,* V '1 OVE IDYLLS, BALLADS, poems. BY HENRY DRYERRE. BLAIRGOWRIE : THE AUTHOR, 10 HIGH STREET. EDINBURGH: JOHN MENZIES & CO,, HANOVER STREET. 1884. LOAN STACK BLAIRGOWKIE : 1'IUXTKD AT THE ADVERTISKR OFFICK. 079 PREFACE. APOLOGY or explanation in some form or other is gene- rally looked for on the appearance of a new volume, particularly of poetry : I am afraid, however, unless the volume itself can assert its own right to exist, the urgency of friends and others whose judgment might be con- sidered reliable will avail little as an excuse for publish- ing. I am not confident I shall be justified for having ventured to run the gauntlet of public criticism, but must leave the matter in other hands now. In the matter of arrangement, the reader will be good enough to consider the classification, both throughout the book, and in the contents pages, as only approximate ; many of the pieces under one heading falling as readily under some other. My sincere thanks are hereby tendered the many kind friends and subscribers who have interested themselves in the production of this volume. H. D. BLAIRGOWRIE, November, 1884. C O N T E N T S. LOVE IDYLLS AND LYRICS. PAGK A Face, ........................ 163 A Hand, ......... ............ 104 And We? ........................ 100 A Rose, ... .................. 36 A Song of Severed Love, ... ... ... ... ... ... 73 A Tear, ..................... 32 A Withered Rose, .................... 121 Baby, ......................... 15 Changed, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 37 Come Near Me, ... ... .. ... ... ... ... 84 Crocus, ........................ 190 Dolce Far Niente, ..................... 67 Doubting, ... . . ... ... ... ... ... ... 68 Dream, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... n Drummond Gardens, ... ... ... ... ... ... 76 Duetto Pastorale, .. ...... 164 Frater Noster (Hymn), ... ... ... ... ... ... 64 Gae awa', gin ye daur, ... ... ... ... ... ... 195 Gone, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 49 Gone Away, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 187 Harmony, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 151 Hast Thou, ........................ 199 I Cannot Tell, .................... . 145 I'll See ye in the Gloamin', ...... ........... 125 In Vain, ....................... 181 It's a' Owre, ... . . ... ... ... ... ... 170 Lady with the Jewelled Hand, ......... . ... 43 Leal, ........................... 171 Listen, Children, to the Clock, ............... 178 Love's Mystery, .................. ... 137 Love's Warfare, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 128 Merry merry Love, ........ ............ 69 Miller, Miller, ..................... 160 My Bonnie Lass frae Tullymet, ... ... ... ... ... 185 My Floweret Fair, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 27 My Love, my Love, ... .. ... ... ... ... ... 88 My Rose, ............... ......... 19 CONTENTS. Narcissus, ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... 191 Nay, nay, my Love, ... ... . . ... ... ... 77 Night and Day, ... ... ... ... . . . ... ... 97 Oh, Tell Me Not, 117 Once, ... ... ... .. ... ... ... .. ... 79 One Language, ... ... ... ... ... .. .. 183 One Only Theme, 38 One Star, 152 One Wish, .. .. .. 72 O, the Holly, 150 Our Fatherland, 56 Parting, 31 Pique, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 169 Regard Me Not, 193 Reproachful, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 144 Rose, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 192 Rose Scent, ... 153 Scotland, .. 120 Shadow, ... .. .. ... ... ... ... .. 14 Sigh, my Lady, Sigh again, ... ... ... ... ... 40 Sighs and Prayers, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 179 Sing, Happy Bird, . 148 Slichted, ... 158 Slumber Song, 33 Spring Song, ... ... ... ... .. ... ... .. 132 Stars, 195 Stay, Donald, .. 182 Stay, Spring, ... ... ... ... .. ... ... 146 Still Remember, 52 Stream, Stream, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 157 Summer Longings, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 140 Summer's Reign, ... ... ... ... .. ... ... 50 Supplication, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... .. 57 That Night, 133 The Auld Carle an' the Young Ane, ... ... ... ... 149 The Bard and his Lyre, ... . . 44 The Lass that Sandy Lo'es. .. .. ... ... ... 116 The Minstrel to his Love, ... ... .. ... ... ... 82 The Rill, the Brook, the Stream, the Sea, 23 The Trystin' Tree, 126 The Wanderer, 115 Thou and I, 24 'Tis All or None, 105 Trifles, 143 Turlum, .. ... ... ... .. ... .. .. 7 1 Twa Auld Fouk, 138 Visions, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 180 CONTENTS. Wallflower, ... 191 " We are Such Stuff," 89 Were All My Own, 46 What the River Says, 101 What Treasures of our Hearts have We ? (Hymn), ... ... 63 When the Morning Sun, ... ... ... ... ... .. 131 Words, Words, 135 BALLADS. Fair Helen of Ballintin-y-Gloe, ... 58 Marie,.. ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 161 The Ballad of Lady Jane, 90 The Baron and the Maid, ... ... ... ... 147 The Dying Street Singer, 154 Young Gilbert, 168 r O K M S. Ad Poetam, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 9 A Drop of Ink, ... ,.. ... ... ... ... ... 166 After, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 194 A Summer Morn, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 47 Burns, 16 Death? 103 Departure, .. .. \.. ... 34 Desperans, 74 Dreamy Jearme, 86 Eros, 98 Finis, ... .. 200 Kettins, ... ... ... ..". ... ... ... 141 Kinnoull, ... ... ... .. ... ... ... ... 12 Life? 102 Little Willie's Vision, 65 Longings, ... ... .. ... ... ... ... .. 66 Ode to Spring, ... ... -... ... ... 41 O Night, Night, 78 On Kinnoull, ... 134 Our Harry, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 122 Questionings, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 29 Rain, 118 Remembrances, 53 CONTENTS. Scotland's Heroes, 197 Selene, 20 Springtime, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 80 Stream, ., 28 The Actor's Grief, ... ... ... ... -. ... .. 45 The Husband's Little Pickle, 184 The Lark, 177 The Poet's Language, ... 7 To Anthea, ... 188 To the Poet, 172 To the Lark, .. 25 Two Rivals, 51 Weeds, 102 Zonane ; or, the Fiddle Wizard of Cremona, 106 (Dedicated by permission to Rev. H. R. HAWEIS, Author of " Music and Morals," &c., &c. ) RONDELS AND SONNETS. A Scotchman's Sonnet, ... ... ... ... ... - 97 Love, 95 Sweet Bunch of Roses, ... ... ... ... ... ... 26 The Moon is High, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 96 The Morning Star, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 95 To A R , 182 To My Choir, 95 To My Love Asleep, ... ... ... ... ... ... 96 To Poesy. 55 MISCELLANEOUS. Acrostic to Bertie G , ... .., ... ... ... ... 176 Acrostics to D. S. L., ... 176 Beauty-power, ... ... ... ... ... . . ... 39 Child-heart, 157 Choice, 183 Comfort-knowledge, ... ... ... ... ... ... I5 1 Shakespeare, ... ... .. ... ... ... ... ... 186 Similitude, ... ... ... ... ... ... ... ... 83 AND OTHER POEMS. AD POETAM.^ AWAKE, awake thou minstrel of the heart ! From depths of everlasting silence start, And like yon star, shot from the heart of morn, Prepare our night for glories yet unborn. The dewy splendours of the rising sun Are in our thoughts long ere the day's begun The eyeballs of the tear-dishevelled night Are strained watching for the morning light. Oh, sing of love ! for love, for love we long Be it alone the burden of thy song ; Nor from thy quivering harp shall fall one strain That is not echoed back to thee again. Thy lips, more fine than ours, the thoughts may speak For which in vain poor mortals utterance seek ; Thou, thou, divine, our fit expression be We have those thoughts we would express in thee ! 10 AD POETAM. Speak unto us of things we long to know, And from thy heaven regard this earth below ; Ot^*- Hearts interpret thou, O radiant Face, own lost lineaments we trace ! that long of heaven to be ? aught is ours, birthright to thee? ; KlNNOULL, Kinnoull, thou height most dear, Once more behold thy votary here ! On thy commanding brow I stand, The monarch of a glorious land. What richness greets my grateful eye, What varied beauties 'neath me lie ! The Tay in silver silence softly flowing ; The kine on verdant meadows distant lowing ; Bold Mordune Top, in shaggy green, The Lomonds in the distance seen ; Sweet Orchard Neuk, secluded, still, Old Abernethy 'neath the hill ; Fair City, beaming in the sun, Where many a valiant deed's been done- Where many a theme, poetic, grand, Doth still await the cunning hand ; On emerald slopes, 'mid fertile fields, A thousand nestling cottars' bields ; Above, a heaven of dappled blue- Beneath, an earth of summer hue : Combine, my heart, these beauties rare, No scene on all the earth can be more fair ; Around, above, in distance, and at hand, Behold ensample of the Scot's own land ! Oh, tell me not of warriors bold, Whose deeds heroic are enrolled On many an historic page, For this and every future age : That here they fought, and bled, and died, Their country's safety and its pride ; That here the poet sang his day, And for fair Scotia tuned his lay. No borrowed light is here required Behold the theme of bard inspired ! . ^ tr t *-~~^t^i u^u ^u>C_j +***.>** ^ KINNOULL. 13 Behold such scene as nerved the heart Of warrior stern to hold his part 'Gainst tyrant foes of Scotia's weal That nerved his heart, his hand, his steel ! The everlasting theme abides, The beauty that all time derides ; For us a land most fair of earth, The land of Scotia and our birth A land, degenerate though we be, Still nerves our heart to keep it free A land of beauty, love, and fame, Oh, Scotia, Scotia, 'tis thy name ! Enthralling virtues float around, We tread upon enhallowed ground : Who, proudly owning home or birth 'Mid scenes like this, hath aught of worth That doth not from his birthright spring A poet he, or warrior king ? Is Scotia ours, that we care claim Our fathers' virtues or their fame ? Stand firm, my heart, on thine own ground Thine eyes above, beneath, around, In tearful gratitude but cast : Thou hast the present scorn the past ! While Scotia's noble mountains stand, While scenes like these o'erspread the land, While waving forests, rushing streams, Refresh mine eyes and fill my dreams What deeds of fame or bardic lore Can thee enhance whom I adore ? Enough, thou treasured birthright given To favoured race by gracious Heaven, That Scots, by thy deep influence led, Enraptured sang or freely bled Receiving through their native land The workings of a higher hand. Kinnoull, Kinnoull ! I sigh farewell 14 SHADOW. To thy delights I love so well ; Yet, everlasting joy remains For him enlinked by memory's chains To this fair scene beneath me spread, These hills around, that sky overhead. Endeared by nature's graces thou, Yet more endeared by lover's vow ; Two names within my heart are set, Two names I never may forget : jOne name is her's whose love is mine, (The other name, Kinnoull, is thine ! SHADOW. A SHADOW falls upon the grass : How strange that it should swiftly pass, Nor leave a trace behind : The shadows of the heart Have not so good a part, They are of other kind. That shadow fell upon the grass, As swift did fall, as swift did pass As any fleeting thought ; But all our thought remains, Remembering thoughtful pains, And yet, the thought is nought. The shadows fall upon the grass, And as they fall, so let them pass To us it matters not : Our life's a shadow all, That swift as it doth fall, Doth fade, and is forgot. POEM. 15 BABY, -t:' BABY with the wondering eyes, Full of light, full of love, Tell us where our heaven lies On the earth, or in the skies ? Here, or there above ? Baby, baby, thou canst tell Simple face, full of grace ! What we seek thou knowest well, For, from heaven, where spirits dwell, Thou hast reached this place. Baby with the silent eyes, Full of thought, uttering nought, Thou art wiser than the wise There is more in thy surprise Than our earth hath taught. Heaven's within thee, baby fair, Heaven is near heaven is here ; For our search thou need'st not care Heaven thou bearest everywhere, Whether far or near. And that look within thine eyes, Baby dear, stranger here, Speaketh only thy surprise We who seek forget the skies Whence we reached this sphere. l6 POEM. V BURNS. THIS once forgive, O Bardic Shade, Th' approach of one whose hand is made For other work than polished lays Of thoughtless flattery or praise. Thy name, dear Burns, is in each heart, And in our daily life takes part ; It breathes around like common air, And all are nourished by its care ; Thy words, a ploughman thou of thought, With such potential spirit fraught, Have turned the soil of human hearts, Till from each furrow daily starts Such wealth of harvesting and flowers, For winter dearth and summer hours, That men, amazed, grateful, sigh To find what treasures in them lie. Where'er we roam o'er Scotia dear Thy genius and thy love appear : The stars speak of thy tender love, And earth doth answer heaven above ; Each fragrant flower, each waving tree, Each heath-clad hill and verdant lea ; The wimpling burn and placid lake, The warbling birds in bush and brake ; The forms of nature loved by all, Thy name aloud, emphatic, call ! New beauties spring where thou didst tread, And all is blossom erstwhile dead ; New meanings from things common start, And finer feelings in each heart. When tear-stained face and trembling tongue Betray the heart with anguish wrung ; When lovers meet in lonely dell, The oft-told tale of love to tell : BURNS. 17 When brother Scots, where'er the land, Stand face to face, firm hand in hand, Or in the hell of sulphurous strife, In fence of country and of life, With knitted brow and flashing steel Strike for their home and country's weal, Thy thoughts, potential, light each face, And words superfluous give them place : To tragic war, as peaceful arts, Thy genius fire and grace imparts While Scots are brave, are true, are free, As soon forget their land as thee ! Yet, poet thou for every clime, For every race, and for all time, Shouldst thou, who lived and sang thy day When few attended to thy lay, On this poor earth one thought bestow, And care, perchance, for aught below, Methinks, while men relieve their mind For deeds unjust and thoughts unkind Which thou didst suffer here on earth A man of tears, yet child of mirth Laudate anew thine honoured name, And to thy credit place thy fame Methinks around those lips there may A gentle smile of scorning play. A poet thou, and care to claim The credit of a poet's fame ? Possessor thou of mines unwrought, Creator of domains of thought, Dispensing with a kingly hand The heavenly gifts at thy command ; And yet and yet one moment care, Yea, for a single heart-throb, dare To claim the virtue of that place Which thou didst fill by Heaven's own grace ? No, no, dear Burns, forgive the thought, 18 BURNS. 'Twas thrust upon us all unsought ; To such as thee, the kings of song, To whom all earth and heaven belong, There is no gift that mankind give ' So sweet as simple leave to live ; To be as thou wast as a voice Which uttereth but another's choice Behind, unseen, unfelt by all, Save he who hath the poet's call. For there is certainly a soul That doth the poet's soul control ; He singeth at his own sweet will, Subservient to a deeper still ; The earth, the heavens, he grasps with might, He readeth all men's thoughts aright ; Within the garden of his heart The blossoms of the future start, And men who gather ripened fruit Forget the poet was the root : Yet doth a still and secret hand The poet's issues all command, And all the thinkings of his heart From depths unknown, unsounded, start : Creator he, unwilled, unsought, Created he, unknown, a thought. Thou, Burns, thine own behests didst seek Twas mortal that thou shouldst be weak ; Yet, as we view thee, crowned with song, What sympathies around thee throng ! The imperfections of our earth Have faded at death's second birth : Pedestalled on all time thou art, True prophet of the human heart ! POEM. 19 MY ROSE, ~tr i. MY rose, my rose ! Its leaves are shaken, To the winds it goes, Forgot, forsaken. Dost seek that flower Whose odour fragrant Through sunny hour Wooed zephyrs vagrant ? Quick ! let us seize The petals flying Adown the breeze, And save from dying ! With subtle art Our rose we'll fashion To move the heart With tender passion. II. To the winds again Our rose we scatter Our work how vain With lifeless matter! Yet is there still A fragrant being In heart and will, With both agreeing. And though our rose To the winds be shaken, Its spirit grows, By form forsaken. The seen, the near, Are gone for ever, Thou, rose, most dear, Canst perish never ! 20 POEM. ^.SELENE. FAIR Moon, serenely calm and bright, Afloat on sea of splendrous light, Transforming, beautifying, grace, Once more, my love, we're face to face Receive thy faithful lover, pray, Who shuns the tinselled shows of day ! The nightingale doth sing to thee Her sweetest, tenderest melody ; The brook runs babbling on its way That thou hast kissed it with thy ray ; The dewdrops t\vinkle on the rose, And up to heaven a fragrance goes From every grateful flower that blows ; The darkling trees, mysterious, sigh, " Our Queen, Selene, floats the sky !" Within the shadows of the trees There glides the faintest, softest breeze A zephyr light, on wings of love, That whispers low " Look, look, above ! Our noble Queen is out to-night- Look up, sweet flowers, behold the sight !" The trembling grasses and the flowers, The wakeful birds in fragrant bowers, Where crowns of honeysuckle sweet And climbing rose, embracing, meet, With wondrous little creeping things That gleam with dewy splendourings ; A wandered bat, a beetle lone That soothes my ear with drowsy drone ; A thousand tiny insects' throats That merrily add their chirping notes ; From clover fields and meadows fine The mellow lowing of the kine : All, all, dear Mocn, ars 'neath thy power, SELENE. 21 And own the influence of this hour : Devoted worshippers of thine, Whose loving praise ascends with mine ! Here, on this turfy bank reclining, I feed my greedy eyes on thee ; Forgot the daylight's heart-repining, And all the ills of life that be. The poet's love, indeed, art thou ! Oh, when this wearied head shall bow Beneath the load of life, Refusing further strife For sake of gain which is but loss, Come where the midnight breezes toss The fallen leaves across my grave ; For me, thy faithful lover, save One tender, sympathetic ray, Twill recompense for life's dull day. As here, entranced, I lie, And listen to the sigh Of tree to flower, and breeze to grass replying- I, too, I know not why, Sigh, sigh, responsive sigh Oh, sweeter than all life is this faint dying ! This glory floods my throbbing heart With thoughts expressionless and deep, Vain certainties of life depart, And all is calm as dreamless sleep Day's cursed certainties so fair, That breed but doubt and dread despair ; And here, within this realm of dreams, A purer certainty there seems Than aught that braggart day can show, Or man who trusts in seeming, know. Selene ! hast thou nought to say Against the babblings of the day ? 'Tis I, we hear ; 'tis thou, 'tis we, 'Tis thus and thus in all we see : 22 SELENE. 'Tis plain 'tis true 'tis surely so : No heaven above, or depth below, No secret in this heart of ours, But man, omnivorous, devours ! He knoweth all the whence, the whither, Our coming here, our going thither : Across life's gilded stage he stalks, Monopolist of words and talks ! Hast thou no gift of w r ords, dear Moon ? Shouldst care exchange with blazing noon, Who flashes on our dazed sight, With rush, and roar, and stunning might, Disfiguring, crushing, and confusing, Disdainful of all love and choosing, Relentless, pitiless, and stern Dost care, sweet Moon, such arts to learn ? Forgive, my love ! I see thee smile As thus I muse to thee the while. Enough : I know thou dost resent Words, words, inane incompetent, And in thy smile the meaning's plain- Wise silence speaks when words are vain. Thou art a dream a dreamer I That, grant me, for a certainty ; And if a dreamer in the night Doth dream he dreams, he dreams aright : His truth is dream his dream is true, And here I dream I dream of you. Oh, wake me not, intrusive day, Ye sensibilities away ! The moon, the stars, the trees, and I, The flowers and grass whereon I lie Participants in love are we, Disturb not our community ! Ha ! Phoebus rushes up the skies, THE RILL, THE BROOK, THE STREAM, THE SEA. 23 A debauchee, with flaming eyes ; The stars, affrighted, faint away Beware, sweet Moon, the god of day ! He'll seize thee in his amorous arms, And rifle thee of all thy charms : Quick to yon cloud retreat, retreat- Adieu, my love to-night we meet ! THE RILL, THE BROOK, THE STREAM, \fr' THE SEA. TRICKLE, trickle, little rill, From thy bed beneath the hill ; Thou dost come from depths unknown, With a purpose of thine own : To the brook, the brook away, For no trifling mortal stay. Babble, babble, happy brook, Never giving backward look To the rill that gave thee rise Happy-careless, thoughtless-wise. To the river haste away, For no trifling mortal stay. Murmur, murmur, noble stream, 'Tis the ocean is thy dream Ocean deep, and true, and free, Waiting patiently for thee. River, to thy love away, For no trifling mortal stay. Holy, calm, eternal sea ! Harmony and melody, Depths unknown and frothy wave, Continent and coral cave Yea, the heavens themselves are thine, Clasp me in thine arms divine ! . * 24 LOVE IDYLL. '.t4 THOU AND I. WHEN thou and I Fall out good-bye ! Without a doubt That tear and sigh And scornful pout Shall in the morning be forgot, And longing fill each vacant thought. Inquirest why? Tis thou and I ! For thou and I May pale and sigh, And part in pain, Yet, love will cry To meet again. More, more than words, yea, thoughts are we, Deeper than all we know and see Are thou and I Who say good-bye. So, thou and I May moan and sigh, And part in pain, Nor know the why We kiss again : We only know 'tis love, my dear, And love is sweeter for each tear Yea, for each sigh And sad good-bye. POEM. 25 *.f? TO THE LARK. MOUNT, mount, with yonder lark, my heart, The spring is here, the joyous spring ; Thou, too, in Nature's song take part Up with the merry lark and sing ! O lark, in heaven a speck, sing, sing ! Would I might also cleave the sky, And on a swift and quivering wing, To spheres of light and music fly ! Retard thy flight, sweet bird of song ; Forget not thou hast had thy birth, With us below, who pine and long, Upon a dull and cheerless earth. Is there a heaven within the blue, That thou on high the morn dost wait? And hast thou, then, a thinking, too, That thou, perchance, may reach its gate ? 'Tis surely so : that swelling song That floods the wavering morning air Doth not to things of earth belong, Nor can with aught we know compare. Sing, sing, thou bird celestial, sing ! Of heavenly secrets thou dost know ; From hidden springs of music bring Those draughts of song for us below. And we who pine, and upward gaze, With clasped hands and strained eyes, Perchance shall join in grateful praise, Though earth be ours, and thine the skies : VL, 3 . 26 POEM RONDEL. Yea, thine the heavens, and ours the earth, The soaring thine, the longing ours ; To thee the freedom of thy birth, With us the trammelling of our powers. Yet heaven is ours, though heaven afar, And earth more distant daily seems : As morning dims yon trembling star, Shall heaven eclipse earth's fairest dreams. And with thy song, this happy morn, This morn of May, so fresh and fair, Shall we, renewed, our grieving scorn, And shout our gladness on the air. Mount, mount, with yonder lark, my heart, It is the spring, the joyous spring ! Thou, too, in Nature's song take part Up with the merry lark, and sing! SWEET BUNCH OF ROSES. Sweet bunch of roses ! Maidens fair, Your fragrant gift a verse imposes On its recipient : shall I dare, Sweet bunch of roses ? I know not all each flower discloses, For thought extrinsic little care ; But rose, to poet, e'er composes A theme that may with love compare. This rondel, then, I pray, suppose is My thanks poetic for your rare Sweet bunch of roses. -A LOVE IDYLL. 27 MY FLOWERET FAIR. MY floweret fair, you are so rare, You are so rare so rare and fair ! I cannot love you as I could, Because you love not as I would : For love is love, and I love thee Truly, dearly, purely ; And all I love must e'en love me, Truly, dearly, purely. And if I love thee, love, and love To hold thee far all else above, What say: Dost love me, simple sweet? Dost think thy love for mine is meet? Dost love me dearly, purely? By those fair brows, those tender eyes, By those sweet lips, so rich a prize I know thy heart, so pure, so rare, I know it well, and still I dare To love thee dearly, purely : To love thee, love : for love can see What is, and was, and is to be In that we love ; and I in thee Behold thy love for future me, Thy loving dearly, purely. But love me, sweet, as I love thee : 'Tis now I love ; now love thou me ; For love, though love, must cease to be When those we love care not to see We love them dearly, purely. 28 POEM. STREAM. STAY, marvel of our earth, A running stream Thou hast such constancy of mirth, Hast thou a dream ? Thou hast the sea at last, Hast aught behind ? Seek not to hurry past, Thou stream unkind. There's that about thee that we love, And we who have our thought Have deemed thee ofttimes far above Ourselves and all we've sought. Thou hast a longing for the sea A longing for our sleep have we : A song thou hast for all thy way We have but sighs, both night and day. What, thus it is, indeed, Thou canst so sing Thou hast not in thee glistering bead But knows its spring. Haste on, glad stream. Thy sea, With bosom wide, Receptive, waits for thee : What can betide? We have no joy like thine, thou stream, That singest hurrying past : "Perchance perchance " is all our dream, We reach the sea at last. But thou dost feel thy love is sure Thy birth, thou know'st, is heavenly pure : We sigh, and pensive o'er thee dream O whence whither are we, stream ? POEM. 29 QUESTIONINGS. STAND still, my heart, and gaze around : Where, in this universe, is found The primal spring that being gives, The life of all that breathes and lives ? Are we, who grasp the realms of space, In turn enclasped in cold embrace By visionary offspring of the brain Our own creations, yet in vain ? Whence this antagonism stern 'Twixt what we feel and what we learn This consciousness of better things Than all our knowledge ever brings? This war incessant 'twixt the love That nestles in the heart, and things above The Teachings of our trembling hands That only mock our weak commands? Return, my heart, return within ! Leave doubt, and all that men call sin To those who seek from outward springs The principles of deepest things. I pass my hand across mine eyes, And truth before, like crystal, lies. The truth, indeed ! Who is't conceives The truth, and then its slave, believes This laboured creature of his own Commands, in strange familiar tone, Obedience to some formal laws, The laws that link effect with cause? 'Tis man, 'tis man 'tis longing man, Whom angels from high heaven scan With wondering gaze, to see him seek, By devious paths and strivings weak, To grasp the scintillations faint That burst his earthly birth's restraint, *__ * 30 QUESTIONINGS. Or chase the fleeting gleams of heaven From his own being sustenance given ! Knowledge seek'st thou? And who, I pray, Is't seeks? Art not CONCEIVER? Say; And is the knower, or the known, The first in order of thine own ? Canst think infinities of thought And not perceive the infinite brought From depths eternal in thy heart, Whence all thy thoughts, unbidden, start? Canst think a hell, or blissful heaven, Beyond conceptive powers given ? Or find'st thou in a single thought One tittle more than thou hast brought? What is thy thought or knowledge, then Creator, or create, of men? Man, man ! There comes a stirring time When, all-forgetful of that clime Of heavenly origin and grace Whence spring the longings of our race, Thou shalt behold, with strange surprise, The image of thyself arise From out fantastic forms of thought Which thou so oft hadst weakly sought In pleading tones, and sought in vain, Nor knew thou didst the whole sustain ! We know not what we are, nor will ; Yet what we know is knowledge still, And all we know is truly ours, Created of creative powers : Our consciousness, with widening rings, From central we forever springs ; We know, we feel, but are, and are, And ever are, from depths afar Eternal utterances we, POEM LOVE IDYLL. And more than all we know or see. Knowledge ? Avaunt, thou cumbering case Of chrysalis life ! thou hast thy place With cast-off swathings of the mind We seek thy help ? Behind, behind ! 'Tis thus I scorn thee from my sight To spheres of utterness and night, And find within, and not abroad, My own identity and God ! PARTING. TEARS in thine eyes, my love, Sighs in the air, Tender good-byes, my love, Hearts of despair ! From thee I go, my love, Ne'er to return- Thinking forego, my love, While the hours burn ! Here, at thy feet, my love, Sigh I adieu, Never to meet, my love, Tender and true ! Kiss me, my life, my love, Let thine arms twine To-morrow a wife, my love, Yet ever mine ! 32 LOVE IDYLL. A TEAR. I HAD a tear, my love. Last night, As on my couch I lay, I thought "Perchance, at day," Thought I, "will come again the light." That tear unbidden came : I know It not. Forbid the thought, My love, that thou art sought By tears : they are but weak, I trow. I wept ; I cannot tell thee what. It seems as if our thought, Whate'er it be, is not Within the one who has the thought. I wept, I cried " Oh, give me thought That is within my heart :" Perhaps, thought I, apart, 'Tis thou. Hast longed since last we sought ? 'Tis strange, indeed, my love. It seems As if my thoughts in thee Were lost, and thou of me Didst think, and both confused as dreams. That tear I kept, I give thee now : 'Twas it that, first concept Of longings deep, soft crept Adown my cheek, nor knew its how. For now I weep, nor know I why : Thy thought, my love, is me, Yet, since my thought is thee, What thought hast thou? I sigh. LYRIC. 33 SLUMBER SONG. SLEEP, my babe, on mother's knee, Sleep, and do not fear ; Mother is a-watching thee, Father, too, is near. Silver moon is in the sky, With her gaze so mild ; Mother sings her hush-a-bye Sleep, my darling child. All the birds have gone to rest Long and long ago ; And within your cosy nest You should sleep, you know. Trees, and birds, and pretty flowers Fast asleep are they ; Moon and stars keep later hours, But they sleep by day. Sleep, while o'er thee move the stars, With their eyes so bright Sleep, until through lattice-bars Streams morn's rosy light. Sleep, and get the roses, too, Morn will bring to thee Sleep till drowsy eyes of blue Bright as stars shall be. Sleepy, sleepy, drooping head, On a mother's breast, Mother puts thee in thy bed, Birdie in its nest. Sleep until the birdies wake, Till the east is red, Mother never will forsake Baby in its bed. 34 POEM. DEPARTURE. TURN, Bill, thy head away, The sun is in the west, J Tis the last weary day, Before eternal rest. Let Tom and little Nan Come in *when all is o'er ; And bear it like a man, Bill, like yourself, no more. Dear heart, we've had our day Of happiness and peace, And now I'm called away, 'Twill be a sweet release. It's been a weary time Since first I took to bed, It's been an upward climb, I know, to get us bread. I cannot help it, Bill I'm glad I'm going away : It's not been with my will I've had so long to stay. Just kiss me dear, once more You've been a good true man, And when you see 'tis o'er, Be kind to Tom and Nan. And if they ask for me When I am gone away Just say they'll come and see Me on some far-off day. DEPARTURE. 35 This much I know, dear Bill, There's nought in heaven for me But ever, ever will Make me remember thee. Remember thee, my dear, My girl and darling boy, And wish that you were near To share in all my joy. I'm wearied, Bill no more ; Don't doubt, my dearest love, There's happiness in store For those who love, above. Kiss me again again. J Twas a lovely day in May When first you kissed me, Bill, And took my heart away. A lovely day in spring, And everything so gay ! I hear the sky-lark sing As on that happy day. Spring, spring for ever, dear, Will be our sweet delight Come near, my dear, come near, Kiss me good night good night ! 36 LOVE IDYLL. \-fr-* A ROSE. GIVE me that rose from out thy hair, In memory of this hour Not all the wealth of Indies fair Can with this simple rose compare, Or with such gift endower. Say, shall I kiss it, ere I place It carefully away? Ah, love with tear-bedimmed face, With flowing hair, and tender grace, Thy flower can ne'er decay. The spirit of this fragrant rose Shall in my heart remain When earth's faint phantasies and shows, The dream of life, which comes and goes, Will go, nor come again. Afarj afar, my feet may stray, But ne'er from thee, my heart : 'Tis little, love, to haste away 'Tis nothing, love, to have to say, This night, this night, we part : This night of sighs, farewells, and tears, Is in a glory set A glory that, in far-off years, Shall chide us for our present fears, And joy anew beget. Farewell ! The rose-leaves scattering fall- To heaven a rose is given : To rose or love, what can befall ? The scent and beauty of them all Live evermore in heaven. LOVE IDYLL. 37 CHANGED. O DARLING mine ! I think of thee, And know thy love is flown, With tenderest idolatry I kneel before thy throne : Afar, afar, As yon bright star Art thou removed from me 'Tis thine to shine in heaven above, Tis mine to pine in silent love, Content thy slave to be. So near, my dear so far away ! I ponder o'er each word Thou uttered'st on that happy day, When, like a nestling bird, Upon my breast Thou sank'st to rest, Mine arms about thee thrown Thine eyes were moist, thy lips were sweet, Our hearts were throbbing, beat for beat, Thou called'st me thine own ! But now, but now, my darling one, Thou turn'st, estranged and cold Our morn has to the even run, To dross has changed our gold. The hours flit by, Afar I sigh, Yet ever at thy side O happiness for ever fled, O life, O love, for ever dead, O heedless love, my bride ! 38 POEM. ONE ONLY THEME. ONE only theme my pen invites, My willing heart enthralls ; One only hope my thoughts incites, One joy alone ne'er palls : Dost ask the theme, the hope, the joy? Tis love, 'tis love, without alloy ! But shouldst thou seek to know the cause, The wherefore of my choice ; Shouldst thou, inquiring, ask the laws That regulate my joys I answer only, with a sigh, I only love, but know not why. I love the dawn, the rising sun, The lark, the scent of flowers ; I love the eve, when day is done, And silent starlit hours I love them all above, below, Nor wherefore of my loving know. And thou, my love, the sum of all, Around whom circling shine These minor joys, by nearness small, Yet treasured joys of mine If so thou canst, explain to me The wherefore of my loving thee ! I know thy swift reply will come, And find an utterance free, While I who love am only dumb, And feel but mystery. I hear thee say 'tis beauty love That rules the earth and heaven above. POEMS. 39 Yet, still my thoughts but outward flow, And sweetly rest on all ; Nor do I seek the why to know, Or one faint thought recall : I only know that all are dear, The wherefore doth not yet appear. Whithin my heart of hearts I feel A mystery abides That earth and time may not reveal, Which all our thoughts derides : The mystery of our being here Is more than all our loving, dear. Then, wherefore I of love should sing, And in my love rejoice, Beseech me not an answering, Or question thou my choice : Where'er I gaze 'tis love I see, And love itself sufficeth me. BEAUTY-POWER. THE waving of that lady's hand Doth such fine issues all command, A thousand mobile hearts are blent In one omnipotent intent : A rushing spirit moves the world, And mountains from their seat are hurled, If she but spread those finger-tips, Or deign to ope her queenly lips. 40 LOVE IDYLL. SIGH, MY LADY, SIGH AGAIN. SlGH, my lady, sigh again, Sweet the outcome of thy pain ; Wouldst thou all that's lost regain ? Sigh, my lady, sigh ! Happy swain, indeed, am I ; Yet to that faint-heaving sigh Fain would I with sigh reply ; Sigh, my lady, sigh ! Smile and shadow o'er thy face In succession swiftly race Tears, to tears, let smiles give place- Sigh, my lady, sigh ! Lift'st inquiring gaze to mine Canst thou not the thought divine ? Ah, those eyes responsive shine Sigh, my lady, sigh ! Yes, my love, our earthly bliss May concentre in a kiss ; Yet despite both this and this Sigh, my lady, sigh ! Earthly pleasures droop and die ; All our longings upward fly Heaven is nearest those who sigh, Sigh, my lady, sigh ! ODE. 41 ODE TO SPRING. THE Spring, the Spring, the Spring has come, And earth is full of glee ! The air is flooded with the hum Of joyous harmony. The lark mounts to the sky, And from his vantage high Salutes the hasting morn, Proclaiming, in glad song, That she for whom all long Hath come to hearts forlorn. The blackbirds in the brake The evening echoes wake With pompous heralding, While streams run merrily To tell the smiling sea That Spring has come, sweet Spring ! The yellow primrose pale, And cowslip, in the dale ; The busy humming bees Round blossom-laden trees ; The river softly flowing By cattle cheerful lowing ; The lambs, on daisied lea, Frisking joyously ; The fragrant evening air, And moon and stars so fafr ; The silences of night, With dawning of the light ; The tender, breathing soul That pulsates through the whole ; The sweet, mysterious feeling That o'er the heart comes stealing, 42 ODE TO SPRING. Proclaim the approach of heavenly Spring, To whom all hearts their homage bring ! Now unto us be kind, be gracious, Spring, Who kneel before thee worshipping ! Thou seem'st of heavenly race, and we earth-born- Beholding thee we feel our Idt forlorn, And all the longings of our heart we see En-iris'd 'midst a mist of tears, in thee. A wonder thou to this poor labouring earth, For not of it, but heaven, hast thou thy birth : The gaudy Summer may proceed from thee, But who, O lovely Spring, hath gotten thee ? Thine innocence proclaims thy heavenly birth, Thine innocence which is so strange to earth A dream of heaven, a vision from afar, As unattainable as yonder star. O Spring, Spring, Spring ! 'Tis but mysterious sorrow That prompts us now to sing, And joy from grief to borrow. For now, when all is fair, And earth is fraught with gladness, There comes that feeling rare, Of sweetest, tenderest sadness. This blossom-scented air, These beauties bright and vernal, Speak of a Spring more fair, The real, unseen, eternal. Yet will we sing of thee, . And sing in joyful measure ; Whate'er our future be, Thou, Spring, art here, our treasure. ODE LOVE IDYLL. 43 Take, then, take these advotive strains, .That now ascend from woods and plains, And lark high-carolling, With censer-offerings of the flowers Take what of praise our wakened powers Accord to thee, sweet Spring ! LADY, WITH THE JEWELLED HAND. LADY, with the jewelled hand, Thou hast more at thy command Than knight in armour clad : Beckon thou but unto thee Him thou wilt on bended knee Behold thy servant glad ! Lady, with the lofty brow, Thou hast fuller empire now Than queen upon her throne ; From those temples, lily fair, Breathes a spirit none may dare, And makes all wills thine own. Lady, with the tender heart, Thou hast still a better part Than she of temples fair : Thou hast more at thy command Than yon dame of jewelled hand And delicacies rare. Lady, lady of my love ! Earth is more than heaven above If these be more than thou ! Dew to rosebud, wave to sea, Are they all compared to thee, To thee I sing of now ! 44 LYRIC. THE BARD AND HIS LYRE. (Freely from Anacreon.) ONE day I struck my trembling lyre, So long attuned to amorous lays ; " Awake ! " I cried, " and let each wire Proclaim a worthy hero's praise ! The deeds of Atreus' sons rehearse, To Cadmus give the honour due, And while I chaunt in glowing verse, Do thou resound and throb anew !" What ! " Love and only love, All themes and powers above, I sing ! Against thy will, I will, To love celestial still I cling ! " I changed my lyre in every part, The rebel strings renewed each one, And with a bold but trembling heart Had brave Herakles' praise begun, When " Love, and only love, All themes and powers above, I sing ! Restrain thy truant hand, To themes of love command Each string ! " Farewell, ye ancient heroes bold, Let other bards your praises sing, My lyre, to deeds heroic cold, In praise of love shall ever ring ! POEM. 45 THE ACTOR'S GRIEF. " AN actor, Fred, you are, my boy, As good as ever seen ; I saw the house in tears last night, All through that dying scene. " That scene where 'tis your wife, you know, Who slips so quiet away ; I tell you, pal, 'twas dreadful real To see you cry yon way. " I saw the women, soft as babes, And men in box and pit Were glad to turn their heads away, And blow their nose a bit. " And, 'pon my word, behind the scenes, 'Twas strange to see them cry You seemed to take it on so real, That wife of yours did die ! " 'Tis something strange to see you, Fred^ How can you make the show ? Just give a hint to help a pal, I'll keep it dark, you know." The actor gazed with mournful eyes, A quiver on his lip, And clasped his brother actor's hand In tender, nervous grip. " Oh, never may you know it, Bill, Never the secret power That makes it real to feign the grief That comes at death's dark hour ! " " Come, tell me, Fred you needn't fear " The actor turned away : 46 POEM LYRIC. " My wife, dear Bill, that very hour, Was lying, lifeless clay. " My darling, noble, struggling wife, My tender, loving mate ! God help the actor who must mock The agonies of fate ! " WERE ALL MY OWN. WERE all my own which I have not, Who have but little worth A plenitude surpassing thought, And dwarfing heaven and earth : All, all for love I'd freely give, And think the gift too small- Were mine a thousand lives to live, One moment's love were all ! The vast eternities of space Are clustered in one spot ; The fruitage of this earthly race Concentres in one thought : 'Tis love that doth the spirit seem Of all we know and feel, The real in this mazing dream, That self from self doth steal. We sigh and long, we know not why, Our tears forever flow 'Tis love that breathes in every sigh, We sigh for love, I know : A sweetness mingles with our pain, That doth all pain surpass We tremble lest it come again, Yet hope it may not pass ! POEM. 47 A SUMMER MORN. ARISE, my love, and see the morning break, The lark in heaven is singing clear, The woods from slumb'ring silence shivering wake, And all the earth is full of cheer. From heart of dawn, as from an opening rose, A breeze blows sweetly o'er the lea ; A fragrance, as from votive censer, goes Up to high heaven, from flower and tree. From mead and grove, and far ethereal blue, Harmonious warblings greet mine ear : Around, what rich profusion meets my view, Yet all how vain, till thou appear ! Come forth, my love ! come tripping o'er the plain, Thy cheeks aflush, as radiant as the morn Restore my inner consciousness again, Lost while I wander here forlorn. Without thee, love, what all this beauteous scene, The sweetness of this summer air The dappled blue, the bright enamelled green, What heaven or earth, howe'er so fair ? A shimmering glory moves o'er Nature's face, A spirit fine stirs everywhere Within my heart, O wondrous Grace, O Spirit Beautiful, thou'rt there ! A whispering Presence floats upon the air Interpreter, I feel thee now ! Art thou not she who layest all things bare ? O Spirit Beautiful, 'tis thou ! Have I not seen thee, tender, trembling sweet, On flowery banks, by running stream 48 A SUMMER MORN. On sun-crowned hills beheld thee morning greet, And in the moonlight swiftly gleam ? Spirit Beautiful, divine ! To thee, For thee with thee 'tis life to live ! Of thee, abiding consciousness give me There is no deeper joy to give ! And, see, my love she comes, she comes at last ! Close to my heart I clasp thee, dear : 1 gaze around the dream, the dream is past, For thou, my love, the true, art here ! Thy calming hand upon my throbbing brow Do thou in silence soft impress : O wondrous love, who near me stand'st, 'tis thou 'Tis thou alone dost all express ! Interpreter art thou to me of all The earth, the heavens, but utter thee ; The films of blindness from my vision fall When thou dost deign to smile on me. Hark, yonder lark ! Thy hand in mine, my love ; What glory floods the morning sky ! O happy lark that float'st in heaven above, Thou surely hast thy sweetheart by ! Through shady grove, my love, by babbling stream, We'll wander on, this gladsome morn ; They speak of thee, indeed of thee, thou dream Of heaven to one, alas, earth-born. And let me dream, so thou, my dream, remain What sweet confusion fills my heart : Ideal real ? say not they are twain, Since thou consent'st we ne'er shall part ! POEM. 49 "GONE." GONE, with the dew upon her eyes, The morning dew ; Gone, as we saw the sun arise, And glory flame across the skies Gone, gone, from mortal view ! A song of reapers filled the air, A happy song ; And even while we smoothed her hair, And hearts were hush'd in silent prayer, 'Twas softly borne along. "Joy, joy, in the reaping Comforteth for weeping- Sowing is but sorrow ; Swing, swing, in measure, See the golden treasure, Store it for the morrow ! " Sing, sing, in gladness, Gone our tearful sadness, Harvest bright arriveth ; Where our secret weeping, Careful watchings keeping Grieving that surviveth ? " Bind, bind, and gather ! Oh, who careth rather For the dreary sowing? Heap, heap, our treasure, Sing in joyful measure, Home the wain is going ! " What could our hearts beseeching cry Our breaking hearts? Oh, as we raised our eyes on high,^ ^ ^ , SO POEM LYRIC. And not with words, but sob and sigh, And tearful throbs and starts, Pled trickling inward tears forlorn To God adored, We felt the glory of the morn, And, with the reapers of the corn, Were glad our corn was stored. -MID- REIGN. SUMMER has her reign begun, Swiftly mounts the morning sun, Slowly, lingering, to his close, Daily on his journey goes. Summer sun, with quickening ray, In our hearts hold summer sway ! From the heaven of cloudless blue, Daily warmth and nightly dew, Shed diffusive o'er the earth, Make her laugh with summer mirth. Summer, summer, we would share In this gladness everywhere ! Evening comes, and from above Moon and stars look down in love, Down upon a world asleep, While their silent guard they keep. Summer moon, with radiance calm, In our hearts drop heavenly balm ! Sun by day, and moon by night Heaven, thou art a beauteous sight !" Earth, thy heaven hath smiled on thee, Liker heaven thou couldst not be ! Summer, summer, here again, Ever in our hearts remain ! POEM. 51 TWO RIVALS. Two Muses woo my choice, Two fair ones press their suit ; Sweet Poesy charms me with her voice, And Music, with her lute. I stand between the two, And know not which to take The one I have no heart to woo, Lest th j other me forsake. Without thee, Poesy fair, How wretched were my fate ! Who, loved by thee, can ever care With other muse to mate ? Yet Music, Music dear What heavenly gifts are thine ! Didst thou forsake thy votary here, What recompense were mine ! 'Tis thus I stand in doubt, Perplexed to please them both If they'd but woo me turn about, I'm sure I'd nothing loth ; But when both Misses press Their earnest suit at once I really must, aside, confess To feeling like a dunce. For then, perchance, polite, To this fair muse I pay Some passing compliment, or write Some vers de societi ; Whe'n sure as fate the other Will jealous look and sigh, 52 POEM LOVE IDYLL. And all my efforts end in bother, Whichever way I try. O Music, heavenly sweet ! O Poesy, heavenly fair ! But let your hands, enclasping, meet, And your true lover share ! STILL REMEMBER. WHEN thou risest with the morn, And the mystery of the day, Child of ebon night, new-born, Baptised with the dewy spray, Greets thine eyes and senses fine, Still remember thou art mine ! When the day is broad and calm, Phoebus ruling fierce and strong ; When the far-off evening's balm Seemeth all for which to long, When for darkness thou dost pine, Still remember thou art mine ! Then, when comes the gentle eve, With her mellow, placid moon, And the panting hearts that grieve 'Neath the blazing orb of noon Breathe an atmosphere divine, Still remember thou art mine ! Still remember me in dreams, When thou sink'st to soft repose, When the dreaming real seems, And the wish fulfilment knows When the heaven of love is thine, Still remember thou art mine ! POEM. 53 REMEMBRANCES. GIVE me thy hand, my love, And in sweet silence stand ; The stars are twinkling far above, And sleep is o'er the land. And while men sleep and dream, Forgetting fretful day, Beside this ever-running stream For one brief moment stay. List to this self-same stream, That runs so careless by ! To me, my love, that sound doth seem A wondrous melody Awakening memories faint And dreamy visions far Commingling heaven with earth's restraint, As in its depths yon star. Remembrance, mist, or dream Reflection from within : What are those thoughts that twinkling gleam Above life's clouding din ? This eve so calm and still, Those stars above so bright, This happy, restless, singing rill Canst read them all aright ? 'Tis strange, my love, that I, Who feel thee standing near, And in the depths of thy fond eye Behold myself appear, Should pray thy gentle aid To help my musings now ; Yet, whither may I turn, dear maid ? Interpreter art thou. 54 REMEMBRANCES. Thine eyes, so calm and still, Speak heaven within thy heart ; At touch of those dear hands a thrill Of finer meanings start. Art thou not of far heaven, Of heaven, our fatherland ? Thou hast some sudden memory given To him who clasps thy hand ! O, earth, apparent dream ! O, heaven, a dream the real ! From heart to heart love's lightnings gleam, And all in love reveal ! There is no heaven but love, I And love hath ending not ; \ Say dwell we not in heaven above, And only here in thought ? In thought, in thought, my dear, Thou stand'st beneath this sky ; In thought thou see'st me standing near In thought 'tis thou and I. We live, and yet we dream ; We see, and yet are blind Forward, thou ever-running stream, What leavest thou behind ? Perennial streams are we, From depths unknown we spring ; 'Tis from a past eternity These visions faint we bring. I Yet, 'dear, if love we know, I Eternity is here ; I Love was, is now, and ever so, * And hath not far or near. While for a little space We walk this earth of ours, POEM SONNET. 55 With memories of our heavenly race, And unbegotten powers. But as the morning dew On flower and tender grass, So shall we swiftly pass from view To heaven, our homeland, pass. TO POESY. O POESY ! Patient, gracious goddess thou, Invoked by all who seek the poet's fame, By some who barely know thy charming name By one, perchance, of that same genus now ! Howe'er, if thus it be, to fate I bow, Content if one faint spark, since not a flame, Of fire Promethean I from heaven may claim, Nor dream of bays that deck the poet's brow. Not for the wealth of all the fabulous East Would I exchange one favouring smile of thine, Or leave to serve at god-Olympic feast, And press the nectarous grapes that make thy wine ; And if, fair Poesy, 'tis not as thy priest, The lot of humble worshipper be mine ! $6 LYRIC. OUR FATHERLAND. OUR FATHERLAND ! Name dearer far Than radiant sun or glittering star! The ties that bind our hearts to thee Are sweeter than all liberty ; Where'er our earthly lot be cast, Our love and gratitude thou hast, Afar, afar our feet may roam, But thou art still our only home, Our Fatherland ! Our Fatherland ! In dreams we see The scenes of happy infancy In dreams we join the fireside throng, And mingle in the dance and song ; Again we wander, fancy free, O'er vale and hill, by stream and sea ; Again we feel 'tis sweet to live Thou only couldst such pleasures give, Our Fatherland ! Our Fatherland ! The earth is fair We wander o'er, and sweet the air ; The moon and stars look down at night With tender sympathetic light ; The birds and flowers, the rivers' flow, Are bright and beautiful, we know : But oh, what longings in us burn I From all, from all, to thee we turn, Our Fatherland ! LOVE IDYLL. 57 f-r SUPPLICATION. MY love, my life, Forget me never, Though wordless strife Our lives may sever Though frozen lips And finger tips Be our sole speech henceforth forever ! Behind the mask Of daily living, Behind the task Life's ever giving Behind it all, Oh, hear me call, Hear, love, in grace, and be forgiving ! Art thou not mine By love's creation ? And canst divine Some dearer station ? In vain, in vain ! 'Twill thus remain Not we, but love, fixed our relation ! My love, my life, Forget me never Let no vain strife Our hearts e'er sever ! Return, return, For thee I burn For thee, my love, my life, forever ! 58 BALLAD ; FAIR HELEN OF BALLINTIN-Y-GLOE. 'TIS midnight weird and dismal noon, The clouds rush o'er the spectre moon There's moaning in the trees ; A horseman rides with furious speed, He urges on his foaming steed, Nor cloud nor moon he sees. He nears the castle 'tis the gate : What though the hour be weird and late ? He strikes with hand of mail : " Ope, ope, within the gates unbar ! I've ridden hard, I've ridden far, To tell a woeful tale ! " He strikes the gate the warder cries, " Who is the knight so late that hies To Drummond Castle gate ? " " A messenger of fate am I, From field of battle do I fly Ope, ope, nor further prate ! " The gates are opened wide, and in The horseman rides with clanking din, His face is stern and pale : " What meaneth all this revel rout, These feasting sounds, that laughter shout, Which now my ears assail ?" The warder scans the unvizored face But swifter than the lightning's race, The knight with mailed hand Has struck the warder to the ground ! " Die, slave, if thou dost utter sound Save at my own command ! " FAIR HELEN OF BALLINTIN-Y-GLOE. 59 " My life, Sir John ! " the warder cries " Thou hast it, slave arise, arise, And speak in whispers low : Is't so thy master weds to-night Fair Helen of the tresses bright, Of Ballintin-y-gloe ? " I see it in thy face be still ! For by the rood, this night my will Accomplished shall be ! If thou dost value life one jot, My charger hold upon this spot I may have need of thee." With swift and silent steps he nears The sounds of mirth that greet his ears, His hand is at his side : He sees the guests within the hall, He sees his Helen, queen of all, Sir Hilbert's promised bride ! u By Helen's brow, this night of glee Shall prove a woeful night to thee, Sir Hilbert, trait'rous knave ! The power of right is in mine arm Protect, kind Heaven, protect from harm, The knight who comes to save !" He thrusts the thronging serfs aside, The doors he dashes open wide : A spectre of the night Could not with deeper awe appal Than he who stalks that ancient hall, In battle armour dight. With stately mien and clanking tread, Behold the spectre of the dead Move up the banquet-hall ! Fair Helen looks with startled eyes 6O BALLAD : " My love, my love !" she faintly cries, And to the ground doth fall. The master of the feast sits there, With gaze entranced in dread despair Upon that figure grim ; A fearful dew is on his brow, He feds 'tis fate approaches now, The blazing lights grow dim. " Stand forth, base knight !" the intruder cries, " Behold, before thy wondering eyes, The friend whom thou didst slay ! If not in deed the same, in thought, By thee, with fiendish purpose sought, As on the field he lay. " Sir Hilbert, thou wert all my friend 'Twere cursed leniency to fend Such treachery as thine ; Thou, cousin once, but now my foe, Shalt fulness of my vengeance know Ere thou hast quaffed thy wine ! " Thou would'st, indeed, my Helen wed, And prate of me as of the dead The dead, indeed, for thee ! Thou covet these brave walls of mine, The heirdom of a noble line Of warrior ancestry ! " Reach down thy sword, thine armour don Thou'lt surely need it ere the dawn Doth gild the eastern tower ! 'Tis thou or I, thou treacherous friend, Must bite the dust, and God forfend The righteous in this hour ! " Quick to the courtyard speed they all, With flashing torches from the hall, FAIR HELEN OF BALLINTIN-Y-GLOE. 6l To light the battle fray ; Their swords are drawn, they forward spring, On casque and helm they clash and ring 'Tis conquer he who may ! They strike and ward advance, retire, While round them flashes circling fire, And shoutings rend the sky : " Thou hast it, John ! take that, thou curse ! " " I'll pay, Sir Hilbert, with a worse ! " 'Tis thus they fighting cry. The thronging host, with torches bright, Shout now the one, the other, knight, All eager for the fray ; Fair Helen at her window stands, With strained eyes and clasped hands, And for her love doth pray. A feint Sir John makes at his foe Sir Hilbert wards his sword is low Sir John his time doth see ; His blade is flashing in the air " Sir John, Sir John, thy kinsman spare ! Tis Helen cries to thee ! " What need to cry his Helen's voice Doth now command his wavering choice ? To hear is to obey : His arm's arrested in the air His cousin still he'll pardon, spare, Though power is his to slay. One wavering second doth he stand, With sword upraised in his hand One second swiftly flown ! Sir Hilbert strikes, nor strikes in vain, There is a cry, a cry of pain " Sir John, Sir John is down ! " 62 BALLAD. But swifter than the arrow's flight, Sir John hath raised his form of might, And on his foeman springs ; His sword is gone, his head is bare, One daggered hand is in the air, The other, helpless, swings. That dagger is in feeble grasp ! Fair Helen doth her bosom clasp Alas, the wrong is right ! His foeman strikes with vengeful hand Sir John lies bleeding on the strand, A sad and woeful sight. " Down with Sir Hilbert ! " is the cry That now resoundeth to the sky " A noble knight is slain ! Down with the cur who could betray A knight so brave in battle fray As from his blow refrain ! " Swift to the gate Sir Hilbert hies, And warder with the charger spies He seizes it to start : The warder knoweth not 'tis he, Cries, " Blow for blow I give to thee !" And stabs him to the heart ! Within the hall Sir John is laid, His wounds are dressed, and hand and head Are kissed by Helen fair ; " Thou'lt live, my love," she gently sighs, While tender tears bedim her eyes " Thou didst thy kinsman spare." He smiled, and kissed her jewelled hand : " My lady love, 'tis thy command, No other law I know." He lived, and happy were the pair, Sir John the brave and Helen fair Of Ballintin-y-gloe. HYMN. 63 WHAT TREASURES OF OUR HEARTS HAVE WE? A SONG FOR CHRISTMAS MORN. WHAT treasures of our hearts have we, O Jesu fair, to give to Thee, This joyful Christmas morn ? Our hearts are love, our voice is song Our hearts, our voice, to Thee belong : Oh, deign receive what Thou hast given, Thou Love, Thou Joy of earth and heaven ! Hail, hail, bright Christmas morn ! We know not all Thou didst forsake When Thou Thy home on earth didst make, That wondrous Christmas morn : What splendours of Thy heavenly seat Didst Thou renounce, this earth to greet What heavenly joys Thyself deny, To live, to toil, to weep, to die ! Hail, hail, sweet Christmas morn ! Our feeble words, our trembling voice, Refuse the utterance of our choice, This joyful Christmas morn ; Our hearts, our hands, to Thee we raise Oh, help us in our stammering praise ; Let song resound in heaven and earth It is the morning of Thy birth ! Hail, hail, glad Christmas morn ! 64 HYMN. FRATER NOSTER. JESUS ! all our hopes and sorrows We may utter unto Thee, Trembling faith from knowledge borrows Comfort in our misery. Thou, we know, didst pine and languish, That Thou might'st our freedom bring, Suffer cruellest pain and anguish For our surest comforting ! Jesus ! Thou alone dost know us, Thou alone our griefs canst feel ; Over us, and firm below us Daily love Thou dost reveal. Tender are Thy mercies ever, Fitful is our love to Thee, Yet we know Thou never, never, Wilt forsake Thy family. Jesus ! brethren Thou didst call us, When Thou deigned'st to walk this earth, Oh, let nothing e'er appal us, Nothing hide from us our birth ! Brother, hear ! let nought betide us, While as pilgrims here we roam, Through this life Thou lived'st, guide us, Onward, upward, to our home ! POEM. 65 LITTLE WILLIE'S VISION. OH, mother, I hear the angels sing, As in my bed I lie, And see such millions clustering Up in the golden sky ! And all the night they come and go, And beckon me away : " Dear Willie, leave that earth, below, And come up here," they say. What shall I do, dear mother, tell ? J Tis every night the same, And though I love you all so well, They call my very name. And, strange, dear mother, that it seems I know each one up there, And everything within my dreams Is real as anywhere ! Oh, what a sound and glorious sight To hear and see them all Come rushing down the silent night, And on your Willie call ! Some night, dear mother, I must go How can I here remain When such a host invite me so To join their shining train ? And one bright angel o'er the rest Holds out his hands to me, And sometimes lifts me to his breast, To kiss me tenderly. Then all the angels shout for joy And wave their glistening wings But, kiss me, mother, kiss your boy, And see what morning brings. 66 POEMS. The morning came, all fresh and fair, The lark sang in the sky, The mother smoothed her darling's hair, With many a sob and sigh. Up in the blue her Willie sings, In accents loud and clear " Not long, dear mother, ere bright wings Shall bear you, too, up here ! " LONGINGS. O FOR rest, for peacefulness, and ease ! Not greedy of thy gifts, O fortune, I, Yet, as I stretch my limbs beneath these trees, And gaze into the depths of summer sky, My heart is set a-longing, Swift thoughts and hopes come thronging, And in the midst of summer joy, I sigh. Thou human heart ! so oft, so oft beset With thoughts like these, when all is calm and fair ; This summer beauty only doth beget Within our hearts a deeper love and care. While birds are sweetly singing, Our thoughts afar are winging To heaven, whence springs this beauty everywhere. Tis thus we long, 'tis thus we pine and sigh, For something deeper than the all we see, Yet have this faith, though life doth quickly fly, And with our life our longings cease to be. This faith, this intuition In heaven a sweet fruition Of all our hopes and longings find shall we. LOVE IDYLL. 67 DOLCE FAR NIENTE. HlST ! some one comes this way It is my love, I know it ! Oh, who, on summer day, Among the scented hay, With her he loves not far away, Can help his being poet ? Although no poet I, Yet, comes a little thinking ; And when my love is by, And from her laughing eye, The gleaming shafts of Cupid fly, The thoughts and words come clinking I see love in each flower, In cloud, and sun-kissed river ; 'Tis present every hour, In sunshine and in shower, 'Tis everywhere the moving power, And shall be so forever. List to yon thrush's lay, That o'er the mead comes swelling : Not to the god of day Doth he devotions pay, But to his mate on blossomed spray His throbbing love he's telling. I gaze into the blue, As here, at ease, I'm lying ; The sky, like lover true, All-amorous stoops to view Earth's lovely face of summer hue, That blushes her replying. 68 LOVE IDYLLS. A soft breeze stirs my hair, Sweet fragrance loads my senses, A love-song fills the air That doth my longings share, 'Tis love and beauty everywhere, In all their moods and tenses ! Ha, here my dear, at last, To cheer thy lover lonely ! Come, witching power thou hast : Together let's forecast A future that will dim the past, If but in dreaming only ! DOUBTING. THERE is a love that hath no speech, No speech save smiles and tears ; Oh, say not I thy heart must teach To quell its trembling fears ! Within my heart I hold but one One love alone I prize ; But words, indeed, I ever shun, To enhance me in thine eyes. I love thee, love ; look in mine eyes, This hand enclasp with thine ; I ask thee not to speak thy love, Then wherefore should I mine ? The sky is bright, the earth is fair Thy lips to mine away all care ! LYRIC. 69 MERRY MERRY LOVE. THE violets come with Spring, With Summer come the roses, And Autumn's golden harvesting The wealth of earth discloses. Then cometh Winter's frost, Heigho ! the winds are wailing ! The spectre-trees are tempest toss'd, And Nature all is ailing. But love, my merry merry love, Remains with me forever, There's nought below and nought above Can our two spirits sever ! Quick, lark, to yonder heaven, On joyful wing ascending My heart a song to heaven hath given With theme, like thine, unending, Eternal love we sing, Yet sing we not together ; Thou carollest blithely in the spring, But how in winter weather ? Yet love, my merry merry love, Remains with me forever, There's nought below and nought above Can our two spirits sever ! The swallows come and go, The brook flows to the river, The river to the sea doth flow, And thus with all forever. Forever swift decay, Forever change and sorrow, What we, perchance, enjoy to-day Will pain us on the morrow. 70 LYRIC POEM. But love, my merry merry love, Remains with me forever, There's nought below and nought above Can our two spirits sever ! THE POET'S LANGUAGE. I. NOT all the tender greenery of spring, Or lush luxuriousness of summer time, With fluttering, happy birds, on freedom's wing. Are more than symbols for the Poet's rhyme : There is a longing in his heart that is beyond his choice, Earth may suggest its meaning, but is* not his voice. II. Quick, grasp the subtle beauties of the earth, With fingers heavenly-delicate and fine, And weave a garment worthy of thy birth, O Poet stranger, from the realms divine ! 'Tis thou alone canst utter what we may but feel, Thou only, through things common, canst celestial things reveal. III. In vain ! Not here shalt thou e'er fitly speak The thronging visions of thy tranced soul, And all our pleadings only shew how weak The hearts that would thy utterance pure control : There is a mystery, we know, we feel, in thee, That never on this earth shall find an utterance free. LYRIC. 71 TURLUM. GlN ye ha'e thochts o' warldly care, An' fain wad hint ye birl them, Juist tak' a waucht o' caller air, An' stap awa' to Turlum ! To Turlum tap, hurrah, hurrah ! Through briery bush and birken shaw We'll warsel bauldly till we craw Upo' the tap o' Turlum ! It's a' oor ain, the Ian' we see, Oor lips at lairds we curl them ; Feint ane has mair o' richt than we, Wha speil the heichts o' Turlum ! To Turlum tap, hurrah, hurrah ! The lairds had better bide awa', Or aiblins they may get a fa' As heich's the tap o' Turlum ! There's Sandy wi' the pawky mou', My faith an' he could dirl them ! An' Jock, an' Hal, though douce the noo, Micht len' a han' on Turlum ! To Turlum tap, hurrah, hurrah ! Gin we the lairds should meet ava, Let's houp they'll no begin to craw Upo' the heichts o' Turlum ! Hurrah, my lads, the tap at last ! Oor throats wi' will we'll dirl them, The triumph's oors, the labour's past, We've struck the heichts o' Turlum. Hurrah, hurrah, for Turlum tap ! For on the tap there is a cap, An' in that cap there is a drap Here's to ye, bauld auld Turlum ! *> A./',. 72 LYRICS. An' here's to Scotland's hills and plains, While bonnets heich we birl them ; The Scottish bluid loups in oor veins Upo' the heichts o' Turlum ! For Turlum, lads, hip, hip, hurrah ! An' sweet Strathearn, the pride o' a' ! We're Scotia's sons, an' weel may blaw Upo' the heichts o' Turlum ! Again we'll make the welkin ring, As Scotia's sangs we skirl them, An' may we never dowfier sing Than noo we sing on Turlum ! Hurrah, for Turlum tap, hurrah ! Aince mair, hurrah ! an' then awa' We'll ne'er forget this day ower a' Upo' the heichts o' Turlum ! ONE WISH. I WOULD that I could write One perfect thought, As heavenly pure, as bright As jewel wrought From grand Golconda's secret mine, Upon some maiden's breast to shine. Or, as a dewdrop fair Upon a rose That on the morning air Her perfume throws : A microsphere of heaven above, In nectarous depths of fragrant love. LYRIC. 73 A SONG OF SEVERED LOVE. You are not distant, dear, Though many a mile away, They know not either far or near Who live beneath love's sway : Yet oh, my dear, tho' love should smile at space, I weary day and night to see thy face. To see thy face, my dear, To touch thy lips once more, To hear thee whisper in my ear The words oft heard before ; To feel thy darling head upon my breast, And hear thee say again thou loved'st me best. O never more, my dear, Will come again the past ; We wondered oft, e'en while 'twas here, Such peace so long could last. We kissed and smiled, but silent and in fear : " We love too well," you said, " too well, my dear." Then, better love too well Than never love at all ; They only love whose love can tell Of triumph and of fall ; And they who once have tasted perfect bliss Are thence exempt from utter wretchedness. And shall we weep then, dear, For our departed bliss ? Doth love delight no other sphere, And only smile on this ? Dry, dry thine eyes, and put away all fear Twill come again, dear love, tho' never here. . -S 74 LYRIC POEM. The breath of flowers, my dear, Goes up, sweet flowers, to heaven ; Heart longings, deep and voiceless here, Are there full utterance given. So, all the scent and glory of the past Live evermore, as we shall know at last. We will not weep, then, dear, Ev'n tho' our hearts grow cold, Ev'n tho' dear earth no more appear God-lovely as of old ; The beauty darkened here lives glorious above, And heaven hath every loveliness for them who love. DESPERANS. THE rain is pattering 'mong the leaves, The clouds hang low and still, The birds are twittering 'neath the eaves, A mist rests on the hill ; A brooding stillness loads the air, And in my heart is dull despair. A dull despair, a trembling thought That all I see but seems, That all this seeming real is nought But phantasies and dreams : That all I am and all I see Are not what is, but is to be. What is to be ? What was it not, What is, as far aw r ay, What is to be is but a thought, Retreating day by day : A shadow stalks our steps before, And with our haste but hastes the more. DESPERANS. 75 A throbbing fullness of the heart, A fervency of brain, A mind that would with all take part, A heart concept of pain These are the dowries of our birth, The heirdom of our place on earth. O sweetening raindrops, busy eaves, O clouds, so low and still, O gurgling brooklet, quivering leaves, O mist on vale and hill Ye all in Nature's plan have part, What lot is ours, inform our heart ! In struggling incompleteness now, Dissatisfied, content, Expanding heart, contracting brow, With tearful study spent Behold, how feeble mortals speak, From earth and sky instruction seek. In vain I gaze around in vain : There comes no thought to soothe, No hand to calm this questioning pain, This careful forehead smoothe The dulness of this dead despair Is more than all the earth and air. Forgive, forget the human cry That sought your aid in vain Ye are but silent dreams, and I, And I, a dream of pain, Despairing, hope the dream may break, And to my life in death awake ! 76 LYRIC. DRUMMOND GARDENS. WHILE other themes of lesser worth, And other scenes on this fair earth Find fitting praise in song, For ever shall remain unsung The praise that floods our faltering tongue, The thoughts that climb and long, As 'midst thy beauties, Drummond fair, We revel in the odorous air This happy summer day ; Oh, had we power to clothe in sound The thoughts within, by weakness bound, Thou hadst a noble lay ! Our eyes are filled with longing tears, Where'er we gaze a mist appears, A tender mist from heaven ; Receive the offerings of our heart These tears that now unbidden start To us sole utterance given. And, should afar our lot be cast, And this sweet day with thee be last, Amen ! let fate decree ; We leave thee, beauteous scene, in peace, But never can our souls release The thoughts we have of thee ! LOVE IDYLL. 77 NAY, NAY, MY LOVE. NAY, nay, my love, thou knowest not : True hearts are ne'er by grief forgot, And love, if love, is all a cry, " Oh, let me love, or let me die ! " The rose may fade upon thy cheek, And silver these fair tresses streak The dew-drop glisten in thine eye, And all thy hopes and feelings die ; Yet will there one desire remain, One tearful bliss, one blissful pain Thy throbbing heart still find one cry, " Oh, let me love, or let me die ! " I know it, love, I know it well, Too truly, love, its truth can tell : With weak performance, strong desire, External calm, internal fire Thy lover knoweth all the grief, The sinking heart, the slow relief, The import full of that strange cry, " Oh, let me love, or let me die ! " 78 POEM. O NIGHT, NIGHT. O Night, Night, so silent, calm, and deep, Within thy heart what secrets dost thou keep ! Wilt utter them to me ? The flaunting day the trifling, vacant day, Doth seek to steal my love from thee away, Yet am I true to thee. Ah me, reproachful Night, How sad is mortals' plight, That ever thus our loves enthralled must be ! Thou knowest I am thine, Yet daily I must pine For that communion dear but found with thee. O Night, Night, so heavenly-pure and sweet Of thy all-bounteous grace my needings meet ! Thou knowest I am weak : Within, without, what longings seek mine aid How much on weakest mortal here is stayed ! Where shall I helping seek ? I live for those I love, Nor have I thought above The thoughtful w r ish of those whose love is mine : Yet all my hopes are vain Renew my heart again Uphold me till I need no help of thine ! Night, Night, thy kindly watchings keep, While I, a-wearied, stretch myself in sleep I plead thy gentle aid ; With wavering will and all too-trivial might 1 struggle day by day to do the right, Nor know on what I'm stayed Believing still that all Aright shall somehow fall, POEM LOVE IDYLL. 79 That all is right and good though nought is known. Thus, thus, my loving Night, I trust thee till the light, And cry to thee, yet know not all my moan. ONCE. ONCE, Marian, thou didst love, Once fondly thought of me, And by yon heaven above I loved thee faithfully ! Now, thou canst scorn a heart That would have bled for thee, Canst slight the tears that start To plead my love for thee. Go, darling, go and w r ed Where thou thy heart hast set, And may that love now dead Ne'er rise reproachful yet. Once, once indeed, didst thou To love responsive sigh, And though thou turnest now, True love can never die. To memories of past days Thou'lt yet regretful turn, And through a tearful haze Feel love within thee burn. Heaven grant thee strength to bear The anguish of that hour, When none thy grief may share, Or ease its bitter power ! 8o POEM : SPRINGTIME. / (Written in the City, 1870.) ^ O SPRINGTIME, dear Springtime, thou'rt here again, I know, The hills are robed in green again, in flowers the plains below ; The trees clap hands of joyfulness, and wave their pennons gay, And little birds in shady nooks sing welcomes all the day ; All Nature's glad and beautiful above, around, below Thou'rt here again, dear Springtime thou'rt here again, I know. O Springtime, dear Springtime, thou'rt here again, I know, And Springtime, dear Springtime, I always loved thee so ! Yet weariness and heaviness are with me all the day, As in my heart I fancy thy dear beauties far away, Again, with all thy treasures, thou art here again, I know, And morn till eve with longing heart my weary way I go. O primrose and cowslip, adown yon shady dell, O mossy stones, and waving grass, and ferns I love so well ; O hedges white with hawthorn bloom, O perfume faint and sweet, O silent woods and lonely lanes, where happy lovers meet ; O winding stream, forever gay, and singing as you go SPRINGTIME. 8l How ye all look and feel this day, with aching heart I know. When shall I wander on again as once in days gone by, And " I thank Thee, Father, that I live," again be my glad cry ! It is not life to live up here, amidst the shows of things If life be such, then let me die, and live the life death brings. O Springtime, dear Springtime ! I make one only cry, If I might only see thee once, and her, before I die ! Heaven's curses on the brutal crowd, with callous hearts and cold, Who trample every beauty down to grasp their much- loved gold ! Each day my heart is smitten as their greedy eyes I meet, With fear they next may turn thy way, with desecrating feet. O Springtime, dear Springtime I long both night and day, Yet 'tis not all regret I feel to know thou'rt far away. Adieu, thou tender Springtime I bid thee sad adieu, And brace a nerveless heart to strive and struggle on on anew, May Heaven forgive the wayward heart that hath no part with hand I'll think no more till Springtime come within the Better Land ; O Springtime, dear Springtime, thou'rt here again, I know, But all the beauty lives above thou shadowest forth below. $2 LOVE IDYLL. THE MINSTREL TO HIS LOVE. To her I love, so dearly love, I sing and play all day, Nor will I listen to one word Of all she has to say. I sit and sing and play How swift the summer flies ! My song goes right into her heart, And shineth from her eyes. To that dear one, my love alone, I never give one glance : I know to seem in thought afar Our nearness doth enhance. " When shall our wedding day Come fluttering clown the sky? " I hear her whispering in my ear, But know not she is by. To her, to her, my treasure dear, My heart in throbs goes out, Yet would I not for anything Relieve her of one doubt. I sit and sing and play How swift the summer flies ! And all the thinkings of my song Shine out from her dear eyes. I touch my dear love's lips with mine, And whisper, bending low, " What thought of mine hast thou not got, What pleasure that I know? How can I dearer be, When wed, than now I kiss ? What happier love will then be ours Than this and this and this ?" THE MINSTREL TO HIS LOVE SIMILITUDE. 83 But all how vain to plead with her ! Words, words avail me nought : " When shall our wedding be, my love ? " Her daily, nightly thought. When shall it be ? Tra-la ! I'll sing and play all day Mine eyes are fixed on yonder cloud, And thou art far away ! But swift the summer flies, I trow, And vainly must I sing While all her thoughts are circling round A simple wedding ring. " When shall it be ? " she sighs Ah, who can sigh so well ! So, ere the roses fade, my love, We'll hear the marriage bell ! SIMILITUDE. HERE, while through life we swiftly pass, Each heart's a photographic glass ; On sensitivities of mind Faint images are left behind, But only in the favouring night Come forth the beauties of the light, And in the darkest, saddest hour, The brightest memories show their power. 84 LOVE IDYLL: COME NEAR ME. COME near me, dear, come near me, dear, I have not long to stay, And put your hand in mine, my dear, In your old way. A little while the sun will set, And darkness fill the land, A little and I'll feel no more Thy dear, dear hand. Though I have sorrowed many a day, Love pays for all, and more, And don't you weep for what, my dear, Is nearly o'er, Thank God, is nearly o'er. Bend down a little closer, dear, And raise my head : just so ; Before another hour, my dear, It will lie low. And put your hand upon my brow, 'Tis thus I'd like to die I said I could not go, my dear, And you not by. You'll stay a little while, my dear? Bend lower still, still lower, And don't you weep for what, my dear, Is nearly o'er, Thank God, is nearly o'er. Dear, how I've loved you all along, Through evil times and good, Since when we spoke and kissed our last Down in the wood. Those angry words those angry words Why did you heed them, dear ? , COME NEAR ME. 85 One little kiss before I go, He need not fear. He need not fear, though love is love, And love for evermore ; But don't you weep for what, my love, Is nearly o'er, Thank God, is nearly o'er. The shadows lengthen on the wall : weary heart and weak ! Let me lie down to rest, my dear, 1 cannot speak. There's a withered rose beneath my head, A tress of hair you know I wish thou'dst kiss me once again, For long ago. I cannot see where are you, dear ? The sun is surely set ; How dark and cold ! Come near me, dear, The dew is wet. There's a withered rose and a lock of hair, And the happy ring you wore ; And don't you weep for what, my dear, Is nearly o'er, Thank God, is o'er, is o'er. 86 POEM : DREAMY JEAMIE. Jeamie, Jeamie, darling Jeamie ! Distant-gazing, wistful, dreamy, Does your pa use heavy hand, When you shirk his stern command ? Is he cruel to his boy Those fair visions to annoy Which seek utterance in thine eyes, Memories of thy soul's pure rise Visions which consort with nought Earth possesses, save in thought ? Jeamie, lad, with tearful face, In thy lineaments I trace There is grief in store for thee Thou art sure too like to me ! Life, my boy, may be a dream Thou dost think so, it doth seem- Yet, withal, to men 'tis not : Real real all their thought, Haste and worry, toil and woe, Fated lot of all below- Most to such who will not go With the busy onward flow, But must stand, and gaze, and dream, At the everlasting stream- Dream and gaze with wondering mirth At the turmoil of this earth. Jamie, thou canst never guess Thou, dear boy, dost suffer less, When the rod corrective falls, Than thy pa who hears thy calls : Thou canst never know the smart, Tearful troublings of the heart, When I see thy upturned face DREAMY JEAMIE. 87 Raised to mine for pitying* grace Hear thy cries, so like my own, That I may thy faults condone. I, my boy, have dreams like thine, Dreams that ne'er with life combine, Struggling aspirations strong, Which in vain for utterance long ; Yet must ever onward go, Nor one moment's resting know Vainly striving to repress What I never may express ; Mingling with the storm and strife, Sternly sacrificing life Life within for death without, Inward truth for outward doubt, All, my boy, that you and I May not for a living die ! Paradox both strange and quaint, Cause and cure for one complaint ! Jeamie, Jeamie, thoughtful Jeamie ! Tearful, silent, wondering, dreamy : Shouldst thou age of manhood reach, And this life its lessons teach, Then, perchance, thou'lt understand 'Twas necessity's command Urged him who shaped thy life To prepare thee for its strife ; Surely surely, wilt forgive Pains that made more fit to live- Fitter with the wrong to fight, Fitter to pursue the right, Fitter to uphold thy soul Till it reach its heavenly goal ! LOVE IDYLL. MY LOVE, MY LOVE. MY love, my love, there's that in thee Doth make my life a dream, An ever-running melody, An ever-singing stream. A stream that runs to the sea, And in its depths is lost ; In depths of harmony, Ne'er by a tempest toss'd. ^Tis day and night I run To this reposeful sea, To thee, my darling one, Whose love is all for me. Oh, clasp me in thy deeps, Sweep o'er me with thy waves, Till in thy bosom sleeps The longing that now craves ! What though, on every side, The flowers droop o'er, to woo ? To thee, my ocean bride, My course I swift pursue. I sing, but 'tis of thee, I murmur but thy name 'Tis thou the melody, And harmony the same. A happy stream, I run, Forever to the sea ; To thee, my darling one, In truest constancy. Ope, ope, thy bosom, dear, With arms outspreading wide Without a thought, a fear, I'm lost in thee, my bride ! t/A/M POEM. 89 "WE ARE SUCH STUFF." WHEN lovers meet to part again, When sorrow comes with numbing pain, When all our joys no longer please, What say the whisperings in the trees ? " We'll love again to-morrow." We'll love again : but what care I ? To-day we live, to-morn we die ; It is not much to say that we Can live, and love, and cease to be, And love again to-morrow. We live to love, nor care to say That all our life should pass away In hoping life itself should fly, And with it, hopes and feelings die, To live again to-morrow : Yet how is this, that we should care To live, and love, and feel despair, When all our life is but a dream, And we, the dreamers, only seem To hope to wake to-morrow ? Beloved visions, faint and grey, More clear, more bright than open day ! Depart, ye certainties so fair, I know you not, nor do I care If I shall wake to-morrow. We may not be what else we might, But this is clear, and pure, and bright : Man is not what to man he seems, And he that thinks so surely dreams. Perchance he'll wake to-morrow. 9O BALLAD : THE BALLAD OF LADY JANE. " COME, busk thee, lass, the hour is nigh, The bridal hour, I ween, When thou must wed Sir Ellerslie, The bravest knight e'er seen." " How can I wed, though he may woo ? " The daughter made reply ; " Until my own true love return, A simple maid am I." " Come, busk thee, lass, nor say me nay, Thy lover, where is he ? Thy father bids thee wed this night The brave Sir Ellerslie." " Now, father, do not cruel be, Unto thy daughter dear, For certainly I may not wed Until my love appear." The baron stamped with iron foot Upon the oaken floor ; He curs'd her love in Palestine, He curs'd his daughter more. " Dost dare presume to thwart thy sire ? Base child, I say to thee This night thou dost become the bride Of brave Sir Ellerslie !" Sweet Lady Jane turn'd sad away, And shed a silent tear ; Her love was far across the sea, And succour none was near.