8 10 ilifornia ;ional ility THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES \ Sr THE Sjt(ME JIUTHOT^ POEMS. Fcap. 8vo. Boards. 5^. net. [Out of Print. LYRICS. Fcap. 8vo. Buckram. 5J. net. "His singular chirm lies in the loving and lovable particularity with which he looks upon nature. . . . An impre^sive temperament and personality so reveal themselves, though vifith reticence and dignity, making a true music out of their circumstances." — Academy . " When Mr. Benson pleases us most we say, ' This almost worthy of Matthew Arnold-'" — Daily Chronicle. Lord Vyet AND OTHER POEMS LORD VYET AND OTHER POEMS BY ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON Of Eton College TeXevratov 8e iravrtov ^vVLIC^TION Friend^ of my infinite dreams Little enough endures ; Little howe'er it seems^ It is yours^ all yours. Fame hath a fleeting breathy Hopes may be frail or fond ; But Love shall be Love till death^ t^nd perhaps beyond. 759529 CONTENTS Dedication -----r.-v Prelude ---......j Lord Vyet - - - _ ,■. . . , The Siren ----•-..g A Trio ------ ...o The Railway ' ' ~ • • • - . in The Mower ^ " Live-Bait --16 The Shepherd -----. ..tR One by One 21 When Punctual Dawn - 27 The Earth Hath Drunk Deep - - • - - 24 In Eton Churchyard- ■ • - - - . 26 The Artist in Church "-■--- 28 My Old Friend . ^i The Owl - - ^ The Ringdove ----....^5 The Cat 2^ The Hawk ----.._ .^ 42 vii CONTENTS PAGE The Barbel 43 The Wishing Well 45 Jack-in-the-Box .-.-.-.47 The Phoenix 49 Evensong 5^ SONNETS Self S3 Keats 57 Victory ...--.-.-58 The Pursuit 59 The Gentian 60 The Grasshopper - - - - - - -61 Utterance .--------62 Anniversaries -..-..■-63 The Long Sleep ... - - - 64 The Message 65 Rest 66 The Poet 67 O Lacrimarum Pons ------- 68 Indolence ---------69 Prid. Kal. Oct. 70 Death 71 Envoi .- .-72 viii TT{eLUT>e Hushed is each busy shout : The reverent people ivait, To see the sacred pomp stream out Beside the temple-gate. The bull with garlands hungy Stern priests in vesture grim : With rolling voices swiftly sung Peals out the jocund hymn. In front y behind ^ beside^ Beneath the chiming towers^ Pass boys that fling the censer wide^ And striplings scattering flowers. I B PRELUDE V'lSi'tm or minister I dare not claim to he^ But in the concourse and the stir. There shall be room for me. The vidlim feels the stroke: The priests are bowed in prayer : — I feed the porch with fragrant smoke. Strew roses on the stair. LORD VYET What, must my lord be gone ? Command his horse, and call The servants, one and all. " Nay, nay, I go alone." ^ My Lord, I shall unfold Thy cloak of sables rare To shield thee from the air '. " Nay, nay, I must be cold." At least thy leech I'll tell Some drowsy draught to make, Less thou should toss awake. " Nay, nay, I shall sleep well." 3 B — 2 LORD VYET My lady keeps her bower : — I hear the lute delight The dark and frozen night, High up within the tower. Wilt thou that she descend ? Thy son is in the hall, Tossing his golden ball, Shall he my lord attend ? " Nay, sirs, unbar the door, The broken lute shall fall; My son will leave his ball To tarnish on the floor." Yon bell to triumph rings ! To greet thee, monarchs wait Beside their palace gate. " Yes, I shall sleep with kings," 4 LORD VYET My lord will soon alight With some rich prince, his friend, Who shall his ease attend. " I shall lodge low to-night." My lord hath lodging nigh ? " Yes, yes, I go not far, — And yet the furthest star Is not so far as I." THE SIREN Rest thee in a field of fountains: Wanderer, wilt thou further go ? Range the large and lonely mountains ? ^'Ah, no, no!" Here the welling wave shall stren2:then Thee, to brave the further stress ; Rest thee, till the shadows lengthen : — "Ah, yes, yes! " See, the angry sun grows stronger, Faintly smiles the weary day; Wanderer, rest a little longer; Ah, stay, stay ! THE SIREN See, the place of storms, the hated Ridge, with high and hungry crest : Thou art even now belated : So rest, rest ! •■) " Nay, alas ! I fear to lose me In the hot land's drowsy breath : But a dreadful voice pursues me Saying ' Death, Death,' " Through the wide and wintry heaven, To the aching vales of frost. Where the wind shall wail at even, Crying ' Lost, Lost.' " A TRIO I, and the Bird, And the Wind together. Sang a supplication In the winter weather. The Bird sang for sunshine. And trees of winter fruit, And love in the spring-time. When the thickets shoot. And I sang for patience When the teardrops, start : Clean hands and clear eyes. And a faithful heart. 8 1 A TRIO And the Wind thereunder, As we faintly cried, Breathed a bass of wonder, Blowing deep and wide. THE RAILWAY Upon the iron highway, wreathed in smoke, Or East or West the clanking engine reels, The weary dust spins onward at the stroke Of half-a-hundred wheels. It comes, the breathless driver staring straight Through misty eye-holes, with the sudden gleam Of burnished dome, and cranks of ponderous weight, And clouds of hissing steam. Old countrymen, that trudge from new-ploughed lands, lO THE RAILWAY And on high bridges stay their weary feet, See faces flashed beneath them, waving hands That may not stay to greet. Or slow, with hollow blast and wealthy din, By wide-armed signals creeps the laden train, High vans with shuddering jolt, and clinking pin, And hiss of clattering chain. Wide-eyed, affrighted cattle, meek and still : And murky coal for city folk to burn, And dusty blocks hewed from some Western hill, And wreathed in twisted fern. But best of all, when, in the sullen night, Along the dim embankment, hung in air, Shoots the red streamer, linked with cheerful light j The wide- flung furnace-glare II THE RAILWAY Lights the dim hedges and the rolling steam: — Then passes, and in narrowing distance dies. Tracked by the watchful lanterns' lessening gleam — Two red resentful eyes. And some are borne to dim and alien shores, And some return to merriment and home : — These, while the train through slumbering homestead roars Thrill with delight : — and some Fly from the horror that their hands have wrought. And shudder, as the shivering engine reels ; They fly, but falter: one red-throated thought Pants ever at their heels. 12 THE MOWER Whet thy scythe, mower, Though thy hand swing slow. The sun falls lower. And the shadows grow. How the white blade flashes In the steady sun ! All the dinted slashes Tell the death of one. Field-flower and clover. Sword-grass seeded high, Summer dreams are over. Side by side they lie. 13 THE MOWER Winds above them lying Stir with fragrant feet ; Who would shrink from dying If death smelt so sweet ? From the sturdy shoulder Let the scythe be swung; Soon the blade shall moulder, In the granary hung. Iron steeds of battle Snort o'er humming farms : Hear them clink and rattle, Lifting solemn arms ! Whet thy scythe bolder, Evening comes apace : One with scythe on shoulder Runs a rival race. H THE MOWER Through the whispering grasses Let the bright blade ring ; Ere the good time passes, Mower, stride and swing. 15 LIVE-BAIT The weir was fragrant, with the scent Of falling streams and trailing weeds ; The careful angler leaned intent, And cast his net beyond the reeds : Three silvery dace imprisoned there Were dragged all gasping to the air. One from the dripping net he took. And squeezed his tender body hard. And pierced him with his cruel hook That all his limber mouth was marred: Then cast him where the stream gushed out To be a bait for Master Trout. i6 LIVE-BAIT So all that golden afternoon He strove and swam — now dangled high, Now plunged afresh : and oh, so soon As he hath gained his liberty, Must swing and flicker, sorely spent Within the dazzling firmament. At evensong he sobbed and died. I know not ! but did God forget That day upon the water side ? Or cast him sternly in the net ? Oh broken dreams, oh cruel lot ! Would I could think that God forgot ! 17 THE SHEPHERD The shepherd is an ancient man, His bacic is bent, his foot is slow ; Although the heavens he doth not scan. He scents what winds shall blow. His face is like the pippin, grown Red ripe, in frosty suns that shone ; 'Tis hard and wrinkled, as a stone The rains have rained upon. When tempests sweep the dripping plain, He stands unmoved beneath the hedge, And sees the columns of the rain. The storm-cloud's shattered edge. i8 THE SHEPHERD When frosts among the misty farms Make crisp the surface of the loam. He shivering claps his creaking arms, But would not sit at home. Short speech he hath for man and beast j Some fifty words are all his store. Why should his language be increased I He hath no need for more. There is no change he doth desire. Of far-off lands he hath not heard ;. Beside his wife, before the fire, He sits, and speaks no word. He holds no converse with his kind, On birds and beasts his mind is bentj He knows the thoughts that stir their mind. Love, hunger, hate, content. 19 c — 2 THE SHEPHERD Of kings and wars he doth not hear. He tells the seasons that have been By stricken oaks and hunted deer, And strange fowl he has seen. In Church, some muttering he doth make, Well-pleased when hymns harmonious rise He doth not strive to overtake The hurrying litanies. He hears the music of the wind. His prayer is brief, and scant his creed ; The shadow, and what lurks behind. He doth not greatly heed. 20 ONE BY ONE One by one, as evening closes, Droop the flowers that drank the sun; See, they sleep, my weary roses. One by one: Never did I bend above you, O my flowers, while all was bright ; There is time, I said, to love you Ere the night. You were neither watched nor tended. Fevered thoughts were mine instead, Now the weary day is ended; — You are dead. 21 ONE BY ONE Now I come in dumb disorder, Seek and search, in wild regret. If one rose in bed or border Wakens yet. Nay, they slumber till the morrow! Hasten homewards : bar the gate. Through the cold dark hours of sorrow I will wait. 22 WHEN PUNCTUAL DAWN When pun6lual dawn came o'er the hill, In orange veiled and tender blue, Wan in the dark field gleamed the rill, The dusky hedge was gemmed with dew. And patient sheep from folded feet Rose one by one, alert for food. And one by one, so small and sweet. The flattened grass-stems stirred and stood. And I too rose, and stepping down Drank deep the invigorating air. And scanned the little sleeping town, And thanked my God that I was there. 23 "THE EARTH HATH DRUNK DEEP" The earth hath drunk deep Of the rains of God : When men were asleep. On the thirsty sod, On the dusty town, Most silent and steep Did the rain leap down. And the delicate stems Of the grass are clean, And the elders are green, And the rose is brimmed with gems. 24 ' THE EARTH HATH DRUNK DEEP My heart hath drunk deep Of the wine of God : When men were asleep Were the dark grapes trode, And the acrid must — Oh ! the draught was deep — To my lips was thrust : — Shadows and fears Were the bitter part Of the craven heart, And the cup was brimmed with tears. 25 IN ETON CHURCHYARD In and out I tread the slender Paths that wind by grave and grave ; In the summer breeze the tender Grasses wave. Jackdaws cheerily hallooing From the turret's dizzy edge : Glossy doves serenely cooing From their ledge. Through the stillness, faint and dreamy, Comes the murmur of the town. Where the thorn tree shakes her creamy Petals down. 26 IN ETON CHURCHYARD Brothers, sisters, silent lying, Ere you breathed the last long breath, Were you too afraid of dying. Not of death ? Do you walk unseen beside us ? Prompt, applaud our dreams of good ? Would you comfort, warn us, guide us, If you could ? Children, tired of idle jesting. Locked in dear embraces weep : Sink reluftant, sink protesting Into sleep. Tho' the host that none can number Greet upon the joyful shore, I should be content to slumber Evermore. 27 THE ARTIST IN CHURCH Lord Christ, hast Thou no word for me, Thou high and humble soul ? Thine ailing creatures turn to Thee From their abiding misery. And wonder, and are whole. Strong words Thou hast for knave and king, For publican and priest. For flowers that bloom, and birds that sing. For every small or suffering thing, Sad man and patient beast : For us with our awakened eyes. With skilled and careful hands, 28 THE ARTIST IN CHURCH Who harvest from the sunset skies A sense of gracious mysteries, Thou hast no dear commands ? Hath Thomas faith, hath Peter zeal, Hath Paul his words of fire ? Not less imperiously I feel, Not less insistently I kneel Before my pure desire. Ay, I can preach Thee, I can trace, With firm and strenuous line, The awful splendours of the Face, The shrouded effluence of the grace Too urgently Divine. Lo in our eyes the tear-drops start, We swim in stormy seas : Hast Thou within Thine ample heart, 29 THE ARTIST IN CHURCH No shelter for the sons of art, No room for such as these ? Or wert Thou silent of design, Because Thy thought was cold ? Doth love of word, of hue, of line. Sequester from Thy power divine, Dissociate from Thy fold ? words of Power, O gracious deeds ! When Thou didst dwell with men, Thou didst divine their deepest needs : 1 marvel, and my spirit bleeds That Thou wast silent then. 30 MY OLD FRIEND It seems the world was always bright With some divine unclouded weather, When we, with hearts and footsteps light, By lawn and river walked together : There was no talk of me and you, Of theories with fafts to bound them, We were content to be and do, And take our fortunes as we found them. We spoke no wistful words of love, No hint of sympathy and dearness. Only around, beneath, above. There ran a swift and subtle nearness. 31 MY OLD FRIEND Each inmost thought was known to each By some impetuous divination : We found no need of flattering speech, Content with silent admiration. I think I never touched your hand, I took no heed of face or feature. Only, I thought, on sea or land Was never such a gracious creature. It seems I was not hard to please, Where'er you led I needs must follow ; For strength you were my Hercules, For wit and lustre my Apollo. The years flew onward : stroke by stroke They clashed from the impartial steeple, And we appear to other folk A pair of ordinary people. 32 MY OLD FRIEND One word, old friend : though fortune flies, If hope should fail — till death shall sever — In one dim pair of faithful eyes You seem as bright, as brave as ever. 33 THE OWL When the winds overhead were sweeping, And the whole loud woodland was astir, You were perched, like a weary hermit, sleeping In a dark tangled fork of the fir. But at last when the tired wind was winging To the edge of the smouldering light, Your laughter, wild and horrible, came ringing And sent a sudden chill through the night. You laughed, demoniacally dreaming Of the rush of the startled mouse. When you with your grey wmg gleaming Sweep low o'er his heathery house. 34 THE OWL And quiet woodland things without number, Who were couched in bracken and in brake, Shivered chill, on the edge of slumber, At the thought of a wicked thing awake. Thrice you turned your horned head in the shadow. And blinked with impenetrable eyes. Then out over copse and misty meadow You swept under shrouded skies. The bell beat one in the village, With the firelight red in the room, As you came and went, to slay and to pillage. With your soft wing flapping in the gloom. 35 D— 2 THE RINGDOVE Grey dove, that croonest in the solemn fir, Lost in unutterable, deep content. Soon will the drowsy forest be astir, Soon will the loud wind thunder imminent. But while the shadows lengthen, while the light Slants from the West across the red-stemmed grove. Croon thy soft lay of intimate delight. Of rapturous solitude, and gracious love. Thou from the branching- fastness canst discern The woodways winding green, the island knolls Crowned with tall oaks, and rimmed with rusty fern, 36 THE RINGDOVE The beeches, with their plain and rounded boles, Widespreading, over smooth and crackling floors ; The chestnuts splashed with golden bravery. The pine, a slender pyramid, that soars With velvet greenness to the freer sky. Croon as thou wilt : no enemy is near : Close for awhile thy proud and wary eyes, Speak to my heart, while yet I linger near. Thy patient peace, thy languorous mysteries. Left to herself, how musical of mood The world's old heart, beside her chosen shore ! The din, the shattering tumult, and the rude Thunder of battle should be heard no more. No more the wild uproarious thirst of life. The din of words whose purpose is the same : 37 THE RINGDOVE The weary enmities, the feverous strife, Here in this peace are nothing but a name. Peace, strenuous peace, is thine and mine to-day, Sedatest energy, divine desire, This be my part in thy unconscious lay, — Strongly to iiope and softly to aspire. 38 THE CAT On some grave business, soft and slow Along the garden-paths you go, With bold and burning eyes : Or stand, with twitching tail, to mark What starts and rustles in the dark, Among the peonies. The dusty cockchafer that springs Upon the dusk with whirring wings, The beetle glossy-horned, The rabbit pattering through the fern, May frisk unheeded, by your stern Preoccupation scorned. You go, and when the morning dawns O'er blowing trees and dewy lawns, 39 THE CAT Dim-veiled with gossamer, When cheery birds are on the wing, You creep, a wild and wicked thing, With stained and starting fur. You all day long, beside the fire, Retrace in dreams your dark desire. And mournfully complain. In grave displeasure, if I raise Your languid form to pet or praise ; — And so to sleep again. The gentler hound, that near me lies. Looks up with true and tender eyes, And waits my generous mirth ; You do not woo me, but demand A gift from my unwilling hand, A tribute to your worth. 40 THE CAT You loved me when the fire was warm, But now I stretch a fondling arm, You eye me and depart. Cold eyes, sleek skin, and velvet paws, You win my indolent applause. You do not win my heart. 41 THE HAWK The hawk slipt out of the pine, and rose in the sunlit air: Steady and still he poised ^ his shadow slept on the grass: And the bird's song sickened and sank: she cowered with furtive stare Dumb, till the quivering dimness should flicker and shift and pass. Suddenly down he dropped : she heard the hiss of his wing. Fled with a scream of terror : oh, would she had dared to rest ! For the hawk at eve was full, and there was no bird to sing, And over the heather drifted the down from a bleeding breast. 42 THE BARBEL Bearded Barbel, swimming deep In the cool translucent gloom, Poised in contemplative sleep. In your liquid moving room : Where the watery gleams transfuse Coated rush and sleek strong reed, Up the swaying avenues, Rimmed with plumed and velvet weed Bearded Barbel, you survey Hour by hour the pebbly floor : Have you ne'er a wish to stray Wider from the willowy shore ? 43 THE BARBEL Have you ne'er a wilful wonder Whence the dancing bubbles gleam, Whence the broad weir's drowsy thunder Mutters down the murmuring stream ? Bearded Barbel, be content ! Your dim world is small and sweet ; Let your safer merriment Laugh to scorn our restless feet. If your curious wilful greed Tempt you, ah the illusive gleam ! You will suffer, you will bleed, Writhing in the troubled stream. Sweeps a wild bewildering glare ; Gleams your silver mail beneath : Then the thin and acid air Chokes your faint and sobbing breath. 44 THE WISHING WELL Yes, here's the place : the meadow thick with rushes, The gravelly hill, the elms beside the pool, Here through the dancing sand it jets and gushes, Divinely clear and cool. Now must I kneel and set my palms together, — So runs the rite, — and then, devoutly bowed, Face down the wind, so it be windy weather. Then speak my wish aloud. No vague desires, virtue and health combining, Not love — but one inevitable name. Not wealth, but cash — describing and defining The very coin I claim. 45 THE WISHING WELL Then O bright hope, with no success to dim it, Vast vague desires, of you I dare not think ! Dear boundless dreams I must curtail and limit ! Nay, nay ! I will not drink. 46 JACK IN THE BOX The bolt is slipped, the wiry rings Release their struggling mystery : The merry monster, out he springs. With whiskered cheek and cheery eye! He leaps and claps his cymballed hands, Then still in frozen silence stands. Come, cram the ruddy rascal down, Thrust pointed chin on springy breast : No matter, let him fret and frown, Within his cedarn prison prest: Through hours of anguish let him gain New strength to spring and clap again. When Epimetheus half undid Pandora's box in surly greed, 47 JACK IN THE BOX Slipping from out the lifted lid, Came darling dream^ and pretty deed. And fifty sweet imaginings With beaded eyes and filmy wings. " For shame, for shame," Prometheus cried, " Dear silly brother, they are sped : — Nay throw the vacant casket wide, It prisons one ethereal head : Still nestling in the fragrant dusk Lies hope, a frail and faded husk." Spring up, and clap thy nimble hands, O irrepressible delight ! At thy light-hearted shrill demands Our burdened hearts grow strong and bright : Though faith wax faint and love take wing, Unreasoning hope shall leap and sing. 48 THE PHCENIX By feathers green, across Casbeen, The pilgrims track, the Phcenix flown, By gems he strewed in waste and wood, And jewelled plumes at random thrown. Till wandering far, by moon and star. They stand beside the fruitful pyre, Whence breaking bright with sanguine light. The impulsive bird forgets his sire. Those ashes shine like ruby wine, Like bag of Tyrian murex spilt. The claw, the jowl of the flying fowl Are with the glorious anguish gilt. 49 B THE PHCENIX So rare the light, so rich the sight, Those pilgrim men, on profit bent. Drop hands and eyes and merchandise, And are with gazing most content. 50 EVENSONG Thrush, sing clear, for the spring is here Sing, for the summer is near, is near, All day long thou hast plied thy song. Hardly hid from the hurrying throng; Now the shade of the trees is laid Down the meadow and up the glade : Now when the air grows cool and rare Birds of the cloister fall to prayer : Here is the bed of the patient dead, Shoulder by shoulder, head by head. Sweet bells swing in the tower, and ring Men to worship before their King. 51 E. — 2 EVENSONG See they come as the grave bells hum, Restless voices awhile are dumb : More and more on the sacred floor Feet that linger about the door : Sweet sounds swim through the vaulting dim, Psalm and canticle, vesper hymn. That is the way that mortals pray : Which is the sweeter ? brown bird, say ! Which were best for me ? both are blest j Sing thy sweetest and leave the rest. 52 SELF This is my chiefest torment, that behind This brave and subtle spirit, this swift brain. There sits and shivers, in a cell of pain, A central atom, melancholy, blind. Which is myself: tho' when spring suns are kind, And rich leaves riot in the genial rain, I cheat him dreaming, slip my rigorous chain, Free as a skiff before the dancing wind. Then he awakes, and vexed that I am glad. In dreary malice strains some nimble chord. Pricks his thin claw within some tingling nerve : And all at once I falter, start, and swerve From my true course, and fall, unmanned and sad, Into gross darkness, tangible, abhorred. 53 SELF Yet I can send my thought from sun to sun, Behind the stars, beyond the eternal night ; Pierce through the whirhng spheres of fervent light, Or nearer roam : hither and thither run j Strain to a sharp and icy summit, thread The poisonous depth of some hot forest maze, Or haunt the dark sea-bottom's glimmering ways, Where sunken wrecks hang silent overhead. Now, in a sun-dried city of the south, Linger through dusty vineyards, branching palms ; — The shrill cicalas chirping in the drouth; — Or swim by coral islets, floating free And eager, parting with imagined arms The crystal rollers of a sapphire sea. 54 SELF Or I constrain the poets to my call ; — With Homer, staff in hand, and lyre on back, Stumbling and sightless on the upland track, Or praised and honoured in the echoing hall, Hear from his lips the rolling thunders fallj Or sit with Virgil in the orchard-edge. Hearing the bees hum in the privet hedge. And deep-mouthed cattle lowing from the stall. Or I can follow Una's peerless knight Riding alone in mountain solitudes, Where Awbey leaps from Bally-howra hill ; Or trace the clear impetuous Rotha rill. With Wordsworth, mouthing music in the woods. His eyes transfigured with a sacred light. 55 SELF Or I can trace the cycles that have been, See silent priests, dead Caesars, face to face; Laugh with old wits, with serious statesmen pace, Peep unobserved at many a secret scene. Thence through wild woods my dreaming way I take, Through ancient cities piled of ponderous stones. Or dripping caverns carpeted with bones, To wattled huts isled in a mountain lake. Backwards, still backwards, till the glowing earth Lose beast and tree, and show her haggard scars j To chaos, and the chill sun's nebulous birth : — Above, beneath, the flaming aeons roll : — Still in its cold cell sits the brooding soul, More to itself than thirty thousand stars^ 56 KEATS Laughing thou said'st, 'Twere hell for thee to fail In thy vast purpose, in thy brave design, Ere thy young cheek, with passion's venomed wine Flushed and grew pale, ah me ! flushed and grew pale ! Where is thy music now ? In hearts that pine O'erburdened, for the clamorous world too frail. Yet love the charmed dusk, the nightingale, Not for her sweet sake only, but for thine. Thy name is writ in water, ay, 'tis writ As when the moon, a chill and friendless thing, Passes and writes her will upon the tide, And piles the ocean in a moving ring : And every stagnant bay is brimmed with it. Each mast-fringed port, each estuary wide. VICTORY So, I have gained a crown and lost a friend. What, was he envious of my climbing fame, Did he aspire to what I did not claim. Mistake the summit that I dared ascend ? And I, who chiefly toiled that I might spend My hoarded hopes to crown his tardier name, Sad and alone, in solitude and shame. Sit mourning, careless what the fates may send. So David, when the fiercest fight was won. Recked not of all the faithful hearts that bled To comfort him, to guard his troubled days : He to his Captains spoke no word of praise, But wailed in cold unreasoning grief, and said: " O my son Absalom, my son, my son/' 58 THE PURSUIT I HAD outstripped him on the moorland wide, The heathery moor, with grassy tracks between The peaty hills : at eve he should have been A moving speck upon the far hill-side. But here within the tangled forest, here With all these trailing vines about my feet, Among the tall tree-stems, he steps as fleet As I, though I be winged with instant fear. For every clutching branch I rend away. Each knotted creeper, tremblingly untied. Each hazel thicket, where I bend and crawl. Leaves free the perilous gap for him to glide Still nearer, till with sobbing breath I fall Upon my face, and he shall spring and slay. 59 THE GENTIAN Say gentian, by what daring alchemy- Dost thou distil from cold and weary stones, From tumbled rocks, the spent earth's staring bones, The intensest essence of the unclouded sky ? Is it through dreaming, night by weary night. Through still pale months beneath the drifted snow. Dreaming of sunshine and warm fields aglow. Of azure depths, vast leagues of tranquil light ? Not thine the outrageous splendours of the morn, The crimson pomp of sunset, the brisk ray Of the heavenly arch, of watery conflidl born, But the pure radiance of the untroubled heaven When the eye dives, in headlong rapture driven, Zone beyond zone, and finds no stop nor stay. 60 THE GRASSHOPPER Rest, rest, impatient heart, thou dost not know What 'tis thou seekest : wilt thou hurl away For petty praise, a little gilded show, The lavish treasure of the golden day ? Yon grasshopper, in green enamelled mail. With waving whisks and blunted nose upthrust. Draws whizzing thighs athwart his plated tail, Or trails his belly in the sun-warmed dust, Or leaps among his fellows, caring nought Which leaps the highest, which the braver drest ; With solemn face his edged jaws crossing slow He clips the succulent salad : gives no thought That soon the clouds shall gather from the West, And all the high hill-pastures ache with snow. UTTERANCE I HAVE Strung my harp, and tuned each subtle chord To truest consonance, and day by day Have trained my tripping fingers how to stray With swift unerring motions. I have stored My mind with every grave melodious tone. Each eager modulation, deftly planned O'er perilous gaps to reach a welcoming hand : — Yet cannot frame a music of my own. O for that hour when, with reverberant wings, Some airy thought, deliberate, at my call. Shall drop beside me, whispering in my ear : And I shall seize my harp, and thrill to hear The pent-up music ripple and break, with all My heart's rich secrets echoing down the strings. 62 ANNIVERSARIES When I was yet a child, my sparkling days Spake little with each other, but with joy Each sprang to life, by favourite friend or toy Distinguished, walking in familiar ways ; Each in itself a breathing mystery, Portending nought, save through the lagging weeks. In restless foot, in flushed and eager cheeks, Savour and sound of the imagined sea. But now they talk together, and are sad ; — " To-day," they say, "how short a time ago. We laid her, weeping, in the churchyard ground: " And one saith, " ere the solemn year move round. Shall this be reft from me that makes me glad ? " And all make answer, saying " Even so." 63 THE LONG SLEEP As one that wakes and from his pillow leaps, With some fierce dream, some visionary shock, Or gusty chiding of the turret-clock, And deems it time for labour, till he creeps Dumb and bewildered, to the window-bars, And sees the pale lamp on the roadway shed Strange wafts of shifting shade, and overhead Troop through the black night the slow-marching stars : Then is he glad at heart, and knows the day Is yet far off, and trims the smouldering fire. And with delicious tremors, doth allay His languorous head, and dives to slumber deep ; — Even with such eager longing, I desire Death, and the dumb interminable sleep. 64 THE MESSAGE Stretched in the grass, what was it that I dreamed ? There, where the mossy rock its streamlet spilled. While the sad curlew in the rushes trilled, And flying sails by distant headlands gleamed ; Hot o'er the heather waved the quivering air, Sweep after sweep the billowy moorland rolled. As tho' some stiff green coverlet did enfold Huge sleeping giants, sprawling prostrate there. What was it that I dreamed ? the soaring bird Swept wold and waste, yet saw not what I saw : Not love, not honour, not the perfe6l mind ! But how to tell the secret that I heard Sung by the stream, and whispered in the wind. Of faith and patience, and divinest awe ? 65 F REST To-day I'll give to peace ; I will not look Behind, before me ; I will simply be ; Hopes and regrets shall claim no share in me j Here I will lie beside the limpid brook, And turn the pages of some aimless book, Sunk and submerged in vague felicity ; Live, mute and still, in what I feel and see, The dreaming guardian of the upland nook. Well ! here's my world to-day ! cicalas spare Sawing harsh music ; beetles big, that grope Among the grass-stems ; merry flies astir ; And goats with impudent face and silken hair, That poise and tinkle on the Western slope, Breast-deep in Alpen-rose and juniper. 66 THE POET He shall be great, and something more than great, But human first: and nought of human known Shall slip unnoted from his meshes, thrown With wary hand in secret seas of fate. So great, so human, that the song he sings Seems but the faint effulgence of the soul. That dived to hell, and rising, pure and whole. Beat in the sunlit air her happy wings. His soul shall be a valley full of trees ; Pines for soft sound, and limes for scent and shade. Where birds may nest, blithe thrush and bright-eyed wren. Flowers for delight, and fruit for healing made. And heart of oak, to build the homes of men, And swim secure in thunder-throated seas. 67 O LACRIMARUM FONS O HOLIEST fount of sorrow, treasured tears ; O eager consolation of sick grief; That bring to burdened sadness pure relief, Ye have no fellowship with craven fears ! True tears are sorrow's guerdon, for they prove The worth of suffering, that the sacred dart Hath struck, and shivered the incredulous heart, And pierced the secret amplitude of love. For of thy shafts, that hourly past us flame. Some taint and mar our innocence, and some Are bent and blunted by the stubborn mind, Or throb and rankle in the tortured frame : But I will pray, if Thy strong hands are kind, "Let them strike home, my God, let them strike home.'* 68 INDOLENCE What, hath the dark surprised me as I dreamed ? The hours were mine : I neither swooned nor slept, Only the slow shade o'er the dial crept. And peace was thrice as peaceful as it seemed. Ah me ! I have not earned the right to sleep, Nor strung my thews for battle : I have spent The hoarded coin that was for increase lent, Dreamed of the harvest that I may not reap. Waste, trivial waste ! fickle and fruitless moods. Dear to the mind of God ! Shall nature then Bewail the helpless debt she cannot pay ? Petals that bloom, and fall, unseen of men : Slow springs that drip in mountain solitudes. Rocks that the sad sea sprinkles twice a day. 69 PRID. KAL. OCT. O Asian birds, that round me in the gloom Patter and peck unseen, or with loud stroke Soar to the covert of some branching oak, — To-morrow comes the destined hecatomb. Shout once again your strident orisons. Thanks for the dewy morning, for the food By hands unseen at woodland corners strewed, For water cool, that through the thicket runs. To-morrow comes the end : — the wood astir With patient tramping figures, and the noise Of tree-trunks tapped, the cry of eager boys. The startled rush, and battling as you rise Above the copse, beyond the topmost fir. Death, lightning death, amid the echoing skies. 70 DEATH The soul, that dizzied with the din of death, The roar of clamorous blood in failing ears, Still sees the sickly swimming day, and hears The rattling in-take of his sobbing breath : Then cleaves the dark slow, tranquillising tide, And swims in silent waters, careless now If still they press his hand, and kiss his brow. But snaps the parting strands, and wanders wide, — Then, in one glowing instant, that atones For woe and fear, made one with life and light. He watches, as he hangs in wondering ease. Poised in the dusk, the red earth with her seas And islands, snowy poles and sunlit zones. Thunder and heave, and leap across the night. 71 eo^voi I cannot sing as sings the nightingale Frenxied with rapture^ big with rich delight^ Till lovers lean together^ passion-pale, tdnd chide the awestruck silence of the night, I cannot sing as sings the tranquil thrush^ O'er dewy thicket and untrodden lawn. When early gossamers veil the frosted bushy In the chaste freshness of the sparkling dawn. I cannot sing as sings the brooding dove, tAt windless noon^ in her high towers of green, t^ song of deep content, untroubled love. With many a meditative pause between. 72 ENVOI / cannot sing^ as sings the dauntless owl His shout of horror at a dark dead hour : When the hair pricks^ and startled watch-dogs howl^ Jtnd night-bells clamour in the lonely tower. But I can sing as sings the prudent bee^ t^s hour by patient hour he goes and comes Bearing the golden dust from tree to tree., Labours in hope., and as he labours., hums. 73 ^tt JOHN LANE##1 JS4^vsJ?a^w.rs^^t>:^j THE J3 BOD LEY HEAD^ VICOS-" a BODLEIAN LONDON CVMEW CATALQCUEg^PUB UCATlONS f^ BE LLE S LETTRE S ai-^o.ry>eTfirues ■■ASM^^kH 1896 List of Books IN BELLES LETTRES Published by John Lane VIGO STREET, LONDON, W. Crown 8vo. [S/tort/y. [See Key- THE Wav. IS. fid. net. Adams (Francis). Essays in Modernity. 5s. net. A Child of the Age. NOTES Series.) A. E. Homeward Songs by Sq. i6mo, wrappers. Trans/erred to the present Pub- lisher, [Second Edition. Aldrich (T. B.) Later Lyrics. Sm. Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. net. Allen (Grant). The Lower Slopes : A Volume of Verse. With Title-page and Cover De.-ign by J. Illingworth Kay. Crown 8vo. 5s. net. The Woman Who Did. (See Key- NOTES Series.) The British Barbarians. [See Keynotes Series.) Arcady Library (The). A Series of Open-Air Books. 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