's own star above ! 
 
 This eve she knows 'tis Bernard's turn 
 
 To read the Holy Word; 
 Ev'n the strange language she'll discern, 
 
 In his loved accents heard. 
 
 She enters now with downcast eyes; 
 
 She dares not raise her head. 
 As voice to voice in psalms replies. 
 
 The solemn prayers are said. 
 
 She strives to pray, she strives to praise ; 
 
 But for her hot heart's beat 
 She scarce can hear the hymns they raise, 
 
 And scarce her part repeat. 
 
 The droning voices sink and die; 
 
 The hum, the stir has ceased; 
 Still fails for bashfulness her eye 
 
 To look towards the priest. 
 
Gertrude s Love. 
 
 Her head is bowed, the hood conceals 
 
 Her hot and glowing cheek; 
 Nor sees she ought, but only feels. 
 
 That one is risen to speak. 
 
 Ah! — "Pray for Bernard's soul (though now 
 
 He lingers, living yet), 
 Condemned to die, for broken vow, 
 
 Below, in the Oubliette! 
 
84 Gertrude's Love. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'pHE buds that blow to greet the Spring, 
 
 Should wintry winds instead, 
 And keen frosts come with cruel sting, 
 On the cold ground lie dead. 
 
 The bird that to her nestlings dear 
 
 With joy expectant flies, 
 And finds her nest torn, empty, drear, 
 
 Heart-broken droops and dies. 
 
 And Gertrude thus had drooped and died, 
 There, when the woe she heard, 
 
 When doom to all her hope was cried, 
 Save for the stern priest's word, 
 
 " He lingers living yet !"— What hope 
 In that, what comforting? 
 Yet wildly to the weakest rope 
 The sinking soul will cling. 
 
Gertrude's Love. 85 
 
 — • 
 
 Her mind could frame no way, no plan ; 
 
 Thought came not for that breath; 
 
 Yet that one word, ere thought began, 
 
 Had saved her heart from death. 
 
 Ah 1 when the soul is spent with woe 
 
 And habitude of tears. 
 Long days of happiness must flow. 
 
 Ere it forget its fears. 
 
 But if to the glad soul there come 
 
 One blast of agony, 
 As dead at once we feel, and numb, 
 
 As years had since gone by. 
 
 The prayers, she knew not how, were o'er; 
 
 The monks go, pair by pair; 
 She stands, as she had stood before. 
 
 In the calm outer air. 
 
 There stood she but one hour ago? 
 
 (That hour once seemed so brief!) 
 Nay, she has lived a life of woe 
 
 Since, and grown old in grief. 
 
86 Gertrude's Love. 
 
 But of herself she thinks not long ; 
 
 Swift to her secret cell 
 She flies, 'mid wildering thoughts that throng, 
 
 While peals the damning knell. 
 
 She pictures all his hours of pain, 
 
 His anguish there alone; 
 Until her bitter tear-drops rain 
 
 Upon the pitiless stone. 
 
 ' Ah, love ! despairing now he lies. 
 Doubting all things above! 
 Nay, he may doubt the earth and skies. 
 He cannot doubt my love ! 
 
 "Yet ah! what human tongue can take 
 Through the thick earth one cry, 
 To comfort him for her sweet sake, 
 Who fain for him would die? 
 
 " Cold Earth, if thou hadst heart to feel, 
 And sympathise with woe, 
 Now wouldst thou yawn, and paths reveal 
 To where he lies below ! 
 
Gertrude's Love. 87 
 
 " Or thou wouldst make thy substance thin, 
 As is the yielding air, 
 Till to his ears my words should win. 
 And he should answer there ! 
 
 " O feeble hands, and fingers fine, 
 Unused to toils of men, 
 I would instead such claws were mine 
 As dig the wild beast's den! 
 
 " Yet inch by inch a way I'll make, 
 His life and mine to save; 
 Death, should he ere 'tis done o'ertake, 
 Shall find me in my grave !" 
 
 One half the cell was paved with stone, 
 
 Whereon her pallet lay; 
 She kneels the unpaved floor upon, 
 
 Of firm and beaten clay. 
 
 Her raining tears scarce soften it; 
 
 Wherewith shall she begin? 
 The solid clay yields not a whit, 
 
 Though bleeds her tender skin. 
 
88 Gertrude s Love. 
 
 Must she despair? must Bernard die? 
 
 Is nothing left to do? 
 Nay, swift as fire shot from the sky, 
 
 Hope hghts her heart anew. 
 
 'Twas but three days ago they made. 
 
 Beneath the chapel floor, 
 An old monk's grave, and still the spade 
 
 Lay at the chapel door. 
 
 'Twas noon of night ; the lonely stars 
 
 Alone her steps could tell ; 
 Softly she drew the sounding bars. 
 
 And crept from out her cell. 
 
 A few swift steps, — she reached the spot ; 
 
 See, she has grasped the prize; 
 Then back, and half her fears forgot, 
 
 The unused toil she tries. 
 
 O woman's love and constancy! 
 
 The silent night goes on; 
 How many days shall dawn and die, 
 
 Until her work be done? 
 
Gertrude's Love. 89 
 
 Short time she takes for food or sleep, 
 Nor leaves her guarded cell, 
 
 Save for one hour, her place to keep, 
 When sounds the chapel bell. 
 
 No monk, that longest vigil passed, 
 Watched half so late as she ; 
 
 Nor in his strictest Lenten fast 
 One half so faint could be. 
 
 Yet all too swift she deems the time, 
 
 So lagging to the rest, 
 And morning chime on even chime 
 
 With steps too hurrying pressed. 
 
 Still night and day she toils, nor knows 
 Though faint be hand and head; 
 
 And now she prays his pains may close, 
 Now fears to find him dead. 
 
 Once only, feigning careless eyes. 
 
 She dares demand the spot 
 Of an old monk, whereunder lies 
 
 The prison whence comes man not. 
 
9© Gertrude's Love. 
 
 Ah ! well the spot she marked, and planned 
 
 Direction, angle, round. 
 Thither to work with certain hand 
 
 Her slow path underground. 
 
 O woman's love and constancy ! 
 
 The hours cease not to run; 
 Oh, will the loved or lover die 
 
 Before the work be done? 
 
Gert Hide's Love. 91 
 
 V. 
 
 'T^HE sky above is over all, 
 
 And God 's above the sky ; 
 But faith in heaven and God is small 
 In the night of misery. 
 
 Upon the damp ground Bernard lay; 
 
 The echoes of the door, 
 That clanged his death-doom, died away; 
 
 Henceforth he hears no more. 
 
 Never upon his ears again 
 One sound of earth shall fall, 
 
 Save his own voice, that oft in vain 
 On men and God shall call. 
 
 O terror of the darkness there, 
 
 Like solid walls around ! 
 O terror of the deathly air, 
 
 Stirred by no pulse of sound ! 
 
92 Gertrude s Love. 
 
 He knows above the pealing bell 
 
 Calls to the holy place, 
 That Gertrude leaves ev'n now her cell 
 
 In hope to see his face. 
 
 'O tender heart, wilt thou not break. 
 To hear my sentence dread? 
 Must life be blasted for my sake 
 To such a gentle head ? 
 
 ' Why cam'st thou from thy happy home 
 For such a wretch as me? 
 Ah, now thy love is laid in tomb, 
 What hand shall care for thee? 
 
 " I would our love to thee had been 
 A dream, forgotten now; 
 To me alone life's acted scene; — 
 For all my life art thou! 
 
 " Ay, I would die contented so. 
 Bear all the bitter pain, 
 If nought of this thy mind might know. 
 My memory all retain. 
 
Gertrude's Love. 
 
 93 
 
 •* Nay, I would bear pains thousandfold 
 More long, more fierce than this; 
 Sooner meet deaths a thousand told, 
 Than not have known that bliss." 
 
 O wondrous power of love ! He lies, 
 Forgetting pain and death, 
 
 Forgetting all the happy skies, 
 And the cold clay beneath. 
 
 Alas, that such delight could stay, 
 
 And in such dreams ideal 
 His soul float peacefully away 
 
 To worlds where dreams were real ! 
 
 But these are but the fading glow, 
 That, when the sun is past, 
 
 Lights for a while the peaks of snow. 
 Ere all be overcast. 
 
 Too soon they fleet, and as new woke 
 
 To his dread loneliness, 
 He trembles in the mufiling cloak 
 
 Of night and nothingness. 
 
94 Gertrude's Love. 
 
 And as foul things troop forth by night, 
 
 From his soul's depths arise 
 A thousand thoughts that shun the light, 
 
 New-winged in fiendish guise. 
 
 Till all the black air filled about 
 With forms and eyes of dread ; 
 
 And demons led their horrid rout, 
 And gibbered at his head. 
 
 And sometimes, as in nightmare course, 
 
 His thought again reviews 
 His punishment, and from the source 
 
 To the end his fate pursues. 
 
 He sees once more the judges stern, 
 The accuser hears once more ; 
 
 Words cried in sleep to witness turn, 
 A lovelock on the floor. 
 
 And worst, the letter she had writ, 
 
 How fondly, madly prized ! 
 Few words, few lines there were in it ; 
 
 But he was idolized, 
 
Gertrude's Love. 95 
 
 And all the letter breathed of love ; 
 
 " Love you have vowed to leave ; 
 Your sin is judged in heaven above; 
 
 Man dare not give reprieve !" 
 
 Then the stern sentence, and the rest :- 
 Thank God, but half was known ! 
 
 His guilt alone, not hers, was guessed ; 
 The doom is but his own! 
 
 So through the dragging endless night. 
 Thought only marks the time, 
 
 Now raptured in fond love's delight, 
 Now burdened with the crime. 
 
 But fainter, fainter grows his frame, 
 
 And fiercer hunger's pain ; 
 And oft he calls on Gertrude's name. 
 
 And Death's, as sisters twain. 
 
 One day — ah, many days had gone ! — 
 
 He had a heavenly dream 
 Of Gertrude ! all his doom was done, 
 
 Heaven opens, gleam on gleam. 
 
96 
 
 Gertrude s Love. 
 
 Borne in her arms he floated high 
 Up to the realms of bHss; 
 
 Brighter and brighter grew the sky ;- 
 He woke, and knew her kiss. 
 
Gertrude's Love. 97 
 
 VI. 
 
 AY, Gertrude's work was o'er, and o'er 
 
 Were all her doubts and fears j 
 She sees his living face once more, 
 His living murmur hears. 
 
 Now what are all her perils past ; 
 
 Her fears to miss the place 
 In the earth's thickness, or at last 
 
 To find a dead man's face? 
 
 Scarce had she trusted, when her hand 
 
 Into the hollow went; 
 Then hours it seemed ere she could stand 
 
 Within the narrow rent. 
 
 A faint lamp in her hand she bore. 
 
 In the great darkness dim. 
 That shewed the foul and slimy floor, 
 
 His ghastly grave, and him. 
 
Gertrude s Love. 
 
 He lives, but hardly lives; in vain 
 
 Were food or light or air; 
 But what is death? He sees again 
 
 His own loved darling there. 
 
 Her arm beneath his head is laid, 
 
 Her kiss is on his lips; 
 One whispered prayer for her he prayed, 
 
 Then soul from body slips. 
 
 Yet scarce she knows ; her eyes too fail ; 
 
 Love held her to the close; 
 But fainting limbs and lips death-pale 
 
 Have told how quick life goes. 
 
 Not long behind him will she wait; 
 
 Close at his side she lies ; 
 And ere his spirit reached heaven s gate, 
 
 Her spirit after flies. 
 
Gertrude s Love. 99 
 
 WHERETO. 
 
 F)EACE be to them ! They lie in peace 
 -'■ But from the under ground 
 The long-taught echoes never cease 
 Their sad and shrieking sound. 
 
 Those cries at last to heavenward broke, 
 
 Uttered so oft in vain, 
 Till ev'n the slumbering echoes woke, 
 
 And learnt the sounds of pain. 
 
 They moved not then one pitying heart; 
 
 If one of yours they move. 
 And bid your tears of pity start, 
 
 Not vain the tale will prove. 
 
Light. loi 
 
 LIGHT. 
 
 'T^HE night has a thousand eyes, 
 
 And the day but one ; 
 Yet the light of the bright world dies, 
 With the dying sun. 
 
 The mind has a thousand eyes, 
 
 And the heart but one ; 
 Yet the light of a whole life dies, 
 
 When love is done. 
 
1 02 Z^z^^ //^^ Weaver. 
 
 LOVE THE WEAVER. 
 
 I WATCHED Love weaving dreams: across the loom 
 Stretched firm, immovable, the warp I saw, 
 The dull realities of Fate's stern law, 
 Dark threads, unchanging, bound to unseen doom. 
 But Love stood by, and with swift hand shot through 
 The warp bright Fancy's shuttle, with a thread 
 Of golden unreality that shed 
 O'er all the weft its radiant rainbow hue. 
 
 So that no more are seen the rigid lines 
 
 Of dark unchanging destiny, but all 
 The perfect web with undimmed lustre shines. 
 
 But morn came, and Love fled, and I saw fall 
 From the fair tissue, every golden gleam. 
 And woke to weep that life was not that dream. 
 
In Storm. 103 
 
 IN STORM. 
 
 AS strong, as deep, as wide as is the sea,— 
 ^ Though by the wind made restless as the wind. 
 
 By billows fretted, and by rocks confined,— 
 So strong, so deep, so wide my love for thee. 
 And as the sea :— though oft huge waves arise, 
 So oft, that calms can never quite assuage. 
 
 So huge, that ocean's whole self seems to rage ; 
 
 Yet tranquil, deep, beneath the tempest lies; 
 
 So my great love for thee lies tranquil, deep, 
 For ever; though above it passions fierce. 
 Ambition, hatred, jealousy, — like waves 
 That seem from earth's core to the sky to leap, 
 But ocean's depth can never really pierce, — 
 Hide its great calm, while all the surface raves. 
 
104 A Moment — Regions of Love. 
 
 A MOMENT. 
 
 WHEN the lightning flashes by night, 
 The raindrops seem 
 A million jewels of light 
 In the moment's gleam. 
 
 And often in gathering fears, 
 
 A moment of love 
 To jewels will turn the tears 
 
 That it cannot remove. 
 
 REGIONS OF LOVE. 
 
 WHO knows the deeps, where the water sleeps 
 Leagues from the light away? 
 Who knows the heights, where myriad lights 
 Fill heaven with endless day? 
 
 The earth goes on, seeks and loses the sun. 
 
 And men in the changes delight ; 
 Love whirls us away into changeless day, 
 
 Or whelms us in changeless night. 
 
The Fickle Sea. 105 
 
 H 
 
 THE FICKLE SEA. 
 
 'T^HE fickle sea, the faithless sea, 
 A That men go lightly sailing over, 
 Though leagues on leagues of waves has she. 
 For every wave she has a lover. 
 
 She loves the ships, the smooth bright ships. 
 She clasps them close in her embrace, 
 
 She kisses them with treacherous lips. 
 And seems sweet suitor for a space. 
 
 But the good wind, the honest wind. 
 That hates her, and her fair false smile. 
 
 Lets not the brave ships lag behind, 
 Lulled by her soft ensnaring wile. 
 
 Kind, in stern seeming, he reproves 
 
 The loiterers with angry blasts, 
 And drives them from their dreamy loves. 
 
 With moaning sails and bowing masts. 
 
 The smiling sea, the treacherous sea 
 He lashes, till she foams for wrath; 
 
 No fair love now, but fury she. 
 
 With deep dark jaws, and lips of froth. 
 
io6 TJie Fickle Sea. 
 
 And on the flying ships she turns, 
 With armed hatred in her waves, 
 
 And batters sides and stems and sterns. 
 And gapes in thousand yawning graves. 
 
 Yet if they gain at last the port, 
 
 She smooths her false face to a smile, 
 
 And swears her fury was in sport, 
 Until once more they trust her guile. 
 
 The fickle sea, the faithless sea, 
 That men go lightly sailing over, 
 
 Since man was man thus uses she 
 To soothe and slay her every lover. 
 
The ChesUitit Tree. 107 
 
 THE CHESTNUT TREE. 
 
 "DARE and brown was the chestnut tree, 
 ^ When he went, my lover, away from me; 
 But under the branches brown and bare, 
 He promised again to meet me there. 
 
 Bud and blossom, sweet chestnut tree! 
 
 And bring my lover again to me ! 
 
 The bloom was white on the chestnut tree. 
 When he came, my lover, again to me; 
 But he came in wrath, for a rival's guile 
 Swore to another I gave my smile. 
 
 Turn flowers to fruit, fair chestnut tree ! 
 
 And turn my lover again to me ! 
 
 The ripe husks fell from the chestnut tree, 
 When he came again, but not for me; 
 For my false, false rival was at his side, 
 And the bells rang loud for the new-wed bride. 
 
 Shower down thy dead leaves, chestnut tree ! 
 
 And bury my broken heart and me ! 
 
io8 So Lo7ig Ago! 
 
 SO LONG AGO ! 
 
 CHILD of the dark eyes, do you know 
 What it is makes me kiss you so? 
 'Tis that your eyes are dark and deep, 
 And love in their low depths seems to sleep, 
 As in those of my love, when he kissed mie so, 
 Long ago, ah, long ago ! 
 
 Child of the dark hair, can you guess 
 
 Why from your head I cut a tress? 
 
 Because his lock, of the same dark hue, 
 I burnt in scorn when he proved untrue. 
 
 But now I could look on it calmly, so. 
 It was so long, so long ago ! 
 
Omens. 109 
 
 OMENS. 
 
 T HEARD a whisper in the "wind, — 
 -■■ But who would trust the breeze? — 
 Which said, " He leaves old loves behind, 
 Your heart alone to please!" 
 
 And when the enchantress nightingale 
 
 Sang out the same aloud, 
 I said, " It is an idle tale ! 
 
 His heart, alas ! is proud !" 
 
 But when the soft moon stayed above, 
 
 And through the tender mist 
 He came himself to tell his love. 
 
 What could I do but list? 
 
 I heard a wailing on the wind, 
 Which said, "You are forgot!" 
 
 I smiled, for in my hair entwined 
 Was his forget-me-not. 
 
Omefis, 
 
 And when the mocking bird of night 
 Moaned out the same to me, 
 I cried, " If birds our hearts could fright, 
 But little faith had we!" 
 
 But since the morning broke with rain, 
 And brought his false farewell^ 
 
 I wander like a dead man, fain 
 To doubt his own death-knell. 
 
"Annie!' iii 
 
 A N N I E." 
 
 T INHERE art thou, Annie, once my love, 
 ** So long now lost to sight? 
 In vain I vex the stars above, 
 And question of the night ; 
 For they behold thee, where thou art, 
 Yet cannot speak to ease my heart. 
 
 Dost thou too thither turn thine eyes, — 
 Those eyes I thought more fair; — 
 
 And seek, as I, to read the skies, 
 That witness everywhere 
 
 The looks that lovers lift in vain? 
 
 They see, but cannot soothe our pain. 
 
 Dost thou too think of me, and sigh 
 
 For memories of the days. 
 When thou wast coy to me, and I 
 
 Beset thee in the ways, 
 And tasked thine eyes and blushing cheek 
 To tell me what thou wouldst not speak? 
 
Annier 
 
 Does thy hand too the print retain, 
 
 That feels as fresh to-day 
 On mine, as when our fingers fain 
 
 Had never loosed away? 
 My lips have softer been since then, 
 For thy lips' sake, in words with men. 
 
 Where art thou now? I know no more 
 
 What thy life is to mine ; 
 I only know I loved before: 
 
 But what am I to thine? 
 Alas ! I would, but cannot pray 
 My memory be passed away! 
 
CcbU, 
 
 C^LI. 
 
 TF stars were really watching eyes 
 
 Of angel armies in the skies, 
 I should forget all watchers there, 
 And only for your glances care. 
 
 And if your eyes were really stars, 
 With leagues, that none can mete, for bars 
 To keep me from their longed-for day, 
 I could not feel more far away. 
 
114 Cleopatra's Mirror, 
 
 CLEOPATRA'S MIRROR. 
 
 YOU have a thousand slaves, who do 
 Unwillingly their duty ; 
 And I one service have for you, — 
 
 To image back your beauty. 
 But that one service is so sweet, 
 I would in it my life might fleet ! 
 
 Your other slaves say you are stern; 
 
 I always see you smiling, 
 As from me some new grace you learn, 
 
 Your lovers for beguiling. 
 Those slaves, did they but win, as I, 
 Your smiles, would dare thrice o'er to die. 
 
 Oh, would you that all lands should pass 
 
 Beneath your firm subjection. 
 Then deem the world your looking-glass, 
 
 And made for your reflection ! 
 Did you but smile on men as me. 
 The whole world should in bondage be. 
 
''Alice, my Wife!' 115 
 
 ALICE, MY WIFE. 
 
 IF Alice were a river-flower, 
 Then I should wish the stream to be, 
 For I'd beguile the sweetest smile 
 She smiled at her own self in me. 
 
 If Alice were a nightingale, 
 
 Then I indeed should wish to be 
 
 An echo clear in woods a-near; — 
 To hear herself she'd sing to me. 
 
 But now that Alice is my wife, 
 What is there I can wish to be ? 
 
 Why, anyone beneath the sun. 
 Or far above the sun, but me ! 
 
ii6 ''Ella; a Reverier 
 
 ELLA ; A REVERIE, BY REN:^ FAVARGER.' 
 
 MUSICIAN, when you dreamed away 
 An hour upon that composition, 
 Which I have tried in vain to play 
 
 As something more than inanition, 
 I wonder who the maid could be, 
 Who roused so dull a Reverie! 
 
 The only Ella that I know 
 
 Is just the opposite of dreamy ; 
 
 She laughs at sentimental woe. 
 
 Her eyes are always bright and beamy 
 
 How strangely different must be 
 
 The Ella of your Reverie! 
 
 My Ella in emotions deep 
 
 Runs the whole gamut in a minute, 
 One moment seems inclined to weep, 
 
 The next is singing like a linnet. 
 Your Ella spends half life on E, 
 E flat too, in your Reverie! 
 
''Ella; A Rcverier 117 
 
 If anything could e'er inspire 
 
 A man like me to turn composer, 
 
 'Twould be my Ella's life and fire, 
 
 Which kindle every one who knows her. 
 
 Your Ella seems a blight to be 
 
 To a musician's Reverie! 
 
 I should not like to mock at you, 
 If you had lost your Ella lately, 
 
 For few can write a dirge, — how few ! — 
 That is not dull, yet goes sedately. 
 
 But had you felt from Ella free, 
 
 Livelier had been your Revei'ie! 
 
 Yet, friend musician, if the name 
 
 You're fond of, and would wish to tell a 
 
 More cheerful story of the same, 
 I'll introduce you to my Ella. 
 
 But you a mighty man must be 
 
 Of her to write fit Reverie! 
 
1 1 8 Valentine Verses. 
 
 VALENTINE VERSES. 
 
 1SEND a sign of love ; the shower sends 
 The breeze before it, whispering, "He is coming!" 
 And the glad field her leaves and flowers bends, 
 And hushes all her myriad insects' humming. 
 
 I send a sign of love; the morning sends 
 A rosy cloud, his mounted messenger ; 
 
 And the glad earth in ecstacy attends, 
 
 Sure now her love himself will come to her. 
 
 O fairer than the field, than the whole earth. 
 Would that thy lover's coming in thy sight 
 
 Were as the rain-cloud to a land of dearth, 
 Were as the morning to a world of night ! 
 
The Home of viy Heart. 119 
 
 THE HOME OF MY HEART. 
 
 AjOT here, in the populous town, 
 -- ^ In the playhouse or mart. 
 Not here, in the ways gray and brown, 
 But afar, on the green swelling down. 
 Is the home of my heart. 
 
 Where the hill-side slopes down to a dell. 
 
 Whence a streamlet has start, 
 There are woods and sweet grass on the swell. 
 And the south winds and west know it well; 
 
 There's the home of my heart. 
 
 There's a cottage o'ershadowed by leaves, 
 
 Growing fairer than art. 
 Where, under the low sloping eaves. 
 No false hand the swallow bereaves; 
 
 'Tis the home of my heart. 
 
 And there on the slant of the lea. 
 
 Where the trees stand apart, 
 Over grassland and woodland, may be. 
 You will catch the faint gleam of the sea. 
 
 From the home of my heart. 
 
The Home of my Heart. 
 
 And there in the rapturous Spring, 
 
 When the morning rays dart 
 O'er the plain, and the morning birds sing, 
 You may see the most beautiful thing 
 
 In the home of my heart. 
 
 For there at the casement above, 
 
 Where the rose bushes part. 
 Will blush the fair face of my love. 
 Ah, yes ! it is this that will prove 
 
 'Tis the home of my heart. 
 
Sea- Weed. 121 
 
 S E A - W E E D. 
 
 A LAS, poor weed ! The careless tide 
 ^ Has left thee with his lightest foam ; 
 And now a desert, drear and wide, 
 
 Divides thee from thy wished-for home. 
 His flow may bear thee back once more, 
 But canst thou live thy life of yore? 
 
 Alas ! I too am left awhile 
 
 By her I love, in lightest play ; 
 
 On distant loves I see her smile, 
 I hear her laughter far away. 
 
 Her heart may turn to me again ; 
 
 But can my heart forget the pain? 
 
122 Hopes and Feai's. 
 
 HOPES AND FEARS. 
 
 THY face is as the face of ocean, 
 Upon a moonlit summer night, 
 That changes with a ceaseless motion 
 In restless waves of shade and light. 
 
 And I am as the merchant, standing 
 Upon the shore with anxious eyes, 
 
 To watch the waves that may be stranding 
 On unknown rocks his argosies. 
 
 For all my hope and all my treasure 
 Is on this changing ocean fair, 
 
 That brings or wealth without a measure, 
 Or shipwreck, and a life's despair. 
 
The Troubled Sea. 123 
 
 THE TROUBLED SEA. 
 
 'T^HE weary ever-wandering waves, 
 ■*• That know no change from their unrest, 
 Make murmuring in hollow caves, 
 
 And sighing on the soft sand's breast, 
 That they for ever, to and fro, 
 Beneath the pitiless sky must go. 
 
 The toiling tempest-driven ships. 
 That buffet with the angry foam. 
 
 Escape at last its hungr}-- lips. 
 
 And hail their white-cliffed harbour-home ; 
 
 But the wild waves no rest may know. 
 
 But toss for ever to and fro. 
 
124 W/iat Do We? 
 
 WHAT DO WE? 
 
 WHY are we idling here, 
 In the land of the free, 
 Set far from a foreign fear 
 By the circling sea ? 
 
 Have we not eyes that read. 
 
 Through blinding tears? 
 Have we not hearts that bleed, 
 
 And burning ears ? 
 
 When our lips are loud in wrath, 
 
 Why fails our hand ? 
 For the billows, that rage in froth, 
 
 Beat rocks to sand ; 
 
 But our wrath, more impotent, 
 
 Though louder of lip, 
 With the froth of the mouth content, 
 
 Lets moments slip. 
 
 While the ruffian holds his head 
 
 Most proudly high. 
 Whose hands from the slaughter are red 
 
 With the deepest dye. 
 
IV/iat Do We? 125 
 
 And blood of woman and child 
 
 On the reeking plain, 
 And innocence, force-defiled, 
 
 Cry out in vain. 
 
 What, was our vengeance slow, 
 
 When from farther shore. 
 No wilder wailing of woe 
 
 Our heart-strings tore? 
 
 As a hurricane then our sword 
 
 Over India swept. 
 For 'twas English blood outpoured, 
 
 And our kin we wept. 
 
 Ah ! is it only in peace 
 
 We are brothers all ? 
 Does the kinship of nations cease, 
 
 When the weaker call ? 
 
 Was it only for England's fame, 
 
 And England's might, 
 When slaughter we held no shame. 
 
 And vengeance right? 
 
 Or was life more sacred then. 
 
 Virtue more fair? 
 Were they more than women and men, 
 
 That had perished there ? 
 
126 What Do We? 
 
 Out on the taunt ! The shame 
 
 We feel as deep, 
 Though not for the EngHsh name 
 
 Nor kin we weep. 
 
 They were such mothers, they 
 
 Such babes as ours; 
 Ours be the vengeance day, 
 
 And the sword that devours ! 
 
 This poem was written in September, 1876, at a time when the 
 perpetrators of the Bulgarian atrocities seemed more hkely to receive 
 promotion than punishment, unless measures stronger than mere 
 remonstrance were resorted to by some outside Power, 
 
The Hill Pass. 127 
 
 THE HILL PASS. 
 
 IT is time to arouse us from slumber, 
 For the peaks are forsaken of night, 
 And the stars of their 'wildering number 
 Leave only one light. 
 
 No fear now to find not a footing 
 In the shadow on slippery crag, 
 Or to stumble at torrent's uprooting 
 Of pine tree or jag. 
 
 See, each watch-fire far of the foemen 
 
 Is a smoke, that all night was a spark; 
 Let us hail it triumphant, the omen ! — 
 Their hopes dashed and dark ! 
 
 Quick to horse, ere the daylight be stronger, 
 
 Lest our steel, blue as true blood, should seem 
 To turn traitor with loitering longer. 
 And betray us by gleam ! 
 
 Now by rock and by chasm we thunder. 
 
 On, on, to the pass in the hills, 
 Where the sheer rocks are parted asunder, 
 And the white torrent spills. 
 
128 The Hill Pass. 
 
 For there, 'twixt the black walls uprising, 
 
 A host may be barred by a score; 
 
 And there, save for traitor's surprising, 
 
 Will our bands be before. 
 
 On, on, with a thunderous clanging, 
 
 Throligh the echoing gorges we go. 
 Heights a thousand feet over us hanging. 
 Depths a thousand below. 
 
 And here, where the rock wall runs curving, 
 
 Our horses, so headlong the pace. 
 Half over the chasm hang swerving; — 
 Who recks in a race? 
 
 What heart fears for death now, or danger, 
 With his Fatherland's freedom for prize? 
 What is death to the yoke of the stranger. 
 On a free neck that lies? 
 
 But darker the cliffs now are closing 
 
 Above to a cavernous glen. 
 Dark as death, hidden deep from day's rosing, 
 A horror of men. 
 
 Above us, on black wings are wheeling. 
 
 New startled, the raven and kite; 
 On our heads, from the damp crevice stealing, 
 Fall dews of the night. 
 
The Hill Pass. 129 
 
 Beneath, from the valleys mist-clouded, 
 
 A skeleton fir, here and there, 
 Rises dark as death's finger, enshrouded 
 In folds of despair. 
 
 But in us is no heart of a maiden. 
 
 To flutter at omens of ill; 
 With a purpose too stern are we laden; 
 Let tremble who will ! 
 
 The dews from our heads we shake, scorning; 
 
 And the horror of death from our souls, 
 Like the mists at the rising of morning. 
 Impalpable rolls. 
 
 For there see a cleft in the ridges, 
 That rise like a wall in our way, 
 Which a cloud, red with sunrising, bridges, 
 The portal of day. 
 
 There, there is the pass; there the foemen 
 
 Not yet bar the way; and behold, 
 There right in the cleft, for good omen. 
 The great sun, all gold ! 
 
130 To Meet Again. 
 
 TO MEET AGAIN. 
 
 FRIEND, we shall see no more the days 
 That made our friendship, nor again 
 Together wend such happy ways, 
 Together pass so lightly pain. 
 
 We were two vessels, that all day 
 Sailed side by side the summer sea; 
 
 But when the night comes, wide away 
 They wander parted ; — such are we. 
 
 Now is the new dawn broke; our eyes 
 Still strain across the vacant blue ; 
 
 We yearn for daily sympathies, 
 
 And one known face where all is new. 
 
 In vain ! Yet let us not despair ! 
 
 Behind is loss, before is gain; 
 The ship is firm, the sky is fair. 
 
 For each is marked a pathway plain. 
 
 And oh ! the joy, when in long time 
 Our glad eyes hail each other's prow, 
 
 To give the proof, our labour's prime, 
 Of love that goes light-handed now ! 
 
Seeds of Fire. 131 
 
 SEEDS OF FIRE. 
 
 WILDLY the clouds o'er the heaven face were drifting, 
 Hoarse roared the waves, and shrill the shingle hissed, 
 When, on a sudden, the clouds of shadow, shifting. 
 Shewed the pale moon in a bower of silver mist. 
 
 Even then you passed me, a face as fair and fairer, 
 Bowered in the wild gold of your wind-tossed hair. 
 
 Rapt, as of old some virgin votive-bearer. 
 
 Moving in measure for her moon-goddess there. 
 
 What was't I saw, beyond your outward seeming, 
 What secret read, that turned my thought to fire, 
 
 Shrivelling to ashes the weeds enwov'n and teeming, 
 That thralled my soul so long with frivolous desire? 
 
 Out, as new-born, with a mighty joyance leaping. 
 
 Yearned all my soul to strain to nobler things; [ing, 
 
 The world seemed awonder, though it were aworld of weep- 
 And my heart a mighty eagle, rejoicing in its wings. 
 
 Even then you passed me, your face was hid for ever. 
 Even as the moon hid again her face above ; 
 
 Yet in my heart sprang desire of new endeavour, [Love. 
 And a root of noblest purpose from so chance a seed of 
 
132 Seeds of Fire. 
 
 Yea, I will do, for there is reward for doing ; 
 
 Yea, I will hope, for there is a prize to gain ; 
 Yea, should hereafter bring recompense nor rueing, 
 
 Right, to prove it right, needs Paradise nor pain. 
 
 Fair face, you know not the guerdon of your giving, 
 Even though the selfish life be shewn the life of shame, 
 
 Tho' the light of your soul, in your eyes, like jewels, living. 
 By one swilt glance have flashed a withered heart to 
 flame. 
 
 Now no more I see you, no more is chance of meeting. 
 Waters, wide as ocean's, roll between us here ; 
 
 And hark, below, the hoarse waves have ceased not from 
 their beating, 
 And the clouds without a glimmer, rush by in wild career. 
 
A Statue. it^^ 
 
 A STATUE. 
 
 T DREAMED I was a statue, nobly wrought, 
 
 A Set on a pedestal with staring eyes, 
 
 Silent, unmoved, and lovely. Yet unchanged 
 
 Still glowed my human heart with love and wrath 
 
 And vexing passions. Many gazed on me, 
 
 And praised my fashioning ; and I was proud 
 
 Of such praiseworthiness. Until a day 
 
 Fell, when there came the fairest face of earth 
 
 To gaze upon me. I was glad at first. 
 
 So long she looked on me, and wonderingly. 
 
 Till with a taper finger stretching out 
 
 She touched my marble. " Only stone ! " she said 
 
 " Only a stone ! " Her bright words, — as the sun 
 
 Unwreaths the glozing mists, that with a world 
 
 Of dreamlike glamour veiled the world of life, — 
 
 Rent from me love of my own loveliness 
 
 And all old praises; and I cursed the bonds, 
 
 That kept me from my human heritage 
 
 Of fellowship with her, and power to win 
 
 Love to meet love. 
 
134 
 
 A Statue. 
 
 Alas ! I could not stir ; 
 Though my fierce passion should have rent the stone, 
 So worked it in me; and she passed me by, 
 And quietly to him on whom she leant, 
 "And yet," she said, "'tis wrought most wondrously; 
 And see the Greek ideal, the perfect calm ! " 
 
Ich Grolle NichU 135 
 
 ICH GROLLE NIGHT. 
 
 1WILL not grieve, though hopes, that grew as fair 
 As the first leaves that face the April air, 
 Nipped by untimely frost must droop and fade. 
 Like leaves that fall not, though o'er-long decayed. 
 So many panting souls have yearned in vain, 
 I will not grieve that I must join the train. 
 
 I will not grieve, though many labours, wrought 
 With lingering love, and high enraptured thought. 
 Now, like marred castings from a broken mould, 
 Mock all the sculptor's dreams, grown hard and cold. 
 So many hands have found their labours vain, 
 I will not grieve to join so large a train. 
 
 I will not grieve, though rays of purest love. 
 Centred at last from many a light above, 
 Have found no dark-hued softness to be fused, 
 But such white radiance as their force refused. 
 So many hearts have loved before in vain, 
 I will not grieve that I must join the train. 
 
136 A Race with Love. 
 
 A RACE WITH LOVE. 
 
 1 RACED the ripple of the sea ; 
 Full easy seemed the race to me ! 
 For on the wind's swift wings I go, 
 While toil the laggard waves below. 
 But when I gained the farther shore, 
 I found the waves were there before. 
 
 I raced the wind across the sea ; 
 Full easy seemed the race to me ! 
 For through the hurricane I flew 
 Upon the lightning, leaping blue. 
 I gained the goal, but ah, despair ! 
 The wind had long been blowing there. 
 
 I raced with Love o'er land and sea ; 
 Full easy seemed the race to me ! 
 For with the speed of thought I sped. 
 Love lingered weeping o'er his dead. 
 But when I gained the farthest shore, 
 Love had been welcomed long before. 
 
Loves Reivard. 137 
 
 LOVE'S REWARD. 
 
 POR Love I laboured all the day, 
 
 A Through morning chill and mid-day heat, 
 
 For surely, with the evening gray, 
 
 I thought. Love's guerdon shall be sweet. 
 
 At eventide, with weary limb, 
 
 I brought my labours to the spot, 
 
 Where Love had bid me come to him; 
 Thither I came, but found him not. 
 
 For he with idle folk had gone, 
 To dance the hours of night away ; 
 
 And I that toiled was left alone, 
 Too weary now to dance or play. 
 
38 TJie Guerdon of Lost Labours. 
 
 THE GUERDON OF LOST LABOURS. 
 
 NO magic, that the moon can lend 
 To broken arch or ruined Avail, 
 Can that mysterious peace transcend, 
 That hushes me at evenfall. 
 
 For then, her hand in mine, I sit. 
 
 And all life's shapeless phantoms move. 
 
 All broken hopes, waste labours fit 
 In one bright ordered dream of love. 
 
 O silver crown to all my toil ! 
 
 Although the crown I sought was gold, 
 Still let no doubts the lustre spoil 
 
 Of the dream-pageant I behold ! 
 
 Sufficient let me count success. 
 Not to the sought-for to succeed ; 
 
 To win one heart, whose lovingness 
 In loss or gain is equal meed ! 
 
A Nutis Dream. 139 
 
 A NUN'S DREAM. 
 
 1 DREAMED I was a toad, 
 An ugly, loathly toad, 
 
 That crept, and fed, and won me hate and fear, — 
 For at that time men held us much in fear 
 For venom's sake, though in our heads there glowed 
 
 Such jewels as they held most dear; — 
 So many score of years ago. 
 As I could neither count nor know. 
 
 I lived, — a loathly life, I dreamed ; 
 I died, — a dismal death, it seemed ; 
 I crawled to the dim crevice of a stone, 
 And sank to sleep alone. 
 
 If I were dead, how should I dream? 
 Yet little lifelike did it seem, — 
 
 A drift of hazy images and sounds 
 Across a half-shut memory ; 
 
 I had no hearing, yet remember sounds, 
 And sights, although I could not see. 
 
I40 A Ntins Dream. 
 
 Yet in my death, or sleep, I knew 
 
 My crevice tomb had year by year closed to, 
 
 Shutting me tighter, tighter in ; 
 
 Till, had I been alive, I could not move, 
 Never again to the glad daylight win, 
 
 Nor scent the air above. 
 
 Then, — was it ages passed, 
 
 Or only years, or months? — I could not tell. 
 I never woke, imprisoned fast 
 
 In such an iron cell. 
 
 A fitting death it seemed, — 
 
 For even as I dreamed, 
 
 I reasoned with myself upon my dream, — 
 
 A fitting death for such a life. 
 Shut slowly out from any gleam: 
 
 A torpid, sullen life, 
 A dull and ugly death, 
 Hopeless, slow quitting, if it quitted, breath. 
 
 Morn, it is morn ; I am waking again, 
 
 As I used to waken at morn, 
 To the sound of singing, and scent of rain. 
 
 And the shining of beams new-born. 
 
A Ntin's Dream. 141 
 
 Morn, it is morn ; but there used to be light, 
 
 When the morning arose of old; 
 Morn, is it morn? But it seems like night. 
 
 Or is day grown dark and cold? 
 
 Morn, it is morn; it is cold and dark, 
 
 But it must be morning still, 
 For I hear already the singing lark. 
 
 As the morn comes over the hill. 
 
 The lark is singing aloud, so loud. 
 
 In the heaven over my head ; 
 But above me there lies a giant cloud. 
 
 That crushes the daylight dead. 
 
 I know 'tis a cloud that presses me down. 
 
 And keeps the daylight away. 
 For I hear the thunder, that tries to drown 
 
 The lark that sings to the day. 
 
 Louder and louder the thunder roars; 
 
 I can hardly hear the lark ; 
 But the nightingale peals, and the thrush deplores 
 
 That the day is grown so dark. 
 
 And all the birds of the forest and field 
 Their voice with the thunder unite. 
 
 And the cloud above me has rocked and reeled, 
 But it will not yield to the light. 
 
142 A Nuns Dream. 
 
 Silence now, for the thunder has ceased, 
 
 And the lark, — has it dropped from the sky? 
 
 There is no singing or murmur the least, 
 But the cloud it has passed not by. 
 
 Somehow I was still a toad, 
 
 But somehow with man's mind I knew 
 
 What I was, and where, and that the load 
 Above me was the stone, that had shut to ; 
 
 And men had come and hewn it out. 
 
 And cut and carved it square about, 
 
 And laid it for the ponderous base 
 
 Of an exquisite feathered pillar, that is the grace 
 
 Of the convent chapel; where it helps to bear- 
 So I too help, for am I not part of the stone, 
 Myself half marble grown, 
 Buried deep, unknown? — 
 
 The organ, set to praise God there. 
 
 So this was all my dream, 
 
 And when I awoke, I knew 
 That it was not all a dream, 
 
 For still the organ thrilled me through. 
 I had dropped to sleep in the chapel there, 
 Worn with vigil and fast and prayer; 
 
A N2UIS Dream. «43 
 
 All was dark; but the organ-master 
 Was playing a wild and passionate air, 
 
 That made my languid pulse beat faster, 
 And made me long to be fair. 
 
 Till the music dropped, with one long cry, 
 
 To a soft melodious lullaby; 
 
 And out of this and my dream, there grew 
 
 A sense that even I, — 
 
 Ugly, unloved, from all the world cast by, — 
 Had even here some work to do, 
 That I could help to praise God too ! 
 
144 A Starry Night. 
 
 A STARRY NIGHT. 
 
 TTTHAT eyes are now with mine in wonder fixed 
 
 * * On that bright host, whose count but One can keep? 
 Eyes, that would span the space that lies betwixt, 
 Child-eyes, content to deem them guards of sleep; 
 
 Dull eyes, that see no wonder in a star, 
 
 Too much with care and toil of earth oppressed ; 
 
 Bright eyes, that lovers vow are lovelier far 
 Than eve's fair planet in the fading West. 
 
 So night by night, for years in countless score, 
 Have all man's ages turned their gaze above; 
 
 How then can men not love each other more, 
 While all those lustres speak sublimest love? 
 
 Alas! to eyes, that gaze from distant spheres, 
 How different far must seem our planet's state, 
 
 Wrapped round with clouds of never-ceasing tears, 
 Or burning with the sullen hues of hate ! 
 
One Flight. 145 
 
 ONE FLIGHT. 
 
 I WISHED for the wings of a bird, to fly 
 Into the blue heights of the sky. 
 
 Sudden I sprang from the scented grass; 
 I saw tall trees like flower-stalks pass. 
 
 The clouds above me greater grew, 
 
 That had scarcely before obscured the blue. 
 
 Then lost 1 seemed in a great gray mist, 
 No sight to look to, no sound to list. 
 
 Up and up, till the wide, bare sky 
 Burst, like an ocean, on my eye. 
 
 I stayed my flying, and hung apoise; 
 No echo reached me of earthly noise. 
 
 I hung o'er the head of the cloud below. 
 Soft as a hill-top heaped with snow. 
 
 I gazed on the blue heights over me, 
 And felt for a moment I was free. 
 
146 One Flight, 
 
 I was free to fly where I would in space; 
 My thought was free from the world's worn face. 
 
 A moment the thought of freedom won 
 Thrilled me; I turned to greet the sun. 
 
 Ah! like a great red ball he lay 
 Hard at the henceward gates of day. 
 
 Ev'n as I gazed the glory fled, 
 
 The white clouds flushed for a moment red. 
 
 Then night fell, and fear came over me ; 
 I thought no more of the joy to be free. 
 
 But I thought of the night, of the dark and the chill, 
 The long slow hours, the voiceless still. 
 
 Above was the desert sky unknown, 
 Below cloud-seas; here was I alone. 
 
 Lonely I felt, as when children wake 
 
 In the night, and cry for the terror's sake. 
 
 And I cared no more for the wings to be free, 
 So that the dear earth I might see. 
 
 Downward, downward; now closed the cloud. 
 Glimmering and chill as a dead man's shroud. 
 
 An hour or a moment? — Lo, the earth lay bare, 
 In the white moon's rising radiance fair. 
 
One Flight. 147 
 
 A world of shadows, with nothing clear; 
 A world of darkness, but oh ! how dear ! 
 
 Downward, downward; the moon on the vane 
 Gleams bright; lo, a light in a window pane. 
 
 I touched the ground, its scent I knew; 
 I kissed each grass-bent, damp with dew. 
 
 My wings were gone, I w^as free no more; 
 But gone were the vain wishes felt before. 
 
 And I knelt, while my thanks went up to God, 
 For the love that binds man to the sod. 
 
148 The Saint and the Lark. 
 
 THE SAINT AND THE LARK. 
 
 THE SAINT SPEAKS. 
 
 WERE I the lark, my restless wing 
 Should never tire nor stay, 
 Until it touched the outer ring, 
 That walls the world of day. 
 
 For though my voice no more divine 
 Should sound by angel song. 
 
 Nor lent me any claim to shine 
 Amid the glorious throng ; 
 
 Some angel, in the land of love, 
 
 For love should pity me, 
 And draw me in, like Noah's dove, 
 
 From wastes of misery. 
 
 THE LARK SPEAKS. 
 
 Were I as man, I would not gaze 
 On heaven that lies above. 
 
 For days of heaven are only days 
 That know no change in love. 
 
The Saint and the Lark. 149 
 
 But I would seek on earth below 
 A space for heaven to win; 
 
 To cheer one heart o'ercast with woe, 
 To save one soul from sin. 
 
 For though the lark could soar to light, 
 That never clouds should stain. 
 
 What peace were his, whose selfish flight 
 Had left a world in pain? 
 
150 Eden, 
 
 EDEN. 
 
 IS there a spot on earth, where never yet 
 Has sorrow wrung the soul? 
 Is there one place no tears have ever wet, 
 From farthest pole to pole? 
 
 There, though inhuman rocks be all around, 
 
 Or frozen lie the land, 
 Though lions lurk there, or the leopard bound. 
 
 Death's hound, on every hand; 
 
 There, though my feet wax weary in the quest. 
 
 My body worn with toil. 
 There let me wander, there to find a rest 
 
 Beneath the quiet soil. 
 
 In vain, in vain the search ; there is no land 
 
 Left upon earth so sweet; 
 Or else an angel still, with flaming brand. 
 
 Guards it from mortal feet. 
 
''Ethereair 151 
 
 "ETHEREAL." 
 
 n^HERE lies, above our grosser air, 
 A A region of blue heaven fair, 
 Too thin a feather's weight to bear. 
 
 And there to souls, like white snow driven, 
 From earth's rough waves a rest is given, — 
 A harbour, locked by lands of heaven. 
 
 Ah, to reach to it ! only one 
 
 Of men I know beneath the sun, 
 
 "Who to this home of rest has won. 
 
 All shapes of beauty he can see. 
 
 All hues of bright divinity. 
 
 Trust him ! He cannot lie to thee. 
 
 For though betwixt our earth and him 
 Such clouds and mists deceptive swim, 
 That to his eyes life's ways look dim; 
 
 Yet, when on high he lifts his gaze. 
 He sees the stars' untroubled ways, 
 And the Divine of endless days. 
 
T52 "Ethereal." 
 
 To us this star or that seems bright, 
 And oft some headlong meteor's flight 
 Holds for a while our raptured sight. 
 
 But he discerns each noble star; 
 
 The least is only the most far, 
 
 Whose worlds, may be, the mightiest are. 
 
 He marks not meteors that go by, 
 Fired for one moment as they fly : 
 He heeds not, knowing they must die. 
 
 How should he care what men may say, 
 Who see no heaven day by day. 
 And dream not of his hidden way? 
 
 He cares not though they call him mad ; 
 Yet who would see his fellows glad, 
 From sympathy with woe is sad. 
 
 And he is sad, not for himself, 
 But for the inhuman lust of pelf, 
 All knees bowed to one Baal, — Self. 
 
 'Tis vain to preach, and no men know 
 The sweetness 'twere with him to go, 
 Leaving our beaten tracks below. 
 
Ethereair 153 
 
 So like a lonely vine he stands, 
 
 That stretches sympathetic hands, 
 
 To cling with all its thousand bands ; 
 
 Yet though, because no prop be nigh, 
 Its yearning tendrils droop and die, 
 It stands, for it is stayed on high. 
 
54 River Deeps. 
 
 RIVER DEEPS. 
 
 THIS soul you think your fathom-line can sound ; 
 A few coarse weeds, much common mud, you say, 
 A shell or two, that may hold pearls, you found; 
 The banks above it is that are so gay ! 
 
 Poor eyes, that think to pierce the poet's soul ! 
 
 Come with me here by night !— How deep, how far 
 Now seem those depths, where heaven's own height is 
 
 Can any line reach even that nearest star? [whole! 
 
A Hero. 155 
 
 A HERO. 
 
 NOT crown on head, or bloody sword in hand, 
 Not conqueror of dragons or of kings, 
 But simply clad, I saw a hero stand. 
 
 Whose sole experience was of simple things. 
 For many years the corn on yon high land 
 
 Sprang from his straight deep furrows, and there rings 
 Now on no threshing-floor a beat so grand 
 
 As when his flail struck out the grain that clings. 
 
 Yet had he foes to fight, and griefs to bear, 
 
 And fought and bore them bravely; yea, and won, 
 By word and high example, many a soul 
 Like foes and sorrows as himself to dare. 
 
 In one chief service. Now his work is done. 
 And God has written him in His hero-roll. 
 
156. Port Meadow, Oxford. 
 
 PORT MEADOW, OXFORD. 
 
 OWIDE wan waste of waters, where no breath 
 Ruffles the mirror surface, but the gray 
 Of clouds above is real as if the day 
 Were no less gloomy to a world beneath ! 
 O dreary waste, the mind reraembereth 
 
 Full many an hour of summer life and play, 
 Where now beneath is lifeless slime and clay, 
 And the vast level lies like ashen death. 
 
 Yet as at eve on the wild scene I pondered, 
 
 While thoughts of horror held my pulses hushed, 
 Sudden, amid the clouds beneath that rushed. 
 
 Shone out a star. Ah ! would mine eyes have wandered, 
 Were there no waters, to that star above? 
 Were there no death, should we know all of love? 
 
Una. 157 
 
 UNA. 
 
 WHEN, as the chill dew on the trembling rose, 
 Death's icy fingers on your lips are laid, 
 And all the beauty, that so richly glows 
 
 In dimpling cheek and laughing eye, must fade ; 
 What shall we keep of all that is decayed? 
 What voiceful vision from your deep repose 
 
 Can tell us to what regions you have strayed. 
 And where your foot in winged lightness goes? 
 
 For now there is no flower that gladdens you, 
 
 Nor song, nor deed of love more sweet than these, 
 But we are called to share the feast of joy. 
 So all for others does your heart pursue 
 
 Earth's gladness ; and in heaven, could you not please 
 Some other with your raptures, they would cloy. 
 
158 TJie HigJier Love. 
 
 THE HIGHER LOVE. 
 
 PRIESTESS of Love, that leadest me 
 To worship at his shrine 
 No more thy loveliness nor thee, 
 
 Though thou be half divine ! 
 No more to thee my feasting eyes 
 Shall do their single sacrifice. 
 
 For now a deeper, holier awe 
 
 Has turned my soul again, 
 Who worshipped thee when first I saw. 
 
 To think such worship vain. 
 And now I only hold divine 
 The God who made thee, and is thine. 
 
One Deed of Good. 159 
 
 ONE DEED OF GOOD. 
 
 TF I might do one deed of good, 
 
 A One little deed, before I die, 
 
 Or think one noble thought, that should 
 
 Hereafter not forgotten lie, 
 I would not murmur, though I must 
 Be lost in Death's unnumbered dust. 
 
 The fihny wing, that wafts the seed 
 Upon the careless wind to earth. 
 
 Of its short life has only meed 
 
 To find the germ fit place for birth; 
 
 For one swift moment of delight 
 
 It whirls, then withers out of sight. 
 
i6o Tzvo Robbers. 
 
 TWO ROBBERS. 
 
 WHEN Death from some fair face 
 Is stealing life away, 
 All weep, save she, the grace 
 That earth shall lose to-day. 
 
 When Time from some fair face 
 Steals beauty, year by year. 
 
 For her slow-fading grace 
 
 Who sheds, save she, a tear? 
 
 And Death not often dares 
 So wake the world's distress ; 
 
 While Time, the cunning, mars 
 Surely all loveliness. 
 
 Yet though by breath and breath 
 Fades all our fairest prime, 
 
 Men shrink from cruel Death, 
 But honour crafty Time. 
 
The Unknown Deity. i6i 
 
 THE UNKNOWN DEITY. 
 
 THERE stood an altar in a lonely wood, 
 And over was a veiled deity, 
 And no man dared to raise the veiling hood, 
 Nor any knew what god they then should see. 
 
 Yet many passed to gaze upon the thing. 
 And all who passed did sacrifice and prayer, 
 
 Lest the Unknown not rightly honouring, 
 Some great god they should anger unaware. 
 
 And each one thought this hidden god was he 
 Whom he desired in his most secret heart. 
 
 And prayed for that he longed for most to be. 
 Gifts that was no fixed godhead to impart. 
 
 Nor prayed in vain, for prayers, scarce breath e.d in word, 
 Were straight fulfilled, and every earthly bliss 
 
 Showered down on men ; till half the world had heard, 
 And left all ancient gods to worship this. 
 
 But Jove, in anger at his rites unpaid, 
 
 Tore off the veil with one fierce tempest-breath : — 
 Lo! that to which all men their vows had made. 
 
 Shuddering, they saw, was their fell foeman. Death. 
 
l62 
 
 TJie Unknoivn Deity. 
 
 And all forgot the blessings they had had, 
 And all forsook the kindly carven stone. 
 
 *Tis now a shapeless block ; the zephyrs sad, — 
 None else, — their nightly prayers around it moan. 
 
 
In Fribourg Cathedral. 163 
 
 IN FRIBOURG CATHEDRAL. 
 
 THE light is dim in the dusky aisle ; 
 The giant pillars, that hold the pile, 
 Darken up to the roof unseen. 
 Below, in the shadowy space between. 
 Are faces that out of darkness start. 
 As in paintings of some dead master's art, 
 A face looms out of shadow. 
 
 Hark ! 
 What angel presence moves in the dark? 
 What power, that seems to stir the night, 
 As when God spake and the world was in light? 
 There is no light, but music clear. 
 That passes the sense of the outward ear 
 To the inmost soul, till night and day. 
 And time and place, and the things men say, 
 And the things men do, and our own intent, — 
 All thought's worn garments, — are scattered and rent ; 
 While the melody, like a new will, blends 
 All life's instincts to nobler ends. 
 Our thought newborn upleaps and springs, 
 As the butterfly from the husk takes wings, 
 
^H In Fribojiro; Cathedral. 
 
 As the soul from its prison spreads and plays, 
 Wild with new powers, in Love's full blaze. 
 It is glory to God that we hear, but now 
 No more we wonder with why and how 
 God's creatures should praise God;— our heart 
 Seems with the praises to be part. 
 Rapt from its selfish thoughts afar. 
 Dwindled down from a world to a star, 
 A little light, that has yet its place, 
 And its glow in the glory of heaven's face. 
 
 Till a sudden silence fell, and the night 
 Darker seemed; as after the light, 
 ■ And the rapturous pulse of the air, that stirred 
 With songs from the founding of earth unheard, 
 Silence and darkness closed on them. 
 The Shepherds on plains of Bethlehem. 
 Till a new soft melody moved the air, 
 Like the dawn's first radiance, faint and rare. 
 And shaped of the music, a dream of rest 
 Opened, as a morning flower, in my breast. 
 Outside was the roaring of restless wheels. 
 Warring in vain with the voice, that steals 
 Down from the dimly-lighted loft. 
 Like a far bugle, clear and soft. 
 And the spot of calm in the city's din 
 Seemed like a soul at peace within, 
 
/;/ Fribourg Cathedral. 165 
 
 When the voice of God, Who dwelleth there, 
 Passes the noise of feet that fare, 
 And the merchant cries and the battle shout 
 Of the world, that wars with itself without. 
 
 But the soft air sunk ; and there rose anew 
 A noise of thunder and storm that grew. 
 Louder it waxed, till the wild chords drowned 
 All dreams of peace in tumult of sound. 
 And sudden it seemed myself played there, 
 Till my playing had lashed to storm the air; 
 And the lightning leaped, and the harsh rain poured, 
 And the earthquake rolled, and the thunder roared, 
 Till the pillared fane was rocked amain. 
 And the heaving earth had burst in twain. 
 And tower and turret and rooftree all 
 Parted in sunder with thunderous fall, 
 While, cradled in tempest, the wreck among, 
 The organ-loft on its pillars swung, 
 Where my passionate hands tempestuously 
 Still dared the revolt of earth and sky. 
 
 Silence again :— the music was o'er : 
 
 I was back in the world, where we walk, once more. 
 
 But I thought of the humble men of old. 
 
 Of the unknown hands, of the toils untold. 
 
 Of the patient hearts that had fought despair. 
 
 Till their thought stood shrined in the organ there. 
 
66 In Friboiirg Cathedral. 
 
 Little of honour or fame they earned 
 
 In the world, that passed them by, or spurned ; 
 
 Now, as the prophet's bones, life fled. 
 
 They bid our dead souls leap from the dead. 
 
Tzvo that Sleep, and One that Watcheth^ 167 
 
 TWO THAT SLEEP, AND ONE THAT 
 WATCHETH." 
 
 (Suggested by the Picture by S. Solomon.) 
 
 COULD ye not watch one hour?" — The hour is late, 
 And the chill air is drowsy, and they sleep ; 
 Two, but one sleeps not; he, whose love was great. 
 
 And who was greatly loved, his watch will keep. 
 The stars are clear, but not to them his eyes 
 Turn to win patience from their patient light; 
 Still on the ground he keeps his stedfast sight, 
 And bid to watch, so watches for surprise. 
 
 And so to his unsleeping sense was given 
 To see his Master's agony, that drew 
 
 That sweat of blood; to hear that cry of woe.— 
 'Tis thus with those three priceless gifts of heaven ; 
 Hope sleeps, and Faith may slumber, but the few, 
 Who really love, nor sleep nor slumber know. 
 
1 68 ' Easter Eve. 
 
 EASTER EVE. 
 
 EARTH, what a precious burden dost thou bear 
 This day and night within thy rugged breast ! 
 With steadier course about the sun should fare 
 Thy footsteps, lest they break this sacred rest ! 
 
 All, all is ended; now the form so marred 
 Lies, like a wind-worn blossom, closed again, 
 
 Till morn restore its beauty, only scarred. 
 
 Lest our glad hearts forget too soon the pain. 
 
 Yea, lest our hearts forget or disbelieve, 
 
 The prints are left in hands and feet and side ; 
 
 So even the sins, those sufferings pardon, leave 
 Upon our hearts such traces as abide. 
 
 Ah, day, delay not, as in Ajalon, 
 
 To garner richer harvest in Death's store ; 
 
 But speed more swifdy to that joyful sun. 
 
 That sees Death spoiled, and terrible no more ! 
 
Beckenham. 169 
 
 BECKENHAM. 
 
 September 22nd, i8'/6. 
 
 A STILL September day; the silent air 
 Was rich with scent of fruits and falling leaves; 
 The fields, new-lightened of their heavy gold, 
 Gave offering of their praise in odorous dews, 
 While woods and lanes divined the thanksgiving. 
 And hushed their voices; save that here and there 
 A leaf dropped earthward, like a loving tear, 
 Or in the hedge one robin singing seemed 
 Only to deepen silence. 
 
 So we stood 
 To take farewell of that last legacy. 
 Which man who lives and moves can leave to sense, 
 Her body, left of all that made it her, 
 Save the calm sweetness on the marble brow. 
 We stood, and as the sense bade all farewell. 
 Faith took new hold on her inheritance 
 Of comfort, that the spirit had but changed 
 Earth's outworn garment for a robe of light. 
 Her land of exile for her home. 
 
lyo Beckenham. 
 
 Her life, 
 Looked back upon, seemed like the summer past, 
 The days of storm forgotten, and the whole 
 Rounded to bright completeness; till the shock, 
 Which smote the crown of life's short lustre, came, 
 And left her lone. Yet the years after wore 
 Such quiet as this still September day; 
 With all her children's love, a hallowed light. 
 Shed round her head; who not impatiently 
 Desired the end, but being content to live, 
 By mere contentment made for others' joy. 
 Now she has met again that half of life. 
 Which, being so lost, made all her life look on 
 Even to this hour of meeting, not as death, 
 But life again made whole ; her body here 
 Now rests with his, and now her spirit stands 
 With his, in the dear presence of her Lord. 
 
 We turn, and though our upward gaze can reach 
 No deeper than the cloudless blue, nor see 
 The gates of heaven one moment, as they part 
 To take her in ; yet as the prophet stood, 
 With all his Master's spirit fall'n on him. 
 So we, with her own childlike faith, go forth. 
 Nor fear to say, for this brief while. Farewell ! 
 
J/ay 2p'd, 18^6. 171 
 
 MAY 23rd, 18/6. 
 
 ''T^IS over; and we leave thee to the gloom, 
 -■- With Death sole watcher by thy silent bed, 
 Save for the breath of many an odorous bloom. 
 That fade for thee, fair flower among the dead ! 
 
 Frail little blossom of a windy May ! 
 
 We will not weep, though now the world be fair, 
 That thou untimely thus art torn away; 
 
 The death we weep doth thee from weeping spare. 
 
 Now thou wilt wail not, though the night be deep. 
 Nor wake in terror, though the night be long; 
 
 Ere here the hands have laid thine eyes to sleep, 
 In heaven thy lips have learned the angels' song. 
 
 So we will leave thee, trusting all to love, 
 His love, Who gave thee but to take again, 
 
 Till we shall find thee in His folds above, 
 
 And when we find, shall all His ways be plain. 
 
72 TJie Fareivell of the Old Year. 
 
 THE FAREWELL OF THE OLD YEAR. 
 
 WHEN the moments of friendship are numbered, 
 How oft it appears, 
 That the love, which in laughter has slumbered, 
 Awakes now in tears ! 
 
 We are friends, that have journeyed together 
 
 Long time, you and I, 
 Through sunshine and stormiest weather; 
 
 But the Old Year must die. 
 
 And awhile in your hearts will awaken 
 
 A bitter regret; 
 And the paths, that your feet have forsaken, 
 
 You cannot forget. 
 
 Yet I pray you to mourn not my going, 
 Though we have been friends! 
 
 What am I but one billow, whose flowing 
 Has touched shore, and ends? 
 
 And the tale of my joy and my sorrow 
 
 Lives but as the trace 
 Of the waves, which the tides of the morrow 
 
 In turn shall efface. 
 
The Farezvell of the Old Year. i73 
 
 Yet I leave you, as waves leave their treasures 
 
 Of coral and shell, 
 A gift, passing sorrows and pleasures. 
 
 Our friendship to tell. 
 
 I leave you the friendships, whose growing 
 
 Has been from my birth; 
 There is nought that the tide brings in flowing 
 
 Can equal their worth. 
 
 For as shells from the murmurs of ocean 
 
 Steal echoes that last. 
 So in friendship is stored the emotion 
 
 Of years that are past. 
 
 1876. 
 
174 A Vision. 
 
 A VISION. 
 
 DALE, 
 
 blood-stained, who are these, that are thronging 
 the throne of God ? 
 Their faces are ashen with anguish, their garments soiled 
 
 from the sod ; 
 Wide and wan as a sunless ocean, the multitude stands. 
 With silent lips, and with piteous eyes, and with praying 
 hands. 
 
 There is none that speaks, and none that stirs, in the 
 
 numberless hosts, 
 Like the still white clouds in twilight heavens, — an army 
 
 of ghosts ; 
 Slain in the battle some, with the curses of war in their 
 
 mouth ; 
 Some in wantonness slaughtered; some stricken of hunger 
 
 or drouth. 
 
 Who will stand for them, who will plead for them, there 
 
 at the throne ? 
 Are they not all God's children, whom Christ has claimed 
 
 for His own? 
 Sinners? — but all are sinners ! Ah, whocan tell their doom? 
 If there be room in hell, yet in heaven is there not room? 
 
A Visio7i. 175 
 
 Like the motes of dust from a sunbeam, when a sudden 
 
 wind has blown, 
 Like the stars from the presence of God, when a universe 
 
 is o'erthrown, 
 They are gone from our gaze, they are gathered and 
 
 garnered for bliss or pain. 
 Woman and warrior, Turk and Christian, slayer and slain. 
 
 Is there no sign then, is there no wonder, is there no cry? 
 Are the dead as a wind that passes, are they gone as the 
 
 waves go by ? 
 Listen ! is there no sound of a sobbing that shakes the air. 
 And the wail of an unseen multitude, waked from a mute 
 
 despair? 
 
 Do we dream, or are dead men weeping, as they wept in 
 
 the world below. 
 For the red fields sown with the dead, and no harvest to 
 
 reap but woe. 
 And the guiltless herds that are marched, like the beasts, 
 
 to a sacrifice. 
 That can save not them nor their rulers from the hell of 
 
 falsehood and vice ? 
 
 And they weep that they see no end, and they cry that 
 
 the end should be ! 
 Ah, God ! send down thine angel, that the rest die not 
 
 as we ! 
 As thou didst send thy Son, to die that sin might cease. 
 Send down one lowest of angels, only to breathe of peace. 
 
176 A Vision. 
 
 To breathe thy peace in the counsels, where the rulers, 
 unconcerned, 
 
 Stake for a phantom glory, the honour that peace has 
 earned ; 
 
 And the happy homes of a nation they stake for a states- 
 man's pride ; — 
 
 Oh, send thy peace ! oh, save them, for whose sakes the 
 Saviour died ! 
 
 January, i8y8. 
 
 Marcus Ward S: Co., Royal Ulster Works, Belfast. 
 
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