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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 
 
 :■-?■', 
 
 
 .i-f'tiri'-"' 
 
 
 
 
 
 ' 'V 
 
 '.t'l ' 

 
 POEMS 
 TEANSLATIONS 
 
 AND 
 
 HYMNS
 
 ^^"^....iV'?^-^^^-, /^W^ v^:*^.^ x-foi^Xs. 
 
 ;^?. 
 
 ^yu*^.^t^ /^J^^
 
 
 K/i 
 
 POEMS 
 
 TRANSLATIONS 
 
 AND 
 
 H Y 31 N S 
 
 HY 
 
 C. F. RICE 
 
 ' These, these are but the Soiiys they sinji ' 
 They are the Singer's life ! " 
 
 HODGES, FIGGIS, AND CO. 
 
 I 888 
 
 '^'Z-S 

 
 DUBLIN : 
 
 PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY. PRESS, 
 
 BY PONSONBV AND WELDRICK.
 
 
 ContcntJaf. 
 
 SONNETS IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 SALOME S PRATER, . 
 THE AMAKAXTHS — I., 
 
 m., 
 
 EXOTICS, . 
 
 life's measure, 
 
 ik memoriam, r. c. trexch, 
 
 ix memoriam, a. h. mackoxochie, 
 
 Page. 
 
 3 
 
 4 
 4 
 
 5 
 
 5 
 6 
 
 6 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 THE CRUCIBLE, 
 
 PEARLS, ...... 
 
 "then shall we lOCOAV," 
 
 SUGGESTED BY MULLERS's HOLY FAMILY, 
 
 THE BIRD AT DA^^^N, 
 
 8 
 9 
 
 9 
 
 lO 
 
 10 
 
 881850
 
 VI 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE RECEDING Sllir, 
 
 UNHEARD MI'SIC, 
 
 AN EAKLY LESSON, . 
 
 FADED FLOWERS, 
 
 "ALL WORKS OF GOD ARE 
 
 FAILING SIGHT, 
 
 THE MOON, 
 
 THE DOVE AT THE LATTICE 
 
 A PENITENT, 
 
 DEVELOPMENT, . 
 
 MATERNAL JOY, 
 
 CATHEDRAL WINDOWS, 
 
 " HIMSELF HE CANNOT SA 
 
 FLIGHT, . 
 
 PROPHETS OF DESPAIR, 
 
 AN APPEAL, 
 
 faith's TRIAL — I.. . 
 
 „ "-, 
 
 „ III., 
 
 „ v., . 
 
 FOLDED WINGS, 
 
 TO SOME MODERN I'OETS, 
 
 GOOD, 
 
 Page. 
 II 
 II 
 12 
 12 
 13 
 
 H 
 
 IS 
 
 16 
 
 16 
 
 17 
 
 17 
 18 
 
 18 
 19 
 19 
 
 20 
 20 
 
 21 
 21 
 22 
 
 SEAGULLS, 
 
 BEREAVEMENT, . 
 
 THE sparrow's FLIGHT, 
 
 love's DECISION, 
 
 A LAMENT — PRELUDE AND SONG, 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 
 
 • 23 
 
 
 • 25 
 
 
 • 2; 
 
 
 • 29 
 
 SONG, 
 
 32
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 VII 
 
 I-ONDOX 
 
 ye faerie rose, 
 
 the unknown futvre, . 
 
 in memoriam, sir e. landseer, 
 
 love's seasons, 
 
 a birch tree in glyxsouthwell, 
 
 the birch tree in wrnter, . 
 
 in memoriam, g. w. f. reichel, 
 
 unconscious happiness, . 
 
 "once over all," 
 
 the ascent of mount hor, 
 
 to the south wind, 
 
 faded heather, 
 
 killed by accident, 
 
 from the prose of shaftesbury, 
 
 SLEEP, 
 
 TO C. E. R., . 
 
 Page- 
 
 34 
 
 3§ 
 39 
 4' 
 43 
 
 45 
 46 
 48 
 
 SO 
 50 
 S3 
 S6 
 57 
 60 
 
 63 
 64 
 
 66 
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 WAITING, 
 
 A FUNERAL, 
 
 THE DUTY OF MAN, . 
 
 LINES WRITTEN IN A RONSARD, 
 
 THE LITTLE SHROUD, 
 
 "TEMPUS FUGIT, " . 
 
 A LAST W^SH, . 
 
 LISTEN, MADELAINE, 
 
 HER NAME, 
 
 UNIVERSAL LIBERTY, 
 
 THE SAW-MILL, 
 
 67 
 
 68 
 69 
 69 
 70 
 71 
 71 
 72 
 74 
 75 
 77
 
 Vlll 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 THE FAT, 
 
 MOSES ON THE NILE, 
 
 SUMMER RAIN, 
 
 THE YOUNG MOTHER. 
 
 Page. 
 
 79 
 82 
 
 85 
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 FOR THE DAY OF INTERCESSION FOR MISSIONS, ... 87 
 
 FOR A VIGIL, 89 
 
 DEDICATION OF A CHURCH, 9O 
 
 SURSUM CORDA, . . . . . . . • 91 
 
 FOR EASTER EVE, . . . . . . . .92 
 
 THANKSGIVING FOR DELIA'ERANCE FROM SICKNESS, . . 93 
 
 HARVEST HYMN, • • 95 
 
 V^c
 
 DctiicatcD 
 
 TO THE MEMORY OF 
 
 CECIL AND NORA, 
 
 Gen. xliii. 14. 
 
 '"TWO children, by my tear-dimmed vision seen, 
 Roam hand in hand the fields of Paradise ; 
 And by the soft light in their kindred eyes, 
 The sunny locks with scarce a shade between, 
 The nostril fine, and fair broad brow serene, 
 I know them linked by sweet fraternal ties — 
 I know the babes, whose tender memory lies 
 In my bereaved heart for ever green. 
 Yet tho' bereaved, shall I mourn that they 
 For evermore escape the pain and woe 
 Shared by the happiest in this world below ? 
 Christ, who didst once take babes upon Thy knee, 
 Grant me both faith and patience, Lord, I pray, 
 Meekly to suffer mine to go to Thee. 
 
 May 17 th, iSSj. 
 
 ^
 
 TO C. C. R. 
 
 /^ VANISHED year, in memory live ! 
 ^^ Hallowed and gladdened, awed and blest. 
 By the first thrill of mother's love, 
 its happy care, its sweet unrest : 
 
 Its thousand hopes, that fain would raise 
 
 The future's never-lifted veil ; 
 Its thous.ind fears, that stronger still 
 
 Would trembling see those hopes prevail. 
 
 O vanished year, in memory live ! 
 
 Long in its dim cells lingering ; 
 For such a bright and joy-fraught hour 
 
 No future year may ever bring 
 
 As that which told my weary brain 
 
 That pain was past, that there had come 
 
 A little treasure to my heart, 
 A little sunbeam to my home. 
 
 Which real made what long had been 
 But a sweet picture, fancy-limned. 
 
 That ever fair and fairer grew, 
 
 Till its light outlines, tear-bedimmed, 
 
 Faded and past — which, O my child ! 
 
 Gave thy )^oung life to me to tend, 
 And gave me, in thy tiny form, 
 
 To see mine own unite and blend
 
 MOTHERHOOD. 
 
 With one which to thine infant face 
 Full many a look and smile imparts, 
 
 Thou little sweet result of love 
 
 That fills and floods my heart of hearts ! 
 
 O surely, if from mortal lips 
 
 One prayer may pure and sinless be, 
 
 'Tis that which for her infant breathed 
 First bends a new-made Mother's knee. 
 
 And, rising from her inmost heart. 
 To the Great Parent throned above, 
 
 Would ask, for His most precious gift, 
 The highest blessing of His Love : 
 
 Would ask, as I, my Babe, for thee, 
 
 (Grant Thou my prayer. Most Good, Most Wise), 
 That life's sweet flower which blossoms here 
 
 May bloom for aye in Paradise.
 
 SONNE TS IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 iSalomc'^ J^t^l'cn 
 
 "C^OND Mother, type of many a mother now, 
 
 -*- Well may I picture her with looks intent 
 
 And eager steps in loving hurry bent 
 
 Towards His feet, where none in vain might bow : 
 
 I see the gracious pity on His brow, 
 
 As, answering the prayer in which she spent 
 
 Her heart's desire, He gave His strange consent 
 
 To bless her sons, altho' He spake not how. 
 
 I, like Salome, prayed, my child, for thee, 
 
 With loftiest hopes, and all as little dreamed 
 
 How in His wisdom God would answer ine : 
 
 Yet may I hope my prayer fulfilled to see. 
 
 Where that sweet face, which here an angel's seemed, 
 
 Shall shine with a celestial purity 
 
 February i^th, iSSo. 
 
 B2
 
 SO.YNETS IN ME MORI AM. 
 
 J 
 
 €l&c 3llniarantlJ^. 
 
 WE through the garden roved, my boy and I, 
 Seeking for flowers that had escaped the wreck 
 Wrought by autumnal storms, wherewith to deck, 
 One happy festal day, God's Sanctuary: 
 Then did the child a bed of amaranths spy, 
 And eager clutched their buds : I sought to check 
 His rifling hand, willing that on the neck 
 Of the dead year one fadeless wreath should lie. 
 But then, methought, these buds will never blow 
 Beneath dark skies, and so I bade the boy 
 Gather at his sweet will : the buds I found 
 Months afterwards, fresh as when long ago 
 The small hand plucked them ; but the child, my joy, 
 My amaranth flower, sleeps in the churchyard ground. 
 
 II. 
 
 Perchance the King who all the future sees, 
 
 And knows what clouds above His garden brood, 
 
 Bade Death's dark angel pluck my opening bud. 
 
 Perchance He knew it might nor bear the breeze 
 
 Which shakes to sturdier strength the forest trees : 
 
 That its soft petals 'neath embraces rude 
 
 Would withered fall ; for, framed in tender mood, 
 
 A chilly blast its very soul would freeze. 
 
 So the frail form lies in that sanctuary, 
 
 Where all sweet things are stored — our mother earth — 
 
 To slumber there whence first it took its birth : 
 
 But ah ! not there the vital spirit lies. 
 
 That winged a passage fetterless and free 
 
 Into God's angel-guarded Paradise.
 
 SONNETS IN MEMORIAiM. 
 
 V 
 
 III. 
 
 And these shall meet again ; a colour fair 
 
 Shall flush the cheek anew, while to the eye 
 
 The soul returns to take the sovereignty 
 
 Lost for a little while. Death did not dare 
 
 To bid the free immortal Spirit share 
 
 The body's strange decay : it could not die ; 
 
 No earth might cover that, no marble lie 
 
 In cold repression on its essence rare. 
 
 And, while the amaranths wear to day the bloom 
 
 They had when shut from sight, the opening tomb 
 
 Shall give the flower I yielded grudgingly 
 
 In more than pristine beauty back to me : 
 
 Through God's great alchemy, in darkness wrought, 
 
 In glory unrevealed, past human thought. 
 
 June, iSS^. 
 
 T T was thy birthday, and I gathered flowers 
 
 -•- To dress thy grave : meanwhile the breeze of May 
 
 Tossed the light leaves in its audacious play. 
 
 And caught and bent the blossoms of her bowers. 
 
 Then suddenly one of Spring's swift brief showers 
 
 Athwart the sunbeams flashed its diamond spray, 
 
 And drove me where, from hardier flowers away, 
 
 Fair, frail exotics pass their sheltered hours. 
 
 How great the change ! Without the wind, the rain. 
 
 Within a tropic warmth, a fragrant air. 
 
 Then o'er my spirit sweetest comfort stole : 
 
 I thought of thee, my flower, ' soul of my soul,' 
 
 Safe-housed, and by the Heavenly Gardener's care 
 
 Protected till thou greet mine eyes again. 
 
 >Va)- lyih, jSS^.
 
 SONNETS IN ME MORI AM. 
 
 J 
 
 aiifcV SlBca^urc. 
 
 T IFE is not told by years ! I had a child 
 
 ■'-^ Whose slender span was but six summers long 
 
 His bud of life that burst to mid-May's song 
 
 Fell blighted soon 'midst wintry tempests wild ; 
 
 Yet when I think upon him, undefiled, 
 
 His ways, looks, words, his spirit soft, yet strong, 
 
 More tender recollections round me throng 
 
 Than many a life of threescore years could yield. 
 
 Ah me ! too truly does a poet sing, 
 
 ' Oh ! sir, the good die first' ; yet, though we ring 
 
 Their early knell, we will not deem their fate 
 
 Unhappy; they but quit earth's dark estate 
 
 To live in peace, and memory's light, and prove 
 
 That life is measured less bj^ time than love. 
 
 'January, iSS-;. 
 
 5in !3l^cmoriam. 
 
 R. C. TRENCH. 
 
 FAREWELL : thou Scholar, Poet, Priest,— and Saint. 
 When all is said, the last and highest style 
 Befits thee best, thou Spirit without guile. 
 Soon to thy scholar's mind without restraint 
 Truth shall unlock her stores : scenes none might paint 
 Delight thy poet's eye : a little while, 
 And thou, a priest within no earthly pile, 
 Shalt serve where worship may not fail nor faint. 
 And oh ! thy saintly soul, which here below 
 Seemed half in heaven to live : what shall it know ? 
 Where change, nor pain, nor sorrow may betide. 
 To all beloved and lost for aye restored, 
 Clothed in the likeness of its living Lord, 
 It shall awake and shall be satisfied !
 
 SONxVETS IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 9[n !31^cmoriam, 
 
 A. H. MACKONOCHIE.* 
 
 nPRUE Knight of God ! we hold it not unmeet 
 ■'- That thou shouldst face the inevitable foe, 
 With his still weapons armed, frost, mist, and snow, 
 Upon the lonely heights, and so complete 
 A valorous life that never owned defeat. 
 Unwise at times thou seem'dst, yet few may know 
 How much for conscience' sake thou didst forego ; 
 How brave thy toil in study, church, and street. 
 And it had been, O Knight of dauntless heart, 
 To thee, perchance, a hardier, wearier part, 
 To wait death creeping slow in rear of age, 
 Than 'gainst his might one short sharp strife to wage, 
 Then sink unconquered, by his very hand 
 Who struck, admitted to the deathless land. 
 
 December, iSSj. 
 
 * Vicar of S. Alb.in's, Holborn, who pcrifhed in a mountain snow- 
 storm in Scotland.
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 "All things are double." — Bacon. 
 
 \J 
 
 Mal. iii. 2, 3. 
 
 T NTO the crucible his precious ore 
 
 -*■ With careful hand the skilled refiner throws. 
 
 So dull, so dark the rugged metal shows 
 
 That one might trample it, nor deem it more 
 
 Than the cheap clay upon earth's common floor. 
 
 Yet the refiner as the white heat glows 
 
 Keeps keenest watch, nor rests until he knows 
 
 His own face mirrored in a glittering store. 
 
 God sits as a refiner : He will cast 
 
 The nature rich with undiscovered gold 
 
 Into His crucible on sorrow's fire, 
 
 Then patient wait, until at last, at last, 
 
 His Image there, freed from earth's dimming mould, 
 
 Shine ever clearer as the flames mount higher. 
 
 November, iSSt.
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 V HTHE mussel clingeth to its native rock, 
 
 -*- And closely clingetli, yet the furious sea 
 Will sometimes wrench it thence all suddenly, 
 With that rude might which doth all forces mock : 
 Then 'neath its armour, riven by the shock, 
 Fair silver drops of perfect symmetry 
 Spring forth to heal the wounded panoply. 
 And the small shell with priceless pearls to stock. 
 So sometimes souls, in earth's frail mansions housed, 
 Dashed on the shoals of sin by storms of life, 
 Lie spent and shattered in the unequal strife. 
 Yet happy they, if by their sufferings roused, 
 Bright tears of love and penitence flow down, 
 On earth to heal, in Heaven to light a crown. 
 
 A 
 
 arc fenotDii-" 
 
 ND this great thing shall be ! O blessed truth! 
 Amidst life's thousand vague perplexities— 
 Amidst the thronging hopes and fears that rise 
 In childhood's fancy, the hot heart of youth. 
 Yea, in the mind of manhood, which in sooth 
 For knowledge with the saddest yearning cries, 
 This promise comes to silence scoffing lies. 
 To calm youth's restlessness, soothe age's ruth. 
 ' As we are known ' God knows us perfectly : 
 No earth-born mists may hide His sons from Him, 
 And, as a Father, pitying his own child. 
 Bewildered often, oftener yet beguiled. 
 He guides us, till with sense no longer dim. 
 We solve in Heaven's full light life's mystery.
 
 lo SONNETS. 
 
 SHRINES set within a shrine, again enshrined 
 Within the Virgin Mother's fond embrace, 
 Are those deep infant eyes which seek her face. 
 So flower-hke fair, above their hght declined. 
 How sweet her smile maternal, all refined 
 By reverent wonder at the mystic grace, 
 The power in weakness, she may dimly trace 
 The lineaments of infancy behind. 
 Now and for ever upon God's right hand 
 Is one sole seat of royal dignity, 
 Yet, if another might unchallenged stand 
 The splendours of the great white Throne anigh, 
 'Twere hers, who on her maiden bosom bore 
 That Babe whom Seraphim stooped to adore. 
 
 €]fjc ^itb at tDatuiu 
 
 -J T 1 THEN in the latest watches of the night, 
 
 ^^ Upon my couch, all unrefreshed, I turn, 
 Mine ears, through silence sensitive, discern 
 The bird's first whisper, tremulous and slight, 
 Yet musical, with an untold delight. 
 Then doth my spirit, sadly sighing, yearn 
 The secret of that happiness to learn 
 Which seems to fill his little being quite. 
 Why does he spring to meet the new-born day. 
 With wing so buoyant and with voice so gay, 
 While man, unhappy, fain would sleep for aye ? 
 This truth from nature, O sad heart, receive. 
 Thy very misery then shall comfort give : 
 The earthly only earth may satisfy.
 
 SONNETS. II 
 
 V 
 
 €f5e i^ccctitn0 ^1^i^. 
 
 "\ X TE watch the fair ship speed across the bay, 
 
 ^ ' Then out into the offing, and we gaze, 
 While sight may strain its wilHng strength, to trace 
 Her white sails, ever lessening, until they 
 Shrink to a speck upon the horizon grey : 
 A moment more — her mast's tip only stays 
 To show where still she lives, a point in space. 
 Then 'neath the round world's curve she sinks awa)\ 
 How smooth her flight ! in one brief hour her sail 
 Has swept the slope that proves our earth a sphere ! 
 Now mark the traveller wind by hill and dale. 
 Pacing with wear}' step paths long and drear : 
 Like this — life's journey is, to finite men ; 
 Like that — its memory will be, when, ah ! when ? 
 
 Bray, Aug^iist, iSS6. 
 
 "\ X THEN the gay Spring, alike by cot and grange, 
 * ^ And where man dwells not, thro' the wild bird's 
 throat 
 Tells her glad tale in many a tuneful note. 
 Sweet voices with tumultuous interchange. 
 Now shrill, now low, the diapason range : 
 But in their midst some rapturous anthems float 
 Too high for man's dull sense, the blue remote 
 Receives to its pure heights that music strange. 
 So oft the poet's soul must sing alone 
 For listeners not of earth ; his mystic tone 
 Has compass for the common ear too high : 
 Man heeds him not, his audience room the sky, 
 Its silence and its space : his songs I'equire 
 A scope as boundless as his heart's desire.
 
 12 SONNETS. 
 
 /^NE day my boy brought me a gaudy flower 
 
 ^-^ That charmed his childisli taste, and deemed that 
 
 mine 
 Would find delight in one so large and fine ; 
 And, in return, he asked me to restore 
 Fair flowers, an offering of the day before : 
 In his young memory's yet unsullied shrine 
 They lived as bright as when his hand did twine 
 Their dewy wreath in the fresh morning hour. 
 I brought the blossoms — o'er the little face 
 Passed a quick change, for in a glance he learned 
 The lesson that is surely taught to all : 
 Even that Time, tho' slow his stealthy pace 
 Seem to our youth, is never backward turned, 
 But, 'neath his scythe, bids every beauty fall. 
 
 f atjcti f lotucr^. 
 
 ■\ X flTH hurried hand within a vase I placed 
 » » Fresh gathered flowers, and left them there to 
 bloom. 
 And deemed that thro' long hours my sunless room 
 Would by their sweetness and their light be graced : 
 I came again, and petals dank defaced 
 My garland gay, and dulled its sweet perfume : 
 Close to the water — not within — their doom 
 To die of thirst thro' my unheeding haste. 
 So oft, alas ! we bear these souls of ours 
 In careless mood where living fountains spring. 
 Lift to their lips the very Wine of Heaven, 
 Yet find them unrefreshed as the flowers : 
 Nor strength renewed, nor fragance thence they bring, 
 For these, not sought in earnest, are not given. 
 
 Whihun Day, 1883.
 
 soy NETS. 13 
 
 "3111 iDorRs? of 4l5ob arc gootJ." 
 
 T X flTHIN the weary street sand, clay, and soot, 
 
 * ' To clog- men's steps in compound foul combine, 
 But let great Nature separate, refine. 
 And with her touch miraculous transmute, 
 And each unto its noblest purpose put : 
 Amidst the sand the changeful opals shine ; 
 From the rude clay springs porcelain fair and fine ; 
 From refuse smoke the diamond's glories shoot. 
 All works of God are good : do not despise 
 A brother's being, nor debase thine own. 
 Take courage ! from the dust of earth arise ! 
 Not yet God's purposes in thee are sho^^•n : 
 O thwart not thou thy INIaker's gracious plan 
 When in His Image He created man. 
 
 f aiJing if*i5i)t. 
 
 r~^ REAT Nature rules that as time rolleth on 
 
 ^^ The tints and shapes of beauties seen anear 
 
 Fade to our fading eyes. The rose must wear 
 
 For us a paler robe, her petals wan 
 
 A fainter outline show than that which shone 
 
 On our young gaze ; yet is the distance clear, 
 
 And its blue hills are more than ever dear, 
 
 For the vague dread that childhood knew is gone. 
 
 So with the spirit's vision dealeth time ; 
 
 The present paleth, but the future hour 
 
 Shines on the enfranchised sight with fullest power ; 
 
 The shades mysterious clothing hills untrod 
 
 Appal not him whose aged sense sublime 
 
 Discerns beneath the hidden things of God.
 
 14 SONNETS. 
 
 ^/ 
 
 / 
 
 T^OGGING Earth's steps, alike by night and day, 
 •*-^ Moves that pale prophetess, a wasted world : 
 For evermore have light and life been hurled 
 From her cold brow, which feeleth not the ray 
 That warms our happier earth : about her stray 
 Fair fleecy clouds, now lightly streaked and curled, 
 Cradling her desolation, now unfurled. 
 Floating like flags above a funeral way. 
 O race of men, boasting with finite pride 
 Your conquests over Nature : as ye smile, 
 She moveth to her triumph all the while : 
 And those great forces ye are weak to guide 
 Will leave at last this scene of all your skill 
 Like that prophetic Moon — bare, cold, and still. 
 
 €l[)c laDotJC at t^t ^lattice. 
 
 A TRUE INCIDENT. 
 
 SADLY returned we from the Sacred Feast 
 One holy morn, for life seemed fraught with gloom ; 
 The times were cruel : spent was summer's bloom, 
 And earth in winding sheets of snow lay dressed : 
 When lo ! beside our lattice, seeking rest. 
 We saw a wild dove smooth her storm-tossed plume : 
 Her soft eye, fearless, ranged our sheltered room. 
 Nor shrank when wondering childhood near her pressed. 
 Then were we comforted : our sad hearts knew 
 In that confiding bird an emblem true 
 Of trustful weakness, clinging to the strong : 
 Nay ! a yet holier meaning might belong 
 To our meek guest : we thought on Christ's Great Gift 
 Sent down from desolate earth man's soul to lift. 
 
 I-'ebruary, iSSy.
 
 SONNETS. 15 
 
 % Jpcnitcut 
 
 COME Sleep, Death's twin, beside my pillow stand, 
 For I am weary of the glaring sun 
 Long hours before his midway course is run : 
 O give me rest from sorrow : lay thine hand 
 On ray hot brow, with cooling touch and bland : 
 Bid the dim future, Hke a veiled nun. 
 Stand by until my brief repose is done ; 
 Then will I rise and follow through the land. 
 Where will she lead ? Her vanished sister led 
 Through mirth and folly on to guilt and dread : 
 Now skies will darken, flowers shed their bloom, 
 Birds hush their songs, where'er my footsteps roam : 
 All thou may'st hope, O heart of mine, from hence. 
 Must be the peace that waits on penitence. 
 
 SDctJclopmcnt 
 
 ^ npHE infant, ere the vital breath begin 
 
 -■■ To heave his little breast, doth hidden lie 
 Close shut from sight and sound : God's earth and sky 
 First ope to him their wondrous treasuries in 
 That moment when this life of sense and sin 
 Finds earliest utterance in a feeble cry : 
 Thence, day by day, the bright, enquiring eye. 
 Keen ear, quick touch, new strength and knowledge win. 
 And we believe that when the Spirit wings 
 From our cold clay her mar\-ellous flight she knows 
 Changes yet greater than the embrj'o's ; 
 For earth's loud noise, the song the seraph sings. 
 For earth's rude glare, ' light not on sea or land' : 
 Bom through Death's pangs to all her powers demand.
 
 1 6 SONNETS. 
 
 » / "\ X /"HY is the mother glad when first she sees 
 
 * ' The light of life shine in her infant's eyes ? 
 If all the schoolmen teach be true, her cries 
 Should vex the heavens, while upon trembling knees 
 She would entreat that blessed death might seize 
 The child she bore, ere yet he risk the prize 
 Thousands must lose, for one who, pure and wise. 
 And blest by God, from sin and judgment flees. 
 The mother-heart rebels — it cannot be ! 
 God gave her joy : that, like Himself, is true ! 
 It were not so if, when the trumpet's sound 
 Awakes the slumberers in earth and sea. 
 The Christ, all-loving, comes to claim the few, 
 While Satan, hating, holds his millions bound. 
 
 '"pHRO' the Cathedral vast and dim I strayed 
 J- While chanted vespers hallowed dying day ; 
 By feeble tapers seen, all cold and grey, 
 The windows loomed beneath the arches' shade : 
 But when with dawn I came, I saw, arrayed 
 In Heaven's own hues, those late dark shapes display 
 Their pictured legends, while each tinted ray 
 Like some bright bird on roof and pillar played. 
 On Man I mused, God's temple, even so 
 Lit from within, its life how dull, how cold ! 
 The soul, fair window, deepest darkness knows : 
 But let the sun stream thro' it once, and lo ! 
 Transformed it shines with Heaven's own glorious gold, 
 Which, to the perfect day, more brightly glows.
 
 SONA^ETS. 17 
 
 ^^ 
 
 l^ini^clf ^c cannot ^cCot:' 
 
 *^ TT IMSELF He cannot save " ! O, blest reply, 
 
 -'■ -■■ Himself He will not save ! Thou sneering Jew, 
 Couldst thou the host of radiant angels view 
 Who watch their dying Lord, lest one slight sigh 
 Should call their legions from the farthest sky 
 To succour and destroy— how would' st thou rue, 
 And with confused face for aye eschew, 
 In dust and ashes low, thy shameless lie ! 
 Yet greater shame is ours, if, having known 
 Not only Christ in suffering on the Tree, 
 But risen in power, exalted to His Throne, 
 We still refuse in Him our God to see ; 
 Still turn alike from Cross and open Grave, 
 And with cold hearts declare " He cannot save ! " 
 
 Easter Eve, 1SS3. 
 
 frlt0&t. 
 
 O HOULD one, who has been blind, behold the plume 
 
 *^ Of some wild bird wave, float in air and swerve, 
 
 Still painting on the sky's soft blue the curve 
 
 Of grace, what mood soever it assume : 
 
 Some miracle of force he must presume 
 
 Sways the slight wing, thrills through the tender nerve 
 
 For ne'er might he by sense of touch observe 
 
 Aught thus defiant of the common doom. 
 
 But yet no miracle is wrought ; and one. 
 
 Long time familiar with the frequent sight, 
 
 Perceives no marvel in that airy flight. 
 
 My soul ! The flight thou waitest, strange and lone 
 
 To angels is familiar : trust His skill 
 
 Who made all law to mould it to His will.
 
 i8 SONNETS. 
 
 Ipropljct^ of SDc^pair. 
 
 'VT'E Prophets not of hope, but of despair, 
 
 •^ Who preach a faith unworthy of the name, 
 A love none hig-her than yourselves may claim, 
 Who fain would stifle every voice of prayer, 
 Raze to the ground each sanctuary fair, 
 And bid man live for earth, from whence he came ; 
 Ye are your own high gods, and who shall blame. 
 If for none other ye vouchsafe to care ? 
 But wait aw^hile — when cometh presently. 
 Death with its dread, perchance its agony, 
 Will ye not feel ye have too dearly bought 
 Your vaunted monarchy in realms of thought ? 
 Will ye not lift at last weak hands to Heaven ? 
 True to an instinct only God has given. 
 
 ^n lUppcal 
 
 T HEAR the calm stern voice of science say 
 
 -*■ That for the generations yet to come 
 
 Each man must toil, nor heed his single doom : 
 
 That he, at best, but groweth old and grey 
 
 To see his kindred pass for aye away : 
 
 That, when his race attains life's highest bloom, 
 
 It shall, as surely, fill a hopeless tomb, 
 
 As its unhappy ancestor, tOvday. 
 
 O science, cruel science, tell us why 
 
 The strongest yearnings human spirits know, 
 
 Unlike all others, are a mockery. 
 
 Till thou to this appeal an answer show. 
 
 We keep our faith and love, and, at the worst. 
 
 Trust life for most is blest, for none accurst.
 
 SONNETS. 19 
 
 f ait^'^ OTtiaL 
 
 Non Deos vulgi negare profanum ; sed vulgi opiniones Diis applicare 
 prolanuni. — Epicl'RL"s, 
 
 "VT'ES ! it is even so ! fraud, rapine, greed, 
 
 ■*- Rage on the earth, and riot in the air ; 
 From the fierce tiger, crouching in his lair, 
 To the small lizard, hiding 'neath a weed, 
 Each thro' his neighbour's pain supplies his need, 
 And each must still of treachery beware, 
 Suspecting when most blest a hidden snare. 
 That evil rules seems Nature's desperate creed. 
 Yea, even the swallow as she glances by, 
 The seeming tj^pe of leisure frolicking, 
 Doth in one flight a myriad lives destroy : 
 While, a dread shadow o'er her cruel joy, 
 The watchful hawk with scaly claw, floats high, 
 Ready to strike the life from her swift wing. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now turn and w'atch a bird above her young 
 Stoop her tired wing to fill their eager throats. 
 And listen to the loud triumphant notes 
 From yon near branches by her fond mate sung : 
 How merrily each joyful change is rung ! 
 " Love and delight ! delight and love " ! it floats 
 On spring's sweet air, misty with happy motes, 
 ^Vhile glad lambs skip the grassy meads among. 
 And, O remember, wear}' pessimist. 
 These joys return with spring's returning days. 
 Oft-times to many, who may only know 
 Death once, a swift and unexpected blow. 
 For these life's pleasure far its pain outweighs. 
 For these, at least, 'tis blessed to e.xist. 
 
 c 2
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 III. 
 
 But say for man, for proud and lonely man, 
 
 Born, if to higher joys, to fiercer pains. 
 
 With eyes that search the heavens, while he remains 
 
 A prisoner in a narrow fixed span, 
 
 Bounded by birth and death : is God's great plan 
 
 Complete for him, whose life too oft contains 
 
 No thrill of joy, small love, less hope, but stains 
 
 Of sin, his birthrig-ht since his race began ? 
 
 We talk of Heaven, of joy beyond the grave, 
 
 A Saviour's love, but how avail they him 
 
 Born in far distant ages strange and dim, 
 
 Or, born to day where all things round deprave ? 
 
 Can truths he has not known, or may not know, 
 
 Annul his past, or heal his present woe ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 Hear science speak : in no uncertain tone — 
 Man's race improves, she says each a;on past 
 Leaves him a nobler being than the last 
 Saw at its close — though for himself alone, 
 With those he prizeth most, his loved, his own. 
 He to the careless winds all hope may cast — 
 Still for the f^ace there opes a prospect vast 
 Of happiness and peace as yet unknown. 
 But still we sigh, and ask, " Can this console, 
 This far dim hope, for all the groans and cries 
 That have arisen, and even now arise ?" 
 A cruel mockery seems that promised goal, 
 j As if the breeze of some new wakened spring 
 I Should stir the feathers of a broken wing.
 
 SONNETS. 21 
 
 V 
 
 May we not hope that there is hope for all ? 
 For never can the loving heart receive 
 That which stern schoolmen tell us they believe, 
 That some are born to rise, and some to fall : 
 If God be good — if that we justice call 
 Is His — may not the future hour retrieve 
 The painful past, till none at last shall grieve. 
 Till life's full cup shall hold no drop of gall ? 
 At last ! at last ! O Christ who once didst preach 
 To prisoned souls, it may be, even now. 
 Within their vast mysterious Hades, Thou 
 Dost once again a glorious Gospel teach : 
 That Thou art love, whate'er man's joy or grief, 
 " Lord we believe, help thou our unbelief" ! 
 
 \r 
 
 /^NE summer eve I marked a lonely gull 
 
 ^^ Stand on a rock, in a tempestuous place ; 
 
 The white waves hissing tossed as to embrace 
 
 The fearless bird ; but, tho' the scene was full 
 
 Of wild weird beauty, nothing in his dull 
 
 Plain aspect pleased : across the rock's dark face 
 
 I watched him creep, no slightest hint of grace 
 
 In motion or in form might fancy cull. 
 
 But suddenly two silvery pinions wide 
 
 From his high shoulders sprang ; he rose, and then 
 
 Upon the sunset sky, slow darkening. 
 
 Painted that cur\-e which nature's magic pen 
 
 Repeateth still unwearied : — soft I sighed, 
 
 " O earth, thou chainest many a glorious wing !
 
 22 
 
 SONNETS. 
 
 r~\ POETS ! Poets !, I marvel ye can sing 
 
 ^-^ Still in sweet numbers from a hopeless heart 
 
 That hath for evermore forsworn its part 
 
 In Him who is this fair creation's King- : 
 
 Since dead for you truths spiritual, which fling 
 
 Light upon nature's truths, your highest art 
 
 Has lost — how much ? — and sunk, at one fell dart, 
 
 From an immortal to a mortal thing. 
 
 Yet oh ! so strong the spell of poesy, 
 
 Ye must sing on, even while ye sadly hold 
 
 That, when death's kiss shall leave your pale lips cold. 
 
 No Power may wake again their melody : 
 
 O that some seraph bright to earth might wing 
 
 His way, to point you to all music's spring !
 
 POEMS. 
 
 .^cajun.sf 
 
 ABOVE THE DUBLIN QUAYS. 
 
 "\ X ^HY come ye here ? birds of the sih^er wing, 
 ^ * Oh rash adventurers who dare to bring 
 Such stainless purity of breast and plume 
 Up the swift stream, that dark and darker grew 
 The farther that ye left the ocean blue. 
 
 The nearer that ye reached the city's gloom. 
 
 For you, in vain, your restless comrades call 
 With that shrill cry, perchance unmusical. 
 
 Yet with a nameless beauty of its own. 
 Born of its union with unfettered grace, 
 And the wild freedom of the lonely place 
 
 Where, of all living sounds, it speaks alone. 
 
 Have ye forgotten those untrodden caves, 
 In whose dim solitudes the winds and waves 
 
 Preserve for ever your unquestioned reign ? 
 Have ye forgotten, 'midst the crowd and noise 
 Of the loud city, all your ocean joys ? 
 
 Oh why, remembering, turn ye not again ?
 
 24 POEMS. 
 
 Thus questioned busy Fancy as I stood, 
 And o'er the Liffey's dark and sullen flood 
 
 Watched the white-winged wanderers come and go, 
 Untroubled by the turmoil of the street, 
 The whirl of wheels, the tramp of hurrying- feet, 
 
 With languid grace still wheeling to and fro. 
 
 (HO 
 
 Then spoke birds in Fancy's mystic tone, 
 Unto the spirit audible alone, 
 
 Replying " Know our hidden path and fate 
 As clearly traced before the Omniscient lie 
 As those of stars that fill His midnight sky. 
 
 Or angel-hosts who on His bidding wait. 
 
 " Whither He guided, thither are we come. 
 The Hand that led us from our ocean home 
 
 Will lead us safely back, but ere we flee 
 Again to haunts familiar, and to rest 
 Within the great cliff's broad and sheltering breast, 
 
 Awhile we share thy shade its light to be. 
 
 4 " For thou mayst see in every snowy plume 
 
 That glides unscathed above the river's gloom. 
 
 How, o'er the troubled tide of toil and strife, 
 May stainless move the pure and holy soul. 
 Within the world, yet free from its control. 
 
 Bearing above the waves a charmed life. 
 
 •{ " And even here, within the busy mart, 
 
 A brighter vision yet may reach thine heart, 
 
 And our winged forms to thee be emblems fair 
 Of those angelic ones who float unseen 
 O'er weary sufferers in life's struggle keen. 
 
 Their griefs to soothe, their burdens sad to share.
 
 POEMS. 25 
 
 "And yet once more, our beauty and our grace 
 May haply bear thee, for a Httle space. 
 
 Far from these narrow scenes of want and care, 
 Bidding thy soul upon our feathers free 
 Fly hence to learn, beside the glorious sea. 
 
 That Love yet lives, that Nature still is fair." 
 
 Sank the sweet voice — the quiet evening hour 
 Drew slowly on, and with its gentle power 
 
 Dispersed the crowd, and bid the tumult cease. 
 The shadows fell, back to their sheltering bay 
 The graceful sea-birds took their homeward way. 
 
 And the last whisper Fancy breathed was " Peace ! " 
 
 53crca\3cmcnt 
 
 And can we smile when thou art dead ? 
 
 Aye, Brother, even so, 
 The rose of summer will be red. 
 
 In spite of winter's snow. 
 
 O. \V. Holmes. 
 
 O TRANGE is it, even in this sad world of ours, 
 •^ So full of darkness and of mystery. 
 That each man's life, for him endowed with powers 
 To gain, or lose, a blest eternity, 
 
 Must pass away, and, life surrounding seem 
 A course unmoved to hold, as, dim and vain, 
 
 Even as the fancies of a faded dream. 
 Were his past share in both its joy and pain.
 
 26 POEMS. 
 
 The bird will carol to the closed ear, 
 
 The sun will shine upon the darkened eye, 
 
 And, all unconscious of the shrouded bier, 
 Nature preserve her wonted harmony. 
 
 Even fellow-men whose steps with theirs bygone 
 Have often crossed in toil or pleasure's way, 
 
 But lightly heed, when death's dark shadow thrown 
 Athwart it, turns to night another's day. 
 
 Yes, and even they whose tender hearts could boast 
 The sweetest converse with the spirit fled, 
 
 Who lonely weep above their prized and lost 
 Such tears as only love bereaved may shed, 
 
 Though hope seem buried in the new-made grave. 
 Must feel, as Time's unresting tide rolls on, 
 
 Sad memories, washed by its Lethean wave. 
 
 Fade, and still fade, till they well-nigh are gone. 
 
 Till, strangest mood of any human mind, 
 
 A vague regret will come for sorrow flown. 
 And the weak heart, blaming itself, shall find 
 • That Time's swift stream too well its work hath done. 
 
 O fond weak heart ! that cannot, will not, see 
 
 The loving rule the hurrying tide obeys. 
 That fain would dwell in lonely misery 
 
 Amidst dim after-glows of vanished days. 
 
 O fond weak heart ! unthinking, and unwise. 
 That heeds nor want nor sorrow save its own, 
 
 That fain would find all nature's sympathies, 
 Glad or regretful, with itself alone.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Is it not better far that Nature should 
 
 Rule as she will her universal realm, 
 Than glooming, gladdening, with thy changeful mood, 
 
 Bid joy enervate, sorrow overwhelm ? 
 
 Is it not better far that Time should still 
 The first wild throbs of anguish and despair, 
 
 Than leave thee, victim of a rebel will, 
 To make a selfish grief thine only care ? 
 
 How wilt thou battle with the ills of life 
 
 If all thy strength lie buried in the grave ? 
 How bear thee boldly in the constant strife 
 Of truth with falsehood, if to grief a slave ? 
 
 Let it console thee, this effacing Time, 
 
 Even while it dimmeth, halloweth the past, 
 
 Till, but with holy aims and hopes sublime. 
 Is linked the memory of our dead at last. 
 
 Then mourn thou not if as Time rolleth on 
 V' Some treasured memories slowly vanish here. 
 Though the sad solace that they gave be gone. 
 
 Heaven guards them all ! — we shall remember there ! 
 
 Advent Sunday, iS'jo. 
 
 O 
 
 A GROUP of warriors in their banquet hall, 
 -^*- Around their monarch gathered, draughts of mead 
 From carven cups in deep libations quaff; 
 And loud and long of battle-fields they sing. 
 Of heroes old, of arms invincible. 
 Of daring deeds, of demons driven to death.
 
 28 POEMS. 
 
 Quiet and calm amidst the clamorous crew 
 
 One warrior sits, broad-browed and earnest-eyed ; 
 
 He recks not of the revelry, but whets 
 
 His ponderous sword against to-morrow's fight. 
 
 For him life has no holiday ; he holds 
 
 That sharp sword dearer than a thousand songs. 
 
 There comes a pause in the rude revelry, 
 And in that pause the thoughtful warrior hears 
 Against the roof a rush of restless wings : 
 From his stern work he lifts his eyes, and when, 
 Amidst the rough-hewn rafters of the place. 
 They rest upon a little frightened bird. 
 Their fierce light softens, and the gazer seems 
 As by some sudden sorrow overcome : 
 Unheeded on the floor his weapon rings. 
 And deeply musing for short space he sits, 
 Then to the King he turns, and these his words 
 Make a long silence in the noisy hall. 
 
 y^ "To me it seems, O King, when we compare 
 
 This present life with those dark days that were 
 
 Ere it began, and which return again. 
 
 Its brief space past — ^to me it seems as when — 
 
 Whiles thou art sitting as thou sittest now. 
 
 The storm without, within the fire's bright glow, — 
 
 Lured by the rays that thro' the loopholes rise, 
 
 In at the open door a sparrow flies, 
 
 Flutters a moment restlessly, and then 
 
 Back to the gloom it fled returns again. 
 
 Out thro' another door. This have I seen 
 
 But now, O mighty King, and it has been 
 
 To me a sign with saddest meaning rife 
 
 Of the dark mystery of this our life. 
 
 What time the trembling bird was here 'twas free 
 
 Alike from tempest and from gloom ; yet see
 
 POEMS. 29 
 
 How scant the peaceful interval ! anon 
 
 From storm to storm it passed, and it was gone 
 
 Nor might who marked its rapid passage know 
 
 Whence it had come, or whither it would go. 
 
 Lo ! thus our life ! one moment it is seen, 
 
 The next, is fled, as it had never been. 
 
 What lies beyond the gates of birth and death 
 
 No poet singeth, and no seer saith, 
 
 And ah ! most bitter in our cup of woe 
 
 Is the sad knowledge that we may not know." 
 
 4 
 
 3lo\3c'j6J Decision* 
 
 ( i 
 
 "DRING the prisoner" ! cries the monarch 
 -*--' Royal minions lead him out, 
 While the crowd around the palace 
 Greet him with malitrnant shout. 
 
 'e>' 
 
 Do the people love their monarch, 
 
 Grieving with a loyal soul 
 That a comrade all unworthy 
 
 Spurns his fimi and wise control ? 
 
 Nay, not so, but trodden under 
 
 By a despot's iron will, 
 They the self-preserving instincts 
 
 Of low natures thus fulfil. 
 
 Not of them the noble captive. 
 Moving slow, with step of pride, 
 
 Though with fettered wrists and ankles, 
 And stern guards on either side.
 
 30 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 He has dared to feel desire 
 
 For a fair forbidden thing ; 
 He has dared, bold man, to aspire 
 
 To the daughter of his King. 
 
 Now he treads the court of trial, 
 And before the monarch stands. 
 
 And men look that he should falter, 
 With bent knees, and clasped hands. 
 
 But he bears himself as proudly 
 As young palm-tree straight and tall, 
 
 Seeking one fair presence only 
 In the crowded judgment-hall. 
 
 Cries the monarch in his anger, 
 "Does the base-born villain dream 
 
 That the blood of hinds and peasants 
 Shall pollute the royal stream ? 
 
 " Through a line of kings it reached me, 
 And must pass untainted on : 
 
 Never shall a subject's offspring 
 Fill my sire's ancestral throne. 
 
 "Yet, I own the youth hath spirit. 
 And a face both proud and fair. 
 
 And he neither pales nor trembles 
 Here before my judgment chair. 
 
 " Know I how to test his courage ! 
 
 See, on either side the throne 
 Closed iron doors — between them 
 
 He must choose — and enter one.
 
 POEMS. 31 
 
 " Each a different fate concealeth, 
 Choose he ill — a tiger's claws 
 
 Tear the heart from out his bosom 
 Who has dared defy my laws. 
 
 " Choose he well — a lovely maiden 
 Greets him, herald fair of life, 
 
 And I rule that he shall take her, 
 Ere the sunset hour to wife." 
 
 Mark the princess where she standeth 
 Silent near her father's throne, 
 
 Pale and trembling as a lily 
 By a sudden tempest blown. 
 
 She has learned the secret hidden 
 
 By each sealed iron gate, 
 And she knows her power to rescue 
 
 Or consign to cruel fate. 
 
 Will she save her reckless lover ? 
 
 Will she doom to death forlorn ? 
 Do those drooping eyelids cover 
 
 Love, indifference, or scorn ? 
 
 Lo ! beneath her gentle bosom 
 Furious conflict rages now. 
 
 All the fiercer for the quiet 
 
 Throned upon her lip and brow. 
 
 At her face her lover glances : 
 Shall her glance refuse to save 
 
 From the tiger's rude embraces 
 And a low dishonoured grave ?
 
 32 POEMS. 
 
 Or, shall she with heart unflinching, 
 Bid him clasp an unsought bride, 
 
 And through all the dreary future 
 Watch her happy at his side ? 
 
 Or, a calm indifference feigning. 
 Give no sign, and take no heed — 
 
 While she holds the cruel balance 
 Fast the fatal moments speed. 
 
 Either way her fond heart breaketh, 
 Either way her fair hopes die, 
 
 But at least she may deliver 
 From a death of agony. 
 
 Once again the roses hover 
 O'er her lovely brow, the while 
 
 Swift she glances at her lover, 
 
 Saves — resigns him — with a smile. 
 
 'Tis her last ! faint, cold, and breathless. 
 Sinks she at her father's feet 
 
 In the arms of death, sole bridegroom 
 For a maid so hapless meet. 
 
 % atamcnt 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 AH me ! ah me ! the song I sing 
 As old, yet fresh, as earth and sky. 
 On many a fond heart's tenderest string 
 Has lived and died, now nerved to fling 
 
 The passion of its music high. 
 Now faltering as the wounded wing 
 That bears the dove apart to die.
 
 POEMS. 33 
 
 Yet, but for those who never knew 
 How closely pleasure clings to pain, 
 
 Who scarcely hold that singer true 
 
 Who, seeking solace, doth imbue 
 
 With his heart's grief his sweetest strain 
 
 Only for those— the heartless few— 
 The oft-told tale is told in vain. 
 
 Most, taught by sad experience, know 
 To speak its sorrow soothes the mind 
 
 That sees its tree of promise low, 
 
 Fair budding flowers that might not blow, 
 All scattered to the unpitying wind, 
 
 The sunny spring-tide's glorious show 
 That might no ripening summer find. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Ah Love ! fair tyrant o'er the young, 
 Why did thy gilded fetters fall 
 
 About my neck ? — so lightly flung, 
 Thy captive scarcely felt the thrall. 
 
 I loved, and that I was beloved, 
 Too vain, too innocent, believed. 
 
 False has my lover's promise proved, 
 O cruelly has he deceived ! 
 
 For surely if, beneath God's sky, 
 Fair seeming troth was ever given, 
 
 'Twas when he swore the fatal lie 
 That gave my life a glimpse of heaven. 
 
 D
 
 34 POEMS. 
 
 A glimpse that left that life to be 
 
 More dark, more lonely, than before — 
 
 A bark that shunned the open sea, 
 But to be wrecked upon the shore. 
 
 And is he happy ? who may tell ? 
 
 Perchance he breathes in other ears 
 The flattering tale he practised well 
 
 Between my answering smiles and tears. 
 
 But yet I will not curse him ; no ! 
 
 I would not break his careless rest, 
 Nor wake one pang of selfish woe 
 
 Within that cold unfeeling breast. 
 
 For my ill-fated love, ah me ! 
 
 With mingled pride and shame, 1 own. 
 Still clings, like ivy, to the tree. 
 
 Whence all that wooed her clasp is gone. 
 
 3lontion> 
 
 1887-8. 
 
 WINTER on stormy wings 
 Forth from his stronghold springs, 
 And his keen arrows flings 
 Thro' the wide air : 
 Childhood's bright smiles are quenched, 
 Tears women's cheeks have drenched, 
 Men stand, their fierce teeth clenched. 
 Dumb with despair.
 
 POEMS. 35 
 
 II. 
 
 See Winter's hell-hounds bold, 
 Hunger, disease, and cold, 
 With all their brood untold, 
 
 Waiting their prey : 
 Vainly would man's weak hand, 
 Clutching a rope of sand, 
 With many a broken strand. 
 
 Keep them at bay* 
 
 III. 
 
 O Thou, the Good and Great, 
 
 Ere it be all too late, 
 
 Look from Thine high estate 
 
 On earth below : 
 Hear how Thy foes proclaim, 
 With lips that know not shame, 
 That Thou art but a name. 
 
 Mocking our woe. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thou, who when famine's night 
 Threatened Thine Israel's flight, 
 *Mad'st earth with manna white. 
 
 Heaven black with quails. 
 Are all Thy prophets dumb ? 
 May no strong rescue come 
 From Love's eternal home, 
 
 When nature fails ? 
 
 * Thu Writer is indebted for the idea coutaiued in tliis and the 
 followinji line to an eloquent Sermon heard in Leeds Parish Church, 
 July, iii88. 
 
 .D2
 
 36 POEMS. 
 
 In this our later day 
 
 Wilt Thou no might display 
 
 Howe'er Thy people pray 
 
 With tear and moan ? 
 While unbelievers sneer, 
 " Cry ye, but none can hear. 
 He whom ye love and fear 
 
 Is as a stone. 
 
 '' Deem ye He hath forgot ? 
 
 Nay He existeth not, 
 
 Blind chance directs your lot. 
 
 Blind chance or fate : 
 Kneel on the barren ground. 
 Call till the hills resound, 
 Yet is no answer found. 
 
 Unchanged your state. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Built upon fables old. 
 Evermore told, re-told, 
 Is the false faith ye hold : 
 
 Now, reason's light. 
 Shining with purer ray. 
 Doth on these visions play ; 
 Like mist they melt away 
 
 From the cleared sight. "
 
 POEMS. 37 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Shall we who love Thee, Lord, 
 We who still trust Thy Word, 
 Who in our hearts have heard 
 
 Speech from above : 
 We who have yearnings high 
 For perfect purity 
 Earth cannot satisfy ; 
 
 Instincts of love, 
 
 IX. 
 
 Humble and holy fear, 
 Towards One we must revere. 
 Never demanded here 
 
 By aught around : 
 Instincts of glorious hope, 
 Passing the narrow scope 
 Of joys on earth that grope. 
 
 By the grave bound. 
 
 Shall we give up our faith, 
 
 Whate'er the Tempter saith, 
 Doubt, the pale ghost of Death, 
 
 Science, or Scorn ? 
 No ! though we feel the night, 
 Yet will we look for light, 
 Waiting at last the bright 
 
 Breaking of mom.
 
 38 POEMS. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Conscious that finite man 
 May not presume to scan 
 That vast eternal plan 
 
 Which God hath wrought : 
 Trusting that in the end 
 All will be seen to tend 
 Towards bliss that shall transcend 
 
 Man's highest thought ! 
 
 -/ 
 
 *'ic faerie 0O0C." 
 
 TJ OW oft will memories of its childhood cling 
 -*■ -*• About the life mature, and with them bring 
 Such keen emotion both to heart and brain, 
 That 'neath grey hairs young pulses throb again. 
 
 I do remember in the days when youth 
 Was strong in innocent belief in truth, 
 I saw a flower which to my dazzled eyes 
 Seemed meet to bloom in bowers of Paradise, 
 
 Yclept " Y'^ Faerie Rose," and with that word 
 What vague delight my childish bosom stirred ! 
 That rose had been, whate'er the wise repeat. 
 By any other name less fair and sweet. 
 
 Each dainty blossom of the small tree stood 
 Full-blown, yet tinier than another's bud, 
 It might have nodded on an elf-king's crest. 
 Or shed its fragrance from a fay's soft breast.
 
 POEMS. 39 
 
 And one, who saw the lono^ing- well betraj-ed 
 By my too eager gaze, kind promise made 
 That I, ere long, should for mine own possess 
 What seemed a very fount of happiness. 
 
 That fairy flower, while childish trust was strong, 
 Made bright my days, and shone my dreams among, 
 But months swept by, and still the hope that thrilled 
 Each fibre of my heart was unfulfilled. 
 
 And even now, when memory of the pain 
 That disappointment gave me wakes again, 
 In spite of deeper griefs of added years, 
 'Tis fain to fill these faded eyes with tears. 
 
 Oh ! ye, who hold within j'our loving grasp 
 A 3'oung child's trust, see to it that ye clasp 
 With tender touch the frailest flower that blows. 
 Snap not from its slight stem life's " faerie rose." 
 
 r 
 
 ^ Cf)c Unknotun future. 
 
 SHE comes, the dreadful form, with veiled brow. 
 Finger on lip, and eyes that downward turn ; 
 She tramples thro' my garden, treading low 
 Its springing buds, and quenching all the glow 
 WTiere its late roses burn. 
 
 To her is sacred neither time nor place ; 
 
 She comes and peers into my secret bowers, 
 Uplifts her veil a moment, and her face 
 Casts a dark shadow on the hallowed space. 
 As o'er its bliss she glowers.
 
 40 POEMS. 
 
 She stoops, and whispers in my spirit's ear, 
 
 "How long ? Thou hast been happy ! All have woe ! 
 What right hast thou earth's blessedness to share, 
 And not partake that heritage of care 
 
 Which all her children know ? " 
 
 I make reply, " Grief has been mine, my heart 
 
 Was sorely riven when blossoms twain were torn 
 From its strong tendrils by stern Death apart : 
 I have known grief— aye, and its keenest smart, 
 Past is life's summer mom." 
 
 Then she retorteth, " Fool ! and dost thou deem 
 That thou for evermore art quits with grief? 
 Dost thou not own — tho' the confession seem 
 An insult to thy dead— they do not dream 
 Who say, ' Time brings relief? ' " 
 
 " Know, faH many a winged shaft and naked spear 
 
 Lie waiting in my silent armoury. 
 Whose speed and flash shall startle eye and ear, 
 And thrill thy spirit with a nameless fear. 
 Even when they pass thee by. 
 
 "But some ! they shall strike home ! I say not when, 
 
 I dare not say how many or how few, 
 Perchance their name is 'Legion'— in my ken 
 I hold them all — and the approaching 'then' 
 Shall prove my knowledge true. 
 
 "Amidst my weapons well thou know'st that one 
 
 Must blanch thy cheek, must stay thy quivering 
 breath ; 
 
 That thou, by friends surrounded — yet alone- 
 Must wait the dart inevitable, thrown 
 By the sure hand of Death.
 
 POEMS. 4' 
 
 ^r 
 
 "Prepare thee ! O prepare thee ! Even now- 
 Set all thine house in order : turn thy face 
 Unto the wall : bend thy proud spirit low : 
 While tears of penitential sorrow flow, 
 The guilty past retrace. 
 
 "Then He who guides my footsteps, holds my hand, 
 
 Who sent me hither to commune with thee. 
 And utter my dark speech, at last may stand 
 Beside thee — and, for my pale form, a band 
 Of angels thou may'st see. 
 
 "And then, perchance, they too shall prophesy, 
 
 But, joys beyond thy best imaginings, 
 Shall show thee, safe in Heaven's high treasury. 
 Thy vanished loves, shall bear thy spirit free 
 From sorrow, pain, and sin's dark mystery, 
 Hence on their outspread wings." 
 Lent, 1887. 
 
 %\\ Sl^cmoriam. 
 
 SIR E. LAXDSEER, R.A,, OB. iS/J. 
 
 LANDSEER, farewell ! reluctantly we write 
 On England's death-roll now thine honoured name, 
 Which needs no record to preser\'e it bright. 
 
 For, long as Art survives, lives Landseer's fame. 
 
 England will mourn thee, sadly will retrace 
 Thy past, and all its golden days review. 
 
 Recall the well-known form, the kindly face. 
 Dear to the many, dearer to the few.
 
 42 POEMS. 
 
 And then, love's tribute paid, will slowly turn 
 To mark the work those skilful fingers wrought, 
 
 And reverently from the great Master learn 
 Whate'er of good and truth his pencil taught. 
 
 Perchance some shallow cynic turns to ask, 
 " Why raise this man above his fellow men ? 
 
 For the great world he hath performed no task 
 Save what may charm some idler now and tlien." 
 
 Well ! be it so ! is Beauty nothing worth ? 
 
 Is Pleasure nothing in this world of pain ? 
 Why smile the flowers ? why ring the groves with mirth ? 
 
 Is the bloom idle ? is the music vain ? 
 
 But Landseer has done more — his pencil pleads 
 
 For the brute race with our humanity— 
 His skilful hand has pictured faithful deeds, 
 
 Which claim and win our love and sympathy. 
 
 O who, with spirit all unmoved can mark 
 
 The Collie sitting by the bier alone. 
 The only mourner in that chamber dark, 
 
 Whence human friendship, human love are gone ? 
 
 Or see, while leaps the breaker white with foam. 
 The brave Newfoundland dare its angry crest. 
 
 To snatch the tender babe, and bear it home 
 From that wild pillow to its mother's breast ? 
 
 I-ook where beneath the door a creeping stream 
 Wakes in the waiting hound no idle fears ; 
 
 What fond affections in the fixed eyes gleam ! 
 How the true heart seems listening in the ears !
 
 POEMS. 43 
 
 ^4 
 
 Still, as we muse, familiar pictures rise, 
 
 " The Stag at Bay," " The Monarch of the Glen," 
 The canine synod, with its leader wise, 
 
 Aping the manners and the mien of men. 
 
 But not alone of love, faith, dignity, 
 
 In the brute race did Landseer's pencil teach : 
 
 Look, where the hunted stag, all wearily, 
 Gains at the sunset-hour the island-beach. 
 
 Surely the artist pondered, as his hand 
 
 With gentlest touches limned that tender skv. 
 
 On that dark hour, when, parted from the band 
 Of workers, he must lay him down and die. 
 
 Surely, the holier musings of his mind 
 
 Are uttered in that scene, so soft and fair. 
 
 And the sweet fancy, by his art enshrined. 
 Is less a picture than a silent prayer. 
 
 We, with that thought will trust him to the grave, 
 Where sleeping midst the great and good he lies ; 
 
 And ever}' lesson that his pencil gave. 
 Even as the trophies of his art will prize. 
 
 'T^OGETHER we wandered, my Playmate and I, 
 -'- When the earth was an emerald, a sapphire the sky, 
 When each breath of the breeze brought new beauties 
 
 to birth. 
 And the soaring lark seemed the freed spirit of mirth ;
 
 44 POEMS. 
 
 When the primrose and windflower starr'd coppice and 
 
 brae, 
 And the woodlands were white with the snows of the May : 
 Then we tasted youth's joy, but the bright, bubbling flow 
 Of its spring scarcely told where its waters would go. 
 
 Together we wandered, my Lover and I, 
 When the full blaze of summer shone down from the sky. 
 When its murmurous music lulled life to repose. 
 And the butterfly dreamed on the breast of the rose ; 
 When the turtle-dove cooed to her mate in the bowers, 
 And the earth was a cushion of moss and of flowers : 
 Then we quaffed Love's sweet draught — the light waters 
 
 danced so, 
 That they caught every colour of phantasy's bow. 
 
 Together we wandered, my Husband and I, 
 
 When the light fell, down ladders of mist, from the sky, 
 
 When the air was so still that we heard, as we stood, 
 
 The ripe chestnut drop in the many-hued wood. 
 
 On its carpet of gold, while the swallow, coy guest 
 
 Of the sunshine, glanced by on her wings of unrest : 
 
 Then content brimmed our cup, for Love's fount of 
 
 delight 
 Had o'erflowed its fair banks in a stream broad and 
 
 bright. 
 
 Together we wandered, my old Man and I, 
 When hardly one ray pierced the storm-laden sky. 
 Yet the robin, 'midst berries as red as his breast, 
 Piped on, while the snow filled his desolate nest ; 
 And we knew, tho' it seemed to be shrouding decay, 
 It was sheltering the buds of another fair May : 
 Then sweet hope cheered our hearts, for Love's stream 
 
 had become 
 A calm river that swept to its infinite Home.
 
 POEMS. 45 
 
 r' 
 
 IN GLYNSOUTHWELL, CO. DUBLIN. 
 
 LOOK on October's woods, and say 
 If the soft lustre of decay 
 May not compare with robes of May. 
 
 This eve I marked a fairy band 
 Of Autumn-tinted birches stand, 
 Flanked by dark pines on either hand. 
 
 But one apart and lonely stood. 
 Upon the confines of the wood. 
 Lovelier than all the sisterhood. 
 
 While those, in evening's mellow light, 
 Showed like princesses, tall and slight, 
 In robes of festal gold bedight. 
 
 This, all in airy lightness drest. 
 
 Shone out against the grove's dark breast, 
 
 As if the wanton Sun, in jest. 
 
 Thrusting from heaven a magic lance, 
 Had touched a fountain in its dance, 
 And held it in a breathless trance. 
 
 One almost watched for golden spray 
 Upon the earth to fall and play. 
 Then, in bright ripples, roll away. 
 
 Ne'er did the Spring, with all its sheen. 
 Of quivering light, thro' arches green, 
 Delight me with a fairer scene.
 
 46 POEMS. 
 
 And oh ! if autumn woods can show 
 A radiance that no Spring- may know, 
 I will not mourn my youth, altho' 
 
 Life's Winter comes to bare my trees. 
 To chill me with its icy breeze. 
 And every fount of joy to freeze. 
 
 Who knows but some entrancing glow 
 May shine across its drifted snow, 
 Ere 'neath earth's tender shroud I go ? 
 
 Oh ! long in memory's treasury, 
 A wand of that enchanted tree 
 Shall wear its golden bloom for me ! 
 
 V 
 
 €t)c ^vciXy €rcc in ilDintfr. 
 
 A yr Y fountain shed at last its spray, 
 -^ * -*- Falling in glittering dust away, 
 And left a slender spectre gray. 
 
 Which, bending to each breeze that blew, 
 Still kept a shadowy beauty through 
 The wildest storms December knew, 
 
 While sturdier trees all warped and torn, 
 O'er scattered branches stood forlorn — 
 Sport of the wind that laughed in scorn. 
 
 And yet I passed unnoticed by 
 My tree — or only looked, to sigh 
 Over a golden memory. 
 
 Heedless I deemed its glory gone. 
 
 Or waited its return alone, 
 
 When winter's dreary months were flown.
 
 POEMS. 47 
 
 I little thought that shadowy tree 
 Another lesson kept for me 
 For darker hours, till, suddenly. 
 
 As one dull morning slowly broke, 
 The Snow-King of the North awoke. 
 And touched, as with a magic stroke, 
 
 The spectre grey, and in its place. 
 
 All veiled in snow mine eyes could trace 
 
 Again my tree of fount-like grace. 
 
 Again, supremely fair it stood 
 Above its sisrers of the wood, 
 Lending itself to every mood 
 
 Of the swift year's caprice — and still, 
 In winter, as in autumn chill, 
 Showed lovelier for each touch of ill. 
 
 Nor strength nor fur>' might deform 
 The tree that bowed before the storm, 
 And kept unchanged its springtide form ; 
 
 For beauty's outline lay beneath 
 The curves of every snowy wreath, 
 With gentle force defying death. 
 
 And bright as in October's dream. 
 The slender branches wore a gleam 
 That scarcely of the earth might seem : 
 
 They shone with such celestial glow, 
 They whispered of the robes of snow. 
 Whose stainless glory those shall know, 
 
 Who, bending to God's discipline, 
 Still keep the soul's unsullied shrine 
 A temple fair for Grace Divine.
 
 48 POEMS. 
 
 3(n Sl^cmoriam. 
 
 ' G, W. F. REICHEL. 
 
 Sf. Afnik's Day, iSys-* 
 
 AGAIN the sunny April hours 
 A blessed Saint recall, 
 For yet once more on Time's swift wing 
 Returns his festival. 
 
 But not as when its vernal sun 
 
 Last shone upon our way, 
 Do we with joyful step and heart 
 
 Keep the glad feast to-day. 
 
 Then the white-robed procession moved 
 
 Past many a flowery wreath ; 
 Now, muffled bell and sable fold 
 
 Speak mournfully of death. 
 
 * 
 One hand that culled our festal flowers 
 
 May no fresh tribute bring ; 
 
 One eye that watched them fade and pass 
 
 Sees no new blossoms spring. 
 
 One heart whose pulse beat high with ours 
 
 Lies calm as summer wave ; 
 One voice that thro' our anthem thrilled 
 
 Is silent in the grave. 
 
 No more for us to bear alone 
 
 The thread of melody, 
 And thro' the maze of music lead 
 
 Its linked harmony. 
 
 ' The Dedication Festival of the Chapel of St. Columba's College.
 
 POEMS. 49 
 
 O little life ! a spring-tide bud 
 
 Just bursting into bloom, 
 What promise fair of strength and grace 
 
 Lies blighted in the tomb ! 
 
 O little life ! a quivering harp, 
 
 With half its songs unsung, 
 How many a chord of joy and pain 
 
 Has death's stem hand unstrung ! 
 
 Young steps that often carelessly 
 Have passed the churchyard ground, 
 
 Pausing beside thy grave to-day, 
 Will stay their joyous bound. 
 
 Yet they who oft with thee have met 
 For words and thoughts of Heaven, 
 
 And by thy side in fervent prayer 
 Before God's throne have striven, 
 
 May turn from thoughts of pain and loss 
 
 To gaze upon the sky, 
 AVhere He whose arm hath conquered death 
 
 Reigneth in majesty. 
 
 And Spring, 'midst haunts thou lovedst well, 
 
 Waking with glowing breath 
 The glories that have slept awhile 
 
 'Neath winter's rule of death, 
 
 Shall whisper to our sorrowing hearts 
 
 Her lesson, often told. 
 Yet ever sweet and ever new, 
 
 Till faith and love grow cold. 
 
 We will not mourn as those whose e3'es 
 
 No light thro' darkness see, 
 But trust, altho' with swelling tears, 
 
 That "it is well " with thee. 
 
 E
 
 POEMS. 
 
 TDURE happiness is an unconscious thing : 
 -*- Such is the lark's, upon his quivering wing ; 
 Nought doth he reck of distance or of speed, 
 To powers of flight and song he gives no heed. 
 But towards the zenith is content to soar, 
 And down the rapture of his spirit pour. 
 
 Such the child's happiness ; he does not ask 
 
 Its whence or why, till joy becomes a task ; 
 
 He does not analyse the cup he quaffs. 
 
 And, when a babe looks in his face, and laughs 
 
 For very merriment, he too will smile, 
 
 Nor ponder on their mutual mirth the while. 
 
 When we begin to question, then we fear, 
 
 We sigh, " Too bright to last ! " — see, in our clear 
 
 Thin atmosphere, the outline of a hill, 
 
 By mists long hidden, all unmounted still : 
 
 The efflorescence of life's joy is gone. 
 
 Nor on this side the grave may be re-won. 
 
 n 
 
 ODncc, o^cr all/' 
 
 ONCE, over all, Love's glamour glows, 
 And they are poets then ; 
 Beneath its radiance Nature shows 
 
 Her face unveiled to men 
 Who never marked before the coy 
 
 Shy beauty that she wears, 
 Nor knew her fellowship in joy. 
 Her sympathy with tears.
 
 POEMS. 51 
 
 They wake, and with a glad surprise, 
 
 To see a thousand things ; 
 To read the tender prophecies 
 
 The dawn or sunset brings ; 
 To find the fragrance of the flowers. 
 
 The music of the grove, 
 All secrets of earth's hidden bowers. 
 
 Interpreted by Love. 
 
 v/ Insects there are whose being frail 
 
 Begins in lowly guise ; 
 Thro' weeds and clay their forms they trail, 
 
 Nor seek from earth to rise. 
 Till suddenly desire upsprings 
 
 To wanton in the air. 
 To woo, to mate, and filmy wings 
 
 Their tiny bodies bear. 
 
 V They mount the ether blue, and know 
 
 A new and strange delight ; 
 They bathe them in the sunny glow ; 
 
 They feel the joy of flight : 
 So, when Love comes, life finds its plumes, 
 
 And soars thro' pleasure's sky ; 
 But ah ! Time also wings assumes, 
 
 And fast he fleeteth by. 
 
 ^ Oh ! hours twice winged, with brimming eyes 
 
 We dream you o'er again. 
 Ye made the earth a Paradise — 
 
 Parting its only pain ! 
 But to have soared your little space 
 
 Thro' Love's sweet light and shade, 
 Has left with life a tender grace 
 
 That may not wholly fade. 
 
 £2
 
 ,2 POEMS. 
 
 And, when we mark Love rise and shine, 
 
 Within our children's eyes, 
 We feel again its power divine, 
 
 And fondly sympathise ; 
 While, watching tenderly, we wait 
 
 To see its fulness shed, 
 As if, close-linked with others' fate, 
 
 Our own young wooing sped. 
 
 V For us it gleams an afterglow ; 
 
 For them is dawn begun ; 
 For us the light is sinking low ; 
 
 For them a rising sun 
 Is waking with its glorious ray 
 
 The melodies of morn. 
 And in fair regions far away 
 
 Another day is born. 
 
 We hear the song that has been sung 
 
 A thousand, thousand times, 
 That down the centuries is rung 
 
 Upon eternal chimes : 
 But till bright e3-es shall cease to shine, 
 
 Till youthful hearts grow cold. 
 Till life the soul of life resign 
 
 It never can be old !
 
 POEMS. 53 
 
 
 C|)c %$m\t of St^ount Ifor. 
 
 NUMBERS XX. 25-28. 
 
 "DEHOLD them climb the Mount of Hor, 
 
 That patriarchal pair, 
 Bound by strong ties of brotherhood, 
 
 Each other's grief they share : 
 Together they have fought for God, 
 
 Together have prevailed, 
 And, overborne by sin's fierce strife, 
 
 Together they have failed. 
 
 In all his priestly vesture clad, 
 
 See holy Aaron come, 
 Led by a Will he must obey, 
 
 He leaves his tented home, 
 And, while his hallowed garments sweep 
 
 The dewy mountain-sod, 
 He treads the vast and lonely grave 
 
 For him ordained of God. 
 
 But he, the younger man, who moves 
 
 Slow at his elders' side, 
 Does he perceive what glory fills 
 
 That mountain temple wdde ? 
 Or know that in God's Presence there, 
 
 Robed by his Prophet's hand. 
 He, as High-Priest of Israel, 
 
 Shall consecrated stand ?
 
 54 POEMS. 
 
 Perchance, as on Moriah's Mount, 
 
 In distant days of yore, 
 Not all who climb the toilsome steep 
 
 See Heaven's open door : 
 Not all — but one, alas too well, 
 
 Doth sadly comprehend 
 How from its threshold, desolate, 
 
 He must to Earth descend. 
 
 Miriam he mourns, whose loving e3'es 
 
 Watched o'er his bulrush nest, 
 Whose guileless art restored the babe 
 
 To its own mother's breast, 
 Who, filled with true poetic fire, 
 
 Led Israel's minstrel band. 
 And sang the glory and the bliss 
 
 Of Canaan's promised land. 
 
 The hands that tossed the timbrels lie 
 
 Folded in calm repose, 
 Above the quiet breast, which now 
 
 No pulse of rapture knows : 
 For she, whose psalm the Red Sea waves 
 
 While yet they roll, prolong. 
 Has crossed a fiercer tide, to sing 
 
 A grander triumph song. 
 
 Aaron in other days upheld 
 
 His brother's failing powers. 
 When Israel strove with Amalek 
 
 Thro' long and weary hours : 
 Now must the younger brother watch 
 
 The elder's sinking breath. 
 And feel the hands that strengthened his 
 
 Cold in the clasp of death.
 
 POEMS. 55 
 
 What mangel if sad longings fill 
 
 The aged patriarch's breast, 
 To share, as he their toil hath shared. 
 
 His brethren's quiet rest : 
 Perchance on his prophetic gaze 
 
 There looms another hill, 
 Where he, alone with God and Death, 
 
 Must suffer and be still. 
 
 O mystery of Providence ! 
 r That, of the chosen three, 
 
 'i Whose faith and love led Israel forth. 
 
 O'er desert sand, and sea. 
 Not one might reach that lovely land, 
 
 The home of his desire. 
 But each, with heart unsatisfied, 
 Must in the wild expire. 
 
 But ah ! who knows what glorious blaze 
 
 Of unimagined light, 
 As Earth grew dark, from Heaven fell 
 
 Upon their dying sight, 
 Revealing not fair Canaan's fields, 
 
 Where milk and honey flowed, 
 But lighting all the stream of life 
 
 Around the Throne of God !
 
 5fi POEMS. 
 
 J 
 
 Co tl^c if^outl) HDinD, 
 
 FLY forth, sweet breeze, on happy task to roam, 
 Fly from the burning bosom of the sun, 
 Nor sleep again within thy tropic home 
 Till all thy work of gladness shall be done. 
 
 Fly forth ! fly forth ! in woodlands brown and sere 
 Blow wide green leaves, and bare the lily's breast 
 
 To all that droopeth, whisper, " Spring is here " ! 
 And, lingering on the violet bank to rest, 
 
 Kiss every bud to bloom — in vale, on hill. 
 Bid winter's footprints vanish at thy breath, 
 
 While, ere they fall, revived earth to chill. 
 The snowflakes flutter in thine arms to death. 
 
 Aid the fdnd labours of the brooding dove, 
 Waving thy fostering pinions o'er her own. 
 
 Still lingering near her little world of love 
 Till all its tender cares be fledged and flown. 
 
 Fly to the city, pierce its smoky pall. 
 
 Wave in the murky air thy perfumed wings. 
 
 Till many a worn and wearied heart recall 
 In fragrant memories its faded springs. 
 
 Go, greet the Child, meet playmate for the young. 
 The pulses of his spirit dance with thee. 
 
 Be his brief lesson by thy soft lips sung 
 A sweet south wind amidst life's storms to be.
 
 POEMS. S7 
 
 Go to the aged man, and whisper low, 
 As o'er his hoary brow he feels thee play, 
 
 Of heavenly gales ere long for him to blow, 
 Where life, for ever young, knows no decay. 
 
 Creep to the sick man's chamber, even there, 
 
 Where Death seems lord, prove mightier influence rife, 
 
 And softly murmur in the dying ear, 
 " I am the Resurrection and the Life." 
 
 And stay not yet : even to the churchyard bring 
 
 Thy soothing presence, and all silently. 
 Above the flowering turf this anthem sing, 
 
 "Where, Death, thy sting? Where, Grave, thy 
 victor^'?" 
 
 V 
 
 RELIC of the summer. 
 One small heather spray, 
 From my frost-bound windows 
 
 Tempts mine eyes away 
 And I fix them idly 
 
 On its dusky bloom, 
 Till past scenes of beauty 
 Fill my narrow room. 
 
 Soft hills rise before me. 
 By fleet sunbeams kissed. 
 
 Now in distance fading. 
 Now in fleecy mist.
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Here a bold crag shovveth 
 Clear against the sky ; 
 
 There a dimple darkens 
 Where a tarn doth lie. 
 
 And, while fancy lingers 
 
 O'er those faded bells 
 Hear I all the music 
 
 Of the upland fells : 
 Now the slow bee's humming 
 
 O'er ambrosial food, 
 Now the whirr of startled birds 
 
 Shy from solitude. 
 
 Aye, so keen the sense in 
 
 Fancy's atmosphere. 
 That the sudden snapping 
 
 Of the gorse I hear. 
 Though above are sounding 
 
 Those wild bugles blown 
 From his chariot, by the wind. 
 
 Leaving throne for throne. 
 
 Shines again the morning 
 
 Of that summer day 
 When the buds were gathered 
 
 Of my heather spray : 
 Once again I wander 
 
 Thro' Glen-Cullen Pass, 
 Tread the velvet softness 
 
 Of its wayside grass. 
 
 And a little maiden, 
 Lissom, slight and fair. 
 
 With her soft eyes shining 
 'Neath her golden hair,
 
 POEMS. 59 
 
 Trippeth on before me 
 
 With a step as free 
 As the dancing wavelet 
 
 Of the summer sea. 
 
 Eagerly she searches 
 
 For the brightest bud, 
 Now of ling, now heather, 
 
 In capricious mood : 
 Now she climbs a boulder. 
 
 Now she leaps a brook, 
 Then bears back her treasures 
 
 With triumphant look. 
 
 Tenderly she holds them 
 
 In her slender hand, 
 For, those hill-born blossoms 
 
 By cold breezes fanned. 
 Must be nursed as fondly 
 
 As exotics rare, 
 Placed in daintiest china. 
 
 With supremest care. 
 
 Long, oh long, my Darling, 
 
 Be thy gentle aim 
 So to cherish graces 
 
 That from Nature came. 
 Long may art's vain glamour 
 
 Wear no rival charm, 
 Fashion with her follies 
 
 Pass thee without harm. 
 
 Reared beside the mountain, 
 
 May thy spirit be 
 Like the breezes blowing 
 
 O'er it from the sea,
 
 6o POEMS. 
 
 Free from noxious vapours, 
 
 Free from feverish heat, 
 As its brooklets joyous, 
 
 As its blossoms sweet. 
 
 Be it still thy mission, 
 
 Wheresoe'er thou rove, 
 To bear home rich treasure 
 
 Unto hearts that love : 
 To make bright their winter 
 
 With those summer flowers, 
 Whose first heavenly radiance -kk 
 
 Lighted Eden's bowers. 
 
 v^' miilcti bp ^Hcciticnt, 
 
 September, i8 — . 
 
 ACROSS the moor, thro' falling mist, 
 They bore my Darling home, 
 His blood the purple heather djfed 
 
 With yet a darker bloom — 
 That heather, which had well nigh been 
 His shroud, and then his tomb. 
 
 They laid him in a chamber wide 
 
 Of his own castle fair. 
 They shut the sunlight out, and then 
 
 They gently led me there. 
 And in that hour supreme I learned 
 
 What human hearts may bear,
 
 POEMS. ' 6 1 
 
 And yet not break — amidst them all 
 
 \ stood with him alone, 
 Love, that had faltered in my heart, 
 
 Climbed an eternal throne : 
 The dead was all my life, and yet 
 
 I did not ciy nor moan — 
 
 But felt — ah me ! when comes the hour 
 
 That I shall cease to feel ? 
 When draws the King of Terrors nigh, 
 
 Not to destroy but heal, 
 And bid his gentle anodyne 
 
 Over my spirit steal ? 
 
 His kindred mourned my love, and shed 
 Tears, while I could not weep. 
 
 And lavishly sweet flowers they strewed 
 Above his place of sleep ; 
 
 But now, about his car\en name 
 Unchecked the mosses creep. 
 
 And Nature's teardrops fall alone 
 
 Upon the peaceful sod ; 
 For months the grass around has sprung, 
 
 By human foot untrod, 
 And only o'er his quiet rest 
 
 Watches the ej-e of God. 
 
 And now within his boyhood's home 
 
 Another beareth sway. 
 The hound he loved, the horse he rode. 
 
 A stranger's call obey. 
 And even his very memory 
 
 Seems passing swift away.
 
 62 POEMS. 
 
 And to my fancy's ear there come 
 
 O'er leagues of heaving sea, 
 Which now divide the earth that holds 
 
 My one true love from me, 
 The laugh of mirth, the shout of joy, 
 
 The stir of revelry. 
 
 I hear the beat of dancing feet, 
 
 The minstrel harp that tells 
 Some joyous festival is kept. 
 
 And oh ! my heart rebels, 
 When on the summer breeze is borne 
 
 The clash of marriage bells. 
 
 They should have rung for me, and him 
 Who sleeps their sound beneath, 
 
 While this sweet summer shone — and oh ! 
 The flowers of that fair wreath, 
 
 Which crowneth now the bride's young brow 
 Seem garlanded by Death ! 
 
 Oh heartless bells ! but late ye tolled 
 
 Upon the autumnal air, 
 As if ye had some secret power 
 
 Our mortal griefs to share, 
 And now, your joyful cadences 
 
 I patiently must bear. 
 
 Ah well ! nor bliss nor agony 
 
 Again this heart may know, 
 For I have scaled the heights of joy, 
 
 Sounded the depths of woe, 
 And only wait — in silence wait — 
 
 Death's footstep, sure but slow.
 
 POEMS. 63 
 
 from tjc 3^ro^'c of ^fifjaftc^lDurp. 
 
 T MAGINE one, who from an inland home 
 -*- Unto the coast, till now unseen, is come, 
 There to behold, in quiet waters moored, 
 A lonely vessel lie, with none on board. 
 Behold him, trembling, climb its slippery side. 
 Scarred by the warfare of the wind and tide, 
 Then gain the lower deck, and stand to view 
 The holds for cargo and the berths for crew, 
 The awning- spread, from sun and shower to screen. 
 The guardian bulwarks, all the varied scene, 
 He will admire perchance, and understand : 
 Life has like needs on ocean and on land. 
 
 But, if from all below he raise his glance 
 
 Up to the summer heaven's serene expanse, 
 
 And see dark tracery obstruct his view. 
 
 Tall stately masts that lift into the blue 
 
 White furled sails, and flags, not floating free, 
 
 But idty drooping o'er a waveless sea — 
 
 How great his wonder ! for he may not guess 
 
 Their various uses, novelties oppress 
 
 Both sight and sense ; but, does he thence conclude 
 
 That all around his sight and sense delude ? 
 
 No, rather he surveys with heightened zest 
 
 What he may comprehend, and deems the rest 
 
 Framed for some purpose strange, beyond his ken, 
 
 Yet fraught with blessings for the race of men. 
 
 And shall vain man behold, and idly curse, 
 In his small impotence, the universe. 
 Because from his too-oft presumptuous gaze 
 God veils in mystery his higher ways ?
 
 64 POEMS. 
 
 Because his puny mind is weak to scan 
 
 The mighty scope of an eternal plan ? 
 
 No ! rather let him learn from blessings, spread 
 
 AVithin his vision and beneath his tread, 
 
 To trust the Love that rules an empire vast, 
 
 And wait the knowledge that will come at last. 
 
 ^iccp. 
 
 "OROOD above me, gentle Sleep, 
 ^-^ In thy downy chambers deep 
 Let me sink to happy rest, 
 There to find what at the best 
 Waking life may seldom know — 
 Peace renewed, forgotten Vioe. 
 
 O how often dost thou come 
 
 On white wings across the gloom ! 
 
 Making all the darksome night 
 
 Than the brightest day more bright. 
 
 Weaving over weary eyes 
 
 Subtle webs of phantasies. 
 
 In thine arms the poor man gains 
 Wealth's delights without its pains, 
 Slumbering 'neath the open sky 
 Seems on gilded couch to lie, 
 Ruleth in a palace fair, 
 King, without palatial care. 
 
 Thence, the merchant sees his store 
 Safely reach, and strew the shore ; 
 Odorous spices, colours rich. 
 All his shimbering sense bewitch ; 
 Fame and honour on each hand. 
 Proffering guerdons, seem to stand.
 
 POEMS. 6s 
 
 There the lover finds his fair 
 Gentle as the yielding- air, 
 Gone the haughty glance of scorn 
 That her lovely brow had worn, 
 All his pain forgotten is 
 In the rapture of a kiss. 
 
 There the mother clasps again 
 
 That sweet babe whom death hath ta'en, 
 
 Feels the small lips droop aside. 
 
 With love's nectar satisfied : 
 
 Brood above her, gentle sleep, 
 
 Deep in bliss her spirit steep. 
 
 There the prisoner in his cell, 
 Heedless of the warning bell, 
 Bidding him for death prepare, 
 Ere he climb the fatal stair, 
 Laughs again, a happy child, 
 By no shameful sin defiled. 
 
 There the sufferer, who hath known 
 Throbbing brow and aching bone. 
 Thro' the long night's weary hours. 
 Feels at last his wearied powers 
 Gradually their force resign. 
 Nature's gentlest anodyne ! 
 
 There the dying sometimes lie 
 As they near eternity ; 
 Gently in thine arms they glide 
 Over death's mysterious tide ; 
 Pass its waters chill and dark, 
 As within a sheltering ark.
 
 66 POEMS. 
 
 r 
 
 Even so, thou gentle Sleep, 
 Bear me o'er the unfalhomed deep ; 
 Let no dread delusion come 
 O'er my spirit in the gloom ; 
 Exorcise each form unblest, 
 Till I know the dreamless rest. 
 
 Co C <St. 0. 
 
 V T X THAT a world of feeling lies 
 
 * ^ Sleeping, Baby, in thine eyes ! 
 Latent there, the hope and joy 
 Buoyant in the laughing boy : 
 Latent there the pride and power 
 Of the man's maturer hour : 
 And, ah me ! if founts of woe 
 Deeply lie concealed below — 
 If earth's passion, sin, and care. 
 
 Must their limpid beauty stain, 
 In His Heaven, God grant they wear 
 
 Infant innocence again. 
 
 June, 1S73. 
 
 They have not needed to be purified ; 
 
 For God, beyond our earthly wisdom wise, 
 Has closed them here that they may open wide, 
 
 Where nothing can defile — in Paradise. 
 
 />i., iSyg.
 
 TRANS LA TIONS. 
 
 H^aiting. 
 
 KROJI THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO, 
 
 f~^ LIMB, Squirrel, climb the oak-tree high ; 
 ^^-^ Up yon light branch so near the sky 
 
 Leap, while it quivers like a reed ! 
 Stork, to the ancient towers true, 
 Cleave with strong wing the ether blue. 
 From church to citadel pursue 
 
 Thy flight, from spire to turret speed ! 
 
 Old Eagle, from thine eyrie rise. 
 Up to the mountain-top, where lies 
 
 Eternal winter's stainless snow ! 
 And thou, low-couched on dewy lawn, 
 Restless to spring and greet the dawn. 
 Which never has thy chant foregone, 
 
 Blithe Lark ! to heaven on swift wing go ! 
 
 F2
 
 68 TRA NSLA TIONS. 
 
 And now, from heig'ht of forest oak, 
 From pinnacle of marble look. 
 
 From snowy hill, from fiery dome : 
 Upon the horizon's misty air 
 Mark ye a feather floating fair, 
 A panting steed whose paces bear 
 
 My Love to my embraces home ? 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN OF GRUPPE. 
 
 "NTIGHT passes — dawn's first red is gleaming 
 ^ ^ From Heaven's bright edge across the hill. 
 And )'et the bird, his small head dreaming, 
 'Twixt wing and bosom hideth still. 
 
 But voices sing — low, clear — I listen 
 Till on the lake the sound has died ; 
 
 Now in the cloister tapers glisten ; 
 Thro' fleecy snow the sisters glide. 
 
 Silent, they form a scant procession ; 
 
 Death thinneth fast their convent-home ; 
 Yestreen he claimed a fair possession — 
 
 They bear their youngest to the tomb. 
 
 A few low prayers the women mutter ; 
 
 No tear is shed of anguish wild ; 
 No sobs a spirit's anguish utter ; 
 
 Nor desolate man stands there, nor child. 
 
 Still fall the tender flakes, and smother 
 The grave, till not one clod is seen ; 
 
 Silence reigns far and wide — another 
 
 Day breaks, as no strange thing had been.
 
 TRANSLATIONS. b<) 
 
 Cfjc Dutp of ^an* 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH. 
 
 WITH seeming dignity, but pride in sooth, 
 The Roman Judge demanded, " What is Truth ? " 
 The Man- Divine, wise to confound or teach. 
 Vouchsafed no answer to the haughty speech. 
 Still doth that silence eloquently speak : 
 Truth is not ours to claim, tho' much we seek ; 
 For, when one day a simple citizen 
 Saluted Jesus in the street, and then 
 Sought, with a wise solicitude, to learn 
 What might man's duty and estate concern 
 On this great theme, affecting all mankind, 
 He, the Omniscient, spake the Eternal mind, 
 Proclaiming in one word His high decree — 
 " Love God, and love thy fellows," answered He : 
 This man's sufficing law — from Heaven above 
 He has learned all when he has learned to love. 
 
 3lincs? IDrittcn in a iion^atb. 
 
 FROM THE FRENXH OF COPPEE. 
 
 TOLEDO ruled in her old days of fame 
 That, ere the prentice armourer might bear 
 The workman's title, sleep he must forswear 
 To watch one night beside the furnace flame : 
 Then toil a masterpiece of steel to frame 
 Supple and strong, and light as plume in air,
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 J 
 
 Hot from the anvil take the sword, and there 
 Inscribe in gratitude his master's name. 
 Thus, Ronsard, I with thee my vigil passed, 
 Thus, with a pupil's lowly faith essaj^ed 
 Thy swordlike sonnet, flexible and strong : 
 'Neath my sonorous hammer sounded long 
 The metal, rosy from the forge's blast, 
 And thy great name I graved upon the blade. 
 
 FROM THE GERMAN. 
 
 nPHE little Child was dead : the Mother gave 
 -*■ Her spirit up to unrestrained regret ; 
 Thro' the long day she wept, and at sunset. 
 Still weeping, sate beside her Darling's grave : 
 Then at her side she saw him stand : "I crave 
 One boon," he said, " sweet Mother : see, so wet 
 Thy tears have made my shroud that I as yet 
 Nor rest nor slumber know in earth's still cave. 
 Oh rest thee ! " Soft he vanished, and she rose ; 
 And now she goes about her household ways 
 And sheds no tear, only a sad smile plays 
 Upon her quivering lips, for well she knows. 
 While she to patience soothes her swelling breast, 
 The little shroud is diy, her child at rest.
 
 TRA NSLA TIONS. 7 1 
 
 FROil THE GERMAN OF LEBRECHT DREVES. 
 
 f~*' UST unto gust thro' the forest is calling, 
 ^-^ Southward already the little birds start, 
 Sweetheart ! how soon are the summer leaves falling ! 
 Sweetheart ! how soon must all beauty depart ! 
 
 Scarce has the hawthorn unfolded its blossom ; 
 
 Scarce has the rose shaped her fair buds of May ; 
 Scarce has Love's rapture o'erbrimmed the fond bosom, 
 
 When the leaves fall, and all passeth away. 
 
 Love that now yearneth, now sootheth, now paineth, 
 
 Like a brief fading dream hasteneth by. 
 When the day endeth, O then what remaineth ? 
 
 We have no answer, Dear, only a sigh. 
 
 Still where the rose with her sweet ashes covers 
 The earth, yet another next summer shall bloom ; 
 
 Soon with fond kisses will happy young lovers 
 Plight a new troth o'er the moss on our tomb. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF SULLY PRUD'HOMME. 
 
 "V7E who would aid me in mine agony, 
 
 ■'■ Stand silent by : 
 Let me but hear one tender harmony, 
 Content I die. 
 
 Bid music lull, enchant me, and undo 
 
 Earth's heavy chain : 
 Rock pain to rest, but, I entreat of you, 
 
 From speech refrain.
 
 7 2 TRANS LA TIONS. 
 
 Sick am I of men's words, they swerve and bend, 
 
 And truth conceal ; 
 More dear the sounds I may not comprehend, 
 
 But only feel. 
 
 Bring melody my parting soul to bear 
 
 On its light breath, 
 From her delirium into dreamland fair. 
 
 From thence, to death. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 T ISTEN, listen, Madelaine, 
 
 -■— ' Winter leaves at last the plain 
 
 Frozen only yestermorn ; 
 'Neath these drooping branches come. 
 Far afield my pages roam. 
 
 Tempted by a wandering horn. 
 
 I could fancy, Madelaine, 
 
 That the spring, whose breath again 
 
 Paints the roses of thy bowers, 
 Shook last night, to pleasure thee. 
 From her flowing drapery, 
 
 All this wondrous wealth of flowers. 
 
 I could envy, Madelaine, 
 
 That white lamb who lent the skein 
 
 Woven by those fingers small : 
 Or yon little bird in air. 
 Softly fluttering here and there, 
 
 Answering thy gentle call.
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 73 
 
 I am jealous, Madelaine, 
 Of the Priest of Tombelaine, 
 
 When in grave confessional, 
 To his ear thy lips betray 
 Little sins of yesterday. 
 
 Soft avowals virs^inal. 
 
 'a' 
 
 I would linger, Madelaine 
 
 'Neath thy chamber's latticed pane, 
 
 When the pale night-butterfly 
 With his bold wing tapping there, 
 Whiles thou dost for rest prepare, 
 
 Startles thy sweet privacy. 
 
 When thy bosom, Madelaine, 
 Doth its nightly freedom gain 
 
 From its vesture's close embrace. 
 And, lest those shy eyes should see 
 Thine o\mi shrinking purity, 
 
 Thou dost veil thy mirror's face ! 
 
 An it please thee, Madelaine, 
 Thy proud dwelling shall contain 
 
 Vassals, squires, and pages fair. 
 And thy splendid oratory 
 Shall 'neath richest tapestry 
 
 Hide its marble arches rare. 
 
 An it please thee, Madelaine, 
 For the spray of maijolaine 
 
 Now entwined amidst thy curls, 
 That fair brow a crown shall bear, 
 Such as titled ladies wear. 
 
 All embossed with shimmering pearls.
 
 74 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 An it please thee, Madelaine, 
 Lady of the Land to reign 
 
 With a knight of high degree, 
 Quit for him thy lowly cot, 
 Or, if this thou wouldest not, 
 
 Bid him shepherd turn for thee. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HTGO. 
 
 'HPHE lily's scent, the aureole's misty ray, 
 -*- Day's latest murmur light, 
 Pity of friends, whose tears their solace say. 
 The strange farewells of time, the whispering play 
 When lovers' lips unite. 
 
 The seven-hued banner in the sky displayed. 
 Left by the storm a trophy to the sun, 
 A voice beloved we deemed in silence laid, 
 The tenderest promise of a tender maid. 
 Of dreams, life's earliest one. 
 
 The chant of distant choir, the sigh at dawn. 
 
 From fabled Memnon's lips, 
 The softest sound that trembles, and is gone. 
 The sweetest thought from fancy's chambers drawn. 
 
 Her Name doth all eclipse. 
 
 Let it be spoken low, even as a prayer. 
 
 Be ever of my hymns the soft refrain. 
 The hidden lamp lighting a temple fair, 
 The word which echoes thro' its depths of air, 
 Again and }^et again.
 
 TRANSLA TIONS. 75 
 
 O Friends, before my muse, with speech of flame, 
 
 Soaring in realms forbidden, 
 Dare Hnk with names profane pride would proclaim 
 That my soul's love hath kept, her stainless name. 
 
 As holy treasure hidden ; 
 
 The hymns which to her lyre my spirit sings 
 
 Shall rise from bended knees — a Litany, 
 Till the soft air, stirred by the quiverings strings, 
 Shall seem responsive to the unseen wings 
 Of Angels passing by. 
 
 FROM THE FRENXH OF PIERRE DUPONT. 
 
 WE, for whom the lamp of morning 
 At the cock-crow sheds its ray, 
 Who, for doubtful guerdon toiling. 
 
 At the forge prevent the day ; 
 Who, with ever}' limb, nen-e, muscle. 
 
 In unceasing work engage. 
 Not to win a prosperous morrow. 
 But to escape a beggared age : 
 Let us strength in union see ; 
 Let us drink in harmony ; 
 Whatsoever message come 
 From the cannon, hoarse or dumb, 
 Let us drink — the toast shall be. 
 Universal Liberty ! 
 
 With a grasp relaxing never. 
 
 From harsh soil and jealous wave, 
 
 Wrest we stores of hidden treasure, 
 Dainty food and raiment brave.
 
 76 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Pearls, and diamonds, and metals. 
 Hill-side fruits, the valley's sheaves ; 
 
 Hapless sheep ! what costly mantles 
 Of our wool the tyrant weaves ! 
 Let us strength, &c. 
 
 What gain we by bearing burdens, 
 
 'Neath whose weight we feebly bend ? 
 What, by shedding sweat of labour ? 
 
 Like machines our lives we spend ! 
 Lo ! our Babels mount to Heaven ! 
 
 Earth from us her wealth derives ; 
 WTien the bees have wrought the honey 
 
 They are driven from the hives ! 
 Let us strength, &c. 
 
 Clad in rags and housed in hovels, 
 
 'Midst rude heaps of refuse laid ; 
 Like to owls we seek the darkness ; 
 
 Like to thieves we hide in shade : 
 Still our blood with life is ruddy. 
 
 Still tumultuously it flows ; 
 We would revel in the sunlight. 
 
 Underneath the oak's green boughs ! 
 Let us strength, &c. 
 
 Whensoe'er across our country 
 
 Streams of blood flow broad and deep, 
 Their red waves but water harvests 
 
 Which the hands of tyrants reap : 
 Guard we from like loss the future ; 
 
 Love is stronger far than hate ! 
 Some glad breeze from Earth or Heaven 
 
 Must blow at last — and, while we wait. 
 Let us strength, &c.
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 77 
 
 FROM THE GERMLVSI OF KORNER. 
 
 MY heart for rest was yearning, 
 I sate the mill beside, 
 I watched the swift wheel turning, 
 1 watched the waters glide. 
 
 ft>' 
 
 I watched with senses dreaming, 
 The smooth saw's pliant length 
 
 Into the pine-wood gleaming 
 Plunge in its cruel strength, 
 
 The slender pine tree shivered. 
 As fraught with sentient life, 
 
 While every fibre quivered. 
 With mournful music rife. 
 
 It sang, " Thy steps have wandered 
 
 At fitting moment here ; 
 For thee my life is squandered. 
 
 For thee fierce wounds I bear ". 
 
 " Though onward still thou'rt faring, 
 
 A shrine of quiet rest 
 Is from my wood preparing 
 
 For thee on earth's soft breast ". 
 
 Four planks fell down — the clamour 
 Roused me — my heart was chill : 
 
 Ere I one word could stammer 
 The busy wheel was still.
 
 78 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Cljc f ap. 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 IS she Morgane, or Urgele ? 
 I know not — in dreams divine 
 Comes a Fay, transparent, frail, 
 And she droops her forehead pale. 
 Flower-like, till it touches mine. 
 
 Your weird ballads, bards of old, 
 
 She on ivory lute repeats : 
 Slight my faith in tales ye told, 
 Had ye not, O singers bold ! 
 
 More than matched your heroes' feats. 
 
 She commands that I revere. 
 And uphold the true and right ; 
 
 That at once my hand severe 
 
 Strike the harp of a trouvere, 
 Wear the gauntlet of a knight. 
 
 Do I to the wilds depart 
 
 She lies hid 'neath all around, 
 
 Making, for my poet-heart, 
 
 From each ray a glory start. 
 Voices speak in every sound. 
 
 When my hearth in winter glows, 
 
 She unto my feet doth creep, 
 Points me to the skies, and shows 
 Stars that close, and shine, and close, 
 Like fair eyes o'erpowered with sleep.
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 79 
 
 She, the shades of forests hoar 
 Peoples with primeval man ; 
 Shadows flit mine eyes before, 
 'Neath the trees' dark arches roar 
 Torrents born when Time beean. 
 
 'i>'- 
 
 When at night a watch I keep. 
 
 She from vexing fancies leads. 
 And, to soothe mine ear to sleep, 
 Wakes, in realms of silence deep. 
 Music as of shepherds' reeds. 
 
 Is she Morgane, or Urgele ? 
 
 I know not — in dreams divine, 
 With transparent form, and frail, 
 Comes a Fay, whose forehead pale, 
 
 Flower-like droops, and touches mine. 
 
 a^o^Cj^ on tl)c |5ilc» 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 ' '/^OME, sisters, fresh the wave at break of day, 
 ^^ Come, the tired reaper sleeps the morn away. 
 
 And all the shore is free : 
 From drowsy Memphis still no murmur flows, 
 And our chaste sports beneath these shading boughs 
 
 Only the dawn may see. 
 
 " My father's courts Art's choicest treasures hold ; 
 But, fairer than their porphyry or gold, 
 
 I deem this bank's wild wreath : 
 The songs 1 love are warbled in the sky, 
 And, sweeter than all scents of Araby, 
 
 Is this soft zephyr's breath.
 
 8o TRANSLA TIONS. 
 
 " Come, for the wave is calm, the sky is pure ; 
 Leave here your azure robes to float secure ; 
 
 There let your girdles rest : 
 Help me to cast my crown and veil aside, 
 For I to-day must frolic on the tide, 
 
 The great Nile's heaving breast. 
 
 " Haste ! linger not ! — but thro' the mist of morn 
 What see I there, along the river borne ? 
 
 Look not so timidly ! 
 Some ancient palm-tree carried by the tide. 
 Leaving his deserts for the ocean wide, 
 
 Our pyramids would see. 
 
 " \Vhat have I said ? if I may trust my sight, 
 'Tis Hermes' bark, or shell of Isis white, 
 
 Riding the light wave's crest : 
 Nay ! 'tis a cradle, and in placid sleep, 
 A tender infant lies upon the deep. 
 
 As on a mother's breast. 
 
 " He sleeps, and from afar his floating bed 
 Seems, as it rocks, by wind and wave bestead. 
 
 The nest of some fair dove : 
 It wanders on, all at their fitful will 
 Tossed to and fro, but yet he slumbers still. 
 
 Cradled his grave above, 
 
 " He wakes ! O Maids of Memphis, hasten, run ! 
 He weeps ! What mother thus could leave her son 
 
 To drift 'midst tangled weeds ? 
 He spreads his little arms : — the waters purr 
 About him, and they have no bamer 
 
 Save that frail fence of reeds.
 
 TRANSLA TIONS. 
 
 " Save him ! — methinks some Hebrew child we see 
 My father has proscribed : how cruel he, 
 
 With innocence at strife ! 
 O feeble babe ! maternal feelings glow 
 Within this heart for thee, and thou shalt owe 
 
 To me, not birth, but life ! " 
 
 Thus Iphis spoke, hope of a monarch dread, 
 As by the Nile her gentle troop she led. 
 
 Wandering all carelessly : 
 Fair were her maids, but all their beauty paled 
 \\Tien she, ' The daughter of the Kings,' unveiled. 
 
 Seemed ' Daughter of the Sea ! ' 
 
 Now froths the wave about her shrinking feet : 
 Trembling she moves — impelled by pity sweet — 
 
 Towards the infant's side. 
 She lifts the cot, charmed with her tender load. 
 As ne'er before upon her forehead broad 
 
 Blend modesty and pride. 
 
 Soon thro' the tide, treading the rushes low, 
 She bears the rescued babe with footsteps slow. 
 
 And on the shore doth lay : 
 Then, turn by turn, her maidens bending, place 
 Their timid kisses on his rosy face. 
 
 Smiling his fears away. 
 
 " Fond mother, gazing from afar, draw nigh, 
 
 Thine infant, watched by Heaven's own gracious eye, 
 
 Again thine arms shall know. 
 Fear nought ; the secret of thine happiness, 
 Iphis, not 3'et a Mother, may not guess, 
 
 So let the glad tears flow. ' ' 
 
 G
 
 82 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Now, while the Princess, with her joyful throng, 
 To the stern Pharaoh bears the babe along, 
 
 On high the Angel Choirs 
 Their legions filling all the starry sky, 
 Their faces veiled before God's Majesty, 
 
 Sing to the eternal lyres. 
 
 " Mourn not, O Jacob ! cease to blend thy tears 
 With Nile's dark flood ; spread in thy sight appears 
 
 The Jordan's fertile shore : 
 Swift comes the happy hour when Goshen yields 
 Her captives up, to seek the promised fields. 
 
 Captives at last no more. 
 
 " See, in yon babe borne up the watery strand, 
 The Elect of Sinai, by whose strong hand 
 
 God's judgments shall be hurled. 
 Vain Mortals, who presume His ways to tell, 
 Kneel ! Thro' a cradle saves He Israel ; 
 
 So will He save the world ! ' ' 
 
 FROM THE FRENCH OF VICTOR HUGO. 
 
 COME out, the eve is fresh and sweet, 
 For showers fell at morn ; 
 Let wet grass bathe thy slender feet. 
 
 Its green their white adorn : 
 The small bird flutters thro' the brakes. 
 The moisture from his wings he shakes, 
 
 Poor bird, by Heaven blest ! 
 Singing, he hears the wind sweep by. 
 Singing, he sees bright raindrops lie 
 
 Like pearls within his nest.
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 83 
 
 The clouds their precious stores have shed, 
 
 Skies take again their blue ; 
 The fields shine, newly watered, 
 
 A silvery network through ; 
 The swollen streamlet of the plain 
 Drags bordering grasses in its train. 
 
 And lizards, sleeping caught : 
 It hurries on, and downward slants. 
 Leaping the stones, till, for the ants, 
 
 Niagaras are wrought. 
 
 And, whirling in the deluge swift, 
 
 See oarlesss insects glide. 
 Seizing the frailest rafts, they drift 
 
 On gnat-wings down the tide ; 
 And some to leaves like islands cling, 
 Asylums small and wandering, 
 
 Yet joy their woes will crown, 
 If but one little straw there is 
 Upon the brink of the abyss. 
 
 To stay their floating town. 
 
 In the warm sunshine vapours rise 
 
 From all the watery plain ; 
 The tremulous horizon flies. 
 
 Glimmers, and flies again ; 
 See how, 'neath shadowy veils there lie. 
 Like stars that gleam uncertainly. 
 
 Points sparkhng luminous ; 
 And mountains shine thro' flying mist, 
 And roofs that stream with rain are kissed 
 
 By sunlight glorious. 
 
 O'er the moist meadows we may stray 
 
 Alone at this sweet time ; 
 Shyly in mine thy soft arm lay. 
 
 And come where yonder lime 
 
 G2
 
 84 
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Spreads its cool shade ; the sun sinks fast, 
 But, ere thou watch him smile his last. 
 
 Look for a moment back, 
 Where palace and where cottage knows 
 One radiance, and the city glows 
 
 Golden on skies of black. 
 
 And see, how fast the smoke- wreaths glide 
 
 O'er roofs where mists still brood ; 
 There — glad wives in true love confide, 
 
 There — rest sad souls subdued : 
 Through life, which some to leave are fain, 
 The sun still follows after rain. 
 
 And shines behind the showers ; 
 The windows of the city glow 
 Bathed in his fires, and flaming show 
 
 Like eyes, 'neath brows of towers. 
 
 There is the rainbow ! clear its span 
 Is rounded on the sky ! 
 
 What treasures God still keeps for man 
 When storms have past him by ! 
 
 How oft, ye spheres thro' space that roll. 
 
 Has, for his wings, my longing soul, 
 With some Ithuriel striven. 
 
 Just to discover whither tends 
 
 That mighty curve that downward bends- 
 Arch of a bridge of Heaven !
 
 TRANSLATIONS. 85 
 
 €IJc ioun0 ^ottjcir 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS STURM. 
 
 npHE Baby weeps — on pillows white 
 "^ The Mother lays her Darling tender, 
 But he, by tears o'erpowered quite, 
 Will not to rest or sleep surrender. 
 
 To soothe his woes, tune after tune. 
 
 Soft, and more soft, the Mother singeth, 
 
 And round the little cradle soon 
 Slumber its fairy girdle flingeth. 
 
 And ever, as the music sinks, 
 
 Faint, and more faint, grows Baby's crying. 
 Till on his closed eye's quivering brinks, 
 
 Teardrops unshed are softly lying. 
 
 Then the sweet glamour of a dream 
 Plays lightly o'er each baby feature ; 
 
 The Mother scarce to breathe doth seem 
 Brooding above the tiny creature. 
 
 With timid hand she foldeth close 
 
 The coverlet about her treasure ; 
 She longs to kiss his cheek, but knows 
 
 A kiss might break that trance of pleasure.
 
 86 TRANSLA TIONS. 
 
 She gazes on him, rapt in bliss, 
 Leaves him awhile, but soon returning, 
 
 Eases her full heart with a kiss 
 For which her very lips are yearning. 
 
 Then, with a sigh of grateful joy, 
 Beside the little bed she kneeleth, 
 
 Asks Heaven's best blessing on her boy, 
 And to her own rest softly stealeth. 
 
 •■':mMf 

 
 H YMNS, 
 
 for tf)c 2Dap of 3!ntcrfcsfsion for Sl^issfiona. 
 
 LET one sound of supplication 
 From the Church's heart arise, 
 All her earthly temples filling, 
 Let it pierce the lofty skies ; 
 Till it reach the courts of Heaven, 
 Till it gain God's gracious ear, 
 And by faith and love prevailing 
 Heavenly blessings earthward bear. 
 
 Not for worldly gifts beseech we, 
 
 Not for power or wealth or fame, 
 But that through His fair creation 
 
 God will glorify His Name ; 
 That true hearts by Him inspired 
 
 May with holy fervour glow, 
 Ready o'er the waste of waters 
 
 With His olive-branch to go.
 
 HYMNS. 
 
 Could we feel the silent yearning- 
 
 Of the heathen for his God, 
 See the hopeless void before him 
 
 When his life's dark path is trod, 
 Mark the vain oblations offered 
 
 At the helpless idol's knee. 
 If perchance some hope of blessing 
 
 For his vi'eary soul might be, — 
 
 Every heart would swell with pity, 
 
 Every hand would haste to give 
 Freely of its richest treasure 
 
 That the dying soul might live : 
 And the young, the brave, the happy 
 
 Would rejoice to spread abroad 
 Tidings of a great salvation 
 
 Through the lands that know not God. 
 
 O Thou Universal Father, 
 
 Hear thy happier children's prayer ; 
 In the blessings of Thine Advent 
 
 May the heathen nations share. 
 Give the seed and guide the sower, 
 
 Where in zealous faith he goes. 
 Till the wilderness rejoicing 
 
 Bud and blossom as the rose. 
 
 Now to Thee, Almighty Father, 
 
 With Thine own Adored Son, 
 And the Spirit Pure and Holy, — 
 
 One in Three and Three in One — 
 Thanks for blesings past we offer, 
 
 Prayer for blessings yet to be, 
 Glory in the Highest yielding 
 
 Now and evermore to Thee. — Amen.
 
 HYMNS. 89 
 
 ^ for a Uisir 
 
 FOR all thy Saints, O Lord, whose quiet slumber 
 Is guarded by the gates of Paradise — 
 That blessed multitude no tongue may number 
 
 Who peaceful wait till Christ shall bid arise — 
 We bless Thy Name, and thank Thee, Lord, that they 
 Found strength on earth to tread Thy narrow way. 
 
 Yea, in this quiet vigil hour we tender 
 
 Our praise to Thee for every grace they showed ; 
 
 For their firm faith, their holy self-surrender ; 
 The fervent love which in their bosoms glowed : 
 
 For these, for all, we bless Thee, O our God, 
 
 And long to follow in the path they trod. 
 
 Down Time's long vista, from the world's creation, 
 We see them stream, a great, a glorious band ; 
 
 Prophets and Patriarchs of Thy favoured nation 
 Lead the long line from every race and land, 
 
 Still lengthening, widening, till the gathering bright 
 
 Receives the Saints who pass from earth to-night. 
 
 And now they rest, all pain, all trial over, 
 No weary watch their happy spirits keep ; 
 
 Theirs the calm home, whose hallowed shades did cover 
 Three days their Saviour's Soul in mystery deep : 
 
 And we, who, waiting still on earth remain, 
 
 Would watch and pray that perfect rest to gain. 
 
 * Written by request to suit the beautiful tunes in Hyviiis Ancient 
 and Modern, to F. W. Faber's " Hark ! Hark ! my Soul."
 
 90 HYMNS. 
 
 Like them, O Lord, we will not shrink from sorrow 
 Thy love ordains to bring us nearer Thee ; 
 
 So we with them may hail that glorious morrow, 
 Whose morn shall break when all the shadows flee, 
 
 Where, beyond Paradise — more blessed still — 
 
 Are light and life, upon Thy Holy Hill. Amen. 
 
 ^ctitcation of a €|)urcl). 
 
 \} f~\ GOD Whose glorious Presence fill^ 
 
 ^^ All space of earth and sea ; 
 Thy Throne the everlasting hills, 
 
 The sky its canopy, 
 How should the creatures of Thine Hand 
 
 Build Thee, O Lord, a Shrine, 
 When Nature's fanes in every land 
 
 Are Thine, and only Thine ? 
 
 Great Architect of matchless skill, 
 
 Our highest aim above ; 
 Well might we tremble and be still. 
 
 Did we not trust Thy Love ; 
 On this relying, now we dare 
 
 To dedicate to Thee 
 This House, for holy praise and prayer, 
 
 Unworthy though it be. 
 
 Lord, by Thy grace the fabric stands. 
 
 For Thou, the labour wrought 
 By loving hearts and skilful hands, 
 
 Hast blessed beyond our thought. 
 Fair seems it in our sight we own. 
 
 May it be fair in Thine, 
 Adorned by many a living stone 
 
 Of the great Church divine.
 
 HYMNS. 91 
 
 That holy Church, Thy Spirit's power 
 
 To perfect grace shall mould, 
 Then, when the temples of an hour 
 
 Sink in oblivion cold, 
 On the eternal Rock secure, 
 
 And with Its strength endowed, 
 It shall through endless years endure. 
 
 Thy Dwelling-place, O God. — Amen. 
 
 o 
 
 LINES SUGGESTED BY THE DEDICATION OF A CHAPEL, 
 Sepfember ist, iSSo. 
 
 THE heavenly City fair ! 
 When we muse upon its grace. 
 When the glory we compare 
 
 Of that high and holy place, 
 With the best our art designs, 
 
 With the best our skill achieves. 
 Then the humbled heart resigns 
 Every thought that pride conceives. 
 
 When our fancy ranging far. 
 
 Far beyond these veiling skies, 
 Sees more bright than any star 
 
 Light that lightens Paradise ; 
 Then how low the roof we rear ! 
 
 Then how dim our storied panes ! 
 Then how small, how dark appear 
 
 Even the fairest earthly fanes ! 
 
 When to the entranced ear 
 
 Hosts of radiant angels sing. 
 And from heaven's distant sphere 
 
 Wide their mystic numbers fling ;
 
 92 HYAINS. 
 
 Then how faint the songs of earth, 
 
 Though they rise from sweetest choirs, 
 
 Though the Hps that give them birth 
 Love attunes and hope inspires ! 
 
 Yet our best we offer Thee ; 
 
 Lord, accept it, and forgive. 
 And vouchsafe at last that we 
 
 May with perfect powers perceive 
 Beauty only dreamed below, 
 
 Harmony to earth denied. 
 Where the highest hopes we know 
 
 Shall, in Thee, be satisfied. Amen. 
 
 v/ 5For ^iBa^eftcrr €\it, after Confirmation. 
 
 " Before the Morning Watch." 
 
 IN this calm Eve, before the Easter morn — 
 That morn which soon our longing eyes shall see- 
 \Ve in Christ's temple stand. His soldiers sworn, 
 With Him to rise and share His victory. 
 
 Even so of old the chosen knight would stand, 
 So keeping vigil watch the eastern skies. 
 
 Ready, his virgin mail and sword at hand, 
 To rise and wear his warrior dignities. 
 
 Our night is well nigh past, the solemn time 
 Of contrite prayer and penitential tears ; 
 
 Up the dim East ere long the morn will climb, 
 And hope and gladness triumph over fears. 
 
 Soon will the grave disclose its mysteries ; 
 
 Soon will the sealed stone be rolled away 
 By angel hands : soon will our Lord arise — 
 
 The Sun that shineth to the perfect day.
 
 HYMNS. 93 
 
 To-morrow we the Paschal Feast shall keep, 
 And at His Table meet our risen King" ; 
 
 O thither may we haste with reverence deep 
 The first-fruits of our happy youth to bring ! 
 
 The faith of soldiers armed for His war, 
 
 The love of children made indeed His own ; 
 
 O Blessed Saviour, all we have and are 
 We there would consecrate to Thee alone. — Amen, 
 
 CJanh^'gibing for 2DcU\3crancc from 
 
 " Unto God the Lord belong the issues from death."— Ps. Ixviii. 20. 
 
 T^ATHER, All-wise, All-good, 
 ■»- Once more Thy children meet, 
 With health and strength alike renewed, 
 
 To worship at Thy feet. 
 They come to pour their praise 
 
 For every g-ift restored ; 
 To own that life and length of days 
 
 Are blessings from the Lord. 
 
 Saviour, whose human arm 
 
 Oft rose to cure and bless, 
 Whose earthly Presence bore a charm 
 
 Against all earth's distress. 
 We thank Thee that Thy touch 
 
 From Heaven is still the same ; 
 That to the sick and sorrowing couch 
 
 Its balm of healing came.
 
 94 HYMNS. 
 
 Most Holy Comforter, 
 
 Spirit Divine, to Thee 
 With equal love we praise prefer, 
 
 And lowly bend the knee : 
 Deigning Thy gracious art 
 
 Of solace to employ, 
 Thou, Lord, hast bid the anxious heart 
 
 To sing aloud for joy. 
 
 Throughout this mortal race 
 
 Until we reach its goal. 
 Great Trinity of Might, Love, Grace, 
 
 Still keep us, heal, console ; 
 And grant that they who late 
 
 Rose from Thy chastening rod 
 May own the Hand that ruled their fate. 
 
 And love their loving God. 
 
 [And if some drops of gall 
 
 Mix with our chalice sweet. 
 The blended draught is blest for all 
 
 Who drink it at Thy feet. 
 Lord, both of life and death, 
 
 For our dear brother gone 
 We thank Thee, though with faltering breath. 
 
 And say, " Thy will be done."] 
 
 To Thy great name a strain 
 
 Of praise and love be poured 
 By those who yet on earth remain — 
 
 Those who are with their Lord. 
 And when the closing night 
 
 Of Earth's brief day shall come. 
 Great Trinity of Grace, Love, Might, 
 
 Take all for ever Home. — Amen. 
 
 Trinity, iSjs-
 
 HYMNS. 95 
 
 First the blade, then the ear, after that the full corn in the ear.' 
 
 LO ! the golden spoil we gather 
 In a silent language tells 
 Of Thy love, Almighty Father, 
 Which all other love excels ; 
 Thou, with bounty undeserved 
 
 By the creatures of Thy hand, 
 Hast another year preserved 
 Peace and plenty in our land. 
 
 Late the sower where he laid it. 
 
 Left in faith the scattered seed. 
 Left it where His eye Who made it 
 
 Might alone its nurture heed ; 
 Soon the slender blades were showing 
 
 Through rough soil their vernal green, 
 Now a golden har\^est glowing 
 
 Floods with light the autumnal scene. 
 
 'es' 
 
 Lord, we bring with grateful pleasure 
 
 Unto Thee our thanks and praise. 
 Consecrate to Thee the leisure 
 
 Of our happy festal days : 
 We have watched the reaper bending 
 
 Low beneath the August sun, 
 Now w-e see the joyful ending 
 
 Of the work in faith begun. 
 
 Thine were all the silent powers 
 That have made Thy gift complete, 
 
 Thine the softening springtide showers, 
 Thine the ripening summer heat :
 
 96 HYMNS. 
 
 Bli.g;"ht and mildew Thou hast stayed 
 
 By Thy strong compelling- will, 
 Storm and tempest have obeyed, 
 
 Thunders at Thy voice been still. 
 
 Lord, to Thee with grateful pleasure 
 
 Bring we now our thanks and praise, 
 While of all the lavish treasure 
 
 That with plenty fills our days. 
 We would give with hand unsparing. 
 
 Want and sorrow to relieve. 
 One another's burdens bearing, 
 
 Freely give as we receive. 
 
 And may every harvest granted, 
 
 To our thoughtful spirits show 
 How Thy seed within them planted 
 
 Unto perfect grain should grow ; 
 O, may that great final reaping, 
 
 Which for wheat and tares must come. 
 See us in angelic keeping 
 
 Borne to Heavenly Garners home ! Amen. 
 
 iilViYERSJTY OF CALIFORNIS
 
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