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 THE LAST DAVID, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS, 
 
 
 C-Pj|Aa<M-^ 
 
 ' Wei I wot, that ye^han herbiforne 
 Of makynge ropen, and lad awey the come ; 
 And I come after, glenying here and there. 
 And am ful glad yf I may fynde an ere 
 Of any goodly worde that ye han left.' 
 
 Chaucer. 
 
 LONDON : 
 ELTJOT Sl^OCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.G. 
 
 1883.
 
 
 CON TENTS. 
 
 THE LAST DAVID : A DRAMATIC SKETCH - - - I 
 
 i 
 
 SONGS OF THE WAYSIDE - - - - - "55 
 
 KALLIRRHOE -------- 76 
 
 LYKOPHRON -------- So 
 
 DORNROSCHEN - - - - ' - - - - 86 
 
 SHELLEY 93 
 
 REQUIESCAS IN PACE - 98 
 
 .■ETAS NOVA lOI 
 
 OCEAN-IDYLL - - - 1 03 
 
 CHILDHOOD 105 
 
 SONNETS --------- 107
 
 THE LAST DAVID.
 
 PERSONS. 
 
 Zedekiah, King of Judah. 
 Elishama, an old Counsellor. 
 Gedaliah, a young Noble. 
 Nergal Sharezer, Babylonish General. 
 Warder^ old Servant of the Kings. 
 Eunuch of King Zedekiah. 
 Naomi, a Prophetess. 
 Messengers^ Soldiers. 
 
 Scene : East Wall of Jerusalem, adjoining the Temple. 
 Time : Night (of the last day of the eighteen months' siege 
 in the last year of the last King of Southern Palestine). 
 
 ' What if even the rod which despiseth shall be no more ?'
 
 Warder {alone). 
 
 Weary am I, and heartsick. Night and day- 
 Rolls on the din of battle, and the air 
 Is thick with cries of slaughter at the walls, 
 And death-groans in the streets, where the blue 
 
 famine 
 Strikes down our people hourly, and plague runs 
 Through thin ranks of defenders, as a flash 
 Of lightning rending loftiest cedars down. 
 And worse than all, that bane of all our hope, 
 Unceasing faction surging to and fro, 
 Whereon our ship of state is shattered, till 
 Her rent sides gape on ruin. If but he 
 That guides her now, were hearted like his sire. 
 Not tossed in tempest, but on calmer waters 
 And in a harbouring quiet, would we ride, 
 Fenced from disaster by the shadowing wing 
 Of the great eastern eagle. Never yet 
 Have we seen peaceful seasons, prosperous days : 
 
 I — 2
 
 4 The Last David, 
 
 Rich cornfields blooming golden, olive-groves 
 Heavy with fruit, and teeming palm and vine, 
 And multitudinous congregations streaming 
 Through our fair streets, all tending Templeward — 
 Not one without his offering, firstling fat 
 And spotless, meet for holy festival — 
 Since Lord Josiah perished in his prime. 
 Ah ! then was mourning, when the messenger 
 Came panting from the far-off field, and shouted, 
 Not loudly, but with choking voice, as he 
 Neared the high gate, that opened as he came, 
 ' The King is fallen !' And the cry, caught up 
 By them within, flew like the wildfire, on 
 Through the broad city to the Temple walls, 
 And hung on Hinnom valley like a cloud. 
 Then from each house the shriek of women rose 
 And children, wailing for the fallen ; for he 
 Was dear to us, and precious ; and Jehovah 
 Had dowered him with a gladness and a strength 
 Far past his fathers. Happy was the land 
 Beneath him, when he ruled it in his prime, 
 Sweeping out old corruption that had eaten 
 Into the people like disease, adorning 
 Anew the holy places, that for years 
 Had lain neglected and untrod. Even now 
 Through this mirk night-gloom I can see the shapes 
 Of heathen altars whereon one time rose
 
 The Last David. 5 
 
 The stream of sacrifice to Chemosh, Milcom, 
 Ashtaroth, and their crew, when worshippers 
 Thronged to them, aye, and from our sacred city, 
 Now rubbish heaps of ruin whereupon 
 Foul worms crawl, and the night-bird winds her horn 
 At midnight. All this did that King of ours 
 Whom would that high Jehovah had preserved 
 To be our guardian still ! But woe is me ! 
 What boots it to be dreaming, ever dreaming 
 Of the past days, days that were once so sweet, 
 When all the bitter hail of strong destruction 
 Is raining on our heads ? 
 
 I hear a hum 
 Of voices as in supplication, rise 
 From out the Temple depths, and there streams off 
 A cloud of incense, scenting all the air, 
 Wafted by sea winds eastward over me ; 
 And footsteps as of some one springing softly 
 Up the high steps, come nearer. — Who art thou.'* 
 
 EUNUCII. 
 No fierce Chaldee, but only the King's eunuch ! — 
 Yet stay, old man, and hear me. Our sad lord, 
 Broken in spirit and well-nigh despairing, 
 Has gone once more to sacrifice and pray 
 r th 'Temple yonder, hoping still 'gainst hope 
 To win some cheering token. Even now
 
 6 TJie Last David. 
 
 I see him coming hither, and with him 
 A lordling whom mcthinks thou knowest well. 
 {TJicy pass aside ; enter KiNG and Gedaliah 
 
 speaking) 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 
 Think on thy people ; they arc dying off 
 
 By scores, with, war and want, and pestilence : 
 
 With war, that only lasts while Zedckiah 
 
 Fears to send out a messenger of peace ; 
 
 With want, that would pass over like a cloud 
 
 In summer, were his spirit good to yield 
 
 Our pledged allegiance once again, and see 
 
 Corn pouring in our portals for the people ; 
 
 With pestilence, that walks abroad unchecked 
 
 While famine-stricken corpses strew our streets, 
 
 And there are none to bury them. — Oh, thou 
 
 Who art this people's shepherd and their King, 
 
 Have pity on them, and tear off that veil 
 
 Of clinging death that binds them, so their eyes 
 
 May look upon the light of life again : 
 
 So will they bless thy name, and children's children 
 
 Remember thee with love, as him who erred, 
 
 But yet unwittingly, and turned once more, 
 
 To the right path, long years before he died, 
 
 And prospered after, all his days.
 
 The Last David. 7 
 
 King. 
 
 My soul 
 Is weary, and I fain would sleep. Thy words 
 I hear not, but mine eyes can see thee pleading, 
 And doubt not but it is the same old cry 
 For weak submission to a wearied foe. 
 What wouldst thou have me do .-' Surrender me, 
 My wives, my mother, children, household, all 
 To ravishers, who will laugh me to scorn — 
 Egged on by them that traitorously forsook me — 
 And make me a mere by-word to my neighbours 
 Of Ammon, Moab, Edom ; and proud Tyre 
 Will dance upon her ocean rock, exulting 
 That the third branch of him who brought to shame 
 Her cherished idols, and whose influence spread 
 Like a broad cedar over all the land, 
 Is fallen. Never will I yield to this. 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 Dead mayst thou be to pity, but to shame 
 No son of David's line was dead before. 
 
 King. 
 What shame .'' What greater shame could be, than 
 
 that 
 A king of Judah, after wearying 
 His enemy long time with fruitless siege. 
 Should tamely yield him at the eleventh hour ?
 
 8 The Last David. 
 
 Gedaliaii. 
 A shame, a greater shame by thousand-fold, 
 Clings to thee now : thou svvarest by Jehovah 
 To peace and. fealty, when the Lord of Babel 
 Steadied thy throne for thee, what time the boy 
 Jehoiachin — a young and tender boy, 
 Warm from his mother's breast, compelled to rule — 
 Went weeping with the men of Babel home ; 
 A solemn covenant thou tookst, to be 
 The friend of Babel alway, and the foe 
 Of Egypt — but thy pride deluded thee 
 Like thy false brother, and the rotten reed 
 Was clung to, snapping short, as it did ever ; 
 And oaths and promises were flung to the wind. 
 But though he is wronged deeply, the great King 
 Is no hard dealer, and will spare thy land 
 And this fair city and thyself, if only 
 Thou bend down thy proud soul, and send him 
 
 peace. 
 
 King. 
 I hear thee, son of Shaphan, and I heed thee. 
 Leave me awhile, so I may ponder over 
 The words thou hast spoken — bitter words, but 
 
 true. {Partly aside) 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 May He that sits in heaven above breathe in thee 
 A spirit of peace and fair humility ! [Exit'
 
 The Last David. 9 
 
 King. 
 True are his words : I felt them cleave my soul 
 Like keenest arrows — so they rankle now. 
 Ay, oaths are not forgotten, when vain men 
 Have trod them underfoot, by Him whose name 
 They took, and hallowed were withal. Oh, often 
 Has my heart smitten me for that perjury ! 
 But maybe 'tis too late now for repentance, 
 And hope is past, is gone ? And I must go 
 Down to the grave unhonoured, and unwept ; 
 Sped by my people's curses to the home 
 Of shadows, mighty once, 'mong whom the worm 
 Crawls, and the spectral owl shrills evermore ! 
 No, no, it cannot be ! It shall not be ! 
 The heart in me is changed. Death to old pride, 
 And life for Zedekiah and his people ! — 
 A messenger ! — Ho, warder, run and tell 
 
 ( Warder conies forward. ) 
 Lord Gedaliah that the King would see him ; 
 Thou'lt find him in the Temple-court. Haste, haste ! 
 
 \Exit Warder. 
 — Yet, yield myself into the hand of him 
 Who has but cause enough to hate me, put 
 Me to foul shame, and call mine enemies round, 
 That they may sec the friendless King of Judah 
 Made sport for them to bark about, like dogs 
 About a wounded lion ? — Oh, the gall
 
 10 The Last David. 
 
 Of servitude — it presses me ! And yet 
 
 'Tis not too late, even now, to change my will, 
 
 Fling craven cringing to those dogs that love it, 
 
 And put my honour on, robe-like, again ! 
 
 But if he take the city ? If he starve 
 
 The warriors to submission, would not he. 
 
 The proud, stone-hearted captain, stung to rage 
 
 By his long baffling, cast Jerusalem 
 
 Into the gulf of ruin, and my house 
 
 Raze out of life, as if they ne'er had been ? 
 
 I know not ! — maybe fearful 'twere to know. 
 
 A thousand times would I that I had never 
 
 Been born, to hurl an innocent boy to ruin, 
 
 And on the shattered remnant of his throne 
 
 Sit like a carrion bird, exulting. There 
 
 I fell ; contented, no, not with the lot 
 
 Of highest in all Judah, save the King, 
 
 And trusted by him with his inmost counsels — 
 
 For he, poor boy ! would often come to me, 
 
 Beseeching that his uncle dear would guide him 
 
 In this new project of a stripling's brain — 
 
 Moreover, till his fall, the people loved me, 
 
 And never, as I galloped through the streets 
 
 At morning, with my chosen company, 
 
 Did I see any face that scowled at mine 
 
 As men scowl now ; but every son of Adam 
 
 I passed and greeted, greeted me with smiles,
 
 The Last David. 1 1 
 
 And called Jehovah's blessing on my head. 
 
 They called me fair — I was not furrowed then 
 
 And grey — and fairest maidens cast on me 
 
 Their looks of love, and murmured sweetest ' Hail 1' 
 
 Flinging their lily-garlands, dewy-fresh, 
 
 About my horses' necks ; and some rare bloom 
 
 They would go out at dawn to search for, toss 
 
 Into my car, with all their tender might, 
 
 And weave them simple songs, wherein my name 
 
 Rang often, in low tones that filled the heart 
 
 That heard them with deep joy. Fool that I was, 
 
 To leave all this for factious, traitorous plotting, 
 
 'Gainst him who only joyed to see my joy ! 
 
 Fool ? Worse than fool ! — for if this day he is not, 
 
 Upon my head will rest that guiltless blood 
 
 No sacrifice can purge me of. Had I 
 
 Been born a lowly man, and gained scant fare 
 
 By keeping others' sheep, and lain the nights 
 
 On the cold grass, beneath the dew of heaven, 
 
 Methinks this crushing care had never come 
 
 To stifle me, and peaceful days were mine. 
 
 Heart free from sin-stain, life from shame ; but now 
 
 The heavy morrow like a storm-dark sea 
 
 Surges before me, and casts bitter foam 
 
 That tastes like tears, into my eyes, the foretaste 
 
 Of sharper ills to come. When the young lord 
 
 I tarry for comes at my bidding, sure
 
 12 The Last David. 
 
 That I have called him but to take to the walls 
 Our meek submission, shall I say him nay ? 
 The oracles are mute — but yet no sign 
 Of evil did they give — maybe no answer 
 Meant good in store, but hidden from all eyes ! 
 Yet, should the people rise up in rebellion 
 And cast me out — they love me, no, not one — 
 Perchance exalting this same Gedaliah 
 To be their head, and treat for them with Babel, 
 'Twere not so well! To yield were better far — 
 If yield in time — and time is speeding swift 
 
 {Enter Elishama.) 
 
 Elishama. 
 My lord the King alone here, on the walls ? — 
 I have been searching for thee long, but dark 
 The night is, and I met no one had seen thee. 
 Bear'st thou a braver heart than yesterday ? 
 
 King. 
 Why question me ? There is no cause for change ? 
 The heavens are black above us, and our fate 
 So lowers before us, dark and answerless. 
 
 Elishama. 
 Better than divination is good cheer ; 
 Better than signs and tokens is the hope 
 That wavers not with waiting, never sinks 
 Crossing the bitter waters of ill-hap.
 
 The Last David. 13 
 
 Keep up thy heart, oh King ! Though now all 
 
 heaven 
 Be black, the morning will come presently ; 
 This midnight of our fortunes cannot bide 
 For ever, and the sun-blaze and blue day 
 Will rise upon us surely, if we wait. 
 
 King. 
 Waited full long have we, and yet the foe 
 That presses us seems fresh and fair as when 
 He first threw up his over-peering bastions 
 Against our walls, and trained his engines on, 
 And ranged his trampling thousands in the plain 
 Before our gate ; and when we looked on and saw 
 The gleaming whites of thrice ten thousand eyes 
 Dart hate at us, and slaughter. — Well know I 
 That tireless foe will yet outwait us all. 
 
 Elishama. 
 This craven heart of thine will be the ruin 
 Of fair Jerusalem yet, if all my words 
 But set the text for bodings of despair. 
 Think'st that thy fathers never felt the weight 
 Of weary waiting for a help that came not. 
 And afterward laughed at their coward fears i* — 
 When young Jehoram, of the house of Omri, 
 Whose Tyrian mother's blood runs in thy veins, 
 Swayed in Samaria, Syrian Ben-Hadad — 
 Old was he then, the wine-bibber Ben-Hadad —
 
 14 TJic Last David. 
 
 Thought to beleaguer him, as years before 
 
 He did his father Ahab ; and marched out 
 
 PVom green Damascus, his rich paradise. 
 
 With thousands, many thousands, men of war 
 
 And chariot warriors, and laid closest siege 
 
 To lone Samaria in the hills. Days passed, 
 
 And weeks, and months, and nigh a score of months ; 
 
 And darkened in Samaria every eye. 
 
 Then strong men sank with famine, and a moan 
 
 Of dumb despair went up to heaven, when corn 
 
 Was wholly spent, and through the streets at noon 
 
 Went wild-eyed women, fresh from their dark feast, 
 
 And wailing for the babes that were not. Men 
 
 Looked up to the blue heaven then, and doubted 
 
 Whether Jehovah kinged it there or no. 
 
 It fell one evening, as the twilight grew 
 
 Deeper and deeper, and the stars were born. 
 
 Four lepers sat within the southern gate. 
 
 Worn down with hunger and their foul disease 
 
 They only waited death ; when suddenly 
 
 One, starting up, with frenzy in his look, 
 
 Shrieked out : ' Why sit we here until we die ? 
 
 Let us go seek the Syrians : they have food ; 
 
 If they should spare us, then we live indeed ; 
 
 If they should slay us, then we can but die.' 
 
 And through the fallen night they took their way 
 
 Down the long hill and over miles of valley
 
 The Last David. 15 
 
 And reached the Syrian outposts, where they 
 
 thought 
 To be seized on, and brought before the King 
 For hfe or death — but all was wondrous still : 
 ' The watchmen slumber,^ thought they; ' it is well.' 
 And they pressed on still farther, through that camp 
 Of numberless pavilions, breathing odour 
 From scented silken curtains, but so still 
 And death-like, that their wonder numbed their 
 
 pain ; 
 Still they went on, till at the uttermost verge 
 Of the great camp they turned, and saw that none 
 Was in its bounds, of man. Then hunger came 
 And drove them raging to the hoarded food 
 In those rich tents, whose ivory tables bore 
 The priceless weight of jewelled goblets, full 
 For feasting, of the odorous wine of Lebanon, 
 Whereon they fed ; and with returning life 
 Came greed, and tempted them with the fine gold 
 And gem-inwoven draperies, and rich arms 
 Strewn on the earth about them ; so they took 
 Each what he counted costliest, and hid 
 In the rock-clefts. Then hurried they again 
 To high Samaria, and the gate-ward told 
 How that the Syrian camp was empty, still, 
 With horses tied, and asses, but no one 
 Of all their foes. The gate-ward told the King
 
 1 6 The Last David. 
 
 Who, roused at midnight, held it but a snare 
 Set by the Syrians to entrap the city, 
 Yet sent his messengers to see. They came 
 And saw, and witnessed to their lord again 
 That all was true. Then rose the famished people 
 With one strong shout of gladness, and ran out 
 To the camp to plunder wheat and barley, till 
 The city flowed with plenty. 
 
 King. 
 
 Is it told 
 Why in such haste the Syrians left their store ? 
 
 ELISHAMA. 
 'Tis even so. The King of Judah came 
 By cover of darkness, with his men of war. 
 And fell on them, unready as they were, 
 And chased them through the many- folded hills 
 To the bank of Jordan by Beth-barah's ford ; — 
 And it is said moreover in the record, 
 That Lord Jehovah made the welkin ring 
 With din of chariots, and with tramp of horses, 
 As of a mighty host ; and panic seized 
 The men of Hamath, ere Jehosaphat 
 Fell with his chosen champions on their midst. 
 So waited King Jehoram, and so found 
 The fruit of patient waiting. So do thou. 
 
 King. 
 
 Old man, thy tale is fair ; but what one King
 
 The Last David. ij 
 
 Is there, who would fall, full of victory 
 
 Bought for him by triumphant angel armies, 
 
 On this Sharezer, captain of all hosts 
 
 Which the great King has warring in the west, 
 
 jMaster of all the delegated power 
 
 Of him who sways our fortunes, as a god 
 
 His wand ? Where is the King of Judah now ? 
 
 Samaria, and all Israel, desolate 
 
 These hundred years and more — and Salem, 
 
 Our father David's city, which he won 
 
 From strong Araunah and his people, all 
 
 Men of war-sinew, laughing in their strength. 
 
 But yet from even them he reft it, made 
 
 His high home here, and hallowed to Jehovah 
 
 The city for an endless heritage — 
 
 This glory-haunted stronghold of our fathers 
 
 Lies at a stranger's mercy, and her King, 
 
 Like a caged lion, pent in narrow bounds. 
 
 Frets ever at the death before his eyes. 
 
 I will hear hope no more. 
 
 Elishama. 
 
 Lo, I am old ; 
 Full eighty years have I kept passover, 
 And longer much I do not think to live ; 
 But, by mine age, and by my hoary hairs, 
 And by this white beard, that has never known 
 The touch of shameful fingers, and these eyes
 
 1 8 TJic Last David. 
 
 That are so dim they can no longer see 
 To guide the cunning pen in the fair scroll ; 
 Yea, by all these, and by the hope I have 
 That when I die, I shall not wholly die, 
 I swear, young King, that help is very near 
 If only thou endure ; therefore be hopeful. 
 
 King. 
 And who, I pray thee, is to be the bearer 
 Of this good help thou talk'st of, and I need 
 So sorely .-' Where is any strong enough 
 And willing, who would break this iron host .-' 
 My neighbours are all cowering for sheer dread 
 In what poor holes they can creep into. None 
 Now have the heart to stand by ine. 
 
 Elishama. 
 
 Last night 
 I dreamed I stood upon the hill of Olives 
 Looking to the holy city, and I saw 
 Out of the midst a tree of wondrous leafage 
 Much like a cedar, grow, and growing spread 
 Broad branches out, and shadow all the city. 
 Then saw I a great eagle, mighty-winged, 
 Come with a rush that made the mountain whirl, 
 And snatch at the fair cedar, as it were 
 Some quarry ; then I saw, from out the west, 
 A mightier eagle swoop upon the first, 
 And bear him screaming earthward, till he fell
 
 The Last David, 19 
 
 Prone, and I saw him not. Methinks this dream 
 Shews surely help is coming from the west, 
 And fall to Salem's render, whose foul beak 
 Shall taste of dust, erelong. 
 
 King. 
 
 The dream is vain, 
 Pharaoh has long forgotten his old bond ; 
 Else wherefore has he left me undefended 
 To bear the bitter brunt of this fierce storm ? 
 
 Elishama. 
 Say not the dream Elishama dreamed is vain : 
 Time was, young King, when my great lord thy 
 
 father 
 Would hearken to my word, and deem it right 
 To follow all Elishama had counselled ; 
 Let not the least of all his branches laugh 
 To scorn the words he honoured. Nor has Pharaoh 
 Forgotten that great oath he swore with thee — 
 Ay, by his gods he swore't, and sealed his faith 
 With sacrifice — to be thy friend and helper 
 So long as thou wert true — mark me, so long. 
 And Pharaoh is no craven, though his hands 
 Have been of late so busy in repressing 
 The tumults of the South, where nimble Cush 
 Bites ever, dog-like, at his master's heels. 
 Had not his kingly father died ere he
 
 20 The Last David. 
 
 Could follow up his victory, and smite 
 The men of Cush with mighty hand, and lay 
 The land of Cush for ever at his feet, 
 Hophrah of Egypt never would have left 
 His'leagued friend fast in the grip of siege 
 And famine ; but his realm to him is dear 
 As thine to thee — dearer, should I not say ? 
 And therefore is he full of anxious cares — 
 But not for long, I think ; soon will he come 
 To lay this upstart Babel low as she 
 Is low, the lordly Nineveh of yore. 
 
 King. 
 No craven may he be, and yet his strength 
 Be but the ghost of the brave heart within. 
 Babel has countless numbers — armies here, 
 At Riblah with their King, and at the bound 
 Of Shinar to the sunrise, watching Elam ; 
 To say nought of the many scattered bands 
 Here, there, and everywhere, throughout his king- 
 dom. 
 What hosts can Pharaoh have to match all these, 
 If his whole might be busy with one war ? 
 
 Elishama. 
 They arc with him are better far than numbers. 
 He has, in sooth, a lordly retinue ; 
 No mere beasts these, who when their leader falls 
 Turn tail, and fly off faster than they came.
 
 The Last David. 21 
 
 But hearts that stand, each one himself a host, 
 
 Though leaderless, 'gainst overwhelming numbers ; 
 
 And fight on till they fall, thrust thro' and thro', 
 
 Nigh buried in a breastwork of dead foes. 
 
 Ay, I have seen their valour ; for I fled 
 
 When I was young as thou art young, the fury 
 
 Of that mad ancestor of thine, King Amon, 
 
 Who filled Jerusalem's streets with holy blood 
 
 And all her homes with sorrow. Mine own life 
 
 (That had but barely 'scaped Manasseh's jaws) 
 
 I knew he sought ; so flew to Mizraim 
 
 To find a ready helper and defender 
 
 In noble-hearted Psametik, whose blood 
 
 Flows yet in Hophrah's veins. There did I see 
 
 That never-to-be-conquered band of warriors 
 
 From far-off Javan, and the ocean-isles 
 
 Of Elishah — proud of their land were they 
 
 As we of ours ; for they had come, not led 
 
 By their own will, but his who ruled them there, 
 
 Friend to the Pharaoh ; whom, as their own lord, 
 
 They loved and served ; and oftentime I saw them 
 
 And heard their speech — fair speech that flowed 
 
 from out 
 Their mouths like dashing water, with a sound 
 Sweet as the silver horns, what time the song 
 Of praise arises, and the Temple fills 
 With music. Once with Pharaoh's host I went
 
 22 The Last David. 
 
 In a great galley up the River, far 
 
 As the naked border of the land of Cush, 
 
 Where we found all the strength of Cush drawn out 
 
 In battle order. Pharaoh bade this band 
 
 Charge first to break the forest of keen spears 
 
 Flashing before us ; tarrying made they none, 
 
 But with one bound they charged, and with one voice 
 
 Lift up their lofty song of war, that rolled 
 
 Like summer thunder while the keen storm fell 
 
 Of steel-shaft lightning on their foes. Thereat 
 
 The southern host broke up like chaff before them, 
 
 Chased to the mountain clefts and sandy plains. 
 
 Back came they singing triumph, and would none 
 
 Of weighty guerdon like the others, but 
 
 Only a wreathed diadem that Pharaoh 
 
 Had wrought for them, what time he went to war. 
 
 Full many thousands Hophrah has of these, 
 
 And these, methinks, are match enough for Babel 
 
 With all his rabble, yell they e'er so loud ; 
 
 No yelling will avail them with the spears 
 
 Of Pharaoh's islesmen at their throats. Even now, 
 
 If visions are not vain, they come. 
 
 King. 
 
 Well said. 
 And like my fearless counsellor of old ! 
 Thou comfortest the heart in me anew. — 
 Farewell, my father — I will go and rest
 
 The Last David. 23 
 
 And, maybe, sleep — and if I dream of hope 
 This counsel will I follow, come what will ! 
 
 {Exit. 
 
 Elishama {alone). 
 Farewell, poor weakling of a noble stock ; 
 But born, I fear, to drag down guiltless men 
 To ruin with thee ! Never art thou sure 
 A whole day through, of that unsteady heart 
 That wears the leprosy of fear far more 
 Than any flush of courage. Well, go sleep ! 
 Light chance of any dream of hope from out 
 That craven spirit. While the dastard crew 
 Howl round thy walls, thou sleepest — shame on thee! 
 Had I young arms like thine, verily this night 
 Would I lead out our bravest at the foe 
 Whose dull hearts sleep within their brazen armour ; 
 Heavy with wine are they, and feasting ; prone 
 The most of them, and open to surprise. — 
 But no ; this shadow of a King commands 
 That no one stir out from our gates, but all 
 Keep close within, and hurl their coward stones 
 From off our rampart. Father Abraham, 
 That we should come to this ! 
 
 What strange dull roar 
 Is that seems rolling hither from the gate .'' 
 It sounds like thunder ; but no thunder rumbles 
 So near the voice of men. Haply the herd
 
 24 TJie Last David. 
 
 Of Babel swine are shouting in their feast, 
 Wrought to mad heat with wine — or maybe strain 
 Throats in hoarse praises of their god. — Ay, now 
 It rises yet again ! 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 
 My lord and King, 
 I thirst to hear thy purpose, and fulfil. — 
 Elishama here ? — Father, I pray thee pardon ; 
 I thought to find the King 
 
 Elishama. 
 
 No, my young lord, 
 Here thou wilt find no King to-night, for he 
 Sleeps ^neath his roof in quiet— not in peace, 
 Nor ever will, if I have strength to stay him, 
 Until such time as Babel is laid low. 
 I know thine errand. 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 
 What is that to thee ? 
 'Twould better far become thy hoary hairs 
 To press the pillow at this hour. In sooth. 
 Night dews are harm to aged limbs — this mist 
 That steals on us so surely, is not well 
 For thee. 
 
 Elishama. 
 Mock not mine age, thou shameless one ! 
 Were't not for striplings such as thou, forever
 
 The Last David. 25 
 
 Weakening our King with fool's words, we should be 
 Rid of our foes long erst. — But no foes they 
 To those are easfer servants to their will 
 And work their bidding unbeknown. 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 
 Wert thou 
 But younger, that one word would be thy last 
 And choke thee in the utterance. Now I know 
 Who has been here and wrought on Zedekiah 
 With crafty speech, and turned his feeble soul 
 From looking on the morning, to the cold 
 Grey empty west ; shame on thee for thy pains ! 
 
 {Enter MESSENGER, suddenly^ 
 
 Messenger. 
 O woe, forever woe ! Our city's lost ! 
 Fly, as ye love your lives, my lords, and follow 
 Our King to refuge from the terrible foe ! 
 
 Elishama. 
 Gasp not there, fellow ; tell thy message, plain ; — 
 No foe could pass our gates, except their bars 
 W^ere loosened from within. 
 
 Messenger. 
 
 'Tis even so. 
 My lord, I will speak plainly, if I can ; 
 But grief, and wind-swift striving through the 
 streets
 
 26 The Last David. 
 
 With my fell news, nigh choked me. 'Twas the 
 
 people, 
 Who, mad for food, they said, flew on the guard 
 That kept our gate, and slew them ; then cried, loud 
 As thunder, as they shot back heavy bars 
 And flung the great gate open, ' Come ye in, 
 Ye men of Babel, all Jerusalem 
 Is yours, so will ye only give us food !' 
 And while they cried, the forefront of the foe 
 Poured in, and battered down remorselessly 
 The armless people — 'twas a sickening sight 
 To see, that spear-struck trampled multitude — 
 Shouting in laughter like night-prowling dogs 
 Redfanged v/ith blood new shed, 'Food wanted ye? 
 Ye shall have food in plenty, maybe not 
 The sort ye love, but harder and more cold ! — 
 Cut them down, all !' But when the leaders came. 
 And checked them, sternly bidding all beware 
 Of killing and of robbing — for throughout 
 The merchant-quarter were they spread in ravage, 
 Glutting their murderous maws with spoil — they fell 
 One by one back into their ranks again 
 To wait their leaders' will. I barely 'scaped 
 The edge of slaughter, and came breathless on 
 To warn the King, who now is gone with all 
 His house in fleetest flight. Ye hear them now 
 (God help them) picking each one stealthily
 
 The Last David. 27 
 
 His way down yonder valley, by the gardens 
 Our lord delighted in in times gone by — 
 
 woe, that he should ever so forsake them 
 To fly far off for life ! 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 
 Speak truly, fellow, 
 And say if thou know'st whither he is gone ? 
 
 Messenger. 
 To Rabbath Ammon, so they said, my lord, 
 Where he may find sure refuge with King Baalis, 
 Already shelterer of many sons 
 Of Judah, who have fled there since the siege. 
 
 Elishama. 
 True, true, thou sayest ; for one rebel shoot 
 Of mine is there — would he were in his grave ! 
 
 1 stayed his hand from bloodshed often ; yet 
 Held him, I thought to the warrior's duty. Vainly 
 I strove, for now he swells that heathen's state 
 And rears his violent heart up to all ill. 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 So ends our valiant master. Fare him well ! 
 Long enough has he lived, to dig a pit 
 Of lasting death for fair Jerusalem, 
 And see her lordly turrets tottering in. 
 'Tis hard, Jehovah lets such cankers live 
 And chokes them not ere birth. — It seems, my lord,
 
 28 The Last David. 
 
 We have not much to look for now, but death, 
 Or shame and sorrow, drowning deep. Already 
 The end of all draws near. 
 
 Elishama. 
 
 Talk not of shame ; 
 Shame came not where Elishama had breath, 
 And never shall. Sorrow I have, how deep 
 He only knows, who high in heaven hears 
 And mourns for me ; and death I soon shall taste ; 
 No bitterness to me, who foot it faltering 
 On the grave's edge already, since I die 
 Green in the unwithered honour of my fathers 
 And crowned with David's fame. When ruin falls, 
 As fall it must erelong, and blazing fire 
 Kindled by godless hands, on the fair Temple 
 Of Him whose servant I have ever been 
 And hope to be in death — if any ask 
 For Elishama, bid them go seek him where 
 The cherubim spread out their wings on glory 
 In days that are no more. When thickest flames 
 Beat on them, and they shed their golden wings 
 To earth, and arc not, haply from my ashes 
 A steam of goodly savour shall arise 
 Even to Jehovah's throne. — Is that I hear 
 The tread of armed men ? Now by the blood 
 Of holy David, coursing in my veins, 
 I will not tarry here, to meet foul scorn
 
 The Last David. 29 
 
 And foulest hands of heathen laid on me, 
 
 Who am as spotless as a lamb decked out 
 
 For the great sacrifice — I will not stay ! 
 
 Not out of consecrated ground and walls 
 
 Will I die, but once in Jehovah's Temple, 
 
 Their brutish rage may vent itself on me 
 
 And on my Temple too. The glory gone, 
 
 What need of empty carcass wherein once 
 
 It dwelt, and dwelling lighted all the world ? 
 
 Yet, some faint trace of power may linger there. 
 
 As lingers sweetest odour in the cup 
 
 That once held precious wine. My fair young lord, 
 
 I leave thee to thy friends — and the glad thought 
 
 Of safety bought by treason. Fare thee well ! 
 
 \jExit. 
 Gedaliah. 
 There was the old lion speaking still, through age 
 That shook his roar, and in the face of death ! 
 Spite of his stubborn heart, by mine own soul 
 I honour him, and wish him glorious end ; — 
 For if aright I know him, nought will he 
 Of captive bonds — death rather, swiftest death ; — 
 In that I wish him death, I wish no ill ; 
 He has lived too long already — long enough 
 To drag destruction down on us by braving 
 Such as fair words would gain. Yet, since his heart 
 Was upright, and no evil harboured there.
 
 30 The Last David. 
 
 Glory, as in his life, be in his death ! — 
 
 Meseems that even I am not exempt 
 
 From stroke of slaughter, while deep darkness holds 
 
 Unknown to one another friend and foe ; 
 
 'Twere well to seek the captains, ere some band 
 
 Fall on my life. — Ah, who is this, that comes 
 
 In flowing raiment, and a blaze of gems 
 
 That glow i' th' torch flame like a heaven of stars 
 
 This inky night ? His face seems one that I 
 
 Have seen before — but where ? 
 
 {Enter Nergal Sharezer with Soldiers) 
 
 Nergal Sharezer. 
 
 What brings thee here, 
 Thou man of Judah?— Old Ahikam's son. 
 Or else these brands but mock me 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 
 In good sooth, 
 My lord, I am the same — young Gedaliah ; 
 My father was Ahikam, who is dead. 
 
 Nergal Sharezer. 
 Ay, now I mind me how we met — long past. 
 Right glad am I, to find mine olden friend 
 Ere harm was wrought on him. 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 
 How merit I 
 My lord's great goodwill so ?
 
 TJie Last David. 31 
 
 Nergal Sharezer. 
 
 Do ye stand back. — 
 Now to our friendly tale. — Rememberest not 
 Those many kindnesses I had of thee 
 When, years ago, I came on royal errand 
 Hither, and found warm shelter 'neath thy roof? 
 I mind me then thy father was alive — 
 Kindly old man and righteous, was Ahikam — 
 Who gave me courtliest welcome, bade me eat 
 And drink, of all his best ; and a fair bed 
 Was spread for me, the fairest that he had ; 
 The while his stripling Gedaliah strove 
 To cheer my soul with softest speech, and songs — 
 Sweeter to me than all the songs of Babel 
 Sung from oi old, or what of later days 
 Hired bards may weave to win their master's smile 
 Or scattered purse, or seat at feasting board ; 
 I love them not ; with weary heart I hear them ; 
 Hoarse as they are with names of numbrous gods 
 And reeking with their praises, — sweet as those 
 I heard in my fair childhood 'mong the hills 
 Of Media — herdsmen sang them in night hours 
 To while their watch away. — Boy wert thou then, 
 Yet manhood hath not changed thee in my eyes. 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 Now God be praised, who watcheth evermore 
 On us, like loving father on his sons ' —
 
 32 The Last Dauid. 
 
 My lord, I little counted on such fall 
 
 Of great good fortune on mCj as has brought 
 
 So noble a deliverer. What poor service 
 
 I did thee in years past was but the due 
 
 To every stranger (so our fathers teach us), 
 
 And not done, brings us shame and foul reproach. 
 
 'Tis strange, to praise our songs — thou art no son 
 
 Of Babel or the plains. 
 
 Nergal Siiarezer. 
 
 No, thanks to Him 
 Whose sacred flame will rise on us to-morrow, 
 No worshipper am I of wood and stone, 
 And hate their slavish praises. If my will 
 Hold good for aught with the great King, this city 
 And her high Temple crown, shall feel no touch 
 Of violating hands — nor shall true priest 
 Or faithful prophet lose one drop of blood. 
 Our lord is no mere torturer — though stern 
 To such as wrong him, he will never push 
 His anger to the bitter end, but ever 
 Yields graciously to them that sue him right. 
 He loves not war ; the battle crash to him 
 Is hateful ; he would have no enemies ; 
 But when one shakes the corner of his power 
 He turns on him perforce. If that blind King 
 Of thine had meddled not with Pharaoh, still 
 His throne had stood on peace. The rule of aught
 
 The Last David, 33 
 
 The west encircles must of nature fall 
 To one of two, King Hophrah or our lord ; . 
 If Hophrah gain it, then the realm of Babel 
 Trembles from end to end ; but if with us 
 The lordship stay, our master's seat is sure, 
 And having peace on one side, he is free 
 To centre all his strength (with due allowance 
 For guard of sunward borders) on his purpose, 
 Whereon his soul is set, of rearing up 
 Rich palace-roofs, and temples at whose glory 
 His fathers would turn pale. — The day when he 
 Set forth on this emprise, nigh two years gone, 
 I rode with him down our broad way, betwixt 
 Its soaring buildings, toward the bridge that leads 
 Borsippa-ward. A gloom was in his eyes, 
 And he said mournfully, as we sped on 
 Past thronging packs of people gathered there 
 To shout their lord fair fortune in the figfht, 
 * How know I if I now cast latest looks 
 On this my handiwork, unfinished yet ? 
 Maybe ; then who is there of all my children 
 Heir to his father's spirit with his crown ? 
 If I return not, may not this my city. 
 Pride of my heart of hearts, be in her flush 
 Of maiden beauty sent the reeling path 
 That shelves sheer down to ruin ? Bel forbid ! 
 Would peace were in my borders at this hour.' 
 
 3
 
 34 The Last David. 
 
 With that he sighed a heavy sigh, and never 
 Spakc of these things again. But oftentime 
 I have seen him sad and silent, and bethought me 
 Of those his parting words, and known full well 
 How his heart yearns for peaceful home-return 
 And a glad people's cries. — 
 
 Now, since thy father 
 (On whose fair memory rest unending peace) 
 Is past all taste of earthly honour, thou, 
 Firstfruit of his begetting, for his sake 
 And for thine own, inheritest all good 
 I would have striven to gain him from our master. 
 Governorship of Judah ; if my toil 
 At kingly ears bear fruit, Ahikam's son 
 Shall lord it so, and triumph on his foes, 
 Glad servants then of him they mocked before. 
 
 Gedaliah, 
 My loving lord, thou read'st my dearest wish ; — 
 Not that I would have wronged my king, if only 
 His heart had learned submission, bent to law ; 
 But when I knew all lost, and he — O shame ! — 
 In coward flight, meseemed that very well 
 'Twould be, could I, who ever sought and strove 
 To make his peace with Babel, gain some power 
 To cheer my brethren's lot, so starred with ill. 
 If, as I deem, some influence with the king 
 Is thine —
 
 The Last David. 35 
 
 Nergal Sharezer. 
 He leans upon me, calls me friend; 
 Sets by his side at table, honours me 
 Beyond all other lords of his. Doubt not 
 My voice with him is able to gain this ; 
 Ere many days are past, be fortune fair, 
 All, as we wish, shall be. 
 
 {Enter Soldiers with the Warder prisoner ; one 
 
 speaks}) 
 
 Soldier. 
 
 An't please my lord. 
 We found this man lurking behind a bastion ; 
 Ke moved not when we challenged him, and when 
 We seized him, struggled not ; yet kept his eye 
 Fixed on us, as a man does in a trance. 
 I pray my lord we kill him, for he seems 
 Possessed of some ill demon, who mayhap 
 Will urge him to fall on us presently. 
 We are all one in this. 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 
 My lord, this man. 
 When our King's father was a child, took on him 
 That faithful service, which through every change 
 And storm of fortune, he fulfilled till now ; 
 Grey has he grown, and weatherbeaten, watching 
 For Salem's safety, from this very wall. 
 
 3—2
 
 36 The Last David. 
 
 Let his dry leaf be left to dangle yet 
 A little longer, from the tree of life ; 
 Count me his pledge and bond. 
 
 Nergal Siiarezer. 
 
 Men, touch him not. 
 Let him go where he will, and pass this word 
 Through all your ranks. No murmuring, quick, 
 be off !— 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 I thank thee from my soul for this good turn ; 
 Dear is this man, and reverend, to us all. 
 He knew my grandsire Shaphan, and old Amon, 
 Josiah's father, served, albeit he got 
 Small thanks therefore from that stern slaughterer ; 
 And many tales he knows of the old times. 
 Dread stories of those mighty ones that held 
 The land, what time our fathers swarmed across 
 From Moab, such long lengths of years ago ; 
 And how lord David lurked in hiding-holes 
 For fear of Saul, and darted out in raids 
 Of desperate valour, winning sometimes spoil 
 And sometimes a fair wife. Then he would tell 
 How, in the years gone by, the hosts of Asshur 
 Came crashing on the land, in multitude 
 Untold as thronging locusts, when they come 
 From the hot South, devouring fruit and leaf,
 
 The Last David. -^J 
 
 And pay back tears and famine. ' O the woe 
 
 They wrought, those men of Asshur,' he would say, 
 
 ' Judah they seared hke fire, and furthermore 
 
 Left bitterness in Israel's cup for ever.' 
 
 Talker he was, yet not upon his lips 
 
 But in his bosom's depth, he kept his heart, 
 
 Tear-quick for other's sorrow, alway. Years 
 
 May he live yet, I hope, to serve me well 
 
 As he has served his kingly lords before. 
 
 Again I give thee grateful thanks 
 
 Nergal Sharezer. 
 
 Not so ; 
 Now are we brothers, and the will of one 
 Becomes the other's deed. — Say, who is this 
 That with wild eyes and raven hair outstreaming 
 Floats towards us like some shadow — none of earth ? 
 
 See it comes nearer, nearer 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 
 Hush, my lord ; 
 The prophetess ! 
 
 Naomi. 
 Aye, I have found ye now. 
 Quake not, and turn so craven pale, lord Nergal, 
 But hearken to my word ; and he that shrinks 
 Shivering behind thee, traitor, whose foul name 
 I know too well, shall listen. Jehovah saith : 
 'Albeit I sorely laid My hand on Judah
 
 38 The Last David. 
 
 In just requital for the sin she sinned, 
 
 Forsaking My due praise and sacrifice 
 
 To worship graven blocks of senseless stone, 
 
 Not alway will I punish, and moreover 
 
 Their heathen hands I wrought My judgment by 
 
 Shall not laugh Me to scorn ; but I will side 
 
 With Mine own people, when they purge their hearts 
 
 In pure repentance, as I sided when 
 
 High-hearted Deborah and doubting Barak 
 
 With half a score of thousands at their feet, 
 
 Followed Me to the battle, broke the hosts 
 
 Of Jabin, when that brawling ancient water 
 
 Of Kishon reddened with his bravest blood 
 
 And swept his captain's corpses to the sea ; 
 
 Fought I not then for Israel ? Sang he not 
 
 The triumph-song? So shall he sing once more. 
 
 Say, Naomi, Jehovah's wrath is wakened, 
 
 And it is coming, coming ; all the havoc 
 
 Ye Chaldees work on this My dwelling-place 
 
 Shall fall on Babel, hundredfold and soon. 
 
 Think not that I, with idle hand in bosom, 
 
 Will see this garden of My earth betrod 
 
 With trampling hoofs to death, and unavenged ; 
 
 Tremble, ye men of Babel, for the days 
 
 Of woe and bitter wailing overhang 
 
 Your heads even now — weep and repent, before 
 
 The hour is past — bring ye meet sacrifice
 
 The Last David, 39 
 
 To this High Place where I have set My Name ; 
 So 'scape your brethren's wrath, and save your souls 
 Alive.' 
 
 Thus saith Jehovah — heed it, ye. — 
 Moreover in His visions have I been 
 But yesternight — mark ye what I beheld. 
 Turn not away, lord Nergal — 'tis a thing 
 That touches thee too closely ; stay and hear. — 
 Meseemed at first I wandered in dark ways 
 And found no path — when suddenly I saw 
 A line of light like lightning leap across 
 The great north heaven — broader and broader grew 
 The rift, with ragged edges rolling over 
 Like a fire-shrivelled scroll ; the while there fell 
 A flood of thunder on me, where I stood 
 Full of amaze and fear — who on the wings 
 Of that dread roar seemed rising, as a cloud, 
 And felt no more, but was, and saw, and heard. 
 Now was all heaven one blaze of golden light. 
 When with a clang of trumpets terrible 
 Came forth supreme Jehovah, chariot-borne 
 As for the war. His shield was fringed with fire. 
 And in His hand the slaying lightning trembled 
 Athirst for death ; four horses spreading wings 
 That whirred high over thunder, drew Him on. 
 Who strode within a car of sapphire crystal 
 Wheeling on flashing flame, that hurtled down
 
 40 The Last David. 
 
 The steep of heaven right royally. Far above 
 Rose rank past rank o' th' Mighty, weaponed all 
 To the full, and breathing from their eyes fierce 
 
 longing ; 
 Rank beyond rank below, svvorded and speared 
 And bearing ruby shields before them, swept 
 Down thundering paths amain, while trumpeters 
 Shrilled out for onset, all that countless throng 
 Shouting the battle-cry in exultation ; — 
 Then saw I far below them, in the dew 
 Of sleep yet wrapt, proud towered Babel lie, 
 Bathed in their light like morning. Peak and roof 
 And battlement, edged red with living gold 
 Shone out to meet their onset — whereupon 
 Rose up a sullen mutter from the Deep, 
 And forth from foulest darkness came all gods 
 That boast of Chaldee worship, Chaldee praise ; 
 Like smoke they struggled up, gathering their hosts 
 To battle as they came. Then with a roar 
 Like mightiest waters, clothed in mist that breathed 
 The shafted death, fell on them all that flood 
 Of Lord Jehovah's war — nought did I see, 
 But felt the air I hung in thrill and quiver 
 When both their vanguards met — and when the 
 
 smoke 
 Of dreadful battle rolled away, I saw 
 Those false gods failing underneath the brunt
 
 The Last David. 41 
 
 Of angel-falchions shooting into Night. — 
 Bright Bel I saw, his golden hair all dabbled 
 With life-blood newly shed, go flaming down 
 Where black gulfs yawned below him — Nebo saw 
 Hurled from his temple-home in loved Borsippa, 
 Clay-cake and graver clenched in dying hands — 
 Rimmon came thunderous, striding cloud, and sped 
 Straight at Jehovah's chariot wheels, when fire 
 Flew round him clinging — cloud and rider both 
 Passed like a mist away and were no more — 
 Voluptuous Ishtar, crownless, whelmed in shame . 
 And deathly pale, fell shrieking — and the Seven, 
 The sexless ones who dwell in deepest deeps, 
 Wreaking all ill on mortals — spitting now 
 Their venom-spite at their own kindred, ranged 
 Them on Jehovah's side — to be swift sped 
 To death with whistling clamour, ghostly shrill ; 
 And all their hosts came showering down upon them, 
 Howling in lamentation as they fell. 
 Then on the sleeping city 
 
 Nergal Sharezar. 
 
 Peace, oh peace ! 
 Maid, r adjure thee by the God thou servest. 
 By thine own honour, and thy father's graves, 
 Sparc me and cease — have mercy 
 
 Naomi. 
 
 Sword and fire
 
 42 The Last David. 
 
 And all the hoarded might of strong destruction 
 Wielded by heavenly hands, came raining fast — 
 Oh joy ! blood-red with wrath the firmament 
 Looked frowning down — even now I hear once more 
 That splitting shout of victory, that swoop 
 Of sword-flames, starting up the cityful 
 From sleep to swiftest death — I hear the groan 
 Dull and half-smothered, of the godless ones ! — 
 Jehovah called Euphrates then. Heaven-high 
 The river rose, roaring, and shook his mane 
 Of waters, like an angry beast — then bowing 
 His blue neck, overarching Babel, fell ; 
 And through the crash of toppling roofs shot up 
 The shriek of women, one keen cry ; then all 
 Was still. I swooned away for very gladness, 
 Or seemed to swoon, and woke ; yet in awaking 
 There came across my ears a sound much like 
 The gurgling wash of waters, far below ; 
 I minded me of Babel's fall, and smiled. 
 
 False sprout of Shaphan, whom that grey-beard 
 
 prophet 
 Lures at his empty bidding on to death, 
 Hearken, I say — beware, the high-set seat 
 Bodes ill to thee ; — why should I wish thee well ? 
 Go, quick, and take it ! Chaldee, guide the blind ; 
 Lead to the cliff's edge, bid him dance for joy. 
 Then watch thy dear friend diving deep and deeper
 
 The Last David. 43 
 
 Into such gloom thou'd shrink to follow him to ! 
 Try this same footing after, if thy heart 
 Incline thee. Sharpest curse of all the curses 
 Have ye of me for farewell ! 
 
 \Exit Naomi. 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 
 O my brother, 
 It is a terrible thing, when God so looks 
 Out at the wild eyes threatening — and such ill 
 As my heart dies to think on. Knew I only 
 She spoke vain words, and not the baulkless purpose, 
 Then might I rest in peace. 
 
 Nergal Sharezer. 
 
 Fie on thee, faint-heart ; 
 Let not a woman's raving shake thee so ; — 
 Who is this maid, now tell me — she is gone, 
 No need for fear — yet, when she turned far off 
 To look on us, how her eyes glittered blue 
 Athwart the darkness, keen as winter stars ! — 
 We can breathe freer now. 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 
 If ever life 
 Was charged with bitterness from end to end, 
 I think 'twas hers — scarce from her mother's breast 
 She felt the tooth of sorrow rankle deep 
 In her young heart — her father slain in fight
 
 44 The Last David. 
 
 Against the Chaldee, making stand for Salem, 
 
 And with her weary mother she must foot 
 
 That rending road to Babel far away ; 
 
 Mixed with the thronging heap of sorrow urged 
 
 On faltering feet, what time Jchoiachin 
 
 Was swept off to captivity, and Salem 
 
 Bled of her best and bravest, twelve years gone ; 
 
 Soon died the mother, torn from clinging arms 
 
 To grace some Chaldee chieftain's luxury, 
 
 And wild-eyed lonely Naomi, left the sport 
 
 Of burning blasts of hate and gusts that freeze 
 
 Of icy scorn, wore out some wretched years 
 
 And grew up strange and silent, shunning sound 
 
 And sight of man. When twice seven years had set 
 
 Their seal upon her beauty, and her bud 
 
 Of childhood blossomed to a pale rose bloom, 
 
 Some lustful lord of Babel — so they say — 
 
 Cast on her fair sad face his swinish eyes 
 
 And sought to bear her off — but ere the slaves 
 
 Could do their master's bidding, she was gone. 
 
 None found her ever after in those walls, 
 
 But some few months ago, we saw her here 
 
 As now we saw her, wandering unbeknown 
 
 And uttering strangest wisdom and wild speech ; 
 
 And it was told how she had found a shelter 
 
 With merchants of Arabia, in whose train 
 
 She followed far as Riblah, and thence found —
 
 The Last David. 45 
 
 By what wild toil I know not — way unhindered 
 Hither. And now 'tis rumoured marvellous visions 
 Not unsent of Jehovah — may He grant 
 'Tis not so, but vain dreaming — haunt her ever ; 
 And truly wondrous light looks through her eyes, 
 And in her speech, my heart keeps telling me, 
 There sounds a voice that bodes me bitter bale. 
 
 Nergal Sharezer. 
 Cheer thee, my friend ; take not such heed of words 
 Fallen from a witless tongue. But what a draught 
 Of gall i' th' cup of life, for childish lips 
 To drain to the bitter bottom ! By the sun, 
 My master's warriors work much ill in Judah ; 
 Would they were home again, and hands blood- 
 stained 
 But now, were only harvesting in peace 
 The corn, our yellow sea, that heaves and rolls 
 Waiting the reapers' toil, and fares but ill 
 In servant hands, when masters are away ; 
 Then might this strife-scorched land of thine rejoice 
 In peace and plenteous seasons, bursting barns, 
 And gather all her warworn stricken children 
 To her broad bosom motherlike, and breathe 
 Into their hearts the balm of happy days ; 
 Then would thy brethren bless their fair young lord 
 And bring him summer fruits, and all due homage, 
 And prosper, they and he.
 
 46 The Last David. 
 
 G EDA LI A 1 1. 
 
 I cannot speak, 
 My lord and brother, the rich gratitude 
 That wells up from my soul to meet such love ; 
 It takes away all utterance, 
 
 {Enter a Soldier.) 
 Soldier. 
 
 Good my lord, 
 I have foul news to tell. 
 
 Nergal Sharezer. 
 
 What news } what news ? 
 
 Soldier. 
 Spite of my lord's command that none should lay 
 Sword or any violent hands on any Hebrew, 
 
 The white-haired priest, the scribe 
 
 Nergal Siiarezer. 
 
 What sayest thou } 
 Dared any slave of mine so scorn my orders ? 
 
 Soldier. 
 One of our army followed him within 
 The temple doors, and slew him, as he stood 
 With outspread palms praying before the altar 
 Of incense, so it seems — he took his spear 
 And smote between his shoulders, and he fell 
 Right on the altar, heart-blood flowing out 
 And mingling with hot incense. So he died. 
 Lord Sarsechim seized the man, and has him fast
 
 The Last David. 47 
 
 In ward for his ill deed — who sped me here 
 With earnest supplication for thy counsel 
 In this, and weightier matters. 
 
 Nergal Sharezer. 
 
 Say, I come. — 
 {Exit Soldier. 
 Brother of Judah, if it should so hap 
 That any lay a forcing hand upon thee, 
 Remember that my name is powerful 
 To give free passage anyway, from here 
 To Riblah. Furthermore, this signet ring 
 Will bring who wears it even to the throne 
 Whereupon he that lords this land now sits, 
 Nebuchadnezzar, king of kings on earth. 
 Take it, and use if need be. Fare thee well. 
 
 \_Exit Nergal Sharezer. 
 Gedaliah. 
 And now at last my dearest dream draws near 
 Its high fulfilment, and this lovely land, 
 Soil of my fathers, sown with bones of glory, 
 Nigh mine, for joy or sorrow. Stumbling-stone 
 Is none — the bravest, bitterest foe I had 
 Slumbers on holy ground. That he sleep on 
 In peace, I grudge him not. All hindrance sped 
 (For after Ehshama no living soul 
 In Judah durst oppose his will to mine). 
 What else but triumph spread before — what else
 
 48 The Last David. 
 
 But seas of joy for Judah and for me ? 
 That lion's grandvvhclp Ishmael lives, ^tis true, 
 Bears me a hate not less — but why fear him, 
 Crouched in the tent of Ammon ? — Ah, to Baalis 
 Methought the slave said King and all his guard 
 Were gone — what if it were a cloak to blind 
 Our eyes withal, who rise when he is set. 
 Yet until then are pale — not lights to guide 
 And cheer, but phantom butts of scorn ! — Ah, fool, 
 Fool that I was to revel in rich dreams 
 Of might and glory, while a King yet lives 
 Who meditates mayhap a suppliant suit 
 To him of Babel — which if once he gain, 
 Confusion to our hopes ! This plan of ours 
 Might never leak out, yet I know no love 
 Burns in his heart of hearts to me. Too soon, 
 Fool-like, too soon, I reckoned, ere the way 
 Was clear before me ; if Josiah's seed 
 Reach Riblah and gain the Chaldee, all is lost. 
 {Enter a MESSENGER.; 
 Messenger. 
 Sore news I bring, my lord, sore news and foul ; 
 The King is taken, and as good as dead, 
 And all his captains and his chosen ones 
 Winnowed away like chaff before some gust 
 When winds are out in summer — but the wheat. 
 The chosen corn, the fair wheat and the holy.
 
 The Last David. 49 
 
 Become the prey of spoilers — woe is me ! 
 The Chaldees took him in the hills, just through 
 The pass they call Adummim, half-way down 
 To Jericho ; where robbers oftentime 
 Have fallen upon our camels, smote and spoiled 
 And wrought our city merchants mickle woe ; — 
 There burst on him that cloud of clanging arms 
 Poured down in thousands from each rock and cave 
 And yawning of the mountains, as they trod 
 Their weary way beside the torrent-brink 
 Roaring not now with waters, dry and dead ; 
 Fiercely they fought and long, the King not least, 
 Till strength was spent, and sword and spear were 
 
 broken, 
 While for each foe they slaughtered, nigh a score 
 Came flooding down upon them in their stead ; — 
 When the King saw his young men mostly fallen 
 Or flying fast before strange spears, he bowed 
 His gracious neck to earth and made his moan, 
 (The while the ring of wolfish eyes crept closer) 
 Crying ' Jehovah, hast Thou now no help 
 For Thine anointed King? That crown Thou gavest, 
 Suffer not unclean hands to rend from me ; 
 Darken their eyes in their presumption, so 
 They find me not, forsaken as I am.' 
 But while his lips yet moved, they swooped on him, 
 Bound fast, and speedily gat him off, away — 
 
 4
 
 50 The Last David. 
 
 Where, I know not — myself was left for dead 
 
 Among his slain ones, and fetched back such life 
 
 By stress of gasping, as has sped me here 
 
 To tell my woefullcst of all ill tales. 
 
 Gedaliah. 
 
 This is strange news, and sudden. We must go 
 
 To the Temple court together, where the chiefs 
 
 Of Judah, and some other, sit in council 
 
 Resolving our affairs. Rouse thee and come ; 
 
 Thou shalt be tended quickly, and rewarded — 
 
 Ay, to thy heart's desire. (Aside) Now do I breathe 
 
 New life ! 
 
 {Exeunt Gedaliah and Messenger. 
 
 Warder. 
 So ran the ancient oracles. 
 The prophets fell, whose blood flew up to heaven 
 Shrieking for righteous vengeance, long ago ; 
 The house of David slew them, and upon 
 The head of David's seed a fateful doom 
 Hung hovering — even all the great glad time 
 God-loved Josiah held just royalty, 
 But yet, with all his goodness, could not ward 
 The death-stroke off, that fell when he was gone. 
 A bitter fall ! — But fairer days, though few. 
 From time to time were ours, and foolishly 
 Judah grew quite forgetful, laughed and sang 
 In light contentment, like a wanton child
 
 The Last David. 51 
 
 Upon a pitfall's edge. Too foolish ye 
 
 To dream the eternal oracles could slumber ! — 
 
 Yet so it was ; but righteousness could save, 
 
 And purging off that curse of wizard charms 
 
 That brings our great curse downward ! Nevermore 
 
 Will ye, the captives of to-morrow, come 
 
 And nest you in your mountains as of old ; 
 
 Or if ye do, 'twill only be when lords 
 
 Are weary of the hands that yield them toil. 
 
 Or powerless, by some fell calamity, 
 
 To keep their bond no longer. Be it so, 
 
 By high Jehovah, and the Mighty, all ! 
 
 Yet 'tis too far for hope. But if it come. 
 
 Rebellious Judah will have learnt too dearly 
 
 What a high shield they slank from, when the witch, 
 
 And star-watcher^ and guesser by the rods. 
 
 Lured them from that clear glory wont to fill 
 
 The sacred space, and dazzle holy eyes ; 
 
 And gave but wind in recompense ! Methinks 
 
 If that day dawn, ye will be wiser then ; 
 
 But what a dear-bought wisdom, to lose all 
 
 Ye hold most good, and leave your many bones 
 
 Of old forefathers whitening where the land 
 
 Bred dumb despair and thraldom ! 
 
 Nevermore, 
 Oh David, wilt thou sweep through fairest halls 
 With kingly robe around thee, and with blare 
 
 4—2
 
 2 2 The Last David. 
 
 Of trumpets, clang of cymbals, song of slaves ; 
 No more will that light soul, like thistledown 
 Dance on each wave of faction fresh up-puffed 
 By breath of flatterers fawning ; good and ill 
 Both dead for thee— unless (our God forbid) 
 Thou, wretched one, hast 'scaped death, but not 
 
 shame 
 Far bitterer — the spurn of scorn, the jeer 
 Of insolent hate — the blighting name of slave! 
 I pray Thee, Lord Jehovah — for I feel 
 Thee still our God, our fostering Father still, 
 Whatso black deeps we wade in — send on him 
 A saving boon of death betime, so he 
 Drain not that withering poison, a slave's life ; 
 Let not the last light twig of David's tree 
 Die decking heathen pride. — 
 
 False, flaunting dawn, 
 Why rises it in rosy robes and gold 
 To laugh the grey night out of countenance ? 
 Peace, wanton, hide that mocking smile of thine, 
 And bid the sun, thy doting lover, tarry 
 Awhile with thee below the hills ; so leave 
 The sons of sorrow in a seemly gloom 
 To taste their heritage ! 
 
 Still it uplifts 
 Those flashing curtains for the paramour 
 Who peeps with fiery eye from the green fringe
 
 The Last David. 53 
 
 Of Olivet, and turns dim leaves to gold ; 
 A fire about the roots of sentinel pines 
 That keep watch over Jordan — burning now 
 Even as he did when came glad tidings, lighting 
 A blaze of triumph, flung from heart to heart 
 And spreading seawide o'er Jerusalem — 
 That Nineveh, the Pitiless — our scourge 
 And hammer of all the nations — split and shattered 
 Lay at her hater's mercy. Then we blessed 
 That golden lamp of heaven, that beamed on us 
 As though he shared our glee. Far other hour 
 Rolls on us now the mocking morning's smile, 
 When she, with ashen garments rent in storm 
 And gusts of clamorous lamentation ever 
 Bearing big tears to earth, should look on all 
 This sorrow. — Now meseems it well to go 
 Unheard and unbeheld, right out away 
 From sick Jerusalem, and stretch spent limbs 
 In darkness — rid of this blue mockery 
 Of day, this dancing leering ball of fire — 
 In darkness, which is very peace, to die. \Exit.
 
 SONGS OF THE WAYSIDE. 
 
 i'vy^ ycc3 iuvovg xai (p^ovouga TOuvdiKOv 
 K^iiGSuv 6o:pt(!7ou 'jravTog sgTiv sh^srig. 
 
 SOPHOKLES. 
 
 Metod eallum weold 
 Gumena cynnes, 
 Swa he mi git deth ; 
 Forthan bith andgit 
 yEghwjer selest, 
 Ferhthes forethanc : 
 Fela sceal gebidan 
 Leofes and lathes, 
 Se the longe her 
 On thyssum win-dagum 
 Worulde briiceth. 
 Ure seghwylc sceal 
 Ende gebidan 
 Worulde lifes : 
 Wyrce se the mote 
 Domas ser deathe ; ' 
 Thset bith driht-guman 
 Unlifgendum 
 ^fter selest. 
 
 Beowulf.
 
 SONGS OF THE WAYSIDE. 
 
 Watch ! for the night is past, its shadows flee, 
 While, azure as the eyes of infancy, 
 
 Rises the morning with one hopeful star 
 To guide us yet awhile on life's loud sea. 
 
 Hold we our way"right on, nor suffer aught 
 Of fear or of foreboding in our thought ; 
 
 The way is clear, and day is near, and we 
 Bring the same heart of hope we ever brought. 
 
 Only beware we, while the dawn before 
 
 Our bounding prow swells brighter evermore, 
 
 Lest at the lulling of a Siren song, 
 Our hands grow listless, and let fall the oar.
 
 58 So7igs of the JVayside. 
 
 And though unwonted storms around us rave, 
 With hearts undaunted all their fury brave, 
 Bending our eyes upon that beacon-star 
 That flashes far and fearless on the wave. 
 
 So, when the mists of morning 'gin to pale 
 Before the breathing of a balmier gale, 
 
 That orient roseflush fall on us unscathed, 
 Loosing the folds forth of an unrent sail. 
 
 And when the unruffled royal harbour we 
 Enter, at length from storms and surges free. 
 
 Haply our bark, if steadfast hands have steered, 
 Will bear us after on a sunnier sea. 
 
 What says the holy sage, Mark Antonine, 
 Brightest and best of all the sceptred line. 
 
 Who fostered Virtue to her perfect flower, 
 And well-nigh linked our human with divine ? 
 
 ' Live not as though thou looked to live for years 
 Unnumbered — even now the Must-be nears ; 
 
 While life is thine, while yet 'tis in thy might, 
 Let each day find thee nobler than its peers ; 
 
 ' Be ever mindful, 'mid the whirl of sense. 
 Of thine own inmost soul's omnipotence ; 
 
 Let all thy powers like willing slaves obey 
 The mystic Might that bears thee hither and hence.*
 
 So7i^s of the Wayside. 59 
 
 So,- while we wend across the tide of time, 
 Shall from our lonely toiling spring a chime 
 
 Of sweetest music, as the fateful hand 
 Smites sternly on our spirit's strings sublime. 
 
 For never laurel of the conqueror 
 
 Won as green guerdon of triumphant war, 
 
 But withered with the weary brow it bound, 
 But sank with it in dust for evermore. 
 
 But they, the Heroes, who have bled and borne 
 The loftier conflict, and the crown of thorn, 
 
 And poured their rich life's perfume for all-heal — 
 Crowned are with wreaths no conqueror has worn ; 
 
 The whole world's wonder, and its burning love, 
 Kindling upon their footsteps as they move, 
 
 And blessings breathed of lowlier lips that yearn 
 Wistfully on their far fair path above. 
 
 For well we know, that out of suffering 
 
 A great and marvellous grace may often spring, 
 
 Flowering not only for the world beside, 
 But even for that heart its birth-throes wring. 
 
 What if 'twere sooth, as in a saddened hour 
 Sang Shakspeare, ' how that life was but a flower 
 
 In the spring time ;' if all great Nature's toils 
 Bore but one bloom to deck a fading bower }
 
 6o So?io;s of the Wayside. 
 
 The mirage of a rainbow mist that's spread 
 Athwart a soundless ocean, dark and dead — 
 
 Can this be being, and our h'ttle life 
 Be rounded with a sleep ? So Shakspeare said. 
 
 May not we be the sleepers, who lie here, 
 Slaves of each flattering hope and phantom fear, 
 
 Coiled in the nightmare chain, Necessity, 
 That ever, as we shun it, seems more near ; 
 
 And this transcendent canopy of blue, 
 Fleece-flecked, that one white star is quivering 
 through, 
 And all the blossoms of the day's pure prime. 
 Springing to greet us through their glory of dew ; 
 
 The song of morning birds, and all the mirth 
 Our mother or foster mother, kindly Earth, 
 Murmurs around us when we list to hear, 
 Gives as her best of bounty from our birth ; — 
 
 All this our being that so steadfast seems. 
 Be but the trembling tissue of our dreams, 
 
 Gold-shot or sable, as the lot befall, 
 Cloud-bound, or glowing glorious in Love's beams? 
 
 If it be so, is not the Dreamer then 
 
 Sole sovereign of that fair world of his ken. 
 
 Wherein he wanders, as its Archimage, 
 Wielding at will the eternal Where and When ?
 
 Son OS of the Wayside. 6i 
 
 'Tis his, who holds this fairy land in fee, 
 A heaven of h'ght and love to make it be; 
 
 Or if in evil hour he will, to shape 
 One scathing hateful hell of earth and sea. 
 
 Whether we toil across a tide of years, 
 Moaned round with wild winds drenched in human 
 tears, 
 Yet sometime breathing in the balmier air 
 As high in heaven our sun of Love appears ; 
 
 Or suffer all in dream as sleepers do, 
 
 That deem what thing they seek or shun is true. 
 
 Till, waking, starless Midnight meet their eyes, 
 Or sorrow melt in Morn's immortal blue ; — 
 
 The end is one, whether we dream or are ; 
 
 The world's work, which is ours, to make or mar ; 
 
 To be and kindle suns of quenchless light. 
 Or stoop to darkness as a falling star. 
 
 Humanity, unchangeable, eterne, 
 
 Proud peak whereto all Nature's lowlands yearn, 
 
 Of all the measure, and the Measurer — 
 Can such for ever cease to breathe and burn .-' 
 
 Owning, as sun of every age and clime, 
 High in its own pure ether throned sublime, 
 
 The everlasting heirdom of the ages, 
 The generations far beyond all time ?
 
 62 So/{o-s of the Wayside. 
 
 A boundless spirit bounded for a day 
 In close-confining walls of common clay, 
 That beats for ever at its bars, and yet 
 Half shrinks from soaring when the wall's away; 
 
 Like butterflies that tremblingly forsake 
 The shelter of their sheathings when they break, 
 Though breath of Summer lift their wings, and 
 light 
 Of Summer flood the world whereto they wake ; 
 
 And yet we doubt, and double with our doubt 
 The films which blind our eyes to all without, 
 
 That ring of circling foes forevermore 
 Drawn balefully our dim-seen path about. 
 
 Though sometime stumbling, still shall we aspire ; 
 The evening star that flashed through sunset's fire 
 
 To die in darkness, if our gaze be true 
 Will rise the morning star of our desire. 
 
 What if the morrow swell so high before ; 
 Each towering billow may, if all the more 
 
 We, like strong swimmers, breast the tide of time. 
 Give nearer glimpses of the wished-for shore ? 
 
 O that we even as we wish, could hiozv ! 
 Thought but adventures far as it may go, 
 
 And leaves us on a dizzy cliff-edge, whence 
 We see the boundless whirl of waves below ;
 
 Songs of the Wayside. 63 
 
 Wild with white wrath the ocean wreaks its will, — 
 Whereover bitter winds are whistling shrill, 
 
 And all the roaring brink of earth and sea 
 Foams like the floodway of some mighty mill. 
 
 Yet, through the pauses of the thundering gale, 
 A sound, that seems half whisper and half wail, 
 
 Is wafted toward us as we listen above ; 
 * Pity and Love may pass where Thought will fail.' 
 
 And as we hail the omen, and once more 
 
 Wend our way down that steep to Life's dim shore, 
 
 Swells yet one echo of the infinite sea — 
 ' Pity and Love beyond all Thought can soar.' 
 
 Wherefore should shame and sorrow follow sin, 
 If it be not the lordly voice within 
 
 Clanging, like some high-hung cathedral bell. 
 Death-dirges on the corpse they carry in .-* 
 
 Desire and pride and passion overwon. 
 Or some dear race of duty meetly run. 
 
 Shall not the bell chime out, in joy-notes now. 
 Pealing a blissful bridal new begun "i 
 
 Springs the Life-stream from heights unseen, untrod. 
 Where Being's source drinks in the dews of God ; 
 
 In sight awhile, as rill and river, rolls, 
 Lingeringly lipping many a flowery sod ;
 
 64 Sojio-s of the Wayside. 
 
 Until the far-off, dark, mysterious sea 
 Whose sighing waves we hear, yet cannot see, 
 
 Welcome the weary waters, and erelong 
 To their own heavenly birthright yield them free. 
 
 Life ! is it but a sparrow's flight within 
 A hall where feast in winter king and kin, 
 
 That, glad a moment in the firelight, glides 
 Thereout once more to the outer dark and din ? 
 
 Or may it be the wild unweeting flight 
 
 Of tropic bird caught in some cavern's night, 
 
 That bruised and baffled in the dark awhile. 
 Yet finds its way through gloom from light to light? 
 
 II. 
 
 This morning Summer brooded on the sea ; 
 The sky above was blue as sky could be. 
 
 And sunlit billows falling at our feet 
 Sang of their coral isles in slumberous glee. 
 
 But now all heaven is swathed in sullen gloom. 
 And leaden cloudbanks far to seaward loom, 
 
 While under winds that whirl the withering sleet 
 Ocean upgathers all his solemn boom. —
 
 Songs of the Wayside. 65 
 
 Up ! though the storms of winter wrestle yet, 
 And troubled seas below in fury fret, 
 
 Let us not blindly in the warring days 
 The coming truce of God for once forget ; 
 
 Carols the redbreast clearlier morn by morn, 
 White burgeons break upon the awakening thorn, 
 
 And in the grass, and on each hedgerow side, 
 Delicate daisies one by one are born ; 
 
 Soon will the swallow come from oversea. 
 Soon will all thickets ring with melody. 
 
 And Earth, upspringing from her winter sleep, 
 Burst into beauty on each herb and tree. 
 
 Were't not for winter, who would thrill beneath 
 The kisses of the Spring's caressing breath, 
 Or long for that deep heaven of her eyes, 
 The pledge of Life's day dawning out of Death ? 
 
 For ever, since the old world's heart began 
 To pulsate with her richest life-blood, man. 
 
 Rose the Spring-time as harbinger of hope 
 And loosing of long winter's bitter ban ; 
 
 For Life knew not herself, in those old days, 
 Before the birth of Thought upon the maze, 
 
 And Spring and Summer, Fall and Winter, flashed 
 To being in the light of human rays. 
 
 5
 
 66 Soi?gs of the Wayside. 
 
 And so for us, if \vc have skill to bring 
 Sweet out of bitter, and make sorrow sing. 
 
 Gilding the dusk that gathers with our glow — 
 Will break and blossom one immortal Spring. 
 
 Even as the holy Mother of old song, 
 Reft of her dear delight the winter long, 
 
 Sprang to glad greeting 'mid the Lenten flowers, 
 Forgetting all the sorrow and the wrong. 
 
 Mild Mother, dewing with thy tender rain 
 Thy boundless brood of root and leaf and grain, 
 Till they are thriven on thy bosom's breadth, 
 And clothe them in their glad green life again ; 
 
 We greet thy gracious presence, and we know 
 That whatsoever dust be hid below, 
 
 Nameless or noble, might of thine may make 
 Beautiful roseblooms on that earth to blow ; 
 
 Till what. seemed dust of darkness and despair, 
 Transfigured into a creation fair, 
 
 Awakes to win the whole world to its love, 
 And with its fragrance fill the whole earth's air. 
 
 So might we, Mother, while the day is ours. 
 Shape in our formless sorrow as it lowers 
 
 Some bow of promise for a brother's eye, 
 Some' beauty blooming unto unborn hours.
 
 Songs of the Wayside. 67 
 
 Unending murmur of the sleepless sea, 
 What is the burden that thou sing'st to me, 
 Wert ever singing from thy being's birth, 
 And yet shall sing in all the years to be ? 
 
 Thou ever changeless in a changing earth, 
 
 The wonders thou hast witnessed from thy birth, 
 
 Had we the wit to spell their secret out, 
 No wisdom were for us of better worth. 
 
 Time was, when rolling round the molten world, 
 A veil of clouded vapour thou wert hurled, 
 
 Lit under by the lurid lava-glow, 
 Above in many a billowy mountain curled ; 
 
 Yet through all clashing conflict, and the throes 
 Of earth, whence rock-hewn continents arose, 
 
 Thou ever swelled and sank, and changeless saw 
 Earth's summer noontides and her winter snows. 
 
 The endless round of being and of breath, 
 The loftier life that springs from lowlier death 
 
 In fish and reptile, bird and beast and man — 
 Is this thy song, O Sea that murmureth ? 
 
 Who is to spell the secret ? Who can say 
 Whether the world has flung her youth away. 
 Or, ever mounting with each morning's sun, 
 Life presses on to a diviner day ? 
 
 5—2
 
 68 Sony's of the Wayside. 
 
 So may each woe, each seeming-wasted life, 
 Become an unseen factor in the strife. 
 
 And lives in Earth's far future sweeter be 
 For all the bitter wherein ours are rife. 
 
 The wild thyme blooms, and never shows its worth, 
 Couching so lowly in its meadow earth ; 
 
 But when its life is trampled by rude feet, 
 The soul of all its beauty springs to birth. 
 
 The winds are well-nigh sleeping ; overhead 
 A wintry moon, with half her splendour spread, 
 
 Amid a ringing glory sits, and showers 
 Her light upon the living and the dead ; 
 
 The eye of night, that shrined in heaven's clear height 
 Fires with her beaming glance this brooklet bright 
 
 Down-dancing to the yellow moonlit sea, 
 Till every ripple leaps in living light. 
 
 Yet other moons shall hang in heaven, and pour 
 Their light, when you and I shall be no more, 
 
 Shall flash in dew-blooms and in love-lit eyes 
 With all their glory of the years of yore ; 
 
 So, as the years roll on, the ages roll, 
 Nor you nor I shall be, for mirth or dole ; 
 
 But fall like raindrops in the stormless sea. 
 And sink our sundered being in the Whole.
 
 So7io-s of the Wayside. 69 
 
 We feel, that whatsoe'er of good be wrought 
 In deed or word, in suffering or in thought, 
 
 Is not an aimless working, but a pulse 
 Of one great soul that throbs in All and Aught. 
 
 The Good ? how shall we gauge it ? one will say ; 
 Since unlike natures unlike laws obey, 
 
 And some hold good what others deem but ill. 
 Their aims as wide asunder as Night and Day ? 
 
 Varies the goal of striving but in name ; 
 
 Man's end were one, from whatso point he came ; 
 
 His Good abides as Heaven invariable — 
 Sunlit or starlit, evermore the same. 
 
 And that best Good whereafter all men yearn, 
 Whereto in vv'orship all earth's noblest turn, 
 Is neither Might nor Law alone, but both 
 Sphered in a Love that must for ever burn. 
 
 III. 
 
 Strange, in the heaven pure Pindar sang to be, 
 And that of John's unmastered mystery. 
 
 Song should be symbol of all souls' delight 
 In quiring feast or by the crystal sea ; —
 
 yo Sono^s of tJic Wayside. 
 
 And yet not strange, for ever since the dawn 
 Of life in leafy lair and river lawn, 
 
 Young hearts have leaped in singing, and therewith 
 Round wintrier souls a wreathing sweetness drawn ; 
 
 From warble of bird to mightiest human tone, 
 A diapason, whose master-chord is one, 
 
 Runs, chiming with one harmony unheard, 
 Speech of all joy, and solace of all moan. 
 
 And he who hearkens not, and never heeds 
 When in his ear the charmed utterance pleads, 
 
 Is as a dead man, who beneath his turf 
 Sleeps deaf to all Spring's singing in her meads ; 
 
 And though bright blooms are breaking overhead, 
 Lies none the lightlier in his narrow bed ; 
 
 And while Heaven's air throbs thick with richest 
 song 
 May never taste Life's banquet round him spread. 
 
 Was it the hymn of worship or of war 
 That first broke silence in the years of yore ; 
 
 Was melody born of a victor's boast, 
 Or trusting hearts that bowed their God before ? 
 
 Surely were it the joy of peace, not strife. 
 That first struck music on the strings of life ; 
 
 The rose it is, and not the thorns, that yields 
 The scent that kings all sweets in spring-tide rife.
 
 Sons^s of the Wayside. 
 
 / 
 
 I 
 
 Woke that voice first to life in Indian woods, 
 Or in the lordlier mountain solitudes, 
 
 Uprolling with the wreathing incense smoke 
 Where god-like calm for aye in azure broods ? 
 
 Perchance, in seeking some one holy name 
 Beseeming Might forevermore the same, 
 
 ]\len struck on earth that spark which was to be 
 Seed of an inextinguishable flame ? 
 
 Maybe all music that the earth has known 
 Is but an echo from that ocean blown 
 
 Which breaks upon this shoal of birth and death, 
 Whispering of isles and continents unknown ; 
 
 So, as we scale majestic height past height 
 Of harmony, with all our soul's dear might, 
 
 Each springing step lifts nearer to the land 
 Of matchless music and immortal light. 
 
 We know not whether it be so, or no ; 
 Yet surely feel we, when our spirits flow 
 
 With some divinest chord in unison, 
 Life were a mocking lure, if 'twere not so. 
 
 As song was deemed joy's soul in spheres above, 
 And harmony the law whereby they move, 
 
 So through all crags of circumstance 'twere well 
 Our life leapt rhythmic to the law of love ;
 
 7 2 So7^os of the Wayside. 
 
 And swcctlicr will the singing waters roll 
 For all the bitter battle-brunt they thole, 
 
 As vanquished discord yields that master-chime 
 Which rounds mute music in one perfect whole. 
 
 For streams that spring from loftiest founts, and fall 
 In cataract over sheerest mountain wall, 
 
 Weave them rich rainbows of their glittering 
 wrack, 
 Robe their green glens in loveliest blossom-pall. 
 
 Better be scattered wide in sunlit spray 
 'Mid the pure peaks and golden glows of day, 
 
 Than glide unruffled through rank lowlands, and 
 ]5e blackened in the world-thronged waterway. 
 
 Across the waste of years, a weary while, 
 Behind our path slow lengthening mile on mile, 
 
 We wander lonely and companionless 
 Till heart meets heart and greets it with a smile ; 
 
 Even as a journeying Arab, parched and worn, 
 Toils between skies that blaze and sands that burn, 
 
 Till at the day's red end his weary eyes 
 Light on those groves andwellswherefor they yearn; 
 
 And with the palm-wings waving overhead, 
 Beneath, a couch of odorous herbage spread. 
 
 Lying in calm delight he nigh forgets 
 Those many lifeless leagues he has to tread ;
 
 Son^s of the Wayside. 73 
 
 For all the toils he underwent before 
 His harbour in that blossoming islet's shore, 
 Seem but the dusky frame wherein is set 
 A Heaven its gloom enhances evermore. 
 
 And rising ere the dawn lift on his way, 
 Freshly his heart, through all the withering day, 
 
 Lies in the dews that fell on it erewhile 
 When he beside the bubbling waters lay. 
 
 Was it the Master argumentative, 
 
 Nursed in all wisdom that the world could give, 
 
 Who out of his own human heart yet cried, 
 ' Were't not for friendship, who would care to live ?' 
 
 No thing to measure by mere social band, — 
 Caressing lip, or grasp of greeting hand ; 
 
 But sudden sympathy from heart to eyes 
 Flashing of kindred souls that understand ; 
 
 Even as a beacon blaze from height to height 
 Leaps across leagues of lowland lulled in night, 
 Whose misty bournes and slumbering thorps arc 
 blind 
 To track the passage of that pilgrim light.
 
 74 Songs of the Wayside. 
 
 May it not be, that as from simplest seeds 
 This manifold wonder of the world proceeds, 
 From out the jarring faiths of all mankind 
 Will spring one worship that shall crown the creeds ; 
 
 And so, as knowledge grows, and brotherhood. 
 And bloodshed dies i' th' kinship of all blood. 
 
 From the old jangling strings shall rise at last 
 The grace of all earth's gladness in one Good ? 
 
 Would we might see the dawning of that day ; 
 Myriads of years, mayhap, will pass away 
 
 Ere our eyes through far children's eyes behold 
 The roselight of that Easter ridge the gray ; 
 
 And yet by self-surrender we may wing 
 The circling choir of centuries that bring 
 Or soon or late one Morn of our desire 
 That all Earth's songsters sang and still shall sing. 
 
 •"Tis likely, when light wreaths and wraiths of things 
 Come flocking for fit echo on the strings, 
 
 That fingers oft should falter, — so of grace 
 Forgive the singer for the song he sings : 
 
 And if these notes seem nothing but the spray 
 Cast upward in some idle billow-play, 
 
 Shut ye and shelve his weary book, and wend 
 With gladdened heart on some more gleeful way.
 
 • So Jigs of the Wayside. 75 
 
 For not to every hearer's ear are sweet 
 
 The stammerings of a tongue that may repeat 
 
 But one clear tone in changeful darkling guise, 
 And no one clothed in music that is meet.
 
 76 Kallirrhoe. 
 
 KALLIRRHOE. 
 
 In old Pausanias, the voluble, 
 Lately I lit upon a tale of love, 
 Shining, a short sweet idyll, in his book, 
 As gleams in glittering quartz a vein of gold. 
 And this is how the traveller tells his tale : — 
 
 In Kalydon, by old Lycormas' stream 
 
 Hurrying his gold sands seaward evermore, 
 
 Lived long ago a maiden and a man. 
 
 Koresos, priest of Holy Dionyse, 
 
 Worshipped him daily with pure prayer, and when 
 
 The folk of Kalydon kept festival, 
 
 Held foremost office in the sacred hours. 
 
 Kallirrhoe — blue Dawn had looked on her 
 
 And kissed her sisterly, and oftentime 
 
 Had Helios swathed his splendour in a mist 
 
 To gaze with mellower glances in her eyes — 
 
 She, maiden sweetness of all Kalydon, 
 
 Turned lovelessly from Koresos away ; 
 
 And all his oleaded vows, and all the host
 
 Kallirrhoe. 7 7 
 
 Of common acts by love made beautiful, 
 
 Seemed but to closer shut her heart to him. 
 
 At last, despairing, in a suppliant garb, 
 
 He laid his grief at Dionysos' feet, 
 
 Only beseeching him, the Beautiful, 
 
 To hear and help, if such should be his will. 
 
 Straightway a wonder lit on Kalydon ; 
 
 Strange madness seized the people, such as when 
 
 On the great festal day the Bacchic bands 
 
 Whirl dancing in a frenzy all divine. 
 
 They sent to far Dodona, where nightlong 
 . The barefoot seers sat watching for a sign, 
 But nought was given until the third night came. 
 Then from the old prophetic oak they heard 
 Mysterious murmur, and the cauldron's clang ; 
 And with the morning came the oracle. 
 * The god was wroth, that faithful love and long 
 Should be so spurned and mocked in mere despite ; 
 His plague should tarry, till Kallirrhoe 
 Or other in her stead, be led and laid 
 A stainless offering on his altar-stone.' 
 Sadly the seekers turned to Kalydon, 
 To tell their story while the city wept. 
 
 But now the day was come, and all the hcsts 
 
 Of dark Dodona duly done, but one ; 
 
 Still there was none the fearful maiden found
 
 jdi Kallirrhoe. 
 
 Of all her kinsmen, who would die for her — 
 For father she had not, nor mother now — 
 And so, with laurel wreathed in her hair 
 And draped in royal robe of sacrifice, 
 Pale, and her heavenly eyes with tears still wet, 
 She came, with mourning convoy virginal. 
 To Dionysos' altar and her death. 
 
 They bound, and on the altar laid the lamb 
 
 Devote to purge the plague of Kalydon, 
 
 And gave the knife and cup of holy wine 
 
 To Koresos — who bade the people pray 
 
 The god be pleased with willing sacrifice. 
 
 Then, casting light libation on his hair, 
 
 And quafifing, ' This be dedicate,' he cried, 
 
 ' To Dionysos and to Love.' Whereat 
 
 In his own heart he sheathed the knife, and sank 
 
 Breathless and smiling on the altar-stairs. 
 
 Then on the maiden came in mighty flood 
 
 The love that she had never known before, 
 
 And rich remembrance of those prayers of his 
 
 Unheeded, breathed at many eventides ; 
 
 And all her heart went out unto him dead. 
 
 ' A perfect sacrifice !' the seers proclaimed. 
 
 Unbound and led her home — but loncrinsf love 
 
 Drew her, before on Kalydon the blush 
 
 Of dawn came crimson, and the city woke,
 
 KallirrJwe. ^ 79 
 
 Where wells from shadowing rock a fountain forth 
 
 Hard by the haven's brink, therein to still. 
 
 Forever all her griefs and her. And so 
 
 The people gave the well another name, 
 
 And called it Fairest Flood, Kallirrhoe ; 
 
 And often, when a traveller stops to drink. 
 
 The white-haired fathers, while he rests him there, 
 
 Tell how a man for love once dared to die, 
 
 And how a maiden followed him in death ; 
 
 Adding that after, as the years went by. 
 
 The folk of Kalydon sent heralds forth 
 
 To far Dodona to the oracle ; 
 
 And how, when they had importuned the god 
 
 As to the lovers' lot, this answer came : 
 
 ' Homeward return, and trouble me no more ; 
 
 Koresos and Kallirrhoe are well'
 
 8o LykopJu'oiL. 
 
 L Y K O P H R O N. 
 
 In happy Korinth, in the olden days, 
 
 When the great house of Kypselos had rule 
 
 In Periander, second lord, there fell 
 
 A mighty sorrow on people and on lord. 
 
 For he, the fameful chieftain, had two sons ; 
 
 The elder witless as a new- weaned child. 
 
 The younger keen and wise, and strong of soul. 
 
 And they, the heir and who the heir should be, 
 
 Going to Epidauros with a guard 
 
 To greet Lord Prokles there, their mother's sire, 
 
 Had met with warmest welcome, and had come 
 
 Back to fair Korinth and their father's hall 
 
 Amid all joyful clamour of the crowd. 
 
 But never, from that hapless hour till now. 
 
 Had Periander from his younger son 
 
 Got gleeful smile, or even a cloudless gaze ; 
 
 And him, the hope of each Korinthian heart, 
 
 Moving among his friends in mournfu"! guise 
 
 And greeting courtesies with a desperate calm,
 
 Lykophron. 8 1 
 
 Had Periander in his rage forbid 
 The court, and every roof-tree of his peers, 
 Who yet received him gladly, when none saw.; 
 (For lord beloved of noble and of low. 
 Head of all youth at haughtiest contests he, 
 And crown of sunset cheer and festal song ;) 
 Whereat the tyrant bade his herald cry, 
 ' Whoso hereafter shall be seen to speak 
 Or .walk with Lykophron, or welcome him 
 Within his doors, shall pay Apollo's shrine 
 Ten talents as a holy penalty.' 
 
 Yet Lykophron grieved not thereat, nor sought 
 Of friend or fellow shelter any more, 
 But gliding sometime through the busy street 
 And market — trafficked in of all the world — 
 Alone and unaccosted, yet revered ; 
 And sometime in the shadeful avenue 
 Of porch or peristyle, he passed his days ; 
 Sleeping at night where chance had cast him down. 
 
 Lord Periander, as he one day came 
 
 Down to his townsfolk from the citadel, 
 
 Happened upon the selfsame portico 
 
 Where Lykophron lay foodless and unkempt ; 
 
 And seeing who was his darling once, so steeped 
 
 In misery, melted all the father's heart, 
 
 6
 
 82 LykopJiron. 
 
 Crying with quivering lip, ' Wherefore dost thou, 
 Who might'st have had my wealth and realm in fee, 
 Choose rather a beggar's life ? Implacable 
 Wert thou, if for— mischance that once befell, 
 Thou heap a bitterer on my hoary days.' 
 But no word answered Lykophron but this : 
 ' Go, pay what penalty the god demands, 
 Having forbidden speech with one outlawed.' 
 And turned and calmly flung him down again. 
 
 So baffled Periander, hopeless now 
 
 Of any reconciliation, sent 
 
 Him with fit convoy to Korkyra's isle, 
 
 Whereover his rule stretched. And year by year 
 
 The pale proud exile grew in love with all. 
 
 And Periander 'mid his gold grew grey 
 
 With grief. 
 
 For foolish Kypselos, beset 
 By many questions, turned this way and that, 
 At last had called to mind old Prokles' word, 
 Whispered at parting while they rode before : 
 * Know ye not, sons, whose hand your mother slew T 
 Which saying he laid not then to heart at all. 
 Not understanding. 
 
 But in Lykophron 
 The word had sunk, and split his heart in twain ; 
 For the old tale in Korinth widely went
 
 Lykophron. S3 
 
 That meek Melissa, lady of the land, 
 
 Had suddenly died in flower of all her days, 
 
 Just as her two bright buds had broken sheath ; 
 
 And no one knew how fate had fallen on her, 
 
 Of all who strewed the bier with blooms and tears. 
 
 And so slow Vengeance hovered, and then fell. 
 
 The light of life had set for Lykophron, 
 
 And bitter recollection of old crime 
 
 Stung Periander as a serpent's tooth. 
 
 In one mad fit of fury he had marched 
 
 Out, with a host of picked and seasoned men, 
 
 Laid siege to Epidauros, land and sea, 
 
 Starved her into surrender, battered down 
 
 Her towers, and taken grey-haired Prokles homo, 
 
 To languish in dark walls his few faint days; 
 
 Yet never ease came to his heart thereby. 
 
 At last, sheer wanhope wearying strong pride 
 
 (Since now his old age lowered on him), he sent 
 
 Across the leaping blue to Lykophron, 
 
 Seeking return ; but he deigned not one word 
 
 Of answer. So maimed Hope drooped wing again. 
 
 When half a score of months was measured full. 
 And still no message came, bethinking him 
 Of what the sweetness of a sister's eyes 
 
 6—2
 
 84 Lykophron. 
 
 And pleading lips might work, he bade his one 
 Fair flower, and mirror of her mother lost, 
 Go with a reverend escort to that isle 
 Where lay his hope and heart. So, dutiful, 
 She went ; and all the spirit of her house 
 Leapt to the deep blue eyes, as eagerly 
 She sought to win her brother back again ; 
 Telling of all the evil that would fall 
 If death should come, and the rich house be left 
 Prey to such wolves as whetted white teeth now 
 In Korinth — while he might unasked have all, 
 Did he but come, healing not ill with ill. 
 But never, he said, in Korinth would he step 
 So long as Periander lorded there. 
 So the sad maiden, sable-stoled, returned 
 Freighted with heavy tidings. 
 
 Whereupon, 
 Periander, knowing retribution meet 
 For him had come, and he must yield to gods, 
 Sent forth the sacred herald of his house 
 (Who erst had served his father Kypselos, 
 What time he grasped the city's helm, and swept 
 Her weak and withered pilots to the sea) 
 With kingly gifts, and tender of all power 
 In Korinth, and the key of treasuries, 
 If he would come, and rule there in his stead ; 
 Himself resolved to yield up all, and bide
 
 LykopJiron. 85 
 
 Henceforth upon the isle of crags, content. 
 
 And now, with few old lords that clung to him, 
 
 He waited in the harbour for a sign 
 
 (White ship-wings flapping in the broken breeze) 
 
 So he should pass, and Lykophron return ; 
 
 But when the long black hull dropped anchor there, 
 
 No lordly freight it bore, nor word, but this : 
 
 * The commons of Korkyra, when they knew 
 Their darling going, and the tyrant theirs, 
 Maddened to lose and maddened more to gain, 
 Had risen and slain him in their fear and love.' 
 
 So ancient Vengeance, ripening in due time, 
 Fruited to better fulness ; and thenceforth 
 The house of Kypselos, that had so high 
 Borne up its prow against all tides of fate, 
 Stooped on her whirling wheel to helpless fall.
 
 86 Doniroschcn. 
 
 DORNROSCHEN. 
 
 It fell in time forgotten, far away, 
 
 When flood and field yet owned the fairy sway. 
 
 Glad were the folk, and glad the rose-red morn, 
 And glad was every bird that sang in thorn ; 
 
 For the fair boon so long besought had come. 
 And childish laughter lit the kingly home. 
 
 From every thorp and township, far and near. 
 The people came to taste the palace cheer. 
 
 And since the sweet one in Midsummer's glow 
 Was given, when loveliest roses bud and blow, 
 
 They called her Rosebud ; and the fairies whom 
 The King and Queen had bidden that day to come,
 
 Dornroschen. 87 
 
 Showered on her all their gifts of luck and love ; 
 One gave her goodness, one a beauty above 
 
 All mortal maidens beautiful before ; 
 One wealth, one wisdom ; and — what could she 
 more ? — 
 
 The last gave grace of lordly love unknown, 
 One day to come and clasp her for his own. 
 
 But one who dwelt far off, and was forgot, 
 Came at the last ; and albeit she might not 
 
 Undo the dower her sister fays had shed 
 So richly on the new-born golden head, 
 
 Shrieked, as she stamped her tiny foot in rage, 
 ' She'll wound, ere she be sixteen years of age, 
 
 Her finger with a spindle, and so die.' 
 Then flew a raven out with boding cry. 
 
 The others might but murmur, through their tears, 
 • Not die, but slumber for a hundred years.' 
 
 Near sixteen summers fled, and Rosebud grew 
 More lovely with each dawn that lit the blue.
 
 SB Doi'ni'dschen, 
 
 And kingly suitors thronged from every land 
 To win the peerless wonder of her hand. 
 
 Yet none the less her courteous cold disdain 
 Sent each one sorrowing toward his home again ; 
 
 It seemed her heart like a hid blossom lay 
 Waiting the glow of some yet unseen day. 
 
 It chanced one morning, left awhile alone 
 In that great vaulted chamber of her own, 
 
 She tired, and rambling through long corridors 
 And quaint forgotten rooms whose cumbrous doors 
 
 Swang after her with an ill-omened boom, 
 Came suddenly upon a turret room 
 
 Where sate a wee old woman spinning swift 
 White wool, that lay about in feathery drift. 
 
 With what to her seemed strangest thing on earth. 
 Who never had seen spindle since her birth. 
 
 Childlike, she begged to touch the golden thing, — 
 When all at once the chamber seemed to swing 
 
 t> 
 
 Around her, and she sunk in slumber deep ; 
 And with her all the castle slept that sleep.
 
 Dornroschcn. 89 
 
 Straightway around it, says the olden tale, 
 
 There sprang a hedge of thorn-boughs like a pale ; 
 
 Higher than tallest poplar tops it grew, 
 And past its rampart no bird ever flew. 
 
 Many a Prince from far away was fain 
 To break the magic circle — but in vain ; 
 
 The thorn trees clasped him round with cruel arms. 
 And few 'scaped free with less than deathly harms. 
 
 So that the fearful fame of it flew wide 
 And scared all comers from the country side. 
 
 »Xr ^U m^m vL* *1* 
 
 •^ ^^ ^^ ^% ^^ 
 
 A hundred winters now were come and past, 
 And of a hundred summers shone the last. 
 
 One morning broke so brightly, 'mid such glee 
 Of bird-throats thrilled from blossoming tree to 
 tree. 
 
 And such a flowerful fragrance in the air, 
 Folk said no day had ever dawned so fair. 
 
 All life seemed flushed with gladness to the brim, 
 And even the threatening thorns looked not so grim.
 
 90 Dornruschcn. 
 
 That day a knightly traveller, passing by, 
 Halted his horse the enchanted castle nigh ; 
 
 He heard the greybeard fathers tell the tale, 
 Then straightway doffed his helm and glittering 
 mail ; 
 
 And a strange gladness seemed to surge and sing 
 Within him, as he reached the fairy ring. 
 
 Thorns changed to flowering laurels, as he pressed 
 His way through that deep thicket's yielding breast, 
 
 And white and blue and golden blossoms sprang 
 Beneath his feet, and loud before him sang 
 
 One bird of plumage wonderful, who seemed 
 Guiding him where the castle's darling dreamed. 
 
 Across the court, and through still corridors 
 Flew on the bird ; and as he flew, the doors 
 
 Swang wide before them noiselessly, till they 
 Reached the high turret room where Rosebud lay. 
 
 She seemed but newly fallen asleep ; an air 
 Of summer from the casement stirred her hair,
 
 Dornr'oschen. 9 1 
 
 And shadowed sunlight fell thro' vine-veiled bars 
 Around her wreath of lily and jasmine stars, 
 
 And lit the beauty bathed wherein she lay 
 Like a shut blossom waiting for the day. 
 
 Soft sang the bird ; the kneeling knight beside 
 Lift to his lips one 'white hand of his bride, 
 
 When suddenly oped the heaven of her eyes 
 And smiled upon him with a glad surprise ; 
 
 And rose-lips murmured, ' Wherefore, love, so long 
 Wert thou a coming ?' Whereupon the song 
 
 Of that strange bird rang wondrously through all 
 The castle — and King awoke in council hall, 
 
 Suitors awoke who sought his justice there, 
 And boy and man ; and 'mid her garden fair 
 
 Awoke the Queen, while all her maidens round 
 Stirred from their slumbering on the lawny ground ; 
 
 And the great clock, clanging the hour of noon, 
 Woke the old echoes from their century's swoon. 
 
 All sounds of life grew busy, and the din 
 Of making and of moiling hummed within.
 
 92 Doj'iirdschen. 
 
 That summer noon the lordliest and the least 
 Kept Rosebud's birthday and her bridal feast ; 
 
 For strong love born to break the spell was come, 
 And elfin laughter lit the kingly home.
 
 Shelley. 93 
 
 SHELLEY. 
 
 ' The prophetic soul 
 Of the wide world dreaming on things to come.' 
 
 The world was old and dying, and the gloom 
 
 Of long life fading held an iron sway 
 Upon the sunless ether ; for the doom 
 
 Foreshadowed in her weary past, hung grey 
 And ghostlike on her wan and wasted strand, 
 And spirits that had filled her prime 
 With mighty melodies sublime, 
 Were past for aye and faded, lost in wastes of time, 
 Gilding the sunlight of a sweeter land ; 
 
 Leaving all lustre of their mortal name 
 Close-cherished in the worn and ancient hand 
 Of Earth their mother, an undying flame ; 
 But now all beauty and melodious chime 
 Were dead and silent, and a living shame 
 Crept on the world and hid the lustre of their fame ;
 
 94 Shelley. 
 
 When suddenly, with an upspringing flame 
 
 Like lightning from the mist-enshrouded hills, 
 Thy tameless universal spirit came 
 
 Into the gloom as the sun comes that fills 
 The heavy drift of dawn with orient blaze ; 
 
 And through the heaped clouds that hung 
 Above the fainting earth, thy song 
 Broke forth in pealing thunder-echoes, worldward 
 flung, 
 And threw the clear calm light of olden days, 
 
 The shadeless glories of the days to come. 
 Upon thy mother Earth ; and then the haze 
 That so long had becanopied our home, 
 The deep- set sorrows that the world's heart wrung. 
 Stole with still footsteps to their ancient gloom, 
 To lie for ever wrapt in a forgotten tomb. 
 
 Flushed with the fire of old Philosophy, 
 
 Earth's supreme aureole in the primal years, 
 Bent thou thine inly-thrilling prophet eye 
 
 Past all the strife, the craven doubts and fears 
 That thicketed our common earth with weeds, 
 And in the rich supernal glow 
 Of thoughts that from the world's heart flow 
 Into the looming future fraught with weal or woe, 
 . And all the hopes that spring from thought-set 
 seeds,
 
 Shelley. 95 
 
 Thou centredst all thy young life's blossoming; 
 Facing all fury of the hateful creeds 
 
 That sought to numb thee with their venomed 
 sting 
 And stay the mighty spirit's riverflow ; 
 
 Cleaving thy clear way with unwearied wing 
 Through world-wide wastes of bitter tears and 
 sorrowing ; 
 
 But not in thy heart, O strong bird of gladness, 
 
 Lingered for long time any shaft of pain ; 
 Flashing from grief-clouds, with a thunderous 
 madness 
 Rich rolling round thee, sang thou yet again, 
 Storming the calm heights of thy spirit's world 
 With so intensely sweet a strain 
 That listening is almost pain ; 
 Flooding our nature over as rich thunder-rain 
 Floods the parched meadows whereon it is hurled 
 
 From off the lead-cliffs of a cloudy land ; 
 Curling in white wrath as great waves are curled 
 In the wild .might of ocean's angry hand, 
 Fierce-breaking on a bleak and lonely main ; 
 
 Songs that shall break forever, amid Love's 
 
 band, 
 Upon the bluffs of ages and the world's wide 
 sand.
 
 96 Shelley. 
 
 But now, enfolded in the clear white glow 
 
 Solemnly flooding all Eternity, 
 Throughout whose shadelcss deeps upthronging flow 
 
 The never-ending heart-sprung harmony, 
 The soul-outpouring of the stars of thought, 
 Far past all touch of bitter tears, 
 All bale and dole of carthborn years, 
 A sunlike soul thou gleamest 'mid thy starry peers ; 
 Winging that song Earth comprehended not 
 
 While thine own present spirit she possessed ; 
 That sea-flood depth of tone that sages sought 
 In olden time to summon at their hest, 
 Now rolls its rich diapason on their ears, 
 Now casts a flameful beauty on their rest, 
 Breaking in mazy volume from one mastering 
 breast. 
 
 Some veiling dimness shrouds thee from our eyes, 
 
 And mindful sorrow floods them deep with tears; 
 Grey gulfs of ocean tempest-wrought arise 
 
 Like some weird vision of our night-fed fears, 
 Green-gleaming bitter surges, whirlwind-driven, 
 Rich with the thunder of white death, 
 Blasting with their sea-cold breath 
 All the bright morning promise of the young bud's 
 sheath ;
 
 Shelley. 97 
 
 But that dear outflow of supreme song given 
 
 To be thine everlasting aureole, — 
 That crowning joy of all the glow of Heaven, 
 Shrined is for ever with thy stainless soul ; 
 And blazing from afar, like stars on death, 
 
 That strange deep songtide roars in Titan-roll, 
 Filling far worlds of love beneath thy heart's 
 control. 
 
 ;
 
 98 Rcqiiiescas in Pace. 
 
 REOUIESCAS IN PACE. 
 En Jttcmortnnt, A. E. P. ob. April, 1876. 
 
 Yea, thou may'st wander far on gleaming strands 
 Drenched in primeval azure, on the sands 
 Of that fair covert where thy shadow lies. 
 Thrown like rich sunglow ; while o'er thee uprise 
 Great shapes of strange calm beauty, and gaze upon 
 Thy tranced form, filling awhile thy lone 
 And barren sleeping with some golden dream, 
 Flushed in the moon of sadness, and the gleam 
 Of old-world glories that are living still ; 
 Still, still they live : the ages pass and fill 
 The limbo of Time with overgone regrets. 
 But their sun-orb of beauty never sets — 
 Even now is shedding his immortal beams 
 Upon thy spirit's face, where, lapt in dreams 
 And starry thoughts of aught may thee betide 
 In that rich kingdom, thou dost stilly bide
 
 Reqiiiescas in Pace. 99 
 
 The eve of future splendours and delights. 
 Surrounding thee with curious eyes the sprites 
 Of that rare country watch thy sleeping face, 
 And wiping fondly from thine eyes all trace 
 Of pain-wrought passing tears, embalm thy head 
 In deathless odours, drawn from blooms that shed 
 Their ever-vernal sweetness through that land. 
 And thou, deep-sleeping, hearest not the grand 
 Uprising choral harmony from far, 
 That rears rich billows to the ocean star, 
 And floods the faery woods that environ 
 Thy dreamful resting-place, with singing moan ; 
 Songs that were born in elder worlds, and rose 
 Triumphantly from silent deathlike close 
 Ere those old times were ended, echo now ; 
 Over thy head they stay their streaming flow, 
 And heap their throbbing pulses on thy^brain ; 
 But still thou heed'st them not, in vain, in vain 
 Their chordings tremulous intoxicate 
 With volumed sweetness all who listening wait 
 Till thy long slumber shall be past for aye. 
 Still, as the dawn-glow blossoms into day, 
 And night's dun shadows fade in air and die, 
 Yet richer scenes and rarer meet thine eye 
 So deeply sunk in weary sleep, and pain 
 Not yet enloosened from thy heart and brain ; 
 And starry eyes are bent on thine, and gleam 
 
 7—2
 
 ]00 Requiescas in Pace. 
 
 Through vcihng tears, from far blue depths that 
 
 seem 
 The morning-flooded vistas that uplead 
 The soul to that far heaven enshadovvcd 
 Beyond the love that drowns their nearer glow ; 
 And haply in the joy of that dreamflow 
 Thy thirsting spirit may find restful calm, 
 And drinking in the dear and healing balm 
 Of that sweet presence, may enfolded lie 
 For ever in love's immortality.
 
 j^tas Nova. ici 
 
 ^TAS NOVA. 
 
 New-coming years had borne the old away 
 Into the glooming shadows of dead Time, 
 And Life was young, fresh-born, and rich in joy. 
 Strife, clanging discontent, and sickly hate 
 Had sunk beneath the load of springing love 
 And friendliness, now blossoming in their stead ; 
 Still, faint remembrance of the dark time gone 
 Lingered in human hearts, and from their gloom 
 Made the new ages richer in their eyes. 
 Old gods were gone ; and in the garden-world 
 They were gods only, who brought deeper hues 
 Of beauty, grander bursts of supreme tone, 
 And spread and poured them forth for human weal. 
 Glad-eyed as children, filled with power of joy 
 Beyond all highest craving of the past, 
 They trod the old earth glorying, and saw 
 Through the calm night shot through with trembling 
 stars
 
 I02 y^tas Nova. 
 
 The swift still rush of planets like their own, 
 Whirl-hurried round the centre-blaze of fire ; 
 Broad homes of happy life, on earth, in air, 
 Or basking in rich caverns of blue sea ; 
 Deep-drenched in orange dawn, or growing grey 
 Beneath the blood-red blaze of setting suns ; 
 And teeming through with life hues, like their 
 
 own ; — 
 Greeting and parting, evermore beheld 
 Each in his fellow's eyes gleam deep and wide 
 The sunfire of that gladness that had fallen, 
 Free from all stain, fresh on the newer age.
 
 Ocean-Idyll. lo^ 
 
 o 
 
 OCEAN-IDYLL. 
 
 The tempest is singing 
 
 A song that ends never, 
 And tones of emotion 
 
 Are borne on its breast ; 
 Fresh harmonies flinging 
 
 With wildest endeavour 
 Their light o'er the ocean, 
 
 Sink into their rest. 
 
 White seabirds are winging 
 
 Their way through dark weather. 
 In wild wheeling motion 
 
 Each one to his nest ; 
 Around them is clinging, 
 
 And binds them together. 
 Impassioned emotion 
 
 The storm has impressed
 
 I04 Ocean- Idyll. 
 
 On birdlike affections 
 
 Upsprung in the heart 
 That beats in bird-bosoms 
 
 So blithe and so free ; — 
 And spray-built erections, 
 
 Gleam tinted with dart 
 Of bright scaly blossoms 
 
 Upshot from the sea, 
 
 Are rising and falling, 
 
 Are sparkling with light, 
 In Even's rich gloaming 
 
 That's shadowed by cloud, 
 And voices are calling 
 
 That rise o'er the night, 
 Of ocean-birds homing 
 
 And singing aloud.
 
 Childhood. • 105 
 
 CHILDHOOD. 
 
 Glad in the glowing 
 
 Light of their spring, 
 Child-hearts in laughter 
 
 Ripple and ring ; 
 Happy, not knowing 
 
 What may befall 
 In that Hereafter, 
 
 When the leaves fall. 
 
 Now are the roses 
 
 Buds but to see, 
 Mosses yet wreathing 
 
 Blossom and tree ; 
 As each uncloses, 
 
 Seem we to hear 
 In its still breathing, 
 
 Song swelling near; —
 
 I c6 Childhood. 
 
 Chords that were sounding 
 
 Ere the world was, 
 Where the Immortals 
 
 Pass and repass ; 
 Where by the bounding 
 
 River of gold, 
 Far through pearl portals, 
 
 Fold beyond fold, 
 
 See we that splendour 
 
 Whence we are come, 
 Love like light living 
 
 Here in her home ; 
 High, yet so tender, 
 
 In each bright birth 
 Working and weaving 
 
 Gladness on earth ! 
 
 So in the singing 
 
 Days of our dawn. 
 Heaven's veiling glory 
 
 Round us yet drawn. 
 See we no springing 
 
 Sorrow or strife, 
 Know but one story, 
 
 Lovely is Life !
 
 SONNETS.
 
 SOiViVETS. 
 
 I. 
 
 APRIL TWILIGHT. 
 
 It is a calm sweet evening ; the orbed moon, 
 Luscious with a pale golden springtide glow, 
 Is rising solemnly, patient and slow ; 
 Dusk shades are falling fast, and soon, full soon, 
 
 Night will brood cloud-clad on the sleeping town, 
 Darkness will cover all its weal and woe ; 
 But for those hearts that ever ebb and flow 
 In unison with Nature, and, alone, 
 
 Feel the companionship of the great world 
 Throbbing with all the burden of her soul. 
 Is endless hope and sunshine in the night, 
 
 y\s through those thunder-vapours that are hurled 
 Together with an aery organ-roll, 
 Breaks evermore the lightning of delight.
 
 1 1 o Sonnets. 
 
 11. 
 
 SEPTEMBER STORM. 
 
 But even now fierce rain was beating fast 
 Upon the shivering woodlands, and the cry 
 Of southern winds fresh from captivity 
 Still echoed on the regions overpast ; 
 
 But few short moments gone, the autumn blast 
 Of torrid ether rent the cloudful sky, 
 Dashed through its leaden mountains heaped 
 
 high, 
 And flashing torrents from their ruins cast ; 
 
 Yet now all strife is over, lulled and gone 
 For aye to rumble on through Arctic seas. 
 
 Red floods of sunset burst, as fresh as dawn, 
 From the bright King of planet emperies, 
 
 And pale blue heavens gleam from rain-clouds torn. 
 Fair and untroubled in their maiden peace.
 
 Sonnets^ 1 1 1 
 
 III. 
 
 WORLD'S WOE.— I. 
 
 O FOR a wind to roll this fog away ; 
 These dreary mists that pitilessly hide 
 The clear deep sky of truth, home where abide 
 Life, Love, and Beauty in immortal day ! 
 
 Sages have had sweet glimpses, in the grey 
 Gone ages, of that everlasting tide 
 Of light celestial, the ocean wide 
 Of Heaven broad-breaking on the mortal clay ; 
 
 And have awakened from the blissful dream, 
 Full of fresh fervour from its glamouring, 
 And writ rapt records, in prophetic tone 
 
 Of mighty verse, that to our senses bring 
 Some scent of thymy hills in sunset gleam, 
 Where mused those grey bards at night fall, alone.
 
 1 1 2 Sonnets. 
 
 IV. 
 
 WORLD'S WOE.— II. 
 
 But no ! that time again may never be ; 
 'Twas but the changing glory of a dream 
 Fallen on their eyes with the rich even beam, 
 And is lost now to all futurity ; 
 
 Clearer and colder visions we are to see ; 
 
 Straining our weak sight thro' the riven seam 
 
 Of Night, and Nature's dark immensity, 
 
 And through that vaster gulf that parts the stream 
 
 Of conscious being from a lifeless sea, 
 Chill cavern-solitude yawns on our sense 
 And boundless Death breaks in upon our eyes, 
 
 Yearning to see some glorious vision rise ; 
 We sink to mother Eartli in sorrow, whence 
 Our soul upsprang unto Infinity.
 
 Sonnets. i 1 3 
 
 V. 
 
 IN THE ISLE OF WIGHT. 
 
 Passing from one high overhanging sliade 
 Of rocky bluffs bare of all herb or tree, 
 We gain a valley sloping to the sea 
 Blue glancing in the sheer sunlight that played 
 Over the waves like a rich diamond braid ; 
 Haunted by a far- murmuring melody, 
 The echo of wave-plash waft from that bright sea, 
 Summer air surges freshly overhead, 
 Immersing all sense in a dreamful flow 
 Of fantasies unutterably sweet, 
 That seem to home them in that mornlit vale ; 
 And save the flashing of the seabirds fleet. 
 Circling around us with their mournful wail. 
 The clear blue heaven is one unbroken glow. 
 
 8
 
 1 1 4 Sonnets. 
 
 VI. 
 
 HASTINGS. 
 
 A CLUSTER of red roofs deep in the cleft 
 
 Of seaward shouldering bluffs, to eastward strown 
 With gorse and grazing herds, treeless and brown ; 
 
 To westward crowned with all that Time has left 
 
 In dim remembrance of that Norman theft 
 
 That flung free Hastings 'neath the feudal frown, 
 Grey broken walls that echo the renown 
 
 Of him who England from her children reft. 
 
 Now quiet is here, and hushed for evermore 
 Is all the din, and pale and dead the pride 
 And blaze of antique pomp and chivalry, 
 
 And halls that, hanging on the southern shore, 
 Once rang with passionate song from side to side, 
 Ring only to the tempest and the sea.
 
 Sonnets. 1 1 
 
 VII. 
 HASTINGS. 
 
 Dear town of ruddy roofs and dwellings olden 
 And mazy ways from winding street to street, 
 How fresh thou look'st in thy hale age, to greet 
 
 The summer flush of sunrise falling golden ! 
 
 Rooted so sure 'tvvixt bluffs to east and west, 
 That tower out seaward as 'twere to enclose 
 Thy populous haven from all winds but those 
 
 That speed thy weary fishers home to rest ; 
 
 Bearing on stormbeat strand the memories 
 Of broader traffic, and a richer throng 
 Of warriors mailed and merchants in thy midst, 
 
 And sometime pomp of joust and festal song ; 
 But joying now, as then thou never didst. 
 In naught but peaceful toil and fruits of peace. 
 
 8—2
 
 1 1 6 Sonnets. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 One morning, in the young year's early days, 
 When Earth lay locked in January cold, 
 We saw a butterfly flit, free and bold 
 
 As 'twere midsummer, thro' the shimmering haze 
 
 Broken only by the winter sun's sick blaze, 
 That ruthlessly from ocean on us rolled — 
 A harvest thing of dun and dusky gold 
 
 Belated by the lure of timeless rays. 
 
 So, in the mists of being, might a soul 
 
 Untimely born into an alien air, 
 
 Stray shivering in that life's chill fog and foam ; 
 And though all tides of trouble round it roll, 
 
 Yet on its way in hope still bravely bear, 
 
 Rich with the roseflush of its summer home.
 
 Sonnets. 1 1 7 
 
 IX. 
 
 MAY MORNING. 
 
 O May, thou smiler on unnumbered years, 
 Bright blue-eyed harbinger of Summer's glow, 
 Crowner of all the springtime's tender flow, 
 
 Welcome wert thine, even hadst thou come in tears ; 
 
 Coming as now thou comest, free from fears, 
 Far banishing all thought of want or woe. 
 Thou seem'st both harbinger and angel now, 
 
 And Nature gladdens as thy presence nears. 
 
 Why should our hearts be thankless, voices still ? 
 
 Thou art as kind and lovely as of yore ; 
 Why, when our fathers welcomed thee in hill 
 And plain with pomp of village festival. 
 
 Joying the more as they praised thee the more. 
 Should we not hail thee, dearest month of all ?
 
 1 1 8 Sonnets. 
 
 X. 
 
 RALPH WALDO EMERSON. 
 
 (D. 27 April, 1882.) 
 
 Dear Emerson, thy name can never die 
 
 While there are souls to kindle, hearts to warm ; 
 Its casual mention shall call up a swarm 
 
 Of thoughts that deepest in our nature lie ; 
 
 Shall wake the brooding world of memory 
 To life and music, — shower down softest balm 
 On stormtost souls aye thirsting for that calm 
 
 That reigned divinely in thy heart and eye ; 
 
 Brother of ours, and universal Earth, 
 Strong seer into supremest mysteries, 
 The human heart of hope that beat in thee, 
 
 To us who are the kinsmen of thy birth 
 Shall never cease to beat in sympathy, 
 And speak to ours in bird and flower and breeze.
 
 Sonnets. , 119 
 
 XL 
 
 STOKE POGIS. 
 
 A LOWLY grey old church all ivy-grown 
 Amid a waving elm-grove hid away, 
 Where through legendic panes the rich lights 
 play 
 
 On age-worn floor and many a storied stone ; 
 
 Even such a solitude as singer lone, 
 
 Deep brooding on the night of our brief day, 
 Might love to linger in, when evening grey 
 
 Stole over to the woodland wind's low moan ; 
 
 Haunted by memory of him who wrought 
 For all the years his sober song and sweet, 
 Stretched under yonder yew tree's solemn shade, 
 
 This resting-place shall evermore be sought 
 
 Of them that love to tread where paced his feet, 
 Where round them rings the music that he made.
 
 1 20 Sonnets. 
 
 XII. 
 MARLOVV. 
 
 A SWEET shy hamlet bosomed in elm-bovvers 
 Where sirens of all feather sing and sleep, 
 Whereround wood-shrouded hills forever keep 
 
 Calm watch through noontide and through mid- 
 night hours ; 
 
 A river lordliest in this land of ours 
 
 Slow winding past the fields white mowers reap 
 And bloomy meadow banks where willows weep 
 
 Beside their mossgrown graves and ivy towers; — 
 
 That lowly home where he, the lord of love 
 And singing, whom all Life knew for her own, 
 Spent months of toil and sorrow and sometime 
 peace ; 
 
 Of whom all breathes — his beechcn woods above, 
 The soft lawns meadowsweet and clover strown, 
 The lilied river asleep beneath its trees.
 
 \onnets \2\ 
 
 XIII. 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 When mild October, close on harvest time, 
 
 Comes lengthening twilight and delaying dawn, 
 And bathes in colder dews each dell and lawn, 
 
 And strips the woodland of its withering prime ; 
 
 When brown leas bear a boding touch of rime, 
 And the brave lark thrills heavenward at mid- 
 morn 
 His loud last song, before that tempest-borne 
 
 Far faring of him to some sunnier clime; — 
 
 The old Earth knows her winter is at hand ; ■ 
 And clasping close her happy autumn-sheaves. 
 
 And rich in promise of her seeded land, 
 
 Rests, with a wreath of rose and russet leaves 
 
 On her brown brow light-lying, lone and grand, 
 Biding the Dark that ripens while it reaves.
 
 I 2 2 Sonnets. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 * L'amor che muove '1 Sole e I'altre stelle.' 
 
 So calm a morning does not often shine 
 
 On autumn woods and fields of glimmering dew; 
 
 'Aloft the sun thrills in his heavenly blue, 
 Below all earth lies bathed in bliss divine ; 
 No ripple breaks the river's radiant line, 
 
 No rustle creeps the grey-haired willows through ; 
 
 Rings only, out of throats of many a hue. 
 The mirth of hearts fresh fired with Nature's wine ; 
 
 Steals only, in all breath of earth and heaven, 
 An undertone our souls are dull to hear 
 
 Of that high sohg once heard through spheres love- 
 riven 
 By one who woke and wrote in joy and fear ; 
 
 Ah, not as unto him to us is given 
 
 To meet such music with unclouded ear !
 
 Sonnets. 123 
 
 XV. 
 
 SUNWARD. 
 
 Westward we walked, to see the setting sun ; 
 
 A balmy breath of evening round us blew, 
 
 And tenderest saffron flushed the sky, where- 
 through 
 Light clouds like golden threads shot one by one ; 
 As the sun sank, a rose-red splendour won 
 
 Upon the purpling west ; the glory grew ; 
 
 Soft carols from the branches rang anew 
 As though the morning were but now begun ; — 
 
 One silver sickle in the fields of light 
 Hung over yellow harvest heaps below, 
 
 And slowly on wide wings uprose the Night ; 
 Still in the western heaven that gracious glow 
 
 Lingered in deeper crimson, till the bright 
 
 Stars leapt forth, and Day's pulses ceased to flow. 
 
 Elliot Stock, Paternoster Row, London
 
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