:!f 
 
 H- 
 
 1 
 
 [ I
 
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 ^^jjj^^jjj^ 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 -MAV
 
 p 
 
 A THIRTY ^ 
 
 SHORT POEMS 
 
 BY 
 
 ALEXANDER SUTHERLAND, M.A. 
 
 MELVILLE, MULLEN & SLADE 
 
 MELBOURNE AND LONDON 
 
 1 "ic^o
 
 96/?. 3 
 SU(,t 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Preface 
 
 A Christmas Sunset 
 
 A Pang Approaching . . 
 
 When Life has Faded 
 
 The Birth of Nature 
 
 A Spring Morning 
 
 The Empire of Our Queen . . 
 
 An Orchestral Symphony 
 
 An Austral Sky 
 
 A Song of August 
 
 Hetty 
 
 A Babe in Court 
 
 In the Valley of the Upper Watts 
 
 A Prayer 
 
 With Nature 
 
 The Human Heart and its Goal 
 
 The Pestilence 
 
 Home and the World 
 
 Love and the Law 
 
 My Little Ones . . 
 
 In Dreams 
 
 A Dirge 
 
 Shelley 
 
 Australia to England 
 
 By the Sea 
 
 Australia's Centenary 
 
 Good Night 
 
 The Hyacinth Bulb 
 
 With the Past 
 
 A Time-stained Sheet 
 
 lOI 
 
 104 
 107 
 113 
 114 
 116 
 122 
 143 
 147 
 182 
 185 
 187 
 
 205 
 708 
 212 
 2x7 
 
 1530559
 
 preface. 
 
 —f.^'^ 
 
 jfOTY little book, that dost enfold 
 ^^^^^ The thoughts I sometimes cherish, 
 And must thou forth into the cold, 
 
 And only bloom to perish ? 
 Alas ! thou ne'er wilt meet a friend 
 
 Like him whose hand thou'rt leaving, 
 For, to thy numbers, none will lend 
 An ear, so self-deceiving.
 
 Preface. 
 
 No other eye will seek to see 
 
 Thy beauty, not thy failing. 
 If any do, — perchance 'twill be 
 
 A quest of small availing. 
 Yet if the world should quite neglect, 
 
 Too busy far to heed thee, 
 Bring back to me thy fortunes wrecked, 
 
 And I, at least, shall read thee. 
 
 I have an attic, far aloft, — - 
 
 Thy fellows there may slumber. 
 And them the dust in showers soft 
 
 Will coat — with other lumber. 
 If thou may have no readers, — then 
 
 The joy of song's in singing ; 
 And thou wast born afar from men, 
 
 Where many charms were springing ;
 
 Preface. 
 
 And I was happy while I lay 
 
 Where summery fields were gleaming, — 
 By voiceful stream, — by thunderous bay, — 
 
 A-dreaming still and dreaming. 
 And all the gladness of those days 
 
 While thou wast still a-making 
 A peep between thy leaves will raise, 
 
 When I am old and aching.
 
 H Cbiistmas Sunset 
 
 'OW calm, and fair and dream-like, 
 The twilight fades away ! 
 What hour on earth can seem like 
 This ling'ring close of day ! 
 I gaze, and one great thrill my heart suffuses 
 Which, melting at the touch, its mean earth-bondage 
 looses. 
 
 These hills, with tree-tops fringing, 
 Stand up in solemn black, 
 
 Upon the sky impinging, 
 Where the last fading track
 
 A C/irisfjfms Simscf. 
 
 Of daylight ebbs, in colours faint and tender ; 
 Save where one crimson bar still hints its vanished 
 splendour. 
 
 The sands are dark and hazy, 
 
 But on them slowly swing 
 The ripples long and lazy 
 Which with susurrance fling 
 Soft tongues of silver light, the beach ascending, 
 A restless line of glory, with murmuring unending. 
 
 The moon, — a crescent slender. 
 Is high in heaven ; her light 
 Floods the long seas with splendour, 
 And myriad twinkles bright ; 
 And over all, — earth, .sky, and waters heaving. 
 The peace of God descends, beyond the heart's 
 believing.
 
 A Christmas Simset. 
 
 Oh nature,— whispering ever, 
 
 To-night most eloquent, 
 I feel as if thy Giver 
 
 Now o'er me kindly bent ; 
 Though far he fills yon star-transcending distance. 
 He seems to dwell to-night with my poor soul's existence. 
 
 And hark ! the silver singing 
 
 Where wreathing wavelets fall. 
 For lo ! the breeze is springing 
 And gently ruffles all. 
 Yet all is peace — a pure ethereal cadence — 
 And earth is still a dream of sweetness, more than Eden's. 
 
 Oh ; touch of God's own essence, 
 
 How soon, alas, thou'lt flee. 
 I scarce shall leave this presence 
 
 When thou wilt fade from me.
 
 -/ Christmas Siuiscf. 
 
 But oh ! that I could, from this tranquil minute, 
 So fill my soul with peace that nought else could 
 come in it. 
 
 It fades ! Look how it passes ! 
 
 The last dim glow is fled. 
 The hills are gloom-wrought masses, 
 And all the sea is dead, 
 Save where the moon, fresh glory gathering ever, 
 Bids yonder restless path with newer splendour 
 quiver. 
 
 Now homeward. All is over. 
 
 And one more twilight's gone. 
 Oh ! could my heart discover 
 To what it leads us on. 
 Does it but lead to gloom like yon horizon? 
 Or does it lead to light, like that I fed my eyes on ?
 
 A Pang ApproacJiiug. 
 
 a pang Bpproacbing. 
 
 There's dear old Mrs. Martin with her big and 
 handsome son, 
 
 You can see them crossing slowly down the street, 
 His ample stride he slackens to befit her little one. 
 
 As he marches, looking downward at his feet. 
 
 But she, poor little lady, keeps her brown eyes fixed 
 on him. 
 Throwing all their shining love-light on his face : 
 She could see him miles away, though her sight is 
 growing dim. 
 'Tis her heart that hears the music of his pace.
 
 lo A Pang Approaching. 
 
 tVhy, dear old little mother, there are many worthy 
 sons : 
 And there have been sons as worthy, age on age. 
 But, 'twere throwing words away, to match hers with 
 other ones, 
 To her, the leading actor on life's stage. 
 
 Her first thought in the morning, and her latest 
 
 thought at night ; 
 
 And well-nigh half of all the thoughts between. 
 
 For she lives a sunny dream-life, unrevealed to 
 
 mortal sight, 
 
 Woven out of what he is, and what has been. 
 
 She knows her George will marry ! He'll be happier 
 so, — no doubt ! 
 How proud she'll be upon his wedding-day !
 
 A Pang Approac/n'iio. 1 1 
 
 And to find a girl to suit him, she has kept a sharp 
 look-out. 
 But that girl is not yet made of mortal clay. 
 
 Now George has not been waiting till his mother 
 made her choice, 
 For he seldom takes his evening walks alone. 
 Full well he knows the secret thrill of one sweet 
 rippling voice. 
 And the twilight touch of lips against his own. 
 
 Why, — poor old simple lady ! — while he's walking 
 by your side 
 He is framing gentle words to tell it all. 
 Though he leaves it till to-morrow, — you're so hap])y 
 in your pride, 
 Yet across your dream the shadows surely fall.
 
 12 When Life has Faded. 
 
 Mben Xite bas jfabe^ 
 
 What though I shall not in the skies 
 In selfish ease enjoy a throne, 
 And hear far off the myriad moan 
 
 Of endless-surging agonies. 
 
 These were the dreams that held me first: 
 But Ciod draws no such savage line. 
 W^e all have something of divine ; — 
 
 The best but little more than worst. 
 
 If life eternal waits for one, 
 Then life eternal waits for all ;
 
 When Life has Faded. 13 
 
 Not waking at a judgment call ; 
 But life to loftier life will run. 
 
 It would not bring me anxious care, 
 Though I believed as many think, 
 That soul and brain together sink, 
 
 Resolving to the things they were. 
 
 This world is bright. This life is sweet. 
 
 We have no claim to any other. 
 
 If earth shall fold us as a mother, 
 ^\'hile unfelt aeons o'er us fleet ; 
 
 Though we no more grew cognisant 
 Of time, or of the rolling spheres, 
 Of man, and all his changing years ; 
 
 Unmoved by wish, untouched by want ;
 
 14 W/u'U Life has Faded. 
 
 Our thanks were due — our praise indeed- 
 To Him who gave us Hfe and light, 
 That to a busy day, a night 
 
 Of restful darkness should succeed. 
 
 Yes ; that were well ! And yet 1 feel 
 That somewhere in Creation's plan 
 A place has been reserved where man 
 
 Shall know what sense could not reveal. 
 
 A place where these probation years, 
 That seem ,to have a future goal, 
 That never ripen quite the soul, 
 
 Will open out in wider spheres. 
 
 1 am content howe'er it be, 
 Whether the soul in Paradise
 
 W/icn Life has Faded. 15 
 
 Or in the void that silent hes, 
 Shall find its rest ; 'tis rest for me. 
 
 But yet our human race will last, 
 
 And earnest work with hand or brain 
 Will lift it to a higher plane, 
 
 And work will stand when we have passed. 
 
 And so the simple rule is best, 
 To think not of our future place, 
 But write our mark upon the race, 
 
 And leave to God, in trust, the rest.
 
 1 6 The Birth of Nature. 
 
 Ubc Birtb ot mature. 
 
 I. 
 
 Sn tijc bcgiiiiiiiiii, 
 
 That space where planets course 
 In their magnificently silent force, — 
 
 That s|)ace which spreads afar 
 Beyond the confines of the loneliest star, — • 
 'I'hat space, ineffably sublime, which runs 
 Through mighty voids, from suns to endless suns, 
 In the beginning lay in awful sleep ; 
 
 Wherein, of all these now bedazzling ones, 
 There was no shape. But in a formless heap, 
 Through which no thing that is did stir or creep, 
 The universe lay spread from deep to mighty deep.
 
 The BirtJi of ATatiire. 17 
 
 II. 
 
 iOilns cl)ao6. 
 And darkness without end, 
 One great mysterious blackness did extend, 
 
 With not one ray redeemed, 
 So that the whole as nothing might have seemed. 
 For in that wide monotony which spread 
 Of sullen vapours, chill, inert, and dead, 
 There was no shape, nor sound, nor any motion, 
 Nor bound, nor limit through the ceons dread ; 
 Nor change that might discern place, part, or 
 
 portion. 
 A lightning speed had yielded but the notion 
 Of universal rest in that abysmal ocean. 
 
 III. 
 
 Wljcvrof compoori. 
 
 Yet small, and wondrous small, 
 The atoms of that vapour spread through all.
 
 1 8 The Birth of Nature. 
 
 A floating dust, a speck, 
 Those pollen grains, which thighs of insects 
 
 deck, 
 Were mighty worlds compared with one of 
 
 these ; 
 But they were scattered in infinities. 
 Eternity itself would fail to tell 
 
 The sum of their stupendous companies. 
 And though the vapour-mass at rest did dwell, 
 An ocean dead, without or wave or swell, 
 Vet did each atom range in paths invisible. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Its primal ciurgi;. 
 
 Their speed was as the rush 
 Of meteor flash through midnight's solemn hush. 
 
 And in that infinite maze, 
 With clash and impact endless, each its ways
 
 The Birth of Nahirc. 19 
 
 Devious, disturbed, and ever broken found 
 In infinite play of shock and sharp rebound. 
 Yet each of them, with hfe and strength in it, 
 
 Circled in mighty cycles, and around 
 One wavering centre was constrained to flit 
 In orbits winding, varying, intricate ; 
 Yet ever circling on through changes infinite. 
 
 V. 
 
 Thus awful whirlpools rolled 
 Of atoms in their myriad hosts untold; 
 
 Through wildernesses black, 
 'Mid all-extending silence. But their track 
 Through countless ages gathered fixity. 
 And inward drawn by long and slow degree, 
 Sucked to the centres of their spheres immense, 
 Those atoms sped no longer singly free,
 
 20 TJic Birth of N'aturc. 
 
 But bound in ties of mutual influence, 
 In drops as of the finest quintessence, 
 They whirled in vapour clouds that ever grew more 
 dense. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ®1]C cosmic roljirlpools. 
 
 And all creation saw 
 These mighty gulfs awhirl to one great law 
 
 While fabulous ages crept, 
 Unbroken darkness on their motion slept. 
 But, drop on drop impinging, the quick play 
 Of atoms made a dawning glimmer gray. 
 It gleamed like silent lightning, like the glow 
 On thunder clouds which, piling far away. 
 Flashing, light up their rounded bosoms; so 
 Electric streams at times lit up the flow 
 Of tawny vapour clouds that ever round did go.
 
 TJic BirtJi of Nature, 2 1 
 
 VII. 
 
 3^ nuclfUB. 
 
 This mighty vortex sphere 
 Drew inward ever, to the centre near, — 
 
 That centre wherein lay 
 A refuge-spot from such stupendous play. 
 There nestled calmness 'mid that wild unrest : 
 A haven of stillness, deep within the breast 
 Of gloom, and through the nameless ages there 
 A nucleus orb was gathered and compressed. 
 Half liquid, but with no discernment where 
 It melted outward in the vaporous air. 
 Yet moved it round upon its axis spinning fair. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 ^ormetlj our oi't)— tljc Sun. 
 
 And inward still it drew 
 The circumambient vapours, and it grew
 
 22 Tlic Bii'th of A^aturc. 
 
 Hot with impingent blow ; 
 A molten mass of dimly ruddy glow, 
 And ever as the ages rolled along 
 More huge its bulk, its fiery glow more strong. 
 And swifter grew its spinning, for there fell 
 
 Oblique upon its bosom all the throng 
 Of universal matter. Thus did swell 
 Our glorious orb, the Sun ; and visible 
 ^\'ith that transcendent glow all things in light did 
 dwell. 
 
 IX. 
 
 A sea of molten glass, — 
 Translucent fire seemed then that whirling 
 mass. 
 At every impulse new 
 Fresh speed he gathered, and fresh heat he 
 threw ;
 
 The Birth of Nature. 23 
 
 Till urged to fury pace his surface boiled, 
 And round his girth a mighty ridge was coiled. 
 
 Was never sight like that red mountain vast ; 
 As far beyond earth's ranges highest piled 
 
 As plough-built furrows are by these surpassed. 
 
 And, as it thundered on, its furnace blast 
 A hundred million miles with fervent power was cast. 
 
 X. 
 
 ^Inmctlj tijr solm- rtiige. 
 
 Ah ! what can mortals know 
 Of mighty scenes? In wondering awe we go 
 
 Through gorge and dark ravine, — 
 O'er peak and height of our own mountains mean. 
 Oh! had there been;— oh! had there been 
 
 some sight 
 That might have viewed those vales of ruddy 
 light
 
 24 The BirtJi of jYafiiir. 
 
 Within whose hollow this great earth could lie 
 
 Like dusky boulder in a sandy bight ! 
 Some eye to view those lic[uid mountains high 
 As seems the moon in our terrestrial sky, 
 What awful grandeur then must have appalled that 
 eye! 
 
 XI. 
 
 Spriiiiirtlj fovtl) ittptuiic. 
 
 But who that lives would dare 
 The wonders of that moment to declare, 
 
 When, hurled with 'I'itan force, 
 A molten mount was thrown ? It took its course 
 Through realms of space, like stone by slinger 
 
 slung ; 
 Huge as an hundred worlds, rushing, it sprung; 
 And many a week it sped, and years were gone. 
 Until upon the outer verge it hung,
 
 TJic Birth of Nature. 25 
 
 Circling its silent orbit. There it shone 
 
 Of all the planets first ; vast and alone 
 
 In its majestic course it rolled for ages on. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Klje ffiai-tlj spceliftlj out into spncr. 
 
 But as the centre, fed 
 With matter that from out the vast was shed, 
 
 Grew large again, and burned 
 In flaming mounds that heaved and tossed and 
 
 turned. 
 So did its awful speed from age to age 
 Spin out these mighty drops. Our heritage, 
 This goodly Earth, sprang liquid from the side 
 
 Of the all-parent sun. With belching rage 
 Outward she leapt, heading towards the wide. 
 The chill abyss ; and round her rolled a tide 
 Of vapours, hissing hot, wherein her glow did hide.
 
 2 6 TJic Birth of N'ature. 
 
 XIII. 
 And yet obliquely sent 
 She felt an inward influence, and she bent, 
 
 Nodding the while, and round 
 Her parent orb a spiral path she wound. 
 And centuries rolled by, while still she spread 
 Outward her giant circles, and she led 
 Ten thousand leagues of vapour in a trail 
 
 That whirled in mighty quivers as she sped ; 
 In shape a sickle, like the glittering tail 
 Of comets dire, whereat the faces pale 
 Of desert tribes and those that set the lonely sail. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Cljt ^oon l)atlj birtlj. 
 
 So sprang our mother earth ! 
 Nor living eye beheld the awful birth. 
 Her spiral path she traced
 
 The Birth of Nature. 
 
 27 
 
 Till forces poised. Then, in the cosmic waste, 
 She found her ultimate path, whereon she 
 
 rolled, 
 Measuring her orbit out a myriad-fold ; — 
 A molten globe of like translucent sheen 
 
 As glows in crucibles of liquid gold. 
 Oh ! what a wondrous thing this world hath 
 
 been ! 
 And when she tossed the moon to roll between, 
 There is no thought can frame the thunders of the 
 scene. 
 
 XV. 
 
 ®ljc Oravtij cooletl). 
 
 Ah me ! to think, to dream 
 What ages passed in uneventful stream ! 
 
 While earth her daily spin. 
 The moon her monthly circuit made, and in
 
 28 The Birth of Nature. 
 
 Twelve moons they two, with awful tread, the 
 
 year 
 Marked out unconscious. As they rolled, each 
 sphere 
 Scattered its heat. The earth grew cool, and 
 made 
 A solid skin of wrinkled rocks and sere. 
 Yet such the fervent powers that inward played, 
 A thousand times they burst the bondage laid, 
 And fiery lava streams through horrid prospects 
 strayed. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 (ITIje rain faUctli. 
 
 A million lives of men 
 Were all too brief a time to measure when 
 
 At last a solid floor, 
 Too thick, too rigid to be shattered more.
 
 The Biii/i of Nature, 29 
 
 Compassed the earth ; yet hot as lava flow- 
 That hath devoured whole villages below 
 Not two days past ; so scorching hot it lay. 
 And when at length there fell, all soft and 
 slow, 
 The gentle rains from out the bosom gray 
 Of that o'er-shadowang cloud, they hissed away 
 In wreathing steam again ; no drop on it might stay. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 3^nb far sprraft tljc seas. 
 
 But still it cooled, while years 
 Rolled by in mighty cycles ; then these tears 
 
 Refreshed its parched face, 
 And in the hollows found a resting place. 
 Thus, ever gathering, did the deluge pour 
 In age-long showers with deep and sullen 
 roar.
 
 30 TJie Birth of Nature. 
 
 Till, all in shining waters clothed, the world 
 
 Was one ensphering ocean. Evermore 
 Her shallow seas grew deep ; their faces curled 
 To winds that from the firmament were hurled. 
 And a great tide around her mighty waist was 
 whirled. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 So did she spin, and day, 
 Alternate with a brooding darkness, lay 
 
 Upon her billowy breast. 
 And round her whole circumference the crest 
 Of waves that met no obstacle rolled on. 
 But tepid all, and through the waters shone 
 At times the fires internal, when the shell 
 
 By rents was torn. Ah ! then, from zone to zone, 
 Then fierce convulsions raged, and terrible
 
 TIic Birth of Nature. 3 1 
 
 The thunderous shocks when that deep molten 
 hell 
 Received the brimming waves that down its caverns 
 fell. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And up, a hundred leagues, 
 There flew exploded masses, like the peaks 
 
 In size of Caucasus; 
 And thence again, a covering vaporous 
 Floated around the world, to lie and brood 
 In awful twilight on the heaving flood. 
 And sounds portentous, bellowing loud and deep, 
 Scattered and burst beneath the dusky shroud, 
 Then rumbling died, and left the unmeasured sleep 
 Of ages to enfold the watery heap, 
 Wherein no sound was heard but the lone billows' 
 leap.
 
 3 2 TJie Birth of Nature. 
 
 XX. 
 
 SCIjcii rtsctlj tljc iinj InitJ). 
 
 In many a conflict dread 
 The sea in parts revealed its rocky bed. 
 
 And dry land — ah! how old, 
 Wrinkled, and bare, and black — raised up its bold 
 And horrid peaks to stem the onward course 
 Of rushing waves; but these, with liquid force. 
 Hurled on the shores the wrecks of earthquake- 
 shock. 
 And dashed them headlong in their thunders 
 hoarse ; 
 Till many a cliff was crumbled, many a rock 
 To sands resolved, for there was nought could mock 
 The sea's persistent roll, or its long labours baulk. 
 
 XXI. 
 The toiling waters laid 
 Deep on their floors the havoc that they made.
 
 The Birth of Nature. ^^ 
 
 And a soft fringe was wrought 
 To beetling cliffs, — those beaches, where the 
 
 hot 
 And steaming billows crashed, and made a roar 
 Roll up reverberant from shore to shore. 
 Still from the vaporous firmament the rains 
 Descended, and the rocky dry land bore 
 Terrific torrents, earth's magnificent veins, 
 Sweeping with turbulent whiteness o'er the plains 
 Of blackened lava, through grim desolation's reigns. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 ©Ijc luri'tiis of time. 
 
 In the vast cycles slow, 
 Of years unnumbered did those torrents flow, 
 
 Of waters mightier far 
 Than broadest-bosomed of the streams that are.
 
 34 The Birth of Nature. 
 
 Rolling their boulders down, they fiercely smote 
 The jutting crags and buttresses ; their note 
 Thundrous boomed up among those mountains 
 wild. 
 But soft in ocean's depths, still, dark, remote, 
 The wreck they bore of continents was piled ; — 
 Pebbles, and sand, and clay, with rust defiled. 
 Till mighty strata rose in ocean's l)reast enisled. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 iBuilb u)j mirjljtij strata. 
 
 Yet not without the shock 
 They rose, that rent and burst the solid rock, 
 
 Dislodging mighty beds. 
 Casting them up in mountain peaks, whose 
 
 heads 
 AVere lost in vapour clouds, which hissing came 
 AVhence combat raged of mingling sea and flame.
 
 Tlic Birth of N'aturc. 35 
 
 Then, soon as peace returned to brood once 
 more, 
 Through the long centuries, the wave, the 
 stream, 
 Inch upon inch, laid out that sandy floor. 
 And what the fires threw up the waters wore. 
 And filled the hollow seas with sediments they bore. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 iVni) life apticnrrtl). 
 
 Thus came a wondrous change ; 
 No more the lava rock, the adamant range .; 
 
 But softly rounded forms 
 Of sandstone, modelled b\- ten thousand storms, 
 While still in myriads passed the ages ; still 
 The earth grew cool, the waters cold, until, 
 Their cataclysmic childhood far outgrown, 
 To lowly life they first were suitable.
 
 36 The Birth of N'ature. 
 
 Yet whence it came, and whence its germs were 
 
 thrown, 
 Whether it sprang from inborn powers alone, 
 Ah ! who will tell of all whose hearts the mystery own! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Yet whencesoever sprung 
 The lowly life that clothed our earth, and clung, 
 
 A mould, a film of green, 
 'Twas wondrous above all the years had seen. 
 For every cell that floated soft amid 
 Her sister cells, within her bosom hid 
 The secret power of progeny ; it grew, 
 
 Conceived, and swelled, and cast its liny bud. 
 To live the course itself had circled through. 
 Thus earth grew green ; the genial waters, too, 
 With living things were thronged that died, yet 
 sprung anew.
 
 The Birth of Nature, 37 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 3^n5 slciulij ascmBftlj, 
 
 But now, more wondrous still, 
 The change when all the outer earth grew chill. 
 
 Its heat dispelled afar 
 To cosmic regions of the abysmal star. 
 Then for its warmth it drank the flooding sun, 
 And daily turned its breast to feel him. None 
 Of all its lands but sometimes met his rays. 
 
 And yet, while earth was nodding, as it spun, 
 One pole swung inward to the fervid blaze. 
 The other outward turned its chilly gaze, 
 And there the nights grew long, with cold and 
 desolate days. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 (Tljrougl) stress of colb. 
 
 But slow, with creeping pace, 
 That polar winter came, and though the race
 
 38 The BirtJi of N'ature. 
 
 Of lowly things was doomed, 
 And myriads perished, yet wherever bloomed 
 One stouter than his fellows, he was spared 
 To propagate his kind; yet ever fared 
 New generations as the last; they died, 
 
 But left the heroes of their tribes, who reared 
 Their slowly changing broods; thus, through the 
 
 tide 
 Of myriad years, with change they change defied ; 
 And, gathering powers, they spread of aspect 
 multiplied. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 9ri]rougIj stress of Ijcat. 
 
 But elsewhere on the earth 
 New forms of life from sunshine took their birth ; 
 
 For as its fervour killed 
 The weaklings, so fresh forms arose and filled
 
 The Birth of Nature. 39 
 
 The tropic seas and sweltering lands. The change 
 Of warmth and moisture, and the endless range 
 That death and boundless generation brought, 
 Built up in humble creatures aspect strange. 
 Then lowly animals subsistence sought 
 On lowlier plants. Among themselves they fought, 
 Till land and ocean were with one great struggle 
 fraught. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 ®ljc rttal conflict 
 
 And from that world-wide strife 
 There sprang the order of ascending life. 
 
 Ill fared the weaker kind 
 That in fresh change fresh refuge failed to find ; 
 If that the stress of time and strife and place 
 Pressed slowly hnrder on its hapless race. 
 For some were famished ; some for ages fed 
 The maws of fiercer forms, till from the face
 
 40 TJic Birth of Ahiturc. 
 
 Of earth the few survivors vanished. 
 And many a tribe was numbered with the dead, 
 While altered types emerged to conquer and to 
 spread. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 ^rffbs ncm races; 
 
 Some clothed their pulpy forms 
 In shells that bade defiance to the storms 
 
 And hungry foes ; and some 
 With thorny spines were circled; some their home 
 Made in the bosom of the sheltering soil. 
 A thousand arts, a thousand shields, to foil 
 The fierce marauders, grew with numberless years. 
 
 A thousand arms to pierce, to rend, to spoil, 
 The victors wielded ; wings and eyes and ears 
 In shapes primeval came as ministers, — 
 To these, to seize their prey ; to those, to shun their 
 fears.
 
 The Birth of Nature. 41 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 tt'ljicl) ^irrtslj; 
 
 They grew, they sported, each 
 After its kind, on lar,d or wave or beach. 
 
 They died and left their shells, 
 I'heir spikes, their spines, and thorny tentacles 
 To strew the floors of ocean. Over these 
 The soft showers fell from turbid gulfs and seas ; 
 And earth became a se])ulchre, its crust 
 
 Built up of many a myriad histories. 
 Though myriads more were crumbled, dust to dust. 
 Then the great fires infernal boiled and thrust 
 The relic-sprinkled rocks in ranges lordliest. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 ©r, in slou) iifgvfr. 
 
 How slow ! how slow it crept ! 
 That upward march of life ; and oft it slept. 
 
 For suns arose and set, 
 And balmy days passed by, or cold or wet ;
 
 42 The Birth of Nature. 
 
 And time was meted, long as that unrolled 
 Unto our days from Phanioh reigns of old, 
 And yet too short such epochs were for aught 
 
 Of evident change that could by sight be told. 
 And, as it seemed, each living thing begot 
 Its perfect image ; yet the change was wrought, 
 Though in the mighty tale ten thousand years were 
 nought. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 ■iBfcome transfovmeb 
 
 And dry land changed to sea. 
 And sea to dry land, each in slow degree ; 
 
 And creatures that erstwhile 
 Had roved afar, — now prisoned on some isle 
 Which ever shrank, — hard pressed, with altered 
 
 shapes, 
 Struggled for life on fast submerging capes.
 
 The Birth of A^aturc. 43 
 
 Some, that upon the watery margin fed 
 
 Through ages long, their hmbs transformed, 
 perhaps, 
 To membraned fins, across the billows fled ; 
 Others, with limbs in feathery lightness spread, 
 Fluttered from dwindling isles, where soon their race 
 lay dead. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And elsewhere seas withdrew. 
 And slender tribes grew populous anew \ 
 
 And mighty lakes were dried 
 Inch after inch, till all their inmates died, 
 Save where some hardier form perchance had 
 
 grown, 
 Vo walk the land and drink the air alone. 
 Thus did the earth at every age-long swing. 
 Bidding alternate zone exchange with zone,
 
 44 The Birth of N'ature. 
 
 Now frozen deep, in heat now sweltering, 
 With mighty pressure on each Hving thing, 
 Bid form on form arise and race from race outspring. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 S^nto jartli's nbovnment. 
 
 And earth was clothed sweet 
 In gracious flowers. Here in the silent heat 
 
 The gorgeous chalice spread. 
 There, from the snowdrift, peeped a modest head; 
 And forests threw on high their rustling crests, 
 And folded twilight in their spacious breasts. 
 The thicket blossomed : meadows deep in grass 
 
 Made grateful home for throngs of bu.sy guests. 
 Here hummed the bee; there did the beetle pass; 
 And things that flit on wings of veined glass 
 Sailed through the dreamy air, or poised in cloud- 
 like mass.
 
 The Birth of Auifure. 45 
 
 XXXVT. 
 
 Cljc nijf of ronl. 
 
 The steaming delta plain 
 Grew dense with broad-leafed jungles, where 
 the rain 
 Rolled in from summer seas. 
 There tree-ferns waved, in height as stately trees; 
 Their mighty fronds in graceful measure swayed 
 O'er leagues of gloom their own luxuriance made ; 
 And ever fell their trunks of hairy biown 
 
 In wild entanglement and ruin laid, — 
 A fragrant mould, whence sprang anew the crown 
 Of star-like fronds up to the sunlight thrown ; 
 And many a thousand years the earth was deeply 
 strewn. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 Then lithe, and grim, and dark 
 Prowled, through the waters, the devouring shark ;
 
 46 The Birth of A^ature. 
 
 And in their direful need, 
 The lone survivors of his ravenous greed 
 Grew swift and fearful ; and the scaly race 
 Of smooth proportions seemed, and supple grace. 
 Then came great lizard monsters ■ and huge frogs, 
 
 In size as oxen, bellowed their deep bass 
 Where giant marsh-plants sprang from ponds and 
 
 bogs. 
 And pines of antique aspect left their logs 
 To moulder half afloat, through drizzling mists and 
 fogs. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 What are all histories told 
 To that gigantic tale which rolled and rolled 
 
 In slow development 
 While generations came, and bloomed, and went? 
 How many a million dawns rose sweet and fair?
 
 TJic Birth of A^iture. 47 
 
 How many a million days made mild the air? 
 How many a million twilights di|)ped to gloom ? 
 And nought to mark them, save that every- 
 where 
 Life with ecstatic thrill awoke to bloom 
 In new-born bliss, then passed into its doom ; 
 While earth of mighty hosts was mother both and 
 tomb. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 ®l)f migljtij stream of life. 
 
 Behold yon little hill, 
 Chambered and galleried with art and skill ; 
 
 There, in their busy swarms. 
 The ants are toiling. Lo I their zealous forms 
 Wondrously nerved I How many a thousand 
 
 dwell 
 Beneath that mound in passage, hall, and cell ;
 
 48 Tlic Birth of Nature. 
 
 Yet is their city one of myriads more. 
 
 They perish, and new generations swell 
 To toil and pass away. So, on the shore, 
 Unnumbered drops in endless billows pour,— 
 Yet who may tell how once they built a breaker's 
 roar ! 
 
 XL. 
 
 Here, clad in plated scales, 
 The whip-tongued eater of the ants assails 
 
 Their sandy fortress. Deep 
 They learn to burrow in their mazy keep. 
 Longer and sharper grow his scooping claws ; 
 Ten thousand creatures through his toothless 
 jaws 
 Pass to destruction to provide a meal. 
 
 A hundred millions lose their lives because 
 His body must grow fat ; a common weal
 
 The Birtli of A\xturc. 49 
 
 Of beings, wondrous-planned to think and feel, 
 Are blotted at one swoop for all their busy zeal. 
 
 XLi. 
 
 Jnstct-fntcrs, 
 Fresh multitudes arise 
 
 Of novel forms to seize the insect prize, — 
 
 To rend, to cut, to tear, 
 
 To draw the trembler from its inmost lair. 
 
 And tribes as populous as the teeming East 
 
 Is populous with men, are born to feast 
 
 The shrew, the hedgehog, mole, or porcupine ; 
 
 And these, in time, but feed some mightier 
 
 beast. 
 
 Yonder, through air, there sail in tortuous line 
 
 The swan-necked dragons, ^^'hen these monsters 
 
 dine 
 
 \\'hole tribes of lovely things their being must resign.
 
 50 TJic Birth of Nature. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 '^\]t aani'iaii luorlb. 
 
 That mighty Hzard brood 
 Is rampant upon sea, and shore, and wood, 
 
 To gorge, and rend, and wreck. 
 Some flit on giant wings, with arching neck; 
 Their strength like crocodiles', hke bats'their flight ; 
 And squeaking things crouch low when high in 
 sight, 
 On outstretched clouds they poise. Some on the 
 tide, 
 Where sandy shoals reflect a greenish light, 
 With head raised high on curving stem, abide. 
 Some through the deep sea-wave in fury ride, 
 And their huge serried jaws scatter destruction wide. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Thus evermore are born 
 Sweet things of beauty, to be crushed and torn.
 
 The Birth of Nature. 5 1 
 
 The quivering, nervous thread, 
 In wondrous knots, in delicate branches spread, 
 The marvel-working brain, the silky wing, 
 The meek brown eye, that soft translucent 
 spring. 
 Pass in long streams to fill the hungry maw ; 
 
 Fermenting there, and foully festering. 
 They change to formless mud. Such is the law 
 That rules through all. The monster long may 
 awe 
 The lesser broods, yet he at length feeds some red 
 jaw. 
 
 XLlV. 
 
 (Clji; uiiU'sitpials. 
 
 But from the strife there springs 
 Maternal care, — that first of nobler things. 
 
 And a few scanty young, — 
 From eggs in myriads now no longer sprung, —
 
 52 The Birth of Nature. 
 
 INIake the full hope of races. Soft, and warm, 
 
 And jelly-bright they reach this world of storm. 
 
 Then, in her pouch, the mother lays them, where 
 
 They nestle at her nipples, gathering form. 
 Keen-eared, keen-eyed, she sniffs the tell-tale air. 
 And bounding, bears her brood from every scare, 
 Till, strong and fleet of foot, emerge her tender 
 care. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Then first arose on earth 
 The law of pity ; for each feeble birth 
 
 Deepened a tenderer tone 
 That echoed first in female hearts alone. 
 Yet, thence transmitted, found a varying place 
 In all the heirs of each ascending race. 
 Yet long the process, for the primal care 
 \\'as self-preserving, and the pardoning grace
 
 The Birth of Nature. 53 
 
 In hungry might availed alone to spare 
 The creature's kindred. Death was everywhere 
 The needful prop of life ; and mercy weak and rare. 
 
 XLva. 
 
 But still the ages passed ; 
 Day following day in deep successions vast. 
 
 The Spring-time brought its flowers ; 
 Summer its fruits. Through long-forgotten hours 
 The Autumn murmured in those far-off days, 
 And Winter gloomed in snow and fog and haze. 
 Then on the prairies fled the fleet gazelle, 
 
 And cropped the fragrant blooms. In marshy 
 bays 
 Of sunny lakes, till the swift evening fell, 
 The tapirs wallowed ; while innumerable 
 The hosts of swine-like things thronged the deep 
 forest dell.
 
 54 The BirtJi of A^ature. 
 
 XLVII. 
 
 Cljc flrslj-fatrvs.- 
 And ever that mighty dream 
 
 Of shpping ages, — that stupendous stream 
 
 Of centuries sped, and not 
 
 One century but some subtle change was 
 
 wrought. 
 
 Then came the tiger and the leopard bright. 
 
 The maned lion, at the fall of night, 
 
 Lay watching by those moonlit rivers old 
 
 To whet with blood his three days' appetite. 
 
 He sprang with roars that struck his victim cold. 
 
 Alas! the haunch that felt his thunderous hold! 
 
 Over its crunching bones the spoiler crouched and 
 
 growled. 
 
 XLVIII. 
 
 The wolf, the jackal kind. 
 Howled over midnight wastes. The moving wind
 
 The Birth of Nature. ^^ 
 
 In hush of ages back 
 Carried the babbling yelp of many a pack. 
 The otter dived in every lonely place ; 
 Weasel, and stoat, and ermine, and the race 
 Of shuffling bears with slow intrusion crept 
 
 To force their way upon earth's crowded face. 
 While many a form primeval failed, and slept 
 In unredeemed oblivion; many swept 
 So that not even the rocks their faint impression 
 kept. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Through leafy forests crashed 
 The ponderous-trooping elephant, and splashed 
 
 With shrilly notes beside 
 The reedy marge of some full-volumed tide. 
 Here the shy camel on the desert housed ; 
 The llama there on scraggy mountains browsed.
 
 56 The BirtJi of Nature. 
 
 Far on the rolling sea the lubbering whale 
 
 Spouted and plunged. Seals in their concourse 
 roused 
 The echoing cliffs of rock or iceberg pale, 
 Or on some shelving beach of slippery shale, 
 Suckling their clumsy calves, barked to the passing 
 gale. 
 
 L. 
 
 foiir-ljaii&rli tiUu's. 
 
 The bright-eyed lemur skips 
 With soft four-handed movement to the tips 
 
 Of rustling branches. Long 
 His various species through the forests throng. 
 From him developed slow the monkey tribe, 
 That sportive world of romp, and jest, and 
 jibe. 
 With them came sympathy, the fond caress. 
 The joitying look, the softly proffered bribe;
 
 The Birth of N'aturc, 57 
 
 And spite of jars, a wealth of tenderness. 
 AVhere tropic selvas reared their vast recess 
 They held the topmost boughs in nations numberless. 
 
 LI, 
 
 ©Ijc npcs 
 
 Then of their various shapes 
 In tangled forests grew the man like apes. 
 
 Long-armed, from bough to bough 
 They swung. Lo, underneath that ridgy brow, 
 The light of cunning from their glances shed ! 
 On leafy stages, where the branches spread. 
 They reared their hairy youngsters ; at the breast 
 
 Suckled with loving care, the burrowing head 
 By tender fingers stroked and soothed and pressed. 
 Their chattering families spent on arbourcd nest 
 Many a long-gone day, and passed to boundless 
 rest.
 
 58 The Birth of Nature. 
 
 LII. 
 
 CTIjc nbupTt of ^Trtit. 
 
 And last of all came man, 
 Who for a time should cope the age-long plan ; 
 
 Till in the cosmic swell, — ■ 
 That tide of time and change invisible, — 
 He pass to rest as other types have passed, . 
 Leaving an imprint in the record vast. 
 But chief in those new forms of nobler frame, — • 
 His sons, his heirs, sprung from his race, but 
 classed, 
 As he from apes, apart ; with prouder name, 
 Alike in much, in much perchance the same, 
 Vet of such altered mould as loftier rank may claim. 
 
 LIU. 
 
 llcasoit gronictlj. 
 
 Slowly arose the dawn 
 Of man's primeval reason ; yet there shone
 
 The Birth of Nature. 59 
 
 Beneath those shaggy brows 
 Some gleams of that fine spirit that should house 
 Within his rounded temples. Embryo mind 
 Bequeathed had been through many a lowlier 
 kind ; 
 Through dog and bear, through ape and elephant, 
 
 Emerging from the mists of instinct blind. 
 But reason now, though vague at first and scant, 
 Gave speech to man, a genius ministrant, 
 Beneath whose magic spell his race grew dominant. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 For mind to mind lent force, 
 Oft as they wove reciprocal discourse. 
 
 And each absorbing each, 
 They grew, and made to grow with mutual 
 
 speech. 
 Thus came the intercourse of wants and fears;
 
 6o TJic Birth of A^aiiue. 
 
 And thence inventions : clubs and swords 
 and sjjears ; 
 The bow, the feathered arrow ; — lo ! the fire ! 
 
 The rude canoe ! and thus, with passing years, 
 Fresh triumph showed the way to fresh desire, 
 did new needs new artifice inspire, 
 And every conquest raised his powers to regions 
 higher, 
 
 LV. 
 
 2^116 iiinn nsrciibctl). 
 
 In the incessant strife 
 Of tribe with tribe, for room, for food, for hfe, 
 
 "Twas intellect prevailed. 
 The brutish dwindled and their kindred failed. 
 O'er conquered lands the victor roved and taught 
 The beasts to bow before his cunning thought. 
 The ox, the horse, the elephant were pressed
 
 The Birth of Nature. 6 1 
 
 To do him service : — reared, and sold, and 
 bought, 
 Slaughtered, or trained, or shorn as pleased him 
 
 best. 
 Nay, man his vanquished fellow-men possessed. 
 And slavery lent to earth leisure and learned quest. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 3^nb riuilijntioit iniuniftlj. 
 
 Behold the Assyrian, 
 Where those two mighty Eastern rivers run. 
 
 Lo ! how his sweltering slaves 
 Achieve the wonders that Iiis fancy craves I 
 For mind o'er body triumphs, and he sees 
 His temples rise, column and sculptured frieze. 
 And with them science springs, and all the arts 
 
 Of peace and warfare grow by slow degrees. 
 Then spreads the city, and then hum its marts.
 
 62 TJie Birth of Nature. 
 
 The state, combined of interaiding parts, 
 Gives man a giant's power, and new-found force 
 exerts. 
 
 LVII. 
 
 ^ii5 inovrtlitij. 
 
 All hail, thy genial sway ! 
 Thou fount of comfort — social sympathy ! 
 
 Sweet nurse that taught the mind, 
 The infant heart of man, still unrefined, 
 Still rough and harsh, to deem more pleasing fair 
 The courteous word, the kind and gracious air, 
 Than strength of thews and terror of advance. 
 
 The city street was thy peculiar care ; 
 And there thou showed'st thy comelicst 
 
 countenance. 
 How much, with helpful word and welcoming 
 glance. 
 Didst thou man's intellect both sweeten and enhance!
 
 The BirtJi of Nature. 63 
 
 LVIII. 
 'Twas thou didst nurture first 
 Within his soul that sweetly mournful thirst 
 
 Which made his bosom yearn 
 For mystic knowledge. Much he longed to learn 
 The whence he came, the whereunto he drifted ; 
 AVhat power it was the mighty hills that lifted ; 
 AVhat raised the cedar from its feathery seed. 
 And much he sought to know how earth was 
 gifted 
 With murmuring streams, and flowers and clovered 
 
 mead. 
 Yet none the record of the rocks might read ; 
 And answer came there none responsive to his need. 
 
 LIX. 
 
 ^iil) vcUaioii. 
 
 Therefore did fancy roll 
 Her wreathing films of poesy. A soul
 
 64 TJic B'uiJi of Nature. 
 
 Men saw in everything. 
 The falling stone, the wind, the bubbling spring. 
 The rustling tree, the softly opening flower, — 
 Each moved with joyance of its inward power. 
 The deep stream held its soul, whereby it flowed ; 
 The mountain top would gleam, or veil, or lower. 
 As willed the spirit which therein abode ; 
 And in the sun resplendently there rode 
 That spirit which their hearts confessed the highest 
 god. 
 
 LX. 
 
 They thrilled with awe and wonder, 
 Hearing the sky speak in its solemn thunder. 
 
 They saw its ardent blaze 
 From out the mud their vital rice cro[)s raise ; 
 And as their souls were touched to deeper 
 chords.
 
 The Birth of Nature, 
 
 They folded hymns of mystery in words, 
 That made the budding powers of art expand, 
 Chanting the honours of wide-working lords. 
 The temple grew beneath their fashioning hand, — 
 At first a dream, but with achievement grand, 
 And stately things arose in reverence through the 
 land. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 filiuilijatioii retcntirtlj castiuiu-B, 
 
 Then eastward rolled the springs 
 Of trickling knowledge to those gatherings 
 
 Of swarthy men that lay 
 Where tawny Ganges holds its fervid way. 
 Whether borne onward with the conqueror's 
 
 spear. 
 Or with the merchant's traffic year by year, 
 Knowledge through India long was multiplied,
 
 66 The Birth of Nature. 
 
 Till Rama reigned, — a crowned philosopher. 
 Still eastward borne, through populous regions 
 
 wide, 
 The arts of peace on China poured their tide, 
 And hordes of barbarous men thereby were dignified. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 ^ni lUEstiuarb, 
 
 And westward, where the Nile 
 Wins from the desert glare, one strip to smile. 
 
 Thither the conquerors bore 
 Their nursling science, and great multitudes 
 
 wore 
 That air of calm and ordered industry 
 Whence men derive their full supremacy. 
 Sesostris then, and Rameses, and the proud 
 
 Unknown beneath the pyramids who lie, — 
 Each in the narrow patch that death allowed, —
 
 TJic BirtJi of N'atiire. 67 
 
 Built up their centuries ; then, reluctant, bowed 
 Their heads to brainless rest and the thick mummy 
 shroud. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 Jiito OSuropc. 
 And Egypt gave to Greece 
 
 Those arts which there found manifold increase. 
 
 And Greece bequeathed to Rome 
 
 The precious charge which thence found 
 
 kindliest home 
 
 With Arab caliphs and their alchemists, 
 
 While a deep gloom on Europe lay, and mists 
 
 Of deadening darkness on its lands abode. 
 
 Until, restored by priests, or spite of priests. 
 
 In Italy, in Spain, in France there glowed 
 
 By turns that light whence truth and progress 
 
 flowed ; 
 
 Then from its English shrine its fullest lustre showed. 
 
 F 2
 
 68 The Birth of Nature, 
 
 LXIV. 
 And earnest sons of hers, — 
 Artisans, sailors, poets, philosophers, — 
 
 Workers with hand and brain, — 
 Deepened the souls or raised the lives of men. 
 And lo ! the triumphs human thought hath won 
 On German soil, where many a worthy son 
 Of genius spends a life's long years to find 
 
 Some thread of truth that may through nature]run! 
 And thou, America ! of all thy kind 
 The youngest, round thy name hast early twined 
 Great feats that warm our souls, proud victories of 
 the mind. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 ^^nn's triiimplis. 
 Behold, in each of these. 
 
 What mind hath done ! Look on the boisterous 
 
 seas !
 
 The Birth of Nature, 69 
 
 What floating things they bear, 
 Breasting the waves, of giant might, yet fair ! 
 The ships are these, wherein, secure, men ride 
 O'er all the ocean, and its awful tide 
 They measure careless. And the lands are lined 
 With iron tracks. Lo ! snow-white yonder glide 
 The wreathing curves of steam, where swift as 
 
 the wind ~ 
 The locomotives rush, with might confined. 
 While rattling waggons speed and thunder on behind. 
 
 LXVI. 
 
 Man's lightning messages 
 Flash over land and under stormy seas, 
 
 And through the aerial wire 
 Afar he speaks ; and from the furnace fire 
 He shapes of might or beauty wondrous things. 
 And hark ! from organ pipe or chorded strings
 
 7o TJie BirtJi of Nature, 
 
 The notes divine he fashions ! See his thought 
 
 Of lovehness, those sweet imaginings 
 On canvas to the thrill of spirit wrought! 
 And from his soul of souls the echoes brought 
 Of deep abysmal tones from poet-phrases caught ! 
 
 LXVII. 
 
 ■^iss glorious future. 
 
 Such is the power of art, 
 When man witli man conjoins, and each his part 
 
 Bears in some nation's course ! 
 What then shall be the irresistible force 
 When nations join as one, and all the earth 
 Holds one republic ? When, in rank, or birth, — 
 In tongue,— religion, — laws, — no difference lies 
 
 To sever worth from world-wide brother worth. 
 Far as the nomad unit tribes did rise 
 Welded in nations, so their destinies 
 Shall upward grow when earth one nation shall comprise
 
 The Birth of A^ature. 7 1 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 Then shall the reign begin — 
 Far, far adown the centuries, — wherein 
 
 Man shall with true control 
 Bridle all Nature's might and his own soul. 
 Ah ! how remote it seems, — that glorious fate, 
 A world thick -peopled in fraternal state, 
 With many a giant force to be its slave ! 
 
 What prodigies shall rise ! What cities great 
 Spread by each river and each land-locked wave ! 
 There shall the millions hive, and toil, and save ; 
 Still build, still breed their kind, still pass into the 
 grave. 
 
 LXIX. 
 
 ■I^is oanioljiitent. 
 For, Still the tale is death ! 
 
 Death is the sum of all that history saith.
 
 72 The Birth of Nature. 
 
 And death will be the sum 
 Of days that are, of all the days to come. 
 The deaths of beings and the deaths of races. 
 A few, perchance, may leave awhile their traces ; 
 Yet, in the cosmic epochs, these must pass. 
 
 Give Time but time enough and he effaces 
 Sooner or later all that is or was. 
 The earth and all the story that it has 
 Shall be a meteor streak — to gleam — and fade, alas ! 
 
 LXX. 
 
 For earth herself must die ! 
 Though not perchance till man hath lifted high 
 
 His powers, and learnt to wrest 
 Triumphs that now lie dark and all unguessed. 
 Not till, perchance, his growing skill hath read 
 Full many a secret that with mystery dread
 
 The Birth of Nature. 73 
 
 Now lures our souls. Not till his distant sons 
 
 May walk the earth in all things perfected, 
 Ten times as far beyond our noblest ones 
 As Shakspere and our lordliest paragons 
 Are lifted high above the Patagonians. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 (Eljc iiratlj of lljc iiun-lti. 
 
 But thou, oh Earth ! — but thou 
 That spreadest thy rich verdure round me now, 
 
 Home of hearts warm and bold, 
 Shalt one day lie inert and grey and cold ! 
 Oh ! may that time be long, thou dear abode, 
 Ere from thy breast the vital warmth hath 
 flowed ! 
 Methinks those last thin stragglers I behold, — 
 
 Heirs of a mighty intellect, — but bowed, 
 They as their fathers were, in combats old
 
 74 Tlie BirtJi of N'atiire. 
 
 With deepening chill, while freezing centuries 
 rolled ; 
 They hapless, man by man, relax their shivering 
 hold : 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 2ts gljost. 
 
 Then shall the lowliest race 
 I'hat, spite of chill, on earth may keep its place, 
 
 Then shall the forest tree, 
 The shrub, the flower, the grass fade utterly ! 
 Then only, in some crevice haply hid. 
 The mossy mould will bloom unvisited ! 
 Last, shall that lingering life fade evermore, 
 
 And the great seas, bound in their icy lid. 
 Display no more their moving might, but hoar, 
 A snow-clad ocean round a snow-clad shore, 
 Shall spread one white expanse the wide world o'er 
 and o'er !
 
 The Birth of Nature. 75 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 Oh ! heart of mine be still, 
 And faint not at the awful spectacle ! 
 
 Alas ! well might we quail 
 Before that whirling death, that spectre pale, 
 That ghost enwrapt in awful cerements white, 
 Which once with life was pulsing fresh and 
 bright ! 
 What awful gulfs of ages it shall speed 
 
 Around a sun grown faint in withering night ! 
 And shall it turn, without one mind to read 
 The mystery of the stars ? INIust all indeed 
 Revolve eternally, yet none be there to heed ? 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 die abijss of tlje futuvc. 
 
 Shall all these heavenly things 
 Move on unseen for ever in their rings?
 
 76 The Birth of Nature, 
 
 Shall earth for ever spin 
 
 And no one know the lives that passed therein ? 
 
 Shall all the universe still spread afar, — 
 
 Planet on planet, star on boundless star, — 
 Spheres and attendant spheres, all circling fair, — 
 
 Yet none exist to know that such things are ? 
 Surely the universe is not so bare, 
 So naked, poor, and paltry ! Surely there 
 Some soul doth habit ! Else, what riddle strange 
 it were. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 Things visible, yet none 
 To see them while the infinite ages run ! 
 
 Things audible, and still 
 No ear to drink the rich harmonious thrill ! 
 Things fair to reason, and no reason found 
 To know their fairness in the measureless round !
 
 The Birth of Nature, 77 
 
 Things lustrous with a beauty that shall speak, 
 Star answering star, through space that hath 
 no bound, 
 And yet no soul to fee' it ! Oh ! thou weak 
 Heart that within me honestly would seek 
 To grasp such thought, — forbear ! nor dream such 
 empty freak ! 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 %\]t niijstcnj of tijc uiihicrsf 
 
 Deep underneath the whole 
 There rests, — there surely rests some conscious 
 soul, 
 Whose mystic influence laid 
 That early train wherewith the world was made. 
 The Earth, and all her marvels, passing fair ! 
 This beauty sweet, her mantle everywhere ! 
 And all her creatures ! — man, her transient guest,
 
 78 The Birth of Nature. 
 
 His works and loftiest aims ! Enclosed they were 
 In some deep germinal thought within the breast 
 Of that eternal power, unknown, unguessed, 
 Whereon the ordered paths of countless planets rest. 
 
 LXXVIII. 
 
 Sts soul, 
 
 In that last faith content, 
 Oh ! heart, repose : though deep entanglement 
 
 Enfold thy feeble thought, 
 Stumbling through regions that it knoweth not. 
 Though blackness brood on that dread mystery 
 Of what at first hath been, of what shall be 
 When time shall sate at last his vast desire ; 
 Though comjDassless thou drift upon a sea 
 Of wide unfathomables, still the fire 
 Of that faint star shall shine through darkness dire 
 To steady still thy course which, ignorant else, 
 would tire.
 
 TJie Birth of Nature. 79 
 
 LXXIX. 
 
 Cljat iiecba must \>t uiikiunun. 
 
 For oh ! my heart, I bow 
 In inexpressible sadness when, as now, 
 
 I feel the littleness 
 Of all I know, of all I faintly guess. 
 And see the knowledge that extends, how far ! 
 Sweeping through space beyond the utmost star. 
 Oh ! heart, beat low, and school thyself to feel 
 
 How very near us lies that fatal bar 
 Across whose bounds no thought can e'er reveal 
 Even the things that close around may fill, 
 Unknown to sense, the great expanse invisible. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 3^iib man \ 
 Five various senses we 
 
 The gateways of our knowledge take to be.
 
 8o The Birth of Nature. 
 
 Alas ! They are but one ! — 
 But one in kind the sensuous thrills that run 
 Through nerves to conscious brain ; and oh ! 
 
 my heart, 
 Let not this thought from out thy view depart : 
 How much may be which presses close around, 
 
 Yet finds no entrance in at any part ! 
 Which is, — yet gives nor sight, nor touch, nor 
 
 sound ! 
 Bethink thee well how near thee may abound 
 The mustering forms of things no human sense hath 
 found. 
 
 LXXXI. 
 
 Alas, Ijoio frcblc ! 
 
 Then rest content in awe ; 
 Delight thyself in fathoming law on law ! 
 
 Drink heartily thy share 
 Of all that science wins with creeping care,
 
 The Birth of Nature. 8 1 
 
 But sometimes pausing, from the deeps recall 
 How petty is the sum, how poor, how small ! 
 Speed forth thy thought for one mysterious hour 
 Through the stupendous gloom enfolding all. 
 So shall distrust arise of thine own power ; — 
 No craven fear to make thee quail and cower. 
 But manly awe that thrills to feel the darkness lower. 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 Vjti not juitljout Ijis trust. 
 
 Yet trust that, though thy sight 
 Can see it not, a power exists whose might 
 
 Hath made and keepeth still 
 All things that are. Thou Earth, although the 
 
 chill 
 Whiten thy breast, and desolate though thou roll 
 Down the vast tracts eternal, yet a soul. 
 Whose silent speech is this great universe,
 
 82 The Birth of Nature. 
 
 Hath planned thy course with all-foreseen 
 control. 
 That soul shall smite thee with no withering curse ; 
 But in some cosmic scheme no thought can pierce, 
 Thine atomy part shalt thou with myriads more 
 rehearse.
 
 A Spring j\Iorning. 83 
 
 H Sprino /Ilbormna. 
 
 The Spring's first breath is upon my cheek; 
 
 Its carols are in my ear; 
 Its rusthng leaves around me speak 
 
 The music I've longed to hear. 
 Those whispers of joy, of gentle peace, 
 
 That sweep all care from the heart ; 
 That bid the throb of the temples cease, 
 
 And the restless longings depart. 
 
 Now grieve I no more at the common lot, — 
 
 How all who live must die ; 
 The deep, dark, currents of being,- — forgot 
 
 In the breeze's wakening sigh. 
 
 G 2
 
 84 -^ Spring Morning, 
 
 For, sad and troubled, I long had thought 
 Upon things that will never be known ; 
 
 And my brain was weary, my temples hot, 
 With the feverful weeks that were flown. 
 
 Now here, by the wattle bloom silently laid. 
 
 Life seems like a rapturous dream; 
 And I lazily watch in the tremulous glade 
 
 How the sun-showers flicker and gleam. 
 For the world is gracious and fragrant and bright, 
 
 And the open air smells sweet ; 
 And the trees, in a flutter of fresh dehght, 
 
 Respond to the thrill of the heat. 
 
 Oh ! fair is thy face, Mother Earth, and warm 
 Are the sunbeams that fall on thy breast ! 
 
 And why should I shudder to lay my form 
 In thy kindly embraces to rest ?
 
 A Spring Mor7iing. 85 
 
 For the trees will wave, and the sunbeams fall, 
 And the grass grow green and high, 
 
 And the flowers will bloom, and the sweet 
 birds call, 
 When deep in thy bosom I lie.
 
 86 The Empire of Our Qiiee?i. 
 
 tlbe Bmpfre of ©ur (Slueen. 
 
 Wherever spreads the rolling day 
 That round our planet sweeps its way, 
 On lonely wave or teeming ground, 
 There will some Englishman be found. 
 
 And where an Englishman may be, 
 On distant soil, on heaving sea, 
 Where'er an Englishman is seen, 
 There is the Empire of our Queen. 
 
 Not fertile lands, not cities great, 
 Build up the measure of her state ; 
 It throbs in every British heart 
 Throughout the earth's remotest part.
 
 The Rinpire of Our Queen. 87 
 
 For in her name we symbolise 
 
 The law-shaped life, the sweet home ties, 
 
 Wherein we daily learn to trace 
 
 The future promise of our race.
 
 88 An Orchestral Symphony. 
 
 Hn ©vcbestral S^mpboni?. 
 
 Forth from the silence grows a tremulous note. 
 The air with vague suggestiveness is stirred ; — 
 Confused, yet sweet : delicious, though remote ; 
 
 As when far inland murmurings are heard 
 Of seas that on a shingly beach are thrown; 
 
 Or like the sound when many a mellow bird 
 Makes distant music by some river-brim, 
 Waking the day with rich tumultuous hymn, 
 
 And trills that fluttering float 
 Through open casements, soft, subdued, and dim. 
 And oh ! the sweetness gurgling from each 
 throat, 
 To blend in that rich interwoven tone,
 
 An OrcJicstral SynipJiony, 89 
 
 Till morning dreamers wake and all its rapture 
 own ! 
 
 So swells the rich confusion, interlaced 
 
 With brief melodious turns and glad foretaste 
 
 Of tunefulness to be, 
 That from the maze shall swell, bright, flowing, free, 
 Like Aphrodite from a rhythmic sea. 
 
 Hark to the beat of multitudinous wings ! 
 Their fluttering fills the air with gladsome quiver, 
 
 Till, at a chord whereto the whole heart springs 
 In one delicious shiver. 
 The harmony dissolves with touch profound, 
 
 And wanders, on the deftly woven strings, 
 A world of mazy sound 
 
 That stirs within the soul some lion-might 
 
 We knew not slumbered there. 
 
 Great ghmpses pass, and struggling blindly, tear
 
 90 An Orchestra I Symphony. 
 
 The breast with thoughts that own no human 
 
 name. 
 Sweet sounds that melt my frame ! 
 How secret is tlie magic power ye claim ! 
 For in the rich transition of your keys, — 
 
 Harmonious mysteries, 
 Ye mould my inmost being at your ease. 
 
 But hush ! a change is near ! 
 Methinks a princess comes ! 
 Those drowsy notes I hear 
 Are of the throng that hums 
 Attendant where she moves with cadenced feet. 
 
 She enters, and the drums 
 Roll out their turbulent tones ; they crash and fleet 
 In billowy throbs of gladness, so to greet 
 The sandalled beauty, who, majestical, 
 Paces the marble floor.
 
 All OrcJicstral SympJiouy. 91 
 
 Her limb-encircling garments flowing fall 
 In gauzy waves of whiteness evermore ; 
 So moves she stately on, through her great father's 
 hall. 
 
 The vision fades. Again the master's touch 
 Bids vague dissolving fancies throng the sight. 
 The courtly dance, with youthful limbs aglow, 
 Where youthful faces flush 
 Amid a silken rustling and the beat 
 Of satin shoes and lightly twirling feet. 
 The hall is warm and bright 
 With many a gem and many a spangled light. 
 But ah ! without, how fresh the gracious night, 
 On terraced gardens, where the cool airs flow 
 Up from the shimmering crescent of the bay 
 below ! 
 And yonder in the moonlight-floods, the pace
 
 92 An Orchestral Symphony. 
 
 Of lover-feet on path and terrace stair 
 Sounds silver sweet, while laughter everywhere 
 In bubbling peals lurks in each shadowy place. 
 
 Alas ! my dream is shattered ! Hark ! the sad, 
 
 Soft rumbling that presageth coming woe ! 
 The distance bears the sound of martial tread 
 
 With tramp depressed and slow. 
 That long deep note, so plaintive, yet so sweet, 
 Whispers the path the fairest maid must go. 
 Yes ! heroes must lie low ! — 
 So do those massive harmonies repeat. 
 
 How much our souls resent the clay-cold doom ! 
 Oh ! that I might but know 
 What dull remains of what once noble soul 
 They carry to the tomb ! 
 Those wild, weird notes of gloom 
 Would burst the hearts wherein deep sorrows roll.
 
 An Orchestral Symphony. 93 
 
 They come not near ! They fade ! They die 
 away 
 Far towards the resting-place of that dumb clay. 
 Fainter, and yet more faint ; soft, soft, and still 
 They die into the hush of some foreboding ill. 
 When, — hark ! from out the realms of formless 
 fear 
 Rises a note, firm, bold, and clear ! 
 Yet lonely is it heard, 
 Like the first piping song of the first love-sick 
 bird. 
 It swells ; then once more wakes 
 The surging chorus of the banks and brakes. 
 And far aloft, as if on angel wings, 
 Above all sombre things, 
 At the glad touch my spirit springs 
 From out the realms of death, and its free flight 
 it takes.
 
 94 An Orchestral Symphony. 
 
 Oh ! sweet, heart-healing strain ! 
 
 Again and yet again, „. 
 
 Those vague desires and hopes insinuate 
 That hft the soul somewhere by Heaven's gate. 
 
 The cheerful music to full volume grows. 
 The deftly-handled bows 
 With lightning touch fly o'er the speaking strings. 
 
 The horns and deep bassoon 
 Exultant hurry onward. All is life 
 
 And eagerness and zest. 
 The flute with liquid trill, 
 . The oboe, sharp and shrill, 
 And the sweet clarionet, with mellow tune. 
 In rival concord, and harmonious strife. 
 
 Speed with impetuous haste. 
 Away ! ye thoughts of death and musty sorrow ! 
 Away ! The life we quaff
 
 A)i Orchestral Symphony. 95 
 
 Is a wild draught of bliss from which we borrow 
 
 Wherewith to laugh ! 
 We greet thee, merry drum ! 
 And you, ye cymbals, come 
 
 To lift our frolic to the very mound 
 
 And pinnacle of sound. 
 When ah ! There rings a crash, and yet another ! 
 The rolling drums their reckless tumult smother. 
 
 A short, sharp crash ; and then 
 Silence has folded close her slumbering wings again.
 
 g6 An Austral Sky, 
 
 an Bustral Sl?y. 
 
 At Dawn, near the Head of the Yarra. 
 
 The morning breaks and day awakes 
 
 To peer with peeping eyes, 
 And every filmy cloudlet makes 
 
 A pillow where he lies. 
 A thousand notes, from throbbing throats, 
 
 Salute him ere he rise, 
 And, down the gurgling river, floats 
 
 The blushing of the skies. 
 
 The cloudlets melt, the skies unfold 
 Their dome of spotless blue,
 
 All Austral Sky. 97 
 
 In far ethereal spaces rolled 
 And zones of cosmic dew. 
 
 And higher still they rise, until, 
 With gladness of the view, 
 
 The joys of life and living thrill 
 Our pulses through and through. 
 
 Oh ! that my life may ever glide 
 
 Beneath this Austral sky ! 
 That I may feel its gladness wide 
 
 Roll in on heart and eye ! 
 No vision drear of man is here, 
 
 Despair comes never nigh, 
 But hope exults with healthful cheer 
 
 While heaven is lifted high.
 
 98 A Song of August. 
 
 H Sono QiX Huoust. 
 
 There lies within the leafy west 
 A spot of earth for ever blest, 
 Where balmy breaths of spring abound 
 And dreams encompass it around. 
 There never have my footsteps passed 
 Though winds were chill and skies o'ercast, 
 But memory touched it with a waft 
 And all the glade in sunshine laughed. 
 
 For there I sat when years were young, 
 While whispered music from the tongue 
 Of artless love came rippling free ; 
 And oh ! that love was love for me !
 
 A Song of August. 99 
 
 And life, like one great glory, lay 
 Before me then, — as when the grey 
 And sombre clouds of morning break 
 And floods of sunshine bid them wake. 
 
 At once the glories flush the skies, 
 At once the blending voices rise, 
 And cheerless things, that silent lay, 
 Tumultuous hail the throbbing day. 
 So in my heart the day-beam woke 
 At each confession that she spoke, 
 And as I drank the silvered sound 
 The woods like dreamland nodded round. 
 
 The student joys when sudden light 
 Reveals the problem full in sight ; 
 The poet joys when o'er his mind 
 A truth comes breathing like the wind. 
 
 H 2
 
 lOO A Song of August. 
 
 But what were all such joys of theirs ; 
 What every bliss that mortal shares, 
 ^^'ith that which poured its golden ray 
 To light the night and gild the day. 
 
 And should not then that spot be green, 
 That circle in the forest screen, 
 Where life its meaning first conveyed, 
 And all its comeliness displayed; 
 Still sleep, still slumber in the west 
 Thou spot of earth so dear, so blest ! 
 With thee may breaths of Spring abou-nd, 
 And dreams encompass thee around.
 
 Hetty. loi 
 
 iT^ett^. 
 
 When Hetty, our housemaid, came to stay 
 
 With us, she was merry, her heart was gay; 
 
 And ever the kitchen and corridor rang 
 
 ^Vith her hvely chat and the songs she sang. 
 
 But Hetty grew quiet, and very sedate, 
 
 For every night, by the garden gate. 
 
 There loitered a lad with leisurely feet ; 
 
 'Twas a carpenter come from the neighbouring street. 
 
 Now, Hetty was pretty, and clever, and good. 
 That man should be happy, if any man should, 
 Who came to our gate at the close of day 
 And chatted with her in the twilight grey.
 
 I02 Hetty. 
 
 And Hetty grew merry, and hearty once more; 
 
 She swept, and she rattled, and sang as before 
 
 And her fresh girl-face had a look that said, 
 
 "A secret I've got of my own in my head." 
 
 So Hetty one day with a blushing face 
 
 Came in to give notice of leaving her place ; 
 
 And she said — that she thought, — that perhaps she 
 
 might be — 
 She would like — she would wish to give — that is if we — 
 
 Poor Hetty. We knew very well what it was. 
 But we asked if that carpenter lad was the cause. 
 She fingered her apron, and faltering said, 
 "If you please, he's so good, is my carpenter lad." 
 We looked very stern, and we said it was wrong 
 For these carpenter lads to come roving along, 
 And spoil the best housemaid that ever we had. 
 She said, "Please, — he's so good, is my carpenter lad."
 
 Hdty. 103 
 
 But we only looked wiser, and solemnly said, 
 " Some people are happy although they are wed." 
 She answered, and almost her pleading w-as sad, 
 "But, oh! he's so noble, my carpenter lad!'" 
 And now there's a cottage, where Hetty can sing 
 All day at her labours, a blithe little thing ; 
 And, watching at eve by the gate, she is glad 
 When she sees the first glimpse of her carpenter lad.
 
 I04 A Babe in Court, 
 
 H IBabe in Court, 
 
 A BABE in court ! A half translucent thing ! 
 
 Pink face, pink hands from dingy flannel showing. 
 A little life of three days' slumbering ! 
 
 A new-sprung breath, of soft and even flowing. 
 The constable with awkward care, 
 On his blue cuffs and fingers brown. 
 Pillows the head, and looking down 
 With half of pitying, half of awe-struck air. 
 Shields the soft lips and eyes that lie asleeping 
 From wondering lawyer clerks and tip-toed loungers 
 peeping.
 
 A Babe iu Court. 105 
 
 A waif! A little waif! Its mother dead: 
 
 Her white face in a darkened room is lying ; 
 The hospital goes toiling over-head 
 
 And hears no more her sighs, her passioned crying. 
 Her heart is still beneath her folded hands. 
 That bosom where her baby lay, 
 A joy, an anguish for a day, 
 Is still enough within those linen bands. 
 God keep the baby girl she leaves behind, 
 For life's true path is dim, and doubtful oft to tind. 
 
 The slumbering bundle duly is arraigned ; 
 
 The charge against it fully formulated. 
 "Neglected child! No mother!" 'tis explained. 
 'I'he tale in ten short words is all narrated. 
 A minute more, it passes out ; 
 
 A paper here and there is fluttered ; 
 .Some words of transient pity muttered ;
 
 io6 A Babe in Court. 
 
 The wheel of law has moved a stage about. 
 The tender visitant is soon forgot 
 When that long list of sins engrosses every thought. 
 
 Sweet little babe ! — intruder on life's stage ! 
 
 A puzzle to us busy folks who fill it ! 
 What love, what blessing is your heritage 
 
 Whom we would wish unborn, could we so will it ? 
 Oh ! loveless from the first .'—unlovable, 
 The childhood that my fears presage 
 And a chill world for tender age. 
 That craves a nook in some warm heart to fill. 
 Oh ! may the coming years bring some good friend 
 That shall, to those soft eyes, the light of loving lend !
 
 The Valley of the Upper Watts. 107 
 
 5n tbe Daaci^ of tbe llppet Matts* 
 
 An Unexplored Magnificence. 
 
 Valley, dark, and moist, and mossy ! 
 
 Stream, and trickling boulders glossy ! 
 
 Waters leaping, gliding, curling 
 
 With a soft chromatic purling ! 
 
 Beechen forest far extended ! 
 
 Woven leaves and branches blended 
 
 In a mighty vaulted ceiling. 
 
 Scarce the zenith-blue revealing ! 
 
 Here ! oh here ! my willing steps I stay I 
 Take me ! oh, take me to thyself for this one 
 day !
 
 io8 The Valley of the Upper Watts. 
 
 What a wealth of graces lavish ! — 
 Scents that soothe, and sights that ravish, 
 Scattered in these wildernesses ! 
 See, — the long, the emerald tresses 
 Pendent from the trees ! — the bosses 
 Large and round of delicate mosses ! 
 Luscious tints of green and golden ; 
 Things of joy, that once beholden 
 
 Sink, yes sink, into the inmost being : 
 In visions nestle there for the soul's secret 
 seeing. 
 
 Mighty forest logs decaying, 
 To the boom of waters swaying, 
 Span the river, sometimes dipping, 
 Sometimes splashed, but ever dripping ! 
 Each is wrapt in mossy cushion, 
 Fernlets soft in bright profusion.
 
 The Valley of the Upper Wails. 1 09 
 
 While upon the steep side mounting 
 Fern-trees rise beyond all counting, — 
 
 Here ! oh here ! my willing steps I stay ! 
 
 Here let me rest beneath their softly rustling 
 sway! 
 
 All thy vastness burst upon me. 
 
 Unexpected glories won me. 
 
 Never word by mankind spoken 
 
 Hath thy silent ages broken ; 
 
 But the lyre bird's heavy winging, 
 
 And the bell bird's silver ringing, 
 
 And the whip bird's sudden note 
 
 Ever through these glades did float ; 
 
 And cries of those four-footed things of fur. 
 That from their trees do peep when evening 
 breezes stir.
 
 no The Valley of the Upper Watts. 
 
 Now, o'er the forest, noon is creeping, 
 
 And all is still, except the leaping, 
 
 The rush, the bound of waters speeding, 
 
 While I loiter all unheeding. 
 
 Drinking in at every sense 
 
 Draughts of sweetest influence. 
 
 And here, what poets see in dreaming, 
 
 See in truth beyond all seeming ; 
 
 While every thought is lulled with soothing 
 pleasure 
 
 Beneath the drooping fronds that wave in 
 easy measure. 
 
 Nature folds me round and round 
 
 In this valley-depth profound. 
 
 Seated in this mighty minute 
 
 I am of it, more than in it. 
 
 For my thoughts, all bounds transcending,
 
 The Valley of the Upper Watts, iii 
 
 Still extending and extending, 
 
 Joy to feel their wings can carry 
 
 Out into the regions starry. 
 
 For he who looks on Nature's mightiest mazes 
 Can feel the vastness pass into the soul that 
 gazes. 
 
 Throbbing heart of mine, confess 
 Words are folly to express 
 Tumultuous joys that swell and roll, 
 Surging through the awe-struck soul. 
 Far as these mighty trees that bear 
 Their tremulous crests to thinner air, — 
 Far as their dizzy heights transcend 
 This mortal frame o'er which they bend. 
 So far this sight of beauty doth excel 
 The proudest thought that words of men 
 could hope to tell.
 
 1 1 2 The Valley of the Upper Watts. 
 
 Would to God that men might learn 
 To cease at times their bread to earn, — 
 That mortal food, that transient raiment, 
 For which they give their lives in payment, 
 Might grant their souls some holiday. 
 Slaves to tyrant frames of clay, — 
 Might view in some such wonder spot 
 All the glory round them wrought, 
 
 Might let then- souls expand to thoughts 
 infinite. 
 
 And dream, as now I dream, in this trans- 
 cendent minute.
 
 A Prayei\ 1 1 3 
 
 H prater. 
 
 Lord ! when I nightly seek to know thy truth 
 
 Do thou direct me ! Listen to the prayer 
 I oft address, that ere the flight of youth 
 
 I may resolve with reverential care 
 The doubts that close beset me ; even where 
 
 Tranquil convictions rested heretofore. 
 Do thou, oh, Lord ! to the inward sense declare, 
 
 In the night-watches when my heart is sore 
 With troubled thinking — have my hopes been vain? 
 
 Has all I once thought given by thee of yore, 
 Wherein to rest my soul I would be fain, — 
 
 Has all been false? Let me not evermore 
 Be troubled thus. Do thou, oh. Lord ! again 
 
 Peaceful delights and quiet thoughts restore.
 
 114 With Nature. 
 
 Mitb IRature. 
 
 Oft have I joined the reverential throng 
 That fill our churches with their grateful song, 
 And heard the solemn service float along, 
 
 Yet felt no influence of the Eternal there ; 
 
 The breath I breathed was nought but 
 common air. 
 
 Oft have cathedrals wrapped me in their gloom 
 With shadowy pillar and with ghostly tomb, 
 While altars rolled their chants, their rich perfume, 
 
 Yet felt I not the Eternal presence there ; 
 
 The circling breath was still but common 
 air.
 
 With Nature. 115 
 
 In forest valleys I have dwelt alone 
 
 A summer's day, where wildly overgrown, 
 
 The leaves made a deep darkness of their own. 
 
 At morn, in idle mood I laid me there ; 
 
 At eve I wandered home with awe-struck air. 
 
 And I have wandered by the unbounded sea 
 In gamesome humour, light, and gay, and free, 
 Till a deep voice grew audible in me ; 
 
 A voice I cannot hear where men repair ; 
 
 It grows with lonely sands and salt sea-air. 
 
 For hour by hour a subtle influence steals 
 And deepens inward, till my spirit feels 
 In those dim fastnesses it ne'er reveals 
 
 An all-enfolding presence whispering there, 
 And thoughts flow deep that words could 
 scarce lay bare.
 
 1 1 6 The Human Heart and its Goal. 
 
 Ube 1f3uinan IfDcart ant> its 6oal. 
 
 Has faith grown stale ? Does hope run dry 
 
 In these our busy ages? 
 Does greed alone light up youth's eye 
 
 And craft alone the sage's ? 
 
 I heard the voice of him, who said, 
 
 In accents hard and bitter : 
 "All noble thoughts in man are dead. 
 
 Which once like stars did glitter." 
 
 He said, "All hero-souls are gone, — 
 Long, long ago departed, —
 
 The Human Heart and its Goal. 117 
 
 Who once with splendid purpose shone, 
 The great, the stately-hearted." 
 
 "And now," he saic^, "The fraudful earth. 
 
 That in deception festers, 
 Bears none but men that shame their birth 
 
 From glory-crowned ancestors." 
 
 "Poor huckster hearts and base," he said, 
 "Of shams, and tricks, and lying, 
 
 The age of chivalry is fled, — 
 And manly virtue dying. 
 
 "The heart of man, grown poor and mean, 
 Knows nought of grand endeavour. 
 
 And it will taste of what has been 
 On earth no more for ever."
 
 1 1 8 The Human Heart and its Goal. 
 
 He rails, — this greybeard, touched with bile,- 
 
 He rails in cynic fashion, 
 And spins long-membered words the while 
 
 To barb his gibing passion. 
 
 'Tis false ! By yonder stars he lies, 
 That shine in unchanged splendour, 
 
 And see the world, each time they rise 
 More just, more wise, more tender ! 
 
 For the great human heart hath grown 
 More full, more deep, than ever. 
 
 Ten thousand springs into it thrown, 
 It widens like a river. 
 
 Each noble deed, each kindly life> 
 Hath helped to set it brimming.
 
 The Human Heart and its Goal. 119 
 
 No student toil, no patriot strife, 
 But flung some drops a-swimming. 
 
 And every poet's words that thrill 
 
 From out a bosom glowing, 
 All are like hidden threads that trill 
 
 In leafy hollows flowing. 
 
 The rills descend by Avays of thorns, 
 
 But yet by many flowers, — 
 Through moonlight nights, and golden morns, 
 
 And veils of gauze-like showers. 
 
 And all along an hundred miles 
 They drop, each trickling torrent ; 
 
 And spread themselves in wreathing smiles 
 Upon the swelling current.
 
 I20 TJic Human Heart and its Goal. 
 
 And so, ten thousand influences 
 
 Of happy inspirations 
 Have joined the streams of hfe, and these 
 
 Flow deep in many nations. 
 
 Thus Freedom grows ; thus Peace prevails ; 
 
 Thus mutual Trust progresses ; 
 And a great dream of Right exhales 
 
 From populous wildernesses ; 
 
 And sympathy for sick and sad 
 
 Exerts her empire spacious ; 
 ,And arts, like wine that maketh glad 
 
 The heart, grow ripe and gracious. 
 
 So do the centuries deepen still 
 The flow of human feeling,
 
 TJie Human Heart and its Goat. 1 2 i 
 
 Till, far beyond our prophet skill 
 Our wildest dream-revealing ; 
 
 The heart of man, \,-here'er it beat, 
 vShall beat in simple beauty, 
 
 Sincere and tender, pure and sweet, 
 Perfect in love and duty.
 
 122 TJu Pestilence. 
 
 Z\iZ pestilence, 
 I. 
 
 Beneath a larch-tree, in a forest glade, 
 
 There sat a serf. His garb was rough and wild. 
 The tangled wool upon his sheepskin made 
 
 Grim fellowship with head and beard defiled. 
 
 His burden lay beside him, and he whiled 
 The minutes as he rested with a song, — ■ 
 
 A crooning rhyme, that sang of cradled child, 
 Of wife, of home, which he should reach ere long. 
 Beyond the woods, and up the hill-slopes gray. 
 Perched like a nest, that lonely hamlet lay. 
 
 II. 
 Repeating still his song, he rose and swung 
 His bundle up as though to lift it high.
 
 The Pestilence. \2X 
 
 But stayed his hand ; the note died on his tongue. 
 
 He stood and gazed upon the western sky. 
 
 The sun was ahuost set. It scorched the eye 
 AVith furnace glare, and all the trees were black 
 
 Like ebon things against that brilliancy. 
 But far away was seen one fluttering speck 
 Of moving blackness that with rise and fall 
 Of laboured flight was wafted over all. 
 
 III. 
 
 With teeth agape, and eyes that seemed to burst. 
 
 The man stood watching, while that speck of gloom 
 Swept from the distance, clearer than at first. 
 
 A maiden's form, but ghastly as the tomb. 
 
 The Pestilence ! He knew her, and his doom 
 Smote at his knees, and on the grass he fell. 
 
 But she, alighting near the shuddering groom, 
 While on the air there spread a marshy smell,
 
 124 '^^^'^ Pestilence. 
 
 With hollow-sounding words. " Fear not," she said ; 
 "Not for thy life I come, but for thine aid. 
 
 IV. 
 " That hateful power which made me what I am 
 
 Hath sent me on my mission. Over earth 
 I must move ever on. But late I came 
 
 From realms where I have stifled hope and mirth. 
 
 And hither am I bid to wander forth 
 And curse this land with bitter showers of tears. 
 
 In palace towers ; in huts of meanest worth ] 
 In towns ; in hamlets ; whereso'er appears 
 Window, or door, or hearth, of living men 
 I breathe one breath, and get me gone again. 
 
 V. 
 
 " But oh ! how weary these sad limbs of mine ! 
 The maiden of the pest can fare no more !
 
 TJic Pestilence. 125 
 
 Now must thou bear me ! Those strong limbs of 
 thine 
 Must carry me to every mortal door ! 
 The market place, the street, the public floor 
 Wo. two must tread ! Thou canst not thwart thy 
 fate! 
 The power hath willed it ! Yet thy burden sore 
 No man hath power to mark. A viewless weight 
 Thou still must bear. Rise ! Thou shalt be my 
 
 steed ! 
 Now gird thy limbs to match their utmost speed !" 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then from the earth, like vapours miry-bred, 
 
 She rose dissolving. Round his neck she twined 
 
 Her shadowy limbs, and in his unkempt head 
 And burly beard her fingers slight did bind, 
 Then faded as a mist in parching wind.
 
 126 Tlic Pestilence. 
 
 He, looking up, perceived no trace of her. 
 
 Yet with the weight his body was inchned. 
 His knees were bent, and marrowless to stir, 
 Till all at once a flush sufi'used his frame, 
 And through his bones there sped a liquid flame. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then started he as one possessed. He sped 
 With sweating limbs through forest paths afar, 
 
 And chief where tracks of many footsteps led, 
 Through twilight hours, until the evening star 
 Her cheerful beam had quenched. Irregular 
 
 The tramp of his quick footfall through the gloom. 
 He reached a wayside cot. The door ajar 
 
 Admitted him within a peaceful room. 
 
 She, curling from his neck, like some black mist. 
 
 The babe that slumbered in the corner kissed.
 
 The Pestilence. 127 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Alas ! the night was heavy in that room. 
 
 The mother, when her infant's hp she pressed, 
 Tasted its glow, and felt the pang of doom 
 
 Shoot straight within the hollow of her breast. 
 
 Ah ! there was little time that night of rest ! 
 The lights were hurrying to and fro, and feet 
 
 With whispering tread kept moving round the nest 
 Wherein with features growing angel sweet 
 The babe, in quickening breaths, eked out its hours ; 
 Then lay, a sculptured thing, pure as the flowers. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Across the fields the stricken father bore 
 
 A tiny box and laid it low in clay. 
 Then sought again his straw-roofed house that wore 
 
 Sad signs of something wanting from the day. 
 
 But ere the morrow, she, his earthly stay,
 
 128 The Pestilence. 
 
 Was speeding on the fiery road to death ; 
 
 And her the neighbours bore in sad array 
 Across the meadows. Ah ! the dismal breath ! 
 The moans, the sighs, that from that cottage rolled ; 
 The tears — hot tears — that fell in drops untold. 
 
 X. 
 
 But meantime, he that bore the fever-maid 
 
 Afar had sped. For in that ghastly night 
 He spurned the highway with devouring tread 
 
 Until there came a hamlet into sight. 
 
 Its scattered huts showed many a feeble light. 
 Here at an open window fluttereth 
 
 A dainty curtain. In her hurrying flight 
 The maiden peeps within and breathes a breath. 
 Alas for human hopes ! next day will rest 
 The urchin hearts whose mirth that household 
 blessed.
 
 The Pes tilt I ICC. I2g 
 
 XI. 
 At many a window, many an open door ; 
 
 By chink, by cranny, did the fever-maid 
 Breathe m that breath, with anguish barbed sore. 
 
 She kissed the priest as on his knees he prayed ; 
 
 She kissed the hind that home from revel strayed. 
 Two lovers sat on slopes of bundled hay, 
 
 Whispering the plans for life in union laid, 
 With hopes that looked beyond the wedding-day. 
 A musty waft they felt. Long ere they thought. 
 Within the churchyard was their union wrought. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Here on the road there comes a toilsome wife, 
 From market home returning. She receives 
 
 A touch more deadly than from subtle knife. 
 
 How soon will fade the cares o'er which she 
 grieves !
 
 130 TJie Pestilence. 
 
 There is the village inn. Beneath its eaves 
 The ponderous benches still some stragglers hold 
 
 With beer and pipe. Their talk is of the sheaves, 
 Full-eared and ripe, well cut and shrewdly sold. 
 Tomorrow's waggons wait it. But that corn 
 Will lie unlifted many an autumn morn. 
 
 XIII. 
 Still on the highway sped that fatal pair. 
 
 The skies grew starless. O'er the moorland road 
 The wind, with long-drawn howl, through coppice bare 
 
 Sobbed in unearthly grief; and far abroad 
 
 Thunderless lightnings on the horizon glowed. 
 But through the darkness, on the uneven ground, 
 
 Those heavy boots with fevered purpose trod 
 Dogged, though sometimes tottering in their sound. 
 The dawn, whose blush was cold and full of fate, 
 Saw them beneath a town's still fastened gate.
 
 The Pestilence. 131 
 
 XIV. 
 That day within the town was hoHday. 
 
 Right early did the guard his bolts withdraw, 
 And through the portal passed that peasant gray. 
 
 But none his spectre-burden guessed, or saw 
 
 How his eyes glared ; how red his lips and raw ; 
 For all the bells were rolling merriment. 
 
 They, tumbling, pealed as though one loud guffaw. 
 Which woke the slum'bring houses. So there went 
 A cheerful stir through every morning street, 
 And loitering sounds of early passing feet. 
 
 XV. 
 
 But soon the streets are gay ; a mirthful crowd 
 Fills all the market-place. The matrons there, 
 
 In conscious comeliness and garments j^roud, 
 Stroll in and out, and many a joke they share. 
 The maids in saucy skirts and ribboned hair,. 
 J 2
 
 132 The Pestilence. 
 
 With kerchiefs neatly folded on their breasts ; 
 
 The men, in trim attire, with gallant air 
 Display the adroitness of their flattering jests. 
 But where that peasant rough his way pushed 
 
 through, 
 The throng in angered silence paused to view. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 By market-place, by street, by court, by lane 
 That weary man sped onward, as impelled. 
 
 The jolly chimes kept on their gleeful strain, 
 The fiddle and the flute their tumult swelled, 
 And fluttering flags were in long lines beheld ; 
 
 Yet never rest, nor pause that peasant knew. 
 Through every street his jostling way he held. 
 
 At last ere noon his toil therein was through ; 
 
 And he, departing, sought some other town 
 
 Which he might traverse ere the sun went down.
 
 The Pestilence. 133 
 
 XVII. 
 How jocund were the sports that afternoon ! 
 
 The townsfolk flocked beyond their ancient wall, 
 And there the fiddlers squeaked their friskiest tune, 
 
 And mazy circles held the dancers all. 
 
 The booths beneath the lindens met the call 
 Of many a bachelor and blushing maid, 
 
 Who quenched the thirst of their warm festival 
 In oft -replenished draughts. And long they stayed 
 Upon the grass, although the dews were chill. 
 And midnight passed ere all the streets were still. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 But far and fast that weary man had sped ; 
 
 Nor sleep, nor food, nor rest his limbs had 
 known. 
 His boiling veins were with his vitals fed. 
 
 With many a burst of pity did he groan
 
 134 ^/^^ Pestileiice. 
 
 To feel how far the fever breath was sown. 
 A score of hamlets and a slumbering city, 
 
 A populous palace, and a castle lone 
 Had felt its waft. x\nd oh ! the ruth, the pity ! 
 Disease, pain, death, with grief and blinding sorrow, 
 Waited for each throughout the hopeful morrow. 
 
 XIX. 
 Upon the second morning, his sad way 
 
 Turned back upon the town of festival. 
 He passed far off; yet many a long array 
 
 He well might mark, winding from o'ut the wall. 
 
 A dreary murmur wailed and sobbed o'er all. 
 A sound of lamentations, and the fell 
 
 Shouts of deep throats, and feebler pipings small, 
 And the fierce booming of the passing bell, 
 Rising above the tumult, loud and grim, 
 To break the roll of many a funeral hymn.
 
 The Pestilence. 135 
 
 XX. 
 
 And so, from day to day, o'er all the land. 
 
 There spread an ocean of despairing sound. 
 An emperor had seen his rosy band, 
 
 Four flaxen heads, with lead encoffined round. 
 
 Ten thousand lowlier homes, that once were crowned 
 With the same wealth divine of childhood, wept. 
 
 Where spluttering candles through the night 
 profound 
 Flickered their light on forms that coldly slept. 
 And all the land was wailing, and a cry 
 Rose, streaming upward far within the sky. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Not many places lay so hid, so close 
 
 But that the fever-maiden there had spread 
 
 Her mortal breath. And oh ! how wild she was 1 
 All trace of sweet humanity was fled,
 
 i;6 The Pestilence. 
 
 And fierce her lips with the grim work she sped. 
 With vulture-scream she waved and tossed on high 
 
 Her linen shroud, and shook her tresses red. 
 A furnace glowed through either wandering eye. 
 Astride upon the peasant's shoulders there, 
 She twined her fingers in his tangled hair. 
 
 XXII. 
 And cried, "Alala ! on, my charger, on ! 
 
 No more will these folks roam a-junketing I 
 From morn till eve, from eve until the dawn, 
 
 They fill the hours with heavy labouring, 
 
 To dig the pits wherein their dead to fling. 
 Now leftward turn ! A mountain hamlet lies 
 
 Beyond this wood, where men still laugh and sing 
 Unconscious. On a craggy crest there rise 
 Three ruined towers ; and climbing towards their feet. 
 In straggling fashion, runs the village street."
 
 The Pest ill iicc. 137 
 
 XXIII. 
 She showed a pathway through the forest gloom. 
 
 Alas ! the peasant shook in every limb. 
 That hamlet he knew well. It was his home ; 
 
 And in its school, five sturdy grafts from him, 
 
 Five rosy children, nowise neat nor trim. 
 Yet gay with noisy tricks, might then be taught. 
 
 And, oh ! his eye could see, not faint, not dim, 
 The cot hard by, where at the steaming ]50t 
 His wife might toil; could see the inner room 
 Where stood her bed and his, within the gloom. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 And up the sloping bareness of the street, 
 There stood a cottage, where his parents old 
 
 Stepped in and out with slow deliberate feet ; 
 And there the green whereon his youngest rolled, 
 His baby, dearest of the precious fold.
 
 138 The Pestilence. 
 
 Should death destroy them ? Should those joyous 
 eyes 
 Be pressed for ever into darkness cold? 
 That loving wifely bosom, his heart's prize, 
 Must that with all its bliss be swept away, 
 To mix its warmth with senseless chill of clay? 
 
 XXV. 
 Thus, as he faced the track, his heart was fierce. 
 
 It hammered hard through every turgid vein. 
 His shaggy eye-brows twitched ; he tried to pierce 
 
 The forest growth, now right, now left ; the pain 
 
 Of brambles and sharp spikes, that brought a rain 
 Of crimson drops, were nothing if he might 
 
 But burst the cursed fate that like a chain 
 Compassed his strength in fetters close and tight. 
 But all in vain. He could not leave the track, 
 That path which led to wife and children back.
 
 TJie Pestilence. 139 
 
 XXVI. 
 That pathway bent where flowed a forest stream. 
 
 It skirted close the murmuring waters. Then 
 The whirlwind passions of his spectre dream 
 
 Burst in a frenzied cry. For of all men, 
 
 None better knew than he that tree-clad glen. 
 And, through its mazes, now he knew, not far 
 
 The distance lay that led him home again. 
 Then loud he prayed by every saint and star, 
 And sought, with tears and broken words, to bend 
 That reckless maiden from her obstinate end. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 Alas ! she heard hmi not I but doubly wild. 
 Still urged him on the path. There lay a pool 
 
 Upon the left whereby the road defiled, 
 
 Unknown of depth, dark, silent, smooth and cool, 
 Wherein awhile the stream with waters full
 
 I4.0 The Pestilence. 
 
 Slept from its brawling in a gulf profound. 
 
 There, with a leap that burst her iron rule, 
 He sprang from out the path in one great bound. 
 One moment through the brushwood bank they fell, 
 The while he clutched her feet invisible. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 Swift as a meteor on September night, 
 
 They flashed and vanished. O'er her sinking 
 head 
 The waters closed. Five circles, smooth and bright, 
 
 With sparkling rim their silent rip])les spread, 
 
 Till on the banks a chirping sound they made ; 
 Then all was still : and all was dark again. 
 
 The waters slept in shadows dull and dead, 
 Till to their surface, in a beaded train, 
 A line of bubbles from the unseen sprung. 
 The last hard gasps that throttlmg death had wrung.
 
 The Pestilence. 141 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 And where, or how, the fever-maiden fared, 
 
 On earth of mortals was there none could know. 
 But soon that land no more of life despaired. 
 
 The plague no longer wandered to and fro ; 
 
 The bells had rest from mournful tolling slow. 
 In shrunken crowds again the markets met, 
 
 And life resumed, though lame, its wonted flow ; 
 And even mirth, which hastens to forget, 
 At length with timid wiles her healing powers, 
 Suffused to cheer that land from midnight hours. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Yet none through all that land the secret learned 
 Whereby their peace was wrought. 'Tis ever so. 
 
 From humble sacrifice, by none discerned ; 
 From unknown grappling with the fever foe, 
 The might must spring that shall its head lay low.
 
 142 The Pestilence, 
 
 Deep in sweet streams of running water drowned, 
 
 The fever plague no more shall come and go, 
 When every man, to guard his home's sweet bound, 
 Shall sacrifice himself at that dear altar, 
 Facing the task with heart that will not falter.
 
 Home and tJie World. 143 
 
 Ibome an& tbe Morl^. 
 
 As yon great rock, by wind and waters torn, 
 Lifts its red cliffs in seams and fissures worn, 
 On it the waves, in leagues of tumbling white, 
 Break in their wrath, and wreathe with hissing spite. 
 The hoarse impact ascends but half the way 
 To wet its brow with ineffectual spray. 
 At every blow the cliff upon its base 
 Shudders, and yet unmoved throws up its ruddy 
 
 face. 
 There, at its foot, there lies a dainty pool 
 
 Behind it spread ; 
 Sheltered from every wind, that crystal cool 
 
 Reflects its storm-vexed head.
 
 144 Houic and the World. 
 
 Hiding, in that pure bosom beautiful, 
 The grassy brow that tips the glowing red. 
 That head, in shining peace, lies nestling there, 
 
 And round it sweet things fair, — 
 Those snowy veils that dream upon the blue, 
 AVhere heaven shines through, 
 And all that glad expanse of light and air 
 
 Lie slumbering, where 
 Those yellow topmost flowers, that tufted grass, 
 
 Sleep in their tender glass, 
 Forgetful of the sea and all the storms that pass. 
 
 So be thou in the world. So raise thy life. 
 On one side swelling from the petty strife 
 
 Of men and business care ; 
 
 But on the other, where 
 Thy home extends the smoothness of its breast, 
 
 Sinking in trustful rest.
 
 Home and the World. 145 
 
 The vulgar ways of vulgar-scheming men, 
 
 Again and yet again, 
 Ruffle thy front with prejudice and clatter ! 
 
 Those waves in spray will scatter. 
 Choose thou the right. What if the angry play 
 Of bitter words roll round thee day by day, 
 
 'Tis no great matter. 
 Small tongues and frivolous brains. 
 
 Full of their sordid gains, 
 May toil and boil and bubble at thy foot, 
 
 And keep commotion, yet 
 
 Thyself they need not fret 
 If high thou rear thy front and upward shoot 
 Into that sphere of intellect where the fruit 
 
 Of life exalted shall be thine, the peace. 
 
 The sweet calm dignity, the solid ease 
 That trifles little recks. 
 Soaring too high aloft for petty cares to vex.
 
 146 Home and the World. 
 
 Yet not too far from earth 
 And all its simple mirth ! 
 Keep thou thy home, a sheltered place and calm, 
 For thy soul's daily balm. 
 There, bosomed soft and deep 
 With all things lovely be thy healthful sleep. 
 Let not its breast be curled 
 With storms thou bearest from the outer world, 
 
 But let affection spread 
 A downy bosom for a restful head. 
 So mayst thou find that though thy front may rise 
 From currish cares to bask in sunny skies ; 
 Yet downward too it sinks to seek repose 
 Among the cheerful throng whereon the firelight 
 dows.
 
 Love and the Laiv. 147 
 
 %<:i\}Z ant) tbe Xaw. 
 
 They two were wedded on an April morn. 
 Another April came, and still the sweet, 
 The dream-like softness of their golden days 
 Hung balmily above them, as the spring 
 Dwelleth perennial o'er some coral isle. 
 Happy their fortune in its median lot. 
 Happy in that suburban street their cottage, 
 Where, through the leafy shrubs, — a garden small, - 
 Two windows, white with dainty curtain folds, 
 Gave sweet suggestion of a dainty home. 
 There, as she bustled through her housewife day, 
 Her hours were one dear dream of evening's kiss. 
 He to his toils abroad, as morning grew, 
 
 K 2
 
 148 Love and the Laiv. 
 
 Waving the last farewell, addressed his steps ; 
 Therein, with hearty vigour, laboured well, 
 A man of trust with those he served. And yet, 
 Whate'er of zeal might fill the garrulous day, 
 There slept a corner, all unknown to men. 
 Deep in his tranquil heart, where, falling unheard, 
 A light, like sunbeams, played. 
 
 As one who digs 
 In some rich garden, on a sunny morn. 
 Hears, though he scarcely heeds them, the rich 
 
 notes, 
 The cadences of spring-enraptured birds ; 
 Breathes, though he thinks not of it, blended 
 
 scents 
 From summer-basking blossoms, and is glad 
 He knows not why : So toiled that ardent heart. 
 And drank a bliss unconscious. For there shone 
 The warmth of that dear moment, when, at eve,
 
 Love and tJic Laii). 149 
 
 A bosom soft should press him, two fond Hps, 
 Two love-belustred eyes, upturned, should meet 
 A rain of kisses. Happy were their days. 
 
 To her no man on earth was as her own. 
 This might be worth in this, and that in that. 
 But for all worthiness, — all the sum of good. 
 Her own was such as never breathed, nor breathes. 
 He, too, looked into eyes wherein he saw, 
 Unmatched on earth, sweet, self-forgetful love 
 Shine as the light shines from full-circled moons. 
 How potent is the comeliness that plays 
 On simple faces lit by mutual love ! 
 Therefore it is that not one loveliest. 
 Not one most exquisite face of woman dwells 
 Among earth's crowds of women. Many such, — 
 Many the loveliest, — many are the best, — 
 As many as the hearts of honest men, 
 Wherein true love hath found its sacred shrines.
 
 150 Love and the Lazv. 
 
 So they two dwelt in gladness, and there came 
 Other and other x\prils, but no babe; 
 No white-socked feet pattered upon their iloors ; 
 No prattling tongue kept theirs in busy talk 
 To tell the wonders of its gathering wit. 
 Therefore the more was each to other bound ; 
 Therefore the more did each the other tend 
 A\'ith watchful fondness that might make amends. 
 And so in peaceful wise the years rolled by ; 
 The winter evenings by the social fire 
 With novel or with history read aloud. 
 The summer eve more oft abroad, to taste 
 Whatever offered of amusement, meet 
 For loving comradeship. 
 
 But the eighth spring 
 Brought a faint cloud to dull their azure sky. 
 For she, at times, her hand upon her side 
 With lightning speed would press, and a quick cry
 
 JLove and tJic I^aiv. 
 
 i=ii 
 
 Told of a pain that flashed, and stabbed, and went. 
 
 Yet, save the pallor of a minute, left 
 
 No trace when it had sped. She saw his heart 
 
 Troubled and heavy, and she rallied him. 
 
 "'Twas nothing. Some such passing spasm," she 
 
 said, 
 "As delicate frames of women often bear." 
 And all too gladly was he comforted ; 
 And yet he might have quailed had he seen all ; 
 Had he but known how with the passing months 
 ]\Iore frequent came the shafts of poignancy ; 
 But she, with wifely courage, schooled herself 
 And learnt to bear in silence. Not a glance, 
 No twitch, no start betrayed the secret stab ; 
 But where they had come by weeks, they came by 
 
 days; 
 And where they had come by da)s, they came by 
 
 hours ;
 
 152 Love and the Law. 
 
 And on her features wrote their desolate tale 
 
 In hnes that might be read of all men, — all 
 
 But eyes of love, which lurking dread makes blind. 
 
 Alas those wakeful hours ! when by his side 
 She heard the chimes that lengthened to the hour, 
 The hours that lengthened out, with each a stroke 
 Added to that before ; and then would come 
 The ghostly faintness of the creeping dawn. 
 And from the grayness, slowly, one by one, 
 Emerged the features of the misty room. 
 
 Those hours of night while still he slept, she 
 passed 
 With thoughts unutterable in any speech. 
 For well she felt the doom that glided near ; 
 And well she boded of the parting hour. 
 Yet, for she deemed no cure could be, she strove 
 Never by word or moan, or whispered sigh. 
 To breed suspicion ere her time should come.
 
 Love and the Law. 153 
 
 More tender, yet less joyous grew her love ; 
 More eager, yet less satisfied his care ; 
 And earth, somehow, its brightness seemed to 
 
 show 
 Through dingy haze, and life its healthful tide 
 Sped with a lessening impulse in his veins. 
 To wake at morn brought the full throb no more 
 Of joy-remembering consciousness ; a gloom 
 Gathered, and love could chase it not away : 
 Nor tender words, nor felt nor given caress, 
 Nor balmy eves together, nor the morn 
 With soft renewal of companionship. 
 
 At last it chanced he opened wide his eyes, 
 Too fondly closed before, to see the truth. 
 Then, in her wasting cheeks, her pallid brow, 
 Her eyes, with lustre now no longer soft, 
 Liquid and full, but glassy bright, he read 
 Her secret from her ; and he urged confession.
 
 154 Love and the Law. 
 
 At first she thought to baffle him ; but love, 
 If once it lose its blindness, penetrates 
 With quick-eyed vision born of jealous dread, 
 And so the truth perforce she granted. On his 
 
 breast 
 Leaning the meekness of her nut-brown head, 
 She gave her long-pent anguish full relief. 
 Long flowed her tears, — long shook her delicate 
 
 frame 
 In silent throbs ; — then words found broken course. 
 " Oh, darling one, that made my life so bright — 
 My sum of earth, and all earth's happiness — 
 Soon must I leave thee !" 
 
 He, with trembling hmbs, 
 And face grown white as face of shrouded corpse. 
 Kissed the pale sweetness of her nestling brow, 
 
 " Leave me, my love," he said, " thou dearest one, 
 Brightest and kindest of all wives that are !
 
 Love ami tJie Laiv. 155 
 
 Thou shalt not leave me, for in God's good world 
 There must be remedy, and we shall seek 
 Such skill as shall dispel our fears !" 
 
 And close 
 He pressed her sobbing heart to his ; but she, 
 Checking the inward swelling of her tears, 
 Grew calm and said : 
 
 "Glad shall I be, how glad, 
 To share your hope. And what the power may be 
 Of science let us make trial. Yet my trust 
 Is frail, is very frail. And oh, my love, 
 To die would not be sad in days like mine 
 Were I not leaving thy sweet fellowship!" 
 
 Here, breaking in upon her discourse, he : 
 " But we shall cure these pains. Our frugal cares, 
 Thy watchful zeal in household management, 
 Have left us wherewithal to pay the skill 
 Of whatsoever lives of reputation ;
 
 156 JLove and tJic Law. 
 
 Within our cup of fate, believe me, yet 
 There brimmeth many a year of happiness." 
 
 Then with a smile — a smile enframed in sadness, — 
 Her eyes replied to his a mild assent. 
 As one who fain would be convinced, yet feels 
 No inward mastery of conviction, so 
 She ceased from argument, and silent lay 
 With arms enclaspt around him, till a pang 
 Struck her and left her drooping ; and she drew 
 From him apart to rest her faintness, still 
 Holding his hand in hers ; and so they sat 
 Till twilight deepened darkly. 
 
 All that eve 
 Assiduously he tended her ! All night 
 Awake he lay, conning the names of those 
 Whose manifold triumphs in the healing art 
 Were wideliest noised abroad. When morning came 
 He told her of his choice, whereto she made
 
 Love and the Law. 157 
 
 A soft assent, as one who had no part, 
 No care, no interest, but to pleasure him. 
 
 And so, betimes, while still the day was fresh, 
 They sought that stately mansion, and a place 
 Found in the whispering room which, waiting, sat ; 
 A suffering throng that, one by one, distilled 
 Through the green portal, to that inner place 
 Where the great man heard half a city's woes. 
 Long was their turn in coming, but it came; 
 And then, the threshold crossed, they stood at last 
 In that expectant moment of their fate. 
 But, as they seated them, that masterful face, 
 Bending its keen grey eyes upon her, read 
 Full half her secret from her, ere a word. 
 A darkly resolute face it was, and nerved 
 To fight, as oft it fought, a desperate fight 
 With death, if that there lay of life a hope. 
 He heard their tale, and clouded was his l)row.
 
 158 Love and the Law. 
 
 A few brief questions asked, and little uttered, 
 He made appointment, when his leisure served, 
 To visit at their home. A kindly word, — 
 Kindlier for the gruff voice that uttered it, — 
 A tone of sympathy that seemed a knell, — 
 And they were in the open. 
 
 How the mild sun 
 Flooded with joy the outward parts, — in vain, — 
 Having no ])Ower to touch the inward gloom ! 
 How hollow sounded then the sparrows' twitter 
 Echoing through dreary vaults of desolate hearts! 
 So did he homeward fare, as in a land 
 Of feigned enchantments ; where no thing he saw 
 Was real, nor any sound he heard was aught 
 But fantasy of a dream. 
 
 Evil that dream ; 
 Evil the night, and evil still the morrow ; 
 And his heart sweated drops of anxious dread,
 
 Love and the Laiv. 159 
 
 While the dull hours of sunshine sullenly rolled 
 And brought the time appointed. 
 
 Sharply the steeds 
 With jar of wheels drew in their course ; and 
 
 then 
 Forth with the swinging door the man of science 
 Sprang, and a second followed. So they passed 
 Into the house and shut themselves alone, 
 To read that mystery of a suffering fate. 
 
 It was an hour that wrought more time to him 
 In his full heart than many a year had made ; 
 But with those echoing footsteps it was done. 
 How thirst the eyes of fearful love to drink 
 The tidings borne on arbitrating faces ! 
 Alas, they omened ill ! He read her fate, 
 And from their lii)S he heard it. It was death ; — 
 -V lingering death, — a death of pangs and pains. 
 And creeping weakness.
 
 i6o Love and the Laiu 
 
 Then they went, and he 
 Heard their farewell, their somewhat-purporting words, 
 As one who dwelleth ever by the sea 
 Might, wrapt in study, hear its billows fall — 
 Hear without hearing. And awhile he stood 
 To let his whirling thoughts fly round, that poured 
 In crazy riot through his nerveless mind ; 
 And, one by one, those words that hovering strove 
 To reach his heart, like seabirds round a lighthouse, 
 Found entrance there, and with them, as they grew 
 To semblance of their meaning, anguish rose 
 And swelled and burst, and so he cast himself 
 To wrestle with his turbulent hour alone. 
 And none beheld his silent-heaving sides ; 
 And none might hear the quivering of his breath ; 
 And none could know of all that passed within. 
 
 That dark hour crossed, that deep abysmal gulf, 
 \\^hich sundered happy from despairing life,
 
 Love and the Laiv. i6i 
 
 There came a calm; cheerless, yet such as men 
 May clothe in cheerful seeming, and he passed 
 To seek her bedside, with his countenance 
 Set to a comfortless smile. So do the waves 
 Glitter with shimmering sparkle when the sun 
 Throws its first glint after the hurricane gloom. 
 Over the vessel gulfed, the ripi)les leap; 
 \^'hile unconsoling glitter, drearily bright, 
 Shines, surface sweet, above a depth of sorrow. 
 
 So, cheerlessly bright, he sat beside her bed. 
 Comforting with caresses, for of words 
 He had no craft to fashion comfort yet. 
 She, oftcring her pale lips to kiss him, said : 
 
 " I know it all ; I know what thou dost know. 
 And what has meant for thee the hour that's gone. 
 How my heart melted at thy suffering !" 
 
 Thereat he trembled and his raven beard 
 Stooped till it mingled with her hair.
 
 1 62 Love and the Laiv. 
 
 " Seven years ! 
 Only seven years," he groaned, " of happiness. 
 And hfe is over, for these years are fled !" 
 
 "Not wholly fled," she answered: "who can tell 
 How far my lame days yet may totter on ? 
 And well I promise, while my life shall last, 
 We two shall still make each the other's cheer. 
 See," and she rose upright, '' I have no thought 
 To lie abed yet many a summer's day. 
 Now, stay by me, and while I dress do thou 
 Once more become my clumsy waiting-maid I" 
 
 She rose and decked herself with scrupulous care, 
 Breathing a tender gaiety in her talk. 
 She bade him smoothe the bed that ruffled lay. 
 She kept him playfully busy, and a kiss 
 Repaid each willing service, till, betimes, 
 A little of that blackness rolled away 
 Which had before enveloped earth and him. 
 
 \
 
 Love and the Law. 163 
 
 Such is the magic loving courage can. 
 
 And when they two sat by their evening meal, 
 
 Though life seemed aged grown, its age was calm ; 
 
 And after, when beside the leaping fire 
 
 He drew the sofa fronting it, she lay 
 
 Restful, in joyous respite from her pain. 
 
 Oh what a long sweet lover eve was that ! 
 
 And, when at length they sought their couch, their 
 
 hearts 
 Drawn wondrous close in love, pressed close their 
 
 pulses. 
 Till peace grew full, and a long slumber fell. 
 And many days and many weeks ensued 
 Of sombre peacefulness ; though her the pain, 
 The sudden stab oft-times oppressed, her face, 
 Doubly and trebly steeled, no token gave. 
 He, as his former care lent ample warrant, 
 Leaving his post, no more fared city-ward.
 
 164 Love and the Law. 
 
 He spent his days with her. They walked abroad ; 
 They plied light garden tasks ; they read together ; 
 They communed much, and so the time passed by, 
 Sweet with a mournful sweetness, sadly bright. 
 
 But time, the happiest time, destroys himself. 
 The happier he, the speedier is his doom. 
 And happy days were over, for her pains 
 Were such at length as human fortitude 
 Might not defy. And she grew weak ; her face. 
 Pallidly sweet, was marked with deepening lines. 
 I'hen in his eyes a yearning woke, and shone 
 Sad beyond utterance. 
 
 And no more they walked 
 Breathing the outer air together. Slowly 
 She paced the rooms leaning upon his arm ; 
 Now this, now that, as restlessness of woe 
 Urged her in desolation to make trial. 
 And then the nights ! Alas, those weary nights !
 
 Love and the Laiu. 165 
 
 No blessed balm of sleep, but broken lulls 
 Of half-distracted senses ; till he prayed, 
 Although the prayer was anguish, till he prayed 
 Through the long darkness, marred with tossing pain. 
 Prayed that her life might end. 
 
 And for a time 
 It seemed his prayer was heard, for her decline 
 Was daily hastening, and she cared no more 
 To stir about. Her slow and tottering limbs 
 Bore her so feebly that she fain would lie. 
 Resting abed ; sometimes in his strong arms 
 Borne to this sofa and anon to that. 
 And doctors came, and looked, and talked, and went ; 
 But all as one agreed that life not long 
 Might now protract its pitiful tediousness. 
 And one at last, so frail so worn her look, 
 So passing her weird beauty, prophesied 
 That with the month her life would vanish. Sweet
 
 1 66 Love and the Lm 
 
 IV. 
 
 As harbour-home to shipwrecked mariner 
 
 She saw that goal in sight ,; while, in his love, 
 
 He too rejoiced to know the end not far. 
 
 Though where, when she was gone, where upon 
 
 earth 
 He might betake his sorrow; with what hope 
 He should confront existence ; how his days 
 Could still go moving onward, she departed, 
 He wearily wondered ; but the view lay dark. 
 
 And yet the end so prayed for came not nigh, 
 For hidden springs of strength poured fitful aid 
 To feebly fill her shrinking current of life. 
 A desperate strife her bodily power prolonged 
 Against disease, and pain, and sleepless nights. 
 But, in her woe, she wept, and moaned, "Oh, God; 
 When will it end ?" And from one tortured darkness 
 Livid with agony, there burst the cry, 
 " Oh, if thou love me, dear one ; if thou love me.
 
 Love and tJic Law. 167 
 
 (iive me some draught, give me some draught of death 
 To end my life and this ! Oh, give me rest !" 
 
 He felt his arm by fevered fingers grasped ; 
 And his soul shuddered with excess of agony. 
 He soothed her, moistening those dry lips of hers; 
 But it was long before the unutterable time 
 Passed over her, and she lay still and death-like. 
 Ah ! not once only, nor a score of times ! 
 But many scores came of such deadly pangs; 
 And what in body she endured, — in mind 
 He suffered with a trebled poignancy. 
 And oft he groaned, "Oh, thou good God ! how long, 
 How long is this to last beneath Thy sight?" 
 
 At length a dumb importunate whisper spoke 
 From out his anguish, and whenas she dosed. 
 Sometimes in quiet of an afternoon, 
 He read, in history, tales wliere men make bold 
 And slay their wives to save them ; seeking death
 
 1 68 Love and the Law. 
 
 Themselves hereafter. That grim tale of York 
 And Hebrew courage did he oft repeat, 
 Till a dim purpose grew widiin his heart. 
 
 When next a doctor passed his door he asked, 
 With hoarsely altered voice, "How long, think you. 
 Might this thing last ?" The worthy veteran 
 Wove endless chains of sense-enveloping words ; 
 Till he, impatient, striking at the core, 
 Reached the short truth that science was at fault. 
 Her life, ere then, siiould have been merged in peace 
 Had symptoms prophesied their due results. 
 That death was certain none, he said, could doubt ; 
 But when, it now seemed futile to forecast. 
 
 So bleeding love was left again to dream 
 Of months and months of nameless agony. 
 But in the dead of night, when next the cry 
 Woke the sad rest of that sick-lighted room. 
 Then to her tortured words, " Does no one love me
 
 Loz'c and the Laiv. 169 
 
 Enough to bring me one sweet draught of peace? 
 Oh, dearest, you could give it me!" 
 
 There came 
 The deep and solemn answer, " And I will 
 
 But she, as hearing not, lay still and panting. 
 While through an endless hour her breath came quick; 
 Then till the morning lay as one entranced. 
 At last, returning ease brought back the words 
 Muttered in horror of her midnight woe. 
 And she, as one in fear, rose up and said, 
 
 " Dearest, come near me ! What were those words 
 of thine 
 That answered to my madneos ? Do not dream 
 Of aught so rash, for though I pray for death, 
 And from thy hand would drink it gladliest. 
 Yet such a deed thou must in no wise dare. 
 The world would rank such kindness as a crime ; 
 Thy life might be the forfeit of thy love."
 
 1 70 Love and the Laiu. 
 
 Yet he, in scorn, " My life ! my life a forfeit ! 
 What is my life to me? I love it not. 
 If thou be gone, life is to me a corpse, — 
 A cold, dull semblance whence the soul is fled. 
 We bury dead things — view not their decay. 
 What were a mummied life for me that have 
 Remembrance of its juiciest freshness ? No ! 
 I loathe the thought of living. Rather we, 
 Together leaving life, shall fare together, 
 And learn what life awaits of milder rule 
 Where kindlier reigns of Providence have sway." 
 
 But she, holding apart, convulsed with fear, 
 In quickening accents whispered, "No; not thou! 
 Ah no, my love, not thou I my love, not thou ! 
 Oh, it was nothing, that most meaningless cry 
 Wrung i'rom my wandering lips through misery ! 
 God will give peace, and I shall wait his will !" 
 
 And answer made he none ; but his grim thought
 
 Love and tJic Laiv. 1 7 1 
 
 AVas ever with him, and he conned it o'er. 
 Though days passed by, yet every day that passed 
 Strengthened his thought. 
 
 Yox every midnight cry 
 Curdhng his blood, while the great city slept, 
 And every touch of that pain-wetted brow, 
 And every frenzied grip of those dear fingers, 
 And every stony glance of mute appeal, 
 Deepened his purpose. 
 
 And there came a night 
 When all was eerie still, save for the jars 
 Of creaking midnight. Resting upon a chair, 
 One sallow light beside the bed lit up 
 A wasted arm hanging from out the sheets ; 
 It lit a white face, framed in shadowy hair. 
 Lovely but spectral. Up and down he paced 
 AVith feverish step, while maddening grief convulsed 
 His face and tremulous hands, for he had gazed.
 
 172 Love and tJic Laiv. 
 
 Helpless once more, on all that withering scene, 
 Which left her death-like there. But when her 
 
 strength 
 With faint return of day revived, he said : 
 
 " God be my witness that I love thee truly ; 
 And what is there that true love will not dare? 
 Does it fear death ? What recks it of men's 
 
 tongues ? 
 To-morrow night shalt thou, my love, drink deep ; 
 Drink and dream out of sorrow. Drink, and away 
 Be wafted, if some spirit clime there be 
 Untouched of this world's dreariness ; and I 
 Shall drink a fellow draught ! and if the law 
 Have any charge on me, it mounteth not 
 Unto my life. Yet I shall give my life 
 In full requital and shall owe it nought." 
 
 And when the night was changed to chill grey light, 
 She bade him sit beside her, and they reasoned
 
 Love and the Laio. 173 
 
 Of right and law, of love and love's behests, 
 
 In tortuous chase of ethic princii)le. 
 
 He showed the dreariness of his lonely life, — 
 
 No sin could be in loving tenderness, — 
 
 Rather the law was debtor for a deed 
 
 Of kindly purpose. 
 
 And her doubting mind 
 By slow degrees took comfort, and a hope, 
 Never before contemplated, made bright 
 The slowly wakening prospect. Not alone, — 
 No, not alone should she now face the way ; 
 But with her loved one, faring side by side. 
 Should pierce the glooms of chaos, and his smile, 
 Dearer than visioned angels', might perchance 
 Light up the darkness of the measureless voids. 
 Star-dotted and yet chill. 
 
 And daylight crept 
 Upon them as tiiey talked. Its beams were cold ;
 
 174 Love and the Law. 
 
 But rosy were their hopes. That .rising day 
 
 Would Hght a world to toil, but them to jieace. 
 
 For as it closed they two, such their design. 
 
 Soaring together, were to spurn this earth, 
 
 Making mysterious explorations far 
 
 Among the starry hosts. .'\nd when he slipped 
 
 His hand beneath her tresses to lift up 
 
 Her bloodless lips to taste the throbbing love 
 
 That warmed his own, no face on earth more glad ; 
 
 No eye that beamed more placidly than his. 
 
 The sun ascended on a genial morn, 
 And dipped upon a golden afternoon. 
 He spent them in that little kitchen, neat 
 And bright and trimly packed ; her dainty realm, 
 Wherein, through many a byegone cheerful day, 
 She, toiling in her happy labours, dreamt 
 Of eve and him and kisses. On her table, 
 Bleached white with much assiduous cleanliness,
 
 Love and tJic Law. 175 
 
 He plied a task too slight to seem so deadly ; — - 
 A glassy flask, some tubes, a pale blue flame, 
 And slow and sullen drops of distillation. 
 Yet on that task there shone slantwise the sun 
 With peaceful rays dust-spangled. The great world 
 Smiled in its healthful beauty. 
 
 Twilight came. 
 And for a last time they their converse held 
 On and still on amid the gathering gloom, 
 As had been oft in many a happy eve. 
 And then she said, " My heart misgiving grows 
 Of this our desperate purpose. Pain is selfish ; 
 And I, too selfish, thought but of myself 
 And that glad promise of thy comradeship. 
 Forget that I assented. Let it be. 
 In God's good time I die, but thou shalt wait. 
 With many a duty yet perchance in store, 
 Till fate fulfilled shall bid thee follow me."
 
 176 Love and the Laiv. 
 
 And he made answer : " No ; we both must die. 
 Should I not risk my hfe to save a stranger's? 
 Should I not lose it to save thine at need ? 
 And shall I not have power to lose it now 
 Doing thee faithful service?" 
 
 But she, faltering, — 
 " Oh, dearest one, thy life hath far more worth 
 Than for such cause to be so lightly cast ; 
 To-night when next my terrible time is come. 
 And pain has nerved my courage, give me the 
 
 draught. 
 But live thou on and think of me. Keep green 
 My favourite flowers upon my grave ; keep fresh 
 Within thy heart the memory of our loves. 
 Dream of me where I dwell, and if I may 
 From out the starry regions stoop, thy dreams 
 Will feel a radiant influence, and will bloom 
 In heart-contenting visions of my joy !"
 
 Love and the Law. 177 
 
 But he, as one determined, made reply: 
 "This cannot be. Consenting to thy death 
 I arm the laws against me. It is fixed. 
 I go with thee. We leave a warring tide 
 Of jangling words to praise or blame our fate. 
 'I'heir possible babble did distract my purpose. 
 But that is passed. Now let them. talk, say I. 
 Perchance the popular heart, hearing our talc, 
 May melt to know thy suffering and our love, 
 And shed — a three days' talk — the impotent shower 
 Of pitiful words over our published names. 
 ^Vhat need we care? What recks the morning sun 
 That some may bless his rising, and some curse. 
 His sphere is far from theirs ; and further still 
 Shall ours be from these prating tongues, ere morn 
 Awakes them once more to their gossiping." 
 
 And to his stronger will her will gave way. 
 So when the lights were lit he busied him 
 
 M
 
 178 Love and the Laiv. 
 
 Ranging his papers. Some he burnt ; some laid 
 
 Conspicuously about him ; some he packed 
 
 In bundles to their separate resting-places. 
 
 And whilst he deftly moved, she woke and slept 
 
 In fitful turns, until her breath came short, 
 
 And a faint sigh suppressed gave warning note. 
 
 It was a sound he knew. Kneeling beside her 
 
 He held her hand, while in fierce throbs the pain 
 
 Frenzied her features till she hoarsely cried, 
 
 " The draught ! the draught ! Quick ! quick ! Give 
 
 me the draught !" 
 With trembling hands he poured, and held it up 
 To touch her out-stretched lips ; she drank, and, 
 
 shuddering. 
 Sank on her pillow motionless, while the pain 
 Ebbed slowly from her. Then once more her eyes 
 Opened and shone that light of tenderness 
 Upward upon him ; and when ease was come. 
 
 I
 
 JLovc and tJic JLaiv. 179 
 
 "Dearest," she whispered, "dearest one, farewell. 
 My heart is grateful for these loving years. 
 My senses taste a touch of exquisite languor. 
 Lay thy cheek here upon the pillow near me, 
 And I shall drowse into thy neighbouring ear 
 The last words of these lips." 
 
 And then she spoke 
 Things that were sacred things betwixt thest twain, 
 While his deep voice, sinking in solemn whispers. 
 From time to time made answer. 
 
 Then rising up, 
 Feeling his face, she kissed him, and she murmured, 
 " It is the last ; sleep holds me, — far away, — 
 My husband—" 
 
 Then her face lay softly slumbering. 
 White amid white, like snowdrops ridged with snow. 
 Some formless words, but pretty, passed her lips ; 
 Then merged her life in silence, and she lay
 
 i8o Love and the JLaiv. 
 
 Breathing, but dead. I.-ong by her bed he knelt, 
 And his great sob was felt o'er all the room ; 
 A silent throb and nameless ; and he poured 
 Such tide of passionate prayer as needs must reach, 
 Whatever dwells on high of deity. 
 
 Faint and more faint her breathing, till her breast 
 Lost its last heaving, and her spirit passed. 
 And thrice he kissed her chilly lips, and thrice 
 Each closed eyelid ; and long time he gazed 
 Upon the lily sweetness gathered there ; 
 Then ordered decently the folded sheet 
 Over her silent heart. 
 
 And then he moved 
 With awesome step, yet steady, through the house. 
 Closed every door, through which the city sounds 
 In the dull midnight passed ; the windows closed ; 
 Quenched all the lights, save that alone which burnt 
 Within the room of death. Then poured his draught
 
 Love and the Law. i8i 
 
 And raised it to his lips ; yet set it down 
 Once more to view, with tear-belustred gaze, 
 The sweet translucent whiteness of her face ; 
 And many times he ki'^sed it, till his heart 
 Grew all too great, too wild to be contained. 
 Then dashing the light to darkness, he tossed up 
 The potion-glass and drank an eager death. 
 
 Then, creeping past her strangely motionless form 
 He laid him by it, till a numbness came, 
 And pleasant visions moved his smiling lips. 
 And once more, as his wont had been, he slipped 
 A sheltering arm beneath her clustering tresses. 
 So did the midnight waft across them there, 
 And, ere the dawn, his spirit passed. There lay 
 Two lover forms in silence, and the chill 
 Of morning gathered slowly round them.
 
 I 82 
 
 Mv Little Ones. 
 
 C^^ Xittle ©lies. 
 
 My heart is aching, and my eyes are full. 
 
 Oh little ones, sweet little ones at rest 
 How dear ye are ! How dear and lovable 
 
 Two baby heads upon one pillow pressed 
 
 Here have I sat and heard your childish chat, 
 So sweet, so simple, cadenced like a brook 
 
 And joy came throbbing to my heart thereat, 
 Feeling the loving word, — the trustful look. 
 
 And now ye slumber, for the day is done. 
 
 Those nimble tongues, those busy brains are still ; 
 Back, back ye tears, why should ye seek to run 
 
 With morn their voices all the house will fill
 
 My Little Ones. 183 
 
 But ah ! I dream of times when ye no more 
 Shall laugh as now ye laugh with baby glee ; 
 
 When ye shall bring me other joys in store, — 
 But these for ever lost to you and me ! 
 
 Therefore my heart is full. I cannot drink 
 So deeply of this draught, but in those years 
 
 That are to come, I oft must sit and think 
 On these sweet days, and long, yes long with tears 
 
 That once again, upon tliis little bed, 
 
 I might but lean and hear your baby talk. 
 
 And join your laugh, and stroke each darling head 
 And feel your hands my fingers warmly lock. 
 
 Good night, ye slumb'ring dears — and icCwy dreams ! 
 
 May the years coming lie upon us light, 
 To leave our life awhile as now it seems, 
 
 And ye be long as children in my sight.
 
 1 84 
 
 In Dreams. 
 
 5n Breams. 
 
 Her arms about my neck will cling 
 In dreams for ever and for ever; 
 
 A gentle little six-year thing 
 For ever and for ever. 
 
 She is a dream of vanished bliss, — 
 A dream for ever and for ever ; 
 
 But oh ! the anguish of her kiss ! 
 For ever and for ever. 
 
 And still she sits upon my knee, 
 In dreams, for ever and for ever,
 
 In Dreams. 185 
 
 And lays her nestling head on me 
 For ever and for ever. 
 
 I was her darling. She is mine, 
 In dreams, for ever and for ever. 
 
 Sweet little fingers, clasp and twine, 
 About my neck for ever.
 
 A Diroe. 
 
 Deep are her slumbers, and fear no awaking. 
 
 The kind eardi hath folded her into its breast. 
 O'er the dark cypress when morning is breaking, 
 
 None will arouse the dear babe from her rest. 
 
 For the sweet soul that awoke with the dawning 
 Never shall brighten the love-sparkled eye. 
 
 Nor the sweet voice with its gentle intoning 
 Waken to music as day rises high. 
 
 Silent she sleeps in the dew-sprinkled morning 
 Silent when sunbeams fall soft on her tomb ; 
 
 Silent and sad when the night-shades returning 
 Wrap the still grave and the cypress in gloom. 
 
 I
 
 Shelley. 187 
 
 Hast ever seen the moon 
 Shine upward from the de])ths of some wide lake 
 
 Upon a placid eve, too soon 
 For the first breath of dew-chilled air to wake? 
 
 Her clear-cut crescent glows 
 ^Mth filigree of radiant cloudlets round. 
 No blur in all the glorious depths is found. 
 
 But far away it shows, — - 
 
 That lustrous vault profound — 
 A\'herein the mimic moon sleeps underground. 
 Cold is its stately beauty ; and remote 
 From men, and lives of men, its motionless splendours 
 float.
 
 1 88 S/ic/hy. 
 
 So sleeps within the thought 
 Of some great poet his immortal fire. 
 While sufferings touch it not, 
 It shines in depths profound, 
 Nor gives to upper air one throb, one sound. 
 All underneath the lives of men it glows — 
 Those common cares that tire 
 And vex the souls that hurry to and fro. 
 
 But deep within his breast, 
 As in some stately dome of throned rest, 
 
 It dreams in shining sleep. 
 And its regardless path in its own sphere doth 
 keep. 
 Thus men, who rarely look 
 Far in the depths of slumbrous lake or brook, 
 
 Nor often seek to find 
 The thoughts that build the life of some calm 
 mind, 
 
 i
 
 Shelley. 1 89 
 
 See not the moon that rides 
 In glory far below the summer tides. 
 
 Nor yet the light profound, 
 That shines in poet-breast without a throb or sound. 
 
 Hast marked the waters stirred 
 By that first breath of eve which lightly passes, 
 
 With rustling scarcely heard, 
 What time upon the tremulous tips of grasses 
 The dew has hung its stars of atomy flashes ? 
 
 With that first ripple all the moony deep 
 Dissolves its distant sleep. 
 
 And when the breezes wake. 
 
 Across the surface creep 
 Wide floods of glory o'er the shimmering lake. 
 
 No longer far away 
 
 With coldly tranquil ray, 
 No longer set on meditative throne
 
 I go Shelley. 
 
 In kingdoms all its own, 
 But nearer, clearer, kindlier to the glance 
 
 It spreads its broad expanse. 
 Then men, though hurrying on their various ways, 
 
 Stop, and a moment gaze 
 To mark the splendour of that quivering blaze ; 
 And, as it kindles to the spell-bound eye. 
 In exquisite awe, they, standing long, enjoy 
 That beauty which is theirs, because they deem 
 it nigh. 
 
 And such the change which breaths of suffering 
 
 Over the poet's lonely spirit bring. 
 Where meditation sat with soft wings furled, 
 
 Far in another world, 
 A breeze of pain from out the sordid earth 
 Wafts,— and a flood of glory springs to birth. 
 That orbed radiance which was throned afar
 
 Shelley. I g i 
 
 Bursts into many a star, 
 And all that light which nut a pulse did mar 
 
 In self concentrated, 
 Now in wide floods of tremulous glory shed 
 Across the wondering hearts of awestruck men is 
 spread. 
 
 Hail, holy power ! Hail, touch divine of sorrow ! 
 
 From thee our singers borrow 
 That moving force which, wafting as a breeze, 
 
 Dispels their voiceless ease, 
 And bids them spring to meet our human sympathies ! 
 
 Thou, Shelley, thou wast wrung 
 By many a pang, so that thy thirty years, 
 With life and hope still young. 
 Might well have been a term of nightly tears. 
 
 But thou hadst never sung
 
 192 Shelley. 
 
 In happy days that knew no cares, no fears, 
 
 Those strains whose mystic roll 
 Is that vibrating thrill of sadness, whence 
 
 There breathe across the soul 
 Those chords of pitying love, the heart's best 
 influence. 
 
 For thougli thou sangst of hope, 
 The prophet thou of ages yet to ope, 
 
 Which in thy rosy dream 
 Too near, too soon, too palpable did seem. 
 
 Thy song is nowhere glad, 
 But ever tells the bitter birth it had, 
 In pains, in scorns, in faults, in wanderings. 
 In loss, in death, in persecuting stings. 
 
 Thy man-befriending view 
 Saw earth arise in happy vestures new. 
 The earth men made thee was a sorry dwelling 
 
 For a proud spirit swelling
 
 SJielley. 193 
 
 To heights whose majesty no words have power of 
 
 telling. 
 Yet from thy troubles sprang our infinite gain. 
 Thy troubles passed ; orr solid fruits remain. 
 
 For every note of thine 
 Was love-attuned to guide us on our way 
 
 Into that age divine 
 When Peace should shine and wars be swept away ; 
 When Freedom should throb high in every land ; 
 When the great mass of men no more should stand 
 
 A herd of feeding clay, 
 Slaves to their despots, slaves to worse than they, 
 
 Their sensuous selves, — but all 
 Grown wiser, purer, nobler, manlier, should 
 The whole earth fill with one glad brotherhood. 
 
 Such was thy sanguine thought, 
 And such the vision that thy fancies wrought, 
 For hope swelled high in every verse ; yet there
 
 1 94 Shelley. 
 
 That hope was child of pain and present care. 
 
 For all thy strains we owe ^ 
 
 To ruffling breaths that o'er thy soul did blow, « 
 
 Scattering its brightness forth so that the world might 
 know.
 
 Australia to England. 195 
 
 Hustrali? to Bnolanb. 
 
 A Reply to Lord Tennyson's "Hands All Round. 
 
 Join our hands ! We shall most gladly. 
 
 Where thou goest we shall go ; 
 Distant be the day when sadly 
 
 Sinks our sun of empire low. 
 Still in triumph or in sorrow 
 
 All thy fortunes we shall share ; 
 From thine honoured name we borrow 
 
 All the lustre that we bear. 
 Hand in hand we'll trace the ages, 
 
 Stalwart children, mother hale, — 
 Thou hast bred us, — thou hast made us ;
 
 196 Australia to England. 
 
 Every fostering care hast paid us, 
 Now our duty shall not fail. 
 
 Hand in hand, we'll face together 
 Blinding storms or sunny weather. 
 
 Thou that greatly lead'st the nations, 
 
 Reverenced as the just — the wise ! 
 Thou that, with unselfish patience, 
 
 Wip'st the tear from suffering eyes ! 
 Thou the freedom brought'st that blesses,- 
 
 Freedom to be kind and true; 
 Not the freedom of excesses, 
 
 Not the freedom of the few. 
 Lead thou on, we closely follow, — 
 
 Glad to press thy helping hands ! 
 Sweep away the base, the hollow ; 
 Raise the countless hordes that wallow 
 
 1 )arkly in oppressed lands.
 
 Australia to England. \gj 
 
 Hand in hand we'll face together 
 Blinding storm or sunny weather. 
 
 Cometh slow but sure the dawning 
 
 Of that often sighed-for day, 
 When all meanness, cringing, fawning 
 
 From the earth will pass away. 
 When all men shall feel as brothers 
 
 Conscious of a true man's worth ; 
 Kach respectful of all others, 
 
 Not alone of wealth or birth. 
 Thou hast caused that day to glimmer. 
 
 Lead thou on ; we grasp thy hand. 
 Till it fairly dawn, if grimmer 
 Aids are claimed where battles shimmer, 
 
 By thy side thy sons will stand. 
 Hand in hand we'll face together. 
 Blinding storm or sunny weather.
 
 198 By tJie Sea. 
 
 B^ tbe Sea. 
 
 There's an old fellow, scraggy and gray, 
 
 With a carpet-bag swung in his hand, 
 And off to the pier he is making his way, 
 
 With his daughter, along the wet sand. 
 For a week I have watched them at play 
 
 On the beach, or the grass, or the rocks ; 
 He dressed in his shabby old garments of gray, 
 
 She shining in fairy-white frocks. 
 
 He has gathered her shells ; he has made 
 
 Great castles of sand by the sea; 
 He has sat by her shoes when it pleased her to wade : 
 
 Like a hen with one chicken was he.
 
 By the Sea. 199 
 
 But alas ! for their holiday gone ! 
 
 Now the steamer is out at the pier. 
 She whistles ; they hurry aboard ; she moves on : 
 
 And their dream is dissolved for the year. 
 
 Afar on the glimmering bay 
 
 She sinks to a smoke-trailing speck. 
 Still standing perhaps and still watching are they, 
 
 By the rail at the stern of the deck. 
 Still watching the sun-flooded land, 
 
 And those white dots — the houses — recede. 
 For there will the scenes of their happiness stand 
 
 Though they to the multitude speed. 
 
 I have wondered what office in lanes 
 
 Of the city will see him ere long, 
 At work till another year turns with its pains, 
 
 And its dust, and its toil, and its throng.
 
 200 By the Sea. 
 
 And I wonder if sweet it will seem, — 
 This week by the sound of the sea ; 
 
 Will it flit with the wings of a delicate dream 
 In the toils of the weeks that will be? 
 
 As in a wide forest — all dark 
 
 And gloomy with awe-brooding shade, 
 A clear grassy spot in the midst ye may mark 
 
 Where the yellow light flecks the green glade. 
 And there do the butterflies flit ; — 
 
 There cometh each joy of the woods ; 
 Even such be this week, such the sunshine of it, 
 
 A glade where no shadow intrudes. 
 
 Old heart, art thou mateless ? Is this 
 
 The single delight of thy days '? 
 This bright little maiden thou bendest to kiss, 
 
 In the midst of her exquisite ways.
 
 By the Sea. 201 
 
 Ma)- your pillow, if lonely it be. 
 
 Lie restful wherever ye dwell, 
 And still through your dreams may the sound of 
 the sea 
 
 Chime in with the voice ye love well.
 
 202 Australia^ s Centenary, 
 
 australia's Centenary. 
 
 From out a lowly birth 
 Have sprung full oft the choicest spirits of earth ; 
 
 And many a peasant cot 
 Hath nursed the infant founts of mighty thought. 
 
 So, land of happy homes, 
 That with high festival hast decked these domes 
 
 Thy birth to celebrate ! 
 Though it was humble, and of poor estate. 
 
 Yet from the squalor of thine infant years 
 A youth sublime in promise now appears ; 
 
 And on the verge doth stand 
 Of comely manhood and achievement grand.
 
 Australia s Centena7y. 203 
 
 Joyous the strains that swell 
 Where now thy happiest of all peoples dwell ; 
 
 Thou at whose birth there fell 
 Only the bitter dew of outcast tears ! 
 
 Strange that the clank of chains 
 Should thus have heralded upon thy plains, 
 
 An hundred years ago, 
 The sweetnesses from human arts that flow, — 
 
 Yet now the rolling dawn 
 Tinges with light no spot of earth whereon 
 
 Freedom so kindly nestles as with thee. 
 
 Dear land of light, of hope, of liberty ! 
 So we, thy sons, thank Heaven, and fondly say, 
 
 "For ever blest that natal day, 
 
 Though sad, and wet with tears. 
 It touched the springs of secret-working time, 
 Which rolled the wheels of fate-fulfilling years. 
 To bring us of thee in thine opening prime."
 
 204 Australia s Centenary. 
 
 One hundred years are gone ! 
 Another hundred now in radiance dawn, 
 
 While Expectation peers 
 Down the long vista of the rosy years 
 
 To follow, through the strenuous times afar, 
 
 That glory, shining there like some full star, 
 Which throbs with light, and inundates the air. 
 Sound out ye trumpets, roll exultant drums 
 A greeting to the mightier age that comes 
 
 To lift Australia to imperial state ! 
 
 Oh may it be in fate ! 
 
 Oh may it be in destiny ! that I 
 Much of the glories yet may see, that wait, 
 
 In those great years which lie 
 Far in the century whereto the gate 
 
 Is this thrice-notable day. 
 And having somewhat seen, may speed thy way 
 Into yet fairer times, and so, contented, die.
 
 Good-Night. 
 
 Dearest, press me close. 
 Print the last kiss warm and deep. 
 That dear head sheltered near my heart, 
 
 And so — to sleep. 
 
 Whither do we go 
 In these watches of the night ? 
 To what far regions do our souls 
 
 Take silent flight? 
 
 What passes in these hours 
 So long, so still, we nothing reck, 
 Nor feel I that warm bosom, nor the arms 
 
 Flung round my neck.
 
 2o6 Good- Night. 
 
 When falls the last long sleep, 
 And life and love alike seem o'er, 
 Shall we two, clasped in loving strength, 
 
 Seek some far shore ? 
 
 Or, — sprung from wide-spread gloom, 
 A season blossoming, — like the flowers, 
 Shall dumb decay at last receive 
 
 Those souls of ours? 
 
 I know not. Mystery lies 
 Close to us, — dark, ^profound : 
 While reason with its slender taper lights 
 
 A feeble round. 
 
 But in that round is light, — 
 And warmth, and love, and bosoms fond. 
 Let us forget the doubt that presses near. 
 
 The gloom beyond.
 
 Good-Nio-Jit. 207 
 
 Thou dearest art my all ; 
 And should I lose thee in the gathering night, 
 I still should bless existence that it brought 
 
 Thee to my sir^ht.
 
 2o8 The Hyacinth Bulb. 
 
 Xlbe IfDi^acintb Bulb. 
 
 Sweet little May ! She had planted a bulb, 
 And had watered it morning and night, 
 
 x\.nd patiently waited, and watched it, to see 
 If the leaflets would burst into sight. 
 
 When her illness came, a long month was gone, 
 
 But not a green speck in the brown earth shone. 
 
 And morning by morning we brought her the news, 
 To the bed where her pretty face lay. 
 
 And we saw her eye sparkle with hope till she read 
 In our looks what we scarcely could say. 
 
 "Not yet !" she would lisp with her sweet little smile, 
 
 "But it's sure to come up, — if you watch it awhile."
 
 The Hyacinth Bulb. 209 
 
 And even the night when the httle thing died, 
 
 Half waking from slumber, she said, 
 "You \^'\A pro)nise, mama dear, to carry me out 
 
 Whenever it puts up its head." 
 " Ah ! yes, we shall carry you out, my own dear," 
 The mother sobbed into her fast fading ear. 
 
 So they carried her out, and they laid her in earth. 
 And they heaped the clay thick on her breast ; 
 
 The fond mother haunted with tears the sweet spot ; 
 While this comforting hope she caressed: 
 
 "We have here laid the bulb in the earth for a while ; 
 
 We shall see the flower shining in God's own smile." 
 
 But, ah ! she had heard and had partly believed 
 Those doubtings which many have penned. 
 
 Who say that our lives are but things of this earth, 
 And that death is their ultimate end.
 
 2IO The Hyacinth Bulb. 
 
 "Can it be," and the whisper struck chill to her 
 
 heart, 
 "That the end of all life and all love is to part?" 
 
 For oh ! it is hard for our reasons to grasp 
 What our hopes are so eager to show, 
 
 How our souls can be viewless, and yet be ourselves, 
 And what the land whither they go! 
 
 So, night upon night did she wakefuUy spend 
 
 And mournfully mused "What if death were the end?" 
 
 Meanwhile we had waited to see the bulb spring ; 
 
 But our hopes were fast passing away ; 
 When slowly there rose in the earth a green point 
 
 Till it entered the brightness of day. 
 And morning by morning, through sunshine and 
 
 shower. 
 It woke to full glory, a hyacinth flower.
 
 The Hyacinth Bidh. 211 
 
 How the mother bent over its beauty, and wept, 
 But with tears that were half of dehght ; 
 
 And breathed the rich odour from pendulous bells 
 Till the twilight stole far into night. 
 
 For it whispered of comfort and brightened her eyes, 
 
 And lifted her heart to the star-kindled skies ! 
 
 Is there mortal can tell, how from out the dull earth, 
 
 Unscented, unlovely in hue, 
 There may spring a bright blossom, all fragrant and 
 sweet, 
 
 And nodding with clusters of blue? 
 And she said, "My own little one taught me to trust; 
 And I will not believe that her soul's in the dust."
 
 2 12 With the Past, 
 
 Mitb tbe past. 
 
 Sweet memories cling around old times and places. 
 They fade not : they but gather tenderer graces 
 As the years roll. Here in this sombre wood 
 Now stand I where long years ago I stood ; 
 'Tis deep and stilly all. The plashing brook 
 Pours unknown waters ; where no eye can look 
 It sings its lonely music ; while some pool 
 Breaks to the fall of bubbling threadlets cool. 
 Now here I seat me in the self-same spot 
 Where then I sat ; the spell that then was wrought 
 By rustling leaves, and waters, and the flowers, 
 Still brimmed and shining with the spring-tide showers, 
 By sweet birds' songs, by the deep lonelmess,
 
 With the Past. 213 
 
 I feel again, for in this far recess 
 
 All things are now as then. Here is the bank 
 
 Whereon I rested : from yon stone I drank 
 
 The limpid waters. Then my slumb'rous ears 
 
 \Vere filled with the same sounds, for passing years 
 
 Renew the hum of insects and the sighs 
 
 Of forest-stirring breezes ; yea, the cries 
 
 Of birds forever at this season will 
 
 Make musical the glades they then did fill. 
 
 Yet seem they scarce as then. For I am now 
 
 No more the same whose gladly-bared brow 
 
 The woodland freshness kissed. Altered, I gaze, 
 
 And try to think myself as in those days. 
 
 It is in vain. The years have been, and fled. 
 
 The joys they bore are gone : their balm is shed 
 
 A vague regret across the soul is cast, 
 
 Haunted by echoes of the ever past. 
 
 A secret fragrance over all exhales
 
 214 With the Past. 
 
 Which was not then. For so the mind prevails 
 
 Over the senses. These are not merely trees 
 
 That rustle ceaselessly like summer seas 
 
 Upon a shingly shore : to mine ear they 
 
 Are whispering comrades of old times. Those gray 
 
 Lichen-clad rocks are not as other stones. 
 
 Each well-remembered feature hath its tones 
 
 Of sweetened sadness. Winds, and leaves, and falls, 
 
 And murmuring eddies, and leaf-hidden calls. 
 
 All weave them to this weirdly solemn tune, 
 
 " The years are passing, and their end is soon ;" 
 
 And Nature whispers, " Lay thy head upon 
 
 My verdant lap. That fevered brow, my son, 
 
 I'll gently fan. Why wilt thou longer toil 
 
 'Mid struggling men, to win a worthless spoil ? 
 
 AVhy eat thine heart out? Wouldst thou win a 
 
 name ? — 
 Behold my temple ! it will be the same
 
 With the Fast. 215 
 
 A hundred years hence as it seemeth now 
 
 Its meanest part as beautiful ; — but thou, — 
 
 Will thy toil serve to keep thee here as these; 
 
 Or will it stay thy passing like this breeze 
 
 That flits it knows not whither. Then come, lay 
 
 Thyself on this sweet bank, and if thou choose 
 
 To lie with me and let thy spirit lose 
 
 Itself in long repose, I shall begin 
 
 To pour such soft and soothmg whispers in 
 
 Thy drowsy ears that all thy days shall pass 
 
 In sweet forgetfulness of all that was. 
 
 Of all that shall be. From the passing hour 
 
 Thy dreams shall weave a harbour and a bower 
 
 Of sheltered calm. So shall more joy remain 
 
 Than aught that can be fought for among men." 
 
 'Tis all too true. And fain, alas, would I, 
 Thus laid at peace, let the calm hours go by ! 
 Vet forth must fare again, and in the strife
 
 2i6 With the Fast. 
 
 Must toil again. Such is the doom of Hfe. 
 While this still wood will hum, will ever hum, 
 When twilight fades, and morning dewdrops come. 
 Through all the years its little stream will flow, 
 And sparkle joyously, the soft breeze blow. 
 When I am far away 'twill still smile on, 
 As if no heart that loved it well were gone.
 
 A Time-stained Sheet. 2 i 
 
 H xrime^staineC) Sbeet 
 
 From a Packet of Family Letters. 
 
 The hand which traced that flowing scroll 
 Some eight and fifty years ago, 
 
 Moved at the guidance of a soul 
 
 Which burned with a pure passion's glow. 
 
 That passion long since saw decay : — 
 
 For fifty years that hand's been clay ! 
 
 Yet here in simple manly phrase, 
 He tells the maiden of his choice,
 
 2i8 A Tiinc-staincd Sheet. 
 
 How her dear image haunts his days, 
 
 How in his dreams he hears her voice. 
 The lovely maid since then grew old, 
 x\nd years ago was laid in mould. 
 
 This stroke and that he ardent traced ; 
 
 They read like music to her ear. 
 When Christmas comes he'll homeward haste, 
 
 To marry in the opening year. 
 And oh, he says, forget not one 
 Who dreams of you from sun to sun. 
 
 His hopes are high ; his coming life 
 With simi^le joys is richly bright. 
 
 He knows not of the care and strife 
 
 Should quench that wakening morn in night. 
 
 A few brief years of troubled toil, 
 
 That generous heart was common soil.
 
 A Time-stained Sheet. 2 1 9 
 
 That gentle maid, with grief opprest, 
 And years that rarely saw a smile ; 
 
 A feeble widow, glad of rest 
 
 From human coldness, greed and guile, 
 
 Beside a busy street is laid, 
 
 Where bustling thousands hourly tread. 
 
 Finis.
 
 MELDOURNE 
 m'cARRON, bird & CO., PRINTERS, | 
 
 479 COLLINS STREET. ^
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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