THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE I? O r» - C ?>3 OO _ r* 00 5" =r THE RETURN OF THE GUARDS AND OTHER POEMS THE RETURN OF THE GUARDS AND OTHER POEMS SIR FRANCIS HASTINGS^DOYLE;^7J^.^>tf^T. LATE FELLOW OF ALL SOULS COLLEGE, OXFORD ILontion MACMILLAN AND CO. 1883 Printed by R. & R. ClarK, Edinburgh. PREFACE. These Poems of mine were given to the world, in their latest form, shortly before I was elected to the Poetry Professorship at Oxford — that is a good many years ago. They have long been quite out of print ; but, as they had answered their purpose, I let them be. For some time past, however, I have been told by different persons, in various ways, that a new edition of them would be welcomed by that subdivision of the human race which interests itself in Poetry at present. I have, therefore, made arrangements for their republication. Since I ceased to be Poetry Professor, I have not had much to do with literary pursuits. The circum- stances of my life have left me without ambition, and without much interest in any thing but my family, my friends, and my country, of whose future I try not to despair. vi PREFACE. ^ However, I have written a poem now and then. And of these more recent poems some, having been added to the older compositions, will be found in the new volume. On the other hand, a few of those previously given to the world, though they may be later in point of date than many of the verses now collected, do not rc-appear. " The Two Destinies," though by no means one of my first efforts, was published whilst I was yet young, and hopeful of a more decided success as a poet than has fallen to my lot ; when I looked at it again, after a long interval, the other day, it pleased me well enough, and I therefore determined on reproducing it at the end of the book, as it also has long been entirely out of print. CONTENTS. Dedicatory Stanzas The Return of the Guards To the Memory of Captain Arthur Watkin Williams Wynn ...... The Doncaster St. Leger The Old Cavalier .... The Vision of Er, the Pamphylian The Veterans of the Grand Army Meeting Napoleon Ashes from St. Helena The Spanish Mother Gythia How Lord Nairn was Saved Mehrab Khan The Red Thread of Honour The Private of the Buffs Demosthenes Lady Agnes To Two Sister Brides The Poetaster's Plea PAGE xi 6 II 20 24 42 47 54 83 87 90 95 97 105 116 121 Tin CONTENTS. The Hyperborean Maiden The Athenian Battle-Hymn at Marathon Robin Hood's Bay . Thf. Unobtrusive Christian Stanzas written in Dejection The Night and the Day . The Mother and Daughter In Memoriam Sonnet to Helen . To an Old Coat The Horse of the Desert The Mameluke Charge Lines on the Sale of the Black Arab Lines on a White Cyclamen brought from Jerusalem Rizpah, Daughter of Aiah The Duke's Funeral Napoleon the Idol The Epicurean The Platonist The Fusiliers' Dog The Sirens The Old Age of Sophocles From the Coliseum at Rome to my Wife at Nice From Heine ..... Stanzas suggested by the Above . CONTENTS. ix PAGE Caius Manlius Capitolinus 224 Balaclava ...... • 234 Lines to Helen ..... • 237 I Saw her Last ..... • 239 The Saving of the Colours . 242 The Foster Brother .... • 247 The Loss of the Birkenhead . 256 Verses Written for Music • 259 Sequel to the Above .... . 261 Short Analysis of the " Plurality of Worlds" . 263 An Epitaph in Cobham Churchyard Turned into V ERSE 264 Epitaph on a Favourite Dog 264 Ode for Music ..... . 265 The Quick March of the Fourteenth Regiment . 272 Iphition ...... • 277 Darkness and Light .... . 280 Secret Affinities ..... . 283 The Fountain ..... . 286 At Sea . . 288 A Farewell ..... . 292 The Second Olympian Ode of Pindar . 293 The First Chorus in the Bacchanals • 300 The Two Destinies .... • 306 DEDICATORY STANZAS. TO MY WIFE. On tides fast-ebbing borne along, I pause, and look in silence back, Through all the varying shapes which throng Life's faint and fading track. By turns I sigh, by turns I smile, Wise now to see, when Hope is gone, How Nature, with unending guile. Lures youth for ever on. Where are the glittering visions fled, Which seemed like firm-set earth to me ? The dawn of glory, burning red As sunrise o'er the sea? Such dreams before young eyes abound. If lost to me, they are not dead, But twine their golden falsehood round Some other boyish head : xu DEDICATORY STANZAS. That course not idly Nature runs, Nor weaves those airy spells in vain ; So has she found her favourite sons, Again, and yet again. Searching, and sifting men from men, Thus works she, till her work be done, But flings away waste thousands, when She chooseth out— the One. Yet, ruthless though she be, and cold, This common earth may well be trod. Not hers, to grant or to withhold, The better gifts of God. Time teaches us that oft One Higher, Unasked, a happier lot bestows. Than if each blighted dream-desire Had blossomed as the rose ; That if bright hope, in life's decline. No more, like Spring, the fancy stirs. Soft memory's Autumn lights may shine On richer bloom than hers. Dearest and best, if chequered years Might well be wished for once agen. If we have shed no hopeless tears, Nor envied other men ; DEDICATORY STANZAS. xiii If by thy presence, which at first Flashed through each morning vapour thin, To light more radiant has been nursed The spirit life within ; If, thrilling us with impulse sweet, Day after day, from rooms above, The pattering tread of tiny feet Has filled our souls with love ; What matters it, compared with this. That wealth, or power, or glory fails ? There grows that amaranth flower of bliss. Near which the laurel pales. Such amaranth flower has been mine own, Through thee, for many a golden year, Take Thou, for they are thine alone, These earthlier blossoms here. October 1866. THE RETURN OF THE GUARDS. July g, iSj6. Yes, they return — but who return ? The many or the few ? Clothed with a name, in vain the same, Face after face is new. We know how beat the drum to muster, We heard the cheers of late. As that red storm, in haste to form, Burst through each barrack gate. The first proud mass of English manhood. A very sea of life, With strength untold, was Eastward rolled, — How ebbs it back from strife? The steps that scaled the Heights of Alma Wake but faint echoes here ; The flags we sent come back, though rent, For other hands to rear. THE RETURN OF THE GUARDS. Througli shouts, thai liail ihc shattered banner, Home from proud onsets led, Through the glad roar, which greets once more Each bronzed and bearded liead ; Hushed voices, from the earth beneath us, Thrill on the summer air. And claim a part of England's heart For those who are not there. Not only these have marched from battle Into the realms of peace — A home attained — a haven gained, AVhere wars and tumults cease. Whilst thick on Alma's blood-stained river The war-smoke lingered still, A long, low beat of unseen feet Rose from her shrouded hill ; By a swift change, to music, nobler Than e'er was heard by man. From those red banks, the gathered ranks That other march began. On, on, through wild and wondrous regions, Echoed their iron tread, Whilst voices old before them rolled — " Make way for Alma's dead." THE RETURN OF THE GUARDS. Like mighty winds before them ever, Those ancient voices rolled ; Swept from their track, huge bars run back, And giant gates unfold ; Till, to the inmost home of heroes They led that hero line, Where with a flame no years can tame The stars of honour shine. As forward stepped each fearless soldier, So stately, firm, and tall. Wide, wide outflung, grim plaudits rung On through that endless hall. Next, upon gloomy phantom chargers. The self-devoted came. Who rushed to die, without reply, For duty, not for fame. Then, from their place of ancient glory. All sheathed in shining brass, Three hundred men, of the Grecian glen. Marched down to see them pass. And tlie long-silent flutes of Sparta Poured haughty welcome forth, Stern hymns to crown, with just renown. Her brethren of the North. THE RETURN OF THE GUARDS. \'ct louder at the solemn portal, The trumpet floats and waits ; And still move wide, in living pride. Fly back the golden gates. And those from Inkerman swarm onwards, Who made the dark fight good — One man to nine, till their thin line Lay, where at first it stood. But though cheered high by mailed millions Their steps were faint and slow, In each proud face the eye might trace A sign of coming woe. A coming woe which deepened ever, As down that darkening road, Our bravest tossed to plague and frost, In streams of ruin flowed. All through that dim despairing winter. Too noble to complain, Bands hunger-worn, in raiment torn, Came, not by foemen slain. And patient, from the sullen trenches Crowds sunk, by toil and cold — Then murmurs slow, like thunders low. Wailed through the brave of old. THE RETURN OF THE GUARDS. Wrath glided o'er the Hall of Heroes, Anguish, and shame, and scorn, As clouds that drift, breathe darkness swift O'er seas of shining corn. Wrath glided o'er the Hall of Heroes, And veiled it like a pall. Whilst all felt fear, lest they should hear The Lion-banner fall. And if unstained that ancient banner Keep yet its place of pride, Let none forget how vast the debt We owe to those who died. Let none forget the others, marching With steps we feel no more, Whose bodies sleep, by that grim deep Which shakes the Euxine shore. TO THE MEMORY OF CAPTAIN ARTHUR WATKIN WILLIAMS WYNN, Of the 23D Royal Welsh Fusiliers. Who fell gloriously at Alma, 20th September 18^4. "There lay Colonel Chester, and four of his gallant officers, with their faces to the sky." — Morning Paper. " He had gone right up to the gun." — Private Letter. When, from grim Alma's blood-stain'd height, There came the sound of woe, And in thy first and latest fight That noble head was low ; As those who loved and trembled, knew That all their darkest fears were true ; Each fond heart, clinging to the dead. Felt fiiery thirst within it burn — A restless throbbing hope to learn How in those hours, each gloomy thread Of waning life was spun. DEATH AT ALMA. And yearnings from thine English home Bounded across the ocean foam : — " Where did ye find my son ? " The answer, from that fatal ground, Came peaUng, with a trumpet sound, " Close to the Russian gun, " With many a gallant friend around him, " In one proud death — 'twas thus we found him. " He lay, where dense the war-cloud hung, "Where corpse on corpse was thickest flung — "Just as a British soldier should ; " The sword he drew, " Still pointing true " To where the boldest foemen stood. " His look, though soft, was calm and high ; " His face was gazing on the sky, " As if he said, ' Man cannot die, " ' Though all below be done.' " Thus was it that we saw him lie, " Beneath the Russian gun." Right up the hill our columns sped, No hurrying in their earnest tread ; The iron thunder broke in storms. Again, and yet again — On their firm ranks, and stately forms. It did but break in vain ; DEATH AT ALMA. Though all untrained by war to bear The battle's deadly brunt, 'J'he ancient heart of Wales was there, Still rushing to the front. Their blood flowed fast along those steeps. But the proud goal was won. And the moon shone on silent heaps, Beyond the Russian gun. For there, with friends he loved around him. Among the foremost dead — they found him. Oh, there are bitter tears for thee. Young sleeper by the Eastern sea. Grief that thy glory cannot tame ; It will not cease to ache, And anguish beyond any name, In hearts that fain would break : Still, thy brave bearing on that day Lends to those mourners strength to say, " Thy will, O God, be done. " We bow before Thy living throne, " And thank Thee for the mercy shown, " Even when Thy summons dread was thrown " Forth from the Russian gun." No agony that gasps for breath Lengthened his hopeless hours of death, No quenchless longing woke in vain For those he ne'er could see again. DEATH AT ALMA. By noble thoughts and hopes befriended, By Honour to the last attended, His haughty step the hill ascended ; At once — his hand and brain reposed, At once — his dauntless life was closed ; One mystic whirl of mighty change — One sea-like rush of blackness strange — And all the roaring tumult dim Was cold, and dark, and still, for him. Pain cannot rack, or fever parch, Now that his course is run, And ended that majestic march Up to the Russian gun ; For there, with friends he loved around him, Serene as sleep — they sought and found him. And still for ever fresh and young, His honoured memory shall shine, A light that never sets, among The trophies of his ancient line. Yea, though the sword may seem to kill. Each noble name is living still, A ray of Glory's sun. And many a child, remembering well How by sad Alma's stream he fell, His tale with boyish pride shall tell, " I bear the name of one "Who, in that first great fight of ours " Against the tyrant's servile powers, lo DEMI I AT ALMA. " Upon the red Crimean sod "Went clown for liberty and God, " Close to the Russian gun ; " For there, with friends he loved around him, "Among the free-born dead — they found him." October iSj4. THE DONCASTER ST. LEGER. This poem is intended to illustrate the spirit of Yorkshire racing, now unhappily, or happily, as the case may be, on the decline. The perfect acquaintance of every peasant on the ground with the pedigrees, per- formances, and characters of the horses engaged- — his genuine interest in the result — and the mixture of hatred and contempt which he used to feel for the Newmarket favourites, who came down to carry off his great national prize, must be well known to any one who forty years ago crossed the Trent in August or September : — altogether it constituted a peculiar modification of English feeling, which I thought deserved to be recorded ; and in default of a more accomplished Pindar, I have here endeavoured to do so. The sun is bright, the sky is clear, Above the crowded course. As the mighty moment draweth near Whose issue shows the horse. The fairest of the land are here To watch the struggle of the year, The dew of beauty and of mirth. Lies on the living flowers of earth, And blushing cheek and kindling eye Lend brightness to the sun on higli : And every corner of the n(jrth Has poured licr luirdy yconitn forth ; 12 TllK D0NCAST1:R ST. LKGKK. The dweller by tlie glistening rills That sound among tlic Craven hills ; The stalwart husbandman who holds His plough upon the eastern wolds ; The sallow^ shrivelled artisan, Twisted below the height of man, Whose limbs and life have mouldered down, Within some foul and clouded town. Are gathered thickly on the lea. Or streaming from far homes to see If Yorkshire keeps her old renown ; Or if the dreaded Derby horse Can sweep in triumph o'er her course ; With the same look in every face, The same keen feeling, they retrace The legends of each ancient race : Recalling Reveller in his pride, Or Blacklock of the mighty stride, Or listening to some gray-haired sage Full of the dignity of age ; How Hambletonian beat of yore Such rivals as are seen no more ; How his old father loved to tell Of that long struggle — ended well. When, strong of heart, the Wentworth Bay ^ From staggering Herod strode away : ' Bay Malton. King Herod, the champion of Newmarket in the famous race alluded to above, broke a blood vessel in the crisis of the contest. THE DOXCASTER ST. LEGER. 13 How Yorkshire racers, swift as they, Would leave this southern horse half way, But that the creatures of to-day Are cast in quite a different mould From what he recollects of old. Clear peals the bell ; at that known sound, Like bees, the people cluster round ; On either side upstarting then, One close dark wall of breathless men, Far down as eye can stretch, is seen Along yon vivid strip of green, Where keenly watched by countless eyes, 'Mid hopes, and fears, and prophecies. Now fast, now slow, now here, now there, With hearts of fire, and limbs of air, Snorting and prancing — sidling by With arching neck, and glancing eye. In every shape of strength and grace. The horses gather for the race ; Soothed for a moment all, they stand Together, like a sculptured band. Each quivering eyelid flutters thick, Each face is flushed, each heart beats quick ; And all around dim murmurs pass. Like low winds moaning on the grass. Again — the thrilling signal sound — And off at once, with one long bound. Into the speed of tliou,^lit ihcy leap. Like a proud ship ru.sliing to the deep. ,4 nii: DONCASTER ST. LEGER. A Stan ! a start ! they're off, by heaven, Like a single horse, though twenty-seven, And 'mid tlie flash of silks we scan A Yorkshire jacket in the van ; Hurrah ! for the bold bay mare ! I'll pawn my soul her place is there Unheaded to the last, For a thousand pounds, she wins unpast — Hurrah ! for the matchless mare ! A hundred yards have glided by. And they settle to the race, More keen becomes each straining eye. More terrible the pace. Unbroken yet o'er the gravel road Like maddening waves the troop has flowed, But the speed begins to tell ; And Yorkshire sees, with eye of fear, The Southron stealing from the rear. Ay ! mark his action well ! Behind he is, but what repose ! How steadily and clean he goes ! What latent speed his limbs disclose ! "What power in every stride he shows ! They see, they feel, from man to man The shivering thrill of terror ran, And every soul instinctive knew It lay between the mighty two. THE DONCASTER ST. LEGER. 15 The world without, the sky above, Have glided from their straining eyes — Future and past, and hate and love, The life that wanes, the friend that dies. E'en grim remorse, who sits behind Each thought and motion of the mind, These now are nothing, Time and Space Lie in the rushing of the race ; As with keen shouts of hope and fear They watch it in its wild career. Still far ahead of the glittering throng, Dashes the eager mare along. And round the turn, and past the hill, Slides up the Derby winner still. The twenty-five that lay between Are blotted from the stirring scene, And the wild cries which rang so loud. Sink by degrees throughout the crowd, To one deep humming, like the tremulous roar Of seas remote along a northern shore. In distance dwindling to the eye Right opposite the stand they lie, And scarcely seem to stir ; Though an Arab scheich his wives would give For a single steed, that with them could live Three hundred yards, without the spur. But though so indistinct and small, You hardly see them move at all. 1 6 TlIK DONCASTKR ST. LEGER, 'I'hcrc are not wanting signs, whicli show Defeat is l)usy as they go. Look how the mass, which rushed away As full of spirit as the clay, So close compacted for a while, Is lengthening into single file. Now inch by inch it breaks, and wide And spreading gaps the line divide. As forward still, and far away Undulates on the tired array Gay colours, momently less bright, Fade flickering on the gazer's sight. Till keenest eyes can scarcely trace The homeward ripple of the race. Care sits on every lip and brow. " Who leads ? who fails ? how goes it now ? " One shooting spark of life intense, One throb of refluent suspense, And a far rainbow-coloured light Trembles again upon the sight. Look to yon turn ! Already there Gleams the pink and black of the fiery mare. And through that^ which was but now a gap, Creeps on the terrible white cap. Half-strangled in each throat, a shout Wrung from their fevered spirits out, Booms through the crowd like muffled drums, " His jockey moves on him. He comes ! " Then momently like gusts, you heard. THE DOXCASTER ST. LEGER. 17 " He's sixth— he's fifth— he's fourth— he's third ; " And on, Hke some glancing meteor-flame, The stride of the Derby winner came. And during all that anxious time, (Sneer as it suits you at my rhyme) The earnestness became sublime ; Common and trite as is the scene. At once so thrilling, and so mean, To him who strives his heart to scan. And feels the brotherhood of man, That needs must be a mighty minute. When a crowd has but one soul within it. As some bright ship with every sail Obedient to the urging gale. Darts by vext hulls, which side by side, Dismasted on the raging tide. Are struggling onward, wild and wide, Thus, through the reeling field he flew. And near, and yet more near he drew \ Each leap seems longer than the last, Now — now — the second horse is past. And the keen rider of the mare, With haggard looks of feverish care, Hangs forward on the speechless air. By steady stillness nursing in The remnant of her speed to win. One other bound — one more — 'tis done ; Right up to her the horse has run, c l8 Tin: nONCASTEK ST. LKCKK. And head to head, and stride for stride, Newmarket's hope, and Yorkshire's pride, Like horses harnessed side by side. Are strugghng to the goal. Ride ! gallant son of Ebor, ride ! For the dear honour of the north. Stretch every bursting sinew forth, Put out thy inmost soul, — And with knee, and thigh, and tightened rein, Lift in the mare by might and main ; The feelings of the people reach. What lies beyond the springs of speech, So that there rises up no sound From the wide human life around ; One spirit flashes from each eye, One impulse lifts each heart throat-high. One short and panting silence broods, O'er the wildly-working multitudes. As on the struggling coursers press, So deep the eager silentness. That underneath their feet the turf Seems shaken, like the eddying surf When it tastes the rushing gale, And the singing fall of the heavy whips, Which tear the flesh away in strips, As the tempest tears the sail, On the throbbing heart and quivering ear, Strike vividly distinct, and near. But mark what an arrowy rush is there, THE DONCASTER ST. LEGER. 19 " He's beat ! he's beat ! " — by heaven, the mare ! Just on the post, her spirit rare, When Hope herself might well despair ; When Time had not a breath to spare ; With bird-like dash shoots clean away, And by half a length has gained the day. Then how to life that silence wakes ! Ten thousand hats thrown up on high Send darkness to the echoing sky, And like the crash of hill-pent lakes, Out-bursting from their deepest fountains, Among the rent and reeling mountains, At once, from thirty thousand throats Rushes the Yorkshire roar, And the name of their northern winner floats A league from the course, and more. THE OLD CAVALIER. " For our martyred Charles I pawned my plate,. For his son I spent my all, That a churl might dine, and drink my wine, And preach in my father's hall : That father died on Marston Moor, My son on Worcester plain ; But the king he turned his back on me, When he got his own again. " The other day, there came, God wot ! A solemn, pompous ass, Who begged to know if I did not go To the sacrifice of Mass : I told him fairly to his face. That in the field of fight, I had shouted loud for Church and King, When he would have run outright. THE OLD CAVALIER. 21 " He talked of the Man of Babylon With his rosaries and copes, As if a Roundhead wasn't worse Than half a hundred Popes. I don't know what the people mean, With their horror and affright ; All Papists that I ever knew. Fought stoutly for the right. " I now am poor and lonely, This cloak is worn and old, But yet it warms my loyal heart, Through sleet, and rain, and cold, When I call to mind the Cavaliers, Bold Rupert at their head. Bursting through blood and fire, with cries That might have waked the dead. " Then spur and sword, was the battle word, And we made their helmets ring. Howling, like madmen, all the while. For God, and for the King. And though they snuffled psalms, to give The Rebel-dogs their due, When the roaring-shot poured close and hot. They were stalwart men and true. 22 THE OLD CAVAT.TF.R. " On the fatal held of Naseby, Where Rupert lost the day, By hanging on the flying crowd Like a lion on his prey, I stood and fought it out, until, In spite of plate and steel, The blood that left my veins that day, Flowed up above my heel. " And certainly, it made those quail Who never quailed before, To look upon the awful front Which Cromwell's horsemen wore. I felt that every hope was gone, When I saw their squadrons form, And gather for the final charge, Like the coming of the storm. " Oh ! where was Rupert in that hour Of danger, toil, and strife ? It would have been to all brave men, Worth a hundred years of life. To have seen that black and gloomy force, As it poured down in line, Met midway by the Royal horse, And Rupert of the Rhine. THE OLD CAVALIER. 23 " All this is over now, and I Must travel to the tomb, Though the king I served has got his own, In poverty and gloom. Well, well, I served him for liimself, So I must not now complain. But I often wish that I had died With my son on Worcester plain." THE VISION OF ER, THE PAMPHYLIAN. This Poem is founded on ihe well-known legend with which Plato concludes his great treatise on the Republic. I have written some introductory stanzas, and have ventured to throw back the time of its supposed occurrence to an era more decidedly mythic and pre-historical than Plato seems to have contemplated. With these exceptions, I have followed his details as closely as I could. Still in her virgin prime, the earth was young ; Through fair PamphyUa's myrtle-shadowed glades No helmet gleamed, no threatening trumpet rung, To break the pure hymn of her bright-haired maids ; Unkindled yet the War-God's altar flame, And his red planet glared without a name. Year after year, self-sown the shining corn Sprang freshly from the unexhausted soil ; Year after year, from terraced hills were borne Rivers of wine and fragrant floods of oil — Whilst milk-white herds, unchecked, along each rill, Knee-deep in perfumed grasses, roamed at will. THE VISION OF ER, THE PAMPHYLIAN. 25 III. Behind, to chain the storm-wind's angry burst, Rose mountain forests, walling out the North ; Against their peaks, by silver ocean nursed, Mild rain-clouds broke, and poured their treasure forth, To cheer the land with streams, which, foaming free, Down from bright cliffs danced headlong to the sea. IV. A happy people, crowned with golden flowers, Serenely beautiful, and pure, and true, Like sinless children, spend the fleeting hours In love and joy and pleasures ever new — Nor to that life of theirs, with roses sown, Is man-like work, or God-like thought unknown. For theirs the ancient blood, the wondrous birth One under many names, whose sons we trace Through many lands, the salt of the wide earth ; Unsevered then with them, each gift and grace, Now through a thousand channels scattered wide. Were sparkling in the fountain, side by side. VI. Rich is that blood with Hellas, yet to be, Homers, still silent, through those pulses beat, In their fresh veins, the Teuton bold iu\d free, 26 Till': VTSTON OF KR, The loyal Medc, the subtle Indian, meet — Slavonic chaini, Law-reverencing Rome, And the Celt's depth of passion for his home. VII. Thus strong with powers and instincts half divine, The world's great morning filled them with its fire ; Beneath their hands the quarry and the mine. Grew into shapes of beauty — the dumb lyre Found sudden soul and breath and utterance given, And thrilled in rapture to the smiling heaven. VIII. Though no dull Cadmus yet had taught his kind, Like frost-nipped bees, about dead signs, to cling ; The Poet's song round his own heart was twined, As blossoms clothe a fruit-tree in the spring, And passed through time, along the lips of men, For memory was a living spirit then. IX. In the nymph-haunted grove, on festal days, The Bard aroused keen ranks of listening youth ; Wove each wild legend into magic lays. And veiled with beauty all the gaps of truth ; Or taught his few how mystic wisdom ran, Through seers unnumbered, from primaeval man. THE PAMPHYLIAN. 27 X, Thus the glad aeon glideth swift along, With choral dance, and grand heroic game. With wealth unblamed, high thought, and noble song, For ever shining, like a star, the same — Whilst gracious kings, the seed of Gods above, Unfeared, though reverenced, rule the land in love. XI. Till some far chief, Lord of a ruthless will. Fused myriads into one grim lava-flood ; Made glory mean the brute desire to kill ; And marched on power, through blighting steams of blood. Like winter wolves, grim septs, o'er wastes unknown. Flocked at the scent of gore, around that throne. XII. And though through him no temples upward sprung, No stately docks or havens hummed with trade ; Though in his tent no tuneful harps were strung, Nor bard, nor sage, in shining robes arrayed, Sat at the King's right hand — his gloomy mind Was strong to marshal and to rule mankind. XIII. With brain all fire, whilst all his heart was ice, Pitiless, though not cruel, on he went, 28 Tin: VISION OV F,R, To honour dead, yet unenslavcd by vice, No passion mastered, and no scruple bent — Himself his god, he deem'd e'en fate his own, And gazed on stars, that burned for him alone. XIV. As the moon guides the sea, his aspect swayed The fierce, yet feeble nature of the crowd ; Half-love, half-awe, they trembled and obeyed ; Round that slight form each mail-clad giant bowed Watched, as he fell, that face through eye-balls dim, And bought, with life, one frozen smile from him. XV. The brain gave insight, and its stedfast ken, No pulse of human sympathy could shake : Clear thoughts do much for iron tempers, when We are but tools to use, or toys to break ; O'er trampled hearts, through many a blazing town Thus marched the first great conqueror to renown. XVI. And on, and on, and on, the deluge streams, Swelled by uprooted nations in its course. Until that sacred race from happy dreams Started, to hear the tramp of Scythian horse — And dusky clans, white-toothed, and lithe, and wild, In ape-like swarms through every glen defiled. THE PAMPIIYLIAN. 29 XVII. But not in vain had lions felt their steel, Not idly bled the panther in his den, The imperial people was not made to kneel, But mustered her unconquerable men — Whilst high above those jabberings harsh and grim. Rolled the proud thunder of their Aryan hymn. XVIII. The records of that battle, let them rest, Its dead were dust, ere writer shaped a reed, Enough, that Er, their bravest and their best. Lay cold beneath his white Cilician steed : Mere loss to them, to him that change hath brought But ampler insight, and diviner thought. XIX. Freed from the burthen and the cloud, he soars To join the souls which gather' from afar ; Following some unknown guide to unknown shores. Beyond the sun and every golden star — All called that morn from light, and hope, and breath. Gently or roughly, by the voice of Death. XX, From every land, in ordered companies, The unending phantoms came, malrc^is and maids, 30 'rill'; VISION OF kr, Children, witli wonder in their placid eyes, And clothed in seeming steel, heroic shades : But still supreme o'er all the breeds of man. The Aryan chiefs were marshalled in the van. XXI. Then swiftly gliding through empyrean air, They reach at length a wondrous Spirit Home. Twin caves stretch down into that darkness, where Hell's iron roots are lashed with fiery foam. Whilst right above them set, like gems, on high. Twin gaps in heaven burn through the purple sky. XXII. There sit the silent rulers of the dead Between those glooms and glories ; at their nod About the good inspiring gleams are shed. And voices whisper from the soul of God, But round each wicked sprite, a deepening cloud Gathers and blackens like a sable shroud. XXIII. Yet as Er drifted past, his Judge to meet. On him nor gleam, nor penal shadow fell ; But a voice thundered from the shining seat, " What thou beholdest here remember well. "Fate bids thee learn, then to thy kind rehearse, "All that upholds this wondrous universe. THE PAMPHVLIAN. 31 XXIV, " No more from evil can ye claim release ; "No longer live the life of summer flowers — " For the old times of purity and peace " Are gone for ever with their golden hours ; " Slow through the world, your hearts at length to gain, " Hath ate the canker and hath spread the stain. XXV. " Rouse then thy keenest insight to discern "What the earth's orbit is, and still must be; " How for themselves their lot the wicked earn, "And what the purpose of eternity, " That though like others into suffering brought, "Ye may not die unguided and untaught." XXVI. Thus warned, in silence the Pamphylian Lord Stood like a star; across his thoughtful face, Like cloud on cloud, in rushing visions poured. The Story of the Past, then melts in space. And left the ghosts, still radiant, or in gloom. Between those four abysses, waiting doom. XXVII. Straight through one gem-like gap, uprising slow, The spirits of the just were lost in light. - THE VISION OF ER, Whilst its bright sister lent to earth below A stream of blissful aspects, all in white — Souls, from their place of glory called afresh, To wear once more the fetters of the flesh. , XXVIII. Meanwhile the left-hand cave of night devours Each clouded spectre cursed of Fate's decree, As some wide water swalloweth falling showers. Its horror closed above them, like a sea — But on the right, from Hell a ghastly train Rolled upward through the lurid cleft amain. XXIX. Like corpses haunted, stealthily they came, With pale Fear living in their eyes alone — Then clasped their fleshless hands, which bonds of flame Had charred to dust around each mouldering bone — Whilst hope once more, in each chilled heart, arose. Like a stray moonbeam upon mountain snows. XXX. With the fierce swoop of locusts on ripe grain, Swarmed all these Terrors at the appointed place. Yet writhing from a thousand years of pain, They met the sons of heaven there face to face ; Whose calm still lustre, broken at the sight, Thrilled into trembling gleams of roughened light. THE PAMPHYLIAN. 33 XXXT. So, when in spring the gay south-west awakes, And rapid gusts now hide, now clear, the sun, Round each green branch a fitful glimmering shakes. And through the lawns and flowery thickets run, (Tossed out of shadow into splendour brief), The silver shivers of the under-leaf. XXXII. But as they joined each other, Hell and Heaven Brightened or faded to the hues of earth — They stand once more, rewarded or forgiven. Upon the threshold of a second birth — Once more their hearts with human thoughts were rife, And human memory started into life. XXXIII. Then flowed affection back, and keen desire To learn each secret of the solemn past. And the good told, how ever mounting higher. From sphere to sphere, each nobler than the last. They near the central throne of God above. And bask undazzled in His smiles of love. XXXIV. But the forgiven ones, with shuddering awe. Recount their travel through Hell's angry deep ; D 34 THE VISION OF KR, A hundred dreary years, for such the law, Through trackless thorns and scathing fire they creep, Then that each crime may tenfold penance meet. Ten times that dismal circuit they repeat. XXXV. Yea for the worst, the traitor lurking nigh. Like some foul spider couched in poisonous twine. Or brutal kings, who faith and truth defy, To drink a people's tears and blood like wine. These, by the fixed intelligence of Fate, Woes heavier still, yea, ceaseless pangs await. XXXVI. Said one, " Why comes not Ardys back, who died " Some thousand years ago, a king of men ? " But the pale strugglers from beneath replied, " Ardys the great ariseth not again — " Too foul the sins he made high heaven endure, " For God to pardon, or for pain to cure. XXXVII. "Just where the black is touched with ashen gray, " He wrestled upward through the lessening gloom, " But sudden forms of fire beset the way, " And yon grim Hell-gap thundered out his doom — " For him, dragged down to adamantine chains — " No end, no respite, and no hope, remains. THE PAMPHYLIAN. 35 XXXVIII. " Yea, and for others, as for him, that sound, " With earthquake roar broke forth, and at the sign, " Those hving demon-flames enclosed them round, " And hurled their victims home to wrath divine ; "So that we shivered by, unnerved, aghast, *' Scarce hoping for a silence, as we passed." XXXIX. Thus the souls communed in those mystic hours, And Er sat listening to the tales they told, In meadows gay with fountains and with flowers. Seven days they rest, or wander, uncontrolled — But on the eighth uprise the heavenly guides, And in their wake the spirit phalanx glides. XL. Three days they march, and on the fourth behold, Stretched through the sky, a column of keen light. To which the rainbow's flush is pale and cold, Through this, in complicated windings bright. The mighty knots, and giant links, which bind The heavens and earth together, pass entwined. XLI. And at the light's edge, defdy joined thereto — Like a ship's helm, with chains which none may .sever, 36 TlIK VISION OF KR, The distnfl' of Necessity works true, And wheels tlie rolHng universe for ever — Rim over rim, each rising inwards higher, In eight concentric orbs of living fire. XLII. The outer movement is of stars which burn, And whirl the heavens with one undying force. On paths reverse, — within the planets turn. Opposed, but yet harmonious in their course ; Thus, from of old, self-poised and uncreate, Round spins that Distaff on the knees of Fate. XLIII. On each a Siren stands sublimely still, Whilst from each eddying circle, soft is thrown One single note, which swells uprising, till All mix in mighty music round God's throne ; And on three seats, with spaces wide between. Sat solemn, three crowned virgins, each a queen — XLIV. Of old Necessity the seed sublime — ■ Clotho, and Atropos, and Lachesis, To whom lies bare, throughout the coils of time, Eternity's ineffable abyss — Clad in white robes, with utterance calm and strong. They chant an echo to that siren-song. THE PAMPHYLIAN. XLV. Stern Lachesis still summons back the Past ; To Atropos alone, divinely wise, Is given the clouded Future to forecast — Pale Clothe of things Present, as they rise. Sings ever ; whilst the mingling voices run, Present and Past and Future seem but one. XLVI. To that high Temple, Fate's unchanging home. Float up, like following waves, the destined dead — On through the solemn lights which flood the dome, Unheard, of bloodless millions falls the tread — Whilst some one whispers, " Here is Heaven's decree, "The maiden Lachesis now speaks through me. XLVII. " Ye short-lived souls, once more the years return, " Once more for you the dreams of earth begin, " And a new race beneath the sun shall learn " How man is born to sorrow and to sin, " And yet this hour is yours. If used aright, " Your joys may yet be pure, your burthens light. XI.VIII. " We grant to each his chance, — reproach us not " If lust or avarice lure your hearts astray, THE VISION OF ER, " For know, once fixed the self-selected lot, " Each in the prison of his choice shall stay ; " Lives, bright at first, in heaviest gloom may close, " Rich wines hold poison, asps infect the rose. XLIX. " Whilst like thick clouds, all sun and warmth behind, " Fates black without with inward light may glow, " So let the first be wary, lest he find " Frail splendours wane to darkness, death, and woe, " Nor let the last lose hope, since God may prize " Much on this earth, which blinded men despise." The shades draw near obedient to that call, And as they gaze in eager wondering dumb. Lives from her lap like snow-flakes whirling fall, Rich with the destiny of worlds to come. And lots are swift assigned to choose the same, "Then yours alone," she cried, "the praise or blame." LI. On rush the spirits, in their ranks, to share, Those myriad fortunes, hiding all the plain ; Princedom or serfship, happy love, despair, With every form of glory or of gain ; Tempted, by power, the first, in stooping down, Forgot the ills which wait upon a crown. THE PAMPHYLIAN. 3 LII. Nor till the coming years could change no more, Marked he the end, how, pressed by hostile Fate, He was foredoomed to drink his children's gore ; ■ Then angry Horror grasped his heart too late ; ReviHng Heaven in vain, he stood forlorn, And cursed the fate impending, yet unborn. LIII. But he was hurried on, and others came Who, as their bitter memory backward ran. Full of fierce wrath, and anguish, hate, or shame. Renounced the form, and scorned the hopes of man To lurk a lion in the woods, or scream A lonely eagle o'er the mountain stream. LIV. Those who had died in youth, an eager throng, Snatched at tumultuous pleasure mixed with pain — The old, made wise through suffering, pondered long, And paused, and feared to be deceived again — Whilst some, of wild excitement weary, chose Inglorious ease at once, and long repose. LV. Each one in turn, by his own angel led. Came to where Clotho's mystic webs were spun. 40 THE VISION OF ER, Next Atropos made firm the fatal thread, And wound the links which cannot be undone, Then every spirit, helpless and alone, Passed by Necessity's eternal throne. LVI, Er followed in their track, and reached the brink Of Lethe's ancient river, dark and deep ; Restrained himself, he saw his comrades drink, Then sink forgetful into death-like sleep ; But soon a tempest rose, and wrapped in night Each slumbering phantom vanished from his sight. LVI I. Yes, — but beyond the lightning's eager glare, Millions of shooting stars were seen to glow, Freighted with souls in trance, they cleft the air, To breathe new life on the broad earth below, Whilst with their rush the heavens were yet astir, Blind Darkness gathered on the heart of Er. LVIII. That Darkness melts away : where is he ? Lo ! Beneath wild skies, which seem to reel and throb, Pamphylia's well-known mountains ebb and flow Like giant clouds in storm — then, with a sob, Upstarting, on his funeral pile he stood. Recalled his dreams, and knew that all was good. THE PAMPHYLIAN. 41 LIX. Thence, on the winged winds, borne far and near. The tale of that divine uprising spread, And the whole people gathered round to hear The voice of one recovered from the dead — In haste, with double zeal, a man so dear To God, as priest and monarch, to revere. LX. And though at length, by gracious death set free. His unreturning step left earth once more, The hope he planted, like a stately tree, Stretched out its fruitful boughs from shore to shore. And his great Legend, never waxing old. On through the listening years in music rolled. THE VETERANS OF THE GRAND ARMY MEETING NAPOLEON'S ASHES FROM ST. HELENA. (from theophile gautier.) Bored, and thus forced out of my room, Along the Boulevard I passed. Around me hung December's gloom, The wind was cold, the showers drove fast. Then straight I saw (how strange the sight !) Escaped from their grim dwelling-place, Trampling through mud in sorry plight, Ghosts at mid-day, ghosts face to face. Night is the time when shades have power, Whilst German moonlight silvers all, Within some old and tottering tower. To flit across the pillared hall. 'Tis night when fairies from the floods In dripping robes rise like a breath, Then drag beneath their lily buds Some boy whom they have danced to death. THE VETERANS OF THE GRAND ARMY. 43 'Twas night, if Zedlitz singeth true, When (half-seen shade) the Emperor Marshalled in line, for that review, The shades of Austerlitz once more. But spectres in the public street, Scarce from the playhouse paces two, Veiled nor by mist, nor winding-sheet. Who stand there wearied and wet through. Well may we wonder as we gaze ; Three grumbling phantoms hover dim, In uniform of other days. One ex-guard, two hussars with him. Not these the slain, who, though they die. Still hear through earth Napoleon's drum ; But veterans of a time gone by Waked up to see his relics come. Who, since that last, that fatal fight, Have grown, or fat, or lean and grim ; Whose uniforms, unless too tight. Float wide around each wasted limb. Oh noble rags, still like a star To you the Cross of Honour clings, Sublimely ludicrous, ye are Grander than purple worn by kings ! 44 THE VETERANS OF THE GRAND ARMY. A nerveless plume, as if with fear, Trembles above the bearskin frayed ; Moth-fretted the pelisse is, near Those holes by hostile bullets made ; The leathern overalls, too large. Round the shrunk thigh in wrinkles fall. And rusty sabres, wearying charge, Drag on the ground, or beat the wall. The next one is grotesque, with chest Stretching a coat too small by half; But for the stripes that deck his breast. At the old war- wolf we might laugh. My brothers, mock them not too much ; Rather salute, with heads low bent. These heroes of an Iliad, such As Homer never could invent. Greet each bald head with reverence due, For on brows, bronzed by many a clime, A lengthening scar oft reddens through The lines that have been dug by time. Their skins, by a strange blackness, tell Of Egypt's heat, and blinding light ; Russia's snow-powder, as it fell. Has kept those thin locks ever white. THE VETERANS OF THE GRAND ARMY. 45 Their hands may tremble ; yes, still keen The cold of Beresina bites ; They limp, for long the march between Cairo and Wilna's frozen heights. They droop, bent double, since in war No sheets but flags for sleep had they ; The helpless sleeve may flutter, for A round shot tore the arm away. Laugh not, though round them leaps and jeers The howling street-boy with delight ; They were the day of those proud years, — The evening we — perchance the night. They recollect, if we forget. Lancers in red, ex-guard in blue. And worship, at his column met. The only God they ever knew. Proud of the pains endured so long, Grateful for miseries nobly borne — They feel the heart of France beat strong Under that clothing soiled and worn Our tears then check the smile that played. To see this strange pomp on its way — The Empire's ghostly mastjuerade — Dim as a ball when dawns the day. 46 THE VETERANS OF THE GRAND ARMY. Through skies which yet her splendours fill, The Eagle of our armies old, From depths of glory, burning still, Spreads over them her wings of gold. THE SPANISH MOTHER. SUPPOSED TO BE RELATED BY A VETERAN FRENCH OFFICER. Yes ! I have served that noble chief throughout .his proud career, And heard the bullets whistle past in lands both far and near — Amidst Italian flowers, below the dark pines of the north. Where'er the Emperor willed to pour his clouds of battle forth. 'Twas theti a splendid sight to see, though terrible I ween, How his vast spirit filled and moved the wheels of the machine, Wide-sounding leagues of sentient steel, and fires that lived to kill, Were but the echo of his voice, the body of his will. But now my heart is darkened with shadows that rise and fall, Between the sunlight and the ground to sadden and appal ; 48 THE SPANISH MOTHER. The woful things both seen and done, we heeded little then, But they return, like ghosts, to shake the sleep of agM men. The German and the Englishman were each an open foe, And open hatred hurled us back from Russia's blinding snow; Intenser far, in blood -red light, like fires unquenched, remain The dreadful deeds wrung forth by war from the brooding soul of Spain. I saw a village in the hills, as silent as a dream, Nought stirring but the summer sound of a merry mountain stream ; The evening star just smiled from heaven, with its quiet silver eye, And the chestnut woods were still and calm, beneath the deepening sky. But in that place, self-sacrificed, nor man nor beast we found. Nor fig-tree on the sun-touched slope, nor corn upon the ground ; — Each roofless hut was black with smoke, wrenched up each trailing vine. Each path was foul with mangled meat, and floods of wasted wine : THE SPANISH MOTHER. 49 We had been marching, travel-worn, a long and burning way. And when such welcoming we met after that toilsome day. The pulses in our maddened breasts were human hearts no more, But, like the spirit of a wolf, hot on the scent of gore. We Ughted on one dying man, they slew him where he lay, His wife, close clinging, from the corpse they tore and ^vrenched away ; They thundered in her widowed ears, with frowns and cursings grim, "Food, woman, food and wine, or else we tear thee limb from limb." The woman shaking off Ids blood, rose raven-haired and tall. And our stern glances quailed before one sterner far than all; "Both food and wine," she said, "I have; I meant them for the dead, " But ye are living still, and so let them be yours instead." The food was brought, tlic wine was brought, out of a secret place, But each one paused aghast, and looked into liis neigh hour's face ; E 50 THE SPANISH MOTHER. Her haughty step and settled brow, and chill indifferent mien, Suited so strangely with the gloom and grimness of the scene : She glided here, she glided there, before our wondering eyes. Nor anger showed, nor shame, nor fear, nor sorrow, nor surprise ; At every step from soul to soul a nameless horror ran. And made us pale and silent as that silent murdered man. She sate, and calmly soothed her child into a slumber sweet ; Calmly the bright blood on the floor crawled red around our feet ; On placid fruits and bread lay soft the shadows of the wine, And we like marble statues glared — a chill unmoving line. All white, all cold ; and moments thus flew by without a breath, A company of living things where all was still — but death — My hair rose up from roots of ice, as there unnerved I stood And watched the only thing that stirred — the ripple of the blood. That woman's voice was heard at length, it broke the solemn spell, And human fear displacing awe upon our spirits fell — THE SPANISH MOTHER. 51 " Ho ! slayers of the sinewless, ho 1 tramplers of the weak ! " What ! shrink ye from the ghastly meats and life-bought wine ye seek ? — " Feed and begone, I wish to weep — I bring you out my store, " Devour it — waste it all — and then, pass, and be seen no more — " Poison ! is that your craven fear ? " she snatched a goblet up. And raised it to her queen -like head, as if to drain the cup — But our fierce leader grasped her wrist, " No ! woman, no ! " he said, " A mother's heart of love is deep. — Give it your child instead." She only smiled a bitter smile, — " Frenchman, I do not shrink, "As pledge of my fidelity — behold the infant drink." — He fi.xed on hers his broad black eye, scanning the inmost soul, But her chill fingers trembled not as she returned the bowl. And we, with lightsome hardihood dismissing idle care, Sat down to eat and drink and laugh, over our dainty fare. The laugh was loud around the board, the jesting wild and light- But / was fevered with the march, and drank no wine that night ; 52 THE SPANISH MOTHER. I just had filled a single cup, when through my very brain Stung, sharper than a serpent's tooth, an infant's cry of pain — Through all that heat of revelry, through all that boisterous cheer, To every heart its feeble moan pierced, like a frozen spear : " Ay," shrieked the woman, darting up, " I pray you trust again " A widow's hospitality, in our unyielding Spain. "Helpless and hopeless, by the light of God Himself I swore " To treat you as you treated him — that body on the floor. " Yon secret place / filled, to feel, that if ye did not spare, "The treasure of a dread revenge was ready hidden there. " A mother's love is deep, no doubt, ye did not phrase it ill, " But in your hunger, ye forgot that hate is deeper still. "The Spanish woman speaks for Spain, for her butchered love the wife — "To tell you, that an hour is all ;;/_>' vintage leaves of life." I cannot paint the many forms by wild despair put on. Nor count the crowded brave who sleep under a single stone ; I can but tell you, how before that horrid hour went by, I saw the murderess beneath the self-avengers die — THE SPANISH MOTHER. 53 But though upon her A\Tenched hmbs they leapt hke beasts of prey, And with fierce hands as madmen tore the quivering Ufe away, Triumphant hate, and joyous scorn, without a trace of pain, Burned to the last, like sullen stars, in that haughty eye of Spain. And often now it breaks my rest, the tumult vague and wild, Drifting, like storm-tost clouds, around the mother and her child- While she, distinct in raiment white, stands silently the while. And sheds through torn and bleeding hair the same unchanging smile. GYTHIA. A TALE OF THE LOWER EMPIRE. I. The cycle of the vultures, whom of old Great Romulus had numbered, one by one, Whilst priest and prophet, on the heights, foretold How Rome's according centuries should run, Drew slowly to its close — a time of woe, Plague, treason, bloodshed, famine, and despair : Fierce earthquakes rent the tortured earth below ; Above, the ancient heavens were deaf to prayer. Their Gods were dead, and through that frozen gloom Low voices muttered of man's coming doom, H. Over the empire, yet a mighty name, Armed anarchy hung ever, like a cloud, Until that mockery of a throne became A living grave, the purple robe a shroud. As on old ocean's waters, after storm, By blind and eager forces upward prest. GYTHIA. 55 Each billow dies, when once its haughty form Hath towered in king-like pride above the rest ; So Caesars rose — so fell to rise no more, And broke like waves on Fate's unheeding shore. III. The golden land of Italy, once filled With her own sons, those warlike yeomen lords, Who, in the bright Saturnian ages, tilled Their native soil, girt with their native swords. Was now a prison-house, where men in chains. Scourged forth each morning from their cells, half-fed. Went tottering over pestilential plains. That milk-white steeds or oxen might be bred For some self-styled Patrician, whose dark skin Hid not a drop of the old blood within, IV. The talons of Rome's eagle drooped unstrung, And weak the impulse of her withered wing ; Whilst nations closed around, whose hearts were young, And fresh with life as the first pulse of spring. Yet, though her power waned fast, by gold and skill She bribed, or gulled, each chief who rose too high ; Tamed down barbaric tribes to work her will. And charmed the thunders of that angry sky To vassal clouds, which formed a gorgeous pall Around the dying sunset of her fall. 56 GYTHIA. V. Upon the edge of the wide Scythian plains, Stood Cherson, ever faithful, ever true ; Caesar ^ himself she saved from death or chains, And at his call her savage kinsmen slew. Therefore, among those wild Sauromatae, A lodged and living principle of hate Worked inwards, ever growing like a tree : They deemed that Cherson had arrested fate : That, but for her, gems torn from shrieking Rome Had lit the gloom of each Cimmerian home. VI. Revenge at first in open war they sought, Such war as neither babe nor mother spares ; But though, like fiends let loose from hell, they fought, Cherson's keen sword was sharper yet than theirs. Hence foiled, and sore from failure, they began To hanker after triumph won by guile ; In the dark spirit shaping out a plan To stab through love, and murder with a smile. Hence gentle words, hence gifts of price they bring, And proffered marriage from their sullen king. VII. Cherson's old ruler, valiant Lamachus, Had seen his children perish, one by one : ^ Constans. GYTIIIA. 57 A girl was left, his people's hope, so thus The Scythian message ran : " Behold my son. " Give him the maiden Gythia. If thou wilt, " He shall become thy very own, and quit " His father's house for ever : we have spilt " Enough of kindred blood ; now let us knit " Our tribes together in these bands of joy, "Grant but thy daughter, I will send the boy. VIII. " Nay, more — lest in your hearts distrust should wake, " This do I offer, thus will I decree — " Another chief his birthright here shall take, " And sway my Scythian clansmen after me ; " But steeds, and arms, and gold, and fragrant wine, " And silken robes, the half of all my store, " He shall bear off across your frontier line, " Whilst we turn back, to see his face no more ; "Jars too divine, by friendly spirits made " In the wise East, and talismans of jade. IX. " Thus ruled by brethren, let the nations live ; " Forget this bitter bloodshed ; quench their pride ; *' Learn the new faith which teaches to forgive, "And in sweet peace, like bleating lambs, abide. " Yea, let this peace grow strong, year after year, *' By gifts and embassies between us sent. 58 GYTHIA. " Till the lithe spider veils each shining spear, " And our dulled war-shafts crumble in the tent : " So, through all time, that pair shall reverenced be, " Like those twin stars which soothe the weary sea." X. Worn by long strife, and sated with renown, Like some old forest-tree about to fall. Among his shadows, underneath the crown, Gray Lamachus mused ever in his hall : Hushed voices seemed to thrill him as of old, The loved and lost in dreams went eddying past, So that he yearned to hear and to behold Youth round him, ere he heard and looked his last His one keen hope to hear fair Gythia claim, Before he died, a mother's happy name. XI. Hence, full of pleasant thoughts, consent he gave ; For, in the storm of battle, oft the boy Had flashed across him beautiful and brave : He welcomed him with all a warrior's joy ; And soon he said, " The children of my child " Again shall fill these hails with mirthful din." The bridegroom answered merrily, and smiled — Smiled with his Hps, to hide the heart within. Till, hke ripe fruit, from life the old man fell, Was gathered to God's silence, and slept well. GYTHIA. 59 Then spake the Lady Gythia, mastering grief : " Because my father ever loved you all, *' Because ye also love your noble chief, " Were it not good that a great festival *' Should keep his memory green and fresh for ever ? " By me let wine, and mead, and flesh be brought, " And gold to fee sage bards, who may endeavour " To sow among us seeds of noble thought ; "For I, the heir, am rich enough, ye know." Then all the people answered, " Be it so." XIII. Thus in its season, for that solemn feast. She set before her tribe the best she had ; Rich sacrifice was offered by the priest. The wine-cup circled, and the land was glad. Contending champions wrestled, ran, and rode ; Contending bards poured hymns of triumph forth, Whilst dance on dance, like headlong rivers, flowed. Lashed by the stormy music of the North : All caution vanished, care aside was flung, And the old revelled reckless as the young. XIV. Gythia's bold husband mingled with the crowd, Studied each humour, joined in every sport. 6o GYTHIA. Then sent at night, unmarked and unavowed, A messenger to reach his father's court. From that day forward ceaseless embassies To Cherson from their ancient foes were sent, With gifts, with letters : thick as summer flies The stately Scythian warriors came and went — Went, as it seemed, for in the blaze of day They re-embarked, and steered their ships away. XV. Still there were those who muttered, " It is strange ! " How often, when the winter moon is low, " Light footfalls o'er the silent city range, " And sandalled steps indent the midnight snow ! " Up from our harbour to the palace gate " That sound glides past ; the marks on that converge. "We cannot tell why men should walk so late, "And fear that Gythia's serfs will need the scourge." So talked they, but no stedfast watch was kept : Serfs all seemed guiltless, and the mystery slept. XVI. Meanwhile the rolling months brought round again That feast ; in blooms half-hid each temple smiled ; Sheep bleated, oxen lowed, wain after wain Groaned in with ivied casks at random piled. It chanced a royal handmaid, for some fault. Spent those glad hours in prison all alone ; GYTHIA. 6l Beneath her dungeon stretched an ample vault, Unused, unvisited, and hardly known : For vast the palace was, with many a room Left to itself in solitude and gloom. XVII. The bee-like murmur of the busy street Soared up, and floated to those lonely towers ; Fresh laughs throbbed round her, as on tiny feet Children reeled by beneath a weight of flowers. She turned her wheel, scarce knowing what she did, And spun, but sung not as she sang of old, Till from her careless fingers idly slid The spindle — right across the floor it rolled Like a thing guided, till it seemed to leap, As if alive, into a crevice deep. XVIII. Her slack, indifferent hand was vaguely thrown To reach it back, but it lay wedged so tight She rose perforce to lift the fettering stone. Why starts she back, with sudden horror white ? The halls below lay open to her ken : There, like a swarm of hornets, just ere dawn, Packed close and buzzing venom, mail-clad men Muttered and frowned with swords already drawn. The guests and envoys of the bygone year, Armed and concealed — what bodes their presence here ? 62 GYTHIA. XIX. She hung there numb with wonder, till at length Her heart gave one great bound, and with a jar, The impulse of the truth, in all its strength. Flashed through her rapid as a shooting star : She felt that these were they whose feet had crept Up from the shore along the midnight snow ; That the long peace had nought availed, except To change an open to a secret foe ; And the whole picture of their deadly scheme Stood out before her, like a waking dream. XX. Soon as her evening meal was brought, the maid Seized on the bringer's hand, and held it fast : With an intense and burning zeal, she prayed To see the Queen. When Gythia came at last, Eager she spoke : "With thy unhappy slave " Deal, lady, as thou wilt — behold I kneel " Before thee, reckless of myself, but save, " Oh save thy people from the Scythian steel ! " Treason lurks near thee ; man that woman's heart, "And though the flesh may shrink, perform thy part ! " XXI. She spoke, and raised the stone. " Look, Gythia, look ! " She cried, and showed those human hornets there ; GYTHIA. 63 The Queen's face rippled like a storm-swept brook, But her will froze it into calm despair. The girl raved on : "A fire beyond control "Glows on my lips, through words that are not mine : " Some god — some god has seized upon my soul : " His voice leaps through me, keen with life divine : " His visions burn around, and, full of pain, "Hurl their hot shadows on this eddying brain. XXII. " I see the Scythians come ; ' Spare none ! ' they cry, "And the maimed corpses of unthinking men, " Struck suddenly, beneath their onset lie. " Like lions hungry from a flooded fen, " They bound together on the hapless town, " Whilst one, O Gythia ! whom I dare not name, " Shouts in fierce glee, ' Strike, strike the wretches down ! " ' Shed blood like water, scorch it dry with flame ! ' " This is their future ; but the heavenly powers, " Who speak through me, have made the present ours. XXIII. " Death, death to us is what thy marriage meant ! " Death at the feast, when the red wine is poured, " Whilst all our hearts are light, our bows unbent, " The gate unguarded, hung away the sword ! — " This is the peace vouchsafed by Scythia's sons ; "The love they proffer ! Though a Scythian's hridc. 64 GYTIIIA. " In those blue veins the blood of Cherson runs ; "The form thy father gave thee cannot hide " A false or feeble spirit ; from his grave "A murmur trembles forth — be true and brave !" XXIV. Stately and calm the Queen replied, " Away ; " Thy faults are cancelled, and thy task is done ; "In our loved Cherson's cause, I too can say " If public needs wring forth the word, Spare none ! " So speaking, her proud feet glide through the halls, Watched at each step, and guided by her eyes, She gains her royal chamber thus, and calls At once a council of the old and wise. Then rising firm and undismayed, though pale, She bows to each, and thus begins her tale : XXV. " Friends of my father, pillars of the state, " What bright hopes shone around my nuptial bed, " Or seemed to shine, I need not here relate ; " Enough to know that hope and truth are dead : " The men we deal with nothing can restrain : " Gods are invoked, oaths plighted, temples built, "Yea, children born of common blood, in vain. " But that revealing heaven lays bare their guilt, " Our Scythian friends would now the dream fulfil " Which for long years has kept their hatred still. GYTHIA. 65 / XXVI. " Peace, gifts, and vows, e'en love itself they brought, " But all were false as hell ; our ancient foes, " From the first hour of compact, only sought " To trick us to destruction through repose : " They have flocked here without a whisper, soft " As snow that droppeth, flake on flake, until " The dumb mass, heaving in its cloud aloft, *' Hangs ripe for ruin o'er the silent hill. "Their hidden army thus waits but one breath, " One utterance, to begin its work of death. XXVII. "We must anticipate that breath, outstrip "That utterance, and be first in action, ere " The Prince, my loving husband, can let slip " Those dogs of hell to hunt us down like deer. " In thought he triumphs well ; but oft, we know, " The mocking destinies who sport with man, "At some great purpose labouring firm and slow, " Veer round, and crush their half-completed plan : " So, by the sea, blithe children toil in vain, " To shape the sands, then dash them down again. XXVIII. " The Gods delight to startle and surprise ; " To show how light the proud, how weak the great ; F 66 GYTHIA. " How, at their nod, Hope shrivels up and dies, " Beneath the blighting irony of fate. " Hence now, what we call chance, an idle name, " To the right spot, at the right moment, brings "A simple girl, whose instincts put to shame " And foil the subtle stratagem of kings. " That girl is here, to question if ye will ! " But the time presses — we may perish still." XXIX. The maid then summoned came without delay, Quick in her woman's wit, she made it clear. How those false traitors seemed to sail away, But lurked in darkness, and in silence near ; How they returned, and straight were hidden down In those forgotten chambers, one and all. Far from the keen eyes of the prying town. And the Queen's household, till the hour should call. The council into wild confusion broke, Loud clamouring, but once more their lady spoke. XXX. "Let no tumultuous passion of alarm " Thrill thro' the streets, and reach that hateful den. " Like shadows flickering round, select and arm, "With stealthy swiftness, all our bravest men. " They must creep past, along the palace wall, " And watch without a word : meanwhile I go ' GVTHIA. 67 " To keep the feasting noisy in the hall, " And overmatch the sleek arch-traitor so." — She spoke, and trusty chiefs, with fatal skill, Go silent forth to execute her will. XXXI. The people revelled reckless, and at night They held the solemn banquet, as of old. Along the rose-roofed galleries, perfumed light Flashed on a wilderness of gems and gold ; From golden flagons fragrant wine was poured, And mirth was loud — none merrier than the Queen ; All smiles, she faced her husband at the board. As if no shadow chilled the space between. And with free spirit, whilst men talked and laughed, From Cherson's royal cup she lightly quaffed. XXXII. That proud cup was an heirloom, brought from far. Some emperor's gift to one of her bold sires ; A sculptured vase of precious purple spar, Shot redly through with opalescent fires. As in that dazzling blaze she raised it high, Its thin translucent texture flashed and gleamed Above the tables, to each careless eye With generous grape-juice sparkling, as it seemed ; Yet it was strange how she forgot to shed Their just libations to the noble dead. 6S GYTHIA. XXXIII. The young chief sat more silent, and at first Drank seldom — so at least his brain had planned. But what avails against a Scythian thirst A Scythian purpose ? Powerless to withstand The bright temptation of the bubbling wine, He tossed his beakers off — but suddenly, Perchance admonished by some secret sign From friends at hand, he pushed the goblet by. Stood up and spake : "A long-neglected vow " Drives me, against my will, to leave you now. XXXIV. "The grim Diana of these northern plains^ " Longs for some fresher blood than that which fills, "With sleepy tingling stream, the sluggish veins " Of household bulls and goats ; our ancient hills " Are loud with wolves, whom I have sworn to slay. " Bound by that oath, I rise at dawn, to stir " Their dreams with steel, and on yon altar lay " Choice victims, worthy of myself and her. "Pardon me then, I pray, each honoured guest, " For I have left but little time for rest." XXXV. With courteous motion he departed, but, As his step died upon the distant stair, ubi Taurica dira Csede pharetratte pascitur ara Deas. — Ovid. GYTHIA. 69 His wife broke forth : " Let all the doors be shut. " 'Tis well. — Now seize yon freedman loitering there " And question him apart, nor let him dread " A chiding, if his lord o'ersleep the day : " I pledge my soul to rouse him from his bed " When our staunch hounds are cheered upon their prey, " Let him lie calm till then, it well may be " Sweet sleep no more shall visit him nor me." XXXVI. Her face trembled with pain, while tears unshed Swam soft, and darkened those large earnest eyes ; In her clenched hand that chalice, frowning red, Burned, as the planet Mars, through misty skies, Burns, breathing death to man : the electric strain Of fingers lithe, with ever-tightening clasp, Pressed in, like flame, against the glittering grain, Till that strong crystal shivered in her grasp ; And the freed water, mocking wine no more, Dropped white, through crimson rifts, along the floor. XXXVII. " Break thus, my heart ! " rang forth her bitter cry ; " Break, when thine hour is come ; but now, oh soul, "Toil on — nor claim the privilege to die." She dashed the fragments of that shattered bowl Hard on the ground ; then to her maids : " Be swift ! " My royal robes, my father's sword and crown ; 70 GYTHIA. " The ancestral sceptre, reverenced as the gift " Of our ancestral God, bear deftly down ; " But let each Scythian treasure, prized of late, "Rest here unmoved, and share the Scythian's fate." XXXVIII. Out of the hall she passed : her maidens there. With eager speed, glide through the tasks ordained For the last time she climbed the well-known stair ; For the last time her bridal chamber gained ; Paused at the threshold of the darkened room, Then straight, with noiseless step, up to the bed Slipped like a silent ghost across the gloom, And bent o'er him who slept her stately head. Freed now from watching eyes, upon that face Kisses unfelt, and tears she rained apace. XXXIX. " Oh thou ! " she cried, " who in these arms of mine " Hast lived, for whom alone this heart has beat, " Farewell ! farewell ! Not e'en through help divine " Our spirits in a better land may meet ! " The river of thy youthful blood must roll " A gulf impassable between, and sever " Our two eternities, body and soul : " In this last kiss I take my leave for ever : " Doomed, e'en beyond the grave, in shades forlorn, " By doubts which die not, to be racked and torn. GYTHIA. XL. "Whether thy love were wholly false, or whether, " Had not thy father trained thee as our foe, " Blighting both hearts, we might have been together " All that we seemed — I never now shall know. " That bitter yearning, like a tainted gale, " Must mix itself through time with every breath ; " Yea, still unquenched, when time itself shall fail, " Sting Hfe immortal into living death. " Oh ! for one word, through slumbering lips apart, "To shrine for ever in the solaced heart." XLI. She listened, with a sudden wish to spare, But the word came not : if he spake of aught, If that low muttering can a meaning bear, Still seems it with his hoped-for treason fraught. Her mouth was stern at once, her tears were dried. Her shaken purpose reassumed its sway ; Her eyes grew fierce, and rising in her pride. Without another word she passed away. The stars on him poured down an evil gleam When that last whisper issued from his dream. XLI I, Then said she to her friends, who gathered round, "This is no midnight murder which we plan. 72 GYTHIA. " But a great act of justice : robed and crowned, " I shall give sentence before God and man. " I call my father's spirit to my heart ; " I clothe myself for judgment, like a queen ; "Fix then our canopy from all apart " Before yon shrine, that I may stand serene " Beneath the conscious heavens, and call on them " To wing my words with life as I condemn." XLIII. Thence, when her orders were fulfilled, alone She passed, in gloom and silence, like a cloud, To take her place on Cherson's ancient throne. There ran a tremor through the listening crowd As that pale woman bound her brows about With the gemmed circle worn by kings of old. And, as the sign of rightful power, stretched out Her mystic staff of sky-descended gold : ^ " Hear, Heaven," she cried ; " give ear, thou Stygian gloom, " And ratify what I pronounce for doom. XLIV. " If Truth and Law, unending, uncreate, " Ere light was born, the realms of ether trod ; ^ " If their pure essence, fused through time and fate, "Sustain the everlasting youth of God — " Then let your vengeance fall on those, ye Powers, "Who trample them to dust with atheist scorn ; 1 Vide Herodotus, Book iv. - Vide Sophocles,