THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES SONGS AND POEMS SONGS AND POEMS OLD AND NEW BY WILLIAM SHARP ( FIONA MACLEOD ) " To see things in their beauty is to see them in their truth," — Fiona Macleod LONDON ELLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C- 1909 PR 5354 6G9 TO BYRES MOIR, M.D. FRIEND AND PHYSICIAN OF MANY YEARS "I will make poems of materials, for I think they are to be the most spiritual poems ; And I will make the poems of the body and of mortality, For I think I shall then supply myself with the poems of the soul, and of immortality." Walt Whitman.\ " The hours when the mind is absorbed by beauty are the only hours when we really live, so that the longer we can stay among these things, so much the more is snatched from inevitable time." Richard Jefferies. CONTENTS From Earth's Voices (1884) Madonna Natura Shadowed Souls PAGE Song (1S79) ..... 3 From The Human Inheritance (1882) Childhood's Inheritance . . .7 Young Love . . . . 15 Motherhood . . . • i? Sonnets (1882-1886) Spring Wind . . . -33 A Midsummer Hour ... 34 To D. G. Rossetti. I. . . -35 To D. G. Rossetti. II. . . 36 Pain . . . . . -37 41 During Music .... 43 45 The Song of the Thrush . , 48 Vll CONTENTS ■>. PAGE From Earth's Voices (1884) — continued Song. . . . . -50 Sleep .... • 5^ Mater Dolorosa . . . -52 A Record .... 53 Transcripts from Nature (1882-1886) Wild Roses . . . . -67 The Ebbing Tide ... 67 Dawn amid Scotch Firs . . .68 A Dead Calm and Mist . . 68 Tangled Sun rays . . . .69 Loch Coruisk (Skye) ... 69 Sunrise above broad Wheatfields . . 70 Phosphorescent Sea ... 70 A Green Wave . . . -71 Mid-noon in January ... 71 The Wasp . . . • . -72 An Autumnal Evening ... 72 A Winter Hedgerow . . -73 The Rookery at Sunrise . , 73 Moonrise . . . . -74 Fireflies ..... 74 The Crescent Moon . . -75 viii CONTENTS PAGE Transcripts from Nature (1882-1886) — continued The Eagle ■ . • • 75 A Venetian Sunset : Before a Change . 76 Empire (PersepoHs) ... 76 From Romantic Ballads (1888) The Weird of Michael Scott . . 79 The Twin-Soul ... 91 The Isle of Lost Dreams . . .92 The Death-Child ... 93 The Coves of Crail . . -95 From SospiRi di Roma (1891) Prelude . . . . -99 Susurro ..... loi Clouds ..... 102 Red Poppies .... 104 The White Peacock . . . 106 The Swimmer of Nemi . . 109 Al Far della Notte . . . .111 Thistledown 113 The Mandolin . . . .116 Bat- Wings . . . 121 The Wild Mare . . .122 CONTENTS PAGE From SospiRi di Roma (1891) — continued Scirocco • . . . 124 The Wind at Fidenae . . .127 In July ..... 129 De Profundis . . . -131 Ultimo Sospiro . . . I33 Poems (1889-1893) Oceanus . . . . -137 A Paris Nocturne . . . 142 Robert Browning . . . 144 The Man and the Centaur . . 150 Dionysos in India — a Fragment . . 152 Sonnets (1893) Sonnet-Sequence — I. -VI II. . . 161 An Untold Story— I. and II. . . 169 The Veils of Silence . . . 171 Written by the Sea . . .172 The Menace of Autumn . . 173 Aftermath . . . • -174 Flora in January . . I75 CONTENTS PAGE Poems (1893-1905) The Coming of Love . . . 179 From Oversea . . . .181 The White Flowers of January . 182 The Lute Player .... 183 White Violets . . . .184 The Sun Lord . . . -185 The Summer Woman . . . 186 Sycamores in Bloom . . . 187 The Norland Wind . . . 188 Spring's Advent .... 189 The Summer Wind . . . 191 The Hill Water . . . .192 Rainbow Shimmer . . . 195 The Yellowhammer's Song . . 197 Vesper . . . . .199 The Song of the Sea- Wind . . 200 The Ballad of the Ram . . 202 Cap'n Goldsack .... 204 A Cavalry Catch . . . 206 Spanish Roses .... 207 The Sea-born Vine . . . 209 Venilia . . . . .212 On a Nightingale in April . . 213 CONTENTS The Dream-Wind PAGE Poems (1893-1905) — continued The Dirge of the RepubUc . .214 Into the Silence . . . 216 The Hill-Road to Ardmore . . 217 White Rose .... 218 Echoes of Joy .... 219 When the Greenness is Come Again. 220 A Hazard of Love . . .221 The Honeymoon Rose . . . 222 It happened in May . . , 223 Nightingale Lane . . . 224 Blossom of Snow .... 225 The Dandelion . . . 226 22y Triad ..... 228 In Memoriain .... 228 Bibliographical Note . . . 229 XI i " Praised be the fathomless universe For life and joy . . . and love, sweet love." ^\ SONG Love came in at the door one day, To stay ; But I told him I wished for no such guest, But that he might wait for a Httle and rest, That day. Love sat down on the cottage stool, So cool ; I told him he must not watch me so. But he only laughed till my face was aglow, Poor fool ! Love came in at the door that day In May — Came in with the scent of the flowering beans ; He's not gone yet, and I think he means To stay ! 1879. From THE HUMAN INHERITANCE 1882 CHILDHOOD'S INHERITANCE I Beneath the blue vault of a summer sky, Where little clouds with white wings strove to fly Far from the burning noon, leagues long there lay Wide heather moors that stretched till far away Northward faint hills arose and southward rolled The ocean gleaming with sun-Htten gold. II And 'mid a great swell of the purple waste Close to the sea, a rock, which no hand placed Thus lonely and afar but which was hurled A meteor from some ruin'd starry world, Rose dark and frowning, with its hoar sides scarred By winter tempests and the fiercely hard Gripe of the death-frosts that from northland heights Steal silent through grim January nights. And traced with furrows by the many tears Of rainy autumns thro' unnumbered years. Ill The purple moorland waste alone stretched wide Beneath the sun — no thing was seen beside CHILDHOOD'S INHERITANCE To break the long still sweep that met the sky, No mounds of rocks confusedly piled high, No single tree with clear boughs limned in black Against the blue, no white and dusty track, But only miles and miles and miles that swept Purple to where the leagueless waters leapt. The old rock stood forth like an ancient throne Great tho' forgotten, where the winds alone Paid homage, fair in the sunshine of the day, Solemn by night with phosphorescent grey. IV Around, the honey-laden bees humm'd loud With summer gladness ; in a mazy cloud Whirling the grey gnats rose and wheeled and spun Swift golden notes within the golden sun ; And bright with all their royal emblazonries Flashed like swift darts of fire great dragonflies. Away across the glowing moors there rang The lapwing's wild complaint, and far off sang Hidden in blue a small rejoicing lark Singing against some unseen yearn'd for mark : About the heath the yellowhammer's cry Piped sweet and clear, and often suddenly. With joyous chirps and jerks, the stonechat flew From spray to spray, and, darting flame-like through The scented heather spires to where beneath The ants had silent kingdoms in the heath, The green-grey black-eyed lizard flashing shot So swift the hawk on poised wings saw it not. CHILDHOOD'S INHERITANCE O'er all the deep skies arch'd, a wondrous space Of ardent azure while the sun had place, That changed to dark, deep depths when twilight grey Dreamt into night dark'ning to one vast shade Of purple-black, when lamplike star by star Sparkled or shone or pulsing flamed afar. Silence save for each blent and natural sound Of earth and air — where sea-caves made the ground, By tidal waves of ages undermined, Groan as in travail — when the trumpet wind All uncheck'd blew — or swelled the incessant cries Of tossed waves in their breaking agonies. VI Upon the summit of the ancient stone (Whose birth was in Time's youth), and all alone, Sat silent, tranced, and motionless a child. Like some sweet flow'r chance nurtured in the wild, Sat watching seabirds, with his eager eyes FuU of the deep blue of the vaulted skies. A child, for he indeed was little more ; A child at heart, such as whom make the door Of heaven seem open'd here — to whom the seas Breaking in foam, and scattered spray-swept trees With long arms wrestling, and the winds on wings Invisible were wondrous living things. 9 CHILDHOOD'S INHERITANCE VII A flower, for his wind-kissed locks unshorn Shone yellow as gold daffodils at morn ; His eyes were blue as in the golden grain Windflow'rs are blue, and soft as after rain Violets that under dripping leaves have lain, And tender as a dappled fawn's that yearn For pity when the shrew-mice from the fern Shake down the dew-drops ; neath his sunHt hair As early morning, his sweet face was fair Beneath the sun-brown — as a white bud rose That flushes faintly while the June sun glows. And even as he gazed there deeper grew Within his eyes a hoHer softer blue, Where some thought brooded in their sacred shade ; It seemed almost as if some song were laid Asleep upon his face that yet would find Some perfect utterance for the echoing wind To carry to the birds ; in reverie Raptured he saw what these could never see. VIII Oh blessed time, when all God's world is fair And to the soul not foreign ! When the bare Wide cruel wastes of death-encumber'd sea Seem as the voice of God that thunderingly Beats round the recreant earth ; when morning seems The revelation of one's utmost dreams 10 CHILDHOOD'S INHERITANCE Of beauty ; when the slow death of the day Makes all the west one glorious crimson way For happy souls that die ; and when the moon, Wheehng her radiant orb thro' the dark noon Of night, with conscious splendour makes the seas Unutterably solemn, and great trees Lost in the shadow stand forth with huge limbs Ghastly and clear ; when bird-songs are all hymns Of joy and praise, and every wilding flower Is known and loved ; and when each pent up hour Seems worse than wasted to the eager heart, That fain would hear the thrush-wings strike apart The beech leaves in short flight ere full and clear Burst the sweet tide of song, or watch the deer Stand with great eyes amid the fern, or high Hearken the cuckoo's music fill the sky. IX He seemed content just silently to sit And watch the breaking waves, the swallows flit Like arrows through the air, save when along The summer wind swept bearing the sweet song Of happy larks, or the repeated cries Of plovers when they caught the hawk's keen eyes Fixt on their young — and then he seem'd to be All sight and ear, as yearning tearfully To beat with spirit pinions that fine air Where at the gates of heaven exceeding fair The bird-songs rose and fell like silver tides, Or else to be as that royal bird that prides Itself on flinching not before the sun II CHILDHOOD'S INHERITANCE But stares undaunted, so he might have spun Downward with death upon the fierce pois's hawk, Saving the moorland brood : not man or boy Seem'd he so much as some incarnate joy At one with all things fair, flow'r o' the sod And insect to the Loveliness call'd God. X As a red rose that in full bloom doth spread Her soft flushed bosom to the wind ere dead 'Mid fallen leaves her queenliness is gone, So the fair westering day in glory shone Heedless of coming night though night was nigh. The sunset burned afar ; the holy sky Seem'd filled with heavenly forms mail'd in clear gold, Guiding their purple rafts through seas that rolled Immeasurably far off in crimson fire. The sea lay tranced watching the day expire, And tired waves rose and fell as though each pray'r Of rest long sought were granted. Everywhere God's blessing brooded. And at last the day. With one long earthward smile, dissolved away, Veiling her head in twilight robes wherethrough The palpitating stars shone faint and few. XI From out the darkening vault where they had hid Through sweltering heats of noon, swiftly there slid Star after star, each swimming from the near CHILDHOOD'S INHERITANCE Dark blue of heaven as from a windless mere Rise in calm morning twilights white and clear Young lily buds that open golden eyes Which joy makes wider when the day doth rise. XII Far inland, with an oft-repeated cry The curlew wailed, and swelled mysteriously Hoarse sounds from the dim sea. The boy's face grew White in the dusky shade as swiftly flew A great gull close by him, like a ghost Haunting the desolate margins of the coast : Great moths came out, with myriad sharded wings Huge beetles droned, and other twilight things Hummed their dim lives away, and through the air The flittermice wheeled whistHng : while the glare Of summer hghtnings flashing furtively Blazed for moment o'er the sleeping sea. XIII At last, with a long sigh, he turn'd and slid From the old rock, and for a little hid His face amongst the heather-spires that shook With cool sweet dews : then one last lingering look Across the twilight seas, whereo'er the moon Within her crescent shallop would sail soon, When with swift steps he turn'd and westward fled 13 CHILDHOOD'S INHERITANCE Across the moor by a little path that led, Almost unseen save known, till suddenly, Screened from the vision of the neighbouring sea Lovir in a dip between two moorland mounds A cottage lay ; whereto with rapid bounds He sped, and, bearing with him odours of salt foam, Entered the little doorway of his home. 14 YOUNG LOVE On a flower in a forest, A lily-bosom'd flower, (Where never windy tempest Came, nor ever any shower) — A golden hour of birthtide, (The sky was bkie, so blue ! ) Left me lying 'mid a songtide Of birds of every hue. Upon the white flower swaying I laughed and sang in glee. Till the thrushes long delaying Sang back deliciously ; And the dear white cloudlets sleeping Up in the blue, blue sky, Seem'd downy cherubs peeping Between the pine boughs high. A little wind came blowing And sang a wild-wood song, It whispered of the flowing Of bubbling streams along ; 15 YOUNG LOVE I laughed, and stood, and rising Found I had two small wings — So then I flew rejoicing Toward the water-springs. And ever 'mid my flying, (A httle cloud I seem'd ! ) I heard a great deep sighing, As earth in trouble dream'd ; And when I reached the river The sound more windlike blew : The glad stream lisped "for ever," But the sighing grew and grew. And as I laughed and wonder'd Among the flowers and grass. All suddenly it thunder'd, The sunHght seem'd to pass : A great wind took and blew me Across a grey wet sand, And tho' I wept it threw me Far from the joyous land. And now the salt waves leaping Pursue with hungry springs, And baffled, blind, and weeping, I beat my draggled wings : This was the great deep sighing I heard when I was young — And now, wind-weary, dying, My last sob-note is sung ! l6 MOTHERHOOD I Beneath the awful full-orb'd moon The silent tracts of wild-rice lay Dumb since the fervid heat of noon Beat through the burning Indian day ; And still as some far tropic sea Where no winds murmur, no waves be. The bending seeded tops alone Swayed in the sleepy sultry wind, Which came and went with frequent moan As though some dying place to find ; While at sharp intervals there rang The fierce cicala's piercing clang. Deep 'mid the rice-field's green-hued gloom A tigress lay with birth-throes ta'en ; Her serpent tail swept o'er her womb As if to sweep away the pain That clutched her by the gold-barred thighs And shook her throat with snarling cries. c 17 MOTHERHOOD Her white teeth tore the wild-rice stems ; And as she moaned her green eyes grew Lurid Hke shining baleful gems With fires volcanic lighten'd through, While froth fell from her churning jaws Upon her skin-drawn gleaming claws. As in a dream at some strange sound The soul doth seem to freeze, so she Lay fixed like marble on the ground, Changed in a moment : suddenly, A far-off roar of savage might Boomed through the silent sultry night. Her eyes grew large and flamed with fire ; Her body seem'd to feel the sound And thrill therewith, as thrills a lyre When wild wind wakes it with a bound And sweeps its string-clasp'd soul along In waves of melancholy song. Her answering howl swept back again And eddied to her far mate's ear ; Then once again the travail-pain Beat at the heart that knew no fear, But some new instinct seem'd to rise And yearn and wonder in her eyes. Did presage of the coming birth Light up her life with mother-love, 18 MOTHERHOOD As winds along the morning earth Whisper of golden dawn above ? Or was it but some sweet wild thought Remember'd vaguely ere forgot ? Some sweet wild thought of that still night When underneath the low-lying moon, Vast, awful, in its splendour white, Two tigers fought for love's last boon : Two striped and lire-eyed terrors strove Through blood and foam to reach her love. Of how their fight so deathly still Fill'd all her heart with savage glee ; The lust to love, to slay, to kill, — The fierce desire with him to be Whose fangs all bloody from the fray Should turn triumphantly away : Of how at last with one wild cry One gript the other's throat and breath. And, with hell gleaming thro' each eye, Shook the wild life to loveless death ; Then stood with waving tail and ire Triumphant changed to swift desire ? But once again the bitter strife Of wrestling sinews shook her there ; And soon a little mewling life Met her bewilder'd yearning stare, Till, through her pain, the tigress strove With licking tongue her love to prove. 19 MOTHERHOOD No longer fearless flamed the light Of great green eyes straight thro' the gloom, Each nerve seem'd laden with affright, The eyes expectant of some doom ; The very moonlight's steady glare Beat hungrily about her lair. A beetle rose, and hummed, and hung A moment ere it fled — but great In face of peril to her young The tigress rose supreme in hate And, with tail switching and lips drawn, The unreal foe scowled out upon. And when a mighty cobra, coiled Amid the tangled grass-roots near. Hissed out his hunger, her blood boiled With rage that left no room for fear, Till, with a howl that shook the dark. She sprang and left him cold and stark. But when a feeble hungry wail Smote on her yearning ears she turn'd With velvet paws and refluent tail And eyes that no more flashed and burn'd, But flamed throughout the solemn night Like lamps of soft sweet yellow light To where her young was ; where she lay Silent, and full of some strange love MOTHERHOOD Long hours. Along the star-strewn way A comet flashed and flamed above, And where great wastes of solemn blue Spread starless sailed the vast moon through. No sound disturb'd the tigress, save Stray jackals, or some wild boar's pant Where thickest did the tall rice wave, Or trump of distant elephant ; Or, when these fill'd the night no more, The tiger's deep tremendous roar. II Vast, solitary, gloomful, dark, Primeval forests swept away To where the gum and stringy bark Against great granite mountains lay ; And through their depths the twilight stole And dusk'd still deeper each dark bole. Deep in their pathless tracks there reared A huge white gum, whose giant height When winds infrequent blew appeared To brush the stars out from the night : A mighty column, straight and vast. Solemn with immemorial past : And at its base upon a bed Of fern-tree leaves strewn o'er the ground MOTHERHOOD A woman lay as though lying dead — Dark, rigid, still, without one sound : Her fixed eyes hfted not, nor saw The great stars tremble in strange awe. Couch'd near upon the tufted grass Two wither'd, long-haired women bent Two dusky bodies. No sign was Made ever them between, nor went From swift, slant, startled eyes a glance To break the spell of their deep trance. They crouch'd with heads bent down between Thin, black, uprisen knees ; their hair Hid their dark faces like a screen, And, scored with thorns, their feet lay bare : Hour after hour had watched them so, Three shadows fixt in sphinx-like woe. At times some wand'ring parrot's voice Clanged through the dusk ; from dead trees nigh A locust whirred its deafening noise And shrilled th' opossum's frequent cry And hour by hour some slim snake stole Hissing from fallen rotting bole. At last, above the farthest range The full vast moon sail'd o'er the trees 22 MOTHERHOOD The dead-like woman felt some change Thrill thro' her body ; from her knees Each shadow-watcher raised her head, And stared with eyes of moveless dread. Beyond — within the ghastly shade Of time-forgotten gums aglow With phosphorescent light that made Each trunk burn taper-like — bent low, A savage, bearded and long-haired. Wild-eyed across the pale gloom stared : And when his shifting, restless eyes Caught the drawn woman's birthtime pang, He shrilled a wild yell to the skies And high with tossing arms upsprang Beating with eager blows a drum And shivering with some terror dumb : The list'ning women once again Shudder'd and grew more chill with fear — Not at the harsh drum's maddening strain But at the spirits that were near, The awful souls of hated dead That creep round each wild travail-bed ; The white-eyed sheeted things that steal Down dusky ways, and lie in wait And from the shade their death-darts wheel And wreak unseen their deathless hate : For these the fierce drum clanged and beat The summons of a swift retreat. 23 MOTHERHOOD What strange thoughts wander'd thro' the mind Of her who writhed in travail sore ? As, bearing scents and sounds, a wind Blows pregnant from some distant shore, So may have blown some wind of thought Memorious from a past forgot, Drifting across her yearning eyes Stray visions of lost happy days. And filling with strange vague surprise The dreary sameness of her gaze — Dim, sweet memorial hours long lost, Scorched by long suns, numbed by long frost. But soon the wafted breaths that blew From off the deep drown'd past were blown Aside before some sharp wind new Of sudden agony. A moan Shook on her Hps, and from her womb A new life crept to outer gloom. The watching women rose and went With deft hands unto her : the man Hush'd his tempestuous instrument. And with fleet silent footsteps ran To where, asleep in moonUght, lay Some huts rough built from branches stray : And soon thereafter, in the light Of the vast moon, the tribe stole out 24 MOTHERHOOD And fill'd with cries the startled night — Till, with claspt hands and one wild shout, They circled round the riven frame Of her whose blank eyes knew no shame. But as some feeble strength came back She stretched out thin and claw-like hands, With eyes as one who on a rack Yearns for mercy, or on strange lands Lifts outspread arms towards his own — So yearn'd she, with a mother's moan. Within her famish'd eyes no more The hunger of the body burned, But on the fruit her womb long bore Their light unspeakable was turned : And all the hunger of her love Lighten'd the child's eyes from above. Vast, solitary, gloomful, dark, Primeval forests swept away To where the gum and stringy bark Against the granite mountains lay : Till, as the great moon grew more wan, Stirred the first heart-beats of the dawn. And o'er the pathless tracks where reared The huge white gum, whose boughs had seen The woman's birth-throes, hght appeared And lit its leaves with golden green, And shone upon the straight trunk vast, Solemn with immemorial past. 25 MOTHERHOOD III Faint scent of lilies filled the room, Hush'd in sweet silence and asleep Within the dim delicious gloom : No windy lamp-flame strove to leap Amidst the moveless shade, but faint A soft light burned from censer quaint. And dimly through the gloom loomed large A carven bed that seem'd to sail Like ghost of some great funeral barge 'Mid shadow-seas no men might hail — Till from its depths suffused with night The wan sheets dreamed to gleaming white. And lo, half-hid, like some white flow'r Breasting the driven snow, there lay Expectant of the awful hour A waiting girl, who, far away Beyond where vision reacheth, gazed With eyes by some strange glory dazed. Like two strange dreams they were, wherein Played subtle lights of other life, Deep depths, scarce cognisant of sin, Serene, beyond all clamorous strife — Two seas unsoundable as night Yet lit to utmost depths with hght. Silent she lay, as one who low In some dim vast deserted nave 26 MOTHERHOOD Bends rapt in mingled love and woe While the wild, passionate, sweeping wave Of organ music sweeps and rolls — The burden of all suffering souls. Silent she lay, for as a palm Within a thirsty desert feels A low wind break the deathly calm And drinks each rain-drop as it steals Between its dry parch'd leaves, so she Felt God's breath fill her fitfully. The soft low wind of life divine Entered the darkened womb, and there It cleft the mystic bands that twine The folded bud of childhood fair, Which, as an open'd lily, fell From death to life's strange miracle. O perfect bud of human flow'r Immaculately sweet and pure. Shall God's first influence in this hour Through all thy coming life endure, And thou expand to perfect bloom Untouched by crash of neighbouring doom ? Or, O sweet perfect human bud, Shall rains thee dash, and wild winds sweep Thy fair head to the mire and mud, And, with praying hands, thy mother weep Such tears of anguish as no pain Shall ever wring from her again ? 27 MOTHERHOOD Soft, soft, the wind of life doth breathe : — Some angel surely fans the while The faint new-litten spark beneath, And prayeth with a piteous smile That it may live, and living be A victor 'midst humanity. Silent she lay who soon should give This life to life : her secret thought Strove 'mid the happy past to live Again that day she ne'er forgot, That day when her young love took wing From maidenhood's sweet-scented spring : When hand in hand she trod the ways Flow'r-strewn with him, and felt his eyes Turn'd full on her with such deep gaze Of love triumphant, that the skies Seem'd but a hollow dome where rang Sweet tumult, as though angels sang : How the hush'd drowsy afternoon Slipt through the summertide, till low In the dark tranquil east the moon Rose vast and yellow, and more slow The flaming star that lights the west Lulled the sea-waters to their rest : How in the bridal chamber shone No other than the full-moon's light, And how between the dusk and dawn 28 MOTHERHOOD A wind of passion fill'd the night And bore resistless soul with soul On to love's utmost crowning goal. Silent she was, but as her mind Made real once more that perfect day Her body trembled, as a wind Had blown upon her where she lay, And in her eyes serene and deep Joys unforgotten woke from sleep. As on a mighty midnight sea Wind-swept, and lit by a white glare Where intermittent lightnings flee And deafened by the thunderous air Split up with tumult, one great wave Doth rise and scorn an ocean-grave. And, gathering volume as it rolls. Doth sweep triumphant till at last It thunders up the sounding shoals Of stricken promontory aghast, And leaves its crown of foam where high The cliffs stare seaward steadily : So from love's throbbing pulsing sea All lightning-lit by passion, reared A mighty wave resistlessly Of mother-love, which as it neared Fulfilment broke in one glad cry Of sweet half-wond'ring ecstasy. 29 MOTHERHOOD Hush ! the great sea is still, and low The night-wind wanders ; hush for calm The mother waits the body's woe. Silent she lay ; mayhap a psalm Of sacred joy sang deep within The maiden heart unstained by sin. Mayhap the inward vision saw The unborn soul arise and stand Great in a people's love and awe, Crown'd not with gold by human hand But sacred with the bays that wait The victor in the strife of Fate : And deeper still, beheld afar The billows of the ages sweep A mightier soul from star to star — So ever upwards through the steep Dim ways of God's unfathom'd will But aye by fuller periods still. So shall it be for ever : evermore The mystic wheel of mother-love shall whirl Around the world, and link these three again. 30 SONNETS 1882-1886 SPRING WIND O FULL-VOICED herald of immaculate Spring, With clarion gladness striking every tree To answering raptures, as a resonant sea Fills rock-bound shores with thunders echoing — O thou, each beat of whose tempestuous wing Shakes the long winter-sleep from hill and lea, And rouses with loud reckless jubilant glee The birds that have not dared as yet to sing : r O Wind that comest with prophetic cries, ^ Hast thou indeed beheld the face that is ■' The joy of poets and the glory of birds — ^ Spring's face itself: — hast thou 'neath bluer skies '^ Met the warm lips that are the gates of bhss, p And heard June's leaf-like murmur of sweet r words ? 33 A MIDSUMMER HOUR There comes not through the o'erarching cloud of green A harsh, an envious sound to jar the ear : But vaguely swells a hum, now far, now near, Where the wild honey-bee beyond the screen Of beech-leaves haunts the field of flowering bean. Far, far away the low voice of the weir Dies into silence. Hush'd now is the clear Sweet song down-circling from the lark unseen. Beyond me, where I lie, the shrew-mice run A-patter where of late the streamlet's tones Make music : on a branch a drowsy bird Sways by the webs that midst dry pools are spun — Yet lives the streamlet still, for o'er flat stones The slow lapse of the gradual wave is heard. 34 TO D. G. ROSSETTI From out the darkness cometh never a sound : No voice doth reach us from the silent place : There is one goal beyond life's blindfold race, For victor and for victim — burial-ground. O friend, revered, belov'd, mayst thou have found Beyond the shadowy gates a yearning face, A beckoning hand to guide thee with swift pace From the dull wave Lethean gliding round. Hope dwelt with thee ; not Fear ; Faith, not Despair : But little heed thou hadst of the grave's gloom. What though thy body lies so deeply there Where the land throbs with tidal surge and boom, p Thy soul doth breathe some Paradisal air Q And Rest long sought thou hast where ama- p ranths bloom. 35 TO D. G. ROSSETTI II Yet even if Death indeed with pitiful sign Bade us drink deep of some obHvious draught, Is it not well to know, ere we have quaffed The soul-deceiving poppied anodyne, That not in vain erewhile we drink the wine Of life — that not all blankly or in craft Of evil went the days wherein we laughed And joyed i' the sun, unknowing aught divine ? Not so thy doom, whatever fate betide : n Not so for thee, O poet-heart and true, P Who fearless watched, as evermore it grew, . The shadow of Death creep closer to thy side. — ^. A glory with thy ebbing life withdrew 'r And we inherit now its deathless Pride. 36 PAIN I AM God's eldest : — I and Love are twin ; We look for ever in the other's face ; Together our flight wings throughout all space — Sun, Star, Man, God, alike we dwell therein ; Some far-off goal together strive to win. But here on earth I leave the mightier trace, Clasp hands more close with all the human race, And weave the shadow-webs of joy and sin. And most I dwell in the clear skies at dawn, In marvellous eves when all the stars are bright. In music e'er the sweetest chord is gone, In woman's beauty still unsoiled and white, In children's slumber in the morning wan, And lovers' vows and yearnings in the night. 37 From EARTH'S VOICES 1884 MADONNA NATURA I LOVE and worship thee in that thy ways Are fair, and that the glory of past days Haloes thy brightness with a sacred hue : Within thine eyes ai^e dreams of mystic things, Within thy voice a subtler music rings Than ever mortal from the keen reeds drew ; Thou weav'st a web which men have called Death But Life is in the magic of thy breath. The secret things of Earth thou knowest well ; Thou seest the wild-bee build his narrow cell, The lonely eagle wing through lonely skies, The lion on the desert roam afar, The glow-worm ghtter like a fallen star, The hour-lived insect as it hums and flies ; Thou seest men hke shadows come and go. And all their endless dreams drift to and fro. In thee is strength, endurance, wisdom, truth : Thou art above all mortal joy and ruth. Thou hast the calm and silence of the night : Mayhap thou seest what we cannot see. Surely far off thou hear'st harmoniously Echoes of flawless music infinite, Mayhap thou feelest thrilling through each sod Beneath thy feet the very breath of God. 41 MADONNA NATURA Monna Natiira, fair and grand and great, I worship thee, who art inviolate : Through thee I reach to things beyond this span Of mine own puny Hfe, through thee I learn Courage and hope, and dimly can discern The ever noble grades awaiting man : Madonna, unto thee I bend and pray — Saviour, Redeemer thou, whom none can stay ! No human fanes are dedicate to thee. But thine the temples of each tameless sea, Each mountain-height and forest-glade and plain. No priests with daily hymns thy praises sing. But far and wide the wild winds chanting swing. And dirge the sea-waves on the changeless main While songs of birds fill all the fields and woods. And cries of beasts the savage soHtudes. Hearken, Madonna, hearken to my cry ; Teach me through metaphors of liberty. Till strong and fearing nought in life or death I feel thy sacred freedom through me thrill. Wise, and defiant, with unquenched will Unyielding, though succumb the mortal breath — Then if I conquer, take me by the hand And guide me onward to thy Promised Land ! 4* DURING MUSIC TEARS that well up to my eyes, And vague thoughts wandering thro' my brain, Whence come ye ? From what alien skies, From what dim sorrow, what strange pain ? 1 hear old memories astir In dusky twilights of the past: voices telling me of her. My soul, whom now I know at last: 1 know her not by any name, But she with hope or fear is pale ; I see her ere this body came From mortal womb with mortal wail. Later and later through long years, Through generations of dead men, I see her in her mist of tears, I see her in her shroud of pain. I see her whom the aeons have raised From one dim birth to endless hfe ; I see her strive, regain, re-fail Forever in the endless strife. 43 DURING MUSIC I see her, soul of man, and soul Of woman, and in many lands : Her eyes are fixt on some far goal But she hath neither thrall nor bands. On one day yet to come I see This body pale and cold and dead : The spirit once again made free Hovers triumphant overhead. Again, again, O endless day, I see her in new forms pace on, And ever with her on the way Fair kindred souls in unison. O wandering thoughts within my brain, O voices speaking low to me, O music sweet with stingless pain, Bring clear the vision that I see ! O ecstasy of sound, O pain ! Too sad my heart, too sad the tears It bringeth to my eyes again, Too strange the hopes, too strange the fears. 44 SHADOWED SOULS "If the soul withdraweth from the body, what profit there after hath a man of all the days of his life ? " She died indeed, but to him her breath Was more than a light blown out by death : He knew that they breathed the self-same air, That not midst the dead was her pale face fair But that she waited for him somewhere. To some dead city, or ancient town, Where the mould'ring towers were crumbling down, Or in some old mansion habited By dust and silence and things long dead, He knew the Shadows of Souls were led. For years he wandered a weary way. His eyes shone sadder, his hair grew grey : But still he knew that she lived for whom No grave lay waiting, no white carv'd tomb, No earthly silence, no voiceless gloom. 45 SHADOWED SOULS But once in a bitter year he came To an old dying town with a long dead name : That eve, as he walked thro' the dusty ways And the echoes woke in the empty place, He came on a Shadow face to face. It looked, but uttered no word at all Then beckoned him into an old dim hall : And lo, as soon as he passed between The pillars with age and damp mould green His eyes were dazed by a strange wild scene. A thousand lamps fill'd the place with light, And fountains glimmered faerily bright ; But never a single sound was heard, The dreadful silence was never stirred, Not even the breath of a single word Came from the shadowy multitude. More dense than leaves in a summer wood, Than the sands where the swift tides ebb and flow ; But ever the Shades moved to and fro As windless waves on the sea will go. Then he who had come to the Shadow-land Swift strode by many a group and band ; But never a glimpse he caught of her, In fleeting shadow or loiterer. For whom the earth held no sepulchre. 46 SHADOWED SOULS He knew that she was not dead whom he So loved with bitterest memory, To whom through anguish'd years he had prayed ; Yet came she never, no sign was made, No touch on his haggard frame was laid. At last to an empty room he came, And there he saw in letters of flame : "This is a palace no king controls, A place unwritten in human scrolls, — This is the Haunt of Shadowed Souls : " If thy Shadow-soul be here no more, Seek thine old Hfe's deserted shore : And there, mayhap, thou wilt find again, Recovered now through sorrow and pain. The Soul thou didst thy most to have slain." 47 THE SONG OF THE THRUSH When the beech-trees are green in the wood- lands And the thorns are whitened with may, And the meadow-sweet blows and the yellow gorse blooms I sit on a wind-waved spray, And I sing through the livelong day From the golden dawn till the sunset comes and the shadows of gloaming grey. And I sing of the joy of the woodlands, And the fragrance of wild-wood flowers, And the song of the trees and the hum of the bees In the honeysuckle bowers, And the rustle of showers And the voice of the west wind calling as through glades and green branches he scours. 48 THE SONG OF THE THRUSH When the sunset glows over the woodlands More sweet rings my lyrical cry With the pain of my yearning to be 'mid the burning And beautiful colours that lie 'Midst the gold of the sun-down sky, Where over the purple and crimson and amber the rose-pink cloud-curls fly. Sweet, sweet swells my voice thro' the wood- lands, Repetitive, marvellous, rare : And the song-birds cease singing as my music goes ringing And eddying echoing there. Now wild and now debonnair. Now fiU'd with a tumult of passion that throbs like a pulse in the hush'd warm air ! 49 SONG " To suffer grief is to be strong, And to be strong is beautiful and rare " — 'Twas in thy court, O Love, I learned it there. This sad sweet song ! No one man dwells thy ways among, Who shall not learn thy thousand ways of grief Or how wild fears succeed each poor relief In dark'ning throng : There too a man may learn to put away The crowned summit of his heart's desire ; But O the bitter burning of love's fire — Its bitterer ashes grey ! so SLEEP While sways the restless sea Beyond the shore, And the waves smg Hstlessly Their secret lore, And the soft fragrant air From off the deep Scarce stirs thine outspread hair,- Sleep ! Far up in purple skies Great lamps hang out. White flames that fall and rise In motley rout ; While fall their silvern rays O'er crag and steep, Woodlands and meadow-ways, — Sleep ! While the moon's amber gleams Gild rock and flow'r, Let no untimely dreams Possess the hour : Let no vague fears the heart 'Mid slumber keep, In dreams love hath no smart, — Sleep ! SI MATER DOLOROSA She, brooding ever, dwells amidst the hills ; Her kingdom is call'd Solitude ; her name — More terrible than desolating flame — Is Silence ; and her soul is Pain. Day after day some weightier sorrow fills Her heart, and each new hour she knows The birth of further woes. And whoso, journeying, goes Unto the land wherein she dwells for aye Shall not come thence until have passed away For evermore the bright joy of his years. She giveth rest, but giveth it with tears. Tears that more bitter be Than drops of the Dead Sea : But never gives she peace to any soul, For how could she that rarest gift bestow Who well doth know That though in dreams she can attain the goal. In dreams alone her steps can thither go : — Solitude, Silence, Pain, for all who live Within the twilit realms that are her own. And even Rest to those who seek her throne, But these her gifts alone : Peace hath she not and therefore cannot give. 53 ^ ^ ^i^ A RECORD {A Fragment) I HEAR the dark tempestuous sea Boom through the night monotonously, The hoarse faint cry of breaking waves Lashed by the wind that moans and raves Upon the deep — I hear them fall Against cHff-bases smooth and tall, A music wild, funereal. I seem to listen to a sound That circles earth for ever round. The dirge of an eternal song, A dull deep music swept along The listening coasts of many lands, Sighed mournfully o'er level sands. Or thunder'd amidst rocky strands. I sit within my lonely room Where the lamp's flame just breaks the gloom, And thro' the darkness of the night I see far down a starry light 53 A RECORD Where nestled safely in the chine V. i fy The village street in one long line * ' r\j hi Doth Uke a glittering serpent shine. ' I The keen wind blows through the dark skies, The stars look down like countless eyes That see and know, and therefore stare Unmoved 'midst their serene high air : And life seems but a dream, a shade ^ \ \ j P But which with Time shall one day fade. Which fleeting Time o'er space hath laid, \ ^ , vV V !\i Old memories are mine once more, I see strange lives I lived of yore ; i^. V^- With dimmed sight see I far-off things, I feel the breath of bygone springs, And ringing strangely in mine ears , I hear old laughter, alien tears Slow falling, voices of past years. Far back the soul can never see — But dreams restore mysteriously Dim visions of a possible past, A time ere the last bond was cast Aside that bound the struggHng soul Unto the brute, and first some goal Loomed dimly over Life's vast shoal. And dreaming so I live my dream : I see a yellow turbid stream Heavily flowing through clustered weeds Of tropic growth, and 'midst the reeds 54 A RECORD Of tall green rice upon its bank A crouching tiger, long and lank, With slow tail swaying from flank to flank. Its eyes are yellow flames, and burn Upon a man who dips an urn V 1^ Into the Ganges' sacred wave, Unknowing he has reached his grave — A short, hoarse roar, a scream, a blow ! And even as I shudder, lo. My tiger-self I seem to know. And dreaming so I live my dream : I see a sunrise glory gleam Against vast mountain-heights, and there Upon a peak precipitous, bare, I see an eagle scan the plain Immeasurable of his domain, With fierce untamable disdain : When first the stars wax pale his eyes Front the wide east where day doth rise, And with unflinching gaze look straight Against the sun, then proud, elate, On tireless wings he swoops on high O'er countless leagues, and thro' the sky Drifts like a dark cloud ominously : Then as day dies and swift night springs, I hear the sudden rush of wings And see the eagle from the plain Sweep to his eyrie once again 55 A RECORD With fierce keen dauntless eyes aglow — And even as I watch them, lo, Mine eagle-self I seem to know. And dreaming so I live my dream : I hear a savage voice, a scream Scarcely articulate, and far I see a red light like a star Flashed 'neath old trees, and the first fire Made by the brutish tribe burn higher Until unfed its flames expire : I see the savage whose hand drew The fire from wood, whose swift breath blew The flame until it gained new strength, — I see him stand supreme at length, And pointing to the burning flame Bend low his swart and trembling frame And cry aloud a guttural name : A god at last the tribe hath found, A god at whose strange crackling sound Each man must bend in dread until This strange new god hath worked his will : But lo, one day the fire spread fast, And ere its fury is o'erpast The tribe within its furnace -blast Hath perish'd, save one man alone Who far in sudden fear hath flown : But with a gleam of new-born thought A second flame he soon hath wrought 5^ A RECORD Only to tramp it down, aware At last that no dead god lies there, Or one for whom no man need care. He looks around to see some god. And far upon the fire-scorch'd sod He sees his brown-burnt tribesmen lie, And thinks their voices fill the sky, And dreads some unseen sudden blow — And even as I watch him, lo, My savage self I seem to know. And dreaming so I live my dream : I see a flood of moonlight gleam Between vast ancient oaks, and round A rough-hewn altar on the ground Weird Druid priests are gathered While through their midst a man is led With face that is already dead : A low chant swells throughout the wood, Then comes a solemn interlude Ere loudlier rings dim aisles along Some ancient sacrificial song ; Before the fane the victim kneels, And without sound he forward reels When the priest's knife the death-blow deals The moonlight falls upon his face, His blood is spatter'd o'er the place, But now he is ev'n as a flow'r Uprooted in some tempest hour. 57 A RECORD Dead, but whose seed shall elsewhere grow And as I look upon him, lo Some old ancestral self I know. Thus far dreams bring mysteriously Visions of past lives back to me ; Visions alone perhaps they are, Each one a wandering futile star Flash'd o'er the mental firmament, — Yet may be thus in past times went My soul in gradual ascent. None sees the slow sure upward sweep By which the soul from life-depths deep Ascends — unless, mayhap, when free With each new death we backward see The long perspective of our race, Our multitudinous past lives trace Since first as breath of God through space Each came, and filled the lowest thing With life's faint pulse scarce quivering ; So ever onward upward grew. And ever with each death-birth knew An old sphere left, a mystic change — A sense of exaltation strange Thus through a myriad lives to range. But even in our mortal lives At times the eager spirit strives To gain through subtle memories Some hint of life's past mysteries — 58 A RECORD Brief moments they, that flash before Bewilder'd eyes some scene of yore, Some vivid hour returned once more. Swift through the darken'd clouds of sense A sudden Hghtning-gleam intense Reveals some glimpse of the long past, Some memory comes back at last — And yet 'twas but a sudden strain Of song — a scent — a sound of rain — Some trifle — made all clear again. With a swift glance such glimpses come And go — but there are times for some When keen the vision is, so keen That thenceforth the indelible scene Remains within the mind for aye. Some reminiscence sad or gay, Some action of a bygone day. Thus came to me memorious gleams From the closed past, no sleep-brought dreams But revelations flashed out swift Upon the mind : a sudden lift Of the dense cloud of all past years, — A moment when the thrilling ears Heard, or the eyes slow filled with tears. Thus has there flashed across my sight A desert in a blinding light Of scorching sun, a dreary waste Of burning sand where seldom paced 59 A RECORD The swift, gaunt camels with their freight Of merchandise, but where the weight Of silence lay inviolate. There a few sterile rocks lay white In the sun's glare, a band by might Of old convulsions thither hurled In the far days of the young world : And in their midst a hollow cave Was cleft, where dwelt, as in a grave, One who came thence his soul to save. Young, and from out the joyous strife Of men he came to this drear life : No more for him the wine's swift spell, No more for him love's swift miracle — But bitter as the dead sea's dust Seem'd all past joys — dread things to thrust Aside, all equally accursed. In fervid prayer all day he sought God's grace : in dreams at night he fought The fierce temptations born of youth. Awake, he strove to reach God's truth — Asleep, he felt his passions rise And darken all the heav'nly skies With dread deceitful lovely lies. Thus year by year he fell and rose In endless conflict, till his woes Fill'd all his days with burning tears And dreadful never-ending fears : 60 A RECORD Haggard he grew from scanty food, With sun and blast and shelter rude And terrors of his lonelihood. With long hair streaming out behind He raced before the burning wind, With wild insane strained eyes alert For demons lurking to his hurt — And though the sun beat fiercely hot Upon the sands, he heeded not But like a wand'ring shadow shot Across the burning level waste, Oft shouting as he wildly raced " My body is in hell, but I, Its soul, thus hither speed and cry To God to blow me as a leaf From out this agony of grief, To slay, and give me death's relief ! " Oft as he fled, with from his mouth The white froth blown thro' maddening drought, He pass'd the crouching lion's lair — But when his shrill laugh fiU'd the air The desert monarch shrank, as though He feared this raving shadow's woe, This haggard wretch with eyes aglow. But when the sun sank past the west The hermit fled the desert, lest God's eyes should lose him in the night, 6t A RECORD And foes Satanic guide his flight Till soul and body once again Made one should with the pangs of twain In hell for ever writhe in pain. But when sleep came to him he lay In peace, and oft a smile would play Upon his face as though once more In dreams he lived his hfe of yore, — The life he did himself dismiss, The old sweet time of joy and bliss,— Heard laughter, or felt some loved kiss. Thus have I seen, and seeing known That he who Uved afar alone, A hermit on a dreary waste, Was even that soul mine eyes have traced Through brute and savage steadily. That he even now is part of me Just as a wave is of the sea. ***** Far out across the deep doth swell The hoarse boom of the Black-Rock bell, A heavy moan monotonous, An inner sea-sound ominous, As though throughout the ocean there Relentless Conscience aye did bear A bitter message of despair. Still sweeps the old impetuous sea Around the green earth ceaselessly — 62 A RECORD Changeless, yet full of change, it seems The very mirror of those dreams We call men's Uves — for are not they Like liie-sea waves Fate's winds doth sway And break, yet which pass not away Through depth of silent air, but blend Once more with the deep and lend Their never dying music sweet To the great choral song complete ; Each death is but a birth, a change — Each soul through myriad byeways strange, Through birth and death, doth upward range. J 63 TRANSCRIPTS FROM NATURE (From " The Human Inheritance," and " Earth's Voices ") 1882-1886 WILD ROSES Against the dim hot summer blue Yon wave of white wild-roses lies, Watching with listless golden eyes The green leaves shutting out their view, The tiny leaves whose motions bright Are like small wings of emerald light: White butterflies Uke snow-flakes fall And brown bees drone their honey-call. THE EBBING TIDE A LONG low gurgle down the strand, The sputtering of the drying wrack ! The tide is slowly ebbing back With listless murmuring from the land, And the small waves reluctant flow Where the broad-bosomed currents go. The sea has fall'n asleep, and lies Dense blue beneath the dense blue skies. 67 DAWN AMID SCOTCH FIRS The furtive lights that herald dawn Are shimmering 'mid the steel-blue firs ; A slow awakening wind half stirs And the long branches breathes upon ; The east grows clearer — clearer — lo, The day is born! A refluent flow Of silver waves along each tree For one brief moment dazzlingly. A DEAD CALM AND MIST (Towards evening) The slow heave of the sleeping sea With pulse-like motion swells and falls, And drowsily a stray gull calls The very wail of melancholy ; All day the moveless mist has slept On the same bosom east winds swept : No breath of change in the grey mist, Save just a dream of amethyst. 68 TANGLED SUNRAYS Aslant from yonder sunlit hill The lance-like sunrays stream across The meadows where the king-cups toss r the wind, and where the beech-leaves thrill With flooding light they twist and turn And seem to interlace and burn, Until at last in tangles spun 'Mid the damp grass their race is run. LOCH CORUISK (SKYE) The bleak and barren mountains keep A never-ending gloom around The lonely loch ; the winds resound, The rains beat down, the tempests sweep, The days are calm and dark and still, — No other changes Coruisk fill. Scarce living sound is heard, save high The eagle's scream or wild swan's cry. 69 SUNRISE ABOVE BROAD WHEATFIELDS The pale tints of the twilight fields Have turned into burnished gold, For waves of yellow light have rolled From the open'd east across the wealds ; While 'mid the wheat spires far behind Stirs lazily the awaken'd wind. A skylark high (a song-made bird) Sings as though God his singing heard. PHOSPHORESCENT SEA The sea scarce heaves in its calm sleep, The wind has not awakened yet Tho' in its dreams it seems to fret, For, ever and again, the deep Hearkens a sigh that steals along As might some echo of sad song : Ah, there the wind stirs ! Lo, the dark Dim sea's on fire around our barque. JO A GREEN WAVE Between the salt sea-send before And all the flowing gulfs behind, Half lifted by the rising wind, Half eager for the ungain'd shore, A great green wave of shining light Sweeps onward crowned with dazzling white : Above, the east wind shreds the sky With plumes from the grey clouds that fly. MID-NOON IN JANUARY Upon a fibry fern-tree bough A huge Iguana lies alow. Bright yellow in the noonday glow With bars of black, — it watcheth now A gorgeous insect hover high Till suddenly its lance doth fly And catch the prey, — but still no sound Breathes /mid the green fern spaces round. 71 THE WASP Where the ripe pears droop heavily The yellow wasp hums loud and long His hot and drowsy autumn song: A yellow flame he seems to be, When darting suddenly from on high He lights where fallen peaches lie : Yellow and black, this tiny thing's A tiger-soul on elfin wings. AN AUTUMNAL EVENING Deep black against the dying glow The tall elms stand ; the rooks are still ; No windbreath makes the faintest thrill Amongst the leaves ; the fields below Are vague and dim in twilight shades — Only the bats wheel in their raids On the grey flies, and silently Great dusky moths go flitting by. 72 A WINTER HEDGEROW The wintry wolds are white ; the wind Seems frozen ; in the shelter'd nooks The sparrows shiver ; the black rooks Wheel homeward where the elms behind The manor stand ; at the field's edge The redbreasts in the blackthorn hedge Sit close, and under snowy eaves The shrewmice sleep 'mid nested leaves. THE ROOKERY AT SUNRISE The lofty elm-trees darkly dream Against the steel-blue sky ; till far I' the twilit east a golden star O'erbrims the dusk in one vast stream Of yellow light, and lo ! a cry Breaks from the windy nest — the sky Is filled with wheeling rooks — they sway In one black phalanx towards the day. 73 MOONRISE The first snows of the year lie white Upon the branches bending low ; A surging wind the flakes doth blow Before the coming feet of Night — Half dusk, half day, betwixt the pines Green-yellow the full moon reclines : Green-yellow, and now wholly green, While faint the windy stars are seen. FIREFLIES Softly sailing emerald lights Above the cornfields come and go, Listlessly wandering to and fro : The magic of these July nights Has surely even pierced down deep Where the earth's jewels unharmed sleep, And filled with fire the emeralds there And raised them thus to the outer air. 74 THE CRESCENT MOON As though the Power that made the nautilus A living glory o'er seas perilous Scathless to roam, had from the utmost deep Called a vast flawless pearl from out its sleep And carv'd it crescent-wise, exceeding fair, — So seems the crescent moon that thro' the air With motionless motion glides from out the west, And sailing onward ever seems at rest. THE EAGLE Between two mighty hills a sheer Abyss — far down in the ravine A thread-like torrent and a screen Of oaks like shrubs — and one doth rear A dry scarp'd peak above all sound Save windy voices wailing round : At sunrise here, in proud disdain The eagle scans his vast domain. 75 A VENETIAN SUNSET : BEFORE A CHANGE (Rciurning from Torcdlo) In violet hues each dome and spire Stands outlined against flawless rose ; O'er this a carmine ocean flows Streak'd with pure gold and amber fire, And through the sea of sundown mist f. k : Float isles of melted amethyst : * v Storm-portents, saffron streamers rise, Fan-like, from Venice to the skies. EMPIRE (PERSEPOLIS). The yellow waste of yellow sands, The bronze haze of a scorching sky ! Lo, what are these that broken he ; Were these once temples made with hands, Once towers and palaces that knew No hint of that which one day threw Their greatness to the winds — made this The memory of Persepolis ? 76 From ROMANTIC BALLADS 1888 ^ '0 t *; « w THE WEIRD OF MICHAEL SCOTT The wild wind moaned : fast waned the light : f* Dense cloud-wrack gloomed the front of night : l^ The moorland cries were cries of pain : y--. Green, red, or broad and glaring white ^ The lightnings flashed athwart the main. The sound and fury of the waves, Upon the rocks, among the caves, Boomed inland from the thunderous strand : Mayhap the dead heard in their graves The tumult fill the hollow land. With savage pebbly rush and roar The billows swept the echoing shore In clouds of spume and swirling spray : The wild wings of the tempest bore The salt rheum to the Haunted Brae. Upon the Haunted Brae (where none Would linger in the noontide sun) Michael the Wizard rode apace : Wildly he rode where all men shun, With madness gleaming on his face. 79 mH THE WEIRD OF MICHAEL SCOTT Loud, loud he laugh'd whene'er he saw The hghtnings spht on Lammer-Law, "Blood, bride, and bier the auld rune saith Hell's wind tae vie ae niclit sail blaw^ The nichi I ride unto my death ! " Across the Haunted Brae he fled, And mock'd and jeer'd the shuddering dead ; Wan white the horse that he bestrode, The iire-flaughts stricken as it sped Flashed thro' the black mirk of the road. And even as his race he ran, A shade pursued the fleeing man, A white and ghastly shade it was ; " Like saut sea-spray across wet san' Or wind abune the moonht grass ! — " Like saut sea-spray it follows me, Or wind o'er grass — so fast's I flee : In vain I shout, and laugh, and call — The thing betwix me and the sea God kens it is my ain lost saul ! " Down, down the Haunted Brae, and past The verge of precipices vast And eyries where the eagles screech ; By great pines swaying in the blast. Through woods of moaning larch and beech ; 80 THE WEIRD OF MICHAEL SCOTT On, on by moorland glen and stream, Past lonely lochs where ospreys scream, Past marsh-lands where no sound is heard, The rider and his white horse gleam, And, aye behind, that dreadful third. Wild and more wild the wild wind blew. But Michael Scott the rein ne'er drew : Loud and more loud his laughter shrill, His wild and mocking laughter, grew. In dreadful cries 'twixt hill and hill. At last the great high road he gained, And now with whip aud voice he strained To swifter flight the gleaming mare ; Afar ahead the fierce sleet rained Upon the ruin'd House of Stair. Then Michael Scott laughed long and loud " Whan shone the mune ahint yon cloud I kent the Towers that saw my birth — Lang, lang, sail wait my cauld grey shroud, Lang cauld and weet my bed o' earth ! " But as by Stair he rode full speed His horse began to pant and bleed : " Win hame, win hame, my bonnie mare, Win hame if thou would'st rest and feed. Win hame, we're nigh the House of Stair ! " G 81 THE WEIRD OF MICHAEL SCOTT But with a shrill heart-bursten yell The white horse stumbled, plunged, and fell, And loud a summoning voice arose, " Is't White-Horse Death that rides frae Hell, Or Michael Scott that hereby goes ? " " Ah, Lord of Stair, I ken ye weel ! Avaunt, or I your saul sail steal, An' send ye howling through the wood A wild man-wolf — aye, ye maun reel An' cry upon your Holy Rood ! " Swift swept the sword within the shade, Swift was the flash the blue steel made, Swift was the downward stroke and rash — But, as though levin-struck, the blade Fell splintered earthward with a crash. With frantic eyes Lord Stair out-peered When Michael Scott laughed loud and jeered :- " Forth fare ye now, ye've gat lang room ! Ah, by my saul thou'lt dree thy weird ! Begone, were-wolf, till the day o' doom ! " A shrill scream pierced the lonely place ; A dreadful change came o'er the face ; The head, with bristled hair, swung low ; Michael the Wizard turned and fled And laughed a mocking laugh of woe. 82 THE WEIRD OF MICHAEL SCOTT And through the wood there stole and crept, And through the wood there raced and leapt, A thing in semblance of a man ; An awful look its wild eyes kept As howling through the night it ran. All day the curlew wailed and screamed. All day the cushat crooned and dreamed, All day the sweet muir-wind blew free : Beyond the grassy knowes far gleamed The splendour of the singing sea. Above the myriad gorse and broom And miles of golden kingcup-bloom The larks and yellowhammers sang : Where the scaur cast an hour-long gloom The lintie's liquid notes out-rang. Oft as he wandered to and fro — As idly as the foam-bells flow Hither and thither on the deep — Michael the Wizard's face would grow From death to life, and he would weep- Weep, weep wild tears of bitter pain For what might never be again : Yet even as he wept his face Would gleam with mockery insane And with fierce laughter on he'd race 83 THE WEIRD OF MICHAEL SCOTT At times he watched the white clouds sail Across the wastes of azure pale ; Or oft would haunt some moorland pool Fringed round with thyme and fragrant gale And canna-tufts of snow-white wool. Long in its depths would Michael stare, As though some secret thing lay there : Mayhap the moving water made A gloom where crouched a Kelpie fair With death-eyes gleaming through the shade. Then on with weary, listless feet He fared afar, until the sweet Cool sound of mountain brooks drew nigh, And loud he heard the strayed lambs bleat And the white ewes responsive cry. High up among the hills full clear He heard the belHng of the deer Amid the corries where they browsed, And, where the peaks rose gaunt and sheer, Fierce swirling echoes eagle-roused. He watched the kestrel wheel and sweep, He watched the dun fox gHde and creep, He heard the whaup's long-echoing call. Watched in the stream the brown trout leap And the grilse spring the waterfall. 84 THE WEIRD OF MICHAEL SCOTT Along the slopes the grouse-cock whirred ; The grey-blue heron scarcely stirred Amid the mossed grey tarn-side stones : The burns gurg-gurgled through the yird Their sweet, clear, bubbUng undertones. Above the tarn the dragon-fly Shot like a flashing arrow by ; And in a moving, shifting haze The gnat-clouds sank or soared on high And danced their wild aerial maze. As the day waned he heard afar The hawking fern-owl's dissonant jar Disturb the silence of the hill : The gloaming came : star after star He watched the skiey spaces fill. But as the darkness grew and made Forest and mountain one vast shade, Michael the Wizard moaned in dread — A long white moonbeam like a blade Swept after him v^rhere'er he fled. Swiftly he leapt o'er rock and root, Swift o'er the fern his flying foot, But swifter still the white moonbeam : Wild was the grey-owl's dismal hoot. But wilder still his maniac scream. 85 THE WEIRD OF MICHAEL SCOTT Once in his flight he paused to hear A hollow shriek that echoed near : — The louder were his dreadful cries, The louder rang adown the sheer Gaunt cliffs the echoing repUes. As though a hunted wolf, he raced To the lone woods across the waste Steep granite slopes of Crammond-Low — The haunted forest where none faced The terror that no man might know. Betwixt the mountains and the sea Dark leagues of pine stood solemnly, Voiceful with grim and hollow song. Save when each tempest-stricken tree A savage tumult would prolong. Beneath the dark funereal plumes, Slow waving to and fro — death-blooms Within the void dim wood of death — Oft shuddering at the fearful glooms Sped Michael Scott with failing breath. Once, as he passed a dreary place, Between two trees he saw a face — A white face staring at his own : A weird, 'strange cry he gave for grace, And heard an echoing moan. S6 THE WEIRD OF MICHAEL SCOTT "Whate'er you be, O thing that hides Among the trees— O thing that bides In yonder moving mass o' shade Come forth tae me ! "—wan Michael gUdes Swift, as he speaks, athrough the glade : " Whate'er you be, I fear ye nought ! Michael the Wizard has na fought Wi' men and demons year by year To shirk ae thing he has na sought Or blanch wi' any mortal fear ! " But not a sound thrilled thro' the air — Not even a she-fox in her lair Or brooding bird made any stir — All was as still and blank and bare As is a vaulted sepulchre. Then awe, and fear, and wild dismay O'ercame mad Michael, ashy grey. With eyes as of one newly dead: " If wi' my sword I canna slay, Thou'lt dree my weird when it is said ! " "Whate'er you be, man, beast, or sprite, I wind ye round wi' a sheet o' light — Aye, round and round your burning frame I cast by spell o' wizard might A fierce undying sheet of flame ! " 87 THE WEIRD OF MICHAEL SCOTT Swift as he spoke a thing sprang out, A man-like thing, all hemmed about With blazing, blasting burning fire ! The wind swoop'd wi' a demon-shout And whirled the red flame higher and higher ! And as, appalled, wan Michael stood The flying flaughts swift fired the wood ; And even as he shook and stared The gaunt pines turned the hue of blood And all the waving branches flared. Then with wild leaps the accursed thing Drew nigh and nigher : with a spring Michael escaped its fiery clasp, Although he felt the fierce flame sting And all the horror of its grasp. Swift as an arrow far he fled, But swifter still the flames o'erhead Rushed o'er the waving sea of pines, And hollow noises crashed and sped Like splitting blasts in ruin'd mines. A burning league — leagues, leagues of fire Arose behind, and ever higher The flying semi-circle came : And aye beyond this dreadful pyre There leapt a man-like thing in flame. 88 THE WEIRD OF MICHAEL SCOTT With awful scream doom'd Michael saw The flying furnace reach Black- Law ! " Bloody bride, and bier, the auld rune saith HelVs wind tae me ae nicht sail blaw, The nicht I ride unto my death ! " The blood of Stair is round me now : My bride can laugh to scorn my vow : My bier, my bier, ah ! sail it be Wi' a crown o' fire around my brow Or deep within the cauld saut sea f " Like lightning, over Black- Law's slope Michael fled swift with sudden hope : What though the forest roared behind — He^ yet might gain the chff and grope For where the sheep-paths twist and wind. The air was like a furnace-blast And all the dome of heaven one vast Expanse of flame and fiery wings : To the cliff's edge, ere all be past, With shriek on shriek lost Michael springs. But none can hear his bitter call, None, none can see him sway and fall — Yea, one there is that shrills his name ! " God, it is my ain lost saul That I hae girt wi^ deathless flame ! " 89 THE WEIRD OF MICHAEL SCOTT With waving arms and dreadful cries He cowers beneath those glaring eyes — But all in vain — in vain — in vain ! His own soul clasps him as its prize And scorches death upon his brain. Body and soul together swing Adown the night until they fling The hissing sea-spray far and wide At morn the fresh sea-wind will bring A black corpse tossing on the tide. 90 THE TWIN-SOUL In the dead of the night a spirit came : Her moon-white face and her eyes of flame Were known to me : — I called her name — The name that shall not be spoken at all Till Death hath this body of mine in thrall ! And she laughed to see me lying there, Wrapped in the living-corpse bloody and fair, And my soul 'mid its thin films shining bare — And I rose and followed her glance so sweet And passed from the house with noiseless feet. I know not myself what I knew, what I saw : I know that it filled me with trouble and awe, With pain that still at my heart doth gnaw : That she with her wild eyes witched my soul And whispered the name of the Unknown Goal. O, wild was her laugh, and wild was my cry When with one long flash and a weary sigh I awoke as from sleep bewilderingly : Her voice, her eyes, they are with me still, O Spirit- Enchantress, O Demon- Will ! 91 THE ISLE OF LOST DREAMS There is an isle beyond our ken, Haunted by Dreams of weary men. Grey Hopes enshadow it with wings Weary with burdens of old things : There the insatiate water-springs Rise with the tears of all who weep : And deep within it, deep, oh deep The furtive voice of Sorrow sings. There evermore, Till Time be o'er, Sad, oh so sad, the Dreams of men Drift through the isle beyond our ken. 92 THE DEATH-CHILD She sits beneath the elder-tree And sings her song so sweet, And dreams o'er the burn that darksomely Runs by her moonwhite feet. Her hair is dark as starless night, Her flower-crown'd face is pale, But oh, her eyes are lit with light Of dread ancestral bale. She sings an eerie song, so wild With immemorial dule — Though young and fair Death's mortal child That sits by that dark pool. And oft she cries an eldritch scream When red with human blood The burn becomes a crimson stream, A wild, red, surging flood : Or shrinks, when some swift tide of tears — The weeping of the world — Dark eddying 'neath man's phantom-fears, Is o'er the red stream hurl'd. 93 THE DEATH-CHILD For hours beneath the elder-tree She broods beside the stream ; Her dark eyes filled with mystery, Her dark soul rapt in dream. The lapsing flow she heedeth not Though deepest depths she scans : Life is the shade that clouds her thought, As Death's the eclipse of man's. Time seems but as a bitter thing Remember'd from of yore : Yet ah (she thinks) her song she'll sing When Time's long reign is o'er. Erstwhiles she bends alow to hear What the swift water sings, The torrent running darkly clear With secrets of all things. And then she smiles a strange sad smile, And lets her harp lie long ; The death-waves oft may rise the while. She greets them with no song. Few ever cross that dreary moor, Few see that flower-crown'd head ; But whoso knows that wild song's lure Knoweth that he is dead. 94 THE COVES OF CRAIL The moon-white waters wash and leap, The dark tide floods the Coves of Crail Sound, sound he Hes in dreamless sleep, Nor hears the sea-wind wail. The pale gold of his oozy locks, Doth hither drift and thither wave ; His thin hands plash against the rocks, His white lips nothing crave. Afar away she laughs and sings — A song he loved, a wild sea-strain — Of how the mermen weave their rings Upon the reef-set main. Sound, sound he lies in dreamless sleep, Nor hears the sea-wind wail, Tho' with the tide his white hands creep Amid the Coves of Crail. 9S From SOSPIRI DI ROMA 1891 H PRELUDE " Supra un munti sparman stu bellu ciuri ! Chistu e lu ciuri di la to billizza." (Sicilian Camuno.) In a grove of ilex Of oak and of chestnut, Far on the sunswept Heights of Tusculum, There groweth a blossom, A snow-white bloom, Which many have heard of, But few have seen. Oft bright as the morning, Oft pale as moonlight, There in the greenness, In shadow and sunshine It grows, awaiting The hand that shall pluck it For this blossom springeth From the heart of a poet And of her who loved him 99 PRELUDE In the long ago Here on the sunswept Heights of Tusculum. And them it awaiteth, Deep lovers only, Kindred of those Who loved and passioned There, and whose hearts' blood, Wrought from the Earth This marvellous blossom, The Shadow- Lily, The Flower of Dream. Few that shall see it, Fewer still Those that shall pluck it : But whoso gathers That snow-white blossom Shall love for ever, For the passionate breath Of the Shadow- Lily Is Deathles Joy : And whoso plucks it, keeps it, treasures it. Has sunshine ever About the heart, Deep in the heart immortal sunshine : For this is the gift of the snow-white blossom, This is the gift of the Flower of Dream. 100 SUSURRO Breath o' the grass, Ripple of wandering wind, Murmur of tremulous leaves: A moonbeam moving white Like a ghost across the plain : A shadow on the road : And high up, high, From the cypress-bough, A long sweet melancholy note. Silence. And the topmost spray Of the cypress-bough is still As a wavelet in a pool: The road lies duskily bare: The plain is a misty gloom : Still are the tremulous leaves; Scarce a last ripple of wind, Scarce a breath i' the grass. Hush : the tired wind sleeps : Is it the wind's breath, or Breath o' the grass. lOI CLOUDS (Agro Romano) As though the dead cities Of the ancient time Were builded again In the heights of heaven, With spires of amber And golden domes, Wide streets of topaz and amethyst ways ; Far o'er the pale blue waste, Oft purple-shadowed, Of the Agro Romano, Rises the splendid City of Cloud. There must the winds be soft as the twilight Invisibly falling when the daystar has wester'd ; There must the rainbows trail up through the sun- light, So fair are the hues on those white snowy masses. Mountainous glories. They move superbly; CrumbUng so slowly, 102 CLOUDS That none perceives when The golden domes Are sunk in the valleys Of fathomless snow, Or when, in silence, The loftiest spires Fade into smoke, or as vapour that passeth When the hot breath of noon Thirsts through the firmament. Beautiful, beautiful, The City of Cloud, In splendour ruinous, With Golden domes, And spires of amber, Builded superbly, In the heights of heaven. 103 RED POPPIES {In the Sabine valleys near Rome) Through the seeding grass, And the tall corn, The wind goes : With nimble feet. And blithe voice, Calling, calling, The wind goes Through the seeding grass, And the tall corn. What calleth the wind, Passing by — The shepherd-wind ? Far and near He laugheth low, And the red poppies Lift their heads And toss i' the sun. 104 RED POPPIES A thousand thousand blooms Tost i' the air, Banners of joy, For 'tis the shepherd-wind Passing by, Singing and laughing low Through the seeding grass And the tall corn. los THE WHITE PEACOCK Here where the sunlight Floodeth the garden, Where the pomegranate Reareth its glory Of gorgeous blossom ; Where the oleanders Dream through the noontides ; And, Hke surf o' the sea Round cliffs of basalt, The thick magnolias In billowy masses Front the sombre green of the ilexes Here where the heat lies Pale blue in the hollows. Where blue are the shadows On the fronds of the cactus, Where pale blue the gleaming Of fir and cypress, With the cones upon them Amber or glowing 1 06 THE WHITE PEACOCK With virgin gold : Here where the honey-flower Makes the heat fragrant, As though from the gardens Of GuHstan, Where the bulbul singeth Through a mist of roses, A breath were borne : Here where the dream-flowers, The cream-white poppies Silently waver, And where the Scirocco, Faint in the hollows, Foldeth his soft white wings in the sunlight, And lieth sleeping Deep in the heart of A sea of white violets : Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty, Moveth in silence, and dreamUke, and slowly, White as a snow-drift in mountain valleys When softly upon it the gold light lingers : White as the foam o' the sea that is driven O'er billows of azure agleam with sun-yellow : Cream-white and soft as the breasts of a girl, Moves the White Peacock, as though through the noontide A dream of the moonlight were real for a moment. Dim on the beautiful fan that he spreadeth, Foldeth and spreadeth abroad in the sunlight, Dim on the cream-white are blue adumbrations, Shadows so pale in their delicate blueness 107 THE WHITE PEACOCK That visions they seem as of vanishing violets, The fragrant white violets veined with azure, Pale, pale as the breath of blue smoke in far woodlands. Here, as the breath, as the soul of this beauty. White as a cloud through the heats of the noon- tide Moves the White Peacock. io8 THE SWIMMER OF NEMI (The Lake of Neini : September) White through the azure, The purple blueness, Of Nemi's waters The swimmer goeth. Ivory-white, or wan white as roses Yellowed and tanned by the suns of the Orient, X His strong limbs sever the violet hollows ; A shimmer of white fantastic motions Wavering deep through the lake as he swimmeth. Like gorse in the sunlight the gold of his yellow hair. Yellow with sunshine and bright as with dew- drops. Spray of the waters flung back as he tosseth His head i' the sunlight in the midst of his laughter : Red o'er his body, blossom-white mid the blueness. And traiHng behind him in glory of scarlet, A branch of the red-berried ash of the mountains. 109 THE SWIMMER OF NEMI White as a moonbeam Drifting athwart The purple twilight, The swimmer goeth — Joyously laughing, With o'er his shoulders, Agleam in the sunshine The trailing branch With the scarlet berries. Green are the leaves, and scarlet the berries, White are the Hmbs of the swimmer beyond them. Blue the deep heart of the still, brooding lakelet, Pale-blue the hills in the haze of September, The high Alban hills in their silence and beauty, Purple the depths of the windless heaven Curv'd like a flower o'er the waters of Nemi. uo AL FAR DELLA NOTTE Hark ! As a bubbling fount That suddenly wells And rises in tall spiral waves and flying spray, The high, sweet, quavering, throbbing voice Of the nightingale ! Not yet the purple veil of dusk has fallen, But o'er the yellow band That binds the west The vesper star beats like the pulse of heaven. Up from the fields The peasants troop, Singing their songs of love : And oft the twang of thin string'd music breaks High o'er the welcoming shouts, The homing laughter. The whirling bats are out. And to and fro The blue swifts wheel Where, i' the shallows of the dusk. The grey moths flutter III AL FAR BELLA NOTTE Over the pale blooms Of the night-flowering bay. Softly adown the slopes, And o'er the plain, Ave Maria Solemnly soundeth. The long day is over. Dusk, and silence now : And Night, that is as dew On the Flower of the World. 112 THISTLEDOWN {Spring on the Campagna) Bloweth like snow From the grey thistles The thistledown : And the fairy-feathers O' the dandehon Are tossed by the breeze Hither and thither : Over the grasses, The seeding grasses Where the poppies shake And the campions waver, And where the clover, Purple and white, Fills leagues with the fragrance Of sunsweet honey ; Hither and thither The fairy-feathers O' the dandelion. And white puff-balls H3 THISTLEDOWN O' the thistledown, Merrily dancing, Light on the breeze, Wheeling and sailing, And laughing to scorn The butterflies And the moths of azure ; Blowing like snow Or foam o' the sea, Hither and thither Upward and downward. Now for a moment A thistledown On a white ball resteth, Sunbleached and hollow ; A human skull Of the ancient days. When Sabines and Latins Made all the land here As red with blood As it now is scarlet With flaming poppies. Now the feathers, O' the dandelion. Like sunlit swansdown Long tost by the wind O'er the laughter of waters, Are blown like surf On a hidden rock — A broken arch 114 THISTLEDOWN Of a Roman temple, Where long, long ago, The swarthy priests Worshipped their Gods, The Gods now less than The very dust Whence the green grass springeth. But for a moment, then the wind takes them. Blows them, plays with them, Tosses them high through the gold of the sunshine, Wavers them upward, wavers them downward. Hither and thither among the white butterflies. Over and under the blue-moths and honey-bees^ Over the leagues of blossoming clover. Purple and white, the sweet-smelling clover, Far o'er the grasses, And grey hanging thistles. Hither and thither Are floating and sailing The fairy-feathers O' the dandelion, Bloweth like snow The joy o' the meadows, The thistledown. ti5 THE MANDOLIN Tinkle-trink, tinkle-trink^ trinkle-tr inkle, trink ! Hark, the mandolin ! Through the dusk the merry music falleth sweet. Where the fountain falls, Where the fountain falls all shimmering in the moonshine white, Tinkle-trink^ tinkle-trink, trinkle-trinkle, trink ! Where the wind-stirred olives quiver, Quiver, quiver, leaves a-quiver, White as silver in the moonlight but like bat- wings in the dusk, Where the great grey moths sail slowly Slowly, slowly, like faint dreams In the wildering woods of Sleep, Where no night or day is, But only, in dim twilights, the wan sheen Of the Moon of Sleep. Hark, the mandoHn ! Where the dark-coned cypress rises, Thin, more thin, till threadlike, wavering lib THE MANDOLIN The last spray soars up as smoke, As a vanishing breath of incense, To the silent stars that glimmer In the veil of purple darkness, The deep vault of heaven that seemeth As a veil that falleth, A dark veil that foldeth gently The tired day-worn world, breathing stilly as a sleeping child. Hark, the mandolin : And a soft, low sound of laughter ! Tinkle-trink, tinkle-trink, trinkle-trinkle, trink ! Hush : from out the cypress standing Black against the yellow moonHght What a thrill, what a sob, what a sudden rapture flung Athwart the dark ! Passion of song ! Silence again, save mid the whispering leaves The unquiet wind, that as the tide Cometh and goeth. Now one long thrilling note, prolonged and sweet And then a low swift stir, A whirr of fluttering wings. And, in the laurels near, two nested nightingales ! Loud, loud, the mandolin, Tinkle-trink^ tinkle-trink, trinkle-trinkle, trink, Trink, trink, trinkle-trink ! Through the fragrant silent night it draweth near, Ah, the low cry, the little laugh, the rustle : 117 THE MANDOLIN Tinkle-trink — hush, a kiss — tinkle-trink — hush — hush — Tinkle-trink^ tinkle-trink^ trinkle-trinkle, trink ! Where the shadows massed together Make a hollow darkness, girt By the yellow flood of moonshine floating by Where the groves of ilex whisper In the silence, fragrant, sweet, Where the ilexes are dreaming In their depths of darkest shadow, Move the fireflies slowly, Mazily inweaving, Interweaving, interflowing ; Wandering fires, flke little lanterns Borne by souls of birds and flowers Seeking ever resurrection In the gladsome world of sunshine ; Seeking vainly through the darkness In beneath the ilex-branches Where the very moonshine faileth, And the dark grey moths wave wanly Flitting from the outer gloaming. Oh, the fragrance, and the mystery, and the silence ! Where the fireflies, mid the ilex, Rise and fall, recross, inweave In an endless wavy motion. In a slow aerial dancing In a maze of Uttle flames In and out the ilex-branches : Hush ! the mandolin ! ii8 THE MANDOLIN Louder still, and louder, louder : Ah, the happy laugh, and rustle. Rustle, rustle. Ah, the kiss, the cry, the rapture. Silence, where the ilex-branches Loom out faintly from their darkness Where, slow-wandering flames, the fireflies Rise and fall, recross, inweave In an endless, wavy motion. In a slow aerial dancing. Silence : not a breath is stirring : Not a leaflet quivers faintly. Silence : even the bats are silent Wheeling swiftly through the upper air, Where the gnat's thin shrilling music Fades into the flooding moonlight : Hush, low-whispered words and kisses, Hush, a cry of pain, of rapture. Not a sound, a sound thereafter, But a low sweet sigh of breathing. And, from out the flowering laurel. Just a twittering breath of music. Just a long-drawn pulsing note Of a sweet and passionate answer. Silence : hark, a stir — low laughter — Whispered words — and rustle — rustle — Trink — trink — the mandolin ! Hark, it trinkles down the valley, Tiink-trink, trinkle-trink, trinkle-irink ! Past the cistus, blooming whitely iig THE MANDOLIN Past the oleander-bushes, Past the ilexes and olives, Where the two tall pines are whispering With the sleepy wind that foldeth His tired pinions ere he sleepeth On the flood of amber moonhght. Wind o' the night, tired wind o' night — Tinkle-trink^ irink^ trinkle-irink, Trink, trinkle-trink, Triiik ! 120 BAT-WINGS Flitter, flitter, through the twilight, Pipistrello : Where the moonshine ghtters Waver thy swart wings, Darting hither, thither, Swift as wheeling swallow. Where the shadows gather In and out thou flittest, Flitter, flitter, Waver, waver, Pipistrello. Thin thy faint aerial song is, Thin and fainter than the shrilling Of the gnats thou chasest wildly. But how delicately dainty — Thin and faint and wavering also, In the high sweet upper air, Where the gnats weave endless mazes In their pyramidal dances — And thy dusky wings go flutter, Flutter, flutter. Waver, waver, But without a sound or rustle Through the purple air of twilight. Fhtter, flitter, flutter, flitter, Pipistrello. 121 THE WILD MARE Like a breath that comes and goes O'er the waveless waste Of sleeping Ocean, So sweeps across the plain The herd of wild horses. Like banners in the wind Their flying tails, Their streaming manes ; And like spume of the sea Fang'd by breakers, The white froth tossed from their blood-red nostrils. Out from the midst of them Dasheth a white mare, White as a swan in the pride of her beauty : And, like the whirlwind, Following after, A snorting stallion, Swart as an Indian Diver of coral ! 123 THE WILD MARE Wild the gyrations The rush and the whirl ; Loud the hot panting Of the snow-white mare, As swift upon her The stallion gaineth : Fierce the proud snorting Of him, victorious : And loud, swelling loud on the wind from the mountains, The hoarse savage tumult of neighing and stamping Where, wheeHng, the herd of wild horses awaiteth — Ears thrown back, tails thrashing their flanks or swept under — The challenging scream of the conqueror-stallion. 123 SCIROCCO Softly as feathers That fall through the twilight Whea wild swans are winging Back to the northward : Softly as waters, Unruffled, and tideless, Laving the mosses Of inland seas : Soft through the forest, And down through the valley, Light as a breath o'er the pools of the marish, Still as a moonbeam over the pastures, Goeth Scirocco. Warm his breath : The night-flowers know it, Love it, and open Their blooms for its sweetness : Warm the tender low wind of his pinions Scarce brushing together the spires of the grasses : 124 SCIROCCO Ah, how they whisper, the little green leaflets Black in the dusk or grey in the moonlight : Ah, how they whisper and shiver, the tremulous Leaves of the poplar, and shimmer and rustle When soft as a vapour that steals from the marshes The wings of Scirocco fan silently through them. Ofttimes he lingers By ruined nests Deep in the hedgerows, And bloweth a feather In little eddies, A yellow feather That once had fluttered On a breast alive with A rapture of song : But slowly ceaseth, And passeth sadly. Ofttimes he riseth Up through the branches Where the fireflies wander, Up through the branches Of oak and chestnut, And stirs so gently With sway of his wings That the leaves, dreaming, Think that a moonbeam Only, or moonshine, Moves through the heart of them. Upward he soareth 125 SCIROCCO Oft, silently floating Through the purple aether, Still as the fern-owl over the covert, Or as allocco haunting the woodland, Up to the soft curded foam of the cloudlets, The white dappled cloudlets the south - wind bringeth. There, dreaming, he moveth Or sails through the moonlight. Till chill in the high upper air and the silence, Slowly he sinketh Earthward again, Silently floateth Down o'er the woodlands : Foldeth his wings and slow through the branches Drifts, scarcely breathing, Till tired, mid the flowers or the hedgerows he creepeth, Whispers alow mid the spires of the grasses, Or swooning at last to motionless slumber Floats like a shadow adrift on the pastures. 126 THE WIND AT FIDENAE {To D. H. In Remembrance) Fresh from the Sabines, The Beautiful Hills, The wind bloweth. Down o'er the slopes, Where the olives whiten As though the feet Of the wind were snow-clad : Out o'er the plain Where a paradise Of wild blooms waveth, And where, in the sunswept Leagues of azure, A thousand larks are As a thousand founts Mid the perfect joy of The depths of heaven. Swift o'er the heights, And over the valleys Where the grey oxen sleepily stand, Down, like a wild hawk swooping earthward, 127 THE WIND AT FIDENAE Over the winding reaches of Tiber, Bloweth the wind ! How the wind bloweth, Here on the steeps of Ancient Fidenae, Where no voice soundeth Now, save the shepherd Calling his sheep ; And where none wander But only the cloud-shadows, Vague ghosts of the past. Sweet and fresh from the Sabines, Now as of yore. When Etruscan maidens Laughed as their lovers Mocked the damsels Of alien Rome, Sweet with the same young breath o' the world Bloweth the wind. 128 IN JULY {South of Rome) Pale-rose the dust lying thick upon the road : Grey-green the thirsty grasses by the way. The long flat silvery sheen of the vast champaign Shimmers beneath the blazing tide of noon. The blood-red poppies flame Like furnace-breaths : Like wan, vague dreams the misty lavender Drifts greyly through the quivering maze, or seems Thus through the visionary glow to drift. On the far slope, beyond the ruin'd arch, A grey-white cloudlet rests, The cluster'd sheep alow : close, moveless all, And silent, save when faintly from their midst A slumberous tinkle comes, Cometh, and goeth. Low-stretch'd in the blue shade, Beneath the ruin, The shepherd sleeps. Nought stirs. K "9 IN JULY The wind moves not, nor with the faintest breath Toucheth the half-fallen blooms of the asphodels. Here only, where the pale pink ash Of the long road doth slowly flush to rose, A bronze-wing'd beetle moveth low, And sends one tiny puff of smoke-like dust Faint through the golden glimmer of the heat. 130 DE PROFUNDIS Whence hast thou gone, O vision beloved ? There is silence now In thy groves, and never A voice proclaimeth Thy glory come, Thy joy rearisen ! O passion of beauty, Forsake not thus Those who have worshipped thee, Body and soul ! Come to us, come to us, Inviolate, Beautiful, Thou whose breath Is as Spring o'er the world, Whose smile is the flowering Of the wide green Earth ! Deep in the heart of thee, 131 DE PROFUNDIS Like a moonbeam moving Through the heart of a hill-lake, Moveth Compassion : O Beloved, Be with us ever, Thou, the Beautiful, Passion of Beauty, Alma Victrix ! 132 ULTIMO SOSPIRO O dolce primavera pien' di olezzo e amor ! Che fai tu . . . che fai fra tanti fior ? Colgo le rose amabili dei piu soavi odori , Colgo le rose affabili e i lunghi gelsomini, Nei olenti miei giardini io vi tengo al cor. Roman Folksong, Joy of the world, O flower-crown'd Spring, With thine odorous breath and thy heart of love, Breathe through this verse thy sweet message of longing. Lo, in the gardens of Alma, whose lovers Die gladly in worship, but fail not ever, Oft have I strayed, Oft have I lingered When high through the noon the lost lark has been singing. Or when in the moonlight Soft through the silence has whispered the ocean, Or when, in the dark Of the ilex-woods. Where the fireflies wavered 133 ULTIMO SOSPIRO Frail wandering stars, Not a sound has been heard But Scirocco rustling The midmost leaves Of the trees where he sleepeth. Roses of love, White lilies of dream, Frail blooms that have blossom'd Into life with thy breathing : Blow them, O wind. West wind of the Spring, Lift them and take them where gardens await them. Lift them and take them to those who hearken, Facing the dawn, for the sounds of the morning With wide eyes glad with the beautiful vision, O whispers of joy, O breaths of passion, O sighs of longing. 134 POEMS 1889-1893 OCEANUS I While still the dusk impends above the glimmer- ing waste A tremor comes : wave after wave turns silvery bright : A sudden yellow gleam athwart the east traced : The waning stars fade forth, swift perishing pyres. The moon lies pearly-wan upon the front of Night. Then all at once upwells a flood of golden light And a myriad waves flash forth a myriad fires : Now is the hour the amplest glory of life to taste, Outswimming towards the sun upon the billowy waste. II The pure green waves ! with crests of dazzling foam ashine, Onward they roll : innumerably grand, they beat A wild and jubilant triumph-music all divine ! The sea-fowl, their white kindred of the spray-swept air, 137 OCEANUS Scream joyous echoes as with wave - dipped pinions fleet They whirl before the blast or vanish 'mid blown sleet. In loud-resounding, strenuous, conquering play they fare. Like clouds, high over head, forgotten lands i' the brine — Great combing deep-sea waves with sunlit foam ashine. Ill On the wide wastes she lives her lawless, pas- sionate life : Enslaved of none, the imperious mighty Sea ! How glorious the music of her waves at strife With all the winds of heaven that, fiercely wooing, blow ! On high she ever chants her psalm of Victory ; Afar her turbulent p£ean tells that she is free : The tireless albatross with wings like foam or snow Flies leagues on leagues for days, and yet the world seems rife With nought save windy waves and the Sea's wild free life ! IV How oft the strange, wild, haunting glamour of the Sea, The strange, compelling magic of her thrilling Voice, 138 OCEANUS Have won me, when, 'mid lonely places, wild and free As any wand'ring wind, I have heard along the shore The wondrous ever-varying Sea-song loud re- joice. I have seen a snowy petrel, arising, poise Above the green- sloped wave, then pass for evermore From keenest sight, and I have thought that I might be Thus also deathward lured by glamour of the Sea. Hark to the long resilient surge o' the ebbing tide : With shingly rush and roar it foams adown the strand : The great Sea heaves her restless bosom far and wide — Heedless she seems of winds and all the forceful laws That bar her empire over the usurping Land : Enough, she dreams, is her imperial command To make the very torrents, waveward falling, pause : She scorns the Bridegroom- Land, yet is a subject Bride For she must come and go with each recurrent tide. 139 OCEAN us VI On moonless nights, when winds are still, her stealthy waves Creep towards the Ustening land ; with voices soft and low They whisper strange sea-secrets 'mid the hollow caves : A wondrous song it is that rises then and falls ! Deep-buried memories of the ancient long-ago, Confused strange echoes of some vanished old- world woe, Weird prophecies reverberant round those wave- worn walls : When loud the wrathful billows roar and the Sea runes Her deepest mourning broods beneath the foam- ing waves. VII As some aerial spirit weaves a rainbow- veil Of mist, his high immortal loveHness to hide ; So too thy palpitant waters, duskily pale, Ofttimes take on a sudden splendour wild. Then thy sea-horses rise, fierce prancing side by side, And — like the host of the dead-arisen — ride Ghastly afar to bournes where all the dead He piled ! . . . Superb, fantastic, crown'd with flying splendours frail, Thou, when in dreams, thou weav'st thy phos- phorescent veil ! 140 OCEANUS VIII Vast, vast, immeasurably vast, thy dreadful peace When heaving with slow, mighty breath thou Hest In utter rest, and dost thy ministering winds re- lease So that with folded wings they too subside, Floating through hollow spaces, though the highest Stirs his long tremulous pinions when thou sighest ! Then in thy soul, that doth in fathomless depths abide. All wild desires and turbulent longings cease — Profound, immeasurable then, thy dreadful peace ! IX But in thy noon of night, serene as death, when under The terrible silence of that arched dome Not a lost whisper ev'n of thy wandering thunder Ascends like the spiral smoke of perishing flame, Nor dying wave on thy swart bosom sinks in foam — Then, then the world is thine, thy heritage, thy home ! What then for thee, O Sea, thou Terror ! or what name To call thee by, thou Sphinx, thou Mystery, thou Wonder — Above thou art Living Death, Oblivion under ! 141 A PARIS NOCTURNE Over the lonesome hollows And secret haunts of the river, Past field and homestead and village, Past the grey wharves and the piers The darkness moves like a veil. Save when obscure, vast, nigrescent Flakes from the travelling gloom Slant westward great fans of blackness. Then a mist of radiance, Lamps with red lights and yellow, Foam-white, and blue as an ice floe, Lamps intermingling with gas-light, Leagues of wind-wavered gas-light. Lamps on the masts of barges. Lamps upon sloops and on steamers, Lamps below quays and dark bridges, Yellow and red and green. Like a myriad growths phosphorescent When a swamp, erewhile flooded with waters. Lies low to the stare of the moon And the stealthy white breath of the wind. And, over all, one light Palpitant, circular, wide, Sweeping the city vast — 142 A PARIS NOCTURNE Yonder, beyond where in shadow The thronged Champs Elysees are filhng With echoes of human voices, With shadows of human Hves, With phantoms of vampyre-vices — Beyond where the serpentine river Curves in a coil gigantic, And straight, a thin shaft, through the vagueness Soars the high Hghthouse of Paris, Soars o'er the sea of the city With all its shoals and its terrors. Its perilous straits and its breakers, High o'er the brightness and splendour Of shores where the sirens sing ever. Then, shadows enmassed once again : And the river moving slowly. And the hills making darkness deeper. The lamps now fewer and fewer — Fewer the red lights and yellow. Till only a dusky barge Moves like a water snake On the face of a dark lagoon, A stealthy fire 'mid the stillness"; While from a weir in the distance Comes a sound like the cry of waters When the tides and the sea winds gather And the sands of the dunes are scattered In the scud of the spray. 143 ROBERT BROWNING " One who never turned his back but marched breast forward, Never doubted clouds would break, Never dreamed, though right were worsted, wrong would triumph : Held we fall to rise, are baffled to fight better. Sleep to wake." Died at the Palazzo Rezzonico, Venice, December 12, 1889. So, it is well : what need is there to mourn ? What of the darkness was there, of the dread, Of all the pity of old age forlorn When the swift mind and hand are though as dead ? Nothing : the change was his that comes to days When, after long, rich, restful afternoons, A sudden flush of glory fills the skies : Thereafter is the peace of dream-fraught moons, And then, oh ! then for sure, in the eastern ways At morn, once more Life's golden floods arise. 144 ROBERT BROWNING Ay, it is well : what better fate were his ? Why wish for him the twilight -greyness drear ? He hath not known the bitter thing it is To halt, and doubt, grope bHndly, tremble, fear : The reverend snows above his forehead brought No ominous hints of that which might not be, No chill suggestion of the ephemeral soul : Unto the very end 'twas his to see Failure no drear climacteric, but wrought To nobler issues, a victorious goal. There where the long lagoons by day and night Feel the swift journeying tides, in ebb and flow, Move inward from the deep with sound and light And splendour of the seas, or outward go Resurgent from the city that doth rest Upon the flood even as a swan asleep. Or as a lily 'mid encircling streams, Or as a flower a dusky maid doth keep, An orient maid, upon her love- warm breast, Thrilled with its inspiration through her dreams — There, in the city that he loved so well, And with the sea-sound in his ears, the sound Of healing waters in their miracle L ^45 ROBERT BROWNING Of changeless and regenerative round, The strange and solemn silence that is death Came o'er him. 'Mid the loved ones near The deep suspense of the last torturing hope Hung like a virounded bird, ere swift and sheer It fall virith the last frail exhausted breath And feeble fluttering wings that cannot ope. There death was his : within his golden prime, Painless, serene, unvanquished, undismayed, He fronted the dark lapse of mortal time With eyes alit, through all the gathering shade. With the strange light that clothes immortal things — Beauty, and Truth, Faith, Hope, and Joy, and Peace, The garnered harvest of our human years, Fair dreams and hopes that triumphed o'er surcease. The immaculate sweetness of all bygone Springs, The rainbow-glory of transfigured tears. Over him went the Powers, the Dreams, the Graces, The invisible Dominations that we know Despite the mystic veil that hides their faces, The immortal faces that divinely glow : 14C I ROBERT BROWNING Fair Hope was there to take him by the hand ; White Aspirations smiled about his bed ; Desires and Dreams moved gently by his side ; Beauty stooped low, and shone upon the dead ; Joy spake not, for, from out the Deathless land, She led God's loveliest gift, his long-lost Bride. Oh, what a trivial mockery then was this, The change we so involve with alien terror : How lorn in light of that supernal bliss The ruinous wrecking folly of our error ! Sweet beyond words the meeting that was there, Sweet beyond words the deep-set yearning gaze, Sweet, sweet the voice that long had silent been ! Ah, how his soul, beleagured by no maze, No glooms of Death, i' that Paradisal air Knew all was well, since She was there, his Queen. They are not gone, those Dreams, Fair Hopes, and Graces, Those Powers and Dominations and Desires, They are not passed, though veiled the immortal faces. Though dimmed meanwhile their eyes' wild starry fires. 147 ROBERT BROWNING Meanwhile, it may be, on wan wings and slender Invisible to mortal gaze, they gleam In solemn, sad, processional array There where the sunshafts through stained windows stream, And flood the gloomful majesty with splendour, And charm the aisles from out their brooding grey. They are not gone : nor shall they ever vanish, Those precious ministers of him, our Poet : What madness would it be for one to banish. To barter his inheritance, forego it. For some phantasmal gift, some transient boon ! Thus would it be with us were we to turn Indifferently aside, when they draw nigh. To look with callous gaze, nor once discern How swift they come and go, how all too soon They evade for ever the unheeding eye. They are not gone : for wheresoe'er there liveth ^ One hope his song inspired — whom they inspired — Yea, wheresoever in one heart there breatheth An aspiration by his ardour fired : Where'er through him are souls made serfs to Beauty, Where'er through him hearts stir with lofty aim, Where'er through him men thrill with high endeavour, 148 ROBERT BROWNING There shall these mmisters breathe low his name, Linked to ideals of Love and Truth and Duty, And all high things of mind and soul, for ever. No carven stone, no monumental fane, Can equal this : that he hath builded deep A cenotaph beyond the assoiling reign Of Her w^hose eyes are dusk with Night and Sleep, Queenly Oblivion : no Pyramid, No vast, gigantic Tomb, no Sepulchre Made awful with imag'ries of doom, Evade her hand who one day shall inter Man's proudest monuments, as she hath hid The immemorial past within her womb. For he hath built his lasting monument Within the hearts and in the minds of men : The Powers of Life around its base have bent The Stream of Memory : our furthest ken Beholds no reach, no limit to its rise : It hath foundations sure ; it shall not pass ; The ruin of Time upon it none shall see. Till the last wind shall wither the last grass, Nay, while man's Hopes, Fears, Dreams, and Agonies Uplift his soul to Immortality. 149 THE MAN AND THE CENTAUR The Man Upon the mountain-heights thou goest, As swift as some fierce wind-swept flame ; Thy doom thou scornest while thou knowest Men mock thy name. But thou — thou hast the mountain-splendour, The lonely streams, blue lakes serene, Wouldst thou these virgin haunts surrender For man's demesne ? Wouldst thou, for peaks where eagles gather, Where moonwhite skies slow flush with dawn, Where, drenched with dew thy chieftain-father Is far withdrawn — Wouldst thou all these exchange, give over Thy wild free joys and all delights. Thy proud and passionate mountain-lover, Thy starry nights, ISO THE MAN AND THE CENTAUR For that drear life in huddled places Where men like ants move to and fro, Tired men, with ever on their faces The shadow of woe ? The Centaur. I would not change — did not the waters Did not the winds, all living things Proclaim that we, the sons and daughters Of Time's first kings, That we must change and pass and perish Even as autumnal leaves that fall ; Even as the wind the hill-flowers cherish. At Winter's call : That we, even we, should know no morrow. For as our body, so our soul : O human, fair thy life of sorrow, Thou hast a Goal ! 151 DIONYSOS IN INDIA {Opening Fragment of a Lyrical Drama) Opening Scene : Verge of an upland glade among the Himalayas. Time : Sunrise. First Faun. Hark ! I hear Aerial voices — Second Faun. Whist ! First Faun. It is the wind Leaping against the sunrise, on the heights Second Faun. No, no, yon mountain-springs — First Faun. Hark, hark, oh, hark !- DIONYSOS IN INDIA Second Faun. Are budding into foam-flowers : see, they fall Laughing before the dawn — First Faun. Oh, the sweet music ! Child-Faun. {Timidly peeping over a cistits, uncurling into blooms.) Dear brother, say, oh say, what fills the air ? The leaves whisper, yet is not any wind : I am afraid. First Faun. Be not afraid, dear child : There is no gloom. Child-Faun. But silence : and — and — then, The birds have suddenly ceased : and see, alow The gossamer quivers where my startled hare — Slipt from my leash — cow'rs 'mid the foxglove-bells, His eyes like pansies in a lonely wood ! Oh, I am afraid — afraid — though glad : — Second Faun. Child-Faun. Why glad ? I know not. IS3 DIONYSOS IN INDIA First Faun. Never yet an evil god Forsook the dusk. Lo ! all our vales are filled With light : the darkest shimmers in pale blue Nought is forlorn : no evil thing goeth by. They say- Second Faun. First Faun. What? who? Second Faun. They of the hills : they say That a lost god — First Faun. Hush, hush : bevirare ! Second Faun. And why ? There is no god in the blue empty air ? Where else ? First Faun. There is a lifting up of joy : The morning moves in ecstasy. Never ! Oh, never fairer morning dawned than this. Somewhat is nigh ! Second Faun. May be : and yet I hear Nought, save day's familiar sounds, nought see But the sweet concourse of familiar things. 154 DIONYSOS IN INDIA First Faun. Speak on, though never a single leaf but hears, And, like the hollow shells o' the twisted nuts That fall in autumn, aye murmuringly holds The breath of bygone sound. We know not when — To whom — these little wavering tongues betray Our heedless words, wild wanderers though we be. What say the mountain-lords ? Second Faun. That a lost god Fares hither through the dark, ever the dark. First Faun. What dark ? Second Faun. Not the blank hollows of the night : Blind is he, though a god : forgotten graves The cavernous depths of his oblivious eyes. His face is as the desert, blanched with ruins. His voice none ever heard, though whispers say That in the dead of icy winters far Beyond the utmost peaks we ever clomb It hath gone forth — a deep, an awful woe. First Faun. What seeks he ? Second Faun. No one knoweth. iss DIONYSOS IN INDIA First Faun. Yet a god, And blind! Second Faun. Ay so : and I have heard beside That he is not as other gods ; but from vast age — So vast, that in his youth those hills were wet With the tossed spume of each returning tide — He hath lost knowledge of the things that are, All memory of what was, in that dim Past Which was old time for him ; and knoweth nought, Nought feels, but inextinguishable pain. Titanic woe and burden of long aeons Of unrequited quest. First Faun. But if he be Of the Immortal Brotherhood, though blind, How lost to them ? Second Faun. I know not, I. 'Tis said — Lython the Centaur told me in those days When he had pity on me in his cave Far up among the hills — that the lost god Is curs'd of all his kin, and that his curse Lies like a cloud about their golden home : So evermore he goeth to and fro — The shadow of their glory ... Ay, he knows The lost beginnings of the things that are : 156 DIONYSOS IN INDIA We are but morning-dreams to him, and Man But a fantastic shadow of the dawn : The very Gods seem children to his age, Who reigned before their birth-throes filled the sky With the myriad shattered lights that are the stars. First Faun. Where reigned this ancient God ? Second Faun. Old Lython said His kingdom was the Void, where evermore Silence sits throned upon Oblivion. First Faun. What wants he here ? Second Faun. He hateth Helios, And dogs his steps. None knoweth more. First Faun. Aha! I heed no dotard god ! Behold, behold, My ears betrayed me not : Oh, hearken now ! Child Faun. Brother, O brother, all the birds are wild With song, and through the sun-splashed wood there goes A sound as of a multitude of wings. 157 DIONYSOS IN INDIA Second Faun. The sun, the sun ! the flowers in the grass ! Oh, the white glory ! First Faun. 'Tis the Virgin God ! Hark, hear the hymns that thrill the winds of morn, Wild pasans to the Hght ! The white processionals ! They come ! They come ! . . . 158 SONNETS 1893 I SONNET-SEQUENCE I Where have I known thee, dear, in what strange place, Midst what caprices of our ahen fate. Where have I bowed, worshipping this thy face, And hunger'd for thee, as now, insatiate ? Tell me, white soul, that through those starry veils Keep'st steadfast vigil o'er my wavering spirit, On what far sea trimm'd we our darkling sails When fell the shadow o'er that we now inherit ? Two tempest- driven souls were we, or glad With the young joy that recks of no to-morrow : Or were we as now inexplicably sad Before the coming twilight of new Sorrow ? Did our flesh quail as now this poor flesh quails. Our faces blanch, as mine, as thine that pales ! M '^' SONNET-SEQUENCE II Out of the valley of the Shadow of Death Who Cometh, through the haunted Hollow Land ? On those tired lips of mine whose quickening breath, In this long yearning clasp whose tremulous hand ? O, is it death or dream, madness, or what Fantastic torture of the chemic brain, That brings thee here, as thus, when all forgot, Thy body sleeps, as mine doth, free from pain ? What is the brooding word upon thy lips O beautiful image of my heart's desire ? What is the ominous shadow of eclipse That dusks those veiled eyes' redeeming fire ? O soul whom I from life to life have sought, What menace haunteth joy so dearly bought ? 162 SONNET-SEQUENCE III This menace : — of remembrance that must come : This menace: — of the waking that must be. O soul, let the rhythm of life itself grow dumb And be the song of death our litany : Let the world perish as a perishing fire, For us be less than ashes without flame, So that we twain our last breath here suspire, Here where none uttereth word, none calleth name. For in the Hollow Land is utter peace The magic spell which hath no first or last : But all that never ceaseth here doth cease And what would know no death is long since past : Only one thing endures where all expire — The inviolate rapture of fulfilled desire. 163 SONNET-SEQUENCE IV Where art thou, Love ! Lo, I am crucified Here on the bitter tree of my suspense, And my soul travails in my quivering side Wild with the passionate longing to go hence. Where v^ould it voyage, lost, bewildered soul If from the body's warm white home it strayed : Even as the wild-fox would it find its hole, Even as the fowls of the air would it find shade ? Yea, dear, with winnowing wings there would it fly To fold them on the whiteness of thy breast, And all its passion breathe into thy sigh. Fulfil the uttermost peace of perfect rest : And passing into thee as its last goal Should know no more this bitter-sweet control. 164 SONNET-SEQUENCE V Dear, through the silence comes a vibrant call, Thy voice, thy very voice it is, O Sweet ! Yet who shall scale the dread invisible wall That guards the Eden where our souls would meet ? O veil of flesh, O dull mortality, Is there no vision for the enfranchised eyes : Must we stoop low thro' Death's green-glooms to see The immaculate light known of our winged sighs ? Nay, Love, of body or soul no shadow or gloom Can always, always, thee and me dispart ; Soul of my soul, thro' the very gates of Doom Even as deep to deep, heart crieth to heart — Yea, as two moving waves on Life's wild sea, We meet, we merge, we are one, I thou, thou me ! 165 SONNET-SEQUENCE VI " And dost thou love me not a whit the less : And is thy heart as tremulous as of yore, And do thine eyes mirror the wonderfulness, And do thy hps retain their magic lore ? " What, Sweet, can these things be, ev'n in thy thought, And I so briefly gone, so swiftly come ? Nay, if the pulse of life its beat forgot This speaking heart would not thereby be dumb. I love thee, love thee so, O beautiful Hell That dost consume heart, brain, nerves, body, soul That even my immortal birthright I would sell Were Heaven to choose, or Thee, as my one goal. Sweet love fulfilled, they say, the common lot ! He who speaks thus, of real love knoweth not. i66 SONNET-SEQUENCE VII The dull day darkens to its close. The sheen Of a myriad gas-jets lights the squalid night. There is no joy, it seems, but what hath been There is nought left but semblance of delight. Nay, is it so ? Down this long darkling way What surety is there for the hungry heart, What vistas of white peace, rapt holiday Of the tired soul forlorn, thus kept apart ? Oh, hearken, hearken, love ! I cannot wait : Drear is the night without, the night within : I am so tired, so tired, so baffled of our fate, The very sport it seems of our sweet sin : Oh, open, open now, and bid me stay, Who almost am too tired, too weak, to pray. 167 SONNET-SEQUENCE VIII And so, is it so ? the long sweet pain is over ? The dear famihar love must know a change ? No more am I, no more, to be your lover, But life be cold once more, and drear, and strange. We have sinned, you say, and sorrow must re- deem All the cruel largess of our passionate love. And we, at the last, content us with a dream Who have known a hell below, a heaven above ! Well, be it so : thy life I shall not darken : Thy dream, for me, shall be disturbed no more : Thine ears, by day or night, shall never hearken The coming of the steps thou loved'st of yore : And if, afar, a lost wild soul blaspheme. Thou shalt not know it in thy peace supreme. I68 AN UNTOLD STORY When the dark falls, and as a single star The orient planets blend in one bright ray A-quiver through the violet shadows far Where the rose-red still lingers 'mid the grey : And when the moon, half-cirque around her hollow, Casts on the upland pastures shimmer of green : And the marsh-meteors the frail lightnings follow, And wave laps into wave with amber sheen — O then my heart is full of thee, who never From out thy beautiful mysterious eyes Givest one glance at this my wild endeavour, Who hast no heed, no heed, of all my sighs : Is it so well with thee in thy high place That thou canst mock me thus even to my face? 169 AN UNTOLD STORY II Dull ash-grey frost upon the black-grey fields : Thick wreaths of tortured smoke above the town : The chill impervious fog no foothold yields, But onward draws its shroud of yellow brown. No star can pierce the gloom, no moon dispart : And I am lonely here, and scarcely know What mockery is "death from a broken heart," What tragic pity in the one word : Woe. But I am free of thee, at least, yea free ! No more thy bondager 'twixt heaven and hell ! No more there numbs, no more there shroudeth me The paralysing horror of thy spell: No more win'st thou this last frail worshipping breath, For twice dead he who dies this second death. 170 THE VEILS OF SILENCE Three veils of Silence, Summer draws apace. The noon-tide Peace that broods on hill and dale, That passes o'er the sea and leaves no trace. That sleeps in the moveless clouds' moveless trail : The wave of colour deepening day by day. The yellow grown to purple on the leas. Blue within there beyond the dusky ways ; A green-gloom dusk within the grass-green trees. The third veil no man sees. She weaves it where Beneath the fret and fume tired hearts aspire And long for some divine impossible air. Out of Man's heart she weaves this veil of Rest — Sweet anodyne for all the feverish quest And ache of inarticulate Desire. 171 WRITTEN BY THE SEA Sweet are white dreams i' the dusk, yet sweeter far When the sea-music fills those haunting dreams : When light survives alone in each white star And in the far white shine of a myriad gleams : When from white flowers, that through the violet gloom Shine faintly phosphorescent, strange breaths steal And in the lamp-lit silence of the room The longing, yearning soul makes mute appeal : When nought is heard, and yet the tired hands stray To meet white dream-like hands soft floating by : When the disanchor'd mind sails far away Mid the suspense of an imagined sigh — 'Tis thee, 'tis thee, O dear white soul, 'tis thee, White Joy, white Peace, white Balm that healeth me ! 172 THE MENACE OF AUTUMN Amber and yellow and russet, gold and red, The autumnal leaves dream they are summer flowers : Day after day the windless sunny hours With feet of flame pass softly overhead : Day after day over each perishing leaf The windless hours pass with slow-fading flame : No song is heard where floods of music came ; Long garner'd on the fields the final sheaf. One day a wild and ravishing wind will rise, One day a paralysing frost wifl come, And all this glory be taken unaware : Dark branches then will lean against the skies, Sear leaves will drift the forest-pathways dumb, And wold and woodland he, austere and bare. 173 AFTERMATH The herald redbreast sings his winter lays, The fieldfares drift in flocks adown the weald : The turbulent rooks gather on every field, And clamorous starlings dare our garden- ways : O beautiful garden ways, not grown less dear Because the rose has gone, and briony waves Where lily and purple iris have their graves, Or that, where violets were, the asters rear. Lo, what a sheen of colour lingers still, Though the autumnal rains and frost be come : The tall dishevelled sunflowers, stooping spill Lost rays of sunshine o'er the tangled mould, While everywhere, touched with a glory of gold, Flaunts the imperial chrysanthemum. 174 FLORA IN JANUARY The goddess slept. About her where she lay Dead pansies, fragrant still, and the myriad rose : Adream 'mid the fallen drift, she woke one day, And the blooms stirred, seeing her eyes unclose. The oaks and beeches stood in disarray, Gaunt, spectral, dark, in dismal phantom rows ; She smiled, and there was a shimmer 'mid the grey And sudden fall of the first winter-snows. But when, tired with the icy blossoms of the air, She slept once more^ and all the snow was over, She dreamed of Spring and saw his sunlit hair, And heard the whisper of her laughing lover : But while she dreamed, the dead blooms had grown fair And Christmas-roses made a veil above her. 175 POEMS 1893-1905 N 177 THE COMING OF LOVE In and out the osier beds, all along the shallows Lifts and laughs the soft south wind, or swoons among the grasses. But ah, whose following feet are these that bend the mauve marsh-mallows. Who laughs so low and sweet ? — who sighs — and passes ? Flower of my heart, my darling, why so slowly Lift'st thou thine eyes to mine, deep wells of gladness ? Too deep this new-found joy, and this new pain too holy — Or is there dread in thy heart of this divinest madness ? Who sighs with longing there ? — who laughs alow — and passes ? Whose following feet are these that bend the mauve marsh-mallows ? THE COMING OF LOVE Who comes upon the wind that stirs the heavy seeding grasses, In and out the osier beds, and hither through the shallows ? Flower of my heart, my dream — who whispers near so gladly ? Whose is the golden sunshine-net o'erspread for capture ? Lift, lift thine eyes to mine who love so wildly, madly — Those eyes of brave desire, deep wells o'erbrimmed with rapture ! 1 80 FROM OVERSEA From oversea — Violets for memories, I send to thee, Let them bear thoughts of me, With pleasant memories To touch the heart of thee, Far oversea, A little way it is for love to flee, Love wing'd with memories, Hither to thither oversea. i8l THE WHITE FLOWERS OF JANUARY ' The aconites, and other white flowers of January, the spirits of the dead blooms of summer." — H. P. Siwaarmill. The woodland ways were white : the boughs swung low With weight of snow : There was a shimmer of dancing golden Hght, And through the glow The goddess Flora moved in sudden flight. But when she saw the dead blooms everywhere Laid low i' the mould, Her sunny wings she did enfold. Long did she brood amid that woodland bare And the blooms wither'd there. Then with a smile she called the snows to her There was a stir A falling rustle, as when bird-wings whirr Aloud i' the thickets in the twilight hour : And next, a glimmering shower. Swift mid the green-gloom fleckt with white, she fled: But where each snowflake fell There was a happy miracle : Dead pansies, wind-flowers, violets, once more rose, But now in white each petal did unclose. 182 THE LUTE-PLAYER O Day, come unto me. Fair and so sweet ! Crown'd shalt thou be, And with wing'd feet Escape the invading sea, Whose bitter Hne Follows o'erfleet. What joy thou would'st is thine : Life is divine, O Fair and Sweet ! Death is a paltry thought : A little troublous thing — An insect's sting ! Beautiful Day, oh, heed it not ! Surely I hear the rumour of thy feet, And Death is vain — draw near, draw near ! — Alas ! and is it so ? Farewell, O Fair and Sweet, For Death is here. 183 WHITE VIOLETS White dreams, White thoughts, White hopes ! Shy violets, White violets. In woodland ways, by the brook side, on the hill-slopes ! Strange joys. New thrills, Vague fears : Violets, White violets, White kisses from the lips of Spring, white dewy tears. White hands, O lead me where The white Spring strays 'Mid violets, White violets, On the hill-slopes, by the brook side, in woodland ways. 184 THE SUN LORD Low laughing, blithely scorning — Beware, beware, of flaming wings, Love hunts thee down the morning ! His white feet dip i' the hillside springs, He mocks thy flying terror ! The woodland with his laughter rings ! He'll make thee his slave to follow, Nor shall he forgive thee, maid, thine error, Who spied thee hid in the hollow. Too late, too late the warning ! Behold the flash of flaming wings — Love hath thee now i' the morning ! 185 THE SUMMER WOMAN O WILD bee humming in the gorse, O wild dove croodling in the woods, Know ye not she is false as fair, A sweet Caprice with bitter moods ? For bitter-sweet her wild kiss is, And bitter-sweet her haunting voice : How oft my eyes have filled with tears When she hath bid me to rejoice ! loved Caprice, is thine the fault Or is the bitterness all mine ! Art thou the quenchless Thirst of Joy And I the lees of thy spilt wine ? Oh, greenness, greenness everywhere, Oh, whisper of green leaves, green grass, Surely the glory is not gone, Surely the glory shall not pass ? 1 long for some lost magic thing, A voice, a gleam, a joy, a pain : Wild doves, your old-time strain once more, Wild bees, wild bees, come back again ! l86 SYCAMORES IN BLOOM Like flame-vving'd harps the seed blooms lie Amid the shadowy sycamores. The music of each leaflet's sigh Thrills them continually, The small harps of the sycamores. Small birds innumerable find rest And shelter 'midst the sycamores. Their songs (of love in a warm soft nest) Are faintly echoed east and west By the red harps o' the sycamores. The dewfall and the starshine make Amidst the shadowy sycamores Sweet delicate strains ; the gold beams shake The leaves at morn, and swift awake The small harps of the sycamores. O sweet Earth's music everywhere, Though faint as in the sycamores : Sweet when buds burst, birds pair ; Sweet when as thus there wave in the air The red harps of the sycamores. 187 THE NORLAND WIND The south wind on the hill, And the west wind on the lea, But better than these I love The north wind on the sea ! For the north wind on the sea Is fearless and elate : The ocean vast and free Is not more great. On the hill the south wind laughs Where the blue cloud-shadows flee The west wind takes the mead With a ripple of glee : But the north wind on the deep Is the wind of winds for me, Spirit of dauntless life And Lord of Liberty ! i88 s SPRING'S ADVENT The Spirit of Spring is in the air ; The daffodils wave blithe and free To the wind's minstrelsy, And everywhere A green rebirth involves each branchlet bare. Already from the elm-tree boughs The jubilant thrush doth cry aloud ; From fallow fields new ploughed The plovers rouse ; In hollow boles no more the squirrels drowse. The blackbird calls his thrilling note ; And by each field, and copse, and glade The leverets race, the rabbits raid ; Where gorse-blooms float The yellow-yite pipes o'er and o'er by rote. In the blue arch of sky, cloud-swept, The unseen larks are singing ; The green grass is springing : While nature slept, Leaf-crown'd, bird-haunted Spring hath hither leapt. 189 SPRING'S ADVENT O joy of winds, and birds, and flowers, Of growing grass, of budding leaves, Of green and sappy sheaves, Of rustling showers, Sunshine, and plenitude of marvellous hours. Thrilled Earth beholds her golden prime Returned again ; her heart beats swift. Low-laughing, as the spring winds lift Their songs sublime, Mocking, she dares the circling Shadow of Time. 190 THE SUMMER WIND The bugling of the summer wind Is sweet upon the hill : I love to hear its eddies The heather-crannies fill. It plays upon the bracken A blithe fanfarronade : And thro' the moss-cups whistleth "The Fairy Raid." It leaps from birch to rowan, And laugheth long and loud, Then with a spring is vanished, And rideth on a cloud ! 191 THE HILL WATER There is a little brook, I love it well : It hath so sweet a sound That even in dreams my ears could tell Its music anywhere. Often I wander there, And leave my book Unread upon the ground, Eager to quell In the hush'd air That haunts its flowing forehead fair All that about my heart hath wound A trouble of care : Or, it may be, idly to spell Its runic music rare And with its singing soul to share Its ancient lore profound : For sweet it is to be the echoing shell That hsts and inly keeps that murmurous miracle. 192 THE HILL WATER About it all day long In this June-tide There is a myriad song. From every side There comes a breath, a hum, a voice : The hill-u^ind fans it with a pleasant noise As of sweet rustling things That move on unseen wings, And from the pinewood near A floating whisper oftentimes I hear, As when, o'er pastoral meadows wide, Stealeth the drowsy music of a weir. The green reeds bend above it. The soft green grasses stoop and trail therein The minnows dart and spin: The purple-gleaming swallows love it : And, hush, its innermost depth within, The vague prophetic murmur of the lime. But not in summer-tide alone I love to look Upon this rippling water in my glen : Most sweet, most dear, my brook, And most my own. When the grey mists shroud every ben, And in its quiet place The stream doth bare her face, And lets me pore deep down into her eyes, Her eyes of shadowy grey, Wherein from day to day THE HILL WATER My soul is startled with a new surmise, Or doth some subtler meaning trace Reflected from unseen invisible skies. Dear mountain-solitary, dear lonely brook, Of hillside rains and dews the vagrant daughter, Sweet, sweet, thy music when I bend above thee, When in thy fugitive face I look ; Yet not the less I love thee, When, far away, and absent from thee long, I yearn, my dark hill-water, I yearn, I strain to hear thy song, Brown, wandering water, Dear, murmuring water ! 194 RAINBOW-SHIMMER To-day upon the hillside I saw a golden fairy ; Her name is Rainbow-Shimmer, But for you and me she's Mary. For Mary is the mother Of all sweet souls that be, From the angels in heaven To the best fish in the sea. And of all sweet souls that are, Fairies are the rarest, And Mary was a star Among the fairest. She had a golden kingcup Her little golden head, For dress she had a daisy white Just tipped with red. She danced upon a clover leaf Still ashine with dew And the blue sky above was not As her blue eyes so blue. I9S RAINBOW-SHIMMER Her partner was a sunbeam, A partner wild and wary, Whose reel might even tire The patience of a fairy. Ah, how the two went dancing Among the dewy clover ; I would that you were Mary And I your sunbeam lover ! " Stop, Mary, stop," I whispered, " Be not so wild and wary, I know a little lassie Who'd dearly love a fairy ! " But in a twink she vanished, The dewshine dance was over ! Ah, her twinkling laughter With her sunbeam lover ! But, hush ! Her hiding-place Is not so far apart : I'll tell you where it is, dear, Its deep in Mother's heart. 196 THE YELLOWHAMMER'S SONG Out on the waste, a little lonely bird, I flit and I sing; My breast is yellow as sunshine, and light as the wind my wing. The golden gorse me shelters, in the tufted grass is my nest, And Sweet, sweet, sweet the world, though the wind blow east or west. The harebells chime their music, the canna floats white in the breeze : But as for me, I flit to and fro and I sing at my ease. When the thyme is dripping with dew, and the hill-wind beareth along The pungent scent of the gale, loudly I sing my morning song. When the sun beats on the gorse, the broom, and the budding heather, I flit from spray to spray, and my song is of the golden weather. 197 THE YELLOWHAMMER'S SONG When the moor-fowl sink to their rest, and the sky is soft rose-red, I sing of the crescent moon and the single star overhead. Out on the waste, out on the waste, I flit all day as I sing, Sweet, sweet, sweet is the world — dear world — how beautiful everything ! Only a little lonely bird that loveth the moorland waste, And little perhaps of the joy of the world is that which I taste ; But out on the wild, free moorlands or the gold gorse-bows I swing. And Sweet, sweet, sweet the world ; oh, sweet ! ah, sweet ! the song that I sing. 198 VESPER The wind of evening stealeth hushfully Where the high poplar trees gleam silver-grey : Born of the quiet hour, the sleep o' the day, Old memories throng upon me mournfully. Against the paling width of the clear sky The dark-green hill inclines its tree-clad height ; The air is full of vaporous, tender light, The solitude is broken by no cry. The green-gold disc of the moon doth slowly rise Out of the dusk whence sounds the Angelus ; O memories of hours long lost to us ! Oh, bitterness of unavailing sighs ! •99 THE SONG OF THE SEA-WIND King of the winds, O Wind of the Sea, When thou sweepest abroad thy voice crieth, Crieth the anguish of living souls As with the wild storm-rapt soughing of the oaks. Breath of the world, bitter breath, King of the winds, Wind of the Sea I King of the winds, O Wind of the Sea, Hitherward blow, by our doors, through our souls. Blow, blow, Eurocyldon . . . and as dead leaves Whirl seaward vain hopes and perishing dreams. Breath of the worldy bitter breathy King of the winds, Wind of the Sea ! King of the winds, O Wind of the Sea, Uplift us, resurge us out with thy waves, Out on thine infinite heaving breast Where not a wave breaks but is higher than hope. Breath of the world, bitter breath, King of the winds, Wind of the sea ! 200 THE SONG OF THE SEA-WIND King of the winds, O Wind of the Sea, In the sweep and shadow of mighty wings Whirl far this Dream that is life, afar To the Shores of Joy or the Coasts of Night. Breath of the worlds, bitter breath, King of the winds, Wind of the Sea ! King of the winds, O Wind of the Sea, Before thee my heart bows, for it may be that God- Yea, that it is Thee, O God, who passeth by, Voicing Thy Word to our souls out of infinite space — Eternal Breath, bitter-sweet Breath, Lord of all winds, Wind of the Sea ! 201 THE BALLAD OF THE RAM. Who 'as 'card the Ram a-callin' on the green fields o' the sea, Let 'em wander east or west an' mighty fast : For it's bad to 'ear the Ram when he's up an' runnin' free With the angry bit o' ribbon at the mast. It's rush an' serge an' dash when the Ram is on the leap, But smash an' crash for them as stops the way : The biggest ship goes down right there that ain't got sense to keep The shore-walk o' the werry nearest bay. For Frenchy ships, an' German too, an' Russian, you may bet. It's safer for to land an' 'ome by tram, Than out to come an' gallivant an' risk the kind o' wet That follers runnin' counter to a Ram. THE BALLAD OF THE RAM For when the Terror lifts 'is 'ead an' goes for wot is near, I'm sorry for them ships wot sail so free ; It's best to up an' elsewhere, an' be werry far from 'ere When Rams 'ave took to bleatin' on the sea ! 203 CAFN GOLDSACK Down in the yellow bay where the scows are sleeping, Where among the dead men the sharks flit to and fro — There Cap'n Goldsack goes, creeping, creeping, creeping. Looking for his treasure down below ! Yeo^ yeo^ heave-a-yeo ! Creeping^ creeping^ creeping down below — Yo ! ho ! Down among the tangleweed where the dead are leaking With the ebb an' flow o' water through their ribs an' hollow bones, Isaac Goldsack stoops alow, seeking, seeking, seeking. What's he seeking there amidst a lot o' dead men's bones ? Yeo, Yeo, heave-a-yeo ! Seeking, seeking, seeking down below — Yo! ho! 204 CAP'N GOLDSACK Twice a hundred year an' more are gone acrost the bay, Down acrost the yellow bay where the dead are sleeping : But Cap'n Goldsack gropes an' gropes from year- long day to day — Cap'n Goldsack gropes below, creeping, creep- ing, creeping : Yeo^ Yeo, heave-a-yeo ! Creeping^ creeping, creeping down below — Yo I ho ! 205 A CAVALRY CATCH Up ! for the bugles are calling, Saddle, to boot, and away ! Sabres are clanking, and lances are glancing, The colonel is swearing and horses are prancing. So up with the sabres and lances, Up and away ! Where are we off to, say ? Saddle, and boot, and away ! With a thunder of hoofs in a rush we go past, In a whirlwind of dust we are gone as a blast — For we're off with the sabres and lances, Off and away ! 20C SPANISH ROSES Roses, roses, Yellow and red ; A rose for the living, A rose for the dead ! Who'll sip their dew ? There are only a few Of the yellow and red : Youth sells its roses Ere youth is sped. Roses, roses, All for deHght ; What of the night ? Hark, the tramp, tramp, The scabbard's clamp, The flaring lamp ! Where is the morning dew ? Ah, only a few Drank ere the yellow and red Lay shrivelled, shrivelled. Over the dead. 207 SPANISH ROSES Roses, roses, Buy, oh buy. The years fly, 'Tis the time of roses. Here are posies For one and all, For lovers that sigh And for lovers that die : And for Love's pall And burial ! Roses, roses, roses, buy, buy, oh buy ! Why delay, v^rhy delay, roses also die. Pink and yellow, blood-red, snow-white, Roses for dayspring, roses for night ! Buy, buy, oh my roses buy ! A kiss for a kiss, and a sigh for a sigh ! 20S THE SEA-BORN VINE (A Dionysiac Legend) The sun leapt up the rose-flushed sky And yellowed all the sea's pale blue ; The Tyrrhene crew Uprose and hailed the God on high. But Dionysos made no sign : The shipmen hailed their Lord again, Acclaimed His reign, Then stared upon their guest divine. " The deep shall swallow thee, fair sir : The sea-things shall make thee their prey- The God obey Or meet swift death ere thou canst stir ! " " Ere ye arose, my spirit bowed To the Great God unrisen then : — Take heed, men, Your clamour grow not overloud." P 209 THE SEA-BORN VINE " A priest of Bacchus thou ! Behold : One sea-wave here could whelm thy God — His mystic rod Would float foam-crown'd 'mid this wave-gold. " Ai Evo'e ! thy voice might fill The waste of sea, the waste of sky, Yet thou wouldst die, Thy god supine on some green hill ! " Ai Evo'e! the cry thrilled wide: The startled rowers shrank — they saw With trembling awe The conscious waters surge aside. Ai Evo'e ! The waves turn green ; In tendril masses twist and twine : A mighty vine Uprises and o'erhead doth lean : Ai Evo'e ! The tendrils cling About the shipmen as they swim : The Bacchic hymn The waves chant and the wild winds sing. Evoe ! Dionysos cries, The seamen and the boat no more The shingly shore Shall feel 'neath known or ahen skies. 210 THE SEA-BORN VINE Blue dolphins guide the wave-born vine To caves near mystic Ind : Only the wind Murmurs for aye the tale divine. Ye who deride the gods, beware : They are with us evermore ; they brook No scornful look ; Their vengeance fills our mortal air. Yea, of the jealous gods, take heed : One day the earth or sea shall ope And vanquish hope — An Evoe be vain indeed ! VENILIA '■'■ Exspirare rosas, decrescere lilia vidi" . . . — Claudian. Along the faint shores of the foamless gulf I see pale lilies droop, wan roses fall, And Silence stilling the uplifted wave. And in the movement of the uplifted wave, And ere the rose fall, or the lily breathe, Silence becomes a lonely voice, like hers, Venilia's, who when love was given wings And far off flight, mourned ceaseless as a dove, Till bitter Circe made her but a voice Still lingering as a fragrance in dimwoods When on the gay wind swims the yellow leaf. 2f2 ON A NIGHTINGALE IN APRIL The yellow moon is a dancing phantom Down secret ways of the flowing shade ; And the waveless stream has a murmuring whisper Where the alders wave. Not a breath, not a sigh, save the slow stream's whisper : Only the moon is a dancing blade That leads a host of the Crescent warriors To a phantom raid. Out of the Lands of Faerie a summons, A long, strange cry that thrills through the glade : — The grey-green glooms of the elm are stirring, Newly afraid. Last heard, white music, under the olives Where once Theocritus sang and played — Thy Thracian song is the old new wonder O moon-white maid ! 213 THE DIRGE OF THE REPUBLIC {In Memoriam. — E.Z.) In the great days men heard afar the clarions of Hope rejoice : The hearts of men were shaken as reeds by the wind of a Voice. But now the roll of muffled drums drowns 'mid the last Retreat The wild fanfare of perishing hopes, the tramp of passing feet. The winds of heaven are banners lost, are pennons of dismay ; The innumerous legion of the sun toils on in disarray ; The moon that carries freight of gold to ranson forth the morn Sails desolate beneath a myriad starry eyes of scorn. Wild rhetoric, yes: but who shall say what meta- phors of pain Are fit for the funeral dirge of a Republic slain ? High hopes, faiths, dreams, great passions, aspira- tions, Prove but the trodden, useless, bitter dust of weary nations ! 214 THE DIRGE OF THE REPUBLIC That which was great is fallen, that which was high is low : The rising star has sunk again, but in a blood- red glow : The hundred thousand souls that died before the golden prime Did well, for it is well to miss the Ironies of Time. Faith, Honour, Love, the Noble and the True, These lofty words are pawns of an ignoble crew : How better far to Hght the Torch with flames of cheap desire Than thus to mock the eyes of man with stolen fire ! There is no State broad-based enough upon the People's heart That some day may not hunted be by the People's dart : The rebel nerves, the rebel lusts, the rebel hounds of life— If these be loosened from the whip they turn to fratricidal strife. Is this the end of all high dreams above thrones trampled under ? Is this the tinsel chorus left after the noble thunder ? 'Twere better, then, than thus to live, thus forfeit high renown, To be true men, and free, " beneath the shadow of a Crown" ! 2IS INTO THE SILENCE {A Death in the West Highlands) Ungather'd lie the peats upon the moss ; No more is heard the shaggy pony's hoof ; The thin smoke curls no more above the roof ; Unused the brown-sailed boat doth idly toss At anchor in the Kyle ; and all across The strath the collie scours without reproof ; The gather'd sheep stand wonderingly aloof ; And everywhere there is a sense of loss. " Has Sheumais left for over sea ? Nay, sir, A se'nnight since a gloom came over him ; He sicken'd, and his gaze grew vague and dim ; Three days ago we found he did not stir. He has gone into the Silence. 'Neath yon fir He lies, and waits the Lord in darkness grim." 2lG THE HILL-ROAD TO ARDMORE There's the hill-road to Ardmore, Mary, Here's the glen-road to Ardstrae : Your home is younder, Mary, And mine lies this way. Will you come by the glen, Mary, Or go the hill-road to Ardmore ? It is now and as you will, Mary, For I will ask no more. 'Tis but a score years, Mary, Since I bade you to Ardstrae ; And now you are not there, Mary, Nor walk the hill-side way. Is it only a score years, Mary, Since we parted by the shore, And I watched you go, Mary, By the hill-road to Ardmore ? 217 WHITE ROSE Far in the inland valleys The Spring her secret tells; The roses lift on the bushes, The Hlies shake their bells. To a lily of the valley A white rose leans from above : " Little white flower o' the valley, Come up and be my love." To the lily of the valley A speedwell whispers, " No ! Where the roses live are thorns, 'Tis safe below." The lily clomb to the rose-bush, A thorn in her side : The white rose had wedded a red rose, And the lily died. 218 ECHOES OF JOY Only a song of joy Wind-blown over the heather, Somewhere two little hearts Thrill and throb together. Ah, far mid the nethermost spheres Life and Death live together ; And deep is their love, without tears, For they laugh at the shadows of years- And yet there rings in my ears Only a song of joy Wind-blown over the heather. 219 WHEN THE GREENNESS IS COME AGAIN The west wind lifts the plumes of the fir, The west wind swings on the pine ; In the sun-and-shadow the cushats stir ; For the breath of Spring is a wine That fills the wood, That thrills the blood, When the glad March sun doth shine, Once more, When the glad March sun doth shine. When the strong May sun is a song, a song, A song in the good green world, Then the little green leaves wax long And the fittle fern-fronds are uncurl'd ; The banners of green are all unfurl'd. And the wind goes marching along, along The wind goes marching along The good green world. 220 A HAZARD OF LOVE I COUNT my gain a loss, If that should be to thee The shadow of a cross On thy felicity. But if, dear saint, there be In loss of mine thy gain. How sweet it were for me To please thee with my pain ! Let, then, my loss be thine. My loss thy gain, sweet nun ; Yet, dear, were 't not divine If gain and loss were one ? in THE HONEYMOON ROSE To pluck the wild rose in the morning dew, And dream of another Rose to wear it soon . . . Oh ! will she never come ?— the morn's half through, And dews don't keep until the afternoon ! Sweetheart, do you wish that roses only grew In secret places in the dusks of June? Ah ! here's my dew-wet Rose, Since here are you. Rose of my Honeymoon ! IT HAPPENED IN MAY A MAID forsaken A white prayer offered Under the snow of the apple-blossom : To whom was it proffered ? By whom was it taken ? Well, I suppose Nobody knows. But somehow, the snows Of the apple-blossom Were changed one day. A kiss was offered, A kiss was taken : And lo ! when the maiden looked shyly away, Of bloom of the apple the boughs were for- saken ! But whiter and sweeter grew orange-blossom ! Now this is quite true, I say, And it happened in May. 223L NIGHTINGALE LANE Down through the thicket, out of the hedges, A ripple of music singeth a tune . . . Like water that falls From mossy ledges With a soft low croon : Soon It will cease ! No, it falls but to rise — but to rise — but to rise ! It is over the thickets, it leaps in the trees. It swims like a star in the purple-black skies ! Ah, once again, With its rapture and pain. The nightingale singeth under the moon ! 224 BLOSSOM OF SNOW "Sing a song of blossom," Said little Marjory Brown : "Why won't it come down, Here in the town. Please ? " Said little Marjory Brown. " Please, Wind, blow just a breath, for me To see The great white apple-blossoms blow Just like snow — Just like snow in our garden before we Came back to town," Said little Marjory Brown. All day and all night A wind did blow, Marjory laughed at the flying snow And its whirling riot : But at dawn she grew wan and white. And was quiet. And the doctor said, With his hand on a bowed sobbing head, " Too late you came up to town With little Marjory Brown." Q "5 THE DANDELION A THOUSAND poets have sung the Rose, The daisy white, the heather, The green grass we He on In summer weather . . . Of almost every flower that grows, But never of the Dandehon, That the winds of Spring have scattered hither and thither ! Is there any more fair to see Than this bright fellow Who, also, " takes the winds of March with beauty '' ? True his coat is a vulgar yellow, And his is a very humble duty . Merely to be As joyous as a wave on the sea, A wave dancing on the great sea, — Merely to be bright, sunshiny, glad, strong, and free. As free as a beggar, as proud as a king ! And so, quite as good as the Rose, The daisy white, the heather, The green grass we lie on In summer weather, Is that flame of the feet of Spring, The Dandelion! 226 THE DREAM-WIND {Written for Music) When, like a sleeping child Or a bird in the nest, The day is gathered To the earth's breast . . . Hush ! . . . 'tis the Dream- Wind, Breathing peace, Breathing rest, Out of the Gardens of Sleep in the West. Oh, come to me, wandering Wind of the West ! Grey doves of slumber Come hither to rest ! . . . Hush / . . . now the wings cease Below the dim trees . . . And the White Rose of Rest Breathes low in the Gardens of Sleep in the West. 237 TRIAD From the Silence of Time, Time's Silence borrow. In the heart of To-day is the word of To-morrow. The Builders of Joy are the Children of Sorrow. IN MEMORIAM (To Walt Whitman) He laughed at Life's Sunset Gates With vanishing breath : Glad soul, who went with the Sun To the Sunrise of Death, aaS BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE The writings in verse of William Sharp divide into two distinct sections : the poems he pubUshed under his own name ; and those written under the pseudonym of " Fiona Macleod," in the years 1893- 1905, and gathered together in the volume entitled " From the Hills of Dream " (Heinemann). " Songs and Poems, Old and New" (1879-1905), are selected from five published volumes and a number of miscellaneous poems. The earhest volume, " The Human Inheritance" (Elliot Stock, 1882) opened with a long poem in four cycles descriptive of Child- hood, Youth, Manhood, and Old Age ; and from it are taken " Childhood," " Inheritance," " Motherhood," &c. The sonnets " Spring Wind " and " A Mid- summer's Hour" were included in "The Sonnets of this Century'^' (Walter Scott), as were also those " To D. G. Rossetti," to whose memory the anthology was dedicated. " Earth's Voices " (Elliot Stock, 1884), dedicated to Walter Pater, contained a series of lyrics — voices of the forests, rivers, winds, flowers, mountains, oceans — two long poems, " Sospitra " and " Gaspara Stampa," from which " To Suffer Grief is to be Strong" and "Sleep" are taken, 331 BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE " The Record " is autobiographic, inasmuch as it was the beginning of an endeavour to relate memories of past lives that haunted the author. " Romantic Ballads " (Walter Scott, 1888) was writ- ten under " the earnest conviction that a Romantic Revival is imminent in our poetic literature " ; that, as he states in the Preface, " the third great epoch of English poetic literature will be an essentially dramatic one : and its fruitage will necessarily be preceded by a blossoming of the genuinely romantic sentiment ... of the Romantic spirit — not the formal letter of Romanticism — a renascence which will be as manifest in realistic as well as in more directly imaginative prose and poetry. ... In 'The Weird of Michael Scott ' [of which two sections are herein included] I have attempted a ballad in enlarged form — that is, it is meant as a lyrical tragedy of a soul that finds the face of disastrous fate against it whithersoever it turns in the closing moment of mortal life." And he adds, " The thrill of the supernatural is so keen because it touches the most natural part of us." The winter and spring of 1890-91 was spent by the poet in Rome and its environments ; the imme- diate literary outcome thereof was a volume of unrhymed, irregular meters, printed at Tivoli and published privately that spring under the title of " Sospiri di Roma," and prefaced by an etched portrait of him by Sir Charles Holroyd. Concerning his use of unrhymed meter he wrote to a friend: "What can be done in Greek and German can be done in 232 BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE English. This has been proved, for some of Matthew Arnold's finest work is in unrhymed verse. ... I felt that there is in verse, as in painting, a borderland for impressionism pure and simple, for the suggestion of a certain colour and emotion, a vivid actuality, which are apt to be dissipated by the effort and restrictions of rhyme. ... In this verse you will find something of my passion for the Campagna, and of that still deeper passion and longing for the Beautiful. All that I attempt to do is to fashion anew something of the lovely vision I have seen." " The Coming of Love," " The Untold Story," and " Dionysos in India " appeared originally in the Pagan Review (1892), the first and only number of a projected monthly review edited by " W. H. Brooks " — of which William Sharp wrote every word from cover to cover under the pseudonyms of the Editor, and seven of contributors. Of the section of poems 1893-1905, "The Lute Player " and " White Violets " are from a volume of dramatic interludes, " Vistas " (David Nutt), pub- lished originally in F. Murray's Regent Series in which appeared later in the same year (1894) a romance of the Western Isles, " Pharais," the first of the works issued by WiUiam Sharp under the pseudonym of " Fiona Macleod." " The Norland Wind" and " Hill- Water" were written for the Evergreen^ 1895, a quarterly issued by Patrick Geddes and colleagues, and " Spanish Roses " is taken from " A Fellow and His Wife," a novel written in collaboration with Blanche Willis Howard ; the 233 BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTE remaining poems in the last section were contributed variously to Harpet-'s Magazine^ the Century, New York Independent, Literature, Country Lije, and the Pall Mall Magazine. "The Human Inheritance," " Earth's Voices," and " Sospiri di Roma " are out of print ; therefore the present selection has been made to be a repre- sentative volume of the Songs and Poems of WiUiam Sharp, and a companion to his other volume of verse, " From the Hills of Dream," by " Fiona Macleod." Elizabeth A. Sharp. Elliot Stock, 62, Paternostei Row, I.oiulon. 234 WORKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR AS WILLIAM SHARP ROMANTIC BALLADS. Walter Scott. VISTAS : Dramatic Interludes. Z>. Nutt. HEINE, LIFE OF. SHELLEY, LIFE OF. ^ Walter Scott. BROWNING, LIFE OF.J ECCE PUELLA. Elkln Matthews. A FELLOW AND HIS WIFE. //ar/e>s. MADGE O' THE POOL. a. Constable. WIVES IN EXILE. \ Grant Richards. SILENCE FARM. J LITERARY GEOGRAPHY. Pall Mail Publications. AS FIONA MACLEOD PHARAIS. N. T. Foulis. THE IMMORTAL HOUR. .v. r. FouHs. FROM THE HILLS OF DREAM. Hezncmaun. THE MOUNTAIN LOVERS. John Lane. THE DOMINION OF DREAMS, a. Constable. WINGED DESTINY. Chapman d^ Hall. THE WASHER OF THE FORD. D. Nutt. BARBARIC TALES. D. Nutt. SPIRITUAL TALES. D. Nutt. TRAGIC ROMANCES, d. Nutt. WHERE THE FOREST MURMURS. Newnes. THE IMITATION OF CHRIST NOW FOR THE FIRST TIME FAITHFULLY RENDERED IN ENGLISH, AFTER THE MANNER IN WHICH IT WAS WRITTEN BY THOMAS A. KEMPIS Translated, with an Introduction, by ''A Clerk of Oxenford." Preface by the late Canon H. P. LIDDON, D.D. " The mind is led by the poetical arrangement to dwell with a new intelligence and intensity upon clauses and words, and to discern with new eyes their deeper meanings, their relation to each other, and to the whole of which they are parts." — From the Preface. The great difference, however, which distinguishes this edition from all others (and which is the raison d'etre) is the rhythmic form which it takes from the original, by which the reader understands more fully the spirit and meaning of the author. CHEAP EDITION, New Style, for the Pocket, Foolscap 8vo, Clear Type, Handsome Cloth Binding, Gilt Top, Silk Register, 2s. net {post free, 2s. ^d.). Foolscap 8vo, Cloth ... . . 4s. 6d. „ ,, Lambskin, gilt top . 5s. net. Crown 8vo, Cloth 6s. ,, Special Bindings for Presentation — Crown Svo, 7s. 6d., 8s. 6d., los. 6d., 12s. 6d., 14s. 6d., and 21s. net each. London : ELLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. JAN 2 8 1965 JAN B A i/1 7l8|3il0lll| k FfB m.owir ?.^ r.r^-Q \0-U«V i 1985 P.M. 2|1|2|3|4|5|6 / c X A HOM 2^ '^'' Form L9-50m-9,'60(B3610s4)444 ^ iililli ,.„„, 3 1158 00157 024( UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 374 653 4