J THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES ■'. - # d faj /caret Z'M yojumt oy / ) VERSES OF A PROSE-WRITER VERSES OF A PROSE-WRITER BY JAMES ASHCROFT NOBLE AUTHOR OF 'THE PELICAN PAPERS,' 'MORALITY IN ENGLISH FICTION,' ETC. ETC. EDINBURGH: DAVID DOUGLAS 1887 suo NM7AI7 TO MY WIFE Of the poor treasure in my little store For thee, dear wife, the rarest and the best I fain would choose; but Love can give no more Than Love possesses, therefore L will rest Content in the sweet thought that eyes of thine, Scanning these pages tenderly, may find Something to prize, if but because 'tis mine — To love, for hint of what remains behind. J. A. N. 829800 PREFATORY NOTE SOME of the following poems appeared in a little book of mine which has long been out of print ; others have been published in various sonnet antho- logies ; and a few are reprinted from periodicals ; but the greatest number appear for the first time in this volume. I may add that the ballad entitled " The Red Thread of Honour " had been written and printed long before I discovered that it had been anticipated by a fine poem, identical in subject and similar in treatment, from the pen of Sir Francis Doyle. That two writers, working independently of each other, should have been attracted by such viii PREFATORY NOTE a subject is not surprising ; and I mention the matter only to vindicate myself beforehand from a possible, and, at first sight, not unreasonable charge of plagiarism. J. A. N. CONTENTS An Invitation A Broken Goblet Loved at last She and I Love's Questionings A Dead Past A Love's Life One Evening Halcyon Days Our Dream . Unending The Horizon An Emblem in Blue and White " The Years take All " Muriel's Day PAGE I *} o 8 1 1 14 16 18 20 21 24 26 29 3i 35 38 CONTENTS The Red Thread of Honour "To Carlyle, and back again" The Brooklet Evening Calm Tired . In Fairyland Without a Mask A Rondel of Good Cheer A Winter Rondeau . Villanelle . Father and Child . PAGE 40 45 51 56 58 60 67 73 75 77 79 POEMS OF THE INNER LIFE The Great Logician Unforgotten The Christian's Song of Life A Hymn of Beauty . A Hymn for Evening The Shepherd and the Lambs A Legend and a Lesson 83 85 87 92 95 98 101 CONTENTS xi WRITTEN IN MY FRIENDS' BOOKS PAGE In "Poems of the Inner Life" .... 107 In "Poems" by Edward Dowden .... 108 In William Sharp's "Sonnets of this Century" . 109 In "The Golden Butterfly," by Walter Besant and James Rice . . . . • .110 In my Wife's Copy of the Same Book . . .112 To my Wife, on her Birthday, in "The Chaplain of the Fleet," by the same Authors . . . 113 To my Wife, on the Twelfth Anniversary of our Wedding-Day, written in " All Sorts and Condi- tions of Men," by Walter Besant . . .114 In a Selection from the Poems of Wordsworth . 115 IN MEMORIAM PHILIP On Philip's Tombstone . . . . .119 To Philip in Heaven ..... 120 A Mother's Triolet . . . . .122 Autumn 1885 ....... 123 Xll CONTENTS SONNETS PAGE A Character — and a Question . 127 George Eliot . 128 "Only a Woman's Hair!" . 129 Barren Days 131 Bacchus ■ 13 2 Life and Death and Love • *33 AUT CyESAR AUT NULLUS 134 Poetry — and Poetry 135 Life in Nature 136 The Threads of Life 137 Love's Day . 138 Self Revelation 139 Two Sides of a Love 140 Seeking Rest 142 Love and Death 143 Love and Absence . 144 A Problem .... 145 A Supreme Hour 146 VERSES OF A PROSE-WRITER AN INVITATION Come when Spring touches with gentle finger The snows that linger Among the hills ; When to our homestead return the swallows, And in the hollows Bloom daffodils. Or, if thou tarry, come with the Summer, That welcome comer, Welcome as he ; When noon-tide sunshine beats on the meadow, A seat in shadow We'll keep for thee. AN INVITATION Or, if it please thee, come to the reaping, When to safe keeping They bring the sheaves ; When Autumn decketh with coloured splendour And pathos tender The dying leaves. Or come and warm us when Winter freezes, And northern breezes Are keen and cold, With loving glances, and close hand-pressings, And fervent blessings That grow not old. Nay ! do not linger ; for each to-morrow Will break in sorrow If thou delay : Come to us quickly ; our hearts are burning With tender yearning : Come, come to-day. A BROKEN GOBLET Oh ! could I give to thee, my love, A heart like that which once was mine ; Could I life's goblet see, my love, Filled once again with sparkling wine, Our days might then be half-divine. But all the wine is spilled, my love, Ah, me, the spilling, it was sad ! That cup can ne'er be filled, my love, The days are dead when, as a lad, The rich grape-perfume made me glad. I raised the goblet high, my love, Between mine eyes and the strong sun ; A BROKEN GOBLET My lips and throat were dry, my love, With great desire to take but one Deep draught before my days were done. There came one from the South, my love, Ah me, but she was very fair ! With tender, tremulous mouth, my love, And deep soft eyes and golden hair, — Sunlight was brighter, striking there. I seem to see her stand, my love, As in the days that now are dead ; The goblet in one hand, my love, The other held a rose full red ; — Ah me, the rose-leaves soon were shed ! Those lips spoke pleasant things, my love ; Those eyes undid me utterly ; And like close-netted strings, my love, Her clinging hair imprisoned me, And I cared nowise to be free. A BROKEN GOBLET •y'i tell to you this tale, my love ; Ev'n now your sweet eyes fill with tears ; I cannot weep or wail, my love, As I could once, in the young years Ere I had done with hopes and fears. But listen longer still, my love : She gave the goblet unto me, She bade me drink my fill, my love, Saying, "Life's goblet foams for thee;" And then she watched me eagerly. I raised it to my mouth, my love, I tasted once that sweet strange draught ; And then she from the South, my love, Raised her lithe arm, and then a waft Of air I felt, and then she laughed. And there upon the ground, my love, The goblet lay that had been mine ! A BROKEN GOBLET And the rank weeds around, my love, Drank deeply of that perfect wine Whose blood-red stain seemed like a sign. And then she rose and stood, my love, And looked and laughed full in my face ; (Were those stains wine or blood, my love ? I cannot tell.) A moment's space She gazed and stood still in her place. And then she turned and went, my love, A low, strange, thrilling song sang she ; And as she went she sent, my love, The rose-leaves floating heavily Downward : she cast no glance at me. And I lay there as dead, my love, What had been me indeed had died ; As rose plucked from the bed, my love, Its petals scattered far and wide, Blown by wild winds from every side. A BROKEN GOBLET „~And so I say again, my love, The life that has been now is o'er ; Give not thyself the pain, my love, Of waiting on a low, lone shore, A broken wave that comes no more. But leave me still alone, my love ; Why didst thou give thine heart to me ? Keep it : it is thine own, my love, And turn thee quickly ; turn and flee, Lest death like mine lay hold on thee. Yet could I give to thee, my love, The heart that in those days was mine, — Could I life's goblet see, my love, Remade, refilled with sparkling wine, Perchance thou might'st be mine — I thine. LOVED AT LAST And so he loves me, though they said No lover e'er would come to me, That I should ne'er be wooed or wed, Or nurse a child upon my knee : They were so sure that I should miss The woman's heritage of bliss. And I, too, in the sad gray hours When through low clouds no sunlight shone, And when the slow September showers Seemed Nature's tears for Summer gone, — I murmured withja.long sad sigh, " My Summer also has gone by ! " LOVED AT LAST But now I know that what to me Seemed Autumn rains were showers of Spring Summer has come, and now I see Love's sunlight brighten everything : He says he loves me, and to-day My year rolls back to early May. How did it come ? I ask of him ; He says my face is very fair, And yet to me these eyes seem dim, And on this brow are lines of care ; But now these eyes shall yet be bright, And once again this brow grow light. He loves me ! loves me ! I repeat The blest assurance every hour ; And now the wine of life is sweet That yesterday was sharp and sour ; Now with glad heart I gaily sup Love's nectar from a golden cup. io LOVED AT LAST I look through long slow-coming years, Made by his love all bright and fair ; I look around through happy tears, And see his image everywhere ; In his great love I breathe and live, If it be sin, dear God, forgive. It cannot be ! Since I have known His love, God's love seems dearer too ; He has come near to me and shown What for the humblest He can do. Life's fateful fingers intertwine The human love with the divine. Love, Love, Love ! O blessed word That never did I understand Till in my ear his voice I heard And felt the pressure of his hand : No more I walk with eyes cast down ; 1 am his queen, love is my crown. SHE AND I Why do I love my love so well ? Why is she all in all to me ? I try to tell, I cannot tell, It still remains a mystery. And why to her I am so dear I cannot tell although I try, Unless I find both answers here : — She is herself, and I am I. Her face is very sweet to me, Her eyes beam tenderly on mine ; But can I say I never see Face fairer, eyes that brighter shine ; 12 SHE AND I This thing I surely cannot say, If I speak truth and do not lie ; Yet here I am in love to-day, For she's herself, and I am I. It cannot be that I fulfil Completely all her girlish dreams ; For far beyond my real still Her old ideal surely gleams. And yet I know her love is mine, A flowing spring that cannot dry : What explanation ? This, in fine, — She is herself, and I am I. 'Mid all the cords by which two hearts Are drawn together into one, This is a cord that never parts, But strengthens as the years roll on ; And though, as seasons hurry past, Strength, beauty, wit, and genius die, SHE AND I Till death strike us this charm will last- She is herself, and I am I. She is herself and I am I, — Now, henceforth, evermore the same, Till the dark angel draweth nigh, And calleth her and me by name : Yea, after death has done his worst, Each risen soul will straightway fly To meet the other : as at first She'll be herself, I shall be I. LOVE'S OUESTIONINGS Oh ! what is lovelier than my lady's face, The speaking silence of her soft gray eyes, The lines of the fair features where I trace The outlines of a soul divinely wise, Yet all alive with human sympathies ? What more enchanting than my lady's smile, Welcomer when it flutters on her lips, So still before, than is the ocean isle To weary mariners in storm-beat ships, Or the new sunlight after an eclipse ? What is more thrilling than my lady's touch ? My heart leaps at the pressure of her hand, LOVE'S QUESTIONINGS 15 With wild tumultuous ecstasy ; yet such Is its sweet sorcery — hard to understand — Again it calms me like a fairy's wand. Oh, what more rapturous than my lady's kiss ? It burns upon my lips like living flame, And leaves me silent with excess of bliss, To which my stammering verse can give no name, For love has mysteries which put words to shame. What need for further question ? They who know Love's secret can the answer well divine : These things are full of all delights ; but oh ! Much fuller that of which they are a sign, — The love that lives in them and makes them mine. A DEAD PAST Unrest like to that of seas at even When the sun has left the stormy sky, And the stars are few and faint in heaven, And the wind moans and the curlews cry ; — Yearning as of watchers for the morning, Waiting with sad hunger for the day, Filled with scorching griefs and sore self-scorning, Yet with pride that will not let them pray ; — Sorrow like to sorrow for the dying Or the dead we see no more again, Sighs and groans and bitter tearless crying, Wrung from out a plenitude of pain ; — A DEAD PAST 17 These were mine ; — you know the strange sad story Of .the wrong that dragged my spirit down ; Who should know but you who gave the glory Of your love for ring and robe and crown ? In love's heaven we sit enthroned together ; I the slave am king, and you my queen ; Winter is past : lo ! sunshine and spring weather ! We will forget the things that once have been. Nay, we will not ! we will still remember All the darkness of that bygone day ; Thoughts of storms that swept through life's December Fill with fuller joy its stormless May. A LOVE'S LIFE 'Twas springtime of the day and year, Clouds of white fragrance veiled the thorn, My heart unto her heart drew near, And ere the dew had fled the morn Sweet love was born. An August noon, an hour of bliss That stands amid my hours alone, A word, a look, then — ah, that kiss ! — Joy's robe was rent, her secret known, Love was full grown. A LOVE'S LIFE 19 And now this drear November eve What has to-day seen done, heard said ? It boots not ; who has tears to grieve For that last leaf the tree has shed Or for love dead ? ONE EVENING I was her lover, faithful and tender, She was my darling, dear unto me ; Love with its terror and love with its splendour Came to our hearts as we stood by the sea. Can I forget it ? — that still August even When in the wan waves the red sun had set, How a new star swam into my heaven — Dare I remember it ? Can I forget ? My heaven is empty ; my star has departed ; Starlight and sunlight are one light to me ; Can I be dreaming that gay and light-hearted I and my darling stood here by the sea ? HALCYON DAYS O days of rest ! The long dull year of toil had fled away, The hours were mine to dally with at will, They were my slaves with whom to take my fill Of pleasure, mine to speak, theirs to obey. Upon the cool green grass at ease I lay, My brow by the soft breeze of June caressed, I knew joy's untold secret and was blest : O days of rest ! O days of calm ! The freedom from the turmoil and the din, The noisy strife of tongues, the wordy war Heard but as a faint echo from afar 22 HALCYON DAYS In that sweet garden where my soul did win The boon of peace ; to which there entered in No evil thing that could annoy or harm, But for the vexed heart there was bounteous balm — O days of calm ! O days of love ! When my lone spirit felt no more alone But found her fellows who had sought her long, As she had sought for them with yearnings strong, And knew the kinship that had been unknown. For then to me Love's precious things were shown — All Love's sweet treasury — while from above Came soft low cooings of the turtle-dove : O days of love ! O vanished days ! Ye have gone hence and left me here to weep, Yet with my tears I mingle smile and song ; To me for ever those dear days belong, HALCYON DAYS 23 Withki my inmost heart of hearts I keep Their memory green, and oft in happy sleep Fair dreams bring anodynes to dull my pain, And when I wake I cry " Come, come again- O vanished days ! " OUR DREAM Perchance to men it may not be given To know things real from things that seem ; If, living on earth, we dream of heaven Why, then, I hold it better to dream. Let us dream on 'mid the splendid shadows That make existence a gladsome thing, The dim deep woods and the flowery meadows Where fairies frolic and skylarks sing ; Where bright shapes linger, and angel faces Glow in the gleam of a visioned day, And o'er the uplands on grassy spaces Fond lovers wander, fair children play. OUR DREAM 25 Let no dream still, then, nor strive to sever Things that are real from things that seem, Let us slumber on for ever and ever And know no waking from life's glad dream. UNENDING I see that all these things come to an end, The things we glory in, the things we fear ; Annihilation's shadow still doth lend Its gloom to every pleasant thing and dear : Each heavy burden under which we bend Will some day from our wearied shoulders move ; One thing alone there is which hath no end — There is no end to Love. There is an end to kisses and to sighs ; There is an end to laughter and to tears ; An end to fair things that delight our eyes ; An end to pleasant sounds that charm our ears ; UNENDING 27 An end to enmity's foul libelling, And to the gracious praise of tender friend ; There is an end to all but one sweet thing — To Love there is no end. That warrior carved an empire with his sword, The empire now is but like him — a name ; That statesman spoke, and by a burning word Kindled a nation's heart into a flame : Now nought is life but ashes, and we bring Our homage to new men, to them we bend : There is an end to all but one sweet thing — To Love there is no end. All beauty fades away, or else, alas ! Our eyes grow dim, and we no beauty see ; The glorious shows of Nature pass and pass, Quickly they come, as quickly do they flee : 28 UNENDING And he who hears the voice of welcoming Hears next the slow sad farewell of his friend : There is an end to all but one sweet thing — To Love there is no end. And for ourselves — our father, where is he ? Gone, and a memory alone remains ; There is no refuge on a mother's knee For us, grown old and sad with cares and pains : Brotherless, sisterless, our way we wend To Death's dark house from which we shall not rove ; And so we cease : yet one thing hath no end — There is no end to Love. THE HORIZON Oh would, oh would that thou and I, Now this brief day of love is past, Could toward the sunset straightway fly And fold our wearied wings at last There, where the sea-line meets the sky. A sweet thing and a strange 'twould be Thus, thus to break our prison bars, And know that we at last were free As voiceful waves and silent stars, — There, where the sky-line meets the sea. 3o THE HORIZON But vain the longing ! thou and I, As we have been must ever be, Yet thither, wind, oh waft my sigh, There, where the sky-line meets the sea, There, where the sea-line meets the sky. AN EMBLEM IN BLUE AND WHITE A virtuoso's cabinet Stands in a dim deserted room, Close curtained to a twilight gloom ; And, touched by one thin ray of light, A quaint old cup of blue and white Upon the upper shelf is set. The single sun-ray struggles through, There, where the curtains fail to meet. Outside them is the ugly street ; Within, the dimness hides from me The gathered treasures, and I see Only that cup of white and blue. 32 AN EMBLEM IN BLUE AND WHITE Strange seems it that the narrow shaft, With shining motes in circling rings, Should leave untouched the precious things That lie about the shadowed place To glorify with ghostly grace This simple piece of potter's craft. My thought, which had begun to dose, — The quietness was so profound, — Suddenly waked, for all around Stood the dead folk whose hands of old The simple cup were wont to hold, Their faces full of long repose. The eyes of all were fixed and set On one place only, gathering up Strange memories of the little cup : Again the turmoil, anguish, strife, Love, ecstasy of earthly life, Were with them, and their eyes were wet. AN EMBLEM IN BLUE AND WHITE 33 What said the cup to them ? It told To one a tale of childish play ; To one it brought again the day By death made sacred ; unto all It was a mute memorial . Of bells that chimed and bells that knolled. To each of them the ancient self Became a thing of yestermorn ; Dead joys, loves, hates were all reborn : And the strange spell that brought them back Was in that piece of bric-a-brac — The little cup upon the shelf. Such life was in it still ; and yet Here, as a dead thing, it had stood, Coldly appraised as " something good In blue and white." Amid the gloom It now had found a costly tomb In a rich idler's cabinet. D 34 AN EMBLEM IN BLUE AND WHITE What emblem in the thing? Well, you May know it one day, when you find Some love has left its life behind ; Yet keeps in death so much of grace That on your, shelf it finds a place — An unused cup of white and blue. There will it stand amid your store, Only a curious dainty thing ; Yet, when you see it, it will bring From out the thickly-peopled vast Of memory a day long past, — A dead day that shall live no more. "THE YEARS TAKE ALL" "The years take all and leave us nought ;" So says the song I sing to-day : This is the lesson time has taught To me — to thousands passed away. The years take all ! The wild delight Of that young day when first the earth Reveals her beauty to our sight With rapture like a second birth ; — When round our head the airs of heaven Seem to play softly, and our eyes Gaze on the glories God has given, As Adam gazed in paradise ; — 36 "THE YEARS TAKE ALL" The exultation of the hour When battles fought at last are won ; When in our souls we feel that power Is born, that a great deed is done ; — All boyhood's dreams, all hopes of youth, So quick to rise, so slow to fall ; How sad the inevitable truth, — The years take all ! The years take all ! Yet is it true, this strange sad thought, — When youth has gone doth nothing stay ? Have I not memories that are fraught With benediction for to-day ? If in my breast I feel no more The ancient ardour for the fight, Still I am not without a store Of trophies brave — a goodly sight. "THE YEARS TAKE ALL" 37 What life has given I have and hold ; Time ne'er can call me to resign Her treasures rich and manifold : They are myself — the years are mine. So I no more my voice will lend To the sad song that I have sung; For though some raptures have an end, The purest joys are ever young. And though the things most prized depart Beyond the reach of Love's recall, Love's self lives on : the loving heart Can never say, "The years take all !" MURIEL'S DAY With dark eyes full of night's own splendour, Abiding still, though now 'tis day, With glances brave and strong and tender, Of all defenceless things defender, Sweet Muriel stands With outstretched hands, And with the wonder of a soul new born Salutes life's morn. High in the heavens the glad sun rises, Dawn's dew and wonder are behind ; But still with ever fresh surprises The day her mind and soul baptizes, MURIEL'S DAY 39 And here is Love From heaven above, Waiting to give to Muriel his boon When comes her noon. The day declines, the night is nigher, But Muriel waits nor fears the night ; Her heart knows only one desire, — To keep Love's house, to tend his fire, Whose constant spark Burns through the dark Till He, Love's Lord and hers, shall say "Lo ! it is day!" THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR A MODERN BALLAD Among the hills of India Dwelt warriors fierce and bold, The sons of robber chieftains Who, in the days of old, Fought for their mountain freedom, And, if by Fate laid low, Fell ever crowned with' honour — Their faces to the foe. Now 'twas an ancient custom Among those hillsmen brave, When thus they found their kinsman, To dig for him no grave ; THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR 41 But the torn blood-stained garments They stripped from off the dead, And then his wrist they circled With green or crimson thread. Many the green-decked warriors, But only for a few Was kept that highest honour, The thread of sanguine hue ; For 'twas alone the bravest Of those who nobly shed Their life-blood in the battle Whose wrists were bound with red. And when they thus had graced them Who fell before the foe, They hurled their lifeless bodies Into the plain below. 42 THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR The earth did ne'er imprison Those hillsmen brave and free, The sky alone should cover The warriors of Trukkee. There came a time of conflict, And a great armed throng Of England's bravest soldiers, — Avengers of the wrong, — Marched through the gloomy gorges, Forded the mountain rills, Vowing that they would vanquish Those robbers of the hills. The road was strange and dubious ; Easy it was to stray ; And of those English soldiers Eleven lost their way. THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR 43 Led by a trusty leader, They reached a fearful glen, And saw a mountain stronghold Guarded by forty men. Guarded by forty veterans Of that fierce robber band, In every face defiance, Weapons in every hand. "Back !" cried the trusty leader; The soldiers would not hear, But up the foe-crowned mountain Charged with their English cheer. With loud huzzas they stormed it, Nor thought to turn from death, But for Old England's honour Yielded their latest breath. 44 THE RED THREAD OF HONOUR Short was the fight but deadly, For, when our last man fell, But sixteen of that forty Were left the tale to tell. But those sixteen were noble — They loved a brave deed done ; They knew a worthy foeman, And treated him as one. And when the English soldiers Sought for their comrades slain, They found their stiff stark corpses Prostrate upon the plain : They lay with blood-stained faces, Fixed eyes, and firm-clenched fists, But the Red Thread of Honour, Was twined around their wrists. TO CARLYLE, AND BACK AGAIN" When ill at ease a creed I sought, Dissatisfied with all yet taught, Because in each I seemed to find A hint of something more behind The veil, which might if seen by me Bring clearness out of mystery • — When in the dark I sought for one Support to rest my soul upon, Some Being before whom to fall, And cry "Thou art the Lord of all, Therefore my Lord ! " — and seeking long, And calling out in anguish strong, 46 "TO CARLYLE, AND BACK AGAIN" Because the search seemed wholly vain, And I found nought but weary pain — A voice came suddenly to me Which seemed to end my misery. The voice said to me, " Doth thy soul Wander through heaven seeking a pole, A guiding star ; and dost thou roam Through the wide earth to find a home Of God — some consecrated fane Where in rapt worship all thy pain And unrest may forgotten be, As if they ne'er had haunted thee ? If this thou seekest now thy search May have an end, though neither Church Nor priest can lead thy steps aright, For they too wander in the night. Thou hast a head and thou hast hands, And the quick life in thee demands "TO CARLYLE, AND BACK AGAIN" 47 That thou life's labour should'st not shirk, But find (nor leave when found) thy work : This done, learn thou from day to day That thus to labour is to pray !" " O voice," I cried with spirit free, " A secret thou hast taught to me : Problems that did my spirit foil Solutions find in daily toil. If work be worship, this indeed Is ampler truth than any creed !" My joy was great ; but soon again Dull mists of doubt o'erspread my brain. Work may be worship — but of whom ? In the wide universe is room For many gods and lords ; and how May I know Him to whom I bow ? How learn whether He be indeed 48 "TO CARLYLE, AND BACK AGAIN" The Being whom my soul doth need ? The voice has told me what is true, But surely this of old I knew ; And something more my spirit needs Than unknown masters — broken reeds. I cannot tell to whom I pray Working in darkness day by day : I worship as I delve the mine, I worship as I rear the vine, I worship as I turn the sod, Perhaps a fiend — perhaps a god. " O God," I cried, " I know Thou art, Or else my sore distracted heart Had ne'er been drawn mysteriously Into the dark to search for Thee ; And, knowing that Thou art, I know I must find Thee, or else find woe : I weary of my toilsome quest, Solve Thou my doubts and give me rest." "TO CARLYLE, AND BACK AGAIN" 49 Then suddenly, as if from deep And thickly-peopled dreamy sleep I had awaked, my awful doubt Was like a nightmare put to rout In one sweet moment ; and I saw With undimmed eye the one sure law Through which alone can peace be won By those who toil beneath the sun. Find work ; but find thy Master first, Or all thy toil may be accursed ; If thou would'st free thyself from doubt Find God within, and work without, That shall be worthy worship will Be thine, and calm thy spirit fill. Seek Him, nor think He hideth far In some slow-circling distant star ; From thine own self set thyself free, And thou shalt find He seeketh thee. E 50 "TO CARLYLE, AND BACK AGAIN" He seeketh thee from morn till eve, Although thou dost His goodness grieve ; He seeketh thee to show thee all The work on this terrestrial ball Thou hast to do ; not that alone, For when His service thou hast done, He finds thee rest beneath the tree That grows beside the crystal sea. THE BROOKLET Within a little sheltered dale Where flowery splendours never fail, Where Spring is glad, and Summer fair, And Autumn glories rich and rare, Where even Winter has a grace And comes with genial kindly face — A humble quiet hut I found Set in a plot of garden ground. I came, and saw, and loved the spot, Made it my own, and murmured not That in its utter solitude The human world did ne'er intrude. 52 THE BROOKLET The vale was mine, its flowers were fair, The soul of peace was in the air ; I had my friends — the stars, the sun, The brook that near my door did run. And often did I lie and dream Beside that sparkling babbling stream ; Sun, stars, flowers, birds, and all the rest I loved, but loved that brooklet best : As if with life like mine endued It had a voice for every mood Of mirth or sadness, joy or dole, It was to me a fellow soul. May came with all her wealth of flowers, And June with fragrant sleepy hours, And through July the blinding glare And parching heat filled all the air; The sun shot burning arrows down, The cool green grass grew hot and brown, THE BROOKLET S3 The swallows seemed too tired to fly, And then, ah me ! the stream ran dry. Perchance it seems a little thing, The drying of that tiny spring, But 'twas no little thing to me To loose its cheering company ; It was a friend, my only one, Whose voice in every changing tone Spoke alway to my listening ear Strange prophecies of hope and fear. A friend ! 'twas more ; it was the voice Of my own soul — it did rejoice As I rejoiced, and when I wept It murmured low, and as I slept It made fair dreams for me, and seemed To sing strange music as I dreamed. Now there was silence, and to me Silence was one with misery. 54 THE BROOKLET It still is silent, and I lie Beside its course beneath the sky Searching the blank bright blue in vain For promise of the blessed rain ; Hot pebbles in the brooklet's bed, Hot air around my aching head, A hot sun in the cloudless sky, My stream will evermore be dry. But no ! high up among the trees The ghostly rustle of a breeze ; One clear bird note piped out aloud To harbinger the thunder cloud ; — The darkness grows, — a blinding flash, — A moment's pause, — and then the crash. I laugh, I leap ; here is the rain ; My stream will flow, speak, sing again. And now once more I have a voice, Once more I sing, once more rejoice, THE BROOKLET 55 Once more the murmur of the stream Fills with fair shapes my nightly dream ; The voice I lost I now have found ; My little dell is fairy ground. Joy courses through my veins like wine And still the brooklet's voice is mine. EVENING CALM The sun is sinking slowly in the west, A broadening silver light is on the sea, The calm which evening brings reigns in the breast, And gentle voices seem to speak to me. Those voices come, but why will they not stay ? Why has the bird of calm such wandering wings ? Why do these tranquil moments pass away So quickly ? They should not be transient things. They should not go could I detain them here ; I would have evening always with its balm ; The noontide weariness, the nightly fear, Should never mar the spirit's blissful calm. EVENING CALM 57 And yet, perchance, if calm could thus be made Eternal here it would be calm no more ; I might grow weary of the evening shade, And of the sunset light upon the shore. I might sigh longingly for starry night, Or languish for the fresh life-giving morn, Or even say, " Oh for the noon-day light, Had I but it the heat might well be borne." So it is best this soft sweet light should go, And day die gorgeously across the sea In red and amber robes — a glorious show, And that this calm should pass away from me. And yet not wholly pass : the life once known But for a moment lives in us for aye ; The joy we once have grasped and made our own No years nor ages can take quite away. TIRED For joy in odorous flowery places, In breezy hilltops, in sunlit leas, In smiles slow-breaking on baby faces, In all the poets' fine fantasies, In the best of love when love is giving The best she has, when one glance of an eye Suffices to prove life well worth living, Too tired am I. Too tired, how tired I can scarcely reckon, For the sense sinks deep, and the heart beats slow ; From some blessed isle did the sirens beckon, My laggard limbs would refuse to go. TIRED 59 To their songs I should faintly wearily listen, With nought of desire but a long-drawn sigh, And no gleam to answer the eyes that glisten, So tired am I. What do I ask but to lie for ever, Here in a half-dream, apart from life, What do I crave but to rise up never, To know no longer the sterile strife ; Or better, to feel the sod light pressing Its daisy rootlets against my breast, Be it life, be it death, — what boots it guessing, It must be rest. IN FAIRYLAND Where is this place of wonder, This mystic woodland glade ? How did I wander hither ? How have my footsteps strayed ? Strange are the trees that shadow The bank whereon I lie, And strange the flowers that border The brook that ripples by. How long have I been lying Prone in the woodland here ? How long have I been waiting For something drawing near ? IN FAIRYLAND 61 What it may be I know not, But coming 'tis I know, For silver bells are chiming And golden trumpets blow. And now the bells chime faster, Shrill is the trumpet's tone, The woodland rings with voices, I am no more alone. What bursts of fairy laughter, What strains of elfin song, As the dear friends of childhood The grassy spaces throng. There's Jack who climbed the beanstalk, There's Cinderella's car, And Jack who killed the giants Comes with his spoils of war ; 62 IN FAIRYLAND And a third Jack named Horner Carries his Christmas pie, And while he sucks a luscious plum Soberly passes by. Red Riding Hood skips gaily, She fears the wolf no more, For cold and dead he's lying Outside her grandam's door. Yonder is tufted Riquet, Hop o' my Thumb is there, And three bears dance attendance On little Goldenhair. There are the pretty babies The robins hid with leaves, And clever Morgiana Who tricked the forty thieves ; IN FAIRYLAND 63 Aladdin from his palace And Sinbad from the sea, And good Haroun Alraschid Are here in company. Alnaschar seems but gloomy, And Bluebeard's face is grim, For Fatima and sister Ann No longer walk with him. They pass him gaily laughing, Their brothers by their side, And mockingly they whisper, "Go seek another bride." There comes the gracious beauty Yet beaming with the bliss Born when her sleep was broken By fairy prince's kiss ; 64 IN FAIRYLAND And yet another beauty Who loved the beast of old, Walks by her love, a beast no more, All decked with gems and gold. That dog is Mother Hubbard's, With Puss-in-boots he walks, Before the sheep of wee Bo-peep The ugly duckling stalks ; Here Jack and Jill come running Little Boy Blue to meet, While Valentine and Orson Fondly each other greet. And now they vanish slowly, But ever as they go The silver bells keep chiming, The golden trumpets blow ; IN FAIRYLAND 65 Where is this place of wonder, This mystic woodland glade ? How did I wander hither ? How have my footsteps strayed ? But as I ask the question The music dies away, And round me ring the voices Of children at their play ; For I am in my study, And Philip, Kate, and Clare Say I have slept quite long enough, Here in my easy-chair. They want just one new story Before to bed they go ; They say they've waited half an hour While I've been snoring so ; F 66 IN FAIRYLAND And though that is a libel, I tell them where I've been, And of the wondrous vision My sleeping eyes have seen. And then they run away to bed, And in their dreams I know Those silver bells will chime again, Those golden trumpets blow. God bless them, now and evermore, Sweet Phil and Kate and Clare, And with them bless, O blessed Lord, All children everywhere. WITHOUT A MASK : He [Blake] was a man without a mask."— Samuel Palmer, quoted in Gilchrist's Life of William Blake. A waking vision came to me : 'Twas of a hurrying, surging crowd, Restless as is the restless sea, And with a voice as deep and loud ; A sea of women and of men, With waves that rose and fell again. Afar at first, I nigher drew, And mingled with that eager throng, Its devious mazes winding through, And wondering, while I passed along, 68 WITHOUT A MASK That, as each man pursued his task, His face was hid behind a mask. No man, no woman of them all, Whose countenance I could behold, And never one of them let fall The hiding mask : they bought and sold, They fought and feasted, lost and gained, And still the masks their place retained. Varied these faces, false and dead ; Some wore a philosophic frown, And some there were with smiles bespread, And some gazed up and others down ; Some had sage looks arranged by rule, And some the features of the fool. All had one mask, but some had two, — An outer one for common wear, And for a sacred chosen few An inner one divinely fair ; WITHOUT A MASK 69 And those to whom they showed it cried — "We know thee, and are satisfied." It was a strangely fearsome sight, That never-ending masquerade : I know not why, but sore affright Possessed my soul ; I was afraid Because I knew that all could see My face, and read its mystery. But, as I turned to flee away, I saw a sight that made me stand And pause awhile, half in dismay And half in joy, for 'mid the band One face there was unmasked like mine, Calm, strong, unfearing, most benign. He thrid the throng with step assured, And gazed around with placid eyes ; He looked like one who had endured And could endure ; serenely wise, 7o WITHOUT A MASK Having maintained all unbeguiled The fresh heart of a simple child. Then thought I, " I will surely wait A little while, that I may see What hap for this man dubious Fate May have in store. I wot that he Must have some secret potent charm, Possessing which, he dreads no harm." And yet, methought, it was not so, But something native to his mind That gave him power to see and know What the masks hid, — to look behind, As if, indeed, no mask were there, To the true face, were't foul or fair. And well the masquers knew his power, For, when the man upon them gazed, I saw them start, and shrink, and cower, Perplexed, affrighted, stunned, and dazed ; WITHOUT A MASK 71 And e'en the boldest looked askance Rather than meet that gentle glance. But of all strange things I must tell This was the strangest, — that the men On whom those calm sweet glances fell Were stirred to sudden wrath ; and when His eyes strayed from them, straight appealed Against the man with face concealed. For masks were faces in their sight, And his true face to them was masked ; They felt there was a fateful might Within the man, and each one asked, " What right hath he this mask to wear, And catch my secret in his snare ?" But he heard not their wild exclaim, He looked with loving eyes and mild, Yet sad, as with unselfish shame, And found at last a little child, 7 2 WITHOUT A MASK Who peered into the veilless face, Loved it, and flew to his embrace. It seemed this gentle child and he Had a strange kinship of their own, And each to each was company, And neither felt himself alone : So through the masked and mocking band The twain passed gaily, hand in hand. And then the vision faded quite Away ; the man and child were gone ; And gone into the dreamful night The masquers I had gazed upon. But surely on some other shore I shall behold that face once more. A RONDEL OF GOOD CHEER Let others drone a mournful song, We chant a carol blithe and gay ; What should we gain were we to say " Whatever is, is surely wrong"? For one thing only will we long — Content — to cheer a darksome day ; Let others drone a mournful song, We chant a carol blithe and gay. " The good is weak, the ill is strong, All things of beauty haste away," — 74 A RONDEL OF GOOD CHEER . Too well we know the dreary lay But will not join the wailing throng ; Let others drone a mournful song, We chant a carol blithe and gay. A WINTER RONDEAU These wintry days for us, dear friends, Have secret charms that make amends For loss of Summer's warmth and light The skies are dull, but much of bright And beautiful the Winter lends. No more, no more, my spirit bends To worship gods the Summer sends ; I celebrate, in June's despite, These wintry days. For while the year to Yule descends, With frosty air there somehow blends 76 A WINTER RONDEAU A heart-warmth warmer than the blaze That in my fire this moment plays : Sad shall I be when April ends These wintry days. VILLANELLE Life, thou art vaguely strangely sweet, Thy gladness fills our throbbing veins, But Death comes on with footsteps fleet. With rapture men each morning greet, And spite of losses, cares 'and pains, Life, thou art vaguely strangely sweet. We, while with health our pulses beat, Heed not the falling hour-glass grains, But Death comes on with footsteps fleet. 78 VILLANELLE Our lips may say " Life is a cheat," But 'tis of Death our heart complains, Life, thou art vaguely strangely sweet. For one hour more do men entreat, As life within them quickly wanes, But Death comes on with footsteps fleet. Many we miss, but him we meet, He is a guest whom nought detains ; Life, thou art vaguely strangely sweet, But Death comes on with footsteps fleet. FATHER AND CHILD The wife of Peter Wright, one of the men who perished in the Southport life-boat, ioth December 1886, was prematurely confined on the day following the disaster ; and the baby, which was still-born, was placed on its father's arm as he lay in his coffin and buried with him. Father and child together lie at rest, The storm-worn man, the babe all undefiled ; God's voice has blessed them and they shall be blest — Father and child. When by fierce wind black wave on wave was piled, And Death came hurrying on the billow's crest, One passed to peace amid the tempest wild. So FATHER AND CHILD Storm-spared, the other finds a tranquil nest, And now to both Death's face seems sweet and mild ; Calmly they sleep, man's breast to baby's breast — Father and child. POEMS OF THE INNER LIFE .«^ J THE GREAT LOGICIAN There lived in our city a great logician, He argued by day and he argued by night ; He scorned our illogical opposition, And proved to us clearly that he was right. Logic is logic ; and he was so clever That the light of our faith grew pale and dim : We put away God — we thought for ever, But we still had logic, — we still had him. Indeed our state would have been perfection, But somehow we couldn't abolish pain, Nor sorrow, nor death ; and in weak dejection Some of us wished to have God again. ■>■&'■ 84 THE GREAT LOGICIAN It had been a help, there was no denying — That fiction which logic had driven away : When faith seemed dead and hope was dying We felt half tempted to kneel and pray. We yearned for God and the faith that had vanished ; We longed for help in our arduous strife ; We knew that by logic both had been banished, And logic is logic, but life is life. And so we said to the great logician, " We cannot argue these things away ; We thought we had knocked them out of position, But 'tis somehow a failure — for there they stay. "'Tis a wretched sham of an incantation That is wrought by your divining rod ; Hear in our verdict your condemnation : — Logic is logic, but God is God." UNFORGOTTEN Why is it that thy once bright face doth darken Into the blackness of a drear despair ? Tell me not God is deaf or doth not hearken Unto the wailing of thy speechless prayer. I will not hear thee say the heavens are brazen, That thy weak cry rises to Him in vain, That where love's banner waved is now the blazon Of fiery wrath or cold divine disdain. Believe not that in this extremest anguish He who in days of old spake peace to thee Will suffer thee for evermore to languish, Nor raise his strong right arm to set thee free. 86 UNFORGOTTEN Know'st thou the meaning of that word once written ? Know'st thou the mystery of His gracious name ? — Jesus — the Saviour — for thy sake death-smitten, Yesterday, now, and evermore — the same. He is the same ; with thee is the betraying ; From thee He hideth not, but thou from Him ; Once more to show Himself He is essaying, But faithless tears have made thine eyesight dim. Then once more raise thine eyes and look above thee ; When faith and memory in thine heart have met Then thou wilt know that still thy Lord doth love thee : Thou hast forgotten ; Christ doth not forget. THE CHRISTIAN'S SONG OF LIFE " For me to live is Christ," So wrote the old Apostle, knowing well The world's joys he had priced, And then had chosen fetters and a cell. The ruler of this world Offered his gifts ; he would not be enticed, But in one sentence hurled Them all away — " For me to live is Christ.' Once there had been a time When in the Crucified he saw no grace, — Moved not by the sublime Rapt ecstasy on dying Stephen's face. THE CHRISTIAN'S SONG OF LIFE But on that lonely road, Which led to. far Damascus, he was stayed By One who sadly showed To him the five wounds which his sin had made. " Saul, Saul," a sad voice said : "Who art Thou, Lord," the stricken Saul replied ; Then fell to earth as dead, Knowing at last the Lord he had defied. He died in that great hour ; The world's breath, which had been the life of Saul, Lost all its ancient power, And was but death : Christ was his life, his all. Yes ; and there was a day When I too thought the world had me sufficed ; Mine eyes were turned away, Nor saw the loving yearning face of Christ. THE CHRISTIAN'S SONG OF LIFE 89 I thought that I was strong, Nor needed I to beg for strength Divine ; So thought I, but ere long My Lord made weakness of that strength of mine. He made me weak, to show My fond heart how it might be strong at length ; His secret now I know, For in my weakness He is made my strength. I thought that I had life ; My blood flowed warm and quick, my heart beat high ; Foremost in every strife For mastery ; who was so proud as I ? Now indeed am I dead, Nay, rather, now alive to die no more ; My death is captive led ; Christ's life is mine ; 'twas death that reigned before. 90 THE CHRISTIAN'S SONG OF LIFE Yes ; and a solemn change Has overspread my world, for now, whene'er My wandering footsteps range To haunts that once were lone, my Lord is there. Oft in the busy street I hear a voice — I know He passes by ; And then, O moment sweet, To me, even to me, He draweth nigh. I see Him in my joy ; I see Him when mine eyes with tears are dim ; If the world me annoy, It cannot touch my life, 'tis hid in Him. O strangest of things strange, This sweet death, and this sweeter life of mine ; This death to chance and change, Life to the chanceless, changeless, the divine. _. THE CHRISTIAN'S SONG OF LIFE 91 What words of earthly lays Can magnify enough the life thus given, Which makes all earthly days Empty of earth, and earth itself a heaven ? What better words than these Which for the great Apostle once sufficed, The mystery of his peace To celebrate — " For me to live is Christ !" Lord Jesus, for this thing I thank Thee, that I now can speak with Paul ; Nay, I will rather sing, Speech is so poor, — " Christ is my life, my all." A HYMN OF BEAUTY WRITTEN FOR THE LITTLE ONES AT WINTERSDORF God of Beauty, Thou hast spread Beauty round us everywhere ; Not alone by daily bread Live we, but by all things fair. Father, Thou dost call the least Of Thy children to the feast. When on us Thy sun doth shine Fill our souls with heavenly light ; When descends the night divine And the stars are burning bright, As the stars oh let us be Faithful ministers of Thee. A HYMN OF BEAUTY 93 Waves the wind among the trees ; Let Thy Spirit on us blow ; We would feel the heavenly breeze, Which, our hearts rejoice to know, Is Thy quickening healing breath Which preserves our soul from death. In the hedgerows countless flowers Through the summer bud and bloom, Glorifying all the hours With their colour and perfume. Lord, we would delight Thine eyes, Make us flowers of Paradise. In the fields the little lambs Innocently frisk and play, While their loving watchful dams Bleat recall whene'er they stray. We, Thy lambs, would near Thy side,, Saviour, evermore abide. 94 A HYMN OF BEAUTY Beauty glows where'er we look ; All around, below, above, In the world's great open book Every page says "God is love." Heavenly Father, we would be Worthy of Thy world and Thee. As Thy beauty clasps us round Make us beautiful within ; May our hearts and lives be found Free from folly, pride, and sin. Then Thy stars and fields and flowers Shall indeed be truly ours. A HYMN FOR EVENING WRITTEN FOR THE GIRLS AT WINTERSDORF Lord Jesus, in the days of old Two walked with Thee in waning light, And love's blind instinct made them bold To crave Thy presence through the night ; As night descends we too would pray " Oh, leave us not at close of day !" Did not their hearts within them burn, And, though their Lord they failed to know, Did not their spirits inly yearn, They could not let the stranger go ; Much more must we who know Thee pray " Oh, leave us not at close of day !" 96 A HYMN FOR EVENING The hours of day are glad and good, And good the gifts Thy hand bestows,- The body's health, the spirit's food, And work, and after work repose ; We would not lose day's golden gains, So stay with us as daylight wanes. Perchance we have not always wist Who has been with us by the way ; Amid day's uproar we have missed Some word that Thou hast had to say ; In silent night, O Saviour dear, We would not fail Thy voice to hear. Yet if, like Cleopas and he, The twain who fared with clouded eyes, We see not that we walk with Thee, Then, Master, as a glad surprise, Break bread for us that we may know, And, knowing, pray Thee not to go. A HYMN FOR EVENING 97 tm Day is far spent and night is nigh, Stay with us, Saviour, through the night, Talk with us, touch us tenderly, Lead us to peace, to rest, to light ; Dispel our darkness with Thy face, Radiant with resurrection grace. Nor this night only, blessed Lord, We, every day and every hour, Would walk with Thee Emmausward To hear Thy voice of love and power ; And every night would by Thy side Look, listen, and be satisfied. H THE SHEPHERD AND THE LAMBS A PARABLE Unto the margin of the flowing river The Eastern shepherd leads his timid sheep ; He calls them on but they stand still and shiver, To them the stream seems wide, and swift, and deep. He calls them on, but they in fear are standing ; He calls them on, but on they dare not go ; They heed not now the voice of his commanding, They only heed the river's fearful flow. THE SHEPHERD AND THE LAMBS 99 Then from the side of one protecting mother A lamb the shepherd takes unto his breast ; And then he gently bends and takes another, And in his arms the two lambs lie at rest. They lie at rest, and, as he close enfolds them, He bears them safely o'er the river wide ; The little lambs know well the arm that holds them, They nestle warmly and are satisfied. Then the fond mothers, with maternal longing, Look on beyond that river's fearful flow ; They can but follow and, behind them thronging, Their fleecy comrades are in haste to go. Drawn by a love stronger than any shrinking, Their lambs they follow o'er the flowing tide ; They heed not now the swimming or the sinking, They brave the stream and reach the farther side. ioo THE SHEPHERD AND THE LAMBS And, while their tender shepherd kindly feeds them, They think no longer upon what hath been ; He gives them back their lambs and then he leads them By the still waters, through the pastures green. So shall it be with you, O weeping mother, Whose lamb the Lord has taken from your sight ; Tis He hath done it, He and not another, Your lamb lies in His arms clasped close and tight. Across the stream the little one is taken That you may fear no more the quick dark flow, But that with steadfast heart and faith unshaken You may be ready after it to go. This is the tender Shepherd's loving pleasure, To bless at once the little lamb and you : He knows that when with Him is your best treasure There fixed for ever will your heart be too. A LEGEND AND A LESSON On Salem's towers the sun shines bright, The Western sky is full of light, The white moon comes before the night. And while the sun is sinking low The hurrying crowds run to and fro, And toil-worn labourers homeward go. The Pharisee devout is there, The Naz'rite, with his unshorn hair, The Levite, come from evening prayer. But what is it detains the crowd ? Why ring those angry voices loud ? Why gathers on those brows the cloud ? 102 A LEGEND AND A LESSON Why shrinks the Pharisee in dread ? What turns away the Naz'rite's head ? A dog lies in the pathway — dead ! "The unclean beast ! how came it here?" The Levite asks : the people fear To see pollution brought so near. Each gazes with disgust and hate, Each whispers to his nearest mate, Each seems to dread some coming fate. Then One moves lonely through the throng ; With eyes divine He gazes long — Eyes in whose depths is seen no wrong. He gazes, and those eyes are bright With love's clear, calm, celestial light : — "Its teeth," He says, "as pearls are white !" A LEGEND AND A LESSON 103 And listening to that piercing word, They learned that hour that with the Lord No meanest creature is abhorred. And we may learn the lesson still, That in no ill thing all is ill, But he may see the good who will. We shape our lips in scornful curl, And from our pure proud presence hurl The thing in which He finds a pearl. Christ, touch our eyes that we may see With Thy true vision : may we be From loveless blindness ever free. Yea, blessed Lord, help us to learn Thy secret, that we may not turn From those for whom Thy love doth burn. WRITTEN IN MY FRIENDS' BOOKS In Poems of the Inner Life The poets of the spirit speak for all, And if by stretch of intervening space We three are severed, still the rhythmic word Of aspiration, yearning, faith and love Is yours and ours alike, and so this book Is bond between us. When you read some strain That speaks to? you, say "It is theirs as well," And, saying so, know that we three are one. In Poems by Edward Dowden A spirit strong and true and gentle speaks In this fair volume, whose good fate it is To find a quiet home with one whose ear Is kindred with the poet's heart and voice — Take it, dear friend ; 'tis his, 'tis ours, 'tis yours ;- Ours most in being his and yours as well. In William Sharp's Sonnets of this Century The Sonnet, say the poets, is a plot Of ground, a wave, the coin of a king : Which metaphor you choose it matters not, 'Tis in plain prose a good and pleasant thing. In a propitious hour, to cosy nook, O sonnet lover, take this little book : When greatness wearies — then, and only then Turn to such smaller fry as J. A. N. In The Golden Butterfly, by Walter Besant and James Rice Take, dear friend, this book we read together In the quiet of the heavenly April, When you took us from the fret and fever, Loosed the burden which had grown so heavy, Brought us here into the peace and stillness Of the tranquil fields and lakes and mountains, Where Winander sleeps, and where the sunsets O'er the Langdales give a glimpse of heaven. While we read the pages of the story How our laughter rang, yet sometimes IN "THE GOLDEN BUTTERFLY" in ' By the might of simple grace and beauty Tears were almost won from their hid fountains. Those were good, glad hours, and so, we pray you, Keep the volume as a little relic Of the time, and of the friends who love you. MlDDLERIGG, 27 (/l April 1886. In my Wife's Copy of the Same Book Dearest, to you and us this book is not As other books, for in your inmost heart And ours it stands alone. In this sweet spot We read the tale together, and 'tis part Of the fair memory of a bygone day That is not dead but lives with us for aye. MlDDLERIGG, TROUTBECK. 1 To my Wife, on her Birthday, in The Chap- lain of the Fleet, by the same Authors In sad times long ago, dear wife, You read aloud this tale to me ; To-day, when once again our life Is glad, I give the book to thee. May many birthdays so divine In future years be thine and mine. To my Wife, on the Twelfth Anniversary of our Wedding-Day, Written in All Sorts and Conditions of Men, by Walter Besant This author called his tale "impossible,'' And yet, O dearest one, I know full well, With twelve years' knowledge, how love's magic might Can make of home a Palace of Delight. In a Selection from the Poems of Wordsworth Of all heaven's gifts what shall we choose as best ? This poet's happy dower of Faith and Rest. IN MEMORIAM PHILIP ON PHILIP'S TOMBSTONE Keep him, Lord Christ, close to Thy loving bosom ; Lift up the hiding veil, and let us see The little face, fair as a fresh spring blossom, Then bring us one day to our boy and Thee. TO PHILIP IN HEAVEN My boy, on this sweet silent autumn even, I sit and muse upon a bygone joy ; Joy there is still for thee with Christ in heaven, Sorrow on earth for me, my boy, my boy. Is it all joy ? Doth not some childish longing Cloud thy dear face of sweetness past compare ; Even with loving angels round thee thronging Dost thou not want thy father with thee there ? " Papa ! mamma !" I seem to hear thee crying Amid the swelling of the angels' song ; O dost thou hear my call to thee replying, " Be patient, darling, we will not be long !" TO PHILIP IN HEAVEN 121 We do but wait to hear the welcome calling Of Christ's dear voice which won thee from our side ; We wait the summons from the heavens down-falling, "Come and with Me and him for aye abide." Time us from thee and thee from us dost sever, But time shall know a death thou hast not known, — A death which lasts through all the great for ever Of love that we shall spend before the throne. So now, my boy, on this sweet autumn even, I will gaze forward to the coming joy, — To years that have no end with God in heaven, With Christ, thy mother, thee, my boy, my boy. RELICS: A MOTHER'S TRIOLET This is the whip my sweet boy had And wooden horse he loved to ride ; Why do they mock and call me mad ? This is the whip my sweet boy had. He comes each night, my little lad, But morning takes him from my side ; This is the whip my sweet boy had And wooden horse he loved to ride. AUTUMN 1885 Yes, Autumn comes again and finds me here, Last year I thought I should be otherwhere Than 'mid these fading falling leaves ; for there, Beneath life's tree whose leaves are never sere But green throughout the great eternal year I thought to lie, and breathe the tranquil air. And see my boy who, being for earth too fair, Is fairer still in that celestial sphere. Perchance for me his little heart did yearn ; Haply to meet me at the golden gate He oft would wander, stand awhile, and turn Away to cry, " My father lingers late." Content thee, little one ; my heart doth burn For thee as thine for me, but God says "Wait !" SONNETS A CHARACTER— AND A QUESTION A dubious, strange, uncomprehended life, A roll of riddles with no answer found, A sea-like soul which plummet cannot sound, Torn with belligerent winds at mutual strife. The god in him hath taken unto wife A daughter of the pit, and, — strongly bound In coils of snake-like hair about him wound — Dies, straining hard to raise the severing knife. For such a sunken soul what room in heaven ? For such a soaring soul what place in hell ? Can these desires be damned, these doings shriven, Or in some lone mid-region must he dwell For ever ? Lo ! God sitteth with the seven Stars in His hand, and shall not He judge well ? GEORGE ELIOT CHRISTMAS EVE, 1880 Thy prayer is granted : thou hast joined the Choir Invisible ; the Choir whose music makes Life's discords grow to harmonies, and takes Us unawares with sounds that are as fire And light and melody in one. We tire Of weary noon and night, of dawn that breaks Only to bring again the cares, the aches, The meannesses that drag us to the mire : When lo ! amid life's din we catch thy clear Large utterance from the lucid upper air, Bidding us wipe away the miry stain, And scale the stainless stars, and have no fear Save the one dread of forfeiting our share In the deep joy that follows noble pain. ONLY A WOMAN'S HAIR "Only a woman's hair V—Dean Swift. "A special despatch to the Tagblatt states that Wagner's body was laid in the coffin at half- past twelve by the widow herself, who last night cut off the beautiful hair her husband so admired, and placed it in a red satin cushion under the head of the departed." — Standard, 17th February 1883. " Only a woman's hair !" We may not guess If 'twere a mocking sneer, or the sharp cry Of a great heart's o'ermastering agony That spake in these four words. Nevertheless, One thing we know, — that the long clinging tress Had lived with Stella's life in days gone by, And, she being dead, lived on to testify Of Love's victorious everlastingness. K 13° ONLY A WOMAN'S HAIR Such love, O mute musician, doth provide For thy dear head's repose a pillow rare : With red of heart's blood is the covering dyed, While underneath — canst thou not feel it there ?- The rippling wavy wealth that was thy pride, Now Love's last gift— "Only a woman's hair." BARREN DAYS What of these barren days which bring no flowers To gladden with fair tints and odours sweet, — No fruits that with their virgin bloom entreat Violence from rose-red lips that in dim bowers Pout with a thirsty longing ? Summer showers Softly but vainly fall about my feet, The air is languid with the summer heat That warms in vain : — what of these barren hours ? I know not : I can wait nor haste to know, The daily vision serves the daily need ; It may be some revealing hour shall show That while my sad sick heart did inly bleed Because no blossom came nor fruit did grow An angel hand had sowed celestial seed. BACCHUS FOR A PAINTING OF THE GOD Yes, there is he, the wine-god, there the face Our poet sang of once as ever fair And young ; I see the lofty look, the godlike air, Which hint of high Olympus, but I trace Not less a haunting humanness of grace ; And though no faintest lines of earthly care Mar the divine, calm countenance, yet there A human gladness seems to find a place. The gladness of the vineyard and the vine, The gladness of the festal flower-crowned bowl, The gladness of fair maidens as they twine Garlands and sing glad songs from a glad soul. What face more truly human, more benign ? But lo ! around his head the aureole. LIFE AND DEATH AND LOVE Three strange shapes wandered through my waking dream, The first a ruddy youth, lusty and strong, Who laughed and leaped and sang a joyous song, With glance upturned to brave noon's blinding beam. The last shape, veiled from head to foot, did seem The swift avenger of some nameless wrong, And, the veil parting as he passed along, His eyes met mine with chill Medusa gleam. Between these twain a fair boy, chapleted With strange flowers gathered in some mystic grove, Who touched a viol softly, while he fled From the veiled form behind, and ever strove To join the youth before him. Then I said Surely these three are Life and Death and Love. AUT CiESAR AUT NULLUS Caesar or nothing ! Brother say not so ; By such mad speech thou dost thy spirit wrong : Such words are not for thee who art too strong, Manly and true to let thy soul sink low, Missing the highest. There is bitter woe For every son of man who turns his back On his ideal : therefore, though the track Lead to no regal goal, still onward go. Not thine to fix how high thy state shall be, Not thine, perchance, to feel the Caesar crown Clasping thine upturned brow ; thou ne'er may'st see The purple from thy shoulders falling down ; But it is thine to live right royally, King of thyself, and gain a king's renown. POETRY— AND POETRY Deep in the wood upon a bank I lay Reading a poet's verses in a nook Fit for a fairy revel ; but the book Fell from my hand ere long ; the ceaseless play Of glancing sunlight which did never stay A moment on each leaf, the sleepy hum Of insects, all the sights and sounds that come To woodland wanderers drew my mind away. Those written poems seemed all incomplete, For in all things around — sky, trees and lake, Which glittered far below — there seemed to beat A heart that throbbed as if 'twould almost break With God's own poetry, sublime and sweet : I heard as in a dream nor cared to wake. LIFE IN NATURE It cannot surely be that they are dead — Those far-off hills on which the sunshine broods ; These tangled trees ; that lake whose varying moods Of deep still calm or sudden tempest shed Strange influence. I gaze, and I am led Out of myself; there seems in them a life Which answers unto mine, and the wild strife Which stirred my soul an hour ago has fled. Oh ! that for once this dulled and deadened ear Might be attuned to catch their mystic speech ; But I am bound by sense, and only hear The lake waves plashing on the pebbly beach ; And, though all nature lives and speaks, I fear Her deepest wisdom lies just out of reach. THE THREADS OF LIFE What things have made me what I am to-day ? What threads cast cunningly across the loom Of circumstance by the quick hand of Doom Have wrought into the pattern tints so gay And colours dull and sober ; gold and gray ; Here strange designs worked in with threads of gloom And here white blossoms full of fresh sweet bloom As hawthorn-blossom from the woods in May ? Some threads I see ; I find them one by one ; Thoughts I have welcomed, words that I have said, The deeds both fair and foul that I have done — These make the pattern o'er the fabric spread : And though from Memory's grasp some threads are gone One day they too shall be remembered. LOVE'S DAY This is Love's house, and this Love's hour of bliss : Through the dark grove her windows shine like stars ; List to those flute-players, mark well the bars Of that sweet prelude, each note like a kiss, That longer grows and tenderer till you miss The music in the passion. Nothing jars On soul or sense ; no fateful boding mars Joy's perfectness : what end shall be of this ?• Love hath her day, but Love's day vanisheth ; Vacant her chambers now, below, above ; Her flutes no longer breathe melodious breath ; Dark are her windows now as is the grove ; And echoes of the falling feet of Death Reverberate through the empty house of Love. SELF REVELATION Thy tears are vain, dear friend, thou canst not yet With all thy toil set to articulate words Thy nature's music — canst not make its chords To any listener audible. Eyes wet As thine with this same sorrow oft have met Mine with sad yearning for an answering glance Of insight ; then a wild look cast askance At the deep gulph that is between us set. The gulph remains, 'tis best it should remain, That while this foul clay-clothing wraps us round Our brethren's eyes should evermore be dim As they gaze on us ; but when free from stain We rise, and in Christ's likeness pure are found, We can reveal ourselves to them — and Him. TWO SIDES OF A LOVE I Dearest, a dreadful fear clouds my sad soul, A fear that I have striven to put away From me, and yet it grows from day to day. Hourly I hear a bell that seems to toll The knell of my great bliss. Over me roll Dark waves of terror. O God, can it be That I, who with sweet tears have praised Thee For his deep love, have lured him to a shoal And wrecked his life ? I would not have thee waste Thy days, O dear one ; I would have thee taste TWO SIDES OF A LOVE 141 life's cup of blessing ; for thou knowest well How little I can give thee ; thou dost lose By love that brings but sorrow, therefore choose The fuller life, the joys that in it dwell. II My love for thee, O loved one, is no waste Of life. Nay, only in that love I find My fullest deepest life, while far behind Lie lifeless days which one by one did haste Away from me unused ; days all defaced By weakness and by folly, oft by sin ; But when I met thee these dull days did win A novel glory ; they were then first graced By heavenly colouring ; their poisonous gray Was changed to a rich crimson by a ray Of God's light shining through thee. Unto Him I offer praise for ever Who has given Thee unto me, with thee a present heaven, And a fair foresight of the seraphim. SEEKING REST Thus saith my soul : — The path is long to tread, Behind me far it stretches, far before ; Drearily, wearily, sight travels o'er Leagues that have lengthened as the slow days sped, And wearily o'er leagues untraversed, Which I must traverse ere I gain the door That shuts not night or day. What need I more Than to find rest at last in that last bed? Is it well said, O soul ? The way is long ; Weary are heart and brain and aching feet ; But though thy heart be weary it is strong, And sleep unearned is shameful ; so entreat One thing — that at the last the conqueror's song May lull thee to a rest divinely sweet. LOVE AND DEATH SONNET FOR A PAINTING BY G. F. WATTS, R.A. This is the house of Life, and at its door Young Love keeps anxious watch, while outside stands One who with firm importuning demands An entrance. Strange is he, but Love with lore Taught by quick terror names him Death ; and o'er Love's face there comes a cloud, and the small hands Would bar the door ; for he from loveless lands Is foe to Love, now and for evermore. Nay, not for evermore ! Love is but young, And young Love sees alone what youth ca?i see : With age Love's vision grows more clear and strong, And he discerns that this same Death whom he Had thought his foe, striving to do him wrong, Comes with the gift of immortality. LOVE AND ABSENCE Let it not grieve thee, dear, to hear me say Tis false that absence maketh the fond heart More fond ; that when alone and far apart From thee, I love thee more from day to day. Not so ; for then my heart would ever pray For longer separation, that I might In absence from thee gain the utmost height Of love unrealised ; nor would I stay In my swift course, but onward I would press, Until I touched with eager hand the goal Of possible passion. Did I love thee less, Then might I love thee more ; but now my soul Is filled throughout with perfect tenderness : No part of me thou hast, but the full whole. A PROBLEM A pedant's problem, empty, sterile, dull, I set my heart to solve : — whether in those Fair and delightsome things the spirit knows As things of beauty — say, the flowers we cull In gracious gardens at the noonday lull, The babe's first smile, or daylight's solemn close,- Beauty's true essence dwells in these fair shows Or in the soul that sees them beautiful. From such dull task my heart shall now be free ; What gain in asking riddles o'er and o'er That never by man's wit can answered be ? Away with pedant questions ; love's own lore Feeds love's own hunger, and, dear Love, in thee Beauty's sweet self I find, and seek no more. L A SUPREME HOUR The bounteous Summer gives to me a day Long waited for, long known in dim sweet dreams : Now 'tis a dream no more, and yet it seems As if the hour and I were far away, — As if with soundless footfall I did stray Through a strange land whose sun sheds ghostly gleams On misty hills, dark valleys, sleeping streams, And shapes with shadowy life, not sad nor gay. 'Tis ever thus in hours whose running sands Each tell a joy new-born with every breath ; The full soul pants to burst its being's bands, And so, to seize the bliss that vanisheth, Life stands on tip-toe, and her outstretched hands Clasp the down-reaching hands of Sleep and Death. NOTE The set of verses entitled " One Evening" is reprinted from CasselPs Family Magazine ; and the Author expresses his thanks to Messrs. Cassell & Co., to whom the copyright belongs, for kind permission to include it in this volume. s< Printed by R. & R. Clark, Edinburgh. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. I M N2ne$ JAN 21 Form L9-50m-7, '54 (5990)444 -£110- llex^&s- N667A17 prose-writer. 3 1158 00656 44Z PR 5110 N667A17 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 374 369 7 -. ■ . - ■ .A 'ft ' " - . ■' • . -. ■■- .