THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 /
 
 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 A BOOK OF BALLADS AND SONGS
 
 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 A BOOK OF 
 BALLADS AND SONGS 
 
 BY 
 
 HERBERT ARTHUR MORRAH 
 
 LONDON: GEORGE ALLEN & SONS 
 
 156, CHARING CROSS ROAD 
 1909 
 
 [All rights reserved]
 
 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON 6 Co. 
 At the Ballantyne Press, Edinburgh
 
 TO 
 
 SIR F. SEYMOUR HADEN, P.R.E. 
 
 THIS TRIBUTE TO HIGH ACHIEVEMENTS 
 AND NOBLE CHARACTER 
 
 IN MEMORY 
 
 OF A FRIENDSHIP WHICH HAS ENDURED 
 "UNTO THE THIRD GENERATION" 
 
 .
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The shepherd left his flock, and then the steep i 
 
 THE SINGER 
 
 The man could sing : blown from a southern sea . . 5 
 
 THE GATES OF CHRYSOPRASE 
 
 They halted at the gates of chrysoprase .... 7 
 
 THE WOODS OF ALDERNAIN 
 
 Woods of Aldernain ! 12 
 
 A DREAMER'S VENICE 
 
 This is Venice, this the centre of a people's power and pride 1 5 
 
 A MOMENT AT WINCHESTER 
 
 Dreams of the dying year and fading day 18 
 
 THE FIRES OF FENNY VALLEY 
 
 The fires of Fenny Valley 22 
 
 vii
 
 DURLSTON BAY 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Sunset over the hills, and far at sea 26 
 
 WITH FLOWERS TO STELLA 
 
 Dear child, because a gleam of gold 3 1 
 
 AN INVITATION 
 
 Come ; the summer spirit beckons ! 33 
 
 THE STORM 
 
 The reading that she gave of love 35 
 
 To A RIVER VISITANT 
 
 O happy visitant skimming the river 37 
 
 FRIENDSHIP : A BURDEN 
 
 Friends, to a thousand times our friends . 39 
 
 JUSTICE : A PANEGYRIC 
 
 Is Justice dead? You live 4 1 
 
 THE POET 
 
 The King stepp'd down from his throne . . -45 
 
 ONE WORD 
 
 Give me one word of hope 48 
 
 THE VIGIL 
 
 Loud through the land from east to west .... 49 
 
 viii
 
 THE DREAM-DANCERS 
 
 PACK 
 
 At even, when the house is still 59 
 
 "MINE EYES UNTO THE HILLS" 
 
 Because there are so many things of Earth . . .61 
 
 A GRAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 Here is the spot, his grave by ice-peaks guarded . . 62 
 
 ILLUMINATIO 
 
 Out of the dark we came 64 
 
 THE BRIDE OF MERRYHAMPTON 
 
 Sweet maid of Merry hampton 65 
 
 WANBOROUGH FAIR 
 
 The tumult how happy, the frolic how rare .... 68 
 
 A SONG OF JUNE 
 
 Here in the rays of the sun beating down in his glorious 
 
 might 7 
 
 A SLUMBER SONG 
 
 Sleep, beloved, while above thee 72 
 
 To KATHLEEN ON HER BIRTHDAY 
 
 Dear little lady, not forgetting here 74 
 
 AN EXILE'S SONG 
 
 Home of my heart and shrine of my affections ... 76 
 
 ix
 
 A SONG OF THE SOLENT 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Up with the lark while the day is new 78 
 
 To PATRICK, WITH A BOOK 
 
 A book of ballads and songs I wrought alone and apart . 80 
 
 A LOVER'S POSTSCRIPT 
 
 Now all these griefs are over 82 
 
 THE MESSAGE 
 
 Music came rolling out of the mists of morn ... 84 
 
 THE BELLS OF BROMLEY 
 
 Bells of Bromley Village ! 95 
 
 ENGLAND, TO THEE 
 
 England, to thee, in the name of the royally gifted . . 97 
 
 RISE, GREATER LIGHT 
 
 Rise, greater light, and arising, enkindle .... 99 
 
 HAIL AND FAREWELL 
 
 Lighten our darkness : let the embers leap . . . . 101 
 
 AN EVENING HYMN 
 
 Into Thy hands, at evening call 105 
 
 ODE TO AUGUSTA 
 
 Thee, in the scrolls of eld aforetime hail'd .... 107
 
 THE SHEPHERD 
 
 I 
 
 HE shepherd left his flock, and then the steep 
 
 Ascending, heard low music of the fells 
 Distantly chiming, as a sound that swells 
 And falls unheeded on a world asleep. 
 
 T 
 
 Cold to his heart, and faint, and lost, and dim 
 His mountain-home and all its wonders lay, 
 
 Loudly he heard the City calling him : 
 
 " Shepherd, from these dull fields, away, away 
 
 41 Is yours a task to fit the soul of man ? 
 
 Gathers your life no gain, but moth, and rust ! 
 And is it true, our life is but a span 
 
 Bridging the destinies of dust and dust ?
 
 " Shepherd, the herding of a flock was sweet i 
 Once, in the primal world's fresh-scented age. 
 Recall it so ! But here's a later page, 
 
 Storied with tales of conquest and defeat, 
 
 " Hatred and love, pity, and hope, and pain, 
 Where millions surge and other millions strive ; 
 
 These cry to you, and shall you still refrain 
 From splendid life who are not yet alive ? 
 
 " The land is teeming with a fruitful seed, 
 But barren you : dreaming of better days, 
 You linger still in these deserted ways, 
 
 Your youth despoiled and your doom decreed. 
 
 " Come to the City, come, it is not well 
 
 To waste your spirit when its powers are grown ; 
 
 Gird up your loins : assault this citadel, 
 
 And know the glories that the great have known." 
 
 The shepherd's veins were quick with hope and fear ; 
 
 Musing awhile, he hasten'd to obey. 
 A maiden called him, but he would not hear, 
 
 Forth to the City straight he took his way.
 
 II 
 
 The City's curse, steel in our human blood, 
 Poisons the weak, but medicines the strong 
 For task and toil. This wind, that bears along 
 
 Us men, as straws on the relentless flood, 
 
 Breathes to a lonely soul the word of fire. 
 
 But you, O foolish shepherd, could not see 
 The flaming light unquench'd, that bids aspire, 
 
 There in your mountain-ranges calm and free. 
 
 You, for the burning spark that cannot die, 
 Changed but the blazing torches of the town, 
 
 With a rare zest you raised the brand on high, 
 And with an equal madness flung it down. 
 
 It was too late, your blood was cursed. Too late 
 To stem the raging current wild and deep. 
 
 And who should pity, in his luckless state, 
 The man, once shepherd, herded with the sheep ? 
 
 You fled the mountains, fled the meads bedew'd, 
 Once they were yours : you lost them, once for all. 
 
 Gifts of the gods are never more renew'd, 
 That you refused they will not now recall.
 
 Without regret you shared the common lot, 
 Hopeless their daily labour, yours the same ; 
 
 Joy you had none, and yet you miss'd it not, 
 
 Base were your pleasures, yet you knew no shame. 
 
 Without regret, for once you trod again 
 
 Those pastured fields awhile, and hotly flung 
 
 The City's scorn on some that heard with pain, 
 But could not answer in their rustic tongue. 
 
 They could not answer, but their silence gave 
 The just rebuke you could not understand. 
 What if they perish in an empty land ? 
 
 The City sinks you in a nameless grave. 
 
 And here's the moral, bitterly bestow'd, 
 Not upon you, but on ourselves, who rest 
 
 Here with content in this befoul'd abode, 
 Who might yet fly to Nature and be blest. 
 
 Foolish, O shepherd, you : more foolish yet 
 The poet, whom one voice persistent calls, 
 
 Who will not dare the fate before him set, 
 But breaks his heart against the City's walls.
 
 THE SINGER 
 
 THE man could sing : blown from a southern sea, 
 Tann'd by the fierce heat of the summer sun, 
 Bound as a slave for service to the free, 
 
 His life but scarce begun ; 
 Storm and high passion once had swept his soul 
 
 And sear'd his face : 
 
 " Fill ! " he had cried, " and break the flowing bowl, 
 Make grace disgrace ! " 
 
 A common story ; yet the man could sing, 
 Sing like a bird. Nay, for a bird is far 
 
 Too tender and too trivial a thing, 
 
 And stern in strength our human singers are ! 
 
 Not like a bird, but with a deeper note 
 
 Than from a nestling's throat 
 
 Can issue to the Maker of all Song 
 
 He sang, and so men listen'd, rapt and long.
 
 He sang of the live air, till the dead street 
 
 Sprang to his call, grew light and bright and wise. 
 Men held their breath, wan women stay'd their feet, 
 
 New laughter in their eyes. 
 Ringing to heights beyond his promise went, 
 
 Paused, and return'd, and sped 
 Thro' lowest courts wherein all faith was spent 
 
 Or whence all hope was fled. 
 
 Heard we the close ? 
 
 Dared we to look behind ? 
 Was it regret that rose 
 
 Or solace for the mind ? 
 God answers ! Love might yet awake, and fire 
 
 The singer's heart and will, 
 He may be soil'd and sunken in the mire, 
 
 He may be singing still.
 
 THE GATES OF CHRYSOPRASE 
 
 THEY halted at the gates of chrysoprase, 
 A thousand phantoms, worn to shadows faint : 
 Weary of the wild waste of human ways, 
 Sick of the wanton passion of dead days, 
 And conscious of their taint. 
 
 They halted. Swift their darkling pilgrimage 
 
 Through desert space, under the spell of bliss, 
 With no cold reading of life's painful page, 
 An easy flight of soul from stage to stage : 
 So that world joins to this. 
 
 And " Open ! Open ! Open ! " was the cry 
 
 At that strange halt, which seem'd so dread and dire, 
 While still the immortal music soars too high 
 For hearts which naught can soothe or satisfy 
 Save the celestial fire.
 
 Till one at last, embolden'd by distress, 
 
 Knocks at the gate, but answer cometh none. 
 
 He cares no whit, no jot for more or less, 
 
 But still upstanding in the fearsome press 
 Outstares the blinding sun. 
 
 Crying, in speech of woe : " No merit mine, 
 But suffering only, not with patience borne ; 
 
 God's glance I never felt, nor touch benign : 
 
 My world no splendid star of His design : 
 But spittle of His scorn ! 
 
 " Yet haply, if He hear, or if refrain, 
 That sorry coil we knew of earth may mend. 
 
 But who shall answer if our cry be vain ? 
 
 How, if these gates of glory barr'd remain, 
 Our waiting find its end ? " 
 
 He ceased : and loudly through the listening throng 
 Murmurs arose, weird as the ghosts of thought, 
 
 As though each heart shrank dead from sense of wrong, 
 
 Nor any music heard, save muted song 
 Echoing from spheres unsought. 
 
 8
 
 Husht was the scene. From gates far lost in cloud 
 
 The jewell'd flames of glory seem'd to fade, 
 All voices sank to silence, heads were bow'd, 
 As though in sight above the phantom crowd 
 There swung the phantom blade : 
 
 The blade that cuts all hope, all blossom down, 
 The sword of silent wrath, unswerving might, 
 Swift, sharp, and sure, impatient to discrown, 
 Taking man's highest record of renown 
 To close it to the light. 
 
 Whereon in depth of the descending gloom 
 
 Vanish'd and fail'd all feelings save despair ; 
 And nothing but their loss had place or room, 
 Nor knowledge other than impending doom, 
 Immitigable care. 
 
 Who tells how long this torture held its sway ? 
 
 The tragic tale is written in God's book. 
 These are the lines of truth, and they shall say 
 Who wipe their terrors with their tears away 
 
 And in that mirror look.
 
 For sudden, soft, from shadows dimly coil'd, 
 
 Out of the gloom of an exhausted storm, 
 As though the powers of darkness were despoil'd 
 In the white glimmer of a robe unsoil'd, 
 There moved, a human form. 
 
 And with the music stirr'd, which in the glow 
 New peace dispersed for dark disorder wild, 
 Through the long ranks erst tossing to and fro 
 Which fell to solemn order, row on row, 
 There walk'd, a little child. 
 
 With radiant air he came, and certain pace, 
 His form full fair, stainless his very guise, 
 Passing with joyous triumph in his face, 
 He touch 'd the barrier, with divining grace 
 Of knowledge in his eyes : 
 
 The gates flew open ! And to loftier height 
 
 Beyond the open screen unfolded far, 
 Stretch'd, to the spirit fain, the gladden'd sight, 
 Vaster, those halls of unimagined light, 
 God's realms of star and star : 
 
 10
 
 Whereto the child, with swift and instant feet, 
 
 Led on, as one unstain'd of hate or sin, 
 Nor fail'd one soul to follow as was meet : 
 And all their woes were lost in safety sweet : 
 And so they entered in. 
 
 ii
 
 THE WOODS OF ALDERNAIN 
 
 WOODS of Aldernain ! 
 How full of grace and glory, 
 How redolent of pain 
 
 To those who know your story ! 
 For though, with Winter dead 
 
 Hath Spring begun her reign, 
 Thy glades the children never tread, 
 O woods of Aldernain ! 
 
 Woods of Aldernain ! 
 
 The maid was such a treasure, 
 Her eyes had such disdain ; 
 
 In laughter was her pleasure. 
 Alas ! her cries were vain 
 
 Against the fate which bound her, 
 And lifeless she had lain 
 
 Long, when the children found her. 
 
 12
 
 Her form, which men thought fair, 
 Was happy childhood's bane 
 
 And the children left her lying there 
 In the woods of Aldernain. 
 
 Woods of Aldernain ! 
 
 The children will not blunder 
 Into your heart again. 
 
 But still, when roaring thunder 
 Breaks with a storm of rain, 
 
 They cry : " Though spirits strive 
 To wash away the stain, 
 
 A mortal grief is yet alive 
 In the woods of Aldernain ! " 
 
 Woods of Aldernain ! 
 
 This was good Fortune's doing, 
 So fertile your domain 
 
 Is grown from Nature's wooing. 
 There the wild creatures roam, 
 
 Happily met and mated, 
 By wanton feet their home 
 
 Is never desecrated.
 
 And what was foul is fair, 
 And what was loss is gain, 
 
 For Spring is rich, Summer is rare, 
 In the woods of Alder nain !
 
 A DREAMER'S VENICE 
 
 THIS is Venice, this the centre of a people's power 
 and pride ; 
 Dead, you call it ? Shall we enter ? See, the door is 
 
 open wide 
 
 Make our bow to dead San Marco ? Dead, if all the 
 saints have died ! 
 
 You, sir, with your northern vision and your friendly 
 
 foreign air, 
 Talk of death with strange precision. Death is foul, but 
 
 life is fair ; 
 Here is life ; no land is fairer ; there's the truth, deny 
 
 who dare !
 
 Here is life, the high immortal knowledge of a love which 
 
 brings 
 Through this stately graven portal, borne on yonder 
 
 angels' wings 
 Hope to men who take the burden, bear the cross of 
 
 earthly things. 
 
 Good, you think your kind of thriving argues other folks' 
 
 decay ! 
 What's your progress but depriving life of sweetness, 
 
 anyway ? 
 You with your machines and madness, dust and discord, 
 
 fret and fray. 
 
 Here, if labour lags a little, here, if tires the spirit soon, 
 Time is short as glass is brittle we enjoy life's after- 
 noon ! 
 
 Quickly fall the evening shadows, night sinks down on 
 the lagoon. 
 
 They who gave us of their glory gave us all the world 
 beside, 
 
 16
 
 You, who come to read our story, gaze upon our strength, 
 
 our pride, 
 Make your bows to great San Marco, ask his pardon, 
 
 since you lied ! 
 
 Rough, perhaps, my speech, but burning with the zeal 
 
 of faithful will, 
 Make it yours, and so returning keep it yours for good 
 
 or ill, 
 Venice is as great as ever, all her fires are blazing still. 
 
 So your hand, sir, men and nations are but accidents of 
 
 birth. 
 What if these your desolations wide you spread and far 
 
 your dearth ? 
 Venice rests the great protectress of the beauties of the 
 
 earth. 
 
 17 B
 
 A MOMENT AT WINCHESTER 
 
 DREAMS of the dying year and fading day 
 Shine through this line of gloom, this leafless 
 
 shade, 
 
 Bringing the sun to mock the earth's decay, 
 In which but yester-night our hearts we laid : 
 Those hearts that yester-eve 
 Could only rasp and grieve 
 For some lost eminence of power or place, 
 Yet held, in care's despite, 
 A promise of the light, 
 And cast despair aside, to pray for grace. 
 
 For lo, it is with men as with the soil, 
 
 Barren and bleak while heat and frost and wind 
 
 Slake from the deep their thirst, that corn and oil 
 Spring forth, with all ripe blessings in their kind ; 
 
 18
 
 That through the pregnant mould 
 
 Our living eyes behold 
 Our fathers' world, as though it were the same, 
 
 The very earth we know 
 
 Fruit-bearing, in the glow 
 Of this bright sun, that consecrated name. 
 
 So are we one with those who went before ! 
 
 Here the grey clothes of venerated age 
 Hide, with our own, one nakedness the more 
 Pleading the common shame, and History's page 
 
 In which time-sodden street 
 
 The generations meet 
 To cry the sorrows which at least perdure, 
 
 The old to l weep in vain, 
 
 The new to vaunt their pain, 
 All to lament the doom which calls too sure. 
 
 What of this doom, that we are still distress'd 
 Who wander cold beside these crumbling walls ? 
 
 We tread the stones more patient feet have press'd, 
 We crush in haste to our own funerals.
 
 Traces their wisdom gave 
 
 To check the greedy grave 
 Lie on the path that is not yet fulfill'd, 
 
 The path their virtue made, 
 
 Who charge us, unafraid, 
 " Lose not the sense of height the while you build." 
 
 Was that your motto ? Was it thus you plann'd 
 
 The city beautiful, so that it grew 
 Beyond you ? For the mute perfections stand 
 Mighty ensamples for the fit and few. 
 
 Yonder, an anger'd race 
 
 The feverish market-place 
 Curses, for slight ills now to monsters grown, 
 
 Forgetting in its need 
 
 That the unsifted seed 
 Springs to the bitterest fruit where it was sown. 
 
 But here is peace, freshly engender'd still 
 In this calm plot, where silence conquers speech, 
 
 Where springing lights, speaking from hill to hill, 
 Point to a land that lies within your reach. 
 
 20
 
 Yours, though the mirage seem 
 
 The offspring of a dream, 
 Who have not falter'd, are not left forlorn ; 
 
 Who tend the failing fires 
 
 That gild a thousand spires, 
 Who guard at night the treasures of the morn. 
 
 21
 
 THE FIRES OF FENNY VALLEY 
 
 THE fires of Fenny Valley 
 Lift to the lurid sky 
 
 Their gaunt arms and their fetid smoke, 
 That men may live thereby. 
 
 Such joys as earth may yield us 
 
 Fleet with the wind away : 
 But power we have, to fashion yet 
 
 Life for a better day. 
 
 Look backward to the cradle, 
 
 Look forward to the grave, 
 Behold the onslaught of the sea, 
 
 The backwash of the wave : 
 
 22
 
 The flotsam and the jetsam 
 Thrown by each wanton tide, 
 
 And here and there a wasted corpse 
 You yet may sleep beside : 
 
 But ever, while the sunlight 
 
 Speaks of a dawn to come, 
 See where your fellows strain their arms 
 
 And hear the markets hum ! 
 
 With them, from dawn to darkness, 
 
 Forge you the iron bars, 
 And little more than the machine 
 
 Pay heed to blows and scars ! 
 
 Forge as your fathers forged them, 
 
 Nor live nor lust in vain, 
 But wrestle with the earth for wealth, 
 
 To give it back again ; 
 
 Knowing that while they labour'd 
 
 Whose sinews now decay, 
 The valley had no use for saints, 
 
 And you are much as they. 
 
 23
 
 Our fathers took such pleasures 
 
 As came within their ken : 
 They loved, as wisely as ourselves, 
 
 The sport of making men. 
 
 And we must do our duty, 
 And give the maids their due ; 
 
 That if the world were empty, we 
 Might start the race anew. 
 
 For past the reeking valley, 
 We hear them moan and fret, 
 
 Whose children from unwelcome birth 
 Are nurst to bleak regret : 
 
 A dull demure existence 
 
 Where all men have their fill, 
 
 The cold heart, and the coward's part, 
 Take them who can and will ! 
 
 But here's the heaving murmur 
 Of million wheels that whirr, 
 
 Here is the essence, pulsing warm, 
 That keeps the world astir : 
 
 24
 
 Blood that beyond to-morrow 
 
 Shall fill a nation's need, 
 Raising, to an insurgent call, 
 
 The sanest, sturdiest breed, 
 
 While fires of Fenny Valley 
 
 Leap lurid to the sky, 
 And fill the world with light and flame, 
 
 That men may live thereby !
 
 DURLSTON BAY 
 
 SUNSET over the hills, and far at sea 
 One ship, a living mark, sighting the land, 
 Hails us to measure what her strength may be, 
 
 How master'd, and how mann'd. 
 Tis England's flag she flies : England's, whose charge 
 Rises beyond the dim world's widest marge 
 And keeps our future free ! 
 
 Sunset over the sea, and in the haze 
 
 Of summer heat, a breeze that murmurs low 
 
 Some fragrant memory of Dorset days 
 Lasting from long ago : 
 
 A poet's message, and a human creed, 
 
 The heart's demand ; that men no more misread 
 The men and modes they know ; 
 
 26
 
 But bring with song the sunshine over the hills, 
 Waking, to join our life, a world that runs 
 
 In wider grooves, whose jubilation fills 
 The sphere of circling suns, 
 
 Whose glory gives our littleness its poise ; 
 
 While we, who revel in life's lesser joys, 
 Know not the pace that kills. 
 
 Then, ere the moon shine faintly over the wold, 
 
 Let us ingather all the charm of earth 
 That makes men see, though other thoughts strike cold, 
 
 Boys in their mood of mirth. 
 So, boys of Durlston, make the most of day ! 
 Play is grand labour ! Is your labour play ? 
 
 Or must you too grow old ? 
 
 O for an echo ringing over the wave 
 
 " Never despair of England, youth on her side ! " 
 
 Thus let your chorus, set to a joyful stave, 
 Swing with the moving tide ! 
 
 Beneath these rocks such mighty forces heave 
 
 As soon might crush you : but you must believe 
 He conquers who is brave. 
 
 27
 
 Conquest ? Who spoke of conquest ? Over the downs, 
 Over the main, a perfect calm doth brood. 
 
 Yonder, how many minds in Dorset towns 
 Have caught their poet's mood ! 
 
 Now into Poole the wakeful waters creep, 
 
 Now on grey Corfe and on her crumbling steep 
 The modern spirit frowns ; 
 
 And nothing, from the ages over and flown, 
 
 Can ever be, nor can appear the same. 
 But learn a language to the past unknown, 
 
 And give yourselves a name ! 
 And when they bid you take as slaves your hire, 
 And pass from torch to torch your borrow'd fire, 
 
 Whose birthright is a throne, 
 
 Look back with patient eyes, and over the page 
 Forward, as seeing all things old and new, 
 
 Gravely discern how honest men must wage 
 War for the right and true. 
 
 Time's gold was never delved to make us slaves ! 
 
 That doctrine, festering in a thousand graves, 
 Is not of English hue. 
 
 28
 
 Nay, as your vision ranges over the space 
 Wherein we many with reluctance fare 
 
 Ev'n as you burn to strip you for the race 
 In which you long to share 
 
 Behold our players in their winning parts, 
 
 And take more fondly to your eager hearts 
 Those who can lose with grace ! 
 
 Speak, summer, youth, and pastime, over so soon- 
 Say, kindly nurture, all too quickly past 
 
 Have these, for blossom of life's afternoon 
 No promise that shall last ? 
 
 No seed to ripen and no fruit to fall 
 
 To the great Harvester who loves us all, 
 And fails not of his boon ? 
 
 Sunset over the sea gives answer fair, 
 
 Sunrise shall gild the shore with one reply 
 
 " In that vast England of the brighter air, 
 The sunlight cannot die. 
 
 What we hold fast is all the wide world's gain ; 
 
 What we hold not, let other hands retain, 
 If Freedom flourish there ! " 
 
 29
 
 Ay, Freedom ! To hold the Cross still over the Crown 
 Though half the world take vengeance for a text 
 
 So pledge your faith, so charter your renown 
 For this life and the next. 
 
 And they, who ventured lamely in the fight, 
 
 Longing shall watch you from the lists of light, 
 Unto the last sundown !
 
 WITH FLOWERS TO STELLA 
 
 DEAR child, because a gleam of gold 
 Your grey eyes luminously hold, 
 These blossoms, with their grateful hue, 
 Have turn'd my vagrant thoughts to you, 
 Knowing they cannot fail to yield 
 The grace and fragrance of the field, 
 Although they breathe, for human ears, 
 Change, and the sense of falling tears, 
 Because these buds, which must decay 
 In the declining of a day, 
 Speak of a doom too soon in store, 
 When I who send them come no more. 
 
 Child, when outworn and weary, I 
 This husk of being have put by, 
 And long unseen, unspoken, go 
 The loves and hopes I cherish so,
 
 Deep in your looks the world shall see 
 How that your heart remembers me. 
 The children you have taught to play, 
 Light as yourself, with eyes as grey, 
 Shall chance amid their roystering 
 To lilt the tunes I tried to sing, 
 And raise, in their melodious rhyme, 
 This half -forgotten summer-time.
 
 AN INVITATION 
 
 COME ; the summer spirit beckons ! 
 Leave your highways of the city ; 
 
 Let the gay and let the witty 
 Bid you stay : yet one that reckons 
 
 Art unkind, but Nature tender, 
 Calls you to the deeper pleasure, 
 Takes his cup, and fills his measure, 
 
 Claims your presence, cries your pity, 
 
 Asks your passionate surrender, 
 Bids you give him all your treasure, 
 
 Where the ripen'd glories rise 
 
 Of an earthly Paradise. 
 
 Come ; for yet you have not sighted 
 This green land of rock and river, 
 Where the waters gleam ; where quiver 
 
 Marshes frost hath never blighted. 
 
 33 c
 
 Here our Graces with their singing 
 Soon could tame your Furies' passion, 
 Here survives the ancient fashion, 
 
 Honour lives : Love is requited. 
 
 And the heart you have delighted 
 Shall not fail fresh tribute bringing, 
 
 Heralding the time to be : 
 
 Faint yet bold ; a slave, but free. 
 
 Come ; the spell is yet unbroken, 
 Canopies the heaven o'er us 
 Spread, and life that lies before us 
 
 Hath the stars for sign and token 
 
 Of a faith unseen, yet spoken 
 With the music you discover 
 In the language of a lover : 
 
 So this mystic note of beauty 
 Swells into a lighter chorus, 
 
 Calls you to your present duty : 
 Come, nor evermore depart ; 
 All my hope is in your heart ! 
 
 34
 
 THE STORM 
 
 THE reading that she gave of love 
 Was like the storms that brood above, 
 Was like a cloud that passes by, 
 A whirlwind that afflicts the sky, 
 Part of the tumult of a dream 
 Where things are never what they seem. 
 
 But if she wanted peace and rest, 
 Why were her fancies frenzy-drest ? 
 By some these things are lightly done, 
 She would not so be lost or won. 
 Nay, but to stir her soul's desire 
 There must be flood, there must be fire, 
 And I must go through both to win 
 The heart she wrapp'd her passions in. 
 
 35
 
 So, when I knew her heart was mine, 
 
 I thought her fury was divine. 
 
 And though I fear'd, I would not fly 
 
 The darts of her intensity. 
 
 For Nature works with storms that surge, 
 
 With cuts that heal, with draughts that purge ; 
 
 And woman, by her wile and will, 
 
 Speaks with the voice of Nature still. 
 
 So let her often speak to me 
 
 And various let her accents be, 
 
 For words that strike, and thoughts that rive 
 
 Will keep the weakest faith alive, 
 
 And, when the tempest once is past, 
 
 Ourselves shall blow the counterblast. 
 
 36
 
 TO A RIVER VISITANT 
 
 O HAPPY visitant skimming the river 
 With greater grace than any sailor plies, 
 Wheeling aloft, as ready to deliver 
 
 A word of freedom straight from sullen skies : 
 Here is thy home, yonder is thy dominion, 
 
 Here the black flood, and there the salient brine, 
 And yet thou waverest on uncertain pinion, 
 Taking no rest, calling no refuge thine ! 
 
 Answers the wind, bursting in vigorous thunder, 
 
 Answers the high crest of the troubled main, 
 As though o'erhead an angel spoke, and under, 
 
 Giants, mighty in wrath, awoke with pain ; 
 While, fathoms deep, wild monsters past restraining 
 
 Gnash for blind hate against the unyielding stone, 
 Hurling in pitiless rage their strength remaining 
 
 Against the cliffs whence the wise birds are flown. 
 
 o 
 
 37
 
 Tarry awhile, thou well-advised stranger ! 
 
 Tarry awhile, and soon thou shalt return, 
 For thee the murky town holds little danger, 
 
 Thee its wild lights shall neither blind nor burn. 
 Quickly the storms die in the shining distance, 
 
 The tides resume their calm and equal flow, 
 The fiercer furies slacken their resistance, 
 
 The genial sun beams forth, and thou canst go. 
 
 But I if it could be that I might follow 
 
 Down to some channel where the white sea breaks, 
 Scattering music sweet through the caverns hollow 
 
 Dash'd by salt spume in diamantine flakes 
 There would I stay, and, loosed from the world's sadness, 
 
 Forget the care which now too seldom sleeps, 
 And hear the laughter of the ocean's madness, 
 
 And wait the tempest rolling from the deeps.
 
 FRIENDSHIP: A BURDEN 
 
 FRIENDS, to a thousand times our friends, 
 Until at last the journey ends ! 
 Although in acting as they would, 
 None but themselves had seen it good ; 
 Although they put a vision frail 
 Above the sense that should prevail ; 
 And cold contention took the place 
 Of simple and conceding grace. 
 They call'd it Love the magic thought 
 
 Made protest ill. 
 Seldom Life gives us what it ought, 
 
 But what our follies will. 
 
 These friends, alas, in whom we trust, 
 Who are not ordinary dust, 
 Whose nobler hearts give to mankind 
 What's lacking in the general mind : 
 
 39
 
 These worthy natures, zealous, fine, 
 Who see the world a world divine, 
 Yet fail what's near them to discern ; 
 Who love to teach, but will not learn- 
 Behold them ! Is it not a grief 
 That they should mock at our belief ? 
 All that we had to them we gave : 
 
 They were not free 
 To take, and bury in the grave 
 
 Their own felicity ! 
 
 40
 
 JUSTICE: A PANEGYRIC 
 
 IS Justice dead ? You live 
 Where the black past is past, 
 Where all who hate forgive, 
 
 Where, full in light, at last 
 Those bitter troubles die 
 
 That held our souls in thrall, 
 Where none are great or small, 
 Where none are low or high, 
 But God is all in all. 
 
 Not dead ! Because you stand 
 
 In an unshadow'd land, 
 And that your spirit gave 
 This side the hungry grave 
 
 First for your country's good, 
 
 Then for the brotherhood 
 Of all who feel and think
 
 Of all who suffer pain 
 In body, soul, or brain, 
 
 The feeble and the brave, 
 For them that dare the flood 
 
 Or hover near the brink 
 All that you gave of power, 
 
 All that you gave of love 
 Rises here to your praise. 
 For first in passionate days, 
 And at the sunrise hour, 
 
 Your prayers aroused above 
 A force that seem'd to sleep ; 
 
 Then it was yours to move 
 Quick hands and willing feet 
 Under the scorching heat 
 
 Of an angry summer sun. 
 
 Yet w r as your work not done ! 
 
 On through the night, when deep 
 The mystic silence hung, 
 Or loud some brazen tongue 
 Clang'd a despairing knell, 
 You whisper'd : " It is well ! " 
 You bade the discords drown :
 
 Your spirit rose at need, 
 
 You touch'd the hero's note, 
 
 You did the hero's deed, 
 
 You struck ; and worlds remote 
 
 Swore that the stroke should tell. 
 
 Hero that were the name 
 
 To set a captive free. 
 Saint were a higher claim 
 
 Blessing the years to be. 
 For you, O lofty soul, 
 No shining aureole 
 
 Can add to your renown. 
 Through you, to distant skies, 
 The voice of honour cries, 
 
 Speaking a nation's shame. 
 Yet, by the perfect just 
 
 Lives truth, and dieth blame. 
 Your body falls to dust, 
 
 Your soul lives on the same. 
 By faith and hope and light 
 You bid us walk aright, 
 
 Eschew the gauds of fame 
 
 43
 
 And pray for perfect sight. 
 So let us work and fight : 
 
 In vain shall Justice callj 
 The prisoner's chain shall rust, 
 
 His bands decay and fall, 
 Depart the years of lust, 
 
 And God be all in all. 
 
 44
 
 THE POET 
 
 THE King stepp'd down from his throne, 
 Robed in his royal fashion, 
 His sword-rest clang'd on the angry stone, 
 His lips were cold with passion. 
 
 His words were the words of rage, 
 Though they took the tone of sorrow : 
 
 " Gather me Statesman, Saint, and Sage ; 
 We must make war to-morrow ! " 
 
 The Statesman's words were few, 
 But a terrible fierceness framed them, 
 
 And the people shouted when they knew 
 What light, what fire inflamed them. 
 
 45
 
 The Saint was longer : he sigh'd : 
 
 And tearfully talk'd of friction : 
 But look'd on the signs of strife with pride, 
 
 And murmur'd a benediction. 
 
 Then the Sage spoke up for them all : 
 *' Nature," he said, " hath a hunger 
 
 For havoc. Answer her stirring call 
 As they did when the world was younger ! " 
 
 But the Poet came forth with a cry, 
 And their pulses beat the faster : 
 
 " For Love ye live, yet for Hate would die 
 And which of the twain is your master ? 
 
 " Nay, let me sing you a song 
 
 Of a fair, heroical haven, 
 Where peace makes her joy life-long ! " 
 
 But the King said : " This is a craven ! " 
 
 Stung, he replied : " I will go." 
 
 " Cheer us," they said, " with your singing 
 But his answer came " Not so ! " 
 
 And his accents, too, were stinging. 
 
 46
 
 He said : " If I fight, I fight, 
 With a patriot's zest and gladness : 
 
 When we return, I will write 
 
 The truth of this racial madness ! 
 
 " I will sing, when we all return, 
 Such a strain of fear and thunder, 
 
 That half of the world with shame shall burn, 
 Half tremble with hopeful wonder ! " 
 
 He fell in the front of the fray, 
 And the song on his lips was blended 
 
 With shouts of a wonderful day 
 Whose echoes are not yet ended. 
 
 But what he sang is unknown, 
 And what he felt is unsated, 
 
 The world is no happier grown, 
 Its horrors are scarcely abated. 
 
 They raised a great stone to his name, 
 Letter'd large with a soldierly story, 
 
 They gave the proud cause of his fame, 
 And a Lie is his Title to Glory. 
 
 47
 
 ONE WORD 
 
 GIVE me one word of hope, 
 When days are sad and long, 
 And that sweet music shall awake 
 New harmonies of song. 
 
 Give me the word of love 
 
 Which once your lips could frame, 
 And I'll return the longing thought 
 
 That rises at your name. 
 
 Give me one word of life, 
 
 And all the days of woe 
 Shall pass through darkness to the light 
 
 We lived in long ago. 
 
 48
 
 THE VIGIL 
 
 A LEGEND OF THE MISSION-FIELD 
 
 I 
 
 EUD through the land from east to west 
 Red battle surged ; from north to south 
 The demon of a world's unrest 
 Blazed in the angry cannon's mouth. 
 
 And growing fury, creeping fire, 
 
 Sprang from the outer darkness deep, 
 
 Uncheck'd, to hurl a people's ire 
 On distant nations lost in sleep. 
 
 Soundly they slept ! They could not hear 
 Low from our lips that hopeful call, 
 
 That prayer for life, which knows not fear, 
 Yet asks that death may not befall, 
 
 49 D
 
 For life is sweet, and men must take 
 Into their hearts wife, child, and friend. 
 
 But sound they slept, and only wake 
 Knowing the strange and dreadful end. 
 
 Yet God gave strength : and morn by morn 
 
 Faithful His luminary rose 
 To give, with every hour new-born, 
 
 A light unseen of friends and foes. 
 
 We look'd the future in the face, 
 And dared its issue : it was kind. 
 
 The body loses form and grace, 
 Remains the beauty of the mind 
 
 Remains the inward health and light, 
 Force of the brain, strength of the will, 
 
 Remains the heart's supernal sight, 
 
 Remains the soul's own splendour still. 
 
 We said farewell to life and love, 
 We said farewell to hope and youth, 
 
 We glanced below, we gazed above, 
 And so we faced the tragic truth. 
 
 50
 
 Fears in our danger rose, but fell : 
 At first the children held their breath, 
 
 But soon they heard, and it was well, 
 As of a friend, the name of Death. 
 
 And so to arms, while east and west 
 Red battle surged, and north and south 
 
 The demon of a world's unrest 
 
 Blazed in the fiery cannon's mouth. 
 
 II 
 
 Each to his task : each to his post : 
 We took our orders, none rebell'd ; 
 
 We shared with those who loved it most 
 The honour of the name we held. 
 
 And all was ready, come the dread 
 Deliverance as it might and must. 
 
 Our chief looked noble as he said : 
 " Do but your duty, God is just."
 
 Each to his post. Increased the strain, 
 The days were one hard labour long, 
 
 But still we found our wits again, 
 And sometimes laughter rose to song. 
 
 A cheerful band, together knit, 
 Old friends, and only one away, 
 
 And he ? The good God answer it ! 
 Alone. He could not disobey. 
 
 And yet how grand his fatal lot, 
 A mortal shielding the divine, 
 
 For though he fall, he suffers not 
 
 Who guards till death a sacred shrine. 
 
 We left him when the hour was late 
 (One only could be spared to rest 
 
 Within the sanctuary gate 
 
 Before the emblems of the blest). 
 
 His face was calm, his eyes were bright ; 
 
 With cheerful voice he said " Good-bye 
 And pointed to the single light 
 
 That hung before the altar high. 
 
 52
 
 He spoke we answer'd with a smile ; 
 
 " You die together : I alone. 
 The future ? Tis a little while, 
 
 And we shall meet before the Throne." 
 
 And in his glance there shone the trust 
 Of those whose work is yet to do. 
 
 The scoffer's scorn lay deep in dust, 
 For they who wonder'd found him true. 
 
 Forth to our fearful toil we went 
 Through empty court and vacant room, 
 
 And there, his courage still unspent, 
 We left him kneeling in the gloom. 
 
 Ill 
 
 The days, the very hours were long ; 
 
 And twenty times he heard the clock 
 Above him chime for evensong. 
 
 Twice every day he turned the lock, 
 
 53
 
 Seeking the cloister. There the store 
 Was scanty. Little was his need ; 
 
 He would not give the body more, 
 It was his soul he will'd to feed. 
 
 And all the while from east to west, 
 With distant thunder north and south, 
 
 The demon of a world's unrest 
 
 Blazed in the furious cannon's mouth. 
 
 One night he turn'd at the quick sound 
 Of footsteps, while the angry storm 
 
 Seem'd nearer. On the holy ground 
 There stoop'd to him a sombre form. 
 
 A friend ! A parchment-yellow face, 
 But still a friend, who spoke with haste : 
 
 " The time is short, but I can trace, 
 Master, a path across the waste, 
 
 Where all lie dead. The time is short ! " 
 The priest but bless'd him by his name : 
 
 " In days of good and ill report 
 
 You helped me. Christ would do the same." 
 
 54
 
 " But look," he said, " there, overhead, 
 Light fails. Our foes I fain would foil." 
 
 With magic feet his servant sped 
 
 And brought him back a cruse of oil. 
 
 Blest service ! Once again the glow 
 Shone brightly as it shone of old ; 
 
 With thanks he made his servant go : 
 
 " We meet," he said, " when all's unroll'd." 
 
 " Dead ! " And the merry music still'd 
 
 Of children ; the perfected zeal 
 Of men and women, proudly fill'd 
 
 With love for this strange people's weal. 
 
 Gone 1 And he shrank a moment, blind 
 With horror : then to lift his eyes 
 
 And see, past every fate unkind, 
 A sign of perfect peace arise. 
 
 IV 
 
 Night fell. Once more the solemn hour 
 Of vigil through increasing pain, 
 
 Alone, whilst in the quiet tower 
 Chimed the sweet bell again, again, 
 
 55
 
 To daylight, with an aching heart 
 He watch'd and waited for release. 
 
 The slightest whisper made him start : 
 He pray'd with pallid lips for peace. 
 
 Peace, but to keep that altar light 
 
 Steadily burning till he died. 
 And after ? God maintains the right ; 
 
 The rest He will at last provide. 
 
 " My happiest duty's all but done, 
 I fear no sword's benignant edge, 
 
 But fear, ere yet my race be run, 
 The last most dreadful sacrilege." 
 
 He spoke with utterance faint and weak, 
 Hunger had long begun to gnaw, 
 
 But still he pray'd, intent to seek 
 Mercy for those without the law. 
 
 Then the light flicker'd, and his strength 
 Grew with the moments less and less. 
 
 But prayers are heard. Loud, loud at length 
 He heard the rabble shriek and press. 
 
 56
 
 He rose to meet them, threw the door 
 Wide open ; came full strength anew, 
 
 Then at one blow the holy floor 
 Was quickly stain'd a crimson hue. 
 
 But ere he fell one glance he flung 
 Backward, to lift a cry of praise, 
 
 For there before the altar hung 
 
 No flickering light. A mighty blaze, 
 
 A golden splendour, seen of men 
 Who hold the faith when all is gone. 
 
 He saw, and died. And only then 
 The blind unreasoning crowd swept on. 
 
 V 
 
 O crowning mercy, vigil blest, 
 Hiding from those imperfect eyes 
 
 The triumph of that strange unrest ! 
 For we, from vantage of the skies, 
 
 57
 
 See with an undiminish'd faith 
 The light, extinguish'd for an hour, 
 
 Pass from the dim abodes of death 
 To radiance of a higher power : 
 
 While through the land from east to west 
 Dark fury rules, and north and south 
 
 Blind anger, with a demon's zest, 
 Is blazing in the cannon's mouth : 
 
 See fresh reveal'd, through weal and woe, 
 That ancient promise, made of yore, 
 
 As light athwart the darkness : " Go, 
 For I am with you evermore ! "
 
 THE DREAM-DANCERS 
 
 AT even, when the house is still, 
 The far, far world a silence holding, 
 When angry voices, harsh and shrill, 
 
 Have ceased at last their cruel scolding : 
 With irksome thoughts alone I sit 
 And on the ills of life I ponder, 
 And ask if Wisdom, Grace, or Wit 
 
 Will have the strength to mend them, yonder. 
 
 Then, suddenly, to ease my woe, 
 
 Out come the dancers, stepping lightly 
 Where, in the hearth's uncertain glow, 
 
 One spark shines, scintillating brightly : 
 And soon around the room they fling 
 
 Their merry notes, their wanton pleasure ; 
 Were I not spell-bound, I would spring 
 
 To catch their glee, to join their measure ! 
 
 59
 
 Dream-dancers ! As they dance, they dream 
 
 That all those half-decay'd romances 
 Love, and Goodwill, and Peace Supreme 
 
 Are solemn truths, not idle fancies : 
 And I who watch am smitten mute, 
 
 I cannot mock their happy seeming, 
 I frown : my grimness they refute : 
 
 I smile : and know not I am dreaming ! 
 
 60
 
 "MINE EYES UNTO THE HILLS" 
 
 BECAUSE there are so many things of Earth 
 Our mortal eyes have probed not, we assign 
 To those vast heights which were before our birth 
 The deeper knowledge which is call'd Divine. 
 We, the Imperfect, who the Perfect seek, 
 Can so discern the Infinite Supreme 
 And Gracious Power that guides us, strong or weak, 
 In nothing Myth : that not an empty dream 
 Is the sure Hope of our deliver'd souls ; 
 But as, with winds that from the cloudland blow, 
 A veil athwart the distance as it rolls, 
 Can neither hide the peaks, nor spoil the glow, 
 So, that our spirits oft distress'd must be, 
 Our sight made faint with tears, our hearts from shame, 
 The mountains know in their sublimity, 
 And knowing, guide us by the Eternal Flame. 
 
 61
 
 A GRAVE IN THE MOUNTAINS 
 
 HERE is the spot, his grave by ice-peaks guarded, 
 Where sunlight streaks the gloom. 
 His shroud the robes which angels have discarded, 
 Who watch above his tomb. 
 
 He was a man to death who pass'd still singing, 
 
 And yet the echoes grow 
 Shaking the clefts whence the strong pines are springing, 
 
 Where mountain-whirlwinds blow. 
 
 How light his step ! For, if his eyes were daunted, 
 
 Some bard of Greece or Rome 
 Quicken'd his music : or his clear voice chanted 
 
 The simpler songs of home. 
 
 62
 
 What of his hopes ? He held that Right must flourish. 
 
 What of his fears ? His heart was not afraid. 
 Earth had the seed, and surely He would nourish 
 
 By Whom that earth was made. 
 
 Such was his life : here let the mountains hold him 
 
 Whose spirit is the same. 
 Let yonder citadel in peace enfold him, 
 
 And crown it with his name.
 
 ILLUMINATIO 
 
 OUT of the dark we came, 
 Into the light we go, 
 A sun that sees our shame, 
 An all-revealing flame, 
 A purifying glow. 
 
 Yet these, by passion stain'd, 
 And those, by frenzies torn, 
 Who life and hope disdain' d, 
 To curse, while strength remain'd, 
 The day when they were born, 
 
 Shall breathe with us the same 
 Blest air, Death's overthrow, 
 
 And the redeeming flame, 
 And the restoring glow : 
 
 Out of the dark they came, 
 Into the light they go. 
 
 64
 
 THE BRIDE OF MERRYHAMPTON 
 
 SWEET maid of Merryhampton, 
 This is your wedding-day, 
 A morning when the oldest fool 
 His folly puts away ! 
 
 What courage meets your bridal ! 
 
 Although your eyes have thrown 
 My challenge forward, to a time 
 
 Much later than mine own ; 
 
 Wherein a tremor takes me : 
 The aisles are floating dim : 
 
 My heart is thumping like a drum, 
 The whole world seems to swim. 
 
 65 E
 
 The loftiest mountains rising 
 
 Sink to a dreary vale, 
 And there I wander, like a myth 
 
 In a forgotten tale ! 
 
 Solemn the words are spoken, 
 Clearly the answers come, 
 
 The music clashes out afresh, 
 And cheerier grows the hum. 
 
 Once more the vision changes, 
 
 And down the valley dark, 
 As a fool peers, who summons thence 
 
 A solitary spark : 
 
 I see you, winsome matron, 
 Lead, with unfaltering hand, 
 
 A tribe of restive girls and boys 
 Across the stony land. 
 
 Pass, momentary vision, 
 
 Presage of change and care ! 
 
 Give me to greet and touch again 
 My wreath'd and radiant pair ; 
 
 66
 
 Whose friends with smiles and kisses 
 And laughter press and troop, 
 
 Whilst I one moment with a tear 
 Over your hand can stoop : 
 
 Just with one word of blessing 
 
 Deep in a sigh confest, 
 And a man's hand-grip, to condone 
 
 Our hoping for the best ! 
 
 Maid of sweet Merryhampton, 
 Since here you will not stay, 
 
 My folly shall not follow you 
 Beyond your wedding-day ! 
 
 67
 
 WANBOROUGH FAIR 
 
 THE tumult how happy, the frolic how rare, 
 When the countryside chooses fresh colours to 
 wear, 
 
 And lighter with chaffing, 
 And brighter with laughing, 
 Flocks down in a body to Wanborough Fair ! 
 
 See the wrestlers ! How agile, how lithe ! I declare 
 Every ounce is sound flesh, not an atom to spare ! 
 Observe now how supple 
 Swing, swerve now each couple ! 
 What must be their earnings at Wanborough Fair ! 
 
 See, too, the high boats, as they plunge in the air 
 To a ring of delight, or a cry of despair ! 
 
 If hollow confusion 
 
 Must follow illusion, 
 Still, we nearly reach'd Heaven at Wanborough Fair ! 
 
 68
 
 But come to the downs, it is quieter there, 
 Away from the frolic, away from the glare ; 
 
 So tender I'll guide thee, 
 
 And render beside thee 
 My thanks to the makers of Wanborough Fair ! 
 
 Yes, come to the downs, if my thoughts you would share, 
 And my love, and my life, and my joy, and my care, 
 
 Forgetting in glamour 
 
 Yon setting of clamour, 
 To die on my lips far from Wanborough Fair ! 
 
 69
 
 A SONG OF JUNE 
 
 HERE in the rays of the sun beating down in his 
 glorious might, 
 Reckon no longer for me the swift hours and their 
 
 petulant flight, 
 
 Paint me no shadows, display me no menace of storm, 
 Time in this place has no murderous deeds to perform, 
 Time is the slave of the singers who sing to a world 
 beyond reason and sight. 
 
 Bring me a posy wash'd sweet by the rainfall at noon, 
 What if the glory of morning must vanish so soon ? 
 What if you show me the vaporous nature of youth ? 
 I am no craven to turn me from death and the truth ; 
 Mine is a heart can retain all the pain and the passion 
 and pleasure of June. 
 
 70
 
 More, for though nightshade and rue with the roses 
 
 entwine, 
 Pain, passion, and pleasure drunk down to the lees of 
 
 life's wine 
 
 Purge me from treacherous fear of the infinite deep. 
 Where is the secret ? All secrets are mine, or to give, 
 
 or to keep : 
 All, save the secret of sleep, and the secret of sleep is 
 
 divine.
 
 A SLUMBER SONG 
 
 SLEEP, beloved, while above thee 
 Love's own banner proudly flies, 
 And in all the hearts that love thee 
 
 Frenzy fails and tumult dies. 
 Sleep, oh, sleep, beloved, sleep, 
 Angels yet thy rest shall keep ; 
 Sleep, beloved, sleep. 
 
 Deep our plaint : and dost thou hear us ? 
 
 Let thy lips but faintly smile, 
 And thy peace shall hover near us 
 
 Healing in a little while ! 
 Sleep, oh, sleep, beloved, sleep, 
 Tranquil be thy rest and deep ; 
 
 Sleep, beloved, sleep. 
 
 72
 
 Then at last, when sunlight streaming 
 Fills with hope the hearts of men, 
 
 Bring thou from thy love-land's dreaming 
 Hope with dawn : but sleep till then. 
 
 Sleep, oh, sleep, beloved, sleep, 
 
 Waking eyes alone can weep ; 
 Sleep, beloved, sleep. 
 
 73
 
 TO KATHLEEN ON HER BIRTHDAY 
 
 DEAR little lady, not forgetting here 
 The island beautiful, the skies so clear, 
 Nor the warm days of summer flying fast : 
 I, with the new year at this hour begun, 
 Turn to your eyes which are so like the sun, 
 And lo ! they gild the future with the past. 
 
 A poet sang the waters of the isle, 
 
 Where to this day all nature seems to smile : 
 
 He sang of youth as well, as though to spurn 
 
 The thought that these our joys shall not return 
 
 As though a certain vista he could see, 
 
 Whose promised lights I might pass on to thee. 
 
 74
 
 I pass them on ! I give thee, for thy dole, 
 A heart undaunted, and a resolute soul ! 
 It may be in the darkness thou shalt strive, 
 But power within shall keep thy light alive ; 
 And later days of grace discern the part 
 Accounted to thy will, and to thy heart ! 
 
 75
 
 AN EXILE'S SONG 
 
 HOME of my heart and shrine of my affections, 
 Where but in fancy I may bow the knee, 
 Exiled and slaved, with loving recollections 
 My grateful spirit turns to thine and thee ! 
 Dear land of France, where light on all things living 
 
 Falls as thy gleaming banners yet advance, 
 I bid thee fair, whose gifts are worth the giving, 
 Whose graces are thy guerdon, land of France, 
 Dear land of France, 
 Dear land of France ! 
 
 Thou heroes' home, from Clovis the immortal, 
 
 To every lord of his historic line, 
 Admitting none to pass that kingly portal 
 
 Save what seems noble, save what may grow divine ! 
 
 76
 
 May the bright sun whose beams upon thy fountains 
 
 Light with what playful and translucent glance 
 Strike to the heights of thine eternal mountains, 
 And raise once more the Oriflamme of France, 
 Dear land of France, 
 Dear land of France ! 
 
 Home of my heart, though from the mists of ages 
 
 Some shadows fall upon the field of gold, 
 Not vainly labour'd all thy saints and sages, 
 
 Nor of thy fame is half the story told. 
 They who scorn thee, their labour is the vainest, 
 
 For thou shalt conquer, over change and chance, 
 Home to thy sons who art, and home remainest, 
 
 Home of the world's hopes, happy land of France, 
 Dear land of France, 
 Dear land of France ! 
 
 77
 
 A SONG OF THE SOLENT 
 
 UP with the lark while the day is new 
 And the year is young, 
 What if we part ere the hour be due 
 
 With our songs unsung ? 
 And the old spell broken, the peace, the rest 
 
 That we used to know, 
 Have they not told us, who love us best, 
 That Life runs so ? 
 
 Never, at least, shall our souls forget 
 
 This time and place, 
 Where, in a silver frame, are set 
 
 Glory and grace : 
 The shore, and the masts in their serried ranks, 
 
 And the flood between, 
 And the busy mart, and the distant banks, 
 
 And the island green. 
 
 78
 
 Never, England, whose royal heart 
 
 Beats for mankind 
 To what we suffer, ere we depart, 
 
 Shalt thou be blind : 
 Lost in the vast, beyond the light, 
 
 Thine own may be, 
 Lost to the mortal sense of sight, 
 
 But not to thee ! 
 
 79
 
 TO PATRICK, WITH A BOOK 
 
 A BOOK of ballads and songs I wrought alone and 
 apart, 
 
 Praying they might be worthy a mother's tears, 
 Worthy a mother's hopes and fears, and her courageous 
 heart. 
 
 Take my hand, little son : rather, one finger hold ! 
 
 Strength is it strength, or weakness ? If I but knew ! 
 Then were the false from the true how readily, easily 
 told! 
 
 But if you ask me, knowing the stress of pain 
 
 Which the hours as they pass are all too ready to give, 
 Where of the life that we live is the certain glory or 
 gain? 
 
 80
 
 Then let me answer gladly, We are not dust on the wind, 
 
 All the deeds we do are as thoughts of the soul 
 Touching the final goal and the fate of humankind. 
 
 All of our feeble efforts, all of our struggles and wrongs, 
 These you shall learn at least to endure in a little 
 
 while, 
 
 Even as now you turn with a smile to my ballads and 
 songs. 
 
 81 F
 
 A LOVER'S POSTSCRIPT 
 
 NOW all these griefs are over, 
 And I am safe at rest, 
 I think you shall discover 
 
 The things I held the best, 
 And why I was dishearten'd, 
 And why I was distrest. 
 
 Not that the world was cruel 
 Many had suffered more, 
 
 Heap'd like a load of fuel 
 Beside the furnace door, 
 
 Or thrown as wasted wreckage 
 Upon a barren shore. 
 
 82
 
 Nor yet because those others, 
 Who made my loss their gain, 
 
 Had bless'd me once as brothers, 
 To curse me in my pain, 
 
 Seeing that what I dared and dream'd 
 My will might not attain. 
 
 Not these : but when, as lover, 
 
 I put you to the test, 
 'Twas you could not discover 
 
 The things I held the best, 
 Till griefs and joys were over, 
 
 And I was safe at rest !
 
 THE MESSAGE 
 
 I 
 
 MUSIC came rolling out of the mists of morn, 
 Trumpets afar stirring a magic breeze 
 As the wind is stirr'd by a burden of heaving seas 
 At the hour when the tempest-horses, sick with scorn 
 Of their cruel reinage, chafe for the sandy leas 
 And the day new-born. 
 
 II 
 
 If the blast were all, to die with the mists away, 
 
 We had come to the light with hearts made sorry and 
 
 cold, 
 
 For a soundless air is dead as a tuneless lay, 
 And the heart must chill to a melody half unroll'd. 
 But the trumpet-notes were hardly fading afar 
 Or we heard a tremulous cadence, delicate, shrill, 
 
 84
 
 Cleaving the nearness. Whispering, we stood still, 
 Watching the rise and fall of a drifted spar. 
 Watching a drifted spar, its rise and its fall, 
 Hearing I hear them yet, with a tug at the heart 
 Songs attuned to a morning joy, and the call 
 Of a man with a message to give ere his spirit depart. 
 
 Ill 
 
 " Speech and vision of this dawn-music made, 
 Here is the answer, here is the will to aid ! 
 Fellow-traveller, drifting over the bar 
 To the land unknown, to the undiscernible land, 
 Balm for your sorrow, healing for wound and scar, 
 Give us to breathe out the word, and to stretch out the 
 hand ! " 
 
 IV 
 
 So I turn'd to my friend, who upright stood on the 
 
 sand. 
 His eyes had caught some spell from the Naiads' 
 
 home, 
 
 Hair, all curl, still dripping with soft sea-foam, 
 While his body, lithe as cool, in the sunlight shone. 
 
 85
 
 " Go ! " I whisper'd, and lo, he was girt and gone. 
 
 Up the cliff he flung, without haste or rest, 
 
 Loosing the ready mare, leaping astride, 
 
 Laughing forth with a will to his easy quest : 
 
 And there I stood, on the silent shore, alone. 
 
 Life of the ocean, bountiful, warm, and wide 
 
 Swell'd in a silence harsh till the music spoke ; 
 
 Till the glass and gold of the sand into jewels broke ; 
 
 Diamond dews, in the splendid dawn serene, 
 
 And a fantasy flow'd to my heart from a fount unseen. 
 
 I would leap too, like my friend, with an equal soul ! 
 
 Who shall help the sick save one that is whole ? 
 
 Who shall raise the barque that is dredging the 
 
 ground, 
 But he, the diver in deeps where treasures are 
 
 found ? 
 
 Therefore into the craft that was moor'd hard by 
 Quickly I leapt : ready to gather and ply 
 Oars that answered my touch in the liquid blue, 
 And over the limpid water we forward flew. 
 
 86
 
 VI 
 
 " O I will save thee, whosoever thou be ! 
 
 Master or slave, holding what message for me ? 
 
 Is it a secret, that still from the cloudier range 
 
 Of that infinite world, with its gleamings so sombre and 
 
 strange, 
 
 Rich, brilliant, and varied, glowing over the sea, 
 Draws the desire of this earth to the ultimate change ? 
 Or is it some simple neglect, or a duty ill-done, 
 Something that pricks thee to anguish at set of the sun ? 
 Be not afraid ! For the sorrow thou bearest, I bring 
 Solace, the solace of friendship, that holiest thing : 
 Flash though the spark down to ashes, they speak not 
 
 the end : 
 Thy danger leaves no man a stranger ; each stranger is 
 
 friend. 
 
 Of all that thou gainedst in life not an atom is lost, 
 Of all thou shouldst suffer thy Maker hath counted the 
 
 cost, 
 Though the pains of the passionate Universe form and 
 
 re-form, 
 There is light that shines ever and near in the track of 
 
 the storm ! " 
 
 87
 
 So I spake ; and a moment fell sick in a spasm of 
 
 dread, 
 As a coward might look without hope in the face of the 
 
 dead. 
 But he moved to my whisper some answer and made a 
 
 mute sign, 
 Whilst clear through a ripple of echoes that rose in the 
 
 brine 
 
 I steer'd to a rock which rose near like a haven of rest, 
 With the stranger my guest. 
 
 VIII 
 
 Unleash'd from the spar at a thought's throb, how easy 
 
 the task ! 
 
 Impatient, I moisten'd his lips with a touch of my flask. 
 Nor waited the hand-gripping answer that gave with its 
 
 hold 
 Just the feeling of absolute trust that can hardly be 
 
 told. 
 
 And round us again in a murmur the music began, 
 As I bent me to measure at leisure the form of a man. 
 
 88
 
 IX 
 
 Easy strength in each limb served to model an outline 
 
 of grace 
 
 How noble the mould for a sculptor of figure and face ! 
 And I marvell'd to see his immaculate masculine prime 
 Flung thus to the merciless waves, by what folly or 
 
 crime ? 
 Wherefore straight, while the sea-flocks flew mockingly, 
 
 merrily by, 
 A lustre came into his eyes and he made his reply. 
 
 X 
 
 " Well you wonder, and I, in God's truth ! for I thought 
 
 it was past, 
 That the teen of my long disenchantment was over at 
 
 last ! 
 
 Better so ! It is better one moment if only to live, 
 Since to you and you only I still have a message to give ! 
 Take it hence, to a beautiful hamlet not far from the 
 
 bight, 
 Double-steepled : you know it ? Thank God ! It was 
 
 thence, in my flight 
 
 89
 
 From the trivial fate of the place where life's threads 
 were first spun 
 
 That I came forth to follow untrammell'd the course of 
 the sun. 
 
 So I left them ! But tell me, what's right in our wonder- 
 ful scheme ? 
 
 When we bind us with fetters and rivets, such dolts as 
 we seem ! 
 
 And I loved her, the wife of my bosom, but life was too 
 mild, 
 
 I could not endure it, nor yet for the sake of my child ! 
 
 It was freedom I long'd for, and therefore 'twas freedom 
 I sought 
 
 The glory of freedom of movement and freedom of 
 thought ! 
 
 Seek her out, let her know that wherever or wildly I 
 roved, 
 
 However I struggled and suffer'd and ventured and loved, 
 
 It was all of it done with a will as a part of my right ; 
 
 It is all of it open and plain to the sun and the light ; 
 
 Take it hence, it may be, that the truth she will under- 
 stand yet ! 
 
 So you breathe not a word in her ear of remorse or 
 regret ! " 
 
 90
 
 XI 
 
 Music came rolling out of the misty bay, 
 
 As I look'd in his eyes that were dead to the light and the 
 
 day, 
 
 And I steer'd me sadly, slowly back to the strand : 
 Bringing the boat and the load on my heart that lay 
 Safely to land. 
 
 XII 
 
 To my friend the charge he was more than ready to bear : 
 
 To myself the duty rife with a delicate care, 
 
 Riding straight from the bight without thought of rest, 
 
 I sped me faithfully forth on my difficult quest : 
 
 And the sun flared out to guide me with provident flame 
 
 Away to the place of Two Steeples : and thither I came. 
 
 XIII 
 
 At the green-mantled house I paused, by the edge of the 
 
 wood, 
 Drawing rein at the gate, where the beautiful watcher 
 
 stood
 
 Waiting for me, signalling out with a gaze 
 
 Pensive and grave ; from the rift of a brow that could 
 
 blaze 
 
 Haply from anger, or haply from sorrow pale ; 
 But welcomed me now with a smile to the woodland vale. 
 
 XIV 
 
 Calmly and proudly she spoke : " It is later ! " she said, 
 
 " Later than many would welcome a word from the dead ! 
 
 Yes, but I know ! " And the depth of her knowledge 
 was blent 
 
 With an infinite sweetness of touch that I could not 
 resent. 
 
 " Even this day unto me there came, through the shim- 
 mering morn, 
 
 A message, out of the mists with music borne. 
 
 Out of the pathless drifts of a fathomless sea 
 
 It was a messenger hither who came unto me ! 
 
 XV 
 
 " Hither he came in the guise of a passing soul, 
 And who should heal his hurt but one who is whole ? 
 
 92
 
 Nay, but he spake : and before me waver'd a shroud 
 Himself seem'd veil'd in a wreath of encompassing 
 
 cloud 
 And his voice was strange with its burden of torture and 
 
 pain, 
 
 As he told me his venture was all of it utterly vain : 
 How he yearn'd for a gleam of his home and the sight 
 
 of my face, 
 How he pray'd to be rid of the past with its dream of 
 
 disgrace, 
 For the dire disenchantment had eaten right into his 
 
 heart, 
 And he long'd to disburden his soul as he came to 
 
 depart ! 
 
 Then I gave him the sign I was only too ready to give, 
 Since they who have pardon'd alone have good reason to 
 
 live: 
 It was I in one breath who could grant him the word of 
 
 release, 
 
 And his burden of evil was loosed in an infinite peace ! 
 There you have it, the message so given, so answer'd ! 
 
 the same 
 Were as readily heard from your lips, since so kindly 
 
 you came, 
 
 93
 
 Friendly stranger ! My thanks ! There is nothing re- 
 maining to tell : 
 
 It is happy with me and my child, and I bid you fare- 
 well ! " 
 
 XVI 
 
 So from that gracious presence I rode forthright, 
 And we laid him down in the shade of his lonely grave. 
 And while the sun shines fair and free far over the bight, 
 Or the tempest-horses shake their manes in the light, 
 Or trample forth full-fleck'd with their spume of 
 
 passion and scorn, 
 Safely lock'd in my heart is the load of the message he 
 
 gave, 
 
 Till the hour when the trumpet-music, after the night, 
 Rings to the morn. 
 
 94
 
 THE BELLS OF BROMLEY 
 
 BELLS of Bromley Village ! 
 Chime, as you chimed of old, 
 Ere the new world came to taunt you, 
 And nothing on earth could daunt you 
 From ringing the age of gold ! 
 
 A gentle whisper at evening, 
 
 At morning a cheerful chime, 
 And always a mellow completeness 
 To tincture with sound and with sweetness 
 
 The falling waters of time : 
 
 These are the notes I remember, 
 
 These are the sounds I recall, 
 But here to a heart that rejoices 
 An echo of human voices 
 
 Were better by far than all ! 
 
 95
 
 And one, whom you summon so lightly, 
 
 Aside one moment has laid 
 The solemn work he is doing, 
 The labour he is pursuing, 
 
 And issues forth from the shade. 
 
 V 
 
 Ye bells of Bromley Village ! 
 
 He speaks as he spoke of old ! 
 And never the world shall taunt you, 
 And nothing on earth shall daunt you 
 
 From ringing the age of gold ! 
 
 96
 
 ENGLAND, TO THEE 
 
 FOR THE MILLENARY OF KING ALFRED 
 
 ENGLAND, to thee, in the name of the royally gifted, 
 England, to thee, from the first of thy cities 
 
 uplifted, 
 
 Rises the strain of a musical, magical song ; 
 Prayer, that ennobles the patriot soul and its yearning, 
 Hymn, breath'd of old at the head of the cradle of 
 
 learning, 
 
 Fatherhood, motherhood, brotherhood, tender and 
 strong. 
 
 For lo, with an echo deep drawn from the heart of thy 
 
 story, 
 There passes an army, new-crown'd with the laurels of 
 
 glory, 
 And led by a King who embraces the flag of the free : 
 
 97 G
 
 While loud through the passionate world with a motion 
 
 of thunder, 
 A voice from the dead in the ears of the nations that 
 
 wonder 
 
 Rings high with the promise of infinite honour to be, 
 England, to thee.
 
 RISE, GREATER LIGHT 
 
 RISE, greater light, and arising, enkindle 
 Fires that were failing a little while since ! 
 What if we suffer'd this Britain to dwindle, 
 Monarch and prince ? 
 
 Here, when the strength and the infinite glory, 
 Waking anew, in the musical breeze, 
 
 Touch to fresh praise of her limitless story 
 Thundering seas : 
 
 Let the deep voice of invincible Britain 
 Cry with the laughter beloved of God, 
 
 Fearless, her challenges, as it is written, 
 Armour'd and shod, 
 
 99
 
 Shielded, enpanoplied, sure of her honour, 
 Proud in the children she bears at her breast, 
 
 Worthy the love that they lavish upon her, 
 Blessing and blest, 
 
 As it is written, displacing the evil, 
 
 As it is written, desiring the good, 
 So that the force and the scorn of the devil 
 
 May be withstood ; 
 
 Thus let it be : and though trouble, though passion- 
 Spite of her wisdom, her courage, increase 
 
 Lies past this transient world and its fashion 
 Ultimate peace. 
 
 Therefore arise, greater light, to enkindle 
 Fires that were failing a little while since ! 
 
 What if we suffer'd this Britain to dwindle, 
 Monarch and prince ? 
 
 100
 
 HAIL AND FAREWELL 
 
 January 22, 1901 
 
 I 
 
 EjHTEN our darkness : let the embers leap 
 To kindle life, and drive afar the cold, 
 Beacons, that glimmer from each distant steep, 
 Cast your long chains of fire upon the deep, 
 
 And wake the world to wonder and behold. 
 
 Then let the trumpets sound, the drums be roll'd : 
 " Hail and Farewell ! Hail and Farewell, O Queen ! 
 
 Now in due time dost thou fulfil thy quest, 
 Join thy beloved with pure joy serene, 
 
 And pass into thy rest." 
 
 II 
 
 Hail ! For this lamp was lit 
 A guide for age and youth, 
 
 101
 
 In faith a message writ, 
 
 That men should carry it 
 
 Into the time to be ; 
 
 No legendary truth, 
 
 No graceless lie, to mock the shrine of Fame 
 With wanton worship of a regal name, 
 
 But record fair and free. 
 For we, who saw her move and saw her live, 
 Knew what she gave, and what she had to give, 
 Whose simplest word, through consecrated tears, 
 Made noble music in a people's ears. 
 This was her strength, that virtue was her dower, 
 The sign and symbol of a nation's power ; 
 From her all faction fled, before her died 
 Pestilent envy and malignant pride. 
 Dispensing mercy with imperial grace 
 She served the lowly from her lofty place. 
 Deep in her soul there dwelt pure passion's fire, 
 Love was her life, and peace her heart's desire. 
 So was it well : her destiny was great 
 To save a Throne and to preserve a State. 
 In the divine her human wisdom grew, 
 And so she made the England that we knew. 
 
 102
 
 Ill 
 
 England, for thee at last 
 This gracious life was born, 
 
 To wean thee from a past 
 
 By shadows overcast 
 Outwearied and outworn. 
 
 A world may look with scorn, 
 But great and greater yet must Britain rise, 
 For God Himself hath call'd us from the skies 
 
 To greet anew the morn. 
 On thee, most prosperous and pacific isle, 
 The favouring air shall play, the sun shall smile, 
 Mother of mighty kingdoms yet to be 
 Beyond the distant bars of land and sea. 
 Therefore behold, in patience unafraid, 
 The pictured Paradise that saints have made : 
 For this world mirrors bright a world above, 
 Whose rule is Honour, and whose law is Love. 
 Here with the frenzy of our warring wills, 
 Our lust that cankers, and our greed that kills, 
 Wrong may prevail ; but let us know the cause, 
 Man's own inherent weakness, not his laws ; 
 
 103
 
 And in our wide domain let all men know 
 They live as freely as the winds that blow ; 
 So shall we build a substance from a dream, 
 Ourselves a part of that majestic theme. 
 
 IV 
 
 So let the darkness fly ; and embers leap 
 
 Enkindling life, driving afar the cold, 
 Beacons that gleam and flame from every steep 
 Fall in long chains of fire upon the deep 
 
 And the world wake to wonder and behold. 
 
 Loudly the trumpets sound, the drums be roll'd, 
 The bells clash out : " Hail and Farewell, O Queen ! 
 
 Now in due time fulfil at last thy quest, 
 Tranquil in pleasure, in thy pain serene, 
 Here is thy purpose known, thy triumph seen : 
 
 Take the hearts' praise of those who love thee best 
 
 And pass into thy rest."
 
 AN EVENING HYMN 
 
 INTO Thy hands, at evening call, 
 We give ourselves, O Lord of all 
 Thou feelest for our least distress, 
 Thou waitest not to bend and bless, 
 If men, from all dependence free, 
 Are willing yet to come to Thee. 
 
 Because our human hands are frail, 
 And Thou but touchest to prevail : 
 Since all we have and all we know 
 A little thing can overthrow : 
 Into Thy hands we give again 
 What Thou canst aid or Thou restrain, 
 
 105
 
 Into Thy gracious hands, the same 
 That gave the sun his path of flame, 
 The planets their eternal course, 
 All human hopes their fire and force, 
 And mind and soul and thought and will 
 Their lofty mission to fulfil : 
 
 Into Thy hands we now commend 
 All spirits that can need a friend, 
 For Thou renewest, day by day, 
 What toil and trouble fret away, 
 And canst defend from rust and rage 
 Each moment of our pilgrimage. 
 
 Into Thy hands, at evening light, 
 We give our own beyond our sight : 
 The living, save and soothe and keep ; 
 The dead, protect them while they sleep ; 
 With Thee their Friend, with Thee their Guide 
 All shall awaken satisfied. 
 
 106
 
 ODE TO AUGUSTA 
 
 A SALUTATION TO THE CITY OF TROVES 
 
 THEE, in the scrolls of eld aforetime hail'd, 
 City august ! I dare once more salute, 
 Whence I outcall a spirit of the past 
 Unto the present dim, the future mute : 
 
 Which spell of light I cast 
 Into a world where denseness hath prevail'd, 
 Denying sense of sight or sweet of sound, 
 With noisy clamour streaming down the rills, 
 And angry cries reverberant in the hills 
 For blood yet fresh to stain thy holy ground. 
 
 There was a day men spoke of holiness 
 
 As something certain, something yet secure : 
 
 To gain the joys which saw the world well lost 
 All things might melt and fade, but Heav'n was sure 
 Here was life's little cost, 
 
 107
 
 A spell of wilfully enforced distress, 
 The hard cold earth a little while to bear, 
 This was the length of torment erst design'd, 
 This the worst test of the Supernal Mind, 
 This once endured, came the surcease of care. 
 
 But here, meseems, that spirit, if it haunt 
 
 Groves half -deserted in this latter day, 
 
 Little of strength hath gather'd now to range 
 
 The greater world with this Trevirian way : 
 
 But like an echo strange 
 
 Sounds through the crowded streets the priestly chaunt 
 Which though its moving cadence yet survive 
 
 Hath dropt its ancient power to heal or harm, 
 
 And vainly offers an elusive charm 
 To those whom faith in reason keeps alive. 
 
 And yet in vain to reason we appeal, 
 
 Who delve for bread and disinter a stone ! 
 
 The ghosts of myth which so disturb'd our rest 
 Have made the vacant temples all their own, 
 As though to mock the zest 
 
 108
 
 Of men who scatter where they may not steal- 
 The truths their vanity too long pursued : 
 Men who the spirit lose, to find the form : 
 Who seek the calm, but only raise the storm : 
 And drive from earth her nobler quietude. 
 
 Quiet, indeed, that man may rest and be 
 
 Who smiles on sleep and so descries his fate, 
 And, link'd one moment to a passing race, 
 Sees for himself no destiny more great 
 Than may secure with grace 
 
 The sturdy prop which stays a falling tree : 
 
 Who, lured not by the chances of surmise, 
 Follows no more the soul-distracting gleam, 
 But leaves to fools the folly of their dream, 
 
 And trusts the stern effacement of the wise. 
 
 But here, if still unheeded is the cry 
 For light, scarce irresponsive to the call 
 
 Burst into leafage bright the hills anew, 
 And through the woodland, where green shadows fall, 
 Fresh buds absorb the dew : 
 
 109
 
 If then my foot, without the knowing why, 
 Upturn an emmet's toil-built citadel, 
 Tossing his well-tried labour to the air, 
 Shall he not find an answer otherwhere, 
 Or I not give him one from where I dwell ? 
 
 I hold it true, no insect drops to earth 
 
 But takes the essence of his being hence, 
 That as naught perishes of earthy stuff, 
 
 Nothing of life goes void to the immense, 
 
 Which solace is enough : 
 The very infant stifled at his birth 
 Ere yet one sigh was utter'd, breath was drawn, 
 
 Pass'd, with his energy scarce-form'd, to grow 
 
 Into such glory as we see below, 
 Here, where proud sunset issues from pale dawn. 
 
 Yet in pursuance of our little life 
 
 Loud as the thud falls down yon busy street 
 
 A martial tramp to happy music play'd, 
 Our very contradictions are complete : 
 And so our wits are stay'd 
 
 no
 
 From patient thought of the insensate strife, 
 That we are fever'd to make terms with ill ; 
 And when we bnild as ready to destroy, 
 So, lest we taste an undiluted joy, 
 We save alone that germ we mean to kill. 
 
 Far, far afield, these sorrows have been strown, 
 And we may bury them, or we may spread, 
 
 Knowing ourselves can make injustice just, 
 Who here preserve the ashes of the dead, 
 From whose assembled dust 
 
 Comes, not the scent of wantonness outgrown, 
 
 But to the pain-fraught and the passion-driven, 
 The faint aroma of a fragrant time, 
 Which bids us know that now the only crime 
 
 Is not to learn lessons so freely given ! 
 
 And therefore, though the world has lust to drift 
 Through ventures vast to chaos once again, 
 
 These passing drums let no man choose to spurn 
 Their cheery madness we will soon distrain 
 When saner days return : 
 
 in
 
 And so I bring to thee my humble gift, 
 Taking one step on the Augustan way, 
 A human atom that must soon disperse 
 A force not useless in the Universe, 
 Once having hail'd with thee the appointed Day. 
 
 THE END 
 
 Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON 6* Co. 
 Edinburgh 6* London
 
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