THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES THE SMALL PAPER EDITION OF THIS BOOK, CON- SISTING OF THREE HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES, IVAS PRINTED BY R. &» R. CLARK OF EDINBURGH IN MARCH i8go. CORN AND POPPIES \ CORN AND POPPIES BY COSMO MONKHOUSE LONDON ELKIN MATHEWS VIGO STREET I 890 CONTENTS pAGte Dedication, to W. B. S. . xi Any Soul to any Body I Her Face . 4 To THE Sea II The Spectrum 12 A Dead March 13 In Arcady . 17 Love : a Sonata . 19 To A New-born Child 36 Aes Triplex 40 Life and Death . 41 A Drawn Bet 42 On One not Beautiful 52 Elisha . 53 Under the Oak . 54 860G74 Vlll CONTENTS " O Scorn Me not " Ten Thousand Pounds . MONTANUS AND CaMPESTRIS Violet Punch The True Lover ViRELAI Ancien Ad Poetas . De Libris . A Bristol Figure On a Portrait of Faraday A Difference The Secret. Decay The First of May Dead Whither A Disappointment A Popular Error . With a Drawing by Boucher Hermione's Husband Mysteries . The Deafness of Death CONTENTS A Song of the Seasons^ The Rebel .... AVANT QU'AmOUR . . ■• Recollections of Alfred Tennyson A Drawing-Room Idyll . IX PAGE 146 148 154 My thanks are due to the editors of periodicals and books who have published verses of mine, and not least to Mr, William Blackwood, who lately printed Under the Oak and The True Lover in "Maga," although they were soon to reappear in this volume. C. M. \Wi March 1890. To W. B. S. A man need not be very bold Who sends an honest book to you ; Albeit faults be manifold And virtues only faint and few. It will not meet with scorti undue, It need not fear a tvelcome cold. A man need not be very bold Who sends an honest book to you. Ay, lover of the weird and old. And lover of the clear and neiv, Whose charity keeps open fold For any soul which is but true, A man need not be very bold Who sends an honest book to you. ANY SOUL TO ANY BODY So we must part, my body, you and I Who've spent so many pleasant years together. 'Tis sorry work to lose your company Who clove to me so close, whate'er the weather, From winter unto winter, wet or dry ; But you have reached the limit of your tether. And I must journey on my way alone. And leave you quietly beneath a stone. They say that you are altogether bad (Forgive me, 'tis not my experience), And think me very wicked to be sad At leaving you, a clod, a prison, whence B ANY SOUL TO ANY BODY To get quite free I should be very glad. Perhaps I may be so, some few days hence, But now, methinks, 'twere graceless not to spend A tear or two on my departing friend. Now our long partnership is near completed. And I look back upon its history ; I greatly fear I have not always treated You with the honesty you showed to me. And I must own that you have oft defeated Unworthy schemes by your sincerity. And by a blush or stammering tongue have tried To make me think again before I lied. 'Tis true you're not so handsome as you were. But that's not your fault and is partly mine. You might have lasted longer with more care, And still looked something like your first design : ANY SOUL TO ANY BODY 3 And even now, with all your wear and tear, 'Tis pitiful to think I must resign You to the friendless grave, the patient prey Of all the hungry legions of Decay. But you must stay, dear body, and I go. And I was once so very proud of you ; You made my mother's eyes to overflow When first she saw you, wonderful and new. And now, with all your faults, 'twere hard to find A slave more willing or a friend more true. Ay — even they who say the worst about you Can scarcely tell what I shall do without you. w HER FACE Had I a painter's skill, There are no changeless lines That could its grace imprison, But as I laboured still To trace its sweet confines, Ever some quick spontaneous light, As of a star, Or sun new-risen, Would change the cold to warm, the dull to bright, And all my labour mar. / HER FACE II Ever some secret missed, Some swift-escaping glow, Some one look in the eyes, Some strange smile never kissed, Would melt as melting snow ; That even were my pencil quicker Than wind or wing, ~" Or could it rise And fall as shadows to the leaves' least flicker, It were a useless thing. Ill Only but yesterday She was as cold as ice, As any marble still, Her eyes were pale and gray HER FACE As though for sacrifice ; I little ever thought to see her so ; But as I came, Her loving will Filled her sweet features, as an afterglow Fills the gray skies with flame. IV 'Tis ever strange to me, When she is sad at heart, Where her deep dimples go, And a like mystery When back again they start. How can my hand move quicker than my eyes, Which are too slow To disentwine The least of all the sweet intricacies Of her face which is mine ? HER FACE And yet I sometimes think 'Tis just because I love her I cannot draw her face, Because upon the brink I hang till all is over, The fingers waiting for the soul's release. If for the space 1 see my love My mouth is voiceless till the vision cease, How shall my fingers move ? VI But if I sing of her When she is far removed May I not limn her too ? Ah, if much worth ye were HER FACE My songs, if my beloved Would quicken ye with music of her face. Each day anew Some song I sing, Yet of her loveliness not one small grace Makes it a precious thing. VII Natheless I know her well — Though she change e'en as much As light within a flower, And aye her face can tell, Because there is none such In any land beyond the farthest sea, And hour by hour I wonder why She ever thought to give it all to me — To me so utterly. HER FACE VIII Yet many a portrait fair Of other lovely ones Have I seen like to her. I seem to hear the air Sweet with her very tones. Yet what to me were such things to possess ! Ay, though they stir With life and speak ! Wanting that little one unruly tress That strays upon her cheek. IX She is beyond all art Of any sweetest word, Of brush however fine ; And yet I wrong my heart 10 HER FACE Who hath a chamber stored With many a face of her and perfect all. Ah, joy divine, When quite alone. To steal and turn them slowly from the wall, Tenderly, one by one. TO THE SEA O SENSELESS Sea, how long shall men proclaim Thy freedom and thy power ! Slave of the Moon, Thy wrath is borrowed of the wind, the Noon Supplies thy smiles, thy life is but a name That poets use. To thee nor praise nor blame Belongs. And yet shall man, alas, not soon Forget to fear thee, and thy dim halls strewn With bones of bravest man and fairest dame. The careless fish within thee sport and breed. The bird above thee spreads her scornful wing : Yet thou, more lifeless than thy weakest weed, Canst shake the very soul of Priest and King. And aye to man thy breathless breast appears A waste of sighs, a wilderness of tears. THE SPECTRUM How many colours here do we see set, Like rings upon God's finger ? Some say three, Some four, some six, some seven. All agree To left of red, to right of violet. Waits darkness deep as night and black as jet. And so we know what Noah saw we see Nor less nor more — of God's emblazonry A shred — a sign of glory known not yet. If red can glide to yellow, green to blue, What joys may yet await our wider eyes When we rewake upon a wider shore ! What deep pulsations exquisite and new : What keener, swifter, raptures may surprise Men born to see the rainbow and no more ! A DEAD MARCH Play me a march lowtoned and slow — a march for a silent tread, Fit for the wandering feet of one who dreams of the silent dead, Lonely, between the bones below and the souls that are overhead. Here for awhile they smiled and sang, alive in the inter- space. Here with the grass beneath the foot, and the stars above the face, Now are their feet beneath the grass, and whither has flown their grace ? 14 ^ DEAD MARCH Who shall assure us whence they come or tell us the way they go ? Verily, life with them was joy, and now they have left us, woe, Once they were not, and now they are not, and this is the sum we know. Orderly range the seasons due, and orderly roll the stars. How shall we deem the soldier brave who frets of his wounds and scars ? Are we as senseless brutes that we should dash at the well-seen bars ? ^ No, we are here, with feet unfixed, but ever as if with lead Drawn from the orbs which shine above to the orb on which we tread, Down to the dust from which we came and with which we shall mingle dead. A DEAD MARCH 15 No, we are here to wait, and work, and strain our banished eyes, Weary and sick of soil and toil, and hungry and fain for skies Far from the reach of wingless men and not to be scaled with cries. No, we are here to bend our necks to the yoke of tyrant Time. Welcoming all the gifts he gives us — glories of youth and prime, Patiently watching them all depart as our heads grow white as rime. Why do we mourn the days that go — for the same sun shines each day, Ever a spring her primrose hath, and ever a May her may — l6 A DEAD MARCH Sweet as the rose that died last year, is the rose that is born to-day. Do we not too return, we men, as ever the round earth whirls ? Never a head is dimmed with gray but another is sunned with curls, She was a girl and he was a boy, but yet there are boys and girls. Ah, but alas for the smile of smiles that never but one face wore. Ah for the voice that has flown away like a bird to an unseen shore. Ah for the face — the flower of flowers — that blossoms on earth no more. IN ARCADY In yon hollow Damon lies, Lost in slumber deep. (Hush, hush, ye shepherd girls Break not his sleep.) Phyllis passes tiptoe by ; Whither is she hieing ? (Peep, peep, ye shepherd girls He for her is dying.) Now she pauses, now she bends, Ah, she kissed him purely. (Look away, ye shepherd girls Frown, frown demurely.) i8 IN AR CA LY See he clips her in his arms, She who was the proudest. (Laugh, laugh, ye shepherd girls, Laugh, laugh your loudest.) LOVE A SONATA I Love's Sweetness Adagio Love thou art sweet. Sweet — only perfect sweet of all ; For there is nothing sweet that hath not friend in thee That hath not root, and flower, and fruit, and end in thee, O Love — How gracious are thy feet. For all things as they fall 20 LOVE Grow up and bud and blossom, and smile away all sorrow ; Thy pathway is a festival, And all before thee goes a light, that shines a bright to-morrow Of joy undreamt to barren lands, And desolate blank rocks. And sea-deserted sands. The prey of wind and wave and time and thunder-shocks. Sweet thou art, O love, Who makest all things move With undulating grace of joyousness ; For rippling from thy face Go forth the waves of grace That, like a smile, spread over all the earth, And spreading bless. And sink beneath, LOVE 21 And circle round each dark and cheerless thing With low vibration musical, With rings of mirth ; Till one and all Arise and free Themselves from death, And no so tender germ, Or naked worm, Feels any more abandoned or alone ; But every one, Stirred as a silence cloven by a wing, Doth start, Awakened to the heart With tender shocks of new felicity. Ay, thou art sweet. For to thee ever fleet All beings young or fresh or beautiful 22 LOVE (Thy creatures dutiful,) Who love to greet Thee with their gratitude of echoed sweetness, For ever yearning after thy completeness, Until by longing likeness grows, And they become a chorus worthy thee, (As buds are worthy of the rose, Or birds, of godlike minstrelsy,) And dowered with thy full benignity The land wherein thy footsteps dwell Doth bloom and sing and breathe with sight and sound and smell. Till all the airs of all the days Carry burdens sweet of praise. And all the hours Are but as opening of many flowers, And like a silver chime There beats a heart of joy within the breast of Time. II Love's Courage Allegro Love thou art sweet and fair, But thou dost dare, Dost dare the raging storm, Nor thunder's roar Nor Hghtning's spite, nor mist of snow, Nor darkness, can affright thee. No, Nor Fear's commanding form ! But aye on sea. On sea or shore, 24 LOVE Thy heart's own song Doth make thee strong And thine own Ught doth hght thee. Thou wert not yet afraid Although thy foes be many. (Ah brave, ah sweet.) Thou hast no trenchant blade To smite as hatred hath. (Ah strength complete,) No iron heel to crush The snakes about thy path. (Ah sweet, ah brave.) Thy unprotected arm Is only strong to save, Nor wageth war with any. Thy weapon is thy charm, From which all foul things rush LOVE 25 As from some vision frightful. They shrink from sight Before thy Hght Before thy face delightful. Ill Love's Mirth Scherzo With a laugh and a spring and a shout, Hark to the joyful rout, As the merry little ones run out. And about, When school, dull school is over. See they run With a laugh and a spring and a shout, A host of merry faces Rosy in the sun, As gay as a iield of clover. LOVE 27 The young are glad to be, The old are glad to see, And the chatter in the street, And the patter of the feet, Make every face grow kinder, Till even Duty lifts his brows, and Prudence looks behind her. So sally forth the young. As though a mine of love were sprung With a laugh and a spring and a shout. IV Love's Holiness Andante O Faith And Hope On Earth Had birth, But Love From above Came down. A sword Hath Faith To wield At foes, LOVE A shield Hath Hope To ward Their blows, But a crown From above Hath Love. O Faith Hath fear With Hope Not near, At sight Of a wraith She flies. And Hope's Brave heart From Faith 29 30 LOVE Apart, In a fright Soon mopes And dies. O Love No skill Can move Thy will. No sight Can cow, No might Can bow. A friend To the end Art Thou. Faith flieth Hope dieth, LOVE 31 Faith changeth Hope rangeth ; But Love can make them strong. Hope pineth, Declineth, Faith waneth Complaineth ; With Love they suffer long. Hope desireth, Faith requireth, Love alone contented lives. Hope she spendeth, Faith she lendeth, Love alone for ever gives. Thee the guider Hope is holy, Thee beside her 32 LOVE Faith divine, But to be holy, Solely, Wholly, Holy love is thine. Love's Laughter Rondo Love smiles but laughs not ever, Say'st thou so? Tell me hast thou never, Never, never, heard The trill of a rill Escaped like a bird From the womb of the hill ; Or the first spring note Of a thrush, With a willing warble-gush From his throat, D 34 LOVE And flow, And float, With a thrill Like the trill of a rill ? Hast thou been in the heart of a man And listened, When the eyes that he watched first glistened, And the hope of his life began ? Hast thou been at the bed of the aged, When the soul so long encaged Beholds his freedom near. When the mists of the world Are all uncurled. And care and pain Dissolve in rain, And the sight of the soul is clear ? LOVE Though round his knees They kneel with tears, Love's form he sees Love's laugh he hears, O the joy in his eyes Ere he dies ! 35 TO A NEW-BORN CHILD (To L. M., 1873) Small traveller from an unknown shore, By mortal eye ne'er seen before, To you, good morrow. You are as fair a little dame As ever from a glad world came To one of sorrow. We smile above you, but you fret, We call you gentle names, and yet Your cries redouble. 'Tis hard for little babes to prize The tender love that underlies A life of trouble. rO A NEW-BORN CHILD 37 And have you come from Heaven to Earth ? That were a road of little mirth, A doleful travel. " Why did I come ? " you seem to cry, But that's a riddle you and I Can scarce unravel. Perhaps you really wished to come, But now you are so far from home Repent the trial. What ! did you leave celestial bliss To bless us with a daughter's kiss ? What self-denial ! Have patience for a little space, You might have come to a worse place. Fair Angel-rover. 38 TO A NEW-BORN CHILD No wonder now you would have stayed, But hush your cries, my Httle maid, The journey's over. For, utter stranger as you are, There yet are many hearts ajar For your arriving. And trusty friends and lovers true Are waiting, ready-made for you, Without your striving. The Earth is full of lovely things, And if at first you miss your wings, You'll soon forget them ; And others, of a rarer kind. Will grow upon your tender mind — If you will let them — TO A NEW-BORN CHILD 39 Until you find that your exchange Of Heaven for earth expands your range E'en as a flier, And that your mother, you and I, If we do what we should may fly Than Angels higher. AES TRIPLEX A MAN superb, enriched with wealth and praise, On men's misfortunes looked down from a height : He held the order of the world was right, And men might thank themselves for evil days. But fortune, tired of his complacent ways, Sent all his ships to bottom in one night : And he awoke the morn in evil plight — Bankrupt, and mark of much sinister gaze. On which one came to him and said : " My friend. Behold thy troubles thick upon thee come, Who scarcely pity had for lame or halt ! Dost thou not see the scales of Justice bend, And that the world is ruled by rule of thumb ? " To which he answered " No, 'twas my own fault ! " LIFE AND DEATH From morn to eve they wrestled — Life and Death. At first it seemed to me that they in mirth Contended, or as foes of equal worth, So firm their feet, so undisturbed their breath ; But when the sharp red sun cut through its sheath Of western clouds, I saw the brown arms' girth Tighten, and bear that radiant form to earth ; And suddenly both fell upon the heath. And then the marvel came — for when I fled To where those great antagonists down fell, I could not find the body that I sought. And when and where it went I could not tell ; One only form was left of those who fought, The long dark form of Death, and it was dead. A DRAWN BET (To A. D.) At Bath, when great Beau Nash was King, There happened once a curious Thing. A Beauty, Betty Clare by name. Set all the Dandies' hearts aflame. Nay, Elders, as they sipped the Waters, Preferred her to their grown-up Daughters ; And what is even stranger stillj Her Rivals showed her no Ill-will ; — In short, so potent was her Charm That not a Woman wished her Harm. The oddest thing is still to tell — 'Twas at Sir Humphry's it befell. A DRAWN BET 43 One day Sir Humphry gave a Turtle To Astley Coates and the MacWhirtle, And half a dozen Bucks beside, Whose Names need scarce be specified ; Suffice to say no smarter Beaux E'er staked a Guinea at E. O. ; And all agreed to praise the Air, The Dress, the Wit, of Betty Clare. Only Sir Humphry was in doubt ; But then. Sir Humphry had the Gout. He said, as from his damson Cuft" He flicked some Particles of Snuff, " I quite allow her Face is Fair, I like the Colour of her Hair, And much applaud her Disregard Of Powder, Patches, Rouge, and Lard. She has a Style, is finely bred, And like a Deer she holds her Head ; 44 A DRAWN BET Her voice is soft, and sweet, and clear, Her Wit like — What-d'ye-call-em's Spear, A Touch, and all Disguise is down ; Beneath the Spark appears the Clown. And yet — and yet — ' (He tapped his Box And wisely shook his powdered Locks) — " She has one Fault with all her Grace, She never looks you in the Face." " What ! what ! " cried half a dozen Tongues. " A Shame ! a shame ! " " Pray save your lungs," Sir Humphry said. "Just think a minute. And then you'll own there's Something in it. You praised her. Scarce a thing that's hers Escaped her gallant Worshippers. Her Nose, her Chin, her Hand, her Waist, With some sweet Epithet was graced. You even praised her Negligee, And how she sipped her Dish of Tea. A DRAWN BET 45 Egad ! I think that she was sent To make you Dandies eloquent. But yet, I marked with some Surprise, That no one spoke about her Eyes. Come, tell their Colour, if you can. And /shall be a wiser Man." He spoke, but there were no replies. " What was the Colour of those Eyes ? " Which surely had not idle been ; Although, perchance, not fully seen. They all recalled the Looks of Love They'd wasted in the Orange-Grove ; How they had tracked the pretty Maid From Barton Fields to South Parade ; How firmly, when they passed, they found Her Eyelids settled on the Ground, How, when they grew a little bolder. And turned, they saw — the neatest — Shoulder. 46 A DRAWN BET And some remembered sudden Flashes Shot bright between long silken Lashes ; A Glance diverted from a Book, A smile made sweeter by a Look. What Eyes ! Sure Hebe's own were duller ! But still — what was — what was the Colour ? "They're Black" at last MacWhirtle cried. And Astley would have said he lied ; But stopped and stammered, " I should say That they were either Blue or Gray, But Light they are." Then with a Frown Another swore that they were Brown. " You might as well have called them Red. They're Violet" another said. Then Words grew high, and Tempers short. Sir Humphry chuckled at the Sport, Till fearing it might end in Blows He thought it right to interpose. A BRA WN BET 47 " My Friends," he said, " I plainly see. To-day, at least, you'll not agree ; To-morrow you may find it clear, And I propose that we meet here. Who'll back his colour ? " " I, for one," MacWhirtle said. The Knight said, " Done.' " I too," said Coates, and nothing loth, Sir Humphry smiled and booked them both For Fifty Pound. Then all the rest Cried out, " I too," as if possest. But calm Sir Humphry, with a grin. Gently declined to take them in. They parted, and they met again. MacWhirtle's face showed signs of Pain, And Coates', of Joy. Full soon they burst Out with their Tales, MacWhirtle first : " In sooth, Fve little, Sir, to say. I went to work a foolish Way. A DRAWN BET Two Steps from here I met a Coach, And in it who but Andrew Roach. To him I plainly told my Need. He said, ' I'll prove a Friend indeed. I know her Brother passing well, Both he and I at Trowbridge dwell. Jump in. To-night he comes to sup ; And in a Trice we'll clear it up.' We went, and found our Bird had flown To Melksham, so we supped alone. We followed after Breakfast. Then We found he'd left for Bath at Ten. And here, at last, we closed the Chase ; Just now we met him Face to Face, But strange to say, this precious Brother Can't tell one Colour from another. I'm sure they're Black, but still must say, I know no more than yesterday." A DRAWN BET 49 Then Coates : " I called and found her out ; I caught her at the Hardwicks' Rout. I found her so surrounded then, I scarce could see her for the Men ; But knowing that she left to-day, I thought it time to make my Hay. Two mortal Hours I had to wait, Before I got a Tite-a-tete ; But then, O what a Talk we had, ' Gay, playful, sentimental, sad. Our Subjects would a Volume fill — We talked of Basset and Qiiadrille. We talked of Minuets and Buns, Of Cou?itry Dances, Sally-Lunns ; And then we took a bookish Turn, And spoke of Young's ' Complaint,^ and Sterne, And then of Folly and the Fashions, Of all the Arts and all the Passions, E 50 A DRA WN BET Of Taste, of Cupid and his Wings ; I fear I said some foolish Things ; But straight as I the Theme forsook, She quickly brought me back to Book. And now and then her Eyes she raised, And in my Face quite frankly gazed, As if to read if what I said Came from the Heart or from the Head, And once, surprised with sudden Feeling, She turned them sweetly to the Ceiling. In short — 'twas Modesty, I found. That makes her Eyes so love the ground. In short, Sir Knight, that Fault you named Is one for which she can't be blamed. In short " " 'Tis long, Sir !— You forget," Sir Humphry cried, " about the Bet ! Her Eyes — their Colour." As he spoke A DRAWN BET 51 Young Astley jumped as if awoke. " Her Eyes — of course, I ought to know ; I saw them straight before me — so. Their Colour — well, upon my word, The Fact is — really quite absurd. They were so bright and kind and true, I never thought about their Hue." ON ONE NOT BEAUTIFUL Dear Soul, how different were you from those Who, clothed in more than mortal loveliness. Have but to speak or move or smile t' express The virtue rare their eloquent forms enclose. More different still from them whose beauty throws A glamour round their real unsightliness, With hearts less tender than their least caress, And minds less graceful than their idlest pose. O Soul most beautiful, to whom was given A form that hid you as a cloud a star, Bearing no semblance to the light disguised. When you within the crystal streams of Heaven Shall see yourself as lovely as you are, How happy you will be, and how surprised. ELISHAi "Thy staff is on his face," Gehazi said, "And yet he wakes not." Silent, fierce, alone, Elisha strode into the room, and prone He flung himself upon the floor and prayed. " O God of mine, are we forgot — betrayed ? What is this hidden thing that thou hast done, And why thy loving mercy turned to stone ; Thy children left in darkness, and dismayed ? " Nor only prayed — but with his body whole, With eye to eye, and large to little hand, And mouth to mouth he called, and answer came. Body rephed to body, soul to soul, And the eyes, smitten with a strange command, Opened — and saw the Prophet's — and took flame. ^ Suggested by a picture by Sir Frederick Leighton, P.R.A. UNDER THE OAK (To W. E. H.) Soft the windblow and sunshine In this garden which is mine, Scarce a hundred yards in girth, Yet a part of all the earth ! World for carpet, roof of skies, Walls of Nature's tapestries, Nought between the sun and me Save the curtain of a tree. Here as 'neath the oak I sit, Whisperings come out of it ; Summer-fancies, half desires, UNDER THE OAK ^^ Breaths that fan forgotten fires, Trembling little waifs of song Seeking words to make them strong, Life that dies without a sorrow. Butterflies of no to-morrow. Odours of a bygone day, All the sweets that will not stay. All the sweets that never cloy, Unembodied souls of joy. Sing and flutter, flash and go, With a ceaseless interflow ; Till at last some happier seed, Finds the rest its brothers need, Strikes a root and grows and climbs. Buds in words and flowers in rhymes. Who shall tell me how it came ! Was it in the winnowed flame 56 ^ UNDER THE OAK Golden-dripping through the leaves Like the grain of heavenly sheaves ? From the voice of throstle clear Was it filtered through the ear ? Came it thus, or did it come Borne upon the wild bees' hum, That a moment buzzed around With a circle charmed of sound ? Or did zephyr in a dell, Steal it with a scent as w^ell From some hidden flower bell, To instil its life in me With a subtle chemistry ? Little knew I, but a sense, Solemn, delicate, intense. Filled my spirit with a bliss, Sweeter, holier, than a kiss. UNDER THE OAK 57 Liquid, radiant, unthought, That at once all being brought Into rarer harmony, Beast and bird and sun and tree. Air and perfume, God and me. Just as one whose birthright lost, Wander-struck and passion-tost, After many a loveless day Sails at length into a bay Where he thinks his bones to lay ; Finds indeed an end to strife. Not in dying, but in life. Friends and kindred, birthright, all. With dear love for coronal. So at length I seemed at home. Underneath that distant dome, Where the spirit holds at ease 58 UNDER THE OAK Frank communion with the trees ; Comrade of the boundless wind, Linked in universal mind With all things which live or are, From the daisy to the star, Part for once of nature's plan Not the lonely exile — Man. "O SCORN ME NOT" Rondeau SCORN me not, although my worth be slight, Although the stars alone can match thy light, Although the wind alone can mock thy grace, And thy glass only show so fair a face ; Yet — let me find some favour in thy sight. The proud stars will not bend from their chill height. Nor will the wind thy faithfulness requite. Thy mirror gives thee but a cold embrace. , O scorn me not. My lamp is feeble, but by day or night It shall not wane ; and, but for thy delight, My footsteps shall not for a little space Forego the echo of thy gentle pace, — 1 would so serve and guard thee if I might. O scorn me not. TEN THOUSAND POUNDS Rondeau Ten thousand pounds (a year), no more Nor less will suit. A man is poor Without his horses and his cows, His city and his country house, His salmon river and his moor. And other things unmissed before Would be desired and swell the score. But 'tis enough when fate allows Ten thousand pounds. But O my babies on the floor, My wife's blithe welcome at the door, My bread well earned with sweat of brows. My garden, flowerful, green with boughs. Friends, books — I would not change ye for Ten thousand pounds ! MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS MONTANUS My path is on the mountain height, Beneath my feet the vapours creep, My eyes for ever seek the Ught. Campestris I wander where slow waters sweep, Their full-brimmed margin, scarcely higher Than is thy bosom, boundless deep. MONTANUS And ever as I mount, a fire Within me, keener, stronger burns. And lifts me nearer my desire. 62 MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS Campestris There in the marsh the stilted herns Stand as they stood long years ago Where the rank grass to rushes turns. MONTANUS Around me the white fields of snow, And far beneath the haunts of men, Who plough and dig and reap and sow. Campestris The mist-wreaths gather o'er the fen. And all the things I know grow pale, And vanish slowly from my ken. MONTANUS Nor do my eager senses fail To catch the sound of village bells Which struggles upwards from the vale. ' MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS 63 Campestris The silence to the darkness tells Its secrets none may overhear, In whispers weird as witches' spells. MONTANUS O simple Love and foolish Fear ! Ye sweet companions of my youth, Ye have no heart to travel here ! Campestris And every form and sound uncouth Startles the blood with icy thrills, Like Doubt's cold fingers laid on Truth. Montanus life of puny storms and stills, 1 stand above you, girt around With wars of unembodied wills, 64 MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS Campestris And I were coward, but for sound Familiar, as the bittern's boom. Or kine, deep breathing near the ground. MONTANUS Beneath the inimitable dome, Now sheeted in the lightning flare, Now shrouded in the after-gloom. Campestris Not rare the mists, but ah ! not rare The splendid Sun that strikes them through, And shows us that the world is fair, The trees, the grasses, and the dew, The flowing silver of the stream, The deep sky infinite and blue. MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS 65 MONTANUS While now and then a savage gleam Stabs to the distant plains below Which flash and vanish like a dream. Those plains which scarce I seem to know, So far am I above the curse Which mingles every weal with woe, Craving no more, nor fearing worse Than thus to stand upon the brink Of things and feel the Universe. ' Campestris And then how pleasant 'tis to think Of one strong ever-loving Hand Stretched out to save us when we sink. How easy 'tis to understand That there is constant warmth above This low and ague-breeding land, F 66 MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS That ills are mortal, but that Love Hath evermore her seat on high, Above the power of men to move. MONTANUS On board the world I seem to fly From season unto season, bound, With all the great ships of the sky, To no known port, but without sound Cleaving the shoreless seas of space For ever, in a ceaseless round. Campestris Ay, in this transitory place Where we are born to live and die. How much the mortal hath of grace ! In no ill-furnished hostelry, But one well kept and garnished too, With things well-pleasing to the eye, MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS 67 Our sojourn is, and little rue A man shall have, though poor he be As I am, and his daily view These marshes spreading to the sea ; To whom the hills are distant things And mountains dreams of mystery. MONTANUS And winters new succeed new springs, And evermore we circle through The void unoared of any wings. Continual change and nothing new, But endless shiftings of the veil That hides the sameness from our view, 1 A veil of mists and shadows pale, A veil of storm-cloud and sunlight, A veil of rainbow, wind, and hail, 68 MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS A veil through which we seem to fight, But which is part of us and bound About our brows, athwart our sight. Our feet are tethered to the ground, The Earth is anchored to the Sun, And all our progress but a round. Ah ! freedom is a thing that none However far he seek may find ; We are in servitude begun, And ended, even the wild wind That holds the whole world in its mesh Is bound, though freer than the mind Which from the fastness of the flesh. With her sad comrades Hope and Will, Views it with envy ever fresh. MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS 69 Campestris And sweet it is at evening still, When Peace and Leisure crown the day, To pass with Fancy o'er the hill And o'er the mountains far away, Where there is nothing but is strange, New trees, new flowers, new beings, aye. New men and women, change on change, And endless things we cannot see ; For without limit is the range Of fancy, giving us to be One moment on the precipice. Another on the level lea. At will to glide o'er fields of ice, Or toil knee-deep in burning sand. Or roam through fragrant groves of spice. 70 MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS What riches given to our hand, More than we e'er can hope to use, Without a step from this our land Where comfort is, and no quick news Of earthquake or volcanic ire Can plunge into our midst and fuse All settled order like a fire ; ■ For dear we hold what we possess, The fruits of toil and long desire, And stranger joys we value less Than blossoming of patient Hope And tender growths of tenderness. ff MONTANUS But in our prison house is scope For any energy we have. With Ignorance alone to cope MONT ANUS AND CAMPESTRIS 71 Will make us busy till the grave ; And ever as I mount I feel That I am somewhat less a slave, Less stirred by fears that are not real, Less charmed by hopes that have no root, And more regardless of my weal. 'Tis something to have lifted foot Above the region of deceit Where owls of Superstition hoot. And Prophets false with voices sweet Stand on the great high road of Truth And turn aside the weary feet ; Above the war of claw and tooth, (The legacy of brute to man,) The greed of age, the lust of youth, 72 MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS To rise, and from the height to scan What has been, and what is, and face The blankness of the future plan. For here at least is nothing base, No selfish rage, no sordid care ; For though the rough winds round me race In chaos wilder than despair, Not passionate is their work, but done In order with exceeding care, Passing man's patience ; ages run And still they strenuously engage In tasks which yet are scarce begun. And the Sun too from age to age, Though bursting with excess of heat. Shines grandly patient, without rage, MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS 73 His vast employment to complete ; Nor wheresoe'er I turn my eyes Look they on Lust, or Envy meet. Campestris And though the Sun more seldom rise In splendour on our misty plain, The rarelier seen, the more we prize. We laugh at pleasure after pain, Nor hold him wisest in this Hfe Who closely reckons loss and gain, But he, who in the Night of strife Still keeps his courage as a star To cheer his neighbours and his wife. And make them patient where they are, Unrestless in the midst of change, At peace until the end of War 74 MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS And Life, nor covets wider range Than that these mist-bound fields afford, Knowing there lies a mist more strange Over that melancholy ford To which he soon must come, perforce, Whatever bourne he turn toward. And o'er that dismal watercourse Lives Love's innumerable band With Truth and Beauty at the Source. And every form of Sweet or Grand, All Knowledge and all Happiness, Within that clear resplendent land Not only seem, but are no less. No man, however trouble-tost. Shall then remember his distress, MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS 75 Nor pleasure missed, nor purpose crost, Nor hope forgone, nor sight unseen, Shall haunt him, as a something lost. MONTANUS And Hope for ever peers between The narrow bars and scans the sky For any signal he may glean. Nor without promise utterly ; For ever changeful is the change Which seems so like monotony, And nought but tends to something strange However tightly curbed it be By law's unalterable range ; And all things work unconsciously To some result, we know not what, And all things tend to rest ; so we. 76 MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS And aye the Hope that dieth not Still dreams of some superior kind, And of a wider, wiser, lot For that which may be left behind, A something indestructible. When Time which bound us shall unbind ; Nor any doubt shall ring the knell Of this last Hope which bids me wait Dumb, unimpatient, till I dwell No more in this confined estate Watching with thoughtful Idleness The crisis of an unknown fate. But with untrammelled eagerness And conscious of my goal I move To harm no thing, if not to bless. MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS 77 Campestris Ah ! brethren on the heights above, I envy not your more of Light That bringeth you no more of Love. I envy not your wider sight, I envy not your rarer air. You cannot cherish hopes more bright Nor higher Uft the clouds of care ; Nor, might I Uve where'er I would. Would I select a spot more fair Than these low marshes prone to flood. For here are simple folk who hold The simple faith that God is good. Ah ! brethren, first to see unfold, And last to see flash back again. The Day's resplendent Gates of Gold, 78 MONTANUS AND CAMPESTRIS I yet will cleave to this low plain, And keep the path my fathers trod, Repeat their pleasure and their pain, A little nearer to the sod, A little farther from the Sun, And just as near, I trow, to God, Almighty, Everlasting, One. VIOLET Rondeau Violet, delicate, sweet, Down in the deep of the .wood, Hid in thy still retreat, Far from the sound of the street, Man and his merciless mood : — Safe from the storm and the heat. Breathing of beauty and good Fragrantly under thy hood, Violet. Beautiful maid, discreet. Where is the mate that is meet. Meet for thee — strive as he could Yet will I kneel at thy feet, Fearing another one should, Violet ! TO PUNCH Rondeau Punch them all round, make them bellow, You are the lad to my mind, Though you are rather unkind To Judy and Punchinello. You are a humorous fellow, Dressed all in red and in yellow, A hump before and behind. Come let me pledge thee in mellow Punch. Rebel as Massaniello, Without any reason assigned, Murderer worse than Othello, Without an lago to blind, Why do we love thee so well, O Punch ! THE TRUE LOVER To him whose love flows on — beyond the shore Of Ufe, whose days are full of lonelinesses, But who within the heart's remote recesses Hears the bright laughter of the living world, — To him Delight is as a ringlet curled Around his finger for a little space That, slipping, leaves him thinking of a face \\'hich laughed and wept, but now shall weep no more. To him there is no treason in new love That wrongs not any old, no faith in giving To wantless dead the crumbs that feed the living. Devotion none in watching wakeless sleep. X 82 THE TRUE LOVER For him his friends descend not to the deep Of sunless graves, but with no clouded face Remain to cheer the remnant of his race Between the green earth and the stars above. To him indeed the world is as "a stage " From which there is no exit for the players ; The scene is crowned with the dear delayers Whose part is over, but they do not go. But still he Hves his part of joy or woe Unlearn'd, unacted, as the Master-will Dictates, whose many-plotted dramas fill The theatre of life from age to age. To him each year a benefactor seems That leaves him stores of happiness and sorrow He neither hugs to-day nor fears to-morrow ; He welcomes winter as he welcomes spring ; THE TRUE LOVER 83 For he has shaken hands with suffering And seen the wings of joy, nor does he scorn The gift of any day however born, In mist of tears or in the hght of dreams. To him the new is dearer for the old. To him the old for each new day is dearer, His unforgotten youth seems ever nearer, As though the ends of life were made to meet. To him the mingled cup of bitter-sweet Is grown familiar as his daily bread, And in the awful dark he rests his head With a hushed confidence that is not bold. To him Death seems less terrible than sleep, For he has seen the happiness of dying, And no bad dreams disturb the tranquil lying Of those who bear green grass above the breast ; 84 ■ THE TRUE LOVER And if there be a waking after rest He shall not wake alone, but he shall be With all he loves and all he longs to see, And if he shall not wake — he shall not weep. VIRELAI ANCIEN But yester-day, my Queen, — We thought that this had been Of ours The crown. The grass was green, And gold the Hght between The flowers. Ah, who could have foreseen The tempest cruel, keen, That lours ! II Now Hope has left his towers And Joy has fled her bowers; 86 VIRELAI ANCIEN Decay With silent tooth devours The fruits of golden hours, Her prey. The sweets that follow sours, The sun that drives the showers, Delay. Ill Ay me, to think this day Should dawn as cold and gray As stone. No bird on any spray Can find aught sweet to say. My own, To thee so far away I weave this little lay Alone. AD POETAS Although no more is heard The sweet shrill fluting of the shepherd's fife Turning to Song the wonder of the morn, And joys of life and hopes of joys unborn With doubt and toil and strife are overcast, Is all the music buried with the past ? Are we left so forlorn That there is none to sing us songs of life ? Awake all ye that hear ! Ye of the undimmed ear, Pure as a child's who wonders at a shell, 88 AD POETAS Awake and tell ! Rejoice and teach men to rejoice In their dear Mother's voice ! For little can they hear Above the shouts that rise around the tlirone Of Mammon, through the roar Of wars ignoble, and the overpour Of wordy torrents, and the cries of Fear From poor weak souls bewildered with the strife Of all the rival guides of heaven and hell. Awake ye then and swell The tuneful air with songs of Love and Life ! Sing to the crowd ye few, To those for whom no chant Pierces the purple silence round the stars, To whom the spring's fair green, The flowerets fresh, AD POETAS 89 The heaven's bright blue, Tell nothing new, To whom, on breezes borne No music from the world unseen Makes palpitate the god within the flesh. Smite the dull souls forlorn And make them resonant, Pierce through their prison-bars Through which the Sun in Heaven itself Shines — but a lamp upon a shelf. Sing then all ye that hear. Nor only hear but feel — Through whose sonorous being pass as fire The fierce vibrations of the sun-god's lyre, To whom the fairest words Come blended with the chords. To whom breaks never a day 90 AD POETAS When no sweet whispers steal From bird and cloud and spray To your most fortunate ear. Sing though all other ears be dull, Sing though all other hearts be hard, And your songs beautiful Your one reward. Be ye content with this, Your poet's dower. That though the fates be stern, Denying health, and ease, and fame, and power, They cannot check the soul that dares aspire. Or teach your hearts heroic not to burn, Or throb contented with a tame desire ; And this shall be your bliss, — That, though your feet may bleed and hearts be wrung, AD POETAS 91 And though around your honoured heads be hung No well-deserved bays, Not you with unmelodious souls unstrung Shall live unechoing days. DE LIBRIS True there are books and books. There's Gray, For instance, and there's Bacon ; There's Longfellow, and Monstrelet, And also Colton's " Lacon," With " Laws of Whist " and those of Libel, And Euclid, and the Mormon Bible. And some are dear as friends, and some We keep because we need them ; And some we ward from worm and thumb, And love too well to read them. My own are poor, and mostly new. But I've an Elzevir or two. DE LIBRIS 93 That as a gift is prized, the next For trouble in the finding, This Aldine for its early text, That Plantin for the binding ; This sorry Herrick hides a flower, The record of one perfect hour. But whether it be worth or looks We gently love or strongly, Such virtue doth reside in books We scarce can love them wrongly ; To sages an eternal school, A hobby harmless to the fool. Nor altogether fool is he Who orders, free from doubt. Those books which " no good Hbrary Should ever be without," 94 DE LIBRIS And blandly locks the well-glazed door On tomes that issue never more. Less may we scorn his cases grand, Where safely, surely, linger Fair virgin fields of type, unscanned And innocent of finger. There rest, preserved from dust accurst, The first editions — and the worst. And least of all should we that write With easy jest deride them, Who hope to leave when " lost to sight " The best of us inside them. Dear shrines ! where many a scribbler's name Has lasted — longer than his fame. A BRISTOL FIGURE Raised on a little carven corner-shelf, Half-shaded by a curtain, stood a figure. Too small to have been left there by itself. But that it seemed to claim a right to space — This baby-gentleman with shirt of lace And small fore-finger curving round a trigger. A trigger only — for the dainty hand Had lost the rest of what was once a pistol ; But still remained the spirit of command — The dandy grace heroic of the boy — That made me think of Dresden and of Troy, Although I recognised the paste as " Bristol." 96 A BRISTOL FIGURE So — more from habit than desire to know — Down from its lonely stage I softly whisk it, And turn it up — and, sure enough, below — A triangle enclosing two crossed swords. Impressed, the mark which clearest proof affords The piece is nothing else than Bristol biscuit. And then I hear a stricken cry of " O Don't touch — " but ere the sentence is com- pleted, A slender lady with a face of woe Has gently urged the figure from my hand. Replaced it carefully upon the stand, And bid me in a chilly voice be seated. "Your business. Sir," she says, and I begin To tell this victim of the china-fashion That I have come in search of next-of-kin A BRISTOL FIGURE 97 To some one who has died without a will ; And soon the lace upon her breast is still, And gone all symptoms of her recent passion. I scarce could fancy that a moment since, Her manner and her face had been alarming ; Thoughtful enough a sceptic to convince A woman may be wise as well as fair, There yet was such a frankness in her air, — She might be passionate, but she was charming. And as I rose I said " I thank you much For all your courtesy to me a stranger. And grieve that I was rude enough to touch Your Bristol boy. I have a piece or two Worthy of such a connoisseur as you. And know the shock of seeing them in danger. " Though injured, it is singularly fine. And if you'll trust in one who has offended, H 98 A BRISTOL FIGURE \ I know a man, a genius in his line, Whom I and just a very few employ ; He will restore for you your little boy So that you'll scarcely tell he has been mended." " Ah, no, forgive me — but for me its charm (Her face grew strangely solemn as she spoke it) Is only in the httle broken arm. Restore my boy ! — you knew not what you said— I had a little son once who is dead, And I was angry with him when he broke it." ON A PORTRAIT OF FARADAY Was ever man so simple and so sage, So crowned, and yet so careless of a prize ! Great Faraday, who made the world so wise And loved the labour better than the wage ! And this you say was as he looked in age With that strong brow and those great humble eyes That seem to look with reverent surprise On all outside himself. Turn o'er the page, Recording Angel, it is white as snow. Ah, God, a fitting messenger was he To show thy mysteries to us below. Child as he came has he returned to thee. Would he could come but once again to show The wonder deep of his simplicity. A DIFFERENCE O Socrates the wise and just Whose Spirit's everlasting hght Still beams above the Ages' dust As though 'twere lit but yesternight. Ah, could I talk but once with you And see you as you once were seen, What should we say, what should we do ? O the gulf that lies between ! O Phidias, Evangelist Of godlike beauty hid within The common forms that fought and kissed Before the world was sad for sin. A DIFFERENCE loi Like your Apollo, could you too Stride o'er the years which intervene, What could we say, what could we do ? O the gulf that lies between ! O Shakespeare — English born and bred, To whom all men were but one clan, Who knew the living, drew the dead, And rent the veil 'twixt man and man. Ah ! could some touch your life renew As when you strolled on Stratford green, We should be strangers yet — we two, O the gulf that lies between ! O Christ, though Time and Space estrange. Though customs pass and creeds decay, To you alone there comes no change. The same to-day as yesterday. I02 A DIFFERENCE I well might fear to meet with you, But yet — no want of what has been, No empty void 'twixt old and new. Like a gulf would lie between. THE SECRET (To L. E. M.) She passes in her beauty bright Amongst the mean, amongst the gay, And all are brighter for the sight, And bless her as she goes her way. And now a beam of pity pours. And now a spark of spirit flies, Uncounted, from the unlocked stores Of her rich lips and precious eyes. And all men look, and all men smile. But no man looks on her as I : They mark her for a little while, But I will watch her till I die. I04 THE SECRET And if I wonder now and then Why this so strange a thing should be- That she be seen by wiser men And only duly loved by me ; I only wait a little longer, And watch her radiance in the room ; Here making light a little stronger, And there obliterating gloom, (Like one who in a tangled way Watches the broken sun fall through, Turning to gold the faded spray And making diamonds of dew. ) Until at last, as my heart burns. She gathers all her scattered light, And undivided radiance turns Upon me like a sea of light. THE SECRET 105 And then I know they see in part That which God lets me worship v. hole : He gives them glances of her heart, But me, the sunshine of her soul. DECAY Like the dawn of a day Is the dawn of a man ; Full of life it began, Without thought of decay. But as surely began Both the man and the day, Surely cometh decay To the day and the man. Can we say of decay It was then it began ? With the prime of the man, With the noon of the day ? No, the death of a man Is the end of decay That with dawn of the day Of his being began. The first day of a man There began his decay. THE FIRST OF MAY Dear, it is the first of May, Come with me, and let's away Far from town and everyday. 1 * * * Half an hour before the train ! Well then, here we must remain. Ton my word, I think your bonnet Charming with the roses on it. Who would think it was so old ? Look, there is a marigold Blooming on that rubbish-heap, Happy in the little peep io8 THE FIRST OF MAY Of sun it gets between the walls. See, she answers when he calls. The girl, I mean, the other side. Never mind the station wide, Love can bridge it with a smile. You have made them for a while Happy maid and happy man, Station, Metropolitan. Organ boy, you want a copper. No, don't beg, for that's improper. What a grin and what \^ hite teeth. Like a dagger from a sheath ! Why is all the rest so dirty. What will you be when you're thirty ? I suppose that England's cold. Home and wash before you're old. Don't know English, what, not any ? Well, your smile was worth the penny. THE FIRST OF MAY 109 How the sun makes all things new ! Bricks are gold and slates are blue. Were the station but more airy 'Twere a cage for a canary, And the bridge and houses hideous Almost please a taste fastidious. Nobody seems poor to-day. What's the use of fine array ! Vanity superfluous Seems that lady's silken fuss ; She's so fair without a touch All the rest seems overmuch, And her big brooch and the jewel In her ear seem almost cruel. What a laugh ! 'twas like a thrush From the green heart of a bush. Such as we shall soon be seeing, There's another one agreeing — no THE FIRST OF MAY Happy girls in sorry dresses With the sun upon your tresses, Careless what the world may say, Laugh the loudest that you may. Mrs. Grundy does not know you ; She's above you (or below you). Even London birds will sing When they feel the sun of spring. Look at that brave soldier there. What a glory in his air ! " Not quite sober ! " did you say ? Well, let's look another way. Look at the advertisements, Houses, horses, monuments. Tea and sugar, seeds for sowing, Babies' food — machines for mowing, Walking-boots, and daily papers. Lovers' lamps and bottled capers. THE FIRST OF MAY 1 1 1 How our fellow-creatures pant To relieve another's want ! How can man want anything On this bright sweet day of spring ! See the men on scaffold poles Building shells for human souls, Bricks and mortar, and macadam, « Needed by the sons of Adam. What a pity for our sins Nature ends where man begins. Yet the thought another sends Man begins where nature ends, And a heart despising pelf Bears all nature in itself. Now at last the warning bell. Here's the engine terrible, Here's our carriage, let's away From the town and everyday. DEAD My son, my darling, all my joy — my shame — is dead, The race is run, the end has come, and I am glad- Did I say glad ? God help me. How the old words shift Their meaning. Ay, sir,— glad indeed, as some poor wretch. Who, after years of madness, wakes to conscious life Again, but reft of health, and hope, and sadly says " I live " — but lives not any more the life he knew. Come, look on what is left of him. The face is fair, But it was far more lovely just before he died, For then his eyes were open, those large lustrous eyes His mother had, in whose pure depths, as into Heaven DEAD 113 We used to look with awful pride, and say, " The child Is ours, at least he will not lie." And once — but once — The smile returned — the bright young smile — alight with love Caught from his mother's kisses. This was at the last And suddenly — as though the fiend relaxed his clutch, And, bounding back with swift recoil, th' enfranchised soul Blessing my eyes one moment, laughed at death and fled. I would that I were younger, rude, untutored, rash. By instinct ruled or impulse ; in each rush of blood To hear God's trump for action, see in all things strange His clear handwriting, omens deem as true as death, Then might I endless comfort take from that rare smile And deem my boy were safely housed in arms of God. Could you have wished a child of yours to look more fair? 114 DEAD Sweet face with that bright beam of Hght athwart the hair, The raven hair that flashes yet, white in the Hght — The solemn purple curves of shade on either brow, The quiet mouth, the downy cheek, the long-lashed lids, 'Tis hard for me at times to doubt that all is well. Vex not yourself to seek for phrases to console, I have not lived so little while in this small world, Nor have I read so little of its little lore, That I can be consoled — there is no whiff of hope I have not drawn within my soul, and breathed again Out, void of virtue all, as is the confined air Of a poor man's sick chamber. Yet " 'tis best " you say And "Time will heal.'" Ay, thei'e is comfort's length and breadth ! Can it be best for me that my one child be damned ? Can Time renew an old man's hopes, or health, or heart.'' — No best, no Time, for me. " But Resignation re.sts " — DEAD 115 O virtue of small price in one who has no strength To fight ! Resigned am I — as a thrown knight sore smit, Heavy with armour, crushed, with foot upon the thi'oat. O shudder not, I know, my friend, the foot is (iod's — Foot of no foe, although he came with vizor down, And lance in rest, to cast me senseless to the ground. But what comes next, I ask ? There's no swift stroke for me, To cut the knot of life, no little silent thrust To end me in the instant, shut the gates of Time And open up the land where fuller knowledge dwells. What next? Shall we not seek because no man has found ? Shall ignorance suffice because the truth is hid ? Not so — God's riddle asked an answer must be sought, And we must wander through the echoing woods and seek, And search in hidden chambers, for the quest is great. ii6 DEAD And glorifies defeat — Nay, 'tis not all defeat. Flashes of light, as of the veil one moment raised. Keep up the heart from fainting, sometimes whispers come Like answers, thoughts arise like angels' faces sweet, And pass away, but leave a track of light behind. That silent face with its fair seeming — full of peace — Not seldom will content me. Then I seem to see The Father raise him from his knees and say, " My son Fear not, for all must stumble in that puzzling world, Without my light to guide them." This is not for long, Reason awakes and shakes her head from out the net. He knew the right from wrong as well as you or I, And chose the wrong — and yet — weak but not wholly base Followed the fiend with hated steps and aching heart, Yielding his body only with averted soul, And died. Shall this be counted sin, his death I mean ? DEAD 117 How wild was I, ay wild as he, but I have lived, Shall living save my soul and his be lost for death ? Perchance when his account is struck, some balance left Of grace withheld, of born defect, of overstrain, Shall make his Angel smile. O restless, deathless, hope That beats its bleeding pinions evermore in vain Against this narrow cruel cage of ignorance. While far above our heads the great sun visible Shines ever in its glory and the heavenly air Blows through the gilded wires. Ah ! would that I could rest And lull my soul to sleep in some not base content ; Ah God ! that this should be— that what we know should spoil The taste of what we trust, but in thy hands are we. And Trust is priceless yet, be Knowledge what it may. WHITHER Life before us, Song-birds chorus, Sunny weather, Wherefore know ^^'■here we go If together ? What should mine eyes Seek but thine eyes Dearest ever ? Other goal Than thy soul Never, never. WHITHER 119 'Tis the Spring-time Queen-time, King-time, Love cries " Hither." Let us go. Love will show Whither, whither. A DISAPPOINTMENT It happened thus. The other day When I came late from town, I took a peep at little May All warmly nestled down. And as I peeped at her she smiled A smile so bright and rare, I thought I never saw a child So pretty anywhere. I bent and kissed, as still she slept, Her lips so sweetly parted, But she awoke, and stared, and wept, As she were broken-hearted. .■i DISAPPOINTMENT 121 With gentle speech and soft caress The tears were quickly dried, And as the sobs grew less and less I asked her why she cried. " Because — " she murmured tearfully, " Because it wasn't true — I thought that God was kissing me And it was only you." A POPULAR ERROR I DECLARE that it's nothing but ignorant stuft', To say that the course of true love is so rough. I have fallen in love and got married since Spring, And I'm sure that I found it the easiest thing. Her hair is pure gold, her gloves six and a quarter, Her feet — you would scarcely suppose they'd support her. She dotes upon Verdi, she dresses with taste, And / never saw such a round little waist. I'm awfully lucky, perhaps, you will say. And perhaps so I am in a sort of a way, A POPULAR ERROR 123 But I know lots of fellows who've made better matches, And weren't after all such remarkable catches. I really had no thought of marriage at all, When I met her one night at the Hamiltons' ball. The moment I saw her I thought she was nice, And I liked her so much that I danced with her twice. But I only first thought I was in for it when I was smoking next night with a party of men. And some one remarked that I didn't seem right. And chaffed me about her, and love at first sight. A similar thing had once happened before, And I didn't find it a bit of a bore. I'm not such a fool as to mind being chaffed, But this time I felt very queer when they laughed. 124 ^ POPULAR ERROR I know I remembered the sound of their laughter, And didn't feel well for a day or two after ; But then came the Derby, you know, when, of course, One only can think of one's favourite horse. 'Twas just after that my poor grandfather died, And left me some houses and money beside, A small place in Surrey, and pictures no end. And I felt 1 had more than I knew how to spend. It was thus I arrived at that crisis in life When one's driven to think about taking a wife ; And men who have nothing can scarcely believe How you long for an heir when you've something to leave. I thought of a hundred, but still couldn't find One girl that would answer, for love is so blind. But one day I saw her come out of a shop, And, by Jove, but I felt almost ready to drop. A POPULAR ERROR 125 I don't know what Love is, if that wasn't Love. Perfection itself from her boot to her glove ; And when as she passed me she gave me a smile, I knew I had loved her a deuce of a while. I didn't stop idle, but setting to work I looked up her father, and found him in '"Burke," Then made some inquiries, and learnt in a trice There was nothing about them that wasn't quite nice. You can scarcely imagine the trouble I spent To get invitations wherever they went, But I kept my intentions as close as a mouse, Until they had asked me three times to the house. Then I went to the father and said what I'd got, And asked if his daughter were promised or not, And he, after settling some minor affairs, Said, "I make no objection, my daughter's upstairs." 126 A POPULAR ERROR Of course just at first I was flurried a bit, When she held out her hand and she asked me to sit I felt that I ought to go down on my knees, But the charm of her manner soon set me at ease. I noticed she wore a most exquisite ring, ' And I told her I loved her, and that sort of thing : And she said, as she looked in the tenderest way, " It's perfectly marvellous all that you say." She said nothing else, but she gave me her hand In a way that no fellow could misunderstand. It's funny how few are the words that are needed By people who love one another as we did. Her father and mother are two in a crowd, Kind of parents of whom any man might be proud : They wanted delay, but agreed with a sigh That we should be married the end of July. A POPULAR ERROR 127 So I say that it's nothing but ignorant stuff, To say that the course of true love is so rough : Sir Harry consented to be my best friend, And there wasn't a hitch from beginning to end. WITH A DRAWING BY BOUCHER (To N. G.) See what a little thing This that I offer you, Just a few grains of dust Staining a faded leaf ^Vill you not welcome it Yet — and be kind to it, Smile on it once, and think " Boucher saw, Boucher drew " ? Just a mere wanderer, Footsore and weary-souled All on a summer's day, WITH A DRA WING B Y BOUCHER 129 Called from a dusty road. " Rest ye," said rosy lips, " Rest ye and pipe to us, Light are our hearts and feet." Ah ! They are grains of dust, Piper and lady fair, Formless, unhumanised, Painter and company. This is their messenger. Is it not mightier .? Keeping what grace it had. Bearing in spite of death, Man and the thought of man, Safe through the centuries ? Yet — 'tis a little thing, Scarcely a glance's worth. K I30 WITH A DRAWING BY BOUCHER Chiefly I value its Rare opportunity. One thought to send to you, Not of unkindliness. HERMIONE'S HUSBAND (See Hermione, by Robert Buchanan. The Argosy, vol. i. p. 47.) Clever they call me. Not dull perhaps, And given to fill up life's idle gaps With thought, and reading, and writing, till men Have dubbed me (a woman) a knight of the pen. Clever at books — but the girls at school. In spite of my prizes, half thought me fool. Stupid at music — at games much worse. Accounts ! my money slipped out of my purse Like a truant, and left me alone, unaware ; It never was missed till discovered not there. Clever at books — when I rose from my stool, All cleverness ended, commenced the fool. 132 HERMIONE'S HUSBAND Clever ! There's one thing I never shall know, Though I ponder about it wherever I go. I may ponder, the answer will never come so — And that is what Alfred could find in me, The silent slow-mannered Hermione, To choose me and pick me from out of the rest As the flower of flowers to wear on his breast ; For I have no graces that most men love — No easy manner, no bright finesse ; Though somewhat dainty of boot and glove, I spend no trouble about my dress. Why he who had pick of the whole parterre — ■ Bright and blushing, and sweet, and fair, Gladding the eyes and filling the air With scent and colour — should leave them there. Pink, anemone, violet, rose, And go to the kitchen garden by. And pull him a humble bunch of rue HERMIONES HUSBAND i J3 Good for nothing except for tea (Or if that seem too modest for you, A simple sprig of rosemary), Is more at least than Hermione knows. So fast and firm has the habit grown Of reading, and thinking, and writing alone, I have scarce a word to welcome him home, Hardly hearing his knock at the door, Often surprised to find him come When he's been at home ten minutes or more. And yet he laughs at my absent gaze. And sits so quiet until I've done. And then is so ready with talk and fun, Never cross at my dull, abstracted ways, So patient of every slight and whim, One would think, to judge from his happy looks, He was glad I thought so much of my books, And paid so little regard to him. 134 HERMIONES HUSBAND He thinks I am more wise than he, But not so thinks Hermione. For all my learning is of books — Pilfered scraps from many a mind. Packed like rags in the top of my head, But his is won from ways and looks And daily conflict with his kind. Built up with wisdom firm he stands, His every member deeply read, You hear his knowledge in his tread, You feel it in his massive hands. And yet he is happy, I think, with me. For his laugh is merrier every day When he bends from out the world to play With baby and Hermione. And I am happy, happiest when He tells his merry tales of men, HERMIONE'S HUSBAND 135 And I listen, looking very wise, To fall of consols and rise of stocks ; And though he laughs, with mouth and eyes Brimful of fun, he never mocks Whene'er I let my ignorance out Of that great world I write about. I feel a careless girl of ten ^^'ith our baby boy betwixt us placed, And Alfred's arm about my waist. Learning seems but a sorry thing To all the pleasures that love can bring, And the world is nothing to all of us then. With many a kiss we laugh and play And send all care and thought to the right-about And wonder, as time slips gaily away, ^Vhat we are all so foolish and bright about, And which is the silliest of the three, 136 HERMIONE'S HUSBAND Alfred, baby, or Hermione. O puzzle of puzzles, the puzzle of life, Whatever Alfred could find in me, To choose and pick me for his wife. But I thank my God both night and morn That He has given to Hermione The tenderest husband that ever was born. MYSTERIES Well, I'm not much of a thinker, My brain weren't made that way ; Not a bit Hke Tim the tinker. Who puzzles his head all day With the how and the why and the wherefore. He don't get answers much, But's always a puzzlin' — Therefore I don't see the use of such. I know that I'm created And have got to earn my bread, That I've worked and loved and mated, And some day shall be dead. 138 MYSTERIES What else — not much — but I've wondered At many things in my time, And found when most I blundered Words jingled into rhyme, As now — when the kettle's singing And thinking does no hurt, And the wife's at the washtub wringing The suds from my Sunday shirt. But soon I'm up to the middle In some familiar slough— O the world, as they say, is a riddle — I gave it up long ere now. God's work's alive, and increases ; It's that which puzzles my wits ; If you take it all to pieces You can't make much of the bits. MYSTERIES I39 He works behind a curtain And only let's see what's done — I can't learn nothin' for certain If I don't see it begun. So things in the Earth and the Heavens The wise may bother about ; They're all at sixes and sevens, And how should a dunce find out ? Ay — there be mysteries many, One can neither hear nor see, In that next world (if any, As I believe there be), Besides all peace and pleasure, And harps of gold and wings, Mayhap we'll have some leisure To learn about these things. I40 MYSTERIES Yet though I seldom worry At things I can't discern, And ain't in a violent hurry For there to be nothin' to learn, There's just one fact mysterious, One never-ending doubt. One secret, sad and serious, I'd like to know right out. I'd bear the burden gladly If I could only know ; But the wife she fcets so sadly As she goes to and fro. Whether she's hemming a border, Or putting a shine on a chair. She thinks " This is out of order, There must be a fault somewhere." MYSTERIES 141 It's not like a common sorrow, That bides a bit and is past ; It's here for to-day and to-morrow, As long as our lives shall last. I know that it must be designed, Or else it would never be so, But why poor baby was born stoneblind, Is the thing that I want to know. THE DEAFNESS OF DEATH My faith is with that bard of old who sings " A drachm of sweet is worth a pound of sour ! " And in this world of change is scarce an hour But with its burden of care some sweet hope brings ; Yet some there be who drop from their black wings A shade that clings as blight clings to a flower. Such foes hath Joy, that no man has the power To shield him from their shafts or soothe their stings. And one of these is Death, and one is Shame ; Of Shame, thank God, I know not but the name, But Death I know, for he from me did take My own dear Love, and O, so fast he flew, 1 could not see his face, nor even make Him hear my prayer to take me with him too A SONG OF THE SEASONS Sing a song of Spring-time, The world is going round, Blown by the south wind : Listen to its sound. " Gurgle " goes the mill-wheel, " Cluck " clucks the hen ; And it's O for a pretty girl To kiss in the glen. Sing a song of Summer, The world is nearly still. The mill-pool has gone to sleep. And so has the mill. 144 A SONG OF THE SEASONS Shall we go a-sailing Or shall we take a ride, Or dream the afternoon away - Here, side by side ? Sing a song of Autumn, The world is going back ; They glean in the corn-field And stamp on the stack. Our boy, Charlie, Tall, strong, and light : He shoots all the day And dances all night. Sing a song of Winter, The world stops dead ; Under snowy coverlid Flowers lie a-bed. A SONG OF THE SEASONS I45 There's hunting for the young ones And wine for the old, And a sexton in the churchyard Digging in the cold. THE REBEL (From the French of Baudelaire) An angel swoops like eagle on his prey, Grips by the hair the unbelieving wight, And furious cries, " O scorner of the right, 'Tis I, thine Angel good, who speak. Obey ! Know, thou shalt love without the least distaste The poor, the base, the crooked, and the dull ; So shall the pageant of thy Lord be graced With banners by thy love made beautiful. _ This is God's love— see that thy soul be lired With its pure flame or e'er the heart grow tired, And thou shalt know the bliss that lasts for aye." Ah'! with what ruthless love that Angel grand Tortures and racks the wretch with giant hand ! —But still he answers, " Never, till I die." AVANT QU'AMOUR (From the French of Ronsard) Before that Love of drowsy Chaos rent The breast, and freed the Ught therein concealed, With land unshaped, and waters unrevealed, The very heaven was in confusion blent ; Even so my mind, of all things indolent, In the gross substance of my body sealed Lay all unformed, unwhole, till through my shield Love from thine eyes his piercing arrows sent. My nature now by Love made perfect is. My heart is freed from all impurities. And Life to them and Power is given by Love. Through my cold blood his subtle spirit stole. And rapt aloft by him, with him I move For ever joined in body, mind, and soul. RECOLLECTIONS OF ALFRED TENNYSON A DAY DREAM (1869) I HAD a holiday down by the sea, And I said to the Present "Away with thee," And suffered the tide of Memory To wash me away from Place and Time. And many a morn, as I lay afloat, I smoked and dreamed in my little boat, Of fields of barley and of rye That either side the river lie That ever flows to Camelot. For I was full of the golden rhyme Of Tennyson, the Laureate. RECOLLECTIONS OF ALFRED TENNYSON 149 And oft, as I lay at my length, afloat. Faces I never had seen before (But I knew them well though they knew not me), Sweet faces came and peeped over the boat, Madeline, Adeline, Eleanore, And often at eve, when the light was wan, Afar I heard the gathering glee Of the jubilant voice of the Dying Swan ; For little had I to do with time, And my soul was steeped in the golden rhyme Of Tennyson, the Laureate. And once my slow keel gently grazed A loamy marge, and I arose And passed into a little close Where on a blooming bank there lay The fainting form of Fatima, Stung to the soul with sharp desire. ISO RECOLLECTIONS OF ALFRED TENNYSON And when her face I gently raised Her breath was on my cheek as fire, — {Beside me lay, uncut, the Twies, For I chewed the cud of the golden rhymes Of Tennyson, the Laureate). Not long, for suddenly the breath Failed, and she slid from my lax clasp, And quick night came and quenched the day In her bright orbs. I wondered, while She gave her life up with a smile And cry of " Antony " ; and death. Clothed in the semblance of an asp. Writhed from her robe and slunk away. Ay me, it was a pleasant time When I was borne upon the rhyme Of Tennyson, the Laureate. RECOLLECTIONS OF ALFRED TENNYSON 151 Behind, a sweet voice whispered, " Look ! " I turning soon beheld a maid, Her hair in many a chestnut braid. And at her feet a noisy Brook. " You will be welcome, sir," she said, And led the way to a near Mill, With mignonette upon the sill Of a neat window o'er my head. Alas, that it should end, this time. When I breathed the breath of the golden rhyme Of Tennyson, the Laureate. We entered in. The room was foul — A vinous fume hung in the air ; Knee by knee, and cheek by jowl, Two topers old were bibbing there. I knew the place, T knew the men, 152 RECOLLECTIONS OF ALFRED TENNYSON I knew it was the House of Sin ; — But cried " Where hast thou brought me then ?" She answered with a toothless grin. Obhvious of the feet of Time, I flowed on with the golden rhyme Of Tennyson, the Laureate. When suddenly there rose a din, And in there strode a Red-Cross Knight, With armour bright, and visage s*d. Who, with a clean sweep of his sword. Swept flask and flagon from the board, ■ And cried " My name is Galahad " ; And out into the darkness dim, And through the world I followed him. For I was free from the trammels of Time, And lived in the spacious world of rhyme Of Tennyson, the Laureate. RECOLLECTIONS OF ALFRED TENNYSON 153 And after many a day we came Where, on a tall cliff firmly set, A Palace rose up like a flame. As fairylike and delicate, Built of a stone that hath no name. " I surely know, or I forget," « I said, " Sir Knight, but truly this Of Art, I think, the Palace is." I sang this to the silver chime That rings for ever through the rhyme Of Tennyson, the Laureate. " Not Art, but Arthur," cried the Knight, And soon in a great hall we found The blameless King, and Table Round, Engirt with knights, — a goodly sight. Then cried the King, and smote the oak, " Love, Truth, and Beauty, one, but three, 154 RECOLLECTIONS OF ALFRED TENNYSON This is the Artist's Trinity ! " And lo, 'twas T^nyson who spoke. For this shall be through endless time The burden of the golden rhyme Of Tennyson, our Laureate. A DRAWING-ROOM IDYLL (A Study in Quantitative Hexameters) Leonora m Emily, how petulant Caroline was early this evening, Now with lips in a pout she seemed to verge on an out- break. Nearly beyond control, now, happily deep in a novel Sat elegant at her ease. Come, Emily, tell me the reason. Emily O Leonora, futile I hold all dreams of a mother — All her life one long anxiety doomed to be barren. Ah, how often alone her sweet face happily sleeping 156 A DRAWING-ROOM IDYLL Sleepless I, on an elbow raised, have watched in a « tremble Fearful of ills. Now she when alone but dreams of a lover. Leonora Well. Caroline is a child and one very much like another Whom we remember both as a girl. Ay, Emily, you too, Wrapt in an infant's slumber, a sweet face watched as an angel Purely, divinely patient, ever anxious, not to be wearied, Mother of us, but alas, not here to be blessed in a vision Of sweet dreams fulfilled, of sons, true sons of a father Grave, eloquent, high souled, of daughters worthily mated. It was at her request perhaps you married an artist. A DRAWING-ROOM IDYLL 157 Emily O this is hard t' endure from you, Leonora, my sister, Often upon these knees you know how deeply repent- ing Hours upon hours I've knelt. Leonora And thanked your stars for a husband. Yes — I know well enough, although he's rather a poor one. Emily Poor indeed ? as if I ever asked for wealth or adorn- ments. Mere vanities corrupt, of a world more vain than a phantom. No, Leonora, were Albert Grange as poor as a church- mouse — 158 A DRAWING-ROOM IDYLL Leonora O, is it Albert Grange Caroline loves? Emily — non- sense ! — Why, he's rich as a lord, and you to pretend to be sorry ! Nay. I'm sorry myself, 'tis far too good to be likely Albert Grange would choose Caroline. Poor girl, pitifullest Surely of all sad things is a girl unhappily love-struck. Emily More pitiful methinks to behold such sympathy wasted. Ah ! how gladly her aunt will learn that kindly relenting Fate has brought proud Albert Grange to my daughter adoring — Here is a letter to prove. Leonora " He loves her — makes her an offer," O what a catch ! They say, indeed, he's not very strait- laced, A DRAWING-ROOM IDYLL IS9 Rather a screw, drinks hard, is fond of company doubtful. Yet what a catch ! how well Caroline will shine in a station Brightly refined, exalted above all sordid emotions. Queen of a sunlit summit, a star with a thousand around * her, Far from her old poor friends, and all her needy rela- tions ! Emily Ah, how kind to be sure, there's scarce one aunt in a hundred Knows t' express such deep contempt in manner as artless. How you wrong Caroline, dear beauty, to think for a moment She was a girl to neglect old friends. Not carriages, horses. i6o A DRAWING-ROOM IDYLL Not diamonds, nor lace, nor gold than flattery stronger. Though their forces unite, could make her cease to remember Her sweet home, or mother, or even an aunt, Leonora. Leonora Well then, if all that's true, what means this tearful abundance ? How from a sky quite blue comes all this terrible down- pour? Emily How ? why, bless me, the cause is enough, she means to refuse him, All for a fancy she took last year to a painter in Egypt. Leonora History loves to repeat itself, it's easily seen now Why you deeply repent your wilful choice of an artist. A DRAWING-ROOM IDYLL i6i Emily Well, there's one thing sure, this year we'll winter in England. Leonora Still more certain it is one man won't winter in Egypt. M The Bodley Head, Vigo Street, London, W., April 1890. MR. ELKIN MATHEWS'S NEW AND FORTHCOMING WORKS. 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