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 PERCY GOP DON
 
 
 
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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 
 >' i \fK' 
 
 
 
 -V V 
 
 .- iM-'^.'
 
 / 1 Ih-U-^i^-^^^' /i*?K 
 
 FEUILLEMORTE 
 
 &c.
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 
 SPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUARE 
 
 AND PARLIAMENT STREET
 
 FEU ILLEMORTE 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 PERCY GORDON 
 
 LONDON 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 1878 
 
 All rii^/iis reserved
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Dedication vii 
 
 Fkuillemorte. Part I i 
 
 Nellie 25 )<^ 
 
 The Voyager 28 
 
 Leila 3^ 
 
 The Voyage Home 43 
 
 My Tower . . . • -5° 
 
 A Remembrance 67 
 
 Long Ago 7° 
 
 In Memoriam, L. D 7^ 
 
 The Magdalene 81 
 
 A Fireside Dream 86 
 
 Three Letters .... . • 99 
 
 Dee-side io7 
 
 Sweetheart 109 
 
 False and Fair m ^ 
 
 ^ Jf **<i'i* 
 
 JSL.?L-* vi^^C-/
 
 vi CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Song 114 
 
 Set Stars 116 
 
 Song . , 119 
 
 My Darling 121 
 
 Daisy 122 
 
 Dead Leaves 123 
 
 All is Well .124 
 
 Old Letters 126 
 
 Lottie 12S 
 
 A Quartette 130 
 
 Margaret 132 
 
 The Awakening 135 
 
 The Bell-buoy 137 
 
 Love's Mirage 142 
 
 Fanny 145 
 
 Rome 146 
 
 New Year's Eve 147
 
 DEDICATION. 
 To H. C. 
 
 At last : I thought I should not live — so long 
 The bashful muse who tempted me to song 
 Has laid her finger on her lips and mine — 
 Until I said what is the World's, and thine. 
 Feuillemorte ! the hue of death is on the leaves 
 Which strew our English woodlands here, and thou 
 Art gone beyond the storm-tost wave which heaves 
 Around these coasts besieged by Winter now. 
 AVhat can I say to thee that has not all been said 
 By fonder hearts and greater tongues than mine ? 
 Are children greater than the mighty dead 
 Who hear us speak, and yet may make no sign ? 
 While I can speak yet will I speak to thee : 
 I would it were vouchsafed unto me
 
 viii DEDICATION. 
 
 To say, in words which time would not let die, 
 
 All that I feel to-day. But there are floods 
 
 "Which beat for ever on unmoved shores, 
 
 And there are storms ev'n in our saddest moods 
 
 Which end in lives as calm as mine and yours. 
 
 Have we not talked together, you and I, 
 
 Of life's unbounded possibilities ? 
 
 — The hopes, which vanish in a single sigh, 
 
 The aim which sees a far-off heav'n, and dies. 
 
 I heard an echo of a thunder-storm 
 
 Among the mountains of the land of song : 
 
 I think I saw the outline of a form 
 
 As fair as could to earthly spheres belong : 
 
 If I, who loved the lightning in the hills, 
 
 And thought her lovelier than all dreams have told, 
 
 Fail in weak words, where failed the men of old, 
 
 To tell what is that happiness which kills, 
 
 Perhaps I came unto too late a day. 
 
 Or loving dare not love, or knowing cannot say. 
 
 Nine years the simple songs I give to thee
 
 DEDICA HON. ix 
 
 Have rested under jealous lock and key. 
 But my loved river flowetli on apace — 
 How know I how much longer have I grace ? 
 One said, simplicity was strength, but I 
 May find no star in Hfe's tempestuous sky 
 Reserved for me. I only know I sing 
 Because I love the flowers and the spring. 
 
 The North is locked in ice ; comes the wild wind 
 Across the wold, and with its breath the snow : 
 My heart is very heavy, for I know 
 That death for both of us comes stealthily behind. 
 My friend, bear gently with me in this hour ; 
 No voice is heard to-day amid the crowd : 
 I make no moan because the grapes are sour, 
 But Fame must blow her trumpet long and loud 
 To speak to times as dead as thine and mine. 
 Come let us face that hour when, hoar with rime, 
 Over the graves which softly-tending time 
 Has made for names as lost as this and thine, 
 The grass shall blow, and we shall be forgotten. 
 Let us not wait to watch the roses die ;
 
 X DEDICA TIOA. 
 
 Fruit, faith, fame and flow'rs — all alike are rotten, 
 
 And all alike will bud, breathe, burst and flame again. 
 
 Meanwhile the star of Hope is in the sky 
 
 Of morning wan from midnight storm and rain, 
 
 And looks as sweet as if love were not dead ; 
 
 And the pale crocus lifts its dainty head. 
 
 You knew the cottage by the river-side, 
 
 The white gate and the garden and the silvery tide, 
 
 The jessamine about the porch, the flower-beds, 
 
 Ambitious wilderness of lilies and of weeds. 
 
 And everything a man's vain fancy weds 
 
 Who lives a day, and knows not what he needs, — 
 
 Charlie and Rock, the boat, the pipes, the wine, 
 
 The piano and the books — from Hudibras to Heine : 
 
 No more— farewell to fortune and to fame. 
 
 One thing survives — your friendship is the same. 
 
 And some may laugh, and some may sneer, and some 
 
 Will understand these songs which leave their home, 
 
 And like red leaves whirl'd by the Autumn wind 
 
 Rise, fly, fall, — vanish out of sight and mind.
 
 DEDICATION. xi 
 
 If in between the thoughtless lines you trace 
 Some touch of sadness, memory of a face 
 Wistful and fair, some yearning for a love 
 Earth has not, — or can hear some words she said 
 Who was and is not — peace be with the dead — 
 Or when the winds are still, a footstep falling 
 Ev'n on dead leaves, some voices calling 
 Over the great wide river, — mingled pain and love, 
 'Tis hers not mine to silent tears to move : 
 For what is best is little : what is weak is love. 
 • . . • • 
 
 Pile up the logs : close the thick curtains round : 
 Loud roars the gale : the distant breakers sound : 
 This cup to thee, — and health to absent friends, — 
 Peace, life, and love, — to thee the Author sends. 
 
 Christmas, i877.
 
 FE UILLEMORTE. 
 
 Tell me not the doom ofloojing. 
 Though the love were all in vain — 
 Gi'Jn the pleasure with the pam, 
 I would lave and lose again. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 I. 
 
 Thy wavelets tremble to the stars, 
 Thy beauty changeth with the moon : 
 And lovelier are those silver bars 
 Than all thy golden floods of noon. 
 
 Cold as the loveless, chill as death, 
 Thy silent waters glide away : 
 In ghostly shapes thy misty breath 
 Creeps round the meadows, faint and gray. 
 
 B
 
 FEUILLEMORTE. 
 
 The garden of my love is mute, 
 She and her birds are fast asleep : 
 No wind of night, nor lover's lute 
 May wake them from their slumber deep. 
 
 And I return across the lea. 
 Leaving the frost upon her lawn : 
 And Thou go'st, dreaming of the sea. 
 Towards the red autumnal dawn. 
 
 II. 
 
 We trod upon the velvet lawn, we look'd into the sky, 
 The lark was singing in the blue, the clouds were 
 
 sailing high. 
 And past the golden lily-crowns the river hurried by. 
 
 The boat was rocking in the cove ; we loos'd it from 
 
 its chain ; 
 For one long day we bade adieu to any earthly pain. 
 And down the stream of light and love we floated 
 
 once again.
 
 FEUILLEMORTE. 3 
 
 Within the corn the poppy glow'd, the iris in the 
 
 reeds, 
 Upon the stile a raven black sat conning its misdeeds, 
 Adown the wind a heron swung and dropt into the 
 
 weeds. 
 
 We heard the grasshopper at work, the i^at splash in 
 
 the pool ; 
 We said the dwellers in the towns were — every man, 
 
 a fool — 
 Across the happy harvest land the breezes blew so 
 
 cool. 
 
 For who could court sad memories, or cherish bitter 
 
 mood 
 Whose soul had bath'd within that blissful sunshine 
 
 and the flood 
 Which swept us from the light into the shadow of the 
 
 wood .? 
 
 It was the Indian summer then, the time when winds 
 are wooing
 
 4 FEUILLEMORTE. 
 
 The high tree-tops in tones so soft none know that 
 winds are blowing : 
 
 The leaves but murmur to the notes of wanton ring- 
 doves cooing. 
 
 We found a bow'r of reeds so rare, no flag was bent or 
 broken, 
 
 Only the open skies above the boundless world be- 
 token, 
 
 And love's wild wishes were the only words that there 
 were spoken. 
 
 The story was so very long, we told it till the gloam- 
 ing ; 
 
 We drifted onward till we heard the sound of water 
 foaming, 
 
 And knew the weir was right ahead ; the silent bats 
 were roaming. 
 
 Whence comes this breeze, the presage sad of evening 
 surely bringing ? 
 
 We too must homeward with the band of reapers softly 
 singing, 
 
 With fading light, and o'er the stream, the church- 
 bells sweetly ringing.
 
 FE UILL EM OR TE. 
 
 III. 
 
 The night is dark, yet overhead, 
 The stars are in the silent skies ; 
 The corncrake in the osier-bed 
 Wakes all the river with his cries. 
 
 The day has been so very sweet, 
 But darkness ends the longest day, 
 And all has ended as was meet, 
 My darling, — she has gone away. 
 
 I love the river in the dark. 
 
 Which ripples o'er its sandy bars, 
 
 And silently my little bark 
 
 Moves up the stream beneath the stars. 
 
 I leave the highway of the flood, 
 And creep along the empty lawn, 
 The house is silent, and the wood, 
 The lights are out, the blinds are drawn.
 
 FE UILLEMOR TE. 
 
 I paddle up the tideless creek, 
 The launch in gloom at anchor lies, 
 The ghost-like swans the sedges seek, 
 The swing-bridge stands against the skies. 
 
 To sit in silence, and to mark 
 A planet for her Paradise, 
 To feel her presence in the dark, 
 To fancy I can see her eyes — ■ 
 
 To whisper something to my love, 
 So far away, and lock'd in sleep, 
 Which may perchance her slumbers move, 
 With ripples in the dreaming deep — 
 
 This is the fancy of the hour : 
 
 And then to turn and slowly pass 
 
 The house, the bridge, the church, the tow'r. 
 
 The white posts standing in the grass. 
 
 And out upon the tide again 
 We come, and drift in silence down ; 
 It all seems like a i)assing pain. 
 One day of bliss too swiftly flown.-
 
 FEUILLEMOR TE. 
 
 And midnight strikes from yonder tow'r, 
 A cold wind wakes among the reeds ; 
 We glide across the floating flow'r 
 Which gems mth white the matted weeds. 
 
 And has to-day been all a dream ? 
 I ask, but no one speaks a word : 
 A gleam of stars upon the stream — 
 They are the lights of Halliford. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As one that takes his lute to play 
 And finds the notes are dumb, 
 I wander'd up the stream to-day. 
 And thought unto my loves to tell 
 How I did love them passing well : 
 But all my thoughts are fled away — 
 The words — :they will not come. 
 
 For who could sing an earthly song 
 When all the woods are full of birds, 
 And down the river-reaches throng
 
 FEUILLEMORTE. 
 
 The voices of the summer-world ? 
 The waters o'er the loud weir hurled 
 Shout as they riot and race along — 
 My heart — it is too glad for words. 
 
 My loves are talking unto me, 
 Nor ask of mine or thought or theme ; 
 He skims above the mimic sea, 
 My feather'd exile from the south : 
 As when one seals a maiden's mouth 
 With kisses — wind and wave and tree 
 Do fold my heart in a summer-dream. 
 
 V. 
 
 In the time of falling leaves 
 
 I love to think of spring. 
 
 The coming immortality ^ 
 
 Of which the poets sing, 
 
 The sweet things which will never die, 
 
 However much one grieves. 
 
 She was the sweetest child on earth, 
 The darling whom I crown'd
 
 FEUILLEMOR TE. 
 
 With daisies, white with golden hearts, 
 When, seated on the ground, 
 What time the folded violet parts, 
 We watched the summer's birth. 
 My lady was so sweetly staid, 
 She thought the rooks unholy. 
 Because so great a noise they made 
 On Sabbath mornings in the shade 
 Of those high elms, and truly, 
 I half beUeved the little maid. 
 We lay at length upon the grass 
 When sermon-time was over, 
 I promised her no other friend 
 Should ever be her lover, 
 Whatever coming years should send, 
 Whatever they might bring to pass. 
 She built a ship of elder-slips 
 And launched it on the river. 
 We watched it vanish out of sight 
 Where yonder rushes quiver ; 
 She said my fortune was its freight, 
 And pursed her dainty little lips. 
 And wagered fifty kisses 
 I could not get my boat again,
 
 lo FEUILLEMORTE. 
 
 And looked so lovely and so shy 
 I took them without asking why, 
 As thirsty flowers drink the rain : 
 For which forbidden blisses 
 She vowed a retribution sweet 
 Sometime, perhaps to-morrow : 
 I knew she loved me far too well, 
 A moment's frown to borrow. 
 Those golden days had flying feet, 
 And ended — how, I may not tell. 
 
 I only know that when I come 
 
 Across this meadow to the stream, 
 
 And thro' the gate, and by the church, 
 
 I seem to fall into a dream 
 
 Of Lilian and the golden days 
 
 When we were young together. 
 
 And when the weary teams come home, 
 
 And shadows from the feathery birch 
 
 Lie black at evening on the grass 
 
 In quiet summer-weather, 
 
 I wonder what the river says 
 
 Unto its swaying rushes, 
 
 I wonder why the seasons give
 
 FEUILLEMORTE. ii 
 
 WTiite blossoms to the bushes — 
 I wonder, when the breezes pass 
 Deep-scented with the clover, 
 How is it in the days gone by 
 When happier stars were in the sky 
 I ever was her lover — 
 I wonder why I care to live 
 Since those sweet days are over. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A long green slope unto the water side, 
 The sunshine glancing on the rolling tide, 
 A light skiff straining at its tetheirng cord 
 Beneath the grey stone bridge of Shillingford ; 
 Above, the Inn, half hid in roses white, 
 High up, a blue flag fluttering in the light ; 
 Girls in the garden, travellers at the door, 
 A pretty maid who foaming tankards bore ; 
 Behind, the dusty winding road, and higher 
 The yellow woods touch'd with autumnal fire ; 
 Below, the silver Thames the valley fills. 
 Then Benson's roofs back'd by the Chiltern hills ;
 
 12 FE UILLEMOR TE. 
 
 Westward the shadows flit across the plain, 
 And far away the clouds are streak'd with rain ; 
 And in the midst of fields of rippling rye 
 Dorchester's tower stands against the sky. 
 
 VII. 
 
 We heard the garden gate-way creak, 
 He came, and said it would be fine ; 
 We patted Maggie on the cheek 
 And said we would be back to dine ; 
 She only had one dinner, yet 
 She ask'd what banquet we might choose, 
 We laugh'd, and left her in a pet. 
 And started on our daily cruise. 
 We took the books we never read, 
 And filled our flasks with barley-bree. 
 No one could tell, so Charley said. 
 How long our voyage might not be — 
 That voyage of discovery 
 Across the fields of rippling rye 
 To find the Fleiir-de-lys.
 
 FEUILLEMOR TE. 1 3 
 
 We drifted from the grassy shore 
 
 And paddled slowly up the stream, 
 
 Watching the martins dip and soar, 
 
 And plying still a lazy oar 
 
 We listened to the distant scream 
 
 Of noisy rooks in windy skies. 
 
 And such untutor'd harmonies 
 
 As wander over happy fields 
 
 When lowing kine come down to drink 
 
 And crowd at noon-day by the brink 
 
 Of brooks that babble thro' the wealds, 
 
 And rustling autumn breezes bow 
 
 The poplars tall and pollards low 
 
 That mark the winding river's flow. 
 
 The fairy gossamer thread 
 Shines in the sunlight overhead ; 
 We pause to watch the sweating team 
 Towing the heavy barge up-stream ; 
 And, of a sudden, some one said 
 He would not scull us any more — 
 So drifting to the flowery bank 
 We put our mutineer ashore, 
 And into bliss and silence sank.
 
 14 FEUILLEMORTE, 
 
 While he uncoil'd the dripping line, 
 
 And shouting to our pilot bold 
 
 To clear his starboard bow, struck out 
 
 To tow us thro' the weeds that twine 
 
 About the keel ; and in and out 
 
 The banks we glide, by green and gold. 
 
 Along the winding grassy ridge, 
 
 Until at length we came 
 
 Unto the shaky wooden bridge 
 
 That marks the mouth of Thame. 
 
 By many a bend, and shoaling bar 
 We journey'd thro' the ripening corn, 
 And softly on the air was borne 
 The whirr of scythes at work afar ; 
 And here of old the chariot wheels 
 Of Britain's hosts swept o'er the plain. 
 And here the rising mound reveals 
 Where Rome's encampments yet remain. 
 
 By tangled weeds, and bush and briar, 
 By banks aglow with crimson flow'rs, 
 Wliere hums the golden-banded bee. 
 We push our exploration higher,
 
 FEUILLEMORTE. 
 
 And warned by swiftly fleeting hours 
 Affect to hide our deep desire 
 To find the Fleur-de-lys. 
 At last we saw some garden wails, 
 And heard the sound of water-falls, 
 Then voices on the breezes blown, 
 And lo ! the church, the bridge, the town. 
 
 Fast fly the hours with song and jest, 
 Alas ! that days like this should end ! 
 But mindful of the evening star, 
 That hangs above the flaming West, 
 We start for home, and so descend 
 The shining stream, by shoaling bar, 
 And shadowy pool, and winding bend. 
 And where the dragon-fly at noon 
 Shot hke a gleam between the reeds, 
 The gnats now hum a drowsy tune. 
 The moor-hen darts beneath the weeds. 
 And with the evening breeze which fans 
 The rustling lye, once more we came 
 Unto the rustic bridge which spans 
 The reedy banks of Thame.
 
 1© FEUILLEMORTE. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The clouds are painting shadows on the hills, 
 
 The wind is up the stream, 
 
 And shakes the ivy round the window-sills 
 
 And sighs, as if to seem 
 
 That breeze which shook the jessamines in June 
 
 Methinks it comes too soon. 
 
 The last rose shudders at its chilling breath, 
 
 The river murmurs, as in dream, 
 
 And half-drown'd reeds from underneath 
 
 Make arrows in the stream : 
 
 Fast into silence sinks the year, as dies 
 
 The light in fading skies. 
 
 And Memory casts its shadows on my heart, 
 
 Mine eyes are filled with tears, 
 
 With empty out-stretched hands I see depart 
 
 The sad unfruitful years, 
 
 Which leave me, since my sweet love went away. 
 
 Alone, unloved, to-day.
 
 FEUILLEMORTE. 17 
 
 IX. 
 
 Once more, at eventide, we slacken'd sail, 
 And slowly drifted under Cliefden woods ; 
 No leaflet stirr'd in that autumnal gloaming ; 
 For far along the winding silvery vale 
 A sad and solemn silence falls and broods : 
 The shining restless stream alone is roaming. 
 And waiting for the harvest moon so long, 
 Our Celia sang her last and sweetest song. 
 
 ' Tlie dawn is arisen, my love, awake ! 
 
 Unlock thy soft white arms ; 
 For tJie morning breezes thy casements shake. 
 
 The sun thy chamber warms. 
 
 ' The wind is blowijig fro7n over the seas, 
 
 Unclose thy wondering eyes; 
 The plover is calling along the leas, 
 
 And the dufts of the roses rise. 
 
 ' Farewell to thy dreams of old, my sweet. 
 
 And wake to a fuller day ; 
 The floods of thy life and mifie must meet. 
 
 And love will have its way' 
 c
 
 i8 FEUILLEMORTE. 
 
 She ceased, and as the last notes died away, 
 The lingering twilight one shade deeper fell : 
 The flit-mouse wheels against the pearl-gray sky ; 
 And we are sad, for that our golden day 
 Is dead : but far away a sweet slow bell 
 Is pealing to the folded Autumn fields : 
 The measur'd beat of oars comes gently by, — 
 Another song we ask, and Celia yields : 
 
 I. 
 
 ' Tell me, when thy sweet lips sever 
 From these kisses drawn to thine, 
 If our wild arid weak endeavour 
 To endow with life for ever 
 Love which thus ca?i plead and pine — 
 Make thee weary, sweetheart tnine 1 
 
 So will I kiss thine eyes asleep, 
 And cease from love's sweet pain; 
 And wlien the wind wakes o'er the deep, 
 A?id blushes of the tuild dawn creep 
 Across the hills, across the main. 
 Kiss thepi awake agaiti.'
 
 FEUILLEMOR TE. 
 
 X. 
 
 19 
 
 As fairy-boats of the forest, little leaves 
 
 The rude wind shakes into the hurrying stream, 
 
 Unconscious of the burthen it receives, 
 
 Muttering its Autumn dream — 
 Forlorn and rudderless, drift into coves 
 By t\\'ining elder-branches made a gloom, 
 And anchor, till a bubbling eddy roves, 
 
 Hugging the bank's perfume, 
 Into the haven — then dart into the sun, 
 Playing mid-stream, and dance in a blaze of gems, 
 Ling'ring to kiss adieu, ere the last run. 
 
 To crowns of lily-stems : 
 So, on the sloping hills of life we muse, 
 And turning sorrowful, weep in the shade. 
 Until a tone, a touch, hard to refuse, 
 
 Or mirth by others made 
 Draws us into the sunlit fields again ; 
 And so it changes ever, hour by hour. 
 And shadows vex the sunset, after rain 
 
 Watched from the garden bow'r. 
 
 c 2
 
 20 FEUILLEMORTE. 
 
 XI. 
 
 I stand beside thy flood, O river that I love, 
 As, one by one, the twilight blots the hills around ; 
 And from the sea of lowering cloud which rolls above 
 The warning rain-drops patter on the leaf-strewn 
 ground. 
 
 By the rambling feet of those who loved thy laughing 
 
 summer 
 And the hands which pluck'd thy flowers 
 Art thou now forsaken, 
 And the northern blast hath promised thee a wreath 
 
 of virgin snow ! 
 
 Swiftly up-stream, before the wind, behold thy latest 
 
 comer — 
 The wild-duck winging thro' the Autumn showers 
 His flight unto his winter-home, to waken 
 Yon dreary marshes into life, where the floods are 
 
 out, below. 
 
 Sweet wanderer from the far-off ice-bound fiords, 
 Could I but follow over land and sea
 
 FE UILL EM OR TE. 2 1 
 
 When thy bright wings shall once more northward 
 
 roam, 
 My memory might forget her last cold v/ords, 
 This life-long pain might cease to be, 
 My aching heart, perchance, might find beyond the 
 
 sea 
 Some peace, if not a home. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Flow swiftly past the bending reeds 
 
 That vainly stem thy billows, 
 And hurry hence their million seeds 
 
 To sleep beneath thy willows ; 
 But not with thee by bridge and spire, 
 And many a city's fitful gleam 
 
 Seek I the distant main. 
 But rather rest with these and dream 
 Towards the sunset's fading fire, 
 
 Till Spring shall wake again.
 
 FEUILLEMORTE. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 O river, running to the sea, 
 Thy waters shall no more return, 
 My days flow on, and like to thee, 
 They bear me to a common bourn. 
 
 The hour will come when I shall rest 
 Where those I loved have gone before, 
 And I must leave the useless quest 
 Of peace on any earthly shore. 
 
 Dost thou not love this sunny spot. 
 When winds are soft and blowing free ? 
 Surely the blue forget-me-not 
 Along thy banks is dear to thee ? 
 
 What say thy swallows when they touch 
 With glancing wing thy waters bright ? 
 Methinks we love thee over-much, 
 Thy one response is but — Good- night. 
 
 O river, bring'st thou from the hills 
 That lie alone and far away
 
 FEUILLEMORTE. 23 
 
 Some sadd'ning memory which kills 
 The ripple of thy joy to-day? 
 
 Did some cold rain of yesternight 
 Whisper of oceans vast that lie 
 Far-off, beyond us, out of sight, 
 Thy doom and thy eternity ? 
 
 And I must follow, the' my heart 
 Is with the golden Autumn here ; 
 The faithless swallows will depart, 
 And flow'rs must blossom otherwhere. 
 
 I cannot hold thee in my hand. 
 Only my love to thee I tell : 
 Sweet river of a sunny land — 
 Thy one response is still — Farewell ! 
 
 END OF PART I.
 
 NELLIE. 
 
 Whence that pensive air 
 Ever on thee, little one — 
 Fairy being, pale and fair, 
 Thou, with life but just begun? 
 Whence that wistful look 
 In thy deep blue eyes, 
 Bending o'er thy story-book 
 When the sunlight dies ? 
 
 It is playing on the glow 
 Of thy golden hair. 
 Drooping down in silken flow 
 Round thy face so wondrous fair 
 I have seen some lovely faces, 
 I have look'd on eyes divine, 
 But their beauty bore no traces 
 Of such loveliness as thine.
 
 26 NELLIE. 
 
 Tell me, child of strangest fancies, 
 Why that tear upon the page, 
 Dropt from eyes whose shaded glances 
 Vest the sweetness of thine age 
 With a nameless charm, 
 Breathing of thy future years. 
 And a purpose fix'd and calm 
 Burning in the spirit's spheres ? 
 
 Have the wrongs of Princess fair 
 Caused thy gentle breast those sighs ? 
 Or the woes of Golden-Hair 
 Dimm'd the fringes of thine eyes ? 
 
 Wander, pensive little one. 
 
 In thy sunny fairy-lands ; 
 
 For the hours of lifetime run. 
 
 And the waves roll o'er the sands, — 
 
 Washing out the forms we traced, 
 
 Smiling through our childhood's tears,- 
 
 Structures built to be effaced 
 
 By the tide of after years. 
 
 Methinks such pearly tears 
 Dimming eyes so softly bright,
 
 NELLIE. 27 
 
 When sweet music fills thine ears 
 Breathe not sorrow but delight : 
 Hearest thou the angels' flight 
 When their white wings pass thy door, — 
 Or, do they in dreams at night 
 Bring thee, darling, whispers from th' eternal 
 shore ?
 
 28 
 
 THE VOYAGER. 
 
 He stood on the rocks as the tide flow'd in — 
 
 His skiff on the beach below ; 
 The billows pass'd with a shoreward din, ' 
 The white foam sang, while the moon was low ; 
 And the song that arose from the mermaid's grave, 
 Pass'd into his soul by the lonely wave, 
 And he delayed to go. 
 
 A sheet of mist, like a phantom sail, 
 
 Came ashore from the dreary sea ; 
 The star of the north slid behind the vail. 
 Leaving it dark, and what seem'd to be 
 The wandering sigh of a restless soul 
 Shriek'd as it pass'd with the breakers' roll. 
 
 And the night laugh'd loud on the lee.
 
 THE VOYAGER. 29 
 
 He listed the words that the ocean foam 
 Shouts loud, and the wild wind hears ; 
 
 He was sad for the soul that had lost its home. 
 
 And an ancient love in the misty years ; 
 
 For he knew that the tide returns from the shore, 
 
 But life passes by with its wail evermore, 
 And the world is water'd with tears. 
 
 Why is the Past like the fairy-tale 
 
 Of an isle in the distant sea ? 
 In childhood 'twas there when youth set sail 
 With the rnoming-sun and a shout of glee ; 
 What matter, saith he, if Heaven be more, 
 Why weep for tlie ^^Teck on the lonely shore, 
 
 Or the isle that we no more see ? 
 
 Why do we stay, ever looking behind, 
 Through shadows and mist and rain ? 
 
 Can we trace no hope of a better kind 
 
 In the breaking day on yonder main ? 
 
 \\Tiere is the faith in a nobler life 
 
 In the soul which sinks in sorrow's strife ? 
 O rather go forward again !
 
 30 THE VOYAGER. 
 
 So he tum'd from the rock to his boat on the wave, 
 
 God's breezes blew bUthe and free, — 
 Saith he, — ' Now let the tears of the brave 
 Fall for the brave, but life's rough sea 
 Calms at the worst, and the sun bursts through 
 Night and her vail, with my work to do 
 I sail with my love to a sweeter grave, 
 And pass to Eternity ! '
 
 LEILA, 
 
 A PAUSE in my life of toil in the mighty to\\Ti, 
 A hush in the roar of wheels by day and night, — 
 And I sit by the sea, where the daylight lingers down 
 Long in the west, and miss with a deep delight 
 The early dark of the city, and its frown. 
 
 A smile on the care-worn face we love repays 
 Weeks of the gloom that memory traces there — 
 A valiant heart fell asleep in darken'd ways — 
 Ah me ! the terrible change in a face once fair ! 
 So the break in my life gilded the after days. 
 
 The glorious light on the swell of the summer sea, 
 Greets me at mom, and a rushing wind strikes force 
 Into the heart-beat, throbbing life ! for a taste of thee !
 
 32 LEILA. 
 
 The touch of God's simple things should teach 
 
 remorse 
 To those who speak in scorn of tlie simple things 
 
 that be. 
 
 I liv'd in the Present then, but I toil'd for the coming 
 
 years, 
 For others if I should die -• and music stole 
 Over some fancies warm — the mirage of tears — 
 In those long hours : a secret voice in the soul 
 Tells me these forms will rise as manhood nears. 
 
 Life is a sense hard-working hour by hour ; 
 Musings are sad which, ending, blend not well 
 With the sweat of toil, and the call for zest and pow'r ; 
 Then what have I to do with dreams that tell 
 How some do watch for love from a lofty tow'r ? 
 
 In the even flow of my life in the busy town 
 No pulse of my being dulled wliich panteth for truth ; 
 If visions arose, what could I do but crown 
 Phantoms divine with hope, the star of my youth ? 
 The world is wondrous fair as I climb and pause to 
 look down.
 
 LEILA. 33 
 
 Who is the fool so hard and blind that shall say 
 The daily round of labour loseth force 
 For a cherish'd faith in the joy of a coming day 
 When the thread of life we wind shall seem less 
 
 coarse, 
 And lovelier years the life-long march repay ? 
 
 Yet I care not overmuch whether they come or no, 
 For life and joy at the most are flowers that fade : 
 He cheateth himself, methinks, that liveth not so 
 That his life continueth hereafter : were we not made 
 To rise through a million of ages, and ever to grow ? 
 
 But I let them come — those dreams, they were sweet 
 
 to me, 
 Striving hard in the heat of the noon at the hill 
 Sloping before me to heaven : even for thee, 
 My darling, the world shall yield its tribute until 
 Our love pass beyond the veil, and time cease to be ! 
 
 Why does her face flit by, on the sea, in the closing 
 
 gloom — 
 That face which I never saw before I came ? 
 What is there sadder to- day in the distant boom 
 
 D
 
 34 LEILA. 
 
 Of breakers upon the cliff? What in the name 
 
 Of a stranger to me who passeth away to her doom ? 
 
 Passeth awav? ah me ! 'tis not hard to tell 
 
 Why amid perfect peace, disquiet is here ; 
 
 To-morrow the vision fadeth — is it not well ? 
 
 I shall hear again the tramp of the crowd, — my calling 
 
 is there ! 
 I had built but a castle of sand ; I laugh'd, and it fell. 
 
 I am not untrue to the past, for I never have found 
 A life that could beat for ever and ever with mine ; 
 Though often in fancy I saw her who innocently 
 
 wound 
 The gentlest of spells around me : as the stars shine 
 In beauty, I lov'd her ; for ever I would be thus bound. 
 
 Why should I speak of the child ? I shall see her 
 
 again ; 
 The mightiest power of mammon never could bribe 
 That which I hold to be the highest and holiest 
 
 gain— 
 A soul unfetter'd to love — to stoop to subscribe 
 To the infamous lie that can bind two souls with a 
 
 chain.
 
 LEILA. 35 
 
 Am I wild that I talk of two, who never lov'd one ? 
 Let her be — the child, whose kiss as a sister's was 
 
 mine : 
 And my fancy comes back to the light of a summer 
 
 sun 
 Two hours down, and the group of girls who twine 
 Soft arms round each other, and walk, and talk of 
 
 the day that is done. 
 
 They pass me as I sit here ; the sisters are fair ; 
 One little face looks up, all radiant with smiles — 
 Leila, the darling child ! her ringlets of auburn hair 
 Blown over her wistful eyes, those sunniest isles 
 Of a hght I love — an eloquence soft and rare. 
 
 I smile to think of the world's common habit and use 
 Of its purest gifts ; I laugh at the laugh I hear : 
 O sweet summer day when I found a ready excuse 
 To lead her away hand-in-hand, enchanting her ear 
 With the lightest of jests, through the woods, in their 
 joys profuse ! 
 
 That dear httle hand, confidingly laid in mine — 
 Was it slower to sin thenceforth for the spell of a touch 
 so pure ? 
 
 D 2
 
 36 LEILA. 
 
 How happy we were, and gay, in the shade of the 
 
 sombre pine— 
 The king of a wood not our own — trespassing sure ! 
 We cancell'd the years from my life, Leila, that were 
 
 not thine. 
 
 And she who dwelt in my musings first, whose face, 
 DeHcately fair, pass'd and repass'd in my dreams — 
 She too has curls which kiss at the ^\^nd's embrace 
 The rosy cheek where tlie light of consciousness 
 
 gleams — 
 The flush of her wakening maidenhood, divine in its 
 
 grace. 
 
 I wish'd to speak of her in words to which I might 
 
 turn 
 When the peace of these days was fled, and the selfish 
 
 roar 
 {3f winter-days was around me again — to find in the 
 
 urn 
 Of the past some memories sweet — to think on this 
 
 life's dim shore. 
 How wondrous fair are some that come, and go, and 
 
 never return.
 
 LEILA. 37 
 
 Am I morbidly sad, am I foolishly gay — am I right 
 
 or wrong 
 To muse for a hundred hours on profitless themes ? 
 Why do we passionately yearn to hear once again the 
 
 song 
 Which we know will never be sung again, except in 
 
 our dreams ? 
 Why do we dwell on passionless days, we who toil in 
 
 the throng ? 
 
 Where should we be, O Christ ! if we might not rest 
 Travel-stained on the road — to wonder and gaze, to 
 
 adore 
 The marvels of beauty above us — to see ourselves blest 
 With the things we love in the future to which we pass 
 
 on eveniiore ? 
 Let me die if I may not look on the sun, as I follow 
 
 my life-long quest ! 
 
 Sisters they were, whom the world had not dared to 
 
 stain as yet, 
 Sisters in ways of life, in thought, and in tender grace, 
 And the love that reign'd at home had disdain'd to set
 
 38 LEILA. 
 
 Between them and life as it is the pitiful maxims and 
 
 base 
 Which make out of women mischievous fools, weaving 
 
 the devil's net. 
 
 As over the darkening sea, through the evening mist, 
 I have watch'd in the purple gloom a chaplet of stars 
 And yearn'd towards one, the brightest, like a pale 
 
 amethyst 
 Melting away into colour, and chaining with silvery 
 
 bars 
 Its floating light and my captive eyes — lovers 
 
 stealthily kiss'd — 
 
 As I singled from many but one, though all were 
 
 equally fair. 
 And lost in its brightness the others, so dwelling thus 
 
 long 
 On the cluster of maiden sisters, its absence made 
 
 me aware 
 That I lov'd to look oftener on one sweet face, and 
 
 felt as a wrong 
 The law of the world which made us strange, with 
 
 spirits confluent as air.
 
 LEILA. 39 
 
 And this is my fancy to-night, since the world laughs 
 
 down 
 All gentle and holy whispers of days like these, 
 Until we risk being thought, as the dusty clown, 
 The thing which we seem and are not : for who that 
 
 sees 
 This endless masquerade believes in the jew^ell'd crown 
 
 Which we jealously keep for hours pluck'd from the 
 
 strife — 
 Hours of wondrous intercourse of mind with mind. 
 Hours of thought, conceiving, in mighty creations rife, 
 Hours of love that leave all voices of earth behind. 
 Hours of this our existence, not mock'd by the name 
 
 of life ? 
 
 To chase from the mirror of thought a crowed of forms, 
 And faces of many I love not, — to bid arise 
 That gentle maiden flow'r ; and the picture warms 
 As the soul's delight changes to sunset-skies 
 The clouds that hung in the back-ground, threatening 
 storms.
 
 40 LEILA. 
 
 She rose at my call ; and her face like a fixed star 
 Shone in the dusk ; mute, she read from the page 
 Of the inspiration that hath no voice, but burneth 
 
 afar — 
 Leading our souls as the sons of a far-off age 
 Were led by the light of God in its cloudy car — 
 
 Read me a story old, such as many have read, 
 The tale of my own short life, its light and its shade ; 
 And I listen'd until the gloom of my musings fled, 
 And I understood that the worker within had made 
 Ready her place in the temple, — and thus we were wed : 
 
 My soul and her memory : there, no taint of the world 
 
 can come, 
 No dust from the desert of sin to mar what is fair and 
 
 pure ; 
 The angels of God look in at the door of that sacred 
 
 home, 
 Where all that is lovely in life from evil dwelleth 
 
 secure, 
 An4 the star of a light celestial gems on its golden 
 
 dome.
 
 LEILA. \\ 
 
 Thither I come, unmark'd of babbling tongues, and 
 
 of eyes 
 Which roam in the dark for carrion food ; ev'n I, 
 
 released 
 Awhile from the heavy armour in which we fight for 
 
 the wise 
 And the true and the fair in the fields whose din has 
 
 ceas'd — 
 The fields of battling life — when the daughters of 
 
 Night arise. 
 
 To the chamber of sleep the temple of beauty led. 
 And the curtain-folds now close on the silver vail ; 
 In that temple I plac'd the Past of the sainted dead. 
 The presence of kindred souls, and the lovely frail 
 Genius of song — seven stars round her crowned head. 
 
 Each had its place, and none took from my life an 
 
 hour 
 Giv'n before to another : art thou at peace 
 With the lilies and palms and myrrh, my sweet pale 
 
 flow'r 
 I cull'd by the summer waves, — or should I release 
 Thy remembrance again ? neither thou nor I have the 
 
 pow'r.
 
 42 LEILA. 
 
 Nay, dwell with thy sisters of beauty, my bright sea- 
 pearl, 
 
 If thou findest thy love, it shall hardly rob me of thee. 
 
 For the light of thy purity gleams on the brand of the 
 veriest churl 
 
 Who wars with the wrong in the world, to keep virtue 
 free ; 
 
 For such as thou art we blazon'd the banner we never 
 shall furl. 
 
 Dwell with thy sisters, sweet Memory, — dwell in the 
 
 light 
 Of that passionate love for the perfect and pure, the 
 
 divine — 
 Dwell with my soul's own darling when out of the 
 
 night 
 Comes the life that shall beat for ever and ever with 
 
 mine, 
 And the measureless years roll round us — seas of 
 
 eternal delight.
 
 43 
 
 THE VOYAGE HOME. 
 
 Bounding o'er summer-waves, 
 Listing in ocean-caves 
 
 Mermaiden calling, 
 Where the sun's lightning paves 
 The fields that his glory laves, 
 
 Splendidly falling ; 
 
 Under the changefiil shade 
 I and my love were laid 
 
 From the white pinions cast 
 Of the fleet bark which made 
 Clouds faint and jewel- spray'd 
 
 Fly like dim spirits past. 
 
 Home from the Grecian isles, 
 Westward o'er purple miles 
 Of dark seas flowing ;
 
 44 THE VOYAGE HOME. 
 
 Past ancient ruin'd piles, 
 Amber-wreath'd in sunset smiles 
 Crimsonly glowing, 
 
 Under a moon white-ring'd, 
 Like a bird homeward-wing'd, 
 
 North returning — 
 While from harps deftly string'd 
 Came songs fairy-fiing'd 
 
 From th' horizon burning. 
 
 Cutting her track of light 
 Into the brilliant night, 
 
 Flew the bark onward, 
 Till in the farthest height 
 The South's stars thick and white 
 
 Faded sunward. 
 
 Gone were the halcyon days. 
 Fleet as the crested rays 
 
 On billows bound leeward. 
 We spent mid the wither'd bays 
 Of lands sadd'ning as the haze 
 
 That wept seaward :
 
 THE VOYAGE HOME. 45 
 
 Lands of a witching clime, 
 Old in story, old in rhyme, 
 
 Losing, O never, 
 That spirit of the ancient time, 
 Welling from their earliest prime 
 
 A bliss for ever : 
 
 Back to a strange sad world 
 Nearer every wave that curl'd 
 
 Bore us, drifting — 
 Light winds from Corinth hurl'd 
 Rings of foam against the furl'd 
 
 Rainclouds lifting 
 
 All along the distant shores, 
 As the daylight slowly draws 
 
 Over sea and main — 
 Following the eternal laws, 
 Pacing, innocent of cause, 
 
 Westward again. 
 
 Lost are those Tyrian dyes. 
 Faded those turquoise skies. 
 Blotted with tears j
 
 46 THE VOYAGE HOME. 
 
 Still in my darling's eyes 
 The stars seem again to rise 
 That shone on those years. 
 
 Kings with no greater pride 
 Back from their north-sea ride 
 
 Bore their prize of old, 
 Than I brought home my bride, 
 Aime the violet-ey'd 
 
 With sunny hair and gold. 
 
 Each day when aureole flame 
 The gate-ways o' the night became 
 
 O'er the western brine, 
 The flooding fires wreath'd the same 
 Cloudland, and lit a name — 
 
 Aime, 'twas thine. 
 
 O that we found in life 
 Less of the noise and strife 
 
 That saddens us all ! 
 Hailing war to the knife 
 With a mockery of drum and fife, 
 
 And trumpet-call !
 
 THE VOYAGE HOME. 47 
 
 O that the spirit of dreams 
 Would make life what it seems 
 
 In ravishing hours, 
 WTien all the woodland streams 
 With the music of sunny gleams 
 
 And voices of flow'rs ! 
 
 When the old desire returns 
 And the soul intensely yearns 
 
 Heavenward to rise 
 By the starlit road where burns 
 From a million golden urns 
 
 The fire of paradise ! 
 
 Aime, wild love for thee, 
 Told to the sorrowing sea, 
 
 Night after night, 
 Brought these sad thoughts to me 
 In a passionate reverie 
 
 Of strange delight. 
 
 Aime, my angel-bride ! 
 Bid the deep rushing tide 
 Tell the white ring-dove
 
 48 THE VOYAGE HOME. 
 
 In my home by the river-side, 
 How thou, the tender-eyed, 
 Com'st to thy rest, love : 
 
 Bid it tell the white-wreath'd sand ; 
 Summer-woods along the strand 
 
 Look for thy coming ; 
 From the north — a silver band — 
 The river comes, thro' all the land 
 
 A love- song humming. 
 
 Under a summer-dome, 
 Golden-blue, thy happy home 
 
 Nestles green-diadem'd ; 
 Thither bear us, winds, that roam 
 O'er the singing southern foam 
 
 Of waters diamond-gemm'd ! 
 
 There, Aime, thou shalt rest ; 
 All that of life is best 
 Aiding thee with noblest zest 
 In one endeavour :
 
 THE VOYAGE HOME. 49 
 
 One desire fills my breast — 
 That when in the golden west 
 The sun of life shall leave its quest, 
 The close of thine may find thee blest 
 For ever and for ever ! 
 
 £
 
 50 
 
 3fV TOWER. 
 
 Cold shone the winter stars 
 In the clear December night ; 
 I, worn with the watch that mars 
 The strength of to-morrow's fight, 
 Closed the burthen'd leaf, 
 And breath'd a pray'rful sigh — 
 That the present weight of grief 
 Might lighten, ere I die ! 
 
 Far away in the Past 
 I built me a lordly tow'r, 
 Safe, I held, from the blast 
 Of the coming untried hour, — 
 Safe in the wintry days 
 Wlien heart and soul are ice, 
 And Prayer can hardly raise 
 Her morning sacrifice.
 
 MY TOWER. 
 
 Fair was my tower to see, 
 
 On a mountain near the clouds ; 
 
 The eagles came to me 
 
 Up there in the windy shrouds 
 
 Of the vast deep-sounding skies. 
 
 And the midnight tempests' Steven 
 
 Clomb, and the winds with cries 
 
 From the uttermost parts of heaven 
 
 Met, strewing the starry stairs 
 With the wrecks of shattered storms. 
 Till the moon brought balmier airs. 
 Sea-voices, and blithe forms, 
 O'er the gleaming watery plains 
 With her summer crescent-car ; 
 Right over my tower reigns 
 A solitary star ! 
 
 Night lit her circle of fire 
 
 Over the tumbling seas ; 
 
 And landward, higher and higher, 
 
 Folded the misty leas 
 
 With her shroud of a darken'd vault, 
 
 Fading the glimmering West ; 
 
 E 2 
 
 51
 
 MV TOWER. 
 
 And the loud tide, weary and halt, 
 Slipt again from the rocks to rest. 
 
 Day shot a shaft from the deep, 
 Breath'd on the sleeping hills. 
 Wreathing the banner'd keep 
 ^^'ith purple and golden rills 
 Of the rich-hued Eastern dawn, 
 Deep'ning in flaming glory : 
 So the day and the night were born 
 From my tower's upmost story. 
 
 I and my soul from that height 
 Look'd forth on to the world ; 
 Not a beacon that burn'd at night, 
 Not a vapour that upward curl'd. 
 But show'd us the presence of man, 
 And the marvellous net that he wrought 
 Round the earth of the Lord, and the plan 
 Of the kingdom of human thought. 
 
 O the wild desire to live 
 
 When faith was so mighty, and strong
 
 jl/y TOWER, 
 
 The heart to give and forgive, 
 To sever the right and the wTong ! 
 The wish to be gone to the front, 
 To tread where the Great have trod, 
 And of war to bear the brunt 
 With the pioneers of God ! 
 
 What though the waking be cold — 
 The dream was a glorious dream ; 
 'Twas the jealous wind that told 
 The white-arm'd nymphs of the stream 
 Were only shadows of clouds 
 Snowily sailing in heaven : 
 The world which a dream enshrouds 
 For the teaching of inany was given. 
 
 The court-yard of my tower, 
 Squared in the marble rock. 
 Was bright with many a flower ; 
 Gay hedges of hollyhock 
 Tamarisk-edg'd to the sea 
 Made nests for the gulls and gleds ; 
 To the south— a grim fir-tree 
 And lilies in crescent beds.
 
 54 MV TOWER. 
 
 Four doors I built to my house, 
 
 One to each of the winds : 
 
 ^Yhen the wild north wind hunts close, 
 
 And the gi'eat north light discinds 
 
 With its nightly flaring arc 
 
 The vault of icy skies, 
 
 I watch from my gate the dark, 
 
 And the passions of scorn arise. 
 
 Scorn for a little world. 
 
 And the men who make it small, — 
 
 Who keep old banners furl'd, 
 
 And cover life with a pall, — 
 
 Cramm'd in their dusty marts : 
 
 And I would that the great strong North 
 
 Could wake but a million hearts, 
 
 When its clarion-blast goes forth. 
 
 That to the West was white, 
 Of marbles with purple veins ; 
 There the jessamine talk'd all night 
 With the delicate summer rains ; 
 Pillars of Corinth form 
 Shadow'd the porch at eve ;
 
 MY TOWER. 55 
 
 When sunset airs blew warm 
 My soul went there to grieve. 
 
 The eastern gate stood wide 
 For the bridegroom of the morn, 
 When he came to kiss his bride 
 And shower all the lawn 
 With blossoms for her train : 
 O sun, how thou didst bum ! 
 O Hope, come back again ! 
 O days — return, return ! 
 
 Through the sunny southern sward 
 A little stream did purl ; 
 And I lov'd to wake the chord — 
 Under arches of dim pearl 
 That held the southern porch — 
 Of my sweet-ton'd lyre at noon, 
 And watch th' enchanted perch. 
 And the large white roses swoon. 
 
 Within was a lofty hall, 
 Deep-window'd, balconied
 
 S6 MY TOWER. 
 
 Wherefrom light steps did fall 
 To a rockery crimson-dyed 
 With mosses coral and fern : 
 And the sound of waterfalls 
 All night did climb and yearn 
 Round the faint discerned walls. 
 
 Herein I dwelt at ease, 
 Carving a destiny — 
 As men by slow degrees 
 Far-distant shores descry : 
 I shaped divine desires 
 And dreamt them all fulfiU'd, 
 And altars built for fires, 
 As only Youth can build. 
 
 They blaz'd upon the mountains, 
 
 On Eternity's frontiers, 
 
 They smoked beside the fountains 
 
 In the valleys of the years : 
 
 Bright beacons, burn for ever 
 
 Along the midnight sky, 
 
 Till this soul and body sever — 
 
 Then light me hence, and die !
 
 MY TOWER. 57 
 
 Yet wondrous was the passion 
 And wondrous the design 
 Wherewith my soul did fashion 
 The glories that did shine 
 In the chambers of my palace, 
 In \\Teaths of radiance — 
 As in a golden chalice 
 The lights are seen to dance. 
 
 O living fair effulgence — 
 Rare miracles of art, 
 With what a fond indulgence 
 Ye steep'd a yielding heart ! 
 O music of the morning, 
 O slumber-laden breeze — 
 Whence came the daily warning 
 With the twilight of the seas ! 
 
 Of carven woods most fragrant 
 Were the rich walls inlaid ; 
 Faint odorous airs hung vagrant 
 In the whispering arcade : 
 On fairest panels painted 
 My soul her brilliant dreams, —
 
 53 MY TOWER. 
 
 Her visions of the Sainted, 
 Her thoughts of Eden's streams. 
 
 In one a fair youth knelt 
 Alone in a sacred gloom ; 
 His helm and sword and belt 
 Lay near him on the tomb 
 Which was his altar there : 
 With tears and mental strife 
 He raised for light his prayer 
 In the warfare of his life. 
 
 The din did seem to grow 
 And denser clouds to rol 
 Where mid a flying foe — 
 Their city-gates his goal — 
 On victory's swift road 
 His host the warrior led ; 
 Like the dark whirlwind he rode 
 Over mountains of the dead. 
 
 Anon, a council ; met 
 
 In difficult times — the sound
 
 Jl/y TOWER. 59 
 
 Of shouting which did set 
 More eloquent hght around 
 The face of him that spake 
 The winged words of pow'r — 
 Whose mighty soul did make 
 Obey the pregnant hour. 
 
 And there were painted there 
 In never-fading hues 
 The records fresh and fair 
 Of deeds which like the dews 
 Of summer nights make green 
 Waste places and waste hearts ; 
 The greatness felt, unseen, 
 That love to life imparts. 
 
 His work who maketh light 
 Where the sun shineth not — 
 Giveth the bhnd their sight, 
 And for praise pineth not ; 
 Her love Avho cherisheth 
 Something nobler than the strife 
 Of fashion's hour which perisheth, 
 Wearing the rose of life.
 
 6o A/V TOWER. 
 
 Souls of the mighty Dead 
 Shared my Hfe's soHtude ; 
 Graven in stone I read 
 Each poet's subtle mood 
 Working within the man ; 
 Each toiler for the race, 
 Each thinker who began 
 To meet error face to face. 
 
 Not an art that could refine, 
 Not a virtue that could grace, 
 Not a gem from beauty's shrine, 
 Not a star from heaven's face — 
 But dwelt in dim reflex 
 In those mirrors of the soul. 
 Waiting till th' horizon's specks 
 Draw into the Future's whole. 
 
 Though many die, nor find 
 
 The prescience of their years fulfill'd, 
 
 ' Tis something that the mind 
 
 Can so conceive and build 
 
 The lofty guardian fane, 
 
 SunUt from end to end,
 
 A/V TOWER. 6i 
 
 Wherein truths never Avane, 
 Whereto all life should tend. 
 
 There is a complement to life 
 That dwelleth erst alone ; 
 Unaided in its sandy strife 
 The river had not kno\\-n 
 The sounding seas at last : 
 The soul hath its desire — 
 No more than cycles rolling past, 
 Those deathless yearnings tire. 
 
 A voice within the vail 
 Chaunteth the Future's hymn ; 
 So the faint-scented gale 
 Moving through vapours dim 
 Betrays the happy isles : 
 O voice, we follow thee ! 
 Burst on us with thy smiles, 
 
 Eden of the sea ! 
 
 1 move within the cloud, 
 Orb'd round by hidden things;
 
 62 MY TOWER. 
 
 I hear within the shroud 
 The motion of their wings : 
 To him that hath been bUnd 
 The flash and jet of hght 
 Comes up upon the wind 
 And starreth all his night. 
 
 Ever at even-tide. 
 When over shelving seas 
 The white mist like a bride 
 Traileth her draperies — 
 When round the ivied walls 
 Shadows and gleamings flit, 
 Heark'ning the forest calls, 
 On the tower-roof I sit. 
 
 I hear a human voice, 
 
 Soft as the west wind's tone. 
 
 Bidding my heart rejoice ; 
 
 I feel a music blown 
 
 From footsteps in the lilies — 
 
 The starry heights come nigher ; 
 
 Far-off among the vallies 
 
 The river trails its fire.
 
 My TOWER. e^ 
 
 A voice, a footstep, and the touch 
 Of hands in empty chambers ; 
 Eyes unto eyes love-dreaming, such 
 Life's afterglow remembers : 
 Spring woos the happy earth, 
 The queens of summer walk in state, 
 My soul exults in newer birth 
 And soars to meet its mate. 
 
 Lord of the Infinite 
 
 Who gavest of thine own 
 
 Glory and love and light. 
 
 To reap where Thou hadst sown ; 
 
 Did not Thy universe 
 
 Burst into flow'r and sons: 
 
 What time my soul did hear rehearse 
 
 Thy praise the starry throng ! 
 
 • 
 
 Where is the winter-night, 
 Though here the wearier pain ? 
 The Past goes out of sight, 
 The day begins again : 
 Blurr'd is the vacant leaf, 
 Heavier the upward sigh
 
 64 MY TOWER. 
 
 That the present weight of grief 
 May lighten ere I die. 
 
 Was it a ruinous pride, 
 Was it the strength that fail'd, — 
 A sickly faith, that died 
 When furious foes assail'd ? 
 Terrible storms arose : 
 Waste are the happy fields, 
 The tide's dominion grows, 
 The fortress slowly yields. 
 
 Light fall the ills of life 
 Upon the brave and pure ; 
 But feller than th' assassin's knife 
 The snake that doth allure 
 A slumb'ring soul to lie, 
 Coil'd in its human arc : 
 O mystery of mystery ! 
 O darkness of that dark ! 
 
 Where are the stately hopes 
 That lighted up the world ?
 
 MV TOWER. 
 
 Are they even as the flashing ropes 
 
 To wrecking vessels hurl'd ? 
 
 To rescue from the gulf of Time 
 
 The hours rushing by ? 
 
 Not less a future more sublime 
 
 Waits on eternity. 
 
 Frail are the strongest here, 
 And i&^\ are beauty's hours : 
 Lord ! if the leaflets sere 
 From these fair garden-bow'rs 
 Have taught me only this — 
 That Thou alone art Truth, 
 I mourn no more the siren kiss 
 That seal'd away my youth. 
 
 If I with light did err, 
 Quench not that light ! if that fair fane 
 Betray'd, became a sepulchre, 
 Have I not worn the chain ? 
 'Tis sad to fail and fall 
 When most we seem to climb : 
 ' Retrieve the Past,' He seems to call 
 From out a distant time. 
 
 F
 
 66 MY TOWER. 
 
 The buried years are few 
 To those which He before : 
 O Thou ! whose days are ever new, 
 Whose love is more and more — 
 Thou can'st a good evolve 
 From wrecks of noble things ; 
 Bring back one high resolve, 
 And fans of angels' wings ! 
 
 '&^ 
 
 Thine is this rain of tears, 
 Thine is this breaking heart, 
 Thine are the waiting years, 
 Thine all my nobler part ! 
 Forgive, O Lord, the sin, 
 Come down in all Thy power — 
 Once more pour Thy great glory in 
 The gateways of my Tower !
 
 67 
 
 A REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 The evening died into the night, 
 The spirit of the night arose 
 And fill'd the room : she, fair and white, 
 Pass'd, wTapt in sad repose. 
 
 She did not speak ; I only saw 
 The dream-hke motion of her form, 
 She mov'd within a sacred awe — 
 The air grew sweet and warm. 
 
 There came a voice on lowly wings 
 From out a distant corner dim ; 
 A voice one dreams that earthward sings 
 From harp of Seraphim. 
 
 F 2
 
 68 A REMEMBRANCE. 
 
 So exquisite a tenderness, 
 So low, so conscious, frail and sweet, 
 It clung about her hair and dress, 
 And nestled at her feet. 
 
 It may have been a common tone. 
 But all of her that was divine 
 Did seem to touch, and make her own 
 Each note that left its shrine. 
 
 It drew me as the heavens draw 
 The sunless deep, until I stood 
 Beside her where she sat, and saw 
 Beneath a silken snood 
 
 The waves of rippling gold that flow'd 
 From either brow into the night, 
 And on her saintly forehead glow'd 
 Most radiant gems of light. 
 
 O litrie head divinely- shaped. 
 Mute fringes of deep-dreaming eyes, 
 What spirit from its heav'n escaped 
 Speaks in those tender si^hs?
 
 A REMEMBRANCE. 69 
 
 Those small soft hands from warm white keys 
 Caress more soothing harmonies 
 Than sing the shells of twilight-seas 
 Beneath the summer skies. 
 
 O let not pass this hour, nor cease 
 The music that I love so well, 
 But let me feel thy perfect peace 
 And slumber in thy spell. 
 
 Child, lay thy life within my love. 
 That shining head upon my breast, 
 Leave thy lone wand'rings, little dove, 
 Fold thy white wings and rest. 
 
 Ah ! many joys have fall'n asleep 
 And pass'd, between that hour and this : 
 Blest were the tears which she did weep, 
 Pure as the pearl beneath the deep 
 That one divinest kiss !
 
 70 
 
 LONG AGO. 
 
 One evening of those days of perfect peace 
 Which link the summer to the fall of leaves, 
 I lay upon the hill whose shoulder heaves 
 To sea-ward yonder, till the full tide drave 
 With thunder up the chalk, and from the eaves 
 Of clouds which hung the West with golden fleece 
 The first sweet stars look'd on the Autumn wave. 
 
 Singly they flash'd and wan'd, those beauteous lights,- 
 
 The vestal watchers of the sunless skies ; 
 
 And when the evening folded, and mine eyes 
 
 Wander'd from depth to depth of stars untold, 
 
 Methought : as those first planets which did rise 
 
 Excel in beauty, of those shining heights 
 
 The lesser glories, so some women walk the world.
 
 LONG AGO. 71 
 
 No words of mine could add to her sweet fame, 
 
 A fame less of the face than of the heart ; 
 
 So rich in rumours of her that we start 
 
 At the mere mention of her name, and mov'd 
 
 By contemplation of her work, depart 
 
 To marvel at her life's most lowly aim, — 
 
 In quiet ways to make herself belov'd. 
 
 Fair is the opening rose of June, and dear 
 The beauty of that world which greets us then, 
 A voice to call us from the haunts of men, 
 Something to love we knew not of before : 
 How far diviner she and dearer when 
 The light of her calm being shineth clear 
 Around a face we love for evermore ! 
 
 Some lives are noise and battle : her's is still. 
 
 And holy as the twilight of the moons 
 
 Of summer, when the last gleam swims and swoons 
 
 In water'd hollows, and the winds are laid ; 
 
 No dream is she of sultry southern noons, 
 
 But pure as yon cold star above the hill, 
 
 While gently pass her young years into shade.
 
 72 LONG AGO. 
 
 Her eyes bum not with fire that leaves a pain 
 Of passion miss'd, when they no longer sway ; 
 But, like the light of sweet times gone away, 
 They look a world of kindness all their own ; 
 And when she speaks, it seems as if the may 
 Bloom'd whiter, and the Spring prolong'd her reign, 
 To breathe the music of that tender tone. 
 
 All things did seem to love her : might not love 
 Be giv'n to some, as beauty, wealth, or fame ? 
 But this I know, that whencesoe'er it came, 
 Love seem'd to dwell upon her stainless brow, 
 And to that fair abode did urge no claim 
 Than that it did beseem her, so she wove 
 The spells of earthly love — and knew not how ! 
 
 The touch of love had fir'd her glorious hair — 
 Entwined starlights in a crown of braids : 
 I saw her pass among the untress'd maids 
 One morning when the streaming sunlight made 
 A shining splendour of its golden shades, 
 And seas that trembled to the singing air 
 Flash'd living light that round her features play'd.
 
 LONG AGO. 73 
 
 Or, when the ripples woo'd the evening sands 
 To sleep within their soft caress till dawn, 
 Upon a rock-seat, green with lichens, worn 
 By time and tempest from the sandstone-wall, 
 She sat alone, and twin'd the seaweeds, torn 
 From gardens under sea, about her hands, 
 And watch'd the West grow purple, and the shadows 
 fall. 
 
 Then would I marvel if she lov'd the shells. 
 
 The white gulls, and the voice of that great sea 
 
 More than the world whose voice she seem'd to flee ; 
 
 Or did she find a consolation lie 
 
 In these for that dread doom of living — she 
 
 Avoided not, in days when grief excels 
 
 And it is loss to love, and hard to die ! 
 
 One moment would I dream if she would sell 
 The marvellous enchantment of her life 
 And its lone sweetness to be called wife ; 
 The kisses of the winds upon her cheek 
 For kisses that \\'ith kisses should wage strife, 
 The sea-weed's stories for those love could tell, 
 The sea-shell's murmurs for those love could speak ?
 
 74 LONG AGO. 
 
 The sunset which thou gazest on will fade ; 
 
 The silver wavelets, ling'ring round thy feet, 
 
 Will roar to-night above thy rocky seat, 
 
 The sea-weed and the shell shall be forgotten : 
 
 O darling, will the dawning rise less sweet 
 
 To eyes to sleep by lover's kisses laid, 
 
 And poppy-heads from love's own garden gotten ? 
 
 She will not speak, but gazes on the sea. 
 As if she saw a world beyond the sun ; 
 Then slowly come the tear-drops one by one 
 From the full heart of life — tremble, and fall : 
 ' The night passeth away,' she saith, ' and none 
 Who hope the heav'nly Bridegroom's face to see 
 Have any part in love till He shall call.' 
 
 Are there no wedded angels ? Why are we 
 So human that we may not heav'n attain, — 
 So angel-like we may not banish pain 
 With joys that make earth heav'n a little while ? 
 The tears of ages this have ask'd in vain : 
 Yet as the clouds melt in the eastern sea, 
 Her sorrow breaks into a sad sweet smile.
 
 LONG AGO. 75 
 
 True to her faith, she will not hold me base 
 
 For that I did not see her heav'n-white wings ; 
 
 But only woman, fairer than all things 
 
 That live and love within earth's Eden-vallies : 
 
 She talks of visions when the West-wind sings, 
 
 That bring a message to each sadden'd face 
 
 From Him who bade her watch and tend His lilies.
 
 76 
 
 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 
 NOV. XV. MDCCCLXIX. 
 
 He did not tell us ere he went 
 That we should see his face no more ; 
 Nor, if a message had been sent 
 To him from Heaven's open door, 
 Did he make any sign before 
 The vessel sail'd. 
 
 He left his happy English home 
 As one that went to win a crown ; 
 He smil'd, and said he should not come 
 Again till he had earn'd renown — 
 Brave heart ! he reck'd not that his own 
 Prayr had prevail'd.
 
 IN MEMO RI AM. 77 
 
 When on the hills of morning-land 
 We do not wish our friends good-night ; 
 And I, the last to press his hand 
 Before he vanish'd from our sight, 
 Could see no shadow dim the light 
 Of his true eyes. 
 
 Noble of heart, he was the heir 
 Of honour in his father's name ; 
 The future lay before him fair — 
 Happy the years that went and came, 
 Until he went to crown his fame 
 'Neath other skies. 
 
 Wliite wings that swept the silver seas 
 Could not outsail the flying years ; 
 But letters set her heart at ease, 
 And chased away prophetic fears, 
 And dried a mother's secret tears — 
 Thinking of Thee ! 
 
 Until we heard o'er half the world 
 How thou, beneath the Southern Cross, 
 Hadst England's battle-flag unfurl'd,
 
 78 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Where revolution's red waves toss — 
 And sav'd the weak from harm and loss, 
 Still, conscience-free. 
 
 And honour from his native land 
 Went out to meet him on his way ; 
 And, touching at the Indian strand, 
 He wrote and nam'd that unborn day 
 For which no more her lips may pray — 
 Of his return. 
 
 The year was dying here at home. 
 But love should light the winter dim ; 
 They talk'd of joys when he should come, 
 And happy days in store for him : 
 But he will hear no Christmas-hymn 
 In his last bourn. 
 
 Upon the threshold of the door 
 They stood to meet him, when that blow 
 Fell, like the doom they preach in store 
 To whelm a world in sudden woe : 
 Ah, well ! the tears began to flow — 
 God's will be done !
 
 hV ME MORI AM. 79 
 
 Beneath the flaming tropic sky 
 The fever smote him, and he feh ; 
 We thought he was too young to die, 
 The mind of God we could not tell : 
 He smil'd, and said that all was well — 
 Christ knew His own. 
 
 A glimpse along his finish'd life, 
 A pray'r that God might make it pure, 
 A hope that in the coming strife 
 His best belov'd ones might endure 
 And meet him on that further shore 
 Beyond this gloom : 
 
 Few words and simple, as become 
 The great and brave : then came the end. 
 ' Few days may be of life the sum, 
 ' But a good name shall live and blend 
 With deathless time ' — these words defend 
 His cross and tomb. 
 
 O noble heart ! rest thou in peace 
 
 Beside the ever-singing wave ; 
 
 The weeping clouds shall never cease
 
 8o IlSf MEMORIAM. 
 
 To tend the flowers on thy grave : 
 Such sleep as thine who would not crave 
 'Mid such a scene ? 
 
 And all the sweet West winds that move 
 Shall waft thy name across the deep ; 
 And while we live, our hope of love 
 In worlds where love no more shall weep, 
 And fond affection here shall keep 
 Thy memory green !
 
 8i 
 
 THE MAGDALENE. 
 
 Lord, I have need of Thee ; 
 Bend Thy lov'd eyes, and see 
 My continuing misery ! 
 
 Far in the misty years 
 
 My life's lone track appears, 
 
 Water'd with many tears. 
 
 Still the slow sands of Time 
 Deepen under skies sublime ; 
 Life itself becomes a crime. 
 
 Lord, I have lov'd Thy name, 
 Breathing sweetness when it came- 
 Fanning life's low altar-flame. 
 
 G
 
 82 THE MAGDALENE. 
 
 Yea, Lord, in darkest hours, 
 Bound slave to alien pow'rs — 
 I have thought on Zion's tow'rs. 
 
 Knowing that my life's desire 
 Could not die in passion's fire, 
 Knowing it was something higher. 
 
 Praying that the strife might cease ; 
 Thou, Lord, canst grant release — 
 I am weary : give me peace ! 
 
 Weary of the present pain ; 
 Every conflict seems in vain ; 
 Old sins come back again. 
 
 Old faces throng my dreams. 
 Old songs haunt all the streams, 
 Shadows vex the sunset-gleams. 
 
 Shadows of the days ago ; ' 
 And an ancient song of woe 
 Far up the river's flow.
 
 THE MAGDALENE. 83 
 
 Memory beckoneth with her hand, 
 Voices fill the outer land, 
 Darkness falls upon the sand. 
 
 Toiling in the night alone. 
 Still I hear a bitter tone 
 Making answer to my moan : 
 
 ' Trouble not the Saviour more ; 
 Waves upon the dreary shore 
 Drown thy knocking at the door. 
 
 ' Life is over : and the light 
 Faded from thy mortal sight : 
 Wander ever in the night.' 
 
 Yet I will not heed the scorn, 
 Neither let the shades forlorn 
 Hide from me the star of morn. 
 
 O my Christ ! Thy royal head 
 Had not droop'd in woe, nor bled 
 Wliere all worlds have worshipped, 
 G 2
 
 84 THE MAGDALENE. 
 
 But that in the after years 
 
 They whose hearts the Tempter sears 
 
 Might reap interest of Thy tears ! 
 
 Lengthen out my mortal arc, 
 
 That these eyes Thy Cross might mark, 
 
 Somewhere standing in the dark ! 
 
 Haply if a wind might rise, 
 Blow a rift in yonder skies, 
 And woo a star from Paradise ! 
 
 Shine from out thy blissful home, 
 Light a track athwart the gloom — 
 Promise of a happier doom ! 
 
 Guide my feet across the flood, 
 Bound with chains and wet with blood, 
 Nearer to the Cross of God ! 
 
 High above the torrent's roar, 
 
 It stands, O Christ, upon the shore : 
 
 Here let me be for evermore !
 
 THE MAGDALENE. 85 
 
 Bind Thy thorns about my brow : 
 Rapt in pain and sorrow now, 
 Keep me to my holy vow ! 
 
 Let me hear no voice but Thine, 
 No form upon the darkness shine 
 Save the Cross mine arms entwine ! 
 
 Sweet is sadness, sweeter pain — 
 Thro' long ages sought in vain 
 Sweetest — love when found again. 
 
 Saviour ! guard me thro' the night : 
 Softly sleeping in Thy sight — 
 Let me die, and wake in light !
 
 86 
 
 A FIRESIDE DREAM. 
 
 I SIT alone before my fire, 
 
 Stealthily foil the snows without : 
 What hath the wind to talk about ? 
 I cannot hear its low desire, 
 But feel a kindness in its tone : 
 Perchance it knows I am alone. 
 
 Song of the many-valley'd hills ! 
 
 Mocking the silence of their streams : 
 Heap softest fleeces o'er the dreams 
 
 Of violet-banks beside the rills ! 
 
 Waiting, as they, for Spring to thaw 
 The life that sleeps thro' Winter's war. 
 
 'Twere well, methinks, to be at peace, 
 Like yonder deeply-laden fields : 
 To find a house beneath the wealds,
 
 A FIRESIDE DREAM. 87 
 
 Thereof to take a lengthened lease, 
 And lie among the springs of life — 
 The' strange to all their after-strife. 
 
 The snail upon the window-pane 
 
 Taps downward to its chamber soon : 
 Fast fades the ailing afternoon, 
 And from the church above the lane 
 That winds among the woodland wells 
 I hear th' alternate voice of bells. 
 
 Why chime they to the deafen'd dusk ? 
 
 It is not well, I know, to fret ; 
 
 It is not well with tears to wet, 
 When life is out, the empty husk : 
 But when those bells are chiming there 
 
 Sometimes we wish we were not here. 
 
 They cease : that were not needed though ; 
 We use ourselves to sadder things 
 Than sounds of bells on windy wings : 
 Meek fallen head that liest low — 
 Great tides of Thought no walls may dam 
 Do chaunt thine ' in memoriam ' !
 
 88 A FIRESIDE DREAM. 
 
 The surface of the seething burn 
 Soon settles to its usual calm ; 
 And we who storm may find a balm 
 
 In waiting until peace return : 
 
 The evenness of tearful fate 
 
 Is seen by those who, bearing, wait. 
 
 Man was not made for solitude, 
 He fears himself within himself ; 
 He fears lest fancy's wanton elf 
 Should shadows build, with life endued, 
 And make them all his world, — he fears 
 The alien laugh, and lonely tears. 
 
 And this is why we long, in youth. 
 For glimpses of that time to come 
 When some dear life shall make its home 
 
 With us, and find it happy truth — 
 
 That he lives least to self alone 
 
 Whose love into his life hath grown. 
 
 The glories of the summer born 
 
 Are mantled by yon snow-drifts white : 
 Why did they ever see the light —
 
 A FIRESIDE DREAM. 89 
 
 To lie so low and so forlorn ? 
 Perhaps the love we bear the rose 
 Is stronger that the rose we lose ! 
 
 And so th^ seasons of the mind 
 Revolve, and so pass into shade 
 Some blessings, and for that they fade 
 Perchance we prize them more, and find 
 The charm in visions memory weaves 
 That lingers in dead scented leaves. 
 
 What truly doth the Past enfold ? 
 
 Some deeds which might have been more free 
 
 From ev'n the taint of calumny — 
 Somp disappointments, and some gold, 
 Garner'd anent a holier time 
 
 When requiem-bells shall cease to chime. 
 
 Let not regret for vanish'd days 
 
 Come in between thy work and thee ; 
 They bore their burthen, — let them be : 
 If briars have o'ergrown the ways, 
 Clear forwards : nothing is in vain, i 
 
 And what has been may be again.
 
 90 A FIRESIDE DREAM. 
 
 'Tis nearly dark, my easy-chair 
 
 Looms large and sombre on the wall : 
 To-night both wind and snow will fall, 
 
 To-morrow will be still and fair. 
 
 Ho ! Arthur's Knights lie close to hand, 
 I'll ride with them in Broceliande ! 
 
 As masses of dissolving snow 
 
 Pause on a mountain-ledge before 
 They plunge a torrent evermore 
 
 Down one of several valleys — so 
 
 We choose our stream from some high crown, 
 And send our reveries sailing down. 
 
 '& 
 
 Lo here, three worlds ! I could set free 
 The music of untrodden days, 
 Wage wars victorious, and raise 
 
 Such visions of the times to be ! 
 
 But care not now for fancy's glow, 
 Lest after-hours should sadder grow. 
 
 I could keep quiet watch within 
 The circle of my fu'elight's gleam, 
 While busy icicles redeem
 
 A FIRESIDE DREAM. 91 
 
 All that the short-liv'd noon did win ; 
 And higher mounts the drift, and night 
 Malces cheerier, hoHer — warmth and Hght. 
 
 Or, leaving both the present peace, 
 
 And wistful gazing forwards, I 
 
 Could hear beneath a summer sky 
 A noise among the woods increase, 
 And silver bugles wind, to bring 
 
 His errant knights about the King. 
 
 '&' 
 
 Who doth not die to time, and live 
 
 In pages of the tale he reads ? 
 
 The' knowing that — as all the creeds 
 
 Are but one cry to Heav'n to give 
 
 A world's desire — all tales but tell 
 
 The same old truths we know so well. 
 
 Yet we may find relief from pain, 
 Some duty set in clearer light, 
 In seeing with another's sight 
 How men the ends of life may gain : 
 A kindred kindness warms the blood, 
 We feel the tie of brotherhood.
 
 92 A FIRESIDE DREAM. 
 
 So mused I, staring at the fire — 
 
 My hand betwixt the falt'ring leaves — 
 
 Then dash'd beneath the oaken eaves, 
 And laugh'd to feel the wind aspire 
 To check my course unto the meres 
 
 Wliere Arthur camp'd with fifty spears. 
 
 Blithe-hearted song of chivalry ! 
 
 We lend most willing ears to thee, 
 .. Because thy noblest things shone free 
 From tangled webs of sophistry : 
 And life was life, and love was love, 
 
 And he was best who best did prove. 
 
 I saw them all beside the lake — 
 The men of that sweet-fabled time ; 
 I saw, outstretched beneath the lime, 
 The King, and heard the words he spake 
 His face was toward the setting sun, 
 His own great years then nearly run. 
 
 I saw the golden-flooded plains, 
 The velvet vales of Avalon ; 
 An aged harper woke upon
 
 A FIRESIDE DREAM. 93 
 
 That silence music's softest strains : 
 And far and near love's sweet distress 
 Yearn'd over Nature's loveliness. 
 
 But when the summer'moon did rim 
 The lake's far verge with diamond light 
 There rose a sound upon the night 
 
 Of banqueting 3 and outlines dim 
 
 Of lofty towers hid the stars, 
 
 And brake the water's silver bars. 
 
 And in that hour of open heart 
 
 Around the mighty- flagon'd wine 
 
 A sudden radiance did shine 
 Wliere crimson'd curtains mov'd apart, 
 And enter'd, after herald calls, 
 
 The queen of those enchanted halls. 
 
 King Arthur rose with all his knights, 
 She sweetly bade them welcome all, 
 And pass'd into the thronged hall, 
 
 Her maidens round her, like the lights 
 
 Attendant on the queen of heav'n 
 That gem th' Ionian skies at ev'n.
 
 94 A FIRESIDE DREAM. 
 
 And slowly from that brilliant page 
 The actors faded into dream, 
 And all about the night did stream 
 
 The music of that wondrous age ; 
 
 And lightly laughing voices rang, 
 
 ■ And wild and sweet the songs they sang. 
 
 And old as sweet, the sweetest theme 
 That ever breath'd from poet's lyre, 
 Or touch'd with inspiration's fire 
 
 The voices of life's Spring, did seem 
 
 To woo the happy stars above 
 In trembling utterances of love. 
 
 And every knight was nobly nam'd, 
 And every shield was spotless there. 
 For those they serv'd were pure as fair : 
 And o'er the royal pavilion flam'd 
 Above the standard's silken swoon 
 The golden cross beneath the moon. 
 
 And still in every changing scene 
 
 That swept across the shadow'd land, 
 Where lay the sleeping warrior-band, 
 
 I
 
 A FIRESIDE DREAM. 95 
 
 The pale sweet face of that same queen — 
 Like moonlight over seas withdrawn — 
 Brooded above the mists of Dawn. 
 
 O wind that from the cedar shakes 
 
 The snow's soft lace-work to the ground ! 
 Art thou a voice or but a sound ? 
 
 A voice from out the Past that breaks 
 
 To tell us how the dead do fare — 
 
 The dead world which we read of there ? 
 
 A world so dead — it never was ; 
 
 But that which caus'd the dream did live : 
 
 Wind of a thousand winters 1 give 
 The ghosts of eld, whose slumber has 
 Its waking when Thou sweep'st the main, 
 
 A tongue to tell their loves again ! 
 
 A voice comes singing from the mists 
 That wrap the cloud-lands of the Past : 
 "WHiy unto us who love, the last. 
 
 That song on sweetness still insists ? 
 
 It is the human tones which move, 
 It is the present dearth of love.
 
 96 A FIRESIDE DREAM. 
 
 Are we not human yet, and thrill 
 To touches of that fairy wand ? 
 Or tremble to the soft command 
 
 To seek out something sweeter still 
 
 Than any joy we light upon 
 
 WQiich finds and leaves us still alone ? 
 
 From every dawn to every night 
 We toil to hve, and toiling, think 
 How far we may be from the brink 
 Of that Perhaps — which may be light : 
 Without, creeds change with every breath, 
 The only certainty is — death. 
 
 Come to us, therefore, angel-child, 
 Thou with the eyes that can endure, 
 Thou with the snow-white breast, and pure, 
 Thou with a love-song undefil'd, — 
 Come when our hearts are soft with sorrow, 
 Give us a faith to meet the morrow ! 
 
 Come to us, songs of the summer-time, 
 Link'd with a message of God divine, 
 Dropt by the stars with their golden shi/
 
 A FIRESIDE DREAM. 97 
 
 Over a world weary of crime — 
 Give us the grace of the days of old — 
 To love, or ever our years be told ! 
 
 I sit alone before my fire — 
 
 Ashes that glow in a sudden flame — 
 And ever between the dreams that came 
 
 Over the eyes beginning to tire, 
 
 I seem to hear a human tone — 
 The wind has long since ceased to moan. 
 
 Ah ! she is sweet, this phantom fair, 
 Who glides to the vacant seat behind ; 
 And brings a longing back to mind, 
 
 Touching the keys with a dreamy air ; 
 
 And steals the senses of the night, 
 To dream delight, — to dream delight. 
 
 Sweet are the eyes which yearn to mine, 
 Tender the tones that ask for this — 
 Only a life-time in a kiss 
 
 H
 
 98 A FIRESIDE DREAM. 
 
 From lovers' lips which cling to thine ! 
 
 The night is past, the stars withdrawn, 
 
 And sweet Hope crowns the breaking Dawn.
 
 99 
 
 THREE LETTERS. 
 
 L'Espoir. 
 
 Between the twilight and the dawn 
 The foam shines white on summer seas 
 
 That phmge all night along the echoing strand ; 
 
 And by the moon the glittering tides are drawn, 
 And by the roughening breeze 
 
 The fringes of the surf are strewn along the sand. 
 
 The winds and waves are singing, and the song 
 Is wildly sweet ; and tortur'd by the flame 
 Of love, they sing of love for which we long, — 
 
 They sing a song without a name, 
 And in a tongue no man may understand. 
 
 H 2
 
 lOo THREE LETTERS. 
 
 The poet who hath known her, and hath seen 
 Her pensive beauty, if in cahii or storm. 
 
 May sing of Nature's secrets to a Hstening world ; 
 And we who know what her sad voices mean, 
 And cannot speak it, seek a form 
 Which her divinest mysteries doth enfold, 
 And tells us what the angels' words have been : 
 And finding one so winning, fresh, and fair. 
 
 We look into thy face, and read it there. 
 
 Child of unsadden'd memories, might thy heart, 
 Pure as thine eyes, and free from passion's chain — 
 
 Not scorn the faiths that love thee ! 
 Surely he did no wrong to part 
 
 From thee and thine with pain, 
 Though far his path from thine as winter stars above 
 thee. 
 
 Between the twilight and the dawn 
 In sleep as sweet as summer seas 
 That bring God's message to a thirsty land — 
 
 By no kind cruel hand 
 
 Thine image is withdrawn.
 
 THREE LETTERS. loi. 
 
 But still thy calm fond eyes will haunt my dreams ; 
 And, sweet as winds which kiss the tops of trees, 
 The music of thy voice will wander down the streams 
 Of that one life which is as nothing to thee 
 Though all the fairest gifts of life should woo thee. 
 
 Unknown the Future, and unblest the Past, 
 
 I do not ask thee for one gift but this : 
 
 That thou wilt come again in dreams, and kiss 
 
 With thy sweet lips the fast 
 And flowing hours which precede the Dawn : 
 That with the morning sunlight on the lawn, 
 Perchance among the flowers I may find 
 Thy footsteps : and the soft west wind 
 
 Shall yet recall thy memory and my bliss. 
 
 Au Re voir. 
 
 He wander'd thro' the woods in Spring, 
 
 And read a lay of love ; 
 
 He watch'd the white clouds float alcove. 
 And heard the wild birds sing.
 
 I02 THREE LETTERS. 
 
 He rested by the brooklet's sands, 
 He found a violet at his feet, 
 He laid it in his pages sweet, 
 
 And pass'd to other lands. 
 
 He drank deep draughts of life at last. 
 But found no pearl within the cup : 
 The sorrows of new years brake up 
 
 The frasfments of the Past. 
 
 *&' 
 
 Then came the longing to return, 
 When weary feet refuse to roam, 
 The fever for the light of home 
 
 When other fires have ceas'd to burn. 
 
 He came, forgotten of his own ; 
 
 The sky was darken'd overhead, 
 
 The brook was still, the flow'rs were dead, 
 
 The woods forlorn, — the birds were flown. 
 
 The wings of no returning dove 
 
 Brought him glad news of Edens lost : 
 
 And on a sea of sadness tost. 
 He read again his lay of love.
 
 THREE LETTERS. loj 
 
 But when the times are wholly rife, 
 A word will start a fount of tears, 
 Or wake the phantoms of the years, 
 
 And bring desire back to life. 
 
 So Memory knit a broken chain ; 
 He found the violet in its place, 
 Unchang'd in all its faded grace — 
 
 And mid the tears which fell like rain 
 Came visions of one lovely face, 
 And in her faithful love's embrace 
 
 The Poet found his Past again. 
 
 And Thou, fair child with dove-like eyes, 
 Why should I fable things to thee — 
 But that thou hast, at least for me, 
 
 The secret which within it lies ? 
 
 Thou gath'rest shells beside the sea, 
 
 And flow'rs by all the babbling streams \ 
 And wondrous unto thee it seems 
 
 That everything hath love for thee. 
 
 Like him that wander'd in a land 
 
 Where only dead leaves told of love —
 
 I04 THREE LETTERS. 
 
 Love lost but sought for — did I move 
 'Mid crowds that would not understand. 
 
 I saw thee with thy fairy wand 
 
 Touching all common things with light, 
 Fairer than any star of night, 
 
 With only garlands in thine hand: 
 
 Standing apart from noisy crowds, 
 With just a smile for others' joys, 
 And pity for life's little toys, 
 
 And just a tear for passing shrouds. 
 
 No shadows of life's brief despair, 
 
 No blinding light of blissful days, 
 No joy — no sorrow quench'd the rays 
 
 Which crown'd for me that vision fair. 
 
 And through all changes, sad or blest, 
 The world is tender unto thee, 
 For thou remainest unto me 
 
 Gentler and lovelier than the rest. 
 
 And when another day is set, 
 
 And thou unbindest radiant hair,
 
 THREE LETTERS. 105 
 
 Wilt say : Since God has made me fair, 
 What wonder he could not forget ? 
 
 And I shall find no other heart 
 
 As pure, nor face as sweet as thine ; 
 And I am glad that this is mine — 
 
 To bless thee, if again to part : 
 
 If I may chase away my fears, 
 
 And find thee free from love's sweet pain, 
 Thine eyes undimm'd by any tears, 
 
 When — rolling back the thronging years, 
 I look upon thy face again. 
 
 L' Adieu. 
 
 Though thou art dead, and long ago 
 
 Our last farewell was said, 
 Whether the hours be swift or slow, 
 Rippling with joys, or sad with sighs — 
 The world's wide beauty overhead. 
 And at my feet the flowers bright,
 
 io6 THREE LETTERS. 
 
 Still am I haunted day and night 
 By thy reproachful eyes. 
 
 Methought that I had buried love 
 
 In that unquiet grave ; 
 And thou can'st cage thy wandering dove 
 Which comes with proffer'd peace to me : 
 
 Forgiveness unto thee I gave, 
 The day of thy too-late despair — 
 Go — hide away thy face so fair, 
 
 I cannot come to thee ! 
 
 May I not rest now thou art gone ? 
 
 Thou would'st not have the love I brought,— 
 I only ask to be alone : 
 
 Since God has giv'n me peace at last, 
 
 Come not to see what thou hast A\Tought ; 
 My feet are tir'd, my heart is cold — 
 Go — get thee to thy rest of old. 
 And sleep in thy dead Past !
 
 107 
 
 DEE-SIDE. 
 
 The river down the valley roams 
 
 Betneen its wooded shores, 
 
 And all day long it frets and foams, 
 
 All night it raves and roars. 
 And Bala lake is dark with cloud, 
 The rain is on the hills, 
 The mountain-streamlet, babbling loud, 
 
 O'er the shale-ledges spills. 
 
 No more a wand'ring thread of light, 
 
 It shines above the glen ; 
 
 The heather-bents are dark as night — 
 
 I hear the heather-hen 
 Call to the cock -grouse in the gorse, 
 The hawk shriek, and, below, 
 Thund'ring along their rocky course, 
 
 The rapids downward go.
 
 io8 DEE-SIDE. 
 
 Below the bridge the mill-wheel churns 
 
 Wild waters into foam ; 
 
 The storm across the mountain turns, 
 
 And wand'ring doves fly home : 
 The sun peeps out behind the rain, 
 Low down the flaming West, 
 The evening sky smiles peace again, 
 
 With one star on her breast. 
 
 Far up the mountain-side the girl 
 
 Is calling to her cows, 
 
 And answer'd by the village churl 
 
 Wliose flocks the meadows browse 
 Perchance to him sweet love to-night 
 In her dark eyes will shine, 
 In yonder cottage, gleaming white 
 
 Against the dusky pine.
 
 I09 
 
 SWEETHEART. 
 
 I look'd into thine eyes, and they were true 
 
 As Spring is to the flowers, — 
 Coming with sunshine and the silver dew 
 
 After the whispering showers : 
 Mine eyes, sweetheart, would read no other themes 
 
 Than their love-dreams. 
 
 I listen'd to thy voice, and it was soft 
 As music in the lilies, 
 
 Stirr'd by wild winds which kiss them from aloft- 
 Deep in their happy vallies : 
 
 No other joy should woo me late or long 
 Than thy sweet song. 
 
 I kiss'd thee on thy lips, and they were sweet 
 As rose-buds are in June *
 
 no SWEETHEART. 
 
 Sooner the stars that lay about the feet 
 
 Of the large harvest-moon 
 Should tire of the spheres wherein they move 
 
 Than we of love !
 
 Ill 
 
 FALSE AND FAIR. 
 
 The wind blows freshly from the sea, 
 
 Wild music fills the air ; 
 The blithe sea-birds call unto me, 
 I rise, and roam across the lea, 
 And sing, because my heart is free— 
 
 Tho' she is false and fair. 
 
 O sudden pain within my heart 
 
 Which gives these lips the lie ! 
 Teach me, sweet pain, before I die, 
 To veil my sorrow with a smile, — 
 Or with sad peace my heart beguile 
 
 Till I may learn no more to care, 
 Far from the mocking world apart, 
 For she is false and fair.
 
 112 FALSE AND FAIR. 
 
 I met her in a dream, last night, 
 She came with folded hands, 
 
 With lips all pale, and face all white, 
 Across the star-lit sands : 
 
 We stood together by the sea, 
 
 I ask'd her why she lied to me : 
 
 The mighty floods were hurrying by, 
 The wind was sounding in the sky, 
 But she vouchsaf'd me no reply : 
 
 Her lips were dumb with great despair — 
 O false and fair ! O false and fair ! 
 
 What time the mornings flushes break 
 
 She faded out on God's wide sea ; 
 
 For dreams must pass, and we must wake- 
 The hopes of life like shadows flee ; 
 
 Wild words are waste, and tears are vain. 
 
 And faith destroy'd comes not again : 
 But yet the anguish of that sigh 
 Is somewhere in the singing air — 
 
 Last night it moan'd so piteously, 
 
 false and fair ! O false and fair ! 
 
 And thou, my first love, shining sea ! 
 In storm or calm the same to me —
 
 FALSE AND FAIR. 113 
 
 Come with thy murmuring lullaby 
 To human hearts which love and die ! 
 
 For well I know that nevermore 
 
 Her form shall haunt the starry shore : 
 In vain soft eyes shall look despair, 
 In vain shall Circe bind her hair — ■ 
 I love no love but thee ! 
 
 Then moan not wind so piteously, 
 
 For they are false as they are fair.
 
 114 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I. 
 
 Sing, happy heart, that hast no sorrows, 
 Bhthe songs amid thy flowers ; 
 
 For Hfe from thee a beauty borrows 
 Within thy sunny bowers. 
 
 II. 
 
 Sing not of love, O happy voice, 
 Sing of no sad to-morrow ; 
 
 Though love to-day may bid rejoice, 
 Love is akin to sorrow. 
 
 III. 
 
 Who hath not lov'd, hath nothing lost. 
 Nor needs to woo its blisses , 
 
 For flow'rs unborn do fear no frost, 
 Chaste lips regret no kisses.
 
 SO.VG. 115 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sing, then, O heart, that hast no pining, — 
 
 Sweetly thy ring-doves call ; 
 Sing only that God's sun is shining, 
 
 And He is good to all. 
 
 I 2
 
 ii6 
 
 SET STARS. 
 
 I WAS walking home thro' the lighted streets, 
 And I thought of my three dead loves — 
 
 The last is dead to-day : 
 In the face of every woman one meets, 
 To the rustle of every dress that moves, 
 
 I look — I listen, to-day. 
 
 Dreams within dreams, wheels within wheels, 
 My fancies are moody and mad, 
 
 But each one hath its say : 
 The north-east hurricane stiffens and steels. 
 But my thoughts are tender, sober and sad — 
 My heart is broken to-day. 
 
 I pass by the shop in the little street, 
 They tell me my barber is dead — 
 
 He was blithe and well yesterday :
 
 SET STARS. 117 
 
 His jokes to me were a daily treat — 
 I pass his door with a steahhy tread, 
 The shutters are clos'd to-day. 
 
 And further on is the theatre-door, 
 A crowd stands there in the cold, 
 As if their hearts were May : 
 Wliat is it by which they set such store ? 
 The play I know is dull and old — 
 Why must they see it to-day ? 
 
 I pass, I cross the roaring throng, 
 I hurry to gain the river-side, 
 
 The stars on its bosom play : 
 A voice from the Past — a sweet wild song 
 Comes with the lap and lift of the tide 
 
 From the sea which is far away. 
 
 O for a tongue of force and fire 
 
 To speak the thoughts that arise in me 
 
 As thy waters flash and play 
 On the granite steps and never tire ! 
 No tenderness should win me 
 
 From grief and death to-day.
 
 ii8 SET STARS. 
 
 M}' loves are dead ; not left nor lost 
 In the drift and dross of the past years, 
 
 Like idols gilt and clay : 
 To-night I know the very worst, 
 And once for all shall passionate tears 
 
 For an hour have their way. 
 
 They have no crowns — my defiled loves, 
 They are not safe in heaven to-night. 
 
 Nor clad in white array : 
 But dead in the life which lives and moves, - 
 And I shall read their hearts in the light 
 
 Of God and the last Day.
 
 119 
 
 SONG. 
 
 I. 
 
 Birdie, sitting on the spray, 
 
 Pity me : 
 I was happy yesterday. 
 For I had a lover, sweet, 
 Alas, with wings unto his feet. 
 Who from me is flown to-day : 
 Sing to me thy plaintive lay, 
 And pity me. 
 
 II. 
 Brooklet, babbling o'er thy stones, 
 
 Pity me : 
 I was woo'd in tender tones. 
 But the voice I fain would hear 
 Will not answer anywhere ;
 
 120 SONG. 
 
 Nothing for my grief atones : 
 Murmur o'er thy mossy stones, 
 And pity me. 
 
 Wandering wind among the trees, 
 
 Pity me : 
 Thou that comest over seas, 
 Bring to me from thy sweet South 
 No false kisses for my mouth, 
 But cure for this fond heart's disease 
 Singing o'er the lonely leas 
 
 Pity for me.
 
 121 
 
 MV DARLING. 
 
 I. 
 
 I KISS her whensoe'er we meet, 
 She never says me nay : 
 And if folk ask me why — I say, 
 
 Because she is so sweet. 
 
 II. 
 
 We never quarrel when we rove, 
 
 We never think — sweetheart and I — 
 That anything beneath the sky 
 
 Is worth a thought, but love. 
 
 III. 
 
 A fairer gift God never gave, 
 
 A perfect soul looks through her face : 
 And every flow'r that blows shall grace 
 
 My darling's bed and bow'r and grave.
 
 122 
 
 DAISY. 
 
 1. 
 
 She sang a little song to me, 
 A song of love and kisses : 
 
 Not knowing life's reality, 
 Its pathos still she misses. 
 
 II. 
 She never pluck'd the flower, 
 
 She never felt its thorn : 
 Far be from her that hour 
 
 When love with grief is born. 
 
 III. 
 She knoweth not how sweet she is ; 
 
 No word from me may move her 
 To truth as sorrowful as his 
 
 Who saith : alas ! I love her.
 
 123 
 
 DEAD LEAVES. 
 
 I. 
 
 I WOULD have held her very dear, 
 But she would not have me : 
 Why should I waste sigh or tear ? 
 
 II. 
 
 Love is but a sweet delusion, 
 
 What art thou that I should crave thee ? 
 
 Life and love have their conclusion. 
 
 in. 
 
 I know one who loves me well, 
 Her image will not leave me : 
 Must I wed her ? who can tell ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hence these kisses in profusion : 
 Fool ! the Avoman whom God gave thee 
 Wrought but sorrow and confusion.
 
 124 
 
 ALL IS WELL. 
 
 I. 
 
 I HAVE cased my heart in stone, 
 I have loved — I am alone, 
 Love is come, and love is gone — 
 All is well. 
 
 II. 
 
 Every lover tells this truth : 
 Love is short, and love is ruth, 
 To-day so warm, to-morrow loth — 
 But all is well. 
 
 III. 
 
 Leaves that in the Spring are green 
 By-and-bye are no more seen, 
 What is, is not what might have been- 
 Yet all is well.
 
 ALL IS WELL. 125 
 
 IV. 
 
 I will no longer try to save 
 My love from its untimely grave ; 
 God only took that which He gave — 
 So all is well.
 
 126 
 
 OLD LETTERS. 
 
 It might have been. Does she 
 In hours of bUnding tears 
 Read what I wrote to her ? 
 As I, who strive to be 
 Passionless as the dead years, 
 Read what time can never blur. 
 
 She cannot have forgot : 
 One is not loved so often 
 That memory will not speak. 
 Remembering love that is not, 
 Her heart must sometimes soften 
 And tears be on her cheek. 
 
 It might have been. If she 
 As I, ask of that Past
 
 OLD LETTERS. 127 
 
 What legacy it leaves us, 
 Perhaps she would speak unto me 
 And ask why, at the last, 
 Love, hopeless, thus bereaves us.
 
 128 
 
 LOTTIE. 
 
 Come, Lottie, 'lis no use to pout, 
 Your lips were made for kisses : 
 What is it that has put you out ? 
 Your woe is not what his is. 
 
 For you can have what love }'0u will, 
 Discard disguise and masking : 
 Why will you make your lover ill 
 With fretting and with asking ? 
 
 Must he a thousand times repeat 
 What he has said already ? 
 Were ever eyes so winsome sweet, 
 Or heart-beats so unsteady ?
 
 LOTTIE. 129 
 
 How dare you make a mock of love, 
 And pause to make amends ? 
 I swear my heart no more shall rove, 
 Come, kiss, and let's be friends.
 
 i^o 
 
 A QUARTETTE. 
 
 I HAD a dream of maidens rare, 
 I could not tell whom I lov'd best : 
 Each one of them did seem so fair, 
 Each lovelier than the rest. 
 
 I saw a Lily in a field, 
 
 I knew her when she was a child : 
 
 One morning wedding-bells were pealed, 
 
 Ajid in her place the weeds grew wild. 
 
 I saw a tear in Fanny's eye, 
 I ask'd her if her grief was love : 
 She only answer'd with a sigh — 
 Someone had caged my dove.
 
 A QUARTETTE. 131 
 
 I thought that Constance was so true, 
 No lie could lurk in her sweet smile : 
 But when the times to fulness grew, 
 She said — two loves sufifice aw^hile. 
 
 And at the last pale Margaret 
 Came, like the radiant morning star : 
 Said she — the bounds of fate are set, 
 We seem not what we are. 
 
 Shadows and phantoms all, these loves 
 That only live in feverish dreams : 
 Believe me, every maid who moves 
 To passion, is not what she seems. 
 
 K 2
 
 I '52 
 
 MARGARET. 
 
 I. 
 
 Across the waste of waters, ever onward, 
 Her white wings waft her from these northern strands, 
 Over the trackless plains she beats to sunward, 
 Fraught with a thousand hopes to other lands. 
 
 II. 
 
 The brilliant dawn, the glittering foam, 
 The wind which sings in the morning — 
 These are her joys wherever she may roam : 
 
 And the dark tempest scorning, 
 She walks upon the shining sea, 
 Rock'd by the gale which bends her lofty spars, 
 Tliro' storm and calm, still beauteous and still free 
 Unto her haven 'neath the Southern stars.
 
 MARGARET. I33 
 
 III. 
 
 But fair and free as are these dreams 
 They fade before the sober joys — 
 As moonhght into morning gleams, 
 As happiness is past which cloys — 
 Wherewith she ends her blissful flight, 
 And o'er the weary waste of foam 
 She sees again the harbour light 
 Which hails lier to her northern home. 
 
 IV. 
 
 So the wide bounteous world with ever-changing 
 Sunshine and cloud woos with a thousand joys ; 
 And phantoms on the far horizon ranging 
 Draw our fond hearts from the sweet equipoise 
 Of hearth and home, to wander whither 
 These siren voices call, which day and night. 
 Sing some new song of hope, and thither 
 We follow with unwearied feet, and sweet delight. 
 
 V. 
 
 But after dreams comes waking, 
 And after wandering — rest :
 
 134 MARGARET. 
 
 And life of grief partaking 
 Seeks sleep on love's soft breast. 
 
 VI. 
 
 So the long chequered years 
 
 Like traversed seas behind me, 
 Harvesting joys and tears 
 
 Still mournfully remind me 
 That from these realms of passion and of pain 
 ' I have not won a human heart ' — their sad refrain. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And Thou, whose calm soft eyes survey 
 The world from sunlit heights of peace, 
 Seemest to me — who ask to-day 
 That wanderings so forlorn might cease — 
 That star which speaks of ended strife, 
 And draws me — hope too wildly sweet ! 
 Across the weary waste of life 
 A captive to thy feet !
 
 135 
 
 THE AWAKENING. 
 
 A FAINT light line along the Eastern sea, 
 
 And gradual rose-tints on the rolling hills ; 
 
 I hear the early cry of birds along the lea, 
 
 They tell that night is past. 
 
 The longest and the last, 
 
 The sorrow that is maddening, and the joy that kills. 
 
 II. 
 
 She wakes : what wonder in her love-lit eyes ! 
 
 Her own white arm appals her like a ghost ; 
 
 Is any joy like this beneath the skies? 
 
 The happiness which seems 
 
 Fled with delicious dreams 
 
 Comes slowly daywards from that shadowy host.
 
 136 THE AWAKENING. 
 
 III. 
 
 Life, love, and tinie, — faith, fame, and future, all 
 
 Is summed up in that consciousness of hers 
 
 That she is mine— nor ever can recall, 
 
 Save in the mirror of the Past, 
 
 With sweet rains over-cast, 
 
 A world of loveless loneliness, nor tears. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And my sweet love, whose breasts are whiter far 
 
 Than any snows that crown the virgin hills. 
 
 Shall whisper greetings to the morning-star : 
 
 And if she ask what love is this. 
 
 That wind shall answer witli a kiss 
 
 Which brings the music of the mountain-rills. 
 
 V. 
 
 I would my darling might for ever dream 
 
 Of love like this beside the whispering sea ; 
 
 No blushing bridal-morn should cast its gleam 
 
 On her sweet eyes, to sever 
 
 One golden chord for ever 
 
 Which binds her dear heart unto love and me.
 
 137 
 
 THE BELL-BUOY. 
 
 SUNDAY, OCT. XXIV, 1 87 5. 
 I. 
 
 The North Sea thunders on the fatal reefs, 
 But here within the sheker of the bay 
 The gentle swell might rock a babe to sleep — 
 No more : the sea hath its own griefs, 
 
 And moans, far away, 
 Where the white breakers 'gainst the sky-line leap. 
 
 II. 
 
 A winding path the crag descends ; 
 
 The narrow beach, hard-press'd by winter-storm, 
 
 Dips steeply to the sand : 
 The broken circle northward seaward bends 
 To one far point where Titan-boulders form 
 
 The outworks of the land.
 
 1 38 THE BELL-BUOY. 
 
 III. 
 
 Thither we come : the winter afternoon 
 
 Is sullen-grey on land and sea ; 
 And on the clilTs nor lads nor lasses roam : 
 
 To-day her sailor-lover tells at home 
 Unto her listening ear the well-known tale : 
 While high in heaven hangs the lonely moon, 
 Long o'er the dark green waste we look, and see 
 Not a sail. 
 
 IV. 
 
 We wander ever seaward : 
 
 First the beach and then the strip of sand 
 Runs to a point and ends : 
 
 We climb the rocks, and mark to leeward 
 The swift tide running : twilight sends 
 A veil unto the darkening land. 
 
 V." 
 
 Over the treacherous seaweed-carpet slowly 
 
 From crag to crag our way we wend ; 
 The rocky pools reflect the dying light of day :
 
 THE BELL-BUOY 139 
 
 It is the Sabbath evening holy : 
 At length the perilous ramparts end — 
 We reach the point of Filey bay. 
 
 VI. 
 
 What sea-fight rages here that no one sees ? 
 Hark ! how the heavy guns 
 Boom ! and the white battle-clouds, 
 
 In long procession like to ghostly nuns 
 In their shrouds, 
 
 Rise from the thundering seas ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 It is the war of Filey Brigg : 
 But hark, between the booming, 
 
 What solemn bell is tolling ? 
 Are there churches under-sea ? do they dig 
 Graves beneath the tumbling surges, 
 WTiere the wrecked hulls are rolling, 
 
 And sing dirges 
 For the corpses they find roaming ?
 
 I40 THE BELL-BUOY. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Sad and slow : 
 It cannot be the ring 
 Of the rocks, by breakers assail'd, 
 
 WTiich send the pillars of foam on high : 
 It cannot be the cry, 
 Long and low, 
 Of the storm-driven sea-bird on the wing, 
 Or the bell of a passing ship whose powder has 
 fail'd. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Mournful and slow, it seems to toll 
 Perpetual masses for the dead : 
 Miserere for thy passing soul, 
 Bold skipper, doom'd to find thy bed 
 
 Deep in God's mighty sea ! 
 Wliat time the roaring winter gale 
 Brings His last message unto thee. 
 
 And thy storm-tatter'd sail !
 
 THE BELL-BUO\. 141 
 
 X. 
 
 But haply may the mariner, 
 Driven before the northern blast, 
 
 A happier story tell : 
 The weary midnight listener, 
 With breakers on the lee, at last 
 
 Hears thy mysterious bell. 
 
 XI. 
 
 When the dark rifts of swift scud sever, 
 He sees a light on Flambro' Head, 
 And hears a requiem tolling ; 
 
 With helm hard down he puts to sea. 
 
 And leaves upon his dreaded lee 
 The awful thunders rolling 
 Upon the rocks of Filey Brigg — 
 
 Where for the living and the dead 
 Tolls the bell-buoy for ever.
 
 142 
 
 LOVE'S MIRAGE. 
 
 Thine hands are wet, my love — is the night cold ? 
 There is no track across the dark wide moor ; 
 The snow lies deep upon the wintry wold, 
 And thou with weary feet art standing at the door. 
 
 Come in, my love of loves : the door is wide, 
 The rustle of thy garments on the floors 
 To me is like the breeze at eventide 
 In summer-time : to-night it roars. 
 
 And hath the moan of the winds in the wet woods, 
 Child, made thee dumb, in thy journey here ? 
 Where is the greeting thou in sweet wanton moods 
 Didst fling me over the garden-wall down there ? 
 
 I left thee in thy father's house a year ago, 
 Nor did I think to meet thee thus and now :
 
 LOVES MIRAGE. 143 
 
 O darling, stand not where the wind and the snow 
 Drive like a pitiless dream : come to the firelight's 
 glow. 
 
 Canst thou not speak ? thy face is wan and pale ; 
 Why are thine eyes set in the sadness of death ? 
 Look into mine : cannot love like this avail 
 To woo one passionate kiss from thy freezing breath ? 
 
 What love is like unto my love, O my heart ? 
 
 Can I not fold thee and warm thee, my crowned 
 
 queen ? 
 Now thou art come never again to part, 
 The Past shall be as if it never had been. 
 
 Come in, my sweet : thy throne, it is vacant still : 
 What other guest should find thy royal fare ? 
 For I will give thee such kisses as shall kill 
 Time, sickness, sorrow, and thy death-like care. 
 
 Cold as the ice upon the frozen mere — 
 My hand can smooth the tresses on thy brow ; 
 Though winter binds its victims everywhere. 
 It shall not freeze thee, darling, thus and now.
 
 144 LOVES MIRAGE. 
 
 No word, no sign — the vision fades S,way : 
 O God ! why will her ghost come o'er the stream 
 She promised should divide us, aye and aye ! 
 Me nnsercfc for my hapless dream !
 
 145 
 
 FANNY. 
 
 I. 
 
 Her eyes were sweet, her lips were meek, 
 And kind the words she used to speak, 
 
 In the happy days ago : 
 I loved her as one loves a flow'r, 
 Sometimes for life, sometimes an hour, 
 
 As fate will have it so. 
 
 II. 
 
 I did not tell her of my love, 
 
 So light a vow were hard to prove ; 
 
 I waited for a day : 
 The rose-leaves fiutter'd to the ground, 
 And when the Autumn fell, I found 
 
 My love had passed away.
 
 146 
 
 ROME. 
 
 CHRISTMAS, 1874. 
 
 Mother of Empires, brooding o'er thy Past ! 
 The air is thick with voices of the dead : 
 What memories crowd upon us as we tread 
 On ashes of the centuries, aghast 
 At those who forged thy sons' undying name 
 To hew thy temples down, which yet defy 
 Tempest and time ; on them the curse and shame ! 
 Grief shrouds thine altars, but our tears are dry. 
 Could thy springs live again, each grassy sod 
 Would heave, and well in streams of human blood : 
 But man is weak, what wonder if he turn, 
 Sick unto death, from thy sepulchral urn ? 
 My heart is where my love is, ev'n at home, 
 Whilst thou, pathetic splendour, art but — Rome !
 
 147 
 
 NEW YEAR'S EVE, 
 1877. 
 
 Farewell ! Thou hast not been so kind, old year, 
 
 That I should bid thee stay : where are the flow'rs, 
 
 Crocus and hyacinth — I brought to thee 
 
 When thy spring-promptings told me she was dear ? 
 
 What fruit have I of the enchanted hours 
 
 Thine immemorial summer brought to me ? 
 
 Mine immortelles are dead ; my fruit is dust ; 
 
 Therefore, old year, depart, if go thou must, 
 
 And thine unhappy memories bear with thee. 
 
 My heart is weary : tarry not to tell 
 
 The story of love's immortality : 
 
 The midnight ringers toll thy funeral-bell : 
 
 With thee, thrice-hated love, unwept, shall die, 
 
 And leave me, sad with knowledge : fare thee well !
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BY 
 
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